Author Archives: Andrew Hornblower

Real Estate Finance Industry – Lingo

Nationality: American
Age: 55
Occupation: Real Estate Investment Banker
Residence: Beverly Hills
Performance Date: 5/28/11
Primary Language: English

“If the shoe fits, wear it,” the CEO of the company I work for said on my very first day as an intern last summer. At the time, I had no clue what he was talking about.

I later learned that this proverb is specific to the real estate finance industry. Prior to working at George Smith Partners, a boutique real estate investment bank, I had never heard it before. I am assuming that the majority of this collection’s readers have not either.

Basically, the proverb means to “take what you can get”. In real estate finance, borrowers of capital always hope for more favorable terms on their financing. This includes loan terms, interest rates, and prepayment penalties. Despite there optimism, the collateral property that borrowers own often does not merit the favorable financing characteristics that they are hoping for. As a result, our advice as investment bankers to our clients is to take the deal that’s on the table. In more abstract terms, we say, “If the shoe fits, wear it”.

It is interesting to think about how any why such industry specific folklore is created. My prevailing thought is that it allows members of the real estate community to immediately gauge one another’s industry savvy.

Pastelillos – Puerto Rican Dish – Mother’s Recipe

Nationality: American/Puerto Rican
Age: 50
Occupation: Court Reporter
Residence: Atlanta, Georgia
Performance Date: 4/3/12
Primary Language: English
Language: Spanish

My mother is of Puerto Rican heritage. This assignment was a great excuse to Skype her, and ask her to cook one of my favorite dishes. I asked her to cook 4 pastelillos in front of the computer camera, relaying directions simultaneously. I wrote down her directions as best I could (my mom talks really quickly and is very impatient). Please see below:

  • Ingredients:
  • 1 pound of lean ground beef
  • 1 tablespoon of olive oil
  • 2 tablespoons of recaito
    • a sauce that includes cilantro, garlic, green pepper, and onion
  • hot sauce
  • 4 large goya discos (dough that is used for the shell)
  • raisins (not normally put in pastelillos, but my mom’s special touch)
  • cheese (cheddar or pepper jack).
  • Directions for cooking:
    • 1. Shape the Goya Discos into small pockets if they are not pre-shaped. There should be enough space for 1/4 pound of ground beef and a few other ingredients to fit at the same time.
    • 2. Heat pan with 1 tablespoon of olive oil until you hear it “Sizzle”
    • 3. Place all of the ground beef into the frying pan. Slowly stir until it is fully browned.
    • 4. While the meat is cooking, place the goya discos on a cooking sheet, and preheat the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. They come pre-cooked, so they will only need a few minutes in the over. Insert the goya discos into the oven and allow them several minutes to become crispy.
      • My mom said the primary purpose of this stage is to make the goya discos crispy.
  • 5. Remove the goya discos when they have become sufficiently browned.
  • 6. Fill the crispy goya discos with ½ tablespoon of recaito, 1 teaspoon of hot sauce, 10 raisins, and a pinch of cheese.
  • 7. Remove the browned beef from the frying pan, and add ¼ pound to each goya disco.
  • Enjoy delicious pastelillos.

Cultural notes: depending on the part of Puerto Rico you are from, raisins may or may not be added to the pastelillo. My mom thinks it has to do with which side of the island (east vs. west) that you hail from. In her opinion, the Puerto Ricans on the eastern side use raisins, and the people on the western side do not. The is be simply rumor, but it is an interesting example of Puerto Rican Folklore.

 

Camp Song: Good Night Dear Deerwood in the Pines

Nationality: American
Age: 21
Occupation: Army Private
Residence: Fort Hood, Texas
Performance Date: 3/24/12
Primary Language: English

I was lucky enough to spend four of my summers during my teenage years at Camp Deerwood on Squam Lake in New Hampshire. At this special place, campers are separated from their families for 7 fun-filled weeks of activities. One of the many songs that we learned over our summer is titled “Good Night Deerwood”. As a new camper, you are never given instructions as to how to sing the song. Instead, you are expected to pay close attention the first few times you hear it sung, and pick it up as a result. I couldn’t remember the full song when amassing this folklore collection, so I had to turn to my brother, Ben, for help. Ben served as a counselor at the camp for three years after I moved on, so he recalled the lyrics without any difficulty. See below:

Goodnight, dear Deerwood in the pines.

Our love, and songs for you will rise.

Within our hearts,

We hold you dear.

Sleep tonight,

Away from fear.

Good night,

Dear Deerwood in the pines.

Good night, good night,

Good night, Dear Deerwood in the pines.

Looking back, it was clearly a conscious decision by the camp coordinators to refrain from publishing this song. Sang only on serious occasions, “Good Night Deerwood” is a tradition that is meant to be passed on from camper to camper. There is something special about the intangibility of this transfer.

Childhood Ghost Story: Golfer Al

Nationality: American
Age: 54
Occupation: Camp Director
Residence: Greenwich, Connecticut
Performance Date: 4/2/12
Primary Language: English

The story of Golfer Al is one that I remember from my early childhood. Every summer, I would attend a day camp at a country club a few towns over in Connecticut. While we typically would only engage in day activities, the first weekend of August brought with it the annual “camp-out”. For one night, all of the campers and counselors would pitch tents on the golf course, and enjoy the next best thing to true camping. Although it was 10 years ago, I remember very clearly the camp director bringing all of us together in front of a fire, poised to tell his classic scary story. While I heard the same story again and again, each time it made me quiver just as hard as the previous year.

Unfortunately, I was not able to simply regurgitate what I knew from memory for this assignment. Instead, I made a hopeful call to Round Hill Club to see if Jeff was still the summer camp director. My request was met with disappointment. I was told that several years ago Jeff retired, but now Chris Mason ran the camp. It was a long shot, but I had to at least ask him he had heard of Golfer Al. Immediately Chris cracked up and shouted, “You remember that s@#t? Aren’t you in college?” I told him that yes, I remembered the story and that I would appreciate him telling it from his perspective. I copied what he told below, and to my elation it almost exactly matched what I remember as an 11 year-old kid.

“Many years ago, on a cold, rainy day, a man decided to play a round of golf. This man was Golfer Al. Golfer Al was a brave man, not afraid of the rain or cold, and always up for a challenge. So, out went Golfer Al for his last, final round.

He said goodbye to his wife who was enjoying lunch at the snack bar. She was not suspecting of anything bad to happen. Al had played in bad conditions hundreds of times, what could go wrong?

So with that Golfer Al was off, headed to the first tee. He placed his shiny white ball on a perfectly aligned tee. After taking a step back to gauge the fairway’s length and width, he positioned himself next to his ball. With a slow backswing, Golfer Al eyed the ball like a dog eyes your steak. He accelerated through the ball, striking it perfectly. It flew for as far as Al could make out in the rain. He then set off after it.

This was the last that was seen of Golfer Al. When he did not return after 3 hours his wife assumed he was just having a bad round. After 5 hours she began to worry. When 8 hours passed she decided to call for help.

The course patrol set out in carts with a megaphone shouting “Al! Al!” But it was to no avail. The police arrived first thing in the morning, and searched for the next three days, but found no one. Golfer Al had vanished. Several years passed. With time, everyone forgot about Al, and moved on with their lives.

But then things changed. Members of the club began noticing missing golf clubs from their bags. As dusk approached, gold carts began to stall and even stop working. Something about the club just hasn’t right, but no one can put their finger on it.

Some say that Golfer Al is still out there. They say he is waiting for someone to wander out on the course alone at night, because when they do, they’re not coming back.”

 

Chris concluded his version of the story there, pretty much just where I remembered it ending. After some reflection, it has occurred to me that there may have been more to this story’s purpose than simply temporarily scaring a big group of children. Perhaps it was in fact originally intended to serve as a right of passage in the club’s culture. Chris had been indoctrinated in the story’s main points as a junior counselor. Now, as the director of the camp, he is responsible for continuing the story of Golfer Al with the Round Hill Club community for years to come.

 

Beer Pong vs. Beirut

Nationality: American
Age: 21
Occupation: Student
Residence: Connecticut
Performance Date: 1/08/12
Primary Language: English

On the east coast (where I am from), we call the Californian game of “Beer Pong” Beirut. Why the difference?

Growing up in Connecticut, I am an east coaster at heart. This is reflected in my clothing choices, weather preference, and yes, drinking games. I hypothesize that many of teenagers’ first drinking experiences transpire in the basements of their parent’s houses. This is due to their noise cancellation properties and distance from peeping adult eyes. In many basements are ping-pong tables, and with only a few plastic cups, a ping-pong table is easily converted into a drinking game for the ages.

There is some disagreement as to what the appropriate name for this fine game should be. Until I came to California I had only heard the name “Beirut” mentioned. But to my misfortune, I was not prepared for the California title. When I enthusiastically asked three people to play some “Beirut”, my request was met with vacant stares. It was as if I had asked them to go play dinkerydoos in Bangladesh. Naturally, I was confused as to why they were looking at me as if I had just asked them to go play dinkerydoos in Bangladesh. I clarified “you know the game, where you try to toss ping pong balls into cups of beer?”

They responded with “Ummm, you mean, beer pong?”

What I had then discovered was that there are in fact TWO names for literally the EXACT SAME drinking game. Although at the time I did not know it, I was experiencing a classic example of folkloric permutations.

It is important to mention that when I returned to Connecticut at the end of the semester, I played an active role in communicating the differences in this game’s title. Therefore, in a very small way, I became a catalyst and conveyer of folklore.