I hate to say “I told you so”, but I did.  Again and again.  And again.  And… well, you get the idea.

2006 may well go down as the year Pluto was suddenly just another big rock, Brad and Angelina had a baby and the real estate market slid from great to miserable in a few short months.

In data released Tuesday, prices declined in more than 61 of the 275 cities tracked by the Office of Federal Housing Enterprise Oversight. And the deceleration has been fast: The agency reported that the decline in quarterly appreciation was steepest in more than three decades.

Everywhere you turn, articles abound with titles like “When Homeowners Are Desperate to Sell”, “What To Do If Your House Isn’t Selling”, and “Sharp Home Price Pullback”.  Agents are trying new gimmicks like “free” leases on a new BMW with a successful close of escrow.  Short sales and bankruptcies are at all time highs.

Were I a betting man, I’d expect that we’re nearing the time when some suckers — er, I mean bargain hunters – will come out of the woodwork to purchase real estate.  But if the price appreciation has been as overblown as I believe, they’ll soon end up owning more than the place is worth, too.  Speculators in this kind of real estate market aren’t going to fare any better than those who tried the same thing with day trading.  I wonder how many of those guys are still playing the market.

I hope real estate continues to fall for quite some time.  It’s actually healthy, despite the pain.  Much like the stock market in 2000, the longer the insanity went on, the worse the fall was going to be.  When people are happily skydiving without a parachute, something’s amiss.

It’s time to flush out the idiots who think real estate can never depreciate, that interest rates are at historic highs (they may be right — as long as your definition of “history” doesn’t go any further back than the 1990s), or that a $395 a month payment on an $850,000 loan is perfectly normal.

In the words of George Costanza:  flame on!

You know, sometimes the news is just too crazy to be made up.  As I was flying across Southern California today, I couldn’t help but think of the new workplace rules the FAA has imposed on air traffic controllers:

What rankles controllers most, on a personal level, at least, is the formal dress code being introduced. Some controllers dress as if they work in windowless rooms where visitors aren’t customarily allowed but FAA brass have apparently had enough of flip flops, tank tops and cutoffs. As of Sunday, the glow of the screens will reflect off, as we understand it, collared shirts, dress slacks and shoes and socks.

Now I’m not sure what a starched shirt sounds like, but ATC didn’t seem any different today.  With each frequency change, however, I couldn’t help but wonder what the controllers were wearing.  Despite the usual ‘evening push’ congestion on the airwaves, I had to bite my tongue to keep from asking them.

It’s probably for the best – I’ve said the wrong thing before and ended up waiting 30 minutes for the ILS.  Some guys just don’t see the humor in their job.

Perhaps this whole thing has been engineered by Men’s Wearhouse.  They donate a few bucks to the Administrator, and suddenly they’re outfitting the air traffic controller corps with the latest in business-casual finery.  But why should they have all the fun?  Maybe we pilots could get in on the game, giving tips a la Bravo’s Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.

“Diamond One Charlie Kilo, turn left heading zero six zero, vectors for the localizer.”

“Zero six zero, vectors for the localizer, and DiamondStar One Charlie Kilo feels that a herringbone jacket would really compliment that shirt”.