Won't you take me to Funkytown?

Before I found out about our delicious termite issues today...

This morning I secured the services of a real estate lawyer, something apparently required in the state of Delaware. As far as I can tell, he serves no purpose other than as an expensive writer of large checks. In the acquisition of our property, we are naturally getting a big fat mortgage; that goes to him for safe-keeping. We are so lucky as to qualify for a really embarrassing amount of money from the City in grants and low-interest loans because of Dada's job and the address of the property we are buying; those all go to him for safe-keeping, too. Have you seen the movie SpaceBalls? Of course you have, you closet Mel Brooks fiend, you. Imagine with me, if you will, that our lawyer is MegaMaid. First he acts like a gigantic cash vaccuum ("Suck! Suck! Suck!"), and then he redistributes the cash to where it all needs to go ("It's Mega Maid! She's gone from 'suck' to 'blow'!").

We asked the City Planning guy, who's giving us all this grant/low-interest loan money, and a lender at our local bank who they would recommend, since we are not the type of people who regularly engage attorneys. You know you live in a relatively small town when both sources say, "Well, you could always use the mayor." I had to look online to see who our mayor is -- he's Vance A. Funk, III. He runs a law practice with his son...you guessed it...Vance A. Funk, IV. According to Wikipedia, Mayor Funk caused a minor stir when it was revealed that he, in a letter to his supporters, referred to Newark as "Funkytown."

I think that, in and of itself, was enough for me to want him as my lawyer.