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NOTE:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product
of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
And here's why I'm not voting for John McCain.
Okay. Here's why I am voting for Obama.
I’m reading a lot because I’m very blue.
Last night I started Margaret Drabble’s The Peppered Moth, a fictionalized biography of Drabble’s mother who is also A.S. Byatt’s mother because the two writers are – rather famously – literary rivals, the Olivia de Haviland/Joan Fontaine of Great Literature (with a trilled R.) Of the two, I much prefer Drabble. I read Possession when it first came out and hated it, found it ice-bound and derivative, John Fowles-ian with all Fowles’ pompousness and none of his humor. Drabble is a stylist too but a cozy stylist. Closest American analog would be Anne Tyler.
I’m blue because I’m discouraged and exhausted, too exhausted to buoy myself up right now. Maybe the universe will send me a message in a bottle: I think you’re great… Though of course belief in omens or signs or cosmic messages in bottles is a sure indication that one is becoming unhinged. I really need some sort of outside validation though. Fan mail from a stranger. An unusual traveling suggestion – Vonnegut’s preemptive “dancing lesson from God” – from an old friend. The Red Sea parting, the clouds swirling together spontaneously to spell out P-A-T-R-I… A telegram from God.
Something to make me believe I’m not invisible, interchangeable, expendable.
Yes, yes, I’m feeling sorry for myself. Yes, yes, the people in [your oppressed and/or beseiged culture goes here] have it a whole lot worse.
Last night I started Margaret Drabble’s The Peppered Moth, a fictionalized biography of Drabble’s mother who is also A.S. Byatt’s mother because the two writers are – rather famously – literary rivals, the Olivia de Haviland/Joan Fontaine of Great Literature (with a trilled R.) Of the two, I much prefer Drabble. I read Possession when it first came out and hated it, found it ice-bound and derivative, John Fowles-ian with all Fowles’ pompousness and none of his humor. Drabble is a stylist too but a cozy stylist. Closest American analog would be Anne Tyler.
I’m blue because I’m discouraged and exhausted, too exhausted to buoy myself up right now. Maybe the universe will send me a message in a bottle: I think you’re great… Though of course belief in omens or signs or cosmic messages in bottles is a sure indication that one is becoming unhinged. I really need some sort of outside validation though. Fan mail from a stranger. An unusual traveling suggestion – Vonnegut’s preemptive “dancing lesson from God” – from an old friend. The Red Sea parting, the clouds swirling together spontaneously to spell out P-A-T-R-I… A telegram from God.
Something to make me believe I’m not invisible, interchangeable, expendable.
Yes, yes, I’m feeling sorry for myself. Yes, yes, the people in [your oppressed and/or beseiged culture goes here] have it a whole lot worse.
Finished The Kite Runner. Profound and moving story. I cried buckets.
Drove up to Palo Alto for lunch with the Maxer. His new physical regime is yoga and rock climbing; it's interesting how that's changed his body: he's incredibly muscular but also incredibly thin. "I like it," he said. "I like having strength that lets me move agilely through space, not just lift heavy things."
Being Max, his class schedule is unreal. Biology, anthropology, neurophysiology, statistics. Also he's auditing a class from a famous slam poet whose only requirement was that students refrain from eating meat for the semester. For lunch Max ordered huevos rancheros.
We talked politics all through lunch.
"I could not believe Biden's restraint!" Max said. "Palin's such an idiot. I mean, she is fucking stupid. Why didn't he trounce her?"
"Have you ever read that Kurt Vonnegut short story, Harrison Bergeron? No? It posits a future where every gifted person has to be handicapped so they won't have an unfair advantage. Say the gifted person was you. You'd be dragging around a 100-pound block of cement and maybe they'd blindfold you to compensate for your intelligence. Anyway, politics is a lot like the world of Harrison Bergeron. You have an unfair advantage if you're intelligent.
"If Biden had trounced Palin, he would have been perceived as a big meanie. And the advantage would have been hers."
"She's scary," said Max. "I don't want to live in a country where people like her are a major force."
I sigh. "With all its faults, Max, the U.S. is a wonderful country. Yes, things are pretty bad right now. But the tide throughout history has been from worse to better –"
"You think things are better now?" asked Max. "More people are starving now than at any point in history."
"Well, I think that's because there are more people now than at any point in history," I said. "If you looked at the percentage of people who are starving, it's less."
"You know that for a fact?"
"Well. No."
"Biden seems like a great guy," Max said. "I Like him better than Obama."
"I do too. Biden reminds me a lot of your great grandfather, my grandfather. Alfred Lord Tennyson Vogel!" I laughed. "What a name, huh? He was just the most genial man who ever lived, wonderful smile, got along with everyone. Smart as a whip but debated points in the gentlest way possible, never with the intention of making the person he was arguing with feel bad –"
"You named Robin after him, didn't you?"
"Robin Tennyson. Yes."
Max frowned. "Politics is only relevant on the local level. See, that's the problem with the United States – it's too big. What do I have in common with the Sarah Palins of this country?"
I shrugged. "Opposable thumbs? You both speak English! Well, sort of she speaks English."
"Globalization is a very bad thing," Max said. "That's really where your generation fucked up."
"Capitalists like it," I said. "There are only three ways profits can expand. Creating artificial demand – hence marketing as a science. Tapping into heretofore untouched markets – hence globalization. And creating money out of thin air – hence all those financial instruments based on arcane calculus functions."
"Why do profits have to expand?"
I shrugged again. "It's like driving on the freeway. You can be going ninety miles an hour. But unless you're passing someone, you think you're going slow."
Drove up to Palo Alto for lunch with the Maxer. His new physical regime is yoga and rock climbing; it's interesting how that's changed his body: he's incredibly muscular but also incredibly thin. "I like it," he said. "I like having strength that lets me move agilely through space, not just lift heavy things."
Being Max, his class schedule is unreal. Biology, anthropology, neurophysiology, statistics. Also he's auditing a class from a famous slam poet whose only requirement was that students refrain from eating meat for the semester. For lunch Max ordered huevos rancheros.
We talked politics all through lunch.
"I could not believe Biden's restraint!" Max said. "Palin's such an idiot. I mean, she is fucking stupid. Why didn't he trounce her?"
"Have you ever read that Kurt Vonnegut short story, Harrison Bergeron? No? It posits a future where every gifted person has to be handicapped so they won't have an unfair advantage. Say the gifted person was you. You'd be dragging around a 100-pound block of cement and maybe they'd blindfold you to compensate for your intelligence. Anyway, politics is a lot like the world of Harrison Bergeron. You have an unfair advantage if you're intelligent.
"If Biden had trounced Palin, he would have been perceived as a big meanie. And the advantage would have been hers."
"She's scary," said Max. "I don't want to live in a country where people like her are a major force."
I sigh. "With all its faults, Max, the U.S. is a wonderful country. Yes, things are pretty bad right now. But the tide throughout history has been from worse to better –"
"You think things are better now?" asked Max. "More people are starving now than at any point in history."
"Well, I think that's because there are more people now than at any point in history," I said. "If you looked at the percentage of people who are starving, it's less."
"You know that for a fact?"
"Well. No."
"Biden seems like a great guy," Max said. "I Like him better than Obama."
"I do too. Biden reminds me a lot of your great grandfather, my grandfather. Alfred Lord Tennyson Vogel!" I laughed. "What a name, huh? He was just the most genial man who ever lived, wonderful smile, got along with everyone. Smart as a whip but debated points in the gentlest way possible, never with the intention of making the person he was arguing with feel bad –"
"You named Robin after him, didn't you?"
"Robin Tennyson. Yes."
Max frowned. "Politics is only relevant on the local level. See, that's the problem with the United States – it's too big. What do I have in common with the Sarah Palins of this country?"
I shrugged. "Opposable thumbs? You both speak English! Well, sort of she speaks English."
"Globalization is a very bad thing," Max said. "That's really where your generation fucked up."
"Capitalists like it," I said. "There are only three ways profits can expand. Creating artificial demand – hence marketing as a science. Tapping into heretofore untouched markets – hence globalization. And creating money out of thin air – hence all those financial instruments based on arcane calculus functions."
"Why do profits have to expand?"
I shrugged again. "It's like driving on the freeway. You can be going ninety miles an hour. But unless you're passing someone, you think you're going slow."
Okay, this is something that's been bothering me for weeks:
I know people who live in Alaska. None of them sound like Sarah Palin.
Where did she get that accent? It's a Minnesota accent.
In other news I'm halfway through The Kite Runner, having polished off A Thousand Splendid Suns last weekend.
When I was 18, I took all the money I had made working as a model in NYC and ran off to Europe. And so it came to pass that some time in the spring of 1970 I ended up in Sarajevo, a city (I remember scribbling portentiously in my journal) that reminded me of Oakland. (I still have those journals but since I make it a point never to reread anything I write in a journal I forget the exact words.) I think what I meant by that comparison, little solepcist that I was, was that Sarajevo's downtown too was filled with all these brown, four-story office buildings cloaked in an aura of benign industrial neglect. I wasn't impressed by it -- it was too much like places I already knew. When I travel I want foreign to be foreign -- I'd like it best if the trees were blue and the sun was purple.
Fourteen years after came the Olympics and right after that came the Seige.
And I was horrified by the seige because this was a place I had been to, this was a place that seemed to follow all the rules I was familar with (although, of course, they spoke another language.) I mean there were traffic lights there!
And suddenly it was all anarchy and machine gun fire and people living in the ruined infrastructure of those boring brown office buildings.
It was my first intimation that when it happens, it happens fast.
It happened fast for the nice, middleclass protagonist of The Kite Runner.
Could it happen here? Or do the oceans insulate us?
I know people who live in Alaska. None of them sound like Sarah Palin.
Where did she get that accent? It's a Minnesota accent.
In other news I'm halfway through The Kite Runner, having polished off A Thousand Splendid Suns last weekend.
When I was 18, I took all the money I had made working as a model in NYC and ran off to Europe. And so it came to pass that some time in the spring of 1970 I ended up in Sarajevo, a city (I remember scribbling portentiously in my journal) that reminded me of Oakland. (I still have those journals but since I make it a point never to reread anything I write in a journal I forget the exact words.) I think what I meant by that comparison, little solepcist that I was, was that Sarajevo's downtown too was filled with all these brown, four-story office buildings cloaked in an aura of benign industrial neglect. I wasn't impressed by it -- it was too much like places I already knew. When I travel I want foreign to be foreign -- I'd like it best if the trees were blue and the sun was purple.
Fourteen years after came the Olympics and right after that came the Seige.
And I was horrified by the seige because this was a place I had been to, this was a place that seemed to follow all the rules I was familar with (although, of course, they spoke another language.) I mean there were traffic lights there!
And suddenly it was all anarchy and machine gun fire and people living in the ruined infrastructure of those boring brown office buildings.
It was my first intimation that when it happens, it happens fast.
It happened fast for the nice, middleclass protagonist of The Kite Runner.
Could it happen here? Or do the oceans insulate us?
Been on the verge of hysterics all day.
Under normal circumstances this would be a cue for me to stay in bed for a couple of days, read sleazy tabloids, watch Lifetime: Television For Women. Decompress.
But what’s normal anymore?
The real reason so many Americans are against the bailout isn’t because they don’t understand it or the consequences of not taking action.
It’s because they resent it.
Why them and not me, they think – I think because honestly, there isn’t anybody who works harder than I do. Well. Maybe that guy who recycles the nightsoil from Beijing’s newest, tallest skyscraper. Maybe he works harder. But he’s the only one.
See, I’m a sucker. I work and I work and I work, while that Wall Street crowd is a bunch of greedy schmucks who don’t work at all. If they want money, they leverage usurious loans. The riskier the loan, the more money they create! Of course there’s an incentive to make risky loans. Like duh!
The rest of us just keep scrambling faster and faster in our hamster wheels, pretending we’re going somewhere. And when we fall short of the destination, when that biweekly paycheck ain’t quite enough – well we borrow. We use credit cards. We take out auto loans. We put 2% down on the American Dream, that Koffman & Broad house eighty miles away from where we work.
Why the fuck should we loan a helping hand to the credit industry that put us in this trap? Why not go cold turkey and shake ourselves free?
Yes, yes, yes, I realize this analysis misses all the subtleties. Plus I was never very good at calculus you know, so the elegance of derivatives – and all those other instruments that create wealth out of thin air and promises – is utterly lost on me.
It just feels so desperately unfair…
They matter. We don’t.
Under normal circumstances this would be a cue for me to stay in bed for a couple of days, read sleazy tabloids, watch Lifetime: Television For Women. Decompress.
But what’s normal anymore?
The real reason so many Americans are against the bailout isn’t because they don’t understand it or the consequences of not taking action.
It’s because they resent it.
Why them and not me, they think – I think because honestly, there isn’t anybody who works harder than I do. Well. Maybe that guy who recycles the nightsoil from Beijing’s newest, tallest skyscraper. Maybe he works harder. But he’s the only one.
See, I’m a sucker. I work and I work and I work, while that Wall Street crowd is a bunch of greedy schmucks who don’t work at all. If they want money, they leverage usurious loans. The riskier the loan, the more money they create! Of course there’s an incentive to make risky loans. Like duh!
The rest of us just keep scrambling faster and faster in our hamster wheels, pretending we’re going somewhere. And when we fall short of the destination, when that biweekly paycheck ain’t quite enough – well we borrow. We use credit cards. We take out auto loans. We put 2% down on the American Dream, that Koffman & Broad house eighty miles away from where we work.
Why the fuck should we loan a helping hand to the credit industry that put us in this trap? Why not go cold turkey and shake ourselves free?
Yes, yes, yes, I realize this analysis misses all the subtleties. Plus I was never very good at calculus you know, so the elegance of derivatives – and all those other instruments that create wealth out of thin air and promises – is utterly lost on me.
It just feels so desperately unfair…
They matter. We don’t.
So I’ve had a kind of mixed reaction to the bailout bust. On the one hand I recognize the necessity of doing something. If the stock market implodes, everybody’s retirement funds and pensions disappear over night. I realize all those 4am infomercials have been urging us for decades to consolidate our wealth into krugerrands. But who among us was prescient enough to follow that advice?
On the other hand, if I wanted to live in the Weimar Republic, I would have arranged to be born in Bavaria circa 1917. Seven hundred billion dollars is a lot of money. Two hundred and fifty billion dollars, the figure spinning around in the 24 hour news cycle all weekend long (as though Nancy Pelosi herself was whispering in our ear, “Such a deal!”) is a lot of money too. Frankly the United States doesn’t have that kind of liquidity. What were they planning to do, fire up the secret underground printing press?
The 25 billion dollar bailout of the automobile industry I can kind of wrap my head around. The automobile industry provides real jobs for real people. It got kicked in the ass when Bush’s Middle East policy came home to roost, wily power brokers of that part of the world making their displeasure known in the most effective way possible by continuing the dismantling of our economic system begun by their kinsman Bin Laden in 2001. I’ve never understood why the talking heads didn’t make a bigger connection between the Iraq War and the price of gas.
But Wall Street! Banks! Honest to God! What have those jerks ever done for the middle class but exploit us and profiteer off of us every chance they got?
I have a hard time understanding capital. I mean, I do understand it intellectually but then there’s a karmic level on which it strikes me as fundamentally wrong and ill-advised to separate labor from the creation of value. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a socialist, I like the free market, I don’t see how you provide incentives without the free market. But I keep coming back to the fact that even after Washington Mutual became the biggest bank failure in history, its CEO still got a 4 million dollar golden parachute. Why?
Of course what happens tomorrow is more significant than what happened today. September 30 is one of 4 'gate' days per year for hedge fund investors withdraw their money. Who knows? Maybe they’ll give the market a vote of confidence and leave their money right where it is.
Would you like to buy this bridge?
###
In other news Mrs. Laurie the psychic vanished overnight. Poof! The genealogy shop disappeared too. The genealogy shop moved into the former Tourist Information digs next to the Fish Hopper a year ago. I can count on my fingers -- literally -- the number of days it was actually open, a confusing business model indeed unless the kindly stooped and balding old guy who sat behind the counter those few times was actually pulling a Botwin.
No future, no past. We’re drowning in the present tense. Welcome to Atlantis.
On the other hand, if I wanted to live in the Weimar Republic, I would have arranged to be born in Bavaria circa 1917. Seven hundred billion dollars is a lot of money. Two hundred and fifty billion dollars, the figure spinning around in the 24 hour news cycle all weekend long (as though Nancy Pelosi herself was whispering in our ear, “Such a deal!”) is a lot of money too. Frankly the United States doesn’t have that kind of liquidity. What were they planning to do, fire up the secret underground printing press?
The 25 billion dollar bailout of the automobile industry I can kind of wrap my head around. The automobile industry provides real jobs for real people. It got kicked in the ass when Bush’s Middle East policy came home to roost, wily power brokers of that part of the world making their displeasure known in the most effective way possible by continuing the dismantling of our economic system begun by their kinsman Bin Laden in 2001. I’ve never understood why the talking heads didn’t make a bigger connection between the Iraq War and the price of gas.
But Wall Street! Banks! Honest to God! What have those jerks ever done for the middle class but exploit us and profiteer off of us every chance they got?
I have a hard time understanding capital. I mean, I do understand it intellectually but then there’s a karmic level on which it strikes me as fundamentally wrong and ill-advised to separate labor from the creation of value. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a socialist, I like the free market, I don’t see how you provide incentives without the free market. But I keep coming back to the fact that even after Washington Mutual became the biggest bank failure in history, its CEO still got a 4 million dollar golden parachute. Why?
Of course what happens tomorrow is more significant than what happened today. September 30 is one of 4 'gate' days per year for hedge fund investors withdraw their money. Who knows? Maybe they’ll give the market a vote of confidence and leave their money right where it is.
Would you like to buy this bridge?
In other news Mrs. Laurie the psychic vanished overnight. Poof! The genealogy shop disappeared too. The genealogy shop moved into the former Tourist Information digs next to the Fish Hopper a year ago. I can count on my fingers -- literally -- the number of days it was actually open, a confusing business model indeed unless the kindly stooped and balding old guy who sat behind the counter those few times was actually pulling a Botwin.
No future, no past. We’re drowning in the present tense. Welcome to Atlantis.
They were pretty well matched, McCain and Obama. I'd call it a draw -- which might mean it was a McCain win since I watched the debates as an obvious partisan of the other side. But of course, this was the debate that was widely hyped as McCain's safest ground and Obama held his own -- so maybe it was an Obama win.
I kept waiting for McCain to go all Captain Queeg, but apart from the weird, blinking smile that surfaced whenever Obama was making a particularly trenchant observation, McCain mostly held it together. He only twice muttered, "Horseshit," under his breath -- both times when Obama alluded to McCain's recent Spain gaffe. The FCC should be fining The Commission on Presidential Debates any moment now.
Some thoughts for the Obama camp:
1. Lose the "I agree with John" tactic. Bipartisan overtures are too subtle for stupid people. Plus Karl Rove will lift it out of context for television commercials. A better response is, "John, you get some of the details right..."
2. Go on the offensive more. When McCain hammers about earmarks, you hammer him back about pointless military spending. One of the strongest points Obama made was that the US is subsidizing an unpopular war to the tune of 10 billion dollars a month in a country that has a multi-billion dollar surplus. That makes the entire monthly $10 billion expenditure unnecessary in my eyes. Also when McCain hammers about 800 billion dollars in programs recommended by Obama, the correct response is, "I don't know who does your addition and subtraction for you, John, but they're wrong." Thing about government programs is that their cost on paper fluctuates depending upon the point in time you're measuring from.
3. If you wear a bracelet, make sure you know whose name is on it.
Much has been written about McCain's refusal to so much as look at Obama on the stage. My favorite theory of course is the primate behavior one: low-status apes never look at higher-status apes. I suppose, though, it could just as likely signal McCain's contempt for Obama.
Here's a local POW's take on why he isn't voting for McCain.
I kept waiting for McCain to go all Captain Queeg, but apart from the weird, blinking smile that surfaced whenever Obama was making a particularly trenchant observation, McCain mostly held it together. He only twice muttered, "Horseshit," under his breath -- both times when Obama alluded to McCain's recent Spain gaffe. The FCC should be fining The Commission on Presidential Debates any moment now.
Some thoughts for the Obama camp:
1. Lose the "I agree with John" tactic. Bipartisan overtures are too subtle for stupid people. Plus Karl Rove will lift it out of context for television commercials. A better response is, "John, you get some of the details right..."
2. Go on the offensive more. When McCain hammers about earmarks, you hammer him back about pointless military spending. One of the strongest points Obama made was that the US is subsidizing an unpopular war to the tune of 10 billion dollars a month in a country that has a multi-billion dollar surplus. That makes the entire monthly $10 billion expenditure unnecessary in my eyes. Also when McCain hammers about 800 billion dollars in programs recommended by Obama, the correct response is, "I don't know who does your addition and subtraction for you, John, but they're wrong." Thing about government programs is that their cost on paper fluctuates depending upon the point in time you're measuring from.
3. If you wear a bracelet, make sure you know whose name is on it.
Much has been written about McCain's refusal to so much as look at Obama on the stage. My favorite theory of course is the primate behavior one: low-status apes never look at higher-status apes. I suppose, though, it could just as likely signal McCain's contempt for Obama.
Here's a local POW's take on why he isn't voting for McCain.
I thought of taking photos of the run on the local Washington Mutual branch -- lines of people waiting since six this morning to get their money out. But then I decided even for me, this would be in bad taste.
Meanwhile since advertising is bought in bulk rate ages before it actually airs, Washington Mutual ads are still all over the airways. Some future Ph.D, student fifty years hence might like to study the effect of KGO on the San Francisco Bay area housing collapse: KGO ran -- still runs -- all these ads from sleazy mortgage brokers. If you hear something six times an hour against the comforting backdrop of Ronn Owens, well hey! why not bite?
I have to say those conservative House Republicans are on to something -- an insurance program for mortgage-backed securities just feels better than a blank check for 700 billion dollars. Nonetheless, in the end it all comes out of the taxpayer's pocket so I suppose if the important thing is to pass it quickly then that is what they should do. Amusing to see how little influence Bush has over the members of his own party. He should threaten those unruly Republicans -- "If you don't do what I want, I'll come to your district and campaign for you!" That would bring them around.
Throughout all this McCain is coming across as a man who's mentally unhinged while Palin's interviews with Katie Couric were just embarrassing. The woman is a total imbecile, and McCain is cruising on some hotshot fantasy left over from his Navy flyer days.
Still the sun shines and the Europeans keep buying hot sauce. Welcome Europeans to our colorful Third World country where the custom is to quell our hunger with high-priced habanero products while standing in breadlines!
Meanwhile since advertising is bought in bulk rate ages before it actually airs, Washington Mutual ads are still all over the airways. Some future Ph.D, student fifty years hence might like to study the effect of KGO on the San Francisco Bay area housing collapse: KGO ran -- still runs -- all these ads from sleazy mortgage brokers. If you hear something six times an hour against the comforting backdrop of Ronn Owens, well hey! why not bite?
I have to say those conservative House Republicans are on to something -- an insurance program for mortgage-backed securities just feels better than a blank check for 700 billion dollars. Nonetheless, in the end it all comes out of the taxpayer's pocket so I suppose if the important thing is to pass it quickly then that is what they should do. Amusing to see how little influence Bush has over the members of his own party. He should threaten those unruly Republicans -- "If you don't do what I want, I'll come to your district and campaign for you!" That would bring them around.
Throughout all this McCain is coming across as a man who's mentally unhinged while Palin's interviews with Katie Couric were just embarrassing. The woman is a total imbecile, and McCain is cruising on some hotshot fantasy left over from his Navy flyer days.
Still the sun shines and the Europeans keep buying hot sauce. Welcome Europeans to our colorful Third World country where the custom is to quell our hunger with high-priced habanero products while standing in breadlines!
I do hate postings that are little more than YouTube links but this one is just too good:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kj-on3kf
In fairness, this is not Palin's Sunday pastor but a guest star. But Palin is on record crediting his prayers for winning the Alaska gubernatorial election on her behalf.
How can this woman be the next President of the United States? Because you know the minute John McCain is elected, he's going to drop dead.
Doing his best to ensure that that happens is former President Bill Clinton who's been on every news show around this week to tell us what a great guy McCain is.
Must. Stop. Watching. MSNBC.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kj-on3kf
In fairness, this is not Palin's Sunday pastor but a guest star. But Palin is on record crediting his prayers for winning the Alaska gubernatorial election on her behalf.
How can this woman be the next President of the United States? Because you know the minute John McCain is elected, he's going to drop dead.
Doing his best to ensure that that happens is former President Bill Clinton who's been on every news show around this week to tell us what a great guy McCain is.
Must. Stop. Watching. MSNBC.
Dear American:
I need to ask you to support an urgent secret business relationship
with a transfer of funds of great magnitude.
I am Ministry of the Treasury of the Republic of America. My country
has had crisis that has caused the need for large transfer of funds
of 800 billion dollars US. If you would assist me in this transfer,
it would be most profitable to you.
I am working with Mr. Phil Gram, lobbyist for UBS, who will be my
replacement as Ministry of the Treasury in January. As a Senator, you
may know him as the leader of the American banking deregulation
movement in the 1990s. This transactin is 100% safe.
This is a matter of great urgency. We need a blank check. We need the
funds as quickly as possible. We cannot directly transfer these funds
in the names of our close friends because we are constantly under
surveillance. My family lawyer advised me that I should look for a
reliable and trustworthy person who will act as a next of kin so the
funds can be transferred.
Please reply with all of your bank account, IRA and college fund
account numbers and those of your children and grandchildren to
wallstreetbailout@treasury.gov so that we may transfer your
commission for this transaction. After I receive that information, I
will respond with detailed information about safeguards that will be
used to protect the funds.
Yours Faithfully Minister of Treasury Paulson
**************
I need to ask you to support an urgent secret business relationship
with a transfer of funds of great magnitude.
I am Ministry of the Treasury of the Republic of America. My country
has had crisis that has caused the need for large transfer of funds
of 800 billion dollars US. If you would assist me in this transfer,
it would be most profitable to you.
I am working with Mr. Phil Gram, lobbyist for UBS, who will be my
replacement as Ministry of the Treasury in January. As a Senator, you
may know him as the leader of the American banking deregulation
movement in the 1990s. This transactin is 100% safe.
This is a matter of great urgency. We need a blank check. We need the
funds as quickly as possible. We cannot directly transfer these funds
in the names of our close friends because we are constantly under
surveillance. My family lawyer advised me that I should look for a
reliable and trustworthy person who will act as a next of kin so the
funds can be transferred.
Please reply with all of your bank account, IRA and college fund
account numbers and those of your children and grandchildren to
wallstreetbailout@treasury.gov so that we may transfer your
commission for this transaction. After I receive that information, I
will respond with detailed information about safeguards that will be
used to protect the funds.
Yours Faithfully Minister of Treasury Paulson
**************
One of the most amusing things about last week's Wall Street meltdown was this soundbyte from the McCain camp: We will stop multimillion dollar payouts to CEO’s who have broken the public trust. We will put an end to running Wall Street like a casino.
One of McCain's senior economic advisors is -- or I should say was -- Carly Fiorina whose golden parachute after shaving over 40% from Hewlett Packard's market value was something in the neighborhood of $45 million.
Ms. Fiorina was subsequently disappeared after remarking her fearless leader wasn't qualified to run a large corporation.
Of course, neither was she.
Also John McCain invented the Blackberry. And every time I try to post the link from the Christian Science Monitor piece, LJ sez "irreparable error." I'm sure that's McCain's fault too.
One of McCain's senior economic advisors is -- or I should say was -- Carly Fiorina whose golden parachute after shaving over 40% from Hewlett Packard's market value was something in the neighborhood of $45 million.
Ms. Fiorina was subsequently disappeared after remarking her fearless leader wasn't qualified to run a large corporation.
Of course, neither was she.
Also John McCain invented the Blackberry. And every time I try to post the link from the Christian Science Monitor piece, LJ sez "irreparable error." I'm sure that's McCain's fault too.
Crazy week. I'm still not understanding the Wall Street bailout – I mean I understand the necessity for it, American capitalism going down in flames, gotta do something.
I'm not understanding the rationalizations behind it.
I used to TA economics at UC Berkeley so it's not exactly like I'm dumb about monetary theory.
The move essentially nationalizes the mortgage industry. Since America preaches free market capitalism, this is cognitive dissonance on a scale well above anything the government has managed to push down our throats so far. The government has not done a good job with any of the services it's taken over – don't believe me? look at Medicare – and there's no reason to imagine any new efficiencies will arise as a result of this move. No, all it does is buy a failing system time. And the price tag is pretty hefty – one trillion dollars is the figure I see buffeted around which means after the dust settles, it'll be two trillion dollars.
Where do we expect do get that kind of money?
I look at my two kids and suddenly the best thing I can do to ensure their future is buy them Chinese language lessons.
I suppose one way of looking at the Wall Street bailout – besides the obvious: let's make sure rich people hold on to their money – is that many middle-class people have their retirement funds tied up in stock products. If those go bust, God knows what happens to those people.
Meanwhile I have a staggering amount of work to do and I don't want to do any of it. I've spent the past week in a kind of reading daze, not a thought in my head, and I've rather enjoyed it though I'm well aware I'm turning pages while Rome burns.
I'm not understanding the rationalizations behind it.
I used to TA economics at UC Berkeley so it's not exactly like I'm dumb about monetary theory.
The move essentially nationalizes the mortgage industry. Since America preaches free market capitalism, this is cognitive dissonance on a scale well above anything the government has managed to push down our throats so far. The government has not done a good job with any of the services it's taken over – don't believe me? look at Medicare – and there's no reason to imagine any new efficiencies will arise as a result of this move. No, all it does is buy a failing system time. And the price tag is pretty hefty – one trillion dollars is the figure I see buffeted around which means after the dust settles, it'll be two trillion dollars.
Where do we expect do get that kind of money?
I look at my two kids and suddenly the best thing I can do to ensure their future is buy them Chinese language lessons.
I suppose one way of looking at the Wall Street bailout – besides the obvious: let's make sure rich people hold on to their money – is that many middle-class people have their retirement funds tied up in stock products. If those go bust, God knows what happens to those people.
Meanwhile I have a staggering amount of work to do and I don't want to do any of it. I've spent the past week in a kind of reading daze, not a thought in my head, and I've rather enjoyed it though I'm well aware I'm turning pages while Rome burns.
Well and good but where are they going to get a trillion dollars?
Plus I never want to hear another Republican say anything bad about Franklin Roosevelt ever again.
Plus I never want to hear another Republican say anything bad about Franklin Roosevelt ever again.
And another Homer incident!
This time some rich bitch pushing one of those strollers that costs more than what most people spend on a car. Inside were twins – she probably spent a lot of money for them too. Homer is motion-activated – they spend half an hour or so dancing to Homer's version of Rappers Delight which is pretty fucking annoying, but hey! they're kids. I can't get too angry at them.
A little around sundown, I unplug Homer and plug in my chili lights. And the rich bitch comes back. Disgorges the children from the Rolls Royce stroller. Only Homer ain't dancing.
It takes her fifteen minutes or so to figure out why Homer isn't moving – she's not too smart. Also not terribly attractive – oh, sure, the requisite blonde hair, blue eyes, thin nostrils. But her ass is a wide load indeed. Why would some rich guy marry her? I wondered. Shame, shame. I forget my feminist roots. Maybe she's the one with the money.
She marches into the store. "Plug Homer back in," she demands. "My children want to dance."
"No," I say.
She glares at me. She pulls one of those expensive day planners out of a Kate Spade satchel. "What's your boss's name?"
"I'm the boss," I inform her pleasantly.
"I see. Well, let me tell you something: I am never shopping at this store."
"Oh, well."
"And furthermore, none of my friends are ever shopping at this store."
"You have friends?" I say beaming at her. "People can be so kind, can't they?"
Unfortunately this went right over her head. She was strutting around trying to figure out what the name of the store is so she could tell people not to shop here. I was annoyed by her but also amused by her – betcha she doesn't stay awake nights wondering about the meaning of life. Life exists so that she can get what she wants!
In other news, I am saddened by David Foster Wallace's suicide. I mean if David Foster Wallace didn't have anything to live for, the rest of us are truly fucked. I loved his essays and short stories (including that one where he's trying to figure out why his friend committed suicide -- strangely prescient in hindsight.) Am too lightweight to read his novels -- I can't read Pynchon either except for The Cryig of Lot Forty-Nine which was o-kay but not really what I'd call brilliant.
Finally finished Shutter Island – didn't like it, Denis Lehane should stick to mysteries. Started The Other Boleyn Girl. Lightweight but I'm enjoying it.
This time some rich bitch pushing one of those strollers that costs more than what most people spend on a car. Inside were twins – she probably spent a lot of money for them too. Homer is motion-activated – they spend half an hour or so dancing to Homer's version of Rappers Delight which is pretty fucking annoying, but hey! they're kids. I can't get too angry at them.
A little around sundown, I unplug Homer and plug in my chili lights. And the rich bitch comes back. Disgorges the children from the Rolls Royce stroller. Only Homer ain't dancing.
It takes her fifteen minutes or so to figure out why Homer isn't moving – she's not too smart. Also not terribly attractive – oh, sure, the requisite blonde hair, blue eyes, thin nostrils. But her ass is a wide load indeed. Why would some rich guy marry her? I wondered. Shame, shame. I forget my feminist roots. Maybe she's the one with the money.
She marches into the store. "Plug Homer back in," she demands. "My children want to dance."
"No," I say.
She glares at me. She pulls one of those expensive day planners out of a Kate Spade satchel. "What's your boss's name?"
"I'm the boss," I inform her pleasantly.
"I see. Well, let me tell you something: I am never shopping at this store."
"Oh, well."
"And furthermore, none of my friends are ever shopping at this store."
"You have friends?" I say beaming at her. "People can be so kind, can't they?"
Unfortunately this went right over her head. She was strutting around trying to figure out what the name of the store is so she could tell people not to shop here. I was annoyed by her but also amused by her – betcha she doesn't stay awake nights wondering about the meaning of life. Life exists so that she can get what she wants!
In other news, I am saddened by David Foster Wallace's suicide. I mean if David Foster Wallace didn't have anything to live for, the rest of us are truly fucked. I loved his essays and short stories (including that one where he's trying to figure out why his friend committed suicide -- strangely prescient in hindsight.) Am too lightweight to read his novels -- I can't read Pynchon either except for The Cryig of Lot Forty-Nine which was o-kay but not really what I'd call brilliant.
Finally finished Shutter Island – didn't like it, Denis Lehane should stick to mysteries. Started The Other Boleyn Girl. Lightweight but I'm enjoying it.
At closing time yesterday, three people around my age – which is to say in their fifties – start molesting Homer and when I say molesting, I mean the kinds of gropes and crotch grabs drunken frat boys think are funny.
Homer has a large sign on him: Sensitive male with boundary issues. Plus, you know, he's behind yellow caution tape. I think it's fairly obvious you're not supposed to touch him.
So I go to the door and smile warmly and say, "Please don't touch Homer. He's plastic, he's very fragile."
In retrospect it's the smile I regret – classic shit-eating grin. Too bad I wasn't shuffling and holding a slice of watermelon.
The guy who'd been groping Homer turns to me and snarls, "You're so full of shit."
"Excuse me?"
"Who the fuck would want to buy anything here?" Curly nimbus of graying hair, hooded eyes, slight build, vague Kurt Vonnegut resemblance. It's a physical type.
For the past month or so I've been obsessed with figuring out the exact moment when old people become – well, you know. Old. I figure it happens at that moment when you look at someone and can no longer imagine what they looked like when they were younger.
I looked at proto-Kurt and tried to figure out where he'd learned this behavior. There must have been some positive reinforcement for it, right? Once upon a time. Was he an old sixties political radical? Did he think I was The Man? The Man ain't gonna put me down, I could hear him bragging to his pals on the front lines of People's Park.
What had his life been like since then? Some low-level job involving word-processing. A small dark apartment on the Oakland/Berkeley border. He's been fighting the rent control battle for years. He drinks beer with ice cubes – he learned that in the Phillipines.
I looked at the two people who were with him. They did not seem embarrassed in the least by his outburst, they were studiedly admiring the view of the ornate wrought iron garbage cans (courtesy of the Cannery Row Business Improvement District.) How could they stand to be with this guy? He was awful –
Or maybe he wasn't awful. Maybe he was the nicest guy in the world. Maybe it was me who was awful.
It all depends upon which side of the mirror you're standing in front of.
"Don't worry, I won't be back," leers the guy. No fewer than five people coming into the store today had remarked, "This is the most charming place," but they didn't matter, only this guy mattered, and I wanted to cry.
It had been a hard day from the beginning.
At Job Numbah 2 I got yelled at for something I did not do and I realized I was just going to have to eat it because it was a scut job and I was easily replaceable and right now I didn't want to be replaced.
Then when I got to the store these people were parading around:
I marched right up to them.
"Would you like a pamphlet?" one of them asked.
"Find another place to spew your hate," I said.
Well, okay. Not the most inspired of put-downs.
"We are exercising our right of free speech," the guy told me. If Sir Galahad had been a 4-H Club member and worn a blue blazer for dress-up he would have looked like this guy. "I will pray for you," he added kindly.
They left about an hour later.
Like I said, not a good day.
I felt really defenseless and weak. And unnecessary.
Still feel…
Like there's no excuse for gravity to hold me to this planet.
It does anyway.
Homer has a large sign on him: Sensitive male with boundary issues. Plus, you know, he's behind yellow caution tape. I think it's fairly obvious you're not supposed to touch him.
So I go to the door and smile warmly and say, "Please don't touch Homer. He's plastic, he's very fragile."
In retrospect it's the smile I regret – classic shit-eating grin. Too bad I wasn't shuffling and holding a slice of watermelon.
The guy who'd been groping Homer turns to me and snarls, "You're so full of shit."
"Excuse me?"
"Who the fuck would want to buy anything here?" Curly nimbus of graying hair, hooded eyes, slight build, vague Kurt Vonnegut resemblance. It's a physical type.
For the past month or so I've been obsessed with figuring out the exact moment when old people become – well, you know. Old. I figure it happens at that moment when you look at someone and can no longer imagine what they looked like when they were younger.
I looked at proto-Kurt and tried to figure out where he'd learned this behavior. There must have been some positive reinforcement for it, right? Once upon a time. Was he an old sixties political radical? Did he think I was The Man? The Man ain't gonna put me down, I could hear him bragging to his pals on the front lines of People's Park.
What had his life been like since then? Some low-level job involving word-processing. A small dark apartment on the Oakland/Berkeley border. He's been fighting the rent control battle for years. He drinks beer with ice cubes – he learned that in the Phillipines.
I looked at the two people who were with him. They did not seem embarrassed in the least by his outburst, they were studiedly admiring the view of the ornate wrought iron garbage cans (courtesy of the Cannery Row Business Improvement District.) How could they stand to be with this guy? He was awful –
Or maybe he wasn't awful. Maybe he was the nicest guy in the world. Maybe it was me who was awful.
It all depends upon which side of the mirror you're standing in front of.
"Don't worry, I won't be back," leers the guy. No fewer than five people coming into the store today had remarked, "This is the most charming place," but they didn't matter, only this guy mattered, and I wanted to cry.
It had been a hard day from the beginning.
At Job Numbah 2 I got yelled at for something I did not do and I realized I was just going to have to eat it because it was a scut job and I was easily replaceable and right now I didn't want to be replaced.
Then when I got to the store these people were parading around:
I marched right up to them.
"Would you like a pamphlet?" one of them asked.
"Find another place to spew your hate," I said.
Well, okay. Not the most inspired of put-downs.
"We are exercising our right of free speech," the guy told me. If Sir Galahad had been a 4-H Club member and worn a blue blazer for dress-up he would have looked like this guy. "I will pray for you," he added kindly.
They left about an hour later.
Like I said, not a good day.
I felt really defenseless and weak. And unnecessary.
Still feel…
Like there's no excuse for gravity to hold me to this planet.
It does anyway.
This election has been Obama's to lose from the start.
He's certainly doing an excellent job at it too.
And the marine layer came back last night.
Depressing.
On the plus side MSNBC is finally getting rid of the loathsome Chris Matthews.
He's certainly doing an excellent job at it too.
And the marine layer came back last night.
Depressing.
On the plus side MSNBC is finally getting rid of the loathsome Chris Matthews.
Phone marathon with Annie yesterday.
"So what do you think of her?" Annie asks. We're talking about Mrs. Palin or Neocon Barbie as she's known in these parts.
"Oh, I love her to death!"
"Patty -- " Annie says on a warning note.
"How can you not love her, Annie? She's like Reba McIntire meets Sarah Connor. Oh, don't worry -- my admiration is strictly narrative. I would never vote for her in a billion years. But what a story -- "
"Patty," says Annie. "I've been in Wasilla. Pele played a lot in Alaska" -- for many years Annie was the bass player and token heterosexual in the popular Santa Cruz lesbian band Pele Juju -- "For some reason Alaska really loved us. Saying that someone is the Mayor of Wasilla is like saying someone is the Mayor of 41st Avenue. Wasilla is not a town, it's like two square miles of strip malls. That whole small town schpiel is like total spin."
"Oh," I said.
Maybe she can't dress a moose either.
And did she really sell that airplane on ebay?
"So what do you think of her?" Annie asks. We're talking about Mrs. Palin or Neocon Barbie as she's known in these parts.
"Oh, I love her to death!"
"Patty -- " Annie says on a warning note.
"How can you not love her, Annie? She's like Reba McIntire meets Sarah Connor. Oh, don't worry -- my admiration is strictly narrative. I would never vote for her in a billion years. But what a story -- "
"Patty," says Annie. "I've been in Wasilla. Pele played a lot in Alaska" -- for many years Annie was the bass player and token heterosexual in the popular Santa Cruz lesbian band Pele Juju -- "For some reason Alaska really loved us. Saying that someone is the Mayor of Wasilla is like saying someone is the Mayor of 41st Avenue. Wasilla is not a town, it's like two square miles of strip malls. That whole small town schpiel is like total spin."
"Oh," I said.
Maybe she can't dress a moose either.
And did she really sell that airplane on ebay?
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