As today is the last day of the month, it's time for another update on our Comments-Per-Post (CPP) statistic.
As of this morning, our CPP stood at 1.72. (This, of course, assumes that we do not engage in any of the slick financial engineering we discussed in one of our posts last month).
This compares to an initial reading of 1.28, and a follow-up reading of 1.42. So, in a bit more than a month, our CPP has improved by approximately 34% and 21% over the initial and follow-up counts, respectively.
That's not half bad, and it bodes well for the future.
However, my joy is tempered somewhat by the realization that the CPP on my posts remains dismally low, at approximately 1.40. Obviously, IcebergCarwash's CPP is being propped up by the efforts of FBB and our mysterious guest-blogger, Phil. (He signs his name FIL, but that's got to be a typo, doesn't it?)
Perhaps I need to try losing a shoe here and there and picking up semi-eaten cookies at parties. Maybe I should try to come up with solutions to dealing with pirates - in both the boardroom and on the high seas - that would make Karl Marx weep with joy. (Here's another idea. If you're a shareholder of a company which loses money in a given quarter, not only will you not be able to receive a dividend, but the government will also send someone over to your house to slap you upside the head, just for good measure).
Or, perhaps I'll need to monitor the approach of our trouser-challenged friend over at www.doctorgreunkern.blogspot.com.His slacks-free take on things is sure to be entertaining, and I predict a rather robust CPP right out of the gate for "the pantless wonder."
One final note on the CPP front.
You'll recall that my initial CPP-related post decried the fact that IcebergCarwash's CPP was significantly lower than that of Qwerishi Astjinogsbitae, the Kenyan blogger. Well, that problem has been solved. While Qwerishi Astjinogsbitae's CPP remains higher than that of IcebergCarwash, I've been informed that Q.A. has quit the blogging game and moved to the United States.
Allegedly, a shadowy fundamentalist Muslim group has paid his tuition to Harvard. They've paid the tuition for his donkey too, apparently, and have gotten them a really expensive, tastefully-furnished place in a luxury condominium in downtown Boston. They're expecting great things from him (and perhaps the donkey) in the future, and are eagerly anticipating a solid return on their investment.
Of course, you'll never hear about that in the mainstream media.
That's why we're here.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
There's a New Kid on The Block
We'd like to take his opportunity to alert all our loyal readers about a new addition to the Blogsphere.
www.doctorgreunkern.blogspot.com
Be sure to check it out, and comment. Just come back over here too, you never know when we'll start giving away the t-shirts.
www.doctorgreunkern.blogspot.com
Be sure to check it out, and comment. Just come back over here too, you never know when we'll start giving away the t-shirts.
Yes, For $360 A Share I Do Expect Perfection
I've been googlized. If that isn't a word, I just made it one, along with another: Googlable. Hmmm, my spell checker indicates that this is not a word, but we know it doesn't recognize ICEBERGCARWASH either, so how smart can it be?
Back to me. The googlization (stop me before I do it AGAIN!)of society is upon us or at least upon me. I needed to find a birthday gift for my daughter, so I googled (I'm quite sure that that has become an accepted verb) "gift for 11 year old girl," and lo and behold there were entries. Mostly they were archived forum posts, but I actually got a few good ideas from it. Though it probably would not be a bad idea for specialized gift websites to have categories like that so that it comes up when people Google it. Obviously, the forum entries will still come up, but if a site was one of only a handful of actual product sources that came up, it'd probably be a great idea. Actually, companies with retail sites should be employing people whose sole function is to produce descriptions and wordings that will facilitate the most Google hits. That person would obviously need to be a pulse of the people kind of person, good with words, and quite possibly a genius. But still, it'd be a good idea.
Now, Google has draw backs as well. The ramifications are great when the discovery is made that though everything may be googlable, it may not actually exist. We remodeled our kitchen a couple of years ago, and it's taken a while to decide on certain accessory items. Like tables and chairs and light fixtures. More importantly, I haven't found a phone I love, and one that I'd be willing to put in the kitchen. So for now we just use cordless phones, and put them back on the base (most of the time) every night (the bases are not in the kitchen, hat would ruin the aesthetic). But still there's a plate on the wall in the kitchen awaiting a phone. I actually found a phone today. Sort of. I found a style that I like a lot, but it's missing two features that I really wanted. So I went home and figured my good friend google would help me.
I was completely SHOCKED!!! I could not find what I wanted. I'm a pretty good Googler (I really think that's the last one), but I've come up empty. It's hard to describe the feeling I had today, it's kind of like when you buy a fridge or a couch and there is absolutely no way under the current laws of physics (though once Obama is President ANYTHING is possible, so stayed tuned!), short of a wrecking ball, that the item is getting into your kitchen/living room/front door. Or the feeling when you lose a contact lens. On the street. At night. It really should be right there, but no, every moment you think will be that "aha moment", the moment when the knot in your stomach will dissipate and you'll sigh in relief as you pop the gravel and germ encrusted lens back in your eye, but alas, you walk home squinting one eye closed and wear glasses for a few days til a new lens arrives. Or when you're driving somewhere and you're late and lost (and way too far over to get off an exit in time) and you just know that if you go a little further it'll work itself out (until you find yourself in Mexico wondering how you ended up selling fake Nexium to fund your trip back home).
Those are the feelings when one cannot find something on the interweb.
It seems the exact item I want does not exist. It did once, but has been discontinued, and yes, I know I can e-bay it, and I might, but a)I really don't want a second hand phone that has someone else's expectorations of germs and food particles in the mouthpiece b)I'm not really sure I love the style, it's close but not exact. Which puts me back at square two. (Square one would be not finding any sort of possible phone).
So this is a classic example of style over substance. The phone I found today would definitely be a great asset to the kitchen, but doesn't have caller ID, and I don't think it has a flash button on the handset which is great with call waiting. I can probably still get this phone, and just keep a cordless nearby just for caller ID purposes, and I might. I'll post a picture when I finally do it.
I advise that none of you hold your breath.
Back to me. The googlization (stop me before I do it AGAIN!)of society is upon us or at least upon me. I needed to find a birthday gift for my daughter, so I googled (I'm quite sure that that has become an accepted verb) "gift for 11 year old girl," and lo and behold there were entries. Mostly they were archived forum posts, but I actually got a few good ideas from it. Though it probably would not be a bad idea for specialized gift websites to have categories like that so that it comes up when people Google it. Obviously, the forum entries will still come up, but if a site was one of only a handful of actual product sources that came up, it'd probably be a great idea. Actually, companies with retail sites should be employing people whose sole function is to produce descriptions and wordings that will facilitate the most Google hits. That person would obviously need to be a pulse of the people kind of person, good with words, and quite possibly a genius. But still, it'd be a good idea.
Now, Google has draw backs as well. The ramifications are great when the discovery is made that though everything may be googlable, it may not actually exist. We remodeled our kitchen a couple of years ago, and it's taken a while to decide on certain accessory items. Like tables and chairs and light fixtures. More importantly, I haven't found a phone I love, and one that I'd be willing to put in the kitchen. So for now we just use cordless phones, and put them back on the base (most of the time) every night (the bases are not in the kitchen, hat would ruin the aesthetic). But still there's a plate on the wall in the kitchen awaiting a phone. I actually found a phone today. Sort of. I found a style that I like a lot, but it's missing two features that I really wanted. So I went home and figured my good friend google would help me.
I was completely SHOCKED!!! I could not find what I wanted. I'm a pretty good Googler (I really think that's the last one), but I've come up empty. It's hard to describe the feeling I had today, it's kind of like when you buy a fridge or a couch and there is absolutely no way under the current laws of physics (though once Obama is President ANYTHING is possible, so stayed tuned!), short of a wrecking ball, that the item is getting into your kitchen/living room/front door. Or the feeling when you lose a contact lens. On the street. At night. It really should be right there, but no, every moment you think will be that "aha moment", the moment when the knot in your stomach will dissipate and you'll sigh in relief as you pop the gravel and germ encrusted lens back in your eye, but alas, you walk home squinting one eye closed and wear glasses for a few days til a new lens arrives. Or when you're driving somewhere and you're late and lost (and way too far over to get off an exit in time) and you just know that if you go a little further it'll work itself out (until you find yourself in Mexico wondering how you ended up selling fake Nexium to fund your trip back home).
Those are the feelings when one cannot find something on the interweb.
It seems the exact item I want does not exist. It did once, but has been discontinued, and yes, I know I can e-bay it, and I might, but a)I really don't want a second hand phone that has someone else's expectorations of germs and food particles in the mouthpiece b)I'm not really sure I love the style, it's close but not exact. Which puts me back at square two. (Square one would be not finding any sort of possible phone).
So this is a classic example of style over substance. The phone I found today would definitely be a great asset to the kitchen, but doesn't have caller ID, and I don't think it has a flash button on the handset which is great with call waiting. I can probably still get this phone, and just keep a cordless nearby just for caller ID purposes, and I might. I'll post a picture when I finally do it.
I advise that none of you hold your breath.
Might I Interest You Fine Fellows in Some Snausages?
I've got this long held belief that in order to succeed, a person needs to get out of his "comfort zone" every once in a while.
If that's true, I had a really, really successful day yesterday.
It started when I decided to drive to work in Manhattan, instead of taking the bus as I usually do.
FBB decided that since I was driving, it would be a good idea for me to stop by the American Girl doll store, located about three blocks from my office, to exchange something one of my daughters had received as a gift nearly a year ago. After much moaning and groaning, I agreed to do it.
Shortly after entering this multi-story mecca of pre-adolescent femaledom, I noticed that I was the only male of the species in the entire store.
The other thing I noticed was that this place's customer demographic is incredibly homogeneous. Every person shopping there was white. About 90% of them were blond. The melting pot had been replaced with a fondue pot. There were more "Muffys" in that store than there are "Marias" in Spanish Harlem.
Watching these future members of the Delta, Gamma, Pi (mmm, pie...) sorority walk through the store in a trance-like state, I wondered: Did my brother and I have the same look on our faces when we visited the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown years ago?
It was strange. I felt as though I was in a place where I did not belong. Fortunately, I found what I was looking for, and executed the exchange in swift, painless fashion, thanks to the efficient and brightly-dispositioned employee I encountered at the cashier's desk.
On my way out, I actually saw a sign denoting a men's room. After briefly considering using this facility, I decided to just move on. It was probably a trap.
My trip home also involved a departure from my comfort zone, although under significantly different circumstances.
There's a kosher steakhouse located just down the block from my office. This restaurant also has a full-service butcher's counter in the front of the store, featuring some very nice cuts of meat. For a while now, FBB and I have talked about getting some steaks from this butcher, and grilling them at home. Since I was driving back home, I figured that yesterday would be a good day to purchase the steaks and bring them home for dinner.
I bought a nice rib steak and a couple of slices of rib eye, which the butcher wrapped in wax paper for me, and placed in a shopping bag. I then walked to the parking lot to retrieve my vehicle.
Unfortunately, it was prime time at the garage, and by the time I arrived, there were at least half a dozen people waiting for their cars. This was going to take a while. I paid at the automated machine (a pretty efficient system, actually), and stood in the designated area to wait for my car. About three minutes later, this woman walks in, with not one, not two, not three, but four dogs, and stands next to me on the line. She quickly struck up a conversation with a couple of other people who were waiting for their cars, and I was able to gather the following intelligence: One of the dogs was a rotweiller, another was a German shepherd, the third was a black labrador. I don't know about the fourth dog, and I'm certainly no expert, but by the looks of things, he seemed to be some sort of a cross between a pit bull and an aircraft carrier. All of these beasts, in fact, were quite large.
Now, I've never liked dogs, and while I'm certainly not afraid of them, they do make me a bit uncomfortable. Fortunately, these dogs seemed to be pretty well behaved, so it really wasn't a big deal, and I was simply playing it cool (the only way I know how to play things), and patiently waiting for my car.
Then I remembered the bag I was holding.
Not my briefcase. Not the bright red American Girl bag. The other bag.
There I was, standing less than three feet away from four enormous, panting, large-toothed dogs, holding a shopping bag containing a whole lot of raw meat.
Despite the cold, I began to break out in a sweat. "Calm down," I told myself, "They don't know you've got meat in the bag."
Then, as if on cue, this Mediterranean-looking fellow came over and starting petting the dogs, who clearly had taken a liking to him. "Of course they like me," he said. "I've got dogs, and they can smell it on me. Dogs can smell anything, even from a great distance."
At this point, I had three thoughts:
(1) It's got nothing to do with the dogs, Basil. I can smell you, as can everyone else in this joint. Try a little soap every once in a while.
(2) Dang. They know about the meat.
(3) Where'd these idiots park my car, in Connecticut?
Looking at the dogs out of the corner of my eye, while making sure not to make eye contact, I slowly inched further away from them. But, there wasn't anywhere to go, as there was a line of people on the other side of me, waiting for their cars. I was trapped.
If my car didn't come soon, these dogs were going to pounce on me, eat the steaks, then attempt to tear me to shreds, just for sport. Making matters worse, I realized that I was wearing one of my favorite shirts. I pictured myself lying on the floor of the parking garage, with two dogs eating the steaks, and the other two on top of me, while I yelled "Not the shirt, not the shirt! These hardly ever go on sale! Not the shirt!"
I continued to look hopefully in the direction of the two elevators which brought the cars to the street level from the parking levels above. Every time the door to one of the elevators opened, I hoped that it would contain my vehicle. The same pattern repeated itself several times. The door to the elevator opened...and it was someone else's car. It was like I was the audience member dressed in a bee outfit, or some other outlandish costume, on Let's Make a Deal, hearing Monte Hall say "Let's see what's behind Door #3," only to find out that I had won a year's supply of Jiffy Pop popcorn (and the never-ending taunts of my friends back home).
It was like that. Over and over again. About 10 times in 15 minutes, to be exact.
With all of that, the situation still hadn't deteriorated to the point that it wasn't at least a bit humorous.
Until I saw the droplets.
Still glancing at the dogs out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a few droplets of something hitting the pavement right near where they were standing. Instinctively, I looked up at the ceiling, assuming that it was some sort of a leak. There had been a decent amount of rain in the area over the past 24 hours, and perhaps the garage was experiencing some drainage problems.
All of a sudden, the terrible truth dawned upon me.
The dogs were drooling.
It was only a matter of time.
Now, I'm no "dog whisperer" or anything, but I was pretty sure I knew what the biggest dog was thinking:
"We're going to eat your steaks. And use your shirt as a tablecloth. And your tie as a napkin. And we'll probably tear you to shreds in the process. Also, I can't believe you had to go to the American Girl store. What a loser."
Fortunately, my vehicle arrived right at that moment. I've never been so happy to see a Puerto Rican driving my car. Zipping past the dogs, I jumped into my car and drove away, not even pausing to take off my coat or suit jacket. (As FBB can attest, that's extremely rare. I never wear my suit jacket when I drive). I drove like that all the way home.
Before long, I was back home. FBB and I ate the steaks, which she expertly prepared. They were delicious.
I was finally back in my comfort zone.
If that's true, I had a really, really successful day yesterday.
It started when I decided to drive to work in Manhattan, instead of taking the bus as I usually do.
FBB decided that since I was driving, it would be a good idea for me to stop by the American Girl doll store, located about three blocks from my office, to exchange something one of my daughters had received as a gift nearly a year ago. After much moaning and groaning, I agreed to do it.
Shortly after entering this multi-story mecca of pre-adolescent femaledom, I noticed that I was the only male of the species in the entire store.
The other thing I noticed was that this place's customer demographic is incredibly homogeneous. Every person shopping there was white. About 90% of them were blond. The melting pot had been replaced with a fondue pot. There were more "Muffys" in that store than there are "Marias" in Spanish Harlem.
Watching these future members of the Delta, Gamma, Pi (mmm, pie...) sorority walk through the store in a trance-like state, I wondered: Did my brother and I have the same look on our faces when we visited the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown years ago?
It was strange. I felt as though I was in a place where I did not belong. Fortunately, I found what I was looking for, and executed the exchange in swift, painless fashion, thanks to the efficient and brightly-dispositioned employee I encountered at the cashier's desk.
On my way out, I actually saw a sign denoting a men's room. After briefly considering using this facility, I decided to just move on. It was probably a trap.
My trip home also involved a departure from my comfort zone, although under significantly different circumstances.
There's a kosher steakhouse located just down the block from my office. This restaurant also has a full-service butcher's counter in the front of the store, featuring some very nice cuts of meat. For a while now, FBB and I have talked about getting some steaks from this butcher, and grilling them at home. Since I was driving back home, I figured that yesterday would be a good day to purchase the steaks and bring them home for dinner.
I bought a nice rib steak and a couple of slices of rib eye, which the butcher wrapped in wax paper for me, and placed in a shopping bag. I then walked to the parking lot to retrieve my vehicle.
Unfortunately, it was prime time at the garage, and by the time I arrived, there were at least half a dozen people waiting for their cars. This was going to take a while. I paid at the automated machine (a pretty efficient system, actually), and stood in the designated area to wait for my car. About three minutes later, this woman walks in, with not one, not two, not three, but four dogs, and stands next to me on the line. She quickly struck up a conversation with a couple of other people who were waiting for their cars, and I was able to gather the following intelligence: One of the dogs was a rotweiller, another was a German shepherd, the third was a black labrador. I don't know about the fourth dog, and I'm certainly no expert, but by the looks of things, he seemed to be some sort of a cross between a pit bull and an aircraft carrier. All of these beasts, in fact, were quite large.
Now, I've never liked dogs, and while I'm certainly not afraid of them, they do make me a bit uncomfortable. Fortunately, these dogs seemed to be pretty well behaved, so it really wasn't a big deal, and I was simply playing it cool (the only way I know how to play things), and patiently waiting for my car.
Then I remembered the bag I was holding.
Not my briefcase. Not the bright red American Girl bag. The other bag.
There I was, standing less than three feet away from four enormous, panting, large-toothed dogs, holding a shopping bag containing a whole lot of raw meat.
Despite the cold, I began to break out in a sweat. "Calm down," I told myself, "They don't know you've got meat in the bag."
Then, as if on cue, this Mediterranean-looking fellow came over and starting petting the dogs, who clearly had taken a liking to him. "Of course they like me," he said. "I've got dogs, and they can smell it on me. Dogs can smell anything, even from a great distance."
At this point, I had three thoughts:
(1) It's got nothing to do with the dogs, Basil. I can smell you, as can everyone else in this joint. Try a little soap every once in a while.
(2) Dang. They know about the meat.
(3) Where'd these idiots park my car, in Connecticut?
Looking at the dogs out of the corner of my eye, while making sure not to make eye contact, I slowly inched further away from them. But, there wasn't anywhere to go, as there was a line of people on the other side of me, waiting for their cars. I was trapped.
If my car didn't come soon, these dogs were going to pounce on me, eat the steaks, then attempt to tear me to shreds, just for sport. Making matters worse, I realized that I was wearing one of my favorite shirts. I pictured myself lying on the floor of the parking garage, with two dogs eating the steaks, and the other two on top of me, while I yelled "Not the shirt, not the shirt! These hardly ever go on sale! Not the shirt!"
I continued to look hopefully in the direction of the two elevators which brought the cars to the street level from the parking levels above. Every time the door to one of the elevators opened, I hoped that it would contain my vehicle. The same pattern repeated itself several times. The door to the elevator opened...and it was someone else's car. It was like I was the audience member dressed in a bee outfit, or some other outlandish costume, on Let's Make a Deal, hearing Monte Hall say "Let's see what's behind Door #3," only to find out that I had won a year's supply of Jiffy Pop popcorn (and the never-ending taunts of my friends back home).
It was like that. Over and over again. About 10 times in 15 minutes, to be exact.
With all of that, the situation still hadn't deteriorated to the point that it wasn't at least a bit humorous.
Until I saw the droplets.
Still glancing at the dogs out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a few droplets of something hitting the pavement right near where they were standing. Instinctively, I looked up at the ceiling, assuming that it was some sort of a leak. There had been a decent amount of rain in the area over the past 24 hours, and perhaps the garage was experiencing some drainage problems.
All of a sudden, the terrible truth dawned upon me.
The dogs were drooling.
It was only a matter of time.
Now, I'm no "dog whisperer" or anything, but I was pretty sure I knew what the biggest dog was thinking:
"We're going to eat your steaks. And use your shirt as a tablecloth. And your tie as a napkin. And we'll probably tear you to shreds in the process. Also, I can't believe you had to go to the American Girl store. What a loser."
Fortunately, my vehicle arrived right at that moment. I've never been so happy to see a Puerto Rican driving my car. Zipping past the dogs, I jumped into my car and drove away, not even pausing to take off my coat or suit jacket. (As FBB can attest, that's extremely rare. I never wear my suit jacket when I drive). I drove like that all the way home.
Before long, I was back home. FBB and I ate the steaks, which she expertly prepared. They were delicious.
I was finally back in my comfort zone.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
To Get To The Other Side!
With all due respect to MBB, and I apologize for sending him out on a cold a deary night to fight the forces of Wackadoodle, it is no coincidence at all that he was the one in Pathmark last night.
My hatred of Pathmark goes back many, many years, and while in 12th grade we were assigned a compare and contrast essay I chose to use Shoprite and Pathmark as my subjects. I think that was one of the easier assignments for me, and I must have written it in about 3 minutes. They say write what you know, and lemme tell you, when you do, it just flows.
I try to avoid Pathmark as much as possible, even during the day the parking lot is creepy, and the store annoys me. There's just one problem with this self imposed "sort of" boycott . Cheap Chicken. Actually, it may not even be all that cheap, but compared with the other local stores it's priced almost a full dollar less PER POUND. Now, even if you've been living in a cave, and subsisting on berries, freshly caught fish and small wildlife, you obviously have internet access and read ICEBERGCARWASH, and therefore certainly are aware of today's economic realities. So you can surely understand why this dilemma has crept up. Firstly, it's only "sort of" a boycott because I will accept products from the store and I'm OK with people patronizing them, as long as I don't have to be the one to do it , and I will go in there if I can't find any sucker to do it for me. Boycotts are funny things though. You have to be a real believer to really truly boycott something. Do you know how many people in this country boycott both Fur and Diamonds? Both on the grounds of cruelty of course, and when out at a party with the uppercrust it's very easy to just defer to your boycott as to why you are neither fur clad or diamond adorned. I give credit to people who can boycott Walmart. That hits you right in the pocket, and if they can stand up for their convictions, good for them.
I also boycott Caviar and Sea Bass, and I used to boycott Sushi, until I actually tasted it.
The bigger issue, beyond Pathmark and boycotts is why is kosher chicken so expensive in stores that are catering exclusively to the kosher community? Many think it has to do with a shortage of chicken now that many stores no longer stock Aaron's brand. I guess that's simple economics, supply and demand. But I demand chicken that doesn't have a terribly inflated price. So even if I need to go to Pathmark to do it, I'm taking a stand! I have a freezer, and I'll get the chicken there and stock up so as to minimize my exposure. I will continue to patronize the other stores for most of my other protein needs, but for now, unless I find another way, Pathmark it will be.
The real answer is for the local kosher eating public to forgo chicken for a few weeks, and really take a stand. Unfortunately, as expensive as chicken has become it's probably still the cheapest of all proteins and the easiest to make for a large family. So essentially I cannot think of a market shift that will bring the price down, other than a Chassidshe supervisory agency taking over the Rubashkin facility, and reflooding the market with chickens that a broad range of consumers will buy.
I really should leave the economics to MBB, but he's busy fighting with some monkey.
My hatred of Pathmark goes back many, many years, and while in 12th grade we were assigned a compare and contrast essay I chose to use Shoprite and Pathmark as my subjects. I think that was one of the easier assignments for me, and I must have written it in about 3 minutes. They say write what you know, and lemme tell you, when you do, it just flows.
I try to avoid Pathmark as much as possible, even during the day the parking lot is creepy, and the store annoys me. There's just one problem with this self imposed "sort of" boycott . Cheap Chicken. Actually, it may not even be all that cheap, but compared with the other local stores it's priced almost a full dollar less PER POUND. Now, even if you've been living in a cave, and subsisting on berries, freshly caught fish and small wildlife, you obviously have internet access and read ICEBERGCARWASH, and therefore certainly are aware of today's economic realities. So you can surely understand why this dilemma has crept up. Firstly, it's only "sort of" a boycott because I will accept products from the store and I'm OK with people patronizing them, as long as I don't have to be the one to do it , and I will go in there if I can't find any sucker to do it for me. Boycotts are funny things though. You have to be a real believer to really truly boycott something. Do you know how many people in this country boycott both Fur and Diamonds? Both on the grounds of cruelty of course, and when out at a party with the uppercrust it's very easy to just defer to your boycott as to why you are neither fur clad or diamond adorned. I give credit to people who can boycott Walmart. That hits you right in the pocket, and if they can stand up for their convictions, good for them.
I also boycott Caviar and Sea Bass, and I used to boycott Sushi, until I actually tasted it.
The bigger issue, beyond Pathmark and boycotts is why is kosher chicken so expensive in stores that are catering exclusively to the kosher community? Many think it has to do with a shortage of chicken now that many stores no longer stock Aaron's brand. I guess that's simple economics, supply and demand. But I demand chicken that doesn't have a terribly inflated price. So even if I need to go to Pathmark to do it, I'm taking a stand! I have a freezer, and I'll get the chicken there and stock up so as to minimize my exposure. I will continue to patronize the other stores for most of my other protein needs, but for now, unless I find another way, Pathmark it will be.
The real answer is for the local kosher eating public to forgo chicken for a few weeks, and really take a stand. Unfortunately, as expensive as chicken has become it's probably still the cheapest of all proteins and the easiest to make for a large family. So essentially I cannot think of a market shift that will bring the price down, other than a Chassidshe supervisory agency taking over the Rubashkin facility, and reflooding the market with chickens that a broad range of consumers will buy.
I really should leave the economics to MBB, but he's busy fighting with some monkey.
Full Moon Over Pathmark
Late last night, FBB and I found ourselves in need of some basic provisions. Reprising my hunter/gatherer role, I grabbed my car keys, wallet and spear (just in case I came across an ornery wooly mammoth) and headed out into the night.
Typically, I shop at one of the smaller, local stores. Or, if I'm in need of a larger, supermarket-type retail outlet, I head to Shop Rite. However, at that time, the only place that was still open that had what we needed was Pathmark.
Not a big deal, really. I've been to that store on several prior occasions and emerged unscathed, with the desired provisions in tow.
Last night was different.
For starters, there was a weird vibe about the place, which I noticed within about 60 seconds of entering the store. I think it was the people. Looking around at the other people in the place, I began to wonder if some sort of traveling carnival/freak show was in town. I imagined that there must be some rickety, psychedelically-painted bus out in the parking lot. Inside, a man known only as Mr. Zweeb would be twirling one end of his waxed mustache, and saying to a monkey seated next to him, "Gee, Pepe, I sure hope they have the Oreos with chocolate cream."
I'd never seen quite an assortment of strange-looking people in that, or any, store. Making matters worse, quite a few of these folks were store employees. It was creepy, and I'll admit that it was starting to scare me a bit.
Now, I don't scare easily. When I was a kid, many of my friends were afraid of the dark. On the other hand, the dark was afraid of me. But even I was getting a tad uncomfortable last night. I carefully avoided making eye contact with anyone.
Luckily, I found what I was looking for easily enough. I was actually pleased with the speed with which I was able to round up the few items I needed. Feeling pretty good about myself, and America in general, I navigated my cart toward the checkout aisles.
That's where the trouble really began.
As I got to the checkout area, I noticed that only one line was open, and there were more than a dozen people in front of me.
Note to ownership: There's nothing heroic about keeping the store open late if you're not going to have anyone there to operate the cash registers. If it's going to take me that long to get out, I'd be just as happy if you weren't open at all.
The self-checkout area was no better, with about 20 people waiting to use those machines. Unfortunately, those machines tend not to work as smoothly as they should, causing great delays. They seem to have a mind of their own, which is more than I can say for the store employee assigned to provide "assistance" to the poor souls who attempted to use the self-checkout machines. To be honest, I can't blame the machines alone. Sometimes, people are the problem. Let's just say that there wasn't exactly a MENSA convention taking place in that area.
One guy was having a problem figuring out how to swipe his credit card. "Where do I stick my card?"
Receiving no reply, he asked again, "Where do I stick my card?" Growing more frustrated with each passing second, he began to chant, louder and louder, until he was practically yelling his mantra, "Where do I stick my card?" By this time, I actually had a very good idea of where he could stick his card, but I decided to keep it to myself.
Meanwhile, the self-checkout area monitor (I'm not sure if this is her actual title) was beginning to lose it. She was scurrying around to all four machines, which seemed to be malfunctioning simultaneously, muttering "I'll just shut the whole darn thing down. All of 'em. I swear I will." This lady (I use that term extremely loosely) was a price-check away from a full meltdown.
At this point, I had to make a choice. Stay on the regular checkout lane, behind 20 people who had apparently been told that a blizzard of epic proportions was bearing down upon our town, served by a cashier-in-training who was giving her best "oh, we sell milk here?" looks as she desperately tried to grasp and scan the customers' items with her massive, meaty paws? Or, head over to the self-checkout area, where by now, credit card boy had pulled out his library card, and was frantically waving it in the general direction of the machine, pausing every now and then to lick it, in order to remove the "static magnetism" that was causing all of that interference(I think that's what he was saying)?
I decided to try my luck at the self-checkout line. For one thing, if the monitor was going to actually melt down, I didn't want to miss it. I needed a front-row seat to that show. Plus, the bearded lady and the sword swallower were in the regular checkout lane. Like I said, they made me a bit uneasy.
So I moved over to the self-checkout line, and time abruptly stood still. Or, so it seemed. I was backed up all the way into the "arts & crafts" section, and my head began to fill with all sorts of crazy thoughts:
(1) Would it be possible to write a suicide note on silly putty, using a permanent marker?
(2) What would be the best way to actually kill myself in that store? (How's that for "self-checkout?") Peering down the aisle, towards the deli area, I spied what appeared to be an enormous ham. Perhaps I could lie on the floor, positioning myself under that display case, shove it a bit, and the ham would land on my head and do the trick. ("Cleanup in Aisle Three.")
However, I began to think of my family, and I decided against it. I could picture my poor, grieving parents. "Okay, so he had to kill himself. It happens. It was a long line, and it wasn't going anywhere. But, did he have to use a HAM?! He couldn't find a nice 25lb. turkey? What are we going to tell people?"
Then the police would come by to investigate. I imagine that the conversation between the two detectives, Jones and Smith, would go a little something like this.
Jones: You think this was a suicide?
Smith: Yeah. Looks like he left a note. On silly putty.
Jones: Okay. Let me have a look. Where'd you put it?
Smith: I stuck it on that newspaper over there. On the comics section. (Oops.)
Jones: Alright. Let me see if we can still read the note. (Peels silly putty off the newspaper). Nope, there's nothing that looks like a suicide note here.
Smith: Let me see that.
Jones: Here you go.
Smith: You're right, there's no note here. (Closely studying the silly putty) Hey, you know what, I could really go for one of those Dagwood Bumstead sandwiches.
Jones: (Looking at the silly putty) Yeah, me too. How does he even fit that whole thing in his mouth?
Smith: Anyway, there's nothing here. Waddaya say we head down to the diner, to see if anyone saw anything?
Jones: (Rubbing his belly). Good idea. Let's go.
(3) Maybe I could just bypass the entire checkout process. The old five-fingered discount. The Winona Ryder special.
(4) I could easily outrun that security guard. Although a series of minor ankle and knee injuries (and a bad hip) have definitely robbed me of some of the blinding speed I possessed in my youth, there's no way that guard would ever catch me. Besides, that motorized cart he's riding can't make sharp turns. Piece of cake.
(5) Before anyone freaks out, let me clarify. I wasn't considering stealing anything. I was going to pay for it. Pay extra, in fact. The total value of the merchandise in my cart was a bit more than $10. Having only a 20-dollar bill in my pocket, I would've just left the $20 there and left with the stuff. At that point, it was worth it.
(6) If I had done that, and they'd have caught me (a freak thing, really. As I was dashing across the parking lot in zig-zag fashion, the security guard in hot pursuit, I tripped over a monkey. Said his name was Pepe. "Clumsy" is more like it), an interesting court case would've ensued.
I imagine it would've gone something like this:
Judge Brown: I find you guilty as charged. You are hereby sentenced to 30 hours of community service. And here's your change.
Me: Point your browser to icebergcarwash.blogspot.com, Your Honor. That's a real service to the community right there. And keep the change.
Judge Brown: Are you trying to bribe me?! Bailiff, take this man to prison.
Me: Dang!
Obviously, considering the possible outcomes, it was best for me to stay put, and just patiently wait my turn.
Fortunately, it didn't take much longer. Pretty soon, it was my turn at the self-checkout machine. I was able to work it without incident, although out of the corner of my eye, I saw the monitor giving me the Evil Eye. This bothered me. I'm not superstitious in any way, shape or form. Rather, the look was really unpleasant, aesthetically speaking. It was quite disturbing, actually. Shaking it off, I hastily completed the transaction, and looking down at the floor, quickly slipped out of the store, barely pausing to look at their wonderful assortment of Super Balls. (I will perhaps deal with my unfortunate, 25-cent-a-week Super Ball habit some other time. Addiction comes in many forms, my acquaintances).
I ran to my car, and, tires squealing, zoomed out of the parking lot, barely pausing to look in the rear-view mirror, where I saw a monkey hungrily licking the cream out of an Oreo cookie, while a mustachioed man sternly admonished, "You've got to eat the cookie part too, Pepe."
Typically, I shop at one of the smaller, local stores. Or, if I'm in need of a larger, supermarket-type retail outlet, I head to Shop Rite. However, at that time, the only place that was still open that had what we needed was Pathmark.
Not a big deal, really. I've been to that store on several prior occasions and emerged unscathed, with the desired provisions in tow.
Last night was different.
For starters, there was a weird vibe about the place, which I noticed within about 60 seconds of entering the store. I think it was the people. Looking around at the other people in the place, I began to wonder if some sort of traveling carnival/freak show was in town. I imagined that there must be some rickety, psychedelically-painted bus out in the parking lot. Inside, a man known only as Mr. Zweeb would be twirling one end of his waxed mustache, and saying to a monkey seated next to him, "Gee, Pepe, I sure hope they have the Oreos with chocolate cream."
I'd never seen quite an assortment of strange-looking people in that, or any, store. Making matters worse, quite a few of these folks were store employees. It was creepy, and I'll admit that it was starting to scare me a bit.
Now, I don't scare easily. When I was a kid, many of my friends were afraid of the dark. On the other hand, the dark was afraid of me. But even I was getting a tad uncomfortable last night. I carefully avoided making eye contact with anyone.
Luckily, I found what I was looking for easily enough. I was actually pleased with the speed with which I was able to round up the few items I needed. Feeling pretty good about myself, and America in general, I navigated my cart toward the checkout aisles.
That's where the trouble really began.
As I got to the checkout area, I noticed that only one line was open, and there were more than a dozen people in front of me.
Note to ownership: There's nothing heroic about keeping the store open late if you're not going to have anyone there to operate the cash registers. If it's going to take me that long to get out, I'd be just as happy if you weren't open at all.
The self-checkout area was no better, with about 20 people waiting to use those machines. Unfortunately, those machines tend not to work as smoothly as they should, causing great delays. They seem to have a mind of their own, which is more than I can say for the store employee assigned to provide "assistance" to the poor souls who attempted to use the self-checkout machines. To be honest, I can't blame the machines alone. Sometimes, people are the problem. Let's just say that there wasn't exactly a MENSA convention taking place in that area.
One guy was having a problem figuring out how to swipe his credit card. "Where do I stick my card?"
Receiving no reply, he asked again, "Where do I stick my card?" Growing more frustrated with each passing second, he began to chant, louder and louder, until he was practically yelling his mantra, "Where do I stick my card?" By this time, I actually had a very good idea of where he could stick his card, but I decided to keep it to myself.
Meanwhile, the self-checkout area monitor (I'm not sure if this is her actual title) was beginning to lose it. She was scurrying around to all four machines, which seemed to be malfunctioning simultaneously, muttering "I'll just shut the whole darn thing down. All of 'em. I swear I will." This lady (I use that term extremely loosely) was a price-check away from a full meltdown.
At this point, I had to make a choice. Stay on the regular checkout lane, behind 20 people who had apparently been told that a blizzard of epic proportions was bearing down upon our town, served by a cashier-in-training who was giving her best "oh, we sell milk here?" looks as she desperately tried to grasp and scan the customers' items with her massive, meaty paws? Or, head over to the self-checkout area, where by now, credit card boy had pulled out his library card, and was frantically waving it in the general direction of the machine, pausing every now and then to lick it, in order to remove the "static magnetism" that was causing all of that interference(I think that's what he was saying)?
I decided to try my luck at the self-checkout line. For one thing, if the monitor was going to actually melt down, I didn't want to miss it. I needed a front-row seat to that show. Plus, the bearded lady and the sword swallower were in the regular checkout lane. Like I said, they made me a bit uneasy.
So I moved over to the self-checkout line, and time abruptly stood still. Or, so it seemed. I was backed up all the way into the "arts & crafts" section, and my head began to fill with all sorts of crazy thoughts:
(1) Would it be possible to write a suicide note on silly putty, using a permanent marker?
(2) What would be the best way to actually kill myself in that store? (How's that for "self-checkout?") Peering down the aisle, towards the deli area, I spied what appeared to be an enormous ham. Perhaps I could lie on the floor, positioning myself under that display case, shove it a bit, and the ham would land on my head and do the trick. ("Cleanup in Aisle Three.")
However, I began to think of my family, and I decided against it. I could picture my poor, grieving parents. "Okay, so he had to kill himself. It happens. It was a long line, and it wasn't going anywhere. But, did he have to use a HAM?! He couldn't find a nice 25lb. turkey? What are we going to tell people?"
Then the police would come by to investigate. I imagine that the conversation between the two detectives, Jones and Smith, would go a little something like this.
Jones: You think this was a suicide?
Smith: Yeah. Looks like he left a note. On silly putty.
Jones: Okay. Let me have a look. Where'd you put it?
Smith: I stuck it on that newspaper over there. On the comics section. (Oops.)
Jones: Alright. Let me see if we can still read the note. (Peels silly putty off the newspaper). Nope, there's nothing that looks like a suicide note here.
Smith: Let me see that.
Jones: Here you go.
Smith: You're right, there's no note here. (Closely studying the silly putty) Hey, you know what, I could really go for one of those Dagwood Bumstead sandwiches.
Jones: (Looking at the silly putty) Yeah, me too. How does he even fit that whole thing in his mouth?
Smith: Anyway, there's nothing here. Waddaya say we head down to the diner, to see if anyone saw anything?
Jones: (Rubbing his belly). Good idea. Let's go.
(3) Maybe I could just bypass the entire checkout process. The old five-fingered discount. The Winona Ryder special.
(4) I could easily outrun that security guard. Although a series of minor ankle and knee injuries (and a bad hip) have definitely robbed me of some of the blinding speed I possessed in my youth, there's no way that guard would ever catch me. Besides, that motorized cart he's riding can't make sharp turns. Piece of cake.
(5) Before anyone freaks out, let me clarify. I wasn't considering stealing anything. I was going to pay for it. Pay extra, in fact. The total value of the merchandise in my cart was a bit more than $10. Having only a 20-dollar bill in my pocket, I would've just left the $20 there and left with the stuff. At that point, it was worth it.
(6) If I had done that, and they'd have caught me (a freak thing, really. As I was dashing across the parking lot in zig-zag fashion, the security guard in hot pursuit, I tripped over a monkey. Said his name was Pepe. "Clumsy" is more like it), an interesting court case would've ensued.
I imagine it would've gone something like this:
Judge Brown: I find you guilty as charged. You are hereby sentenced to 30 hours of community service. And here's your change.
Me: Point your browser to icebergcarwash.blogspot.com, Your Honor. That's a real service to the community right there. And keep the change.
Judge Brown: Are you trying to bribe me?! Bailiff, take this man to prison.
Me: Dang!
Obviously, considering the possible outcomes, it was best for me to stay put, and just patiently wait my turn.
Fortunately, it didn't take much longer. Pretty soon, it was my turn at the self-checkout machine. I was able to work it without incident, although out of the corner of my eye, I saw the monitor giving me the Evil Eye. This bothered me. I'm not superstitious in any way, shape or form. Rather, the look was really unpleasant, aesthetically speaking. It was quite disturbing, actually. Shaking it off, I hastily completed the transaction, and looking down at the floor, quickly slipped out of the store, barely pausing to look at their wonderful assortment of Super Balls. (I will perhaps deal with my unfortunate, 25-cent-a-week Super Ball habit some other time. Addiction comes in many forms, my acquaintances).
I ran to my car, and, tires squealing, zoomed out of the parking lot, barely pausing to look in the rear-view mirror, where I saw a monkey hungrily licking the cream out of an Oreo cookie, while a mustachioed man sternly admonished, "You've got to eat the cookie part too, Pepe."
Monday, October 27, 2008
Will I Be Able To Play Piano?
Last night I was reading this editorial about healthcare costs from the New York Times, and the following thoughts came to mind:
First and foremost, I believe that there are more small doctors out there, internists, pediatricians, family doctors, Ob/gyns, etc.,than there are big time hot shot doctors making huge amounts of money. If you look at your EOBs from routine/sick visits, the physicians are not making that much money per patient. So if the top thoracic surgeon is raking in the dough, and a new healthcare system wants to put the brakes on that, I can understand it, but I believe that cutting "medical costs" will hurt the small local doctors more than anything else. The "Big Guys" will just opt to "not take insurance" leaving it to the patient to pay out of pocket and fight it out with the insurance companies. I don't think every doctor, especially those who aren't specialized will have that option, unless they somehow give themselves the reputation of being "the top guy." Though, to be honest, I don't need my internist to be the top guy, when right now I use him when I know what I have (flu, bronchitis, strep...etc).
The point is, that like all things, it's the middle guys who will get crushed, and the insurance companies will find ways to keep their money, mostly by squeezing the doctors further.
Americans don't want to be told who to see and when to see them. Does the system need work? Absolutely. Is a wide ranging government program the answer? Not likely. Is a program that you can opt out of the answer? Hmmm. Possibly, but again who gets the squeeze? The middle. Those who want to opt out but can't because the new cost of private insurance is unattainable.
I can see where it would be considered too much of a class system to have specific doctors set up in the government program, like government sponsored clinics, but in a sense I believe that will happen anyway. The people who can afford it will go to the doctors who are not in any program, and the patients will pay what they have to pay after insurance rejects half the claim. These are the doctors who will be the wealthiest, with the wealthiest patients, and the class system will have set itself up.
Listen, everyone wants to pay less for healthcare, and it's not so much that everyone needs insurance, but they do need access to good healthcare. And cheaper insurance would be great, though I believe there should be a system that does not freeze out the routine doctors. When there's talk of sky rocketing medical costs, isn't that MRIs and CT scans, surgeries, etc? I like being able to decide that I want to go to the dermatologist or orthopedist, or whomever, without my GP going on an ego/slash power trip about it.
Oh, yeah. That reminds me. I was on a bus in Manhattan last week, and the guy sitting across from me pulled out his I-phone, and left a message at a car dealership "Hi, it's Dr. Kahn, I would like to test drive the...." Who refers to themselves with a title in a non-professional setting? How pompous can you be? I can't imagine leaving message or saying to anyone "hi, it's Mrs. BlogBerg." No I'd say "hi, it's Female BlogBerg," You know like a normal person. And on that note, I think that if doctors are going to call me by my first name without asking me first, I will return the favor.
First and foremost, I believe that there are more small doctors out there, internists, pediatricians, family doctors, Ob/gyns, etc.,than there are big time hot shot doctors making huge amounts of money. If you look at your EOBs from routine/sick visits, the physicians are not making that much money per patient. So if the top thoracic surgeon is raking in the dough, and a new healthcare system wants to put the brakes on that, I can understand it, but I believe that cutting "medical costs" will hurt the small local doctors more than anything else. The "Big Guys" will just opt to "not take insurance" leaving it to the patient to pay out of pocket and fight it out with the insurance companies. I don't think every doctor, especially those who aren't specialized will have that option, unless they somehow give themselves the reputation of being "the top guy." Though, to be honest, I don't need my internist to be the top guy, when right now I use him when I know what I have (flu, bronchitis, strep...etc).
The point is, that like all things, it's the middle guys who will get crushed, and the insurance companies will find ways to keep their money, mostly by squeezing the doctors further.
Americans don't want to be told who to see and when to see them. Does the system need work? Absolutely. Is a wide ranging government program the answer? Not likely. Is a program that you can opt out of the answer? Hmmm. Possibly, but again who gets the squeeze? The middle. Those who want to opt out but can't because the new cost of private insurance is unattainable.
I can see where it would be considered too much of a class system to have specific doctors set up in the government program, like government sponsored clinics, but in a sense I believe that will happen anyway. The people who can afford it will go to the doctors who are not in any program, and the patients will pay what they have to pay after insurance rejects half the claim. These are the doctors who will be the wealthiest, with the wealthiest patients, and the class system will have set itself up.
Listen, everyone wants to pay less for healthcare, and it's not so much that everyone needs insurance, but they do need access to good healthcare. And cheaper insurance would be great, though I believe there should be a system that does not freeze out the routine doctors. When there's talk of sky rocketing medical costs, isn't that MRIs and CT scans, surgeries, etc? I like being able to decide that I want to go to the dermatologist or orthopedist, or whomever, without my GP going on an ego/slash power trip about it.
Oh, yeah. That reminds me. I was on a bus in Manhattan last week, and the guy sitting across from me pulled out his I-phone, and left a message at a car dealership "Hi, it's Dr. Kahn, I would like to test drive the...." Who refers to themselves with a title in a non-professional setting? How pompous can you be? I can't imagine leaving message or saying to anyone "hi, it's Mrs. BlogBerg." No I'd say "hi, it's Female BlogBerg," You know like a normal person. And on that note, I think that if doctors are going to call me by my first name without asking me first, I will return the favor.
Another Very Special Episode
Since it's almost November, it will soon be the time of year when in depth television news story get fancy titles, and there are the most health code violations at local eateries. So in the spirit of sweeps we present to you:
DON'T SHOOT UNTIL YOU SEE THE WHITES OF THEIR EYES
With all the attention on the election, a major worldwide problem that will
require action and leadership from the next president is being ignored. I am sure you are all aware of the piracy currently plaguing the Gulf of Aden, extensively reported in the press. Of the 199 incidents of piracy in the world this year, about 1/3 of them occurred in the narrow confines of the Gulf of Aden, bordered by Somalia where the pirates are based, and the southwestern coast of the Arabian peninsula.
In the most recent event, a Ukranian ship loaded with tanks and weapons, was hijacked by these same pirates who are reportedly demanding a $20million ransom. Because of the sensitive nature of the cargo and in order to insure that the it doesn't fall into the hands of al Quaeda or the like, the major nations of the world, including our own, have gathered some of their naval forces into the area to, for the present, observe but also obviously as a preventive measure. In one incident reported shortly after the original hijacking, small boats (the pirates' preferred method of transportation and attack) approached a US Navy vessel at high speed. It was reported that warning shots were fired and the boats turned away. Why they weren't shot out of the water as an example to others trying the same thing troubled me and is the motivation for this discussion.
Piracy is not a new problem for the United States. The fledgling country immediately needed to deal with piracy along the north coast of Africa where the rulers of the shore settlements enriched themselves by piracy and the threat of it, demanding ransoms for ships taken as well as annual tributes from the major shipping nations. The US congress appropriated funds for this purpose and as can be imagined the tariff kept increasing as the years progressed. Thomas Jefferson, in his role as diplomat and later as president of the United States was unalterably opposed to paying ransoms and tributes and constantly attempted to form coalitions among the nations to combat this scourge by force. Unfortunately, the European nations then (not much different from now) preferred to continue paying rather than fighting
and Jefferson was unable to put together the needed coalition. When he became president, he started a war with these Barbary pirates and eventually, although many years later, the tributes, ransoms and piracies came to an end.
The slogan "millions for defense, not one penny for tribute," although appropriate for Jefferson's policies, was not his, nor was it Thomas Pinckney's nor was it even related to piracy. It was in response to some demands, probably for bribes, by some unnamed Frenchmen who could influence a treaty the US was interested in negotiating with the French government. (See XYZ Affair)
A later incident, in 1904 involved an american, Ion Pedicaris, who, while enjoying an evening in his villa outside of Tangiers, was kidnapped by a desert ruffian named Raisuli. He demanded a ransom which prompted a telegram from Teddy Roosevelt to the sultan of Morocco stating " Pedicaris alive or Raisuli dead." It made for great theater and Roosevelt sent some ships over to Tangier to enforce his threat. Of course, not wanting to follow a desert bandit into the trackless waste of the Sahara, the ransom was secretly paid, but the country was electrified by the goings on.
It is inconceivable to me that our 21st century response to this ongoing deadly game should be concerned for the well being of the murderous scum threatening our shipping. Right now, the pirates aboard the M/V Fania, the Ukrainian ship, are holding the crew hostage and have threatened that they will not give up without a fight. Admittedly the crew's lives are in danger, but the pirates must be captured and summarily executed where they are captured so as not to embolden them further and to bring order to the high seas.
Negotiations are useful in some situations. Unfortunately, it always results in both sides getting something. In international relations, industrial disputes, legislation and the like, this is useful. For instance, even when trying to convince Iran to stop its nuclear program, we realize that they have a sovereign right to continue it, so negotiations could be fruitful. Certainly better than engaging in a land war in Asia.
Piracy is different. The other side shouldn't get anything but a quick death. If we make an example of the Fania hijackers it will serve as a warning to many others who are engaged in the same nefarious practices.
As I write this, Nato naval forces are steaming towards the Gulf of Aden, ostensibly to provide escort to badly needed humanitarian supplies to Somalia under the World Food Program but probably also to solve the current standoff on the Fania. The commander in chief of Nato's naval forces has stated that the rules of engagement will be finalized within the next few days. Let's hope that they are "shoot first and ask questions later."
It seems that the pirates are ultimately land based in Somalia, a country without an organized national government although the chief of the International Maritime Bureau has stated that they work out of "mother ships" whose identities are known. If this is so it behooves Nato and other forces doing anti pirate duty in the area to bomb the ships into oblivion without warning or notice.
We need the determination of Jefferson. We need the bluff, bluster and threats of Roosevelt. It's time to get tough.
FIL
DON'T SHOOT UNTIL YOU SEE THE WHITES OF THEIR EYES
With all the attention on the election, a major worldwide problem that will
require action and leadership from the next president is being ignored. I am sure you are all aware of the piracy currently plaguing the Gulf of Aden, extensively reported in the press. Of the 199 incidents of piracy in the world this year, about 1/3 of them occurred in the narrow confines of the Gulf of Aden, bordered by Somalia where the pirates are based, and the southwestern coast of the Arabian peninsula.
In the most recent event, a Ukranian ship loaded with tanks and weapons, was hijacked by these same pirates who are reportedly demanding a $20million ransom. Because of the sensitive nature of the cargo and in order to insure that the it doesn't fall into the hands of al Quaeda or the like, the major nations of the world, including our own, have gathered some of their naval forces into the area to, for the present, observe but also obviously as a preventive measure. In one incident reported shortly after the original hijacking, small boats (the pirates' preferred method of transportation and attack) approached a US Navy vessel at high speed. It was reported that warning shots were fired and the boats turned away. Why they weren't shot out of the water as an example to others trying the same thing troubled me and is the motivation for this discussion.
Piracy is not a new problem for the United States. The fledgling country immediately needed to deal with piracy along the north coast of Africa where the rulers of the shore settlements enriched themselves by piracy and the threat of it, demanding ransoms for ships taken as well as annual tributes from the major shipping nations. The US congress appropriated funds for this purpose and as can be imagined the tariff kept increasing as the years progressed. Thomas Jefferson, in his role as diplomat and later as president of the United States was unalterably opposed to paying ransoms and tributes and constantly attempted to form coalitions among the nations to combat this scourge by force. Unfortunately, the European nations then (not much different from now) preferred to continue paying rather than fighting
and Jefferson was unable to put together the needed coalition. When he became president, he started a war with these Barbary pirates and eventually, although many years later, the tributes, ransoms and piracies came to an end.
The slogan "millions for defense, not one penny for tribute," although appropriate for Jefferson's policies, was not his, nor was it Thomas Pinckney's nor was it even related to piracy. It was in response to some demands, probably for bribes, by some unnamed Frenchmen who could influence a treaty the US was interested in negotiating with the French government. (See XYZ Affair)
A later incident, in 1904 involved an american, Ion Pedicaris, who, while enjoying an evening in his villa outside of Tangiers, was kidnapped by a desert ruffian named Raisuli. He demanded a ransom which prompted a telegram from Teddy Roosevelt to the sultan of Morocco stating " Pedicaris alive or Raisuli dead." It made for great theater and Roosevelt sent some ships over to Tangier to enforce his threat. Of course, not wanting to follow a desert bandit into the trackless waste of the Sahara, the ransom was secretly paid, but the country was electrified by the goings on.
It is inconceivable to me that our 21st century response to this ongoing deadly game should be concerned for the well being of the murderous scum threatening our shipping. Right now, the pirates aboard the M/V Fania, the Ukrainian ship, are holding the crew hostage and have threatened that they will not give up without a fight. Admittedly the crew's lives are in danger, but the pirates must be captured and summarily executed where they are captured so as not to embolden them further and to bring order to the high seas.
Negotiations are useful in some situations. Unfortunately, it always results in both sides getting something. In international relations, industrial disputes, legislation and the like, this is useful. For instance, even when trying to convince Iran to stop its nuclear program, we realize that they have a sovereign right to continue it, so negotiations could be fruitful. Certainly better than engaging in a land war in Asia.
Piracy is different. The other side shouldn't get anything but a quick death. If we make an example of the Fania hijackers it will serve as a warning to many others who are engaged in the same nefarious practices.
As I write this, Nato naval forces are steaming towards the Gulf of Aden, ostensibly to provide escort to badly needed humanitarian supplies to Somalia under the World Food Program but probably also to solve the current standoff on the Fania. The commander in chief of Nato's naval forces has stated that the rules of engagement will be finalized within the next few days. Let's hope that they are "shoot first and ask questions later."
It seems that the pirates are ultimately land based in Somalia, a country without an organized national government although the chief of the International Maritime Bureau has stated that they work out of "mother ships" whose identities are known. If this is so it behooves Nato and other forces doing anti pirate duty in the area to bomb the ships into oblivion without warning or notice.
We need the determination of Jefferson. We need the bluff, bluster and threats of Roosevelt. It's time to get tough.
FIL
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Turn on the Lights, the Party's Over
Crisp fall Sunday, wet leaves all around after a windy rainy weekend. A windy rainy weekend that wrought a 3 hour blackout. In the evening. Into the night, when there was no way to light up the house. So we hunkered down in the dining room, and appreciated every passing car that sent short strobes of illumination into the room. Luckily, we had visitors also suffering from the same predicament, and that made it go by faster. So at about five minutes to seven we lit some candles, and searched the house for various flashlights and settled in for the long haul. It took about 20 minutes, but once we found all the devices we would need (camping lantern for the hall/bathroom, various flashlight for individual rooms, tea lights and candles)we were ready. And Excited. We'd play Sorry or something fun by candlelight, it almost felt like that first snow of the season. You anticipate it, then it starts, and comes down quicker and more steadily, until suddenly you spend your day watching cars futilely attempt to make it up the hill past your driveway...but I digress. We were psyched...and then the lights came back on. Oh, well. We had already put the baby into bed, so we turned on the now operational intercom, and after about two minutes she started yapping and playing in her crib. Finally, one of her sisters who was upstairs went into her room to give her a pacifier, when lo and behold, it seems that while searching for flashlights, someone had gone into her room, and pressed the light switch on. Of course we did not notice this, as she had been put to bed before the power went back on, so there she was, playing in her crib, with the light on, and having a grand ol' time.
So we played a game anyway (Cranium, which really, of course I lost, my kids know NO pop culture, and MBB had the kid who is a whiz at word puzzles!), which was lots of fun.
Today, I went to a Bas/t Mitzvah party. That was a really nice shebang, with really awesome brownies. And really, any party where they play this for the kids to dance to is an automatic winner, plus a nice shout out to all the Rebbes out there, whether from Uman or Depentz. Anywho, I discovered the other half of the cookie, in that if you go to a party where you don't know too many people (past the hosts and their families), anytime is a good time to show up. And have fun!
Oh, and I just have to wonder. Is it rude after you change your baby in a public bathroom with only one stall, (the stall that holds the changing table), you put her down to wash your hands and discard the diaper, that she looks under the stall you just came out of to peer at the woman who went in?
So we played a game anyway (Cranium, which really, of course I lost, my kids know NO pop culture, and MBB had the kid who is a whiz at word puzzles!), which was lots of fun.
Today, I went to a Bas/t Mitzvah party. That was a really nice shebang, with really awesome brownies. And really, any party where they play this for the kids to dance to is an automatic winner, plus a nice shout out to all the Rebbes out there, whether from Uman or Depentz. Anywho, I discovered the other half of the cookie, in that if you go to a party where you don't know too many people (past the hosts and their families), anytime is a good time to show up. And have fun!
Oh, and I just have to wonder. Is it rude after you change your baby in a public bathroom with only one stall, (the stall that holds the changing table), you put her down to wash your hands and discard the diaper, that she looks under the stall you just came out of to peer at the woman who went in?
Friday, October 24, 2008
RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!
(Note to FBB: Is there a way to make the font on the headline any larger? And perhaps add a graphic making it appear as though the letters are dripping actual blood?)
This morning, the stock market is once again plummeting at the open, (ho hum, what else is new?) on the belief that we're headed for a deep, global recession. In fact, the U.S. markets' weakness is only the latest in a string of major declines that began with a steep drop in the Japanese market, followed by declines across Asia and Europe. In short, the markets look uglier than Popeye's nemesis, the Sea Hag.
Official economic data (is there any other kind? does anyone do this stuff "unofficially," as a hobby?) now indicates that England and the Euro zone have already entered recession.
Clearly, this shapes up as an ugly day in the markets. Then again, at IcebergCarwash, at least we can say that we went on record as believing that we had not yet reached bottom.
The real story here, in my opinion, is that the breathless media, and the "experts" who supply them with quotes, have really outdone themselves this time in describing things.
Headlines featured the words "meltdown," "gloom" and "precipitous." One person was quoted as saying something like "we'll be talking about the next few days for generations."
But this quote, from Bank of England Deputy Governor Charles Bean, takes the cake:
(Of course, he mentions "human history" because most economists believe that the current crisis is expected to fall short of the Cretaceous-era stock market meltdown, which led to the extinction of the dinosaurs. In retrospect, that crisis was somewhat predictable, given that dinosaurs had enormous bodies, but tiny brains. Wait a second. I've just described two-thirds of the people who currently work at the investment banks' trading desks. Never mind).
Why didn't he just throw in one of those "The end of the world is nigh" proclamations while he was at it?
Speaking of the end of the world, this is not how I envisioned it at all. There are dozens of crazy end-of-the-world cults out there, and as far as I know, not a single one said anything about the credit crisis and economic recession. No one.
Here are some of the more popular predicted causes of the end of the world:
* Asteroids/Comets
* UFOs (some of which would attack the Earth, while others would whisk the "righteous" away to safety).
* Locusts
* Computer-related
* Evil robots
* Angry deity
* Angry diety ("I'll kill everyone in sight if you don't give me that cupcake, NOW!)
* Arrival of the messiah, who forgets to unplug the iron before going out
There's nothing in there about a global recession. Not a word. We've never heard about a cult of Wall Streeters holed up in a compound in Greenwich, Connecticut, armed to the teeth with Bloomberg terminals. (Actually, there was that Martin Frankel guy, but that was different).
So, I guess this is it. The end of the world. And it didn't even involve the Chicago Cubs winning the World Series.
You'd have to think that right about now, in some remote, fortified outpost in Texas or Montana, there's a guy named Jebediah stomping around with a shotgun, looking at his watch every few seconds, and yelling, "Darn it, that spaceship was supposed to be here at least ten minutes ago!" while trying to figure out which one of his 11 wives to blame for the entire situation.
Update: It now appears as though the market has stabilized a bit, although it's still down over 4% on the day so far.
Put the gun down, Jebediah. And get back inside. You know how that cold weather makes your tooth hurt.
This morning, the stock market is once again plummeting at the open, (ho hum, what else is new?) on the belief that we're headed for a deep, global recession. In fact, the U.S. markets' weakness is only the latest in a string of major declines that began with a steep drop in the Japanese market, followed by declines across Asia and Europe. In short, the markets look uglier than Popeye's nemesis, the Sea Hag.
Official economic data (is there any other kind? does anyone do this stuff "unofficially," as a hobby?) now indicates that England and the Euro zone have already entered recession.
Clearly, this shapes up as an ugly day in the markets. Then again, at IcebergCarwash, at least we can say that we went on record as believing that we had not yet reached bottom.
The real story here, in my opinion, is that the breathless media, and the "experts" who supply them with quotes, have really outdone themselves this time in describing things.
Headlines featured the words "meltdown," "gloom" and "precipitous." One person was quoted as saying something like "we'll be talking about the next few days for generations."
But this quote, from Bank of England Deputy Governor Charles Bean, takes the cake:
"This is a once in a lifetime crisis, and possibly the largest financial crisis of its kind in human history."
(Of course, he mentions "human history" because most economists believe that the current crisis is expected to fall short of the Cretaceous-era stock market meltdown, which led to the extinction of the dinosaurs. In retrospect, that crisis was somewhat predictable, given that dinosaurs had enormous bodies, but tiny brains. Wait a second. I've just described two-thirds of the people who currently work at the investment banks' trading desks. Never mind).
Why didn't he just throw in one of those "The end of the world is nigh" proclamations while he was at it?
Speaking of the end of the world, this is not how I envisioned it at all. There are dozens of crazy end-of-the-world cults out there, and as far as I know, not a single one said anything about the credit crisis and economic recession. No one.
Here are some of the more popular predicted causes of the end of the world:
* Asteroids/Comets
* UFOs (some of which would attack the Earth, while others would whisk the "righteous" away to safety).
* Locusts
* Computer-related
* Evil robots
* Angry deity
* Angry diety ("I'll kill everyone in sight if you don't give me that cupcake, NOW!)
* Arrival of the messiah, who forgets to unplug the iron before going out
There's nothing in there about a global recession. Not a word. We've never heard about a cult of Wall Streeters holed up in a compound in Greenwich, Connecticut, armed to the teeth with Bloomberg terminals. (Actually, there was that Martin Frankel guy, but that was different).
So, I guess this is it. The end of the world. And it didn't even involve the Chicago Cubs winning the World Series.
You'd have to think that right about now, in some remote, fortified outpost in Texas or Montana, there's a guy named Jebediah stomping around with a shotgun, looking at his watch every few seconds, and yelling, "Darn it, that spaceship was supposed to be here at least ten minutes ago!" while trying to figure out which one of his 11 wives to blame for the entire situation.
Update: It now appears as though the market has stabilized a bit, although it's still down over 4% on the day so far.
Put the gun down, Jebediah. And get back inside. You know how that cold weather makes your tooth hurt.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
At Least He's Not a Muslim.....
So for all the hand wringing and despair as the probability of an Obama presidency becomes more likely, the City of New York has lodged a real attack on democracy.
The news reports continuously say that NYers voted twice for term limits. Actually, they voted once to enact two consecutive terms(1993), and the second vote was TO REJECT ADDING A THIRD TERM(1996).
Hmmm. What has the City Council done at the behest of the billionaire mayor? It has voted to extend term limits to three terms not two, and to do so without calling a special election to put this before the voters. If you want to know how freedom is pulled away from people, the answer is simple. Fear. Bloomberg has convinced enough people that he's the only one who can help with the economic crisis facing New York. Just as the President convinced Congress, with enough fear, to enact various unconstitutional elements of the Patriot Act.
In 1759 Benjamin Franklin was quoted as saying:
Granted, for many council members this was purely a selfish move, they want the term extension for themselves as well. That doesn't make it any better. I really hope that voters will fight against this and vote in ANYBODY other than Bloomberg. But it's doubtful. The man is a billionaire. There is no candidate who can compete with him financially, and we all know that the way to win campaigns is money. More money, more ads, more exposure. Plus he's an incumbent Mayor so he's pretty much on the news every night.
This is so sickening, an affront to Democracy and Freedom. But let's keep worrying about phantom Islamists taking over the executive branch of Government.
The news reports continuously say that NYers voted twice for term limits. Actually, they voted once to enact two consecutive terms(1993), and the second vote was TO REJECT ADDING A THIRD TERM(1996).
Hmmm. What has the City Council done at the behest of the billionaire mayor? It has voted to extend term limits to three terms not two, and to do so without calling a special election to put this before the voters. If you want to know how freedom is pulled away from people, the answer is simple. Fear. Bloomberg has convinced enough people that he's the only one who can help with the economic crisis facing New York. Just as the President convinced Congress, with enough fear, to enact various unconstitutional elements of the Patriot Act.
In 1759 Benjamin Franklin was quoted as saying:
Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.
Granted, for many council members this was purely a selfish move, they want the term extension for themselves as well. That doesn't make it any better. I really hope that voters will fight against this and vote in ANYBODY other than Bloomberg. But it's doubtful. The man is a billionaire. There is no candidate who can compete with him financially, and we all know that the way to win campaigns is money. More money, more ads, more exposure. Plus he's an incumbent Mayor so he's pretty much on the news every night.
This is so sickening, an affront to Democracy and Freedom. But let's keep worrying about phantom Islamists taking over the executive branch of Government.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Watch Where You're Pointing That Nose, Yentl
IcebergCarwash has just learned of the demise of the famous/infamous "Mr. Blackwell," at the age of 86.
Mr. Blackwell, whose real name was Richard Selzer, was perhaps the world's most famous fashion critic, known best for his annual international "worst dressed" list.
I always thought that the guy was incredibly pretentious. First of all, who really cares what any one person thinks about the manner in which other people dress, even if those "other people" are celebrities? Secondly, what was the idea behind the whole "Blackwell" or "Mr. Blackwell" thing? Was he so important that he couldn't go by his full name, whether his original or adopted one?
Seems to me that this guy was a real jerk.
So why, do you ask, would we bother to use any of our precious blog real estate on an obituary, no matter how spare, of such a person?
Simple.
Anyone who once referred to Barbara Streisand as "a masculine Bride of Frankenstein" deserves at least a mention on IcebergCarwash.
So farewell and rest in peace, Mr. Blackwell, from the best-looking blog out there.
Mr. Blackwell, whose real name was Richard Selzer, was perhaps the world's most famous fashion critic, known best for his annual international "worst dressed" list.
I always thought that the guy was incredibly pretentious. First of all, who really cares what any one person thinks about the manner in which other people dress, even if those "other people" are celebrities? Secondly, what was the idea behind the whole "Blackwell" or "Mr. Blackwell" thing? Was he so important that he couldn't go by his full name, whether his original or adopted one?
Seems to me that this guy was a real jerk.
So why, do you ask, would we bother to use any of our precious blog real estate on an obituary, no matter how spare, of such a person?
Simple.
Anyone who once referred to Barbara Streisand as "a masculine Bride of Frankenstein" deserves at least a mention on IcebergCarwash.
So farewell and rest in peace, Mr. Blackwell, from the best-looking blog out there.
Friday, October 17, 2008
What'cha Gonna Do Now, Mr. Ricochet?
Several times over the past few days, people have asked me if I thought the stock market had hit bottom, and was set to rebound. I don't think that they were asking me because they think I have any expertise on the matter. Rather, there seem to be a lot of people wandering around like zombies, asking anyone they come across, "When will it end? Have we reached bottom yet?"
It's certainly difficult to tell, isn't it? After the gloom of a week ago, here comes the promise of additional government intervention, including direct ownership stakes in banks (that'll be an entirely separate post, eventually), and voila!, the market surges 11% on Monday. An 11% upward move in one day! Clearly, the bear has been slain, and the market is on its way to making us forget that all the bad stuff has ever happened. Then, just as we thought it was safe to go back into the water, the market plummets on Wednesday, giving up the bulk of Monday's gains.
As an aside, it's interesting -- and not very surprising -- that we've seen the word "plummet" used so often lately in financial news headlines. Here are some other words and phrases that the media has had to dust off lately:
* Bailout
* Meltdown
* Cataclysm (a personal favorite)
* Gut-wrenching
* Worst (fill in the blank) since the Great Depression
I'm planning on using that last phrase a whole lot more often, whether or not it makes sense. For example, I was looking at the shoes I'm wearing today, and they could really use a good shine. Why, they probably haven't been this dusty since the Great Depression! I know, that's pretty lame. It's probably the lamest thing you've read since...(you got it)...the Great Depression.
You should all try this. Anytime you make a statement that indicates that something hasn't happened in a long time, say "since the Great Depression." It's great fun, and who knows, someone might overhear you, and offer you a job at the Wall Street Journal.
Returning to the markets (aren't you thrilled? Back to the exciting stuff!), yesterday, bleak economic news caused the market to sink in the morning, before staging a strong rebound in the afternoon, with the S&P 500 closing up 4.3% for the day. At its low point, the S&P 500 had been down 4.6%. The intraday volatility we've seen lately has been breathtaking. From the market's recent performance, it appears as though no one knows where we go from here.
I should just shrug my shoulders and say "Dunno." (For those of you who are a bit less hip and "street" than MBB, that means "I don't know, my old bean. I haven't got the answer to that one, good chap.").
However, the zombies continue to march forward, demanding answers. In my never-ending quest to assist the living dead (lest they feast on my flesh...I watched way too many low-budget horror movies when I was younger), let me offer my two cents:
We're not at the bottom of this move yet. For some reason, I can't seem to shake the nagging feeling that the current stock market decline will not be arrested until we at least test the S&P 500's October 2002 lows, although I certainly hope I'm wrong. Considering that the low closing price of the Index was around 775, we probably have another 18% to go from where we closed yesterday. It could be a little while. Then again, the way things are going, we could get there by the middle of next week.
(I paused for a moment to shudder).
This chart illustrates where we've been over the past 10 years, from October 1998 to today. (If you don't get a chart covering the past 10 years, go to the bottom right-hand corner of the chart, and enter a new date into the first box. The second box should show today's date). Note the October 2002 lows, which represented the low point of the post 9/11 move, and represented the base off of which the most recent bull market was founded. Also look at the far right side of the chart, representing the recent moves in the S&P 500 Index. It's nearly a straight line down. We've fallen off the cliff. That's what a crash looks like. There are some other periods over the past 10 years that have witnessed that kind of a decline, such as the 45%+ drop in the S&P 500 from mid 2000 to late-2002. But, that move took place over a period of over 2 years. For the Index to drop over 20% in a couple of weeks -- and nearly 30% in about a month -- is stunning.
Scary times, indeed.
In my opinion, it's not time to buy...yet. There will be a whole lot more volatility, which always gives rise to day-trading opportunities, so if that's your cup of tea, by all means, go ahead. I'm more of a position trader myself.
Here's what I would do. Make a short list of the stocks you've wanted to own, but always refrained from buying because they seemed too expensive, based upon whatever valuation method you typically use (Price/Earnings, Price/Cash Flow, Price/Book Value, the guy sitting next to you on the train, etc.). As the recent weakness has been extremely broad-based, with every sector -- and nearly every stock -- getting hit, there are bound to be some potential bargains out there.
Look for the proper entry point for these stocks. Let the market stabilize a bit. Historically, the "V-shaped rebound," where prices quickly recover after a major correction, is very rare. More likely, the market will first recover a bit, form a plateau, and then build a base before moving higher. Even if you don't get in at the absolute low point, you should end up with a decent return. Look for some market stability first, which will indicate that the base-forming phase has begun. Of course, assuming that the market spends a couple of months building this base, you might end up sitting on "dead money" for a little while.
On the other hand, there are several stocks that look very attractively priced, and will "pay you to wait." In other words, they're currently paying very attractive dividends. A case in point is GE. The stock was recently trading at about $19 share, a level not seen since almost 12 years ago. The shares featured a price/earnings (P/E) ratio on trailing 12 month earnings of less than 10, also well below GE's historical experience. Granted, the most important thing to consider is GE's future earnings power, which is decidedly uncertain. Still, at the current price, it appears that the market is factoring in a very bleak 2009 (and perhaps 2010) for GE. Then, there's the matter of the aforementioned dividend. GE is currently paying a dividend of $1.24 per share. At the current $19 share price, that represents a yield of about 6.5%. Therefore, if you bought GE, and it went nowhere for a year, and you simply collected your dividends, you'd have earned a 6.5% return, which compares favorably with the returns you could earn from say, Treasury bonds (even after factoring in the equity premium).
I use GE as simply an example. There are several other stocks which would make this list.
However, to repeat, it's probably best to avoid the market altogether for a little while. Right now, it's safer to be a spectator than a speculator. Unless you don't mind flying face-first into a cactus every now and again.
It's certainly difficult to tell, isn't it? After the gloom of a week ago, here comes the promise of additional government intervention, including direct ownership stakes in banks (that'll be an entirely separate post, eventually), and voila!, the market surges 11% on Monday. An 11% upward move in one day! Clearly, the bear has been slain, and the market is on its way to making us forget that all the bad stuff has ever happened. Then, just as we thought it was safe to go back into the water, the market plummets on Wednesday, giving up the bulk of Monday's gains.
As an aside, it's interesting -- and not very surprising -- that we've seen the word "plummet" used so often lately in financial news headlines. Here are some other words and phrases that the media has had to dust off lately:
* Bailout
* Meltdown
* Cataclysm (a personal favorite)
* Gut-wrenching
* Worst (fill in the blank) since the Great Depression
I'm planning on using that last phrase a whole lot more often, whether or not it makes sense. For example, I was looking at the shoes I'm wearing today, and they could really use a good shine. Why, they probably haven't been this dusty since the Great Depression! I know, that's pretty lame. It's probably the lamest thing you've read since...(you got it)...the Great Depression.
You should all try this. Anytime you make a statement that indicates that something hasn't happened in a long time, say "since the Great Depression." It's great fun, and who knows, someone might overhear you, and offer you a job at the Wall Street Journal.
Returning to the markets (aren't you thrilled? Back to the exciting stuff!), yesterday, bleak economic news caused the market to sink in the morning, before staging a strong rebound in the afternoon, with the S&P 500 closing up 4.3% for the day. At its low point, the S&P 500 had been down 4.6%. The intraday volatility we've seen lately has been breathtaking. From the market's recent performance, it appears as though no one knows where we go from here.
I should just shrug my shoulders and say "Dunno." (For those of you who are a bit less hip and "street" than MBB, that means "I don't know, my old bean. I haven't got the answer to that one, good chap.").
However, the zombies continue to march forward, demanding answers. In my never-ending quest to assist the living dead (lest they feast on my flesh...I watched way too many low-budget horror movies when I was younger), let me offer my two cents:
We're not at the bottom of this move yet. For some reason, I can't seem to shake the nagging feeling that the current stock market decline will not be arrested until we at least test the S&P 500's October 2002 lows, although I certainly hope I'm wrong. Considering that the low closing price of the Index was around 775, we probably have another 18% to go from where we closed yesterday. It could be a little while. Then again, the way things are going, we could get there by the middle of next week.
(I paused for a moment to shudder).
This chart illustrates where we've been over the past 10 years, from October 1998 to today. (If you don't get a chart covering the past 10 years, go to the bottom right-hand corner of the chart, and enter a new date into the first box. The second box should show today's date). Note the October 2002 lows, which represented the low point of the post 9/11 move, and represented the base off of which the most recent bull market was founded. Also look at the far right side of the chart, representing the recent moves in the S&P 500 Index. It's nearly a straight line down. We've fallen off the cliff. That's what a crash looks like. There are some other periods over the past 10 years that have witnessed that kind of a decline, such as the 45%+ drop in the S&P 500 from mid 2000 to late-2002. But, that move took place over a period of over 2 years. For the Index to drop over 20% in a couple of weeks -- and nearly 30% in about a month -- is stunning.
Scary times, indeed.
In my opinion, it's not time to buy...yet. There will be a whole lot more volatility, which always gives rise to day-trading opportunities, so if that's your cup of tea, by all means, go ahead. I'm more of a position trader myself.
Here's what I would do. Make a short list of the stocks you've wanted to own, but always refrained from buying because they seemed too expensive, based upon whatever valuation method you typically use (Price/Earnings, Price/Cash Flow, Price/Book Value, the guy sitting next to you on the train, etc.). As the recent weakness has been extremely broad-based, with every sector -- and nearly every stock -- getting hit, there are bound to be some potential bargains out there.
Look for the proper entry point for these stocks. Let the market stabilize a bit. Historically, the "V-shaped rebound," where prices quickly recover after a major correction, is very rare. More likely, the market will first recover a bit, form a plateau, and then build a base before moving higher. Even if you don't get in at the absolute low point, you should end up with a decent return. Look for some market stability first, which will indicate that the base-forming phase has begun. Of course, assuming that the market spends a couple of months building this base, you might end up sitting on "dead money" for a little while.
On the other hand, there are several stocks that look very attractively priced, and will "pay you to wait." In other words, they're currently paying very attractive dividends. A case in point is GE. The stock was recently trading at about $19 share, a level not seen since almost 12 years ago. The shares featured a price/earnings (P/E) ratio on trailing 12 month earnings of less than 10, also well below GE's historical experience. Granted, the most important thing to consider is GE's future earnings power, which is decidedly uncertain. Still, at the current price, it appears that the market is factoring in a very bleak 2009 (and perhaps 2010) for GE. Then, there's the matter of the aforementioned dividend. GE is currently paying a dividend of $1.24 per share. At the current $19 share price, that represents a yield of about 6.5%. Therefore, if you bought GE, and it went nowhere for a year, and you simply collected your dividends, you'd have earned a 6.5% return, which compares favorably with the returns you could earn from say, Treasury bonds (even after factoring in the equity premium).
I use GE as simply an example. There are several other stocks which would make this list.
However, to repeat, it's probably best to avoid the market altogether for a little while. Right now, it's safer to be a spectator than a speculator. Unless you don't mind flying face-first into a cactus every now and again.
NOW WITH PICTURES!!!!
We've reached a milestone, here at IcebergCarwash. Our Last post was a week ago. Coincidentally, it was our one month milestone. I assume it can't be an anniversary if it isn't a year. My assumption is, that although it's a colloquialism to call everything an anniversary, the root word is from the word annum, as in year, and even though it's a colloquialism, has made it into the lexicon as perfectly acceptable, you can be sure a certain Mr. MBB would have pointed out the error in usage.
So I guess we've been kinda of busy, which is always a nice good thing, but perhaps it gives us more to post about if we hold out longer. Or perhaps not.
I took the kids to one of these 1700's houses yesterday (house, one room school house, and barn). The experience was definitely an experience. I had called earlier in the day and didn't get through, so I called an administrative number. The woman there said they didn't answer the phone at the museum because they were giving a tour. Great! Then it's open. So off we went. As we got out of the car, a woman walked into a building, was there for a minute, and walked out. Then about three minutes later another woman came out. It was amazing because the place was actually closed and all staff was at a board meeting, and that one woman happened to be (though as I've said before, there are no coincidences)out of the meeting JUST as we got out of the car, and she went back to the meeting, and told the interpretive guide that there was a family here, and did she want to run a tour. YAAAY, she said yes. So we had a private tour and it was great, and...I learned new things.
I've gone to a lot of these places over the years and usually you'll hear a snippet here or there that's new or different, but this just flat out surprised me. I don't think I've ever seen the fireplace shields that stand on a stand, and protect a person sitting near the fireplace. I've been to a lot of these houses, and I don't think I've ever seen that before. How odd is that? Maybe I've never noticed it, but I think if I had seen it, I'd definitely have asked, and then I'd remember.
This house had a kitchen, with a lot of interesting things in it. The most interesting to me were the spoons, and ladles, and light covers that were made out of cow hooves cartilage: PETCHA!!!!! How wacky is that? PETCHA spoons!!! Honestly, I have to wonder if that was really from the 17-1800s or it was done later, when they had better methods, but I guess it's possible. They felt like a hard plastic. It was really cool, but then I got to thinking Hmmm, does that automatically makes the utensils meat for a kosher kitchen?
And in shades of turning into my mother, I spent the whole ride up oohing and aahing the magnificent foliage in Orange County. It really was breathtaking. And then I saw it. On the way home. The sign that made me turn around. I had to. I just Had to. There in a town in orange county, a town called Goshen, was the REAL ICEBERG CARWASH!!!
AND IT'S FOR SALE!!!!
So I guess we've been kinda of busy, which is always a nice good thing, but perhaps it gives us more to post about if we hold out longer. Or perhaps not.
I took the kids to one of these 1700's houses yesterday (house, one room school house, and barn). The experience was definitely an experience. I had called earlier in the day and didn't get through, so I called an administrative number. The woman there said they didn't answer the phone at the museum because they were giving a tour. Great! Then it's open. So off we went. As we got out of the car, a woman walked into a building, was there for a minute, and walked out. Then about three minutes later another woman came out. It was amazing because the place was actually closed and all staff was at a board meeting, and that one woman happened to be (though as I've said before, there are no coincidences)out of the meeting JUST as we got out of the car, and she went back to the meeting, and told the interpretive guide that there was a family here, and did she want to run a tour. YAAAY, she said yes. So we had a private tour and it was great, and...I learned new things.
I've gone to a lot of these places over the years and usually you'll hear a snippet here or there that's new or different, but this just flat out surprised me. I don't think I've ever seen the fireplace shields that stand on a stand, and protect a person sitting near the fireplace. I've been to a lot of these houses, and I don't think I've ever seen that before. How odd is that? Maybe I've never noticed it, but I think if I had seen it, I'd definitely have asked, and then I'd remember.
This house had a kitchen, with a lot of interesting things in it. The most interesting to me were the spoons, and ladles, and light covers that were made out of cow hooves cartilage: PETCHA!!!!! How wacky is that? PETCHA spoons!!! Honestly, I have to wonder if that was really from the 17-1800s or it was done later, when they had better methods, but I guess it's possible. They felt like a hard plastic. It was really cool, but then I got to thinking Hmmm, does that automatically makes the utensils meat for a kosher kitchen?
And in shades of turning into my mother, I spent the whole ride up oohing and aahing the magnificent foliage in Orange County. It really was breathtaking. And then I saw it. On the way home. The sign that made me turn around. I had to. I just Had to. There in a town in orange county, a town called Goshen, was the REAL ICEBERG CARWASH!!!
AND IT'S FOR SALE!!!!
Friday, October 10, 2008
Bad Move, Camel Jockey
Somewhat lost in all of the hoopla surrounding the current stock market crash (and yes, with the market down 21.8% over the last seven trading days, we're technically in a "crash" phase) is the fact that oil prices continue to decline. Oil is currently at about $83/barrel, down more than 40% from its recent peak of about $147/barrel.
There are two general reasons for this.
(1) Much of oil's run-up to nearly $150/barrel was fueled by investment funds speculating on a continued rise. As these funds' stock positions have come under pressure, they have liquidated some of their commodities holdings as well. This has put some downward pressure on oil prices.
(2) More importantly, as the credit-related economic slowdown in the United States now appears to be global in nature, people are lowering their forecasts for economic growth in 2009, thereby reducing demand forecasts for oil. Even for China and India, the two rapidly expanding economies that were seen as most responsible for fueling oil demand over the next couple of years, GDP growth expectations have been lowered. With lower overall demand now forecasted, prices have declined.
Of course, OPEC played more than a small part in the price increase, gleefully counting their petrodollars, while ignoring the need to increase production to help moderate prices. While in the short run this increases revenues for the sheiks, providing money for their profligate lifestyles (hey, it costs a lot to send 30 of your children to Harvard), it also plants the seeds of their economic troubles down the road. Their goal should be to keep oil prices high enough that they can turn a tidy profit, but low enough that consumers don't change their behavior, especially over the longer term.
However, as we've seen here in the U.S., when oil/gasoline prices reach a certain point (apparently, that's about $4.00/gallon), the light bulbs above everyone's heads suddenly go on, and we begin to think about conservation. It's already been happening in the U.S. No one seems to be buying those gas-guzzling SUVs anymore. The dealers can't give them away. Everyone is focused on getting better gas mileage. People are driving less.
We've already seen the impact of these behavioral changes. Gasoline consumption in the U.S. is set to decline in 2008, for the first time since 1991. That's pretty rare. Since 1945, annual gasoline consumption has fallen from the previous year's levels only 8 times (1952, 1974, 1979, 1980, 1982, 1989, 1990, 1991). If you're interested in lots of energy-related statistics (and which cool person isn't?), visit The Department of Energy's Energy Information Administration's web site.
The interesting thing to me is that the decline in gasoline consumption we're witnessing in 2008 is mostly short-term and reactive in nature. In other words, we haven't yet seen the larger, long-term impact of the behavioral changes. The average gas mileage of the U.S. vehicle fleet has only begun to creep up. It will take a few years before the majority of the drivers in this country have a chance to switch out their gas guzzlers for more fuel-efficient vehicles. Think about it this way: How many of us have traded in our vehicles? On the other hand, when we do get our next vehicles, what are the odds that we will end up with something more fuel efficient? It's pretty likely. And, once we do switch, we're not going to get rid of our vehicles for less fuel-efficient ones as soon as gasoline prices fall.
Therefore, I think that we're entering a multi-year period of declining gasoline consumption in the U.S., much like in the 1979-1982 and 1989-1991 periods. Some of that will be a function of a weaker economy. However, the secular trend of more efficient gasoline consumption is bound to be longer-term in nature, and will continue even after gasloine prices moderate. This signals a problem for OPEC and the other oil-exporting nations.
I'm not ready to say that we'll see a return to $10/barrel oil, but I'd expect to see oil at about $50-$60/barrel by this time next year, and would expect us to get closer to $30/barrel not long thereafter. Who knows, maybe we'll start to read some articles in a year or two about unfinished construction projects and empty office buildings in Dubai.
Clearly, these people know more about blowing things up than they do about economics. Hopefully, if their oil revenues decline, they will have less money to fund those types of terrorist activities in the future.
And perhaps Mahmoud, Jabeer, Saleem, Alal, Kawid, Traweez, and Babaganoush should consider applying to non-Ivy League schools.
There are two general reasons for this.
(1) Much of oil's run-up to nearly $150/barrel was fueled by investment funds speculating on a continued rise. As these funds' stock positions have come under pressure, they have liquidated some of their commodities holdings as well. This has put some downward pressure on oil prices.
(2) More importantly, as the credit-related economic slowdown in the United States now appears to be global in nature, people are lowering their forecasts for economic growth in 2009, thereby reducing demand forecasts for oil. Even for China and India, the two rapidly expanding economies that were seen as most responsible for fueling oil demand over the next couple of years, GDP growth expectations have been lowered. With lower overall demand now forecasted, prices have declined.
Of course, OPEC played more than a small part in the price increase, gleefully counting their petrodollars, while ignoring the need to increase production to help moderate prices. While in the short run this increases revenues for the sheiks, providing money for their profligate lifestyles (hey, it costs a lot to send 30 of your children to Harvard), it also plants the seeds of their economic troubles down the road. Their goal should be to keep oil prices high enough that they can turn a tidy profit, but low enough that consumers don't change their behavior, especially over the longer term.
However, as we've seen here in the U.S., when oil/gasoline prices reach a certain point (apparently, that's about $4.00/gallon), the light bulbs above everyone's heads suddenly go on, and we begin to think about conservation. It's already been happening in the U.S. No one seems to be buying those gas-guzzling SUVs anymore. The dealers can't give them away. Everyone is focused on getting better gas mileage. People are driving less.
We've already seen the impact of these behavioral changes. Gasoline consumption in the U.S. is set to decline in 2008, for the first time since 1991. That's pretty rare. Since 1945, annual gasoline consumption has fallen from the previous year's levels only 8 times (1952, 1974, 1979, 1980, 1982, 1989, 1990, 1991). If you're interested in lots of energy-related statistics (and which cool person isn't?), visit The Department of Energy's Energy Information Administration's web site.
The interesting thing to me is that the decline in gasoline consumption we're witnessing in 2008 is mostly short-term and reactive in nature. In other words, we haven't yet seen the larger, long-term impact of the behavioral changes. The average gas mileage of the U.S. vehicle fleet has only begun to creep up. It will take a few years before the majority of the drivers in this country have a chance to switch out their gas guzzlers for more fuel-efficient vehicles. Think about it this way: How many of us have traded in our vehicles? On the other hand, when we do get our next vehicles, what are the odds that we will end up with something more fuel efficient? It's pretty likely. And, once we do switch, we're not going to get rid of our vehicles for less fuel-efficient ones as soon as gasoline prices fall.
Therefore, I think that we're entering a multi-year period of declining gasoline consumption in the U.S., much like in the 1979-1982 and 1989-1991 periods. Some of that will be a function of a weaker economy. However, the secular trend of more efficient gasoline consumption is bound to be longer-term in nature, and will continue even after gasloine prices moderate. This signals a problem for OPEC and the other oil-exporting nations.
I'm not ready to say that we'll see a return to $10/barrel oil, but I'd expect to see oil at about $50-$60/barrel by this time next year, and would expect us to get closer to $30/barrel not long thereafter. Who knows, maybe we'll start to read some articles in a year or two about unfinished construction projects and empty office buildings in Dubai.
Clearly, these people know more about blowing things up than they do about economics. Hopefully, if their oil revenues decline, they will have less money to fund those types of terrorist activities in the future.
And perhaps Mahmoud, Jabeer, Saleem, Alal, Kawid, Traweez, and Babaganoush should consider applying to non-Ivy League schools.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
"Wow, This Ointment Makes My Arm Smart." "Well Then, Perhaps You Should Rub Some of It On Your Head."
In one of our earliest posts on this blog ("One Smart Fellow, He Felt Smart"), we discussed how the so-called "smart money" doesn't fare any better in the market than the "dumb money" does.
Recent events have only continued to prove this out. In addition to the people who ran these now troubled companies (into the ground, that is), there are several big-name investors who have been caught up in the mix as well. For example, Texas Pacific Group (TPG), a large, highly-regarded buyout firm, led a consortium which made a $7.0 billion investment into Washington Mutual. When WaMu went bust, was shut down by the regulators and essentially handed over to JP Morgan, TPG lost an estimated $1.3 billion. Granted, TPG manages some $50 billion in assets, so it's still a major player, but that's a real hit.
Yesterday, the Wall Street Journal reported that J.C. Flowers & Co., a private-equity firm founded and run by J. Christopher Flowers (how's that for an amazing coincidence?), has racked up paper losses of about $2 billion, owing, among other things, to a soured investment in Hypo Real Estate Holdings AG, a Munich-based real estate and banking company.
Losses like those will take a few points off of your investment return record...and perhaps your publicly perceived IQ.
But this got me thinking, what makes someone smart? What is the basis upon which we bestow the label "genius" on someone? Or "moron?"
For example, for about eight years, we've been hearing about how dumb George W. Bush is. Is that really true? Or, is that simply a label that's been placed upon him by a bunch of "elitist" liberals, who are bitter about the fact that people other than they and their hairy-armpit, Birkenstock-wearing, hygienophobic friends are actually allowed to vote?
Who's the idiot, the person who is arguably the most powerful man in the free world, or the loser who spends his/her time laboring for a financially failing liberal rag like the N.Y. Times, or for CNN, which at its current rate of viewership decline, might actually become the first channel with negative ratings?
You decide.
In reality, it's pretty difficult to diagnose genius. Like seemingly everything else, however, this stuff was easier to figure out when I was a kid.
I'm not sure where it originated, but in my home, growing up in Queens, we believed that anyone who was mentally ill was really a genius. I don't mean garden-variety depression or anything like that. That's pretty ordinary. But, if someone was a full-blown schizophrenic, he was obviously a genius. Or, so we believed. The thinking was that the guy in question was so smart, that his brain just couldn't handle it, and he "snapped." Sort of like putting a 12-cylinder, 650 horsepower engine in a Chevy. (Wait, that's NASCAR. Strike that. And pass the Skoal, Caleb).
That's another thing we believed. No one was ever born crazy. You just "snapped." And, no one was more susceptible to snapping than a genius. If you became a serial killer, now that was pure brilliance. Why, we were so convinced of this that if we had met David Berkowitz (or his father, Sam) back in the '70s, we'd probably have asked him all of those really pesky questions we had, to which none of the adults we knew could provide satisfactory answers. Then, we'd have called the police.
A real-life case in point was my father's Cousin S. His real name wasn't "S," although that would've been cool. His name started with the letter "s." As I'm referring to a real person here, it wouldn't be polite to use his real first name. I'm sure you're thinking that I've narrowed it down by using the first letter. Well, if you want to spend the rest of the day guessing, go ahead. Knock yourself out, Salvatore. And no, his name wasn't Salvatore.
Anyway, Cousin S. was mental. And not just a little weird or eccentric, either. Rumor was that he had spent time in the loony bin. Creedmoor, to be exact. The Harvard of loony bins (without the $37 billion endowment). Sure, everyone talked about Bellevue when we were kids, but that place was no big deal. Anyone could get into Bellevue. Heck, after three Red Bulls and a bad salami, I could get into Bellevue (no comment, FBB, on any part of that last sentence). Creedmoor was big time.
Every so often, Cousin S. would call the house, asking to talk to my father. Usually, my sister (who is a year younger than me, and whose birthday was yesterday - we're now the same age) answered the phone. Her eyes would get really big, and, holding her hand over the mouthpiece, she'd whisper, "It's Cousin S!" I would do the obligatory, universal "cuckoo" sign, and then we'd get my father. We always watched my father while he spoke to Cousin S. on the phone. It was a real event. My father would speak really, really slowly to Cousin S., presumably so as not to agitate him. Or, for some other reason. I'm not really sure why.
After the conversation ended, and my father hung up the phone, we'd all proceed to talk about poor Cousin S. The conversation always ended with someone saying, "You know, he's a real genius. Absolutely brilliant. He just snapped one day."
Apparently, Cousin S. had an incredible resume. Over the years, we heard that he was a nuclear physicist, a surgeon, had at least 2 Phd.s and was a part-time astronaut.
Once, he came over to visit. Now that was an occasion. My sister and I were thrilled. My mother, not so much. "Who's coming for dinner, Mom?" "I don't know, one of your father's lunatic cousins. He is a genius, though."
As it turned out, Cousin S.'s visit was rather anticlimactic. He acted pretty normal. Must've been sedated, or something. We all had a perfectly nice evening. Hopefully, he didn't notice my sister and I staring at him, mouths agape, for minutes at a time, waiting for him to do something crazy. Never happened. In retrospect, it was more than a little disappointing.
My next brush with genius came when I was a teenager. The high school I attended employed a few Polish immigrants as custodians. They didn't seem too bright, but sure enough, a rumor started that these guys were really smart, and that they had been respected professionals back in Poland. However, upon coming to the U.S., they had no choice but to find work wherever they could, even if it meant being janitors. Given that this took place in the early '80s, perhaps it was just some Reagan-era Cold War bravado on behalf of us ugly Americans. Unable to compete with the talented American worker, even the most skilled and intellectually sophisticated people from eastern bloc communist nations were fit for nothing more than menial labor in the U.S. Back then, that's the kind of thing we wanted to believe. Our national pride was at stake. Or, maybe it's just that we heard about it from the 12th graders. Those guys knew everything.
One of the janitors in particular, Vlodek, was said to be the most educated of the bunch. Back in Poland, we were told, he was a doctor. There seemed to be two different schools of thought about this. He was either a medical doctor or a PhD. Either way, he was brilliant.
The funny thing is, he didn't really seem all that smart. But, when you're convinced that someone is a genius, you can explain away everything he does as being really astute. (Sort of how we treat Warren Buffet, T. Boone Pickens, Kirk Kerkorian, Steven Schwartzman and Carl Icahn nowadays). Sure, he had a hard time putting garbage bags into the garbage cans, but hey, those things can be slippery. As for the time(s) he got stuck in the phone booth? Well, those folding doors aren't as easy to navigate as you think. Plus, in Poland, phone booth doors fold outward, not inward, as they do in the U.S. It's easy to get confused. Even for 10 minutes at a time. Imagine trying to drive a car in one of those countries where they drive on the left side of the street. You'd have trouble with that, wouldn't you? Given that I was only about 14 at the time, and couldn't really imagine trying to drive on either side of the street, I just let it go.
There was no arguing the point. Vlodek was brilliant. He had been a doctor back in Poland. Case closed.
The ketchup incident changed everything.
One day, I was hanging around outside during recess, and a classmate came up to me, and breathlessly said, "Come inside. Quick. You gotta see this!" I wasn't buying it, so without looking at the guy, I replied, "Yeah, sure, no problem. Be right there."
He said it again, only this time, even more insistently. "No, really. You gotta see this. Come now, or you'll miss it!"
Now, I'm no sucker. And this was clearly a sucker play. So I just said, "Yeah, sure. You go first, I'll be right in."
By now, my friend was practically jumping up and down. He pulled out his trump card, and slapped it onto the table with a flourish.
"Vlodek's eating ketchup. Straight. With a spoon!"
I said, "What? Where? I'm on my way!"
We ran to the dining room, where a small crowd of onlookers had already gathered, watching from a distance of about 10-15 feet, trying to remain inconspicuous. As we stared with a mixture of amazement and horror, Vlodek our physician (or physicist, depending on which version of the story you subscribed to)-cum-custodian friend was spooning ketchup out of a small plastic container into his mouth. Vlodek was eating ketchup! Straight up!
Upon further inspection, we noticed that he had an empty plate next to him, along with several other empty ketchup containers.
Vlodek was eating ketchup! Straight up! A lot of it! For dessert! On a Wednesday!
Now, lest you think I just threw in that last clause, let me explain. The Polish workers typically were paid on Friday, and within a couple of hours spent most of that money at the liquor store two blocks away from our school. Most observers of such behavior would conclude that these guys were really dumb, but of course, as mentioned above, we were always able to justify their behavior. You see, when they were growing up in Poland, these guys experienced rampant, runaway inflation. Much like in Weimar Germany, workers would immediately spend their wages out of fear of losing a significant amount of their purchasing power overnight. (We hadn't yet learned about the price control schemes that were in place in Communist economies. We were only in 9th grade. Those 12th graders, with their superior knowledge, were really taking advantage of our economic naivete. Darn you, 17-year old knights of knowledge!)
As to the whiskey consumption, that was something that had been ingrained into their culture as a way to prepare their bodies for the bitterly cold Polish winters. So, you wouldn't have known it if you just saw them stumbling around on a Friday evening, but these guys were really advanced.
Anyway, had Vlodek been eating ketchup on a weekend, we could've attributed it to the influence of the alcohol. But here he was, on a Wednesday, eating ketchup. With a spoon. Straight up. For dessert. While flat sober.
As we continued to witness Vlodek's grotesque feast, we heard something in the distance. It was the sound of our illusions, shattering forever. Vlodek was a cretin.
After a short while, a couple of us began to voice our feelings.
"That's fascinating."
"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen."
"He's really an idiot."
"Actually, I heard that back in Poland, he was a doctor of great renown, who once operated on Lech Walesa."
At this point, we paused to drag the person who made this last comment into the hallway, whereupon we began to vigorously pummel him about the head and shoulders.
Looking back, the whole thing was rather disappointing. We had wanted to believe that our custodian was really a genius in disguise. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.
Of course, we still maintained a cordial relationship with Vlodek. After all, there were about eight doctor's offices within a few blocks of our school. We didn't need any more doctors. What our little village needed was an idiot. And we had one.
A few of my classmates continued to hang around Vlodek, and he taught them some rude Polish words. These guys would take great delight in coming up to a bunch of us and shouting something like, "You guys are just a bunch of (insert Polish profanity here)!" Needless to say, cursing someone in a language he doesn't understand really has no effect at all.
We would ignore the guy for a couple of seconds, then one of us would pretend to make a phone call, and say aloud, "Yes, hello, Mr. and Mrs. Zerr? We've got your son Lou here. Perhaps you should come and pick him up from school. He seems to have come down with a severe case of the dweebs."
As to our would-be insultor, I'm not sure what benefit he derived from learning Polish. Then again, it could be helpful, if he ever moved to Poland.
And became a doctor.
Recent events have only continued to prove this out. In addition to the people who ran these now troubled companies (into the ground, that is), there are several big-name investors who have been caught up in the mix as well. For example, Texas Pacific Group (TPG), a large, highly-regarded buyout firm, led a consortium which made a $7.0 billion investment into Washington Mutual. When WaMu went bust, was shut down by the regulators and essentially handed over to JP Morgan, TPG lost an estimated $1.3 billion. Granted, TPG manages some $50 billion in assets, so it's still a major player, but that's a real hit.
Yesterday, the Wall Street Journal reported that J.C. Flowers & Co., a private-equity firm founded and run by J. Christopher Flowers (how's that for an amazing coincidence?), has racked up paper losses of about $2 billion, owing, among other things, to a soured investment in Hypo Real Estate Holdings AG, a Munich-based real estate and banking company.
Losses like those will take a few points off of your investment return record...and perhaps your publicly perceived IQ.
But this got me thinking, what makes someone smart? What is the basis upon which we bestow the label "genius" on someone? Or "moron?"
For example, for about eight years, we've been hearing about how dumb George W. Bush is. Is that really true? Or, is that simply a label that's been placed upon him by a bunch of "elitist" liberals, who are bitter about the fact that people other than they and their hairy-armpit, Birkenstock-wearing, hygienophobic friends are actually allowed to vote?
Who's the idiot, the person who is arguably the most powerful man in the free world, or the loser who spends his/her time laboring for a financially failing liberal rag like the N.Y. Times, or for CNN, which at its current rate of viewership decline, might actually become the first channel with negative ratings?
You decide.
In reality, it's pretty difficult to diagnose genius. Like seemingly everything else, however, this stuff was easier to figure out when I was a kid.
I'm not sure where it originated, but in my home, growing up in Queens, we believed that anyone who was mentally ill was really a genius. I don't mean garden-variety depression or anything like that. That's pretty ordinary. But, if someone was a full-blown schizophrenic, he was obviously a genius. Or, so we believed. The thinking was that the guy in question was so smart, that his brain just couldn't handle it, and he "snapped." Sort of like putting a 12-cylinder, 650 horsepower engine in a Chevy. (Wait, that's NASCAR. Strike that. And pass the Skoal, Caleb).
That's another thing we believed. No one was ever born crazy. You just "snapped." And, no one was more susceptible to snapping than a genius. If you became a serial killer, now that was pure brilliance. Why, we were so convinced of this that if we had met David Berkowitz (or his father, Sam) back in the '70s, we'd probably have asked him all of those really pesky questions we had, to which none of the adults we knew could provide satisfactory answers. Then, we'd have called the police.
A real-life case in point was my father's Cousin S. His real name wasn't "S," although that would've been cool. His name started with the letter "s." As I'm referring to a real person here, it wouldn't be polite to use his real first name. I'm sure you're thinking that I've narrowed it down by using the first letter. Well, if you want to spend the rest of the day guessing, go ahead. Knock yourself out, Salvatore. And no, his name wasn't Salvatore.
Anyway, Cousin S. was mental. And not just a little weird or eccentric, either. Rumor was that he had spent time in the loony bin. Creedmoor, to be exact. The Harvard of loony bins (without the $37 billion endowment). Sure, everyone talked about Bellevue when we were kids, but that place was no big deal. Anyone could get into Bellevue. Heck, after three Red Bulls and a bad salami, I could get into Bellevue (no comment, FBB, on any part of that last sentence). Creedmoor was big time.
Every so often, Cousin S. would call the house, asking to talk to my father. Usually, my sister (who is a year younger than me, and whose birthday was yesterday - we're now the same age) answered the phone. Her eyes would get really big, and, holding her hand over the mouthpiece, she'd whisper, "It's Cousin S!" I would do the obligatory, universal "cuckoo" sign, and then we'd get my father. We always watched my father while he spoke to Cousin S. on the phone. It was a real event. My father would speak really, really slowly to Cousin S., presumably so as not to agitate him. Or, for some other reason. I'm not really sure why.
After the conversation ended, and my father hung up the phone, we'd all proceed to talk about poor Cousin S. The conversation always ended with someone saying, "You know, he's a real genius. Absolutely brilliant. He just snapped one day."
Apparently, Cousin S. had an incredible resume. Over the years, we heard that he was a nuclear physicist, a surgeon, had at least 2 Phd.s and was a part-time astronaut.
Once, he came over to visit. Now that was an occasion. My sister and I were thrilled. My mother, not so much. "Who's coming for dinner, Mom?" "I don't know, one of your father's lunatic cousins. He is a genius, though."
As it turned out, Cousin S.'s visit was rather anticlimactic. He acted pretty normal. Must've been sedated, or something. We all had a perfectly nice evening. Hopefully, he didn't notice my sister and I staring at him, mouths agape, for minutes at a time, waiting for him to do something crazy. Never happened. In retrospect, it was more than a little disappointing.
My next brush with genius came when I was a teenager. The high school I attended employed a few Polish immigrants as custodians. They didn't seem too bright, but sure enough, a rumor started that these guys were really smart, and that they had been respected professionals back in Poland. However, upon coming to the U.S., they had no choice but to find work wherever they could, even if it meant being janitors. Given that this took place in the early '80s, perhaps it was just some Reagan-era Cold War bravado on behalf of us ugly Americans. Unable to compete with the talented American worker, even the most skilled and intellectually sophisticated people from eastern bloc communist nations were fit for nothing more than menial labor in the U.S. Back then, that's the kind of thing we wanted to believe. Our national pride was at stake. Or, maybe it's just that we heard about it from the 12th graders. Those guys knew everything.
One of the janitors in particular, Vlodek, was said to be the most educated of the bunch. Back in Poland, we were told, he was a doctor. There seemed to be two different schools of thought about this. He was either a medical doctor or a PhD. Either way, he was brilliant.
The funny thing is, he didn't really seem all that smart. But, when you're convinced that someone is a genius, you can explain away everything he does as being really astute. (Sort of how we treat Warren Buffet, T. Boone Pickens, Kirk Kerkorian, Steven Schwartzman and Carl Icahn nowadays). Sure, he had a hard time putting garbage bags into the garbage cans, but hey, those things can be slippery. As for the time(s) he got stuck in the phone booth? Well, those folding doors aren't as easy to navigate as you think. Plus, in Poland, phone booth doors fold outward, not inward, as they do in the U.S. It's easy to get confused. Even for 10 minutes at a time. Imagine trying to drive a car in one of those countries where they drive on the left side of the street. You'd have trouble with that, wouldn't you? Given that I was only about 14 at the time, and couldn't really imagine trying to drive on either side of the street, I just let it go.
There was no arguing the point. Vlodek was brilliant. He had been a doctor back in Poland. Case closed.
The ketchup incident changed everything.
One day, I was hanging around outside during recess, and a classmate came up to me, and breathlessly said, "Come inside. Quick. You gotta see this!" I wasn't buying it, so without looking at the guy, I replied, "Yeah, sure, no problem. Be right there."
He said it again, only this time, even more insistently. "No, really. You gotta see this. Come now, or you'll miss it!"
Now, I'm no sucker. And this was clearly a sucker play. So I just said, "Yeah, sure. You go first, I'll be right in."
By now, my friend was practically jumping up and down. He pulled out his trump card, and slapped it onto the table with a flourish.
"Vlodek's eating ketchup. Straight. With a spoon!"
I said, "What? Where? I'm on my way!"
We ran to the dining room, where a small crowd of onlookers had already gathered, watching from a distance of about 10-15 feet, trying to remain inconspicuous. As we stared with a mixture of amazement and horror, Vlodek our physician (or physicist, depending on which version of the story you subscribed to)-cum-custodian friend was spooning ketchup out of a small plastic container into his mouth. Vlodek was eating ketchup! Straight up!
Upon further inspection, we noticed that he had an empty plate next to him, along with several other empty ketchup containers.
Vlodek was eating ketchup! Straight up! A lot of it! For dessert! On a Wednesday!
Now, lest you think I just threw in that last clause, let me explain. The Polish workers typically were paid on Friday, and within a couple of hours spent most of that money at the liquor store two blocks away from our school. Most observers of such behavior would conclude that these guys were really dumb, but of course, as mentioned above, we were always able to justify their behavior. You see, when they were growing up in Poland, these guys experienced rampant, runaway inflation. Much like in Weimar Germany, workers would immediately spend their wages out of fear of losing a significant amount of their purchasing power overnight. (We hadn't yet learned about the price control schemes that were in place in Communist economies. We were only in 9th grade. Those 12th graders, with their superior knowledge, were really taking advantage of our economic naivete. Darn you, 17-year old knights of knowledge!)
As to the whiskey consumption, that was something that had been ingrained into their culture as a way to prepare their bodies for the bitterly cold Polish winters. So, you wouldn't have known it if you just saw them stumbling around on a Friday evening, but these guys were really advanced.
Anyway, had Vlodek been eating ketchup on a weekend, we could've attributed it to the influence of the alcohol. But here he was, on a Wednesday, eating ketchup. With a spoon. Straight up. For dessert. While flat sober.
As we continued to witness Vlodek's grotesque feast, we heard something in the distance. It was the sound of our illusions, shattering forever. Vlodek was a cretin.
After a short while, a couple of us began to voice our feelings.
"That's fascinating."
"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen."
"He's really an idiot."
"Actually, I heard that back in Poland, he was a doctor of great renown, who once operated on Lech Walesa."
At this point, we paused to drag the person who made this last comment into the hallway, whereupon we began to vigorously pummel him about the head and shoulders.
Looking back, the whole thing was rather disappointing. We had wanted to believe that our custodian was really a genius in disguise. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.
Of course, we still maintained a cordial relationship with Vlodek. After all, there were about eight doctor's offices within a few blocks of our school. We didn't need any more doctors. What our little village needed was an idiot. And we had one.
A few of my classmates continued to hang around Vlodek, and he taught them some rude Polish words. These guys would take great delight in coming up to a bunch of us and shouting something like, "You guys are just a bunch of (insert Polish profanity here)!" Needless to say, cursing someone in a language he doesn't understand really has no effect at all.
We would ignore the guy for a couple of seconds, then one of us would pretend to make a phone call, and say aloud, "Yes, hello, Mr. and Mrs. Zerr? We've got your son Lou here. Perhaps you should come and pick him up from school. He seems to have come down with a severe case of the dweebs."
As to our would-be insultor, I'm not sure what benefit he derived from learning Polish. Then again, it could be helpful, if he ever moved to Poland.
And became a doctor.
Hey, Who Took a Bite of That Cookie and Put It Back?
So I went to an engagement party last night. It was reception style, so you basically come when you want to, beginning at 8 pm. It was really nice, and really fun, and I walked away thinking about timing. How do you know when to go to a party so that you get there when most of the people you'll want to see will be showing up? How do you balance that with the need, as family, to show up somewhat on time? This was a family event, so whenever I got there, there would be people I knew and WANTED to speak to and hang out with. But it was also a local party, so there could have been a lot of people there who I knew.
In retrospect, I'd say I probably went too early. Called for 8, I got there about 8:50. It was fairly empty, so it was nice shmoozing with the cousins and such. I stayed about an hour, and as I was leaving I saw a whole bunch of people who I knew coming in.
So when you over analyze it, it makes the whole thing a little less fun. But after the fact analyzing can be a tool for next time. Here's what I should have done:
Hmmm, called for 8. On a weeknight, local. Most people won't want to come too late, but it's hard to leave the kids, so assume that non- family won't show up a minute before 9, but 9 can be kinda early if the kids aren't going into bed nicely and you're quickly putting up one more roast for Succos. So assume 9:30 is when things will get hopping. So I'd say between 9:30 and 10:30 were probably the main prime times (cuz really, who wants to FIRST get dressed at 10:30 and THEN go to a party for fifteen minutes). But that's late to show up when you're family and live local. Hmmm. So the other solution would be to stay longer, but that's ridiculous too, because really, how long are you going to stay and not seem like that oddball relative who just doesn't know when to leave. So really there is no good way to time these things, so you just have to go when it works out best for your own schedule, and plan to socialize at a more fixed time event.
The real question is, how many people got there after 10, and were disappointed because they missed me?
In retrospect, I'd say I probably went too early. Called for 8, I got there about 8:50. It was fairly empty, so it was nice shmoozing with the cousins and such. I stayed about an hour, and as I was leaving I saw a whole bunch of people who I knew coming in.
So when you over analyze it, it makes the whole thing a little less fun. But after the fact analyzing can be a tool for next time. Here's what I should have done:
Hmmm, called for 8. On a weeknight, local. Most people won't want to come too late, but it's hard to leave the kids, so assume that non- family won't show up a minute before 9, but 9 can be kinda early if the kids aren't going into bed nicely and you're quickly putting up one more roast for Succos. So assume 9:30 is when things will get hopping. So I'd say between 9:30 and 10:30 were probably the main prime times (cuz really, who wants to FIRST get dressed at 10:30 and THEN go to a party for fifteen minutes). But that's late to show up when you're family and live local. Hmmm. So the other solution would be to stay longer, but that's ridiculous too, because really, how long are you going to stay and not seem like that oddball relative who just doesn't know when to leave. So really there is no good way to time these things, so you just have to go when it works out best for your own schedule, and plan to socialize at a more fixed time event.
The real question is, how many people got there after 10, and were disappointed because they missed me?
Friday, October 3, 2008
Shoes, Shoes, Shoes
So, the saga of the shoe...continues. Those of you who regularly read IcebegCarwash(thank you)know that I lost my baby's shoe. Well, I didn't lose it, she did. Either way it was lost. In a ridiculous way, since I retraced my steps and searched Mrs. E's lawn, the last place we had seen the shoe on Little -Miss- 18 month- old.
We scoured the house. We scoured the car. We looked high. We looked low. Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zippo. Zilch. Every morning I looked at the lone shoe sitting forlornly on my dresser. The one recurring thing from day one was what I said and almost everyone who knew about the lost shoe and I came in contact with said too: "As soon as you buy new shoes, you'll find the old one."
So I waited. And waited some more. I looked more, too. Finally, today, I said "Enough. I have a busy week next week, I have to get the shoes." So off I went, baby in tow, and got her a new pair of shoes. Similar to the old ones, just a different color (side note: on the way to the store I was speaking to my friend and I said "hey, should I get the same shoes?" She said, "No, you hated them!" Now, that's a bit of an exaggeration, I just didn't love them. One of my other kids had picked them out. The old ones were ok. The new ones are sooo cute)
When I got home, I put something away in the baby's room. You will not believe WHAT WAS SITTING ON THE DRESSER!!!! Her shoe. Right there just sitting on the dresser in her room. I could not believe it. But then I quickly looked in my room and saw that someone had just moved the shoe from my dresser to hers. Shwooh.
Anywho. That was at about 12:45 pm. Guess what happened at 4:00 pm. C'mon, C'mon, guess. I dare you!
Yup. Mrs. E called. She found the shoe. The shoe I lost on September 24. The shoe I looked everywhere for. The shoe that I resigned to be gone forever. The shoe that everyone said would be found when I bought a new pair.
So that's the saga of the shoe. Not to get too..I dunno, but the lesson I learned is the power of words. And I do believe they have power. EVERYBODY said the same thing. I said it too. I don't believe in coincidences. So there you have it.
Use your words for good. It matters. Really.
We scoured the house. We scoured the car. We looked high. We looked low. Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zippo. Zilch. Every morning I looked at the lone shoe sitting forlornly on my dresser. The one recurring thing from day one was what I said and almost everyone who knew about the lost shoe and I came in contact with said too: "As soon as you buy new shoes, you'll find the old one."
So I waited. And waited some more. I looked more, too. Finally, today, I said "Enough. I have a busy week next week, I have to get the shoes." So off I went, baby in tow, and got her a new pair of shoes. Similar to the old ones, just a different color (side note: on the way to the store I was speaking to my friend and I said "hey, should I get the same shoes?" She said, "No, you hated them!" Now, that's a bit of an exaggeration, I just didn't love them. One of my other kids had picked them out. The old ones were ok. The new ones are sooo cute)
When I got home, I put something away in the baby's room. You will not believe WHAT WAS SITTING ON THE DRESSER!!!! Her shoe. Right there just sitting on the dresser in her room. I could not believe it. But then I quickly looked in my room and saw that someone had just moved the shoe from my dresser to hers. Shwooh.
Anywho. That was at about 12:45 pm. Guess what happened at 4:00 pm. C'mon, C'mon, guess. I dare you!
Yup. Mrs. E called. She found the shoe. The shoe I lost on September 24. The shoe I looked everywhere for. The shoe that I resigned to be gone forever. The shoe that everyone said would be found when I bought a new pair.
So that's the saga of the shoe. Not to get too..I dunno, but the lesson I learned is the power of words. And I do believe they have power. EVERYBODY said the same thing. I said it too. I don't believe in coincidences. So there you have it.
Use your words for good. It matters. Really.
Get Shorty
File this post under "update."
Two weeks ago, ("Don't Sell Yourself - Or the Bank - Short") we discussed the SEC's issuance of a temporary ban against short selling in approximately 800 stocks. The plan was designed to limit the downward pressure on the market, and to reduce volatility.
At the time, we were quite skeptical of the move.
Let's revisit things, two weeks in:
The SEC's short-selling ban was passed before the markets opened on Friday, September 19th. So, our baseline is the closing price on Thursday, September 18th.
Since that point, as of last night's close, the market, as measured by the S&P 500, is down 7.6%. In 10 trading days. Ouch.
How about the volatility of the market? Consider the following day-to-day changes in the S&P 500 Index:
9/19: Up 4.0%
9/22: Down 3.8%
9/23: Down 1.6%
9/24: Down 0.2%
9/25: Up 2.0%
9/26: Up 0.3%
9/29: Down 8.8%
9/30: Up 5.3%
10/1: Down 0.3%
10/2: Down 4.0%
In the past 10 trading days, we've had seven days where the market was up or down by more than 1.5%. For comparison purposes, note that the average daily move in the S&P 500, going back about 80 years, is approximately 0.3%.
I don't think that anyone is all too surprised by the negative price changes or the volatility we've witnessed in the past couple of weeks. After all, the news has been increasingly bearish, and the continually changing fortunes of the federal bailout package have caused a great "whipsaw" effect in the markets.
That's the point. One of the reasons we didn't like the idea of banning short sales as a method of stabilizing the market is that it simply doesn't work. People will react to the news - as they interpret it - and act accordingly. Even in the absence of short selling pressure, if no one wants to own stock, prices go down. When the outlook improves, however temporarily, people buy. Prices go up, even without the upward pressure caused by traders covering their short positions. This is the market at work.
We'll revisit this again somewhere down the line, but the early returns indicate that the SEC's temporary ban on short selling was a big waste of time.
Going forward, perhaps the SEC should focus its attention and energy on more important matters.
Like oversight.
And remaining relevant.
Two weeks ago, ("Don't Sell Yourself - Or the Bank - Short") we discussed the SEC's issuance of a temporary ban against short selling in approximately 800 stocks. The plan was designed to limit the downward pressure on the market, and to reduce volatility.
At the time, we were quite skeptical of the move.
Let's revisit things, two weeks in:
The SEC's short-selling ban was passed before the markets opened on Friday, September 19th. So, our baseline is the closing price on Thursday, September 18th.
Since that point, as of last night's close, the market, as measured by the S&P 500, is down 7.6%. In 10 trading days. Ouch.
How about the volatility of the market? Consider the following day-to-day changes in the S&P 500 Index:
9/19: Up 4.0%
9/22: Down 3.8%
9/23: Down 1.6%
9/24: Down 0.2%
9/25: Up 2.0%
9/26: Up 0.3%
9/29: Down 8.8%
9/30: Up 5.3%
10/1: Down 0.3%
10/2: Down 4.0%
In the past 10 trading days, we've had seven days where the market was up or down by more than 1.5%. For comparison purposes, note that the average daily move in the S&P 500, going back about 80 years, is approximately 0.3%.
I don't think that anyone is all too surprised by the negative price changes or the volatility we've witnessed in the past couple of weeks. After all, the news has been increasingly bearish, and the continually changing fortunes of the federal bailout package have caused a great "whipsaw" effect in the markets.
That's the point. One of the reasons we didn't like the idea of banning short sales as a method of stabilizing the market is that it simply doesn't work. People will react to the news - as they interpret it - and act accordingly. Even in the absence of short selling pressure, if no one wants to own stock, prices go down. When the outlook improves, however temporarily, people buy. Prices go up, even without the upward pressure caused by traders covering their short positions. This is the market at work.
We'll revisit this again somewhere down the line, but the early returns indicate that the SEC's temporary ban on short selling was a big waste of time.
Going forward, perhaps the SEC should focus its attention and energy on more important matters.
Like oversight.
And remaining relevant.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Apparently Disgusting Isn't as Disgusting As You Might Think
So Billionaire- Know -It- All-Nanny-To The-Unwashed-Masses-Mayor Michael Bloomberg wants to run for a third term.
Apparently the United States can manage without George Bush in our War on Terror, War in Iraq and current economic crisis.
But not the people of the city of New York. No, those people need their very wealthy Mayor, the one who got those stupid poor people to stop eating trans fats and smoking in public, to get them through what he calls an economic "meltdown." It may be an economic meltdown, and things may be a wreck for a little while, but twice the people of the city of New York voted for term limits. Twice.
Oh, wait, he doesn't want to upend term limits you silly middle class Poland Spring drinking reader. No, no, the people voted for term limits in a referendum. Term limits shall remain. But why does it have to be only two terms? We won't change the term limit law, absolutely we will maintain term limits. Only, it should be THREE terms per Mayor, silly. Sheesh. Really, does anyone actually think there is ANYONE who could guide the city of New York out of a financial crisis other than this man? I see his point. No one could lead the city out of 9/11 after Rudy....oh, wait. Rudy left. Was he voted out? Oh, no. IT was term limits. Hmmm. Wait, did the city turn to dust? No. No it did Not.
So the man who whines his way through everything while telling people too bad, stop whining and ALWAYS knows what's best for everyone knows it now too. To hell with the law, or what the people want. Some will say let him run, if the people don't like it they don't need to vote for him. But that's the reason term limits were put in place in he first place. People like voting for the incumbent (though if G W Bush ran today, even against a grapefruit he'd probably lose, but he beat Kerry, so four years ago he totally proved this point). So after Bloomberg guides the city through a depression and builds more buildings with Trump, and makes sure that his imprint is on Ground Zero, then what? What crisis will come up four years down the line that will require his expert services again? Hmmm,well, let's see. If he has 12 years experience running the city how could any other candidate except maybe Edward I Koch, hope to possibly do the job nearly as well. So of course the city council will have to vote again. And that's the beauty of his plan. Council Speaker Christine Quinn can't block this, because then she looks like she's just doing it because she wants to run for Mayor. Not that she'd necessarily make a good Mayor, but who knows?
He's obviously done a lot of good for teh city, and I like that he said a lot of today's financial crisis comes from an inability to wait in a society of must have, and more importantly must have NOW.
Either way, it's late, some of my kids are sick, and if I don't get to bed now, I expect to have a knock on my door any minute from you know who.
Apparently the United States can manage without George Bush in our War on Terror, War in Iraq and current economic crisis.
But not the people of the city of New York. No, those people need their very wealthy Mayor, the one who got those stupid poor people to stop eating trans fats and smoking in public, to get them through what he calls an economic "meltdown." It may be an economic meltdown, and things may be a wreck for a little while, but twice the people of the city of New York voted for term limits. Twice.
Oh, wait, he doesn't want to upend term limits you silly middle class Poland Spring drinking reader. No, no, the people voted for term limits in a referendum. Term limits shall remain. But why does it have to be only two terms? We won't change the term limit law, absolutely we will maintain term limits. Only, it should be THREE terms per Mayor, silly. Sheesh. Really, does anyone actually think there is ANYONE who could guide the city of New York out of a financial crisis other than this man? I see his point. No one could lead the city out of 9/11 after Rudy....oh, wait. Rudy left. Was he voted out? Oh, no. IT was term limits. Hmmm. Wait, did the city turn to dust? No. No it did Not.
So the man who whines his way through everything while telling people too bad, stop whining and ALWAYS knows what's best for everyone knows it now too. To hell with the law, or what the people want. Some will say let him run, if the people don't like it they don't need to vote for him. But that's the reason term limits were put in place in he first place. People like voting for the incumbent (though if G W Bush ran today, even against a grapefruit he'd probably lose, but he beat Kerry, so four years ago he totally proved this point). So after Bloomberg guides the city through a depression and builds more buildings with Trump, and makes sure that his imprint is on Ground Zero, then what? What crisis will come up four years down the line that will require his expert services again? Hmmm,well, let's see. If he has 12 years experience running the city how could any other candidate except maybe Edward I Koch, hope to possibly do the job nearly as well. So of course the city council will have to vote again. And that's the beauty of his plan. Council Speaker Christine Quinn can't block this, because then she looks like she's just doing it because she wants to run for Mayor. Not that she'd necessarily make a good Mayor, but who knows?
He's obviously done a lot of good for teh city, and I like that he said a lot of today's financial crisis comes from an inability to wait in a society of must have, and more importantly must have NOW.
Either way, it's late, some of my kids are sick, and if I don't get to bed now, I expect to have a knock on my door any minute from you know who.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Sweep Two is the Worst Job EVER
So the blog's been kind of quiet the last few days, as we've been busy with loftier pursuits. And shopping. As everyone knows you cannot enter the High Holy Days without new clothes, shoes, socks, and hosiery. Then the week following needs more clothes. And more cooking. But mostly more clothes.
How sad when we drive around town in the days preceding the Holidays and people are frantic to have the right outfits for their kids. I hope they don't lose the forest for the trees. Cuz these trees are so secondary or even tertiary to the actual days. Yes, everyone needs nice clothing befitting the days, but the stress is just misplaced, because kids especially look adorable in most anything. I mean if you have no clothes, by all means go get some, but it shouldn't be the focus.
Neither should the cooking. Though it's a huge part of the days, it shouldn't be all encompassing.
So here's to a stress free Jewish Holiday season, and the fervent hope that we all focus on what's important, and that our prayers be answered for the good.
If there's one thing we've learned over these many years (and blog posts too apparently) is that every task before us seems incredibly daunting, but we need to remember that it's not undoable. We can be negative and see it as the end of the world, or we can just roll up our sleeves and get to work. Whatever will be, will be, but we can work hard on our end to make the effort needed to achieve the desired result. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't, but giving up before you start never gets you anywhere. Even if you don't give up, thinking and expecting the worse is a good way for that to come to pass, even if you do extend some effort. Protecting yourself by being negative to shield yourself from disappointment does nothing but sway you in that direction.
BE POSITIVE!!! WORK HARD!!! It'll make you happier.
How sad when we drive around town in the days preceding the Holidays and people are frantic to have the right outfits for their kids. I hope they don't lose the forest for the trees. Cuz these trees are so secondary or even tertiary to the actual days. Yes, everyone needs nice clothing befitting the days, but the stress is just misplaced, because kids especially look adorable in most anything. I mean if you have no clothes, by all means go get some, but it shouldn't be the focus.
Neither should the cooking. Though it's a huge part of the days, it shouldn't be all encompassing.
So here's to a stress free Jewish Holiday season, and the fervent hope that we all focus on what's important, and that our prayers be answered for the good.
If there's one thing we've learned over these many years (and blog posts too apparently) is that every task before us seems incredibly daunting, but we need to remember that it's not undoable. We can be negative and see it as the end of the world, or we can just roll up our sleeves and get to work. Whatever will be, will be, but we can work hard on our end to make the effort needed to achieve the desired result. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't, but giving up before you start never gets you anywhere. Even if you don't give up, thinking and expecting the worse is a good way for that to come to pass, even if you do extend some effort. Protecting yourself by being negative to shield yourself from disappointment does nothing but sway you in that direction.
BE POSITIVE!!! WORK HARD!!! It'll make you happier.
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