Grown Ups Talking

The slipper and I have come to our current circumstances from different backgrounds. Although our personal debt is pretty much our mortgage, neither of us have been stern savers or religeous pension planners.

After half a lifetime of reeling from one country to another, one job to another, one career to another, I have sort of/kind of found a minimally secure clutch of jobs that have kept me going for longer than usual. The slipper is finding it more difficult; therefore our situation remains precarious.

I was brought up in New England, home of puritan values, respecters of hard work and forward planning. You wouldn’t know it.

Now that the economy is subterranean, it turns out our devil-may-care dancing around has been the sensible decision. If we had saved up a huge pension, right now we’d be absolutely screwed!

Thank god for that.

Oh yes, there was a debate last night. Still neck and neck.—Pomerol

The economy is complicated.

Here’s a useful link.

http://my.barackobama.com/page/invite/keatingvideo

We need some grown ups in charge.—pomerol

A beautiful day in sunny Brooklyn. Once a year they close down Atlantic Avenue for the “Atlantic Antic” an all day street festival with live bands and cheap tasty nibbles. As the growing crowd wandered up and down the street the many sides of Brooklyn came out. The GerontRockracy was out in full force, aging rockers covering Jim Morrison and Steppenwolf. Half a block down were a cowboy trio (no, really) doing down-home, line dancing acoustic yee haw stuff. Next came the drumliners, girls and boys both, then a catchy Middle Eastern band headed by an old guy in flat cap singing racy songs.

We settled on a multi-generational Calypso band, two young singers and two older guys on bass and synthesizer. They had a great beat and pulled the crowd in. One little boy with his face painted like a tiger ran out in front and showed us his stuff. Who knew a nine-year-old could swing his hips like that?

Brooklyn-style, onlookers included an Hasidic man (tall furry hat, black robes, and long curly sideburns) on a cellphone, a yuppy, would-be Tour de Francer dressed Lance Armstrong style, a clutch of mothers and children all bouncing away.

You see these things in the sunshine and people look happy, boisterous, unquenchable. Yet even today there were signs of impending disaster. Behind the Calypso guys, Sovereign Bank had signs up advertising More Money on $100, desperately scrounging for tiny amounts of capital. Across the street a Trader Joe’s has opened (yay!). Trader Joe’s, famous for not moving into expensive neighborhoods, only going for affordable rents, not raising food prices—all the things that got us into the spiral of rising prices and bad debt. A sign of the times.

We will prevail (or purvail, as Sarah Palin puts it). But there’s a storm coming and a lot of people will be suffering for a long time. At least Obama is talking about it. McCain and Palin keep saying Washington is the problem. It’s much, much, bigger than that.—Pomerol

The Republican government is advocating socialism. The Republican Party is sticking to it’s “party princibles” and standing up for the free market. The Democrats are backing the Republican government except for some holdouts who standing up for the little guys. And gals.

What to believe? Who to listen to? The problem is, even if we get the Great Cash Injection, there’s no guarantee that it will work.

So the real problem is, nobody really knows what they’re doing.

It’s like a doberman sleeping on your foot. You poke it and hope it will turn over and roll off. But it might wake up and tear you to bits. In fact, not only is it a wild beast, it has rabies. All these “leaders” are pulling in different directions, all of which could/might wake the rabid doberman and cause the world economy to implode.

All I know is, when this is done? they will have to regulate the hell out of the markets.—Pomerol

From our apartment you can look out over the tall buildings in downtown Brooklyn. It’s foggy this morning and particularly beautiful. The fog mazes over the grubbier elements and makes our scruffy borough look like an Impressionist painting.

Early this morning the slipper and I were awoken by a rock band and shouting voices speaking through loud hailers. On investigation they turned out to be from Recovery, an organization for recovering alcoholics. They were gathering to march over the Brooklyn Bridge to lower Manhattan.

Very worthy, an enjoyable walk on a beautiful morning. Who could fault it? But there are uncomfortable similarities with the usual lower Manhattan habitués. Can the Wall Street denizens get over their addictions with a gigantic quick fix from Washington? I tend to think they are still stuck in the mindset of fast cash and easy returns. Recovery on Wall Street means to them a return of being rich and powerful and arrogant and receiving astronomical bonuses for doing a bad job. Even $700 Billion can’t do that. But addicts always dream of that rush you get when you have your first drink, your first whiff of crack, your first taste of numbers racing upwards on your computer screen.

I, Pomerol, think congress should dole out the money in tranches of, say, $200 million, and let the economy come down from its addiction. At first, confidence will be in short supply. But after they get used to the new regime the fancy dancers will be finding ways to to make money, but in a smaller, more sustainable fashion.

I’ll tell you, if our tax dollars have to pay for some useless money-grubber’s Christmas bonus, then there Will be a revolution.—Pomerol