Happy New Year's Eve!

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?

Well, yes, probably. But I don't think so! In fact, I think it's time, for the sake of this psyche of mine, to review the last year, and see what really happened.

Let's call it 2008: We Hardly Knew Ye.

"But Wait!," I said. "Years in retrospect have to have Best Of lists!"

"You're right," I replied. But what was I qualified to describe the best of? Unlike 2007, I don't know anything about music anymore. I only saw 2 movies.

And then I got it. Each month will have one BEST BLOG POST. And they'll all be by ME!!!

Let's get started.

January

Okay so then, this year began. I was in Virginia, and I was watching The Twilight Zone marathon. Pretty soon, I would get on a plane and go to Oregon, where I'd never been.

Highlights: Traveling across the country; seeing Oregon for the first time; meeting: Thomas, Sarah, Gabe, Lee Ann, Emily, etc.

Lowlights: Being lonely; living with the Ecclesiarchy; Roseburg.

Best Post: Random Thoughts, from January 11th.

February

Then February came, and I was pretty lonely.

Highlights: Going to Bandon and Portland for the first time

Lowlights: Valentine's Day

Best Post: Portland!, from February 27th.

March

Finally, it was time for a breakdown. This month featured the quote, "Now I am going to lock myself in my room and cry."

Highlights: Visiting Emily in Coos Bay.

Lowlights: Antidepressants; "I cried for a solid hour."

Best Post: blog through breakdown, from March 25th.

April

April turned lighter, a bit. I think based on the following decision: "Now I will drink and be merry and let the past fade away."

Highlights: Discovering the Scoreboard.

Lowlights: Discovering the Scoreboard.

Best Post: Startling Revelations, from April 18th; A Letter to the People of Roseburg, from April 16th.

May

Wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world! Not that Spring comes really to this Land Beyond the Sun, but, hints and feelers and better than nothing.

Highlights: Camping!

Lowlights: How is it this fucking cold in May??

Best Post: Obviously, This Post Is About Lobsters In Space, from May 28th.

June

May turned to June, and June, to warmth, but only for a little while.

Highlights: Loon Lake; inauguration of The Pleasures Of.

Lowlights: How is it this fucking cold in June??

Best Post: The Pleasures Of, Episode 2, from June 11th.

July

July, July. It really was strange. Changings and becomings and everything hot and new. Halfshells, cats and marines, delight in the humidity.

Highlights: Sunlight; Halfshell; New Folk arrive; poetry readings; how much happiness?

Lowlights: It all comes with a cost, doesn't it?

Best Post: And the Days, from July 2nd.


August

August, dear August. Endings, beginnings, changings. I became 25. I became other things, and only some of them good.

Highlights: Birthdays; Crater Lake; Zine launch; camping; barbecue breakfast.

Lowlights: The shadowy flowers of Orcus.

Best Post: ¿Donde está tu niña amarga?, from August 7th.


September

September is that forever mix. So much good, and yet, it's at this point that other things begin to spiral downward.

Highlights: Somehow, I don't remember September very well.

Lowlights: Fortunately, that means that I don't remember anything bad happening either.

Best Post: Prediction, from September 10th.


October

What a month, October! The season of mists finally gets underway, and the dead come a'wandering to usher it along.

Highlights: Halloween!

Lowlights: Economic crisis.

Best Post: A View from the RNC, from October 9th.


November

Remember, remember! I love you, November. This month Kat and I took off on our famous Road Trip. That was awesome!

Highlights: Redwoods; San Francisco; Santa Barbara; LAX; Pittsburgh; Motel 6; Ashland.

Lowlights: Getting In Trouble.

Best Post: Road Trip, part 2, from November 26th.


December

Oh Dear December, and winter rolling in. Alaska makes love to the Oregon coast--and what are the consequences for the rest of us! On this last day I declare, I love December 2008.

Highlights: Did I tell you how I spent Christmas? We were in a cabin--nay, a chalet--near Mount Baker in Northern Washington.

Lowlights: The anxiety of "Very soon I will not have a job."

Best Post: Happy New Year's Eve!, from December 31st.

Merry Christmas

Hi I'm back.

Okay so a couple things,

First,

I'm not going to write about the time I went to California then Pennsylvania anymore cause I'm sick of it.

Then also, I want to write a bit about Christmas holiday, even though it's kind of over, but, you know, I wasn't here for it,

I was trapped in a cabin in the frozen North. So that's what I'll do.

Okay bye.

Too Big, Too Fast, Too Complex

Here's a review of a talk given by John Robb.

Key is to understand that our world is too big and too connected and too fast to be understood or controlled by the way we think and act today. The financial crisis has caught all the leadership offside - they are all behind and there is not enough money in the "real economy" to cope with the damage done by all the derivatives etc that far exceed the real.

...Sparks is discontinued and I just got back from a bohemian drinkfest in Pittsburgh, but at some point soon it's going to be necessary to stop all this partying on the deck of the Titanic, to use an awesome cliche, or maybe that point was four years ago.

I AM SO ANGRY

And here's why:

Maryland's Attorney General, Douglas F. Gansler, announced an agreement with MillerCoors that will result in the nationwide discontinuance of the country’s top-selling pre-mixed alcoholic energy drink, Sparks.

As part of the agreement across 14 states, the mega brewer will not produce any caffeinated alcohol beverages in the future. Sparks future was in doubt when light was brought to the Attorneys General that the beverages were being marketed to an underage audience and used misleading health-related information to help sell more cans...

If you're planning on switching to a Sparks alternative, think again. This past May, Anheuser-Busch announced they would stop producing alcoholic energy drinks, including Tilt and Bud Extra. With the elimination of Sparks from the market, nearly 85% of all alcoholic energy drinks that were available at the start of this year will no longer be sold.

The Miseries of Pittsburgh

Okay it's like 400 days later and I still haven't finished writing about this damnable trip! This will be the last post about it. It will be epic, and cover everything. It will be abbreviated.

Day 6: In Pittsburgh

5:00 - Arrival at the Pittsburgh airport. Waiting to pick me up was JAY.

Jay: First seen at the airport terminal, bearded and carrying a copy of the Koran. Fortunately my plane was early, so he didn't have enough time to get arrested.

5:30 - There is no better entrance to a city than the Fort Pitt tunnel.

6:00 - So there's this beer called ichor by some brewer I've never heard of. The old Italian guy that runs Grazziano's pizza place apparently got a bunch in and is selling them for cheap. Hello delicious. Also, Jay and JIM are brewing BEER in their basement.

Jim: First seen walking down the street in Lawrenceville, Jim is 96% more bearded than the last time I saw him. On the other hand, so am I.

Beer: First drunk at age 14 at Thanksgiving, Beer has since become a major staple of The Steve Life.

6:30 - Enter MISTER THIRTEEN.

13: I am proud of having christened him with this name, the same under which his article which also appeared on this blog was published in Steel City Revolt.

7:00 - Belvediere's. I remember sitting in this bar on a winter night two years ago with my friend Richie. It was a Wednesday. We were two of the only people there. The bartender, bored or lonely, struck up a conversation with us, eventually inviting us to come back the next day "for our first ever 80's night." I believe the rest is history.

11:00 - Or 10 or 12. Enter some new douchebag friend of Jim and Jay's. These two have a collection of random hangers-on, all of them unpleasant. I don't know this one's name. Probably "Standard Pittsburgh Fucktard."

Standard Pittsburgh Fucktard: Gave us a ride up the hill to the BRILLO BOX. Meanwhile he had a breathalizer in his car, for some reason/because that's the kind of thing a douchebag would have. I blew .11.

The Brillo Box: Epicenter of East End hipsterdom. The scene and source of every major insane event of the last 2 years I lived in Pittsburgh. I knew the two gentleman tending bar rather well, and I suppose they must know me a lot better (since they remember the stuff I do).

Drunk:00 - Pass out.

Day 7

11:00 - Wake up; it feels like 8. Oh, it is 8, but not really. I don't understand time.

1:00 - Finally leave the house; go to OAKLAND.

Oakland: Location of the UNIVERSITY OF PITTSBURGH. My favorite restaurant there is Oishi Bento. I walked in; found it over-crowded; walked out realizing I wouldn't be comfortable unless I had a book to read. So I went to the campus Book Center and bought a collection of classic weird fiction (each story with an intro by H.P. Lovecraft!), thinking I could also make a gift of it for my hosts.

The University of Pittsburgh: Location of 5 years of idleness; source of thousands of dollars of debt.

4:00 - I had early called my friend MEGAN and invited her to lunch with me, but she said, "No Steve, there is a blizzard approaching, you should leave Oakland and come back to Lawrenceville before 6."

Megan: Anthropology grad student at the University of Pittsburgh; when I met her for coffee she brought me a scarf made in the Himalayas, presumably purchased on her recent trip to India. It was cold and I was grateful. One month later, I keep forgetting I own it until I go out the door in the morning and think "Man I wish I had a scarf."

6:00 - Megan and I went back to the Brillo Box and ordered dinner. My brother JIMMY and his girlfriend turned up.

Jimmy: 14 feet tall but still a little shit. Lately he has let his hair grow out, having no money to pay a barber. It was commented by others that he looks like me. I denied it. To demonstrate that it was true, he pulled his hair back from his face and scowled.

6:00-2:00: 8 hours of the fucking Brillo Box. After Jimmy, CURT arrived. It was an interesting combination. Megan said she had to go home because she had no money. I said No, stay and I will buy you drinks. 13 turned up. RYAN and BEAUREGARD turned up. LAUREN turned up. This is why I spent so much time at this bar: EVERYBODY ALWAYS TURNS UP. Jay turned up. IAN turned up. Jim turned up, I think. Let's examine some of these characters.

Curt: Delightful artist and longtime friend; the only person I know who is karmically in the black. Curt is one of my favorites.

Ryan: Only speaks in rants. In the past he, Richie and I spent a great deal of time playing Rummy and watching Bruce Springsteen live in London in 1975.

Beauregard: Ryan's current roommate; also works with Curt at a gallery downtown. Coincidences like that happen frequently in Pittsburgh. I call them Pittsburgh Moments.

I cannot handle writing anymore right now. Therefore I am going to post this as is. Still to come: Rummy; Black Velvet; and the Trinitarian Heresy. Join us next time.

The Call of Cthulhu

So that readers named Gabe will be able to make an informed judgment of the previous post, here is a link to the full text of The Call of Cthulhu by H.P. Lovecraft.

I. The Horror In Clay

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age....

The Road Goes Ever On and On

Day 6: To Pittsburgh

On the plane I read Gene Wolfe's new book An Evil Guest. Gene Wolfe is my favorite science fiction author and this book was hyped as a 30's-style Lovecraftian pulp horror story set in the future with other planets, wizards, and Cthulhu. As you can imagine, I was pretty psyched to read it.

Unfortunately, it mostly sucks.

The main character is a woman. That would be fine, even a really cool opportunity to mess with the tropes of 30's pulp fiction, but Wolfe apparently decided to import his value system directly from 1933 as well. So she mostly cries and is pretty.

Even that would be fine. It's obnoxious, but I know plenty of women who spend a lot of their time crying and being pretty. But then almost every single sentence in the entire book is dialogue, and it reads mostly like this:

"I have two questions. Wait, make that three."

"Okay, I'll try and answer them."

Invariably, only the first question is answered, and only sort of, before it's time for the next chapter.

Of course the plot doesn't make sense. The genius of Gene Wolfe is that his plots are buried pretty deep and almost never really make sense until you read the book again three or four times. Meanwhile on the surface there is enough interesting stuff going on to keep you entertained, and enough hints of the real story to force you to read the thing again. This is even true of his short stories, which is impressive and really difficult to pull off. The problem with An Evil Guest is that the on-the-surface story is not remotely interesting, and you never get enough of the real story lurking beneath.

When you do it's awesome. One chapter shows us a Cthulhu-cultist's journey to R'lyeh, where, of course, the dead god waits dreaming, and it's so freaking cool you want to crap your pants. And then another time a character talks about how there are all kinds of aliens on our world, but they never reveal themselves to us. And then he compares it the other planet in the book, Woldercan, which humans have visited and instead of lurking in shadows and swamps and ruined mansions in New England they've set up an embassy and diplomatic relations. Why isn't it like that here? Well, he explains, the difference is that Cthulhu is really the ruler of our world and he claims it as his private fiefdom or farmyard.

!!!! Holy freaking crap, right?? Unfortunately I just ruined the whole book for you because those are the only cool parts. Then I realized that I'd written a book review instead of a blog post about my trip to Pittsburgh so I got mad and posted it anyway.

Still More Road Trip

Day 5:

That day we woke up in Santa Barbara, which was totally new. Sarah was at work building an airbase. I wanted to leave her house quickly because her roommates are weird and I think they make more money than me.

Sarah left $20 and a hand-drawn map of the area on her bathroom sink. It was a sweet gesture and I laughed.

The plan for this day was to get breakfast at a nearby bakery, spend a few hours on the beach, and be on the road to Los Angeles by 1 or so. Unfortunately, there is a bookstore beside the bakery in Santa Barbara. By the time we emerged it was after 1:00. We were sad about missing the beach, but there was nothing for it but to hit the road.

Glendale (a chunk of Los Angeles or suburb or something) is only an hour or two south of Santa Barbara. We should have made good time, and been at April's place in time to cook dinner. Fortunately, Kat and I both have Attention Deficit Disorder.

We'd been driving an hour or something when we saw the beach. It cost $7 to park, but there was no one working. We pulled in, and ran down to the water.

Beaches hold a special significance for me. As a child, we spent our summers in Ocean City, a resort town in Maryland. 12-15 of us would pack into a 3 bedroom condo (Don't run the air conditioning! Do you know how much the electric bill is!) (Close the damn door, the air conditioning is on!) for 3 months. During the day we children were taken to the beach at 9:00 and ignored until 5. Protestations such as "I'm bored," "It's too hot," "Can we get an umbrella," and "I have sunstroke" were generally met with rage. In such circumstances, children learn to entertain themselves, and I am grateful to my family for my ability to tolerate any level of boredome provided I can sit in the shade.

Also, Kat's and my relationship began on the shore of the Pacific Ocean, in a lovely scene recounted at Gabe's blog some time ago.

This beach was pretty awesome, but I'm getting tired of typing. It's 4:19 and I have stuff to finish before 5:00. What follows is the abridged version of the next 12 hours, reconstructed, as always, from a somewhat faulty memory.

2:00 - We got to the beach.
2:30 - Extended oceanside makeout scene.
3:00 - Back on the road.
3:15 - Lost. How the hell did we get to Ventura?
3:30 - Since we're in Ventura, we might as well go exploring.
3:45 - This coffee is really good. Oh and look, an alt weekly paper with Free Will Astrology!
4:30 - How the hell do you get out of Ventura?
5:30 - Okay, I think this is Glendale.
6:00 - Reunion Scene. New character: April.

April: An old friend of Kat's; currently living in Glendale, California. When we arrived Misty (see: Day 3) was staying with her. Upon realizing that they were all in the same geographic location, all 3 women promptly went insane.

6:30 - Visit to supermarket. Women continue acting crazy. Steve* buys himself a sixpack of pumpkin beer.
7:00 - Steve and women cook food. Women continue to act insane. Steve starts drinking.
7:30 - Women were in African-dancing-and-drumming group together in college. Reunion prompts reminiscing, dancing, video-watching.
7:30-9:30 - Extended dance scene. (Steve continues drinking.)
9:30-11:30 - (Alcoholic blur.)
11:30-3:00 - Sleep.
3:00 - Wake, drive to airport.
3:15 - With no cars out, the 20-lane highway to LAX looks like the Coruscant scenes from Star Wars. Steve, riding in the back seat, comments on this. No one notices.
3:30 - It's a good thing we got to the airport three hours ahead of time. What do you want to do now?
3:35 - Okay that woman has a cup of coffee. Where the hell did she get it?
3:45 - Thank God for Starbucks.
4:00 - What do you want to do now?

* Kat

More Road Trip

Day 4:

Unfortunately, it's been two weeks, so I've forgotten a lot of the details. Fortunately, my $50,000 creative writing degree will allow me to fill in the gaps by making shit up.

So, when we left me, I was in San Francisco, and I'd just passed out because it was late and I was drunk. Oh, and I'd spent all of Kat's money. The next morning I woke up in San Francisco, but I'd already done that before.

I said to Kat, "Go into my wallet and take out all the money I owe you. I don't want to see it or know how much it is."

She did so. We went downstairs and checked out of the hostel. I remembered that the day before when we went downstairs the song Piazza, New York Catcher by Belle and Sebastian had been playing in the lobby, and that seemed significant because it was Track 1 on a mix we'd been listening to.

1. Belle and Sebastian - Piazza, New York Catcher
2. The Replacements - Waitress in the Sky
3. The Clash - Spanish Bombs
4. The Decemberists - Leslie Anne Levine

I'm not sure how it goes from there. It was a well-rendered mix with smooth transitions and Fleet Foxes, and served us well through southern California.

So anyway we spent all that day driving Highway 101 from San Francisco to Santa Barbara. I drove most of this and it was the most driving I'd ever done in my life; also, I didn't almost kill us even once.

The next 400 miles are a blur. I drove and Kat did something else. Then we were in Santa Barbara, and my aunt Sarah lived in a cul de sac. She criticized me for smoking, tried to park Kat's car closer to the curb, and felt really guilty for not buying us dinner when we went out for food&drinks.

Sarah: The second character we meet on the road; the first not named after a weather pattern. She is 31 and a retired Air Force captain. She was in Iraq for 6 months building an airbase or something and the first thing she did when I arrived was show me her marathon, triathlon, and Iron Man medals. We grew up together in my grandparents' house in Pennsylvania. We did not get along.

Later I was drunk again and we all went to sleep. Fifty thousand dollars well spent.

December!?

And how is it already the tenth and I haven't posted even once yet, not even to continue my story of the Road Trip?

How terrible. I shall therefore continue this very day with Road Trip, Part 4.

Road Trip: Part 2

We left at Day 3, so let's begin there.

Day 3: San Francisco

I awoke (as I described) in San Francisco, which I hadn't done before. Get up, shower, have a cup of coffee, and off to wander the streets.

The streets of San Francisco are different from other streets. They have restaurants and businesses and neat little shops. And then the next street over, instead of having row houses, also has restaurants and businesses and shops. To a Pittsburgher this was an alien configuration.

We were staying on the border of Chinatown, so naturally that's where we went first, stopping to touristly photograph all the buildings what don't look like ones we have here.

Then we made it to the bay. More coffee, a sourdough baguette, and a bit of Odis Redding on the dock of the bay, while a fat white seagull perched beside us and glared. I told Kat that I had blogged about paying $15 to cross the bridge, and she said, "No, you paid $6 and got $15 dollars change." "How is that possible?" "You gave them 21." "Oh."

We walked along the Embarcadero, intending to meet a friend of Kat's at Pier 39 and have some lunch. As we sat on another dock of the bay with another set of seagulls I started thinking about the number one googolplex, which is one followed by a googol of zeros.

A googol looks like this: 10,​000,000,000,​000,000,000,​000,000,000,​000,000,000,​ 000,000,000,​000,000,000,​000,000,000,​000,000,000,​000,000,000,​ 000,000,000,​000,000,000.

What would a googolplex look like? I started thinking that if you wrote it out it would cover the entire surface of the earth. So then I thought of a planet which an advanced civilization had dedicated entirely to writing out one googolplex. 1, 000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000....etc forever across everything. Why the hell would they do this? I thought. Well, I replied, the planet was in fact a museum: Each number represented one life. Contained within each number is the story of one being who lived somewhere during the long history of the universe.

Now Carl Sagan informs me there is a problem: There isn't enough space in the universe to write out the number one googolplex. Oh well.

After that we were at Pier 39 with touristy seafood restaurants and docks filled up with sealions, all fat and barking and stinking. That was where Kat's friend Misty met us. Misty is from Tennessee; she was staying in LA with April. All of Kat's friends are named after external conditions, and I regretted not spending time with January, Seven O'Clock, and It's Not The Heat It's The Humidity. We went to a restaurant called The Sea Lion and, having decided to eat seafood during our trip, I devoured an entire marine ecosystem.

"San Francisco, San Francisco." Evening: And it was time for some hipstertourism. The attendant in the Beat Museum asked me, "Which of the beats have you read?" Drunk but honest I said "All of them," because I couldn't think of a single writer of the period I wasn't familiar with. He looked at me skeptically. "Who wrote Revenge of the Lawn?" I asked, because I'd forgotten (& lost the copy I owned). He told me, and said "You can find him by Bukowski. Do you like Bukowski?" I told him, "Yes, I like Bukowski, but I hate admitting this, because I hate people who are like 'Duuude have you read BuKOWski!!!!!!'" He laughed and tried to sell me some Bukowski by implying that I hadn't read his novels. I haven't and don't plan to. I bought* a copy of Atrocity Exhibition and a Brautigan collection and we left.

* Actually, I left my money at the hostel. Kat bought me the books but I paid in promises.

City Lights bookstore is right around the corner from the Beat Museum (also, a block away from our hostel, which was cool and unintentional). We wandered about. I had already spent enough of Kat's money on books but I really wanted to spend more. I jumped about and nerdgasmed and had her drag me out -- To Vesuvio's, which is a bar next door whose claim to fame is Jack Kerouac Liked To Get Drunk There. There was Kerouac memorabilia all over the place. I peed myself with happy. We had a drink. I wanted more. "I have four dollars," Kat said to me. "I'll have a Budweiser!" I said to the Bartender.

I drank it.

Road Trip: Part 1

I awoke thismorning from a dream that we were on this trip. I had been piloting the spaceship in its hyperspace jumps across the galaxy because Kat -- a gigantic spider from an alien world -- was not capable of doing so. A meteor startled me and I yelled and jumped into Kat, waking both of us. And I realized then that she was, in fact, a human girl, and we were in a hostel in San Francisco.

But let's begin at the beginning.

Day One: Roseburg to Redwoods.

We started off after a morning of scrambling about on Friday from Roseburg at noon. I drove us to Grant's Pass, 53 miles south (or about 1/16th of our total so far; I spend two weeks learning how to drive a stick for just this purpose.) From Grant's Pass we took 199 to Jedidiah Smith State Park in California.

The Redwoods: Holy Freaking Crap. There is this moment where you're driving into northern California, and its gorgeous and forested and you're like "Look at those gigantic fucking trees! Those must be the REDWOODS!" But then you keep going and then you're like: Oh. No, I was wrong. THOSE are the Redwoods.

I've taken pictures of course but I can't post them yet. When I do you'll understand.

In the Redwoods I drank a delicious Winter Ale and had the worst night's sleep ever due to a faulty arrangement of bedding in the tent.

Day 2: California.

Now I get it.

This was my second time in the state, the other being a (disastrous) week in LA in January. This time, though, we saw approximately 4.88 billion miles of the state, staying always on that great highway, 101. (We tried to take 1 at one point, but found it basically impassible save, perhaps, by mule.) In any case, here are my observations about California:

1. Everyone is pretty. I mean everyone. In all the shitty roadside towns, there aren't fat American people, there are pretty people. In the cities it's impossible to look directly at other human beings without being blinded.

2. Everything is pretty. Like. Everything. Last night after 300 hours of driving we crossed the (beautiful) Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco. A fat orange moon was hovering over the city, which was one of those paintings of a million lights in the distance. The moon didn't even look like it does anywhere else. It was four times bigger than it should have been and it wasn't even round. This after a day beginning in the Redwoods, driving through the prettiest natural scenery ever.

3. Everything normal costs 15-30 dollars. Our car is in a garage until Monday for $50. Entering the city costs $15. I believe the latter is a cool tax. People in San Francisco are more fashionable than anywhere else in the universe. I think they assess each car and figure out how much the passengers will add to or detract from the cool of the city. We got lucky at 15 bucks. The pickup truck with Oklahoma plates ahead of us had to pay 400. I think the actresses behind us were given a bag of pot and hotel vouchers.

By the time we got here, after (literally) two hours of driving and wandering about the city, looking for a place to park our car (1.2 miles from our hostel, according to Google maps) (God Bless You, Google), we were both so exhausted we could do nothing but stumble into our room and pass out. But today is a new day, and the sun is out, and Kat is giving me impatient "Finish your fucking blog already I'm hungry" looks, so I'm going to go have breakfast and explore this town. Bye for now!

Something Interesting

Just came across this website: http://www.studentloanjustice.org/

Quote:

In 1997, under intense lobbying from student loan companies, The Higher Education Act (HEA) was amended, and defaulted student loans became among the most lucrative, and easiest to collect type of debt. These amendments allow for huge penalties and fees to be attached to defaulted student loan debt, take away bankruptcy protection for student borrowers, dissallow refinancing of the debt, and also provide for draconian collection and punitive measures to be taken against student borrowers, including wage garnishment, tax garnishment, withholding of professional certifications, termination from employment , social security garnishment, and others. According to Harvard Professor Elizabeth Warren in a Wall Street Journal piece by John Hechinger , "Student-loan debt collectors have power that would make a mobster envious."

Still More Election (& A Little Bit of Reflection)

Digression: I haven't updated this blog in a while. I probably shouldn't be taking the time to update it now. But I will anyway. Reflections, for my own mind's sake.

Here's another thought on the matter...

I began blogging at the beginning of the primaries. Remember my second post? (If you're not, um, me, you probably don't.) It was written in my grandparents' basement while watching the Republican debates.

That was 11 months ago. Everything was so different.

I'd never been west of Chicago.

There was a real possibility that Mitt Fucking Romney would be the next president of the United States.

I would be leaving for Oregon in a matter of days, and I had no idea what I'd find there.

And now.

November 5th, 2008. America just elected Barack Obama president of the United States. At the end of January two things will happen: Obama will be inaugurated, and I will be out of a job. I have no idea what will happen after that.

What do I have to show for this time of this life?

I just finished revising a short story I started writing in 2005 (when I had never been west of Cleveland, written a grant application, graduated college, broken up with my first girlfriend, or placed in a psychiatric hospital.) It's creepy. I really like it.

I don't know what to do next.

More Election

I'll probably regret it in the future if I didn't have anything to say for Historic Election Day. So let's do this again.

I hate the Clinton Democrats. I hate the free trade and the it's-okay-cause-no-Americans-died wars of aggression and the attention paid to ridiculous distractions like gun control. Probably none of that will change.

That said, here's why I'm happy about the election:

Because the election of Barack Obama is an affirmation, by the country, of the fact that "real Americans" are also people like me, instead of just ignorant redneck fuckwads like Bush and Palin pretend to be.

Holy Freaking Crap!

I don't care. And I know I will hate the bastard within two years. But, but, you know--

HOLY FREAKING CRAP OBAMA WINS THAT IS AWESOME YAY!!!!!!!!!

Western Pennsylvania Is A Racist Area

So I'm reading on CNN that

Rep. John Murtha, a supporter of Barack Obama's presidential bid, apologized Thursday for calling western Pennsylvania "a racist area."

This is the stupidest thing ever.

WESTERN PENNSYLVANIA IS A RACIST AREA.

In fact, let's go a little further.

Outside the city limits of Pittsburgh, almost EVERYONE in Western PA is racist. They're racist, and they're homophobic, and they're misogynistic, and they hate intellectuals too. And they're really, really fucking stupid. I grew up with these people, I know them, and I hate them.

And just because it's not nice to say that in a major newspaper, doesn't mean it isn't so.

Debt Resistance

Thought on my mind: What we need is for the mass of Americans to, as a one, declare that they won't be paying back their student loans, credit card debts or mortgages.

A View From the RNC

Remember the big protests at the Republican National Convention, and the police violence that accompanied them?

Well a friend of mine -- Call him Mr. 13 -- was there, and he was good enough to send me his account. It's a fascinating and sometimes unnerving story and written in a delightful noire-ish style.

With that introduction, here is 13's Account:

***

The city might have looked nice from that park, on the outskirts above the Mississippi, the skyscrapers rising up from the flats over joggers and dog-walkers. Might have looked nice if I wasn't constantly checking the rear-view for a tail, might have looked nice if sweat wasn't running down my ribs under the nicest shirt I owned, might have looked nice if it had not been built on occupied land with blackmailed labor. Just maybe, might have.

I spit, and turn LVO around. Lost. Again. The cops closed the exit I had planned to take to get into downtown. I had hoped to discreetly slide into Sector 1 without attracting too much attention to our specific intersection.

You know, before we locked down in the middle of it.

S. had been riding around the area for at least two hours, calling in updates to our Central Comms, safely nestled away in the Rust Belt. I had tried calling him for most of that time. Not being able to get him on the phone made me even more nervous. What if he had gotten pinched? The cops had been doing a pretty good job of roughing up anybody who looked like the word dissent might be on their minds. But S. always looked like he just happened to be training for the next triathlon -- police profiles he did not fit.

I got my contact person, L., on the phone. At Central Comms, we had a person in direct communication with someone from each group on the ground - me in the car, S. on his bike, and the group gathering at a permitted speak-out. So, L. was able to lean over to S.'s contact, and ask what the hell had happened to S. All in all, a pretty efficient system.

Coming into the city, I finally got S. on the phone. He directed me to a parking lot a few blocks down from our intersection. I parked the car, adjusted my bow tie, and made certain that the sleeping dragon in the passenger seat was adequately covered by my thrift-store pinstripe jacket. "Please take no notice of that concrete-filled bucket, officer. Only examine that fancy-looking jacket on top of it. Yup; double-breasted." I got out, stretched, and sat on a nearby bench. S. rolled by; we made the briefest of eye contact. I nervously clicked the carabiner in my pocket. We were only minutes away from deployment.

It should be noted here that I had never done a lockdown. Especially one locked in a car, at a publicly-announced location, while thousands of cops roamed the streets, trigger-fingers warmed up and ready to go. We figured that a disabled vehicle, complete with an uncooperative driver and folks locked to the outside of it, was the most efficient way of holding our intersection with the limited numbers of committed participants. And how I ended up being the designated driver stemmed from separate conversations I had been having with F. about trying to make our way through the world without contributing to the systemic manipulation and exploitation of everything around us. As I volunteered to steer the car into the intersection, F.'s words ran through my mind: "You haven't given your all until you've got nothing left."

My disposable phone started to ring viciously. I answered it: Go time. I hung up and got into LVO. Two short blocks later, I was behind another car, waiting to turn left through our intersection. I saw some of my folks, standing at one corner. On the opposite corners, cops in riot gear milled about, waiting for the pedestrians to try to take the intersection. The light turned green.

The car in front of me rolled through, turned left, and ambled on to wherever. I waited a beat, gunned LVO, and stopped in the middle of the intersection. Everyone charged the car, some locking to it, others filling the intersection. I shut off the car and shoved the key down my pants. The cops started to assess the situation. They called for back up and started pushing people out of the way. I pulled on my goggles and balaclava, fearing that rather than taking the time to cut me out, they would just beat and pepper-spray me until I released myself. Someone I didn't recognize walked around the intersection, singing and strumming on his guitar as he was hustled along by the closest officers. I have no idea who he was, but it sure did a lot to comfort me to hear him defiantly playing.

One of the taller cops walked up to the window and tapped on it. He introduced himself as the sergeant on the scene. His thick Midwestern accent took me by surprise: he was polite, articulate, maybe even nice. All around him, other cops were swarming LVO, the magic words "sleeping dragon" passing between them. The Sarge asked me if I would please unlatch myself.

"Not until the convention has been shut down," I replied through the glass.

"It'll be over tomorrow," he offered.

"Well, that's when I'll leave!"

He frowned, a bit perturbed, and switched tactics.

"You know, it's going to get really hot in there. Just 95 degrees out here."

I shook my gallon-jug of water at him. The Sarge shut up.

By this time, the cops outside had figured out how to defeat the exterior lockboxes. Once my comrades started to get taken into custody, I got the idea to give L. a call back home. [Note: all phone conversations are constructed from memory, nearly a month after the fact. Any omissions and misstatements are purely my fault. For a more exact transcript, contact the NSA.]

"Hey L."

"Hey, what's going on there? Did the action go down yet?"

"It's kind of warm in here. Gonna be a hot one today. The cops have told everyone that they've been arrested."

"Who do they have?"

"Oh, not anyone yet. It was one of those verbal arrest things. Oh, scratch that." I tried to turn around to look out the back, despite the fact that my arm was locked to a metal rod sealed in a five-gallon bucket filled with concrete. "They got two of us loose." I could hear L. passing the information along to the others at Comms.

"Ok, and now they're working on the other two folks... They got 'em." Everyone in zip cuffs, orderly led from the intersection to an empty parking lot. Some city workers (presumably one of the two Cut Teams deployed throughout the city) stuck their faces up to the car window, trying to determine what was going on with my sleeping dragon, covered by my jacket. They tried to open the doors and chatted amongst themselves about the best course of action to take. Unlike all of the riot police with cuddly accents, the Cut Team had their names and badge numbers embroidered on their uniforms.

"Hey, L., want some badge numbers?" I started rattling off names and numbers, along with what they were doing. One of the Cut Team folks finally rolled up with a crow bar, a four-foot long number, the color of a cloudy day. I was given one more chance to release; I refused to even acknowledge it. As L. was trying to keep up with the badge numbers, I asked, "Want to hear a window break?" I held the phone away from my face.

The crowbar reared back, and smashed the window behind me. Glass bits exploded onto the back seat. Honestly, I expected the sound to be louder. It could be, though, that after all of these years of not wearing ear plugs at punk shows has dulled the ol' auditory nerves. Someone reached around and opened the back door, then climbed across the back seat to open the passenger-side door. Hmph. Shoulda had those welded shut, I thought. Front doors were soon popped open. I resumed reporting names and numbers, much to the distress of one of the Cut Team members. She heard her information being rattled off and freaked out. She ran over to me, pried the phone from my hand, and kept my hand in a firm grip, like a frustrated parent holding onto a disobedient child. Pissed, she was.

The Cut Team went to work, evaluating the situation underneath my jacket. They poked at the bucket, poked at the concrete, poked at the PVC holding my arm. A Cut Team member started talking to me. He seemed way too nervous of a guy to be dealing with people dedicated enough to their beliefs to lock themselves to large objects in city streets.

"Is there anything in here that's going to hurt me? There isn't a bomb in here that's going to explode when we take you out, is there? I've got two kids, man, I don't want to die." Really, his distress was so over the top that I couldn't help laughing. I reassured him that I, too, had no desire to get blown up. He started going through everything I had within arm's reach: aforementioned jug of water, hippy-ass trail mix, vinegar-soaked bandana in a plastic bag.

"What's this?"

I didn't respond.

"Oh, what, you thought we were going to gas you? We're not those kind of cops."

These jokers, along with 3,000 other cops, did a great job later of proving otherwise.

From a vehicle, they produced some sort of snake camera, complete with little television attachment. They ran it through the PVC to determine that only a carabiner kept me in place, and was stopping them from moving LVO the hell out of the way.

"Carabiner?"

"Carabiner."

"Carabiner."

A Team member disappeared with the camera, while the Nervous Guy tried to talk me out of resisting anymore.

"Now, when we cut you out, sparks are going to fly everywhere. Your clothes could catch on fire, or even melt to your skin." I shrugged. He sighed. Someone appeared with what looked like a router. As they readied the tool and Nervous Guy sweated some more, the Sarge showed back up.

"If you let yourself out, we'll act like we cut you out, and you'll get all the glory, like you want. We won't tell anyone." I couldn't believe he was whispering this to me, this ridiculous proposition that completely failed to accurately gauge anything about me. I mean, there was no expectation that this particular police sergeant should know anything about this particular maniac, locked in this particular car in this particular intersection. But, to assume (out loud) that this maniac would sit through months of meetings, drive sixteen hours, and lock himself to a block of concrete all for glory? It was too much; I laughed and laughed and laughed in this cop's face until he left me alone. Nervous Guy got the go-ahead, someone draped a canvas sheet over me, and they went to work.

Within minutes, I was standing outside of the car, posing for police photographs. Pockets searched, bow tie removed. Goggles and balaclava retained as possessions, not evidence (!). Standing on the curb, watched a giant yellow construction vehicle lift LVO like a hay bale and deposit him in the grassy patch next to the on-ramp. Photographed and searched again. This time, the cop taking the picture had on latex gloves. When he lifted the camera up to take my picture, sweat poured out the gloves. Deposited in the back of a van, driven across the highway to the County Jail. Processed in, processed out. Apart from our group, only one other person in custody; he was missing a shoe. Got free access to phone -- Cold Snap was ready for us. Got bag full of possessions, cited, deposited into another van, and released in an adjacent parking lot.

We got it easy.

Francis Fukuyama is a Son of a Bitch

Remember him, the "End of History" douchebag beloved of the American Right? Here's his take on the latest crisis. It seems America still has much to offer -- cause our greatest export is still ideas -- especially to those fools in Europe:

And while fewer non-Americans are likely to listen to our advice, many would still benefit from emulating certain aspects of the Reagan model. Not, certainly, financial-market deregulation. But in continental Europe, workers are still treated to long vacations, short working weeks, job guarantees and a host of other benefits that weaken their productivity and will not be financially sustainable.

How -- I mean, seriously, how -- can you possibly brag about having long working hours and no job security? And to the extent to which the right wing and their Democratic emulators buy into this shit -- and the fact that this is considered thoughtful commentary worthy of publication in a major public forum --

I don't even know how to finish that sentence. It's like a categorical admission of "We're completely fucking evil."

Groping With A Different Hand

You should go and read John Robb's blog from yesterday.

He basically says that the global economic system is too big and too complex for anyone to effectively understand it (like I said a while ago!) and, being so fucking big and complex, it is 1. constantly changing and 2. these constant changes are occurring so rapidly and effect so much that 3. It is impossible for nation-states to effectively respond to it.

The ultimate result, sayeth Robb? The ultimate failure of the state and the resulting hollow state:

The hollow state has the trappings of a modern nation-state ("leaders", membership in international organizations, regulations, laws, and a bureaucracy) but it lacks any of the legitimacy, services, and control of its historical counter-part. It is merely a shell that has some influence over the spoils of the economy.

***

In considering this I'm reminded of the systems theorist Donella Meadows writing:

So one day I was sitting in a meeting about the new global trade regime, NAFTA and GATT and the World Trade Organization. The more I listened, the more I began to simmer inside. "This is a huge new system people are inventing!" I said to myself. "They haven't the slightest idea how it will behave," myself said back to me. "It's cranking the system in the wrong direction—growth, growth at any price!! And the control measures these nice folks are talking about—small parameter adjustments, weak negative feedback loops—are puny!"

Meadows goes on to present a very interesting set of "leverage points" or "places to intervene in a system" in ascending order of effectiveness.

***

These sort of analyses allow us to step outside the obscenely narrow ideological framework of the Democrats and Republicans -- What did I call them the other day? The Corporate Party and the Other Corporate Party? -- and also the slightly expanded framework that includes Marxists and "red anarchists" and "21st Century Socialists" and other relics of the 1800s and try to understand the new world we actually find ourselves in.

What is that world?

I don't know.

But I have some ideas as to what its important features are.

This is the most important feature:

None of the important features are discussed in the major public forums (the "mainstream media," the left/right "alternative media") or by major public officials (Obama/McCain).

***

Just one example.

In 2006, American corporations received $92 billion in subsidies, according to one study.

In an article the other day, Georgia Monbiot pointed out that

USAid used to boast on its website that "the principal beneficiary of America's foreign assistance programs has always been the United States. Close to 80% of the USAid's contracts and grants go directly to American firms."

Good Jobs First released a study documenting at least $1 billion in subsidies to Wal*Mart.

And over the last few posts we've learned how Congress changed the rules for the big investment banks and the government sponsored industries; and how the latter pumped money into both parties (but especially the Democrats) for years; and how the people at the head of these organizations made out like bandits in consequence.

But in the "mainstream" and most of the "alternative" media the debate continues to be whether it's the Bush Administration's fault for encouraging shady loans to create the illusion of the Ownership Society or whether its the Democrats' fault for encouraging loans to poor people.

***

An incomprehensible world, led by people complicit in the obfuscation. That's what we have. That's what we choose during election year: Which set of lies we prefer to believe in.

And it continues because, for us Americans, and hey, for everyone getting richer in East Asia etc. it's really just not that bad.

Quick Note on the Debates

Well it's a week later, but I didn't really have time to post in the immediate aftermath. But one of the things I took from the debate -- one of the things we've gotta keep in mind as we keep thinking "Oh Holy God I don't even believe in don't let John McCain win" -- is that this really is about the War Party against the Other War Party.

The War Party tells us that General Petraeus is the greatest general in American history for finally applying principles that others had been talking about for years. The War Party will continue to focus on Iraq and just maybe attack Iran as well. The War Party will achieve victory in Iraq.

But the War Party is wrong! says the Other War Party. The Other War Party will increase our forces in Afghanistan and expand the War into Pakistan. The Other War Party will finally defeat Osama bin Laden.

(And please Sshhh and don't mention the fact that the Other War Party's candidate's foreign policy adviser has been advocating an expanded US presence in Central Asia since the 1990s) (P.s. sorry I can't find a link about Brzezinski that isn't from a paranoid website) (But read his book, it's interesting/horrifying).

And of course, the War Party and the Other War Party have identical stances on whether or not Russia's retaliatory attack on Georgia was somehow "aggression."

So there you have it.

...Not that you didn't know it already.

The Big Hullaballoo Part 5: Getting Groped by Guys With Stupid Names

Then there's Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac.

A big news item from -- was it last week? -- was that they were being taken over by the government. But who the hell are they, and what did they do? All I knew as of two weeks ago was that their names sounded eerily similar to "Sallie Mae," the student loan racket that owns the rest of my life.

So here is what Freddie's website says:

Freddie Mac conducts its business primarily by buying mortgages from lenders, packaging the mortgages into securities and selling the securities – guaranteed by Freddie Mac – to investors.

So, if the understanding of the Big Chain of Stupid that we learned about in part 2 of this series is correct, Freddie Mac played a massive enabling role: Paying lenders for their mortgages, thereby encouraging them to do more and more mortgages to more and more people.

What else is true about Freddie Mac? It was a private corporation, though chartered by the federal government. Its mission and its function were the same as Fannie Mae, though the latter was created much earlier, under the New Deal.

So what the hell happened? The Washington Post has a pretty good overview. The gist is that Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae -- private companies, remember -- had special rules created for them, just like those other giant companies that failed.

Where banks that held $100 could spend $90 buying mortgage loans, Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac could spend $97.50 buying loans.

Also, they were subject to very little in the way of regulation. And what was the justification?

Barney Frank, a Massachusetts Democrat who said the companies served a public purpose. They were in the business of lowering the price of mortgage loans.

And

The Clinton administration wanted to expand the share of Americans who owned homes, which had stagnated below 65 percent throughout the 1980s. Encouraging the growth of the two companies was a key part of that plan.

And

The next spring [of 2000], seeking to limit the companies' growth, Treasury official Gensler testified before Congress in favor of a bill that would have suspended the Treasury's right to buy $2.25 billion of each company's debt -- basically, a $4.5 billion lifeline for the companies.

A Fannie Mae spokesman announced that Gensler's remarks had just cost 206,000 Americans the chance to buy a home because the market now saw the companies as a riskier investment.

And of course, as I guessed before even reading about it, they were in the business of buying shady mortgages, just like the guys on Wall Street.

Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac had been losing market share to Wall Street banks, which were doing boomtown business packaging these riskier loans. The mortgage finance giants wanted a share of the profits.

So what the hell does this all mean, and how can we make sense of it?

"The Clinton administration wanted to expand homeownership." So it turned to Fannie Mae (a company founded during the Depression to expand homeownership) and Freddie Mac (founded in 1970 for the same reason) to do so.

What does homeownership mean, in this definition? It means people paying a mortgage to a lender (or rather, to whoever bought the mortgage from the guy that bought the mortgage from the guy that bought the mortgage from the guy the lender sold the mortgage t0) for--what?--30 years, give or take.

And what happens to the "homeowner" who doesn't make these payments? Why, his "home" is seized, of course.

So in what way can the "homeowner" be said to "own" his house to a greater degree than I "own" the apartment that I "rent"?

There are no functional differences. But there are differences: in semantics and in prestige.

Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac existed to facilitate the illusion of "ownership" in America. And to increase the number of people who "owned" homes.

"Owning" a home via mortgage isn't different from "renting" a home in any way except: In how the "owner" perceives himself and in how others perceive him. Fannie and Freddie increased the perception of bourgeois or rather of "middle class" status among Americans. That's all. Nothing else.

Meanwhile, the only actual increase in wealth was at the (again, privately owned) companies themselves. Fannie and Freddie made a shitheap of money making proletarians feel like bourgeoisie.

The Democratic Party loved Fannie and Freddie. They increased the illusion of inclusive capitalism that is the Democrats economic guiding principle. And Fannie and Freddie loved the Democrats in return.

And that's the other part of the new Right Wing Narrative: Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac paid off the Democrats and so the crisis is Obama's fault.

And to some extent that's true. 16 of the top 25 Congressional recipients of Fannie/Freddie PAC money were Democrats, and the top 4 are Chris Dodd, John Kerry, Barack Obama, and Hillary Clinton, in that order. But the new Right Wing Narrative ignores that the Republicans were bought by the Retardedly Named Duo as well:

In the 2006 election cycle, Fannie Mae was giving 53 percent of its total $1.3 million in contributions to Republicans, who controlled Congress at that time. This cycle, with Democrats in control, they've reversed course, giving the party 56 percent of their total $1.1 million in contributions. Similarly, Freddie Mac has given 53 percent of its $555,700 in contributions to Democrats this cycle, compared to the 44 percent it gave during 2006.

Nor is Obama's the only campaign compromised in this way.

But back to this nonsense about ownership. (I'm about to say my longest sentence ever, but I've read over it and I assure you it's grammatically correct).

Looking at all this it becomes clear that the desire to be the "owner" of the place in which one lives; the prestige that is attached to that title, "Homeowner;" the constant bombardment of messages telling Americans that to be a "Homeowner" is basically the purpose of being alive and the measure of success, achievement, adulthood, America, freedom, liberty; and the willingness on the part of politicians and businessmen to both instill -- through rhetoric, through entertainment, through advertising, through the manipulation of symbol and language -- and then exploit this desire for political ("Look how many new homeowners my Administration created!") or monetary ("Hello investor, how much will you give me for these high risk mortgages?") gain that form the ultimate cause of the problem.

And that's the end of that sentence.

The Big Hullaballoo Part 4: What's the Best Way to Grope the Poor?

One of the other stories about What the Hell Happened? says it's all the fault of bleeding heart heartbleeders trying to make the normally prudent banks who like to bleed their blood only in sound investments instead bleed their big, banky hearts all over the poor.

What the hell are you talking about?

Why, the Community Reinvestment Act, of course! Because I'm lazy today, let's ask Wikipedia about this. The Community Reinvestment Act

is a United States federal law that requires banks and thrifts to offer credit throughout their entire market area and prohibits them from targeting only wealthier neighborhoods with their services.

According to one of the emerging Right Wing Narratives of What the Hell Just Happened, it's this law's fault that all the bank's made bad loans: Because they were forced to by lovey-fluffy-commie girlies in Congress who were dumb enough to think poor people could pay back their loans. Some jackass at the National Review explains:

One of the reasons so many bad mortgage loans were made in the first place is that Barack Obama’s celebrated community organizers make their careers out of forcing banks to do so. ACORN, for which Obama worked, is one of many left-wing organizations that spent decades pressuring banks and bank regulators to do more to make mortgages available to people without much in the way of income, assets, or credit. These campaigns often were couched in racially inflammatory terms. The result was the Community Reinvestment Act. The CRA empowers the FDIC and other banking regulators to punish those banks which do not lend to the poor and minorities at the level that Obama’s fellow community organizers would like. Among other things, mergers and acquisitions can be blocked if CRA inquisitors are not satisfied that their demands — which are political demands — have been met. There is a name for loans made to people who do not have the credit, assets, income, or down payment to qualify for a normal mortgage: subprime.

So, you see? It's Barack Obama's fault, and it's also ACORN'S fault. But, the National Review concedes,

The bankers cannot blame CRA entirely; they made a lot of bad bets on rising home prices. But CRA did influence lending standards across the banking industry, even in those institutions that are not strictly liable to its jurisdiction. The subprime debacle is in no trivial part the result of lending decisions in which political extortion trumped businesses’ normal bottom-line concerns.

Now, leaving aside the fact that people who are editors for the National Review are retards/assholes, all of this does make some sense. So we should ask some questions like, To what extent did the Community Reinvestment Act force banks to make loans to people who couldn't pay them back?

Because this is complicated, and because understanding whether it's true would require some research, let's turn this one over to someone smarter than me. Writing for The American Prospect, Robert Gordon says:

First, consider timing. CRA was enacted in 1977. The sub-prime lending at the heart of the current crisis exploded a full quarter century later. In the mid-1990s, new CRA regulations and a wave of mergers led to a flurry of CRA activity, but, as noted by the New America Foundation's Ellen Seidman (and by Harvard's Joint Center), that activity "largely came to an end by 2001." In late 2004, the Bush administration announced plans to sharply weaken CRA regulations, pulling small and mid-sized banks out from under the law's toughest standards. Yet sub-prime lending continued, and even intensified -- at the very time when activity under CRA had slowed and the law had weakened.

Second, it is hard to blame CRA for the mortgage meltdown when CRA doesn't even apply to most of the loans that are behind it. As the University of Michigan's Michael Barr points out, half of sub-prime loans came from those mortgage companies beyond the reach of CRA. A further 25 to 30 percent came from bank subsidiaries and affiliates, which come under CRA to varying degrees but not as fully as banks themselves. (With affiliates, banks can choose whether to count the loans.) Perhaps one in four sub-prime loans were made by the institutions fully governed by CRA.

Most important, the lenders subject to CRA have engaged in less, not more, of the most dangerous lending. Janet Yellen, president of the San Francisco Federal Reserve, offers the killer statistic: Independent mortgage companies, which are not covered by CRA, made high-priced loans at more than twice the rate of the banks and thrifts. With this in mind, Yellen specifically rejects the "tendency to conflate the current problems in the sub-prime market with CRA-motivated lending." CRA, Yellen says, "has increased the volume of responsible lending to low- and moderate-income households."

See, look what I did! I paired a leftwing editorial with a rightwing editorial and decided that because the leftwing editorial said stuff that I like, I agree with it! You know what that makes me? Everyone in America!

The only problem with the above paragraph is that the American Prospect article included specific datapoints. In particular:

• Independent mortgage companies, who aren't subject to the CRA made twice the number of high priced loans the banks and thrifts did.

• Half the subprime loans came from banks and thrifts not covered by the CRA.

• 25 to 30 percent of the rest (for a total of 75-80%) came from "bank subsidiaries and affiliates, which come under CRA to varying degrees but not as fully as banks themselves."

• After the slow-down of CRA activity (2001) and after the weakening of the law (2004), subprime lending continued and intensified.

In contrast, the National Review gives us the following datapoints to work with:

• ACORN is racist.

• Barack Obama loves the Community Reinvestment Act.

• The CRA contributed in some way to the crisis, even though it wasn't the only thing.

So what are we left to conclude? My judgment, subject to change:

The CRA didn't cause the problem.

In fact it is sort of a kind of good idea, except that the idea of forcing banks to lend money to poor people as a way of increasing home ownership in poor neighborhoods is really really troubling. It can't not encourage some degree of predatory lending -- or, if you're on the other side of the fence, encourage irresonsible poor people to screw over the honest bankers who were forced to lend them money. I like the Habitat for Humanity model better.

The Big Hullaballoo Part 3: Man I Love Gropin'!

Continuing our exceedingly popular coverage of What the Fuck Just Happened to America?, here are some more takes on the issue from across the political spectrum.

First up, it's Pat Buchanan. I met Buchanan once and he was real nice to me even though I was disagreeing with him about stuff and wearing a defaced American flag on my jacket, so let's quote him at length:

Up through World War II, we followed the Hamiltonian idea that America must remain economically independent of the world in order to remain politically independent.

But this generation decided that was yesterday's bromide and we must march bravely forward into a Global Economy, where we all depend on one another. American companies morphed into "global companies" and moved plants and factories to Mexico, Asia, China and India, and we began buying more cheaply from abroad what we used to make at home: shoes, clothes, bikes, cars, radios, TVs, planes, computers.

As the trade deficits began inexorably to rise to 6 percent of GDP, we began vast borrowing from abroad to continue buying from abroad.

At home, propelled by tax cuts, war in Iraq and an explosion in social spending, surpluses vanished and deficits reappeared and began to rise. The dollar began to sink, and gold began to soar.

Yet, still, the promises of the politicians come. Barack Obama will give us national health insurance and tax cuts for all but that 2 percent of the nation that already carries 50 percent of the federal income tax load.

John McCain is going to cut taxes, expand the military, move NATO into Georgia and Ukraine, confront Russia and force Iran to stop enriching uranium or "bomb, bomb, bomb," with Joe Lieberman as wartime consigliere.

Who are we kidding?

What we are witnessing today is how empires end.

The Last Superpower is unable to defend its borders, protect its currency, win its wars or balance its budget. Medicare and Social Security are headed for the cliff with unfunded liabilities in the tens of trillions of dollars.

What we are witnessing today is nothing less than a Katrina-like failure of government, of our political class, and of democracy itself, casting a cloud over the viability and longevity of the system.

Notice who is managing the crisis. Not our elected leaders. Nancy Pelosi says she had nothing to do with it. Congress is paralyzed and heading home. President Bush is nowhere to be seen.

Hank Paulson of Goldman Sachs and Ben Bernanke of the Fed chose to bail out Bear Sterns but let Lehman go under. They decided to nationalize Fannie and Freddie at a cost to taxpayers of hundreds of billions, putting the U.S. government behind $5 trillion in mortgages. They decided to buy AIG with $85 billion rather than see the insurance giant sink beneath the waves.

An unelected financial elite is now entrusted with the assignment of getting us out of a disaster into which an unelected financial elite plunged the nation. We are just spectators.

So, according to ol' Pat, the morals of the story are that Big Government and global economic interdependence are the problems; that Big Government includes social spending as well as war; and that we should take note that the people deciding the solution are not elected officials (and we've already seen just how compromised one of them is).

***

Okay Pat Buchanan, that was fun. Next up, former Securities and Exchange Commission official Lee Pickard puts in his two cents:

"The SEC modification in 2004 is the primary reason for all of the losses that have occurred," Mr. Pickard, who is now a senior partner at the Washington, D.C.-based law firm Pickard & Djinis, said.

What's the SEC modification in 2004, you ask? Well, let's see if we can get our heads around it:

The SEC allowed five firms — the three that have collapsed plus Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley — to more than double the leverage they were allowed to keep on their balance sheets and remove discounts that had been applied to the assets they had been required to keep to protect them from defaults.

Making matters worse, according to Mr. Pickard, who helped write the original rule in 1975 as director of the SEC's trading and markets division, is a move by the SEC this month to further erode the restraints on surviving broker-dealers by withdrawing requirements that they maintain a certain level of rating from the ratings agencies.

"They constructed a mechanism that simply didn't work," Mr. Pickard said. "The proof is in the pudding — three of the five broker-dealers have blown up."

So, the SEC changed the rule so that these 5 mega-giant firms didn't have to abide by the traditional debt-to-capital ratios. Unfortunately, I have basically no idea what this means, so I can't really comment. I only find it hilarious that 1. Special rules were made for companies worth more than $5 billion, 2. Those companies then collapsed and trashed the economy, and so then 3. Instead of going back to the rules, the SEC got rid of them for everyone else too. Hahahahaha.

***

Anybody else care to comment? Any more informed opinions? Oh hey, look, it's the Wall Street Journal! I appreciate them for their nonbiased commentary.

The Wall Street Journal article begins like a comic book for rich stupid people:

Huddled in his office Wednesday with top advisers, Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson watched his financial-data terminal with alarm as one market after another began go haywire. Investors were fleeing money-market mutual funds, long considered ultra-safe. The market froze for the short-term loans that banks rely on to fund their day-to-day business. Without such mechanisms, the economy would grind to a halt. Companies would be unable to fund their daily operations. Soon, consumers would panic.

See! Secretary Paulson is like a superhero, watching nervously as the city begins to collapse. What to do! he thinks. And then insight strikes him:

For at least a month, Mr. Paulson and Treasury officials had discussed the option of jump-starting markets by having the government absorb the rotten assets -- mainly financial instruments tied to subprime mortgages -- at the heart of the crisis. The concept, dubbed Balance Sheet Relief, was seen at Treasury as a blunt instrument, something to be used in only the direst of circumstances.

One day later, Mr. Paulson and Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke sped to Congress to seek approval for the biggest government intervention in financial markets since the 1930s.

Eureka! shrieked Paulson, and -- billionaire that he is -- dove happily into his giant swimming pool of money. It was so simple--so obvious--Why hadn't he thought of it before? "Have the American people pay for it!" he cried, surfacing and spitting forth a stream of dollar bills. "Bail out the ultra-wealthy with taxpayer dollars!"

Yes! Henry Paulson had done it. He'd saved the economy! There was just one problem. What if anybody in Congress had testicles? Though he dismissed the idea as unlikely, Paulson still had to address the matter.

In a private meeting with lawmakers, according to a person present, one asked what would happen if the bill failed.

"If it doesn't pass, then heaven help us all," responded Mr. Paulson.

So there you have it, according to the Wall Street Journal.

***

Here's something I haven't seen anybody mention. This business of buying and selling other people's debt, this business that lead to a whole lot of people getting really rich in the last decade: What the hell is its point?

In that NPR show we looked at last time, they interviewed a guy that was making up to $100,000 a month buying and selling securities. And he was the cool guy, living it up, hobnobbing with Christina Aguilera and Cuba Gooding Jr. and all these other fuckheads.

So here we have a guy that has done absolutely nothing to make anybody's life better and has contributed materially in no way at all to the rest of society. And he's rich. And he probably thought of himself as the epitome of the American Dream come true. Meanwhile other people do meaningful work or at the very least, make something useful, and can barely afford to feed themselves or go to the doctor.

What. The. Fuck.

What does that say about our society? About our "economy?" About ourselves, that we allow this sort of thing to happen, that we even cherish it and consecrate it and endow it with all these revered words like Freedom and Opportunity and American Dream?

The Big Hullaballoo Part 2: The Grope Goes On

I just read over the transcript of this NPR show on the Crisis. If I understood what it told me, and if it was right, then this happened:

First, there were mortgages. People sold mortgages to other people to buy houses. Those other people made payments on their mortgages. The people to whom they made those payments, the mortgage brokers, then sold those mortgages to banks, or to companies. I'm not sure which. So now the brokers made a lot of money, and the banks were getting payments, but then, the banks/companies sold the mortgages to bigger banks/companies. And onward to the big big guys on Wall Street.

And every step of the way everyone was making money. And another funny thing: The littler companies that bought the mortgages from the brokers had to take out loans to do so! Hahahahaha.

And then it gets funnier. Because everyone's buying these mortgages. So the brokers start giving them, selling them, whatever the term is, to shadier and shadier people, until we're at the point (2 or 3 years ago) where someone like ME could probably have gotten one. This thing "NINA loan" turns up; No Income No Assets. WTF! They'd lend to anybody, and then the loan would skip up along this chain until it got to the top.

Other new words I learned include "mortgage pool" and "tranche." A mortgage pool, I think, is a group of mortgages. "Tranche" means slice; it's when you slice up all these groups of mortgages and sell them off to whomever.

So then things got fucked, sayeth NPR, when this happened: People started defaulting on their very first payment!

So in the beginning, it was okay if somebody defaulted and the bank foreclosed. And that's because housing prices were always rising. But all of a sudden there is all this defaulting and foreclosing, and all these damned houses, so, What? The prices fall. And so now if someone defaults and you foreclose, you lose money (by the way "you" are a bank.)

And that's why the crisis happens. The banks are losing, losing, losing money.

And they have to be bailed out. Because they're the banks!

***

Here are other fun facts.

The NPR show describes a guy getting a half-million dollar loan he could probably never pay back. The people that got this loan for him represented his income at something like 3 times what it actually was:

Mortgage brokers were walking around East Flatbush, knocking on doors, telling just about anybody: Hey, we can get you a house. If you have a house, we can get you a big home equity line of credit. This happened in poor neighborhoods all over the country. And, while the FBI and other law enforcement folks, say they don't have the exact numbers, it's clear that fraud--like the fraud on Richard's application--was ubiquitous.

The phrase "Fraud was ubiquitous" comes without source or citation, though it seems likely enough. But assuming it's true, will there be any repurcussions for any of that? Well, probably not.

***

Speaking of fun facts. Back in February, this article from Eliot Spitzer appeared in the Washington Post. Let's quote it a bit:

The OCC [Office of the Comptroller of Currency] has been in existence since the Civil War. Its mission is to ensure the fiscal soundness of national banks. For 140 years, the OCC examined the books of national banks to make sure they were balanced, an important but uncontroversial function. But a few years ago, for the first time in its history, the OCC was used as a tool against consumers.

In 2003, during the height of the predatory lending crisis, the OCC invoked a clause from the 1863 National Bank Act to issue formal opinions preempting all state predatory lending laws, thereby rendering them inoperative. The OCC also promulgated new rules that prevented states from enforcing any of their own consumer protection laws against national banks. The federal government's actions were so egregious and so unprecedented that all 50 state attorneys general, and all 50 state banking superintendents, actively fought the new rules.

But the unanimous opposition of the 50 states did not deter, or even slow, the Bush administration in its goal of protecting the banks. In fact, when my office opened an investigation of possible discrimination in mortgage lending by a number of banks, the OCC filed a federal lawsuit to stop the investigation.

Throughout our battles with the OCC and the banks, the mantra of the banks and their defenders was that efforts to curb predatory lending would deny access to credit to the very consumers the states were trying to protect. But the curbs we sought on predatory and unfair lending would have in no way jeopardized access to the legitimate credit market for appropriately priced loans. Instead, they would have stopped the scourge of predatory lending practices that have resulted in countless thousands of consumers losing their homes and put our economy in a precarious position.

Let's restate that, huh? All 50 states tried to stop the banks from predatory lending practices that helped cause this problem, and the Bush Administration stopped them. Shocking.

I am also shocked in retrospect at how Spitzer was brought down as governor of New York. By "shocked," I mean "not surprised even a little."

And all of this would tend to make one a little leery about all this power given to Henry Paulson, a man who works for this Administration (that should be cause for damnation in and of itself) and as Secretary of the Treasury, presumably approves of its fiscal policies (see previous quotation); and who, in his previous job, was billionaire CEO of one of the companies that caused the whole fucking problem in this first place!

***

Now I'm starting to rant and speculate. I still don't probably understand the whole thing, even a little. But it doesn't add up, does it? The Big Bail Out doesn't, especially not in the way it's being done (total authority for Paulson with no oversight at all). Something's totally fucked.

This Big Hullaballoo: Groping Toward Understanding

Okay I've been looking into more and more explanations of this big Wall Street crisis-thing going on, and the more I read, the more I conclude:

Nobody understands it.

The system is too big and too complex and nobody knows why it does what it does.

The only important questions then: Who prospers? Who suffers? Who takes the blame?

***

I've seen a lot of explanations of this sort:

Banks made loans to people who couldn't repay them. And that was the bleeding heart lefty government's fault, for encouraging loans for houses for people who couldn't afford them. The poor people couldn't afford their payments, and so they broke the system. Result: They lose their homes; and it's their fault; and the government's job is to bail out the banks, otherwise...

Otherwise, what? Who knows.

But Ron Paul says that the result of all this stuff should be a drastic lowering in housing prices:

When interest rates are lowered to below what the market rate would normally be, as the Federal Reserve has done numerous times throughout this decade, it becomes much cheaper to borrow money. Longer-term and more capital-intensive projects, projects that would be unprofitable at a high interest rate, suddenly become profitable.

Because the boom comes about from an increase in the supply of money and not from demand from consumers, the result is malinvestment, a misallocation of resources into sectors in which there is insufficient demand.

In this case, this manifested itself in overbuilding in real estate. When builders realize they have overbuilt and have too many houses to sell, too many apartments to rent, or too much commercial real estate to lease, they seek to recoup as much of their money as possible, even if it means lowering prices drastically.

This lowering of prices brings the economy back into balance, equalizing supply and demand. This economic adjustment means, however that there are some winners -- in this case, those who can again find affordable housing without the need for creative mortgage products, and some losers -- builders and other sectors connected to real estate that suffer setbacks.

The government doesn't like this, however, and undertakes measures to keep prices artificially inflated.

So...

The problem is that low interest rates caused builders to build too much? Sayeth Paul. And that should mean a drop in prices. Which should mean more people able to buy houses, etc, but real estate sellers losing money. And -- What? The real estate people, or, the homeowners(?) Have to sell their property, now at a low price because supply exceeds demand(?) But-- What? They can't repay the banks? So the banks go broke? And that's what the Fed is trying to fix?

That seems, if I even understood it correctly, like the dead opposite of the previous explanation.

***

Then there is an explanation I heard the other day from the guy that does our finances:

Banks gave people 100% loans for houses. These people had payments that were lower than their interest rates. (How?) So the amount of money they owed the bank continually increased. Meanwhile the value of their home decreased. (How?) So they now owed the bank $105,000 on a home that was worth $100,000 but now is only worth $70,000. The house being the only collateral, and being now worth less, the hypothetical homeowners abandoned it.

Who are the culprits, according to this guy? The Rich.

***

Another explanation, from a different forum:

You need money to get money. People (banks) loaning other people money is the "heartbeat" of the economy: If they can't loan money, other people can't take their money and make even more money with it. So the government can't let them crash. I look at this statement and think of anything ol' Ron Paul said:

Additionally, the government's actions encourage moral hazard of the worst sort. Now that the precedent has been set, the likelihood of financial institutions to engage in riskier investment schemes is increased, because they now know that an investment position so overextended as to threaten the stability of the financial system will result in a government bailout and purchase of worthless, illiquid assets.

***

The only thing that I can understand fully right now is that the government is bailing out ultra-wealthy people who made bad decisions, and that this is a pretty common pattern.

***

Writing for Asia Times, Otto Spengler gives us this delightful metaphor:

Think of America as a town with one casino, in which the only economic activity is gambling. Most people lose, but the casino keeps lending them more money to play. Eventually, of course, the casino must go bankrupt. At this point, the townspeople people vote to tax themselves in order to bail out the casino. Collectively, the gamblers cannot help but lose; individually they nonetheless hope to win their way out of the hole

Spengler goes on to, seemingly, confirm what Ron Paul had to say:

Contrary to what the Bush administration says, it is not the case that banks' troubled mortgage assets cannot be sold in the private market. Those are the so-called "Level III" assets that banks say they cannot value. But that is only a dodge that the banks use to postpone taking losses. There is a ready bid for these assets from hedge funds, in multi-hundred-billion-dollar size. The trouble is that the market bid is 25% to 30% below the prices that banks carry these assets on their books.

***

It comes up occasionally that this fellow Treasury Secretary Paulson is being given an immense amount of power and no oversight. It also comes up occasionally that he used to be the CEO of Goldman-Sachs.

***

So what's going on? An afternoon of reading and I still don't quite understand. One thing: We're told the Big Bail Out is necessary for the economy. So, what's the economy? And why does it need to continue?

A Horror

It is the twenty first century, and the day was long as all days are long. Body sagging with weariness the man pulls himself up the steps to his apartment. Inside he goes directly into his bedroom, lays down in bed and plugs himself in to a series of devices. Wires extend from his ears to a machine; a glowing screen fills his vision. He is cut off entirely both from the outside world and from his own thoughts.

The man of course is me. I have just come home. I have not been home in some time. What do I do? Do I converse with anyone, or perhaps sit in quiet meditation? I go to my room, I attach earphones to my head which create a facsimile of music that is ultimately as false as it is bizarre. I type a message: "Hi, how are you?" to a friend 3,000 miles away. Communication without context, soundless, sightless; the real world, the world of the senses, entirely done away with; the human removed, nothing but the Symbol remaining.

The twenty-first century: all of it is insane and none of it is real.

Confessions, Lamentations

Something is going on in America.

Everyone is freaking out about it.

I don't understand the financial system. At all.

Something's going on -- and I don't understand what!

I have some guesses as to who is responsible (the super-rich).

I have some guesses as to the nature of the government's response (socialism for the super-rich).

I have some vague grasp of what is happening (Something about the mortgage companies. Something about a trillion dollar bail-out. Something about the super-rich not having to suffer the consequences of bad financial decisions, even though they're savvy enough to at least know what those decisions were...unlike me.)

(By the way Ms. Pelosi, Mr. Bush, could the federal government maybe help out with some of my credit card debt? No? Yeah, I didn't think so.)

But all of this said. I don't, still don't, really grasp what's going on.

So somebody...

What the hell is going on?

Letting the Days Go By

Hey everyone I know what to do -- Let's go read the News!

Here is an oldie, but I missed it at the time.

Study Tallies Corporations Not Paying Income Taxes

Two out of every three United States corporations paid no federal income taxes from 1998 through 2005, according to a report released Tuesday by the Government Accountability Office, the investigative arm of Congress.

Holy shit, that's fucked! But what else is going on in the News?

Scientists Watch As Listener's Brain Predicts Speaker's Words

Scientists at the University of Rochester have shown for the first time that our brains automatically consider many possible words and their meanings before we've even heard the final sound of the word.

I originally clicked on this article cause I thought it was going be about telepathy. It turns out it's not, so I don't care. But maybe you should read it anyway!

And finally, read this neat thing sent to me by my fried B.

The eco-community in the Preseli mountains of west Wales was set up in 1993 and lived contentedly away from the rat race round a 180-acre farm bought by Julian and Emma Orbach.

In 1998, it was spotted when sunlight was seen glinting off a solar panel on the main building, which was built from straw bales, timber and recycled glass.

When the pilot reported back, officials were unable to find any records, let alone planning permission, for the mystery hillside village surrounded by trees and bushes.

So, usually the next sentence would be "so the villagers were evicted from their homes and their children were taken into custody by the government" accompanied by snideness and innuendo to the effect that people who want to live in ecovillages are necessarily insane. That is, if the story hadn't begun with "All members of deranged ecovillage cult killed in FBI siege." But not this time! Somehow a government (tellingly, not in the US) decided it was okay for people to do something different. Hooray!