Crash + Bailout = Easy Explanation

Folks, I'm just as concerned about this as you are. I mean, I'm sitting here watching my Krispy Kreme stock options tumble like that skier in the old Wide World of Sports intro, and I think to myself, well, how did we get here?

It's real simple. The near extinction of long-term thinking and the constant pull of greed.

Sustainable growth? Investing for the long-term gain? Nope, in this frenetic "now, now, now" world, you're only as good as your last quarter. If you're not flipping stocks and houses like pancakes, you're a failure. That's the mentality of the i-banker. I know because I know i-bankers. Personally. Lots of 'em, in fact. I hear their dreams, doubts and horror stories. I hear about the pressures put on them by their firms and themselves. Their skewed definition of "success." The quick buck is the sexy buck. Sustainable growth and bulletproof portfolios? Ain't nobody doin' that but the old coots. Old stinkin' rich coots, but old coots nonetheless. Ah, but who's laughing now? (I mean, besides the Chinese of course...)

Making social plans with these guys is nearly pointless. The weekend is a vague abstraction, next week is a mirage, and next month is an urban myth. I am reminded of what Brian Eno said about how his concept of here and now changed when he moved to New York. He quickly learned that here meant "this room" and now meant "this five minutes."

This haunted him for a good long while and ultimately led to his involvement in The Long Now Foundation, and organization devoted to promoting creative & responsible long-term thinking and providing a counterpoint to today's faster/cheaper mindset. Since finding their site (via SF writer Neal Stephenson I think), I've been picking through their library of recorded seminars like a well-stocked used CD store that none of my music-head friends have found and pilfered yet. (If you listen to one and one only, I'd steer you to the mp3 of Paul Saffo's talk, "Embracing Uncertainty: The Secret to Effective Forecasting." Great stuff there, including a discussion of "indicators" - something we'll be coming back to in this space again.)

As for our old friend greed, it's as old as civilization itself and is the elephant in the room that most of the talking heads in the room continue to sidestep and ignore. (To their credit, the talking heads without a stake in the game zero right in on this, but their salient points and simmering indignation is consistently met by the blameworthy with deafening and well-funded silence & deflection. I tell you, it's enough to make you want to hurl a can of tuna straight through the fucking TV screen sometimes.) Folks, here's the thing about rich folks. (And I'm talking about the really, really rich here.) Their singlemost defining characteristic is this:

They are rich. And they intend to stay that way.



File away as needed, but don't ever forget it.

The Prodigal Cowboy Returns

But you won't find answers in a book; you'll have to go there.
- Kosti the miner to Larry in The Razor's Edge

I've been away from here because I've been out there man. Out there 'cuz I had to see. With my own eyes. In their own words. And you know what I found out?

People up and lost their goddamn minds, I tell you whut.

Either that or they're just plain scared. One or the other. Hard to tell with most folks.

I may be speaking to the heavily-bunkered and well-provisioned choir here, but the land has fallen upon dark times as they say, and much to my chagrin (and general annoyifyin') I don't have enough time to personally kick all the corpulent, in-on-the-take butts that so desperately need what we like to refer to in these parts as "a Durango enema."

A man can dream though. A man can dream...

What the hell is wrong with these people? Yes, we make our own choices - personal responsibility, rugged individualism and all that, but how are you supposed to remain optimistic when the game is so beautifully rigged?

This ain't a blue state-red state thing - it's a money and power thing. And when we sit there and watch what little of either we still get siphoned off, we can (and to a degree should) blame the suits. But...

It's our fault too. We stood there and let it happen. We stood in line at the all-you-can-eat bullshit cafe, paid twice as much as we should have, and then went back for seconds.

Doesn't mean we have to keep this up though. Doesn't mean you can't take a page out of The Book of Billy Jack and make 'em pay a little bit. In fact, I'm here to tell you it's your Goddamn moral obligation to make 'em pay.



Not 'cuz they're "winning." (Because from a purely quantitative standpoint, some will always have more than others, and failing some kind of epiphanous mass-bodhi event across all humanity, the quantitative physical world is where most of us will continue to go about our day.) No, because the bastards are ruining this world and limiting our alternatives. Damn near ensuring that armegeddon arrives on a human timeline rather than a cosmic one.

I may be powerless to stop this slow but accelerating march toward civilization's oblivion, but I for one intend to kick, holler, junk-punch, and eye-gouge every step of the way. It's like Otter said in Animal House:

We gotta take these bastards. Now we could do it with conventional weapons that could take years and cost millions of lives. No, I think we have to go all out. I think that this situation absolutely requires a really futile and stupid gesture be done on somebody's part.

And to quote Bluto's response to this sacred charge:

We're just the guys to do it.

Stay tuned, folks. My name is Bronco Billy. I'm back and I'm pissed off.

A brush with greatness

He is as tall as he looks on TV. His smile is broad and genuine. And, he really does have the knack of truly connecting to the ‘little guy.’

Yes, I got to shake Barack Obama’s hand and meet the guy unmediated, unmonitored, and entirely without spin. He’s the real deal. This country could be so lucky.

So, there we were, happily chowing down on a burger, fries and wheat beers. There’s cowboy hats, bolo ties, and a good assortment of clean jeans sitting up at the long, long bar. The walls are covered with the proud local traditions of mining, miners and the ethnic groups to which they belonged. Stevie, the grizzled shoe-shine drifts from one pub denizen to another.

Then, suddenly, a suit appears, wielding a reporter’s notepad. A handful of political operatives (you can pick them by their silk ties, Chanel handbags, and Blackberrys) all turn their attention to the door. We know not who the buzz of expectation, the frission of anticipation, is for. But, it is clear something is about to happen.

It was all so sudden, so undramatic, and so ordinary. Barack walked in, smiled, took in the scene, and then found the first hand to shake, the first person to greet and give his full attention.

Initially stunned, the forty or fifty of us in the bar were amazed this was really happening. We cheered and we clapped. The man-who-might-be-President was right there, mere feet away, smiling, chatting, and clearly enjoying himself. Barack was at ease and quickly, we were too. Excited, nervous but not in anyway scared or intimidated.

Out came the cell phones, the digital cameras, and the pieces of paper for him to sign. It all seemed OK for us to gawk, to snap photos, and to ask him for a special word or two. No-one crowded him, no-one pushed or jostled. (Of course, the Secret Service wouldn’t let that happen, and the media all took positions behind the bar.)

One-by-one, Barack visited with us. He asked after our story, he told us he was glad to see us, and he graciously allowed photo after photo (that will be treasured and talked about for weeks, months, maybe years).

Now, he may have a bit of a jellyfish handshake! You would too if you had hundreds of them, day in and day out. But, it is the genuine attentiveness, the eye-to-eye connection and the immediate warmth with which he greets you that is notable. You are swept entirely into his world, for just a moment. There is no hoopla, no distractions, just your story and his.

Wow. Is this a great nation or what? That a man on the cusp of becoming the leader of the free world graciously asks a seven-year-old if he could have a couple of fries, signs the bartenders t-shirt, and then turns to address the small crowd saying how marvelous he found this place we call home and asking after the fishing; that is amazing. You know he would have loved to have had a beer (indeed, he would say so later that night in his speech.) Nothing staged, and nothing rehearsed. A man of the people, getting to meet the people, all across the country.

And, then Barack was gone. The Secret Service now let us freely come and go. The media all file back onto their bus. As we exit into the bright, chilly afternoon, left in the wake of the moment, it is clear that something special just happened. Something that you never really experience on TV. Something that makes you proud and amazed to be an American.

I would say there’s no where else in the world right now where it would happen quite this way. And that makes me smile. That gives me hope.

p.s. Your not-so-humble correspondent was able to give Barack a quick lesson in the Presbyterian art of fly-fishing: “Its ten and two, Senator, ten and two!”