Denial and Reality: An Epiphany of Sorts

The virtual hemorrhage of federal money, the unchecked government spending, scares me, as it scares many of my fellow citizens. The situation is unconscionable, as well as untenable. If nothing else, what right do we have to saddle our progeny with our debts...and for what? Acorn?

The willful blindness afflicting our elected representatives is truly astounding. Since most of them have never worked up a bad, let alone good, sweat in their working careers, I offer them a test. Let's call it the sofa test. You see, the numbers these politicians wield are abstractions to them, bandied about with little recognition of just what those numbers represent. I would ask, "How many sofas should a mover carry on his back to fund pig smell studies in Iowa?" Picture a septic tank cleaner: "How many septic tanks must he pump to fund the National Endowment of the Arts?"

Seen in this light, you have to rethink the role of the federal government. Many of the recipient programs are laudable. They are nice things, but they are not in the rightful purview of government. After much thought, it seems to me that the federal government, just as a private family in straitened circumstances, needs to concentrate on its core obligations- in this case: national security, some sort of social safety net so that no one dies on the streets of hunger, and others.

As things stand, it seems that Congress is in the grip of a mass hysteria, playing a bit of Handel as the HMS State slowly submerges. The woods are burning, boys.

Apology

When I began this blog, I was not working. Later I started working part time. With the current state of the economy, I am now working full time. My situation has resulted in very little time to post. I miss blogging and am working out some scheme to continue. Still unsure how I am going to accomplish it.

Prisoner of Conscience Orlando Zapata Tamayo Dies

It is with great sadness that I note the passing of yet another noble and brave soul in the Castrian Gulag. Zapata Tamayo's demise, the result of a hunger strike undertaken in protest of inhuman conditions compounded by those same conditions, has unleashed a new wave of repression on the island.

Springtime for Hitler Sarasota Style

There is a perhaps apocryphal but oft told story in Sarasota that in the days when the town was being developed, one nabob, concerned, inquired where their gardeners would live if real estate prices kept rising. The answer supplied by one of his confreres was "Bradenton," a neighboring town. Our local version of the "let them eat cake" scenario came to mind when I found out about this. Yes, folks, the great political minds and philanthropic hearts of the Sarasota Yacht Club really are holding a "Regatta" to Havana. Of course, the regatta is one way. If memory serves...and it doesn't always these days... Cubans aren't even allowed to fish. In any event, the notion is so ludicrous, absurd, that it brought all sorts splendid parallels to mind, ergo the title here.

The conclusion here is that those in power at the Yacht Club are either completely clueless or completely impervious to the misery of their fellow man, or both; else they would not lend countenance to a murderous, repressive regime or celebrate the "golden age of clubs" with those who destroyed them. The thought that these people can go down there in their nifty boats with their nifty clothes and their nifty food in their slightly over-sized bellies amid the hunger, misery and squalor being inflicted on the Cuban people by their hosts is mind-boggling. The moral equivalent to organizing a cross-country ski trip to Stalin's Siberia, it is a stain on the name of Sarasota. They might have been better served if they had consulted the former members of the Havana Yacht Club. Incredible.

H/T Ziva

The State of the Democrat

I confess I've given up watching the Obamantics. Still, I did surf by a few times yesterday evening. Was it me, or was there a frenzied aspect to the Dems hoorahs, a sort of relief that their champion had entered the lists?

The Measure of a Man

This morning, “Morning Joe” referred to an earlier visit by Sting. I’m mad at Sting. I’m mad at the Pope, too. Their behavior and that of others glosses over of a multitude of mortal sins committed against the people of Cuba by the ruling military junta. It is a betrayal that says it is acceptable to oppress Cubans, as long as you loosen up a little, like complementing a mugger kneeling on a victim for easing the pressure on the hapless individual’s chest.

The offense here is beyond political; it is more catholic (couldn’t resist). It is the denial of the humanity of the poor benighted souls who languish in the island prison. The framers of the American Constitution tallied a slave as three-fifths of a man. The question that occurs to me is what fractional percentage of a human being is a Cuban? When rock stars sally on down, does it occur to them that the pool boy with the MD slinging towels does not have the same right to visit, say, Pasadena? When Carlos Santana wears his Che shirt is he reminded of the young people harassed and threatened for wearing one with Cambio written on it, imagine an emblazoned Ronald Reagan? Does it ever occur to Sting that if he were an ordinary Cuban, “Socialista” would be owned by the Socialistas? And Spielberg, who has ensured that the Holocaust stays in the public consciousness, sits across from the charismatic sociopath for hours. When he later says Cuban Americans should get over it, even as the embers of the Cuban variant continue to smolder, does he not recognize the contradiction?

Of course not. There is an insidious relativism that infects the perceptions of each and every one of those who serve as apologists for the revolution. Achievements in literacy and healthcare are touted ad inifintum. Current conditions are seen as an improvement over those in the bad old days. For the sake of argument, let us agree to these, although inaccurate. Even if everything they perceive is true, even if the evil Bastianos in Miami were oppressing the mass of Cuban humanity, further, even if Batista was a Caribbean Pol Pot, can there be any justification for the denial of the most basic of human rights now? Did Cubans sell their birthright as human beings for a bowl of ration card soup? Are they human beings or trained chimps to be fed a plate of scraps, treated by the vet, and kept in a cage? Not a single one of the enlightened who criticize US policy would want to live under the boot of the Cuban system. Yet these seemingly well-intentioned people accept the denial of the same rights they enjoy. Does it then follow that Cubans are less than they are?

In the end, there is no reasoning with evil. No amount of diplomacy or pussyfooting, American tourism or credit, is going to occasion the regime to self-immolate. Until it does, any affirmation of the ruling cadre is, in effect, a denial of the humanity of the Cuban people.

Literary Interlude: A Bit of The Bard

...I am a Jew.
Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs,
dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with
the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject
to the same diseases, healed by the same means,
warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as
a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed?
if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison
us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not
revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will
resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,
what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian
wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by
Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you
teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I
will better the instruction.

from Merchant of Venice, Act 3, sc.1

Developments yesterday brought to mind Shylock's speech and the long painful and ongoing struggle of the Jewish people. So to my Jewish friends and family I extend a heartfelt "Happy Holiday!"

Of Tragedies and Travesties

In Cuba today, small numbers of dissidents attempted to mark International Human Rights Day with a demonstration as has been their custom these past few years. As in past years, they were confronted by government organized mobs whose sole purpose is to heckle and beat the hardy souls. This year a key figure, Dr. Darsi Ferrer, was absent having been earlier imprisoned- ostensibly for buying black market building materials. His wife fully intended to complete their yearly circuit of the park, running the gauntlet of taunts and blows. Apparently, her plans were short circuited by State Security. As of this writing, it is unknown whether this was just an instance of catch, threaten, and release or whether like her husband she is to be held under trumped up charges.

Even as this was goin' down we might say, the Pontiff in Rome was welcoming the new Cuban Ambassador to the Vatican and extolling the growing religious freedom in the country, advocating reconciliation with the United States and lamenting the embargo. Reading news reports was an exercise in dramatic irony.

Here's the movie version. The scene opens, picture like an Angels and Demons backdrop, all the pomp and regalia of mother church. The Holy Father approaches, greets the dignitary. Cut to the crumbling facade of a small home in Havana. A woman emerges, her clothing threadbare; a car swooops in; State Security operatives seize her despite protests, and drive away in a scene worthy of Z. Back at the Vatican, the Pope remarks on growing religious freedom in Cuba, sees an opening for reconciliation with the United States. Cut to the park in Havana, scenes of a handful of individuals attempting only to circuit the park once in order to mark Human Rights Day. There is jostling, haranguing, hitting as they are overwhelmed by the hundreds trucked in for the occasion.

As half a world away the prelate proffers his sympathy to the Cuban people for their suffering not because of the Stalinist dictatorship they have endured for half a century, not for the deprivation of their freedoms, not for the perpetual misery brought on by economic mismanagement; but for economic downturns, natural disasters, and even the embargo. The embargo on human rights goes unnoted. Back to the park in Havana, where the mob handlers have denied their stooges bathroom privileges, so needed are their acting abilities. Key in on the growing stain of menstrual blood on one of the "socialism or death" crowd. Fade that red into the red ecclesiastical sash of a prelate at the Vatican.
Whatcha think? Am I on to somethin'?

*I have taken much dramatic license, but the facts are just that- facts.

Read: A (Young) Teen Title

If you have an adolescent in your home, you might find yourself in my position, that is beating the bushes for a book that does not involve intimacy with the living dead. I have nothing against vampires per se. As a librarian, I read an early copy of Twilight and passed it on to others, although I have to say that had I known there would be another umpteen books with less savory plot lines, I might have hesitated in sending it to my niece.

So here I am, trying to find a decent title for this year's Christmas present. In this context I come across a new (to me) genre: steampunk. If you want a definition, look it up 'cause I can't explain it. It kinda reminds me of the modernist movement, lots of machinery. Anyway, to make a long story short I pick up Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld. The first fifty pages I almost put it down, thinking "I'm too old for this...." There's a young prince Alek whose parents have been murdered forcing him to flee for his life in a "walker," which is fitting since he is Austrian and a "Clanker." Switch to England, home of the "Darwinists," and a variety of misbegotten creatures, as well as young Deryn Sharp, a young girl masquerading as a boy so she can be a midshipman. From there the plot thickens. And you begin to realize it all sounds a bit like the beginnings of WWI. You get the point.

Suddenly I am interested and I realize that this is "alternative history" as the author terms it, at the same time that it is a story about growing up. By the end I'm waiting for the next installment, 'cause you know one is down the pike somewhere. Loved the illustrations by Keith Thompson, too. By the way, the Leviathan of the title is a huge inflatable whale of sorts, a species (pardon the pun) of zeppelin.

It's listed most places as a young adult book. I'd peg it on the lower part of that range, although I enjoyed it. For what it's worth.

Pithy Observation of the Eve

After seeing photos of Obama's jobs summit and getting a gander at who was-SEIU- and was not invited-the Chamber of Commerce- one has to conjecture that the entire proceeding might have been a tad more productive had the attendees actually created a job or two in the past. Just a thought. Was that Thomas L Friedman I saw?

Of Kangaroos and Courts

Let's see here.... The administration maintains that the 9/11 mastermind et al can be ably tried by our justice system. The President says that KSM will be convicted and sentenced to death. Huh? If there is no doubt of the outcome, what function does providing this opportunity for the opposition to spout their hateful ideology serve? Silly me. I forgot. It placates the ACLU and provides a marvelous distraction in the form of Bush bashing.

Now when a liberal judge hurls the charges from his courtroom as fruit of the poisoned waterboard, although they won't introduce that evidence, we are not to worry that the malefactors will be released. I did notice that Holder today used the terms that KSM would not walk our streets, which leads me to wonder whether he will walk the dusty streets of Peshawar and plot anew. Conversely, perhaps they can prosecute him for jaywalking in Guantanamo or violating the civil rights of those Americans pulverized by his machinations. Holy Doublespeak.

In any case, isn't there something Castroesque, Hitleresque, Stalinesque out of trying someone for show when the result is foreordained? I mean if the administration's point is that they, like good lawyers, believe in the legal system, why don't they trust it? I have not the smallest iota of an iota of compassion for the 9/11 crowd, but I'm seriously perturbed by a proceeding that smacks of cynicism. Much better, at least more honest, to haul them up before the military as enemy combatants who murdered three thousand American citizens and put them out of our misery forthwith.

That's Gratitude for You!

Just finished reading a letter from Citibank regarding my credit card, the interest rate of which they are raising to 18.99%. In the old days a rate like that was near usury. The hubster, having read a similar missive earlier in the day, called to complain. From what I gather he used the "we bailed you out and this is what we get" approach, followed by "the interest is 0" stratagem. When the young man at the other end of the line maintained that they paid considerably more, the hubster quickly countered with "You don't pay me that on my savings." Alas, all his sallies produced nothing, not even sympathy. So he cancelled the account. Easy for him: he owes like 14 dollars.

I'm in a slightly different situation, but I can transfer or pay off the balance- uncomfortable as the latter alternative might be- which I intend to do. What happens to people without resources?
If they are charging me with my nifty credit score this rate, just how much are they charging more marginal types? By the bye, hubby's rate was two points lower, despite his paying both bills.

A close friend of my Dad's, unashamedly alcoholic, could always be counted on for a snarky saying or two. He used to say that if you saw someone drowning, you should step on him to make sure, 'cause that sucker is going to take you down, too. I always considered it a horrendous thought. In the case of Citi, maybe he was on to something. Obscene.

Is Obama American?

No, no, this isn't about the infamous phantom birth certificate. Nor am I implying that the President is un-American in the stereotypical perjorative sense. No, this is deeper.

In a conversation a while back someone told me, "I don't consider him an American. Look where he grew up. Look at the people who surrounded him. He doesn't know what it is to go to little league games...." Now I don't know if he ever played little league, although he does make rather a show of playing basketball, but I do know that the President, the reputedly great orator, demonstrates a certain tone deafness when it comes to Mom, flag, and apple pie. Ms. Calabaza points out a faux pas here, not the first one, I might add.

Another case in point is the apparently lukewarm nature of his comments on the Fort Hood Massacre. My own observations of the response were similar: Clinton would have felt their pain; Bush would have been hugging the families of the fallen, while vowing to see justice done; Obama, however, strangely removed, almost wooden, treats it as a parenthetical element in a shoutout to Native Americans. It can be argued that his reaction was a function of geography and personality. Northerner Mr. Obama would seem to live more in his head than the other two more emotive leaders with their Southern ties.

Whatever the case, El Presidente demonstrated an inability to gin up the emotion his churchgoing, gun-toting fellow Americans expect of their leader, and a tin ear when it came to just what those expectations were. Shouldn't need a weatherman.... (no pun intended.)

Medicare for All And for All Not Quite Enough

It boggles the mind that this two thousand page abomination of a health care bill is still being rammed down our throats. Is it not somehow unethical for politicians to push a sweeping overhaul of a system which affects all when a majority of the populace rejects the same? Do they think the public will forget, or are they that wedded to their ideology? Is it rank paternalism? They know better than the people who pay the premiums and receive the services?

Anyway in order to make the force feeding a bit more palatable, the Dems have hit on the happy expedient of calling the public option, "Medicare for all," seeking to comfort with the security of of the government. My own observation of Medicare in action, that is covering real people in real situations, is that the coverage like that of a not quite big enough blanket leads to considerable exposure. Deductibles, co-pays, and the twenty percent patient responsibility, as well as reimbursement rates that lead to additional physician bills, all add up when you get sick.

Since our elected officials have their own marvy insurance plan, when they extol Medicare, they know not of what they speak. I propose that congressional members be stripped of their insurance and required to participate in Medicare for one year before they are allowed pronounce on the subject. Just a thought.

Holy Minimizing, Batman!

By now I should be inured to the apologias for the Cuban ruling military junta purporting to be news reports, but this AP effort is a pip. Its treatment of the violent apprehension, detention, and intimidation of Cuban blogger Yoani Sanchez on Friday is a study in understatement. Ms. Sanchez, it reports, was "briefly detained" and "warned," about her activities as she was "stopped" by agents of state security.

Brevity is a relative thing, particularly when one is dragged off the street, thrown into a car headfirst, beaten, and informed that this is as far as you go. The warning consisted of threats carrying all of the weight of a capricious totalitarian state with a population of dissenters languishing in fetid jails, wasting away from malign neglect. The report, however, makes it all seem so civilized that by the time they quote Ms. Sanchez we can picture her in a wing chair, plopping a sugar cube in her tea, and uttering in upper class British accents- "It was very violent."

Of course, we are informed, none of this can be corroborated. Is the implication here that Yoani is pulling a Tawana Brawley? Well since they seem to have developed a belated sense of journalistic ethics, in the future maybe the AP can attempt to corroborate the claims of the regime before bruiting them as truth.

For a slightly different take on the incident, here's a poem inspired by the event and penned by the other victim of the security apparatus.

H/T Ziva

Greeting Card Wisdom

Spotted on a birthday card:

Cover: "The Democrats took your birthday cake"

Inside: "They sliced it up and gave it to others who don't have a birthday today."

No lie.

Meanderings: The Coming of the Cold

There's a slight nip in the air tonight, the same air, if not the same molecules, which earlier radiated heat worthy of a blast furnace in the Amazon. For a few days last week, the temperature plummeted, not with the seasonal relief of tonight's breezes, but with that bone chilling Northern cold. Of course, the temperature never went below 40, 60 during the day.
We're not used to it, but then Northerners have never endured 40 with our humidity, the experience like that of being massaged by icy fingers. It is not unusual to go to bed cold in such a case, since heat is a touch and go sort of thing here, usually attached to the central air.

Such is possible because there are years here in Sarasota when you don't even get to wear a sweater. Even in a bad year, sweater weather days can be counted on the fingers of your hands. When the temperature does dip, the locals emerge, a riotous and improvised display of jarring wardrobe don'ts. It could be that by throwing a pullover sweater over our shorts-clad bodies and flip-flopped feet we deny the coming reality of winter, at the same time we celebrate the relief in the incessant heat that is our daily portion. (Northerners, just think how you feel on the first warm day of Spring.) Then once we get used to the idea of winter, we start wearing pants, sometimes even socks. (If you ever want to spot the tourists in December, just look for the shorts.) On the rare occasion when coats are called for, it's really easy to spot the locals. A really cold day sets in motion of fashion show of styles from the 60's on, an exhibition worthy of the Costume Institute, as no one has purchased a coat here since the day the moving van drove away.

Tonight's air is merely soothing, long-sleeve weather, not much. It excites, enlivens, but that's it. By noon tomorrow, it will be on the sweaty side of balmy, and maybe, just maybe, by nightfall the air conditioner will get a long-deferred, but well-earned rest. One can hope.

Read: A Colossal Failure of Common Sense; The Inside Story of the Collapse of Lehman Brothers

Just put down Lawrence G. McDonald's post mortem on the once great investment firm. I had a bit of interest in the topic to begin with, having read an exhaustive New York Times article about firm years before when it got in major trouble. Like that pivotal moment in a Greek tragedy, it would seem that the seeds of the firm's destruction were sown in the years when trader Lewis Glucksman wrested control of the company from the patrician Peter G. Peterson. It was Glucksman's protege Richard Fuld who would later steer the firm into a rather large iceberg, a collision from which there could be no recovery.

McDonald's portrayal of "King Richard" is scathing. The book portrays him as arrogant, bullying, out of touch, and intellectually incapable of grasping the new math of securitization. In perhaps part of the strongest parts of the book, McDonald makes clear the various steps along the path to the nation's, the world's, economic breakdown in his attempt to chronicle the demise of Lehman. The success of this aspect of the book was readily apparent when my eyes only crossed two or three times during explanations of the alphabet soup of credit vehicles.

Ghost writer Patrick Robinson outdoes himself. The book is nicely written and fascinating, combining McDonald's early years, the Lehman debacle, and government policy. Overall, though, there is the faintest aroma of sour grapes here. Every trader is described as brilliant and sagacious. The equation seems to be "Traders good; head guys bad." Finally, although I've heard the theory before, McDonald's implied assertion that Paulson's letting Lehman die set off the financial collapse is not something that is axiomatic. The weight of all the bad paper only made it a question of when. And sorry, I can't feel too sorry for the losses of people who made in one year more than I will earn in a lifetime.

All that being said, it is an eminently readable book and an excellent primer on the currents which led to the maelstrom which almost sank us all.

"Pssst!"

"Did you hear the one about Obama?"

"No, what happened?"

"Oh, he got the Nobush Prize."

Meanderings: Isn't It Somethin'?

Just got my internet connection restored this very minute. Kinda moved yesterday, not quite in the new place, not quite outta the old. Got me to thinkin'. In the old days when you moved, you got to your new home and plugged the TV in and presto- there it was. Telephone took forever, but we actually survived without having the same attached to our ears, so we were used to it. There was no internet.



So last night the hubster and I are looking at each other. Part of getting older, at least for him, seems to consist of being resistant to change. So there we are, looking at each other, with no TV and no internet. I had one book left in my arsenal, but out of fellow feeling I joined him as he finally got around to checking out the scads of CD's he brings home 'cause he's gonna listen someday. The important thing to note here is that not a single label on one of these sports not a single recognizable moniker. In point of fact, a considerable number of them seem to be the offspring of the superannuated folky who sings at the local fish house on Sundays. The selection last night was a bit more diverse. First Classical was rejected; then I put the kibosh on some Cumbia via Mexico; finally he settled on some variation of techno.

Somehow we got through the eve, and here I am, posting. Can't help but think, however, that our forbears were a tad more resourceful. Just thinkin'.