My (Brief) Life As Steve Jobs

Less is...less

   I rose early and went downstairs. The first thing I noticed was that we had too much furniture, so I began removing it piece by piece. It was all junk and clutter. Our closest neighbors were away and I had the keys to their house and garage, so I put a lot of it in both. Then, I put some of it in another neighbor's back yard and garage. They all had terrible taste anyway and deserved having even more bad stuff around.

   The emptiness enveloped me.

   I had recently showered, about three days before, and I could still smell the remnants of Irish Spring upon me. I took a solemn vow to get rid of this by not showering for at least a month. I began to feel pure and well on my way to enlightenment.

   Then, I looked in the refrigerator and was horrified to find that most of what had accumulated in there came from animals: cold cuts, bacon, eggs, and, as disgusting as it may sound, butter. I threw it all away and made a note to get to Whole Foods that afternoon to get some healthy vegan food in the house. I wanted to feel like I had, when I had tramped around India in the corporate jet fifteen years ago, when I ate only peeled fruit and some seeds.

Bozo phones. Morons.

   Then, I called the head of the company for whom I was selling on commission and told him he was a complete bozo and that their products were s@*t and that, if they didn't shape up quickly, I would leave. When he reminded me that they had never hired me, and, in fact, didn't owe me a dime or anything else, since I had not yet sold squat, I quit. This is what geniuses must do.

   As soon as I hung up, my daughter called. She had not called me to say she loved me since the previous day, an extreme betrayal of my devotion to her. So I immediately hung up and said I wouldn't speak to her for a year.

   After meditating, I went to my desk and decided to make something that would change the world and be insanely great. A four-week presidential campaign? Never work. An inkjet printer that works more than two days a month? Impossible even for me. Buy a piece of the Mets and win a Series? Oy.

  What would be worthy of my unique combination of an artist's sensibility, a designing eye, an engineer's obsession with precision, not to mention an Olympic-sized ego, unbridled arrogance, and an ability to burst into tears an instant after being slighted by bozos who make s#@t stuff?

   As usual, I was all alone in my hour of need, abandoned once more by those who could not love me enough, because they could not see that I was smarter, more creative, richer, smellier and meaner than just about anybody.

   I went for a long walk with my editor and tried to manipulate her into accepting the stories I'd submitted, which she had hurtfully and summarily rejected. We walked and walked in my neighborhood, while I told her how much I admired her and her little paper. Feeling kind and compassionate, as the Buddha has taught us, I didn't even mention that my column had saved her whole enterprise. After a couple of hours, even I was exhausted. So, I took a shortcut home and called the Publisher and said that he had to get rid of her, and mentioned that I was not available to replace her, because she was a friend. This is what great friends do for each other. If he begs, I will have to take the job.

SJ's Hero

   By now it was dinner time and I had forgotten to go to Whole Foods. My wife, who was sitting on the floor in our living room, asked why the fridge was emptied and what were we going to have for supper. I immediately forbade her from ever calling dinner supper again and said that there was a head of iceberg lettuce left, which, together with some purified water, would make an excellent purge of a meal. She got her car keys and left in a huff, or maybe went to get a cheeseburger. Once again, I was alone, unloved, misunderstood, and, I must admit, really hungry.

   Being left alone in the house gave me an opportunity to get rid of the beds and most of the upstairs furniture, which I put by the curb for people with no taste to pick-over and take home to their imperfectly designed houses. I slept on the mattress just as my Indian teachers had done many years before during the time I was learning to hide my superiority by being a world class jackass.

   Gratefully, I woke up for real, with my wife sleeping beside me and all of the furniture in place. Alas, it was all a dream, and I was, once again, just another bozo, but felt much better for it, and was hungry for a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich and a long shower.

Ed Note: Disclosure: I have a Macbook, an iphone, and an iPad and am an admirer of Apple and, to a certain extent, of Steve Jobs. While reading Walter Isaacson's book, Steve Jobs (I do not consider it to be a real biography, but think it's a long profile), I had a frightening thought: will parents force their children to read this book and expect that the kids will use deceit, dishonesty, meanness, greed, and manipulation, as Jobs did, in addition to his finely-honed intuition, creativity, and great communications skills? Will those young people believe that you can't be a genius and be a well-mannered, truthful and mature adult? Consequently, I thought it would be good for at least one person to poke fun at St. Steve. Perhaps, as many reviewers have suggested,  Jobs had a bit of Einstein and Franklin in him, two other lives Isaacson has chronicled. But, we would do well to recall that Jobs also had a lot in common with another one of Isaacson's subjects: Henry Kissinger. That is not a compliment.

 

 



 

 

Holiday This

   Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas!

   There, I've said it out loud, sort of: the two little words which you will never hear uttered by network or cable TV Holiday-heads, or retailers, who have banished the words, "Merry Christmas," without the need for any explanation.

   Do they all believe that separation of church and state extends to them, even though they are not government organizations? Do they really believe that citizens who do not celebrate Christmas will be deeply offended by these words of good will in an age in which true nuttiness extends across the borders of politics, media, academia, business, and, yes, religion itself?

   Happy Christmas, Happy Christmas, Feliz Navidad! Go ahead, sue me.

   And, while we're at it: Happy Hanukka! Happy Chanukah!

   While researching a story recently, I was stunned to find a web site wishing me (don't let the kids see this) Merry Christmas (http://www.globetrotter1897.com/). The site showed Santa descending to earth in a hot-air balloon, and, as amazing as this sounds, I was not the least offended by this depiction, nor did I drop dead of fright. And why would I, since a "belief" in jolly old St. Nick requires little in the way of religious commitment. Imagine if they had shown a manger scene? The shame of such a thing!

   Please.

   It has come to this: the mavens who run our media and retail domains, believe that it is entirely appropriate that we watch every minute of the Kardashians' lives, and live every moment of Newt Gingrich's quest, and think Black Friday is a really good idea. But they will employ any means, invest whatever it takes, to keep us from hearing or seeing the words "Merry Christmas."

   Soon, we may have to watch censors' versions of Bing in White Holiday, enjoy the Piece of Good Fortune on 34th Street, and watch It's A Wonderful Life revolve around an unnamed set of "holidays."

   I am not embarrassed to say in public that I am not giving a single "holiday" present this year. I respond to every shop clerk and telephone solicitor wishing me a "Happy Holiday" with a resounding "Merry Christmas." They are shocked, of course, and will probably report me to the Holiday Authorities.

   Let them come and get me and hear me sing O Come All Ye Faithless!

   I am going to bop them on the head with another thing that scares them to death...

   ...Peace on Earth.

 

 

 

Where The Suns Don't Shine

 Hole

   The constellation called Coma is 336 million light years away from Earth. It is the brightest galaxy in a huge swirl of galaxies. In it lies a humongous "black hole," in which could fit 21 billion Suns. That, Mr. Buffet, is a real billionaire.

   Another monster black hole lies in Leo constellation, near a galaxy knowns as NGC 3842. This one could have eaten 9.7 billion suns. That's real hunger, folks.

   Why do I bother telling you this? Well, for one thing, the Sports section of my paper of choice is featuring an illustrated story about a hockey player's brain; and, while I think this is worthwhile effort to stem the Canadian tendency to drop gloves and start a fistfight over the last dregs of a Labatt's Blue or a vintage Leonard Cohen LP, I have a decided disinterest in it. No offense to the brain or the player.

Original Newt, Isaac

   Also, amazing as it may sound, I can only take so many Newt Gingrich stories. I definitely remember maxing out on these back in 1998 or so. It is a testament to the intellectual powers of Gov. Perry and the "alleged"romantic adventures of Mr. Cain that we now have to deal once more in a semi-serious way with Newt. He is everywhere, and the same paper of choice never tires of pointing out his shortcomings. For them, Newt is an industry.

   Frankly, I prefer reading about black holes, the real kind, and not just metaphors for the places where Greek debt and our taxes get to.

   According to the Times, "Astronomers also think the supermassive black holes in galaxies could be the missing link between the early universe and today..." I hope not. For their sake, I do no think they or any other phenomena would want to be blamed for today. Instead, I am beginning to think that we might be a massive black hole, except that we cannot see that, since we are here and not out in galaxy NGC 4889 looking down on Earth, which would take 336 million light years, about the same length as the Republican primary season.

   Talk about coma.

   I mean, why worry, when there are phenomenal things happening out there that are much more important than whether poor children should become janitors in schools, rather than waste their time on Astronomy or Physics; this is the newest bright idea to emerge from the distant galaxy know as Newt's Brain, near the Rod Serling constellation.

Whole

   Isn't it somehow comforting to think that someday soon, universally speaking, our Sun will burn out and our solar system and Galaxy will be sucked into one of these Super-Dyson-like black holes? This is something that has happened billions of times already, and that makes me feel very small indeed.

  It's just such a comforting thought. Makes you want to take the day off from the thoughts of European central bankers or boring political commentators and go fishing, start reading Proust again, or cuddle up with the dog and watch Jules Et Jim for the soixantieme time.   


Ed Note: We wish to thank Dennis Overbye for his fine reporting about black holes, which you can find here: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/12/06/science/space/astronomers-find-biggest-black-holes-yet.html?scp=1&sq=dennis%20overbye/black%20holes&st=cse

Do Leave Home Without It...Sometimes

1) I entered the Starbucks at Sutter and Powell, just down the hill (what would you expect?) from my San Francisco hotel. I stood on line and noticed that every customer in the place was staring into their mobile phone.

 Everyone except me that is; gadzooks, I had left my phone behind in my room! Suddenly, I had a premonition that I was in danger of being arrested, for, in San Francisco, one never knows which new proposition might reign at any given politically correct moment. I quickly concluded that jail was not in my immediate future, at least not for being a phone-truant; however, it did look as though I might have wandered onto a set from Zombies By The Bay III.

 I'll tell you a scary secret and hope that you can bare it: sometimes I leave home without my phone ON PURPOSE.

True. On Sunday, I went for a walk on the nearby High Street ( for you young ones, this does not refer in any way to reefers, but means a street with shops) with no phone upon my person. I did not expire in the street, was not hit by a $200,000 vehicle driven by a guy whose Viagra prescription had run-out, and did not feel the least restrained by my audacious act of telecom neglect.

Moreover, when I returned home and looked into my so-called smart phone, I had not received any dire warnings of imminent terror, found that none of my offspring had come to any harm worth mentioning, and that my spouse had cared so little about demons that might have descended upon me...that she had left her phone at home as well.  Scary, no?

 We have come to the point, Friends, when we think it's remarkable when we do not carry a phone with us. We are being trained to believe that our phones can nearly instantaneously cure our desires for a new pop song, our favorite Seinfeld episode we've seen 175 times, or rally our friends and neighbors to bring down the regime in Cairo, or Occupy to prop one up in Washington. We seem to do every damn thing on our phones, except make phone calls, and one wonders if we are really communicating more or just simply being herded into vast flocks of sheep grazing in fields marked Let's Make A Deal.

 I concluded long ago that a television was not much more than a vending machine, dispensing bits of entertainment, information and commercial messages. Perhaps the best thing about TV as a dominant player in our lives was that it was not very portable. If we could not bring ourselves to turn it off, we might just go to another  room without one or leave the house (this was before airports, banks, delis had TV's). We could hide from advertisers. This was a good thing.

 Our mobile phones are more about advertising than meaningful communication in the form of  calls, texts, emails, web pages, Tweets. Google does a lot of cool stuff, but, at the end of the day, and more importantly at the end of the quarter, they are in the advertising business.  Facebook? Advertising and Marketing Info. Groupon? Advertising. We're walking around with little billboards in our pockets, which is okay as long as we know it.

Sometimes it might be better to, as some ad almost said,  Leave Home Without It. Talk about risky!

 2) For those of you who have not abandoned me after that frightening confession above, here's another. Sometimes I drive my car ( more precisely my Jeep) without listening to the radio or a cd.

Amazingly, there are no long term Ill effects from listening to the engine run, the gears shift, and the tires hug the road. I have gone so far as to listen to the clicking sound traffic lights make when they change without having to go to an Emergency Room for immediate treatment. In fact, driving a car much like our grandparents did (in my case a ton and a half navy DeVille, license 3N8) might be healthy for us.

Who knew?

Homage To Fabriana

Euro-Central Banks

The seemingly endless supply of European central bankers reminds me of those Volkswagen Beetles at the circus, from which a dozen or more clowns always emerged. I'm not casting aspersions - those clowns actually had a real function and performed perfectly every time.

In addition to all these central bankers, Europe seems to have produced an inordinate number of economists, many of whom used to be or are about to become central bankers.

This causes the European public and private banking systems to be like a railroad with dozens of Grand Central Terminals and only a very few minor stops, at which real people get on and off; that is, the kind of people who work in banks and actually do banking things like accounting or lending with an expectation of being paid back.

Perhaps fittingly, the term "pay back" has no direct equivalent in the Greek, Italian, or Spanish languages. The closest equivalents mean "check's in the mail," "just roll it over," and "is this a joke, Juan" respectively.

econo-banker

We should not necessarily jump to the conclusion, based on some current confusion, that thousands of European "economists" and "central bankers" are not qualified. They all must pass the same test; in fact, they all go to school together, marry each other, and breed the next generation of economists and central bankers. Parenthetically speaking, this is pretty much how those circus clowns regenerate as well.

This test is extremely difficult and involves not just having a way with numbers; it tests one's ability to think critically, reason existentially, and learn to behave like european royalty of long ago, but in an understated kind of way. Here are a few examples of test questions:

1. Dimitrios labors for his cousin, a local public works administrator. He works three days a week and gets paid for six. Dimitrios has a lot of expenses and does not pay any taxes. At what temperature should he bake his moussaka?

More Prada, please!

2. Fabriana loves to shop - in Roma, in Fiorenze, Paris and in New York. She maxed-out on all of her credit cards, and is behind on monthly payments on most of them. How would you arrange to keep Fabriana shopping, so that the economy can keep spinning along nicely? Would you recommend that she get a job in a bank, for example or become an economist?

3. Jose borrowed 6 million Euros against the value of his olive groves, which are currently valued at 2 million Euros. How many olives are needed to accompany a nice chunk of Manchego cheese at his favorite tapas bar?

4. How would you translate the following German-Swiss expression: Nein! into English, French, Gaelic, Greek, Italian, Portuguese, or Spanish?

Manchego

As you can see from the difficult nature of these questions, European economists and central bankers who successfully and creatively answer them can certainly find their way out of their current set of difficulties.

Don't you think?

Ciao, Bambinos.

Pilgrims' Regress

Pilgrims' Rock

Thanksgiving Day. What's not to like? Even turkey, which most days tastes like salted paper-towel, tastes great. Normally bland turnips turn into tantalizing tidbits on the tongue. There is no tree to purchase or trim, no frantic trips to town to buy Uncle Ralph a tie that we know he will never wear, and no marathon wrapping sessions in the attic.

Thanksgiving Day, brilliantly concocted to be on a Thursday, creating a four day weekend of food, football, and fooling around. Even we could not mess up Thanksgiving, could we?

Thinketh again, Pilgrims. Welcome to Thanksgiving Inc.

Wal-Mart has decided to open its doors at 10PM on Thanksgiving Night to accommodate "customers," AKA People Who Need to Get A Life.  Amazingly, those customers took umbrage at last year's experience, one might even say privilege, of having to line up beginning around midnight in order to get prized shoppers' wrist bands, which the stores didn't distribute until 2AM, while otherwise reasonable folk were sound asleep.

And they say that America can no longer innovate. Hah! Imagine what these sleep-deprived customers could accomplish if only they still had full time jobs with benefits and access to credit?

On 2nd Thought, Make it 12AM!

Thanksgiving Inc. Weep-eth with me, Pilgrims.

One guesses that the original Pilgrims could never have thought of something so clever as a huge shopping opportunity like Black Friday or, Black Thursday Night. After all, they could not even think of a name for the place at which they landed other than "Plymouth," the very name of the place from which they came. They landed at Plymouth on November 11, and, no doubt they were tired of the Mayflower's non-POSH food and the Pilgrim-in-Chief's constant sermonizing. Native corn, oysters, cranberries and wild turkeys, not to mention a snout full  of wild crabapple-liqeur must have seemed like a really good idea.

Americans now imagine that all descendants of early Pilgrims have become wealthy beyond all get out over the generations; but the truth is that not so many of them as imagined would make Warren Buffet's Millionaires' Most Wanted List for super-sizing their tax bite.  Instead, I think it's more credible and frightening to think that a good many Pilgrim descendants might be tempted to convene at Wal-Mart Store # 2336 off Route 44 in contemporary Plymouth to assail themselves of deals.

Bradfords, Brewsters, Standishes. Imagine the original Pilgrim set lined up in their pj's at midnight:

Pilgrim #1: "If only we had stow-ethed some of these container-size packeths of Depends for our ocean journey; we are indeed blessed in this new world."

Pilgrim #2: "You said-eth it, Pilgrim, and we could have used them along with these seven cases of bottled water for $1.29, with coupons! Have you knowledge of said blessing, Pilgrim, the coupon?

We live in an age in which we begin selling Halloween candy around July 4th, sign up for our free-range, grass-fed, organic turkeys while still wearing bathing suits, and begin seeing Christmas lights in the hardware store before the last homegrown tomatoes have fallen from the vine.

Bonkers Buyers Bunking

We may be able to do without the rotary dial; we can adapt to the new habit of treating a hurricane as Armageddon; we may survive allowing our boss, spouse, child to call/text us at 3AM; and now we know what it's like to have a blizzard in the northeast before the leaves fall.

But, Pilgrims, let us unite against this insidious intrusion into our Thanksgiving, one of the the last bastions of decency, sanity...peace.

Please-eth.

Rick, Herman, And...Kim?

New Bravo "debaters"

Bravo TV is rumored to be deep into negotiations to sign all the current Republican presidential candidates, except presumed winner Mitt Romney, to long-term contracts. A Bravo poll strongly indicates that most Americans already believe that the "debates" are a Bravo-produced reality TV show, and the cable channel is eager to pounce on an opportunity. Apparently, Americans are not put-off by having had nine candidate debates occur with a full year remaining before the actual election, in which most eligible American voters will not participate anyway.

Bravo, Fox, and other cable channels, along with The New York Times have already concluded on behalf of potential primary voters, most of whom won't vote, that the primary race is now over even though there has not yet been a primary vote yet. Bravo poll data also indicated that voters will consider any future Romney-Obama debates as being as exciting as debates between the Accounting faculties at Utah State and the University of Illinois; and believe that viewers would rather see more entertaining "candidates"continue making fools of themselves in the most amazing ways.

Reportedly, a representative of former Governor, former candidate, former this 'n that Palin, the most successful reality TV candidate in history, has already approached Bravo with an offer to join the current group of hapless, but lovable, debaters. Bravo has declined, feeling that $25Million over two years (Bravo plans to continue the show well-beyond the November 2012 Election Day) is too steep.

Newest "candidate"

Instead, Bravo sees the possibility of making this new show an extension of its stunningly popular Kardashian franchise, now that Kim's marriage plot has dissolved, with Kim joining the group as a candidate.

A spokesperson for Mr. Cain's campaign referred questions about Ms. Kardashian to Mr. Cain's lawyer and claimed that the candidate had never been in the same room with her, at least as far as he could recall. Mr. Perry said that he had a reaction to the reports, but that he could not, for the moment, remember what that was.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Foreign reaction to the Bravo rumor was swift:

In Moscow, former and future President Putin said that, "...as usual, the Americans had been quick to criticize his 'arrangement' with Mr. Medvedev, the Russian voters, and the manufacturers of Russian voting machines as being a sham and not real democracy. These ridiculous 'debates'  show that the Americans  are so busy spreading democracy abroad that they forgot to be serious about practicing it at home." He went on to say that the Russian people rightly consider a long debate, or any debate about who will lead them to be a waste of time and money.

Debates? Nyet

In Teheran, Mr. Ahmadinejad offered to hold one of the future Bravo "debates" on Iranian soil and pre-agreed to a UN controlled radiation inspection of the debating hall.

President Karzai, in Afghanistan, said that Americans will finally have an opportunity to see how corrupt their political system has become, with a political industry of consultants, lobbyists, reporters, unions and hangers-on sharing hundreds of millions of dollars in donated booty. "In Afghanistan," Mr Karzai said, "we have always had our corruption out in the open, where people can see it, which is  more honest." A spokesperson for Karzai said that his use of the term "booty" was not meant as a reference to Ms. Kardashian, even though the President has long admired her from afar.

A spokesperson for the government in Beijing said that officials were too busy managing their own inherently corrupt system to be bothered talking about someone else's.

______________________________________________________________________________

The White House staff, newly re-organized around the President's small group of most trusted advisors, in order protect him from any ideas or opinions that he might not like to hear, could not help gloating over the Bravo reports...

Can one candidate "win?"

...until it became apparent that there was a distinct possibility that the non-Fox cable media and the Times might very well find some piece of scandal with which they could knock off the only remaining opposition candidate, leaving the President a clear path to running...

...against himself. And they wondered what it would mean if he won an election against nobody.

By The Numbers

Nein-Nein-Nein: Leading Republican presidential candidate Herman Cain's answer to allegations of sexual harassment while he was head of the National Restaurant Association.

One: To add insult to alleged injury, Marjorie Kettleworthy, 83, of Sandusky, OH has filed a discrimination suit against Mr. Cain, alleging that she was the only female employee at the National Restaurant Association during Mr. Cain's tenure as president , whom he did not sexually harass.

365: i) Actual number of days remaining before the actual presidential Election Day 2012; ii) actual number of Americans who knew the election was not today; iii) number of Iowan voters deciding who the next Republican candidate will be; iv) final number of alleged sexual harassment incidents needed to convince Herman Cain to drop out of the race; v) Number of times this week, so far,  that NJ Governor Chris Christie has declined pleas from the Republican National Committee to run; vi) Number of times this week, so far, that NYC's Mayor Mike Bloomberg has denied plans to enter the race, despite the fact that nobody asked him about it.

4: Number of times that Governor Andrew Cuomo of New York has been seen in public since he was sworn in last December.

44: Number of times Gov. Cuomo has called VP Biden this year to assure the Veep that he has no intention of trying to replace Biden on the 2012 ticket.

444: Number of private cell phone calls to Gov. Cuomo originating in the Oval Office this year, so far.

4,444: Number of millionaires it takes to make one Warren Buffet, who is spearheading a national movement to raise the tax rates for millionaires.

Zero: Number of billionaires named Warren Buffet, who understand that they are not obligated to take every possible deduction available to them, or to take advantage of every loophole in the personal and corporate tax codes.

471: Total number of published blog posts in the ThirdGarage/RareBurghers communications conglomerate, including this 281st posting.

Greytops™: What To Do With Us?

I.B.M. has just named Virginia M. Rometty, 54,  to be their next CEO. No argument there; we need more women in the CEO ranks. But, listen to what else the Times had to say: "A leading rival to succeed Mr. Palmisano..., was Steven A. Mills...But his age, analysts note, was probably an obstacle. Mr. Mills just turned 60, the traditional retirement age for I.B.M."

Are we to understand that Mr. Mills had lost a certain edge or, perhaps knowledge of some kind, while aging from 54 to 60 at the company? Are we too understand that Ms. Rometty has only six great years in her and then, Bye-Bye?

Is this the message that one of America's iconic companies wants to send to millions of Boomers? Should we, at 60, just go take a seat in the waiting room at Frank E. Campbell's Funeral Chapel on Madison Avenue?

The New 30

All across the country, people approaching or past 60 are looking to extend their jobs, have lost their jobs, been early-retired, or, as some bureaucrats might say been "displaced." They are meeting in schools, church halls, and Starbuck's networking among themselves, in order to get back in the game, back in regular jobs, with regular pay and benefits. Some days, it's hard to keep hope alive, but they do, day by day.

Many of them, perhaps most, have replaced "job" with work, and plenty of it: they do projects, the chair volunteer committees, they hold one or more part-time jobs, they conduct a search for full-time work, and, yes, they write blogs and books. There is no time for whining about stupid banks, ranting over 15-month long political campaigns in which nothing of substance is ever said, or complaining about QE2 or 3 or 4. We're too damn busy.

Here's some news: Yesterday I called on two potential customers on behalf of a technology product I sell on commission. I am 63; the two clients were approximately 60 and 57; my boss is...74.

Should we all just crawl into a hole, I.B.M.?

going out to pasture

Obviously, I.B.M. meant no offense. But, that's the point; our culture has it stuck in its collective head that we should begin our working lives with one goal...to retire as soon as possible and not have to work anymore, which pre-supposes that we won't like our work much, which just might explain how so many companies seem to be run by less than brilliant execs, instead of high-quality people like Ms. Rometty or Steve Jobs.

Wouldn't it be nice one day for a business or political leader to just acknowledge how great it is that millions of people at, around or beyond 60 are vibrant, healthy, active, smart, wise, strong, nurturing, creative, attentive, compassionate, honest, and still worthy of regular compensation and more than legally token consideration for real jobs?

Well, there it is and you know what...typing that didn't make me go all weak at the knees or faint in the head and in need of a nap; there's a lot more where that came from, I.B.M.

©TWMcDermott2011

At Last, A Solution: Fewer Millionaires

Millionaire

Whoa, something must have happened while we were on a small island and missed the paper. All of a sudden we're at war again...against those heinous foes...Millionaires!

The President, in particular, is out to get Millionaires. We can tell, because he calls them "people" and not "folks." Folks are "ordinary Americans," who are a lot of things (overweight, poor students, credit-liars, tax-evaders), but they are simple folks, who are constantly screwed by the kind of people we call...people. Especially Millionaires.

Around election time, which begins the day after any election, there are suddenly a lot more folks than people out there in election land for Democrats to praise. Republicans can't seem to find anyone to praise, who isn't currently living in some asylum or will soon be in one.

Golly, maybe some of the Millionaire parents in O's daughters' exclusive private school did something particularly bad, like make gauche donations to the scholarship fund?

The real answer seems to lie with Warren Buffet, who is not even a Millionaire; he is a Billionaire and, apparently, that is an okay thing to be, particularly if you happen to be a Democratic Billionaire. Why, everyone knows that Uncle Warren is "just folks." He is beloved because he found a way to make money blackmailing banks like Goldman Sachs and Salomon Bros. Who wouldn't love that? We even love that little gecko, who works for Geico, one of Warren's many companies.

A few weeks ago, after Buffet got finished blackmailing Bank of America into giving him a sweetheart deal, he must have felt remorse. He woke one day complaining how absurd it was that he was paying an effective tax rate that was lower than the one most of his employees pay. Rather than give them all a whopping raise, he proposed ways to make him pay higher than 17%.

Could it be that Warren Buffet, The Sage Of Omaha, does not know that he could pick up the phone on his NetJets' jet (he owns this company which allows Millionaires who can't afford their own jet to share, plus he is cheap as all get out) and call his lawyer and accountant and simply instruct them to not take certain deductions, so that he could pay higher taxes? One would think that most folks know this can be done.

Apparently he doesn't know this. The President does not seem prepared to tell him this. The Times and MSNBC, desperate to prop up President O and always eager to annihilate unsuspecting Millionaires, who do not live in Tribeca,  have jumped on this band wagon. Is it too early or too outrageous to think that we might soon be erecting Millionaire Internment Camps as the best solution to the nation's many problems?

Camp Millionaire, Nebraska

This must be very confusing to recent immigrants to this country from China, Mexico, Hungary, Bulgaria, or Ecuador. These folks have a dream of becoming Millionaires, and this dream is partially what drives them to come here, work two jobs, educate their children, eventually become citizens and, yes, even pay some taxes.

What Mr. Buffet and the President and their cohorts seem to be missing is that what they have to say about Millionaires paying more taxes and the way they say it, is a very, very good argument for something they consider to be abhorrent...a flat tax of...17%*.

You see, Uncle Warren, that if you paid a flat 17% income/capital gains tax on everything you made,  with only one deduction of $8-10,000 per dependent, you would effectively pay a whole lot more money in taxes, as would every despicable Millionaire in the country. Plus, your company, Berkshire Hathaway, would also pay a flat 17% on earnings.

You see, Uncle Warren, unlike your friends in Washington, real people pay their bills with money, not ideas.

They like the possibility of doing their taxes on a postal card and knowing that Millionaires and Billionaires are paying a lot more money, even though they are paying the same rate. Real people like simple, practical things like EZ Pass, itunes, etc.

Is that too hard for some folks to understand? Yes, because they are caught up in their feelings, rather than in finding a rational solution to our problems.

Grow up.

* Here is a list of grown up countries, run by adults, with adult electorates, who use a simple flat tax:
http://flattaxes.blogspot.com/2010/09/flat-tax-countries-and-jurisdictions.html

This Little Piggy...

Piggy Bank

1) For many of us, the little piggy shown here was our first bank. We all learned the fundamentals of saving by putting our spare coins into the slot. Later, when certain adults made a point of trying to impress us by giving us a dollar, or, in the rarest of rare cases five dollars, we learned to pull little piggy apart, or remove the cork from underneath and insert the paper bill.

This latter move, of course, also taught us about something called borrowing; once we had the knack for breaking into piggy, we had a little taste of credit.

Sadly, we outgrew our piggy banks and graduated to small savings accounts in big bank buildings, many made of brick or granite, supported by huge columns. The bulk was to make us all feel secure about putting our money inside a place too big for a thief to carry around. These banks had names like First National City Bank, Chase Manhattan, or even Chemical Corn Exchange and each one had its own armed guard inside.

Who would have thought that, after all these years, little piggy would once again prove to be a very sound alternative to those same big bulky stone banks...

Bank Piggy/DSK

2) The French banker, Christine Lagarde, is the head of the IMF, a kind of bank of banks. She recently replaced another French banker who is so famous he is known only by his initials, DSK, who resigned after having an unseemly, at best, liaison with a maid in his New York hotel (naturally, he blames the maid, puritanical Americans, and a conspiracy for his troubles).

Ms. Lagarde has been chiding her Euro partners to get going on baling out Greece and other countries, which cannot pay their debts and are in danger of default. Collectively, these countries are rather conveniently known as PIIGS (Portugal, Italy, Ireland, Greece and Spain). Not making it up.

In case you have not been paying attention, Greece sold many $billions of bonds to banks in France, Germany and other countries, so that Greeks could continue to provide a swell vacation spot for other euros without having to pay taxes. Then the banks bought insurance in case these bonds went bust, which they assuredly will if the same banks don't lend Greece more money.

If this sounds familiar to an American audience, especially if you are unemployed, have had your home foreclosed upon, or can no longer afford health insurance, it should. Greece is playing the role of home buyers who got mortgages they could not possibly repay from banks like Countrywide, who then sold a piece of the mortgage to other suckers, who then insured the worthless stuff with the same insurer, AIG. You know the rest.

Questions: why are there so many French bankers? Why don't they teach bankers that it is not a good idea to buy bonds from Greece, instead of sound investments like ouzo or feta cheese? Why don't we let children run the banks and the IMF: even they know not to buy from Greeks bearing bonds!

3) For some years we have had an account at a certain Swiss bank. In 2008, while said bank was losing about $38Billion, we actually made more money than they did. Considering that we were unemployed at the time, this was quite a feat and made us wonder why the bank did not hire us to manage them.

This week, the banking world was shocked...truly shocked ...again to find out that a lone trader at the same bank had run up losses of $2.3Billion (so far) without the loss being detected. These kinds of traders are always called "rogues," which is a way of banks saying that all is okey-dokey because there was only one. They think this makes clients feel a lot safer.

The bank has said,"The true magnitude of the risk exposure was distorted because the positions had been offset in our system with fictitious ...positions..." In other words, we can't be blamed or fired for not knowing since the guy made up stories to cover the bad stuff and our system can only find the bad stuff, not made up stuff.

Well, okay, we feel much better about our account now; and, this also explains why there is no minus sign on the Swiss flag; always accentuate the positive.


4) At least that "rogue" trader will go to prison; we can be assured of that. But, what about all of these other jamokes, who pompously, arrogantly, deceitfully, dishonestly, stupidly and, yes, piggishly baled out their pals at our expense?  The Taliban would be too good for them.

It turns out that the little piggy bank was a very good idea after all. Oink.

Bon Courage

51 Stars

The current 50-Star US flag was designed by a seventeen year old high school student Robert Heft as part of a class project in 1958. He got a B-, until the design was accepted by the nation to be its new flag; then, his teacher gave him an A. Talk about tough markers!

Heft was a young man who thought ahead, a kind of Steve Jobs of flags, and so he also designed a 51-Star flag, shown above, at the same time, and didn't stop until he hit a 60-Star model.

In October 2001, I tried to contact Mr. Heft to ask his permission to use the 51-Star flag for a project. At the time, I thought of the extra star as a potential healing and unifying symbol, a point of reference for a wounded city and nation.

For a number of reasons that project never took flight, and I did not have the opportunity to connect with Mr. Heft, who died in 2009.

But, today, I am thinking again about that 51st-Star, and thinking that now, perhaps more than ever, the country might benefit from having a new reference point, a unifying light, a visible and symbolic source of energy, imagination and courage.

I am also thinking about all those 17-year-old young men and women out there today, and their futures. I would say to them: now is the time to be bold, to seize the moment, rise above our profound sense of grief and loss; rise too above the current national malaise and all the jibber-jabber.

Now might be an even better time to take inspiration from the Star and the imagination and confidence of that 

17-year-old boy back in 1958, to begin to re-design...everything around us that requires re-designing... which is quite a lot; 

and to not look back or listen to those who say you cannot do it. Bon Courage.

This One's For You

Stephen King At The New DMV

1) Did CT's new Governor ask Stephan King to design the new DMV? We spent 3 hrs. yesterday at the DMV in Bridgeport, CT attempting to obtain a CT driver's license in exchange for one from New York State. This was not enough time.

Recent public employee lay-offs, have caused major setbacks at CT-DMV offices. Some of the processes that citizens were able to accomplish at the Norwalk office, for example, like exchanging an out of state license, must now be done in Bridgeport or another office.

At the 3 hr. mark, having not yet even gotten to the first window to present the paperwork, we realized that we better check on the next part of the process, the eye test. The test room was filled with people and the wait was 1.5-2hrs. At that point, we threw in the towel. The nice family sitting behind us had already been there for 5 hrs, and the daughter had just been called to wait again for a test.

We have seen a bit of the cut-back future, and it is not working well. Throughout the entire experience, we can say that the DMV employees were courteous, respectful, knowledgable....and just as baffled as regular citizen- motorists about the whole ordeal.

DMV Drive-Thru

We exchanged messages with Governor Malloy's office this morning (yes, they responded immediately and the trick is to have a positive headline and to offer solutions). We made the following suggestions:

• Post wait times by the Customer Service line up front or outside the front doors. Not all processes have the same wait times, but that's a detail. Right now, the only way to know there is a 3hr wait...is to wait 3hrs. This is only a temporary fix, but why make everyone waste an entire day?
• Consider an emergency extension of licenses and registrations, perhaps 3 mos. This would allow for some planning, and a blanket extension could be honored by insurance companies.
• Create a contest for CT students, challenging them to re-design the current DMV website, which currently creates more problems than it solves and is too complicated. Today's tech-students could probably re-do the entire thing in a few weeks at a relatively low cost. Reward them with generous scholarships.

Greenwich, where we now reside, Bridgeport, and Norwalk are all in Fairfield County. In 2011, Fairfield had the sixth highest per capita income in the US. The latest national median income figures for 2009, ranked CT number one in the US. And yet, the State is currently incapable of properly and simply processing drivers' licenses and vehicle registrations.

The Governor's Office said they would discuss our proposals with the DMV, if they can get to a window.  http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/19/nyregion/connecticut-workers-approve-contract-they-had-rejected.html?_r=1&ref=todayspaper

Little Tuk That Could

2) We took a ride in our friends new tuk-tuk the other night, a bright red-one with a white vinyl top and sides. This one had a little gas engine, but newly built US models all have electric engines, which provide about 250 miles per charge. You may have become familiar with these three-wheeled vehicles by way of harrowing rides around Delhi, Bangkok, or other Asian cities.

These US cousins are classified by DOT as motorbikes for licensing and insurance purposes and are legal in all fifty states; however, for CT residents, we recommend waiting to get one, as you might be able to drive one of these to CA and back before being able to register one in CT.

http://www.tuktuktransport.com/

Yabba-Dabba-Doo-Doo

Are we having fun yet?

It must have been a lot like this just before our distant ancestors came up with the design for the round wheel. Imagine Fred & Wilma trying to sleep at night, worried tomorrow would bring another day of commuting on square rocks and that the quarry might run out of coin-stones.

Here's some good news: future ages will be studying our era as if it were another Stone Age, and we're not talking Keith & Mick, we're really talking Fred & Barney. Imagine the opportunities!

I have to think that our stoney pals spent a lot of time bopping each other on the head with stone before they figured out that wheel thing. And, sad to say, Boys, but I also have to think that it was probably Wilma or one of her friends, who pointed out the advantages of roundness. So annoying when they insist on stopping to ask for directions!

It feels a lot like we're still in the bopping on the head stage.

Funny, how history repeats itself. When you look at corporate America, especially those banks (Chariots of Fired!), you really don't see too many women drivers or bright headlights either. Same for that distant planet called Washington DC.

Barney's boss, Mr. Slate

We've asked this before: would you have asked the guys at Verizon and AT&T to design an iphone? Would the brighter-than-bright boys at Encyclopedia Britannica have come up with Google? Would trade publishers been able to skip a few author's lunches to design Amazon? Please. Did the Bridge & Tunnel Authority come up with EZ Pass?

Then, why are we waiting for so many Mr. Dulls to re-invent the tax code, re-finance the deficit, figure out why we even have Greek bonds in the first place? Greek Diners, yes, but buying debt from people who think Taxes is just where the Dallas Cowboys call home? No surprise that France loved those Greek bonds; they think Jerry Lewis is a genius too.

Ah, but  we did promise good news, didn't we?

We will have to re-design everything and we will need to do it ourselves: government, education, healthcare, investing/saving, business organization, etc. No matter whether you are twenty-four or sixty-four, the good news is that everything works like a square wheel right now and Barney's boss, Mr. Slate, seems to be in charge of it all.

Apple's Steves, Jobs & Wozniak

If we can come up with a small tablet (!), with which we can see and know every star in the sky, watch every movie ever made, listen to any song ever sung, teach every course brilliantly, and on which Betty can catch-up on a video chat from Beijing with her old friend Wilma back home for free, we can fix this other stuff.

Let's Yabba-Dabba-Do It.

Fast.

Don't Call Me Ishmael

©TWMcDermott2011               (this post runs concurrently in The Rye (NY) Record)

Don’t call me Ishmael, please.

But, I have been to the great whaling island, where I’m told harpoons and surf rods have been replaced by bespoke scrimshawed golf clubs, wielded by captains of what used to be called industry. I get the news second-hand, since I left that place nearly twenty years ago.  I was somewhat frightened by the experience of bumping into too many friends from home at the Portuguese bakery, and terrified by whale-sized “jeeps” racing along the beach, where we sat, bundled, even on foggy days.

Thereafter, we installed our young ones in summer camps far enough up in Maine that only a very brave few would be tempted to visit even one weekend; and that was mandatory, in case the camp managers needed to place your rebellious child in the car for the return trip on which you might cry wee, wee, wee and much worse all the way home.

Fortunately for us, this never happened, and so we were able to discover the excellent joys of summering at home. This had the added benefit of allowing us to take our island vacation in late winter at a different well-hidden place requiring several modes of transport to reach and either an airplane or what locals euphemistically call a Fast Ferry in order to golf.

And what could one do at home, while other brethren flocked in summer to the same island on the same ferry in their vehicles bigger than many summer cottages? Well, it turns out that one can do much of what you might have done far away, and even more:

• You can find a free parking space in town on the street even on Friday afternoons. Especially on Friday afternoons!

• The only line in town is at the little ice cream store, but it is worth the wait. On a day when things are not going your way, an ice cream cone soothes many ills, and you can always walk or swim it off later. Nobody can lick an ice cream cone and not feel like a kid again, and those problems look much smaller as the cone slowly disappears.

Did someone say swim! Rye Golf Club, Playland, the Y; Apawamis, WCC, AYC, etc. Or, throw a stone from your house and it will land in your neighbor's pool, or maybe your own. The Sound itself is best of all and you can see the ladies in their white bathing caps at Manursing in the evening as they rise and fall in the swells.

You can actually park right in front of the post office to mail a card to your friend on the whaling island, who may already be suffocating from the traffic, de rigeur cocktail parties given by friends from home, and the long lines at the Portuguese bakery.

• You sit  on the open porch under the awning in the evening before dinner, feeling the breeze rise in the west. There is much less traffic on the roads and lanes and it is quiet until August, when the cicadas begin their festival.

• Some Fridays and Saturdays, you just feel like having dinner in the city. So, you get in the car and in about 30 minutes you are at a favorite uptown place, or a little longer, and you can be downtown, where all the locals have vacated and you beat the European tourists, who eat late, as they do at home. Then breeze home again, feeling much better for having the little adventure.

• Other nights, you rest the Weber, and go over to Port Chester, crossroads of the world, or at least the Americas. Indian, Italian, barbecue, tacos, fish tacos, bar taco! Brazilian? Marvel at the current balance between gentrification and true grit, and wonder if the grit will be all gone with the rising of the luxury lofts a la Soho. 

• Saturday morning at the Farmers' Markets with your basket and finally there is good corn. You buy radishes and other things you seldom buy, just because it makes you feel good to do so. You indulge your secret craving for those damn cider donuts and that special goat cheese that tastes like a mild blue. 

• There's something especially wonderful about Sunday mornings at home in church. Well, so I am told; I am not expert on this, but aren't the odds in your favor with all that extra space between fellow petitioners? 

• An evening picnic by the water on benches beside all manner of charcoal grills: the secret marinades, sauces, dressings: the multiple recipes for potato salad: real tomatoes from the garden and real corn.

• Milton Point, looking south to the city and the bridges and east over to Long Island. You might almost be in Hong Kong, except that it's prettier and the waters are less crowded. If you're lucky, you will see the moon, huge and slightly yellow, as it peeks over the tree line in the east. 

Waiting For Some Dough

                             

So, while we sit and wait like our tramp friends, we too might ask, "What are we waiting for?

I have a friend who rants against entitlements. I have heard him do so while buying a senior citizen's ticket at the local cinema and purchasing a senior discount train ticket on Metro North. This is a fellow of some means.

I have another friend, who hates the way that the country has, not so much gone to the dogs, as it has gone to the lobbyists. She is a member of AARP and AAA and practices real estate sales. She is assisted in these by a small army of lobbyists in Washington and state capitals. Even when she buys her corn flakes at the grocers, she is assisted by the corn, cereal, packaging, advertising, marketing, food manufacturing, farmer, trucking, road building, fertilizer, tractor, cash register, and grocery lobbies. Just to name a few.

Both, of course, hate other people's debt and their own taxes.

This morning, while contemplating the course of my day and making my plan of attack to bring organization and fiscal sanity to the world of municipal parking meter management, my concentration was broken by the mating calls of two very loud leaf-blowers. These things are to rakes what ipods were to stereo systems. Apparently, we must continue to be more productive and efficient in ridding our grounds of leaves, even in summer, at the high cost of our hearing and having even a semblance of quiet in the morning.

I have little doubt that the leaf-blower lobby is a mighty one, although I have a lot of doubt about whether many of those who wield these weapons will form their own associations, which would require the filling out of forms and the presentation of certain documents regarding identity.

Once more our republic stands at a crossroads. Shall we wander down Fiscal Insanity Drive or take a stroll down Entitlement Boulevard? Neither one seems to have much merit and both eventually lead to some very bare spot not unlike the one where Beckett's tramps wait in vain.

Our two political "parties," assisted by an upstart third, largely a media invention, are pretenders. They have allowed themselves to become not much more than extremely large lobbying machines for every citizen and especially for large organizations all the time, and for themselves.

The great zen teacher and, at least by my calculation, humorist, Alan Watts has written:

"...If you discover yourself in a blind alley, or even a cul-de-sac, the fact that you found yourself there will invariably tell you something."


What he meant, I think, was that this moment or any moment has its own possibilities beyond what may seem to be the obvious ones. Instead of torturing ourselves with these versions of what we might do to avoid fiscal calamity, to pull one more rabbit out of a hat whose bottom has finally worn through, we should stick with what we know for sure...


...something has come to an end.


Then, we should probably call Steve Jobs and an even Higher Power for an immediate re-design. 

But, for now let's just concentrate on what has come to an end with the proverbial whimper, because that is recognizable truth. The truth can be annoying and painful, but it is always informative in a way that lends itself to transcending the particular stinky muck in which we find our personal or national feet stuck. 


We have a no-party system; the two party system, as we've known it, is over. At least for now. When this whole charade is over next week, we will be told "the system worked" in a hundred different ways and they will all be lies.


It is better to know the real problem and not know exactly what to do about it yet, then to have manufactured one (debt ceiling) and created fool-proof solutions, which by definition are made by fools.


If we're looking for a savior:  Godot, the Good Witch, Lincoln, Churchill, or Joan of Arc, we will need to look in a mirror this time around.


If you make $200,000 and get taxed at 30%, it's easy to see why'd you'd like someone who made $2Billion to pay more than their current 15%. Actually, I'd rather you both paid the 15% and got no deductions. I't also easy to see why we would all expect GE and Exxon to contribute something in taxes, or at least to have the decency to no longer fly our flag at their respective HQ's. But, this is the easy part.

The rest is harder, but so much better than all of this waaaaaiiiiitttttiiiiinnnnngggggg.