Strange. The fiscal shenanigans across these weeks involving the federal budget and stock market have silenced the usual yammering about privatizing social security.
Right now you’d need Sherpas, guide dogs, map, compass, and Diogenes to find one Jim Jones favored Kool-Aid drinker who’d demand plumping the stock market with social security money.
I wonder where they’ve all gone. Maybe gravity scared them away.
Given the market’s seemingly unceasing rise, I guess they’d forgotten a basic physics tenet as applied to economics: what goes up must come down.
August’s thud and splat must’ve been one harsh remedial lesson. Continue reading Making Hash
Miss crushing deadlines as I do, there is one benefit being a newspaper racket casualty. No need to fake objectivity. I can now voice opinions without caring who’s offended.
I didn’t grovel before and I’ll damn well clean clocks now.
During March, too many journalists have jumped on the Libyan War bandwagon. Somehow the United States’ North African involvement constitutes our third conflict with a Muslim country.
Has it come to that? Dropping ordnance and enforcing internationally recognized sanctions against a rogue nation count as war? It’s an intervention. Libyans themselves are doing the real fighting and killing. American press misinterpretation crosses between lax writing and lazy thinking.
Since President Obama’s installation, there’s been way too much brain-dead, knee-jerk, pack-following. Compare Libya and Kosovo, and see Barack Obama as a darker, cooler Bill Clinton and the word “war” never enters circulation.
Unsurprisingly, I support this administration. Adults are in charge and they’re behaving in a conscientious manner. Americans haven’t enjoyed such high-level contemplation since the Eisenhower and Kennedy Administrations. Continue reading Funhouse Mirrors
A few years before the stock market tanked, I inherited a piece of money. The low six figures bequeathed only sparked the dimmest Champagne dreams. Fortunately, I’ve never had caviar tastes.
After taking prudent steps by settling with everyone I owed, and yielding oh-so-slightly to one impulse — traveling — I invested the remaining chunk.
During the money part, the banker handling the funds transfer asked my plans. Beyond depositing that money in my accounts I had none. Until the sudden jolt in tax brackets, I lacked personal financial foresight.
The bank guy saw a pigeon. He talked a good line. If I’d been younger and insecure, I likely would’ve swallowed his suggestions whole and entrusted him and his institution with my pile. Instead, the smoothness of his patter raised suspicions. Mine. Me and my cash left shortly thereafter. Continue reading We Stand Together or Fall Apart