Friday, September 4, 2009

meanwhile, back in texas

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so this morning, i call my mother--it's time to talk about how best to rearrange her assets in order to protect her from the coming economic tsunami. expecting resistance, i'm surprised when she says

you won't get any argument from me, honey. do what you think is best--i know it's about to get bad.

i'm glad you see it, ma. most of my friends think i'm crazy.

i don't think you're crazy. the bible said only a few would understand what's really happening.

the bible? what the hell does the bible have to do with anything?

well, just look at him, our lord and master--all charismatic, sweet-talking and silver-tongued, a secret muslim, draws people to him like flies, hates israel, thinks he's the messiah, all the while leading us down the road to ruin. it's just like they laid it out in revelation.

oh, for god's sake, ma, you're not seriously telling me you believe that he's--

don't get smart with me, michael. we're in the end times--read your bible.

read my bible? i don't think i even own a bible--and besides, when's the last goddam time you picked up one?

doesn't matter; i know what it says. and i'm not alone, either--i mentioned it to gay nell the other day, her eyes got big and she said, "oh my god, ann, i think so too."

oh, well, gay nell--i guess that settles it.

smirk all you want, smartass, but when he comes up behind you with that big smile and sticks a pitchfork in your ass, don't come crying to me--gay nell and i'll be up there with jesus and you'll be on your own.
* * * * *

at dinner tonight, i ask my co-worker john if his hard-core baptist family up in seattle share the same perception as my folks back home in texas [because even though i'm semi-sure my mother's only kinda-sorta halfway-kidding, i'm not so sure about gay nell].

he replies without hesitation, "oh, totally--they all think he is."

after dinner, i go back to my desk, pull up a google screen, start to type, and before i can even--well, check out the auto-fill for yourself for a glimpse of what the world is thinking these days:

look at it this way--at least the birthers are losing market share.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

pity the poor chinese

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as if urging them to save their money all these years wasn't bad enough, now their harsh, oppressive, kill-joy leaders are telling them to buy stodgy ol' gold and silver bullion. seems these poor primitives just can't let go of the idiotic old-school notion that production and wealth conservation are what make a country strong.

thank god we americans have evolved beyond such outmoded thinking, and have a cool government that encourages us to invest all our money in fun stuff like imported cars and flat-screen tv's.

3

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it's playing at the egyptian theater along with paper moon on saturday, the 12th of september--a perfect double-feature if ever there was one.

soon as i find out, i ask v if he wants to go. seeing as how i know he knows it's one of my favorite movies of all goddam time, i'm quite frankly surprised by his mini-hesitation before he says, "yeah, sure--let's go."

later, i'm even more surprised at his somewhat-less-than-disappointment when i tell him it sold out before i could get tickets.

all becomes clear this past tuesday night when he hands me the dvd he'd ordered for me ages ago, smiles big and says, "happy anniversary, babe."



we met three years ago september 1--he remembered, i didn't.

* * * * *

if you haven't seen it lately (or ever), then for god's sake do it soon--and if you can't make the show at the egyptian, at least make sure you watch it curled up at home with a bowl of popcorn and someone you love and don't deserve.

trust me, it'll be just as good.



I'm a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop,
But if, baby, I'm the bottom you're the top!

[figuratively speaking, of course]

___________________
update:  as someone just reminded me, i did the same goddam thing last year.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

drunk-dialing in the new millennium

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[in case you're interested, this post was the result of an idle google search which proved to me once and for all that you can truly find anything on the internet.]

* * * * *

i've mentioned my uncle don, right?

the thing i most remember about my father's younger brother is how open, easy and fun he once was. whenever don and his new wife, pat, would come down for a visit in the early days, ours was always a happy house--pallets on the living-room floor and people sleeping everywhere, neighbors over for parties, music and laughter until the early hours, and my dad actually smiling for a change.

one of my earliest memories is of my proud uncle scooping up his 4-year-old nephew and taking me down to the university of houston, where he had been a star quarterback in his college days, to show me off to all his old teachers and coaches. seemed like he knew everybody we passed, and they were all thrilled to see him. [he bought me a mickey mouse watch that day--had a shiny red strap. no idea what happened to it.]

back in those days, don was up in dallas, playing pro ball for the texans [a team which would later defer to its cross-town rivals, the cowboys, move to kansas city and become the chiefs]. i remember one weekend we drove up for a game, and in the locker-room he presented me with a large, flat cigar-style box which, when its lid was raised, opened up in 3-d style like a peacock spreading its feathers to display a full array of trading cards, one for every member of the team, each autographed to me [again, no idea what happened to it--i could kill my mother sometimes.]

when his football career ended, don was left with a wife, a few memories and fewer prospects--this was long before the days of multi-million dollar contracts for pro quarterbacks. after an abortive attempt at selling insurance, he ended up in oklahoma, back in the family business--oil--working for skelly and barely scraping by.

i remember we'd go up to visit 'em--their little house in duncan was much smaller than ours--and, again, it'd be pallets on the floor, chaos and lots of fun. i always loved going up there, spending time with don, pat and, by then, the first of their four kids.

i remember that rainy april day after my dad's funeral, don sat down at the piano in my mother's brother's living room, where we had all gathered--a gorilla at the keyboard, i remember thinking--and banged out a credible version of "buttons and bows" in an attempt to distract us kids. i had no idea he could play--i remember at ten years old being struck by the contrast between the gaiety of the music flowing so effortlessly from my uncle's fingers and the look in his eyes as he did his best to smile.  much later, pat would tell us he carried his brother's muddy work-boots around in the trunk of his car for seven years, until she finally made him let 'em go.

don's trip to the top was relatively quick, as far as success stories go--or maybe that was only our perception. one day he was a struggling grunt, next day a mid-level executive, and the day after that, we looked up and he had made it--an oil company with his (and our) name on it, company plane, the works.

i remember him telling me once that he'd have given anything if his mother and older brother had lived to share in his success.

he and pat would still come down to see us, but by then the close intimacy of pallets on the floor had given way to the distant convenience of hotel rooms. easier for everybody, right?

[more often in those days, we'd go up to see them--their tiny house in duncan had given way to a series of increasingly-ambitious homes, culminating in a gorgeous, sprawling, modernist custom job in the "we've arrived" area of tulsa.]

and god knows he and pat never forgot us--even before they had it to freely give, there was a steady stream of cars and money whenever we needed it.

but regardless of all that, once don hit the top, everything changed.

partly because he changed--the older and more successful he got, the more cold, closed-off and intimidating he became, to the point where you didn't even wanna be around him if you could avoid it (except when he was handing out checks, of course).

and partly because we changed--suddenly we weren't equals who could call him out on his shit anymore; we became instead the poor relations who learned to ignore his slights, smile to his face, tuck his checks in our pockets and cravenly bad-mouth him behind his back.

an actual phone call from don was a watershed event, not only because such a thing almost never happened (pat was the eternal intermediary), but because when it did, it was pure torture--stiff and uncomfortable, like you were on trial or being interrogated or something.

unless, of course, he was drunk--then he'd be like his old self again, only sloppy.

it'd go something like this: we'd be sitting around watching tv, the phone would ring, my mom would answer, get this wide-eyed expression on her face and be like, "don, is that you? my god. well, hi, honey...yeah, we're all here...oh, don, that's so sweet; no, you have nothing to apologize for--we know you love us, and we love you too..."

and on and on it would go. and then he'd insist on speaking to each of us kids, slurring his words, telling us over and over how much he loved us, how sorry he was for being shitty, how proud he was of us, how proud our dad would've been of us, etcetera.

eventually the call would end and we'd all look at each other and say, "god, why does he have to get drunk to tell us how he really feels about us? why can't he just be like he used to be?"

i remember having no answer to that question--i mean, all this pent-up feeling pouring out of a guy who, if you called him at his office the next day, he'd be all like, "what do you want?  why are you calling?"

i didn't understand my uncle don back then--but boy, i do now.

because i've turned out just like him.

[okay, maybe not just like him--when i, mkf, am sober and forced to interact with people, i at least try to be sociable, but i'm willing to admit that may only be because i haven't yet amassed as much fuck-you money as he had back then.

oh, and i don't drunk-dial--i drunk-comment.]

* * * * *

inspiration for this post? i had a couple stiff ones, got a hair up my ass to do a little googling and was unexpectedly rewarded with the following hit from an obscure trading-card website:



of course, i snapped it up immediately--autographed or not, for a lousy $35 plus shipping, i wasn't gonna let the memory get away from me this time.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

ghosts of green shoots past

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"We will not have any more crashes in our time."
John Maynard Keynes in 1927


"Hysteria has now disappeared from Wall Street."
The Times of London, November 2, 1929


"... a serious depression seems improbable; [we expect] recovery of business next spring, with further improvement in the fall."
Harvard Economic Society, November 10, 1929


"Financial storm definitely passed."
Bernard Baruch, cablegram to Winston Churchill, November 15, 1929


"I see nothing in the present situation that is either menacing or warrants pessimism... I have every confidence that there will be a revival of activity in the spring, and that during this coming year the country will make steady progress."
Andrew W. Mellon, U.S. Secretary of the Treasury, December 31, 1929


"I am convinced that through these measures we have reestablished confidence."
Herbert Hoover, President of the United States, December 1929


"[1930 will be] a splendid employment year."
U.S. Dept. of Labor, New Year's Forecast, December 1929


"The spring of 1930 marks the end of a period of grave concern...American business is steadily coming back to a normal level of prosperity."
Julius Barnes, head of Hoover's National Business Survey Conference, Mar 16, 1930


"While the crash only took place six months ago, I am convinced we have now passed through the worst -- and with continued unity of effort we shall rapidly recover. There has been no significant bank or industrial failure. That danger, too, is safely behind us."
Herbert Hoover, May 1, 1930


"We are now near the end of the declining phase of the depression."
Harvard Economic Society, Nov 15, 1930


"All safe deposit boxes in banks or financial institutions have been sealed... and may only be opened in the presence of an agent of the I.R.S."
Franklin D. Roosevelt, President of the United States, 1933*

* * * * *

i remember back when i first moved into the canyon, i was warned about the coyotes--how when they got really hungry, they'd send one of their pups down from the hills into our midst to engage an unwatched dog in happy play, lull it into complacency and lure it back up to their killing field where, once the pack was done with it, all that'd be left would be picked-clean bones for its owner to find later.

if you choose to play this last-gasp rally our leaders and pundits are so desperately trying to suck you into, put your stops in place, tend them daily and be careful. volumes are incredibly light, which tells me the smart money is sitting on the sidelines, waiting for pups like you to be lured up the hill by the happy talk of the coyotes of wall street, washington and the mainstream press.

all i'm sayin--and yeah i know i'm like a dog with bone on this issue, but it's only because i figure you should get the truth somewhere.

________________
* these were only my selected favorites; you want a taste of the full panoply of evil stupidity that reigned back then as it does even now, click here.