Friday, September 26, 2008

How to Solve the Financial "Crisis"

Picking up on Devilstower's post at Kos here, it seems there's a really easy solution to this whole mess.

First, we identify the problem. It has three domino-like steps. A) There's a bunch of mortgages that everyone's afraid are going to default. B) As a result of the defaults, property prices go lower, thus causing housing prices to fall. C) As prices fall, people owe more on their homes then they are worth, thus making it harder to sell a house, which leads to either A or B.

Pretty simple. The banks and investment houses are shitting themselves because they own billions in mortgages that aren't worth as much as they paid for them. Well, that's their own damn fault. I bought Mossimo's stock once. It went down. I lost money. Lesson learned. No one bailed me out.

The banks, though, want us to buy their crappy investments from them at an inflated price. Why? Because, well, there's no real good reason. Maybe a few of those banks fail. That's the price of doing business in an unregulated, free market. If you can't handle the risks, buy CDs, not billions in mortgages.

So, instead of buying these pools of mortgages from banks, why doesn't the government just buy all the properties that are in default? Real estate, so we're told, is always a good investment. The government can spend way less than $700B to buy all defaulting mortgages. The government also has the financial power to fix those homes (if they've been abandoned and neglected) and hold them until the market bounces back in 3, 5, or 10 years.

You may say, how can they possible identify every defaulted mortgage? I don't know, public records, maybe? You may also say, well, if that's the deal, won't everyone who owes more on their house than it's worth just start to default? Probably, but you can simply put a time limit on the plan, so that it only includes mortgages in default up to a certain date.

I don't know, maybe that's too simple (it is less than Paulson's paltry 3-page boondoggle, but I didn't run Goldman Sachs into the ground after 5 years, so what do I know). But, it makes sense to me, it gets to the core of the problem, it avoids a windfall to the morons on Wall Street who suck at investing, and it prevents neighborhoods from collapsing. Maybe it rescues some people who made bad mortgage choices. Well, they don't have an MBA from Harvard, so I guess they should get a little more slack than the Rainmen on Wall Street.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Palin is a Whore and Moron

If the Enquirer is good enough to out Edwards' affair, they're probably right about Palin's. Whore It's not surprising that another die-hard right-winger family values crusader is a liar and a hypocrite. Between Larry Craig's gay bj's in a airport bathroom, Newt divorcing his wife on her cancer bed, McCain cheating on his crippled wife, Republicans molesting pages, and Ted Haggard tweaking while blowing a gay hooker, this is not really news. Except that it should be.

When is the press and the public going to start calling these people out? They are hypocrites and have no business telling the rest of us how to live our lives. More importantly, they have no business using their public personas to push issues and involve themselves in legislation. They all need to be throw out on their asses and ignored forever. For these people, there is no punishment worse than being irrelevant.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

McCain is a Pussy

Look, McCain may taut his inability to fly a plane in Vietnam as a great resume item, but we're seeing his true colors now. He's a fucking pussy. Period. Does he really think anyone is going to buy his political stunt that he's going to suspend his campaign for the betterment of the political process while the financial crisis he helped create (read this for a primer on the whole disaster), he's dreaming. Just like he was dreaming when he thought this moron religious-nut-job from Alaska would help him win (win the wingnut base maybe, but certainly not the election).

I can barely believe that Mr. Tough Guy, who actually wore a flight suit (unlike W. who just pretended during his Mission Un-Accomplished boondoggle), is running scared from a skinny black guy with funny ears. And, make no mistake, that's exactly what he's doing. He's running away with his sack tucked like Buffalo Bill from the debate.

But, we have come to expect this crap from this wimp. He's been crying for weeks that the press is so hard on him and Sarah. Yeah, count the number of articles written about Keating 5. It's less than 6 and infinitely less than the number written about whether Obama is a Muslim. He's also now accustomed to hiding behind Sarah's skirt - deflecting attacks pointed at him as "sexist" or some other bogus thing.

Look, it's time that people starting calling McCain what he is: a pussy, a coward, yellow, etc. He'd be a unmitigated disaster as President. What, the first time Putin goes "Boo!" he'd run and hide and call for a no-political-zone? What a joke. This guy should have retired a long time ago. This country needs to tell him what his drugged-out wife won't - go home to AZ with the rest of the blue-hairs and let the world continue to pass you by.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Part III: Buses, Cabs, and Boats

We threw our gear into the bus to Belize City and climbed aboard. The bus wasn't filled with leather seats and TVs, but it was air conditioned, there were only two other people on board, and it didn't smell funny. The bus driver - who explained that in Belize they speak English - said it would be about a 5 hour trip. Suddenly finding no need to listen to Coffee Break Spanish, I sat back, relaxed, and watched Mexico disappear.

At the Mexico side of the Belize border we had to pay some bogus fee of $20 U.S. Bending over gladly, I paid the fee and bought some mangoes from a girl's street stand. She asked if I wanted salt, I looked at her like she was nuts. When I said no, she looked at me just the same. Our border crossing was slightly delayed as one of the other passengers - a young woman from England with whom we had struck up some conversation - did not have her Mexico entrance ticket, from three weeks ago. A little extra cash seemed to do the trick. Things on the Belize side went much easier and we were soon back on the road.

The young woman from England explained she was on a five week holiday, that she was traveling alone, and that she had begun her journey in Mexico City and would end it in Nicaragua. She was maybe 19 years old, and pretty. I don't know that I'd let my pretty 19-year old daughter travel Central America alone. I guess that makes me old and lame. Get off my lawn!!

Not only was the Belize bus not as nice as the Mexican one, but also the roads in Belize were crap in comparison. Narrow, bumpy, and filled with huge, randomly placed speed bumps, the roads made the going much slower. Along the way we picked up many more passengers. The driver was kind enough to play for us the Bottom 40 R&B songs from eight years ago, including the all time classic, "Straight Fuckin'". I don't know who the artist was, but his name might as well have been magic because I was definitely ready for some straight fuckin' after hearing that one. At first, I thought I wanted some crooked fuckin', but, nope, straight fuckin' is the way to go.

After way too long, we pulled into Orange Walk, Belize. I didn't know what this town was, or why we were there, but it had tons of kids selling sundry items like chips, things on a stick, dirty fruit, and orange juice in Coke bottles. Having had my fill of fruit at the border crossing, sans salt, I passed. But they kept coming - for 45 minutes. The bus driver chilled outside chatting with some large ladies while we waited for, I don't know, me to buy some fruit. Finally, we started moving again, this time with the bus nearly half full.

Another hour passed and my bladder knocked on my brain and asked to be emptied. No bathroom on the bus, no bathroom stops planned. I was straight fucked. And now the bus seemed to be stopping every three miles to pick someone up or let someone off in the middle of nowhere. But soon, my bladder would be the least of my problems.

The green chili demon shoved my bladder aside and got my full attention as it raced from one side of my intestines, to the other. The sweats and chills traded off pummeling me like a WWF tag-team. "Brett the Hit-Man Heart. Off the top ropes!" Chills all over. "Ooohhh, Randy Macho-Man Savage delivers a drop kick to the face!" Sweat covers my pasty, clammy skin. This was awesome and we were no where near Belize City.

But bladder made a comeback, he pushed forward with all his might, mocking me, taunting me. "You can't hold it. You're going to explode." Realizing he may be right, I finished the water in one of my water bottles and stepped to the back of the bus. The guy sitting two rows behind me, though I couldn't read his mind, knew what I was up to. His eyes followed me and said everything.

If only I had the control over my involuntary muscles so I could pee without shitting myself. That would be great. Instead, green chili demon dared me to try and pee in the bottle. I had a premonition of what would happen if I did. I doubt my shorts could hold the spray that would jet out like a dolphin's blow hole. Despondent, I returned to my seat with a full bladder, puckered asshole, and an empty water bottle. The bus stopped again.

The battle raged on for an eon, until we reached the outskirts of Belize City. Though I thought I'd feel better with the goal in sight, my eyes bulged in horror as I noticed a long, snaking traffic jam on the two lane road in front of us. Sweet, Belizian rush hour. The WWF match in my pants had now turned into an all out cage match, last man standing wins. I went to my happy place, but only saw bathrooms I couldn't use. I tried deep, Sting-zen breathing, that helped, but it's tough to relax while contracting the lower half of your body.

Slowly, tortiously so, we wound through the crowded, desperate streets of Belize City. The bus stopped repeatedly as we inched to the city's center. I was begging to Buddha, the Dali Lama, Jesus, and Allah to kill the green chili demon, but they were all, as usual, no help. Tears squeezed from my eyes as they clenched in unison with various sphincters in places people don't talk about.

Miracles of all miracles! The bus station! I'm saved! I can take a shit! I pushed to the front of the bus and was instantly surrounded by cab drivers begging for my fare. I told one guy, "Ok. But I have to go to the bathroom first." "Where are you going?" he replied. I told him and he gave the worst news I've ever heard, "The last boat leaves in 5 minutes. You don't have time for the bathroom." I slammed by open palm into his nose, it bled all over. I grabbed his head and slammed it into the bus. Not really, I wanted to, but I knew I'd shit myself if I did. Practically sobbing, I climbed into this cab, my wife grabbed the bags, and we headed to the dock. Fortunately, the streets we were on weren't as crowded and we got to the dock quickly. I could feel the shit sloshing in my colon now.

We hopped out, my wife went to the ticket booth. Again we had no cash. I went to the ATM, did the pee-pee dance while the machine did its money making. Ripped the cash out, threw it at the ticket booth and headed into the bathroom. "Oh fuck!" There's no toilet paper. I looked at the front of the bathroom remembering my lesson from the Chetumal bus station. Nope. "Shit, shit shit!" No kidding. I went into the women's bathroom. Nothing. I went to the store next to the ticket booth. "No we don't sell toilet paper." Well, like a baby that wouldn't wait, I was going to give birth to this demon now, paper or not. I'll spare you the gory details, but Rolaids has nothing on this relief.

As the ecstacy coursed through my body, I saw angels slaying the demon. Super-Fly Jimmy Snouka had won the cage match. The smile on my face felt the same the night I lost my virginity. I'm not kidding. This was that good. Don't believe me? Hold your bowels against all hope for two hours. Then you tell me how you feel.

But, to the task at hand. I needed paper and there wasn't a pulp plant within miles. I looked down and saw my socks. Perfect. Thank you, Champion, for making such soft, absorbent socks.

I walked out of the bathroom. Fortunately, they held the last boat for me. My wife looked at me in shock. She commented, "Is everything ok? You look like you're really sick. You've got huge, dark circles under your eyes." I thought to myself, when you've been through battle like I have, your face will show it. I climbed aboard the boat as a dozen eyes watched me gently take my seat. We were off to Cay Caulker.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

If this happens to you, riot

Foreclosure = No vote? If it were me, I would punch the Republican douche bag who challenged my eligibility based on a foreclosure notice in the fucking nose. I bet most people in line would not only not care, but might join the party. I'm not saying you should do it, I'm just saying if it were me, that's what I'd do.

This just goes to show you the Republicans have no respect for the Constitution, the law, or democracy. All they care about is power and they will do anything to anyone to get it. Don't let them. Besides, I've never met a Republican (Chuck Norris this includes you) who wasn't a huge pussy once challenged.

Sunday, September 7, 2008

This Time It Matters

I had the privileged of attending a panel discussion on the Supreme Court that included Prof. Jeff Rosen. In a nutshell, he is convinced - as am I - that for the first time in a long time, this election will definitively decide the direction of the Supreme Court for the next 30 years. The time is now. If John "Get Off My Lawn" McCain is elected, there will likely be 1 to 3 justices who die or retire. All of them are the more liberal justices (let's not kid ourselves, there aren't any actual liberals on the Court): Breyer, Ginsberg, and Stevens.

In fact, Justice Breyer acknowledged that if McCain is elected, it is likely that Roe v. Wade will be "revisited," which means overturned. So, for all of you out there who think this election doesn't matter, think again. For the next 30 years, this election matters on issues like choice, civil rights, the Fourth Amendment, and Freedom of and from Religion.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Lieberman: King of the Douche

Well, we all saw Lieberman's speech last night and he proved, once and for all, he is King of all Douches. No surprise. Also, no surprise he's a fucking liar. He lied to the people of CT when, after he lost his party's primary to a real Democrat, he told them he'd help get us out of Iraq, he said he'd oppose corporate tax cuts and corporate welfare, and that he'd support Democrats. Lieberman's pants have been on fire for several years now. Democrats, caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place didn't do anything about it. Probably becuase they couldn't. Well, it seems that those days are over. Fed up with Lieberman's b.s. after his lies at the RNC Dems are looking to strip Lieber-douche of his committee chairmanship. What a difference a few days makes. In the video below, among other topics, Sen. Reid addressed the Lieberman issue in a Q&A with bloggers. Make sure you turn up the volume, Sen. Reid is soft spoken.

Romney's Speech at the RNC: What a Douche

Romney took a swipe at Michelle Obama tonight saying "there's never been a day when [he] wasn't proud of his country." What a crock of shit! What about the day Southern white racists threw the hoses on and sicked police dogs on civil rights protesters? What about the day our government sent American citizens into "internment camps" because they were Japanese? Or, to put a twist on it, Mitt, what about the day the Supreme Court handed down Roe v. Wade? Were you proud of your country on those days you fucking game show host?

As if that wasn't ridiculous enough, Mittens also - amazingly, just fucking amazingly - called this Supreme Court liberal! Are you kidding me!? His rhetorical question was "Is a Supreme Court liberal or conservative that awards Guantanamo terrorists with constitution rights?" Yeah, Justice Roberts who joined in the majority opinion granting those rights is a real liberal guy. Apparently Chuck Woolery doesn't remember McCain's support for Bush's boy on the Court.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Part II: Buses and a Fateful Lunch

We boarded the plane in Houston anticipating a quick flight to Cancun, then a short bus ride to Playa Del Carmen, where we would stay the night. Not only was the plane late to the gate, we then got to sit on the runway for a half an hour. When I looked out the window I saw rush hour traffic with wings. But the delay gave me more time to learn Spanish from the two Scotts in my iPod. I quickly learned how to order from a menu, how to ask directions, and how to pronounce the "c" sound, which is more like "th". Problem was, that's only for Spain Spanish, not Latin American Spanish. Good thing they told me that at the end of the podcast.

Fortunately, the flight was uneventful, except for the crazy orgy we had with two sexy stewardesses. Okay, they weren't sexy, but middle-aged and desperate. You think those bathrooms are small when you're in there by yourself, try cramming four in there. Clown car for sure.

We landed in Cancun an hopped on a bus to Playa. I had heard the bus system in Mexico was great, and it appeared to be. The bus was clean, didn't smell like b.o. (though I probably did after having been in small metal enclosures for the past eight hours), and the seats were comfortable. While the buses may be great, the traffic is not. It's not that it moves slow, it's that it moves crazy. This giant whale of a bus was zipping in and out of traffic as pick-up trucks with 20 people in the back darted in between buses, vans, and cars.

After we pulled into the bus station in Playa, we took note of the times the buses to Chetumal left the next day. We decided to catch the 7:30 am bus so we could get to Belize City with some daylight left - always a good thing in Belize City for a couple of pasty white American tourists. With backpacks on, we headed towards the beach where we found a information booth. The guy tried to sell us on a hotel for $75 a night. But I knew that was too expensive. "Mas economico por favor." My Spanish was obviously great. Being the helpful information guy, he gave us a map and said there were a bunch of hotels on the beach and we should just go find one. Thanks.

Find one we did. Exhausted from planes, trains, and automobiles, I knew an hour-long hunt for a good, cheap hotel was not in the cards. Also, the look on my wife's face, which I roughly translated to "if you drag me down this fucking beach for more than 5 minutes, I will rip off your testicles, marinate them in your blood, and feed them to the guy selling chorizo on a stick." So, we popped into a place on the beach. I blathered some crappy Spanish that the guy understood to mean we wanted a room with hot water and a ceiling fan. He showed us what we got for $35 a night. Palatial! Rusted ceiling fan, check. TV, check. Bed, check. Paint peeling off the walls, check. 100% chance of something nibbling on your feet at night in the dark, check. No view of the ocean because of a dilapidated wall that serves no purpose other than to block your view of the ocean, check.

But we didn't care. We threw our stuff down, didn't have a quickie, and set out for some food. We sat down at some restaurant on the main drag, ordered a few frilly drinks and relaxed. The waiter spoke Enlgish, sparing me from embarrassing myself. The food went down easy and was pretty good. After walking around window shopping and saying "no" to dozens of people selling cigars, movies, pinatas, and lap dances, we headed to the most popular night club, the Blue Parrot. Being the party animals that we are, it was 9pm, no one was there and we were too damn tired to hang out until midnight when people apparently begin to party. Knowing the luxury that awaited us back at the hotel, we called it a night to rest our bodies on quilts of silk and down.

Morning came quick. We zombie-walked into the bathroom to take care of the various S'es. The shower part, though, quickly became a nightmare. We turned the nozzle to hot, waited, waited, waited, and then realized there was no hot water. We needed a shower, though, so we toughed it out. Fortunately, it wasn't Norway, so the "cold" water was really kinda luke warm. Shortly after soaking myself, I realized I lacked a towel. I guess it was presumptuous of me to think towels were part of the price. I pulled on my bathing suit and, half-naked (the upper half fortunately for everyone) I went to the front desk. After complaining about no hot water and being told there was no such thing in that hotel, I was told that there were towels in my room. The conversation then went something like this: "No there aren't." "Si, tollas." "No, tollas." "Si." "No." Persuaded by my brilliant argument, I was taken to a 25x25 foot closet filled with towels. Now I knew why he didn't want me to have any towels, they might run low during a nuclear disaster. Towels secured, I returned to the room, finished my cold shower, dried off, packed my crap and walked to the bus station. And waited.

Being a paranoid traveler, I'm never late for transportation. Which inevitably means I'm always waiting for transportation. But, I had the Scotts willing to teach me more Spanish as I waited for my 5 hour bus ride to begin.

After learning how to ask where the church is, we boarded the bus. Again, nice bus, comfy, and clean. We headed for Chetumal. When we planned this part of the trip we thought the bus part would be kind of nice since we'd make our way sort of along the coast. We figured the views of the country and people would be nice. They weren't. There wasn't anything to look at. I soon fell asleep to a soothing Scottish-Spanish accent.

Chetumal, as far as we knew, consisted of only a bus station. We had an hour and a half until our bus to Belize City would leave. So, we perused the sundries available in the station, then ventured outside to see what we could see. We saw a couple of stores and a couple of places to grab some food. Comforted by the sight of another pale couple at one of the "restaurants", we stopped in for some chicken sandwiches. Along with the sandwiches came a side of green chili. Being the more adventurous eater, I slathered a bit on my sandwich, noted its heat, and ate happily. Good green chili is hot - makes you sweat - but has lots of actual flavor. This qualified.

Satiated, we went back to the station. I headed up to the bathroom, but not before paying the bathroom gate keeper 30 cents. I looked around to do my business and noticed no toilet paper. Dejected, I began to leave, then noticed a single dispenser in the front of the bathroom that had instructions that I understood to mean, "This is where you get toilet paper. You better take enough." I took enough on my first try.

Now both empty and full, I waited for the bus. When it came, we noticed that the bus to Belize was not nearly as nice as the bus we took to get to Chetumal. Nor would the ride be as nice.