Tuesday, April 28, 2009

True *&@#!% Crime

So I arrive in the major metropolis of McKinney, Texas, for a hearing this afternoon. I walk into the renovated "court-house" -- renovated I say, because it used to be a hospital.

Sprightly and with great energy I bound through the automatic doors, throw my bag down, and proceed through the metal detector. Ready to cross-examine Smokey, I am loaded for bear.

__________________________________

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Me (waving off the cavalry): Oh, I always beep.

Stern security man: Mam, have you had a hip replacement?

Me: Excuse me?

Security man (loudly, wielding metal wand): A hip replacement!

Me: NO! Do I look old enough to have had a hip replacement?

Security man: Well, mam, I've seen people in their FORTIES who've had them.

Me: Yeah? Well, I'm in my thirties.
_______

Just put me in a mumu and shoot me now.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Who Knew?

Summer gatherings are right around the corner. Make them more bearable lively with these riveting conversation starters. For example, who knew . . .

1. Strippers who are not on the pill make more in tips than their on-the-pill counterparts. And even more when they're ovulating. Oy vey, the power of estrus.

2. Susan Boyle recorded a CD for charity in 1999. And she recanted her "never-been-kissed" claim.

3. The FDIC (taxpayer) has been guaranteeing new bond issues ($300 billion so far) of bailed-out banks so they can raise "private capital." Nice.

4. Mormon crickets are hideously ugly creatures that march in armies, ravage the landscape, eat each other, and loathe rock music. They are set to invade Tuscarora, Nevada in May and the townspeople are armed . . . with boom boxes.

5. People are repelled when a social misfit tries awkwardly to fit in. Which is really sad.

6. Tinplate prices are sky-rocketing, nudging companies like Campbell's and Del Monte to look for alternatives to tin cans, like the TetraPak. Which is really great since it means less BPA.

7. Per the Wall Street Journal, the EPA did an end-run around Congress on cap-and-trade legislation by unilaterally finding all CO2 to be a "dangerous pollutant."

8. Miracle bras are for real: an underwire bra slowed down a speeding bullet, saving a woman's life.

9. Geithner privately socialized with investment bank muckety-mucks while president of the NY Fed, unlike his recent predecessors.

10. Women on the pill are attracted to men with similar immune systems while non-pill women gravitate toward men with immune systems different from their own (thereby increasing the chances their offspring will have stronger immune systems). Oh, and pill-takers have higher rates of marital discord.

11. A new wave of residential foreclosures is on the horizon, due in part to the lifting of prior foreclosure moratoriums.

12. Commercial mortgages are poised to default at staggering rates.

13. You can bake bacon in the oven and it's absolutely delicious, even better than in the skillet.

14. We baked bacon on Saturday night and I ate a BLT; even though the "authorities" say it's safe to eat pork, I'm now terrorized by swine-flu nightmares.

15. Angelina Jolie is set to play the brainy forensic medical examiner Kay Scarpetta in a movie based on Patricia Cornwell's books. I can't picture it.

16. Alex Kuczynski is pregnant with her OWN child and she's due this month. Oh dear.

17. I can't believe I'm agreeing with Alex on anything, but she's right about Tropicana's new carton design, which features a pervy nipple-like cap. Wretched. Worse than the Ozarka "udder" water bottle.

19. This kind of recycling is not cool. For the first few months of this year, bailed-out banks made political contributions to their Congressional overseers. Now? Not so much.

20. In the '90s, Brooksley Born tried to get CDOs and CDS contracts regulated but Greenspan and regulators in the Clinton Administration shot her down.

21. A kid will eat just about anything if it's at the end of a toothpick, even green peas. Truly. Try it.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Captcha'd

The ravages of old age haven't fully set in and already I'm having trouble. Like when I buy a pair of scissors and I need a chain saw to open the package. Note to Fiskars: If I could open your triple-wrapped bomb-proof package, I wouldn't need your scissors in the first place.

And my eyes and ears! How many times I cannot make out the "captcha" symbols I have to decipher to prove I'm human. This frailty alone should prove I'm not a machine.

The other day I tried to send a friend a link to my blog and fell into the captcha trap yet again. I asked for an alternate one and still, no luck. What is wrong with me? But click here, it prompted, for a "handicapped" audio version. I was so relieved.

Until I heard, "Ummgowbageee 3 2 1 gowatcheeskoolagarp 4 3 2 yikesadowskiscrewbob 2 1 2." It sounded like fifteen intense Paul Harveys all talking at once, enunciating important nuclear codes through deafening white noise. I scrambled to write the numbers down but there was no way I could captcha' them all. The tension, the stress. My physical faculties get tested enough.

I'll go to a Wendy's drive-through before I go through that again.

Me: Yes, I'd like one small chocolate frosty, a Wendy's hamburger, and a small fry. But NO mayonnaise on anything, okay?

Big box with booming voice: HOOD LIKE garbeldygoochie piesloggruffield whatchatata pith at?

Me: Um, I'd like one small chocolate frosty, a Wendy's hamburger, and a small fry. But no mayonnaise on anything.

Box: OKAYOID, thatearl BE ern smell chalky forstery, one end-up ermburger, and a temple shry with no mazing?

Which, come to think of it, is probably how the banks' stress test results will sound. Audible, but completely unintelligible.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Crushes

Crushes are funny things. Most of mine have been of the brain variety, leaving looks beside the point. Like when I was a freshman at an all-woman's college and there was a history professor we were all mad about: professor John d'Entremont (French, I suppose; it's pronounced, "Dawn-treh-mawnt," dahling). Ah so.

We swooned. We gurgled. We worshipped any ground he covered. Our provincial little campus seemed too small for his giant brain. We were not worthy.

For most classes we wore Lanz nightgowns, jammed into our sweats. Holding steaming cups of coffee, we hid under baseball caps. But for Professor D, we wore lipstick and even teased our hair. Though he miserably failed the blue jeans test (if you don't fit in the fellow's jeans, you'll never make a pair). Professor D was a mini-man, 125 pounds wet, if that.

With coke bottle glasses and pock-marked skin, he was the sexiest man we had ever seen. We even -- at least, us die-hard fans -- stuck around for summer school to take another class from him. He was just so damn smart. And it wasn't just his encyclopedic recall of history. It was the way he presented the material.

So calm he was, unflappable when someone disagreed. He taught with a feminist slant in the heart of Jerry Falwell's screed. Back then, "Moral Majority" bumperstickers peppered the streets. And then there was, not least nor last, his quiet tempered voice. We had to strain our ears to hear him and we savored every word.

I googled old d'Entremont today for a picture, but I had no luck. Though his skeletal biography on the college website popped right up. So did a site called "ratemyprofessor.com."



As yet, Professor D is unrated, perhaps because the scales are a bit much. Are the lectures "incomprehensible" or "crystal clear" went one query. The last question, labeled "just for fun" asked whether the professor is "Hot" or "Not." Umm-umm. Too cruel. Too subjective. Not for me.

At my last parent-teacher conference I learned Mr. M had put a "kick me" sign on another student who, in the words of his teacher, "handled it beautifully. If it had been me," she said plaintively "I would have been in tears."

Really, I said, incredulous. "Don't you know the 'kick-me' kid gets the boat and the girl?" I asked her, only to draw a blank stare. Of course I forget how old I am, how long ago that Smith-Barney ad ran. The nerdy boy sports a kick-me sign as he deposits his pennies at the bank every day. Later, he's shown grown up, perched on the stern of his "Kick Me" yacht, transmogrified into a Michael Caine clone. A beautiful coltish woman appears and joins him in the end.

Of course we had plenty of staggeringly smart women professors, too. There was one in particular we especially loved. She died years ago and now, with not a little embarrassment, I'm struggling to remember her name.

One day during class someone boldly asked her why she'd never married. Her answer has never left me. Without a pause, she answered affably and offhandedly: "Easy. I never met a man who would let me drive his car."

The day is soon coming when brainy women will make the boys croon. So over here we're working on Shakespeare and Scrabble in the afternoons. Antigone would work for a small-group reading, and maybe Oedipus, too. Some mom friends of mine said they'll come read with their sons, happy to join my girl-power cause. Certain a girl brain-explosion is coming, we're grooming our boys, getting them ready.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

The Great Geithner Heist

The Geithner plan, also known as the Pee-Pip ("PPIP" or "public-private investment") plan, is the biggest heist yet. Geithner makes Bernie Madoff look like Santa Clause. I mean, what's 50 billion when you can "legally" grab a trillion? It is so unbelievable, so stunningly incredible, that once you dig into it, you'll think you've lost your mind.

So let's review. We're in this massive financial meltdown because banks (e.g., Goldman, Citi, B of A, and JP) made shoddy loans to dodgy or duped borrowers, securitized those mortgages via collateralized debt obligations (a fancy way of saying you can buy stock in a pool of mortgages), bought and sold the CDOs, and bet on them with credit default swap ("CDS") contracts.

When the real estate market tanked, the CDOs tanked too. For the most part, private investors in the free market are willing to pay little or nothing for them.

But the banks are holding firm on the price because if they take anything less than what they claim the CDOs are worth, they'll be insolvent. It's simple high school economics: if your assets are worth less than your liabilities, you are insolvent. You're upside down. So . . . the banks have overstated the value of the toxic stuff on their balance sheets so they can appear solvent (and therefore eligible for bailout money).

The banks can't lend because the toxic assets on their books are ticking time bombs. They're hoarding cash to cover the future implosions. We've got a bunch of insolvent "zombie" banks that are rightfully afraid to lend money and a Congress that is rightfully afraid to give these zombies more money.

Just as Geithner figured out a way for companies getting bailout funds to circumvent the bonus and salary caps, he's figured out a way to funnel up to a trillion dollars to these banks, free and clear . . . without having to go to Congress.

Because after all, someone has to buy these toxic assets for more than they are worth, so the banks can be solvent and start lending again. Right? This is the Administration's fundamental and terribly flawed premise. The idea is to reinflate the bubble with more lending and more spending; we do that by taking the toxic mortgages off their hands at prices that let the banks stay solvent. But who is going to pay the banks more than their junk CDOs are worth? Who? Why, you, gentle reader.

In my opinion, it goes something like this:
_____________________________________

Banks: Help us, Timmy, we're melting. No one in their right mind will buy our garbage mortgages, our toxic CDOs! We've got bondholders to pay, shareholders to satisfy, bonuses to collect . . . Help us.

Tim Geithner: Okay. How about if the taxpayers buy these crappy assets from you bankster boys at whatever price you want? How would that be?

Banks: Wow, Timmy, why that would be swell! What hallucinogen are you on? Give us some. If Paulson couldn't pay enough for the toxic assets to keep us solvent, how will you? You'll never get Congress to go for it.

Timmy: Good point, banksters, but I'm a few steps ahead of you. I've come up with a plan so complicated and jumbled up, no one will know what hit them. And we're going to move at lightning speed.

We know we can't go to Congress for any more money. But I've got a few tricks up my sleeve. Turns out, the FDIC and the Federal Reserve both hold boat loads of money that can be used in exigent circumstances. We can access all of that money and give it to you guys. And the beauty of it is, there's not a damn thing Congress can do about it.

Banks: Great, Timmy. Fantastic. But won't Congress figure it out and go all AIG on us?

Timmy: I don't think so. First of all, you're assuming Congress will understand the plan. Our PR machine is expert in pulling snow jobs. We've got really good-sounding, misleading language in the plan, claims like the plan "not only minimizes public capital and maximizes private capital: it allows private sector buyers to determine the price . . . " It's chock full of happy falsehoods. Plus, we're renaming the toxic stuff "legacy" securities and "legacy" assets. It's all in how you frame the issue.

Banks: Gee, Timmy. But it still sounds like an insurmountable task in obfuscation.

Timmy: Relax. Right now, Obama is the man. No one wants to rain on his parade. Plus, my plan is pretty complex, so it's not like someone could explain it on the evening news in a 90-second soundbite.

I've made it sound like some phantom magnanimous "private investors" are going to buy the toxic assets when it's really you guys. And I've made it sound like our mythical private investors are fronting half the money for this junk.

Of course, that's not how it will actually work -- I'm no dummy. But the taxpayers and Congress sure are. In reality, you boys will be buying the toxic assets from yourselves and each other using taxpayer money, at whatever prices you set.

You'll each start a PPIP and contribute 7% of the purchase price for the garbage assets. The Treasury will kick in another 7%, and the taxpayers (via the Federal Reserve and FDIC) will loan your PPIP the remaining 86% of the price. In essence, your PPIPs get 93% financing to buy the crap.

Banks: But hold on. If the "legacy" assets turn out to be worthless, our PPIPs won't be able to pay back Treasury's 7% or the 86% loan from the taxpayers.

Timmy: Calm yourselves, little dogies. The loan from the taxpayers to your PPIP is non-recourse. If your PPIP can't pay it back, just hand the crappy assets over to the taxpayers and leave them holding the bag. Your little pee-pips get to walk. Sure, the taxpayers will lose all their money and the PPIPs will lose their 7%. But the banks won't lose anything. Don't sweat it.

Banks: So if we set up PPIPs to buy these bad assets from each other and everything goes to hell, we're off the hook?

Timmy: Exactly. The most you can possibly lose is the paltry 7% you put in your pee-pip. This way, you bank boys get to sell your junky assets for whatever you want and your banks get all the money up front. You get to stay solvent, fly around in corporate jets and avoid salary caps.

The bad assets will just sit in the mysterious PPIPs you started. When the toxic mortgages default, your forgotten little PPIPs will just quietly go bankrupt. The taxpayers will take the 93% hickey, not the banks.

Banks: Sounds like a dream, Timmy. But if you want us to put up even 7% for this worthless garbage, we want a good return on our investment.

Timmy: Oh, you'll get a good return, astronomical in fact. For putting up only 7% of the purchase price, your PPIPs will get 50% of all the profits. Plus, remember, you already have government money right now. Just use some of it to kick in your 7%. That way, your banks aren't out a dime.

Banks: Well, that's fantastic, Timmy, but we can't be expected to shoulder 50% of the losses when these mortgages go sour.

Timmy: You boys just aren't getting it. Your losses are limited to the seven percent you put in your PPIP. You're making your banks solvent by gambling with taxpayer money. How sweet is that?

Banks: Wow, man. But how we can pull this off? How are we going to get away with pricing the worthless assets at way more than they are worth? The free market is basically pricing them at thirty cents on the dollar or less.

Timmy: that's the beauty of my plan. You guys are going to set the prices by bidding on each other's assets. If you want JP Morgan to give you a good bid for your toxic stuff, you give them a good bid for their toxic stuff. It's a back-scratching thing. When Mighty O told you guys at the big bankers meeting, "You are all in this together," he meant it.
_______________________________

To defend this trillion dollar taxpayer gift to the banks, Geithner argues that since the PPIPs are staking their "own" money in the venture (read the fine print: a whopping 7%) and the PPIPs will bid against each other for the toxic assets, a fair price will be reached. In this way, so goes his disingenuous logic, the taxpayers won't overpay for these crappy mortgages.

Except, err, remember the housing bubble? You know, the one we're in right now? People overpaid for houses because they didn't have to put much, if any, of their own money down. Remember? How is giving the PPIPs 93% of the purchase price for these toxic assets a sure-fire way to figure out their fair market value? Anyone? So much for "price discovery."

It's certainly no surprise the stock market "liked" the plan. If the banks had to sell their toxic waste for fair market value, the shareholders and bond holders would get wiped out. But under the Geithner plan, these people -- the ones who most deserve a haircut -- are completely protected. If the banks get close to 100% for their garbage assets, there won't be any write-downs. And no write-downs means no losses for the bond holders and shareholders. Oh, happy day.

As for our losses, you know . . . the taxpayers' losses? Friends, fear not. From the government and here to help you, Sheila Bair, FDIC president, told the New York Times that the FDIC expects ZERO losses on these toxic mortgages. Zero losses on assets no rational investor wants to buy at the banks' current asking prices? Get out of town! She has also said she is perfectly okay with the banks buying toxic assets from themselves via their own PPIPs.

Now you can see why this is all so crazy-making.

But maybe you're thinking, "Oh, come on. There's no way the government is perpetrating a scam like this on its taxpayers. Who is this wacky lawyer chick, anyway? If this were true, I would have heard about it."

Well, you're hearing about it now. And you don't have to take my word for it. Plenty of respected economics professors and finance gurus are up in arms too. Paul Krugman is apoplectic. Even the emminent well-respected Financial Times has sniffed out the scam.

If you do nothing else, I beseech you to watch this video by Sal Khan of Khan Academy. He's not some odd duck I found quacking around on the internet; he's appeared on CNN and his academic credentials are impeccable. In this simple video, he shows how Geithner's plan will work.



So, to recap: we, the taxpayers, are going to give a trillion bucks to the banksters who got us in this mess to begin with.

And to put some perspective on what a trillion dollars means, consider this: if you borrowed one million dollars a day, starting with the day Jesus Christ was born, up until today, you still would not have one trillion dollars.

If you want to email your elected representatives, here's a link. Granted, Geithner's plan makes a total end-run around Congress so they can't exactly "vote" against it. But the folks in Congress are a creative bunch, as we saw with AIG. I'm sure they can come up with something.

Then again, we could all choose to do nothing. "This is just too hard to understand. Who am I to question the powers that be? Those people in DC are smarter than me."

Maybe our kids won't ask us why our currency went from "In God We Trust" to "In Goldman We Trust." But how will we answer if they do?

Next up: a solution to the toxic asset problem that doesn't screw the taxpayers.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Still Crazy After All This Sinus

Gentle Readers,

Never in my life have I had such a
bad sinus infection. In fact, never in my life have I ever had a sinus infection, until now. Every time I move my head up or down, or even from side to side, it is agony. My jaw bone wants an out-of-body evacuation. I am in hell.

Not wanting to disturb our domestic tranquility or demote the general welfare, I limped through Easter like a one-legged rabbit. This bad mother had neither the energy nor inclination to hide a single egg. Chipper husband, however, enthusiastically speed-cooked a turkey at 450 f, mashed potatoes, and whipped up a broccoli casserole faster than a June Cleaver on amphetamines.

And don't get me wrong. I was truly grateful for his efforts. But the dirty pots and the left-over biscuit thrust willy-nilly into the fridge were, umm, less well-received by this barely-breathing mom.

But fear not, fellow mistresses of the economy. You are not forgotten. I am still slogging away at my Geithner post as my head explodes and my blogger account "forgets" the source links I've been diligently plugging into the main post.

Needless to say, this fubar situation has slowed me down quite a bit but still I plod on. Because you need to know the facts and you also need to know the criticisms do not just come from me. The Geithner plan is worse than you could have ever imagined and the window for us to express our outrage is winnowing. Hopefully I'll have the post up tomorrow or Wednesday.

How's that for a titillating cliffhanger, sure to lead to an anticlimactic finish?

In the meantime, and I hate leftover meatloaf even more than the next person, here is my encyclopoediaclical (word? sp?) subprime primer post from December, for you to peruse at your leisure while I am busy tweaking Timmy.

At least I can honestly say with a straight, however painful, face that a basic understanding of the real estate crash, and the subprime shenanigans that led up to it, will give you a decent foundation from which to evaluate the Geithner plan.

Alrighty then. I'm off to CVS to get that Neti pot I so ridiculed, lo those many months ago. Confucius say . . . . karma is a bitch.

Please, no cards or flowers. Casseroles only, fed-exed, in dry ice.

XOXO

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Little Lawyers Everywhere (Redux)

I have been sick for the past several days. Mr. M picked up a bug when he went camping and it hopped on me, leaving me in no shape to write. Even my dreams are sick: Rick Santelli made a pass at me on the trading floor; Ben Bernanke started growling while he was testifying before Congress.

So here's a re-hash of my third blog post, from last August.
____________________________________________

Ever wonder what makes a good lawyer? Behold, it is your little one, the super lawyer in the car seat. Kids come armed with the skills of a trained litigator, trial lawyers growing in the womb.

Instinctively expert at forum shopping, manipulation, and debate, they could bloody F. Lee Bailey in the backyard wading pool long before they're eight. Masterful negotiators, stern and forceful promulgators (DO NOT ETER THIS ROOM UNLESS YOU KNOCK FIST), they come equipped with elephant memories and perfectly callibrated bull sh-t meters.

As adults we loom large, the inevitable and unwitting targets of these formidable foes. Even the most stalwart of parents will disintegrate in a face-off with these verbal warriors. "Alright, damn it. Go have a sugar coma. Eat the blasted cookie."

But be forewarned: this Perry Mason moment is kiddie catnip to a child, compelling him to pursue more victories with the tenacity of a crack addict.

So when your little one arrives, it's time to get down and lawyered up. Here, a brief tutorial of what to expect from your litigator.

* Forum shopping: which parent (or third party) is most likely to give the kid what he wants? Mr. M is a champion forum shopper. As in, "Hmm. I would like a Sprite. Who best to prey upon at this moment? Mom? The waiter? (as I exit for the bathroom) Yes, the waiter. I'll order up a Sprite right now." (See also shuttle diplomacy, as in "Dad, Mom said I can't have any chocolate milk, but I know you'll say yes since I haven't had any sugar all day.")

* Cross-examination (a/k/a beating a dead horse): kids just know how many times and in how many ways they must ask a question to get the right answer. Mr. M: "But you just said you wanted me to be excited on my first day of school. Are you now saying I CANNOT have this new lunch box? Have you lost your mind? Have you already forgotten what you said?" (See also, framing the issue)

* Framing the issue: you can get the answer you want to any question, so long as you ask the right question. Mr. M: "Mom, you want me to be the happiest kid there is, right?" (Me, like Charlie Brown's teacher: wonk wonk wonk) "Okay. You're the one who said it. I get to wear my Spiderman suit every day at school for the first week. It's all settled then." (Me: wonk wonk WONK!)

They also try their luck at framing the answer. Me: "Why are these dirty clothes on the floor next to the hamper?!" Mr. M: "I aimed wrong."

* Preemptive Strikes: They'll just answer the question for you. Get ready for the ubiquitous, "Okaaaay . . . I'll take that as a yes," when you are on the phone with the teacher, doing CPR on your neighbor, or are otherwise overwhelmed. And when all else fails for the child litigator, you may hear, "Alright. That's your final answer! By the way, today is opposite day!"

WONK WONK WONK!