Subprime and Greed

What were they thinking?

Where were the heads of the lenders who were making huge mortgage loans to unqualified buyers under the clever marketing tool of creative financing? While they pocketed big bucks, I watched interviews (this was several years ago) with consumers who were nonchalant about what would happen when they needed to pay more than a minimum amount of interest when required to pick up the loan principal that waited in the trap around the corner. Most of them, when asked how they'd be able to pull this off, replied they didn't think they would be able to pull it off. But in the meantime, they'd live the rich and famous lifestyle and Peter take the hind. Only a few of them didn't appear to understand what was ahead for them - contrary to what GWB claims.

So now. The subprime companies who invented this bubble of ignorance and greed are being bailed out by the Feds - yes the taxpayers' Feds - much like the clean up after the S&L fallout.

Where were they? Those people concerned with their own bucks? Those people with no concern for those who would end up picking up the pieces? If I could see this, why couldn't the smart heads, the leaders, the professed economical advisers see the obvious?

If the money changers saw the outcome and continued to stay the course, what does that say about leaders and business people?

Titanium Hips and Auto Repair

My previous auto mechanic worked for several months off and on and replaced some pricey parts only to find the problem was still active. Eventually when I was down to my last credit card, he shook his head and said, 'I hate to give up, but I have no idea where to go now.' I mentally patted myself on the back when I refrained from giving him an idea.

Next, I said to a new mechanic, 'It must be hard working on cars with all this new technology.' He replied, 'This car is far too old to have new technology.'
That repair, actually two or so, consumed my last card.

Then, the car radio antenna remained up when it should go down/off and a smart grandson disconnected it before it burned down both car and garage. Maybe I should have just let it blow. However...

What I'm looking for now is a radio person. A radio person with a penchant for dealing with old technology because I know now that I'm not as current as I thought half a dozen plastic cards back.

And, I wonder if I could end up with an old car overflowing with new technology. Is that like replacing old hip joints with titanium? Or is it simply a prayer that both my car and my teeth will outlast my breath and that there will always be one more plastic card?

Hats off to repair people everywhere!

Earthquakes Swarm

Yellowstone Park changes constantly. The earthquake that formed Hebgen Lake was felt in the Coeur d'Alene area on August 17, 1959. Several family friends lost their lives there. One of the survivors wrote an incredible book detailing the horrors of that night.

Massive land shifts occurred and I've often wondered why that was the last one that rumbled through here. The first time I crossed the Park after that 1959 earthquake, it seemed the earth tilted like a supered highway and gave me the feeling of passing through a giant vortex. Bubbling pots of mud and spitting hills of steam reveal how much lies hidden beneath the surface.

Photos and more information available here

Political Anime

tanks lug across the sand
tugging boys and girls in camo
bait for bombs and fire devices

newly defined evil hoards
the screen, deciders politicize
a stateside campus loss

remotes in casual hands
click the scene, surf to ugly betty
nodding heads return to sand

Monologue vs Dialogue

Free speech demands that each of us can spout any amount of rancor, pith and ugliness but it doesn't preclude that a price can be extracted at some point.

It's hard to believe the uproar that followed a shock jock's bomb tossed at a femme basketball team. Suddenly that sort of stupid attack registers as surprise or racist. It's also a little more than sexist. This was no rare occurrence and unless humanity changes, it will continue.

There's an us vs. them mentality that disguises itself as dialogue. Listening carefully, at least as long as the stomach can stand it, reveals that dialogue is no more than a shouting match. TV, music, comedy chambers, blogs and street corners are full of hate and righteous opinion. The loudest voice calls attention and even when it's temporarily silenced, the rage continues.

I wish that hot air and accusation could be turned into something more positive - into something that might help us see that inside each of us is a nice person trying to find his way.

We've come a long way but unless we get a grip, that journey may have brought us near the end of the road.

iRobot and Friendly Robotics

Reluctant to count myself as a lazy femme, the initial decision to purchase iRobot’s RoomBa to vacuum seemed hedonistic but when it vacuums under the couch, treadmill and bed, it’s worth its weight in gold and earns the badge of necessity. I watch and lift my feet off the floor (I learned that from others in an earlier life) when it passes by.

The low pile of the carpet in my home renders the robot so efficient, I can’t resist shouting ‘good job’ as it trundles about earning its keep. When I grudgingly haul the upright vacuum out of the closet to do a ‘deep cleaning’, there aren’t enough leftovers to dust a bag.

DirtDog, the newest addition to my iRobot’s product line, is a garage-cleaning yellow machine which doubles as a patio vacuum while promising not to fall in the pool or suck up sleeping bodies. iRobot has a Scooba for kitchen floors but its twelve-inch diameter is too large for my wee kitchen.

Friendly Robotics makes a lawn mower. I’m trying to justify this for my lawn which is about two times larger than my kid-size kitchen. While I’m waiting for this justification to take place, I dream of the day when iRobot invents iDustBa, iPaintBa, iCookBa, iMassageBa, iLaunderBa.

Maybe I’ll live long enough to become a smiling lay-about.

In a more serious vein, I’d like to add that iRobot also makes robots for military uses to help ours in other parts of the world which is something I’d love to do, but can’t. Check their site - it’s incredibly enlightening.



iHeart*iRobot - mangled fractal

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The House That Card Wrought

When there was a maroon who held a card close to his chest and flashed red herrings to confuse the beholders, the foundation of the land of theocracy resembled one built on sand.

The maroon oathed to become a uniter but his keys stuck and he divided into threes and pieces. A top card helped him keep everything under moving shells and sometimes mortars until it looked like a magician couldn't pull a hat from any cat.

A great snafu emerged when a mouth caught onto a biggest lie and began to threaten to turn back the clock if truth didn't float. The first maroon and the second maroon and no few others bet that if they played fifty-two pickup, the joker would get lost in the game and the joes wouldn't have a clue which deck held the facts.

Huge numbers of joes shouted disenchantment until the maroon (wannabe king) tossed his cards and regressed to tapping wires to keep fear on an overload. When the house collapsed, the outed andy scribed the hat contents to anybody who listened but the biggest maroon and his suits kept shouting about fighting there and not fighting here until the joes laid down again, huddled in fear and didn't believe what the third card down said.

Lo! Nearly thirty publics were surprised when the house of cards toppled even though there were enough sticks to prop it upright.

White House Ink

And in the age when schooling mostly went home to read animé and such there came out of the Big House some bad books that took on legs.

One scooter penned a piece revering bestiality even as canons were being passed by playing bigs who seemed not to know there were some pressing problems afoot.

And the big Dick's wife , mother of his strange daughter, wrote a tale of girly/girly in the old west and philandering in the next wing. In her tale, the roving guy died astride his paramour from a bad heart and she wrote as if these things were fiction.

And in another part, a sinner quilled a million squibs of non-fiction when it mostly was fiction and a flap went on about that for some time until it was found that truth and lies are doppelgangers.

And the O'man from FauxNews who had been flailed for heavy breathing about a faloofa into some skirt's link wrote a tome about an old man his age who noodled little misses and called it fiction when it surely wasn't.

And the man who ran home insecurity did webcam and sicking speak with a little girl who turned out to be the law in disguise so he went to the front of the low class, temporarily distracting from the other fouls.

One cyber store named after strong women of another age posted pages of these tatty tales so one could peruse a page or two before squandering coins for these soiled nightmares.

And so it was when the land was ruled by the fictitious proper who weren't and weren't afraid to flaunt it.

Harken

 

Several things threaten my peace of mind. Admittedly, it wasn't all that peaceful anyhow. The last six-plus years have been detrimental to my whole being. I feel democracy slipping away due to bad governance, multitudinous uninformed citizens and a single wing news system.

It's hard to imagine double-bolting the front door and feeling safe while the back door and windows are wide open.

It's difficult to imagine building a palace on someone else's property.

It's hard to imagine leaving one's own family destitute by giving contents of the vault to felons, corrupt officials and the professed enemy.

It's hard to imagine joining three sovereign nations together without asking for discussion and a vote.

It's hard to imagine building a gigantic highway through the middle of a country for the unchallenged use of illegal alien drivers.

It's hard to believe that the gummint can use the eminent domain theory to claim individuals' homes for developers.

And it's doubly hard to believe that before doing any of the above, a right mind would enrage the entire world, invade a foreign country, and arouse the ire of at least seventy percent of his bosses while accruing a multitude of enemies ~ enough to last for many generations.

It's probable that this country is being Harken'd.

On the Edge

Backbone of road
paved with dogma
marks a chart of longing,
splinters trail
the blackened night
silent as a dream.



A strange idea came to me while I listened to old dogma spouted by Stepford faces.

Instead of legislating a minimum wage, mandate a maximum.

Rape of local land and distant countries might cease when the money monopoly dispersed so plenty could re-emerge.




fractal by sue

Golden Age

Long ago, when the average death of life was about 40, there weren’t too many grandparents. And those few were often were placed in sanitoria or poor houses. A lucky few lived with unfortunate family.

The great witch doctors decided there was more money to be made if folks lived longer. After all, an early death meant the end of taxes and tithes from the deceased. Putting their heads together, an act not totally truth, resulted in a longevity/security plan. Each person from the first day of labor would contribute a designated number of rupees to be placed in an account to help with costs of aging.

The emperor decreed that this amount would remain holy, not to be commingled, until such time as each person came close to death and past financial health. And the people played along by sending money monthly, yearly and sometimes daily to swell the coffers.

The witch doctors now decided that some of that money should be spent on research to aid in longer longevity. And so it was.

And for some time, it almost worked.

However, there came a time when the research out performed the finances and because death dwindled, there came a gigantic swell of folks known as boomings. As it neared their time to settle into the golden times (from earlier fables) it was judged that the security deposit was inadequate and that it had been divided into so many pies that the actual amount was lost under the shells.

It came to pass that boomings could not reach the golden time without taking other jobs at the same time the job market dwindled. Even very elderly women served espresso from donkey carts while waiting to pass.

But the research was not all in vain. A new pill came into being and enabled booming grandpas the opportunity to start new families with very young women.

Alas, the pot grew even smaller and it was against the law to grow the pot.

And so it was.

fractal by Sue

California, New York, Iraq

I was so afraid this wouldn't happen.

California finally passed a law, effective January 2007, which makes it illegal to drive a car containing a body in the trunk. Apparently nine people have died from this trick.

It brings to mind Gov. Pataki who signed into law a requirement for cigarettes to be self-extinguishing.

I am grateful that we are finally getting a handle on the obscene activities that create a death here and there due to a total disregard for sense.

Is there hope that the huge US embassy (known as George's Palace), the only task on track in Halliburton's Iraq, might be disallowed and turned over to the Iraqi's for their use while we beat feet and quit freeing those people by death? And is there hope that the additional forty-five bases being constructed there will be discontinued? Or could they be converted to the surplus FEMA trailers from Katrina?

Is there any hope that common sense will replace the incredible in-your-eye legislation that has taken place since 2000?

Artful Grunge

Long ago, there was a clan who regaled themselves with fad starting. Huddled together in one small glade, they practiced clothing pranks until they stumbled upon the next trend for unsuspecting commoners.

These oddfellows changed their heads to backward so their helmet front flipper was in the rear like a sun protector and their necks became very whitened. And, not only that, but they halted knotting their very boot thongs. At the same time, they put gores, or add-ons, into their mails until the armor was very big and it cracked so low that it practically protected nothing at all.

Alas, it was only a matter of time until hundreds of other tribes for fear of falling out of peering favor reached right out and embraced this fad by turning, unknotting and upsizing their wearings, also. No one could see, which was all right because no one was observing much at that time.

The ladies in waiting for their next dress saw how clumsy the knights were because both their hands needed to remain unencumbered to act as surrogate suspenders. And because of their backward heads and flapping-tongued boots they fell for almost anybody.

Lo! Feminines retaliated and took huge seams in their already tiny clothings until it became like another skin except it didn’t have piercings. They were dressed, but they weren’t.

It came to pass that many were distressed to see the gawky baggy hind-sighted knights trying to find a damsel because at a time when the damsels were barely dressed the armored clans had their heads reversed and couldn’t see what was right befront of them and their necks had gone white, as well.

And that’s how it was when the grunge fad lunged from clan to tribe.

Hunting Witches

Blogs are a good thing. Thinking is a good thing. Spouting opinions off the top of the head isn't such a good thing.

While reading some blogged opinions, I shudder. These are the same people who vote. Without consideration of facts, without looking at the foundations, they type ugliness and recount rabid theories. Talk show hosts stir up one mess after another.

Recent disclosure by the first Muslim congressman stirred up a worm nest until someone noted that the hand on any religious tome is not required during the swearing-in process.

Current polarization assumes guilt until proven innocent and I'm finding that scary. Everyone is prickly, righteous and moving too fast. We need a time out. To sit. Think. Look under the surface.

I'm far more afraid of witch hunters than I am of witches.

Cyberia

Once upon a time, forward-thinking people came up with a far-fetched plan to connect all persons on the globe by netting them together in a fantasy called Cyberia.

Unlike other plans, this one moved with celerity and it did, indeed, come to pass that many people made the right connections and found answers to questions they didn’t have.

Soon, companies saw a way to increase their bottoms and became involved in outputting items which succored this idea. They became known as hot coms, part of an overly exuberant bubble.

Ordinary people gazed into a crystal screen and found books, toys, clothes. Clicking on a rodent-like device and bartering their identifying numbers for pictured items ensured the items would be on their very doorstep within three priority days. And, even, they could order food from the farms.

Alas, small brained people capable of only one thought, began sending smut and spam to righteous people who complained to their protectors. The protectors didn’t know what to do, for sure, so they passed a lot of laws that didn’t have any teeth. The sleaze continued as did the zany laws and bewildered protectors.

Kings of countries-within-a-country saw that if their subjects ordered goods from shops beyond drawn boundaries that would be bad. To make sure there would be full coffers for their golden parachutes, the big powers declared tax on Cyberia which was virtually a figment of imagination anyway. At least, it had no bricks and mortar.

Cyberia meant that the average peon could reach out and touch his friends and family without getting his hands dirty, so antiquated phone firms dipped their fingers into the pie and pulled out a lot of plums.

The Pony Express rode into the Cyberarena and charged a wooden nickle for each message sent without their smoke. The straw was added to the camel’s back.

It came to pass that because of so many governances people couldn’t afford to stay in Cyberia so they returned to watching smut and spam on their other screen and dialing toll-free numbers to buy stuff.

Thus went the best laid plan of mouse and man.

Feast of Thankfuls

A long time ago, escapees from a high-tax kingdom packed their tea and took to the sea seeking a new country in which to muck about. When they arrived they slipped off their ship onto a rock named for a heavybodied car. The males wore high-heeled shoes and short pants later known as capris while the femmes hid inside drab voluminous gowns that trailed in the dirt and broomed chips that fell from animals.

They called themselves pilgryms and claimed themselves to be good and fine for bringing their high-sightedness to heathen otherbodies. Alas, none knew whose foot the shoes were on and a lot of fighting did go on. Some people lost their hair on the end of sharpsticks while others did gain it.

Time passed. The escapees became at home, discovered themselves still alive and very hungry. They named that a good omen and planned to cook up a great deal for one historic dinner of thankfuls. Those under the heavy dresses began preparation many days in advance by swinging big birds by their heads til dead and then flinging them into fire to clarify the feathers. They dragged out huge cauldrons, dug corn and other vegetables to boil and mash as sides to go with the fowl turkeys and an assortment of animal parts. It came to pass that the pilgrymesses worked nonstop for some big period of time until they sagged, just as the table boards did sag beneath the weight of all the delicacies.

Lo! The big day arrived and the men stood around outside the cook shed sampling the vatted grain drinks and telling tales of no truth. Their revelry was interrupted by the cookers who called them to feed. The long dresses then returned to the pits where they became cleaners of the muddle brought on by the marathon cookout. The men ate all they could, then outdoored for a napping and a game of pass the pigskin.

That was on a Thursday and by the following Sunday the women’s work still wasn’t done but it was time to make trink-ettes and bead things for all the otherbodies to celebrate the next feast which would come about in 26 days.

And that’s how it was in the days before takeout.


Nitewalker, Fractal created in Apophysis by Sue

Once in the Bad Basket...

There is little within my control even though I rebel at that very thought. Several times in recent years, physical control was wrested from me and more recently I find my mental well-being is not being enhanced by the lies and ugliness that permeate the current state of our affairs. And more frightening is the fact that this is being absorbed and re-spat by people I know. Anger and division are signs of the times. (Un)Civil war could come again.



I'm puzzled that we hear so little about the planned highway through the US, the size and construction of the embassy(ies) in Baghdad, the source of and spending of political monies. So little about the faultiness of the Diebold machines. So little about the planned union of Canada, Mexico and the US.

While inundated with verbiage dedicated to this current do-little congress, the fact remains that it has been anything but a do-little. Laws passed in the dead of night with little fanfare and less input are difficult to track down but when one spends the necessary time, it turns into a scary proposition.

The herrings thrown at us have little to do with real life. Those laws that control real life are being swept under the rug.

Corruption and hypocrisy have been around since the beginning of time but never have so few been allowed to do so much.

Electile Dysfunction

*It takes less than a minute for a new hacker to do a Diebold.

*With the move from graphite to gigabyte - no lead is left behind.

*Who counts? Who's counting?

*Florida recently outlawed manual re-count of ballots.

*If you have extra Cia*lis, please hold on to it for upcoming dysfunctions.

Elephant Repellent

I was very young and asked my dad what he was spreading on the grass.

He said, 'Elephant repellent.'

'Hey, Dad, there aren't any elephants here.'

'It's working, ' he responded.

Yesterday when I heard the spin on Faux News as I shuffled past to see what weirdness they were spouting, a big-toothed blonde said, 'If Dems are elected, we'll be attacked.'

Who was on the throne when the USA was attacked last time?

What's working? With open borders, angst fusterclucked loose in the world and growing hatred of people who invade and build a 582 million buck embassy in the middle of an ancient city...

I hope elephant repellent begins to work.


Tusks of Spin, Fractal

Pork 'n Poker

Thank you, O intelligent leaders.

Our safety is assured.

Online poker is outlawed but, due to government monetizing, state lotteries, brick and mortar casinos, horse racing and fantasy sports remain unscathed at this moment.

Blind-trust Frist, celeb of video doctoring and leader of the ProFamily Movement, poked this pork verbiage (Unlawful Internet Gambling Enforcement Act) into the port safety bill (Safe Accountability for Every Port Act of 2006) which passed during this twilight of our days.

It was signed into law just before Congress and Prez departed to campaign with slick slogans like fighting 'em there.

Something about this right feels so very wrong. Why do I believe THEY are already HERE?


Stripped, Photo by Sue