If there is one thing I discovered by going to my high school reunion it is that if a person was a jerk 35 years ago, the chances are excellent that they are still a jerk, no matter what the occasion or situation. That doesn’t take a lot of insight, but sometimes you might feel that people can mellow a bit with age. I found that wasn’t the case. What I did find was that my sense of recognition of people wasn’t hampered at all with age. The names and faces came to me easily, as did the forgotten stories of some of the dumber things I had done in my youth. I know, I know, that list seems to get longer and longer. Another thing that occurred to me after chatting with a number of my classmates and other graduating classes was that if a meteor streaked out of the sky and slammed into the dinner tent we were congregated in, half the international bankers of Canadian origin would perish. That and a corresponding number of dark blue suits.
I had worried that I might end up staring at a person as they were greeting me as a long lost friend (which I guess I was) and having zero recall of who this person was. Fortunately there were still some synaptic snaps left in my brain to put A and B together. I was able to navigate below the age lines, receding hair and expanding waistlines to positively identify all my classmates who made it. I am not sure if I have changed a great deal, besides the aforementioned physical changes everyone goes through, but there were some cryptic looks at me until a light seemed to go on in their minds. Maybe all my white hair just threw them or maybe it was because I am not the waifish 110 pounds that I once was.
Physical changes were not to only thing to have been affected over the years. My somewhat encyclopedic memory of music, books and other apparently worthless information has now taken on more of a thesaurus-like memory. No longer do the facts spill out in a constant stream of positive invectives. Now it seems I can’t quite lay my finger on the definitive facts, but more on the related, similar facts.
The other day I was sitting in a doctors’ office reading one of his current Time magazine issues from the late 1970’s and heard a song on the radio. Normally I would have known the song, the artist and at least some obscure fact. The tune was from a particular era of music that I didn’t really like. It wasn’t disco, but it wasn’t much better. It was of the big hair era of the early 1980’s. I recognized the song right away, “Hold Me Now” and remarked to myself that I hadn’t heard that song in a long time. Fortunately, I replied. “I wonder what ever happened to that band? And that band was….”. This is when the thesaurus and not the encyclopedia kicked in. My mind went through the most immediate of options, the band was sort of like Spandau Ballet… maybe more like Tears for Fears? a-ha, do you think? I looked over at my wife who was waiting with me and asked her if she remembered the name of the band who was singing that song. She looked at me in a way that only wives can and said, “We are in a doctors’ office… for matters regarding our health…. and you are wondering about the name of a band of a song you don’t really like?” She does have a way with succinctness.
Instead of dwelling on health matters, I wracked my brain trying to remember. I tried all of the mnemonic tricks that I could think of, well at least the ones I could remember. I visualized the band in my minds eye, hair sticking up about a mile from the top of their heads, the chorus kept running over and over again through my mind, but yet the name just wasn’t coming to me. It was only on our way home that it hit me. Out of nowhere, like a fog lifting, curtains parting, a bolt of lightning igniting the awareness in my cortex…. The Thompson Twins! Of course the Thompson Twins, how could I not remember them? They of really big hair, a trio named after the detectives Thomson and Thompson in the comic, “Adventures of Tintin”. It was only after I reveled in the satisfaction of finally remembering that I could settle into any sort of smugness. This trivia stuff can be hard work.
There really doesn’t seem to be a cure for this degradation of my memory, well there is, but that option is rather final and I have been trying to make death not a reasonable alternative. It hasn’t really affected my life in anyway, I mean it is not as though I have ever made a lot of money or had a career out of knowing stuff that most normal people don’t really commit a lot of time to. I guess perhaps I could look on the bright side of things, even though my memory has slipped from encyclopedic to thesaurus-like at least I haven’t reached the third grade primer… yet.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Life Lessons - Mouth Editor
Life could be described as a series of lessons. Things that you can learn from and hopefully evolve into a wiser, more rounded person. Sometimes these lessons enhance your life and sometimes they are there just to smack you upside the head. Most of the smacks that I have experienced, have happened to me because I don't have a personal editor with me 24/7. In writing I have days, even weeks to think through what I will write. If my judgment is slightly off or if I may be misunderstood, I usually do a few revisions before other people read what I write and then after careful and thoughtful consideration, I can then safely make a fool of myself.
When I was younger, I was known for being painfully shy. Most children are naturally a little shy and will peek out from behind their Mommy after a little prodding, but me? I would have preferred to stay hidden all of time. The more that people noticed my shyness and blushing, the more intense and uncomfortable it became. Being blonde and fair-skinned, didn't help either. Sometimes, the idea of falling into an endless hole in the ground was more appealing than raising my eyes. Part and parcel of this, was my quietness. There were many reasons why I didn't vocalize very much. First and foremost, I was the youngest of five kids and never really given an opportunity to speak. But more importantly, I didn't think other people would really understand what I was thinking. To me, a lot of it was really funny stuff and that is when I first became aware of editing what you say. Many times, in hind-sight, you really may have wished that the mouth editing control button was permanently turned on. Sometimes odd thoughts sneak out and people look at you a little strange. But for the most part, I kept silent and laughed internally. It was only later in life, that I found center stage wasn't so bad after all.
A short time ago, I was walking home from work, just enjoying the nice weather. Our neighborhood has more than its' share of dogs, but we rarely, if ever, have a problem with dogs running wild. They are usually escorted on a leash by their owners. In their hands, they carry the required small plastic bags to clean up after their animals. That day, there was a parade of dogs and owners walking up the sidewalk. In the midst of this, came a woman, pushing a wheel barrow with a large orange plastic yard bag and a shovel in it. The first thing that flashed through my mind was, "God, I would hate to see your dog!" Fortunately, the mouth editor stopped me before I said anything, but I did have a huge smile on my face and just mumbled something about fine weather as I passed her.
Just the other week, my family and I were walking downtown to do a little shopping. We passed many people that were looking for handouts, a few playing guitars and singing, some of them were quite good. But, the one that was most memorable was far from even remotely good. She stood on the corner randomly strumming her guitar and sang in a voice that sounded like someone gave strychnine to a cat. I felt compelled to pay her to stop that tortured wailing. But before I did another guy walked up to and her and must have asked her to stop because her intensity grew even louder and more (if possible) maniacal. It was at that point I wished that other guy would have exercised some self editing. It took us almost a block to get out of the range of hearing. It took me that long to realize that she was singing, "Rocky Mountain High".
I have always had a tendency, some say more of an irritation, to attempt to correct a word or phrase that someone used incorrectly. An example of this was, for years my wife used the word "bought" instead of "brought". It was only a small thing but I thought if I have to spend eternity with her if I didn't do something it could drive me crazy. So time and again I corrected her hoping that the change would eventually take hold. After a few years, it finally did. But curiosity did get the best of me and I asked her where she picked up such a bad habit. Turns out, she picked it up from her Dad. This is where I learned a life lesson. I said "Just because your Dad said it, that doesn't mean that it is right". After picking myself up off the ground and checking for any open wounds, I realized maybe I should keep my thoughts for the most part right where I can keep my eye on them. Locked firmly in my brain.
So what are the life lessons learned? Well, "let a sleeping dog lie" or, "when confronted by the banshee woman, don't make it worse than it already is", kind of pops to mind. "Discretion is the better part of valor", is another. It is sometimes better to keep your funny thoughts to yourself because no one is as funny as you are to yourself. But most importantly, never, but never, use the words "your Dad" and "wrong" in the same sentence.
When I was younger, I was known for being painfully shy. Most children are naturally a little shy and will peek out from behind their Mommy after a little prodding, but me? I would have preferred to stay hidden all of time. The more that people noticed my shyness and blushing, the more intense and uncomfortable it became. Being blonde and fair-skinned, didn't help either. Sometimes, the idea of falling into an endless hole in the ground was more appealing than raising my eyes. Part and parcel of this, was my quietness. There were many reasons why I didn't vocalize very much. First and foremost, I was the youngest of five kids and never really given an opportunity to speak. But more importantly, I didn't think other people would really understand what I was thinking. To me, a lot of it was really funny stuff and that is when I first became aware of editing what you say. Many times, in hind-sight, you really may have wished that the mouth editing control button was permanently turned on. Sometimes odd thoughts sneak out and people look at you a little strange. But for the most part, I kept silent and laughed internally. It was only later in life, that I found center stage wasn't so bad after all.
A short time ago, I was walking home from work, just enjoying the nice weather. Our neighborhood has more than its' share of dogs, but we rarely, if ever, have a problem with dogs running wild. They are usually escorted on a leash by their owners. In their hands, they carry the required small plastic bags to clean up after their animals. That day, there was a parade of dogs and owners walking up the sidewalk. In the midst of this, came a woman, pushing a wheel barrow with a large orange plastic yard bag and a shovel in it. The first thing that flashed through my mind was, "God, I would hate to see your dog!" Fortunately, the mouth editor stopped me before I said anything, but I did have a huge smile on my face and just mumbled something about fine weather as I passed her.
Just the other week, my family and I were walking downtown to do a little shopping. We passed many people that were looking for handouts, a few playing guitars and singing, some of them were quite good. But, the one that was most memorable was far from even remotely good. She stood on the corner randomly strumming her guitar and sang in a voice that sounded like someone gave strychnine to a cat. I felt compelled to pay her to stop that tortured wailing. But before I did another guy walked up to and her and must have asked her to stop because her intensity grew even louder and more (if possible) maniacal. It was at that point I wished that other guy would have exercised some self editing. It took us almost a block to get out of the range of hearing. It took me that long to realize that she was singing, "Rocky Mountain High".
I have always had a tendency, some say more of an irritation, to attempt to correct a word or phrase that someone used incorrectly. An example of this was, for years my wife used the word "bought" instead of "brought". It was only a small thing but I thought if I have to spend eternity with her if I didn't do something it could drive me crazy. So time and again I corrected her hoping that the change would eventually take hold. After a few years, it finally did. But curiosity did get the best of me and I asked her where she picked up such a bad habit. Turns out, she picked it up from her Dad. This is where I learned a life lesson. I said "Just because your Dad said it, that doesn't mean that it is right". After picking myself up off the ground and checking for any open wounds, I realized maybe I should keep my thoughts for the most part right where I can keep my eye on them. Locked firmly in my brain.
So what are the life lessons learned? Well, "let a sleeping dog lie" or, "when confronted by the banshee woman, don't make it worse than it already is", kind of pops to mind. "Discretion is the better part of valor", is another. It is sometimes better to keep your funny thoughts to yourself because no one is as funny as you are to yourself. But most importantly, never, but never, use the words "your Dad" and "wrong" in the same sentence.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
State of the Economy - Messy
Unbridled greed has been targeted as one of the main reason’s for the global economic situation we are in. Both Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin and Chinese Premier Wen Jiabo at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland recently blamed the United States pursuit of profit as the main reason for this economic downturn. That in itself is a simplistic response but there is some truth in that accusation. Over the past decade or so proponents and critics of Wall St. have quoted the fictional character Gordon Gecko as saying, “Greed is good” as some sort of mantra that this is the way things are meant to be. But what he actually said was “Greed, for the lack of a better word, is good.” (Italics are mine). An ocean of difference in my opinion. But was greed what drove the economic engine to grind to a halt? It certainly was a factor, the pursuit of money at all costs is an intoxicating beverage. Even if you take the relative penny ante of most investors, the scent of earning more and more money can cloud the better judgment of all involved and that includes investors who wanted a higher and higher rate of return on their investment without considering the corresponding risk.
There is an element of moral responsibility when dealing in the financial industry whether this is balancing the needs of the client to the needs of generating revenue right down to having a sense of “doing the right thing”. An example of moral responsibility gone AWOL could be Richard Arens, a mercantile trader for a one man brokerage company named ABS on the New York Mercantile Exchange. This was the man who everyone ought to hate. On January 2 2008 it was he who was alleged to have been the first to make a trade for a barrel of oil which broke the $100.00 barrier. He bought the minimum 1,000 barrels at a cost of .47 more per barrel than what was currently being traded on the floor. He did end up the day with a loss of 600.00 and made the trade so he would be able to tell his grandchildren that he was the first to pay 100.00 for a barrel of oil. Some kind of legacy. On the basis of accounting for every barrel of oil that was bought, sold, produced or shipped at that time, which numbers about 85, 000,000 barrels a day in the US, that single action increased the value of oil by more than $40,000,000. All this done with an investment of a margin deposit of $6,750. Within 7 months the price of crude rose to a high of 147.27 before settling back down. Was this the case of supply and demand which is the usual cornerstone of pricing or the result of targeted speculation? Considering how a simple $6,750 investment increased the value of oil by $40,000,000 is it too hard to imagine how prices would be affected by people with even deeper pockets?
It is difficult to lay all our problems at the feet of speculators, however enticing it may be. There were other factors all coming together, all interrelated, all commingled on the same messy economic plate. Sub-prime mortgages are a place to start, but they were rather an offspring of some behind the bushes derivative shenanigans. Papers were packaged and repackaged so often and frequently that even their mothers wouldn’t recognize them. Hedge funds? What started out as an investment tool to “hedge” your bets against risk, soon became the depository of high risk/high yield investments. It is rumored that a group of hedge fund managers were the wizards behind the levers which pulled Bear Stearns down, a company that had 8 Billion dollars in cash reserves before rumors of liquidity problems began circulating through the industry. At this point it appeared that the world was not enough to feed the appetite of some traders, they started to eat their own.
This situation is unfortunately not easily solved either domestically or internationally. The markets have become global in nature and with the complex weave of papers flying around the world, it is difficult to unravel what this mess has become. Many companies are now blaming a “broken model of business” as a source of their woes. The auto sector is particularly fond of this expression. It is as though they were following a rule book as to how to operate a business and when the nature of the marketplace changed and went beyond the circumstances described in their business model, all hell broke loose. Forgive me for intimating this but someone who earns a few million dollars a year for their business acumen should be able to do more than follow a recipe.
The list of reasons for this situation are as endless as they are complicating, but the end result is the same, we are in a hell of a mess economically. The solutions are as varied and diametrically opposed as their ideologies. Whether to take a Conservative/Republican point of view that less government involvement the better or the Liberal/Democratic slant that governmental intervention is the be all and end all can be argued up and down until the pundits are blue in the face. But one thing is certain, one of them will win out over the other and history will show if it was the right choice.
There is an element of moral responsibility when dealing in the financial industry whether this is balancing the needs of the client to the needs of generating revenue right down to having a sense of “doing the right thing”. An example of moral responsibility gone AWOL could be Richard Arens, a mercantile trader for a one man brokerage company named ABS on the New York Mercantile Exchange. This was the man who everyone ought to hate. On January 2 2008 it was he who was alleged to have been the first to make a trade for a barrel of oil which broke the $100.00 barrier. He bought the minimum 1,000 barrels at a cost of .47 more per barrel than what was currently being traded on the floor. He did end up the day with a loss of 600.00 and made the trade so he would be able to tell his grandchildren that he was the first to pay 100.00 for a barrel of oil. Some kind of legacy. On the basis of accounting for every barrel of oil that was bought, sold, produced or shipped at that time, which numbers about 85, 000,000 barrels a day in the US, that single action increased the value of oil by more than $40,000,000. All this done with an investment of a margin deposit of $6,750. Within 7 months the price of crude rose to a high of 147.27 before settling back down. Was this the case of supply and demand which is the usual cornerstone of pricing or the result of targeted speculation? Considering how a simple $6,750 investment increased the value of oil by $40,000,000 is it too hard to imagine how prices would be affected by people with even deeper pockets?
It is difficult to lay all our problems at the feet of speculators, however enticing it may be. There were other factors all coming together, all interrelated, all commingled on the same messy economic plate. Sub-prime mortgages are a place to start, but they were rather an offspring of some behind the bushes derivative shenanigans. Papers were packaged and repackaged so often and frequently that even their mothers wouldn’t recognize them. Hedge funds? What started out as an investment tool to “hedge” your bets against risk, soon became the depository of high risk/high yield investments. It is rumored that a group of hedge fund managers were the wizards behind the levers which pulled Bear Stearns down, a company that had 8 Billion dollars in cash reserves before rumors of liquidity problems began circulating through the industry. At this point it appeared that the world was not enough to feed the appetite of some traders, they started to eat their own.
This situation is unfortunately not easily solved either domestically or internationally. The markets have become global in nature and with the complex weave of papers flying around the world, it is difficult to unravel what this mess has become. Many companies are now blaming a “broken model of business” as a source of their woes. The auto sector is particularly fond of this expression. It is as though they were following a rule book as to how to operate a business and when the nature of the marketplace changed and went beyond the circumstances described in their business model, all hell broke loose. Forgive me for intimating this but someone who earns a few million dollars a year for their business acumen should be able to do more than follow a recipe.
The list of reasons for this situation are as endless as they are complicating, but the end result is the same, we are in a hell of a mess economically. The solutions are as varied and diametrically opposed as their ideologies. Whether to take a Conservative/Republican point of view that less government involvement the better or the Liberal/Democratic slant that governmental intervention is the be all and end all can be argued up and down until the pundits are blue in the face. But one thing is certain, one of them will win out over the other and history will show if it was the right choice.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Friends
I was thinking about important friends are. Some say that family ties are the most important relationships in your life and it is hard to argue that point. In fact, the phrase, "blood is thicker than water" certainly lends credence to this. Where this phrase came from, I don't know, but according to phrase scholars it apparently alludes to the fact that water evaporates without leaving a trace, whereas blood leaves a stain. So in other words, family is like dirty laundry. Now we are getting to something that even I can understand.
What brought this thought on was not me questioning my family relationship, either immediate or extended. I am happy to say that it has been many months since I wanted to change my last name and move to Honduras to tend sheep. It was more of my thoughts about my friends and how really important they are in my life. There is nothing better for the ego than to have a close friend tell you the real truth, something that most family members sugar-coat and tap dance around until you forget what it was about.
I feel horrible admitting this, but some of the funniest moments I have spent with friends had them being the brunt of some form of discomfort. Not anything bad, mind you, just enough to make a situation unbearably funny. An example was years ago when I was moving my apartment and like all good friends, Paul agreed to help me. There was just the two of us doing all the work and I had recently been given a sofa bed. I must note that we were both quite young and inexperienced in the ways of moving. It was our first experience in moving a piece of furniture such as this and were unaware of the killer instincts that are the nature of a fold out couch. This was a lesson that neither of us has ever forgotten.
I was moving into an old beautiful building, a third floor unit overlooking the park. We were up to the second floor when the couch opened up. I was on the upper part of the stairs and Paul was on the lower portion. I remember feeling the bed flipping open and as I looked up, I saw the frame of the bed portion had caught him just under his chin, pinning him to the wall. He had this look of confusion on his face which was compounded by an inability to utter a single word as the bed pressed against his neck. He had been lifted off his feet like Mr. Atlas did to the bully on the beach. I could hear his feet kicking weakly against the wall as he tried to gain some sort of foothold. You would have thought I would have sprung into action. I knew he needed help and tried as I may, I couldn’t summon the strength to react in a helpful manner. As I struggled with the weight of the furniture, now wildly out of control, every time I looked up, I could see Paul looking at me beseechingly. I couldn’t help myself, I kept breaking out in laughter. Not mere laughter, tears rolling down my face laughter. Laughter that zapped my strength, I was hopeless and helpless with laughter, arms and legs like wet spaghetti. I did manage to scramble over the couch in short order, but as Paul attested to later, I was not nearly as fast as I should have been. In fact, his first words were something to the effect of what was so funny? I couldn’t even attempt to articulate what was so funny then and I still find it almost impossible to articulate now. But it remains as fresh and as funny as the day it happened. I sometimes wonder if Paul still has such fond memories of my moving day as I do.
Friends really are, I guess, a matter of choosing and individual preference. But why is it that sometimes even the most polar of opposites can end up being friends for life? Is there some germ of connectivity that somehow we consciously or unconsciously are able to determine who would be a friend? Why is it that at one stage of your life it is more important who your friends are and not what they are? Maybe this is an age thing, but what your friends stand for, by far outstrips any social status they may have. Why is it that no matter what has happened in your life, negative or positive there is still a friend who will support you without question. I am not implying that family wouldn’t be there, they would. I think in even the most dysfunctional family there is still that familial obligation. But someone from outside the family does have options. To me that stands for a lot and that is why at this time of year I have been thinking of my friends a lot. There are no cute phrases about friends just being strangers we haven’t meet. A friend is not an acquaintance. A friend is beyond that and beyond words. A friend is well, a friend for life.
I hope this little story about Paul doesn’t make you think twice about helping me the next time I need to move. Really, I have matured a lot over the years.
What brought this thought on was not me questioning my family relationship, either immediate or extended. I am happy to say that it has been many months since I wanted to change my last name and move to Honduras to tend sheep. It was more of my thoughts about my friends and how really important they are in my life. There is nothing better for the ego than to have a close friend tell you the real truth, something that most family members sugar-coat and tap dance around until you forget what it was about.
I feel horrible admitting this, but some of the funniest moments I have spent with friends had them being the brunt of some form of discomfort. Not anything bad, mind you, just enough to make a situation unbearably funny. An example was years ago when I was moving my apartment and like all good friends, Paul agreed to help me. There was just the two of us doing all the work and I had recently been given a sofa bed. I must note that we were both quite young and inexperienced in the ways of moving. It was our first experience in moving a piece of furniture such as this and were unaware of the killer instincts that are the nature of a fold out couch. This was a lesson that neither of us has ever forgotten.
I was moving into an old beautiful building, a third floor unit overlooking the park. We were up to the second floor when the couch opened up. I was on the upper part of the stairs and Paul was on the lower portion. I remember feeling the bed flipping open and as I looked up, I saw the frame of the bed portion had caught him just under his chin, pinning him to the wall. He had this look of confusion on his face which was compounded by an inability to utter a single word as the bed pressed against his neck. He had been lifted off his feet like Mr. Atlas did to the bully on the beach. I could hear his feet kicking weakly against the wall as he tried to gain some sort of foothold. You would have thought I would have sprung into action. I knew he needed help and tried as I may, I couldn’t summon the strength to react in a helpful manner. As I struggled with the weight of the furniture, now wildly out of control, every time I looked up, I could see Paul looking at me beseechingly. I couldn’t help myself, I kept breaking out in laughter. Not mere laughter, tears rolling down my face laughter. Laughter that zapped my strength, I was hopeless and helpless with laughter, arms and legs like wet spaghetti. I did manage to scramble over the couch in short order, but as Paul attested to later, I was not nearly as fast as I should have been. In fact, his first words were something to the effect of what was so funny? I couldn’t even attempt to articulate what was so funny then and I still find it almost impossible to articulate now. But it remains as fresh and as funny as the day it happened. I sometimes wonder if Paul still has such fond memories of my moving day as I do.
Friends really are, I guess, a matter of choosing and individual preference. But why is it that sometimes even the most polar of opposites can end up being friends for life? Is there some germ of connectivity that somehow we consciously or unconsciously are able to determine who would be a friend? Why is it that at one stage of your life it is more important who your friends are and not what they are? Maybe this is an age thing, but what your friends stand for, by far outstrips any social status they may have. Why is it that no matter what has happened in your life, negative or positive there is still a friend who will support you without question. I am not implying that family wouldn’t be there, they would. I think in even the most dysfunctional family there is still that familial obligation. But someone from outside the family does have options. To me that stands for a lot and that is why at this time of year I have been thinking of my friends a lot. There are no cute phrases about friends just being strangers we haven’t meet. A friend is not an acquaintance. A friend is beyond that and beyond words. A friend is well, a friend for life.
I hope this little story about Paul doesn’t make you think twice about helping me the next time I need to move. Really, I have matured a lot over the years.
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