Recent Publications
The Softer Side

Artist: Tomoko Ikeda
Title: Pensive Traveler
Owner: moi

I'm a total fan of her work. I even made it to one of her Exhibitions in Ginza, Tokyo—I was the only dude who didn't speak Japanese (well, I speak some, but not enough). Check out her website. 


In 2009, she published a beautiful photographic book of her doll art collection, Scenery of Time.

DEBTOR NATION

National Debt 1960-2011

MY NEW BOOK....

How I lost my moorings in Tokyo. Read Chapters 1 & 2.

@Ronnie_Baker: Genuinely funny, entertaining & well written. Highly recommended.

@lothisoft: Great read, got very sad towards the end but what a fantastic finish. Are you writing a sequel?

Buy it at Amazon.com

 

 

Chapter 1 ♦ AIRMAIL FROM AFTERLIFE

1976

One rainy summer day, I packed my backpack and went to America. I was seventeen. I knew what I was doing: I was escaping from the debacle at home. And I was looking for something. For what exactly, I didn’t know, but I’d go look for it in America. There, the heat burned in my nostrils. Lawns were brown. Cars were big and air-conditioned. Girls went gaga over my accent. Guys thought I was cool. And I fell in love with it all.
          Three years later, I was paying my way through college in Texas when the notion of home, distant and convoluted as it had become, blew up with gratuitous violence. A Boeing had crashed into a mountain in Turkey, killing all 155 people aboard. I heard about it on the radio. But I didn’t connect the dots.
          A few days later, I found a message from the operator in my campus PO Box. Telegram, call Western Union, it said. I called from one of the pay phones. My heart was pounding in my temples, and I had trouble hearing the lady on the other end.
          “I’d read it to you,” she said. “But it’s in German. I think you better come by and get it.”
          “I’m fixing to go to work. Can’t you try to read it to me?”
          “Oh dear.”
          “Is it long?”
          “Two lines.”
          “Can you spell it?”
          “Well, I guess I could. Are you ready?”
          I pulled out a notepad and pen. “Ready,” I said, though I knew that I wasn’t ready, that I’d never be ready for whatever she was about to spell.
          “E-L-T-E-R-N new word,” she said, “A-M new word M-O-N-T-A-G new word M-I-T new word F-L-U-G-Z-E-U-G new word I-N new word D-E-R new word T-U-R-K-E-I—”
          “Stop! Please.” I couldn’t write anymore. Parents on Monday with plane in Turkey.... German sentences, even in abbreviated telegram style, had the main verb at the end, but I didn’t want to hear the main verb, didn’t want to hear it spelled out letter by torturous letter. “Thank you. That’s enough.”
          I’d escaped the debacle at home and had gone as far away as possible. But this wasn’t what I’d had in mind. I stood there in a daze, brain deadlocked, numb, clutching the receiver, drowning in abysmal emotions.
          Then I went to work. It was just a part-time job, but now I needed the money more than ever. Afterward, I drove to the Western Union office and picked up the yellow slip of paper with twelve lines of all-caps alphanumeric gibberish and two lines of readable text. It was from my sister, sent from the town where she was staying with friends. But it didn’t include their phone number. And my brother was on vacation somewhere. So there was no way to reach him either.

Next....

TESTOSTERONE PIT, the novel

Wolf Richter

Chapter 1    Circle Jerk

It was Saturday, the biggest day of the week, and everyone was working bell to bell, over forty salesmen, though Ferronickel didn’t know exactly how many he had because some hadn’t shown up and might have started selling cars some other place, and because he’d hired a bunch of new guys an hour ago.

“It’s a beautiful day,” he sang in a basso profundo voice as he marched across the showroom in his asymmetric gait. He was the general sales manager at the Ford Superstore. His Tabasco Sauce tie was loosened, his collar unbuttoned. His gut that hung over his belt strained his shirt. He had puffy eyes and was full of mean energy, ready to explode, ready to force things to happen. He blew out the door, came to a halt on the porch that surrounded the showroom on three sides, and lit a cigarette.

Al Millikin, one of his four sales managers and perhaps the best closer in town, was watching Mad Boxer work a customer on the truck lot. Potential deal.

“Why can’t he bring that guy inside and write him up?” Ferronickel said.

“He ought to tell him we got free pussy on the showroom,” Millikin said.

“Don’t give me any ideas for our next live remote.”

“Come to think of it, that would be a hell of a lot more effective than the classical rock-and-roll shit we’ve been doing.”

“For our male customers.”

“We could alternate. Free pussy one day, free Godiva chocolates the next. We’d have both ends of the spectrum covered.”

“You’re a fucking Einstein, Millikin.”

Reginald Pierce, another sales manager, a big guy with a shortish Afro, was jumpy and his eyes darted about. He fretted about Whacker Packer, Hackman Jones, JoAnn Delouche, and several other salesmen who’d formed a dope ring by the plate-glass window. If left alone, they’d make up rumors, complain about dealership coffee, and infect each other with morale problems. He singled out a young guy.

“Freddie T, are you going to participate in a circle jerk?” he growled. They called him Freddie T because of his unpronounceable Greek last name. “Or are you going to sell something?”

It startled them; they’d forgotten all about selling. And they drifted apart.

Lou Massago gesticulated on the phone in one of the closing booths. He wore a white button-down shirt, a red and blue tie, slacks, and ostrich-skin boots. A scar curved upward from the right corner of his mouth, giving him a lopsided grin even when he was serious. His eyes were set close together and peered out from under his bushy eyebrows with ferocious intensity. But he had a soft voice when he wanted to, and now he wanted to because he was talking to a customer about a 15-passenger van that had come out of the rental fleet. There were ten of them. They were scratched and dented and had too many miles on them, and they were overpriced, and no one could sell them, but he was king of sales, and if he could sell them, it would prove he could sell anything.

He hated working the phone. He needed his customers in front of him, needed to stare into the whites of their eyes. But no one had sold any of those vans yet, and to prove he was king of sales and could sell anything, he’d decided to sell them all. Besides, the Saturday rush hadn’t begun yet, and calling old customers was more productive than standing around waiting for something to happen.

Next....

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Friday
Jan202012

Austrian Central Bank: Bribery, Kickbacks, Money Laundering

Two central bank governors in Europe have gotten into hot water recently: Philipp Hildebrand, as chairman of the Swiss National Bank (SNB); and Ewald Nowotny, as governor of the Austrian National Bank (OeNB) and member of the ECB’s governing council. Hildebrand resigned after he tried to brush off an insider-trading scandal that is still making headlines in Switzerland; Nowotny is clinging to his jobs though he is tangled up in a criminal bribery, kickback, and money-laundering scandal involving Syria and Azerbaijan. But finally a major politician—though possibly the wrong one—called for his resignation.

“He is, in my opinion, ripe to resign,” Heinz-Christian Strache announced at a press conference on January 17 (YouTube). He is the top honcho of the right-wing populist Freedom Party of Austria (FPÖ) that currently has 18.5% of the seats at the National Council. Among his three reasons: Nowotny “failed completely” as top supervisor “in his own house.”

The scandal has been brewing for months. On November 28, the office of the state prosecutor in Vienna announced that the criminal prosecution had been expanded to over 20 suspects, including six current directors of the OeNB, among them Governor Ewald Nowotny, Vice Governor Wolfgang Duchatczek, and Director Peter Zöllner. Four people had already been arrested.

At the center is a subsidiary of the OeNB, the Oesterreichische Banknoten- und Sicherheitsdruck GmbH (OeBS). It prints money, literally. And it has been soliciting bank-note deals from foreign governments since 2000. According to the prosecution, OeBS paid €17 million in bribes to Syrian officials to obtain orders from the Syrian government. Payments were routed to offshore outfits, such as the Panamanian mailbox company Venkoy, whose representatives were in Switzerland. The prosecutor is further investigating €1.7 million in kickbacks that made their way back to Austria. Similar arrangements with Azerbaijan are also being investigated. Bits and pieces of the affair began to see the light of the day last June, when Austrian tax authorities raised questions about the deductibility of these payments.

Nowotny, Duchatczek, and Zöllner were accused of having known about the bribery of foreign public officials in connection with the acquisition of bank-note printing orders. The OeNB, of course, defended its directors: the accusations were based on statements by fired employees—implying that it’s nothing but a vendetta. Based on the information the directors had in front of them at the time, they’d assumed that the payments were for actual and legitimate services, and that the acquisition of orders complied with all applicable rules and laws, the OeNB said.

Alas, on November 9, the Vienna Kurier created a stir when it said that it had obtained a copy of the minutes of the OeNB Board of Directors meetings. And according to these minutes, the directors had known for years that millions of euros in bribes were being paid to acquire bank-note business from foreign governments.

For example, on March 24, 2010, the managing director of OeBS informed the OeNB board about a possible order from Azerbaijan for 150 million bank notes that carried a “commission” of 10%. How did the board react? “Duchatczek asked the managing director to initiate the acquisition activities so that the years 2011 and 2012 would be at capacity.”

The minutes show that over the years, Nowotny, Duchatczek, and their colleagues asked questions about various payments but then did nothing. For example, on December 15, 2008, Nowotny asked about the amount of a commission and the recipient in Azerbaijan. The managing director then “informed that there is a representative in Switzerland,” and that the commission would amount to 20% of the order. And that was that.

After the bribery of Syrian officials had first surfaced, along with €600,000 in “unusual expenses,” the OeNB tried to put out the brushfire and protect its directors by firing the managing director and the director of marketing at the OeBS (both were later arrested). Stated reason? An internal audit revealed “unlawful actions and withholding of information from the Supervisory Board.”

Maximum penalty for bribery in Austria is ten years in prison. But given the impunity with which top central bankers act, Nowotny might not even lose his job. How refreshing that the hullaballoo in Switzerland led to the quick resignation of the chairman of the SNB, though it might have few other consequences. Perhaps it has something to do with ownership. The SNB is a publicly traded corporation; entities like cantons hold 55% of its shares and individuals hold 45%—and they can put the SNB under pressure. Whereas the OeNB is owned entirely by the state.

Meanwhile, the battle over the ECB and the euro continues. “The fact that we profit massively from the euro doesn’t mean we have to accept every political horse-trade to save it,” said the president of Germany’s Association of Exporters—a swipe at Italy’s prime minister who’d demanded that Germans dig deeper into their pockets to bail out other countries. Now the German industrial elite are talking about an exit from the Eurozone. Read.... 'The Old Europe' Is 'Not an Option for Germany'

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