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....

« Exodus from the Eurozone Debt Crisis | Main | Crazy American »
Monday
Jan302012

The Fed’s Rain Dance at the Bottom of the Stairs

Apparently, Charles Plosser, president of the Philadelphia Fed, had failed to check with his handlers when he said on CNBC that the Fed might have to raise short-term interest rates later this year—from practically zero to almost zero, I guess—though just a few days earlier, the Federal Open Markets Committee had announced the extension of its zero-interest-rate policy (ZIRP) through late 2014.

We’ve been getting the same song and dance from the Fed about its "highly accommodative” monetary policy and "exceptionally low" interest rates since 2009. And by now we've been programmed to believe that extensions will continue ad infinitum, despite some dissenting voices here and there. In the process, the country has become hooked on low interest rates, and even the idea of raising them, or the mere mention of it, causes bouts of painful withdrawal symptoms.

At first, the expectation was that the “exceptionally low” rates would last 6 months, but now it's been three years, and three more years have already been added to the schedule, so six years in total, and soon, it'll be 20 years, à la Japanese, which isn’t exactly the paragon of a healthy economy. While there are cosmetic differences between the two, they do share ZIRP, out-of-control budget deficits, a ballooning national debt, and a political refusal to deal with reality—aided and abetted by a central bank.

It's an ugly situation. Short-term treasury yields are at practically zero, 5-year yields hit a new all-time low of 0.71%, and even 30-year yields dipped below 3%. Savings accounts, money market funds, and short-term CDs yield just about nothing. Yet inflation was 3% in 2011. The many trillions of dollars that individuals, institutions, and countries hold in these assets are slowly being ground down by inflation, but without compensation in form of yield. Financial repression. And the largest slo-mo ripoff in the history of mankind. For more on that whole debacle, and for good laugh, read.... Dear Ben, Please Print Us More Money.

Wages have not kept up with inflation either, not since the wage peak of 2000. Every number hammers home that point.... Oh wait. Not every number. Personal income increased 0.5% in December, according to today’s report by the Bureau of Economic Analysis. This coincided with a flatish December PCE inflation indicator, giving workers the first real wage increase in many months. Last week, the Bureau of Labor Statistics reported a similar phenomenon: a rise in hourly earnings of 0.2% in December and a flat CPI. Real wages increased! A rare event that should be celebrated around the country with a good American brew.

But for the year, real wages were still down 0.9%. For production and non-supervisory workers, the lower echelons of the labor force, real wages for the year were down 1.6%. So, one month hasn’t solved the problem yet. Yet it shows the beneficial effect of taking inflation out of the equation: real wages actually rise. A few months of this, and who knows—consumers might actually buy something with this extra money without having to borrow from the future.

NO, said the Fed, panicking at the mere thought of rising real wages. There shall be no break for workers. Real wages aren’t low enough yet. And so the Fed announced an inflation target: no less than 2% as measured by its low-ball PCE inflation index. So, closer to a CPI of 3.0%. Plenty of inflation to bring down real wages and demolish entire categories of investors, but not so much as to cause a revolt—in the hope that it would stimulate the economy? It’s a rain dance at the bottom of the stairs.

They misjudged the inexplicable American consumer. Consumer optimism, an oxymoron in the current climate, has been rising from morose multi-year lows in August to levels not seen since, well, May. And it whipped hope into a froth: rising confidence would pump up spending, which would pump up everything else. But the toughest creature out there that no one has been able to subdue yet, has other plans.... The Inexplicable American Consumer Strikes Back.

Reader Comments (6)

Dropping real wages is a scandal. On the flip side, if they drop enough, American workers will be competitive with those in cheap countries, but it won't be fun.
January 31, 2012 | Unregistered CommenterPat
In a "normal" world, we save, which is postponing current consumption for future consumption. This frees up resources that can be invested in capital which leads to meeting that future consumption with more goods and services since a higher capital base makes labor more productive. The interest rate plays a key role. It determines how much people want to save for future consumtion and at the same time determine which capital project soceity should undertake to meet that future consumption. When the central bank intervenes and sets interest rates, it destroys the functioning of the most important pice in an economy. Prices in a capitalist economy help determine where societies resources should be allocated to meet societies needs. When the central bank sets inteerst rates it completely screws up this critical funtion of price. Since entrepreneurs know the central bank is intervening, they can no longer use the price function of interest rates to decide which is the best investments to undertake. So much for monetarist and keynesianism!
January 31, 2012 | Unregistered CommenterFrank H
Frank - Agree! And a step further. Since the Fed is also buying select assets in large quantities, it tilts demand for these and other assets (therefore valuations) in bizarre directions. There is no free credit market any longer, and price discovery is impossible. Japan has completely mastered that game. Even if it gets downgraded to BB someday, 10-year JGBs will still yield around 1% if the BoJ and MoF so choose. The Fed is in the process of doing the same. And there will be no way back to free markets. It's a one-way street.
January 31, 2012 | Unregistered CommenterWolf
Frank- Most people arent aware that the federal reserve is a privately owned cartel of bankers. Sort of like if you owned las vegas sands & you could write your own rules, set the interest rates, decide on the m1, and decide when you're going to prop up the dollar, sell dollars, or create additiona-house always winsl. The fed has low interest rates, because all of the banking cartel, is getting basically free money, created out of nothing, fiat after bretton woods 1 & 2, where they print it, do what they please, sent 16 trillion (our gdp is 12 trillion) of our money overseas, while we (the american people) get the invoice and the debt, while we pay it back to the treasury, so that the feds can make more loans when they please. The ultimate end-game, is "bailout", too big to fail. We pay. If you take an hour to listen to this video, you'll have a good intro into this world.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lu_VqX6J93k
February 4, 2012 | Unregistered CommenterChuck
Albert Fall, the only Cabinet officer to find himself in jail, did so for accepting a one million dollar interest free loan (this was the Teapot Dome Scandal) What we have now is the Fed doling out trillion dollar loans, virtually interest-free to the very banks that own it and not one f*cking financial journalist picks up on it. This makes Teapot look like a pee-pot: criminality raised to an additional nine powers of ten.
When Ben Bernanke waxed poetic about using helicopters top drop bales of money onto a crippled economy, he never mentioned that they would be only hovering over the banks- and when was the last time one of them offered anyone a 0.1% APR loan? The fact is as they have become all-the-much-too-bigger-tofail, they have become ever more arrogant about abusing customers, from swipe fees to "consultation fees" for the privilege of speaking to a teller.
Every one of the new trillions in debt created by Congress and enabled into being by gthe Fed's monetizing this debt is counted as a dollar of GDP- equated with growth. This is how Roger Lowenstein and The Atlantic could post Help Ben's fuzzy smiling face on the cover with th headline "He saved the Global Economy"
March 13, 2012 | Unregistered CommenterRobert
Robert - Financial journalists aren't allowed to talk about it. They work for big companies (like GE, for example) that have received money from the Fed. But that's why there are bloggers.
March 13, 2012 | Registered CommenterWolf Richter

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