Early Signs, Vol. 2 - Plot

Sitting here watching my beloved SEC lay an egg on New Year's Day. Largely tuning out commercials, when an apparent news report catches my eye.

Reporter: "And this just in, a small commercial plane has just crash landed in an upscale subdivision."

Max Boom, from his upscale(ish) neighborhood, perks up.

Reporter: "Here we have pictures of several victims being wheeled into the ER."

Max Boom, noticing the perfect lighting and the all-white constiuency of the ER, notes to himself "Good one, ER, or Trauma, or whatever one of you cheeseball hospital dramas you are, you got me for all of 5 seconds. Buy your ad man a snowball or something." Returns to picking fingernails.

Deepvoiced network announcer: "So tune in to next week's Desperate Housewives to find out who is injured, who shows up to console the victims..." blah, blah, blah.

Look, it's a free country. People can and do tune into shows that I can't for the life of me figure out how an amoeba would find interesting. That's all fine.

The question is this-- If you are one of the gay men or bon bon eating true "desparate housewives" looking to indulge in a little fantasy "projection" TV experiences, what do the scriptwriters and the programmers think of you?

ABC Boardroomm CEO: "Wait, let me get this straight. You have a show about a bunch of adulterous women living in a small neighborhood. One of likely millions of similar neighborhoods across the country. And you're suggesting that anyone with even an elementary education will accept that a small commuter plane, the kind which maybe crashes into an occupied area once every couple of years, will actually crash into one of your 6 main characters' houses?"

Desparate Housewives Scriptwriter: "Yes sir, I do. With all do respect, you don't know our target audience like we do."

You, yeah, you acting in the next 5 minutes in order to get that 2nd sham-wow absolutely free-- they're lookin' at you.

North Dakota Banking

I have no idea why this doesn't get more press. North Dakota has its own bank. OK, big deal. Except that it is a big deal. It is the only state that has kept banking within its borders, and not gone national (note, Puerto Rico is not a state). It has kept the Federal Reserve's hands out of its banking sector. Bank accounts held with the Bank of North Dakota are not FDIC insured, and instead are insured by the state of North Dakota. All state and local government agencies are required to keep their reserves in the Bank of North Dakota.

What does this mean? It means that the state's monetary policies are not beholden to an entity that for all intents and purposes is based on Wall Street for the enrichment of Wall Street. OK, again, this is a big deal.

How does that manifest itself? For one, it's a lot more dialed in on its constituents' risk profiles. Because it's operations are generally confined to within state borders, you don't see it's loans being securitized and sold to pensions, sovereign wealth funds, etc.

In a nutshell, it's a safer system because the closer you can pair the banker with the borrower, the more accountability you have in the system. What's the result?

Admittedly it isn't far and away #1, and it seems those states in geographic proximity also fair generally well, but for sure its unemployment reflects reasonably prudant fiscal discipline. Best graphic I can find-- follow North Dakota vs. everyone else. Furthermore, I'm willing to bet that it continues to overachieve even against its neighbors over the next 12 months, as unemployment will almost certainly continue to climb nationally.

Hurricane!

Bonnie's Best: "...oom... ... in Boom... this is Bonnie's Best, come in General Boom..."
Max Boom: "General Boom here, go ahead."
Bonnie's Best: "We have a man down. Repeat, we have a man down."
Max Boom: "Copy. What's the situation?"
Bonnie's Best: "It was Early Bird. He was running point against Ida. He was under heavy fire from the west all day and just took a direct hit."





Max Boom: "Roger that, I'm on my way."
Bonnie's Best: "Negative, General. It's too dangerous. It's pouring. The wind. Save yourself!"
Max Boom: "We don't leave a man behind! Roma, thoughts?"
Roma: "It's too dangerous!"
Max Boom: "Enough! WE DON'T LEAVE A MAN BEHIND! Options?"
Roma: "We might be able to fashion a splint with the paint stirrer?"
Bonnie's Best: "We can possibly nail the splint to the base, and use tourniquets at the top. You'll be under heavy fire the whole time.
Max Boom: "OK, we have no choice. I'll give it a shot."
Better Boy: "General, it's too dangerous. Save yourself!"
Max Boom: "I have to try, damn it!"
Roma: "We're all pulling for you!"







Bonnie's Best: "Will...he...make it? Will the stake hold"
Roma: "Is Early Bird too badly injured? Will he see it through the night?"
Max Boom: "I don't know. I just don't know."

Halloween in the 'Burbs

"You doin' drumsticks this year?" Chip asked.
"You got fresh batteries for the witch's microphone?" I replied.

He smiled. As if either of us had a choice.

Living in a planned community has its pros and cons. As a man who needs his space, I think the cons probably outweigh the pros. That being written, Halloween is one of those few times of year where it's nice to be part of a tight knit neighborhood.

I'm a guy who likes to have a shtick. As a relative newcomer in the neighborhood with only 4 years of tenure, most of the good Halloween roles had already been taken upon my arrival. Hayrides are handled by Earl. There's Jello Shot George, keeping parents focused on the real meaning of Halloween. I could build a haunted house in my garage, but I'd have to compete against Syracuse Dan and his 8 year track record (and who has been planning this year's spookfest since November 1 of last year.)

It took a couple of years, but I now have an official place on the neighborhood team. I'm the drumstick guy.

Ladies, keep the undergarments on. I'm happily married.

At 6:00 p.m. 45 chicken drumsticks hit the grill. Not wingettes, mind you. Full blown drumsticks. Seasonings and low heat, they cook for 45 minutes until perfectly browned and juicy. A very light coating of barbecue sauce, another 5 minutes of cooking and they're ready for their spot on the driveway table next to the paper towels, wipes and the candy bowl.

The keys are outstanding seasoning and not boiling in advance, but fully cooking on the grill. That and a bunch of hungry, mostly drunk parents.

I gave away 41 drumsticks last night, all to people I know from the neighborhood. Ms. Fire and I each had 2. Outside tourists were welcome to candy, but I think most left disappointed with a watering mouth.

The morning after, when you're washing off the sin and the face paint you missed from the night before, looking in the mirror trying to piece together how you managed to shephard your kids around the neighborhood in one piece while drinking heavily for 4 straight hours, you always remember 3 or 4 houses that stuck out. My house is on that list.

Early Signs, Vol. 1 - Turn Signals

Debated whether to title this "Middle Signs" or "Late Signs", but as ab and Ghost would opine I'm forever the optimist. So instead of saying we peaked 20 years ago as a society, I'm going to be rosy and say we're peaking now.

This won't be an indictment against the entire race, only the America-centric culture into which our great grandparents were probably the first generation born, and we the last.

Turn signals on a car are interesting. They're mostly a courtesy. Wrecks aren't overturned based on evidence of "He had his signal on." You might get a ticket making an unsignaled right at a Dunkin' Donuts, but that's about it.

A blinker. "I'm going this way, hope that info helps." "Hey, we're all out here together, trying to navigate through more obstacles at higher speeds on tighter time demands-- let me do my part." "I care about you."

I started driving over half my life ago. I see fewer turn signals used. The care is gone. Our steel horses are no longer for utility. They are armor in a fight club.

Blinkers are an early sign of societal discord. I'll hit more.

My Truck

So my truck hit 100,000 miles right as I was leaving my office garage. I can say with certainty that I’ve driven over 99,000 of those miles. Maybe even 99,500. Nah, digging through the bar fly banter memory banks, and of Ms. Fire’s endless patience as a chaperone after a long night collecting research, it’s probably closer to 99,000.

I love this truck, so please indulge my blathering.

This is the first vehicle I ever bought myself. By my best estimations, the dealer probably made 50% on the transaction. They’re probably still telling stories about me. Sprayed bed liner - you bet. Undercoating protection – a must have. Gloss coat protection – how could I live without it? My only demand was that they acknowledge the almighty providence of my trade-in, a 1992 4-Runner affectionately called TurboDog. So I smoothly negotiated its trade in value from $2,000 to $2,500, got myself inked up for 5 years at 5.9% financing and we were off to the races.

The fun we’ve had. Oh, I was a little mad at the big guy at first for not speaking up as I was getting bent over the barrel at the dealership, but nothing a few roars of his 5.4 liter Triton V.8 wouldn’t fix. And it’s no understatement to note that those electronic seat warmers saved my ass on a few cold DC mornings. They say a machine can’t think, but I know, absolutely KNOW, that my truck knew the way home from Uno’s in Bethesda to my Casa de Mierda in Herndon.

I don’t pamper him as much as he deserves. He hasn’t been washed in months, but I’m pretty sure he’s OK with that. Oil changes are fewer and further between than recommended. I could feel his suspicion when I installed ‘Lil Bang’s carseat in the middle back seat —ferrying children being women’s work and all. But I think he secretly gets a kick when he activates the automatic air and ‘Lil Bang laughs.

He’s picked up a few scars along the way. A tree branch’s scratch on the side, gone unattended, is starting to show a little sign of rust. Some minor scratches on the roof, received from an overhead parking garage girder the one time I let Ms. Fire drive him to work, are still there. The 2 busted locks earned defending himself from would-be thieves have not been replaced. I leave them there as a reminder to the next set of thieves to not even waste their time trying to breach the fort.

I’ve worn a hole in the floormat, whose color has been discontinued. And he’s been begging me for the past 2 years to replace his trailer hitch, stolen while at a party. He says he feels neutered. I’m hoping Santa leaves him a little something in his stocking this year. Finally, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the BB gun pot shot he sustained driving home one evening. It's hard to count this one, though, as he's been known to show it off to the girls (read "Chevy's") in the parking lot of my local watering hole.

Yup, the ol’ boy is also starting to show his age. The air conditioner just went out. He’d never admit it, but I’m pretty sure the control panel failure was directly linked to too many automatic on/off cycles for ‘Lil Bang’s enjoyment. Easy call to spend the $1,000 to give him his game back. The transmission chatters a little between 3rd and 4th under the right circumstances. Like a snoring spouse, it’s a habitual tic I’ve learned to ignore. It’ll go out one of these days, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. For now, I trust him as he trusts me.

The financial environment has dictated that we’re going to be partners for a while yet to come. I’m fortunate that we’re such friends.

Here’s to 100,000 more, buddy.

Poker Musings, Vol. 6 - Career Fallback Plan

My new ATM...

Fatherhood

Some days are better than others. Whoever designed this store had a day like mine.

Pickle, It's Not Just a Funny Word

Some people have a can do attitude. The Boom clan has a can can attitude. Or something.

For those with victory gardens, spoils are reaped. Mentioned that we have some pickling cucumbers. Time to pickle. Below is a picture of but a small sampling of the many cucumbers the garden has yielded. I decided to take a picture of only a limited number, and frankly of the ones that wouldn't make the photo shoots of less secure gardners.



I assure you-- ASSURE-- that in no way is that the total of all cucumbers grown to date.

The next step was to sterilize jars and prepare the brine.



Skipping ahead, you want to chop all of the cukes into slices if they're of the small sampling like those pictured above, or into spears if they're like the vast majority of the rest of my harvest. You can also prepare the garlic and hot peppers while the brine comes to a boil. Results:



Now comes the fun part. Assembly includes jamming as many cucumbers into the jar as possible. Then you throw the your seed all over it. Get your head out of the gutter!



Repeat as desired...



Hopefully you've sterilized the lids. If so, seal and throw in the boiling bath for 15 minutes or so. My first 3 jars.



Lest you reach cucumber complacency, there are always green beans and asparagus just begging to be pickled.



And if you're feeling very ambitious (a/k/a "boomish"), you can also brine yourself up some custom pepper sauce.





Let sit for 6 weeks, you're good to go.

Bar Fly Banter, Vol. 6 - Training

Presented without comment, except to say "Not mine!"

Max Boom and Gold

We’re currently in deflation, not inflation. House prices, gas prices, car prices, stock prices are all way down. Go to the mall and buy clothes—everything is on sale. These are not inflationary indicators.

The Fed’s printing a ton of money, but it’s not gaining any utility. If the Fed printed $100 trillion and buried it under the White House, it wouldn’t make a lick of difference in the price of anything. That’s what is happening now—the Fed (actually, to be accurate, the Treasury) is printing money like mad but it’s being vaulted and so isn’t leading to the inflation the media is alluded to.

"Hyper-inflation" is also a catchy buzz word among today's talking heads. Not the smart ones, mind you. We also won’t see hyper-inflation for decades if at all. It really only comes about when a nation’s population loses complete faith in its country’s currency. It’s Germany in the 1920’s and Zimbabwe today. It can’t happen here in the short term for one good reason — our military. In the extreme, if Obama is faced with a starving, riotous population demanding leaders’ heads on pikes or invading New Zealand and happily selling wool and mutton to US citizens for US dollars… well, there’s no loss in the faith of a currency if it can buy what you need. At present Uncle Sam has the guns to protect its currency.

But the government does want controlled inflation, which it’s having a tough time getting now. That will change in the future, and if you can time that right you’ll make out like a bandit. In order for the deflation mentioned above to transition to inflation, all of the excess credit has to be sopped out of the system. That’s happening slowly through foreclosures, bankruptcies, inventory dumping, etc. But home values have collectively lost over $10 trillion. That’s $10 trillion that 3 years ago could have been monetized (turned into real cash) and spent by someone, so don’t discount those credit dollars’ effect on the total “money pool” any less than the $1.6 trillion being printed. Both are sort of imaginary dollars to a guy growing and selling corn, but he sells his corn for it anyway. Additionally, the stock market has lost well over $10 trillion, which is a very real amount to subtract from the “money pool.” At present, the Fed can’t print money (and/or sell via Treasuries) as fast as the credit bubble is contracting. Declining prices are a result.

I am a recently converted gold bug and have made some purchases in the last 6 months. My reasoning is that gold is money. Drop me off in just about any country in the world and I can go to their version of a bank and convert it into local currency for some exchange rate. I’m not making a gold-as-a-commodity play to protect against inflation just yet. I’m making a gold-as-money play. Every country in the world is printing money like mad in a race to devalue their currencies and make their exports cheaper. That’s good for gold, which no country can unilaterally devalue and all hoard.

So if you’re investing in gold and watch the price go up in the short term, it doesn’t necessarily mean that inflation is setting in just yet. It could just mean that gold is being more highly valued than a dollar as a place holder for money. But the same doesn’t necessarily hold true for other traditional inflation hedges like land, which still might be contracting in price due to deflation.

Beer, however, is where I'm most levereged tonight.

Victory Garden

Great Depression. Swine Flu. Zombies. One can never be too prepared. Claiming only a tiny speck of real estate as my own, I decided to improvise on the traditional garden. Without further ado, my 4' x 4' elevated survival kit.


Close-Up...


This is obviously a learning experience. Some successes. We have some salad cucumbers...


And some pickling cucumbers...


Beefsteak and Better Boy Tomatoes...


And Cherry Tomatoes...


Carrots are on the way...


It hasn't been all smooth sailing. For some reason I can't keep a pepper alive. Perhaps they're too close together?


And the jury is still out on the zucchinis. They are still flowering but for some reason aren't pollinating.


And as an added bonus, the blackberries in the woods are ripe!



All in all a good time.

A Morning in the Life of Max Boom

6:45am - Wake Up
7:00am - Shower
7:15am - Put Trapped Possum in Back of Truck
7:20am - Manually Polinate Garden Zucchinis with Small Paint Brush
7:30am - Feed Lil Bang
7:45am - Put on Dress Clothes For Work
7:55am - Change Poopy Diaper, Re-Dress Lil Bang into Fresh, Un-soiled Clothes
8:00am - Leave House
8:10am - Release Possum into Woods 3 Miles from House
8:15am - Drop Lil Bang off at Daycare
9:00am - At Work

Sorry

We're not dead. Not that too many people care. But we're not.

To prove it, I'll give you a joke that was just invented.

A worried wife calls her husband.

The end.

OK, it wasn't a joke.

Deflation

I went shopping on Wednesday of last week. December 17th. I have a pretty sweet list from Ms. Fire. I have to get a Christmas present, and another for her birthday the next day. The goal was a nice handbag and some sort of bauble. Our limit was $250 total for both (as my birthday is the day after). In my mind I was allowed to exceed the limit because a) I'm the man, b) I'm wearing her out with talk on how bad the economy is and c) she gave birth to our first kid, 'Lil Bang, in September of this year.

As mentioned, I've given myself permission to break the limit. $350 was my internal put value. Birthday is the bigger gift for her. So I was at $200-250 for birthday gift and $50-100 for Christmas.

On Wednesday, the stores were pretty dead. So I start in Nordstrom's. I find a nice Coach purse that she'd flagged as an essential. $398 was the list price. I ask the sales lady if they have any promotions running. She looks at me incredulously. Finally, she concedes that they have a price match and because Dillard's is offering 25% off Coach bags they will as well. I also have a "Save $50 if you spend over $150 on a Coach bag" gift card from American Express. So in my mind, I'm at $398 - 25% = $298. -$50 = $248. So I'm in the ballpark. Well the lady tells me I can't combine the 2 discounts.

I tell her "Look around, lady. You see many people dropping 2 bills plus on a bag?"

She was insistent. $298 plus tax was the best they could do.

So I say "Look at this list. I have bag choices from 5 different stores and 3 different brands. I'm likely going to be buying one of them. This sale is yours to blow."

Well, she stuck to her guns, not seeming to grasp that this was not the same sales environment as last year.

"Can I leave you my number so that when this weekend comes and goes and your manager is frantic because the store is woefully behind on its sales goals you can give me a call and tell me you can get me into this purse for $200 after tax?"

Huff.

I went to another couple of stores. No one was willing to give much of a deal and I was beginning to lose hope. "Trust your instincts, you cheap bastard," I told myself.

The story was similar for some of the higher end bauble stores (earings, necklaces and the like.) "We're Bailey, Banks and Biddle, we don't have sales," the effiminate salesman whined. Eat it, Peter Pan! I'll be back and you'll be begging me to buy something.

So the weekend came and went. I was out of town getting 'Lil Bang Christened but I knew-- nay, I felt in my very soul that prices were falling back on the home front.

Tuesday, December 23rd. Nordstroms.

Norstrom Sales Lady: "Here to do some last minute shopping, sir?"
MB: "Nope. Tomorrow is last minute. I decided to come today so that I had ample time to find the right bag at the right price."

Fast forward 20 minutes.

NSL: "We've increased our promotion and can honor both discounts and can sell you this Coach bag for $248 plus tax."
MB: "Sorry, $248 was my Wednesday price. Today I'm at $200 after tax."
NSL: "We can't possibly do that."
MB: "Well, maybe Kate Spade will work with me a little."

Another 20 minutes. Kate Spade Store.

MB: "I like that bag. How much is it?"
KSL: "$475 plus tax."
MB: "When I was here last Wednesday you indicated that you don't have sales. Are there any last minute promotions you are running?"
KSL: "We have been authorized to work with customers to try to get them into the bag they like. How much are you looking to spend?"
MB: "$150."
KSL: "Oh, there is no way we can come down that much."
MB: "How about you ring it up and enter every promotion code you have ever seen and let's see what happens."
KSL: "Interesting. We can use this discount and then it lets me use this other discount and then I can give an employee discount on top. After tax it comes out to $159."
MB: [fingers on each hand touch to form a pyramid] "Excellent."

20 minutes later, Tiffany's

MB: "Any last minute discounts you are running."
TSL "We don't have sales."
MB: "Even with this economy?"
TSL: "Look around. The store is packed and has been all week."
MB: "Point, Tiffany's."

So the lesson there is that some people still have money. Those people want the light blue box. I wasn't winning this battle.

Go through a few other nicer jewelry stores. All were willing to move some on their price, but I could never find the perfect piece for a reasonable price. My appraiser skillz were confirmed, though, as the pieces I keyed in on were largely the ones that couldn't be discounted much because they knew they were going to sell quickly.

Until I hit Movado.

They never saw it coming.

MB: "I really like these earrings."
MSL: "They are quite elegant. 18 carat white gold with this multiple diamond inlay."
MB: "How much are they?"
MSL: "They retail for $875."
MB: "Yes, but how much are they?"
MSL: "We've been authorized to work with the customer and attempt to accomodate their budgets. How much did you want to spend?"
MB: "$150."
MSL: "I'm sorry. We really can't make cuts that steep."
MB: "Well, there is that one little display over there that says 80% off and has a couple of ugly pieces in it. Can we go put the earrings in there and I'll pick them again?"
MSL: "Let me talk to the manager."

5 minutes pass

MSL: "We will be running an after Christmas sale. We haven't yet selected the pieces that we will discount, but if you check back after Christmas there's a good chance these could be discounted up to 40%."
MB: "Can we say that it's an after-last-Christmas sale and put them in the 80% off case? I'm one of 2 customers in the store and I'll buy them right now."
MSL: "Let me talk to the manager."

5 more minutes pass

MSL: "We can give you 80% off. The total price will be $175 + tax which comes to $192."
MB: [fingers on each hand touch to form a pyramid] "Excellent."

Felt so good about myself I even bought 'Lil Bang a silver bracelet. Even at 3 months, she deserves a little spoilin' from Daddy.

And the bonus? I weighed Ms. Fire's earrings. They weigh about 1/8 oz total. 18 carat gold is 75% pure. With the spot price of gold at $840 per oz., I just bought $80 worth of gold alone! Plus all the diamonds! Ms. Fire is now part of my investment portfolio. And let me tell you, that's the hottest investment I've ever made.

A New Era

Hope it works out.

Congrats to President Obama

My prediction: More babies will be born on July 28, 2009 than on any date in the history of the world. Congratulations to all!

Still Alive

Our post count follows the Dow. Expect a strong rally in mid 2009.

Bar Fly Banter, Vol. 5 - The Price of Love

Barfly:"Man, wish I had a spare $20K lying around."
Me (with a modicum of background on the situation to be detailed below):"Is that the going rate these days."
Barfly:"That's the cost of a condo in Costa Rica, which is worth a swap."

There is a patron. Let's call him Sweet Awesome feathered Mullet Guy, or Sam G for short. About 6 weeks ago, Sam G shows up with a girl on his arm that was, shall we say, way out of his league. And dressed to impress. Me and other guys. We'll call her Lolita. Sam G is about 40. Lolita looks to be about 25. "Mail Order" was thrown around-- I thought at first in jest then, until conversation above, in perfect seriousness.

The truth is worse.

Sam G has business interests in Costa Rica. During the course of these interests, he met Lolita's father. Impoverished, if banter is to be believed. Sam G had a decent condo (mayhaps a townhouse, couldn't get verified) that would be a significant upgrade to the family. Sam G negotiated a deal.

The mail-order-bride business is, to me, ethically grey. Provided the "bride" is a willing participant. Not my cup of tea, mind you, but with 2 parties entering the relationship with open eyes, I suspend judgment as I can see a benefit to both parties [that some countries are so inhospitable to necessitate a bride to follow that path is a rant for another day].

Banter once again remaining inviolate, Lolita was seen crying in a nearby bar and consoled by one of the barflyettes who happened to be there at the same time. She's no happy camper.

So what to do about a situation that, on the surface, appears to be a legal adult acting as an unenthusiastic fluff girl for the betterment of her family?

Makes my problems seem small.

I Want to Believe

Life opresses the imagination... and too much love of the known, and not enough want of the fantasy, neuters the dreamer.

You are overwhelmed with stimuli that mean nothing. But you have to obey them or risk poverty. Try to imagine. Try to wrap your mind around "better". There's a point of lucidity that is scary. Get there, and people will materialize to beckon you away. It's real. And Real. And terrifying.

Something's wrong. Are you aware? Try to dream up something that doesn't exist that will make Earth, the planet, competetive. Worth mentioning. Something that's not been imagined yet and articulated. Take a breath and try....

You can't think of it, although some part of you says it's on the edge of your thoughts but you don't know why.

There's a governer on our imagination. It's pissing me off. I'm trying to figure out the human wrench to disable it.

It can't hold everyone back.

The real world numbs your ingenuity. Be on the lookout. Anything that is a stimuli distracting from imagination is sapping your life.

Take care.