Policia de Catalunya

Greetings, friends. Yes, it's been a while since I've posted. My blogging sabbatical was occasioned by a number of things: our Spring Break trip (the details of which still languish in a draft post), making my home office more fully an "office," and a bit of an amorphous malaise.
So where to start? Let's see.
Well, we could start with my good friend from high school who is about to get foreclosed on. Or should I say "foreclosed upon"? Semantics aside, the pain is the same. It's a house she and her husband worked hard to buy and furnish. And now, well, they can't pay the mortgage. He's in commercial real estate. Need I say more?
Then there's my dear friend who moved from Texas back to her home state a couple of years ago, after her husband lost his job during a corporate acquisition. Selling their house at a reasonable price in this climate simply wasn't an option. Oh, hell, I'll be blunt: it was impossible. Happily, they just got news they'll be able to lease it. Her husband's job hunt, though, continues.
Last, but so not least, another close friend just found out she didn't get into nursing school -- on her third try. Of course, she was devastated. And because her scores were excellent, the news was entirely unexpected. Her family needs that future income.
An unemployment post I've been working on for a while continues to gather computer dust. Because the topic is so damn depressing I haven't been in the frame of mind to dig in, spiff it up, and make it "postable."
I've been warehousing it because the data is so bleak. Although the "official" unemployment rate is 9.7%, when you include all of the people who are "underemployed" (the MBA who is now selling shoes at the department store, the salesman with a B.A. who now works at Potbelly Sandwiches, etc.), the unemployment rate is more like 20%.
But you already knew that.
I don't want to be the "Ior" blog you turn to, when you're feeling all morose, or worse, the one you don't want to read when you're feeling upbeat. But right now, girlfriends, this is all I've got.
Things are not good. Not good at all. And I don't think the underlying fundamentals are in place such that our economy will recover, in any meaningful way, for years and years to come.
Some days I think about the options for all of us. A trailer park in Florida, maybe? There we'll all be, living in "Palm Harbor" homes, with oriental rugs scattered over the linoleum, gourmet pots on our stovetops amidst the ubiquitous "one day at a time" bobbing hound-dog heads.
We'll borrow sugar and flour from each other and trade recipes as we bustle from trailer to trailer with a Reidel wine glass in hand.
The local diner, where we'll congregate, will be a hotbed of intellectual activity. There, we'll solve the problems of the world over coffee and discuss early feminists like Edith Wharton and Kate Chopin.
Sometimes I feel like I'm in a Saturday Night Live skit. I mean, seriously. This is surreal city. TV advertisements blare, "buy this business suit [or car . . . or whatever] now. If you lose your job in the next year, we'll take it back."

Did you ever, in your wildest dreams, imagine this?
A realtor friend and I chatted on the phone yesterday and she asked me how I was, how things were going. "Fine, I think," I answered. "I have no terminal illness that I know of, and I'm still here. So I guess that puts me in the solid lukewarm category."
What say you? No doubt, some of you have some good news, or a come-back story that would cheer us all. Let's hear it.
Surely we'll feel better tomorrow.
_____________________
And that would have been the end of this post had I not just visited the Suburban Matron before I hit the "publish" button.
"Suburban Matron" is written by the wry, unmatronly Becky, who rivals Erma in her witticisms. She's the mom blogger who makes you feel like you are sitting right there in her kitchen. The one who makes you want to sell your house and move in next door to her.
She regularly regales us with stories about her neighborhood Frenemy, the "foster kids," Pretty Neighbor, and her crazy co-room mom. Finer writing that you can read for free, I've yet to see.
Well, she recently learned she's got breast cancer.
"Life's not fair," our mothers always said. I know. But damn. I never thought it would be this unfair.
So when you have a moment, go read some of her recent posts and give her a kiss, a gentle hug. And try not to curse her for looking so gorgeous and glamorous in her hospital garb.

She posted an update tonight and reports that she's doing just fine. XOXO, Beck.

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Things have been mighty busy around here. And a little sad.
There's talk that Chicago might survive without its O, but I'm skeptical.
And 47-year-old Demi Moore showed up on the cover of W looking like this:
Image credit: Huffington Post
(Or did she?)
I tried to remedy things with Gretchen's decadent mashed potatoes recipe, loaded with butter and grated white cheddar cheese. But alas, I skimped on the sage.
Senior moment begat senior moment as I began weighing my options for the new year: start a cupcake business or audition for the Real Housewives of Muskogee?
What better way to settle this debate, I thought, than crash the White House State Dinner? The Prez could give me tips on cupcakes and being on reality TV.
Image credit: Samantha Appleton/White House
Things were really coming together.
The Secret Service turned our car away initially, but I was undeterred. My determination unmatched by any crasher in recent history, I hopped out of the car, waved to Brian Williams, and brazenly blended into a line of black-tie pedestrians.
Mandel Ngan/Agence France-Presse � Getty Images
My sari dazzled even the coldest of those uniformed SS men. Girl friends, I was in!
Exhausted from a night of hobnobbing with Obama and that crazy pit-bull Rahm, I hopped into my trusty Escalade to take a drive, to clear my head. Except it was 2:25 AM.

BAM! Damn! I hit a fire hydrant, followed by the neighbor's tree.
And ever since, the troopers have been knocking. But I'm not talking. No way.

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This will be a fairly quick post, as posts of mine go. As of late, I've been obsessed preoccupied with the spike in U.S. treasury yields, and why we should be alarmed. Inflation is top of mind, of course. Still, as I researched my next post, I stumbled across these encouraging stats:
* May foreclosures were the third highest on record . . . but, oh happy day, they weren't as bad as they could have been.
* Unemployment is now at 9.4%. Except, umm, the absolute worst-case scenario under the banks' so-called "stress tests"? An inconceivable 10.3% -- that wouldn't, couldn't possibly occur until the end of 2010. Still, May's figures were better than expected . . .
But even the government is now acknowledging, finally, that the stress test numbers were based on a lot less "stress" than what we're now experiencing. Said Elizabeth Warren, head of the Congressionally appointed TARP board, "We've already blown past the worst-case scenario on unemployment."
* California is, according to its State Controller, fifty days away from a total meltdown. (Losses in local services were a concern of mine back in December; plunging property values mean plunging tax revenues).
* And in a nod to my faithful lawyer mom readers: Cravath, Swaine, a major white-shoe law firm, is asking new hires to stay away for a year in exchange for $80k. Summer clerks who accept Cravath offers will be required to take a year-long furlough . . .
But in all of this lush greenery, a little lightness can still be found.
Job-seekers are resorting to novel resume tricks. These eye-catching moves include:
* enclosing a shoe with your resume. You know, so you can "get a foot slammed in the door."
* washing company cars in the company parking lot, gratis.
* getting a haircut from the barber patronized by the company's CEO. After all, barbers make great references.
* sending a cake in the shape of a business card with your picture on it. Who can argue with the old adage that the way to a CEO's heart is through his stomach?
* handing out personalized coffee mugs.
* refusing to budge in the lobby of the company where you want to work, until you get an interview. Like an "unemployed sit-in" . . . of sorts.
And who can blame these folks? After all, remember the unemployed financial banker who paraded up and down 5th Avenue in a sandwich board blaring "Will Kill Bernie for Food." He got a job, didn't he?

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That some employers have a bias toward white job applicants is, unfortunately, hardly news. One study showed candidates with "white" sounding names were fifty percent more likely to be called in for an interview than candidates with "black" sounding names.
But, reports CNN Money, some folks claim there are other forms of bias as well. A name that's hard to pronounce, for example, may cause an employer to move on to the next resume. Or a celebrity-sounding name like, oh, say "Glenn Miller."
In fact, a real Glenn Miller spent four months searching for a job as a senior software engineer. Mr. Miller says his name "changes the tenor" of the interview and he feels he's not taken seriously. He surmounted this celebrity challenge, however, and found a job in fairly short order. Here is the picture he chose to submit to CNN Money:

Since Glenn has joined the ranks of the employed, he can afford to project a wind-blown-in-a-windbreaker look to the internet world.
Next, CNN highlights the plight of 27-year old Colleen Rzucidlo. She's been diligently searching for a public relations position for nine months, so far without success.
"While I certainly can't prove it, I often wonder if my last name hinders me when it comes to the job search process," she said. "Nobody knows how to say it -- that's a turn off. If they can't say my name they are not going to bother reading my résumé."
But, hey, some CNN coverage could be good press for Ms. Rzucidlo, since she's still job-hunting. Alas, here is the picture she submitted to CNN:Umm, Colleen? You're lovely dear, truly lovely, with an enviable figure. But this picture will not do you justice. It is not good "PR" for you.
Your bra is showing through, the shirt is a little dated tight, and the navel silhouette is a bit distracting. In my view, it simply doesn't inspire confidence in your PR savvy.
Fortunately for Colleen and other job seekers, CNN Money has human resources professor Christine Probett on hand to offer her brilliant insight. She says job seekers should focus on things they can control.
"For example, 'PartyDude@BeerU.Com' might project an image of someone who is not too business savvy," she said.
Wow. Who knew?

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Obama speaks tonight. Yep. He sure does. I'm mixing the cocktails now.
And to get you all fired up, an itty bitty video.

What? You didn't think that was funny? Ha. May the Candyman song never leave your head.
Okay. Okay. This next one is apolitical and uproariously funny.

So . . . are we friends again?

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Happy days are here again, gentle readers! Gather round and draw near. For Goldman Sachs and JP Morgan are set to pay out the biggest bonuses ever. Can you feel it?
In the case of Goldman, these bonuses translate into an average of $700k per employee. Hooray!
But don't get mad. Get glad! Because Goldman, in true Walmart fashion, will donate $200 million -- or six days of its earnings -- to charity.
Shag us, baby!
And Goldman Sachs claims it "stands on its own two feet." That the government (which means YOU) is not guaranteeing its debt, in other words.
Except, umm, Goldman, can you say "10-K"?
While it is true I somewhat defended last year's AIG bonuses, my aim was to present both sides of the argument, as well as illuminate the frightening aspects of an unthinking lynch-mob mentality.
But, err, the bonuses announced last week by the big-bank, bailed-out boys seem indefensible.
"Now wait just a minute," some will say. The taxpayers benefit when these bailed-out institutions remain viable, staffed by well-paid Wall Street fat cats. We have to pay these employees big money, so goes the argument, or they will jump ship and go elsewhere.
To places like, umm, Antarctica or a deserted hedge fund in Iceland, leaving the rest of us high and dry.
Other people, like Elizabeth Warren, not surprisingly, have a different view. Rather than paraphrase her, check out the video below.
(In a completely irrelevant aside, Warren, with her melodic voice and smooth bob, reminds me of a liberal Peggy Noonan. They're both mesmerizing. And soothing. They'll make you feel good as you fall asleep.)
As you watch Warren, don't forget the big Obama cram-down forced on automobile bondholders like Chrysler. Those guys got like, maybe 20 cents on their dollar.
Goldman and JP's bondholders, on the other hand, and their creditors . . . and their stockholders . . . and their employees? Lost not a penny. Accordingly, they're happier than pigs in sh-t, wallowing in record profits. Please accept in advance my apology for this crude but true metaphor, unoriginal but so apt.
And don't forget that the government take-over of AIG ensured that every AIG derivative pseudo-insurance policy that Goldman held paid Goldman 100% on the dollar. There was not a single loss. Nice.
If the video is too dense for you, fast-forward to 4:04 and go from there.

So let's do a quick review. Recall that Obama's Treasury flat-out refuses to say where the $700 billion it took from us, the taxpayers, has gone. This fact clearly troubles Warren.
Yet you'll see her in a clumsy pivot on the subject, blaming the mysterious TARP black hole on the "system" already in place when Obama took over.
Sorry, but this argument I'm not buying. At all. She's far too clever to make it and we're far too smart to take it.
The reason Treasury doesn't want us to follow the money is because if we did, we'd lose confidence in the very stress-tested "banks" it now claims are so well capitalized. Here, feel better. Take a look at Timmy's red phone roster and the banks that are speed-dial programmed into it.
And with the FDIC completely in the red (i.e., flat BROKE, probably through 2012 -- the 99th bank was closed last week), the last thing the government needs is a run on the banks. So much better that we have a run on our currency, right? Who needs the dollar anyway.
However Warren did throw us a few good bones. For instance, her unflowery historical recounting of our government's traditional view of the middle class, as opposed to what it is now ("middle class? what middle class?") is interesting, if not infuriating.
But it's more than infuriating. It's completely debilitating to our country's morale. The Obama Administration's policy of increasing our nation's indebtedness makes it impossible for small businesses to borrow, hire, expand, much less stay afloat (a/k/a the "crowding out" theory). This insane, let's-go-into-debt-to-get-rid-of-our-debt policy decapitates our economic engine. Are there any grown-ups left in DC?
Of course we haven't seen any change. If anything, it's been change for the worse. But before you call me a nutty Limbaugh protege' let me point out that the liberal Mighty Mo has taken on the Smooth-Talking Nobel O.
Hells bells! And now even the far-left-leaning Nation is calling him the Whiner-in-Chief!
And yes, I'm whining too, damn it, while I worry with the best of 'em. Change? What change? 'Cause there ain't no change jangling in my pocket.
The 2010 mid-terms will bring about change alright. But it won't be the change Dems envision.
The change I'm imagining will be wrought by the never-ending increases in unemployment numbers . . . the steadily rising foreclosure notices (1 in 10 homeowners are in default), the food stamp statistics (more than 1 in 9 of us are on them), and, well, on and on it goes.
(Even worse, all this gloom and doom comes before the commercial real estate dam has broken. That shoe has yet to drop. Quick, somebody pour me a drink).
The other day, my beloved Maria and I were solving the world's problems. In the face of Obama's apparently anguished, Thirty-Something vacillation, the Mexicans, she said, would say "put some pants on." The English counterpart would be, "Man up, already!"
Alrighty then. I'd better stop before I really get started. Because God forbid my urgent cry come off like some TV dad who cries "boy in balloon!"

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