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rinueI spend a lot of time watching both CSPAN and Bloomberg because, you know, captioner. I probably spend more time thinking about market regulation than any non-politician non-journalist, and I'm in a good position to understand what I hear -- Econ degree, dad who was VP of Fidelity Investments*, grandad who put little me to bed by reading sections of the Wall Street Journal and explaining how to pick investments and who the good traders were. It's in my blood, pretty much.
What's struck me the most is how completely out of touch the rich investment bank guys are. It is like watching Louis XVI give a press conference. In their position, I would have a distorted sense of reality too; I think it is hard to be rewarded so ludicrously and not believe you are somehow untouchable, that reg reform will not happen and that everyone will "come to their senses," and that mere elected politicians simply can't understand what you do that is ever so complicated and necessary and deservedly lucrative. However, I would like to think I would also be socially aware enough to realize that looking down my nose and expressing that in haughty tones was not perhaps the best way to preserve my status and/or win hearts and minds. I like to think that I would realize calling Barney Frank stupid would motivate him to rip out my heart, grill it, and feed it to the homeless of Central Park. Who aren't even in his district.
I wrote this poem about it, which tries to represent what is going on at a specific bank rather than my contention that quite a lot of people need to be punched when they act like this.
In any case, cucumbers were on crazy sale at the supermarket, so I made pickles by slicing them very thinly and then sticking them in a jar filled out with half white vinegar and half water, along with somewhere betweeen a teaspoon and tablespoon each of sugar and salt (iodized regular salt), a couple cut up garlic cloves, a short sprig of rosemary, some dill seeds, and maybe a half teaspoon of red pepper like you put on pizzas. The jar has been in the refrigerator for a few days, and its contents are tasting pretty good.
* Who kept their noses pretty clean in all this, which is gratifying but also predictable if you look at the way the company is structured and the sort of people who work there.
What's struck me the most is how completely out of touch the rich investment bank guys are. It is like watching Louis XVI give a press conference. In their position, I would have a distorted sense of reality too; I think it is hard to be rewarded so ludicrously and not believe you are somehow untouchable, that reg reform will not happen and that everyone will "come to their senses," and that mere elected politicians simply can't understand what you do that is ever so complicated and necessary and deservedly lucrative. However, I would like to think I would also be socially aware enough to realize that looking down my nose and expressing that in haughty tones was not perhaps the best way to preserve my status and/or win hearts and minds. I like to think that I would realize calling Barney Frank stupid would motivate him to rip out my heart, grill it, and feed it to the homeless of Central Park. Who aren't even in his district.
I wrote this poem about it, which tries to represent what is going on at a specific bank rather than my contention that quite a lot of people need to be punched when they act like this.
Lloyd Blankfein's Testimony
They are the market makers
who sell what you buy and buy what you sell
indifferent as a weather system.
They are smart money, well trained
with models and degrees and degrees of modeling.
They work with investment banks,
with other investment banks, with companies
and countries. Not you.
Someone else holds your credit card.
Someone else runs the bank on the corner.
Retail, you're called, They don't take your money.
You'd know if you knew them
which you don't. They have been
invisible
deliberately
except for the bonus.
They never reached out. When the rain hit you
you looked at the clouds.
But clouds are just fog and these are just smart men
who could be more personal. That was their failure
not taking you out. Not buying you coffee.
We should have talked sooner.
The problem is not derivatives. The problem is not
day trading. The problem is not gloating, not greed
not computers or liquidity
or mortages. There is no problem you'd understand
just people. Smart people who did well because.
And were not hurt because.
Would I lie to you
and can you graph a poker face?
In any case, cucumbers were on crazy sale at the supermarket, so I made pickles by slicing them very thinly and then sticking them in a jar filled out with half white vinegar and half water, along with somewhere betweeen a teaspoon and tablespoon each of sugar and salt (iodized regular salt), a couple cut up garlic cloves, a short sprig of rosemary, some dill seeds, and maybe a half teaspoon of red pepper like you put on pizzas. The jar has been in the refrigerator for a few days, and its contents are tasting pretty good.
* Who kept their noses pretty clean in all this, which is gratifying but also predictable if you look at the way the company is structured and the sort of people who work there.
