A few random things I’ve been meaning to get to:
GMAC – Back in January I thought it was a good idea to leave GMAC to its own fate. The thinking was that it was better, faster, and cheaper to follow a managed bankruptcy than to bail out a loser of a company whose implosion would have little impact on a financial system functioning about as well as the New Jersey Nets. It appears the Congressional Oversight Panel for the Troubled Asset Relief Program agrees. The five member panel’s report states that GMAC was “a company that apparently posed no systemic risk to the financial system, that did not seem to be too big to fail, too interconnected to fail, or indeed, of any systemic significance.” Do you think we’ll ever see the $17.2 billion repaid?
Another wise decision – The Senate Finance Bill intended to overhaul current regulation of financial markets will include the creation of an agency to track financial risk. According to the New York Times the proposed agency “is intended to give federal regulators daily updates on the stability of individual firms as well as that of their trading partners, including hedge funds.” The Times report goes on to say “the agency would give regulators a broader view of the health of participants in the financial markets and the potential for problems to spread.”
The new agency, tentatively labeled The National Institute of Finance, would assist regulators but “would have no policy responsibilities but would instead collect and analyze data, building models to assess relative risks and predict how one firm’s problems might affect others.” The agency would be a division of the Treasury Department with congressional oversight.
If you’ve read the Black Swan or ever filled out an NCAA basketball tournament bracket you understand the accuracy and value of risk based predictions. Now imagine the federal government equivalent to the pre-game shows put on by ESPN or the NFL Network. Long, over analyzed, and over talked decisions where .500 is a winning record. Here’s a radical idea: Instead of creating yet another government entity open to influence, corruption, and mismanagement, why not require ‘structured investment vehicles’ and derivatives to be traded on exchanges like common equities? Participants would have to play by the same rules as equities investors and traders, complete with the regulation and transparency required. Oh, what’s that? You say people like Barney Frank and Chris Dodd are much better suited to manage risk in financial markets by providing the keen oversight like that provided for FannieMae and FreddieMac.
You’re right, silly me.
Fat Boy Slim – The richest man in the world is a Mexican investor best known for buying Mexico’s state run phone monopoly 20 years ago and bailing out the New York Times last year. Carlos Slim (haven’t I seen that name before in a Neal Stephenson or William Gibson book?) is worth an estimated $53.5 billion, that’s equivalent to about 72 mega-zillion Pesos. He just beat out Bill Gates ($53 billion). Oh well Bill, that’s what you get for showering all that money on African kids and schools.
Later
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Killer Whales, Ted Nugent, and Monty Python
I rarely re-post stuff but I think Ted Nugent's recent commentary from the Washington Times merits one. Although I don't agree with everything Nugent says below, I do follow a similar pragmatic approach to our responsibility for and treatment of animals. For a closer representation of the Shady take on wildlife, please refer to Monty Python's Mosquito Hunting.
Here's Terrible Ted's take on human-wild animal relations:
I love animals - they're delicious
By Ted Nugent
Animals give me life. I like to eat them, ride them, pet them, wear them, grow them, watch them, and know in my pure aboriginal predator heart and soul that the health and condition of the animals in our lives are direct indicators of our own quality of life. The wildlife on the sacred Nugent hunting grounds, like all across North America, is thriving, naturally wild and spectacular. Our three Labrador retrievers and stupid old cat are clearly the happiest pets on earth. I love animals, and they love me. Perfect.
And yes, Eloise, that is an American buffalo between my legs. Isn't he adorable? See the snot flying and enraged fire in the eyes? And the bison ain't bad looking, either.
Having made my spectacular rock 'n' roll stage entrance astride a wildly spirited one-ton South Dakota beast for a few hundred protein-infested concerts, no one knows better than I the dynamic of celebrating wild beasts in dramatic and outrageously entertaining ways. I agree with Jack Hannah and other professional critter handlers that wildlife education provided by zoos, circuses, commercial aquariums and various animal spectacles is appreciated best when it occurs on stage with crazed guitar players. I bet my audiences would concur.
With but a cursory review of my annual hunting, fishing and trapping calendar, the evidence is irrefutable that few men have spent more time with wild animals in their natural habitat that this old Motown rocker. The spirit of the mighty beasts fortify my belly and my soul.
My relationship with wild animals is as pure as it gets. I am a hunter, and surely there is no wiser use of renewable wildlife resources than killing them and grilling them. That's why there are more deer, turkey, black bears, cougars and other big game critters in America today than in recorded history. We manage them according to genuine, value-based utility. Go figure.
The only difference between me, and say, Steve Irwin, brain-dead hippie grizzly bear neighbors, religious voodoo rattlesnake witch doctors, homosexual Las Vegas lion huggers, and the Orca handlers at Sea World is that I am smarter and more respectful to the wonderful wildness of such creatures. I don't taunt, probe, prod or bother my wild animals in any way for your entertainment. And though I do hop aboard for a thrilling ride, I am not so stupid as to forget that my buffalo is, and always will be, a wild buffalo. You know, the kind that would just as soon trample you into a bloody puddle of snot and hair than look at you.
Admitting this truism is why I carried a 10mm handgun in my belt during those stage rides, just in case the beast decided to go buffalo on me. A quick 200-grain armor-piercing slug through the back of his head would have made the difference between a momentary increase in entertainment value and a few dozen or more trampled rock fans. I knew this, and I was prepared. I am such a radical pragmatist.
Remember the circus lion tamers of yore, a chair in one hand, a pistol in the other? Prudent and respectful during a time before dangerous animals somehow became cute. The Bambi curse is to defile the wildness of beasts. They are killer whales, not show whales. And don't tell me that grabbing alligators by the tail promotes conservation. Wise use? I think not. Shame on you.
If you want to manage elephants, lions, leopards, camels, stallions, bears or other such phenomenal wild animals, the very least you can do is to show a little respect for the wildness that attracts you to them by being prepared to neutralize the deadliness of that wildness when it erupts. Not if it erupts, when it erupts.
Not a year goes by without some sensational tragedy ruining human and animal lives by careless, disrespectful misuse of these majestic creatures. Either do it right or just put them on display, hands-off, so nobody gets hurt. It is about time that we cut out the selfish make-believe fun of animal abuse for our own desires, and show some respect. Either that, or we have one of two choices for the killer whales in captivity out there right now - Muktuk or sushi for the masses. Take your pick.
Later.....
Here's Terrible Ted's take on human-wild animal relations:
I love animals - they're delicious
By Ted Nugent
Animals give me life. I like to eat them, ride them, pet them, wear them, grow them, watch them, and know in my pure aboriginal predator heart and soul that the health and condition of the animals in our lives are direct indicators of our own quality of life. The wildlife on the sacred Nugent hunting grounds, like all across North America, is thriving, naturally wild and spectacular. Our three Labrador retrievers and stupid old cat are clearly the happiest pets on earth. I love animals, and they love me. Perfect.
And yes, Eloise, that is an American buffalo between my legs. Isn't he adorable? See the snot flying and enraged fire in the eyes? And the bison ain't bad looking, either.
Having made my spectacular rock 'n' roll stage entrance astride a wildly spirited one-ton South Dakota beast for a few hundred protein-infested concerts, no one knows better than I the dynamic of celebrating wild beasts in dramatic and outrageously entertaining ways. I agree with Jack Hannah and other professional critter handlers that wildlife education provided by zoos, circuses, commercial aquariums and various animal spectacles is appreciated best when it occurs on stage with crazed guitar players. I bet my audiences would concur.
With but a cursory review of my annual hunting, fishing and trapping calendar, the evidence is irrefutable that few men have spent more time with wild animals in their natural habitat that this old Motown rocker. The spirit of the mighty beasts fortify my belly and my soul.
My relationship with wild animals is as pure as it gets. I am a hunter, and surely there is no wiser use of renewable wildlife resources than killing them and grilling them. That's why there are more deer, turkey, black bears, cougars and other big game critters in America today than in recorded history. We manage them according to genuine, value-based utility. Go figure.
The only difference between me, and say, Steve Irwin, brain-dead hippie grizzly bear neighbors, religious voodoo rattlesnake witch doctors, homosexual Las Vegas lion huggers, and the Orca handlers at Sea World is that I am smarter and more respectful to the wonderful wildness of such creatures. I don't taunt, probe, prod or bother my wild animals in any way for your entertainment. And though I do hop aboard for a thrilling ride, I am not so stupid as to forget that my buffalo is, and always will be, a wild buffalo. You know, the kind that would just as soon trample you into a bloody puddle of snot and hair than look at you.
Admitting this truism is why I carried a 10mm handgun in my belt during those stage rides, just in case the beast decided to go buffalo on me. A quick 200-grain armor-piercing slug through the back of his head would have made the difference between a momentary increase in entertainment value and a few dozen or more trampled rock fans. I knew this, and I was prepared. I am such a radical pragmatist.
Remember the circus lion tamers of yore, a chair in one hand, a pistol in the other? Prudent and respectful during a time before dangerous animals somehow became cute. The Bambi curse is to defile the wildness of beasts. They are killer whales, not show whales. And don't tell me that grabbing alligators by the tail promotes conservation. Wise use? I think not. Shame on you.
If you want to manage elephants, lions, leopards, camels, stallions, bears or other such phenomenal wild animals, the very least you can do is to show a little respect for the wildness that attracts you to them by being prepared to neutralize the deadliness of that wildness when it erupts. Not if it erupts, when it erupts.
Not a year goes by without some sensational tragedy ruining human and animal lives by careless, disrespectful misuse of these majestic creatures. Either do it right or just put them on display, hands-off, so nobody gets hurt. It is about time that we cut out the selfish make-believe fun of animal abuse for our own desires, and show some respect. Either that, or we have one of two choices for the killer whales in captivity out there right now - Muktuk or sushi for the masses. Take your pick.
Later.....
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