Hang Mrs Madoff too

Back in early February I wrote an E about Victims gathering to protest in front of homes of bankers they felt were responsible for the predatory loans leaving them homeless. Paupers, shaking the gates of the castle at the servant's quarters, never realizing Lord Banker lived in the great hall further behind the gates where he was never aware of their presence.
I quote from that E
" Remember this desperate day, The victims are forecasting an attitude and frustration that is going to explode nationwide."
" Predatory Bankers better hide now. It would appear when the guillotines are dragged out their heads will be the first to roll."
Add AIG executives to the list next. At least that's what the current threats that AIG executives are receiving would indicate. The ones allowed on TV call for death to them....and their families.....for several generations. After reading a few of the air-able threats on TV, the newscasters will then give a short discourse on how the threats are over the line and reason must be restored. Three newscasters, three discourses.
The Irony is; As we're told that these death threats are unreasonable, We watch totally unreasonble acts that will help bankrupt us all, be rewarded with bonuses. Or, A guy steals 50 billion and awaits his court date in a multi-million dollar Penthouse. That's reasonable? His family, in the same business, and his wife, both, want to keep their fortune .That's reasonable? No wonder there is a Mob mentality brewing.
What a crock. If this was China these clowns would be swinging. Mrs. Madoff too. I might agree. I think that hanging is a much better deterrant to white collar crime than a bailout, or bonus, for that matter. How unfair that we can't waterboard Madoff until every hidden nickel is recovered, and then watch the floor pulled out from under his feet with a noose around his neck. Good thing he didn't have any of my money. Where is all this leading? The final result of the Endless Crisis will be the American people holding the paper on a country so far in debt it enslaves them. While the people who put us there have taken the money and left for more desirable diggs, where they await their bonuses.
Anyway , what really pisses me off are the newscasters. Newscasters are Employees told what to say. Then, once the talking head is loaded, We're told What to think. How to act. How to be reasonable. I think it's time for some unreasonableness to go with the unreasonable mess. I think it's time to decide not to be gentlemen. Not to be civilized. Not to go along as we're told.
If righteous indignation leads to a call for heads, so be it , but don't try and tell us how to act because people should be angry enough for a revolution. People should be outraged, and defiant about being reasonable! All those reasonable bastards in Washington , maybe that's the problem.
Remember, these are the same people that sold you Weapons of Mass Destruction, and Keep your Money in the market and ride it out (to nothingness), and now, they're telling us it's a great time to buy into the market for the long run. Didn't a whole bunch of long run people just lose everything?
Which brings me to the last scam of the day, 4000 additional "military advisers" to Afghanistan. Sounds more like Viet Nam everyday. The American people should feel totally betrayed the way Obama has fallen right in step with the bullshit in Afghanistan. We need to secure our own southern border, yet we pursue securing the Pakistani-Afghan border? Totally Unreasonable. Obama is chasing Osama Oil profits.
Bring all the troops home now.

My Critics

Well, I recently mentioned to a friend, a good friend, that when I had written enough letters to be able to glean through them and pick out one hundred and fifty good ones, then I would publish "Letters from Bradland".

My friend responded, " You know,...... there are those whom would say that your letters are just the rantings of an ex-postal employee". And he smiled at me. And he was right, 100% correct except for the word "just". I am an ex- postal employee, and the term, ranting, has been used to describe my letters in the past by those of greater education than I , so I argue neither point. But "just " the rantings , No, No No.

"Just" makes me sound like a damn rabid dog, foaming at the mouth, spewing rantings on empty E-mail boxes and shitting on the floor. Are you kidding?

I would have to argue these letters are the "exceptional" rantings of an ex-postal employee.

"Just " makes my letters sound like they are not entertaining , thought provoking, funny , sad and enlightening.

"Just" diminishes the sociological and cultural differences I try to illustrate between the rural and urban lifestyles I expound on.

"Just" makes my letters sound like any sum bitch could sit down and whip out a little ranting . I take exception to that.

My letters make people feel rich, smug, intelligent, happy to be where they are, superior, self righteous.

My letters, and their honesty about my bad choices, make others feel good about the choices they have made. It's important for people to be given credit for doing the right thing, and how often do everyday heroes like YOU get a pat on the back for being strong and making the right choices? Kudo's to you whom can read where I went wrong when you avoided the pitfall.

My letters give perspective from perception you can only get from the Bradman.

ie

Then I thought, " That miserable mother*****will probably go out to dinner tonight, have a few drinks, go home and get in bed with a women whom loves him, not once think about how lucky he is, and then not be totally cozy, until he remembers that I'm alone, Pissing in a milk carton in a funny looking shack in sub-freezing temperatures, With nothing but a wood burning stove to warm myself, after a one course dinner of smoked salmon and only a dog for company.

Thats why I'm here , so everybody can be comfortable.

"Just" gives the impression there is nothing but the words on the surface. I'd like to think there are deeper thoughts conveyed, a deeper story told. And I do believe that "Letters from Bradland" will be a roaring success despite what the critics think . Who foresaw the pet rock?

AIG

Anderson Cooper was asking people how they felt about AIG executives getting bonuses. People didn't like it. Which leads me to think:
Somewhere there is an AIG employee whom doesn't give a rats ass about what people think, they want "Their" bonus.! understand where the money went on inflated mortgages; sellers pocketed the money and mortgage holders took the losses, but is the rest of the meltdown all collateral damage? and if not, then where did the rest of the money go?
Somewhere the question was posed today, "should Mrs. Madoff be allowed to keep Millions in homes and jewlery etc.?" Really.
I think the question posed should be, " Should Madoff be waterboarded by his victims until he gives up the location of the money?"
"Is prison enough for Madoff ?" I mean, he's already had years of luxury and wealth, he's got billions stashed somewhere, and when you consider what his "pay" will be per year for each year in prison; about five billion plus per year if he lives another ten years in prison, he deserves more. Like torture.
Oh, another thing, now that the drought is over in Northern California, three big storms are converging on the west coast to flood the place later this week. I'm not kidding, better buy in Southern Oregon quick.
Is Madoff the Biggest thief in history ?
I mean other than George W. ............ See, we're back where we started. People getting bonuses when they should be in jail.
One last thing , "Too BIG to Fail" , is bullshit because they failed. How stupid are we?

The Dessert Thing

Whichever dessert was for them who want more is for me. I want it all.
'All' is misleading. I want that which escapes all; the ability to plane jump, which equates to cycle jumping, which equates to being a time bandit, which equates to... no, not immortality, but being able to hang around until you're ready to give it up. Who would really like hanging out before the species existed? Or after its demise? As I've explained before, a thousand years as a Redwood tree would be a long time if there wasn't a little ent involved in the stretch. Without sharing life, without human co-existence, life simply is existence. Who wants the world without someone to share it? Or at least envy you having it? Without the fifth necessity of life involved (Love) you might as well be back on Mars watching the place dry up and go cold.
Here in the 'shack' it is accepted knowledge that the secret to the universe is, "Why is everything circling, round, a sphere, cyclical?" (Obsessed With Time 05Jan09) Even the stuff that doesn't cycle along with us, seems to cycle through our universe; ie Haley's comet, or that big asteroid that will miss us in 2026* (maybe) and then come back in 2037* and try again. It just occurred to me, why doesn't that asteroid come by every eleven years and take a shot? Does it only get two and then automatically extinguish itself on somebody else's planet? You never know, for all of mankind's importance to the Universe, we could be but a moving target in someone else's game.
That's why it's important to be able to check out when you want; living conditions could deteriorate here on planet Earth to the point where existence would be undesirable. It is a testimonial to happiness in ones life, and the quality of life one enjoys, this fight we all give to exist; our love of life. But if the place was suddenly a big fireball, who would want to be immortal for the eternal roast. Starting to sound a little fire and brimstoneish.
Love is the great transcendent. Without love, life would cease to exist, just as it would without air, water, food or shelter. This said and agreed upon, I think it would be fair to say that the next plane is only attainable with love and consciousness, and then only if the conscious is an entity in itself , the body being but a cocoon.
Is that how the ancient Egyptians thought? Did they believe they would be revived in the same body? Or that their conscious was going to hang out elsewhere for awhile, and they'd be back for the body later? I'm going with the conscious becomes an entity in itself, and as part of the larger force, or...
Anyway, if there was a Dessert at the table for me, it was the soft hand that served the German Chocolate Cake, and half the equation, for an escape from this doomed planet. The other half of the equation is still hidden in the cycle thing, which is remotely tied to the dessert thing, which is as accurate as this paper, but does not get me any closer to cycle jumping, or the secrets of the universe.
Now my friend, if there is anything else that you'd like to know about desserts, let me know, please.


*Dates are from memory and probably inaccurate. The point is the same, and the asteroid is coming.

Loose Change and Zeitgeist

Tent Cities

A friend here in the mountains called me this morning and related a story he'd seen on television the other day. A story about tent cities in Sacramento. After explaining that he was channel surfing and just happened to catch the story (and normally does not watch Oprah), he then reiterated the story of the tent city emerging next to the river in Sacramento. A 'community' of the homeless, the jobless, and other victims of hard times, or themselves, or the predatory bankers, or the boogie man. Everybody has a story. The place is growing by 50 tents a day. With the publicity the story has gotten recently, I'm sure it's going to swell.
By coincidence I was watching Larry King last night hosted by Ali Velshi, the CNN money man who has been telling people to ride out the stock market throughout the 7,000 point downfall. He was interviewing Kevin Johnson about, you guessed it, the tent city. I think several of the residents were former clients of Ali, back when they had money... and the real loser is, yes, Sacramento.
I know it's said that any publicity is good publicity, but in this case I respectfully disagree. I could be wrong though; yesterday I watched a story on Detroit property prices, where houses, nice houses, are selling for $10,000 and less. Since then I've been thinking about Detroit real estate. Today, they interviewed a Detroit newsman about the story and, according to him, the nightmare started there about five years ago with automaker layoffs that continue to this day and the property prices that have fallen and now reflect just 10% of what they were. Can you imagine?
Listening to the newsman, I could feel his personal shock and disbelief as he described the residents waiting and waiting and waiting, and yet still no bottom is approaching to their deteriorating world.
And so back to the tent city... let's say, hypothetically, that the tent city grows by 50 tents a day for 5 years.....that's 91,250 tents. Other than the obvious, now would be a good time to invest in canvas, or maybe porta-potties.
I have read a little of the Great Depression and these tent cities were common back then. I remember reading stories about the Federal Government battling the residents over squatting in certain places. Sacramento might eventually have those type of problems; if one were going to squat in a tent, Sacramento would be a lot better climate-wise than other places. The place could be a magnet for the needy. What an opportunity, the whole hippy movement could re-emerge from the city in the valley where the two rivers meet. That probably sounds good to the people who have already met the boogie man and predatory banker, but those that are still in pocket probably aren't so enthusiastic about living in a loser magnet city.
I can't wait to return.

Disclaimer: The Oregonian and Encyclical Letters‏

As a matter of clarification:
I am not an Oregonian.

True Oregonians, those born in Oregon, are a proud group and very exclusive and they could hardly suffer having a Smokey Mountain hillbilly from California like myself calling himself an Oregonian.
My mother (born in Pennsylvania and raised on my Grandfathers homesteaded property in Southern Oregon) was not an Oregonian to the Oregonians, she was a newcomer. I'm worse; I'm a Californian. The son of a Pennsylvanian, who was the daughter of a Smokey Mountain Hillbilly who came from a long line of North Carolinians raised in the Smokey Mountains. You can't divorce that kind of heritage in one generation, and I only try to make all this clear in effort to say that I only speak for myself, and that my blog, titled 'The Oregonian', is a misnomer in regard to myself.
It should not be confused for someone actually born in the state of Oregon, or a rural, backwoods thinking, unemployed lumberjack clinging to his guns and his religion in bitterness. Oregon is the most atheist state in the union. Halleleujah.

As a matter of further clarification:
I did not assume the title of 'The Oregonian'.

It was a gift from a man in Italy. The son of an American, he was raised in California to be a Smokey Mountain Hillbilly, who instead fled to Europe to live a life of culture and became a British citizen. Who am I to question a well rounded man of the world with heritage like that?
If he wants to call me 'The Oregonian' simply because my property borders on Oregon on all sides, so be it; I've been called worse by him.
However, I don't fancy myself to be an Oregonian because I own property in Oregon. Every landowner on the Oregon side of Happy Camp Road is a former Californian. Owning property in Oregon has nothing to do with being an Oregonian, really. The distinguishable qualification in determining a true Oregonian is that of having been born in Oregon. Otherwise, most of the Oregon residents I know are, well, like people in London, from somewhere else.
As a final clarification, should I need a 'true Oregonian's' opinion, I need go no further than to call my older brother and sister, both of whom were born here in The Beaver State. However, since they were both raised in California, disqualifying them in the eyes of people who were not only born here, but had to grow up here too, I could use one of a hundred other relatives that qualify for both prerequisites, should I be pressed to refine my research.
That said, I think it should now be perfectly clear that these letters carry no authority in regards to what other people in the state of Oregon might be thinking, and further from that still, what may or may not be the opinions of real Oregonians.
Quite honestly these letters do not even originate from Oregon state, but rather from 'the Shack'.

The Old Man

My sister called me today. She had received a call from a potential buyer who she described as an old man with an accent. He was to be driving by my property and getting back to her. My sister was alerting me to watch for him and, if I wanted, I could invite him in and show him around.
I meet the nicest people trying to sell this shack. A lot of nice people would like to buy the shack. The nice people don't have any money.
About 40 minutes later, interrupting my attempt to blank my mind and find another plane, a Toyota Corolla pulled in front of the gate, blocking it, and parked. I watched as an older gentleman with white hair under a tan golf cap exited the car and, sure enough, walked right around the gate and up the driveway. I could see he was old. I tell the story like he moved quickly, but actually the whole procedure was a controlled, careful combination of rather jerky movements that had little fluidity and much determination, and moved him forward at a slow pace while barely bending his knees. Nevertheless, he was halfway up the driveway by the time I went out and introduced myself.
I stuck out my hand and said, "I'm Bradley Austin."
He took my hand and said something that sounded like, "Bran Ray."
I noticed he had an accent, and I said again, "Yes, I'm Bradley Austin." But this time more slowly, so he could pick it up .
Again he mispronounced my name, so a third time I stated it. Maybe he didn't hear well, too.
Then he slowly said in his accented voice so I could hear, "Yes, Mr. Austin, I'm Van Ray."
I think I blushed a little and asked him in. We toured the cabin.
I demonstrated all the amenities, and then I asked, "It's all a man needs, but don't you think it might be a little rough for your wife?"
"Oh, we'll just use it for camping," he said.
"Let me show you the upstairs," I responded.
Upstairs, I invited him to sit in my chair. He sat at my desk and faced to the north.
"Oh yes," he said. "I like the view."
Then he faced me and said, "I have an unusual proposition for you. I'm 90 years old and my wife is 88 years old. We're not going to be around very long and so we thought we'd offer you $10k and then will the property back to you when we die." He continued, "Look, we can't live too much longer. I'm already 90. In these hard economic times we thought you might take the deal."
I smiled at him and said, "You look like you have another 20 years in you at least. I wouldn't want to bet against you."
He answered, "That would make me the oldest man in America, don't be ridiculous."
More than willing to reassure me he would die quickly and I would soon have my property back. Seeing he was earnest and ready to negotiate, I then explained to him why I could not accept his offer. He was disappointed and offered me an additional $100 a month while he was alive. I further explained my business and finally, not wanting to be harsh, I told him I would consider all offers presented in written form. He was encouraged and I saw him out and down the driveway.
Later, relating the story back to my sister, adding that if he was a moll he got all my information, she said, "Maybe... Although he said he lives on Highway 199 by the community college. There is an old folks home there. Maybe he hates it so much he wanted your cabin to escape senior living."
Which made more sense than his story of buying the shack to use for camping. The senior home is only 40 minutes away, he could use it as a base for 'camping'. I have to hand it to the old man, whatever plan he had in his mind, whether it was imagined, unrealistic or not, he still had the gumption to come up here and make a pitch.

Have You Read This?

Google 'The Coming Economic Depression" by Mark S. Watson

Interesting reading!

Grandchildren

It's all good.
Soon my property will be SOLD. Or not. The idea stirs so many emotions in me I can hardly begin to enumerate them; rootless with a profit; terrified of homelessness; free to simply be a boy and his dog; agile enough to hang with the young; once again unencumbered, and solvent with capability to ______ with the rest of my life. What's the next 5 year plan?
When I left Sacramento I proclaimed to another idiot that "a man can do anything in 5 years if he's capable and smart." The other idiot looked at me like 5 years was a century. He was unaccomplished and younger than I. Looking back 5 years is a blur, but looking ahead it's practically limitless. When I think of the last 27 months and how my world has changed, I wonder how many more lives I have in me? And where will I find the worlds on which to live them?
Of course I could never return to the city or California, because I have passionately declared them either flooded or a desert in the future, so for investment purposes they would be out. I would only return for love, because love overwhelms reason and is always a good investment. See? So point made.
In 5 years I could have a doctorate and be teaching university classes. At the very least earn a masters and be totally immersed in the world of academia. I could do a thesis on comparable similarities between the Han Chinese and the Native Americans tribes along the Pacific Northwest. I could ______. Fueling my desire, that is the question: what still burns hot enough to fire the engines? Nothing, really.
It's sad.
My youth is gone and I realize it could have been better spent. My children are grown and I realize I could have been a better father. My looks are gone and I realize I was flattering myself anyway. I have squandered a small fortune, and would have lost more, but for luck and economic circumstances. And I have a world of choices from which to choose and no passion for anything. Sad.
Grandchildren are the answer. Grandchildren are a second chance. Grandchildren are a great investment. Grandchildren and great-grandchildren are all the future I need, all the love I desire.
Until then, it might be time to learn to sail. I know where there is a dry-docked trimaran as big as the one in Waterworld. Time to ask a price and assimilate a crew. Sail to Italy. Right after I build a new compound in the city in the valley where the two rivers meet.