Philosophers Deli

I go to Pennsylvania other day. Big Contest. Steel Workers. Coal Miners. Stay at Home Mothers raising More Steel Workers and Coal Miners. All have guns. All go to Church. I walk up to steel worker and say “What you think?” He say, “Your not from around here, are ya?” “No, am not.” “Well, we don’t like your kind around here.” He look scary. I walk away.

Then big Monster-Rally. I Monstrologist by training so I happy to see.

First go Pineapple-Boy. He get up on stage. “I Pineapple-Boy”, he say. “Everybody likes me and sends me money. Even crazy black panther lunatic minister, who I don’t even like anymore, except a little. Raise your hand and I’ll come down and shake it and I’ll take your money, too. If you haven’t spent it all on stupid guns or Church.”

Amazingly, Crowd Lets Him Live! Must sense secret men in black with ear-phones and heavy weapons, or something.

Then Little-Eagle-Feathers go on stage. “Hi. I learn to shoot when I little girl. I love guns and God and Church and Country and have no money, just like you. I smash any country we don’t like. I obliterate them if they even look wrong at us. Smash! Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha! I’ll blow the shit outta them. Plus I get you more jobs and more money.” “Where King Kong?” yell someone from crowd. She wave at stage crew and crane lower big boxy thing covered with sheet. She pull sheet and there is cage with King Kong in it, smiling and drooling. “I stuff him in cage with one hand, easy. King Kong only do what I tell him or I crush him quick.” Crowd in awe. Then she pull out whole big Philly Cheese Steak sandwich from purse and swallow it in one gulp! Then she burp. Then she reach in purse to select good gun. Some guns and cans of beer fall out and crowd cheers and cheers. Then she take big gun and shoot in air six times. Then she say “Sign on my web site for latest cookie recipe!”

Whole crowd goes CRAZY! They cheer. They cry. They hug. They pat each other on back. They line up for three days to vote for her. They give her millions and millions of dollars. Then they chase Pineapple-Boy all the way to Indiana. Pineapple-Boy think “Maybe time to smash something.”

This tricky story and hard to write. Hard because of language. English has a word for everything. English has one million words, most of which we don’t know, even though they pretty much all written down in big books in Oxford.

My language has fewer words but each word mean many different things. For example, use same words for phrase “Welcome, honored guest” and “Pig go eat in cellar”. But if host give modest cough, or roll eyes, the meaning is the second one.

Anyway, this week I go to old philosopher’s apartment again. But this time easier. This time I take a chance. “Trick or Treat,” I say with knocking, knocking. “It’s not Halloween,” say old philosopher. “For you it is,” I say. “What you mean,” he say. “I mean that I could trick you or I could treat you to lunch. When is last time you been in restaurant?” No answer for a minute. Then he say, “It’s been a while. But now I know you’re here, no way you trick me after last two times.”

“Of course I could,” I tell him. “Oh yeah? How?” he ask. “I use Bunchy-Foot trick. It very good trick, even if person was tricked in past by Bunchy-Foot. Most don’t even know they’ve been Bunchy-Foot.”

He pause. Then he say OK, he getting tired of being tied up, even with the pizza. I ask what type food he like best. This Manhattan, so other than exotic French restaurant, where reservations must be enforced in equity court, you pretty much get what you want. He ask if any good Shanghai restaurants left. Yes! More than ever. But stay away if look like decorated by pimp or serve alcohol. Look for small storefront with all Chinese people inside in families. This sound good to him. So we take train to Chinatown and soon find restaurant that look good to us. Go in and sit down.

Philosopher hungry but don’t know what to eat. Everyone likes soup dumplings, I say. He look at me funny. But I order them. Soon show up. “How eat?”, he ask. “This be messy,” I say. “Be careful no burn yourself. Take small nibble where dough crimped at top. Let dumpling cool down a little. Then stuff whole big dumpling in mouth and bite and chew. Juicy flavor go everywhere.” He do this and then get up and jump and jump with joy. We eat many dumplings.

Philosopher ask me who’s going to win, Little-Eagle-Feathers or Pineapple-Boy? I tell him I don’t know. I just happy they lock up somebody new in big house. Too many problems, I say. Insurance a problem. Housing a problem. Jobs a problem. Global warming a problem. List could go on and on. I tell him I can’t fix problems. I was reporter. Could get facts very good but not write good. My editor say that’s OK, he fix commas and things. Then editor get fired. New editor doesn’t want to bother with commas and things. Doesn’t even like reporters. Would rather pull story off A.P. newswire print ready. So every story must be print ready. I not last long, even though I know lots of people. So before I go I warn people about Stupid Tuesday. I tell them it pretty much hands election over to other party. It is like each voter gets dart and throw at barn all at once. Darts all over barn. But patterns. Left hand dart thrower has dart on left. Right hand dart thrower has dart on right. Old dart thrower has darts at bottom. Young dart thrower hits middle or higher. But when I warn people they laugh. Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha, they say. So hold Stupid Tuesday and guess what happen. Lots of old people, darts all say Little-Eagle-Feathers. Lots of young people, darts all say Pineapple-Boy. Now what? Now other party wins. If you look and look, this pretty much means 24 years of country being run by a few rich people who say to poor people “Screw you and your pizza, too.”

I say I can do small tricks like pizza trick and bunchy-foot, but I can’t do big tricks like insurance companies can. Insurance company, Car company, all big companies try to give money to every big candidate. This make them bigger and hard to beat. No matter who wins, companies own them. Then they trick us. They always making up new tricks, but result the same. They reach in our pockets and take all our money. If you have no money, then no insurance. Let’s say you sick and can’t work. Then you in big trouble. Same with banks. Same with doctors. Long line of people to get all your money. College first in line. Country supposed to protect us turn around and hurt us. Still, country was pretty good for many years. But not if you Native American. Not if you Black. Not if you Mexican.

What if you have good system but don’t let anyone turn on system? No money for anti-trust enforcement. No money for safe toys for kids. No money for electric cars. No money for education. All schools become trade schools. You become programmer, there’s a school for you and get job. You become doctor, same thing. Dentist. Accountant. Actuary. Engineer. But what if you want to learn about history and languages and music and art and other cultures? Then nothing. Nothing with big price tag. Education only for the wealthy now. Everything else trade school. So we have lots of uneducated people who scare easy. Afraid to fly. Afraid of tall buildings. Afraid of terrorists hiding under bed. So we give away our privacy so government can round up terrorists. Government set up straw man argument. Terrorists want to come here and get us. Nonsense. They just want us to leave their countries alone. How many terrorists hurt people in this country last year? None. Government says this proof government working. I say I chase away dangerous elephants for a living. You see any elephants? No? That means I good at job. What if I want to become philosopher? Come on. You philosopher. Maybe you can help.

Philosopher sense my frustration. But he say a little about being philosopher. He say how he was other things before philosopher. Technical things. But not happy. So he read and read. He take courses and write papers. But always same thing: look for answers and wind up not really knowing what questions even mean. So that what he knows is really just what he feels should be. People should be free. What that mean? Don’t ask because I don’t know, he say. People should care for each other. What best way to do that? Don’t know. But beware of people who say they do know. More likely, they want something; money, power, fame…something. And when you support these people you diminish yourself in some way that he can’t put into words. Maybe someone get into big house and do some good. But he not holding his breath. That all he say.

Little-Eagle-Feathers and Pineapple-Boy race to see who can get locked up in big house. They race all over country. Pineapple-Boy a bit faster because Little-Eagle-Feathers covered in tar. But she still pretty quick and race is close. Some people say stop race. Some people say racing is good for whole country. But race not last forever. Race ends at latest when Monster-Rally ends. When race over, still one more race to finally decide. That race against Snapping-Turtle-Prisoner. He not fast but he very dangerous, very old and tricky. And very, very tough.

Hah! Got old philosopher again. He tied up in next room again! First I knock on door. “Go Away!”, he shout. “We save whole world!”, I tell him. He philosopher, after all, and that good philosophy trick, save world. But no work this time. “I got a gun”, he say. “Now get the hell outta here!” “OK”, I say, “You never see me again. Ever. I mean Never. I just go.” Then I go buy big pizza. Then I see little boy on street. “How you like earn five dollar?”, I say. “Screw you and your pizza too”, he say. This good start. He can hear! And he not blind! “OK, ten dollar”, I say. Then I tell him plan.

Soon I knock on old philosopher’s door. He smell pizza. “Who is it?”, he ask. Kid say, “I Little-Jimmy from down street with apology pizza for wise philosopher. Crazy person say he sorry he trick you.” “Well, forgive and forget”, philosopher say. He open door and I jump out and tie him up. He still get pizza. Now to story!

Little-Eagle-Feathers and Pineapple-Boy look at same house behind gate. Then Little-Eagle-Feathers and Pineapple-Boy look at each other. They look and look. Little-Eagle-Feathers remembers King Kong lesson, be friendly and smile a lot. She say “Gate locked, and crazy person locked up inside. Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!”.

Pineapple-Boy say nothing. He know to wait!

“Soon crazy person move out. Soon I live in that house. I smash! Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!”, say Little-Eagle-Feathers. “How you gonna do that?”, say Pineapple-Boy. “I smile a lot. Then they don’t catch on. Ha Ha Ha!”, say Little-Eagle-Feathers. “That’s not smilin’, that’s laughing.”, say Pineapple-Boy. Then Pineapple-Boy think and think. Then Pineapple-Boy say “But that’s great. Laughing’s even better. Specially if you laugh when they don’t expect it. Then they know you’re really, really friendly”, say Pineapple-Boy. “By the way”, say Pineapple-Boy, “how you know when it’s time to move in?” “That first lesson”, say Little-Eagle-Feathers. “I tell you. Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha.” Then stand on box.

“A long time ago, in another universe, I live in that house. Ha Ha Ha Ha. I remember I was lady. Big lady. Biggest lady of all. But then I get thrown into La Brea Tar Pits. You know when? This happen when Mr. Big give “Let My People Go” speech. Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha. This speech he give when nobody looking. Best way to smash things. First he make up list. You do favor, you get on list. You do business, you get on list. You friend, you get on list. But if you give money, you can only get some other person on list. That a rule. Ha. Idiot could get around that rule!”

By now, Pineapple-Boy could see that Little-Eagle-Feathers was getting agitated. Her voice become shrill. Her complexion turned pale and she flapped her arms a few times. “Stupid Mr. Big call up Department of Justice. This late at night. I don’t know why Department of Justice open late at night. Usually, it’s closed. Maybe this special night, because I could smell much pizza all the way over here. Anyway, he call. “Who’s this?”, they say. “This Mr. Big. Let My People Go!” Then he read list. Then he make them read it back so he know it good. Then he hang up. Next thing I remember, I am in La Brea Tar Pits.” Little-Eagle-Feathers began to sway back and forth. “Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha. Now another list being made. King Kong tell me. This be biggest list of all! So soon I move in house and smash everything! Ho Ho Ho. Merry Christmas.” And Little-Eagle-Feathers fall off box and faint on street.

Philosopher getting quicker at eating pizza. This getting expensive. Next time no pepperoni! Got to go. Back soon.

This is crazy true story. I warn you in advance. I am not the philosopher. He is tied up in next room, but I will let him go when I am finished here. He can move his arms, and I brought him big pizza. He started yelling at me not to do this, but then pizza started cooling off and he started eating. This won’t take long, cause he eat quick. This be fun.

Years ago, Little-Eagle-Feathers started out crawling out of La Brea Tar Pits. Little-Eagle-Feathers was covered in tar, and saw dead animals lying all around. If Little-Eagle-Feathers saw dead eagle, Little-Eagle-Feathers pluck big-bird feathers and stick in tar on body. Stick all over every body part to hide. Long time passes and up come Little-Eagle-Feathers. Tar hard now. Feathers stuck for good. Little-Eagle-Feathers hungry and look for job to get money.

This when King Kong come along. Both look for work on same street. When Little-Eagle-Feathers wanted work they mostly said, “Naw. You better get outta here. You look a little crazy.” But some times Little-Eagle-Feathers find work. Little-Eagle-Feathers put on pants-suit and find work. Only a few eagle feathers stick out in back of pants. When King Kong look for work they said, “Naw, You too big, man: you smash everything. You better get outta here.” But King Kong smile a lot. So some times King Kong find work.

At night, Little-Eagle-Feathers and King Kong share brews and stogies. “They smell like funny stogies, man,” neighbors say. Then King Kong hump like crazy person. King Kong tell Little-Eagle-Feathers his name not really King Kong. “It was really King van Dong”, said King Kong, “but I had to change it because nobody liked King van Dong. And I had to act friendly. You have to do this to get work.” Little-Eagle-Feathers said “I don’t know what I am or what my name is because I crawled out of tar pits. But call me Little-Eagle-Feathers. And I will act friendly, too. Just like you. We be friends.” King Kong said O.K. and that was that.

Then, every night King Kong and Little-Eagle-Feathers go out and smash things. King Kong show Little-Eagle-Feathers how! King Kong tell Little-Eagle-Feathers, “Years ago, I almost smashed everything! That was on the East Coast, in Washington. Some folks say Warshingon. But I dunno. They got so much to smash, you know? Not jes li’l strip malls like out here. But they shot me down. I should have smiled more: that’s the way to do it. Smile, and smash ‘em when they’re not lookin’.”

Then Little-Eagle-Feathers sit down and think and think and think and think, and then jump up. “Let us go to Washington of the East Coast and smash up everything!”, say Little-Eagle-Feathers. “Yep!”, say King Kong.

Far away, those guys in East who made Godzilla make another one. They thought “First one pretty good. He smash good. But he too big.” They think, “He too easy to hit. And his name very much too scary. Godzilla! That even scare us!” So they make him smaller. But much more dangerous with awe. Plus some technology shock. First one smash big city. This one they build to smash many big cities. And they give him name with very friendly sound. They call him Pineapple-Boy. That not scary. “Everyone Likes Pineapple-Boy,” they say. They say this over and over. Soon it become like mantra: Everyone Likes Pineapple-Boy. Everybody on island has to say “Everyone Likes Pineapple-Boy” all day long. They have to write “Everyone Likes Pineapple-Boy” in Newspaper! Every Newspaper! Then they put pants-suit on Pineapple-Boy. Then they stuff big money in all his possible pockets and places. Then they bring Pineapple-Boy to Washington.

“When I get to smash things?”, ask Pineapple-Boy. “Soon. Very soon you smash things up good. But now be patient. Now just smile. Remember. Everyone Likes Pineapple-Boy!” This is what they tell him. Pineapple-Boy very excited. Pineapple-Boy can’t wait!

Uh Oh! Mr. Philosopher waking up from pizza-coma. He starting to yell. I better get outta here. I tell you more later. I expert! I study Monstrology at big U.S. university! Monstrology is fun, and anyone can learn it. But I gotta go. Next time I tell you about Big Monster Rally! See you soon.

When my sons were very young, I would sometimes ask them what they’d like to be in life. For a MacGuffin, I’d mention that when I was young, I thought for a long time about this very question, and then wrote down my conclusion on a sheet of paper, which I had put in a special blue envelope someplace in the attic. But I had forgotten where. Would they help me find it? I needed it now because I had some free time coming up and I wanted to do some of what was written on the paper. Then we would talk as we searched. On one of these occasions, one of my sons talked about a story he had heard on the news, of someone famous whose garbage was searched in an attempt to find out more about him. What, my son asked, do you call the person doing the searching?

I wondered if he was getting suspicious.

As we leisurely looked at old boxes of books and papers, I told him that such a person was a garbologist, and went to school to study garbology, to learn how to do this, before actually setting out to explore people’s trash. He said then, that he no longer wanted to be an Elvis impersonator when he grew up. He wanted to be a garbologist.

I have only recently learned from a wikipedia article that the terms garbology and garbologist exist, and have been around for some time, and that garbology is an academic major dealing with modern refuse. This amused me. And with too much time on my hands now this led me to wonder again at the nature of man. About how ideas occur independently in separate places but around the same time, and are pursued in somewhat different ways. Commonly cited examples include the development of calculus, the development of writing, the invention of the telephone, and who knows what else. I wondered to what extent these events are independent, and whether your concept of independence is the same as mine or the next person’s. Perhaps there’s some shared sense that the time is right for a logical next step in a process whose end we cannot see, because it is defined by the process, by us, always changing and receding faster than we can pursue it, entropy itself generating entropy, and order circling in upon itself until it vanishes into the next dimension which, when it gets enough order, will have its own big bang. The logic is our invention too, you know. The way we knew a process was logical was that we made up the logic as we went along, then went where the logic pointed. The tangent was always a straight line, but our direction never was. The horrors of the twentieth century prevent me from calling this process progress.

Most of the items on my “to do” list will never be done, of course. When my life ends, not soon I hope, I will not have learned Aramaic or Coptic. I will not have read more than a small fraction of nineteenth century philosophy. I will have known but a vanishingly small fraction of those of my time. And yet it is nearly enough for my scope. When our activities are focused around what we love, we use our time wisely.

I still haven’t adopted a fixed perspective on cultural relativism and its problems, or logical positivism and falsification, because I don’t know enough about language and its influence on our concepts to feel any confidence in an evaluative process. I feel fixed in time, and that time is passing. I think I can appreciate it for what it was. Yes, there was a feeling of intellectual excitement: we can finally get it right, clarify our terms, end the madness. And to have felt some of it during Friday night pizza and espresso and Chinatown and pastrami on rye fueled discussions, optimism a buzz lasting the weekend until Sunday midnight when the libraries closed without an answer, and still digesting until Wednesday, when you knew that this Friday you had to raise the case of …. It was fun.

Then graduate studies come to an uneven bumpy end. Fred decided on law school in Alabama. Susan was law school in New York. Connie, already wealthy, began to travel. Me on Wall Street. Family. Move to someplace nice where the boys can hike and swim. Thank you Fred and Susan and Connie and the rest of you, wherever you may be. It was fun. Maybe now I can get some sleep.

I had a friend who died a while back.

He wasn’t an old friend.

My wife knew his lover,

And that’s how we met.

We only went out to lunch a few times before he died.

He said he was inclined to call me Robert,

Although, he said, he observed that most people called me Bob.

I said I wasn’t particular.

He went to a famous school

But was not, himself, famous.

He told me he had prostate cancer.

I said that I had passed biology

Only because my hand shook as I drew an earthworm transfixed in death,

Giving it a compelling, lifelike quality.

But I had heard that prostate cancer was a slow grower.

Only in his case it wasn’t.

In the hospital, when he lay bleeding out into a clear, plastic bag,

(goddamn you, people, can’t you help him?)

I brought him his last French pastry.

His smile was wide.

I turned to the sink to wet a paper towel for him,

Hiding tears.

He died the next day, and his body was burned.

Cremated.

To cremate. That’s an infinitive. I learned that in Latin 101.

It used to be common.

Funny how it still is.

RJB

There are those among us who lift us up, and give us the courage and will to persist against adversity even when the odds seem long. They make us glad to be here on this crusty old rock, and constantly point out and enhance its beauty and possibilities. They inspire us to do more, to be more. I am proud to say that my sons are such people. They reach, not for the next dollar, but for the next dream. And they have made many dreams come true.

One of my children has his birthday today. I will not mention his name, because many of you know him. He makes me feel as if tomorrow may indeed be a better day.

On this 29^th day of January, grey and cold, I, with a warm and happy heart, wish you the best in this coming year, and many happy returns. If your dreams come true, we shall all know a better world.

Happy Birthday!

-Dad

Author’s Note: When I first took a few minutes to jot down the story below, I thought that more comments would result relative to the traffic I received. But upon review, I feel I may have obscured some of the issues I was trying to make visible in a feeble attempt at humor. But I believe, what a word but I can’t find better, in particular that discussions concerning animal rights have a legitimate, even necessary role to play in forming one’s concept of the social self and the moral self. It is disturbing to me that animals are to be cloned for food and that animals are used as food. In this, I am faced with my own hypocrisy wherein I am disgusted with the eating of meat and seafood, but I push those feelings aside and do it anyway and enjoy it.

A friend of mine who lived on his uncle’s farm as a child was never allowed to play with the pigs, which had numbers on them, lest he develop an emotional attachment. He was never informed in advance when one of the pigs was shot for the family’s consumption, and was forbidden to discuss the matter. When I was young I was invited to dinner at the home of a girl I briefly dated, whose father had survived Auschwitz, a Nazi concentration camp during World War II. He was wearing a short sleeve shirt, and on one forearm a tattooed number was starkly visible. I was suddenly and permanently saddened by the realization that the construction and operation of Auschwitz was a purposive activity of an entire society. I believe there is a connection here that I am unable to adequately articulate, but it goes something like this. If we are unable to appreciate the wonder and beauty of life to such an extent that the taking of it can become a routine, every day affair, are we in some sense less “human” than we believe ourselves to be? And is this approach to life unethical? Why is it so easy for us to read a war’s casualties as a number. And is there some way that we can educate our selves out of this condition? I hope you get a kick out of the story, of course, and that some of you will look beyond the plebeian humor, to issues that are more important than my writing is able to convey. Thanks for reading. -R

Jerry, a world champion porker, has a grin on his face that’s hard to describe without using profanity. But you may read here the amazing story of Jerry’s salvation from near certain execution, and of his happy latter days.

As one of the world’s few talking pigs, it seemed that his future was assured and a life of luxury leading to a blissful retirement was in Jerry’s stars. Alas, the publics’ taste for talking pigs had declined over the years. Some maintained that the “talking” was fraudulent. Others were offended by a claim of U.S. Government’s scientific community that, although talking pigs are rare, all pigs who do talk suffer from Tourette’s syndrome, rather like our public officials. Whatever the case may be, and in spite of the fact that Jerry could delight crowds everywhere by urinating upside-down, the day arrived when Farmer Al had to tell Jerry that the end was coming; he was to be sold at auction.

“This is Bullshit with a capital fucking B,” said Jerry. “Ain’t there no way out?”

“Well,” said Farmer Al, “there is a hog judging contest at the county fair on Saturday. Win that, and we’ll clone you forever.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about, if you’ll pardon my fuckin’ French? I just get upset about that damned Iraq fiasco, remember.”

“Well,” said Farmer Al, “FDA just now said cloned pigs is good food. You be the champ, and I’ll let the chumps chomp your clones. And I’m the judge in the hog contest.”

Saturday at last rolled around and things went well for Jerry and Farmer Al. A shill brought Jerry to the fair, Al handed out the prizes, and before sunset Jerry was home with his blue ribbon.

So for the foreseeable future, if you’re riding out past Al’s farm, you may hear a happy porker singing a little ditty he made up to celebrate his victory. It goes like this.

Well, you ain’t gonna munch on me
Hell, you ain’t gonna munch on me
No, I won’t be the goop
in nobody’s soup
It’s my clone in the pot, not me.

By way of further explanation, if you do get to see Jerry, you may read, painted on his right side, the words “Eat my clone, you f***ing drone”. Farmer Al thought it best to remove three of the letters. But be forewarned; Jerry may yell it at you anyway. It’s just the Tourette’s, you see.

It is with great sadness that I post the following post. Or post the following writing. Or perhaps write the following post. Well, let me just say I’m sad. And I’m writing.

Tragedy has again struck New York City. And, apparently, terrorists are to blame. According to my sources, the sadness is widespread, the grieving extensive. It seems that at about 3 P.M., in Grand Central Station, someone, perhaps unaccustomed to our culture, made a rude noise. Witnesses described the noise as sounding somewhere between an unexpected cardiac infarction during an unplanned bowel movement and a moose blowing his nose while drinking the pristine waters of the north. Although these things happen regularly in the station, the former Prime Minister of Pakistan had, unfortunately, recently been assassinated. Security personnel immediately called the White House. The President of the United States, after a brief meeting with his closest advisers, Dick Chaney, issued the following announcement.

“I am aware that here, in America, on New Years Eve, in New York City, the financial capital of the world, there has been an incident of Ali Kappa’s poppa striking at us again. I am sure all Americans share with me the profound sorrow that is felt by Republicans everywhere. This unfortunate event could not have been foreseen by anyone at Yale, in the C.I.A., the N.S.A., the S.D.I.; Oops! I wasn’t supposed to mention that there’s an S.D.I. But you get the point. A lot of us home town folks are upset!”

The Transportation Safety Administration was immediately ordered to lower the limit of explosive ingredients allowed in little bottles on planes from three ounces to two ounces. In response to the request, Democrats said they would require an immediate $300 million dollars from the Federal Government to train the Transportation Inspection workers in fractions. Nancy Pelosi, a great big democrat, asked, pointedly, how government workers would be be expected to divide two by three while looking at live images of attractive passengers walking through the fun screen, although she admitted that most didn’t have a problem with dividing three by two.

In return, she promised that all air traffic controllers would show up sober for the New Year’s night shifts. When asked how she could implement so drastic a revision of practice so promptly, she replied, “Da fu?” as she slumped in her chair. Political insiders think that this must be a previously undisclosed Democratic call to action.

Meanwhile, Rudy Giuliani offered to return to New York to officially welcome in the New Year, while insuring the city’s safety.

“I’ll bring my own Chateau Lafite Rothschild 1870 Pauillac”, the Mayor said. “It’s the best of the pre-phylloxera vintages,” he added, implying with winks and elbow jabs that the value of well kept bottles of the stuff could only go up. Unfortunately, as he made this remark, he himself had an unexpected bowel movement, and rapidly moved away from the press box.

For all of you who have indulged me this far, I wish you a Happy New Year. Yes, some of us are alone, perhaps in pain, physical or spiritual.

Hang in there! There are many who care about you. A new world is coming. I don’t quite understand it myself, but 2008 will be better than 2007. People who care for you may not know where you are or may be unable to reach you for a while. And, of course, you are always invited to post a comment here.

With love, an old philosopher.

All right, everybody, here it is. This is, in the words of an old professor, “Da Biggie!”

We’re all about to go broke! How’s it gonna happen, you say? Well, we start with an economy that’s not sufficiently diversified to absorb a slowdown in any one big money area, and then you watch a big money area collapse.

It’s here, and it’s called Housing. Here’s how the game was played. Head of Family, A, wants a house and is shown several by real estate agent B. The prices are humongous, observes A. B says to A, hey, this is where you make money! B shows A a property appraisal from C that shows that the house is well worth the huge price. B further adds that, with prices of homes climbing at, say, a ten percent rate each year, your $500,000 house will be worth a little over $600,000. in two years. Then you can sell it and use the 100,000 to get an even bigger house, if you want to, or just refinance the house, get a new mortgage, and use the $100,000 to buy a nice car and a boat. Not only that, but you can get the first house with no money down and an interest rate so low for the first two years that it’s cheaper than renting. And, if that’s not enough to knock your socks off, all of the mortgage payments you make are tax deductible because it’s what’s called an interest only mortgage.

A says, “Where do I sign?”

Now here’s some old Wall Street humor that’s been around for years.

I asked my broker what stock I should buy. Broker “The XYZ company at $1/share.” I bought 2,000 shares. The next day I called and asked him what looked good. Broker “The XYZ company - they are at $2/share.” I bought another 2,000 shares. The next day my broker called… told me XYZ was at $4/share and asked if I wanted another 2,000 shares. “No, I’ve made enough on this stock. Sell my 4,000 shares.” Broker “To who?”

Well, between outsourcing, downsizing, an aging population, higher prices for gas and for home heating, etc. there are just not enough people willing or able to keep buying those high-priced houses. The real estate game is grinding to a halt. So buyer A can’t get the $600,000 he had hoped for after the two years flew by. Then his mortgage adjusts to the new, higher rate, and suddenly A is in big trouble. People who were paying $3,500 a month are being told they now had to pay $5,000 a month. So A, if he has not already done so, is not going to buy a new SUV. And A’s family won’t be going to Disney World for a while.

The problem now spreads, because most of the SUVs that were being sold were being bought by people like A. So salesman D is now in trouble. And because so many houses are for sale and just not selling, there really is no need to build many more homes. So electricians, and plumbers, and most all the other folks that participate in the home building process are now making significantly less money.

And it spreads in another less obvious but just as important way. When A took out his mortgage, he promised to pay Mr. Banker specific amounts of money at specific points in time. Mr. Banker could sell that promise to Mr. Investor for cash. Mr. Investor looks forward to the income from the mortgage he bought, and Mr. Banker now has cash to lend out to more people who want to buy houses, or open businesses etc. But if people like A are having trouble paying their mortgages, then Mr. Investor isn’t as interested in buying those mortgages. After all, there are other things Mr. Investor can do with his money. This means that Mr. Banker hasn’t got as much money to lend out. It also means that he’s going to be more careful when it comes to deciding whom to lend it to. Now the entire economy has a problem because being able to borrow is a big part of what keeps the economy moving along.

Again, if the housing industry were only a small part of the economy, this wouldn’t be too much of a problem. But the housing industry is so big that the impact of these circumstances is going to be enormous. Our government has to take this problem very seriously. Because one possible result of this mess is that other governments won’t want to lend us money. Recently, a congressman observed in a news interview that the government was spending money like a drunken sailor. One reader wrote in that as a former drunken sailor, he resented the comparison! But it’s true that we don’t pay as we go. We depend on other governments to lend us money, and that gives them an advantage when negotiating with us. This can get too complicated to fit in a blog post. So let’s just go back to buyer A. Say he owes $500,000 on a house and he can’t make the payments. If he were to sell his house for $450,000 he would still owe Mr. Banker, or whoever is holding the mortgage $50,000. Same if the house sold through foreclosure. If A doesn’t have the $50,000, then he has to borrow it or face bankruptcy procedings. Either way, it’s likely to be some time before A will find a banker willing to give him another mortgage.

Now let us imagine that the above description of the housing industry is roughly accurate.

Then we are facing an economic problem so great that, in the normal course of affairs, it will not correct itself. Business will stagnate. The dollar will become worthless. Jobs will be lost, careers will be ruined. What is outrageous is that congress is doing absolutely nothing. It is not surprising. It is part of the endless cycle of campaign promises followed by post-election inaction. The only prompt reaction we see from either party is a pointing of fingers. However, we had better not let them ignore this problem, and that bombing Iran won’t really make us feel that much better.

-Author’s note: When I first wrote the above, I considered that the executive branch would in fact bomb Iran to some limited extent in response to the housing crisis. I am pleased to say that instead, the government is going to give every family enough money for a nice day at the local amusement park, followed by dinner out. This makes no sense either, but I’d rather see my children ride a roller coaster than read of yet another military fiasco.