Sitting in my almost comfortable chair, watching Sixty Minutes, I realize that I am experiencing an unusual feeling. It is not an unfamiliar feeling. It comes from time to time when I am bored, or not sufficiently motivated by the external influences I experience at any given time. It comes upon me in subtle ways. It is almost like a whisper. It is a small voice inside my mind telling me that something is about to occur. Given this pseudo physic knowledge of impending occurrences, I get another feeling, this time in the smallest part of my stomach. It also speaks in a small voice. Yet, perhaps it is not so sublime. Perchance it is a more deep-throated summons. Growing in volume and intensity it almost… but not quite…becomes a discernible intonation. Not quite words…but…how can it be…are they words. Could it be some type of summons from the Great Beyond? Might it be a command from within? It is almost an urgent insistence that calls for capitulation. But from my stomach?
I look around the room finding no respite. Everyone is attempting to listen to this small woman on the other side of the building from me. I have no idea what she is speaking of. I firmly believe that the only sound that needs to come my way should have some relevance. All else needs to stay outside my notice, as I am an opinionated fool at best, and the rest of the world really does not deserve the inane ranting I am capable of. However, as I am wont to say, you dialed up the webpage so you get to read this tirade.
I have recently had occasion to spend some time in the pursuit of enlightenment on the state of financial affairs as it relates to my ability to maintain my status as an acceptable, responsible, and productive member of society. I sit here with the vast sum of ninety six cents in my pocket with which to beat back the beast that is life. Additionally, I have somewhere in the neighborhood of one dollar and forty two cents in the bank. This is my wealth totalamente for the next eight days when the heavens shall open and manna from heaven will arrive in the guise of a paycheck.
Not to worry, though. I have gas in my truck, victuals in the larder, two-thirds of a pack of cigarettes, and a two dollar winning scratch off lottery ticket which I will turn in for another because, surely, I am going to hit a jackpot this time. Life is good.
My bills are currently at a level which exceeds my income in the foreseeable future. Added to that, my truck is having abandonment issues and has decided it needs me to pay more attention to it…to the sum of two hundred and fifty dollars. The acquisition of this level of coinage is truly a mystery for the ages.
I ruminate over the solution to my dilemma and wonder if it is, perhaps, just my lot in life. A depressing notion given my state of aspiration for the new vehicular conveyance I am watching on the television. It’s a beauty. Fancy wheels, night black, an engine that will go from zero to sixty in les time then it takes for me to count the money in my pocket. Maybe I’ll just take a nap. “To sleep, perchance to dream” or, at least, some variation of that variety of excrement.
Then the show resumes and I am watching a segment on the state of financial affairs in this Great Country of ours. The “Financial Bailout” being the topic or, in this case, the reason for the pickle the pecuniary philosopher’s who run this country have gotten us in. This report speaks of a once outlawed practice of gambling on the stock market that once caused a major bank panic and depression in America and Mexico. Apparently, the party with whom I identify let this happen in a deal for sympathetic voting on a favored issue back in the 1990’s. This was the same government that Back in 1990;
“Seized the Mustang Ranch brothel in Nevada for tax evasion and, as required by law, tried to run it. They failed and it closed! Now we are trusting the economy of our country to a pack of nit-wits who couldn't make money running a whore house and selling booze?”
Furthermore, it was revealed that the so-called “Bailout for $740,000,000, 000” actually ended up costing $140,000,000,000 that nobody knew about until the Administration signed the bill. For what did this extra money go for? Well, as it turns out, there are a number of bank executives that will end up getting six figure bonuses this year for screwing up. Now, mind you, this constitutes significant cuts from the seven an eight figure bonuses they are used to. Oh, the tragedy of it all! I mean, what’s a man to do with a mere six or seven hundred thousand dollars?
Now here I sit with forty six cents (the kid next door rolled my trash can out to the curb and gracefully accepted the fifty cents instead of his normal dollar so as to prevent me from risking arrest as a vagrant) and wonder if there is some way I could use this “Crisis” to my advantage. Mmmmm…
Well, I no longer qualify for public assistance because I am a school teacher. Certainly this is a noble profession which I love, but not exactly one which leaves me in the top tax bracket. Actually, standing at the entrance to Wal-Mart with a sign stating “Will teach for food” is not an entirely foreign ideal.
I received an e-mail recently that suggested that if that bailout money was actually divided to the citizens of America, the recuperation of the finance system could occur in a much more timely fashion. In this plan everyone would receive about $242,000. After taxes and paying off debt, each of us would, on average, have enough to put a reasonable down payment on one of those foreclosed houses, and buy a new car.
Well, I do not think that I can count on receiving a check within the foreseeable future. The last one took a month longer to get to me then I was told. Maybe I’ll just live with my twenty six cents (I lost twenty cents somewhere on the quagmire that is my desk) and not complain. Go cook some Wonder Food, and work on my cardboard sign…