They're All Yellow

I plucked this paragraph from article in today's New York Times Sunday Review by John F. Burns:

Looking back over only the last three years, Mr. Miliband has said that the three great crises to hit Britain since then — the banking crash of 2008, the furor over fraudulent parliamentary expenses in 2009 and the tabloid scandal — have been rooted in a culture that engendered a “shirking of basic responsibility” from “top to bottom” in British life, that “sends the message that anything goes, that right and wrong don’t matter, that we can all be in it for ourselves as long as we can get away with it.”
“What,” he said, “is a young person, just starting out in life, trying to do the right thing, supposed to think when he sees a politician fiddling the expenses system, a banker raking off millions without deserving it, or a press baron abusing the trust of ordinary people?”

On NPR this morning Paul Collins, writer of the book The Murder of the Century: The Gilded Age Crime That Scandalized a City And Sparked the Tabloid Wars, compares William Randolph Hearst with Rupert Murdoch. Both of them were about doing whatever it took to sell newspaper regardless of the pain caused along the way. The banks and financial institutions also are all about apolitical pragmatism. They never have to put their money where their mouths are because they always go where the money is to eat.

On a different note it is fascinating, as a duel citizen British-American, to watch as the Press on either side of the Atlantic focus on the troubles the other country is having. The Brits see a crisis in America and the Americans see a crisis in Britain in efforts to keep eyes diverted form their own already profoundly shaken financial markets.

Tell Obama: We Want Warren!

Tell Obama: We Want Warren!

Letter to the Bank #40

Dear BB,

This is how I will be referring to you from now on. Addressing you as BM could be somehow misconstrued as an insult and the last thing I wish to do is drive you away. You are so much more than my financial advisor or bank manager, more than just a suit. You are my guru, my therapist, my inspiration, my life. You are occasionally dim but you are always full of optimism. Nothing gets you down not even a lousy economy. You are the shade in my light and it is to you, chief executive officer of the Mine’s Eye Bank, that I turn whenever my world stops doing so for however brief a moment. Seeing as your bank exists only in the realms of my imagination it is one I can certainly relate to if not trust. Only you can fully appreciate the fact that my letters do not simply address matters of personal finance but take on the ever more important issue of a lack thereof. I take on the trenchant concerns of one who lacks what might be termed any real personal finances to speak of. Considering everything I earn, and all that I serve as guardian to—be it my art books or the seeds of my loins—in the end belong to the Brotherhood of Bouncy Bankers.

You own me and I, unfortunately, owe you.

Despite this painful, though by no means recent, revelation my letters will remain, as always, packed with wit and satirical asides. In my efforts to get to you I find myself tripping over syntax and sentence construction assaying to employ every trick in my toolbox. Getting to you is what this is all about and this is why:
As a family man approaching his post middle years shouldn’t I be bounding out of bed of a morning full of vim and vigor, shouldn’t I be singing a little ditty as I brush my crooked teeth? Instead I ache. I roll over rubbing my stiff neck. I gulp down a glass of stale water to assuage my parched throat. Why is it parched? Because I do not have the time to get to a water fountain, a cooler or even the Red Bar (and the Red Bar requires money). My body aches because I do not find the time to do the stretches recommended by my physical therapist to help me with my back that is chronically uncomfortable which causes disrupted sleep and thus a tendency to flop somewhat inertly out of bed of a morning. No time. No money. I’m a visionary trapped in a dualistic universe. This also causes chronic pain, low level, perpetual discomfort.

On an entirely different note why is it that those who fail to make a ton of money are considered the greatest criminals of all? If you rob a convenience store you go down for a good five to ten I’ll bet. A white collar criminal, on the other hand, caught bilking the average Josephine of her meager income by persuading her to make financial decisions she is not equipped to handle, usually waltzes away with all blame placed squarely on the little old lady’s stooped little shoulders. She should have known better. As to the matter of bonuses—I’ll do the decent thing and skip lightly away leaving that whisper in your ear. I know eventually you will do the right thing. But my admiration for yoy knows no bounds. Despite these issues that continue to undermine your good name you remain undaunted. Your good cheer, your bounce is ever an inspiration.

Most sincerely,

K. W.

Letter to the Bank #33

Dear BM,

I’m suddenly discovering a world of people out there who appear to be making money…ethically! Not only are they making money but they are also donating money to micro-loan enterprises like Kiva and the Grameen Bank. I’m thrilled to hear it. I’m simplistic enough to assume if money is being made it is at someone else's expense—just about always—shame on me. Well I now stand corrected thanks to folks like those at millionairemommynextdoor

You of course I trust. YOU are my trusted bank manager. I have to trust you. I cannot not trust you! You must understand this. My god! Where would I be if I couldn’t trust my very own bank manager? Perhaps you don’t exist but I have to believe you do. Do you understand? That, after all, is what all these letters are about. I’m willing you into existence. I’m making you happen. I’m laying the groundwork for your materialization. I am like Doctor Frankenstein. If I put all the right ingredients in the bucket and stir I’ll finally have the ethically responsible, smart, considerate, likeable, financially astute bank manager that I have always dreamed of, the one I imagine remembering from my childhood, the one who offered me a lollipop with a kindly smile as my father sat down in a plush red leather chair with brass rivets to talk with him, his trusted financial advisor, an advisor who, only in later years, morphed into a dull computer screen.

Perhaps with my new found faith in the possibility that money can be made without supporting sweatshops, or dictatorships, can be made without treading on the fingers of those below you on the vicious ladder of life (delightful alliteration), I can now consider the possibility of making this, my forum, into some kind of money making concern. Perhaps I too can dare to make money, print it off as and when needed? I can promise you this: My letters will remain reasonably literate, devoid of foul language or adult content (I promise to keep it childish), and free of slander or direct attacks on individuals. I am much more interested in philosophizing around issues of ethics, than pointing my finger directly at certain unscrupulous individuals who have contributed more than their fair share to our collective, current and dire state of affairs.

Yours sincerely,

Kristian C

Letter to the Bank #19

Dear Banks,

Do you remember when I'd send you a letter that began: Dear BM, and you could be sure it was an expression of my affection? I came across one of these the other day and thought you might enjoy it. To me it is something of a curiosity. Is it possible that I once felt this way?

Dear BM (you old goat you),

Do you know how comforting it is to have one’s very own Bank Manager, an individual dedicated to the guarding of one’s assets, whose only concern is to see them grow and flourish? To know that any time I need you I can be sure to find you at your shiny, dust free desk (god I love the smell of Pledge), and can count on you to direct my accounts, manage my portfolios, and guide those assets to their full potential, and that you will do so with a dedicated, personal touch that is light but ever reassuring. To know that my money has been cosseted from the cradle and so will be all the way to the grave. Let me tell you nothing brings me greater peace of mind. That warm sense of security, and of trust, that I carry within me is fully shared by my family, and the appreciation we feel is heartfelt.

Yours most sincerely,

K

The letter isn’t dated but then none of them are. It is one of a large bundle I came across, each of them, believe it or not, hand typed and signed in fountain pen in that beautiful aquamarine ink it is so hard to find these days. Some I believe were sent and I kept copies, and others I know were returned. I guess personnel changed, and banks got bought up by other banks—and so on and so forth.

One thing is clear—the personal connection has been lost! But I for one will not give up! I’ll shake you by the shoulders, or pour cold water over you, whatever it takes to make you notice me once more!

Sincerely hoping there is someone home,

K

Letter to the Bank #13

Dear Bank,


…Zombie banks? What are ZOMBIE banks? Actually you don’t need to tell me. I have an imagination! I’m not so dim as you think! (Pause). There I go taking out my ire and confusion on you, my dear, dear friend. Just because all your friends are driving badly I shouldn’t take it out on you. I know that. Forgive me. You and I are above such things. We have an understanding, a rare thing in this day and age. That said shouldn’t you be out there with your sawn off shotgun? Not only are they tarnishing your name but they are also terrifying! You are scaring away your customers! They certainly make my flesh crawl. They confirm my worst fears. Do you know what that fear is? I’m afraid the local, friendly bank manager of yore has gone for good. And you know what that means, right? People have nobody to turn to for honest, financial assistance, nobody to look to for help with interpreting staggeringly complicated clauses, charts and forms; nobody who can help them/us get our heads around numbers so big they miraculously become…small again! There is nobody out there who we can trust. TRUST used to be the name of the game but trust has dropped through that big black hole in the shiny tiled floor of that tired, fool’s gold spattered institution we all know as The Bank.


Sincerely troubled,


K


PS I wish, just for once, I could write and ask how your holiday in the Bahamas went...but honestly, right now, I can hardly pretend I care.

Letter to the Bank #9

Dear Bank,

I’ve put my current infrastructure project on hold. Though only a modest slice of the Economic Stimulus package would get it up and running I fear, for now, those extra hands I would willingly have put to work, will remain idle. Instead of helping me paint the basement the kids will have to content themselves with whiling away their valuable time on their Wiis and I-pods, their Gameboys and Webkinz. Until I can once again provide them with employment appropriate to their skill level and the commensurate pay rate, their talents will remain underutilized. For now a trip to the movies is out of the question. An adult ticket is at least $12 and by the time the whole family has been paid the hole in my pocket would at minimum be fifty big ones big! In this economy that is a big hole to fill!

So for now we are laying low. That said we still do our bit to stimulate the economy! I admit I cut my own hair the other day but honestly you are damned if you do and damned if you don’t! Look at poor John Edwards who was excoriated for getting a $300 haircut! Make up your minds! Do you want us to be thrifty or not?

My figuring is this: As required expenditures continue apace we are thus continuing to consume. We continue to pay out for guitar lessons, after school programs and necessary deposits for Summer Camp (forbid I take time off work to be with my kids), and so it is that we satisfy the SPEND lobby. Meanwhile we are putting wants and desires on hold so satisfying the need for THRIFT, for belt-tightening. Sot it is that despite limited resources we continue to pump up the economy.

I’d greatly appreciate it if you, for one, stopped bashing me for trying to not dig myself deeper into debt. If I am still contributing to the economy and paying my taxes I’m surely doing my bit. The question occurs to me: Are you, the bank, doing yours?

Yours sincerely and possibly a little distant,

K

PS if I spend and save does that make me a spendthrift? What do you think? Actually what do you think about anything? You really haven’t told me yet.