Toxic

Letter to the Bank#23

Dear BM,

It has been a while but if you have the least bit of sensitivity you can already tell I have not changed my tone. Am I asking you how you are, like a civil person should? No because I already know the answer. You are doing just fine. I am not exactly thrilled for you. It can’t be that hard when people are so eager and willing to toss wads of money at you every time you blink. Nobody does that when I blink. You don’t even have to work for it. If just sitting behind a desk speculating recklessly is all it takes then I want in on the action. I'm very good at being reckless! Just look at the state of my mortgage! I’ll just write the word banker on my forehead. And don’t you start getting all defensive. That line about having to pay the talent, keep the talent pool, offer bonuses blah blah blah. Well sure where genuine talent is involved, sure if they earned it. We just are not overjoyed to see institutional disfunction that has seriously hurt us all being rewarded. I’m straining to be ever so slightly light hearted. I feel a bit like the brilliant satirical singer/songwriter (and mathematician) Tom Lehrer, who once said in an interview, when asked why he’d stopped writing his hilarious songs, that he no longer found any of it funny anymore.

It doesn’t appear as if any you guys really give a damn how you are perceived. Nobody appears ready to impose regulations on you and you cannot be shamed into behaving ethically and altruistically anymore. So where does that leave us but down in the dumps. That is where I’ve been for a while. Truthfully a mood approximating despair has kept me damped way down. I admit it—I am not my usual fiery self. But I do have glimmers of hope buried under the ashes, glimmers that are ready to be reignited given the right fuel. Your talents will be heavily taxed as you try to keep my fury at bay. I was almost completely put out but now feel a growing heat underground as if the earth still believes enough in humans to offer them once more the gift of fire and fury.

I’ll give you a tip: If you dignify my letter to you with a response I might be controllable for some time yet. Your justified concern that I might just start a forest fire and threaten your lovely McMansion on the hill, or your barricaded millionaire enclave in the valley can be assuaged by a thoughtful reply.

Sincerely,

K.C.

PS— I see you have changed the term toxic asset to legacy security. How brilliant. Maybe you do deserve that bonus! Come on! Lighten up. That is what I am about to do.

Letter to the Bank #16

K

Dear Banks,

Is it like shooting fish in a barrel? Is that what I’m doing when I point my ire at…you guys? I know you are a vague and varied target but from the lowest level on up you are all supposed to be money aware. I’m an artist so I’m excused! That is why I bank with you…so you’ll manage my money! So a little bit of self-rightious anger is forgivable wouldn’t you say-even for an irresponsible homebuyer like myself.

So I was somewhat irked when I came across a review of Snark by David Denby (NYT Book Review 2.22.09). I distinctly got the feeling that I might, in Denby’s eyes, be guilty of snarkiness, a low form of humor in his eyes. Are my letters to you snarky? I hope not but suspect they could be considered as such, especially those that begin: “Dear BM”. I was irked, took particular umbrage in this instance, because Mr. Denby not only has often negatively reviewed movies I love (that’s another matter), but has also targeted Maureen Dowd in this, his latest polemic, describing, her views on the financial establishment as prime examples of snarkiness, according to the review. She is one of the few public faces openly expressing a fury that I believe is shared by millions but somehow those millions are now being persuaded to get angry with each other instead-responsible renters versus irresponsible home owners being the first example that comes to mind. This is anger misdirected! Apparently poking fun at the experts that directed us lemming like creatures down the drain is not on! They might take offense! Then, if any chicken legs do drop from their abundant table, they won’t land on yours! Is that snarky enough for you? Not only is it fun to poke fun at the people who saw this coming and did nothing to put on the brakes-it’s our moral obligation! Besides they are so thick skinned nothing I say or do is going to bother them in the least. They don’t need anyone rushing to their defense. They’ll still be grinning from ear to unhearing ear, caviar dripping from their chins, as that bullet train hurtles into the gaping black hole of that never ending tunnel. Unscrupulous, egotistical, insensitive and self-centered and this Denby fellow is concerned that some of the commentary directed at them is below the belt. Oh, all right. I haven’t actually read his book. Why am I so angry? I’m angry for one thing because they’ve been taking advantage of my financial ignorance for years and I feel so very stupid.

On the same day I read the aforementioned review I happened to hear This American Life on the radio. I was more than impressed by their nuanced and balanced approach to the whole mess. They pointed no fingers, and slung no mud in their honest efforts to get to the bottom of the financial crisis. You should listen to it. It is a great radio show. You also might like to know the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center will be performing Stravinsky’s Histoire du Soldat on the 27th February, with Klaus Maria Brandauer as the narrator. This piece is close to my heart because I also was once the narrator at a music camp in Vermont. I had a ball.

But why do I bring this up? I bring it up to be…a killjoy. I suspect we’ve each sold our violin to the devil, as the soldier in that tale did, in exchange for the easy life, or an easier life at any rate. Show me those who didn’t. I’d like to bask in the glow of their company and benefit from their advice, advice I surely can trust. Sitting on this “bullet train to bankruptcy” (Maureen Dowd, OP-ED, NYT 2.22.09) theirs is the company I wish to share.

Yours breathless (it must be this toxic environment),

K