Bozo saves America

The hyper coverage of inflamed rhetoric winds down. We'll have a contrived high-noon  crescendo of cymbals and tympanis when the senators say "okay, dammit,'' but for practical purposes it's over.  Geithner can keep borrowing and Bernanke can keep printing.

Maybe 5 per cent of Americans understand that there were no budget cuts.  In the first place, there are no budgets in place even for the new fiscal year beginning in 59 days. Those "saved" billions and trillions are reductions in notional dreams of what might be budgeted -- a little or a lot --  beginning Oct. 1, 2011 and extending into the hazy decade of the 2020s.

If you share Barney Franks' vision, the slashes are more horrible than they sound.  Barney would in a heartbeat set up a new cabinet department authorized to expend unlimited sums to define and protect the rights of transgendered Americans. His dream budget also envisions free ice cream at Acorn rallies.

If you share a bed with Michele Bachmann, you dream of a federal budget of zero, not counting special appropriations for hiring shamanshrinks to help homosexuals pray away the gay. (Stop shuddering, fellows. I meant only metaphorical nearness on an imaginary Posturerpedic.)

The Obama dream budget is the amount necessary to buy -- with your money and mine -- 270 electoral votes.

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That's what we're cutting, something -- not much -- from a mysterious "n."  So if you follow the upcoming super committee follies with a feeling that the Tremendous Twelve haven't the faintest clue about what they're doing  -- other than capturing air time and ink --   rest assured that your logical facilities are intact.

Journalism in America: the economics beat

This arrived in my inbox from our pal JAGSC. It's a  photo cutline from a Texas newspaper report on the drought.

"A cotton plant has sprouted through a piece of parched, cracked earth in a West Texas field near Lubbock that was not irrigated.  The irony: While supplies are low, cotton prices are their highest  in years."

Point of Order

The gorgeous Asian airhead* on MSNBC just told me many banks have no plan to take care of their customers in the event of a "U.S. government shutdown. " Never mind that only the dimmest of wits are concerned about an imminent  "shutdown."

More to the point: Maybe my banks have a plan to return my money under unfortunate scenarios. Maybe they don't. If per chance they refuse to honor the contracts between us, I have a plan. I say again,"I."

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*Didn't catch her name, but no matter. Her chief impact is to make me very sad that I lack Milt Caniff's talent. I'd love to draw her in a Dragon Lady cheong sam.

Domestic Matters

Washington, D.C. is downwind of me a thousand miles or so, yet living here is still an existence in hot, wet wind.

(1) Even before 7 a.m. the air conditioner is huffing,  and I'm feeling only trace amounts of guilt at selfishly depleting the world's dwindling supply of  energy resources. I'm afraid the caribou and my posterity will simply need to adapt.

(2) On Dawn patrol this morning the atmosphere was composed of mist rising from the fields everywhere.

(3) Paper matches will not ignite.

(4)  New Dog Libby is no longer interested in following me outside.