Ben probably chose unwisely in calling his new Fed policy a "taper." Careless teevee watchers are likely to think he meant "tapir," like a pig, sort of, only uglier, and with a grasping snout and crocodile-resistant hide.
Popular confusion is understandable because Chairman Bernanke is the money part of government. His job is to print enough Federal Reserve Cartoons so presidents and congresspersons can fling great batches of them at voting blocks, mostly around election time. Voters wiggle their snouts in the air, suck up all they can and make an ex by the guy on the ballot who pomises even more.
(Every now and then some spoilsport wlll crack wise about the worth of anything available in infinite quantity. Ben and his bosses will ignore that, proving that this tapir hide also resists logic. Irony, too.)
Anyway, Ben hinted in the vaguest possible way yesterday that he and the other Fed governors might lift he pedal from the metal a silly millimeter or so if the economy perks and if unemployment deperks and the good Lord willing and the creek don't rise and they find Jimmy Hoffa. That rosy result happening, he might print only 65 billion FRCs a month, down from the current funny money run of 85 billion.
Panic ensued. The Dow plunged and, this morning, crossed the 15,000 mark.
In truth, long tradition requires us to call it the psychologically important 15,000 mark because it ends in three zeros. At 14,999.99 is would have been psychologically insignificant.
If you think about it, that says a lot about how stock markets operate. They are designed to be more rational. They would be if it were not for the 2,000-pound white-bearded tapir in the room.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 19, 2013
The birthers return
Okay. It was a silly attack on His Ineptness but the birthers were good for a certain grin factor. How about another one as our president channels JFK at the Brandenburg Gate?
A wag hacks into his teleprompter. Barry is just hitting his demagogic stride, his voice raises as he reads, "Ich bin ein Kenyaner!"
A wag hacks into his teleprompter. Barry is just hitting his demagogic stride, his voice raises as he reads, "Ich bin ein Kenyaner!"
Jun 18, 2013
The Left-Handed Gun
My youngest heir and assign -- who is everything you could possibly want in a lad -- soon becomes a legal adult. He intends to celebrate his emancipation with his first very-own-bought-it-myself-center-fire rifle. A respectful young man, he has been seeking my counsel. (OK, maybe he's just humoring me, but I prefer to think otherwise so never mind.)
It's complicated because he shoots from the wrong side, limiting his selection in bolt guns and sending him in search of pumps and semi-autos. I've been trying to steer him away from autos, apparently not very successfully.
Last evening's exchange was about his newly discovered lust for a Remington Model 8 (!). I understand. It is admittedly a beautiful rifle in a findy sickle sort of way, so an admirable share of Gramps' penchant for tradition remains alive in the blood line.
I suppose that's balanced by an equal ratio of willfulness, so he may actually wind up with one despite my gentle suggestion that this JMB-design is now a better collector than it is a shooter. For instance, you need ammo in the midst of a mulie hunt down in the high Uncompahgre desert. Do you really think you can find a box of .25-.35 at the one-pump gas station, bar, and trading post over on the reservationroad jeep trail?
The discussion continues. I'll see what I can do about pointing him at a Remington 760 or the like while we look hard for a proper wrong-side bolt-action. Wish me luck.
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I like semi-autos just fine. I also like the ideas of (a) greater field dependability of hand-operated guns and (b) a young man concentrating on careful one-shot marksmanship before he gets too ratatattatty.
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EDIT: An astute reader questions .25-.35. It's a little obscure but the reference is ".25 Remington (also called .25-.35)..."
It's complicated because he shoots from the wrong side, limiting his selection in bolt guns and sending him in search of pumps and semi-autos. I've been trying to steer him away from autos, apparently not very successfully.
Last evening's exchange was about his newly discovered lust for a Remington Model 8 (!). I understand. It is admittedly a beautiful rifle in a findy sickle sort of way, so an admirable share of Gramps' penchant for tradition remains alive in the blood line.
I suppose that's balanced by an equal ratio of willfulness, so he may actually wind up with one despite my gentle suggestion that this JMB-design is now a better collector than it is a shooter. For instance, you need ammo in the midst of a mulie hunt down in the high Uncompahgre desert. Do you really think you can find a box of .25-.35 at the one-pump gas station, bar, and trading post over on the reservation
The discussion continues. I'll see what I can do about pointing him at a Remington 760 or the like while we look hard for a proper wrong-side bolt-action. Wish me luck.
---
I like semi-autos just fine. I also like the ideas of (a) greater field dependability of hand-operated guns and (b) a young man concentrating on careful one-shot marksmanship before he gets too ratatattatty.
---
EDIT: An astute reader questions .25-.35. It's a little obscure but the reference is ".25 Remington (also called .25-.35)..."
His Teleprompter Speaks
United States of America: The streets and schools are awash in blood, ergo it is my job as your president to advocate strict civilian gun control. In the end, only agents of the duly constituted authority should be armed.
Syria: The streets and schools are awash in blood, ergo it is my job as your president to arm the Syrian civilians in order that they may shoot down agents of the duly constituted authority.
Syria: The streets and schools are awash in blood, ergo it is my job as your president to arm the Syrian civilians in order that they may shoot down agents of the duly constituted authority.
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