Sarah Palin's Ghostwriter's Brain Writes Faster than Obama's Brain

Stunningly swift. Sarah Palin has completed her 400 page opus masterpiece in a mere four months. This from a woman who could barely consciously crack a newspaper open and remember what she read. Her ghost writer is to be applauded for the extra effort in getting the book ready in time for the holidays.

One does not want to let too much time pass between the heights of popularity and the depths of disillusionment; you strike the pig shaped pinata while the getting is good. Palin was probably paid a bundle for this and the quick release of the book, if anything, is a sign that the publishers are not willing to gamble on Palin's long term level of ripeness.

For months after the release will have to listen to her enthusiastic blind mice chatter about how her effort trumps that of Obama, for is it not a lengthy work? Oy vey. Brace yourselves.

Daily Update: Waiting for the Miracle to Come Edition

It's been odd observing the relative economic tranquility around the world. We half expected total collapse in South America and more signs of difficulty in certain Asian economies, but reality has proven otherwise. That is good for the world, and both good and bad for the United States. When you suffer, and the world does not, that "world" might begin to conclude that they don't need you, or don't need to listen to you. Being ignored or discounted is not America's default psychology, and the adjustment might be rough going for traditional thinkers.

In this year of populism run amok, with politicians and citizens enraged at various forces they pretend not to understand, or don't understand, we can hardly engage the world in a fashion that would benefit our own interests. We are still upset over losing manufacturing and jobs to overseas lands, not truly reflecting on the fact that every developed nation will face similar situations, and to the extent that people in China and India begin to have real incomes--and that process has begun--it offers a lot more opportunity than if the world were just shut down into several regional fiefdoms. We wonder if people are looking ahead.

Certainly certain institutions have that foresight. HSBC, the massive bank that has always spread itself across Europe and Asia, has decided to base its chief executive in Hong Kong in an acknowledgement of the importance of that region. We always believe that a nation's major corporations should leave ultimate authority in the home region. But, we also feel like smart businesses will make sure that their top personnel is focused on where opportunity can be had. HSBC is doing its part to stay attuned to opportunity.

The increasing shift in economic power from the west to the east was demonstrated yesterday when HSBC announced it was moving its chief executive Michael Geoghegan from London to Hong Kong.

The decision by the UK's biggest bank and largest company to move its chief executive to Asia comes at time when the traditional G7 power base is being overtaken by the wider group of nations in the G20, reflecting the growth in emerging markets such as China and India.

(UK Guardian)

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Norway's massive sovereign fund, font of oil revenue, continues to do well. A while back there were worries about falling oil income and declining stock shares, but the managers of the fund did not panic, using the opportunity of low prices to buy more assets.

Recent rises are the result of Slyngstad buying $175bn (£107.5bn) worth of equities when world markets crashed earlier this year, following the Norwegian government's decision to increase the share of equities in the fund from 40% to 60%.

(UK Guardian)

It would be awesome to see an American fund like this, but dedicated to healthcare or some other problem but what works so well in Norway would face political propaganda problems here. Namely, it would be referred to as socialist. Never you mind the number of programs in the United States that are some variation on socialism anyway. Any innovations in terms of how stuff is financed in this country would face unspeakable slander, which is why reforming healthcare now is such a never ending battle. We lack the foresight of Norwegians, who are saving money, growing money, and thinking about future generations while at the same time solving present day problems.

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And now, for those awake and alive, some music to take you into the week. The great Leonard Cohen had his first concert in Israel in more than twenty years. The sold out event was being used as a forum to promote reconciliation between Israelis and Palestinians. That battle is not ending any time soon, but the concept of forgiveness is important.

Baby, I've been waiting,
I've been waiting
Night and day
I didn't see the time,
I waited half my life away
There were lots of invitations
And I know you sent me some,
But I was waiting
For the miracle,
For the miracle to come

I know you really loved me
but, you see,
my hands were tied
I know it must have hurt you,
it must have hurt your pride
to have to stand
beneath my window
with your bugle
and your drum,
and me I'm up there waiting
for the miracle,
for the miracle to come

Ah I don't believe you'd like it,
You wouldn't like it here
There ain't no entertainment
and the judgements are severe
The Maestro says it's Mozart
but it sounds like bubble gum
when you're waiting
for the miracle,
for the miracle to come

Waiting for the miracle
There's nothing left to do
I haven't been this happy
since the end of World War II

Nothing left to do
when you know
that you've been taken
Nothing left to do
when you're begging for a crumb
Nothing left to do
when you've got to go on waiting
waiting for the miracle to come

I dreamed about you, baby
It was just the other night
Most of you was naked
Ah but some of you was light
The sands of time were falling
from your fingers and your thumb,
and you were waiting
for the miracle,
for the miracle to come

Ah baby, let's get married,
We've been alone too long
Let's be alone together
Let's see if we're that strong
Yeah let's do something crazy,
Something absolutely wrong
While we're waiting
For the miracle,
for the miracle to come

Nothing left to do ...

When you've fallen
on the highway
and you're lying
in the rain,
and they ask you
how you're doing
of course you'll say
you can't complain --
If you're squeezed
for information,
that's when you've got to
play it dumb:
You just say
you're out there waiting
for the miracle,
for the miracle to come

Sometimes I wonder if I am sitting about waiting for the miracle to come, or if anything short of a miracle, the miracle, is compromise.

Efficient Market Hypothesis Re-examined; Wall Street Still Pursues Mammon

One of the great theories that seems to be approaching old age and senility is the efficient market hypothesis. Wikipedia describes the theory as follows:

In finance, the efficient-market hypothesis (EMH) asserts that financial markets are "informationally efficient", or that prices on traded assets (e.g., stocks, bonds, or property) already reflect all known information, and instantly change to reflect new information. Therefore, according to theory, it is impossible to consistently outperform the market by using any information that the market already knows, except through luck.

(Wikipedia)

We've always thought the theory bunk and rather defiant of the human element and human nature. People neither absorb available information at the same time, or process it in rational fashion. Nor does the available information always reflect the underlying truth of any given asset.

Via the New York Times we have academics now exploring the human element that makes economic and risk modeling less precise. If this is part of the outcome of the near collapse of the financial markets, it is a welcome philosophical adjustment in our opinion.

In related observations, there have been any number of articles demonstrating some surprise or resignation that Wall Street is back to its old ways, and resuming the pursuit of massive profits. An article last week (also N.Y. Times) noted that Wall Street is now hoping to make a market of people's insurance policies, packaging them into securities.

So the wheel goes round and round.

In the the efficient markets article, the interest among college students (at least at MIT) remains high for the very skills that helped contribute to past difficulties, all though this time the hope is to reinvent the wheel:

When a bridge over a river collapses, the engineers who built the bridge have to take responsibility. But typically, critics call for improvement and smarter, better-trained engineers — not fewer of them. The same pattern seems to apply to financial engineers. At M.I.T., the Sloan School of Management is starting a one-year master’s in finance this fall because the field has become too complex to be adequately covered as part of a traditional M.B.A. program, and because of student demand. The new finance program, Mr. Lo noted, had 179 applicants for 25 places. 

In the aftermath of the economic crisis, financial engineers, experts say, will probably shift more to risk management and econometric analysis and concentrate less on devising exotic new instruments. Still, the recent efforts by investment banks to create a trading market for “life settlements,” life insurance policies that the ill or elderly sell for cash, suggest that inventive sales people are browsing for new asset classes to securitize, bundle and trade.

(N.Y.Times)

It really is about time people dispensed with standard EMH theories altogether. It's also probably about time that Washington seriously writes some financial legislation that limits leverage and speculation by major banks.

New York City On A Sunday Morning...

I grew up in New York City, which is like growing up on Mytikas, the highest peak of Mt.Olympus, looking down on the rest of the nation. The only important "other" places were (almost) similar such cities, maybe Paris or London. Maybe Hong Kong or San Francisco or Chicago.

I traveled into high school in Manhattan from Queens, taking the E or F train, or the7 line if I was feeling bored and wanted a glimpse of Shea Stadium and the tennis center. I imagined that if someone was trying to kill me, I was shifty and unorthodox, never taking the same route. Hard to pin down.

Sometimes it all depended on what I wanted to eat. When the High School of Music and Art (now LaGuardia Arts) was still uptown on the hill, I had choices of glazed donuts, Jamaican beef patties, sandwiches or candy, depending on whether I took a number or a letter train.

I didn't appreciate New York when I was there. I did and didn't. I felt a contentment, but bristled at the rude and the dirty. I dreamed of small towns, and quaint markets, and going to a high school with a football program. Music and Art was short on athletics, as were many city schools.

Eventually the school moved from Harlem downtown, joining with the School of Performing Arts in a new structure across from Lincoln Center. Many students detested the move, not wanting to leave what they called "the castle on the hill" which overlooked the black part of Harlem down below. I was delighted. A new building, with new studios and being in the center of the city. In the mornings I used to stop at a magazine shop to pick up various photography and music magazines. I flipped through whatever I bought as I crossed the street toward Lincoln Center, happy to be where I was.

At that time I wanted to be a folk singer, but was too afraid to sing in front of people. I also couldn't sing. There was something delightful about a someone who could write an engaging tune with just a voice and guitar. I listened to the music thinking, "I could do that." The pop on the radio was electronic and blippy and the best qualities of that music could not be replicated even by the artists themselves, let alone the listener. I wanted music I could sing to, strum my own guitar to. I listened to people like Shawn Colvin, John Gorka, and this duo called Buskin and Batteau.

There were a couple of folk music shows that came on the radio, one by a guy named Vin Scelsa called "Idiot's Delight" and I listened eagerly, the music becoming a soundtrack to my version of New York City. Pete Fornatale was another dj who imposed his own taste and creativity into my life.

I had my favorite spots. As art students we were required to go to the museums and draw what we saw. I was too much the introvert. I didn't want tourists looking over my shoulder and thinking what a lousy artist I was. I didn't want to mess up in front of people. I took surreptitious photographs and then recreated what I saw back home in the comfort of Queens. I disliked the Museum of Modern Art before I had ever entered, and disliked it after I exited. I loved the Met, but liked the quiet solitude of the Frick the best. "That's real art!" I said to myself, thinking that if I could paint, that's how I would paint. Oil painting was my focus at school, but I had long concluded that my skills were far below those of my more dedicated classmates.

They spent their time dreaming of a future career in the arts, and I spent my time contemplating whether to have beef patties or donuts for breakfast that morning, and whether taking the route that lead to the best food would deprive me of the route that led to whatever girl I liked at the time.

Sometimes I wandered down to 34th street near Macys, my favorite landmark. There were a lot of camera stores with all sorts of electronic gear stacked up in the windows at prices that seemed to good to be true. I planned what camera I would get, lusting after some indestructible looking Nikon, and assuring myself that the Leica right there would be my alternate when I wanted to give the Nikon a rest. Usually the only thing I ever purchased was Kodak Tri-X or Plus X black and white film. I was way into black and white pictures, feeling that color looked fake, and removed all the mystery. I took a free photography class at the School of Visual Arts to expand my skills.

The teacher sent us out onto the streets to photograph stuff. Again, I was too timid to point my camera if people might end up in the frame. I shot a lot of streets and buildings. Somewhere downtown, and at night, I photographed a man with crutches leaning against a shop window. The light from the window flooded past his dark body onto the sidewalk. Later I showed the picture to my dad, "Hey, see, I got this homeless guy sleeping." My dad told me the man was not in fact sleeping. He was on heroin and out on his feet. "Oh, well the light looks neat doesn't it?" He, my father, was not as enthusiastic at my photo with an actual person in it.

Other times I made my way to Chinatown for fireworks or knives. Near Thanksgiving I wanted to feel Dickens, and to buy a freshly killed bird and wander through the streets holding it by the neck, while beaming merchants yelled "Good day to ya" (in Chinese?) from their street stalls. I wanted to be like Scrooge, but happy, and go into a shop and say, "I will take that bird right there, and some figgy pudding" Chinatown was the best way to replicate that, and I bought a whole duck. On my subway ride home I was excited, and presented the duck to my parents. At Thanksgiving, and once cooked, the duck shrunk down to nothing, fat leaching out, and I thought, "Next time, I will get the pheasant, or a goose!"

I loved Buskin and Batteau, and every time I traveled downtown to this big music shop, they never had any of their albums in stock. Other times I would make the trip and be distracted by something else, instead of what I came for. By the time I was really determined to get their music, they broke up. They were always on independent labels and never easy to find anyway. The two men were, among other things, jingle writers, and I remember listening to a concert where they ran through a bunch of the jingles they had created. My favorite song of theirs was "Guinevere," and while other folk singers had done the tune some justice, nobody could do it better than them.

On this Sunday morning, they crossed my mind and I was glad to find that not only have Buskin and Batteau gotten back together, but they are touring, and with videos on Youtube and albums for sale. Thank you technology! Of course I must let you have a listen, those few who come here to see what I am lately ranting and raving about.