Let the Record Show...

So a recent poll reported on CNN suggests that Americans 2/1 believe the current banking crisis is the fault of Republicans. What most Americans don't do is actually research the historical record. I must admit, when I look at eight years of the Bush Adminstration, I don't see that he personally took very much issue with the lending practices of these greedy corporations. Had I receieved a telephone survey, I probably would have laid blame on both parties.

But the record doesn't lean that way. Not at all. In fact, one candidate actually co-signed a bill for regulatory reform in our lending companies. That candidate? John McCain. The creator and additional cosigners? All Republicans. The bill, and three others just like it? Killed on the floor of the Senate, led by Democrats. Democrats who actually were taking kick-backs for their re-elections.

Here's an excerpt from an address given by John McCain on the Senate floor. Read it. Read it. Read it. Read it. Read it. Read it. Read it. Read it and learn something.

The United States Senate
May 25, 2006

Section 16

Mr. President, this week Fannie Mae's regulator reported that the company's quarterly reports of profit growth over the past few years were "illusions deliberately and systematically created" by the company's senior management, which resulted in a $10.6 billion accounting scandal.

The Office of Federal Housing Enterprise Oversight's report goes on to say that Fannie Mae employees deliberately and intentionally manipulated financial reports to hit earnings targets in order to trigger bonuses for senior executives. In the case of Franklin Raines, Fannie Mae's former chief executive officer, OFHEO's report shows that over half of Mr. Raines' compensation for the 6 years through 2003 was directly tied to meeting earnings targets. The report of financial misconduct at Fannie Mae echoes the deeply troubling $5 billion profit restatement at Freddie Mac.

The OFHEO report also states that Fannie Mae used its political power to lobby Congress in an effort to interfere with the regulator's examination of the company's accounting problems. This report comes some weeks after Freddie Mac paid a record $3.8 million fine in a settlement with the Federal Election Commission and restated lobbying disclosure reports from 2004 to 2005. These are entities that have demonstrated over and over again that they are deeply in need of reform.

For years I have been concerned about the regulatory structure that governs Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac--known as Government-sponsored entities or GSEs--and the sheer magnitude of these companies and the role they play in the housing market. OFHEO's report this week does nothing to ease these concerns. In fact, the report does quite the contrary. OFHEO's report solidifies my view that the GSEs need to be reformed without delay.

Friends, I'm not asking you to vote for John McCain. For the record, I might not even be voting for him myself. I'll decide after the debates. But in the meantime, at least become an informed voter. Here's information on the other bills led by Republican Chuck Hagel, NE:

GovTrack.us. H.R. 1461--109th Congress (2005): Federal Housing Finance Reform Act of 2005, GovTrack.us (database of federal legislation) (accessed Sep 22, 2008)

GovTrack.us. S. 190--109th Congress (2005): Federal Housing Enterprise Regulatory Reform Act of 2005, GovTrack.us (database of federal legislation) (accessed Sep 22, 2008)

GovTrack.us. S. 1100--110th Congress (2007): Federal Housing Enterprise Regulatory Reform Act of 2007, GovTrack.us (database of federal legislation) (accessed Sep 22, 2008)

Too in Debt to Care as American Freedom Falls?

Welcome to your first days of socialism, ladies and gentlemen. The move by the Feds to transfer our national wealth under simple strokes of their pens is the beginning of the end. The sad thing is, most Americans are too in debt to care.

The $700 billion dollar proposed bailout marks the biggest redistribution of wealth this country has ever seen. The sad thing is that when it's all said and done, your money and mine becomes all the more imaginary. With the Federal Government in charge of brand new banking budget that doubles the Pentagon's annual budget, they can write as many checks as they want to just about whomever they want. Like sickly cows walking under the teat of American innovation and progress, the Federal Government now owns your money and mine.

The latest bailout proposal is massive and not just in dollars. It's massive in what freedoms we give up. It defaults responsibility and rewards greed. Expect things to get bigger and uglier, all this from an adminstration that promised "smaller government." Defaulted properties will quickly become property of the Feds. Do you understand that? This move puts the government over a massive number of private properties across the nation. One of the fundamental doctrines of the Constitution has been overturned by the stroke of pen. The idea of America, the idea that if you work hard you can own something for yourself and for your family, the idea that we are fighting for across the oceans, is the very idea that has crumbled on our own shores.

The enemy of capitalism at the highest levels of our nation is greed. No one, not our President and not our elected officials in Congress, took on the challenge of eliminating greed through regulation seriously-- until it was too late (amend that statement with the above blog). At the same time all this was happening, the enemy of capitalism at the grassroot level (stupidity and insecurity) ripped us apart from the inside out. We're too busy acquiring more and more and more "stuff" to successfully manage our own freedom. 43% of Americans spend more than they make every year. Is it any wonder we have a banking crisis? Hello? Anyone out there?

Perhaps the most telling thing is that this $700 billion dollars will be spent on banking corporations, not on average Americans trying to make ends meet. The bailouts average out to almost $5,000 per man, woman, and child in America. Think about it, for my family of four, that would equal somewhere between $16,000 and $20,000. Talk about a 'stimulus' package.

But what else were they going to do? The public has already demonstrated the inability to manage that kind of money. The sad thing is, the banks have already demonstrated the inability to manage that kind of money too. Now we had a third set of fingers into the American pie by allowing the Feds to manage it. Do we really expect them to do any better? Last time I checked, their debt was running in the trillions.

Game over people. We lose. Freedom loses. Our future loses. It's the beginning of the end and our forefathers are all rolling over in their graves.

Thomas Jefferson:

"Banking establishments are more dangerous than standing armies."

"Merchants have no country. The mere spot they stand on does not constitute so strong an attachment as that from which they draw their gain."

"Never spend money you haven't earned."

"Paper money will invariably operate in the body of politics as spirit liquors on the human body. They prey on the vitals and ultimately destroy them. Paper money has had the effect in your state that it will ever have, to ruin commerce, oppress the honest, and open the door to every species of fraud and injustice."

-- George Washington

"A great industrial nation is controlled by it's system of credit. Our system of credit is concentrated in the hands of a few men. We have come to be one of the worst ruled, one of the most completely controlled and dominated governments in the world--no longer a government of free opinion, no longer a government by conviction and vote of the majority, but a government by the opinion and duress of small groups of dominant men."

-- Woodrow Wilson

Fixing Our Financial Crisis with Common Sense...

Let's take a quick look at what's happening. Lending companies are going in the tank and that's effecting Wall Street, the housing markets, and the value of the dollar. People are quick to point fingers at Federal policy... maybe that's part of it. But the majority of the story and the blame, really belongs elsewhere. Let's look briefly at the foolish new American past time known as "Subprime Lending."

Subprime loans can be helpful, especially when coupled with a loan at prime for qualified buyers who are relatively stable in employment, and who are purchasing a home in which they plan to stay. But truthfully, even in those circumstances, they aren't a wise way to go. People end up leaving a lot to chance and can quickly get themselves into a heap of debt for which they have no income to escape from...

Even at that, there are far too few of these kinds of "rational" subprime loans being administered by these failing companies. Instead, there are many other types of "whacky" loans being granted to people who do not qualify for regular prime loans.

From wiki, some of these include loaning money to people who are in credit trouble. For example, they have issues because they have:

• Two or more loan payments paid past 30 days due in the last 12 months, or one or more loan payments paid past 90 days due the last 36 months;
• Judgment, foreclosure, repossession, or non-payment of a loan in the past;
• Bankruptcy in the last 7 years;
• Relatively high default probability as evidenced by, for example, a credit score of less than 620 (depending on the product/collateral), or other bureau or proprietary scores with an equivalent default probability likelihood.

Now I'm no genius, but here's a simple newsflash: stupid is as stupid does. What on earth do lenders think is going to happen when you loan money to people with a shaky track-record of paying back past debts? How would an increased interest rate, or an interest-only loan, lead people with demonstrated deficiencies in managing money to financial independence?

Again, I'm no genius, but here's a possible solution -- don't lend money to people who won't pay it back. Unless bankruptcy is something you desire, this probably isn't the way to do business. Is it any wonder you're short on capital when you just spent your hours roping in loans from people that can't get them anywhere else? These guys should be removed from the economic market, not bailed out by the Feds. That part, Obama has right. They should be held accountable for making stupid decisions.

And here's another tidbit of advice: Don't borrow money you won't pay back. I know we have to keep up with the Jones' and all, but come on. Pay off your debt before you go gobbling up more. Live simply and with a meager humility. Pay what you owe. Build your net worth, when you've demonstrated you can do that, maybe you're ready to borrow some big cash. Until you can be faithful in the small things -- like your credit card debt -- don't even think about jumping into the big leagues. Turn off your cell phone. Cancel your cable. Eat hotdogs and spaghetti for a year. Frame a photograph and make that your Christmas gift until you can afford those pretty pearl earrings for mom. Hello? Is anybody out there listening?

Our financial woes have very little to do with "policy." They've got everything to do with the average American Joe out living large, writing checks his account can't cash, and getting himself in a pickle. Stand-up against ignorance people. Don't buy into the hype. Take accountability for your own life and make our American history proud. My grandfather is rolling over in his grave about now.

Let me summarize it again, for any who might have missed it:

1. Don't lend money to people who won't pay it back.

2. Don't borrow money you won't pay back.

OK, are we all clear on this? If we can spend the next ten years living the way we were intended to live the last ten years, then our financial institutions will be just fine. I give you back to your regularly scheduled absurdity.

Vultures and Corpses...

So... I was perplexed this morning during my quiet time. I was reading from the Gospel of Luke and found something Jesus said:

"Where the corpses are, there the vultures will gather."

It seemed like a really odd thing for him to say. I read a bit of the context and the disciples were asking Him about the end times. He basically gave them a few details, but they pressed him further -- They asked, "Where is all this going to happen?"

Jesus said, "Where the corpses are, there the vultures will gather."

It is engimatic question. The references and study guides were of no help at all. They all pointed to the end times jargon that fills way too many pages of books, and consumes way to many of our best minds in meaningless speculation.

So I got a revelation in the shower -- God mostly speaks to me in the shower. If you've read this blog at all, you've heard me say this. The revelation was simple: Jesus was basically insulting them for even asking the question. Think about it, they're bugging him about details and he quips about gathering around dead bodies.

A modern translation would read something like this: "Hey Jesus, you say all this bad stuff is going to happen, tell us where." Jesus pondered a moment and said, "Stop rubber-necking the trainwreck."

In other words, quit being so dang consumed about who's going down, when it's going down, and where it's going to be. Do you want to be a vulture? Is death all you care about? Focus on life, cause that's what I am about.

You ever meet those kind of people that seem to only want to give you the bad news? I mean as soon as you walk in the door, they are full of information about who has cancer, who just died, whose wife just left them... you know the kind, glass half-empty people feasting off everyone else's disasters.

I think it kind of grates of Jesus' nerves after a while. He'd heard enough. He spouted off... "You're like a bunch of vultures, circling around my every word looking for doom and gloom." In so many words, I think he told the disciples to shut up and get on with living.

Maybe that's what we should say when the folks around us are so concerned with the misfortune of others that they can't even live their own lives with grace and dignity. I'd like to say, that's just a thought. But it's not. It's a Word. Take it how you will.

My vacation was rough...

Myrtle Beach... sun, sand, extreme noise. I caught a virus on the first day. Bad sore throat every night, coupled with incessant hacking, coughing, and sneezing. Our condo was right on the strip. Cars, motorcycles, bass cranked so loud it rattled the windows in our room until 3:00 AM every night. Gah. This was supposed to be relaxing!

On the plus side, I got some great time with the fam. And I wrote like a mad-man. I think I finished over 20 pages of script and a synopsis or two. :)

If you take a world champion to a comic convention....

So I've spent a few years now reading the "If you take a mouse to the movies..." stories to my kids. What happens if you take a world championship Brazillian to a comic convention?

If you take a world champ to a comic convention,

he might ask to dig through all the Spawn action figure boxes...

He'll buy some, then lay them down at the Star Wars boxes...

If you offer to carry them, he'll let you.

Then he'll start hunting down Wolverine items...
and grub.

He'll frown on your high carb plate, and caffine beverage.
And laugh when you tell him it's a special training diet.

Then, he'll visit the artists...
and they'll love him,
even though the conversation tends to steer away from cubism or dadism.

If you take a world champ to a comic convention,
he'll get cool perks, and maybe even some free stuff.
He'll make new friends, and you will too.

He'll hold your Green Arrow stuff for you,
while you rummage the boxes for back issues you missed.

You'll debate how much you want to spend,
and on what.

He'll tell the comic artists and writers
how much you talk about them,

everyday before training.

If you take a world champ to a comic convention,

you're both going to have some fun...
bond a little bit off the mats...

Share a new technique...
...one that doesn't leave a bruise.

:)


As of Sunday, June 8 -- Samuel Braga is a six time Brazillian Jujitsu champion. He's visiting a little town in East Tennessee, making new friends, helping us build a school of quality trainers... he may be here a while, who knows?

Samuel is probably the most humble person I've ever met in my entire life. To have accomplished so much, and to be at the top of his game, yet still as down to earth as anyone you'll ever meet is a testament to the Gracie Barra school, Samuel's parents who raised him well, and Samuel himself -- who is a good Christian man.

He reminds me how far I have to go in my journey -- not only as a fighter, but as a human being.

And yeah, he LOVES comics.

We met some fantastic people, who lifted some of my own cynical attitudes about the industry. They humbled me just as Samuel did -- professionals at the top of their game.

What a great day!

The Robe

So I can look a little stodgy in the robe, I realize this. It’s really not my style at all, so when I put it on there is usually a good reason. I pretty much will only wear the robe to “marry or bury” as they say, but even then I won’t wear it unless I’m asked. There’s just something superficial about looking “the part” and I’ve rejected appearances the entire seventeen years I have been a minister.

As if my long hair and goatee during this time of my life weren’t enough, I decided the least I could do is preach in jeans and a ball cap every Sunday. I wasn’t really trying to throw anyone curve balls; more like trying to get people to stop playing the game altogether. That’s all behind me now of course. There’s an old saying that goes like this:

“If you haven’t bucked the system before you turn thirty, then you’ve got no heart; and if you haven’t joined it after thirty, then you’ve got no brains.”

Needless to say, when they stand over me in the funeral parlor, it’s going to be those “heart” years that make them laugh, while at the same time make the dead man blush beneath the mortician’s paint. It won’t be quite the same as “rolling over in the grave,” but certainly akin.

Given such, I supposed long ago it would be better to let the embarrassment loose before I shake off this mortal coil and thus I currently manage to weave a complex honesty into my messages each Sunday. This sort of honest sharing is a mixed blessing and probably runs off as many congregants as it attracts. Last time I checked, the same was true of Jesus. I try not to beat myself up over it.

Being the first of these little tales I’ve put to ink, I beg your apologies for you will soon discover that I do tend to ramble and chase bunnies at times. I started this yarn with that pompous old black robe. Although I shouldn’t frown on it since it was gift given to me at my ordination, a gift that has probably saved me hundreds of dollars over the long haul.

Anyway, I was asked to do a wedding. This happens a great deal to ministers and believe it or not, a minister will get about ten times as many calls from people outside his congregation for weddings and funerals than his own church-goers. It’s the “outside” events that sometimes make pastors nervous. Some preachers won’t even consider doing a wedding for a couple that doesn’t go to their church, but something about that policy never sat well with me. I tend to hear people out.

In this particular circumstance, the couple already had a pastor committed to do the service, but during pre-marital counseling it was revealed that the groom was Jewish. He wasn’t just Jewish; he was committed to staying Jewish. In spite of having known the bride all her life, this Christian pastor elected not to do her wedding. The problem was real simple: the wedding day was only two short weeks away when the proverbial cat got let out of the bag; therefore, besides “being unequally yoked” as the good book puts it, they were in all likelihood not going to have anyone but the county judge willing to yoke them at all.

The young man’s rabbi was equally distraught and torn at his selection of a Christian bride. Nevertheless, after much convincing, the couple managed to talk the old man into doing a ceremony. Even so, the bride was still very disappointed at the thought of not having a Christian wedding. I’ve always been a sucker for people in desperate situations. Through the tears and multiple objections, I finally agreed to help. This young lady’s desire to make Jesus a part of her ceremony was touching, but was probably going to stir a great big hornet’s nest with the groom’s family, and his rabbi.

I met with the rabbi later that week. It was a cordial meeting: I in my long hair and goatee, and he in all his wrinkled glory. The man had to be every bit of 80 years old. We worked together on how to best handle our religious differences and how to structure a ceremony that we both had reservations about doing. Of special importance to this story, I agreed to wear that dastardly robe.

I should have insisted on no robe because this was to be an outdoor wedding. It was June and June days in Tennessee can go one of three directions: perfect, raining, or a post-rain sweltering kind of heat. As it happened, the day began with rain. I glanced out the window of my apartment and fretted to myself. It was going to be one of those days.

Jumping in the shower, I had my morning prayer. I always pray in the shower. It’s quiet, private, and relaxing. There’s this old church hymn we sing that says, “As we gather may your Spirit work within us…” Ever since I was kid, I’ve been singing that song, “As we lather...” It’s only natural that I find God as I lather in Ivory soap and that incredible .98 cent White Rain shampoo (I recommend the “passion flower” scent for a more heavenly experience).

During my prayers, I asked God to help me connect with an audience that would be at least half Jewish. I had already selected some passages from Ruth, and 1st Corinthians 13 in the New Testament. I had a rabbi friend tell me once that 1st Corinthians 13 was the essence of all true religion, so I felt safe with that.

I jumped out of the shower thinking to myself once again that I was going to have to grow up and get a hair cut some day. I dried off and paraded my naked flesh over to the underwear drawer. I faced the usual dilemma, would it be boxers or briefs? Since I was going to have to wear the robe, and I hated wearing the robe, I selected a bright green pair of Marvin the Martian boxers to wear. I would at least have a minor rebellion in my attire.

I’ve always loved cartoons and Marvin the Martian was probably at the top of a really short list of characters for me personally. When I was in high school, I used to run around saying “Oooohhh, you are making me very ANGRY,” while using my best Martian voice. (I know I was a geek in high school.) Black pants, white shirt, conservative tie finish the wardrobe and I’m out the door, with the robe folded over in my hands.

I arrive at the wedding site and rain is starting to taper off slightly. Friends of the bride and groom milled about under umbrellas as the clouds slowly dissipated. Within an hour, the sun was beating down on us unencumbered by clouds. That steamy feeling started to overtake me, and it wasn’t the same one I got from one of the bridesmaids after telling her I was single. This was a miserable kind of steam, the sauna variety.

Folks were taking their places and it was time for me to don the robe. The wedding was being held at a country club estate, with a nice multi-seated bathroom just across from the gazebo under which the couple would exchange vows. I quickly headed inside the restroom to put on the robe. All fifteen pounds of it slid over my head and fell down to my ankles. I immediately began to sweat. I grabbed some paper towels and dabbed my forehead, then exited and made my way to the groom.

He was nervous. They always are in my experience. A few pats on the back, a comforting word, or a quick prayer seem to do the trick. Our music cued up, and we walked out to the front of the gazebo. It was a huge audience. I never get nervous when I preach, but because I’m a blue jeans kind of preacher, I’ve always been a bit apprehensive at weddings, usually even more nervous than the groom I’m trying to comfort. Of course, no one ever pats my back, or offers me a comforting word—at least not until all is said and done. It is the thankless life of minister, one in which you are graded by performance alone, showmanship as it were—the very thing I'm not good at.

Needless to say, the sweat began to pour out of me even more. The next song began and in filed the bridesmaids. The one I was talking with earlier sort of gave me a look. Yikes! I had to stay focused. Then right on schedule, the bride marched her way down the center of the lawn, which still glistened from the morning rain. It was truly beautiful, and it always is beautiful to see a new bride. Of course, I would have to say that bit about the rain glistening out loud, and then mention sun coming out just before we started, and the glory of sunshine, and then a bit about flowers; all that stuff preachers say right before they go medieval on you in a wedding. So, I said it all (afterall, I was wearing 'the robe.')

I opened up the Bible to the passages I selected earlier that week. The sun was beating down on me, and I mean beating down hard. Sweat began dripping off my forehead onto the page, onto my notes. It was such a salty sweat that some of it began dripping into my eyes and they began to sting. Spat, splat. The book of Ruth never had this much rhythm, even with the sweet lover curled up at the feet of Boaz. Each bead of sweat literally bounced off the text.

By the time I got to 1st Corinthians, I had a much different problem: something was crawling up my sock. I blamed the robe. It was wide and offered the little critter the cover of darkness through which to explore the incredible world of my ankle. I kept on reading as though nothing was happening.

“Love is patient, love is kind…”

Whatever creature had taken interest in me got really brave. It set a course up my leg like Christopher Columbus on steroids. Around the knee, I started to get very worried. I thought about the boxers for a second and the sweat cut loose like rain. I began to fidget as I finished the passage from St. Paul. I glanced up from the text and looked at the crowd. They had no idea I was struggling. My gaze turned to the rabbi beside me. He looked like he’d just seen Elvis crossing the yard. We exchanged a single glance and he knew I was in real trouble.

After the scripture, I politely yielded to the gentle old man and he gracefully took over. By this time, I knew that the creature in my pants leg was an insect. The bug had worked its way to my thighs. Not wanting to make a scene, I reached down to place my hands in the pockets to brush the creature back down my leg. To my dismay, I didn’t have any pockets. I was wearing the robe.

I shook my leg as unobtrusively as possible under the robe. This caused the insect to become fearful and work doubly hard to arrive at whatever destination it had determined. The boxers made for easy access.

The rabbi was breaking out the glass for the couple to stomp. I knew this had to be near the end. As he began to speak, my new found friend settled in a quiet fold beneath the scrotum. I committed myself that no matter what happened, I would not reach down and touch, scratch, or rearrange my privates in front of all these people.

“Mazal Tov!” The shout from the crowd and the shifting of the bride and groom on the stage caused me to have to move slightly left of center. The identity of my testicular guest became clearer with a sharp sting. Zap! My buttocks shot backward and up at a forty-five degree angle. With the music now going and people clapping and singing, I think my hop may have actually seemed somewhat normal. The tears must have seemed normal too because no one was affected by my instantaneous weeping… wait, no. One person was affected. My dear fellow clergyman, the rabbi—he just kept staring at me with those dark, beady eyes. He still knew something was wrong with the hippie Christian pastor. I’m not sure what he knew, but what I knew was that I had the pressing urge to grab my crotch. Honestly, that’s all I needed.

Immediately after the couple’s family had been escorted out, I invited the crowd to stay for the reception that had been planned. I dismissed us in prayer as best (and as quickly) as I could. Shaking no hands and speaking with no one I ran straight for the bathroom next to the gazebo.

The door to the bathroom flew open and I immediately reached down to grab the hem of my robe. I never considered getting in a stall, or locking the door. With one swoop, I threw the robe up over my head. Quickly I unfastened my dress pants and jerked them to the floor. I began rubbing and patting and shaking my crotch to get the bee out.

Suddenly, I heard the door to the bathroom open. I lowered my robe just enough to see who entered. It was the rabbi, his mouth shot open in amazement, eyes bulging out of his head at the sight of me: robe high, trousers low beating my private parts feverishly atop the Marvin Martian underwear.

“There was a bee in my pants.” I said.

For some reason, I knew it was too late. The damage had already been done. The old man just nodded and said, “Uh-huh.” Then he turned and walked out without another word.It really wasn't my most mortifying thing ever, but I'm fairly sure it was his.