Anniversary

When I awoke this morning I had a vivid memory of exactly one year ago as the alarm sounded in the cramped hotel room on the campus of Loma Linda University Hospital prodding me to get dressed and present myself to the pre-op department in preparation for Dr. Paul Kim to remove a good portion of my tongue, 30 or so lymph nodes from my neck and shoulder and rebuild the organ that is so vital for communication and nutrition with a hunk of my own flesh taken from beneath my chin.  Tongue Cancer they said; why or how we'll never know.  I'd never heard of the disease before I got it.   A hemiglossectomy and radical neck dissection with a submental island flap is the technical term for the surgery, my memorization of which always brings a smile to the surgeon's face.

I had to laugh over this most recent New Year's holiday observing all the conversation and journalistic proliferation for Resolutions being put forth.   What could possibly compare to 2011 for me in the way of accomplishments?  I lost 25 pounds;  gave up a 40 year love affair with alcohol; whipped a devastating disease; maintained my handicap index at 10.6.   All worthy goals but if the truth be told none the result of a Resolution (OK, maybe the golf index was).  More than likely, it was my attempt to fight back against an opponent I couldn't see, could not communicate with and frankly, didn't understand.

A good friend of mine that is some years my senior and a person I have considered a mentor of sorts for the past 20 odd years recently said to me:  "You know, Craig, the older I get the more I realize I don't know a lot about anything anymore.  I just know a little about a lot of things."  And of course, it made me stop and think; made me realize that everything in our world moves so fast that the more we try to control events the less likely we are to be successful.

So back to my accomplishments in 2011 and my Resolutions:  Did I consciously resolve to achieve any of those results?  I don't think I did but more than anything I reacted to an incredible display of love and support from those around me:  my wife with her unending love and caring; my 3 incredible daughters; my parents and siblings; in-laws and friends; business acquaintances and medical care providers.  I only hope I can repay the debt for the motivation all of those important people in my life provided to do what was apparently necessary to move beyond this mind-numbing chapter.

Thank you all.

Sheep's Clothing

The Obama Administration announced yet another new program designed to get our collapsing housing industry back on its feet.  They want to sell huge numbers of foreclosed properties to Big Time Investors on a wholesale basis to be converted to rentals with the stated belief that by doing so, stability will magically return to the housing market in this country.  You can read the gist of the announcement here READ ARTICLE .

On its face this might seem like a good idea but as with most things the devil will be in the details.  As a Boomer, a Homeowner, a Father and Grandfather I have serious concerns about the benefits of this program as they relate to me, my children and grandchildren.  I see a few winners:  Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, the FHA, FDIC, Ginnie Mae and our dear friends, the Too Big to Fail Banks.  However, my friends, I also see many, many losers and as with most of the financial bailouts that have occurred since the collapse of our economy the losers will be the common folks:  you and me.

What I know is that the only reason Big Time Investors will get involved will be to make a profit.  Can't blame them for that; its a fundamental goal of being an investor.  However, this profit will be made on the backs of all of us that have attempted to weather this devastating decline in real estate values in the country, effectively transferring more of what is left of our declining wealth, once again, from us to them.

Reading between the lines Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, the FHA and the Banks have thrown up their hands and admitted they can't slug their way through the foreclosure mess by dealing with the properties one at a time, frankly, because they aren't very good at it.  They know that a profit motivated private enterprise will do a much better job.  Besides, at least for the banks, they would prefer to move on to more interesting transactions; those by which they could continue to profit by and therefor increase the value of their stock which in turn creates significant rewards for the managers of the institutions.  Essentially, they are bored with cleaning up the mess they created and want to do things that are more "fun".

So what's wrong with that?  I can already hear you thinking; why wouldn't pushing this problem off the entities that caused it all in the first place be a good thing for all of us homeowners?  Where is the downside?

Restating my belief that the only reason Big Time Investors will tie up their capital, invest their personnel and intellectual resources will be with the goal of much greater than average profit margins.  In its simplest context, this means they will need to purchase these properties at highly discounted prices compared to the current market to allow for the inefficiencies of these Really Big Companies that will now be in the business of buying individual homes in neighborhoods scattered throughout the country and then spending the time, effort and energy to rehabilitate those homes so that they can be considered liveable and rentable. 

Connecting the dots:  the predicted result is that these "sales" will initially further erode current property values because the Big Time Investors will have factored in the rehab costs, holding costs, administration, overhead, soft costs and the inevitable "profit margin" needed for the Big Time Investor.  This can have no effect in the short term but to further depress property values in neighborhoods where these "sales" take place.  The losses incurred by government agencies recognized as a result of the discounted sales will just get added to the Multi-Trillion dollar tab already saddled on the backs of our fellow citizens.  Any current homeowner that wants to sell their home during this next period of time will incur even further losses in their equity.

If you want to understand more, take a look at the history of One West Bank and the outrageous profits these "smart" investors have made on the taxpayer's account with their acquisition of IndyMac Bank.  My acute sense of smell tells me its the same recipe.  Read About One West Bank .  The consortium  that purchased One West is headed by Steven Mnuchin of Dune Capital Management in New York and includes J. Christopher Flowers, George Soros and John Paulson.  Any of those names sound familiar?

Some Fiction for a Change

If you want to be a writer, you have to write.  This is a fictional short, short story I wrote for a contest (I didn't win).  I would love some feedback ...

LOCKED IN

“Sergeant Mizzoli, Sergeant Mizzoli”   My eyes slowly focused on the face of a middle aged woman opposite my gaze. This was not the time she called my name. “Doctor, Doctor; he opened his eyes”.

My head was as if in a vise. I felt nothing but the rhythmic batting of my eyelids. A new face appeared before my fixed gaze displaying a serious five o’clock shadow and nose hair badly in need of trimming. “It is Sergeant, isn’t it?” the affirmation wouldn’t come and my head didn’t nod.

The hirsute face continued speaking emotionlessly, distinctly accented: “I’m Dr. Vashani. You are in Hospital. You’ve been here for 3 days in a coma while we have been stabilizing your injuries. You have a broken tibia and both your forearms have compound fractures. The paramedics found you in a sand trap at Vista Jacinto Country Club under a badly wrecked golf cart. Your brother was found on the grass nearby and is just fine, save for a badly sprained ankle. We believe you have a complete C4 injury.”

My mind was spinning. Grandpa and Nan had given permission to use their condo at the Club upon my return from a 3rd tour of Iraq and Afghanistan. My brother, Dave, my 2 best friends, Buster and Randy and I left San Diego on Friday afternoon motoring to the condo in Dave’s Cayenne just in time to squeeze in 18 holes before dark. Dave and Randy then made a beer and pizza run. There weren’t many days of lollygagging during my 13 years in the Marine Corps and I was enjoying this relaxation. After dinner we cracked a bottle of Grandpa’s Jose Cuervo and matched shooters while playing 5 card stud. Randy pulled a small baggie with a couple of joints out of his windbreaker’s pocket and the four of us shared the spleef, just like the old days. Then, Fucking Dave and his need for speed needled me into a race with Grandpa and Nan’s matching golf carts on a moonless night with stars one only sees in the desert as our singular light source.

“C’mon; I’ll race you to the 15th tee box” Dave hollered. The hill running from the condo to the 14th green was at least 2 extra clubs steep. The last thing I remember was being slightly in front of Dave nearing the 14th green with him trying to cut me off between the green and the bunker that lay alongside.

My goal during my duty in the Middle East was to keep my men safe. Safe from the roadside bombs; safe from the IEDs. Three trips over; three trips back; never a serious injury in my platoon. I knew what a complete C4 meant. I was struggling to wiggle my toes, move my fingers, hell, move my mouth but I couldn’t make it happen.

“not me. Not Me! NOT ME!!!” I screamed only in my mind.