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October 2, 2008

The Bill Thing, Kafka, etc.

A few people have asked via email why I haven't posted about the Senate's passage tonight of the Paulson plan, V2.217. The honest answer: I just don't care.

Sorry, I don't. I'm exhausted from this crap, and I like the Paulson plan less and less every time I see it. That is doubly true in its current incarnation loaded with laminated arrows, or whatever the most deranged clause is in the revenue bill to which it is attached. I still haven't gotten a satisfactory answer on his preoccupation with purchasing toxic crap versus emphasizing recapitalizing companies, selectively nationalizing, and rebuilding counterparty trust.

I wish I felt better about it, but I don't. Paulson's undoubtedly a bright guy, but he's been utterly tone-deaf in handling this, and he has come awfully close to losing me entirely. The only thing keeping me marginally optimistic is that so many people, myself included on alternate hours, are expecting an imminent systemic financial collapse that the fact that it hasn't happened yet is bleakly reassuring. Comforting thought, non?

Anyway, one nice thing about all this: I've been reading a lot more Kafka. No idea why, but wandering through old Franz's diaries has felt just about right of late.

6 July. 1916. A man lay in bed, seriously ill. The doctor sat at the little table had been pushed next to the bed and watched the sick man, who looked at him in return. 'No help," said the sick man, not as if he were asking, but as if he were answering a question. The doctor partly opened a large medical work lying on the edge of the little table, hurriedly glanced into it from afar, and, clapping the book shut, said, "Help is coming from Bregenz." When the sick man, with an effort, squinted his eyes, the doctor added,: "Bregenz in Vorarlberg."

"That is far away," the sick man said.

Once again, it's late and I'm tired, so I really shouldn't be let anywhere near where I can post stuff.

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