Bloomberg is reporting that the Federal Reserve has doled out $2 trillion in bailout loans and that they are refusing to disclose the recipients of those loans. Bloomberg is currently suing under the freedom of information act for that information to be disclosed.

You might be asking yourself, "$2 trillion? I thought the bailout was only $700 billion?"

Apparently the Fed, who up until now only gave loans to the government (in the form of currency in exchange for government bonds), has apparently expanded to whom they can loan money. That $2 trillion does not fall under the terms of the bailout and therefore is not subject to congressional oversight.

"Why won't they just tell us the recipients of these loans?"

That's the $2 trillion question, isn't it? The supposed reason that we're not being told this information is that it could "undermine public confidence in the system." Basically, banks don't want people knowing they need cash because their fear is that people will pull their deposits. I suppose this is a valid concern as similar public reactions are what helped spur the Great Depression, but my fear is that the system SHOULD fall and it's worse for us in the long run if it continues on like it is. The rich will continue to get richer at the poor's expense.

"What about Obama? When he gets in office he'll change everything."

I hope so, but hope doesn't mean it will happen. In fact, during the campaign, Obama said he would "make our government open and transparent so that anyone can ensure that our business is the people's business." However, he has yet to comment on this issue. If you mean what you say, Barack, you now have a great chance to prove it to us. It's time to step up.

I say boycott the system. Pull your money from the major banks in favor of small banks and credit unions. We do not need to do business with Bank of America, Wachovia (Citibank), JP Morgan Chase, Wells Fargo, Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley. Those banks are on both sides of this issue. They each have a stake in the Fed (which, at a lower level is completely private and owned by those banks), AND they have already recieved $120 billion from the actual bailout. I can only assume they are also the targets of these hidden loans and, in essence, they are printing money for themselves at their whim.

Let me repeat that, because I believe it to be true. The largest banks in America are printing money for themselves at their whim. If I tried to do that, the secret service would arrest me as a counterfeiter.

God forbid the public realize what is actually going on. Now, if only I could prove it.

I've been meaning to post this here for a while. This video is from the Nashville presidential debate at Belmont University (my alma mater). I was there to protest the so-called two party system and to try to open some eyes to how we're being fucked everyday. My friend, Ben, had the megaphone and he was kicked off campus for speaking his mind. If you look closely, towards the end, you can see me following him and cops with a sign that reads, "Reinstate the Constitution".



This video was from a little earlier in the evening, when Belmont first tried to get him to shut up.

There's a fantastic episode of Sports Night in which William H. Macy's character urges Felicity Huffman's character to "separate the 'stuff' from the 'stuff'". What he meant was we need to be better at realizing what is important, because too often we either miss the point, or throw the baby out with the bathwater. And once again, I believe that we as a nation and as a news media are missing the point.

The subject this time? Sarah Palin. Yeah, she's hot (so she can say mean things about Obama without sounding bitchy, something Hillary couldn't pull off). Yeah, she gave a good speech. Oh! Did you hear? Her daughter is pregnant! And she has foreign relations experience because she lives next to Russia. And as Governor of Alaska and Mayor of Wassila, AK (pop. 6,900) she has executive experience, which neither Obama nor Biden can claim (or McCain for that matter). And, according to Cindy McCain, she is very experienced in everything she's done (no shit).

All of these things, I suppose, are pretty important information. I mean, most people had never even heard of Sarah Palin before she was announced as the VP candidate. But we're missing something. Even Jon Stewart got caught up in the wrong "stuff" when he called Palin a hypocrite for requesting the media leave her daughter alone about her desicion while being pro-life. While that may be true, it's small potatoes (after all, it's not like she decided to abort the baby).

Here are the real issues.

Sarah Palin is under investigation by the Alaska Legislative Council for firing former Public Safety commissioner Walt Monegan. Why? Monegan claims it was because he wouldn't fire a police officer, at Palin's request, who happened to be getting a divorce from Palin's sister. If true, that is a gross misuse of power. Not to mention the person she appointed to take his place, Chuck Kopp (a cop named Kopp), had to step down due to a previous sexual harrasment complaint.

She went back on her word (but all politicians do that) about the "Bridge to Nowhere". During her campaign, she said she was for the project, but when she won the governorship, she shut the project down for good, while still getting $223 million, originally earmarked for the project, from the federal governement for Alaska to spend as it saw fit.

She's bad for the environment. She opposed listing polar bears and beluga whales on the endangered species list because of fears that that would negatively affect oil drilling projects. She also voted against a proposition that would limit dangerous mining run-off, and she wants to open the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge to drilling. I'm always surprised when someone so outdoorsy (her husband is a 4 time winner of the Tesoro Iron Dog race -- a snowmobile race that stretches close to 2,000 miles. Last year, he finished fourth after breaking his arm with 400 miles left to go) can show such disrespect for the natural environment, especially someone in Alaska.

All I'm saying is that everyone is asking the wrong questions. There are scandals and concerns here, but they have nothing to do with her pregnant daughter.

you know, it's really too bad that NASA gets all this bad press. there's more that they do besides manned space travel, but it's the one that's always in the news and only when something goes wrong, no matter how small, like the faulty fuel gauge or whatever it is that's delaying the latest launch. but we never hear of celestial discoveries like the planet with the three suns or how just a couple weeks ago scientists crashed a probe into a comet. and we've already forgotten about the mars lander.

i guess i'm just saying i wish people cared more.

mmmmm.... sex and chinese food.

last night i walked through the subway tunnel, from the Cortlandt St. station to the Rector St. station. it was dirty and grimey and black. it was awesome. i might try a long trek soon, maybe search for some C.H.U.D.s.

Yeah, so I didn't think I had this thing anymore. Weird. Kind of a nice surprise to find that it's still here.

Things are a bit different since I last updated an entry. For one thing, I left the South for New York City, and I love it. This city is like no other. I spend most of my free time in East Village dive bars and I often get home after the sun comes up.

I have also personally changed a lot because of the move. I am by far a different and better person. It's hard to say exactly how I've changed because I've changed more than once. The process has been constant and overturning, but I'm happier, more confident, and more myself than I've ever been.

Cheers.

Here's some words. I've started a blog at 23yearoldamericanboy.blogspot.com to journalize and document my writing process for this work.


I was lying in the bed of a girl whose last name I didn’t know and it was almost 3am. My Twilight Singers t-shirt, which simply says, “Twilight is for Lovers” with a little red heart next to the last word, was in the corner on the floor next to my jeans, underwear and worn out Chuck Taylor’s. I was drunk and the glass of water she gave me an hour before wasn’t enough to keep my throat from drying out. She put on a record – False Cathedrals by Elliot – and I hoped that the experience didn’t ruin the album for me. I had a nagging feeling that if there was anywhere in the world that I was not supposed to be, especially while not wearing any clothes, it was right there. But instead, as the bass came in hard in “Calm Americans”, we began kissing. The sheets began to wrap around us and I was trapped, wrapped in a web, but at least it felt good to have a woman’s skin moving softly against mine.

She paused after a few minutes. “Do you want to... you know?” she whispered in my ear.

I should just say no, but the easiest word in the English language seemed to be the hardest one to say. “I don’t have a condom,” stupidly came out instead.

“I have some,” she said.

At that point, I began to wonder how exactly I ended up in this position.

Earlier that night I had run into her at a show for a local band that was celebrating the release of their full-length record and I had done my part in helping them produce it. I knew everyone important in the audience, the club owner was buying me drinks, and the band thanked me from the stage. I felt like a king. She saw all of this and was impressed, or acted like she was impressed.

I, on the other hand, wasn’t sure what to make of her presence there. A couple weeks before she was going though a rough break up and we had hooked up to help her forget about it. But now she was here and I let her become part of my royal experience.

After the band had finished, she asked me to walk her to her car, but I blew her off to socialize with the band after the show. She hung around though and I ended up walking out the door with her. I tried to say goodnight, but she wasn’t ready to leave me. Ben, the bass player for the band, walked out at that time with his girlfriend. He saw us standing there together so I kissed her. I half wanted to continue feeling like the man of the evening and half hoped that the kiss was all she wanted, but instead of satisfying her, it only nudged her forward. She asked me back to her place and somehow I allowed myself to end up here. I remember thinking of all the excuses I could use to get out and not sound like an asshole, but I never used any of them. And now we’re here and we’re naked.

Then she quietly said, “I need this,” before she sweetly bit my ear and then kissed my neck. She unknowingly hit my soft spot and sent a chill down my spine while the muscles on the right side of my torso tensed up and I took in a deep breath.

“Who am I to turn down sex?” I thought.


Later that morning, just before the sun began to rise, I laid there with my eyes half open, but I wasn’t awake. My mind uncomfortably sat in that altered state between sleep and consciousness where the reflection of the day mixes with the dream world. When I’m here, I’m never sure if the things that exist in my brain are truth or fiction, but this time I was sure. In an instant my eyes reached full attention and I sat up. I realized all at once how the events of tonight had been the latest and most egregious defiance of myself in a long line of defiances. I was stuck in the deepest depression that I had ever been in four years of struggling with the sickness. I felt like I was in danger of losing myself forever and forfeiting my purpose and potential for a life that wasn’t supposed to be mine. I told her I had to go and quickly gathered my things. I promised it wasn’t about her as I sloppily put on my clothes and hurried to my car to drive off.

There was a soft light that had begun creeping up the blue-black sky. I stopped by a gas station before hitting the highway and wondered what kind of people would be up this early on a Saturday and why. The four early morning shoppers were all male and nothing about them answered my questions, but I was sure they were on to me. Certainly they saw me put on my shirt in the parking lot and noticed that my shoes weren’t tied and I wasn’t wearing socks. Surely they noted my matted hair and flushed complexion and knew that I had been up all night and that a woman was involved, and if I was leaving at this hour, then something must have gone sour. I can tell by the look in the eye of the guy buying coffee that he suspects everything. Despite his “Big Johnson” T-shirt, he knows I’m the asshole. I ignored him, purchased the biggest bottle of water they had and hurried out of the store.

The drive home was long and lonely. I thought about my recent revelation and I tried to digest the past events. I wanted to accept them and let them become a part of me, but they were hard to swallow. The scent made me nauseous, like the smell of liquor the day after you get drunk and sick for the first time. I was overwhelmed as things unfolded in my brain and I began to connect the dots, but I still wasn’t sure where this downward spiral began.

Recently I decided that a writer is something that I should be. So, I tried to write. Unfortunately, It wasn't working out. I would sit and stare at the blank screen and nothing would come out. I would try to think of things to write about, but nothing came to mind. So I distracted myself by checking my email and seeing if anyone had updated their livejournals since the last time I checked five minutes ago. Obviously, nothing came out of this.

Then, I remembered an interview with Andre Dubus III on Fresh Air on NPR a few months back. On that program he told a story about a trick he used in writing classes that he taught to get his students to write. He would bring in those one-paragraph news briefs -- the ones that said nothing but the very basic facts of a story, not much more than a lead sentence. He would give different ones to his students and he told them to write the rest of the story. There was so much left out in the brief that could be filled in with the imagination of his young students. One of them was about a woman who lost her house to the IRS and wanted it back, but it had already been purchased by an Iranian gentlemen who wanted it just as badly as she did. Dubus turned that into the novel House of Sand and Fog which, of course, became a film starring Ben Kingsley and Jennifer Connelly.

I began thinking about all the different people I meet everyday. At the hotel I meet people from all over the country and the world. They all come from different places and have different reasons for being in Nashville. And often I get to talk to them for a few minutes and discover a few things about them. I see them come and go and what they act like when they are in a different town. Then, when I deliever pizza, I meet people who live here. I see them only for a moment, but I see their house or the apartment complex they live in. I get to peek in front door and see what their living room looks like, what kind of magazines they keep on their coffee table and what kind of car they drive. I thought that I could write about these people. I could even string life stories together as my characters interact with each other, if only for a moment, one by one.

When I tried this, nothing happened. I got a paragraph, which, when I came back to later, was the worst paragraph I'd ever read. I was rather disheartened. I was lost as to how to get the gears turning and the words flowing. Previously, I had been recommened a book called The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron, but had never followed up on it. I looked for it on Amazon, and also found other books that Cameron had written. One in particular caught my interest. It is called The Right to Wright: An Invitation and Initiation into the Writing Life. It was the subtitle that made me decide to buy it.

I received it today and began reading. At the start it sounded like the book for me. It was discribing writing as something that should be done for itself, and not for the lofty goals we set for it. It talked about writers having a hard time because of self-scrutiny and fear. I came to the third chapter (only 10 pages in), which was called "Let Yourself Listen". She says, "Once writing becomes an act of listening instead of an act of speech... I find myself amazed and interested by the sentences that seem to want themselves written."

I began to cry when I read that. Not only did I feel like the self-imposed burden of writing was being lifted off my shoulders, but I fully understood what she meant by the word "listen". Truly listening is a lesson that I've already learned through my years of music appreciation. Listening to music became an artform in and of itself to me. I felt the art of the music come into me and I understood what it was telling me while I felt the creativity of it leaving me -- this creativity I created, but was not able to commit to a medium. It just left me and went out into the air to float above the stratosphere, as if I was giving my instance back to the form. I realized that sensation -- my ability to accomplish two-way listening -- will be what allows me to write. I just need to give my creativity to the page instead of letting it drift off above the clouds.

alright, alright...

here's a story:
I was parking cars the other day and I brought around this old Buick. The gentleman who owned it was clearly from, what I like to call, "the hills." As I help him get his bag into the trunk, something falls on the ground. I look down and there's a fucking revolver laying on the ground next to my feet. The old man picks it up, tucks it in his belt and says with a chuckle, "The wrong thing fell out." I am speechless, but manage to close the trunk and help the guy into the seat. Then he explains further, "I always bring it to the city with me. You never know who's gonna pull you over. And I ain't gonna be the one to die."

After he left I laughed for about 15 minutes. I didn't know those people existed.

In other news, I'm going to move to NYC: