From the daily archives: Sunday, October 12, 2008

Over and over again, financial experts and wonkish talking heads endeavor to explain these mysterious, “toxic” financial instruments to us lay folk. Over and over, they ignobly fail, because we all know that no one understands credit default obligations and derivatives, except perhaps Mr. Buffett and the computers who created them.

Somehow the genius quants — the best and brightest geeks Wall Street firms could buy — fed $1 trillion in subprime mortgage debt into their supercomputers, added some derivatives, massaged the arrangements with computer algorithms and — poof! — created $62 trillion in imaginary wealth. It’s not much of a stretch to imagine that all of that imaginary wealth is locked up somewhere inside the computers, and that we humans, led by the silverback males of the financial world, Ben Bernanke and Henry Paulson, are frantically beseeching the monolith for answers. Or maybe we are lost in space, with Dave the astronaut pleading, “Open the bank vault doors, Hal.”

As the current financial crisis spreads (like a computer virus) on the earth’s nervous system (the Internet), it’s worth asking if we have somehow managed to colossally outsmart ourselves using computers. After all, the Wall Street titans loved swaps and derivatives because they were totally unregulated by humans. That left nobody but the machines in charge.

Op-Ed Contributor – The Rise of the Machines – NYTimes.com.

Works up to invoking Ted Kaczinski as the mad but prescient prophet of our current pickle.  I prefer Howard Beale, but the Unabomber Manifesto might be worth another look.

 

Inky, Marley, Yo-Yo and Little Girl Cat, three years ago.

Marley and Inky.  Marley loves coffee.

 

James Wolcott, a Hillary partisan in the primaries, sees a a bright side to the news of late:

… Even as I wave a farewell hankie at my investment holdings as they sink into the briny deep, I draw spiritual comfort from seeing the McCain-McWinky campaign unceremoniously drown with them. McCain could still win, but the advance signs of rapid decay are everywhere in his campaign, a death mask forming with rictus sneer that resembles a silent snarl. I harbor no grand illusions about Obama, he isn’t my messiah (I don’t have a messiah, the writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson supplying more than enough transcendence to last a lifetime), and I’m still not sure how much he comprehends how gravely this country has been gutted over the last decade. My rooting interest is less about Obama himself than about how big a hurt he can put to the Republican Party. I don’t want the Republican Party simply defeated in November, I want to see it smashed beyond all recognition, in such wriggling, writhing, anguished disarray that it can barely reconstitute itself, so desperate for answers that it looks to Newt Gingrich for visionary guidance, his wisdom and insight providing the perfect cup of hemlock to finish off the conservative movement for good so that it can rot in the salted earth of memory unmissed and unmourned in toxic obscurity.

I really don’t think that’s too much to ask, even in these frugal times.

James Wolcott’s Blog: vanityfair.com.