Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac should be subject to FOIA
I complain a lot about government. That’s because government has a monopoly on force. The federal government of the U.S. also has a monopoly on printing money. If you control the guns and the butter, then you should be watched closely and criticized often and loudly, particularly if you are dishonest.
Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac are dishonest entities. They have added $5.4 trillion in debt to the national bill.
Judicial Watch filed a Freedom of Information Act suit last August after FHFA refused the watchdog group’s request for such documents. Officials at FHFA acknowledged having control of such documents but said they weren’t obligated under the FOIA to release them. Fannie and Freddie were established as semi-independent government-supported entities. But they went under FHFA control after taxpayers had to bail them out. It is estimated that taxpayers are on the hook for at least $5.4 trillion in liabilities that resulted from bad mortgage investments by Fannie and Freddie.
Read more at the Washington Examiner: http://www.washingtonexaminer.com/opinion/Time-for-sunshine_-Fannie-and-Freddie-87252627.html#ixzz0hsxqQeVN
The members of Congress who have received campaign contributions from these quasi-government, government controlled entities should be subject to criminal trials for accepting bribes. These are the same entities that helped create the current landscape of massive foreclosures and bankruptcies by facilitating irresponsible loans to unqualified, irresponsible borrowers.
Open information models should be legally required for all government and quasi-government entities by Constitutional amendment. First, though, and more important, we need to restore federal respect for the limitations placed on government by the Constitution. At this point, I’m not sure how that will happen without a complete do-over of some kind.
Bonne chance, Haiti cherie
I used to live in Haiti as a child. I haven’t commented on the earthquake until now because I really have nothing worth your time to add to the conversation.
Edwidge Danticat, on the other hand, does. Her tale of a dead cousin is well worth reading.
Maxo was a hustler. He could get whatever he wanted, whether money or kind words, simply by saying, “You know I love you. I love you. I love you.” It always worked with our family members in New York, both when he occasionally showed up to visit and when he called from Haiti to ask them to fund his various projects.
The last time I heard from him was three days before the earthquake. He left a message on my voice mail. He was trying to raise money to rebuild a small school in the mountains of Léogâne, where our family originated. The time before that, someone in the neighborhood had died and money was needed for a coffin. With a voice that blended shouting and laughter, Maxo made each request sound as though it were an investment that the giver would be making in him or herself.
Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/talk/comment/2010/02/01/100201taco_talk_danticat#ixzz0djv9vWHp
Haitians, by and large, are not included in the technorati. Their lives do not leave large digital footprints behind, at least for the ones who remain trapped in Haiti by the policies of strangers. Haitian lives though are worth re-examining at this time, as are American immigration policies related to Haitians. Why do we have one standard for Cubans and a completely different one for Haitians? Haiti has been a breeding ground for dictators for hundreds of years, and the people living under them suffer greatly as a result. Even more though, Haitians suffer because their giant Northern neighbor fails to care enough.
Now that we have a humanitarian disaster of nearly unprecedented proportions on our hands, maybe some of our politicians and diplomats can find new solutions as they try to rebuild a country that has (as long as I’ve been alive at least) been given more than its share of misery and despair.
It is too late for Maxo but not for the millions of Haitians who remain.
On a good day
On a good day, I get up at 5:30 AM to go to work. My commute is about an hour and fifteen minutes. On a good day, I get home from work at 6:30 PM. On a good day, I do homework from 6:30 PM until about 11 PM. You see, I’m working on a master’s degree. The cycle starts over Monday through Friday like clockwork. On weekends I do more homework. When I’m not doing homework I have drill with the National Guard. For that, I have to get up around 4:30 AM.
Some days, I’m not sure what keeps me repeating this routine over and over as the years pass. I have done this for about five years now like clockwork. I think it is breaking my body down or aging me a little faster than I would otherwise be aging.
I hope to retire by age 55. I want my time to be mine. I know exactly what I’ll do with it. I have enough personal goals to fill three of the 80-year lifetimes I can statistically expect to live based on my genetics, lifestyle choices and education level. Time is precious. On a good day, I sleep in until 7 AM.
Bandit’s silent world
My dog Bandit died yesterday. He was about 10 or 11 years old. Bandit died of cancer, opened up on an operating table. We didn’t know anything was wrong with him until he stopped eating a few days ago.
My wife and I tried to give him a good life. Bandit was a border collie, a breed called the Blue Merle. He was born deaf and I’m told that made him unpalatable to the kind of people that want Blue Merle border collies. That made him palatable to my wife and I – we collect losers no one else wants.
What made Bandit special? Many things. Among dogs, he was a loner. The other dogs have a pecking order that is constantly being tested. Bandit really wasn’t into the pack mentality. He just wanted to herd the other dogs, especially little Sparky. Hours and hours would pass while Bandit carefully watched Sparky through the gate that kept him on his side and she on hers. She had little interest in him but he was absolutely fascinated by her. That was his nature and his breeding.
Bandit was smart. He knew sign language – two thumbs up meant good boy and would get his tail wagging. Punching a thumb and index finger together meant NO and would result in a downward head motion – Bandit knew he was being chastised. Since he was deaf, I had to stomp on the floor to get his attention sometimes. Outside at night, we had to flick the lights on the back porch to let him know it was time to come inside and go to bed. Bandit loved to lay outside in the rain during thunderstorms. That among everything else made him unique – most of our collection loser pack has an almost neurotic fear of thunderstorms.
Some of our dogs have issues related to their past lives. Abuse can make a dog afraid of strange things. A rough life and starvation can make a dog demanding when it comes to attention from his or her humans. Years on a chain can make a dog “just a little off.” Bandit had none of these traits (or character flaws, depending how you see the world). When he wanted love he would come over and nudge one of us. A few strokes and a pat on the head were often enough to solicit some of his oddly vocalized sounds of content. If you’ve ever heard human born deaf speaking, you know what I mean. Bandit’s dog sounds were goofy. He barked like a deaf person speaks, and made groans and moans when you rubbed his ears that weren’t quite right. His odd sounds amused me to no end and I used to talk to him in a special voice. I don’t know why because he couldn’t hear me at all.
Bandit’s silent world is finished now. He is not only deaf, he is dumb and blind as well. Good-bye my friend. I will miss your strange bark. When feeding time comes, I will remember the strange little piles of food you used to make and then guard from the other dogs. Every time I hear a crash of thunder, I will remember you laying contendedly in the rain. You were a good dog and I’m glad I was able to know you and share in your existence. For almost a decade, you made my life just a little richer.
The cannibal bird
Hawks are vicious creatures. They are also cannibals. A hawk has been hanging around the four story office building where I work. The building is designed to keep birds from hanging off its ledges. Wires have been strung on every ledge on the theory that birds don’t land on really thin metal wires. The hawk sits on these wires and watches birds.
Our cubicle zombies have speculated that the hawk is a scaredy hawk because they have observed other birds complaining about his presence and doing dive bombing runs. I’ve explained that it is the hawk dominating these conversations and not the legions of caterwauling complainer birds. My explanation proved correct today.
The hawk caught a smaller bird and ripped its head off. It left the pieces of the dead bird on a window ledge for all of us to ponder on.
