Friday, January 3, 2014

Cloudy Evening, By Smartphone

I caught this image from Trumbo Road looking southwest toward the city. I thought the cloud cover was impressive, even though I'm sick of cloudy days. I took a picture, with my Android phone, no tripod, no film and who knows what the image might look like were it blown up or printed. But that is not my way, and fine by me I thought...

Then I read this article in Britain's Guardian newspaper:
 

I love digital photography; it has liberated me. In the old days photography was terribly expensive, not simply the cost of developing but also the cost of film and the price of simply taking pictures. Imagine taking a picture and not knowing how it would come out! That was skill and luck and determination combined! If the shot mattered you had to take several pictures bracketing the exposures. If you were organized, and I wasn't, you noted the speeds and settings in a notebook so when the film came back you could compare the results with the intentions. Nowadays who thinks of that? Not only can you see the picture instantly, you can also open the appropriate page and the digital camera has recorded all the settings for you! Amazing.

I tried using a darkroom in school but I hated the chemicals and I disliked the whole business of fiddling with paper and bottles in the dark. So though I lacked the control I had over the black and white images I went to color which was more fun when it came out well, but the development process rapidly became so automated the pictures came back washed out, badly cropped and generally treated with indifference. Nowadays I can use digital effects when I take the picture or even afterwards if the recorded image isn't the way I want it to look. All in my phone! Then with a click I upload it to my Picasa account where it is stored and available for use in my computer when I want it. The technology is amazing.

Above we see the future of Key West, another huge hotel by Pritam Singh springing up behind Schooner Wharf Bar. Below we see the present, a city occupied by panhandlers bugging the tourists that feed us all. Pictures courtesy of my unobtrusive Smart Phone!
It costs me pennies to use my Google Blogger and Picasa accounts, but I fear the true price we pay is loss of privacy. These free, or nearly free accounts are sold by the providers to their advertisers. We are the product sold like chattel. And as we have seen thanks to Edward Snowden something digital is forever. Scrub your computer and the words and images can still be retrieved. As a result my blog rarely says anything about certain subjects and is for me, a worker bee dependent on my job, simply a trove of pictures about where I like to live. I have opinions and I express some of them as is my right, and yours to disagree. I don't have any deep dark secrets in my life, I could hardly have undergone the scrutiny I did to get a job at the police department had I been nurturing some fireball of horror in my past. But we are all flawed, layered people that the Web seems to try to unravel a little bit too much. To me that's what we have to guard against, not the death of decent photography.

Professional photographers are bound to lose out, as in every technological innovation or political twist. When President Reagan changed the rules for broadcasting news readers like me lost out big time as our bosses were no longer required to broadcast news in the public interest over the public airwaves. We've seen what that rule did to consolidate ownership of broadcast outlets. A colleague of mine described us as "the best buggy whip makers in town" and we changed professions. I miss my days as a radio reporter, but I wouldn't want to do it now with the emphasis on garbage news gossip and "tips" as the format. News has been replaced by tips on how to improve your waistline, love life or cooking skills. News? Really? I get my news online and I hope I have the judgement to sift the crap from the newsworthy and reliable. Certainly the mainstream is all crap, unhappily because real news makes you think, it requires mental involvement.

I don't know whether or not amateur photography rots peoples' brains, or deprives us of the ability to see. I don't think most people use their phone cameras much, not to record the day to day beauty of their lives, the dimple pictures of their worlds. If they find I wish they would post them. I think my blog is unique, and if not unique it's a format unusual enough that I can't find many other bloggers who simply photograph their worlds, and the periphery around those worlds. The streets, the parks, the crowds, the shops, the beauty of daily living, and I see lots of unrecorded beauty and humor and intrigue in my islands. Like the article says, everyone seeks a picture of an event or famous face but from what I can tell that which they see everyday they seem to ignore. I wish I could go online and see a resident's view of Buenos Aires or Port Stanley, Haïfa or Aquaba, here or there. A story to go with the pictures, a phrase to make me think would be nice, a meditation on the place, an argument or a conversation. So many blogs are family scrap books, some actual, some disguised as informative. Photos are few or small or repetitive. Content they tell us is the key, and photo content will keep photography alive and it needs to live, in all of us.

I'm not very good at seeing people properly, of capturing their essence. I wish I were better at it but it is my Achilles Heel, and I live and adapt. People with phone cameras do the same, and professional photographers will have to do the same. Buggy whip makers all.

 

Thursday, January 2, 2014

Postcards From The Edge

The weather has been gray and I thought one of the first pictures of the new year should reflect this unnatural state in the Fabulous Florida Keys.

I was out with Cheyenne in the old year and together we enjoyed a couple of morning stops along the Overseas Highway.

The trash can was not apparently close enough to the table:

There is a public loo at Veterans Park and an outdoor cold shower. Some people swim in December around here. It's warm enough for shirt sleeves most days, but water temperatures won't resume normal operating levels until March or April. Anything less than eighty degrees is unacceptable for swimming.

Dishwashing in public. The joy of van abode living.

Dropping the dreary details of life, the beach is a good place to be.

 

The edge of the known world:

Well, not really but close enough for dog work.

And fishing:

 

 

 

Bird convention on the old Flagler railroad bridge:

Fishing on the edge. I had to hold on to Cheyenne to keep her out of his bait bag.

Best wishes for the new year, wherever it takes us all.

 

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

New Year's Eve On Duval

Key West was crowded for the end of year celebrations, and the sun came out at the last minute, before another half hearted cold front rolled into town.
I stopped on my commute and took a picture of Cow Key Channel to celebrate the sunny day, the day I was going to be indoors for work.

I took my lunch break n the early afternoon and I went downtown to brave the crowds which usually leave me feeling overwhelmed.

Everyone seemed to be making a good living from the tourists, including the rather crappy practice of using a dog in ludicrous poses to get tips from people.

You won't usually find me eating on Lower Duval but I did like this picture if open air dining on the last day of December.

Or getting your future foretold in your shirt sleeves.

I'd like to imagine I could foresee this guy getting a ticket but who knows what the story was.

What do you think...do you foresee a hot date?

The shell was scheduled to drop at midnight but I was at home getting ready to be at work at six in the morning. I foresaw the trash can overflowing before long. Public works crews have their work cut out in the morning before the city awakes.

The young woman in the leather skirt and boots was heading towards the bar that likes to call itself Coyote Ugly. A tough way to earn a living I think.

 

I wasn't the only worker bee on the block:

Any day is a good day to mark the spot, but sunshine makes it prettier.

Winter parkas, Key West style.

 

In the midst of the grown ups I met a band of kids being kids, playing and planning.

Key West is an ordinary small town behind the facade of worldliness and partying.

 

Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Matt Taibbi's Best From 2013

AIG has a lengthy history of producing some of the biggest tools on Wall Street. Former CEO Maurice "Hank" Greenberg was considered one of the world's preeminent unapologetic narcissists even before he sued the government for providing an insufficiently generous bailout. Joe Cassano, former chief of AIG's financial products division, was another. First, he arrogantly blew off the accountants who warned him his portfolio of hundreds of billions in uncollateralized bets might destroy the world. Then, after it all went kablooey, he tiptoed back to D.C. (after first being assured of not being prosecuted, mind you) from his lavish four-story townhouse in London just long enough to tell the Financial Crisis Inquiry Commission that he hadabsolutely nothing to be sorry about and they could bite him and his hundreds of millions in earnings if they disagreed.

Now a third AIG executive enters the pantheon of tone-deaf AIG bigwigs: CEO Robert Benmosche, who just told the Wall Street Journal that the post-crash public outcry over the use of bailout money to pay bonuses to executives in Cassano's Financial Products unit was comparable to – get this – lynchings in the deep south. From reporter Leslie Scism's interview:

The uproar over bonuses "was intended to stir public anger, to get everybody out there with their pitch forks and their hangman nooses, and all that – sort of like what we did in the Deep South [decades ago]. And I think it was just as bad and just as wrong."

For sheer "Let them eat cake"-ness, this ranks right up there with Lloyd Blankfein's "I'm doing God's work" riff and Berkshire Hathaway billionaire Charlie Munger's line about how it was proper to bail out Wall Street, but people in foreclosure should "suck it in and cope." A few notes:

First of all, any white guy anywhere, rich or poor, who steps out in public wearing the mantle of 400 years of black suffering instantly shoots to the very top of the world asshole pyramid. Most white people grasp this instinctively. If they don't already teach it in kindergarten to make sure the rest get it, they ought to.

But when you're a white guy who just presided over a year of declining across-the-board sales but got a 24% pay raise anyway, to $13 million a year, largely because your company is invested in a market that's overheating due to massive Fed intervention, and you're so grateful for your cosmic good fortune that you immediately go out and publicly nail yourself to the cross of black victimhood – and not while stone drunk and with buddies at a bar, mind you, but sober and sitting in front of a Wall Street Journal reporter – that's like a whole new category of asshole. Try to compute just exactly how obnoxious that is – you'll be doing it until the end of time, like someone trying to figure pi.

Benmosche's nooses-and-pitchforks fantasies have their origins in stories about some AIGFP executives who were made to feel uncomfortable by angry crowds on their way home from work, and one about a teacher somewhere in the Midwest who ridiculed in her third-grade class a child whose father worked at the firm. That last bit of course would be very wrong if it did happen, and it may very well have.

Still, comparing being leered at on a train for continuing to collect a huge undeserved bonus from the taxpayer to being taken from your wife and family and hung from a tree for no reason at all is preposterous on at least a hundred different levels. Benmosche then doubled down on his crazy-spasm by explaining that part of the "lynching" involved the great unwashed trying to cheat those innocent AIGFP employees out of money they needed – money they needed, Benmosche explained, not to pay their bills, but to live beyond their bills:

Now you have these bright young people [in the financial-products unit] who had nothing to do with [the bad bets that hurt the company.]. . . They understand the derivatives very well; they understand the complexity. . . They're all scared. They [had made] good livings. They probably lived beyond their means. . . They aren't going to stay there for nothing.

It's a minor part of the story, but this whole notion of angry meanie taxpayers ignorantly trying to rob the poor AIGFP employees out of their hard-earned bonuses was always a fiction.

Those FP workers would normally have been counting on performance bonuses, but since AIGFP not only didn't perform that year, but created a historically bottomless suckhole of losses that nearly destroyed the universe, there were, alas, no performance bonuses to be had.

So management cooked up a bunch of "retention bonuses" for many of the unit's employees. This always seemed like a scam, a way of yanking a little last bit of value out of a company most thought was headed for collapse. Moreover, the notion that anyone (but especially the taxpayer) needed to pay millions in "retention bonuses" to prevent other financial firms from poaching employees of the biggest financial disaster/PR-cancer firm since Enron or Union Carbide – and this at a time when mass layoffs on Wall Street had flooded the labor market with thousands of other highly-qualified financial professionals who would have taken huge pay cuts to fill those slots – was always absurd.

Then Benmosche dropped one last bomb:

We're trying to find the villains [for the financial crisis]. There's got to be a villain somewhere. The problem is that there isn't a villain. There are villains. And they are everybody. They are the speculators in real estate. The people who flipped houses. People who lied and cheated [on mortgage applications]. Nobody did the income appraisals. … I include myself in there. I knew stuff was wrong.

Benmosche worked in high-level positions at both Credit Suisse and MetLife in the pre-crisis years, so one assumes he's talking about those jobs when he hints there was a time when he "knew stuff was wrong" with the mortgage bubble but apparently didn't say anything. So he kept his mouth shut and got rewarded for non-acting in the face of crisis with a job running AIG, where he sucked millions in comp from the taxpayer for years, which must have seemed only natural to him.

In tossing out this "everyone was a villain" line, the CEO, of course, only mentioned the small subset of ordinary people who were "villains" in those days, the low-level speculators who flipped houses and the homeowners who lied on their mortgage applications.

He conveniently left out the bigger institutional players who birthed this scheme, like the giant investment banks (including for instance Credit Suisse, where he worked) that not only knew that mass fraud was being committed at the mortgage application level but encouraged it, so that they could speed up the process of pooling and securitizing those mortgages and selling them off to unsuspecting third parties. Just to take the one example of his own former bank, investors in the mortgage securities sold by Credit Suisse incurred over $11 billion in losses, according to a complaint filed by New York AG Eric Schneiderman against the firm last year.

Banks knew, lenders knew, ratings agencies knew, and then of course firms like AIG knew that something was deeply wrong with the booming mortgage markets in the years leading up to 2008. The peculiar trade of AIGFP was the obviously crazy practice of selling hundreds of billions of uncollateralized insurance to the Goldmans and Deutsche Banks of the world, who in many cases were using these policies to bet against their own products. The 377-odd employees of that sub-unit of AIG took home over $3.5 billion in compensation for such socially-beneficial service in the seven years before it all went bust. If finance-sector pros in those years had reservations about where all that money came from, most, like Benmosche himself, kept them to themselves.

Stories like this "hangman nooses" thing give some insight into the oft-asked question of how the 2008 crisis could ever have happened, the answer being that the people who run our economy, like Benmosche, are basically idiots. They can read a spreadsheet and get through an investor conference call sounding like they know what they're talking about, but in real-world terms, your average pimp is usually an Einstein in comparison.

These people are so used to being told by interns and finance reporters and other ballwashers that they're geniuses that they pretty soon come to believe it, which is how concepts like "We'll never lose a dollar – it's all hedged" go unchallenged in rooms full of econ majors who've just bet the whole store on the mortgages of underemployed janitors and palm-readers. Somebody, please, tell these guys quick how smart they're not, or else we'll be in another crisis before we know it.



Read more: http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/blogs/taibblog/aig-ceo-robert-benmosche-compares-bonus-criticism-to-lynch-mobs-20130924#ixzz2oUEV6yJ9

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Winding The Year Down

The year ending is an arbitrary thing to a logical thinker like me. I gave up thinking much about New Year after the century changed in 1999 (I too think it changed in 2000/01 but let's leave that aside as a hopelessly minority position, okay?). So I spent much of my life wondering about the change of year, change of millennium thing. When I was a kid we were told this or that innovation would happen "by the turn of the century." The 1st of January 2000 came and went and all those jet propelled hover cars and commuting to the moon and all that never materialized. Besides, dates are totally arbitrary, a human invention for convenience based solely on...no one quite knows what. Jesus' Birthday? Historians have been pointing out the Messiah was probably born in 4 Before Christ (the common era we call it today, like it or not). And not likely in December. Jews are still waiting for their Messiah and they name dates after Japanese car companies (Nissan, anyone?). But New Year's Eve is a great way to make money so our bosses push it hard.

This week is a madhouse in Key West packed with people and all of them demanding a good time to see the new year in. Nothing stops or slows down for this holiday. We have a small town with three centers of celebration slated for midnight Tuesday, all based on New York's dropping of the ball. Key West drops a pirate wench, a conch shell and a transvestite - take your pick. My wife and I have an opportunity this year I attend as I am training on day shift so I will be done working by 6pm. On the other hand I can already see the effects of over crowding, bad driving habits and lost tourists, every intersection in Key West is an adventure in self preservation this week. Amalgamating it all into one giant drunken street party seems overwhelming. We may just stay home...
I'd like to attribute my lack of enthusiasm for the street party to superior anti consumerist political principles, or a smug refusal to agree to commonly accepted calendar dates, or perhaps even simple self preservation in a world gone drunk that night. I suspect we will not be seen cheering and drinking on Duval or at Schooner Wharf for one simple reason: sheer laziness.

God I love being 56! No more excuses...