My Belgian Pen Pal

Forty-five years ago, I was studying French in junior high school in Long Beach, California.  To increase interest, students could sign up for a French-speaking pen pal. I signed up and, voilà, my pen pal was Christine Dallons from  Charleroi, Belguim.

Of course, I was a schoolboy then and I wrote schoolboy letters that were probably not very interesting.  Of course, she was a schoolgirl too and, truthfully, I could hardly make out her graceful cursive script.  Sad to say, we gave up after two or three letters.

I now live 120 miles away in Bakersfield, California. I run a small plastics manufacturing company.

My pen pal’s name has been banging around in my head these forty-five years and, recently, out of curiosity, I looked for her on Google and Facebook.

I didn’t find her exactly, but I did find an interesting family history of a man with the same last name from the same town in Belgium.  Thinking this was perhaps some sort of relative, I read on.   François Dallons, a glassmaker, moved his family from Charleroi, Belgium to Indiana in the 1890.  In1906, the gas field that fired the glass plant gave out and the plant closed overnight. The Dallons family moved to Stockton, California where there was work making glass for repairing San Francisco after the earthquake there.

In 1920, the immigrant’s son, Victor Dallons, moved his family to Bakersfield. In 1923 they bought some land, and built a house on 8^th Street, just a few houses down the street from where my company is today!

When I saw a picture of the house, which I immediately recognized, I couldn't help but laugh how small the world is.

Reading on, the likelihood of a relationship to my pen pal doubled.   There was a second branch of the Charleroi Dallons family that had moved from Belgium to England and then Los Angeles.  During World War II, the grandson of  François Dallons, Willis Dallons, who lived on 8th Street, was stationed in Los Angeles, met and courted the granddaughter of distant relative Jean François Dallons, Suzanne Dallons.   They married and one of their sons, now retired and living in Florida set up the website I found. 

I haven’t found Christine yet, but she’ll be interested to know that her probable-relatives have been doing well in America.

 

The Dallons family moved on from the house on 8^th Street years ago.

What an odd coincidence of human migration.  

I'm enjoying the World Cup soccer this year.  I think that once every four years is about the right dose for me.

On the funny side, I was talking to an old friend of mine here in California about the World Cup.  He's a Jew, was born in pre-Israel Palestine, served as a tank commander in the Israeli army in the 1973 Yom Kippur War and moved to California in the mid 1970's.  That just sets him up as a tough, funny, old guy with a rugged accent and direct manner of speech.

My friend doesn't have any favorites among the countries.  He watches games to enjoy the talents of several players he follows.  Among the top world players he was following was Luis Suarez of Uruguay.

A day or so after the Uruguay defeated England, we were talking on the phone and he said that just as the game was starting on TV,  a premonition came to him how it would end.  He said, "I looked at the TV and said 'Suarez, today you will score two goals.'"  That's just how it happened.

In the the next game, Suarez created quite a controversy by biting one of the Italian players.  I called my friend and left a message asking if he had predicted the bite.

He called me back. "My predictions are about human behavior, not animal."

Why would I bother?

In my plastics workshop, from time to time we need our saw blades sharpened.

A sales rep from the sharpening company comes a few times a year, takes the blades away and brings them back sharpened in a week or so.

One visit, out of idle curiosity, I asked the saw blade man if any of his customers ever lost a finger.

"Oh, yes,” he answered rather matter of factly.  “Probably about a digit a week."   I was floored. I had never expected that rate... and uncompassionately calling them “digits”...

 

He went on to the story of an oldtimer customer of his.  The old guy had run a lumber yard full of probably very dangerous saws without  accident. Retired for many years, he was using his table saw at his home shop and did the classic stupid thing.  After a saw cut, he tried to remove a little cutoff sliver and it dragged his finger into the blade, cutting it off.

"Did you get it sewn back on?" asked the saw blade man.  The oldtimer replied "I'm 92 years old. Why would I bother?"

The point is, there are stages in life that you haven’t even considered.  I'm still at the stage where the finger would get sewn back on.   

The Front Fell Off

This has to be one of the funniest comedy routines I have ever seen. It’s so well done that I never grow tired of seeing it again.

As background, the team of John Clarke and Bryan Dawe have appeared on a weekly TV news program in Australia for better than 20 years.

They do a three-minute satirical interview of someone important discussing a current event. 

Bryan Dawe is the straight man interviewer.  No hamming it up. Just-the-facts type questions. No obvious softball questions. 

John Clarke plays the interviewee, not an impersonation, but perhaps including a signature quirk of the real person, perhaps a hat, or sunglasses, or other unique trait.

The typical interview seems to unfold in three parts:

1. Introduction and overly-solicitous greeting… “It’s nice to have you here…”
2. Funny interview
3. Announcement that “Time is up” and we get to see what a jerk the interviewee really is.

This episode is a political satire interview of Australian Senator Bob Collins, the Minister for Shipping in 1991.

You can find the interview at YouTube  and audio  www.mrjohnclarke.com.

The following is my transcription:

Interviewer:  Senator Collins thanks for coming in.

Senator Collins:  It’s a great pleasure, thank you.

Int:  This ship that was involved in the incident off Western Australia this week...

Sen:  Yeah, the one the front fell off?

Int:  Yeah

Sen:  That’s not very typical, I’d like to make that point.

Int:  Well, how is it untypical?

Sen:  Well, there are a lot of these ships going around the world all the time, and very seldom does anything like this happen ... I just don’t want people thinking that tankers aren’t safe.

Int:  Was this tanker safe?

Sen:  Well I was thinking more about the other ones...

Int:  The ones that are safe,,,

Sen:  Yeah,,, the ones the front doesn’t fall off.  

Int:  Well, if this wasn’t safe, why did it have 80,000 tonnes of oil on it?

Sen:  Well, I'm not saying it wasn't safe, it's just perhaps not quite as safe as some of the other ones.

Int:  Why?

Sen:  Well, some of them are built so the front doesn't fall off at all.

Int:  Wasn't this built so the front wouldn't fall off?

Sen:  Well, obviously not.

Int: "How do you know?"

Sen:  Well, ‘cause the front fell off, and 20,000 tons of crude oil spilled into the sea, caught fire.  It's a bit of a give-away."  I would just like to make the point that that is not normal.

Int:  Well, what sort of standards are these oil tankers built to?

Sen:  Oh, very rigorous ... maritime engineering standards.

Int:  What sort of things?

Sen:  Well the front’s not supposed to fall off, for a start.

Int:  And what other things?

Sen:  Well, there are ... regulations governing the materials they can be made of

Int:  What materials?

Sen: Well, Cardboard’s out

Int:  And?

Sen: ...No cardboard derivatives...

Int:   Like paper?

Sen:. ... No paper, no string, no cellotape. ...

Int:  Rubber?

Sen:  No, rubber’s out .. Um, They've got to have a steering wheel. There's a minimum crew requirement."

Int:  What's the minimum crew?

Sen:  Oh,… one, I suppose.

Int:   So, the allegations that they are just designed to carry as much oil a possible and to hell with the consequences, I mean that’s ludicrous...

Sen:  Ludicrous, absolutely ludicrous.  These are very, very strong vessels

Int:  So what happened in this case?

Sen:  Well, the front fell off in this case by all means, but that’s very unusual.

Int:  But Senator Collins, why did the front bit fall off?

Sen:  Well, a wave hit it.

Int:  A wave hit it?

Sen:  A wave hit the ship.

Int:  Is that unusual?

Sen:  Oh, yeah...  At sea? ...Chance in a million.

Int:  So what do you do to protect the environment in cases like this?

Sen:  Well, the ship was towed outside the environment.

Int:  Into another environment....

Sen:  No, no, no. it’s been towed beyond the environment, it’s not in the environment

Int:  Yeah, but from one environment to another environment.

Sen:  No, it’s beyond the environment, it’s not in an environment. It has been towed beyond the environment.

Int:  Well,  what’s out there?

Sen:  Nothing’s out there...

Int:  Well there must be something out there

Sen:  There is nothing out there... all there is .... is sea ...and birds ....and fish

Int:   And?

Sen:  And 20,000 tons of crude oil

Int:   And what else?

Sen:  And a fire

Int:   And anything else?

Sen:  And the part of the ship that the front fell off, but there’s nothing else out there.

Int:   Senator Collins thanks for joining us.

Sen:  It’s a complete void

Int:   Yeah, We’re out of time

Sen:  The environment’s perfectly safe.  .... We’re out of time?..  Can you book me a cab?

Int:  But didn’t you come in a commonwealth car?

Sen: Yes, I did, but

Int:  What happened?

Sen: The front fell off

Financial suggestions for California's governor

Several years ago, I drafted a letter to then California Governor Arnold Schwartzenegger. I had several suggestions what to do to help California's fiscal problems.

The real lack of creativity in Sacramento is thinking that California cannot print money without limit like the federal government thinks it can.

Well, just use lottery tickets as a new form of California gold:

Pay state vendors in lottery tickets.

Pay tax refunds in lottery tickets.
 

Pay state employees in lottery tickets.

Pay state retirees in lottery tickets


Print lottery tickets without any winners.

 

Disoriented

Here's a word to ponder: Disoriented.

Today, we use the word "disoriented" to mean lost, not knowing where one is, or maybe unable to tell right from left or up from down.
 

But if we think of the prefix, "dis" meaning "not" and the root "-orient" meaning "East",we can think that the earliest meaning of disorientation might have been "not knowing which way is east."

But, today, looking at a map, clearly North is the most important direction.  What happened?

The magnetic compass was discovered around 1000 A.D. and since the  needle points north, it became the new direction for "orientation" and the drawing of maps.

In early history, East must have been the primary direction.  The sun rose there and travelers might re-orient themselves in the morning and figure which way they needed to go

 

The moment I became middle aged

I remember clearly the instant that middle age hit me.

I was 38 and my daughter was 3. It was Halloween night a little past 9 o'clock and trick or treaters were getting few and far between.

I went to the local big-chain grocery store to get some milk for my daughter's breakfast.

Of course, milk is at the back of the store, so that customers will pick up higher-profit impulse items on the way back to the front.

I'm savvy enough to know all that, but that night, I did fall for several of them and I was laughing at myself as I put them on the counter. I told the young woman checker that I had come only for the milk for my daughter's breakfast, but now I had the impulse items too.

Then came the blow. Without malice or any thought how cruel her words were, she said, "That is so nice. I like when my parents have me over for breakfast" -- leaving no doubt that this young adult thought me old enough to be her father.

Instant middle age.

A.F. Branco - Political Cartoonist.

This is a great cartoon from A.F. Branco at the Legal Insurrection blog


I love the cartoon. I just keeps on giving.

This is the website: http://legalinsurrection.com/2012/08/branco-cartoon-flak-and-change/#comments

A bomber titled "Romney-Ryan is towing banners of hope. "Fix the economy, etc."

The flak gunners, Obama and the Democrat Donkey, are shooting their guns appropriately titled "CBS", "NBC", "ABC" and "CNN".

The flak explosions are all silly points "Romney hates poor people", etc. and the flak all misses the plane.

Finally, one sees that the bomb has been dropped and, best of all, it's title is "Obama's own record"

Highspeed Derailment

Mitt Romney should make a campaign promise to cut all federal funds for California’s highspeed rail.

If you can promise to get rid of Obamacare, could you please get rid of Jerry’s train at the same time?

In Democrat-dominated California, if Mitt Romney is likely to lose the 55 electoral votes, he could make a point that would be popular outside of California, and strangely might be popular to a large number of the Golden state’s voters too.

Voters outside California would have a number of reasons to agree with cancelling this California pork, ultimately saving hundreds of billions.

Voters within California, a majority now having second thoughts about Jerry Brown’s train to nowhere, might hear fiscal sanity in a Romney promise to cut federal funding.  That might help Republicans in marginal races within the state.

What if it made California competitive by making its voters think about the economy?

You know, we did vote for Reagan. Several times.

Greetings from a 108-degree hot Sunday afternoon in Bakersfield, California. It's not that bad.

Why I am not a fan of TV news

Two 1987 TV news stories about the Golden Gate Bridge finished off my belief in TV news.  

I lived in the Los Angeles TV market, and in May 1987, the news ran fluff stories about the 50th anniversary of the opening of the bridge, started in 1933, finished in 1937. 

In September, when the stock market crashed, Los Angeles' KABC-TV ran a ridiculous, completely fabricated story. 

Former Miss America news anchor, Tawny Little, dutifully and sad, pouty-faced read the script something like this: 

"After the stock market crash today, an urgent call went out from the San Francisco Stock Exchange to the Golden Gate Bridge Authority to be on the look-out for despondent stockbrokers who might try to commit suicide by jumping off the bridge as they had in droves following the 1929 stock market crash."

Poor Tawny may have been easy on the eyes, but I don't think she troubled herself to remember the news from one broadcast to the next, much less from May to September.  

Analysis? out of the question. The obvious question:

Where did all those 1929 stockbrokers have to wait until the bridge was ready for them to jump in 1937...?

"....Not good enough for me to understand.”

Nearly thirty years ago in Paris, I was walking alone on a sunny May afternoon and I decided to have a beer in a small local café near the Boulevard Saint-Germain on the Left Bank. Business was rather slow and there was a table available outside along the sidewalk. I was seated, the waiter offered the menu and I chose a beer from the Alsace region.

It’s important in this story to remember that the Alsace has flip-flopped a number of times between France and Germany depending on who won what war, but the Alsace has been French since the end of World War II.)

I enjoyed the beer, the sunshine, the people walking by, and my French-language newspaper. The major news stories were about another bombing in the Middle East, something that, sadly, hasn't changed much in all these years.

I’ve always liked studying and using languages. My high school and college French really isn't that bad - I’m a little proud to say that the best backhanded compliment I ever had about my French was from a French couple I sat next to on a flight somewhere. In conversation, they knew my accent was not from France, but they asked if I was from Quebec, at least thinking I was some sort of native francophone. They were surprised that I was from California.)

Now, back to the Paris café.

After a longish time, most of the other customers had left. The waiter brought the bill and returned inside. I looked at the bill and it was double the price of anything that I had seen on the menu.

The waiter didn't return, so I went inside and there by themselves were the barman and the waiter leaning on the bar.

In French I said to the waiter and the barman: "Excusez-moi... j'ai une question à propos de l'addition" ... ("I have a question about the bill") and explained that the bill seemed to be double the price from the menu.

They both scowled in Gallic, pained indifference and their body language was right out of an old Casablanca-style movie and looking for an argument. They both looked at me, leaned forward, elbows on the bar, then crossed and slapped their hands slowly on their upper arms in a comic pose as they listened to me.

Continuing in French, I pointed to the prices painted inside on the wall and continued to ask for a correction of the bill.

The waiter countered in French, "Well Monsieur, you have ordered a special foreign beer at a higher price." to which I pointed out that the Alsace had been returned again to France in 1945 and was not foreign at all.

Then the waiter pulled out his argument stopper. Still in French, he said, “Well then, Monsieur, I am sorry, but your French is not good enough for me to understand.” He wouldn’t hear anything more.

I was stunned. Nonplussed. It’s funny but you can’t actually tell someone that they understand you. Understanding is up to them.

So, stripped of the ability to argue, I fumed a bit and paid the double bill.

I went back out to my table, enjoyed a little more of the golden sunshine and read the whole French newspaper, not really caring if I was staying a little longer than might be expected of a customer.

When I finally decided to leave, I guess I felt that I had paid for the nice glass too, so I kept it.

Two blocks down the street, the waiter came running up and in English he said, “Hey, you can’t take that glass.”

I turned, looked at him, and replied sadly, “I’m sorry, but your English is not good enough for me to understand.”

He couldn’t say a word and I kept the glass.

Peer-to-Peer Car Sharing

I saw this idea to use GM's OnStar software and smartphones to form a “peer–to-peer” auto sharing network. The idea is: someone walking down the street uses their smartphone to locate and rent someone else's nearby car. Use the OnStar unlocking feature to open the car.

Yeah, it would work in a perfect world.

However, this world being imperfect, loaner cars would get less respect than shopping carts stolen from the supermarket. Private individuals won't put their cars in this program, but the government might.

For starters, since the government owns GM, it will subsidize GM. In lots of ways.

This peer-to-peer car idea might be the best way yet for big spending politicians to claim public good, spend lots of money to benefit themselves and their friends.... and walk away from the inevitable disaster.

Imagine the federal Peer-to-peer Car program: 

1) With a large fanfare, the federal government "creates jobs" by buying 10 million GM peer-to-peer cars. They are painted distinctive colors and have stylish “wraps” to advertise the politicians who promoted the project. 

2) The price to use one is cheaper than buying a car yourself. 

3) All peer-to-peer cars are snapped up instantly. The price is so low that no one actually pays. Cars are never returned. Cars are never washed. 80% of cars are never maintained. 20% of cars get $12,000 per year of government-paid goldbrick maintenance through a GM dealer boondoggle program. Lots of wrecks. Government insurance pays for it all. Millions of freeloader-voters love the free car program.

In two years, almost no peer-to-peer cars can be seen on the roads. They’ve been stolen, repainted, abandoned at airports and commuter train parking lots. Many people live in them.

In year three, if the Democrats are still in White House, the federal government offers $5,000 to scrap each car. The federal government pays for 14 million peer-to-peer cars to be scrapped. Yes, 40% more peer-to-peer cars than ever existed... did you really expect honesty or accountability?

Venture Socialism never works.

The next generation has a better idea. Again.

Five years ago, in my post "Ok, let's get a little creative", I was pleased when my son, then 11, faced a problem and came up with a solution I had not even come close to considering.

It has happened again.

Recently, from among the rest of our interesting customers, the county crime lab called my plastics company to solve a problem they were having with their handgun ballistics tank. The one where they shoot a handgun into water to recover sample bullets to compare with bullet fragments recovered at crime scenes.

My son has watched a number of the crime lab TV shows over the years. The crime lab people were very kind to give us a tour of the lab. The lab is very interesting. Basically the TV shows have the technology right, but the real world doesn't have the drama, the background music or the ability to solve several crimes in one hour.

When we got to the ballistics tank, we got to work. After a number of years, the stainless steel inside the tank had grayed, making it difficult to see the bullets at the bottom through four feet of water. A piece of white ABS plastic cut to size to provide good visual contrast. Problem solved. So far, so good.

Next, we looked at the porthole where light shines into the tank, allowing the lab technician to aim the handgun properly. Heat from the halogen lamp had caused a dark volcano-looking bump in the half-inch thick polycarbonate lens to rise from the surface towards the lamp. Replacing the lens would be easy, but how to prevent another volcano?

My solutions (incorrectly) focused on keeping the heat away from the plastic: 1) move the lamp farther away (not practical) 2) install a fan (possible, but some work) 3) install an automatic timer to turn off the lamp when the technician was away (possible, but some work).

The better solution was not long in arriving: "How about using an LED lamp instead of the halogen?" (eliminating the source of heat in the first place).

I believe this will be happening with greater regularity.

"Equlibrium" House Prices

I was a 1989 Seal Beach buyer at the then highest prices ever. My wife was pregnant with our first child and I felt then that house prices might leave me behind for ever.

By 1992, I was wishing I had seen information on house price and inventory history like the information a number of excellent blogs present and link to these days.

Any market intervention - be it billions of federal dollars thrown at housing or a real estate owner saying that real estate "never goes down" - has only a temporary effect. The market goes where the buyers and sellers collectively decide.

We can all guess where that might be, and everyone is entitled to their own opinion.
For better or worse, throughout history, voicing an opinion contrary to the self interest of others has often invited unpleasant responses, blogs are no exception.

Now, my opinion for what little it is worth.

I believe that there is a fundamental numerical relationship between 1) personal income and 2) housing rent and 3)housing prices.

Stated differently: 1) A person can only pay a certain percentage of income for rent and 2) The rent a house commands times some multiplier determines its "equilibrium price"

By "Equilibrium price" I mean the price the market will tend towards as disturbances -- from Fannie Mae trillions to high or low interest rates to "my special neighborhood" etc., etc., etc. -- are abated. (Of course they will never be eliminated)

If we can agree there is a linkage between income and rent and house price, then we are merely discussing the normal ranges of the relationships.

Let's assume median two-income household income to be $70,000 in Southern California in 2008. Can someone provide some statistics there?

I'll suggest that the normal rent is 25% to 33% of personal income. Can we have some discussion on that?

Second, I'll suggest that the equilibrium price of a house is around 120 times monthly rent. Comments?

(Anecdotal data: I'm a CPA and the the best real estate deal I have ever seen a client make was 8 units in Phoenix purchased in 1996 for 80 times rent. It "penciled" and the buyer made money from day one.)

If you will allow me, here is a calculation using this income- rent-house price model:

Median household income is $70,000 per year, or $5,800 per month.

30% of income paid as rent is $1,750.

$1,750 rent times 120 gives a median house "equilibrium price" in the broad swath of median income - from Chatsworth to Pacoima to Downey to Riverside to San Bernardino to Garden Grove to Tustin - of $209,000.

This may sound low to many ears, but since 1985, housing prices have been held temporarily higher by government actions to cause easy lending: 1) raising the FDIC limit to reduce depositor interest in mortgage quality, leading to the 1980's lending frenzy, and 2) Fannie and Freddie buying trillions of low quality and inducing Wall Street to forget to check if mortgages could reasonably be repaid by the debtors.

With these two factors dead, we may now tend to a lower equilibrium price (in every neighborhood).

I would be greatful if those who disagree with me would suggest a better market model and name the next government program to boost housing prices so I can get in on the deal.

Ps. It may be that inflation is the next step for the government. That would make housing hurt less and put the hurt on savers (whose money is just in piles anyway...lol) and those on fixed incomes (think very small Social Security cost of living adjustments as prices and taxes soar.)

Mexico View

My father was a structrual engineer and an alcoholic. Both of those facts figure in this story.

In 1958, at age 39, my dad was the project engineer for a large natural gas tank in Long Beach, California, a suburb 20 miles south of Los Angeles. The "Green Tank" at the 605 freeway and Carson Street was prominent enough to be the landmark for airplane pilots approaching Long Beach Airport from the east. On initial contact, air traffic controllers would direct pilots to "report inbound at the Green Tank."

Well, nothing lasts forever, and thirty years later, in 1988, the tank had reached the end of its service life and was scheduled to be demolished. Someone must have looked on the old plans, seen my Dad's name as the project engineer for building the tank, and he was hired at age 69 as the project engineer for the demolition of the tank, too.

So with the building and demolition of the project, we have "Part A" of our story, a patch of bare earth to which my father had some connection.

"Part C" must have come from some newspaper article or other my father must have read about the need for low-cost housing in the area.

And now, the years of alcohol, mostly Gordon's Gin and Jim Beam Whiskey, conjured in my father's brain "Part B," a hazy "pipe dream", [what a wonderful term -- originating from smoking an opium pipe] an idea which can only be imagined, and which would be impossible to carry out. Part B would fill the gap between Parts A and C.

My father would combine the vacant land and the need for low housing units by designing a tower on the available land, a tower tall enough to fit all the needed units... about 70 stories or so.... in a suburban area with no high rises at all... It was completely uneconomic and never would be considered for construction!

But, that didn't stop Dad.

In fact, the building would be so tall, that on a clear day, from the upper stories one would be able to see a very, very long way. Hence the name: "Mexico View".

And, so began the torture.

Dad began the structural calculations: "dead load" of the building, "live load" of the occupants and contents, wind loads, seismic calculations.... you name, it he had sketches and notes.

Foundation, structural steel, elevator shafts, plumbing, electrical, heating and air conditioning... every detail was considered... and related to anyone who would listen...

Letters about the project went to the city mayor, city council members, city planning commission, local congressional representatives... who knows who heard about this?

As an aside, in my family, for several generations, a son was given the name "William" followed by his mother's maiden name, then our family name. That is how my father was named and that is how I was named. The flood of letters about Mexico View must have been the point at which this family tradition died.

Mercifully, my son will not have to worry about his name being confused with William-me in a few years. (Maybe the Williams of yore keeled over before they got too batty - it would have been the most humane policy.)

Back to our story. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, you name the occasion, blueprint drawings were presented for inspection. Endless monologue.. benefits.... low-cost housing... he called so-and-so they think highly of the project.. oh, God.

Then one day, I drove to Los Angeles airport to pick-up Dad's cousin from England, Barbara. She arrived, along with her son, Michael, his wife and their 5-year old son.

We were having a wonderful conversation driving south on the 405 freeway, Barbara in the front passenger seat, and family in the back. To American ears, Barbara sounds a bit like Angela Lansbury playing Mrs. Potts in Disney's Beauty and the Beast, or else all the ladies in Mary Poppins, except Julie Andrews .

Well, as we got to about Crenshaw Boulevard, the conversation went something like this:

Cousin Barbara: "Oh, Californian weather is so lovely....you know I've brought Michael to review the contract"

Me:" Oh? What contract is that?"

Cousin Barbara: "Well, the contract to manage Mexico View, of course!"

In an instant shock, I realized that my father had convinced his cousin to wind up her affairs in England and emmigrate to California to manage a 70-story building that didn't even exist!

I have no idea to this day how I managed to keep the car from driving off the edge of the road and what words I must have used to dimishish the size of that big building to make it fit only inside the head of my father.

The family had a nice vacation and all returned to England... Barbara has lived in Florida for a number of years now.

And.. I'm not sure that anyone ever heard of Mexico View from my father again...

English Speakers: Which Language to Learn Next? French or Spanish? Why not both?

I’m just a 51 year-old amateur student of cultures and languages, but here’s my simplified take on Western languages and where to start

If there are several stepping stones to cross a stream, pick the nearest one, then hop to the next. It’s easier.

By this, I mean that geography and history make German and French the two nearest relatives of English and the easiest languages to hop to from your existing English vocabulary. After some experience with French, it is easier to move to Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese.

Because of the Norman invasion of England in 1066, and the next 250 years of occupation, then integration/absorption of the Norman minority elite into the Angle/Saxon masses, the English language is the child of Angles’ and Saxons’ Germanic and the Normans’ French.


Forgive that accents slid apart over generations, and writing, which came along later, makes the languages look cosmetically different. Recognize the sources of root words you already know, and, other language is easier to grasp.

Basic German

In September 1066, the conquered farmers in England didn’t change their basic, everyday language, and in large, the 1,000 or 2,000 most basic words of one- and two–syllable, everyday English are the same Germanic words of our conquered 1066 farmers.

Mother, Father, Sister, Brother = Mutter, F(V)ater (German now spell it “Vater” but the pronunciation is “F”) Schwester, Bruder (the sounds are much closer than the spellings, sorry.)

Trink Wasser = Drink Water

Bread = Brot

Beer = Bier

Hundred = Hundert

Thousand = Tausend

English animal names are usually the Germanic words, but the slaughtered meat is often the French animal name. Imagine the new conqueror demands “boeuf!!” (beef), The farmers slaughter a “buhl” (bull) or “kuh” (cow). “Schwein” (swine) becomes “porc” (pork), Schaf (sheep) becomes “mouton” (mutton).

Since they sadly fit our pattern of everyday words, even our swear words are Germanic. The S-word and F-word are the same. Listen to a German curse and you feel it viscerally. Listen to a Frenchman, Spaniard, or Italian curse and it’s comedy.


Basic and Advanced French

The first 1,000 or 2,000 everyday words are not the same as English, but an English speaker with a good vocabulary knows roots of words that are easily related.

Mother, Father, Sister, Brother are Mère, Père, Soeur, Frère. We recognize the similarities to Maternity, Paternity, Sorority. Fraternity

The big payoff in French is that a huge percentage of words three syllables or more are the same word or something very close. Gouvernement (government), politique (politics) and science (science) It really doesn’t take any extraordinary brain power, once you recognize it.

Advanced German

German starts easy, but gets harder the farther you go, because many longer abstract and scientific words developed from a German renaissance separated from our English/French/Italian one.

For example English “hydrogen” [hydro=water, “gen”... source of] in French is “hydrogène” In German its “Wasserstoff”, literally “water stuff”. An equally valid way of naming it, but just not the word we already use in English.

Spanish

With the Roman Empire, Latin “hopped” (In the stepping stone example) from Italy to France, then to Spain.

Geographically, it is easier to hop from England to France then Spain. And the same is true linguistically. It is a longer stretch from English to Spanish, and why not enjoy the trip through French first? since much of the basic French and Basic Spanish are similar.

However, just as the Norman invasion of 1066 changed English, the Moors’ invasion of Spain and occupation/absorption for 700 years added Arabic words to Spanish. By some counts, almost 10% of Spanish words are of Arabic origin.

What Goes Up.....

I wrote this April 23, 2007, but forgot to push the "post" button. [Alas, the Bubble Buster is gone, but Dr. Housing Bubble Blog is doing great analysis. Les Jones has a great chart of 1890 to 2007 housing prices]:

Housing prices are about to crater.

The Bubble Buster does a great service to present 1975 to 2006 inflation-adjusted housing prices and the [mortgage] "payment-to-income ratio" for a large number of US cities.

This history of out-of-control prices and out-of-control willingness to sign up for mortgages eating more than half of incomes in some cities is astonishing.

Interestingly enough, not every city has participated in each blowoff.

Let's start with the facts on my home area, Los Angeles. Look at the graph at the bottom.

As I see it, the key points for Los Angeles are:

1) Price: The inflation adjusted home price was $125,000 in 1975 vs $575,000 in 2006, and

2) Somehow, homebuyers have agreed to pay more than half of their incomes (at least until they default) on mortgage payments.

There have been three housing price peaks in three decades: 1980, 1989 and 2006.

1980 was mild, 1989 a mountain, and 2006 a volcano.

If the clean-up of 1989, lasted seven years until 1996, how long will it take until the new bubble pop hits bottom? 2013?

If the 1989 prices returned to pre blow-off level, shouldn't 2006 prices return to 1996 prices?

Insanely easy credit provided by government programs allowed land owners and the real estate/mortgage industry to dupe buyers into purchases they could never afford.

With nothing-down loans, why shouldn't those with nothing to loose sign on? They aren't irrational. There is a chance of an upside and no downside.

So, who loses? Whoever guaranteed the loan, the taxpayers.

Back again in 2011: I think the all measures to delay prices returning to historical norms have merely delayed the inevitable. The 1989 to 2006 correction took 7 years. Add a three year penalty this time for government delay. We arrive a correct real estate values in 2016.

You cannot stop the inevitable.

Ok, let's get a little creative

My son, 11, is a Microsoft Flight Simulator fan. He's quite good at it and probably has more flight hours on the simulator than I do in real airplanes.

This morning, we heard the roar and ran out of the house to see two Marine Corps harrier jets taking off from nearby Los Alamitos streak by at about 1,000 feet.

About 15 minutes later, I heard the computer voice of the flight simulator air traffic controller clearing an airplane for take off.

"What are you flying?", I asked.

"Harrier.." he answered. "...Yuma to Los Alamitos."

As I watched over his shoulder, he climbed to his assigned altitude of 10,000 feet and clicked his GPS IFR course to fly over the Salton Sea, where we camped last year, and the route of our drive home through Palm Springs and the Banning Pass.

With Mount San Jacinto on the left and San Gorgonio on the right, he called to the controller to request the visual approach to land on runway 22 left at Los Alamitos.

The controller gave him the visual approach to runway 22 left, (landing to the west), but ended with "Circle to land runway 4 right" (landing on the same runway, but to the east).

Not satisfied with this, the pilot again requested runway 22. Again the controller answered runway 4.

"Ok, let's get a little creative", he said, and ... get this.... clicked the airport icon... and changed the weather so that the wind was 10 knots from the west (airplanes land into the wind).

Now, he radioed for runway 22... and got it.

The point to me was that I didn't think of the alternative. I didn't consider the flexibility of the program, but my 11 year old did. I was thinking a little behind the technology. I am going to have to do better in the future.

Home, you idiot

A funny thing happened on a bicycle ride with my 11-year old son Sunday.

We live a short distance from an undeveloped park of eucalyptus trees on a brush-covered hillside. There are rough dirt bike paths between the trees, and this week lots of frogs have hatched. (The frogs figure no farther in this story).

Although we had been on a bike ride there earlier in the day, my son and another buddy begged to go again late in the afternoon and off we went.

Up and down the hills. Over the four-bump "course", over a few dirt piles, finally arriving at the rope swing at the top of the hill.

I stayed back about 30 yards to watch what the boys would do. They, of course, grabbed the end of the rope, which had no seat attached, and swung down the hill and out into space, just hanging by their arms.

Now, I imagined that if the grip loosened, the unintended trajectory would trace slowly down the hill, about 3 or 4 feet above it, and intersect some 20 or 30 feet beyond the end of the rope. Small chance of an injury, but a good chance of a lesson.

So I stayed put.

Soon, a stick was found and tied to the bottom of the rope, making a tee handle to swing from. An improvement in fun, but the potential trajectory and lesson remained.

Then, to record the fun they were having, the buddy pulled out his -- get this, all you old timers-- pulled out his cell phone to take pictures of the daring swing.... A nice touch of modern technology in 11-year old hands, I thought. They took pictures, and laughed about how to make the next picture even "better". Where to start, camera angle, etc. I moved a little farther, behind a tall bush to stay out of the pictures.

Now, enter the villains, a couple older boys, maybe 13 years old, walking up the dirt trail with their skateboards (oddly, a long, long ways from the nearest skating surface). They never saw me, so their natural behavior was unaffected by parental oversight.

Without a word, almost disregarding my son as he took the swing from his hand, the taller of the two boys took a few rides... backing up the hill, running down, and then off into space.... inpressively higher than the younger boys had gone.

Then the shorter of the older boys took a few rides.....

The idea of giving the younger boys turns never seemed to cross the older boys' minds as the taller one again took the tee handle and swung into space..

And then, justice was served with a loud CRAAACCCKKK!

The trajectory I had imagined was traced beautifully, albeit a little higher and a little farther downhill than I had imagined, and the intersection with the hill included the sounds of breaking brush, dry grass, twigs, rocks, and there was a small cloud of dust.

Up got the flyer with a slow hop and a bit of a limp..... while the shorter showed his contempt for the swing by untying the remnant stick and flinging it as far as he could down the hill.

"Where are you going?" asked the shorter henchman of his taller boss.

"Home, you idiot!" was the answer in a stifled, pained voice, and off the villains went, down the trail.

Wanting to bolster the confidence of the younger boys, now that the others were gone, I emerged from my hiding. They laughed about the older boys. I said I thought it was a little rude for the shorter one to have tossed the handle-stick down the hill, and as a measure of their confidence, I asked if they wanted to get the stick and use the swing a few more times.

"Not now that it's cursed!" they both quickly agreed.

And home we went.

Antonin Scalia for Chief Justice

The Associate Justice made a fabulous speech March 14 entitled ...... get this..... "Constitutional Interpretation"...... imagine that.

Scalia started off telling how he was watching a television commentary on a Court decision:

And it struck me how irrelevant it was, how much the point had been missed. The question wasn’t whether the call was right or wrong. The important question was who should make the call.

That's it.... Who should make the call.

Scalia thinks that many issues argued before judges today should be argued in the legislatures instead. Think: all of the contentious social issues. Legislature.


The battles over judicial nominations would not be so serious, if the court(s)hadn't usurped powers they shouldn't have.

You should watch the speech here. (Search is in orange letters at the top, Search "Scalia" )Prestopundit (3/15) has summarized several key points:

(Scalia)Quotable:

If we're picking people to draw out of their own conscience and experience a 'new' Constitution, we should not look principally for good lawyers. We should look to people who agree with us .. When we are in that mode, you realize we have rendered the Constitution useless.

Scalia on Republican politician Earl Warren:

You have a chief justice who was a governor, a policy-maker, who approached the law with that frame of mind. Once you have a leader with that mentality, it's hard not to follow.

Scalia on the "flexibility" of a Constitution in shreds:

If you think aficionados of a "living Constitution" want to bring you flexibility, think again. You think the death penalty is a good idea? Persuade your fellow citizens to adopt it. You want a right to abortion? Persuade your fellow citizens and enact it. That's flexibility. Why in the world would you have it interpreted by nine lawyers?

(More Scalia) Quotable:

So it is literally true -- and I don't think this is an exaggeration -- that the court has essentially liberated itself from the text of the constitution. From the text and even from the traditions of the American people.

Wow

In addition to being passionate about the subject, Scalia was also rather funny ..... something not expected from judges... I know the feeling as a CPA....

Deriding the "Living Constitution", Scalia jokingly said

The Living Constitution judge is a happy fellow. He comes home at night and his wife says, "Dear, did you have a good day on the bench?" "Oh, yes. We had a constitutional case today. And you know what? The Constitution meant exactly what I thought it ought to mean!"

Well of course it does, because that’s your only criterion. That’s a very seductive philosophy. So it’s no surprise that it should take the society by storm. And it is the same thing for the man or woman in the street: to know that everything you care passionately about, whether it’s abortion or suicide, or whatever you care passionately about, it’s there in the Constitution. What a happy feeling. That’s what causes it. And that’s what makes it hard to call the society back from it. It’s tough medicine.

Brickbat to slow readers: Scalia is not big on the "Living constitution".

The Constitution's a document. It says what it says. And it still means what it meant when they wrote it...

Another funny moment: During the speech (remember now, the subject is "Constitutional Interpretation") Scalia said the doctrine of "Substantive Due Process" was a step on the way to the Living Constitution.... He's not big on finding rights that were never there before. (Legislate them the old fashioned way)

Later, Well, during the question and answers, an audience member (perhaps a lawyer or law student) asked his prepared question that would sucker the Justice right to the desired Living-Constitution conclusion....

Doesn’t substantive due process [lead to my desired conclusion]?

Scalia didn't fall for it. He looked at the guy, smiled that he hadn't listend to the speech carefully enough and gave him both barrels:

Oh, substantive due process does. I thought I made it clear I don’t believe in substantive due process.

Doooh....


And then, a final laugh, buried in the speech somewhere... why should the Supreme Court have to hear a case that merely involves the ... get this.... the paint job on a BMW...... a paint job is Supreme Court material....!!

Scalia and Thomas. My favorite team.

Either one for Chief Justice.