A Salute

When I saw the headline that GM is suspending production of Hummers, I gave a cheer. But unfortunately, it’s only a temporary measure pending sale of the brand to a Chinese company. It’s bad enough that General Motors built these gas-guzzlers – and the fact that people actually bought them was even more alarming; the prospect of their continuing existence is dumbfounding.

The first Hummer I ever saw, roaming the Tucson foothills, was pre-GM, a military leftover that looked like it had to be about 10 feet wide. At first I thought, okay, whatever turns you on. But when GM decided to turn it into a family vehicle for the conspicuous-consumption crowd, I became a diehard Hummer hater. I won’t deny that people have a right to do whatever they please as long as it doesn’t hurt anybody else, but these monstrosities pushed the envelope – because the fact that they waste non-renewable resources does hurt everyone else. And you wouldn’t want to be rear-ended by one.

And so every time I saw a Hummer approaching on the road, down went my window and up went my middle finger. It was the least I could do. Beth tried to reason with me, pointing out that anybody so oblivious to social norms could possibly have a gun on board, and eventually I vowed to be less confrontational. And I have to admit, on one occasion I saw in my rear view mirror that the target of my mid-digit salute had pulled off to the shoulder as if to contemplate giving chase. Either that or he was weeping over the disrespect his foolish purchase had brought him.

The Hummer debate did become a bit of a standoff. The on-line Daily Sun in Flagstaff once carried a rather heated exchange of posts between Hummer detractors and defenders. (The Sun recently revamped its web site and cleared out all this old dialogue, but you can get a small taste of it here.) It all started when some liberal type berated a Hummer owner in a parking lot in front of his little boy. Some readers said it was mean-spirited, but I say if you’re willing to make that kind of statement to society, you’ve got to be prepared to take the heat. So it became an unresolvable dispute between those readers preaching conscientiousness and those defending personal rights. Just like health care!

I recognize that there are other vehicles on the road whose mileage is just as ghastly; and the times are even a-changin’, because the other day I noticed a large van with decals announcing that it was a hybrid. But the Hummer was so in-your-face about it, it deserved the bad rap. Now that it’s going to China, aficionados will presumably still be able to get one if they have a yen for it. But it’ll serve them right if it falls apart.

Black Friday and Financial Markets

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The fact that I decided to kick off this blog on Black Friday betrays the fact that I’m sitting at home writing it rather than venturing out to the mall. Truth be told, I prefer to do my shopping on-line rather than cope with crowds, and the fact that I’ll buy shoes from a web site without the certainty of trying them on attests to my aversion. Most of my wardrobe comes from L.L. Bean, and the only things I wear that would vaguely qualify as “designer” are the jeans that Lands End hems to order (which I suspect is only a strategy of inventory management). I admit that this doesn’t do a whole lot for the local economy, but the UPS guy seems to appreciate it.

But it’s a sure thing that the media will be buzzing for the next few days over whether this year’s Black Friday will be a harbinger of recovery or a specter of continuing angst. Sales data will be as eagerly anticipated as election returns. Face it, the Thanksgiving turkey has become the groundhog of the American economy.

Today is also the day when the news led off with reports of Dubai debt defaults sending ripples through international financial markets. I suppose something that immediate has understandable effects; what’s always puzzled me is the market reacting to reports of economic events in the past, such as statistics on housing or employment from the previous month. It’s history, dudes! Get over it!

On those days when it appears that the wheeler-dealers are concerned that the sky might fall, the catchphrase around our house is “Mr. Market be sad.” Granted, occasionally Mr. Market be happy; but the bottom line is, Mr. Market be fickle. And the media coverage that’s always both baffled and irritated me comes in the form of headlines and leads that report “Investors expressed concern today...,” “Investors weighed in on the bad news...,” and similar attempts to blame collapsing markets on some conspiratorial conglomerate of Investors.

Well, I’m an investor and I’m content to ride out the storm. Apparently I wasn’t invited to the decision-making conference (which for all I know was held at the mall). It’d be refreshingly honest if the media coined some new label to identify those investors who are responsible for the dramatic downturns – something to capture the spirit of those who are only in it to turn as quick a buck as possible. How about “greedmongers”? “Gekkos”? Or maybe just “fat cats,” the ones eating pheasant yesterday instead of turkey. (By the way, they won’t be at the mall today either; they’ll be at stores like Saks buying the items I see in the ads on page 3 of the NY Times challenging my credulity that people actually pay so much for pedestrian articles of clothing. I mean, really: $375 for a hoodie?)

And so I hope this Black Friday turns out well for the millions of Americans who have off today so that they can go to the mall and shop for bargains and help the pundits weigh in on the future of our economy. And for the other millions who are not off today because they’re working retail in support of this effort. And let’s not forget the millions who don’t fit into either category because they’re out of work. Or are off fighting in unwinnable wars. Or are too ill to shop because they lack health insurance....

But as for the fat cats who got us into this mess: May pheasant bones lodge in your throats. May your Saks parcels be left out in the rain. And may you have to stand in long lines at the post office to return your designer shoes. The ones I got from Bean fit just fine.