Edith Head – Style Icon

If you are a fan of classic movies and pay attention to scenery and costuming, you already know Edith Head.  She had THE influence on American style before clotting designers were known.  A quick search for her on IMDB will soon have you realizing that her touch was added to most of the films that you know and love.  Ladies and gentlemen, Edith Head. Style Icon

NAME: Edith Head
OCCUPATION: Fashion Designer
BIRTH DATE: October 28, 1897
DEATH DATE: October 24, 1981
PLACE OF BIRTH: San Bernardino, California
PLACE OF DEATH: Hollywood, California

BEST KNOWN FOR: Edith Head was one of the most prolific costume designers in 20th century film, winning a record eight Academy Awards.

Edith Head (born October 28, 1897) became chief designer at Paramount Pictures in 1933 and later worked at Universal. Hollywood’s best-known designer, her costumes ranged from the elegantly simple to the elaborately flamboyant. She won a record eight Academy Awards for her work in films such as All About Eve (1950), Roman Holiday (1953), and The Sting (1973).

She became chief designer at Paramount Pictures in 1933 and later worked at Universal. Hollywood’s best-known designer, she was noted for the wide range of her costumes, from the elegantly simple to the elaborately flamboyant. She won a record eight Academy Awards for her work in films such as All About Eve (1950), Roman Holiday (1953), and The Sting (1973).

As part of a series of stamps issued by the U.S. Postal Service in February 2003, commemorating the behind-the-camera personnel who make movies, Head was featured on one to honor costume design.

The band They Might Be Giants recorded the song “She Thinks She’s Edith Head,” which was included in the 1999 album Long Tall Weekend and the 2001 album Mink Car. The song is about a girl from the singer’s past, who had changed her persona to be more sophisticated, and compares her new attitude to Head and longtime Cosmopolitan editor-in-chief Helen Gurley Brown.

To many viewers of the 2004 Pixar/Disney computer-animated film The Incredibles, the personality and mannerisms of the film’s fictional superhero costume designer Edna Mode suggest a colorful caricature of Edith Head. Edna Mode’s sense of style, round glasses, and assertive no-nonsense character are very likely a direct homage to Head’s legendary accomplishments and personal traits. But the film’s director, Brad Bird, has not yet confirmed or denied this.

Dorothy Parker – Style Icon

Her poem “Telephone” is something everyone has felt, if they want to admit it or not.  She had the wit of three people and the alcohol tolerance to match.  Ladies and gentlemen, Dorothy Parker.  Style Icon.

NAME: Dorothy Parker
OCCUPATION: Civil Rights Activist, Journalist, Poet
BIRTH DATE: August 22, 1893
DEATH DATE: June 07, 1967
PLACE OF BIRTH: West End, New Jersey
PLACE OF DEATH: New York, New York

BEST KNOWN FOR:  Dorothy Parker was the sharpest wit of the Algonquin Round Table, as well as a master of short fiction and a blacklisted screenwriter.

Dorothy Parker (August 22, 1893 – June 7, 1967) was an American poet, short story writer, critic and satirist, best known for her wit, wisecracks, and eye for 20th century urban foibles.

From a conflicted and unhappy childhood, Parker rose to acclaim, both for her literary output in such venues as The New Yorker and as a founding member of the Algonquin Round Table. Following the breakup of the circle, Parker traveled to Hollywood to pursue screenwriting. Her successes there, including two Academy Award nominations, were curtailed as her involvement in left-wing politics led to a place on the Hollywood blacklist.

Parker went through three marriages (two to the same man) and survived several suicide attempts but grew increasingly dependent on alcohol. Dismissive of her own talents, she deplored her reputation as a “wisecracker.” Nevertheless, her literary output and reputation for her sharp wit have endured.

Resumé
Razors pain you; Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you; And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful; Nooses give;
Gas smells awful; You might as well live.

J.P. Morgan Chase’s Ugly Family Secrets Revealed – Rolling Stone

Family Secrets Revealed

POSTED: 


In a story that should be getting lots of attention, American Banker has released an excellent and disturbing exposé of J.P. Morgan Chase‘s credit card services division, relying on multiple current and former Chase employees. One of them, Linda Almonte, is a whistleblower whom I’ve known since last September; I’m working on a recount of her story for my next book.

One of the things we were promised by the lawmakers who passed the Dodd-Frank reform bill a few years back is that this would be a new era for whistleblowers who come forward to tell the world about problems in our financial infrastructure. This story now looms as a test case for that proposition. American Banker reporter Jeff Horwitz did an outstanding job in this story detailing the sweeping irregularities in-house at Chase, but his very thoroughness means the news may have ramifications for Linda, which is why I’m urging people to pay attention to this story in the upcoming weeks.

The Cliff’s Notes version of the story goes something like this: Late in 2009, Chase’s credit card services division sold a parcel of nearly $200 million worth of credit card judgments to a debt collector at a discount. This common practice in the credit-card industry is a little like a bookie selling the outstanding debts of his delinquent gamblers to a leg-breaker for 25 cents on the dollar. If the leg-breaker gets half the delinquents to pay, the deal works out for both sides — the bookie gets 25 percent of money he wasn’t going to collect, and the leg-breaker makes a 100 percent profit.

In the case of credit cards, of course, you’re selling the debts to collection agents, not leg-breakers, but aside from that unpleasantly minor distinction the process is the same. The most valuable kinds of sales in this world are sales of credit card judgments, in other words accounts in which the debtor has already been successfully brought to court. That, ostensibly, is what this bloc of accounts Chase sold in 2009 involved.

Almonte came to Chase in the summer of 2009 as a mid-level executive in the credit card services division’s offices in San Antonio, and was quickly put in charge of preparing the documentation for this enormous sale of credit card judgments. When Chase regional offices from places like southern California and Illinois began sending in the papers for these “judgments,” Almonte very soon found out that something was seriously wrong. From Horwitz’s piece:

Nearly half of the files [Linda's] team sampled were missing proofs of judgment or other essential information, she wrote to colleagues. Even more worrisome, she alleged in her wrongful-termination suit, nearly a quarter of the files misstated how much the borrower owed.

In the “vast majority” of those instances, the actual debt was “lower that what Chase was representing,” her suit stated.

Linda subsequently found an enormous range of errors. Some judgments, she told me, were not judgments at all. In some cases, she said, Chase actually owed the customer money.

When she brought these concerns to her superiors, what do you think their response was? They told her and others to shut up and just sell the stuff anyway. Her boss, Jason Lazinbat, allegedly told her “she had better go along with the plan to sell the misrepresented asset.”

Think of the consequences of this: because Chase was so anxious to make money off this debt sale, countless credit card borrowers would now have collection agents chasing them for money they did not owe. The debt-buyer, too, was victimized by being sold accounts it could not collect on. It is almost impossible to estimate how many man-hours of pointless court proceedings would be lost because of this decision.

Anyway, when Linda refused to go along with the sale, she was fired. This was in November of 2009. She then went through a post-firing odyssey that is an epic tale in itself: her many attempts to get any of the major bank regulators interested in this case were disturbingly fruitless for a long time (although the Office of the Comptroller of the Currency is apparently looking into it now), and she struggled to find work in the industry.

She has been repeatedly harassed and has gone through all sorts of personal hardship as a result of this incident. She filed a whistleblower claim with the SEC as part of the new whistleblower program created by Dodd-Frank, but so far there’s been no progress there.

When I met Linda last year, my first reaction to her story was that I was skeptical. The tale she told went far beyond the bank knowingly selling millions of dollars worth of errors into the financial system. She also recounted, firsthand, the bank’s elaborate robosigning operation, which Horvitz, talking to other Chase employees, also discussed:

“We did not verify a single one” of the affidavits attesting to the amounts Chase was seeking to collect, says Howard Hardin, who oversaw a team handling tens of thousands of Chase debt files in San Antonio. “We were told [by superiors] ‘We’re in a hurry. Go ahead and sign them.’”

And there were other stories…suffice to say that the picture Linda painted of life inside Chase reminded me a little of Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle: they were putting just about everything into those sausages. When I was writing it all up for my book I went through a period where I was waking up nights, seized with the urge to close every credit account I had – her story makes you think that most credit card companies are essentially indistinguishable from giant identity theft operations.

Again, though, when I first heard the story, I was skeptical – until I found other people in the company who verified Almonte’s account, all the way down the line. Horvitz, too, found numerous employees in Chase’s credit card services division who confirmed the story of the company knowingly selling a mountain of errors into the market, and manufacturing robo-signed documents to the tune of thousands per week.

The financial crash wouldn’t have happened if even a slim plurality of financial executives had done what Linda Almonte did, i.e. simply refuse to sign off on a bogus transaction. If companies had merely upheld their own stated policies and stayed within the ballpark of the law, none of these messes could have accumulated: fraudulent mortgages wouldn’t have been sold, families wouldn’t have been foreclosed upon based on robo-signed documentation, investors wouldn’t have been duped into buying huge packets of “misrepresented assets.”

But most executives didn’t refuse to go along, precisely because powerful companies make it so hard on people who come forward. Almonte, after being fired, entered into a modest settlement with Chase that prohibited her from coming forward publicly. At the time she entered into the settlement she was in an extremely desperate state, and she made a bad decision, taking a very bad deal.

Still, like Jeffery Wygand, the tobacco scientist from the movie The Insider, she was sitting on top of a story that, morally speaking, should not ever be protected by a confidentiality agreement — and the subsequent lack of regulatory action eventually moved her to speak out to people like Horvitz and me. Of course, now that her story is out there in public, the concern is that the bank will move swiftly to take her to court.

This person does not have any money, so an action by Chase at this point would be purely punitive, to send a message to future whistleblowers. They’ll be more likely to do it if they think no one is paying attention. I’ll keep you posted on that score.

In the meantime, please check out Horvitz’s piece. It should give everyone who has a credit card pause.


via J.P. Morgan Chase’s Ugly Family Secrets Revealed | Matt Taibbi | Rolling Stone.

Bank of America: Too Crooked to Fail – Rolling Stone

Bank of America: Too Crooked to FailThe bank has defrauded everyone from investors and insurers to homeowners and the unemployed. So why does the government keep bailing it out?

March 14, 2012 10:55 AM ET

At least Bank of America got its name right. The ultimate Too Big to Fail bank really is America, a hypergluttonous ward of the state whose limitless fraud and criminal conspiracies we’ll all be paying for until the end of time. Did you hear about the plot to rig global interest rates? The $137 million fine for bilking needy schools and cities? The ingenious plan to suck multiple fees out of the unemployment checks of jobless workers? Take your eyes off them for 10 seconds and guaranteed, they’ll be into some shit again: This bank is like the world’s worst-behaved teenager, taking your car and running over kittens and fire hydrants on the way to Vegas for the weekend, maxing out your credit cards in the three days you spend at your aunt’s funeral. They’re out of control, yet they’ll never do time or go out of business, because the government remains creepily committed to their survival, like overindulgent parents who refuse to believe their 40-year-old live-at-home son could possibly be responsible for those dead hookers in the backyard.

It’s been four years since the government, in the name of preventing a depression, saved this megabank from ruin by pumping $45 billion of taxpayer money into its arm. Since then, the Obama administration has looked the other way as the bank committed an astonishing variety of crimes – some elaborate and brilliant in their conception, some so crude that they’d be beneath your average street thug. Bank of America has systematically ripped off almost everyone with whom it has a significant business relationship, cheating investors, insurers, depositors, homeowners, shareholders, pensioners and taxpayers. It brought tens of thousands of Americans to foreclosure court using bogus, “robo-signed” evidence – a type of mass perjury that it helped pioneer. It hawked worthless mortgages to dozens of unions and state pension funds, draining them of hundreds of millions in value. And when it wasn’t ripping off workers and pensioners, it was helping to push insurance giants like AMBAC into bankruptcy by fraudulently inducing them to spend hundreds of millions insuring those same worthless mortgages.

But despite being the very definition of an unaccountable corporate villain, Bank of America is now bigger and more dangerous than ever. It controls more than 12 percent of America’s bank deposits (skirting a federal law designed to prohibit any firm from controlling more than 10 percent), as well as 17 percent of all American home mortgages. By looking the other way and rewarding the bank’s bad behavior with a massive government bailout, we actually allowed a huge financial company to not just grow so big that its collapse would imperil the whole economy, but to get away with any and all crimes it might commit. Too Big to Fail is one thing; it’s also far too corrupt to survive.

All the government bailouts succeeded in doing was to make the bank even more prone to catastrophic failure – and now that catastrophe might finally be at hand. Bank of America’s share price has plunged into the single digits, and the bank faces battles in courtrooms all over America to avoid paying back the hundreds of billions it stole from everyone in sight. Its credit rating, already downgraded to a few rungs above junk status, could plummet with the next bad analyst report, causing a frenzied rush to the exits by creditors, investors and stockholders – an institutional run on the bank.

They’re in deep trouble, but they won’t die, because our current president, like the last one, apparently believes it’s better to project a false image of financial soundness than to allow one of our oligarchic banks to collapse under the weight of its own corruption. Last year, the Federal Reserve allowed Bank of America to move a huge portfolio of dangerous bets into a side of the company that happens to be FDIC-insured, putting all of us on the hook for as much as $55 trillion in irresponsible gambles. Then, in February, the Justice Department‘s so-called foreclosure settlement, which will supposedly provide $26 billion in relief for ripped-off homeowners, actually rewarded the bank with a legal waiver that will allow it to escape untold billions in lawsuits. And this month the Fed will release the results of its annual stress test, in which the bank will once again be permitted to perpetuate its fiction of solvency by grossly overrating the mountains of toxic loans on its books. At this point, the rescue effort is so sweeping and elaborate that it goes far beyond simply gouging the tax dollars of millions of struggling families, many of whom have already been ripped off by the bank – it’s making the government, and by extension all of us, full-blown accomplices to the fraud.

Anyone who wants to know what the Occupy Wall Street protests are all about need only look at the way Bank of America does business. It comes down to this: These guys are some of the very biggest assholes on Earth. They lie, cheat and steal as reflexively as addicts, they laugh at people who are suffering and don’t have money, they pay themselves huge salaries with money stolen from old people and taxpayers – and on top of it all, they completely suck at banking. And yet the state won’t let them go out of business, no matter how much they deserve it, and it won’t slap them in jail, no matter what crimes they commit. That makes them not bankers or capitalists, but a class of person that was never supposed to exist in America: royalty.

Self-appointed royalty, it’s true – but just as dumb and inbred as the real thing, and every bit as expensive to support. Like all royals, they reached their position in society by being relentlessly dedicated to the cause of Bigness, Unaccountability and the Worthlessness of Others. And just like royals, they spend most of their lives getting deeper in debt, and laughing every year when our taxes go to covering their whist markers. Two and a half centuries after we kicked out the British, it’s really come to this?

Bank of America started out in San Francisco in 1904 as an emblem of American capitalism. Founded by a first-generation Italian-American named Amadeo Giannini – it was even originally called the Bank of Italy – the bank set out to serve immigrants denied credit by other banks, and it was instrumental in helping to rebuild the city after the devastating earthquake of 1906.

But like many of the truly bad ideas in history, the present-day version of Bank of America was the product of a testosterone overdose. The concept of an overmassive, acquiring-everything-in-sight, bicoastal megabank was hatched in the terminal inferiority complex of a greed-sick asshole – actually two greed-sick assholes, both of them CEOs of Southern regional banks, who launched a cartoonish arms race of bank acquisitions that would ultimately turn the American business world upside down.

The antagonists were Hugh McColl Jr. and Ed Crutchfield, the respective leaders of North Carolina National Bank (which would take over Bank of America) and First Union (which turned into Wachovia), both based in Charlotte, North Carolina. Obsessed with each other, these two men transformed their personal competition into one of the most ridiculous and elaborate penis-measuring contests in the history of American business – even engaging in the garish Freudian spectacle of vying to see who would have the tallest skyscraper in Charlotte. First Union kicked things off in 1971 by erecting the 32-story Jefferson First Union Tower, then the biggest building in town – until McColl’s bank built the 40-story NCNB Plaza in 1974. Then, in the late Eighties, Crutchfield topped McColl with the city’s first post­modern high-rise, One First Union Center, at 42 stories. That held the prize until 1992, when McColl went haywire and put up the hideous 60-story Bank of America Corporate Center, a giant slab of gray metal affectionately known around Charlotte as the “Taj McColl.” When asked by reporters if he was pleased that his 60-story monster overwhelmed his rival’s 42-story weenie, McColl didn’t hesitate. “Do I prefer having the tall one?” he said. “Yes.”

For a time, this ridiculous rivalry between two strutting Southern peacocks was restrained by the law – specifically, the McFadden-Pepper Act of 1927 and the Douglas Amendment to the Bank Holding Company Act of 1956. These two federal statutes, which made it illegal for a bank holding company to own and operate banks in more than one state, were effectively designed to prevent exactly the Too Big to Fail problem we now find ourselves faced with. The goal, as Sen. Paul Douglas explained at the time, was “to prevent an undue concentration of banking and financial power, and instead keep the private control of credit diffused as much as possible.”

But these laws didn’t sit well with Hugh McColl. To him, size was everything. “We realized that if we didn’t leave North Carolina,” he explained later in his career, “we would never amount to anything – that we would not be important.” Note that he didn’t say the ban on expansion prevented him from turning a profit or earning good returns for his shareholders – only that it put a limit on his sense of self-importance. So McColl and his banking minions set out to break down the interstate banking laws. First, in 1981, they used a legal loophole in Florida law to buy a bank branch there – evading the federal ban on out-of-state owners. Then, following a Supreme Court decision in 1985 that allowed banks to cross state lines within a designated region, he and Crutchfield went on a conquering spree worthy of a Mongol horde, buying up a host of banks in other Southern states. McColl, a silver-haired ex-Marine who would eventually be celebrated for bringing a “military approach” to his business, went to ridiculous lengths to play up the manly conquest aspect of his bank’s merger frenzy, rewarding key employees with crystal hand grenades. By 1995, McColl had acquired more than 200 banks and thrifts across the South, while Crutchfield had snapped up 50.

A few years later, after Congress repealed most of the barriers to interstate banking, McColl took over Bank of America, realizing his dream of creating what one trade publication called “the first ocean-to-ocean bank in the nation’s history.” Later, after McColl retired, his successors kept up his acquisitive legacy, buying notorious mortgage lender Countrywide Financial in 2008, and using some of the $25 billion in federal bailout funds they received to acquire dying investment bank Merrill Lynch. Both firms were infamous for their exotic gambles and their systematic cutting of regulatory corners – meaning that the shopping spree had burdened Bank of America with a huge portfolio of doomed trades and criminal conspiracies.

But to McColl, it was all worth it – because he would never have been important if he hadn’t also been big. “I have no regrets about building it large,” he said in 2010, when asked if he considered all the monster consolidations a mistake in light of the crash of 2008. “I may have some regrets about not building it larger.”

This deeply American terror of not always having the absolutely hugest dick in the room is what put us in the inescapable box called Too Big to Fail. When the bailouts were dreamed up to save Bank of America, the government was essentially committing public resources to preserve this lunatic spending spree – which means two successive presidential administrations have now spent nearly half a decade and hundreds of billions of tax dollars defending the premise that Hugh McColl should always be allowed to have the “taller one.”

And why? The rationale for allowing that merger spree in the first place was based on a phony assumption: that big banks would somehow be more efficient and more profitable than small ones. “The whole premise of a Citibank or a Chase or a Bank of America is wrongheaded,” says Susan Webber, an analyst who writes one of the most popular and respected financial blogs under the pseudo­nym Yves Smith. “Studies consistently show that after a certain size threshold, bank efficiency taps out. In fact, it turns out that all those cost savings the banks were supposed to enjoy from being bigger were actually based on cutting corners and fraud.”

And man, what a lot of fraud!

In the end, it all comes back to mortgages. Though Bank of America would ultimately be charged with committing a dizzyingly diverse variety of corporate misdeeds, the bulk of the trouble the bank is in today arises from the Great Mortgage Scam of the mid-2000s, which caused the biggest financial bubble in history.

The shorthand version of the scam is by now familiar: Banks and mortgage lenders conspired to create a gigantic volume of very risky home loans, delivering outsize mortgages to dubious borrowers like immigrants without identification, the unemployed and people with poor credit histories. Then the banks took those dicey home loans and sprinkled them with bogus math, using inscrutable financial gizmos like collateralized mortgage obligations to rechristen the risky home loans as high-grade, AAA-rated securities that could be sold off to unions, pensioners, foreign banks, retirement funds and any other suckers the banks could find. In essence, America’s financial institutions grew vast fields of cheap oregano, and then went around the world marketing their product as high-grade weed.

The holy trinity of Bank of America, Countrywide and Merrill Lynch represented the worst conceivable team of financial powers to get hold of this scam. It was a little like the Wall Street version of Michael Bay’s nonclassic Con Air, in which the world’s creepiest serial killer, most demented terrorist and most depraved redneck are all thrown together on the same plane. In this case, it was the most careless mortgage lender (the spray-tanned huckster Angelo Mozilo from Countrywide, who was named the second-worst CEO of all time by Portfolio magazine), the most dangerous mortgage gambler (Merrill, whose CEO was the self-worshipping jerkwad John Thain, the ex-Goldman banker who bought himself an $87,000 area rug as his company was cratering in 2008) and the most relentless packager of mortgage pools (Bank of America), all put together under one roof and let loose on the world. These guys were so corrupt, they even shocked one another: According to a federal lawsuit, top executives at Countrywide complained privately that Bank of America’s “appetite for risky products was greater than that of Countrywide.”

The three lenders also pioneered ways to sell their toxic pools of mortgages to suckers. Bank of America’s typical marketing pitch to a union or a state pension fund involved a double or even triple guarantee. First, it promised, in writing, that all its loans had passed due diligence tests and met its high internal standards. Next, it promised that if any of the loans in the mortgage pool turned out to be defective or in default, it would buy them back. And finally, it assured customers that if all else failed, the pools of mortgages were all insured, or “wrapped,” by bond insurers like AMBAC and MBIA.

It sounded like a can’t-lose deal. Not only did the bank offer a written guarantee of the high quality of the loans it was selling, it also promised to buy back any bad loans, which were often insured to boot. What could go wrong?

As it turned out, everything. From tits to toes, the mortgage pools created, packaged and sold by Countrywide, Merrill Lynch and Bank of America were a complete sham: worthless and often falling apart virtually from the day they were delivered.

First of all, despite the fact that the banks had promised that all the loans in their pools met their internal lending standards, that turned out to be completely untrue. An SEC­ investigation later found out, for instance, that Countrywide essentially had no standards for whom to lend to. As a federal judge put it, “Countrywide routinely ignored its official underwriting guidelines to such an extent that Countrywide would underwrite any loan it could sell.” Translation: Countrywide gave home loans to anything with a pulse, provided they had a sucker lined up to buy the loan.

How did they make these loans in the first place? By committing every kind of lending fraud imaginable – particularly by entering fake data on home loan applications, magically turning minimum-wage janitors into creditworthy wage earners. In 2006, according to a report by Credit Suisse, a whopping 49 percent of the nation’s subprime loans were “liar’s loans,” meaning that lenders could state the incomes of borrowers without requiring any proof of employment. And no one lied more than Countrywide and Bank of America. In an internal e-mail distributed in June 2006, Countrywide’s executives worried that 40 percent of the firm’s “reduced documentation loans” potentially had “income overstated by more than 10 percent… and a significant percent of those loans would have income overstated by 50 percent or more.”

“What large numbers of Countrywide employees did every day was commit fraud by knowingly making and approving loans they knew borrowers couldn’t repay,” says William Black, a former federal banking regulator. “To do so, it was essential that the loans be made to appear to be relatively less risky. This required pervasive documentation fraud.”

So what happened when institutional investors realized that the loans they had bought from Countrywide were nothing but shams? Instead of buying back the bad loans as promised, and as required by its own contracts, the bank simply refused to answer its phone. A typical transaction involved U.S. Bancorp, which in 2005 served as a trustee for a group of investors that bought 4,484 Countrywide mortgages for $1.75 billion – only to discover their shiny new investment vehicle started throwing rods before they could even drive it off the lot. “Soon after being sold to the Trust,” U.S. Bancorp later observed in a lawsuit, “Countrywide’s loans began to become delinquent and default at a startling rate.” The trustees hired a consultant to examine 786 loans in the pool, and found that an astonishing two-thirds of them were defective in some way. Yet, confronted with the fraud, Countrywide failed to repurchase a single loan, offering “no basis for its refusal.”

And what about that ostensible insurance that Bank of America sold with its bundles of mortgages? Well, those policies turned out not to be worth very much, since so many of the loans defaulted that they blew the insurers out of business. If you went bust buying bad mortgages from Bank of America, chances are, so did your insurer. At best, you two could now share a blanket in the poorhouse.

Many of the nation’s largest insurers, in fact, are now suing the pants off Bank of America, claiming they were fraudulently induced to insure the bank’s “high lending standards.” AMBAC, the second-largest bond insurer in America, went bankrupt in 2010 after paying out some $466 million in claims over 35,000 Countrywide home loans. After analyzing a dozen of the mortgage pools, AMBAC found that a staggering 97 percent of the loans didn’t meet the stated underwriting standards. That same year, the Association of Financial Guaranty Insurers, a trade group representing firms like AMBAC, told Bank of America that it should be repurchasing as much as $20 billion in defective mortgages.

Some of these institutional investors were at least partial accomplices to their own downfall. In the boom era of easy money, financial professionals everywhere were chasing the lusciously high yields offered by these bundles of subprime mortgages, and everyone knew the deals weren’t exactly risk-free. But ultimately, Bank of America was knowingly selling a defective product – and down the road, that product was bound to blow up on somebody innocent. “A teacher or a fireman goes to work and saves money for their retirement via their pensions,” says Manal Mehta, a partner at the hedge fund Branch Hill Capital who spent two years researching Bank of America. “That pension fund buys toxic securities put together by Wall Street that were designed to fail. So when that security blows up, wealth flows directly from that pension fund into the hands of a select few.”

This is the crossroads where Bank of America now lives – trying to convince the government to allow it to remain in business, perhaps even asking for another bailout or two, while it avoids paying back untold billions to all of the institutional customers it screwed, the list of which has grown so long as to almost be comical. Last year, the bank settled with a group of pension and retirement funds, including public employees from Mississippi to Los Angeles, that charged Bank of America and Merrill with misrepresenting the value of more than $16 billion in mortgage-backed securities. In the end, the bank paid only $315 million.

In the first half of last year, Bank of America paid $12.7 billion to settle claims brought by defrauded customers. But countless other investors are still howling for Bank of America to take back its counterfeit product. Allstate, the maker of those reassuring Dennis Haysbert-narrated commercials, claims it got stuck with $700 million in defective mortgages from Countrywide. The states of Iowa, Oregon and Maine, as well as the United Methodist Church, are suing Bank of America over fraudulent deals, claiming hundreds of billions in collective losses. And there are similar lawsuits for nonmortgage-related securities, like a revolting sale of doomed municipal securities to the state of Hawaii and Maui County. In that case, Merrill Lynch brokers allegedly dumped $944 million in auction-rate securities on the Hawaiians, even though the brokers knew that the auction-rate market was already going bust. “Market is collapsing,” a Merrill executive named John Price admitted in an internal e-mail, before joking about having to give up pricey dinners at a fancy Manhattan restaurant. “No more $2K dinners at CRU!!”

In the end, says Mehta, Bank of America’s fraud resulted in “one of the biggest reverse transfers of wealth in history – from pensioners to financiers. What the 99 percent should understand is that Wall Street knowingly inflated the bubble by engaging in rampant mortgage fraud – and then profited from the collapse of their own exuberance by devising a way to shift the losses to countless pension funds, endowments and other innocent investors.” The assembled worldwide collection of swindled pensioners and unions and investors is a little like the crowd that storms the basketball court in the Will Ferrell movie Semi-Pro when the home team’s owner welshes on his promise to hand out free corn dogs if the score tops 125 points. Corn dogs, Bank of America! Where are the freaking corn dogs!

Incredible as it sounds, owing practically everyone in the world billions of dollars apiece is only half of Bank of America’s problem. The bank didn’t just flee the scene of its various securities rip-offs. It also made a habit out of breaking the law and engaging in ethical lapses on a grand scale, all over the globe. Once your money ends up in their pockets, they just slither off into the night, no matter their legal or professional obligations.

Case in point: With all those hundreds of thousands of mortgages the bank bought, it simply stopped filing basic paperwork – even the stuff required by law, like keeping chains of title. A blizzard of subsequent lawsuits from pissed-off localities reveals that the bank used this systematic scam to avoid paying local fees. Last year, a single county – Dallas County in Texas – sued Bank of America for ducking fees since 1997. “Our research shows it could be more than $100 million,” Craig Watkins, the county’s district attorney, told reporters. Think of that next time your county leaves a road unpaved, or is forced to raise property taxes to keep the schools open.

But the lack of paperwork also presented a problem for the bank: When it needed to foreclose on someone, it had no evidence to take to court. So Bank of America unleashed a practice called robo-signing, which essentially involved drawing up fake documents for court procedures. Two years ago, a Bank of America robo-signer named Renee Hertzler gave a deposition in which she admitted not only to creating as many as 8,000 legal affidavits a month, but also to signing documents with a fake title.

Yet here’s how seriously fucked the financial markets are: Even the most vocal critics of Bank of America consider the mass, factory-style production of tens of thousands of fake legal documents per month not that big a deal. “Robo-signing is like focusing on Bernie Madoff’s accountant,” quips April Charney, a well-known foreclosure lawyer who has spent large chunks of the past two decades in battle with Bank of America.

Robo-signing is not the disease – it’s a symptom of Bank of America’s entire attitude toward the law. A bank that’s willing to commit whole departments to inventing legal affidavits might also, for instance, intentionally ding depositors with bogus overdraft fees. (A class action suit accused Bank of America of heisting some $4.5 billion from its customers this way; the bank settled the suit for a mere 10 cents on the dollar.)

Or it might give up trying to win government contracts honestly and get involved with rigging municipal bids – a mobster’s crime, for which the accused used to do serious time, back when the bids were for construction and garbage instead of municipal bonds, and the defendants were Eye-talians in gold chains instead of Ivy Leaguers in ties and Chanel glasses. We now know that Bank of America routinely conspired with other banks to make sure it paid low prices for the privilege of managing the moneys of various cities and towns. If the city of Baltimore or the University of Mississippi or the Guam Power Authority issued bonds to raise money, the bank would huddle up with the likes of Bear Stearns and Morgan Stanley and decide whose “turn” it was to win the bid. Bank of America paid a $137 million fine for its sabotage of the government-contracting process – and in an attempt to avoid prosecution, it applied to the Justice Department’s corporate leniency program, essentially confessing its criminal status: As plaintiff attorneys noted, the application “means that Bank of America is an admitted felon.” Think about that when you hear about all the bailouts the bank has gotten in the past four years. A street felon who gets out of jail can’t even vote in some states – and yet Bank of America is allowed to receive billions in federal aid and dominate the electoral process with campaign contributions?

Some of the bank’s other collusive schemes are even more ambitious. Last year, the bank was sued, alongside some of its competitors, for conspiring to rig the London Interbank Offered Rate. Many adjustable-rate financial products are based on LIBOR – so if the big banks could get together and artificially lower the rate, they would pay out less to customers who bought those products. “About $350 trillion worth of financial products globally reference LIBOR,” says one antitrust lawyer familiar with the case. “Which means,” she adds in a striking understatement, “that the scale of this conspiracy is extremely large.”

What’s most striking in all of these scams is the corporate culture of Bank of America: These guys are just dicks. Time and again, they go out of their way to fleece their own customers, without a trace of remorse. In classic con-artist behavior, Bank of America even tried to rip off homeowners a second time by gaming President Obama’s HAMP program, which was designed to aid families who had already been victimized by the banks. In a lawsuit filed last year, homeowners claim they were asked to submit a mountain of paperwork before receiving a modified loan – only to have the bank misplace the documents when it was time to pay up. “The vast majority tell us the same thing,” says Steve Berman, an attorney for the plaintiffs. “Bank of America claims to have lost their paperwork, failed to return phone calls, made false claims about the status of their loans and even took actions toward foreclosure without informing homeowners of their options.” The scheme allowed the bank to bleed struggling homeowners for a few last desperate months by holding out the carrot of federal aid they would never receive.

Even when caught red-handed and nailed by courts for behavior like this, Bank of America has remained smugly unrepentant. As part of an $8.4 billion settlement it entered into with multiple states over predatory lending practices, the bank agreed to provide homeowners with modified loans and promised not to raise rates on borrowers. But no sooner was the deal signed than the bank “materially and almost immediately violated” the terms, according to Nevada Attorney General Catherine Cortez Masto. It not only jacked up rates on homeowners, it even instituted a policy punishing any bank employee who spent more than 10 minutes helping a victim get a loan modification.

The bank’s list of victims goes on and on. The disabled? Just a few weeks ago, the government charged Bank of America with violating the Fair Housing Act by illegally requiring proof of disability from people who rely on disability income to make their mortgage payments. Minorities? Last December, the bank settled with the Justice Department for $335 million over Countrywide’s practice of dumping risky subprime loans on qualified black and Hispanic borrowers. The poor? In South Carolina, Bank of America won a contract to distribute unemployment benefits through prepaid debit cards – and then charged multiple fees to jobless folk who had the gall to withdraw their money from anywhere other than a Bank of America ATM. Seriously, who hasn’t this bank conspired to defraud? Puppies? One-eyed Sri Lankans?

Bank of America likes to boast that it has changed its ways, replacing many of the top executives who helped create the mortgage bubble. But the man promoted from within to lead the new team, CEO Brian Moynihan, is just as loathsome and tone-deaf as his previous bosses. As befits a new royal, Moynihan defended a plan to gouge all debit-card users with $5 fees by citing his divine privilege: “We have a right to make a profit.” And despite the bank’s litany of crimes, Moynihan seems to think we’re just overreacting. After all, he gives to charities! “I get a little incensed when you think about how much good all of you do, whether it’s volunteer hours, charitable giving we do, serving clients and customers well,” he told employees last October. Then, addressing would-be protesters: “You ought to think a little about that before you start yelling at us.”

In sum, Bank of America torched dozens of institutional investors with billions in worthless loans, repeatedly refused to abide by contractual obligations to buy them back, evaded hundreds of millions in local fees and taxes, pushed tens of thousands of people into foreclosure using phony documents, ignored multiple court orders to stop its illegal robo-signing, and exploited President Obama’s signature mortgage-relief program. The bank fixed the bids on bonds for schools and cities and utilities all over America, and even conspired to try to game the game itself – by fixing global interest rates!

So what does the government do about a rogue firm like this, one that inflates market-wrecking bubbles, commits mass fraud and generally treats the law like its own personal urinal cake? Well, it goes without saying that you rescue that “admitted felon” at all costs – even if you have to spend billions in taxpayer money to do it.

Bank of America should have gone out of business back in 2008. Just as the mortgage market was crashing, it made an inconceivably stupid investment in subprime mortgages, acquiring Countrywide and the billions in potential lawsuits that came with it. “They tried to catch a falling knife and lost their hand and foot in the process,” says Joshua Rosner, a noted financial analyst. It then spent $50 billion buying a firm, Merrill Lynch, that was rife with billions in debts. With those two anchors on its balance sheet, Hugh McColl’s bicoastal dream bank should have gone the way of the dinosaur.

But it didn’t. Instead, in the midst of the crash, the government forked over $45 billion in aid to Bank of America – $20 billion as an incentive to bring its cross-eyed bride Merrill Lynch to the altar, and another $25 billion as part of the overall TARP bailout. In addition, the government agreed to guarantee $118 billion in Bank of America debt.

So what did the bank do with that money? First, it sat by while lame-duck executives at Merrill paid themselves $3.6 billion in bonuses – even though Merrill lost more than $27 billion that year. In all, 696 executives received more than $1 million each for helping to crash the storied firm. (The bank wound up hit with a $150 million fine for its failure to inform shareholders about the Merrill losses and bonuses.) Bank of America, meanwhile, paid out more than $3.3 billion in bonuses to itself, including more than $1 million each to 172 executives.

In fact, the real bailouts of Bank of America didn’t even begin until well after TARP. In the years since the crash, the bank has issued more than $44 billion in FDIC-insured debt through a little-known Federal Reserve plan called the Temporary Liquidity Guarantee Program. The plan essentially allows companies whose credit ratings are fucked to borrow against the government’s good name – and if the loans aren’t paid back, the government is on the hook for all of it. Bank of America has also stayed afloat by constantly borrowing billions in low-­interest emergency loans from the Fed – part of $7.7 trillion in “secret” loans that were not disclosed by the central bank until last year. When the data was finally released, we found out that, on just one day in 2008, Bank of America owed the Fed a staggering $86 billion.

That means that when you take out a credit card or a mortgage or a refinancing from Bank of America, you’re essentially borrowing from the state; the “private” bank is simply taking a cut as a middleman. “For banks, the cost of capital is the key to success,” says former New York governor Eliot Spitzer. “So by lowering their cost of capital to almost zero, the Fed has almost guaranteed that the banks will make big profits.”

Another public lifeline is Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, the giant, nationalized mortgage lenders. Need to make some cash? Toss a bunch of home loan applications onto a city street, then sell the resulting mortgages to Fannie and Freddie, which are basically a gigantic pile of public money guarded by second-rate managers. Just like the state pensions in Iowa and Maine and Missis­sippi, Fannie and Freddie were targeted for sales of toxic mortgages, and just like those entities, they have sued Bank of America, claiming they were suckered into buying more than $30 billion in shitty securities. But unlike those other suckers, Fannie and Freddie continued to buy crap loans from Bank of America even after it was clear they’d been hoodwinked. Last year, the bank created more than $156 billion in mortgages – nearly $38 billion of which were bought by Fannie. Having the government as an ever-ready customer, standing by to buy mortgages at full retail prices, has always been an ongoing hidden bailout to the banks.

But even the government has its limits. In February, Fannie announced it would no longer keep blindly buying mortgages from Bank of America. Why? Because the bank, already slow to buy back its defective mortgages, had gotten even slower. By the end of last year, the government reported, more than half of all the crappy loans that Fannie wanted to return came from a single bad bank – Bank of America.

But if you think that Fannie cutting off the bank is good news, think again. If it can’t get the money it’s owed from Bank of America, it’ll just go begging to the Treasury. Fannie has already asked for $4.5 billion to cover losses this year – and if Bank of America doesn’t pony up, it’ll have to reach even deeper into our pockets, making for yet another shadow bailout to the firm.

It gets worse. Last fall, some of the bank’s biggest creditors and counterparties started to get nervous about the mountain of toxic bets still sitting on Merrill Lynch’s books – a generation of ill-considered, complex, exotic derivative trades, bets on bets on bets on shaky subprime mortgages, sitting there on the company balance sheet, waiting to explode. Nobody felt good lending Bank of America money with that dangerous shitpile lying there. So they asked the bank to move a chunk of that mess from Merrill Lynch onto Bank of America’s own balance sheet. Why? Because Bank of America is a federally insured depository institution. Which means that the FDIC, and by extension you and me, is now on the hook for as much as $55 trillion in potential losses. Black, the former regulator, calls the transfer an “obscenity. As a regulator, I would have never allowed it. Transferring risk to the insured institution crosses the reddest of red lines.”

But by far the biggest bailout to Bank of America has come via the sweetheart deals it cut to settle the massive lawsuits filed against it. Some of the deals, which were brokered by the Justice Department and state attorneys general, allowed the bank to get away with paying pennies on the dollar on its mountains of debt. Worst of all was the recent $26 billion foreclosure settlement involving Bank of America and four other major firms. The deal, in which the banks agreed to pay cash to screwed-over homeowners in exchange for immunity from federal prosecution on robo-signing issues, was hailed as a big multibillion-dollar bite out of the banks. President Obama was all but strutting over his beatdown of Wall Street. “We are Americans, and we look out for one another; we get each other’s backs,” he declared. “We’re going to make sure that banks live up to their end of the bargain.”

In fact, the government has a lousy track record when it comes to enforcing settlements. The foreclosure deal arrives on the heels of an $8.4 billion investor settlement, whose provisions Bank of America had already been accused of violating, raising rates and abusing homeowners as soon as the deal was struck. The bank also violated a previous settlement with the Federal Trade Commission, illegally slapping $36 million in fees on struggling homeowners after specifically agreeing not to do so. So Bank of America’s reward for blowing off its previous settlements for mistreating homeowners was to get another soft-touch deal from the government, which they will presumably be just as free to ignore. Why? Because while state officials have ultimate enforcement authority over the foreclosure settlement, the early enforcement reviews will be handled by “internal quality control groups.” In other words, Bank of America itself will be grading its own compliance!

Even if Bank of America coughs up its share of the $26 billion settlement, the deal is woefully inadequate to address the wider fraud that went on in creating and pooling mortgages. “It’s like handing a box of tissues to someone whose immune system has been destroyed by AIDS,” says Rosner. “It doesn’t come close to addressing the scale of the problem.” Many Wall Street observers think that without the waiver from federal prosecution provided by the settlement, Bank of America would have faced billions in lawsuits for robo-signing offenses alone.

Oh, and one more thing, since we’re talking about avoiding bills: Bank of America didn’t pay a dime in federal taxes last year. Or the year before. In fact, they got a $1 billion refund last year. They claimed it was because they had pretax losses of $5.4 billion in 2010. They paid out $35 billion in bonuses and compensation that year. You do the math.

And here’s the biggest scam of all: After all that help – all the billions in bailouts, the tens of billions in Fed loans, the hundreds of billions in legal damages made to disappear, the untold billions more of unpaid bills and buybacks – Bank of America is still failing. In December, the bank’s share price dipped below $5, and after being cut off by Fannie in February, the bank announced a truly shameless plan to jack up fees for depositors by as much as $25 a month – what one market analyst called a “measure of last resort.”

The company reported positive earnings last year, with net income of $84 million, but analysts aren’t convinced. David Trainer, a MarketWatch commentator, switched his rating of Bank of America to “very dangerous” in part because its accounting is wildly optimistic. Among other things, the bank’s projections assume a growth rate of 20 percent every year for the next 18 years. What’s more, the bank has set aside only $8.5 billion for buybacks of those crap corn-dog loans from enraged customers – even though some analysts think the number should be much higher, perhaps as high as $27 billion. Because more lawsuits are so likely, says Mehta, it’s “virtually impossible to decipher if Bank of America requires more equity, or even another tax­payer bailout.”

But the only number that really matters is this one: $37 billion. That’s the total bonus and compensation pool this broke-ass, state-dependent, owing-everybody-in-sight bank paid out to its employees last year. This, in essence, is the business model underlying Too Big to Fail: massive growth based on huge volumes of high-risk loans, coupled with lots of fraud and cutting corners, followed by huge payouts to executives. Then, with the company on the verge of collapse, the inevitable state rescue. In this whole picture, the only money that’s ever “real” is the fat bonuses the executives cash out of the bank at the end of each year. “Fraud is a sure thing,” says Black. “The firm fails, unless it is bailed out, but the controlling officers walk away wealthy.”

The Dodd-Frank financial reform approved by Congress last year was supposed to fix the problem of Too Big to Fail, giving the government the power to take over and disband troubled megafirms instead of bailing them out. “The way to cut our Gordian financial knot is simple,” MIT economist Simon Johnson wrote in The New York Times. “Force the big banks to become smaller.” But few in the financial community believe that will ever happen. “If Bank of America crashes, the first thing that would happen is Dodd-Frank would be revealed as a fraud,” says Rosner. “The Fed and the Treasury would ask Congress for a bailout to ‘save the economy.’ It’s the worst-kept secret on Wall Street.”

In a pure capitalist system, an institution as moronic and corrupt as Bank of America would be swiftly punished by the market – the executives would get to loot their own firms once, then they’d be looking for jobs again. But with the limitless government support of Too Big to Fail, these failing financial giants get to stay undead forever, continually looting the taxpayer, their depositors, their shareholders and anyone else they can get their hands on. The threat posed by Bank of America isn’t just financial – it’s a full-blown assault on the American dream. Where’s the incentive to play fair and do well, when what we see rewarded at the highest levels of society is failure, stupidity, incompetence and meanness? If this is what winning in our system looks like, who doesn’t want to be a loser? Throughout history, it’s precisely this kind of corrupt perversion that has given birth to countercultural revolutions. If failure can’t fail, the rest of us can never succeed.

via Bank of America: Too Crooked to Fail | Politics News | Rolling Stone.

Bonnie and Clyde – Not So Secret Obsession

That is such a great photo of Bonnie and Clyde, their smiles are so sweet.  I know, they did a lot of bad things and they died after being made into human swiss cheese.  The photo even lower is pure perfection, but how could it not?

Bonnie Elizabeth Parker (October 1, 1910 – May 23, 1934) and Clyde Chestnut Barrow (March 24, 1909 – May 23, 1934) were well-known outlaws, robbers, and criminals who traveled the Central United States with their gang during the Great Depression. Their exploits captured the attention of the American public during the “public enemy era” between 1931 and 1934. Though known today for his dozen-or-so bank robberies, Barrow in fact preferred to rob small stores or rural gas stations. The gang is believed to have killed at least nine police officers and committed several civilian murders. The couple themselves were eventually ambushed and killed in Louisiana by law officers. Their reputation was cemented in American pop folklore by Arthur Penn’s 1967 film Bonnie and Clyde.

Even during their lifetimes, the couple’s depiction in the press was at considerable odds with the hardscrabble reality of their life on the road—particularly in the case of Parker. Though she was present at a hundred or more felonies during her two years as Barrow’s companion, she was not the machine gun-wielding cartoon killer portrayed in the newspapers, newsreels, and pulp detective magazines of the day. Gang member W. D. Jones was unsure whether he had ever seen her fire at officers. Parker’s reputation as a cigar-smoking gun moll grew out of a playful snapshot found by police at an abandoned hideout, released to the press, and published nationwide; while she did chain-smoke Camel cigarettes, she was not a cigar smoker.

Author-historian Jeff Guinn explains that it was the release of these very photos that put the outlaws on the media map and launched their legend: “John Dillinger had matinee-idol good looks and Pretty Boy Floyd had the best possible nickname, but the Joplin photos introduced new criminal superstars with the most titillating trademark of all—illicit sex. Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker were young and unmarried. They undoubtedly slept together—after all, the girl smoked cigars… Without Bonnie, the media outside Texas might have dismissed Clyde as a gun-toting punk, if it ever considered him at all. With her sassy photographs, Bonnie supplied the sex-appeal, the oomph, that allowed the two of them to transcend the small-scale thefts and needless killings that actually comprised their criminal careers.”

Barrow and Parker were ambushed and killed on May 23, 1934 on a rural road in Bienville Parish, Louisiana. The couple appeared in daylight in an automobile and were shot by a posse of four Texas officers (Frank Hamer, B.M. “Manny” Gault, Bob Alcorn and Ted Hinton) and two Louisiana officers (Henderson Jordan and Prentiss Morel Oakley).

Every year near the anniversary of the ambush, a “Bonnie and Clyde Festival” is hosted in the tow of Gibsland, off Interstate 20 in Bienville Parish. The ambush location, still comparatively isolated on Louisiana Highway 154, south of Gibsland, is commemorated by a stone marker that has been defaced to near illegibility by souvenir hunters and gunshot. A small metal version was added to accompany the stone monument. It was stolen, as was its replacement.

Through the decades, many cultural historians have analyzed Bonnie’s and Clyde’s enduring appeal to the public imagination. E.R. Milner, an historian, writer, and expert on Bonnie and Clyde and their era, put the duo’s enduring appeal to the public, both during the Depression and continuing on through the decades, into historical and cultural perspective. To those people who, as Milner says, “consider themselves outsiders, or oppose the existing system,” Bonnie and Clyde represent the ultimate outsiders, revolting against an uncaring system. “The country’s money simply declined by 38 percent”, explains Milner, author of The Lives and Times of Bonnie and Clyde. “Gaunt, dazed men roamed the city streets seeking jobs… Breadlines and soup kitchens became jammed. (In rural areas) foreclosures forced more than 38 percent of farmers from their lands (while simultaneously) a catastrophic drought struck the Great Plains… By the time Bonnie and Clyde became well known, many had felt the capitalistic system had been abused by big business and government officials… Now here were Bonnie and Clyde striking back.”

Daylight Saving Time – Not So Secret Obsession

Unless you happen to glance at the clock on your oven first before any other clock, Sunday morning will just seem like a bit sleepier and maybe later than usual.  Daylight Saving Time is pretty much non-news now, with phones and computers automatically correcting the time.  I mostly look at the time down in the lower right hand corner on the news station I watch in the morning and that will have changed.  In slightly related news, last night, I had a dream that I bought a wifi-enabled coffee maker.  Even knowing at the time, my dream self thought it was a little too far, but I could start the coffee maker from an app on my phone.  Providing I had done on the required prep work the night before, of course.

Daylight Saving 2012: Start Date, History And Fun Facts.

Welcome spring weather with the start of Daylight Saving Time.

At 2 a.m. on, Sunday, March 11, 2012, most U.S. residents will set their clocks ahead one hour for the beginning of Daylight Saving Time.

However, not all states will observe the time change. Residents of Arizona, Hawaii and U.S. territories Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands will remain on their normal schedules.

About 75 countries and territories have at least one location that observes Daylight Saving Time, according to TimeandDate.com. Conversely, 164 don’t observe the time change at all.

Daylight Saving Time gives way to longer days, but some won’t be too delighted to lose an hour of sleep. In fact, some scientists suggest the ‘spring-forward” time change disrupts sleep and could pose health risks, such as heart attacks.

Brief History:

Benjamin Franklin has been credited with the idea of Daylight Saving Time, but Britain and Germany began using the concept in World War I to conserve energy, the Washington Post observes. The U.S. used Daylight Saving Time for a brief time during the war, but it didn’t become widely accepted in the States until after the second World War.

In 1966, the Uniform Time Act outlined that clocks should be set forward on the last Sunday in April and set back the last Sunday in October.

That law was amended in 1986 to start daylight saving time on the first Sunday in April, though the new system wasn’t implemented until 1987. The end date was not changed, however, and remained the last Sunday in October until 2006

Today, Daylight Saving Time begins on the second Sunday in March and ends on the first Sunday in November. The time change will precede the first day of spring and the vernal equinox, which is set to take place at 1:14 a.m. EDT on Tuesday, March 20.

Not a fan of Daylight Saving Time? Don’t worry: You can resume your normal schedule on Nov. 4.

Dick Proenneke – Style Icon

Who doesn’t love a recluse?  Especially one that is not writing a manifesto and sending letter bombs, but is simply building a log cabin in the Alaska wilderness and talking to himself.  A lot.  I will watch this series on PBS whenever it is on, it is my “Law and Order,” so to speak.  The take away from Dick’s story is that he did all this after he retired, so it is never too late to follow your dreams.  Ladies and gentlemen, Dick Proenneke.  Style Icon.

Born: May 4, 1916 Primrose, Harrison Township, Lee County, Iowa
Died: April 20, 2003 (aged 86) Hemet, Riverside County, California, USA
Residence: Twin Lakes, Alaska
Occupation: naturalist, carpenter, mechanic
Awards: 1999 National Outdoor Book Award

Richard Louis “Dick” Proenneke (born May 4, 1916 – April 20, 2003) was an American naturalist, who lived alone in the high mountains of Alaska at a place called Twin Lakes. Living in a log cabin he constructed by hand, Proenneke made valuable recordings of both meteorological and natural data.

On May 21, 1968, Proenneke arrived at his new place of retirement at Twin Lakes. Before arriving at the lakes, he made arrangements to use a cabin on the upper lake of Twin Lakes owned by a retired Navy captain, Spike Carrithers, and his wife Hope from Kodiak, (in whose care he had left his camper). This cabin was well situated on the lake and close to the site which Proenneke chose for the construction of his own cabin. Proenneke’s bush pilot friend, Babe Alsworth, returned occasionally to bring food and orders that Proenneke placed through him to Sears.

Proenneke remained at Twin Lakes for the next 16 months, when he left to go home for a time to visit relatives and secure more supplies. He returned to the lakes in the following spring and remained there for most of the next 30 years, going to the lower 48 only occasionally to be with his family. He made a film record of his solitary life, which was later recut and made into a documentary, entitled Alone in the Wilderness. It has aired on PBS numerous times. In 2011, a sequel was produced after it was revealed Proenneke had shot enough footage for at least two more programs. Alone in the Wilderness: Part 2 premiered for the first time on December 2, 2011. A premiere date for Part 3 has yet to be announced.

America is pretty empty without you kids

America is pretty empty without you kids

Groucho Marx wrote this lovely letter to U.S. troops stationed in Suriname in 1943, in response to a request from a Corporal Darrow to send a morale-boosting message. Groucho doesn’t disappoint, and cracks a couple of gentle jokes about life back home and his attempt to grow some vegetables; there are even a few genuinely touching remarks towards the end. The icing on the cake has to be the paper on which it’s typed — a sheet of the comedian’s unmistakable letterhead.

Transcript

GROUCHO MARX

August 18, 1943.

Dear Corporal Darrow,

You asked me if I have a message for the soldiers in the jungle. I could probably send one but it would be collect and would only run into money. I imagine it’s difficult enough to stay awake on those lonely islands without having to read messages from me.

I don’t want you to worry much about the 4-Fs back home — true, we have been deprived of a few things but nothing of any importance. We don’t get much meat any more — the butcher shops have nothing in them but customers. Fortunately, I don’t rely on the stores for my vegetables. Last spring I was smart enough to plant a Victory garden. So far, I have raised a family of moles, enough snails to keep a pre-French restaurant running for a century and a curious looking plant that I have been eating all summer under the impression that it was a vegetable. However, for the past few weeks, I’ve had difficulty in remaining awake and this morning I discovered that I had been munching on marijuana the whole month of July.

Anyhow, we miss all you boys (I have a son in the Coast Guard) and we wish you were all back again raising hell and children. We are doing what little we can to further the war effort — we buy bonds, play service camps and short-wave broadcasts to our soldiers on the foreign fronts. We drive carefully, we take no vacations and, in general, do what we can. God knows it’s little enough. We all know that you boys are doing the real job.

In closing, all I can say is good luck, God bless you all and hurry home — remember, America is pretty empty without you kids.

Yours,

(Signed, ‘Groucho’)

Cpl. Jerone G. Darrow,

Force Headquarters,

U. S. Army Forces in Surinam,

Camp Paramaribo, Surinam,

Dutch Guiana.

via Letters of Note.

Orient Express

Are you like me?  Do you daydream about taking the Orient Express and sitting with spies, exiled Russian royalty, artists and socialites?  [side note:  while I was researching the Orient Express, I was reminded that there is a chinese restaurant in Seattle with the same name.  It is housed inside a few cobbled-together train cars down in the industrial area.  I read a couple reviews on Yelp, and my favorites excerpts were "They still had their Christmas decorations up in March, we should have just left" and "I felt like I was in a SAW movie."]  The obvious source of inspiration is “Murder on the Orient Express” by Agatha Christie in novel and film form, I am obsessed with Hercule Poirot, more the David Suchet than the Albert Finney portrayal.  You have to see “From Russia With Love,” the second film in the James Bond series.  James has a fight on the Orient Express.  So, in my daydreams, I have a combination of Agatha Christie and Ian Fleming as the visual source, naturally, I would be solving a murder and fighting off spies.  This should help:

This date marks the first formal run of the Orient Express in 1883. The train was the brainchild of Georges Nagelmackers. He had been impressed by trains he’d seen in America in the 1860s — particularly the Pullman “sleeper cars” — and envisioned a richly appointed train running on a continuous 1,500-mile stretch of track from Paris to Istanbul. For its formal launch from the Gare de Strasbourg, Nagelmackers arranged battered, rusty Pullman cars on adjacent tracks to show his luxurious conveyance to its best advantage. Many of its first passengers on the 80-hour journey were journalists, and they spread the word of its paneled interiors, leather armchairs, silk sheets, and wool blankets. They also dubbed the train “the Orient Express” with Nagelmackers’ blessing. The train later earned another nickname, “the Spies’ Express,” due to its popularity in the espionage community.

One particular car played a role in both world wars. On November 11, 1918, German officers signed their surrender documents in an Allied commander’s private car. The car was a museum piece in Paris until 1940, when Hitler commandeered it and used it as the setting to dictate the terms of the French surrender. Later, when his defeat was imminent, he blew the car up so that it wouldn’t become an Allied trophy again.

The original Orient Express stopped serving Istanbul in 1977, and its new route ran from Paris to Vienna until 2007, when the route was shortened, departing Strasbourg instead of Paris. Finally, in 2009, the Orient Express ceased operation, citing competition from high-speed trains and discount airlines. It has spawned several offspring that have adopted the name for promotional purposes, including the Direct Orient Express and the Nostalgic Orient Express. Only the Venice-Simplon Orient Express, which runs from London to a variety of European destinations and charges $2,300 U.S. to ride in the restored original cars, approaches the original “King of Trains and Train of Kings.”

Galapagos Diary

Nine years ago, I was planning for a trip that changed my life. I just came across the diary I wrote while I was in Ecuador and the Galapagos Islands and thought I would share it again [unedited]. I cannot seem to find any photographs on this computer from that trip, but I will keep looking. Here it is:

The Flight
Some things that I have learned: 
1. If you sit in the window seat in front of an exit row, your chair will not recline.
2. Peanuts and an endless supply of Coke cannot replace a day’s worth of well-balanced meals.
3. Texas is AWESOME, just ask anyone there.
4. Some flight attendants may have not had the time to schedule in their companies “Diversity Training” and could result in them asking small Asian girls on domestic flights if they understand English.
5. Not feeding their customers meals is somehow seen by American Airlines as giving their passengers “more room.”
6. If you have an hour layover and think that you have enough time to tear up the Duty Free shop, you don’t.
7. The best place to find “Quito Punta” is exactly fifteen feet outside customs.

Day One:
If you are in Quito, Ecuador and love coffee, it is all about “The Magic Bean.” I don’t know what the magic is and frankly I don’t really care, their coffee is best served black, thick, and smooth.
Within seconds of entering one of the largest Indian markets in Quito, a man asked me if I needed some “Ganja” Between that and the “Quito Punta”, I have decided that these Ecuadorians can read me like a book. Local artists show their wears at every corner, and park in Quito, I bought several canvases as well as a decorative tile, baby clothes, finger puppets, a scarf, and a small painted box for les than $80. Shipping them home will break the bank, most likely, but I’m on vacation.

All day long, we were witness and at times civilian casualties of water balloons and squirt guns. I had explained it away as some crazy local past time or whatever. Not until tonight, upon reading a Quito travel book did we realize that water balloons and squirt guns are part of the local celebration of “Carnival.” Not that it makes it all fine with me to get hit with a water balloon, whose contents are of highly questionable quality, but who am I to tell the locals that I would prefer to not celebrate carnival?
Cabs from nice hotels are very clean, the drivers are friendly, and they speak some amount of English. We took one to the newer part of town to see a movie in a shopping mall tonight. We saw “Heartbreakers” with Spanish subtitles, which meant that we laughed about five seconds before the rest of the viewing audience. Cabs from shopping malls are not nearly as a delight. It costs more, which is still only $4 (cab drivers in Seattle wont even unlock the doors until they see a $10 bill), and the drivers claim to not know where your hotel is located. Our particular cab didn’t have working headlights or a proper exhaust system. Traffic signals are just pretty lights and do not even function as a possible suggestion to drivers as to what may be advised when approaching an intersection. We exited the cab reeking of exhaust and believing that perhaps walking the streets would have been safer. Even before checking into our hotel, our guide told us that is was not safe to be outside at night, so we have felt like prisoners once the sun goes down. A possible refuge was thought to be found in the hotel’s business center, with Internet access and all the photocopies your heart desires, but Internet access has proven to be spotty at best. I think that you are automatically kicked off after three minutes, which is oddly just enough time to open your hotmail account and delete all the porn/herbal viagra/mortage/porn spam.
Tomorrow, we are torn between climbing to the top of this large hill to look at a statue in the oldest part of the city or going to the shopping mall. My vote has yet to be cast, but I have already window-shopped that mall and feel confident that I am not missing much.
Day Two:
”Friends” is on twice a day, just like home. Also, we finally got to watch most of that movie where Kathy Lee plays a pill popping nightmare bitch actress. It was bad, and they sure did make Howie Mandel look completely different, and Kathy Lee says “Friggin” several times, which I have no doubt that she has used the full octane version of that word every day since she was on the Lawrence Welk Show.
Carnival will never end. Today, my day was spent being followed around by my very own personal paparazzi (Tim is OUT OF CONTROL with his new digital camera) and being dowsed from every rooftop, passing car, and small child with a super soaker. I do not understand the fun behind the whole spraying people with all the water. Especially for us, who have been reminded several times to not drink any of the water that comes out of the bathroom faucet. God only know where the fuck the water came from before it was hauled up into the muffler-less pickup truck and sprayed all over us.
Our hotel staff is finally starting to get into the groove of their specific job descriptions, the concierge actually helped us today. A true dear diary moment. More than I can say for the front desk people who actually suggested that we walk four blocks down the street, the very same street we are not allowed to step foot on after dark, to get a newspaper from the Hilton. The Hilton front desk boy (as gay as you can be in Ecuador without getting publicly stoned to death) was so helpful, to the point of trying to get us to stay at his hotel instead. He said he would make us a deal, a deal that we did not hash out the details of, for obvious reasons.

Today’s Miami Herald horoscope told me that I would be complimented on my love making skills, amongst other things. It is now 1 am and nothing came of it. I considered complimenting myself, but shared bedrooms limit that sort of availability. Why the hell have I never learned to masturbate in the shower?! Sharing a room for two weeks, I am going to need to learn how, I fear. 

I decided to wear my ugly sandals around today to break them in before they become second skins to me on the islands. I am not sure if it was coupling them with a pair of camouflage army pants or if just on their own merit that they garnered stares from almost everyone. Do they think that exposing bare feet is horrible? Tim seems to think that I am so fashion forward that they were in shock by my hip footwear. If that is the case, these sorry bastards are worse off than I could ever imagine. I will ask someone about this at some point and get back to you.
I found a new hobby to pass some of the time during lockdown tonight. Wet balled up tissues thrown from our eight-floor balcony, trying to hit the windows of the office building across the street. Then when that proved to be unattainable, I switched to tossing nickels down onto the corrugated tin rooftop of the newsstand on the sidewalk below. We all celebrate Carnival in our own way.

Day Three:
Up at the crack of dawn or about 6 AM depending on what you consider what the crack of dawn to be. We grabbed a quick breakfast downstairs at the café and then set off for our last leg of the trip, the Galapagos.
We flew to Quayaguil and then found out the truth of our changing of planes. Our guide told us that we would change planes, but she failed to mention that it was going to include a 5-hour lay-over. We ate at the KFC at the airport, when was the last time I ate at a KFC? College? I am sure that little meal is going to give my typhoid shot a run for its money tonight.
We landed in the Galapagos Islands. Everything changed, we instantly calmed and can physically feel the stresses and worries of the city and our lives flow away. The peace and ultimate breath taking beauty of even what I have just seen this afternoon brings tears to my eyes. We walked past Sea Lions, Sea Iguanas, and Frigates so close they could reach out and touch us. They were completely unconcerned by the entire event, they were much more concerned about doing what they had done for hundreds of years without us. The beauty and love I felt coming from one baby sea lion’s eyes was humbling to the point of making me want to sit there and stare into them for hours, not speaking, just trying to emit the same love back to her that she was emitting to me. She was perfection in form and in function, all surrounded with the most piercingly dark oil spots for eyes that enveloped you with stillness.
”Evolution is the combination of an isolated population and a food shortage.” The talk on board tonight focused around the basics of how the islands were formed and what factors were involved in creating the specific species found there. I quoted Barry above because that is basically summing up what really was said. It was not always survival of the fittest or even the strongest and evolution did not occur slowly over time but mostly in spurts in quick succession. Meaning sometimes it was the freaky looking tortoise with the long neck and the screwed up shell that survived because he was the only one tall enough to reach the plants to eat. Sometimes, it was the Iguana that swam while all the rest stayed on the sore while the island imploded. It is a lesson to me as well to probably everyone that the status quo is never that, the status quo has to change and evolve and adapt and create all the time or it will be passed by. That girl that you laugh at on the streets could hold the next brain that is kinked in such a way she can figure out the necessary factors for an AIDS cure, or write the next modern symphony, the likes that haven’t been heard for hundreds of years.

What does any of this mean? I don’t really know, but it has given me pause to think about how I was a freak, a misfit that didn’t fit, and how my evolution has not happened in spurts, but all the same has happened and has created in me, the next symphonic masterpiece.
Day six:
You will forgive me for not writing, won’t you? I have affectionately coined this trip the “Galapagos Iron Man” because of all the activities the events we do each day. Rising at six in the morning to go on a pre-breakfast hike seems like something that is against the Geneva Convention, but seeing a mother sea tortoise walking back into the ocean after laying her eggs is not something we would have ever experienced by waking up later. Especially meaningful as she was our very first sighting of a tortoise this trip. She took her time; she plodded along back to the ocean, leaving behind her possibly one hundred eggs and the mark of every step in the sand. Beautiful. Farther down the beach, there were dark black lava rocks spotted with read crabs. They had the most contrasting of blue underbellies and rapidly moving eyes I had ever seen.
We snorkeled twice before lunch, seeing white tipped sharks, full grown and baby sea lions, and an impossibly long list of vibrantly colored fish. At one point, I was diving down, twirling around and attempting, with my clumsy human body, to mimic the grace and agility of the sea lions, as they swam circles, literally and figuratively around me. It was the most humbling and amazing experience, to be on their turf, playing their games, and being taunted by their abilities.

Later that day, we kayaked to a lookout point high atop a hill and had the chance to see out over the surrounding islands. It was a wonderful view of everything. 

Today, we ate breakfast at 6:30 am and boarded the ponga for the small town on Santa Cruz, the location of most of the population of the Galapagos Islands and home to the Charles Darwin Station. They rescue turtles and iguanas and repopulate islands that for one reason or another have been dangerously close to losing all their original animals. The chance to go back into the regulated portion of the center to see the baby iguanas was something the average visitor does not get to do, since our travel company is the scholarship sponsor to several past and present interns at the center, we received a private guided tour. The Darwin Center is also home to Lonesome George, the suspected last Pina Turtle left in the world. He does have playmates in his area for company, he does seem a bit sad because all turtles seem sort of sad; maybe it is their slowness? Can you imagine being the last of your kind? I wonder if he realizes that?
Jacqueline De Roy joined us for lunch at the Galapagos Hotel, she brought some of the silver jewelry and sculpture pieces she has been working on recently and regaled us with stories of what her life was like when she arrived on Santa Cruz over 50 years ago. She is a vibrant, interesting, insightful, calm, witty free thinker that makes you wish you had a little of what she has in her to take risks and gamble. She is obviously a success story in the game of risk, establishing a life here, and making everything from her entire house to the sailboat they used for transportation.
After lunch, we went to several lava sinkholes; some so deep I had to lean over the wooden railing to see the bottom. The vegetation higher on Santa Cruz changed drastically from our previous island visits to lush grassy pastures, full of bamboo, papaya, and mangrove trees. We then traveled to a small restaurant for dinner. One of the best dinners we have had to date. Besides the breathtaking setting amongst the tall trees with open walls and wooden plank floors, the food was prepared so lovingly and expertly it dissolved in your mouth like cubes of sugar. The music playing was a trip hop compilation CD that had some of my favorite bands mixed with local Ecuadorian ones, which I found odd, yet had to take as a sign as something very good.
Our bus back to the pongo almost hit a cow in the road, and since everyone had consumed at least one rum and fresh grapefruit juice drink, it couldn’t have been funnier.

I think that I have fallen in love with everyone aboard at some point. All for different reasons, but mostly as a deep respect for who they are, how they got to where they are, and the levels of comfortability inside their skins they all seem to possess. We are such a diverse group, all bonded together by the early mornings, the power snorkeling, and the unique awareness to realize that we are incredibly fortunate to be experiencing something most people will not.
I need to go to bed now, we are waking at five tomorrow morning to hike and ride horses all day, the Iron Man continues. But I am not missing a thing, and are all the better for it.

Day Eight:
Yesterday, we woke up at 5 to have breakfast at 5:30, so we could be in the ponga by 6 and off to Isabella Island. From there, we all climbed in the back of a pickup truck and rode the bumpy uneven roads up into the hills outside of town. Some of us were to ride horses and some of us were to hike, I had chosen the hike because I was afraid that the horses would be too nagged up to hold my weight and that I would end up carrying them. While the horses did look very skinny, very tired, and a little beat up, they proved to be full of spunk once the riders mounted and headed up the trails to Sierra Negra’s caldera. They passed us hikers like a gang of banditos, whooping and hollering, all the while wildly brandishing their switches in the air. We didn’t know until later that the horses worked in a pack mentality and any attempt to control an individual was pointless, one ran, they all ran.
The hike was long and tiresome, leaving our guide the very last to make it to all resting spots. We walked along the rim of the caldera for quite a ways, the huge crater stretching in all directions. We then entered a newly formed lava bed, from 1979, very little vegetation and almost no animals have returned. The terrain was rough and glasslike, causing the travel to be slow and cautious. Once we were as high as possible in the lava fields, we stopped, sat down and remained silent for ten minutes, allowing ourselves to experience the space without a guided commentary, without a history lesson. Just to sit there and experience the wind, the smells, and the feeling of power, heat, and change that the area still stores within its glassy rocks, even after 20 years.
Our dirty hike proved to be more than most had thought and some could handle. My legs can feel it today, and conversation around the breakfast table was centered on sore and tired parts. Today will prove to be a tad slower, as for now, we are cruising along, I am sitting in the stern seating area while Marie sketches, Ross sleeps, Jerry scans the water for whales, and Richard tells us stories of his past jobs, past lives.
A tad of gossip from last night: Michael accused Barry of being passive aggressive during the evening lecture, in front of the group. Barry denied it, as the passive aggressive would do when confronted, deflected all responsibility for the situation off of him. Anyway, we all sort of agree that it could have been best handled in private, and with fewer accusations. Marie, whom I respect and admire very greatly, sums it up to mostly just male testosterone. I agree to some extent, where as Nancy can see the differences between East and West coasters when dealing with issues, I guess the big thing for her was that it was two west coast types, making it a very foreign sort of situation. It is a small boat, we are all expected to or should allow a bit compromise from our normal lives.
Day Ten:
Yesterday, my siesta was punctuated with a rather vivid dream about me interviewing a dominant Sea Lion. There was a language barrier that we had to get around, he spoke Spanish and I spoke English. To be honest, he looked a bit like the ships engineer. I ask pretty basic questions: “Why so much noise and thrashing about?” and the like. I was curious if it was more about claiming his territory or if it was more about proclaiming his prowess as the head male and an announcement that he is willing to take on any challenger. To say the least, the Galapagos Islands have entered my dreams and started to affect me on more subterranean levels. Last night, I dreamt that we caught a Blue Footed Booby in our dragline and we were all very sad.
We had our first night snorkel yesterday after dinner. Although the water was not very clear and our entire thrashing about could have contributed to the lack of anything astounding being seen, it was great fun. Everyone stayed very close to each other, compared to the day snorkels, so we all shared more sightings. The phosphorescence of the water was incredible, it was like a million stars were created each time you moved you arms, swirling off into distant galaxies.

Our hike was quite amazing yesterday; we hiked all around and saw for the first time close up, cormorants. These flightless birds have remarkably long necks they use for getting in between tight rocks under water. One seemed to torment most of the swimmers earlier in the day, including biting Elizabeth on the arm. I think he just thought that he was playing and it was very funny to see, this bird following everyone around.
I have been thinking about Greg more and more lately, most every night before I go to sleep. I am not really sure what that means or if I should take it to mean anything really, but I have been thinking a lot about him, sort of missing him, thinking that I want to make it work, that I can make it work, that maybe all I need to do is be bold enough to open up the communication lines a little wider, to establish a higher lever of comfort with a wider array of subjects? I can’t deny that he has been on my mind a lot, I can’t deny that he is a good guy, and I can’t deny that I miss him and have for several months. One lesson that I have learned so far from the trip is to let people into your life, let them know you and take risks that by letting them know the real you, they may actually like you. I used to know that, back from those summers at Interlochen, but I guess that the city has a way of changing you; your credentials need to be up front, your face, your car, your bank account, your spin as it were. I will remember it again. Even though it is a possibility that I could be moving to Los Angeles soon, we shall see.

Nancy asked me what I missed most about my life at home, and I couldn’t think of anything. Is that because I am so in the moment? Or is it that I don’t let much get to me at home enough to miss them? I sort of thought about how I missed driving my car, but even I can identify that as a fleeting thought. She also asked me my thoughts about hitting my five-year mark at Amazon and what I planned on doing. I really have not given it any thought which is wrong, I should have a plan, I should be aggressive with my life and make decisions that are not the easiest path and that are active.
Almost everyone has experienced some sort of intestinal discomfort on this trip, but for some reason, I have not. I thought that it was a bit odd that I had gone without, not that I was feeling left out, but I wondered when/if I would get to experience the tales I had one heard second hand. Well, I guess it may be that my turn is about to come up, the grumbling in my stomach have me worried to stray far from any bathroom.
Later that very same day
The grumbling have proved to be nothing, just that, grumbling.
I love bananas, don’t get me wrong, but we have had bananas and plantains served in more ways that I ever thought was possible. Cooked somehow, maybe boiled or poached? As a desert with some sort of sweet syrup on them, and julienned into French fries. None of us are going to get scurvy or whatever happens from a lack of potassium that is for sure.
Our freezing snorkel this morning was punctuated by a beautiful cave exploration and thousands of invisible little opportunist jelly fish stinging any exposed skin and some through the thinner wet suits. The pain is minimal, but grows slowly on the softer spots like armpits and eyelids. Don’t ask me how they got to my eyelid; they are crafty in their ways.
Roca Rotunda is this isolated island with steep rock walls, permitting only tiny shelves for the fur seals to call home. The convergence of several strong opposing currents causes great swells on all sides, and made our ponga ride the most exciting to date. Up and down, pushed in and out, we circled the island once and then went back to let those snorkeling have a go at it. They really enjoyed it and saw hammerhead sharks. I should have gone, but at the point of decision, it was still questionable for even taking the ponga out, from now on, I just need to jump with both feet and feel the chance completely. Let someone sort out my car payments if the worst happens.
Dolphins joined us on our way from Roca Redondo, they swam along the bow of the ship, jumping and splashing, turning sideways to look up at us, making actual eye contact. Such incredibly beautiful and peaceful beings, so much grace and warmth, a strong sense of love emitted from them, my eyes welled up.

In the last day or so, everyone’s auras have just opened up into these bright shining beacons of light; everyone is clearing away the clouds and becoming such beautiful people. I am not sure it is the surroundings, the close quarters, or if it is something all together different, an exposure of their true selves and acceptance of it. Diane was one of the people that arrived with an aura full blazing, but the rest of them have joined her and it is so wonderful to witness. I had hoped that the experience would be one of great change and discovery for me, but it is so much more enlightening to see that it was that for others as well. That we all have that possibility within us for crystalline purity and greatness.

Day Twelve:
We traveled all night, rocking and rolling. I woke up shortly before we arrived at 5:30 am; it was still dark and cool out, one of the best times of day. Breakfast and a short ponga ride found us on the beach in James Bay. The standard type of characters littered the black lava and sandstone beach, sea lions, sea iguanas, and those crazy red Sally Lightfoot Crabs.
We snorkeled off the shore for over an hour and then had lunch. A few hours in transit and then we snorkeled, walked the red sand beach, and then did an additional night snorkel in the same location. I lost my dive light over the edge. Filipe says he can find it and that I should give him my address in case he does. We had dinner and now here I am, after the debriefing for tomorrow’s full day of the same, just at a different island.
Today is Gavin’s birthday and I tried my best to take a roll of photographs that I can make into a small book to show him what I did today. He will maybe find it interesting in years to come. It will go with all this other gifts.
I am sorry for cutting this so short, but I am beat.
Day Thirteen:
Today was the isle of horrible bird guano. It was actually overwhelmingly beautiful, even if it was my own personal allergy hell. We climbed Prince Phillip Steps and saw our first Red Footed Boobies, Vampire Finches, and Owls. Apparently, somewhere along the way, the Vampire Finch found out that they could attack the necks of boobies and drink their blood, strange.
We kayaked out from the boat back to Prince Phillip and snorkeled along the cliffs back toward the boat. For some reason, there was a lot of junk in the water, but it was very impressive, we saw several Manta Rays, Hammerhead Sharks, and exotic fish.
When we got back, we jumped off the side of the boat and I lost my sunglasses somewhere along the way.
Day Fourteen:
At 12:40 this morning, our boat ran aground at Punta Sieta. A lot of Spanish screaming and a serious list to the boat made us realize that something was wrong. We were told to pack up all of our things and be ready to evacuate the boat. The Polaris, a large cruise ship, was in the area and agreed to take us aboard. We slept on the floor of the cocktail lounge until about 5:30 that morning and then went back to the boat. Thanks to the metal hull and rising tide, there was no damage and the boat floated off all by itself.
Later in the day, we snorkeled back around the exact spot where we ran aground. I couldn’t find any spots where paint had rubbed off or anything like that. We climbed up to a view spot of Pinnacle Rock called Barta Lamay.

The crew organized a huge diner tonight, it was so amazing, and they really went all out for us. I don’t think we could have had nearly as good of a time without them.
This journal has sort of trailed off at the end now, but it was such a trying experience, that I barely had enough time to shower, let alone write what I could.

Day Fifteen:
Our last day on the boat. We rode around in the ponga to Black Turtle Cove and saw so many Pacific Green Turtles, too numerous to count. We then got on the airplane to go back to Quito. The airport was hot, slow, and very tiresome, but we were glad to wait, to have the chance to sit together and sort of just sit.

We had a group dinner that night in Quito, and had the chance to just let loose, and be goofy, not be learning about nature and listening to lectures. They actually let us pick our own food, we had choices, and it was something we had not thought about in a while, one of the options being goat. Goat? I guess it is supposed to taste like lamb, whatever.