Even Bad Poetry

I was reading this article by Robert Frank about Luck, Talent, and the relationship of These with financial reward. I would first like to say that Mr. Frank deserves much better than my treatment, as the article truly carried a Message. My Thoughts, though, turned to the blogosphere, and what position We Bloggers enjoy in the scale of things. The closest I could come to self-identification for Ourselves were the Professional Mourners at New Orleans’ funerals; they who are paid to publicly bemoan the adverse events of life. I would be the Last to reject the rewards of Blogging, if I received Any, but I wonder if We capture the Sentiment of the human Soul. We seek the spectacular rather than the significant, the shocking instead of the revealing. Have We made a business out of yellow journalism? I would almost say so, except that blogging has attained a high level of Information, skill of Writing, and maintained a good Record for Sourcing.

I would first like to say that I do not agree with James Hamilton’s Argument, though all elements of it can be justified. It all revolves around the Value that you place on Marginals. James states that several elements could have had only marginal favorable changes, and We could have avoided the Recession. These marginal changes could have been accomplished, but the Recession would have occurred anyway. I have always believed that Recessions come from an overexpansion of a human factor–excessive Greed. They come to be because too many Sectors seek to withdraw too extensive a Profit ratio from their participation. Bankers, Stockholders, Money Managers, Retail Outlet Owners, and an additional assortment of Dentists, Doctors, and Lawyers all pursue Windfall Wealth; thereby insisting on an increase in the total Recompense, actually ruining the original recompensare. It is additional injection of false Costs into the matrix which causes the Recession.

I do not have much else to say today, so I will follow with a Poem:

There once was a Girl from Groton
Who wanted to get more for her Goat’s run,
Though it was a shaggy old rack of patchy pungs.
She tried to hock it as a shiny Coat
Fit to be skinned out;
Though Everyone knew it as a marginal success
Only to be sheered.

(Moral of Story: Who still has the Goat, and still only with Pittance paid). lgl