Skip to main content

All wet

Ah, so much fun to watch our net worth shrink daily.  It is satisfying to know that AIG will live another day to lose more of our money.  I don't think anyone currently serving in national government ever took a basic accounting class.  There's this concept called a sunk cost.  As humans, we have this natural tendency, once we've put a lot of money or time or effort into something, to want to stick with it even if it's a losing proposition.  Accountants would say that's counterproductive.  Any time or money you've already put into something is sunk.  It's gone - adios, bye bye - and therefore should not be considered in decisions about the future of the project or investment.  So, in situations when the benefit or profitability from an expense is unlikely to materialize, the prudent thing to do is to cut your losses, let whatever it is go and start from scratch.  Obviously, neither our Secretary of the Treasury nor our Federal Reserve Chairman have taken Accounting 101.  I learned that at Cal State Northridge, a fine, reasonably-priced, public institution.  Maybe basic accounting is not deep or intellectual enough for the Ivy League.

Meanwhile, here in Hawaii, Hilo High School is cutting teachers.  Hawaii has one of the highest per-capita incarceration rates in the nation.  A woman was stabbed two days ago in Honolulu for no apparent reason.  Her assailant man bought a knife at a cutlery shop, the went outside and killed the first person he saw.  She was just sitting there on a bench, minding her own business, eating saimin. Totally random.  She couldn't be some sleaze we'd be better off without.  Of course not.  She was a beloved teacher, wife and mother of two.  Just goes to show ya, shit happens everywhere.  

On the bright side, it's raining.  And since it's miserable outside, I'm less tempted to go out and spend money, which I don't have.  Oh I'm sure the sun is shining somewhere, like Kona or Phoenix or Death Valley or the Sahara Desert.  Hmmmm... Desert.  Dessert.  One little letter really makes all the difference, doesn't it. I think I need a cookie.

A hui hou.  Aloha!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fruity booty

It was a long drive from Glenwood to the northern tip of the island -- three hours -- so for sustenance, we stopped at Baker Tom's for malasadas on the way. My pal Kathy and I were headed to Kapa'au for a hike, one we'd read about in the local newspaper. The couple who run Baker Tom's (not sure if the husband is actually Tom or not) are delightful, with enduring stamina. They're as old as radio, yet they're always on duty, ready to serve behind the counter, as they have for many years, frying, baking, brewing and smiling, there in Papaikou , gateway to the Hamakua Coast. The malasadas are enormous, cheap and delicious, the coffee OK, the tourists all happy to have discovered this place, buzzing with sugar and caffeine. They make a killer pumpkin cheesecake at Baker Tom's, too. It's always a pleasant stop. Ahapua'a . It's a Hawaiian land division, usually a strip or wedge, stretching from mountain to sea. Hawaiians lived in villages wit

Born and bred

The creature stared at me, wide-eyed through the florescent glare, Saran Wrap stretched tight across its broad back. Alone in the seafood cooler, he was the only one of his kind, there among the farmed, color-added Atlantic salmon and mud-flavored tilapia, perched on a blue foam tray, legs tucked 'round him like a comfy kitten. He didn't blink. He was dead, red, cooked and chilled, ready to eat. Such a find is rare in the City Market fish department in Gunnison, Colorado. What if nobody takes him home? I thought. This beautiful animal will have died needlessly, ripped from his home, family and friends (Dory, Nemo, Crush and Gill?) only to be tossed in the trash when his expiration date came and went. I lifted him for closer inspection, checked that date, felt the heft of him, scanned his surface for cracks and blemishes. The creature was perfect. I lowered him back into the cooler, nodded farewell, turned to walk away, took one step, and stopped. Shoppers strolled past, stud

Small town observations

Every day at noon, a siren blares from atop the city government building in Gunnison. Each time I hear it, I want to shout, “Yabba dabba doo!” even though it’s nowhere near happy hour. I’ve blurted this once or twice, only to elicit blank stares in response. Am I that old? Doesn’t anyone remember the The Flintstones? I hear that horn and imagine Fred sliding down the long neck of his gravel-quarry dino-dozer (which, thanks to Jurassic Park and the miracle of Google we all recognize now as riojasaurus). Quitting time! Fred flees, his fleet feet slapping toward a rack o’ ribs and a night of good times with Wilma, Barney, Betty and Dino. That’s Dino the dino, pronounced Deeno the dyno. Think that’s delusional? Another day, walking downtown near the source of the noontime wale, it struck me, a revelation it was, that the ramp up to full blast sounds just like the introduction to Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, only this is a mega-air-raid, civil-defense siren solo rather than a clarinet, whic