Well, looks like my creative approaches to Economic discussion turned out to be as bankrupt as the Fed's. I offered up "Crash" for the Film buffs, the free foodstuffs angle (Cakes & Pies), went for legal advice on Banks gone bad & even political analysis on how Obama was gonna have to keep Big Money happy. Hell, back in June, I even went brainstorming - "Obama and the Democrats are gonna be BROKE come next January. And not just a little broke. As will the American economy. And a whole lot of the "principles" we've been fed these past decades. How's that gonna be dealt with? Start by imagining that yes, we have NO money. None of us. Not the government, not you and me. You get to be creative here. We've got trillions tied up in wasted real estate and floorspace, horsepower that we can't feed, fancy packages with nothing to wrap."

At this point, I got two chances left. Either I call the Dow a PUSSY. Or.... I just sit back, and... turn it up. So move over Rover, and let Jimi take over.

Let me stand next to your fire. Money says, we're all Prisoners Of War now. Who knew - when we declared war on the future - that it'd arrive in our lifetime? 'Living in the future' - sounded kinda smokin', eh? Damn near PoMo. We all knew the equation - Time equals Money. Which, granted, sucked. They get 40 hours of your life... you get a bit of green.

Problem being that after burning too many hours of our lives in their world, everything got kinda.... gray. Grey walls closing in. Starched collar gray with sweat. And that smell. Like... something from the 50's. In fact, when we stuck our heads into our armpits, we smelled an awful lot like... 50's Man. And we got changed - in ways we couldn't believe. Let's say this outright, just this once, amongst friends - none of us believed in this shit. We had bigger dreams. Greener. More music. Simpler. More Quality. Smarter. Except, going for those dreams - those "alternative" dreams - well. That meant putting ourselves on the line for what looked like a loser. We'd lost, hadn't we? They kept telling us so. Telling us that Money(TM) won. TKO. So, brainstaggered, we ate the gray goo they kept shoving 'cross our desks - same-o, same-o. Bureaucracies. Paper. Moneymen. Committees. Product we could never really believe in. But a price that couldn't be beat. Were you experienced? I sure was.

So when Motivato-Dude™ showed up on-screen one night, promising a world tanned & muscled, shiny-sleek, our very own cottage by the water, warm jets & holidays in the sun, chrome-clad bigger horses, a room for every kid (& two for each one we never had), well, we didn't just stare into the abyss. We leapt. Bought in. Our piece of the Dream. And all of it, no downpayment, 'cause it was available NOW NOW NOW. (Just sign here.)

We signed. And I coulda sworn I heard him say, I'm a Voodoo Chile. Voodoo Chile.

Chilly all of a sudden, ain't it? When the future arrives. And it turns out that we traded our life's breath - hour by hour - for Money. We bit, we bought, and crossed our fingers, 'cause something was sure to turn up, right? Right??? Real estate values. Promotions. The Lottery. The Old Folks Kicking. Something HAD to turn up. Something. Just so long as that mortgage, the one on us - our LIVES - never arrived. Because that would mean the future, my future, at their beck & call. Bondage. Of sorts.

Whoops. Got someone on the phone for you, darlin'. A "Mr Your Future Is Calling." Wants to talk to you. Now. That's what I'm talkin' 'bout. Now dig this. Let's let the Mighty Roubini bust a few: "The crisis was caused by the largest leveraged asset bubble & credit bubble in the history of humanity.... A housing bubble, a mortgage bubble, an equity bubble, a bond bubble, a credit bubble, a commodity bubble, a private equity bubble, a hedge funds bubble. All now bursting at once." So castles made of sand, melt into the sea. Eventually.

The Mighty Roubini's good, and talks damned straight. Laid out how our future was gonna arrive, back in Feb., he did. But the Mighty only tracks the vapor trails, follows the money. But I'm a material girl. I follow the stuff. Which swolled up, expandicated, magnifispanded into a car & truck & SUV petro-sucking bubble. And a toys & clothes & games-for-the-kids-direct-from-China bubble. And a cell phone & iPod & 42" Big Screen Plasma TV bubble. (And that Thailand & France & Mexico hotel room bubble.)

See, emotionally, it's easier for us to handle the money stuff. It's easier to wash off. You just pivot, point & shout - Moneymen At Fault. But the stuff. Damn tough to wash off. Stuff leaves a trail. Square feet of stuff, for starters. The stuff you & I are sittin' in. Then there's the stuff we consumed, which left a trail all the way to the landfill. Wreckage = Evidence. The stuff we still got parked on the property. And probably can't get rid of. Go ahead, try. Put that Escape-Expedition-Trailblazer-Highlander-Yukon-Yosemite on AutoTrader. See what you get. Better off finding some ravine, and just rolling it in.

Here's where you gotta lay back and groove. Cause it IS a rainy day. Big bond trader say today, "Is this the beginning of the end for the dollar and the Treasury market? That market that represents the ultimate bubble, as it exists at the whim & caprice of foreign investors, who have - as participants in a Faustian bargain - financed our war(s) and our lifestyle so generously over the last decade. Maybe even that bizarre construct is crashing about us as we speak." Lay back & groove, on a rainy day. Even the bondsman's gone poet.

Here's your bedtime story. The story of what's to come. Turn on your imaginator kids. Dial it all the way up to Happy. Imagine the Captains right the good ship Global Finance. That's One Happy. Then, imagine the Good Doctors stabilize the Dow. That's Happy Squared. Third time hardest, but imagine that Recession-Depression-Abyss doesn't get stared into. Now that's 3 Stooge Happy, I think you'll agree. Problem is... there's still one more problem. And we're fresh out of Happy.

It's. All. That. Stuff. You know how a $700 Billion Bail-Out seems like so much money? And how we're all shouting so the bad Moneymans don't get it? Here's the thing. The new Trade Deficit numbers just came out. Ouch. Still at $700 Billion/year. Even with the price of oil falling. The deficit with China - which is NOT for oil - up to $300 Billion a year. Oh say can you see, it's really such a mess.

Imagine 16 wheelers (thanks Jacob F.) Each filled with stuff. Imagine each one laden with $700,000 worth of stuff - toys, clothes, cars, tv's. Most 16 wheelers don't carry that kinda load, but Imaginate™ with me. Now jam 1,000,000 of them big 16 wheelers end to end. That's $700 billion worth of stuff. 10,000 miles of trucks, bumper to bumper. all comin' to America's house. Houses.

That's what Santa's li'l Elfs have been bringin' ya. I know people wanna talk derivatives & sub-prime mortgages & ratings agencies & regulation & all. But them trucks just DO keep coming. And they're dumping their loads at somebody's house. And we're signing the papers, still, every day, still, marking down $ $,$$$.$$ for delivery to them Elfs. Still. Wanna blame the bankers? Wanna blame the guv'mint? Sure you do. I do. Trouble is, them Elfs have to eat. Them Elfs wanna eat. We fed them mortgages for a while. Turns out the mortgages were tainted. Not to put too fine a turn on it, but they was Toxic.

Time to take our last walk, through the noise to the Sea. Not to die, but to be reborn. Away from lands so battered and torn. This has to be fixed. And nobody, but nooooobody, wants to raise the Foreign Elf issue. But let's tell the truth. They been working as hard as we been. Mebbe even harder. (Harder than me, fer sure.) And we only got a few choices now. Stop buying their stuff, and go without for a while - least 'til we set up our own toy-shops. But those things DO take time to set up. Orrrr, we can send stuff back to them. Which means, working more. Burning Of The Midnight Lamp. Hmmm. Looks the same. Orrrrrrrrrrrrrr, we let the Elfs come buy stuff of ours that we been holding back. Land. Real estate. Famous buildings. Men. Women. Children. Us.

Our future. Yours included. Because we don't just have to stop the bleeding - we've still got those 7 fat years to pay back. Which spells... 7 lean years to come. And it's too bad, that the machine we built, would never save us.

Ahhhh, in 1983, I knew better. Really, I did. Back then, I knew. A merman I should be.