Thursday, November 20, 2014
Evanston: heartless; more privateering
From Jay came a story of a man he knew thirty years ago who amassed considerable property paying cash and was told when he applied for a home equity loan that “for credit purposes you and your property don’t exist.”
Not existing is a minor accomplishment in which I, and I expect Jay’s friend, take secret—no longer—pride.
From Zane in New Zealand came a link to a study that correlates poor credit ratings with poor health. A causal relationship is not claimed. But poor credit is statistically related particularly to heart problems. Good credit, good heart. Poor credit, bad heart. No credit, no heart? I know the logic is specious, but I’m sure you can find some who think me heartless.
I found one sentence in the report particularly interesting. A Duke University professor is quoted: “What it comes down to is that people who don’t take care of their money don’t take care of their health.”
It never occurs to her that you can take perfect care of your money and have no credit or that many of those with poor health may have no money to take care of.
‘Debts are chains’ has been a prime tenet of my life; and recent history seems to prove that what is true for individuals is true for big corporations and governments as well.
Lynn sent me a link to a video of “Haul Away”.
He asked if the images are of New Zealand.
While every picture could have been taken in New Zealand, I sense the photos are of Scotland, though I can’t say why.
His find caused me to seek videos for “Dream of the Drowned Submariner”. I found several, among them some live performances. I prefer the track from the album which can be heard here, but I find these images distractingly inappropriate. Whoever put them there just doesn’t get it. Look away from the screen and listen to the music and lyrics.
Lyrics from two of the other tracks on the album are apposite to me.
“Radio City Serenade” begins:
You’ve got to have no credit cards
to know how good it feels.
And from “Go Love”:
Maybe I’m just returning
so I can leave again.
The photo was taken out the window of my dermatologist’s 23rd Floor office.
Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Opua anymore.