Euros Quotes

Anna, Anna," Josh interrupts. "If I had a euro for every stupid thing I've done, I could buy the Mona Lisa. You'll be fine.

I would rather carry around a plastic bag with five thousand Euro inside, than carry around a Louis Vuitton/Gucci/Prada bag with only one hundred Euro inside!

Mr. Spier, memorizing the Hamilton soundtrack is not going to save you on the AP Euro exam.

No. Seriously. Speak American and not this ancient and very fucked-up, confusing olden-day Euro crap. Without the confusing woo-woo refrences, explain why the hell you're writing Zoey off.

If I had a euro for every stupid thing I've done, I could buy the Mona Lisa.

In Paris the cashiers sit rather than stand. They run your goods over a scanner, tally up the price, and then ask you for exact change. The story they give is that there aren't enough euros to go around. "The entire EU is short on coins." And I say, "Really?" because there are plenty of them in Germany. I'm never asked for exact change in Spain or Holland or Italy, so I think the real problem lies with the Parisian cashiers, who are, in a word, lazy. Here in Tokyo they're not just hard working but almost violently cheerful. Down at the Peacock, the change flows like tap water. The women behind the registers bow to you, and I don't mean that they lower their heads a little, the way you might if passing someone on the street. These cashiers press their hands together and bend from the waist. Then they say what sounds to me like "We, the people of this store, worship you as we might a god.

Post-national, welfare-state, cooperative, pacific Europe was not born of the optimistic, ambitious, forward-looking project imagined in fond retrospect by today's Euro-idealists. It was the insecure child of anxiety.

Every culture has a myth of decline from some golden age, and almost all peoples throughout history have been pessimists. Even today pessimism still dominates huge parts of the world. An indefinite pessimist looks out onto a bleak future, but he has no idea what to do about it. This describes Europe since the early 1970s, when the continent succumbed to undirected bureaucratic drift. Today the whole Eurozone is in slow-motion crisis, and nobody is in charge. The European Central Bank doesn’t stand for anything but improvisation: the U.S. Treasury prints “In God We Trust” on the dollar; the ECB might as well print “Kick the Can Down the Road” on the euro. Europeans just react to events as they happen and hope things don’t get worse.

What's the big deal with France? How come everyone wants to go there? Let me tell you about France. Their music sucks. Their movies suck. Their berets suck. Their croissants are pretty good, but the place overall still sucks.My family went there once on the way to visit Dad's homeland family. EuroDisney. Need I say more?

Jim eyed me for a couple of seconds, then got off the bed and went to curl up on the pile of blankets I'd arranged as its bed. "I don't suppose you'd care to lend me a couple hundred euros?" I pointed at the wall. It turned its back to me so I could get into the nightgown Perdita had lent me. "You are not going to bet on me. Or against me. No betting whatsoever. Got that?" Jim huffed and settled down for the night. "You sure do know how to take all the fun out of life. Bet you even made Drake use a condom.

Even with the benefit of steroids most modern players still couldn't hit as many home runs as Babe Ruth hit on hotdogs.

Euro-American colonialism, an aspect of the capitalist economic globalization, had from its beginnings a genocidal tendency.

Thomas Jefferson helped the Marquis de Lafayette draft a declaration,” Simon blurts. “Mr. Spier, memorizing the Hamilton soundtrack is not going to save you on the AP Euro exam.

We can see how many of the Euro-Atlantic countries are actually rejecting their roots, including the Christian values that constitute the basis of Western civilization. They are denying moral principles and all traditional identities: national, cultural, religious and even sexual. They are implementing policies

Euro-American scholars, ministers, and lay folk . . . have, over the centuries, used their economic, academic, religious, and political dominance to create the illusion that the Bible, read through their experience, is the Bible read correctly.”12 Stated differently, everybody has been reading the Bible from their locations, but we are honest about it.

Several years ago, Great Britain funded a study to determine why the head on a man's penis is larger than the shaft. The study took two years and cost over 1.2 million pounds. The study concluded that the reason the head of a man's penis is larger than the shaft is to provide the man with more pleasure during sex. After the results were published, France decided to conduct their own study on the same subject. They were convinced that the results of the British study were incorrect. After three years of research at a cost of in excess of 2 million Euros, the French researchers concluded that the head of a man's penis is larger than the shaft to provide the woman with more pleasure during sex. When the results of the French study were released, Australia decided to conduct their own study. The Aussies didn't really trust British or French studies. So, after nearly three hours of intensive research and a cost of right around 75 dollars (three cases of beer), the Aussie study was complete. They concluded that the reason the head on a man's penis is larger than the shaft is to prevent your hand from flying off and hitting you in the forehead.

There are two types of men. Those with self-control. And those without.

Let's stop kidding ourselves that Greek debt is the Euro's key problem. With Greece gone, who's next ?

Toen ik vorige keer verhuisde, heeft de huurschade door het roken me 3000 euro gekost. Mijn muren hingen vol met teer.

I think we spent close to thirty Euros pumping change into a game called Area 51. If the earth is ever attacked by aliens, you're welcome to stand behind me.

In the euro area the fight for survival has become a battle between politicians and arithmetic.

Theory of public goods. Theory that if I take you euro (as an elected state government) and give fifty cents back... you will be happier and I will be satisfied.

I pick up a copy of Newsweek on the plane and immediately notice how biased, slanted, and opinionated all the U.S. newsmagazine articles are. Not that the Euro and British press aren't biased as well--they certainly are--but living in the United States we are led to believe, and are constantly reminded, that our press is fair and free of bias. After such a short time away, I am shocked at how obviously and blatantly this lie is revealed--there is the 'reporting' that is essentially parroting what the White House press secretary announces; the myriad built-in assumptions that one ceases to register after being somewhere else for a while. The myth of neutrality is an effective blanket for a host of biases.

Britain never regained its naval and economic dominance over the world, and it remains notoriously conflicted (“Brexit”) about its role in Europe. But Britain is still among the world’s six richest nations, is still a parliamentary democracy under a figurehead monarch, is still a world leader in science and technology, and still maintains as its currency the pound sterling rather than the euro

Antonia introduce las pilas y presiona el botón, cruzando los dedos. Al fin y al cabo, una linterna de dos euros del todo a cien es un acto de fe.

The euro was born with great hopes. Reality has proven otherwise.

Thomas Jefferson helped the Marquis de Lafayette draft a declaration," Simon blurts. "Mr. Spier, memorizing the Hamilton soundtrack is not going to save you on the AP Euro exam.

It’s one thing when black people aren’t discussed in world history. Fortunately, teams of dedicated historians and culture advocates have chipped away at the propaganda often functioning as history for the world’s students to eradicate that glaring error. But when, even in the imaginary future—a space where the mind can stretch beyond the Milky Way to envision routine space travel, cuddly space animals, talking apes, and time machines—people can’t fathom a person of non-Euro descent a hundred years into the future, a cosmic foot has to be put down.

Emily Zola.That's only the second woman I've seen down here. What's up with that?" But before St. Clair can answer, the grating voice says, "It's Emile." We turn around to find a smug guy in a Euro Disney sweatshirt. "Emile Zola is a man." My face burns. I reach for St. Clair's arm to pull us away again,but St. Clair is already in his face. "Emile Zola was a man," he corrects. "And you're an arse. Why don't you mind your own bloody business and leave her alone!

The night you asked me to marry you, you bought cherries at Lidl and told me they cost you six euros.” “So?” “You know what is at the heart of misogyny? When it comes down to it?” “So I’m a misogynist now?” “It’s simply about not giving,” she said. “Whether it’s not giving us the vote or not giving help with the dishes—it’s all clitched to the same wagon.” “Hitched,” Cathal said. “What?” “It’s not ‘clitched,’ ” he said. “It’s ‘hitched.’ ” “You see?” she said. “Isn’t this just more of the same? You knew exactly what I meant—but you cannot even give me this much.

¿Qué podrías comprar por 60 florines a principios del siglo XVII? Vamos, esto es de coña, ¿verdad? ¿Qué puedo comprar por 60 florines a principio del siglo XVII? A ver, si el cambio a euros es de… no-tengo-ni-puñetera-idea… puedo comprar… ¿un elefante? ¿un cocodrilo del Nilo? ¿un barco? ¿un esclavo? Mira, no lo sé.

There's another element in the euro crisis, another weakness of a shared currency, that took many people, myself included, by surprise. It turns out that countries that lack their own currency are highly vulnerable to self-fulfilling panic, in which the efforts of investors to avoid losses from default end up triggering the very default they fear.

American?” he asked, with a pained smile. “Yes,” Annabeth said. “And I’d love a pizza,” Percy said. The waiter looked like he was trying to swallow a euro coin. “Of course you would, signor. And let me guess: a Coca-Cola? With ice?” “Awesome,” Percy said. He didn’t understand why the guy was giving him such a sour face. It wasn’t like Percy had asked for a blue Coke.

histories. Anishinaabe (Ojibwe) historian Jean O’Brien names this practice of writing Indians out of existence “firsting and lasting.” All over the continent, local histories, monuments, and signage narrate the story of first settlement: the founder(s), the first school, first dwelling, first everything, as if there had never been occupants who thrived in those places before Euro-Americans.

I’m charming and handsome. They take my pen. I buy the poem from the garden of bees for one euro. A touch on the arm. A mystery word. The sky has two faces. For reasons unaccountable my hand trembles. In Roman times if they were horrified of bees they kept it secret

Es ist noch keine zwei Jahre her, da konnte Sylvie auch mit ihrem Armen aufwarten, dem Mann ihrer Putzfrau, der seit Jahren zu Hause saß und keinen Finger rührte, aber alle Tricks kannte, um Kohle vom Staat abzuzocken. Inzwischen hat sie keine Putzfrau mehr, und seit sie selbst alle Schritte unternehmen musste, um Sozialhilfe und andere Zuschüsse zu erhalten, auf die sie ein Anrecht hat, ist sie nie auf die legendären Beträge gekommen, von denen die Reichen beim Abendessen erzählen. Sie ist nicht mehr verschwenderisch, seit jede Rechnung ein Schlag ins Kontor ist. Sie traut sich nicht, auf den Tisch zu schlagen und zu sagen, Herrgott, hört endlich auf, solchen Schwachsinn zu erzählen, versucht ihr mal, Geld vom Staat zu bekommen, geht mal zu euren Armen, euren Faulpelzen... probiert selbst aus, wie einfach es ist, mit weniger als tausend Euro im Monat zurande zu kommen. Aber sie schweigt. Sie, die immer so ein großes Maul hatte, entdeckt die Scham.

He knows I want it. My cunt is beating. Strong like my heart is in my womb.

Oh frickin’ well, I’ll give up breathing before I give up my spicy romance.

Euro currency to dissolve due to sovereign debt crisis,” the talking heads grimly proclaimed.

the euro, it seems, is stuck in a political no man's land – trapped between two opposing world views. And the battleground is not economics, but ethics.

For the next several nights in isolation, I got a funny guard who was trying to convert me to Christianity. I enjoyed the conversations, though my English was very basic. My dialogue partner was young, religious, and energetic. He liked Bush (“the true religious leader,” according to him); he hated Bill Clinton (“the Infidel”). He loved the dollar and hated the Euro.

mania for exact change can be off-putting for a traveler, what with getting yelled at by cashiers and cab drivers all day long for the crime of paying a sixteen-euro fare with a twenty-euro note. She said that it was nothing personal, that the French are naturally aggressive, especially with one another. Which I suppose is a form of equality, but not the sweet kind experienced by Lafayette.

The Reichsmark was no longer legal tender, even though others—probably some clueless dilettantes on the side of the victorious powers—had clearly adapted my plan to turn it into a European-wide currency. At any rate, transactions were now being carried out in an artificial currency called “euro,” regarded, as one would expect, with a high level of mistrust. I could have told those responsible that this would be the case.

When I read her two books, The House on Diamond Hill: A Cherokee Plantation Story and Ties That Bind: The Story of an Afro-Cherokee Family in Slavery and Freedom, I experienced something like a “happy” shout in church. Before I read these books, the Afro-Euro-Creek characters of Wood Place were still rolling around in my head. I was sure my novel was possible, but I didn’t yet have the nerve to write it. Reading Tiya Miles’s

We are, a lot of the time, baffled by the news we see on the front pages of our newspapers, often because the stories are complex, and we missed the beginning of them anyway. (How far back do we have to go to find the roots of the Euro crisis? To 2008? 1999, when the currency came into being? 1992? 1945?) That is one of the reasons why natural disasters and murders and cases involving missing children become so involving: we understand them.

Vamos a decirlo ya, chicas, todos los tios, cuando nos encontramos con una ex, pensamos en acostarnos con ella. Cuando te gusta una chica tienes que invitarla a salir, contarle mentiras de tu vida... aguantar un montón de charlas para poder llevártela a la cama. Con una ex todo ese camino coñazo ya está hecho. Es como el Monopoly. Vas directamente a la cama, sin pasar por la casilla de salida y sin pagar los 200 euros, que es lo mínimo que te gastas en cenas.

The critical spirit rises up against itself and consumes its form. But instead of coming out of this process greater and purified, it devours itself in a kind of self-cannibalism and takes a morose pleasure in annihilating itself. Hyper-criticism eventuates in self-hatred, leaving behind it only ruins. A new dogma of demolition is born out of the rejection of dogmas. Thus we euro-americans are supposed to have only one obligation: endlessly atoning for what we have inflicted on other parts of humanity. How can we fail to see that this leads us to live off self-denunciation while taking a strange pride in being the worst? Self-denigration is all too clearly a form of indirect self-glorification. Evil can come only from us; other people are motivated by sympathy, good will, candor. This is the paternalism of the guilty conscience: seeing ourselves as the kings of infamy is still a way of staying on the crest of history.

Most importantly, it became clear that the name “free trade agreement” was itself a matter of deceptive advertising: it was really a managed trade agreement, managed especially for special corporate interests, particularly in the United States.

In Anglo-Saxon Britain as elsewhere, slaves were valuable property, worth each about eight oxen; in Ireland a female slave represented a unit of currency, like a dollar or a euro.4 Moreover, slavery in Anglo-Saxon Britain applied not merely to the captives themselves, for slave status could also be inherited, as had been the case among the Thracians of antiquity. We cannot know how many of the British poor sold themselves and their children into bondage, but the number must have been significant, for attempts at reform were made repeatedly. Kings Alfred the Great and Canute (1014–35) tried, with uncertain success, to restrict slavery, especially with regard to daughters. Nonetheless, about one-tenth of the eleventh-century British population is estimated to have been enslaved, a proportion rising to one-fifth in the West Country.5 So embedded were slaves in the economy of the British Isles that the Catholic Church, quite a wealthy institution, owned vast numbers of them.6

All over the continent, local histories, monuments, and signage narrate the story of first settlement: the founder(s), the first school, first dwelling, first everything, as if there had never been occupants who thrived in those places before Euro-Americans.

Luceo non euro means I shine, not burn. To me, though, it means that I have a choice. I need to balance the bad with the good, make sure to avoid the things that could burn or scar me but get close enough to the heat that I feel life and really experience it.

the wealthiest 0.1 percent of people on the planet, some 4.5 million out of an adult population of 4.5 billion, apparently possess fortunes on the order of 10 million euros on average, or nearly 200 times average global wealth of 60,000 euros per adult, amounting in aggregate to nearly 20 percent of total global wealth. The wealthiest 1 percent—45 million people out of 4.5 billion—have about 3 million euros apiece on average (broadly speaking, this group consists of those individuals whose personal fortunes exceed 1 million euros). This is about 50 times the size of the average global fortune, or 50 percent of total global wealth in aggregate.

Forget bringing the troops home from Iraq. We need to get the troops home from World War II. Can anybody tell me why, in 2009, we still have more than sixty thousand troops in Germany and thirty thousand in Japan? At some point, these people are going to have to learn to rape themselves. Our soldiers have been in Germany so long they now wear shorts with black socks. You know that crazy soldier hiding in the cave on Iwo Jima who doesn’t know the war is over? That’s us. Bush and Cheney used to love to keep Americans all sphinctered-up on the notion that terrorists might follow us home. But actually, we’re the people who go to your home and then never leave. Here’s the facts: The Republic of America has more than five hundred thousand military personnel deployed on more than seven hundred bases, with troops in one hundred fifty countries—we’re like McDonald’s with tanks—including thirty-seven European countries—because you never know when Portugal might invade Euro Disney. And this doesn’t even count our secret torture prisons, which are all over the place, but you never really see them until someone brings you there—kinda like IHOP. Of course, Americans would never stand for this in reverse—we can barely stand letting Mexicans in to do the landscaping. Can you imagine if there were twenty thousand armed Guatemalans on a base in San Ber-nardino right now? Lou Dobbs would become a suicide bomber. And why? How did this country get stuck with an empire? I’m not saying we’re Rome. Rome had good infrastructure. But we are an empire, and the reason is because once America lands in a country, there is no exit strategy. We’re like cellulite, herpes, and Irish relatives: We are not going anywhere. We love you long time!

no podía dejar de pensar en aquella frase de Adolf Hitler: «Si desea la simpatía de las masas, tiene que decirles las cosas más estúpidas y crudas.» Ese desprecio,

¿Sabéis cuál es la diferencia entre los ricos y los pobres? Los pobres venden droga para comprarse unas Nike mientras que los ricos venden Nikes para comprar droga.

Ya no es la publicidad la que imita a la vida, es la vida la que copia la publicidad. Cadillacs de color rosa con los bajos iluminados

When it becomes serious, you have to lie.

If I had my way, I'd go out snorting a line off the perfect are, but only after I've fucked it.

I loved the moment on long rides when I was tired and sore, 50 miles from town, and all I could do was keep pushing, left foot, right foot, with the faith that it would take me home.

«Sticazzi!» aggiunse Italo. Rocco picchiò un pugno sul tavolo. «Allora, bisogna che qui al nord cominciate ad imparare l'uso esatto dei termini e delle locuzioni romane. Sticazzi si usa quando di una cosa non te ne frega niente. Per esempio: Lo sai che Saint-Vincent ha 4.000 abitanti? Sticazzi, puoi dire. Cioè, chissenefrega. Come lo usate voi, Italo, è sbagliato. Devi cercare un ago in un pagliaio? Allora devi dire: mecojoni! Mecojoni indica stupore, lo usi per dire: accidenti! Capisci la differenza Italo? Non puoi usare sticazzi per esprimere meraviglia, sorpresa. Sticazzi lo usi per dire chissenefrega. Ho vinto alla lotteria 40 milioni di euro? Mecojoni, devi dire! Se dici sticazzi significa: non me ne frega niente. Ecco. Ricominciamo. Deruta e D'Intino devono cercare tutti i trans di Aosta e provincia. Tu che devi dire?». «Mei cojoni?». «Me cojoni» lo corresse. «Me cojoni». «Bravo Italo. Invece che a Courmayeur c'è la funivia?». «Sticazzi». «Perfetto. Hai appena imparato l'articolo sette della costituzione romana che recita: uno sticazzi al momento giusto risolve mille problemi.

What undercuts the power of women’s anger in the end is not the melancholy that Butler charts, but material realities — economics, not psychology. While Em fantasizes about the possibility of Afro- and Euro-Jamaican women building partnerships to work for each other, she seems to understand that she has no concrete possibilities for realizing this fantasy in 1920s Jamaica.

So you open your mouth and listen to yourself say, “I want eight thousand a day. Plus expenses.” This is the polite, industry-standard way of saying “piss off, I’m not interested.” You did the math over your morning coffee: You want to earn 100K a year, what with those bonuses you’ve been pulling on top of your salary. (Besides, a euro doesn’t buy what it used to.) There are 250 working days in a year, and a contractor works for roughly 40 per cent of the time, so you need to charge yourself out at 2.5 times your payroll rate, or 1000 a day in order to meet your target. Not interested in the job? Pitch unrealistically high. You never know… “Done,” says Mr. Pin-Stripe, staring at you expressionlessly. And it is at that point that you realize you are well and truly fucked.

If the trend observed in the United States were to continue, then by 2030 the top 10 percent of earners will be making 9,000 euros a month (and the top 1 percent, 34,000 euros), the middle 40 percent will earn 1,750, and the bottom 50 percent just 800 a month. The top 10 percent could therefore use a small portion of their incomes to hire many of the bottom 50 percent as domestic servants.

Je tak jasne, ze v dlhodobom horizonte je nutna restrukturalizacia celkoveho verejneho dlhu a jeho ciastocne odpisanie zhruba na urovni 65% z tejto sumy. Ako druhy krok je nutny predaj majetku statu, co by mohlo znizit dlh o dodatocnych 20% HDP. Z vynosov z privatizacie je nutne oddlzit a rekapitalizovat grecke banky, respektive vytvorit tak domace zdroje kapitalu na financovanie statneho dlhu, kedze po znizeni ratingu a poslednej emisii je uz jasne, ze na trhu si Grecko vie pozicat len kratkodobo, teda do jedneho roka. Pokial sa tieto kroky co najskor neurobia, hrozi kolaps celeho greckeho financneho systemu a nie len vyhlasenie defaultu krajiny. Vsetky tieto kroky by navyse mali prebehnut este predtym, nez budu v juni publikovane vysledky stresovych testov europskych bank.

Over the last few years, banks and governments have been frenziedly printing money. Everybody is terrified that the current economic crisis may stop the growth of the economy. So they are creating trillions of dollars, euros and yen out of thin air, pumping cheap credit into the system, and hoping that the scientists, technicians and engineers will manage to come up with something really big,

By my fifth sip, I am sooooo glad I splurged thirty-five delicious Euros. That’s right math whizzes, the Red Beach set me back over fifty American dollars. Who cares if I have to eat Top Ramen when I get home? I’ll gladly pilfer condiment packages from fast food restaurants to survive if it means I get to sit in ZPlage and sip Red Beaches with anorexic Russian models and their playboy sugar daddies.

After the library closes in the evening he walks back to her apartment, maybe picking up some food or a four-euro bottle of wine on the way. When the weather is good, the sky feels miles away, and birds wheel through limitless air and light overhead. When it rains, the city closes in, gathers around with mists; cars move slower, their headlights glowing darkly, and the faces that pass are pink with cold.

In the top centile, by contrast, financial and business assets clearly predominate over real estate. In particular, shares of stock or partnerships constitute nearly the totality of the largest fortunes. Between 2 and 5 million euros, the share of real estate is less than one-third; above 5 million euros, it falls below 20 percent; above 10 million euros, it is less than 10 percent and wealth consists primarily of stock.

Steve Carver-the guy with the faux-surfer hair-and Amanda's best friend, Nicole,are chosen.Rashmi and I groan in a rare moment of camaraderie.Steve pumps a fist in the air.What a meathead. The selecting begins,and Amanda is chosen first. Of course. And then Steve's best friend.Of course. Rashmi elbows me. "bet you five euros I'm picked last." "I'll take that bet.Because it's totally me." Amanda turns in her seat toward me and lowers her voice. "That's a safe bet, Skunk Girl. Who'd want you on their team?" My jaw unhinges stupidly. "St. Clair!" Steve's voice startles me. It figures that St. Clair would be picked early. Everyone looks at him, but he's staring down Amanda. "Me," he says, in answer to her question. "I want Anna on my team,and you'd be lucky to have her." She flushes and quickly turns back around,but not before shooting me another dagger.What have I ever done to her? More names are called. More names that are NOT mine. St. Clair goes to get my attention,but I pretend I don't notice. I can't bear to look at him.I'm too humiliated. Soon the selection is down to me, Rashmi,and a skinny dude who, for whatever reason,is called Cheeseburger. Cheeseburger is always wearing this expresion of surprise, like someone's just called his name, and he can't figure out where the voice is coming from. "Rashmi," Nicole says without hestitation. My heart sinks.Now it's between me and someone named Cheeseburger. I focus my attention down on my desk, at the picture of me that Josh drew earlier today in history. I'm dressed like a medieval peasant (we're studying the Black Plague), and I have a fierce scowl and a dead rat dangling from one hand. Amanda whispers into Steve's ear. I feel her smirking at me,and my face burns. Steve clears his throat. "Cheeseburger.

The euro and the ECB were designed in a way that blocks government money creation for any purpose other than to support the banks and bondholders. Their monetary and fiscal straitjacket obliges the eurozone economies to rely on bank creation of credit and debt. The financial sector takes over the role of economic planner, putting its technicians in charge of monetary and fiscal policy without democratic voice or referendums over debt and tax policies.

On August 16, 2012, the South African police intervened in a labor conflict between workers at the Marikana platinum mine near Johannesburg and the mine’s owners: the stockholders of Lonmin, Inc., based in London. Police fired on the strikers with live ammunition. Thirty-four miners were killed.1 As often in such strikes, the conflict primarily concerned wages: the miners had asked for a doubling of their wage from 500 to 1,000 euros a month. After the tragic loss of life, the company finally proposed a monthly raise of 75 euros.

Left alone in a dark room with a pile of money, the Irish decided what they really wanted to do with it was buy Ireland. From each other. An Irish economist named Morgan Kelly, whose estimates of Irish bank losses have been the most prescient, has made a back-of-the-envelope calculation that puts the property-related losses of all Irish banks at roughly 106 billion euros. (Think $10.6 trillion.) At the rate money flows into the Irish treasury, Irish bank losses alone would absorb every penny of Irish taxes for the next four years.

What counts as money (and what doesn’t) is the result of choices we make, and those choices have a profound effect on who gets more stuff and who gets less, who gets to take risks when times are good, and who gets screwed when things go bad. Our choices about money gave us the world we live in now: the world where, when a pandemic hit in the spring of 2020, central banks could create trillions of dollars and euros and yen out of thin air in an effort to fight an economic collapse. In the future we’ll make different choices, and money will change again.

The euro fell to as low as $1.18605, its weakest level since March 2006, having fallen below an important support at $1.20. The common currency last traded at $1.1926, down 0.6 percent from late U.S. trade on Friday. In an interview with German financial daily Handelsblatt published on Friday, ECB President Mario Draghi said the risk of the central bank not fulfilling its mandate of preserving price stability was higher now than half a year ago. "The market took his comments to mean that he is ready to adopt quantitative easing," said Shin Kadota, chief forex strategist at Barclays in Tokyo.

Nominal assets are subject to a substantial inflation risk: if you invest 10,000 euros in a checking or savings account or a nonindexed government or corporate bond, that investment is still worth 10,000 euros ten years later, even if consumer prices have doubled in the meantime. In that case, we say that the real value of the investment has fallen by half: you can buy only half as much in goods and services as you could have bought with the initial investment, so that your return after ten years is −50 percent, which may or may not have been compensated by the interest you earned in the interim.

As I hurried along I was thinking how great it was to earn real money I don't have to ask my parents for. At last! I've worked out that I could probably handle as many as four dogs at a time. If I take them out just on school days I could earn 200 euros a week for five hours' work and have the weekends free to shop and spend it. It's going to be brilliant.I should have asked Stephanie what kind of dog it was. I eyeballed a Great Dane warily, my face about level with its. Bloody hell it was huge. Size of a pony. Wasn't sure whether I was expected to walk it or stick a saddle on its back and ride the thing.

Pedí a una chica joven que se alejó de mí sin dejar que le explicase nada; a una pareja joven que también negaron con la cabeza; a un hombre de negocios que me dijo que no con una mirada de desprecio; a un chico con una mochila que me dio un euro; a un par de hombres mayores que, tras mirarse el uno al otro, sacaron una moneda cada uno; a una mujer cargada con varias bolsas que al verme se giró como si no me hubiera visto; a un hombre con un maletín que... Y así, venciendo una vergüenza que me dolía cada vez que me acercaba a alguien, finalmente conseguí el dinero necesario. Compré el billete y corrí hacia el tren. Aquel día me di cuenta de que la gente es buena.

The moment American bankers stop lending dollars to Argentina, the country is unable to refinance its mountain of dollar debt. Again, Greece is similar. Even though it has the same currency as Germany, the euro, the chronic Greek trade deficit with Germany translates into a constant flow of loaned euros from Germany to Greece so that the Greeks can keep buying more and more German goods. The slightest interruption in the flow of new loans from the surplus country to the deficit country causes the whole house of cards to collapse. This is when the IMF steps in. Its personnel fly into Buenos Aires or Athens, take black limousines to the finance minister’s office and state their terms: we shall lend you the missing dollars or euros on condition that you impoverish your people and sell the family silver to our mates, the oligarchs of this country and the world. Or words to that effect. That’s when TV screens fill with images of angry, and often hungry, demonstrators in Buenos Aires or Athens. Time and again history has shown that the periodic economic recessions that result from trade imbalances poison the deficit country’s democracy, incite contempt for its people in the surplus country, which then prompts xenophobia in the deficit country. Simply put, sustained trade deficits – and surpluses, their mirror image – never end well.

I interpret your question as applying more to financial stability in the euro area than to the euro itself. I do not think there has been a crisis. The euro is the single currency of 330 million people and enjoys a high degree of confidence among investors and savers because it has delivered price stability remarkably well over the last 11½ years. What we had was a situation in which a number of countries had not respected the Stability and Growth Pact. These countries have now engaged in policies of fiscal retrenchment that were overdue. They have to implement vigorously these policies which are decisive for the preservation and consolidation of financial stability in Europe.

I bought the air freshener for four euro because it was a kind of artefact translated into many languages, and also because it was clearly an interpretation of a woman ( breasts belly apron eyelashes) and I had becomes confused by the signs for servicios in public places. I could not figure out why one sign was male and the other female. The most common stick figure sign was not particularly male or female. Did I need this aerosol to make things clearer to me? What kind of clarity was I after? I had conquered Juan who was Zeus the thunderer as far as I was concerned, but the signs were all mixed up because his job in the injury hut was to tend the wounded with his tube of ointment. He was maternal, brotherly, he was like a sister, perhaps paternal, he had become my lover. Are we all lurking in each other's sign? Do I and the woman on the air freshener belong to the same sign? Another aeroplane was flying above the market, it's metal body heavy in the sky. A male pilot I had met in the Coffee House had told me that an aircraft was always referred to as 'she'. His task was to keep her in balance, to make her a extension of his hands, to make her responsive to the lightest of touch. She was sensitive and needed to be handled delicately. A week later, after we had slept together, I discovered that he was also responsive to the lightest of touch. It wasn't clarity I was after. I wanted things to be less clear.

The totalitarian systems warn of something far more serious than Western rationalism is willing to admit. They are, most of all, a convex mirror of the inevitable consequences of rationalism, a grotesquely magnified image of its own deep tendencies, an extreme offshoot of its own development, and an ominous product of its own expansion. They are a deeply informative reflection of its own crisis. Totalitarian regimes are not merely dangerous neighbors and even less some kind of an avant-garde of world progress. Alas, just the opposite: they are the avant-garde of a global crisis of this civilization, first European, then Euro-American, and ultimately global. They are one of the possible futurological studies of the Western world.

We know that we are trapped within an economic system that has it backward; it behaves as if there is no end to what is actually finite (clean water, fossil fuels, and the atmospheric space to absorb their emissions) while insisting that there are strict and immovable limits to what is actually quite flexible: the financial resources that human institutions manufacture, and that, if imagined differently, could build the kind of caring society we need. Anni Vassiliou, a youth worker who is part of the struggle against the Eldorado gold mine in Greece, describes this as living in “an upside down world. We are in danger of more and more floods. We are in danger of never, here in Greece, never experiencing spring and fall again. And they’re telling us that we are in danger of exiting the Euro. How crazy is that?

Monotheistic peoples have prayed to the Creator of all things for millennia without ever knowing the Second Testament claim that Jesus Christ is the historic Creator. Put simply, if indigenous people have been praying the Creator and the Creator is Christ, to whom have the been praying? Asked in another way, since there exist among indigenous peoples numerous testimonies of the creator's intervention and blessing in their lives, with whom have they been in relationship? Certainly a broader missional view would have been good news to such people. Instead, indigenous peoples were most often told by Euro-western missionaries that they worshiped another god. One also wonders what has been the effect of a theology that separates the Creator-Son and Savior/Restorer of all things? Such an imbalance has prevented western theologians from understanding a broader view of salvation that has helped maintain a dualism that prevents people from understanding that all creation, together, comes under the covering of Christ's universal restoration. Based on the past missional perspectives, the result of such an imbalanced theology is apparent -- a weak salvation theology equals a weak god. A weak god is not great enough to reach all peoples everywhere or able to restore all creation. The god of western mission has too often been capricious, carrying with him an exceptionalist theology that favors the categories and conclusions of the Euro-western world. Perhaps God is greater than the west has presumed. There is nowhere that we can travel, including the depths of the ocean or outer space, where Christ is not active in creation. It would seem that part of our job on earth is to discover what Christ is up to, and to join him in it!

(BDO) October 22: The Dollar Squeeze A debt is a short cash position—i.e., a commitment to deliver cash that one doesn’t have. Because the dollar is the world’s reserve currency, and because of the dollar surplus recycling that has taken place over the past few years…lots of dollar denominated debt has been built up around the world. So, as dollar liquidity has become tight, there has been a dollar squeeze. This squeeze…is hitting dollar-indebted emerging markets (particularly those of commodity exporters) and is supporting the dollar. When this short squeeze ends, which will happen when either the debtors default or get the liquidity to prevent their default, the US dollar will decline. Until then, we expect to remain long the USD against the euro and emerging market currencies. The actual price of anything is always equal to the amount of spending on the item being exchanged divided by the quantity of the item being sold (i.e., P = $/Q), so a) knowing who is spending and who is selling what quantity (and ideally why) is the ideal way to get at the price at any time, and b) prices don’t always react to changes in fundamentals as they happen in the ways characterized by those who seek to explain price movements in connection with unfolding news. During this period, volatility remained extremely high for reasons that had nothing to do with fundamentals and everything to do with who was getting in and out of positions for various reasons—like being squeezed, no longer being squeezed, rebalancing portfolios, etc. For example, on Tuesday, October 28, the S&P gained more than 10 percent and the next day it fell by 1.1 percent when the Fed cut interest rates by another 50 basis points. Closing the month, the S&P was down 17 percent—the largest single-month drop since October 1987.

The history of the two halves of post-war Europe cannot be told in isolation from one another. The legacy of the Second World War—and the pre-war decades and the war before that—forced upon the governments and peoples of east and west Europe alike some hard choices about how best to order their affairs so as to avoid any return to the past. One option—to pursue the radical agenda of the popular front movements of the 1930s—was initially very popular in both parts of Europe (a reminder that 1945 was never quite the fresh start that it sometimes appears). In eastern Europe some sort of radical transformation was unavoidable. There could be no possibility of returning to the discredited past. What, then, would replace it? Communism may have been the wrong solution, but the dilemma to which it was responding was real enough. In the West the prospect of radical change was smoothed away, not least thanks to American aid (and pressure). The appeal of the popular-front agenda—and of Communism—faded: both were prescriptions for hard times and in the West, at least after 1952, the times were no longer so hard. And so, in the decades that followed, the uncertainties of the immediate post-war years were forgotten. But the possibility that things might take a different turn—indeed, the likelihood that they would take a different turn—had seemed very real in 1945; it was to head off a return of the old demons (unemployment, Fascism, German militarism, war, revolution) that western Europe took the new path with which we are now familiar. Post-national, welfare-state, cooperative, pacific Europe was not born of the optimistic, ambitious, forward-looking project imagined in fond retrospect by today’s Euro-idealists. It was the insecure child of anxiety. Shadowed by history, its leaders implemented social reforms and built new institutions as a prophylactic, to keep the past at bay.

In all cases of locating reservations,” he once said, “it would be best to show some deference to the expressed wishes of the tribe.” Euro-Americans, particularly in the boom-and-bust West, were relentlessly mobile. They blew about in the wind—deracinated, it seemed, always in search of better fortune. Miners, traders, trappers, merchants, missionaries, they thought nothing of moving great distances and starting all over when new opportunity struck. The hunger to push on, particularly in a westward direction, was an attribute of the (white) American. But Carson knew enough about Indian culture to recognize that even among nomadic tribes, the familiar landmarks of one’s homeland were profoundly significant—in fact, they were sacred—and one strayed from them with great trepidation. Homeland was crucial in practical terms, but also in terms of ceremony and ritual, central to a tribe’s collective identity and its conception of the universe.

Indefinite Pessimism Every culture has a myth of decline from some golden age, and almost all peoples throughout history have been pessimists. Even today pessimism still dominates huge parts of the world. An indefinite pessimist looks out onto a bleak future, but he has no idea what to do about it. This describes Europe since the early 1970s, when the continent succumbed to undirected bureaucratic drift. Today the whole Eurozone is in slow-motion crisis, and nobody is in charge. The European Central Bank doesn’t stand for anything but improvisation: the U.S. Treasury prints “In God We Trust” on the dollar; the ECB might as well print “Kick the Can Down the Road” on the euro. Europeans just react to events as they happen and hope things don’t get worse. The indefinite pessimist can’t know whether the inevitable decline will be fast or slow, catastrophic or gradual. All he can do is wait for it to happen, so he might as well eat, drink, and be merry in the meantime: hence Europe’s famous vacation mania.

Qui vous le dit, qu’elle (la vie) ne vous attend pas ? Certes, elle continue, mais elle ne vous oblige pas à suivre le rythme. Vous pouvez bien vous mettre un peu entre parenthèses pour vivre ce deuil… accordez-vous le temps. *** Parce que ҫa me fait plaisir. Parce que je sais aussi que l’entourage peut se montrer très discret dans pareille situation, et que de se changer les idées de temps en temps fait du bien. Parce que je sais que vous aimez la montagne et que vous n’iriez pas toute seule. *** Oui. Si vous perdez une jambe, ҫa se voit, les gens sont conciliants. Et encore, pas tous. Mais quand c’est un morceau de votre cœur qui est arraché, ҫa ne se voit pas de l’extérieur, et c’est au moins aussi douloureux… Ce n’est pas de la faute des gens. Ils ne se fient qu’aux apparences. Il faut gratter pour voir ce qu’il y a au fond. Si vous jetez une grosse pierre dans une mare, elle va faire des remous à la surface. Des gros remous d'abord, qui vont gifler les rives, et puis des remous plus petits, qui vont finir par disparaître. Peu à peu, la surface redevient lisse et paisible. Mais la grosse pierre est quand même au fond. La grosse pierre est quand même au fond. *** La vie s’apparente à la mer. Il y a les bruit des vagues, quand elles s’abattent sur la plage, et puis le silence d’après, quand elles se retirent. Deux mouvement qui se croissent et s’entrecoupent sans discontinuer. L’un est rapide, violent, l’autre est doux et lent. Vous aimeriez vous retirer, dans le même silence des vagues, partir discrètement, vous faire oublier de la vie. Mais d’autres vague arrivent et arriveront encore et toujours. Parce que c’est ҫa la vie… C’est le mouvement, c’est le rythme, le fracas parfois, durant la tempête, et le doux clapotis quand tout est calme. Mais le clapotis quand même Un bord de mer n'est jamais silencieux, jamais. La vie non plus, ni la vôtre, ni la mienne. Il y a les grains de sables exposés aux remous et ceux protégés en haut de la plage. Lesquels envier? Ce n'est pas avec le sable d'en haut, sec et lisse, que l'on construit les châteaux de sable, c'est avec celui qui fraye avec les vagues car ses particules sont coalescentes. Vous arriverez à reconstruire votre château, vous le construirez avec des grains qui vous ressemblent, qui ont aussi connu les déferlantes de la vie, parce qu'avec eux, le ciment est solide.. *** « Tu ne sais jamais à quel point tu es fort jusqu’au jour où être fort reste la seule option. » C’est Bob Marley qui a dit ҫa. *** Manon ne referme pas violemment la carte du restaurant. Elle n’éprouve pas le besoin qu’il lui lise le menu pour qu’elle ne voie pas le prix, et elle trouvera égal que chaque bouchée vaille cinq euros. Manon profite de la vie. Elle accepte l’invitation avec simplicité. Elle défend la place des femmes sans être une féministe acharnée et cela ne lui viendrait même pas à l’idée de payer sa part. D’abord, parce qu’elle sait que Paul s’en offusquerait, ensuite, parce qu’elle aime ces petites marques de galanterie, qu’elle regrette de voir disparaître avec l’évolution d’une société en pertes de repères.

The problem with the contemporary Euro-American novel is that it relies for its structural integrity on suppressing the lived realities of most human beings on earth. To confront the poverty and misery in which millions of people are forced to live, to put the fact of that poverty, that misery, side by side with the lives of the ‘main characters’ of a novel, would be deemed either tasteless or simply artistically unsuccessful. Who can care, in short, what happens to the novel’s protagonists, when it’s happening in the context of the increasingly fast, increasingly brutal exploitation of a majority of the human species? Do the protagonists break up or stay together? In this world, what does it matter? So the novel works by suppressing the truth of the world—packing it tightly down underneath the glittering surface of the text. And we can care once again, as we do in real life, whether people break up or stay together—if, and only if, we have successfully forgotten about all the things more important than that, i.e. everything.

Why can't we sit together? What's the point of seat reservations,anyway? The bored woman calls my section next,and I think terrible thoughts about her as she slides my ticket through her machine. At least I have a window seat. The middle and aisle are occupied with more businessmen. I'm reaching for my book again-it's going to be a long flight-when a polite English accent speaks to the man beside me. "Pardon me,but I wonder if you wouldn't mind switching seats.You see,that's my girlfriend there,and she's pregnant. And since she gets a bit ill on airplanes,I thought she might need someone to hold back her hair when...well..." St. Clair holds up the courtesy barf bag and shakes it around. The paper crinkles dramatically. The man sprints off the seat as my face flames. His pregnant girlfriend? "Thank you.I was in forty-five G." He slides into the vacated chair and waits for the man to disappear before speaking again. The guy onhis other side stares at us in horror,but St. Clair doesn't care. "They had me next to some horrible couple in matching Hawaiian shirts. There's no reason to suffer this flight alone when we can suffer it together." "That's flattering,thanks." But I laugh,and he looks pleased-until takeoff, when he claws the armrest and turns a color disturbingy similar to key lime pie. I distract him with a story about the time I broke my arm playing Peter Pan. It turned out there was more to flying than thinking happy thoughts and jumping out a window. St. Clair relaxes once we're above the clouds. Time passes quickly for an eight-hour flight. We don't talk about what waits on the other side of the ocean. Not his mother. Not Toph.Instead,we browse Skymall. We play the if-you-had-to-buy-one-thing-off-each-page game. He laughs when I choose the hot-dog toaster, and I tease him about the fogless shower mirror and the world's largest crossword puzzle. "At least they're practical," he says. "What are you gonna do with a giant crossword poster? 'Oh,I'm sorry Anna. I can't go to the movies tonight. I'm working on two thousand across, Norwegian Birdcall." "At least I'm not buying a Large Plastic Rock for hiding "unsightly utility posts.' You realize you have no lawn?" "I could hide other stuff.Like...failed French tests.Or illegal moonshining equipment." He doubles over with that wonderful boyish laughter, and I grin. "But what will you do with a motorized swimming-pool snack float?" "Use it in the bathtub." He wipes a tear from his cheek. "Ooo,look! A Mount Rushmore garden statue. Just what you need,Anna.And only forty dollars! A bargain!" We get stumped on the page of golfing accessories, so we switch to drawing rude pictures of the other people on the plane,followed by rude pictures of Euro Disney Guy. St. Clair's eyes glint as he sketches the man falling down the Pantheon's spiral staircase. There's a lot of blood. And Mickey Mouse ears. After a few hours,he grows sleepy.His head sinks against my shoulder. I don't dare move.The sun is coming up,and the sky is pink and orange and makes me think of sherbet.I siff his hair. Not out of weirdness.It's just...there. He must have woken earlier than I thought,because it smells shower-fresh. Clean. Healthy.Mmm.I doze in and out of a peaceful dream,and the next thing I know,the captain's voice is crackling over the airplane.We're here. I'm home.

Nici vântul și nici soarele nu sunt bune oricând, ci doar atunci când avem nevoie de ele: soarele ne bucură într-o zi geroasă, iar o adiere de vânt ne mângâie într-o zi prea călduroasă. Altminteri, oamenii mor și de prea mult vânt, așa cum mor de prea mult soare. Ca și căldura, ca și o adiere răcoroasă, milostenia se împlinește atunci când ajunge în mâinile care cu adevărat au nevoie de ea. Oamenii bogați își fac adeseori daruri scumpe între ei, dar bucuria unui sărac pentru o haină purtată e incomparabil mai mare. Milostenia adevărată umple de bucurie sufletul celui care dă chiar mai mult decât al celui ce primește, pentru că mai fericit este a da decât a lua. Iar dacă dăm unui om nemulțumitor, ni se amărăște inima, pentru că omul nemulțumitor amărăște totul în jur. Milostenia este o stare de suflet, nu contabilitate. Există oameni care împart daruri și bani cu regularitate, dar nu au învățat să fie milostivi. A fi milostiv nu înseamnă a împărți lumea în săraci și bogați, în orfani și celebrități. Nu există în lume oameni speciali față de care să ne manifestăm milostenia: milostenia îi vizează pe toți. Și cel sărac, și cel bogat au nevoie de milostenie în egală măsură, doar ceea ce le putem dărui este diferit. Până la urmă, nu dăm bani, nici mâncare, nici haine, ci ne dăruim pe noi înșine. Viața nu trebuie să fie alcătuită din zile în care facem donații la o casă de copii, cu poze aferente pentru FB și reztul zilelor în care suntem răutăcioși, aroganți, răzbunători cu oamenii pe care îi considerăm nevrednici de milostenie, asemeni nouă. Există oameni care au donat milioane de euro către case de copii, dar nu cunosc numele nici unui copil din acea casă, dar există o femeie de serviciu, sau un portar, sau un șofer care îi strigă ori de câte ori îi vede pe nume, iar noi știm că a fi strigat pe nume, într-un ceas de mare tristețe, este cel mai minunat lucru ce ni se poate întâmpla, cea mai mare milostenie. V-ați gândit vreodată ce rost mare au străinii în viața noastră? Cât de important este să fim milostivi și așezați la vorbă cu străinii: niciodată nu știi cu cine vorbești, pe cine mâhnești și ce va însemna asta în viața lui. Cu ai tăi te mai împaci, dar pe străin nu-l mai vezi și tămâi în amintirea lui așa rece, rău și supărăcios. Să rămânem buni în amintirea străinului care trece prin viața noastră!

Here are the main facts:1 Between 1980 and 2016, average national income per adult, expressed in 2016 euros, rose from 25,000 euros to just over 33,000 euros, or a rise of approximately 30%. At the same time, the average wealth held derived from property per adult doubled, rising from 90,000 to 190,000 euros. Yet more striking: the wealth of the richest 1%, 70% of which is in financial assets, rose from 1.4 to 4.5 million euros, or increased more than threefold. As to the 0.1% of the wealthiest, 90% of whose wealth is held in financial assets, and who will be the main beneficiaries of the abolition of the wealth tax, their fortunes rose from 4 to 20 million euros, that is, they increased fivefold. In other words, the biggest fortunes in financial assets rose even more rapidly than property assets, whereas the opposite should have been the case if the hypothesis of a fiscal flight were true. Moreover, this type of finding is a characteristic in the ranking of fortunes, in France as in all countries. According to Forbes, the top world fortunes, which are almost exclusively held in financial assets—have risen at a rate of 6% to 7% per year (on top of inflation) since the 1980s, or 3–4 times more rapidly than growth in GDP and of world per capita wealth.

POEM – MY AMAZING TRAVELS [My composition in my book Travel Memoirs with Pictures] My very first trip I still cannot believe Was planned and executed with such great ease. My father, an Inspector of Schools, was such a strict man, He gave in to my wishes when I told him of the plan. I got my first long vacation while working as a banker One of my co-workers wanted a travelling partner. She visited my father and discussed the matter Arrangements were made without any flutter. We travelled to New York, Toronto, London, and Germany, In each of those places, there was somebody, To guide and protect us and to take us wonderful places, It was a dream come true at our young ages. We even visited Holland, which was across the Border. To drive across from Germany was quite in order. Memories of great times continue to linger, I thank God for an understanding father. That trip in 1968 was the beginning of much more, I visited many countries afterward I am still in awe. Barbados, Tobago, St. Maarten, and Buffalo, Cirencester in the United Kingdom, Miami, and Orlando. I was accompanied by my husband on many trips. Sisters, nieces, children, grandchildren, and friends, travelled with me a bit. Puerto Rico, Los Angeles, New York, and Hialeah, Curacao, Caracas, Margarita, Virginia, and Anguilla. We sailed aboard the Creole Queen On the Mississippi in New Orleans We traversed the Rockies in Colorado And walked the streets in Cozumel, Mexico. We were thrilled to visit the Vatican in Rome, The Trevi Fountain and the Colosseum. To explore the countryside in Florence, And to sail on a Gondola in Venice. My fridge is decorated with magnets Souvenirs of all my visits London, Madrid, Bahamas, Coco Cay, Barcelona. And the Leaning Tower of Pisa How can I forget the Spanish Steps in Rome? Stratford upon Avon, where Shakespeare was born. CN Tower in Toronto so very high I thought the elevator would take me to the sky. Then there was El Poble and Toledo Noted for Spanish Gold We travelled on the Euro star. The scenery was beautiful to behold! I must not omit Cartagena in Columbia, Anaheim, Las Vegas, and Catalina, Key West, Tampa, Fort Lauderdale, and Pembroke Pines, Places I love to lime. Of course, I would like to make special mention, Of two exciting cruises with Royal Caribbean. Majesty of the Seas and Liberty of the Seas Two ships which grace the Seas. Last but not least and best of all We visited Paris in the fall. Cologne, Dusseldorf, and Berlin Amazing places, which made my head, spin. Copyright@BrendaMohammed

SILVER CITY IS NO PLACE FOR AMATEURS I left Colorado Springs the next morning and got back in the fucking car for another day of driving for the Tour of the Gila. I’d never driven in snow before, but I made it to Santa Fe and then Albuquerque in the afternoon, careful to dodge all the tumbleweeds on the highway in New Mexico. I hadn’t known that those existed outside of cartoons. Already exhausted when I got off the interstate, I was surprised when my GPS said “48 miles remaining, 1.5 hours’ drive time”—I was sure that couldn’t be right. Then I saw the steep climbs, bumpy cattle guards, and dangerous descents on the road into Silver City. I drove as fast as I could, sliding my poor car around hairpins in the dark. I made it to the host house, fell asleep, and found two flat tires when I went outside to unpack the car in the morning. They probably weren’t meant for drifting. My luck didn’t improve when the race started. I got a flat tire when I went off the road to dodge a crash, and I chased for over an hour to get back to the field. Between the dry air and altitude, I got a major nosebleed. My car was parked at the base of the finishing climb, and I got there several minutes behind the field, my new white Cannondale and all my clothes covered in blood. The course turned right to go up the climb, and I turned left, climbed into my car, and got the hell out of there. I might have made the time cut, but for the second time in two weeks, I opted to climb in the car instead. I got out of that town like I was about to turn into a pumpkin, and made it back to San Diego nine hours later. If there wasn’t a Pacific Ocean to stop me, I’d have driven another day, just to get farther from Gila.

De Britse premier David Cameron, die ondertussen al ontslag heeft genomen, gaat straks de geschiedenis in als de kinkel die pokerde en verloor. De voorstanders van een brexit met een aantal racisten als voortrekkers (stijl Nigel Farage en Boris oh nson) hebben hun slag thuisgehaad waardoor het Verenigd Koninkrijk nooit nog kan terugkeren in de EU. De leuze "Storm is raging over het Channel, the continent is isoltated" heeft het gehaald. Het fiere Albion is teruggekeerd. Dat de Briiten Europa de rug toekeerden is al bij al verstaanbaar. De EU is een grijs en onaantrekkelijk Europa gedomineerd door bureaucraten en gekenmerkt door een groot democratisch deficit. Maar win werkelijkheid stemden de Britten over een heel ander pijnpunt, over de vreemdelingenkwestie. Misleid door alle leugens die de leavers schaamteloos voor waarheid verzwendelden. Het grootste nadeel van de exit is dat Europa nu niet langer nog kan dromen van een sterk Europees leger dan zich bewapent met Europese tuigen i.p.v. Amerikaanse, en dat het nu nog meer vastzit aan de Verenigde Staten voor zijn veiligheid. En als daar Donald Trump de presidentsverkiezingen wint dan wordt de wereld waarin wij leven op slag een flink stuk gevaarlijker dan die nu, met de islamfundamentalisten, al is. Ondertussen staan in het grijze Europa al andere racisten klaar - bijvoorbeeld Geert Wilders - om een exit uit Europa te eisen. De beurzen kleuren ondertussen bloedrood. Het Britse pond verloor 16 procent van zijn waarde. Wie à la baisse speculeerde op het pond heeft zijn inleg forst zien stijgen. Een oud klant van mij belde me zopas nog op dat hij 2,5 miljoen euro play money geriskeerd heeft en dat dit er nu 20,4 miljoen zijn geworden.

EUROS SIDE WITH MEXICAN GANG RAPIST Mexico, President Bush’s dearest international ally, brought a lawsuit against the United States in the International Court of Justice on behalf of its native son, Jose Ernesto Medellin, arguing that Texas failed to inform him of his right to confer with the Mexican consulate. It probably didn’t occur to the police to ask Medellin if he was Mexican, with the media referring to the suspects exclusively as: “five Houston teens,” “five youths,” “the youths,” “young men,” “members of ‘a social club,’” “a bunch of guys,” “six young men,” “six teen-agers,” and “these guys”23 (and, oddly, “America’s hottest boy band”). The World Court agreed with Mexico, confirming my suspicion that any organization with “world” in its title—International World Court, the World Bank, World Cup Soccer, the World Trade Organization—is inherently evil. The court ordered that Mexican illegal aliens in American prisons must be retried unless they had been promptly advised of their consular rights—a ruling that would have emptied Texas’s prisons. It wasn’t as if America had shanghaied Medellin and dragged him into our country. He sneaked in illegally, demanded the full panoply of rights accorded American citizens, and when things didn’t go his way, suddenly announced he was an illegal alien entitled to rights as a Mexican citizen. Or as the New York Times hyperventilated: A failure to enforce the World Court’s ruling “could imperil American tourists or business travelers if they are ever arrested and need the help of a consular official.”24 If an American tourist or business traveler ever gang-rapes and murders two teenaged girls in a foreign country, I don’t care what they do to him.

When examining the history of any human network, it is therefore advisable to stop from time to time and look at things from the perspective of some real entity. How do you know if an entity is real? Very simple – just ask yourself, ‘Can it suffer?’ When people burn down the temple of Zeus, Zeus doesn’t suffer. When the euro loses its value, the euro doesn’t suffer. When a bank goes bankrupt, the bank doesn’t suffer. When a country suffers a defeat in war, the country doesn’t really suffer. It’s just a metaphor. In contrast, when a soldier is wounded in battle, he really does suffer. When a famished peasant has nothing to eat, she suffers. When a cow is separated from her newborn calf, she suffers. This is reality. Of course suffering might well be caused by our belief in fictions. For example, belief in national and religious myths might cause the outbreak of war, in which millions lose their homes, their limbs and even their lives. The cause of war is fictional, but the suffering is 100 per cent real. This is exactly why we should strive to distinguish fiction from reality. Fiction isn’t bad. It is vital. Without commonly accepted stories about things like money, states or corporations, no complex human society can function. We can’t play football unless everyone believes in the same made-up rules, and we can’t enjoy the benefits of markets and courts without similar make-believe stories. But the stories are just tools. They should not become our goals or our yardsticks. When we forget that they are mere fiction, we lose touch with reality. Then we begin entire wars ‘to make a lot of money for the corporation’ or ‘to protect the national interest’. Corporations, money and nations exist only in our imagination. We invented them to serve us; how come we find ourselves sacrificing our lives in their service?

On August 16, 2012, the South African police intervened in a labor conflict between workers at the Marikana platinum mine near Johannesburg and the mine’s owners: the stockholders of Lonmin, Inc., based in London. Police fired on the strikers with live ammunition. Thirty-four miners were killed.1 As often in such strikes, the conflict primarily concerned wages: the miners had asked for a doubling of their wage from 500 to 1,000 euros a month. After the tragic loss of life, the company finally proposed a monthly raise of 75 euros.2 This episode reminds us, if we needed reminding, that the question of what share of output should go to wages and what share to profits—in other words, how should the income from production be divided between labor and capital?—has always been at the heart of distributional conflict. In traditional societies, the basis of social inequality and most common cause of rebellion was the conflict of interest between landlord and peasant, between those who owned land and those who cultivated it with their labor, those who received land rents and those who paid them. The Industrial Revolution exacerbated the conflict between capital and labor, perhaps because production became more capital intensive than in the past (making use of machinery and exploiting natural resources more than ever before) and perhaps, too, because hopes for a more equitable distribution of income and a more democratic social order were dashed. I will come back to this point. The Marikana tragedy calls to mind earlier instances of violence. At Haymarket Square in Chicago on May 1, 1886, and then at Fourmies, in northern France, on May 1, 1891, police fired on workers striking for higher wages. Does this kind of violent clash between labor and capital belong to the past, or will it be an integral part of twenty-first-century history?

Which is actually good because we’re doing an AP Euro study group this week at the library—I mean good that it got canceled, not good that someone died—so I was wondering too if maybe I can use the car, so you won’t have to come pick me up super late every night?” Alma had been a wildly clingy kid, but now she is a mostly autonomous and wholly inscrutable seventeen-year-old; she is mean and gorgeous and breathtakingly good at math; she has inside jokes with her friends about inexplicable things like Gary Shandling and avocado toast, paints microscopic cherries on her fingernails and endeavors highly involved baking ventures, filling their fridge with oblong bagels and six-layer cakes. “I’m asking now because last time you told me I didn’t give you enough notice,” she says. She has recently begun speaking conversationally to Julia and Mark again after nearly two years of brooding silence, and now it’s near impossible to get her to stop. She regales them with breathless incomprehensible stories at the dinner table; she delivers lengthy recaps of midseason episodes of television shows they have never seen; she mounts elaborate and convincing defenses of things she wants them to give her, or give her permission to do. Conversing with her is a mechanical act requiring the constant ability to shift gears, to backpedal or follow inane segues or catapult from the real world to a fictional one without stopping to refuel. There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that she won’t be accepted next month to several of the seventeen exalted and appallingly expensive colleges to which she has applied, and because Julia would like the remainder of her tenure at home to elapse free of trauma, she responds to her daughter as she did when she was a napping baby, tiptoeing around her to avoid awakening unrest. The power dynamic in their household is not unlike that of a years-long hostage crisis.

Porteurs Notre monde repose sur les épaules de l'autre. Sur des enfants au travail, sur des plantations et des matières premières payées bon marché : des épaules d'inconnus portent notre poids, obèse de disproportion de richesses. Je l'ai vu. Dans les ascensions qui durent bien des jours vers les camps de base des hautes altitudes, des hommes et aussi des femmes et des enfants portent notre poids dans des hottes tressées. Tables, chaises, vaisselle, tentes, cuisinières, combustibles cordes, matériel d'escalade, nourriture pour plusieurs semaines, en somme un village pour vivre là où il n'y a rien. Ils portent notre poids pour le prix moyen de trois cents roupies népalaises par jour, moins de quatre euros. Les hottes pèsent quarante kilos, mais certains en portent de plus lourdes. Les étapes sont longues, elles fatiguent le voyageur avec son petit sac à dos et le minimum nécessaire. Des porteurs de tout notre confort marchent avec des tongs ou bien pieds nus sur des pentes qui manquent d'oxygène, la température baissant. La nuit, ils campent en plein air autour d'un feu, ils font cuire du riz et des légumes cueillis dans les parages, tant que quelque chose sort de terre. Au Népal, la végétation monte jusqu'à trois mille cinq cents mètres. Nous autres, nous dormons dans une tente avec un repas chaud cuisiné par eux. Ils portent notre poids et ne perdent pas un gramme. Il ne manque pas un mouchoir au bagage remis en fin d'étape. Ils ne sont pas plus faits pour l'altitude que nous, la nuit je les entends tousser. Ce sont souvent des paysans des basses vallées de rizières. Nous avançons péniblement en silence, eux ne renoncent pas à se parler, à raconter, tout en marchant. Nous habillés de couches de technologie légère, aérée, chaude, coupe-vent, et cetera, eux avec des vêtements usés, des pulls en laine archiélimés : ils portent notre poids et sourient cent plus que le plus extraverti de nos joyeux compères. Ils nous préparent des pâtes avec l'eau de la neige, ils nous ont même apporté des oeufs ici, à cinq mille mètres. Sans eux, nous ne serions ni agiles, ni athlétiques, ni riches. Ils disparaissent en fin de transport, ils se dispersent dans les vallées, juste à temps pour le travail du riz et de l'orge. (p. 11-12)