Showing posts with label money. Show all posts
Showing posts with label money. Show all posts

Thursday, August 25, 2016

Hole in my pocket

One thing that kinda drives me nuts about my Fellow Americans is the ridiculous luuuurve they have for the U.S. Army (and the other uniformed services) that lives only inside their heads.

This isn't the actual Army, the one with the dudes and gals and hosers, the studs and the spuds, the hard workers and goldbricks, the one that can cut you like a knife and then fall over its own feet like a sack of sawdust. You know...the one that is a bunch of Americans wearing the same colored clothes with all the same virtues and all the same vices you see and hear about on the evening news.

This is some sort of shiny, perfect Army populated by heroes and supermen, driving dinosaur-powered tanks that shoot laser beams from their eyes and have the sorts of powers found typically in comic books. This Army is composed of A-students who were the #1 in their Bible Study class and can deadlift 300 pounds while putting all thirty rounds into a two-inch square 300 meters away on full automatic.

I've never once seen this Army, and I kinda wish I could just to see what it'd be like.

I suspect I'd feel completely inadequate.

Anyway, the real Army managed to lose 6.5 trillion back in FY15.

Not steal. Not spend. Not waste. Just...lose. As in "...the fuck? It was...I know I had it. Where...let me look under the desk. Goddamn it..."

The Inspector General's report lays it out pretty clearly; the Army just flat-out has no idea where this jack is, or what it did with it. It wasn't criminal, it probably got put to some sort of use, possibly good use...but nobody knows. The accounting at DFAS and the associated Army financial agencies was bad enough that if a private company had done it that badly it'd have gotten its nuts thoroughly rapped by the IRS.

The IG concludes that due to a waterfall of errors and fuckups:
"As a result, the data used to prepare the FY2015 AGF third quarter and yearend financial statements were unreliable and lacked an adequate audit trail. Furthermore, DoD and Army managers could not rely on the data in their accounting systems when making management and resource decisions. Until the Army and DFAS Indianapolis correct these control deficiencies, there is considerable risk that AGF financial statements will be materially misstated and the Army will not achieve audit readiness by the congressionally mandated deadline of September 30, 2017."
The really frustrating part of all this is that you'd think, with 6.5 trillion just kind of lost somewhere the Army could have slipped a hardworking old platoon sergeant a couple of casual hundred thou. on the downlow. Y'know? Kind of a "thank you for your service" kinda thing?

But, noooooo.

Wednesday, July 06, 2011

Wars and Lechery II: Electric Boogaloo

Okay. Let me admit this right off; there is nothing in this post about "Electric Boogaloo". I've just always wanted to use that as a title for something since 1984.

No, this turns on some idle ruminations on humans, sex, and soldiers; three subjects that some will say are never far off my mind.

It started as I was reading a historical fantasy set in what was a parallel of classical late Republican Rome. The author made some cosmetic changes; gave the characters Germanic-sounding names, gave the legionaries short spears instead of short swords.

But it was Rome. Recognizably so.

It's a fairly decent read, as historical fiction goes. But I found myself reading through one passage during which one of the main characters interacts with a supporting character who is intended to be the fictional world's counterpart of a Roman centurion.

He's even referred to as "First Spear", the usual mistranslation of the Latin term "primus pilus" or "First Rank/Front Rank", the place that the senior centurion and his unit were found when the legion was drawn up in ranks.

And the way the character is handled makes it pretty clear that he's being treated as some sort of First Sergeant or Sergeant Major of this infantry unit.

Which a centurion - and especially the most senior centurion in a legion - most certainly was not.

But it got me thinking.

We know a great deal about the Roman legions. We know their names, where many of them were posted and when, where they fought, and whether they won or lost. We even know the names of individual officers and troopers in certain legions, thanks to Roman burial habits.We even know a lot about their everyday life; what they did, what they ate, where they slept, what they were paid, what their barracks, homes, and camps were like. Archeological studies can even tell us something of what they looked like; how tall they were, how big, whether they were robust or sickly, how they died, and when.

But the one thing we don't know is the part in the story; how they acted among themselves.

Was a Roman officer as a rule an unapproachable sort? Certainly he had the offhand authority to beat or kill his soldiers; that has a certain chilling effect on familiarity. But a modern U.S. Army officer typically gets a bit of offhand joshing if he is well-liked by his troops, and a sergeant even moreso. Certainly between officers and sergeants of long association there is often a warm respect and even friendship.But was a Roman century commander - a centurion equivalent to a U.S. Army company commander - more like a sort of combined officer/sergeant - both issuing orders and inspecting individual kit? How would have his soldiers reacted, spoken to, such a man? Was there ever any sort of friendship? Would a typical Roman ranker - say a senior guy like me, the equivalent or a sergeant - have been able to kid around or make conversation with my centurion? What would we have talked about? Could I have addressed him with some sort of familiar title; "First Shirt", "The Old Man". "Skipper"? Would he have enjoyed it, or would it have been appalling to both of us?

We don't know, and probably never will, if for no other reason than the way we think and interact today is so different from the way they did.

Yes, people are people, and certainly there must be some similarities between a typical 1st Century Roman and a typical 21st Century American. We eat, we, sleep, we work. We enjoy some things, dislike others, desire comforts, shun discomfort.

But the difference in our worlds wuns so deep, it's hard to be sure just how a Roman would have felt and thought about the same things.Take sex.

Okay, lets. No, seriously. Perhaps nothing illustrates the vast difference between then and now than sex.

Physically...well, there's only so many ways you can fit Tab A into Slot B. It's the emotional part that makes all the difference, and here the huge barrier standing between us is slavery.In the modern U.S. if you want sex - and you're a man - you have to either find a woman who likes you, or a woman who needs money enough to pretend she likes you. Unlike an earlier time you don't have to get married - although we often do, since we associate sex very closely with emotional love.

But a Roman had slaves. Perhaps the worst part of chattel slavery is the lack of freedom to control one's own body, and I've read that nearly every Roman man old enough to have sex and wealthy enough to own a slave - and Roman society was soaked in slavery; millions of slaves were the foundation of late Republican and Imperial wealth - had more-or-less forcible sex with those slaves.

With this sort of sexual training, you have to wonder; what was a Roman bride's wedding night like? Presumably a virgin, given most societies' ferocity where the chastity of their marriageable women were concerned, the poor girl would have found herself in bed with a lad whose actual experience to date had very likely been with a living woman who could no more resist or instruct him than a rubber sex doll could a 2011 groom in Philomath. What would that have done to the place of sex in a Roman relationship? How did a typical Roman of my age and social class look at sex, at the sexual bond he shared - or lacked - with his wife?

Here are artifacts of some of those slave rapes.These are spintriae, coins struck purely for the purpose of buying sex from prostitutes, most of whom were slaves. The theory is that both the buyer and the purchase were often illiterate, and the women (or men) in the brothels were also often war captives who spoke little if any Latin. The little coins showed the unfortunate slave what was expected of her and told him how much it cost.To a modern American who has generally avoided rent-a-dates because of a combination of disease concerns, general skeeviness, and a vestigal sense of romantic emotion, I try and imagine how the availability of a living human fuck-doll would have affected my attitude towards love, sex, and the relationship between them.

We're left trying to reconstruct that attitude from the poets and writers, from the paintings, from the artifacts.I'll be the first to say - I have no idea and I don't really want to know. Because the only way you could would be to restore chattel slavery and return some woman to the level of a very peculiar object, one with with thoughts and emotions. The very notion is so bizarrely complex I cannot imagine it.

The simple everyday conversation between a Roman soldier and his officer.The secrets between a Roman man and a slave woman.Both utterly lost to us, and with them, our complete understanding of those vanished people.

Friday, January 07, 2011

Let's Roll!

I want to solicit you.

Whaaaaaat?!?

Get your mind out of the gutter, man!

I'm not that kind of girl. Besides, I'm not sure if I could provide adequate value for the money.

No, I'm talking about our terrific Portland Rose City Rollers and their Quest For a New Floor!The gals have been skating their butts off for six years now, and for all that they still provide the best show on wheels in Portland, their old track floor is just about whipped. They sure could use some help with a new one.

So follow the link and whip out a double sawbuck and get a bad girl off the street and onto the flat track, where she can kick some ass like a crazy monkey.Because a bad girl is a terrible thing to waste.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Money! It's a crime...

I love the ideas here:

Starting with the whack abstract sawbuck...I love the idea of replacing that homicidal sonofabitch Andy Jackson with Duke Ellington, gentleman and creator, on the $20. Emily Dickenson on the ten-spot? Yowza. And Sam Clemens on the fifty? Mark twain, brother.

And the very notion of a Lady Day Dollar?

Testify, home slice! Amen, spanky!

Hey, I love the Founders; Lincoln and Grant were stand-up guys and all besides having some damn fine facial hair. But politics and politicians aren't all we are. We're also musicians and artists and writers and sculptors, scientists and poets, actors and ballplayers. Why shouldn't they be on our money, too?

Ok, the Jack Torrence/Nicholson #100? Not so much.

But with the dollar in danger of losing its position as the world's reserve currency, what the hell...why not? Let's ditch the greenbacks we've been carrying since the last Great Depression and go space age/new wave/coolfunkyhipcrazy. Let's put Cadillac Ranch and Enrico Fermi and the Space Needle on there. What the fuck.

It's not like the politicans we have now - the ones not on the money - are going to spend it any less foolishly.

Friday, November 09, 2007

Flying Money

While trying to come up with a think piece that doesn't come down to, in essence, a recapitulation of the "Sweet Baby Jesus, what a rotten, slimy, repugnant, Constitution-shredding, spastic, grab-ass-tic piece of monkey shit Dick Cheney and his fellow Republicans are" theme, I ran across this fun little comment about teeny tiny denomination paper money in the China P.R. in James Fallow's blog.
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In case you haven't followed his adventures in China it's worth a look in from time to time. He clearly has an "outside-in" look at the country and the culture and doesn't speak the language. Of course, that's not a problem here, where our cultured and clever Kelli brings her literate brand of travel writing to delight us with accounts of her travels and her take on the wait for adorable little Chinese orphans to adopt...

The Chinese have a great tradition of paper banknotes - the top illustration is "flying money" and a mint plate from the 13th Century A.D. But I have to say that the current PRC cash set-up carries this tradition perhaps further than it needs to go.
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In our toing-and-froing across Shamian Dao I managed to pick up a pocketful of these damn things. They're the half (5 Jiao), one-fifth (2 Jiao) and one-tenth yuan (or "renminbi", to give the currency its official name. In essence, they're a paper fifty-cent piece, a sorta-quarter and a dime.
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I note with interest that at one point back in the Fifties the PRC actially issued notes for the sub-silver coin level of currency, the "fen". The fen is the hundredth part of a yuan - in essence, a penny. I can't imagine what the fuck you'd do with a paper penny, but the word "tinder" comes to mind.
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One thing I found interesting in Fallow's observation was his comment that the entrepreneurs of cool and swingin' Shanghai consider these paper "coins" uncool and strictly for the rubes, but that he is running into them more often in Beijing.
We certainly encountered them in Guangzhou, all except for the 20-fen note, which is supposedly rare perhaps for the same reason that you seldom encounter a $2 bill in this country (which is, that most business can be conducted in tenths or halves - fifths is just, frankly, clunky).
I am not at all good with money. I will freely tell you this; my lovely bride will shout it to the housetops - I am just plain rotten with money. I'm one of those "How can I be broke I still have checks left?" sorts of people. Our household works in the early samurai tradition: the husband simply hands his money to the wife, who then hands him a stipend. But in my wildest, most profligate moment, I have never thrown away folding money. Never.
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Until now. We returned from China with wads of this fishwrap and I just stuffed them into a pocket until they became too irritating and then gave them to the Peeper to play with. When last seen they were being used as little construction site warning flags. I was reminded of the stories of the tiny paper saddleblankets that Sioux and Cheyenne children made from greenbacks taken from Custer's men.
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Sometimes cultural differences make it impossible for an idea - at the Little Bighorn the idea was "paper money" - to cross the societal divide.
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And sometimes - as in Guangzhou whilst adopting adorable little Chinese orphans - the damn stuff just is too much work to spend.