The Counterfeiting Machine

Imagine if I had a machine that could counterfeit money. I would be at quite an advantage in the marketplace. Imagine that I shared this funny money with my friends, which of course includes you, dear reader. We would go around spending our newly made cash on all of the finest things this world has to offer. Would it be fair to all of those people who don't have such a machine? Of course not. Not only are we getting rich without producing anything or rendering any services to anyone, we are actually stealing from everyone. As we buy more and more, prices are bid up and up. The law of supply & demand tells us that as money increases relative to the amount of goods and services there are to pay for, prices MUST go up. The money in everyone else's checking account can't buy as much today as it did yesterday because of our counterfeit spending spree. But who cares? They're all suckers.

Of course, if we did this we would likely be caught pretty quickly. People who spend wantonly and have no ostensible income tend to attract the attention of the Feds. We would have to be sneakier. I actually know about some people at a corporation who do it pretty well and no one seems to notice. They claim it's perfectly legal, but it doesn't sound legal. This corporation has a friend with a printing press who they have hired to help with investments. But they don't just ask the guy to print them up money. That would be flagrantly counterfeiting. No, they are much more clever than that.

The corporation issues bonds, which are bought up by certain investment firms, most notably Goldman Sachs. Goldman Sachs then turns around and puts the bonds back up for sale at a higher price in order to make a profit. But who in their right mind would pay the higher price instead of the original market price? A man with a counterfeiting machine, that's who. The counterfeiter prints up some cash and hands it over to the investment bankers. Then the man with the machine allows the bonds to mature. Once they have matured, he cashes them in and uses the money to cover his "expenses". And here's the best part. Any profit above expenses that the counterfeiter makes is returned to the original corporation which is his employer.

These people have all gotten insanely rich off of this scheme. They are some of the wealthiest people to have ever lived on this planet. I am not one to begrudge someone the accumulation of vast amounts of wealth. If you get rich by selling me something I want/need, good for you. If you never lifted a finger in your life and inherited an obscene fortune, I don't give a shit. It doesn't bother me. But I don't like being robbed. I don't like being made a sucker. Don't you think the government should do something about these swindlers? Don't you pay taxes in order to build prisons for people like these?

I'm sure, dear reader, you have realized by now that the mendacious corporation in the example *is* the government. The man with the money machine is the Federal Reserve, the central bank of the United States. Of course, the Fed doesn't actually need a printing machine. It just creates digital money out of thin air and transfers it to the likes of Goldman Sachs or the U.S. Treasury Department. And it's all legal because they write the laws. As these bastards spend their ill gotten fortunes, prices are bid up. Your money is worth less. We're all a bunch of suckers.

Freedom in Broad Ripple

We have to enjoy freedom everywhere we find it. In this world there are so many things of which it is impossible to be free. We cannot be free from scarcity. We all age and fall prey to various maladies. We all have both physical and intellectual limitations. Many of us (if not all of us) suffer from involuntary feelings for someone which are not reciprocated. We all must act in order to attempt to make each minute more satisfactory than the last. And then we all die. All of this would be depressing as shit if it wasn't for those wonderful pockets of freedom all around us.

I very recently moved to Broad Ripple and have spent most of my time here looking for these pockets (instead of looking for a job). Of course, not having a job means that I'm basically living in a giant bubble of freedom. From this vantage, it is the lack of freedom which appears in small pockets. But every once in awhile some small, seemingly inconsequential act will overwhelm my heart with an even greater love for life.

By late afternoon/early evening yesterday, I was feeling pretty damn good. I had been drinking Canadian whisky for a bit and now I knew that I must have pizza (By the way, desire for pizza (especially after drinking) is another thing we simply cannot be free from. It is an immutable law of the universe). I told my roommate that I had resolved to return to Bazbeaux, which is an excellent pizza joint named after a 15th century French jester. He recommended that I get the "Quattro Formaggio". It has romano, cheddar, ricotta, mozzarella (of course), provolone, bacon, and mushroom on it. I was sold.

I walked outside and was amazed at how cool the weather was. It felt so wonderful after the unbearably muggy/wet August we had just endured. "Maybe I should go to Flatwater instead and sit outside", I thought. But I dismissed this idea almost immediately. For one, when I'm alone, I don't want to sit at a table. I sit at the bar. This is how all solitary men should behave. And for two, the Quattro Formaggio was already calling to my soul. Destiny compelled me to "choose" Bazbeaux. So, I walked over to Westfield Boulevard and prepared to meet my fate.

I entered the pizza place and smoothly approached the counter. "For all they know, I'm completely sober", I thought. "Hi! Did you have a carryout?" the young woman behind the counter cheerfully asked. "Actually", I responded, "I need to order a pizza." "What kind would you like?" "A friend of mine recommended that I get the Quattro...something." Shit. Hopefully she'll assume I'm just an idiot and not drunk. "The Quattro Formaggio", she helpfully replied. "It's the first one on our menu. It's very popular." "That's what I want", I assured her. "Okay, would you like a beer while you wait?" Bless her soul! She began reciting the list of beers on tap and I chose a Heffenweizen.

She brought a glass out to me as I sat waiting on a bench. Between sips of that delicious beverage, I looked around and admired the ambience of the place. It has character. I felt the same way about the Broad Ripple Brew Pub which I had just visited for lunch. This is why I moved to the city. The very fact that there are so many more people here with more variations in tastes and preferences makes it a much more interesting place. There are more places to explore within walking distance of me now than there was in the entire small town that I grew up in. There is a lot of unique beauty to appreciate.

I wasn't even halfway through with my beer when the girl returned with my pizza. "Did you want to finish that before you go?", she asked. I lowered my voice and asked, "Can I get a to go cup?" She nodded as she checked over her shoulder to make sure no one was hearing our exchange. "Just come over to the bar." She took my glass and I followed her over to the bar. She poured the remaining beer into a styrofoam cup and then went to the tap and topped it off. Bless her soul indeed! This was an act of rebellion against the authorities who have determined that I should not be able to exit a pizza shop with an open beer in my hand.  It was beautiful.

I walked out of the restaurant and began my short trek back to my townhouse on College Avenue. The sun was shining and a cool breeze was blowing as I admiringly looked at the little canal that runs through my neighborhood. "This is freedom", I thought. There was a man and a woman up ahead of me on the sidewalk. The woman was pushing a stroller. The world is a beautiful place.