Tuesday, September 03, 2024

Buyer's Remorse (Part 2 Tempting the Town Crier)

A surge in the East... Part 2 of Buyer's Remorse

II. Tempting the Town Crier


This time around, the town crier beat the gong as he prepared to deliver the bad news
Quite simply the folks in Chwedru had reached the limits of zero tolerance
True, they had faithfully paid all premiums due for their soul insurance
But after two years of skimping on preparation, there was no valid excuse

The scribes were no fools, they realized they had to change course
For it would be no use at this stage to invoke the force majeure clause
It really didn't auger well that the gong was being beaten
That was surely an impending sign of a sticky situation

The common folk of the Wan tribe had long accepted the elders' authority
The unwritten contract was that human life, hard as it was, had sanctity
Most importantly, the hunger seasons of yore would never again be observed
If avoiding such troubles was no longer guaranteed, their power could not be preserved

Supply chains be damned, it wasn't even close to a dilemma
Their response was clear and swiftly conveyed to the town crier
They would immediately double down on the restrictions
And strongly recommend to all emotional vaccinations

Word was sent to the herbalists to produce new concoctions
All able bodied Wan should heed the call for battle stations
The standing army, long inactive, would be readied straightaway
And on the farms, reserve crops would be harvested without delay

The town crier, at length, conferred with the chief scribe and the linguists
These last had a weary air to them, you might call them pessimists
They had seen the rest of the world in upheaval, as if in a daze
And were proud they had so far managed to avoid even a second wave

Under the palaver tree, they debated the situation
Needless to say they had to take tough decisions
They tallied the upcoming festivals that would need to be postponed
Lest the entire tribe end up like those in the torrid zone

Once the course of action was decided there could be no second guessing
Their strategic resolve was unshakeable, there was no window dressing
The division of labor would fall into place, the rest was organization
Collective responsibility was the policy, they would brook no deviation

...

It was as he left the Wan settlements that the town crier was accosted
Ananse the Spider had decided that a direct approach was warranted
Without any preliminaries, he simply handed over a large monetary package
And asked straight up if that was sufficient compensation for the proposed damage

The town crier was rather impressed
   by the full frontal assault on his probity
He was sufficiently malleable by temperament
   (having what you might call moral flexibility)
He calmly assessed the assumed wages
   of this proposed integrity abasement
"Throw in a bottle of Schnapps and gourd of palm wine,
   that should be sufficient"
Good help came cheap these days, Ananse had to admit
There was almost no need to negotiate the misdeed
Just a few choice words as he explained the outline of his plan
And before long, he heard those three words: "I'm your man"

A goat doesn't pass a leopard's door, it wasn't mere survival bias
Such unerring instincts had long guided Ananse in his dealings
Limiting one's exposure, what some would term common sense
Surprisingly enough turned out to be uncommon in those lands

It's not so much that he was the greatest of grifters
The truth was that there would always be takers
Humanity was easily dazzled by rhetoric that sparkled
Hastening, as ever, to prove that gullibility was immortal


No problem



Temptation, a playlist


A soundtrack for this note. It's hard to resist the musical commentary. (spotify version)

Buyer's Remorse (Series Index)


A covidious folktale
  1. Buying Opportunity
  2. Tempting the Town Crier
  3. The Situation Thereof
  4. Fair Warning
  5. Caveat Emptor


This folktale is part of a series: In a covidious time.

Next in Part 3: The Situation Thereof

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Writing log. May 3, 2022

Tuesday, August 27, 2024

Buyer's Remorse (Part 1 Buying Opportunity)

He who tests the depth of a stream with both feet must be prepared to swim.

— Ewe proverb

I. Buying Opportunity


The Usher tribe were enamored of commerce, it was all about the money
They flexed their pro-market inclinations rather vigorously
Always to be found looking for the next selling opportunity
They put a price on every aspect of life, it all came naturally

Their singular commercial virtue was a seamless ease with amnesia
Cultural memory was lacking with this lot, in its place lived nostalgia
They'd end up selling end-user certificates to the highest bidder
Even to those whose atrocities they'd conveniently fail to remember

Their praetorian guard maintained that the Ushers only had interests
Friendship for them was transactional per their princes of darkness
Onerous rules and regulations could be ignored when necessary
For when push came to shove, with them it was always monetary

The lesson the rest of the world had learned through hard experience
Was to take their every grand pronouncement with a grain of salt
Lest one be caught wrong-footed and stuck, unrequited, waiting for assistance
Their sweet promises of support were consequently discounted as a result

Still, they believed their own rhetoric, that the customer was always right
High on their own supply when they were dominant, when might made right
For the longest time they were producers, and maintained this direction
But the world had changed following their consultants' mercenary suggestions

It's not that there was a level playing field these days
For the gods have always played favorites come what may
But the advantages they'd long had, their openness and dynamism
Had been trumped with the whole world now engulfed in paroxysm

They'd suffered the highest death toll in the global crisis
Despite being equipped with the greatest advantages
For want of a bolt, they'd forsaken their soul insurance
With a dizzying display of hubris and rank incompetence

Even so, they expected that they could rebrand post-haste and wow
After all, an elephant which is lean is still fatter than a cow
It was just a matter of marketing after the global pause
They'd jump right back to business and merely await the applause

The chief's scribe and the linguist made to ready their next campaign
With the Okyeame onboard the only issue was which slogan to reframe
The new formula, new and improved, there was really no need for subtle hints
The power of wishful thinking meant people would ignore weasel words in the fine print

...

Fifi had built a little emporium with the fruits of his previous compromises
Albeit, in less polite society, those payments might well have been called bribes
His was a going concern even under these trying circumstances
Of isolation protocols, hygiene theater, and social avoidance

He'd heard about the surge in the east and now expected another wave
But the elders had moved on, barely acknowledging the previous close shaves
He could see from the glint in their eyes that a deal was in the making
It was just a matter of patience, opportunity would surely come knocking

He wondered who would accompany that rascal Ananse the Spider
He had struck Fifi as someone who always needed an insider
The disguise of guilelessness that would send you on a fool's errand
His modus operandi in his nefarious dealings was rather transparent

He could envisage the broad outline of the strategy of the trickster
Most likely, a squeeze play pitting the elders against the claims adjuster
And while he waited for the renewed approach of the erstwhile tempter
He recalled those ancient words of wisdom: caveat emptor


don't mind your wife chop bar at the local market



Buying Opportunity, a playlist


A soundtrack for this note. There's a price to be paid. (spotify version)

Buyer's Remorse (Series Index)


A covidious folktale
  1. Buying Opportunity
  2. Tempting the Town Crier
  3. The Situation Thereof
  4. Fair Warning
  5. Caveat Emptor


See previously: Soul Insurance

This folktale is part of a series: In a covidious time.

Next in Part 2: Tempting the Town Crier

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Writing log. May 2, 2022

Tuesday, August 20, 2024

Identification Haircut

There's a dictionary of revolutionary justice to be written
And the Ghanaian contribution should be self evident
Whereas in those heady days, we became familiar with choice terms
"Economic saboteur", "hoarder" and so forth
Far from original, most of these last were imports

Radio bulletins with orders to report to Gondar Barracks
"With immediate effect"
Dismissals from one's decades-long job
Overheard as you worked on the weekend

And then there were those eruptions
Showing just what was thought of our respect culture
Chants of viciousness:
"Let the blood flow", "We no go let them pass"
To strip a market woman naked and make her walk the streets

Shame

Still, our depraved champion was "identification haircut"
The practice might have cruel antecedents but they gave it our local spin
With blunt knives or bayonets, soldiers would shave their victims
The shaved head, scarred and bloodied
The mark of the conqueror

Shame, but linguistic gold
The Ghanaian interpretation of the Scarlet Letter


market women and other economic saboteurs - June 4th revolt


Shame, a Playlist


I can only recycle a previous soundtrack for this note. It imprints something in the mind. (spotify version)


ordinary citizens punished for economic crimes branded as economic saboteurs



See previously

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Writing log. May 1, 2022

Tuesday, August 13, 2024

Damage is Done

Mobs are unkind, bent as they are on destruction
Cruelty dispensed in the rush to street justice
Blood in the sinews fully primed for action
Apt to casually cut short the lives they surround
Swiftly maiming in sinister displays
On the flimsiest of evidence, wrath lays to waste
The chants that lead to screams
Proud weapons of the unquiet
Pain for certain. And the damage is done

Soul tectonics
Comes the taint of shame in the aftermath
The aftershocks on the psyche
Their effect lingers even on the most righteous
Despite themselves, perpetrators join victims
And off the curdled ground painted with their handiwork
They pick up scar tissue and red ligaments
To be imprinted on later remembrances
Thus bound together in disharmony, they stagger forth
Heavy with the burden of the extra weight
And the gods, for they are watching, exact a further price
The wounds of the beholder will not heal so easily
Regret perhaps. But the damage is done


salvador ruins


Damage is Done, a playlist


A soundtrack for this note (spotify version) See previously The Wages of Thermidor and June 4th

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Writing log. May 1, 2022

Saturday, August 10, 2024

The New Standards, a Playlist

I give you The New Standards, a playlist. Some music that moves the soul. (spotify version)

bible study group dance 9


Undeniable standards


The New Standards (fond edition)


The New Standards (sweet and sour edition)


candy slide


Standard Time


sheila e and prince


These are some of my new standards. What are yours?

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Writing log: May 26, 2020

Tuesday, August 06, 2024

Connective Tissue

Connective tissue
  Group membranes
The small things
  The ties that bind

A touch of whimsy
  The adoption of norms
Evolving mores
  The invention of tradition

Signaling membership
  Roll calls
Finding those who curate status symbols

Initiation rituals
  Necessary friction
The marketplace of human connection

Glue layer people are wont to start the celebration
Cultivating, as they do, the sense of belonging

In the social interplay of striving simians
One comes to find liminal sinews
And the dark matter of communities


agona swedru youth brass band



After a glimpse of a tag used by Ben Hyde, a frisson de folksonomie


Connective Tissue, a playlist


A soundtrack for this note (spotify version) File under: , , , , , , , ,

Writing log. April 14, 2022

Tuesday, July 30, 2024

A Delicate Matter

Handle with care, a heart's fragility should not be tested
Consider letting hopes dissolve rather than shatter
Softly, softly, as you deflect ambitions
Gently disappoint as you deny dreams
Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear

Feign concern even when dispensing home truths
For even the most worldly can be reduced by sentiment
Tenderness when ascending the heights of tough love
Have mercy. Even seasoned performers must remove their masks
Caution, my friend, take heed, for this is a delicate matter


baby quilt blanket project


Delicate Matter, a playlist


Some delicacies for your aural pleasure, a soundtrack for this note. (spotify version) File under: , , , , , , , , , ,

Writing log. April 27, 2022

Saturday, July 27, 2024

Poised

Between a dream and a nightmare lies a twilight zone of opportunity
This is the terrain of the great game, the proving grounds of destiny

Where some hope for change, for better days ahead
Others are more cynical about the prospects

Dreams never truly fade, their traces live in liminal stories
Revived even as, heads down, we dodge stones of adversity

Clear-eyed about the pace of change, forever waiting for the shoe to drop
Demons may have more fun but angels are more likely to inherit the earth


K Baka waterfall boat 2004

Poised, a playlist


A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)


After reading Helon Habila's Waiting for an Angel and Ahmadou Kourouma's En Attendant Le Vote Des Betes Sauvages

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Writing log: February 20, 2022

Tuesday, July 23, 2024

The Last Holdouts

The last holdouts, it's come to this
The Walker brothers would be leaving this place
Yes, they'd delayed the purchase for months and strung things out
But now time was up, they had to move out of the house

At least the two of them had made a stand
Scrap dealers, their hustle was hard
The mountain of bikes scavenged for parts
Machinery under the tarp

Old man Jackson would be the very last holdout
His house on the other side of the tracks
Specialist in all styles, you had to respect him
The end of an era, and now it's come to this

...

Down by the train tracks, the very last patch
On the east side, past the highway
Bad soil, badlands
Bordered by the railway and the creek
Cul-de-sac
Halfway houses
Depression era bungalows
Functional and plain homes for our kind of folk
Featuring Terry's stealth restaurant in one of the backyards
One of his jook joint ideas that didn't go nowhere
Left with barbecues, conversation and soul food
Frankie Beverly and Maze blaring,
Cheap malt, it was all good
And now the blues grinder is over, it's come to this

...

Bars, heavy iron burglar bars over the windows
During the crack years it wasn't far from a combat zone
Drugs, man, I tell you, a hell of a thing
Charnel houses, dens of iniquity, they saw it all
And if it wasn't dope, well all vices could be bought
Mind you, there were fifteen churches within the six blocks
Sin and redemption were the nosy neighbors
It was hard to tell which you would end up crashing with
The churches too are moving out, it's come to this

...

Now that the trail has been done up, it's come to this
The developers have their eye on things
It's the American way, we understand cold cash
Someone expert with the building code, real estate
A couple of miles from downtown, it's a no-brainer
Multiple units or townhouses with the right contractor
An offer you can't refuse, a fateful decision
Suburbia here we come, some call it gentrification


graveyard of champions, urban decay


The Last Holdouts, a playlist


A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)
See previously: The Old Man who Lives in the Park

This note is part of a series: In a covidious time

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Writing log: April 11, 2022

Thursday, July 18, 2024

First Responder

First on the scene, smell of sulfur
Spent cartridges, overturned tables
Kicked a hand grenade, it was live
Luck. Tonight was not my time
Out of the darkness, a mess
The bodies, the bodies. Look

No time to check for vital signs
Training kicked in, adrenaline
Secure the premises
Clear. Damage assessment
The bodies, the bodies. Count

Then blood, first aid. Hurry
Flesh distorted, unnatural positions
Wrenching. Anatomy lessons
The sounds, such sounds
Gasps. Screams. Sobs
The bodies, the bodies. Damn

The brutality of field triage
Tourniquets fashioned
Technique. Muscle memory
Blood, so much blood, a new smell
Broken glass, splinters
Eyes darting. Holding hands
Stay with me. Help is coming
The bodies, the bodies. Hold on

Out on the street, male cadaver
Too late, he lay in the gutter
Looked around, table cloth
Makeshift shroud, best you could do
Back inside. The golden hour. Help
First time for everything, terrorism
You'll never forget the bodies
First responder. Life and death
The bodies, the bodies. Baptism


digable planets


Soundtrack for this note



roots and culture hasa 1993-1994



See previously: Heidelberg Tavern Massacre

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Writing log. April 8, 2022

Saturday, July 13, 2024

Head Nods - Toli Turns Twenty

So apparently I've been writing at this joint for 20 years
To all who've been reading, a head nod in your direction
An interruption perhaps to your regular programming here
A head nod, twenty years is worth a little commemorating...

I've found that, when it comes to the heart of the matter,
The typical toli intervention still adheres to the old formula
The ingredients are well known: some prose, a poem, and a playlist
I vary things as enthusiasms ebb and flow, even on technical topics

But it seems that poetry has taken over these past few years:
Even book reviews are escaping in virtual ink dressed in verse
The slightest thing sends me into significations and wonders
But the muse wills what she wants, who am I to question her?

The poetry started to flow, as it were, for want of a bolt
First a golden encounter (a hungry man offered me some gold)
Then a broken lawnmower turned out to be the proximate cause
Now, having settled into a groove, I've been steadily adding to the vault
Hell, I've got things scheduled out for the next six years and more

I tend to cover mostly familiar topics:
Small things, whimsy and dark matters
Albeit the arrival of parenthood affected the quantity of toli chatter
Some were concerned at the prolonged absences; I told them

"Sleep deprivation will only get you so far"
And trusted that the fallow years of writing would soon come to pass

I'm firing on all cylinders these days,
  Covering humanity's curriculum
Writing from the torrid zone,
 A far region of the mind under the sun

Meanwhile, I dream in hypertext.
 My books of toli all start with a link
So, again, a head nod in your direction, Dear Reader,
  Do let me know what you think


Koranteng globe portrait


Head Nods, a playlist


A soundtrack for this note (spotify version) And I leave you with the Kings of Swing again from the golden age of hip hop: Nod your head to this

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Writing log: July 13, 2024

Tuesday, July 09, 2024

Final Journey

Blinking lights, funeral procession
The police escort slowly led the way
The motorbike rider up front occasionally blowing the horn
The long parade of cars followed from Mission funeral home

Frustrated. A couple of stragglers, delayed by a red light
Stopped and faced the onlooker at the crosswalk
Eyes red after the earlier mourning
Newfangled mask pulled under the chin

In that minute, a wordless exchange
A head nod, then a gesture to the heart
A smile, and a head nod in return
Solidarity
The light changed, they revved to catch up
Onward to the last rites at the cemetery


demolition in East Austin



See previously: The Laws of Grief


This note is part of a series: In a covidious time.


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Writing log. April 24, 2022

Tuesday, July 02, 2024

Goddamn Lies

They cut deeper, they do
 They hurt more than the unvarnished ones
Sure, you can make your peace with the white lies,
  The garden variety deceptions
And deal with the untruths
 And the artful omissions
The distinctions without a difference,
  The what-have-yous
But it's hard to cope with the goddamn lies

You are well familiar with the symphony of deceit
Intimate even, with the ways of evasion

The instinctive lies
 The barefaced ones
The reflexive ones
 The rank denials
The wholly unnecessary ones
 The exaggerations
The diversionary ones
 The outright fabrications
But it's hard to abide with the goddamn lies

And what, you may ask, elevates a lie into that august territory
Moving forward, worthy of that emphatic qualifier?

The texture of a goddamn lie is of the nature of a wound
A goddamn lie aims for, and achieves, infamy
Its essential quality goes far beyond shame
A goddamn lie rises above the highest peaks of untruths
It is of a piece with the surreal, devastating and brazen,
A goddamn lie summons irony, borne as it is out of its bed of hypocrisy
Most of all, a goddamn lie celebrates the lie qua lie
A goddamn lie dances on the grave of its achievement

II.

Politicians, as a matter of course, are avid connoisseurs of the lie
Indeed we expect a close acquaintance of it of most of their breed
Some breathe it with a naturalness that is often unnerving
Grifters too are students and daily practitioners of its corruption
And deploy it in a manner that is all too self-serving
But it is the rarest beast that achieves the goddamn lie

All cultures have their own folklore,
  Often at the expense of others
Founding myths, origin stories,
  Their striking legends soaked in blood

Erecting statues of the colossus,
  Destinies manifest and men's burdens
On terrain where equality, dreams and fond promises
  Meet ceilinged glass
The rhetoric of the powerful
  And the strategy of the shrewd
The hand of god,
  Witness the triumph of the trickster
Freedoms and liberties,
  The laws of grifters

From faulty biology, allusions to race, and sundry nationalisms
History books point to those who heed the conqueror's catechism
But when everything they claim to uphold is written in sand
It's hard to keep things straight when all is goddam lies


chief zaachi physical and spiritual center


Deceit, a playlist


A soundtrack for this evasion. (spotify version)

See previously: Symphony of Deceit

This folktale is part of a series: In a covidious time

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Writing log. April 22, 2022

Saturday, June 29, 2024

Baby Me by Chaka Khan - One Track Mind

More musings on music have been requested (apparently weekly playlists and poems are not enough) so I'm inaugurating an occasional series I'm calling One Track Mind. I'll pick a song, nothing too obvious, and see where the discussion leads.

Baby me by Chaka Khan is my first pick.

Chaka Khan CK 1988


Chaka Khan announces herself. May God preserve her. Her musical chops are undeniable, she's every singer's favorite singer (Ask Joni). She was recently (finally! belatedly!) inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. She doesn't need more flowers and yet I come to sing her praises.

Beyond that voice, that immaculate voice, that awesome weapon, there's that unerring sense of funk. You've seen those videos of her drumming, right?

Chaka Khan also has impeccable taste. The story goes that she told Stevie Wonder that she wasn't feeling the song he'd written for her and that he should go back and try better. (This was 1974-vintage Stevie, the greatest songwriter in his prime period)

Of course he then wrote Tell me Something Good

The point being that Chaka Khan has exceedingly high standards.

By this stage in her career - 1988, she had nothing to prove to anyone. Every project she took on was an all-star affair, akin to a Minnie Riperton album - an event, and everyone scrambles to get in on it. The voice and talent are so compelling that you want to throw your hand in.

The sessions for the C.K. album were no different. The A-side is an embarrasment of riches.

First, a cover of Stevie Wonder's Signed Sealed Delivered featuring the man himself on harmonica reprising his guest appearance on I Feel For You

Soul Talkin' is next, written by the peerless Brenda Russell who also supplies background vocals. Bobby McFerrin joins in the fun, channeling the sound of a saxophone with his own vocals.

It's my Party brings the joyous sounds of Womack & Womack to the table. This was the first single of the album.

And then Prince supplies Sticky Wicked (featuring Miles Davis, Eric Leeds and Atlanta Bliss) a nouveau funk affair, and then offers Eternity one of his effortless ballads (Chaka and David Frank produce the latter)

On the B-side, she continues her jazz explorations paying homage to Billie Holiday with The End of a Love Affair and I'll Be Around again bringing in inspired collaborators: George Benson, Marcus Miller, Dave Grusin, Steve Ferrone and Miles Davis again.

Chris Jasper of the Isley Brothers also crafts a tune, Make it Last. Frankly we are spoilt for choice.

And yet Baby Me, the third single, is what we should focus on. Let's have a listen (also on spotify)



A few preliminaries to save you to trip to Wikipedia or Discogs. The legendary Russ Titelman is the producer, Rob Mounsey arranges and plays keyboards. Holly Knight, Billy Steinberg are the songwriters. Chaka Khan, of course, does all the vocal arrangements

Russ Titelman was trying to capture the magic he'd witnessed when he had her and Rufus in the studio during the sessions for the Stompin' at the Savoy album in 1983, especially the performance on Ain't Nobody. You can read some of his memories of the time

Baby me is a deceptively simple love song. The lyrics are of longing, tenderness and vulnerability. After all, who doesn't want to be babied and treated with care? "The world is crazy and sometimes cruel / So baby me and I'll baby you"

(Incidentally, I fully believe in the power of misheard lyrics so I'm serving notice that I'll ignore any stickler who might bring up that "sometimes cruel" is probably not how the line goes. That's what I heard and I'm sticking to it)

It's a keyboard driven song, much like Ain't Nobody, the hit that capped her reunion with Rufus in 1983, and which serves as a kind of blueprint.

It's a fairly restrained affair to start with, bouncing between the keyboards and her voice, and punctuated by Paul Pesco's guitar fills. The lyric in the refrain goes "When you touch me, I come undone", and then carries on asking "Do you do this to every one?"

Then the excitement builds. "Take me in your arms / Rock me tonight"

Observe the way she sells the "Rock me tonight" line.

Then the chorus changes as if to emphasize the mounting infatuation:

"When you touch me I come undone / You better not do that to everyone".

Is this the pleasure principle speaking or resignation at being lost in love?

Then to the bridge, the bridge that un-mans me. For she goes in flight with a little scatting - her voice is an instrument, and then the saxophone comes in. The scatting is cathartic, duelling almost with the saxophone. You realize just how striking her voice is.

"Touch me" she sings. And then she makes you wait - a model of restraint, it's fully 3 minutes 10 seconds in before when she finally winds up and starts wailing. It's a release of the built-up tension. And you, the listener, want to join in.

The genius of this part is that she doesn't keep going, she stays in the pocket. Sure she lets loose, there's a release, but then she retreats. This part confounds me because once you start, you always want to keep it up.

I know that once I've started on my own wailing on Baby Me (in the shower or, as my household have caught me on many occasions), I can't help but adding my adlibs. I just want to sing at the top of my voice. And keep singing.

Patti Labelle or Aretha Franklin would have decimated the end of the song. I fully envision histrionics if Patti were let loose on this song, and perhaps if Chaka ever performed this live, she would go wild. But it works here; she's almost inviting the listener to fill things in.

Chaka Khan, known for her vocal pyrotechnics, is well aware that she could belt this out; but she chooses to be restrained in the arrangement, restrained even when she lets loose. She stays in the cut, in the pocket, in service of the song. And that is her knowing artistry at work.

There are a few remixes that highlight the craft and thought that went into finalizing the song. Rob Mounsey's arrangements were on the mark.

The Big Baby Extended mix emphasizes the keyboards showing how tight the mix is in the released version and the importance of the guitar licks and Warren Hill's saxophone

Compare also to Come 2 my House a decade later, the title track of her album length collaboration with Prince.

The 3cks and a baby remix highlights the scatting and adds a few more improvisations and wailing at the end, hinting at the kind of arrangements that could have been used in the final mix

Soul Talkin' follows a similar formula with Bobby McFerrin supplying the vocal solo in lieu of the saxophone. (My long overdue Brenda Russell appreciation piece will be forthcoming).

Here's some more Chaka Khan drumming (you're welcome). Again, she stays in the pocket instead of being flashy

The Babysitting mix of Baby me is a more stripped down affair, a little too sparse to my ears

I'll also throw in Eternity which bears the fingerprints of Prince.

Spotify doesn't have the remixes but the essential is there

I suppose this is fodder for my contention that 1988 was one of the greatest years in recorded music. But I'll flesh out that provocation another time...

What can I say, the song moves me, the arrangements, the voice - everything about it. I'll leave you with 4:06 minutes of soul perfection:
Baby me by Chaka Khan
Let me know what you think.

See also: Janet Jackson and the importance of bubblegum and Tony Toni Tone - Weary Sons of Soul which I retrospectively nominate for this series

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Writing log: May 3, 2024

Tuesday, June 25, 2024

The Magdalene Propositions

'Twas a pope in the western tradition who raised the difficulty
In a homily that sought to explicate the muddled references in the liturgy
The Eastern Orthodox tradition would disdain this unholy trinity
The conflation of Mary Magdalene, the unnamed sinner, and Mary of Bethany

From these roots, legends have sprung
And conspiracy theories been long mooted
Angels summoned and demons expelled,
Codes of dishonor, sacraments disputed

A fallen woman anointing with the purest spikenard -
   Such an indignity
From martyrs and persecution to miracles and wonder,
  The essence of Christianity

Yet this would be the faithful follower on hand at the crucifixion
Indeed, even more crucially, the first witness of the resurrection
Spinning origin stories of the seven deadly sins
The basis of those so-called Magdalene propositions

Elliptical and sensitive, this woman, we owe her a debt
She moved the spirit and troubled the soul as she wept
Leaving her trace on parables that we keep debating
He is risen. A message with the plainest of meanings


Khayelitsha african gospel church


The Magdalene Propositions, a playlist


A soundtrack for this article of faith. (spotify version)
...

My original conception was in the vein of a tall tale with conflicting artwork that went from a vision of fallen angels to an admixture of commerce and faith. The muse decided otherwise and what issued forth was the above, but perhaps those stories will come in their own time. The title is so evocative that it continues to fire my synapses.

minnie and mary


See previously Articles of Faith

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Writing log. April 22, 2022

Tuesday, June 18, 2024

Striving Simians

There is an art to being a great leader
We rightfully celebrate those few examples that we have
Many books and tomes have been written

There is also an art to being a bad leader
These last proliferated throughout history
Indeed, bad seeds are plainly in the majority

Still, despite the appeal of cautionary tales,
Far fewer tales are told about bad leaders
Heroes over zeroes, humanity prefers redemption stories

Ever the optimists, we celebrate triumphs rather than failure
Perverse incentives carried over from our antecedents in the savanna
The pathology of groups outlined in crass social behavior
Paradoxically, we reward bad leaders in equal measure as good leaders

Some contend it's even worse in the modern corporation
Namely, that we reward bad managers out of routine dysfunction
Call it the Peter Principle or what have you, they tend to fail upwards
Borne on the deep seated human need to be appreciated

Monkey dey work, baboon dey chop
The fear of being shunned
To be laughed at for being mistaken or ridiculous
The importance of grooming, the appeal of approval ratings
Fragility, we accommodate rogues for fear of shame
Ignorance is bliss, we blindly obey the rules
And stay quiet, lest our competence be impugned

The banality and burden of following the orders
The ever looming specter of the conqueror
Striving simians we are, not far removed from the savanna



chimp


Monkey dey work, a playlist


A soundtrack for this note, from afrobeat to blues by way of jazz funk. spotify version)
See previously: Restructuring Activities

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Writing log. April 22, 2022

Saturday, June 15, 2024

Mortgage Refinancing in a Covidious Time

A brief note on mortgages in a covidious time...

Back in June 2020, we refinanced our mortgage to take advantage of lower interest rates - never let a crisis go to waste and all that. For what it's worth, we went from a 4.5% 30 year mortgage to a 2.5% 15 year loan, saving something like $200,000 in interest payments.

This being America, perhaps with the savings we've made, one of our children will be able to afford a year of university when the time comes - or hopefully a semester, one can always dream (stay on topic, man, tackle spiraling higher education costs another time).

This was at the height of the pandemic and although lockdowns were lifting, vaccines were not in sight, the whole world was in upheaval. Luckily, The Wife and I still had jobs and were working from home - albeit I had taken a 20 percent salary deferral as The Company sought to preserve cash and cancelled all chip orders and such, snarling up the supply chain in the process (but I digress yet again - car company executives are not often lionized for their financial savvy, call it herd mentality in a time when we were all seeking herd immunity).

Anyway... we saw interest rates at historic lows and tried to act.

Sidenote: I had never seen a faster reaction than that of my previous mortgage broker at my "Looking to refinance" email. Left to him, we'd have sealed the deal that very day. He was hungry for my business; the global pause had brought about a great financial shock, it really seemed to be a buyer's market.

There were a few glitches, however, and where there are glitches, there is toli...

A Live Human


The first issue we encounted was when the mortgage company wanted to verify employment.

I asked my manager and he pointed me to GM's official process for employment and wage verification. As a large company, it employed a vendor to automate this process. I went along and set things up at the vendor, The Work Number, and provided it to the mortgage company.

I got the following response from the broker. Apparently, enough of the 40+ million newly-unemployed Americans had applied for mortgages just after being laid off, that all mortgage underwriting companies were tightening requirements. They were now requiring to speak to a live human to verify things.

"Unfortunately, we can't use automated verifications. The system is not current... meaning up to day to day. So the HR person will just need to verify that you are an active employee 2 days before closing. Again, it's a Covid guideline so we have to make sure you haven't been laid off."
In other words, mortgage fraud was rampant. Mortgage servicers weren't trusting any of the automated systems that were in place. A live human was needed for verification.

This was also one of my first encounter with that felicitous phrase, covid guideline. A phrase that quickly become a catch-all and authoritative, even when said guideline was sometimes questionable. Middle management and frontline staff alike could just allude to a covid guideline and all manner of nuisant rules would manifest themselves.

(Covid Guideline also sounds like the name of an indie band.)

I didn't want to put my supervisor or assigned HR partner on the spot by giving out their contact details to verify employment. That would be wrong and I didn't want to go against The Company's process.

But I was in a bind if all mortgage companies were now wanting to contact a live body in light of the pandemic. I wondered if I should try to find a different mortgage company, if one existed, that would proceed with the automated process. From what I understood however, all other underwriters were in the same boat. I briefly considered feigning cold feet with my broker just to see him sweat a little (so keen was he for my business).

The news reports indicated that this was a widespread issue

WSJ Says Banks Can’t Determine Who Is Credit-Worthy: More COVID-19 Fallout
‘Flying Blind Into a Credit Storm’: Widespread Deferrals Mean Banks Can’t Tell Who’s Creditworthy

Millions of Americans are out of work and behind on their debts. But, in many cases, the missed payments aren’t reflected in their credit scores, nor are they uniformly recorded on borrowers’ credit reports.

The confusion stems from a provision in the government’s coronavirus stimulus package. The law says lenders that allow borrowers to defer their debt payments can’t report these payments as late to credit-reporting companies.

Lenders that are having a tough time spotting risky loan applicants are approving fewer borrowers for credit cards, auto loans and other consumer debt. They are also hunting for new data sets that could indicate who is in financial trouble and how much they need to set aside to cover soured loans. The Federal Reserve last week said the biggest U.S. banks could be saddled with as much as $700 billion in loan losses in a prolonged downturn.

“Without accurate information, their only option is to pull back on credit,” said Michael Abbott, head of banking for North America at consulting firm Accenture PLC. “Banks don’t know who is going to pay and who isn’t. It’s like flying blind into a credit storm.”

Banks started tightening their underwriting standards in March, when the first wave of coronavirus layoffs began.
A year later in 2021, this low trust environment still persisted
Lenders are calling employers to confirm that the homebuyer will have permission to work remotely when the pandemic ends. Rates are lower for loans on primary residences, and the lender also wants to make sure the borrower actually plans to work after getting the loan.
Luckily for me, after some back and forth between the broker and my employer's human resource department, things worked themselves out. I was able to be verified. Our HR department found itself staffing up virtual call centers to do the work that they had previously paid good money for an automated solution from an external vendor. Live humans were indeed needed.

Attestation


Our closing ceremony was quite eventful as I've previously recounted. Interestingly, a curious document manifested itself during that process - a "Covid-19 attestation" that the notary insisted that we sign. The financial situation of millions was in upheaval; the breakdown in trust across society was complete, and mortgage companies sought to protect themselves by adding whatever they could to the closing process even if of dubious legal standing.
Covid-19 attestation


I affirmed that the income documentation (my last paystubs) I had provided was unaffected by "the COVID-19 resulting economic impact, and I am not aware of any future changes in my employment status and/or income that will affect my ability to repay my loan".

As I signed, I questioned how the mortgage company ever hoped to enforce that attestation and what value it would have if indeed my income did change dramatically. Perhaps someone can enlighten me. What actual use is that Covid-19 attestation in legal terms? Force majeure is what it is, attestation notwithstanding.

From what I understood, the majority of fraud in the US during the covid years concerned repayment of covid relief PPP loans. I was a little surprised that even garden variety real estate mortgages were similarly precarious.

I believe things are stabilized four years on, and that there has been a return to the normalcy. The credit environment and the mechanics of the mortgage process have adjusted. Higher interest rates will cool excess exuberance, I suppose. Colleagues that refinanced last year inform me that our company's automated employment verification solution was accepted. The Covid-19 attestation endures however...


...

The New Process


Speak to a live human
And sign the attestation
So go the covid guidelines


Attestation, a playlist


A soundtrack for this note (spotify version) ...

(I'm revisiting some of the notes I jotted down in the first years of this ongoing pandemic, do let me know if you find them useful)

This note is part of a series: In a covidious time.


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Writing log: June 21, 2020. January 13, 2024