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The tao that can be described is not the eternal
Tao.
The name that can be spoken is not the eternal Name.
The stance of monetary policy remains accommodative.
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Freed from desire, you can see the hidden mystery.
By having desire, you can only see what is visibly real.
Your desire, coupled with robust underlying growth in productivity,
provides ongoing support to economic activity.
When people see things as beautiful, ugliness is
created.
When people see things as good, evil is created.
And so it is: energy prices have risen,
but the expansion remains firm.
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Being and non-being produce each other.
Difficult and easy complement each other.
But the upside and downside risks to the attainment
of both sustainable growth and price stability
should be kept roughly equal.
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The Tao is like an empty container:
it can never be emptied and can never be filled.
Pressures on inflation have stayed elevated,
but longer-term inflation expectations remain well contained.
The space between Heaven and Earth is like a bellows;
it is empty, yet has not lost its power.
The more it is used, the more it produces.
As underlying inflation is expected to be contained,
policy accommodation can be removed
at a pace that is likely to be measured.
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The Master leads by
emptying people's minds,
filling their bellies,
weakening their ambitions,
and responding to changes in economic prospects as needed
to fulfill his obligation to maintain price stability.
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It is better not to speak of things you do not
understand.
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In a related action, the Board of Governors
unanimously approved a 25-basis-point increase
in the discount rate to 4-1/4 percent.
It is like a vapor, barely seen but always present.
Use it effortlessly.
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In taking this action, the Board approved the requests
submitted by the Boards of Directors of the Federal Reserve Banks of Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Cleveland, Richmond, Atlanta, Chicago, St. Louis,
Minneapolis, Kansas City, Dallas, and San Francisco.
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When you have accomplished your goal,
simply walk away.
This is the path way to Heaven. |
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To The Barricades!
Thursday, July 14, 2005
A grand parade down the Champs Elysées, flags flying on the Arc de
Triomphe, fireworks over the Eiffel Tower. These things can only
mean one thing: It's my mother's birthday.
© LookingForSam / Family Photos
I would never want to reveal that fine woman's age, so I can't tell you
exactly when it all began. But suffice it to say that while this may seem to
be just an ordinary run-of-the-mill Bastille day, it's not. It's a very
special milestone for a very special lady.
© LookingForSam / Chris Gerron
Mom typically shies away from the limelight. She's generally
uncomfortable being the center of attention, but since I can't be there in
person to wish her a happy birthday – she's in
Ohio and I'm in Arizona – I wanted to take this occasion
to do so publicly. And maybe a few of you could join in a round of Happy
Birthday – or La Marseillaise, whichever you prefer.
© LookingForSam / Chris Gerron
So let the fireworks begin! Happy Birthday, Mom! Here's to many, many more. And don't spend your
brand-spanking new MediCare card all in one place! |
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Seven Seven
Thursday,
July 7, 2005
Ten before nine in the morning. Liverpool Street Station,
seven dead. Edgware Road Station, five dead. King's Cross/Russell Square,
twenty-one dead. A bus at Woburn Place/Tavistock Square, unknown numbers
dead.
I'm watching live coverage straight from London via BBC America. "Shocked
but not surprised" is repeated over and over.
People all over the world cry out, "Peace! Peace!" But there is no peace.
My condolences to everyone who have been touched by this tragedy. |
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June 2005
► August 2005 |
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Garbo Speaks!
Wednesday, July 6, 2005
Once they were completely silent, with only a few terse
phrases showing up on the screen from time to time to clue everybody in on
what was going on. But then came sound – spoken words, sound effects, music,
jokes. The sound made the storytelling easier, but I think we will always
look back on the silent era as being the golden age of blogging.
Podcasts are showing up everywhere. And now that
we can hear these bloggers in their own voices, I find that almost nobody
sounds like they do when they’re writing. In fact, nearly everyone sounds
better when they’re writing
than they do when they’re speaking. Not everybody will be able to make the transition from silents to talkies, and some of today’s greats may quickly fade from view.
There are an awful lot of Norma Desmonds in the making out there.
And I've heard myself on a tape recorder – I know I'm one of them. When I speak I don’t sound like my blog at all. Twenty
years growing up in Appalachian Ohio followed by another fifteen in Texas
leaves me sounding like a cross between Gene Autry and Jedd Clampett.
Now, I
like my accent. I play with it, revel in it, let it dance around on my lips,
even going so far as letting out a Hooo-wee!
whenever the mood strikes and I want to mock something that is meant
to be impressive. It's very effective, and satisfying to boot. I’m sure my
exclamations went over well in London.
But then I’d start speaking in my normal voice, and Londoners would continue
to shake their heads at this poor hick who happened to wander in off the
street at Harrod’s.
Which illustrates the problem. When I talk, people who don’t know me
often don’t take me very seriously right away. I don’t mind, really. I figure it’s their loss, and when they finally get around to
figuring out that I’m capable of rubbing two thoughts together, they tend to
be a little more impressed. Which, I know, is rather condescending of them,
but I find it all rather amusing. Like our esteemed President, I too have
benefited from a low bar from time to time.
But I don’t think starting a Podcast is a wise direction for me to take.
First of all, the creaky dial-up connection out here in the boonies makes Podcasting impractical (listening to them
is too much of a chore, what with a fifteen minute audio file taking more than an
hour to download). But besides that, writing is my only hope for appearing
to possess a modicum of intelligence. I can craft my sentences, edit and
rearrange whole paragraphs, and I can do it all right here in my plush
leather wingback chair in the library while sipping occasionally from one of
my many 100-year-old single malt scotches as I pause for just the right
word. You know, that special phrase to lend a certain je ne sais quoi to my
ouvre. My my, but do I feel
sophisticated sometimes.
That’s pronounced “So-fisticated!” Hooo-wee!
No siree! Ain’t no way I’m gonna blow my image on no Podcast. |
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