My day in the “national conversation”–aka the twitters

I’ve received some nice notes from people about the guns-and-NRA column I wrote for the Washington Post. Several people have sought out this blog and left comments. Thanks for that, but I must say that I also feel a bit like someone caught unprepared for houseguests.  This is my first post since April, and I am now badly behind in my quest to blog my way through 50 books this year.

I have two excuses: First, I’ve been working on the futsal league I help run through Durham Atlético. I’ve also been working on related soccer matters with the city and the Durham Soccer Council, an ad hoc citizens group of which I am the president.

My second excuse is that I was making my way very slowly through the second book of Karl Ove Knausgaard’s “My Struggle.” I finished this Proustian tome, finally, a couple days ago. Right now I’m making up the “lost time” by tearing through a Jim Thompson novel, “The Killer Inside Me,” that I hadn’t read since my early 20s.

Anyway, my blog has a fresh post now. Thanks for the notes, and here’s the link to the WaPo column. It was the most-read story on the site for a while, until it got bumped by Donald Trump. Seriously. Some good news about him, too.

Book: Michael Lewis’ The Big Short

My excursion into the literature of finance continues with Michael Lewis’ The Big Short: Inside the Doomsday Machine.

It’s an intriguing premise: He tells the story of the subprime mortgage crisis that culminated in 2008 with the collapse of Bear Stearns and Lehman Brothers by focusing on a small group of money managers who made a killing shorting the market.

These clear-eyed gamblers at the table understood the worthlessness of the collateralized debt obligations (CDOs) that had been gaining popularity since the 1980s (ironically, Lewis’ old employer Salomon Brothers was one of the pioneers in this product), and they opportunistically bet against them by purchasing credit default swaps (CDSs).

Lewis does his best to excite our interest in the financial dealings, but even he can’t hide his bored contempt as he relates such occasions as the conference call in which one card sharp barks at a bunch of suckered Morgan Stanley suits that they owe him $1.2 billion. Or his pure boredom as he reminds us, again and again, what a CDO is, and that it’s helpful to think of them as apartment towers with the worst bonds on the bottom floor, and thus the first exposed to the flooding of defaults.

It’s hard not to cast a hypercritical  eye at the storytelling tactics of Lewis, who by now is a very successful journalist with a special corner on popular financial journalism (Liar’s Poker, Flash Boys) and sports journalism for thinking fans (Moneyball, The Blind Side).

Here, the seams of his narrative are a bit too evident. He cherry-picks three sets of protagonists, chosen presumably because they will fit the underdog prototype that Hollywood prefers. One guy is a brilliant cynic with a loud mouth and ruinously bad social skills; he’s backed up by a pair of conventional, unpretentious sidekicks. There’s another guy who is built up (beaten down) by a lengthy description of his glass eye and poor social skills. (Unsurprisingly, it turns out that he has Asperger’s.)

Most tellingly, there’s a group of young money managers, situated as innocents in a nest of vipers who just happened to stumble into money management after goofing off for a few years after college. Perhaps that’s so, but I don’t believe Lewis mentioned that one of them, James Mai, is the son of Vincent Mai, who runs one of the country’s oldest private equity firms. Not exactly off the bus from Palookaville.

This is how Lewis introduces his Jimmy Stewart-like naif:

James Mai was tall and strikingly handsome and so, almost by definition, had the air of a man in charge–until he opened his mouth and betrayed his lack of confidence in everything from tomorrow’s sunrise to the future of the human race. Jamie had a habit of stopping himself midsentence and stammering–“uh, uh, uh”–as if he was somehow unsettled by his own thought.


Jamie’s first job out of Duke University had been delivering sailboats to rich people up and down the East Coast. (“That’s when it became clear to me that–uh, uh, uh–I was going to have to adopt some profession.”) At the age of twenty-eight, he’d taken an eighteen-month “sabbatical,” traveling around the world with his girlfriend.

I checked the index for any mention of Vincent Mai. Unfortunately, there’s no index, so you’ll have to trust me on this.

Movie not coming soon.

Books this year: 9

Now reading what may be the best thing about my experience reading The Big Short: a title called You Can Be a Stock Market Genius, by Joel Greenblatt. An unbelievably cheesy title, but a couple of different characters in The Big Short swear by it. As the Asperger’s guy says, “I hated the title but like the book.”

I don’t quite hate The Big Short, but I like the title

On the news talking about soccer fields

I should have posted this last week. Thus far I haven’t been blogging much about the local soccer activities that are consuming much of my time. Here’s a step in that direction, and thanks to Arielle Clay of WRAL for her interest in the Durham Soccer Council and the city’s proposal to expand Twin Lakes Park.