Thursday, September 27, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Jim - your thoughts? Leroy jenkins or brave? I fail to see how he was trying to save anybody there. And wtf kinda uniform is that?
Sean - haha, you got trolled. Id have to read your post. Come at me bro!
So basically gawker copie vrom reddit. What site doesnt? I guess its true. Reddit really is the front page to the internet.
Re: [Madness Writers] 9/26/2012 02:02:00 AM
i've seen negative rated comments, very rare though.
one comment i made a while ago waas like -63. that was one obvious time people were trolling me, when all those fags thought I was trollin them and wasn't.
i said something in the hockey section about that newbie skating into me when the puck was to his left my right, expecting him to go that way and he tries to cut to his right for no fuckin reason, directly into me. I most likely put out my arm to defend my body, reflex, and he slid across the rink near the boards... and i get suspended
what people commented on ws the next part .. something like I only cared cuz i was good and to be taken out by a newbie sucked, and im not bragging. there were even girls in the bleachers saying "he's soooo fast" and "his girlfriend must be lucky".
whats ironic is heather told me that shit, how the fuck could I hear that?
people sayin Im a poor author and terrible at fantasy and stuff. like I give a shit. i couldnt even write that in a trolling fashion.
who the fuck is trolling now bitch?
On Wed, Sep 2012 at 5:02 AM, Madness <nayrrizdaed@gmail.com> wrote:
reddit has the best comments system on the web. no trollin', no hatin'. Must be some type of vote system for each comment that allows the positive ones to automatically remain visible, 'cause I see no trollin', no hatin', no negative comments. a lot of funny ones thrown in for good measure. Go to magazine sites and youtube, it's almost all negative.
good stuff on there, too, for laughs
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Posted By Madness to Madness Writers at 9/26/2012 02:02:00 AM
reddit has the best comments system on the web. no trollin', no hatin'. Must be some type of vote system for each comment that allows the positive ones to automatically remain visible, 'cause I see no trollin', no hatin', no negative comments. a lot of funny ones thrown in for good measure. Go to magazine sites and youtube, it's almost all negative.
good stuff on there, too, for laughs
good stuff on there, too, for laughs
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Monday, September 24, 2012
http://www.mma-core.com/gifs/submissions/Jon_Jones_Americana_Vitor_Belfort_UFC_152/10002464?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed:+MMA-Corecom-Latest-Gifs-0+(MMA-Core.com+Latest+Gifs)&utm_content=Google+Reader
dang, look at that. I'm sure he's feelin' that 3 days later.
http://www.ohio.edu/compass/stories/12-13/9/Parents-week-2012photos.cfm#
take a quick 10 second look at that site. Tell me: who would hire that photographer and journalist? Seriously. They make the campus look like shit. "Ooh, Fourth St. is always busy during parents weekend." Wow, that's all you can come up with during the busiest weekend of the year? No pictures are exciting, the descriptions are worse than a 7th grader's writing. My guess is that some student was forced into doing it, because no way that any passionate person would ever think of turning that in as a serious work of reporting. We all know that's not true though - somebody did go out and "passionately" report what they found which wasn't much. THey couldn't find one group of people that genuinely looked like they were enjoying themselves? Must be a pathetic campus/city.
I already read a lot of articles at work and none were impressive. I remember reading the quote below at a different point. He's not wrong.
Where did the line "Here we are now, entertain us" come from?
That came from something I used to say every time I used to walk into a party to break the ice. A lot of times, when you're standing around with people in a room, it's really boring and uncomfortable. So it was "Well, here we are, entertain us. You invited us here."
Yeah, I remember going to a few parties in Chicago, nothing impressive. Stand around, drink beer, wow, that's awesome. Better than bein' on twitter and facebook (seriously, who uses those?) and cell phones.
So I've been doing leg presses instead of squats (for some reason my back has been hurting more than usual, and the explosive movement needed to get out of the low squat position doesn't make my back feel any better).. 540 lbs, making sure I exhale during the push, breathe in during the relaxation of my legs. Allowing my knees and hips to bend to give my legs more of a workout, it's hard to do it once let alone 15 times over 4 sets. Today, 3 sets was my max 'cause I was extremely tired. I'll probably start doing 5 sets from now on, maybe increase it to 630 lbs and do sets of 10. We'll see.
NHL, ha, like i said earlier, I wouldnt' doubt it if that game doesn't last much longer. Some people get their AI to play extremely aggressive at all times which makes a breakout impossible if the puck goes behind the net or in the corner with a forechecker right there. My guys never do that.
Where did the line "Here we are now, entertain us" come from?
That came from something I used to say every time I used to walk into a party to break the ice. A lot of times, when you're standing around with people in a room, it's really boring and uncomfortable. So it was "Well, here we are, entertain us. You invited us here."
Yeah, I remember going to a few parties in Chicago, nothing impressive. Stand around, drink beer, wow, that's awesome. Better than bein' on twitter and facebook (seriously, who uses those?) and cell phones.
So I've been doing leg presses instead of squats (for some reason my back has been hurting more than usual, and the explosive movement needed to get out of the low squat position doesn't make my back feel any better).. 540 lbs, making sure I exhale during the push, breathe in during the relaxation of my legs. Allowing my knees and hips to bend to give my legs more of a workout, it's hard to do it once let alone 15 times over 4 sets. Today, 3 sets was my max 'cause I was extremely tired. I'll probably start doing 5 sets from now on, maybe increase it to 630 lbs and do sets of 10. We'll see.
NHL, ha, like i said earlier, I wouldnt' doubt it if that game doesn't last much longer. Some people get their AI to play extremely aggressive at all times which makes a breakout impossible if the puck goes behind the net or in the corner with a forechecker right there. My guys never do that.
1) NHL, lost 3 games in a row, sometimes the Dmen give up breakaways for no reason, can't do anything about it. there's a glitch goal or something where you go left and right a few times then go forehand to the goal line and shoot short side (i think on the ground), went in 2 out of 2 times for the one guy.
It's a good game, definitely the best in the series, feels the most like hockey, but it's still plagued by exploitation and always will be at the high levels. Such a shame, 'cause I honestly have no interest in playing it. I remember last year we were done by October 10th or so. WEll, I went to visit Jimmy at Round Hill park on October 8th I believe, maybe the 9th, and we were probably done by then. I don't see this game lasting. Doesn't matter, I dont need it. People ruin the game, the game itself is fine. No idea how ot score or put the forecheck/neutral zone to get it how i want the guys to play. a lot of times they don't go for the puck even on high O/D settings, and they take forever to turn so they don't get the puck anyway. oh well.
2) I'm not riding much longer on the bike. I'm gonna see how it goes tonight since I work tonight and tomorrow night. My plan is to ride tonight, tomorrow night, and Friday night to work, then possible Saturday to Hunker for the murder mystery dinner, then pack it up, put it away.
It's 62 degrees out right now, no way. feels like 55 at best. Sunny, too. Gonna wear the under armor you gav eme, then tomorrow morning I have my winter gloves, a 2nd under armor, a 2nd tshirt, and my neck gator. we'll see how those feel to determine if I go tomorrow night and Friday night. I definitely want to to save money on parking and gas. I know I can do it - it might be 42 degrees in the morning but it's only 40 minutes to get home or so. I'll be ok, I hope. Last time i rode in the morning it was 47 or 48 and it was pretty cold with only one under armour and normal gloves, no neck protection.
Hey hey, if it's not that cold, I'll ride until mid-October. We'll see. Like I said, my plan is to end it on Saturday. If I go beyond that, that's just a bonus.
3) Took my laptop to the computer place to get it looked at . They said it could be a memory issue . I ran at least 2 diagnostic memory tests which said it was fine so who knows. Costs $35, if it doesn't work I guess I'll hav eto buy a new one, maybe take yours or osmething. I really just need one for homework. This 2004 laptop from college isn't bad for anything that doesn't use flash/shockwave / video. Still sucks though. 512mb doesn't get you anywhree these days.
Re: [Madness Writers] 9/24/2012 10:03:00 AM
my jacket is size 40/32. slightly too big but with a jacket overtop to block the wind it'll work even better.
On Mon, Sep 24, 2012 at 1:03 PM, Madness <nayrrizdaed@gmail.com> wrote:
i don't know if you want to ride in the winter. I tried out the jacket and gloves today. couldnt feel any adverse weather, comfy on the highway, even my neck was warm.
here's heated liners for $90. probably wear some liners underneath them as well, cuz it'll probably burn your hand if you dont use the $90 temperature controller, goes to like 135 F, too hot..dont buy that waste of money.
or get these if they go for less than $100, great deal:http://www.ebay.com/itm/Gerbings-G3-heated-gloves-with-hookup-and-instructions-very-good-condition-/330795331441?pt=Apparel_Merchandise&hash=item4d04f02f71&vxp=mtr
these gloves come with the hookup for your battery, took me the duration of taking off my seat (key unlock), unscrewing the battery connections, putting the jacket plug on the battery, screwing it all back togetrher, locking the seat. 3 minutes maybe to install.
bidding on these gloves for ya, totally worth it if it goes cheap.
jacket for $130. http://www.derbycycles.com/cgi-bin/eShop/index.cgi?cart_id=9382168.35988&pid=3486&product=Gerbing&count=1&gclid=CLfq39XWzrICFQs5nAodgXoApg
cant find a better deal.
--
Posted By Madness to Madness Writers at 9/24/2012 10:03:00 AM
i don't know if you want to ride in the winter. I tried out the jacket and gloves today. couldnt feel any adverse weather, comfy on the highway, even my neck was warm.
here's heated liners for $90. probably wear some liners underneath them as well, cuz it'll probably burn your hand if you dont use the $90 temperature controller, goes to like 135 F, too hot..dont buy that waste of money.
or get these if they go for less than $100, great deal:http://www.ebay.com/itm/Gerbings-G3-heated-gloves-with-hookup-and-instructions-very-good-condition-/330795331441?pt=Apparel_Merchandise&hash=item4d04f02f71&vxp=mtr
these gloves come with the hookup for your battery, took me the duration of taking off my seat (key unlock), unscrewing the battery connections, putting the jacket plug on the battery, screwing it all back togetrher, locking the seat. 3 minutes maybe to install.
bidding on these gloves for ya, totally worth it if it goes cheap.
jacket for $130. http://www.derbycycles.com/cgi-bin/eShop/index.cgi?cart_id=9382168.35988&pid=3486&product=Gerbing&count=1&gclid=CLfq39XWzrICFQs5nAodgXoApg
cant find a better deal.
here's heated liners for $90. probably wear some liners underneath them as well, cuz it'll probably burn your hand if you dont use the $90 temperature controller, goes to like 135 F, too hot..dont buy that waste of money.
or get these if they go for less than $100, great deal:http://www.ebay.com/itm/Gerbings-G3-heated-gloves-with-hookup-and-instructions-very-good-condition-/330795331441?pt=Apparel_Merchandise&hash=item4d04f02f71&vxp=mtr
these gloves come with the hookup for your battery, took me the duration of taking off my seat (key unlock), unscrewing the battery connections, putting the jacket plug on the battery, screwing it all back togetrher, locking the seat. 3 minutes maybe to install.
bidding on these gloves for ya, totally worth it if it goes cheap.
jacket for $130. http://www.derbycycles.com/cgi-bin/eShop/index.cgi?cart_id=9382168.35988&pid=3486&product=Gerbing&count=1&gclid=CLfq39XWzrICFQs5nAodgXoApg
cant find a better deal.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Friday, September 21, 2012
Vs is bullshit. Gotta exploit the game. 2inning 3 0 as legends vs Canada. Guy come back and scores with 10 and 6 min left to 3 2. I play keep away, state around and go into the o zone. Fuck if Im shooting. Pass down the rink to kill with 40 sec to go . Goalie gets it in the corner, who knows why. I dump the puck, he gently gives it to the other team for a side open net. Bulk fucken shit. I was holding rb I get three far side shots from the high slot. Nothing. He gets ONE for the ot winner.
Game is complete arbitrary Bs.
Re: [Madness Writers] 9/20/2012 10:01:00 PM
the ionly day i didnt ride last year was a 27 degree day, had a buddy pick me up.
other than that, i believe I even rode in 30 degree weather, but it usually wasnt below 35. my snowboard gloves only helped to high 30's, probably 40, then it was a sufferfest. with my heated gloves and jacket, I aint scared at all.
i dont even remember my legs getting cold.
on the drive today it was 65 apparently, felt like 60 or so. i got int he tuck for a few seconds to see if the chill went away...not really. still was chilly. but in 35 degree weatehr i know it makes a huge difference. i also weather a lot of stuff to block the wind.
other than that, i believe I even rode in 30 degree weather, but it usually wasnt below 35. my snowboard gloves only helped to high 30's, probably 40, then it was a sufferfest. with my heated gloves and jacket, I aint scared at all.
i dont even remember my legs getting cold.
on the drive today it was 65 apparently, felt like 60 or so. i got int he tuck for a few seconds to see if the chill went away...not really. still was chilly. but in 35 degree weatehr i know it makes a huge difference. i also weather a lot of stuff to block the wind.
On Fri, Sep 21, 2012 at 1:01 AM, Madness <nayrrizdaed@gmail.com> wrote:
Average low temperature gets to 42 degrees around October 19/20. That could give me another month to ride to work, but that would involve some serious layering. It probably wouldn't even be worth it 'cause I'd have to wear at least two pairs of pants, 3 shirts, two pair of gloves, two pair of socks. I'm probably done riding after next Saturday, at least to work. Maybe I'll ride it to the gym for another few weeks. I asked a few guys that park here at work when they stop using their motorcycles, two of them said "when it gets to 32 degrees," interestingly. I don't know, man, especially on crotch rockets. now if I had a Harley with a full-bodied windshield, sign me up. Those guys don't. no idea what they wear.
cookie monster wtih martha stewart is hilarious. i know you've seen it before.
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Posted By Madness to Madness Writers at 9/20/2012 10:01:00 PM
Thursday, September 20, 2012
you can buy heated handle bar grips, heated jacket, gloves, probably even pants. not worth it for another two months of riding. it doesn't hit average low of 32 until middle of november. that means it still gets to 32 before then. I'll probably have to start sleeping in the car again soon. i dont know though, after not doing it for a while, I have no interest.. saves me a lot of money and time.
Average low temperature gets to 42 degrees around October 19/20. That could give me another month to ride to work, but that would involve some serious layering. It probably wouldn't even be worth it 'cause I'd have to wear at least two pairs of pants, 3 shirts, two pair of gloves, two pair of socks. I'm probably done riding after next Saturday, at least to work. Maybe I'll ride it to the gym for another few weeks. I asked a few guys that park here at work when they stop using their motorcycles, two of them said "when it gets to 32 degrees," interestingly. I don't know, man, especially on crotch rockets. now if I had a Harley with a full-bodied windshield, sign me up. Those guys don't. no idea what they wear.
cookie monster wtih martha stewart is hilarious. i know you've seen it before.
cookie monster wtih martha stewart is hilarious. i know you've seen it before.
http://www.slate.com/blogs/quora/2012/09/19/what_is_it_like_to_date_or_marry_a_fashion_model_.html haha, read some of the replies to the comments. some of these people have some snappy wits. good stuff, especially at 5 am when extremely tired.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Re: [Madness Writers] 9/19/2012 04:03:00 PM
Yeah good article.read it the other day
On Sep 19, 2012 7:03 PM, "Madness" <nayrrizdaed@gmail.com> wrote:
nhl isn't bad on OTP, at least it feels sorta like hockey.
62 degrees out or so, frickin' cold man. not gonna be a fun ride tomorrow at 47 or so degrees. i'll see how it feels iwth my Under Armour.. if it's not bad I'll keep riding for a while. I need to figure out some kind of pants option 'cause jeans don't cut it.
http://www.vanityfair.com/politics/2012/10/michael-lewis-profile-barack-obama?src=longreads decent article, i'm only a thirdo f the way through
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Posted By Madness to Madness Writers at 9/19/2012 04:03:00 PM
ah, forgot to hti send on this on Monday night.
http://laughfactory.com/blog/billdawes/2012/09/17/la-model-behavior/ this guy forces his jokes in this article.. usually they're entertaining.
the one article on Teller was pretty good. I guessed how he did the Shadows trick with fishing line, but then he changed it twice.. no idea how he does it now. and rolling the ball across the floor with a string that looks like it's fake.. he must have spent a ton of time on that. can't find any videos though, probably 'cause he doesn't allow anyone to record it.
http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/atlarge/2012/09/24/120924crat_atlarge_gladwell?currentPage=all A few things in there I didn't know about Paterno and Sandusky. Not a bad read. (I guess you copied and pasted it already about the "I didn't know what to do" from Paterno. yeah, that definitely summed it up. What he didn't wasn't wrong, he followed protocols, but he didn't call the police. then again, there was no clear evidence from the third=party [that red headed young guy] so it would be kinda ambiguous for what to do. i don't blame him for not calling hte police.. something about horsing around was mentioned, how is that sounding bad?)
http://thebillfold.com/2012/09/crushing-debt-drove-me-to-kosovo-and-then-to-iraq/ interesting read, probably could skim it
http://laughfactory.com/blog/billdawes/2012/09/17/la-model-behavior/ this guy forces his jokes in this article.. usually they're entertaining.
the one article on Teller was pretty good. I guessed how he did the Shadows trick with fishing line, but then he changed it twice.. no idea how he does it now. and rolling the ball across the floor with a string that looks like it's fake.. he must have spent a ton of time on that. can't find any videos though, probably 'cause he doesn't allow anyone to record it.
http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/atlarge/2012/09/24/120924crat_atlarge_gladwell?currentPage=all A few things in there I didn't know about Paterno and Sandusky. Not a bad read. (I guess you copied and pasted it already about the "I didn't know what to do" from Paterno. yeah, that definitely summed it up. What he didn't wasn't wrong, he followed protocols, but he didn't call the police. then again, there was no clear evidence from the third=party [that red headed young guy] so it would be kinda ambiguous for what to do. i don't blame him for not calling hte police.. something about horsing around was mentioned, how is that sounding bad?)
http://thebillfold.com/2012/09/crushing-debt-drove-me-to-kosovo-and-then-to-iraq/ interesting read, probably could skim it
nhl isn't bad on OTP, at least it feels sorta like hockey.
62 degrees out or so, frickin' cold man. not gonna be a fun ride tomorrow at 47 or so degrees. i'll see how it feels iwth my Under Armour.. if it's not bad I'll keep riding for a while. I need to figure out some kind of pants option 'cause jeans don't cut it.
http://www.vanityfair.com/politics/2012/10/michael-lewis-profile-barack-obama?src=longreads decent article, i'm only a thirdo f the way through
62 degrees out or so, frickin' cold man. not gonna be a fun ride tomorrow at 47 or so degrees. i'll see how it feels iwth my Under Armour.. if it's not bad I'll keep riding for a while. I need to figure out some kind of pants option 'cause jeans don't cut it.
http://www.vanityfair.com/politics/2012/10/michael-lewis-profile-barack-obama?src=longreads decent article, i'm only a thirdo f the way through
Imagine: Malkin and Crosby in Russia
Pretty good article . Pensnlog rss changed too, had to readd it yesterday.
http://www.thepensblog.com/2012-archives/september/imagine-malkin-and-crosby-in-russia.html
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
one more vs. if its shit Im probably gonna sell my xbox and this game.
pinned in the zone? check
cant poke the puck in the d zone? check
cant knock a player off hte puck? check
figure skating from the opponent? check
cant do anything aginst the opponent? check
then the real humdinger: your own G wont fucking react to anything and gives a wide open net? check
still had more shots.
JESUS FUCKIN CHRIST. POKE CHECK WITH CROSBY AND NOTHING? ON THE PUCK nand nothing? fuck this game
all you need to know
Paterno did not like Sandusky. They argued openly. Paterno found Sandusky's goofiness exasperating, and the trail of kids following him around irritated Paterno no end. He considered firing Sandusky many times....
Posnanski, in one of his final interviews with Paterno, asked him if he had considered calling the police. "To be honest with you, I didn't," Paterno said. "This isn't my field. I didn't know what to do. I had not seen anything. Jerry didn't work for me anymore. I didn't have anything to do with him. I tried to look through the Penn State guidelines to see what I was supposed to do. It said I was supposed to call Tim [Curley]. So I called him."
Read more http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/atlarge/2012/09/24/120924crat_atlarge_gladwell#ixzz26py7CanU
Read more http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/atlarge/2012/09/24/120924crat_atlarge_gladwell#ixzz26py7CanU
Re: [Madness Writers] 9/17/2012 08:58:00 PM
saw that a while ago, pretty funny for how stupid it is.
almost killed some high school kid on my bike. call me later.
On Mon, Sep 17, 2012 at 11:58 PM, Madness <nayrrizdaed@gmail.com> wrote:
http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SenorGif/~3/kyM_Pl6DzX8/6577180672 I find it hilarious.
--
Posted By Madness to Madness Writers at 9/17/2012 08:58:00 PM
Monday, September 17, 2012
Re: [Madness Writers] 9/17/2012 05:30:00 AM
Im 9 -3 i think. Cant score. Only ways are to get a random deflection fom the point, goes far side wrister or slapper, breakaway, or garbage goal. I cant figurthe forecheck and neutral zone options.
Wasplaying calgary. E got 2 garbage goals riht away so i shut my box off.
Won 3 games. Lost 2. Games just arent keeping y interes much anymore thesedays. I cold go a week wihou plauing and not be bothered.
On Sep 17, 2012 12:30 PM, "Madness" <nayrrizdaed@gmail.com> wrote:
played a vs game.won 1-0 cuz i poke checked the goaltender. guy quit, cuz it was with less than 2 min to go.i dont blame him.dang, he's 29-37-5. he wasn't very good, just too fuckin hard to score man.im 10-7-X.
--
Posted By Madness to Madness Writers at 9/17/2012 05:30:00 AM
Sunday, September 16, 2012
i might be done with VS.
too much fuckinbullshit.
goalies stand on their heads on the hardest fuckin shots imaginable, but let it the softest fuckin goals.
the only way to score is from the top circle far side or somewhere inside the near circle far side. or rebounds where the goalies literally dont react.
or some such garbage goal where no skill required to earn the fucking goal. almost always a rebound. a lot of people score top circle/inside circle when there's a screen on the goalie,but its not like they're waiting for the screen, it just happens.
i own all these fuckin fags on shots, time of attack, control. my guys get pinned in the fucking zone cuz they dont fuckin turn anywhere realistically in speed, so of course they get poked or hit. if there's ever a guy around me Im gonna lose the puck with that player in my d zone around the net or corners.
i fuckin hit people at the blue line, they stay upruight , skte on and get the puck. in real life you get fuckin laid out and have no chance at the puck.
i set all the settings to the max, max rush, max offense, D, and my AI doesnt react to anything. people figure skate to not get poked, nowhere realistic skating.
i set the settings low and THE AI STILL DOESNT REACT TO A RUSH AND GIVES UP BREAKAWAYS.
thats why I just set it to high. even then, the forwards are alwys near the bottom of the cirlce in the D zone, makes getting the puck out extremely fuckin hard.
there's no reward for playing honest hockey taking good shots, making good plays, having good teamwork. its all about who can clean up rebounds, and ALWAYS its cuz the goalie won't react...ironic since they fuckin stand on their heads on amazing shot plays.
im done for a while, ill play some OTP or club ...even GM isnt any different than versus. people dont do nearly as much shit to get away from poke checks, but the goals are no different. i scored against Lamers last night from behind the goal line. bounced off Bryz' back leg pad and bounced in.
i've seen some cross crease goals, but only if someone takes both D out of position...ironic cuz if you have a clean 2-0 breakaway the goalue wont let that shit in., but if you take your D out of position at the last second the G wont react.
i try not to ttake control of the D on a rush, but sometimes you cant switch to the backchecking winger. fuckin retarded. the AI D doesnt pressure the rusher. thats almost worse. they wont poke check, pressure, or check. even on high settings.
Friday, September 14, 2012
wow, what a joke. Mine wasn't that easy.. the only "hard" part was writing out the formula of a stuff like sodium bicarbonate and stuff.. Wasn't hard but there's no 100% logic behind it. gotta work today and tomorrow daylight .
is there a way to do GM connected on the computer for trades and stuff? i just tried looking, couldn't find anything.
is there a way to do GM connected on the computer for trades and stuff? i just tried looking, couldn't find anything.
chem test
so fricken easy man, way easier than that high school chemistry. 20 questions or something. some were worth 8 pts, gotta show all your work. that 8 pointer had no work to it, and I made sure on every question to do way more than necessary,
There were 2 questions that held me up for about 20 minutes. propane and methane (II) nitrate. wasn't sure about the (II) part, and propane was CH3CH2CH3, never saw that before, stumped me for a while.
nailed em both.
pretty sure I got an A, but at this point I dont care. way too easy of a test. seriously, how many protons does this element have? are you kidding me?
I could carve a better test out of a banana.
There were 2 questions that held me up for about 20 minutes. propane and methane (II) nitrate. wasn't sure about the (II) part, and propane was CH3CH2CH3, never saw that before, stumped me for a while.
nailed em both.
pretty sure I got an A, but at this point I dont care. way too easy of a test. seriously, how many protons does this element have? are you kidding me?
I could carve a better test out of a banana.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Im gonna go Friday and pick it up. they havent even fuckin shipped the game yet, wtf.
pay for what you get?
never using Toys R Us again. If you dont work this weekend I recommend you go pick it up, too, why not.
You get 45 days to return an unopened video game. I might pick it up Thursday depending on how much I study today and tomorrow, but with hockey the next two nights I dont really care about 13 til this weekend.
pay for what you get?
never using Toys R Us again. If you dont work this weekend I recommend you go pick it up, too, why not.
You get 45 days to return an unopened video game. I might pick it up Thursday depending on how much I study today and tomorrow, but with hockey the next two nights I dont really care about 13 til this weekend.
toys r us order
jesus christ, between the 18th and the 20th? are youy fuckin kidding me? i need it by this weekend, i got nothing to do all weekend.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Re: [Madness Writers] 9/08/2012 08:39:00 AM
I was watching a few ppl play 13 last night . It's a helluva lot more realistic than 12. A few ppl said 12 is one of the worst...I take that to mean worse than 11 cuz before that sucked.
The one guy was pretty good at vs. Just played hockey, rarely took control of d on an opposition rush. Ai does a good job...funny, two goals against were from inside circle, he takes control of d and screens his g, opp top shelf wristwrs.
Otp and eashl are a lot more tealistic, didn't see any shit. Puck bounces off things, not magnetic . Only when passing up middle and it here near an opp d, bit its not stupid. Ppl say Ai d is slow and gives up breakaways in Otp on both sides..
The guy playing vs went to Otp and had to take g. No idea how he's good at hockey but never played g before. Gave up 7 goals, should have been 20. Didn't even know the controls.
This town is boring as hell. Hockey on wed.
On Sep 8, 2012 11:39 AM, "Madness" <nayrrizdaed@gmail.com> wrote:
Closed the pool yesterday, only took maybe an hour including taking out the leaves. Just gotta let the water drain out now before I take off the hoses which will be a 5 minute job at most. Next summer I'm not even bothering to open it up. NOt worth it. Too much hassle. Funny though 'cause we haven't used the pool since around July 10th, stopped using the filter around end of July, pool got kinda cloudy but not bad.. probably 'cause there were a good bit of leaves that built up on the bottom. Filtered the water for 1 day and it was good to go. I figured it'd be better to close it up right away rather than wait til Monday or Tuesday with a ton of leaves building up again.. not worth it, man. Don't ever buy a pool unless you'd rather spend your time cleaning it. No interest.
Rode my motorcycle to work this morning 'cause 30% chance of rain.. about 7 miles from work it started pouring heavily. boooom, got soaked. luckily it's supposed to stop raining at 7 pm.
Played 4 games of NHL yesterday, last time i'm playing that game. i can't see nhl 13 lasting long. first game i had 11 minutes even on TOA, other guy had around 530. so I had 2x his TOA and 2x his shots and be beat me 3-1. 2nd game was smiliar.. 9min to like 5 or 6 min TOA an I lose 4-3 i think. 3rd game the guy was a douche, skating in the neutral zone all day 'cause he coudln't cross the blue line, so I quit a few minutes in, wasn't wasting my time. 4th game I put on my headset and was saying "stop playing like a b****, play some real hockey" then I scored 2 quick goals at the end of the 1st and started talking even more trash 'cause the game's ridiculous on how easy it is to skate back and forth. i never do it though, i only skate back and forth once at most then I cross the line easily. no need to go back and forth or back t othe Dman. I ended up winning 4-1 i think, should have been 4-0. the game is bs, not even hockey. it's a shame 'cause it has such potential. if nhl 13 sucks, i'm selling the xbox for good.
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Posted By Madness to Madness Writers at 9/08/2012 08:39:00 AM
Closed the pool yesterday, only took maybe an hour including taking out the leaves. Just gotta let the water drain out now before I take off the hoses which will be a 5 minute job at most. Next summer I'm not even bothering to open it up. NOt worth it. Too much hassle. Funny though 'cause we haven't used the pool since around July 10th, stopped using the filter around end of July, pool got kinda cloudy but not bad.. probably 'cause there were a good bit of leaves that built up on the bottom. Filtered the water for 1 day and it was good to go. I figured it'd be better to close it up right away rather than wait til Monday or Tuesday with a ton of leaves building up again.. not worth it, man. Don't ever buy a pool unless you'd rather spend your time cleaning it. No interest.
Rode my motorcycle to work this morning 'cause 30% chance of rain.. about 7 miles from work it started pouring heavily. boooom, got soaked. luckily it's supposed to stop raining at 7 pm.
Played 4 games of NHL yesterday, last time i'm playing that game. i can't see nhl 13 lasting long. first game i had 11 minutes even on TOA, other guy had around 530. so I had 2x his TOA and 2x his shots and be beat me 3-1. 2nd game was smiliar.. 9min to like 5 or 6 min TOA an I lose 4-3 i think. 3rd game the guy was a douche, skating in the neutral zone all day 'cause he coudln't cross the blue line, so I quit a few minutes in, wasn't wasting my time. 4th game I put on my headset and was saying "stop playing like a b****, play some real hockey" then I scored 2 quick goals at the end of the 1st and started talking even more trash 'cause the game's ridiculous on how easy it is to skate back and forth. i never do it though, i only skate back and forth once at most then I cross the line easily. no need to go back and forth or back t othe Dman. I ended up winning 4-1 i think, should have been 4-0. the game is bs, not even hockey. it's a shame 'cause it has such potential. if nhl 13 sucks, i'm selling the xbox for good.
Rode my motorcycle to work this morning 'cause 30% chance of rain.. about 7 miles from work it started pouring heavily. boooom, got soaked. luckily it's supposed to stop raining at 7 pm.
Played 4 games of NHL yesterday, last time i'm playing that game. i can't see nhl 13 lasting long. first game i had 11 minutes even on TOA, other guy had around 530. so I had 2x his TOA and 2x his shots and be beat me 3-1. 2nd game was smiliar.. 9min to like 5 or 6 min TOA an I lose 4-3 i think. 3rd game the guy was a douche, skating in the neutral zone all day 'cause he coudln't cross the blue line, so I quit a few minutes in, wasn't wasting my time. 4th game I put on my headset and was saying "stop playing like a b****, play some real hockey" then I scored 2 quick goals at the end of the 1st and started talking even more trash 'cause the game's ridiculous on how easy it is to skate back and forth. i never do it though, i only skate back and forth once at most then I cross the line easily. no need to go back and forth or back t othe Dman. I ended up winning 4-1 i think, should have been 4-0. the game is bs, not even hockey. it's a shame 'cause it has such potential. if nhl 13 sucks, i'm selling the xbox for good.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Re: [Madness Writers] 9/06/2012 02:15:00 PM
yeah, pretty pointless. i was telling the football commissioner, francis, a few weekends ago how hockey made no sense with the penalties cuz you get rewarded for putting your team at a huge disadvantage.
On Thu, Sep 6, 2012 at 5:15 PM, Madness <nayrrizdaed@gmail.com> wrote:
http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackhandShelf/~3/wJmgfjgYlw0/ yeah, i never understood that myself. makes absolutely no sense.
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Posted By Madness to Madness Writers at 9/06/2012 02:15:00 PM
http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackhandShelf/~3/wJmgfjgYlw0/ yeah, i never understood that myself. makes absolutely no sense.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
hey jim, u thought the olympic dead lifter was bad?
dont let this be you!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJcd5cT66Yg
apparently he was attempting to life like 25kg more than his personal best. idiot.
Monday, September 3, 2012
a must read. anybody who votes for that guy is an idiot.
Greed and Debt: The True Story of Mitt Romney and Bain Capital
How the GOP presidential candidate and his private equity firm staged an epic wealth grab, destroyed jobs – and stuck others with the bill
by: Matt Taibbi
The great criticism of Mitt Romney, from both sides of the aisle, has always been that he doesn't stand for anything. He's a flip-flopper, they say, a lightweight, a cardboard opportunist who'll say anything to get elected.
The critics couldn't be more wrong. Mitt Romney is no tissue-paper man. He's closer to being a revolutionary, a backward-world version of Che or Trotsky, with tweezed nostrils instead of a beard, a half-Windsor instead of a leather jerkin. His legendary flip-flops aren't the lies of a bumbling opportunist – they're the confident prevarications of a man untroubled by misleading the nonbeliever in pursuit of a single, all-consuming goal. Romney has a vision, and he's trying for something big: We've just been too slow to sort out what it is, just as we've been slow to grasp the roots of the radical economic changes that have swept the country in the last generation.
The incredible untold story of the 2012 election so far is that Romney's run has been a shimmering pearl of perfect political hypocrisy, which he's somehow managed to keep hidden, even with thousands of cameras following his every move. And the drama of this rhetorical high-wire act was ratcheted up even further when Romney chose his running mate, Rep. Paul Ryan of Wisconsin – like himself, a self-righteously anal, thin-lipped, Whitest Kids U Know penny pincher who'd be honored to tell Oliver Twist there's no more soup left. By selecting Ryan, Romney, the hard-charging, chameleonic champion of a disgraced-yet-defiant Wall Street, officially succeeded in moving the battle lines in the 2012 presidential race.
Like John McCain four years before, Romney desperately needed a vice-presidential pick that would change the game. But where McCain bet on a combustive mix of clueless novelty and suburban sexual tension named Sarah Palin, Romney bet on an idea. He said as much when he unveiled his choice of Ryan, the author of a hair-raising budget-cutting plan best known for its willingness to slash the sacred cows of Medicare and Medicaid. "Paul Ryan has become an intellectual leader of the Republican Party," Romney told frenzied Republican supporters in Norfolk, Virginia, standing before the reliably jingoistic backdrop of a floating warship. "He understands the fiscal challenges facing America: our exploding deficits and crushing debt."
Debt, debt, debt. If the Republican Party had a James Carville, this is what he would have said to win Mitt over, in whatever late-night war room session led to the Ryan pick: "It's the debt, stupid." This is the way to defeat Barack Obama: to recast the race as a jeremiad against debt, something just about everybody who's ever gotten a bill in the mail hates on a primal level.
Last May, in a much-touted speech in Iowa, Romney used language that was literally inflammatory to describe America's federal borrowing. "A prairie fire of debt is sweeping across Iowa and our nation," he declared. "Every day we fail to act, that fire gets closer to the homes and children we love." Our collective debt is no ordinary problem: According to Mitt, it's going to burn our children alive.
And this is where we get to the hypocrisy at the heart of Mitt Romney. Everyone knows that he is fantastically rich, having scored great success, the legend goes, as a "turnaround specialist," a shrewd financial operator who revived moribund companies as a high-priced consultant for a storied Wall Street private equity firm. But what most voters don't know is the way Mitt Romney actually made his fortune: by borrowing vast sums of money that other people were forced to pay back. This is the plain, stark reality that has somehow eluded America's top political journalists for two consecutive presidential campaigns: Mitt Romney is one of the greatest and most irresponsible debt creators of all time. In the past few decades, in fact, Romney has piled more debt onto more unsuspecting companies, written more gigantic checks that other people have to cover, than perhaps all but a handful of people on planet Earth.
By making debt the centerpiece of his campaign, Romney was making a calculated bluff of historic dimensions – placing a massive all-in bet on the rank incompetence of the American press corps. The result has been a brilliant comedy: A man makes a $250 million fortune loading up companies with debt and then extracting million-dollar fees from those same companies, in exchange for the generous service of telling them who needs to be fired in order to finance the debt payments he saddled them with in the first place. That same man then runs for president riding an image of children roasting on flames of debt, choosing as his running mate perhaps the only politician in America more pompous and self-righteous on the subject of the evils of borrowed money than the candidate himself. If Romney pulls off this whopper, you'll have to tip your hat to him: No one in history has ever successfully run for president riding this big of a lie. It's almost enough to make you think he really is qualified for the White House.
The unlikeliness of Romney's gambit isn't simply a reflection of his own artlessly unapologetic mindset – it stands as an emblem for the resiliency of the entire sociopathic Wall Street set he represents. Four years ago, the Mitt Romneys of the world nearly destroyed the global economy with their greed, shortsightedness and – most notably – wildly irresponsible use of debt in pursuit of personal profit. The sight was so disgusting that people everywhere were ready to drop an H-bomb on Lower Manhattan and bayonet the survivors. But today that same insane greed ethos, that same belief in the lunatic pursuit of instant borrowed millions – it's dusted itself off, it's had a shave and a shoeshine, and it's back out there running for president.
Mitt Romney, it turns out, is the perfect frontman for Wall Street's greed revolution. He's not a two-bit, shifty-eyed huckster like Lloyd Blankfein. He's not a sighing, eye-rolling, arrogant jerkwad like Jamie Dimon. But Mitt believes the same things those guys believe: He's been right with them on the front lines of the financialization revolution, a decades-long campaign in which the old, simple, let's-make-stuff-and-sell-it manufacturing economy was replaced with a new, highly complex, let's-take-stuff-and-trash-it financial economy. Instead of cars and airplanes, we built swaps, CDOs and other toxic financial products. Instead of building new companies from the ground up, we took out massive bank loans and used them to acquire existing firms, liquidating every asset in sight and leaving the target companies holding the note. The new borrow-and-conquer economy was morally sanctified by an almost religious faith in the grossly euphemistic concept of "creative destruction," and amounted to a total abdication of collective responsibility by America's rich, whose new thing was making assloads of money in ever-shorter campaigns of economic conquest, sending the proceeds offshore, and shrugging as the great towns and factories their parents and grandparents built were shuttered and boarded up, crushed by a true prairie fire of debt.
Mitt Romney – a man whose own father built cars and nurtured communities, and was one of the old-school industrial anachronisms pushed aside by the new generation's wealth grab – has emerged now to sell this make-nothing, take-everything, screw-everyone ethos to the world. He's Gordon Gekko, but a new and improved version, with better PR – and a bigger goal. A takeover artist all his life, Romney is now trying to take over America itself. And if his own history is any guide, we'll all end up paying for the acquisition.
Willard "Mitt" Romney's background in many ways suggests a man who was born to be president – disgustingly rich from birth, raised in prep schools, no early exposure to minorities outside of maids, a powerful daddy to clean up his missteps, and timely exemptions from military service. In Romney's bio there are some eerie early-life similarities to other recent presidential figures. (Is America really ready for another Republican president who was a prep-school cheerleader?) And like other great presidential double-talkers such as Bill Clinton and George W. Bush, Romney has shown particular aptitude in the area of telling multiple factual versions of his own life story.
"I longed in many respects to actually be in Vietnam and be representing our country there," he claimed years after the war. To a different audience, he said, "I was not planning on signing up for the military. It was not my desire to go off and serve in Vietnam."
Like John F. Kennedy and George W. Bush, men whose way into power was smoothed by celebrity fathers but who rebelled against their parental legacy as mature politicians, Mitt Romney's career has been both a tribute to and a repudiation of his famous father. George Romney in the 1950s became CEO of American Motors Corp., made a modest fortune betting on energy efficiency in an age of gas guzzlers and ended up serving as governor of the state of Michigan only two generations removed from the Romney clan's tradition of polygamy. For Mitt, who grew up worshipping his tall, craggily handsome, politically moderate father, life was less rocky: Cranbrook prep school in suburban Detroit, followed by Stanford in the Sixties, a missionary term in which he spent two and a half years trying (as he said) to persuade the French to "give up your wine," and Harvard Business School in the Seventies. Then, faced with making a career choice, Mitt chose an odd one: Already married and a father of two, he left Harvard and eschewed both politics and the law to enter the at-the-time unsexy world of financial consulting.
"When you get out of a place like Harvard, you can do anything – at least in the old days you could," says a prominent corporate lawyer on Wall Street who is familiar with Romney's career. "But he comes out, he not only has a Harvard Business School degree, he's got a national pedigree with his name. He could have done anything – but what does he do? He says, 'I'm going to spend my life loading up distressed companies with debt.' "
Romney started off at the Boston Consulting Group, where he showed an aptitude for crunching numbers and glad-handing clients. Then, in 1977, he joined a young entrepreneur named Bill Bain at a firm called Bain & Company, where he worked for six years before being handed the reins of a new firm-within-a-firm called Bain Capital.
In Romney's version of the tale, Bain Capital – which evolved into what is today known as a private equity firm – specialized in turning around moribund companies (Romney even wrote a book called Turnaround that complements his other nauseatingly self-complimentary book, No Apology) and helped create the Staples office-supply chain. On the campaign trail, Romney relentlessly trades on his own self-perpetuated reputation as a kind of altruistic rescuer of failing enterprises, never missing an opportunity to use the word "help" or "helped" in his description of what he and Bain did for companies. He might, for instance, describe himself as having been "deeply involved in helping other businesses" or say he "helped create tens of thousands of jobs."
The reality is that toward the middle of his career at Bain, Romney made a fateful strategic decision: He moved away from creating companies like Staples through venture capital schemes, and toward a business model that involved borrowing huge sums of money to take over existing firms, then extracting value from them by force. He decided, as he later put it, that "there's a lot greater risk in a startup than there is in acquiring an existing company." In the Eighties, when Romney made this move, this form of financial piracy became known as a leveraged buyout, and it achieved iconic status thanks to Gordon Gekko in Wall Street. Gekko's business strategy was essentially identical to the Romney–Bain model, only Gekko called himself a "liberator" of companies instead of a "helper."
Here's how Romney would go about "liberating" a company: A private equity firm like Bain typically seeks out floundering businesses with good cash flows. It then puts down a relatively small amount of its own money and runs to a big bank like Goldman Sachs or Citigroup for the rest of the financing. (Most leveraged buyouts are financed with 60 to 90 percent borrowed cash.) The takeover firm then uses that borrowed money to buy a controlling stake in the target company, either with or without its consent. When an LBO is done without the consent of the target, it's called a hostile takeover; such thrilling acts of corporate piracy were made legend in the Eighties, most notably the 1988 attack by notorious corporate raiders Kohlberg Kravis Roberts against RJR Nabisco, a deal memorialized in the book Barbarians at the Gate.
Romney and Bain avoided the hostile approach, preferring to secure the cooperation of their takeover targets by buying off a company's management with lucrative bonuses. Once management is on board, the rest is just math. So if the target company is worth $500 million, Bain might put down $20 million of its own cash, then borrow $350 million from an investment bank to take over a controlling stake.
But here's the catch. When Bain borrows all of that money from the bank, it's the target company that ends up on the hook for all of the debt.
Now your troubled firm – let's say you make tricycles in Alabama – has been taken over by a bunch of slick Wall Street dudes who kicked in as little as five percent as a down payment. So in addition to whatever problems you had before, Tricycle Inc. now owes Goldman or Citigroup $350 million. With all that new debt service to pay, the company's bottom line is suddenly untenable: You almost have to start firing people immediately just to get your costs down to a manageable level.
"That interest," says Lynn Turner, former chief accountant of the Securities and Exchange Commission, "just sucks the profit out of the company."
Fortunately, the geniuses at Bain who now run the place are there to help tell you whom to fire. And for the service it performs cutting your company's costs to help you pay off the massive debt that it, Bain, saddled your company with in the first place, Bain naturally charges a management fee, typically millions of dollars a year. So Tricycle Inc. now has two gigantic new burdens it never had before Bain Capital stepped into the picture: tens of millions in annual debt service, and millions more in "management fees." Since the initial acquisition of Tricycle Inc. was probably greased by promising the company's upper management lucrative bonuses, all that pain inevitably comes out of just one place: the benefits and payroll of the hourly workforce.
Once all that debt is added, one of two things can happen. The company can fire workers and slash benefits to pay off all its new obligations to Goldman Sachs and Bain, leaving it ripe to be resold by Bain at a huge profit. Or it can go bankrupt – this happens after about seven percent of all private equity buyouts – leaving behind one or more shuttered factory towns. Either way, Bain wins. By power-sucking cash value from even the most rapidly dying firms, private equity raiders like Bain almost always get their cash out before a target goes belly up.
This business model wasn't really "helping," of course – and it wasn't new. Fans of mob movies will recognize what's known as the "bust-out," in which a gangster takes over a restaurant or sporting goods store and then monetizes his investment by running up giant debts on the company's credit line. (Think Paulie buying all those cases of Cutty Sark in Goodfellas.) When the note comes due, the mobster simply torches the restaurant and collects the insurance money. Reduced to their most basic level, the leveraged buyouts engineered by Romney followed exactly the same business model. "It's the bust-out," one Wall Street trader says with a laugh. "That's all it is."
Private equity firms aren't necessarily evil by definition. There are many stories of successful turnarounds fueled by private equity, often involving multiple floundering businesses that are rolled into a single entity, eliminating duplicative overhead. Experian, the giant credit-rating tyrant, was acquired by Bain in the Nineties and went on to become an industry leader.
But there's a key difference between private equity firms and the businesses that were America's original industrial cornerstones, like the elder Romney's AMC. Everyone had a stake in the success of those old businesses, which spread prosperity by putting people to work. But even private equity's most enthusiastic adherents have difficulty explaining its benefit to society. Marc Wolpow, a former Bain colleague of Romney's, told reporters during Mitt's first Senate run that Romney erred in trying to sell his business as good for everyone. "I believed he was making a mistake by framing himself as a job creator," said Wolpow. "That was not his or Bain's or the industry's primary objective. The objective of the LBO business is maximizing returns for investors." When it comes to private equity, American workers – not to mention their families and communities – simply don't enter into the equation.
Take a typical Bain transaction involving an Indiana-based company called American Pad and Paper. Bain bought Ampad in 1992 for just $5 million, financing the rest of the deal with borrowed cash. Within three years, Ampad was paying $60 million in annual debt payments, plus an additional $7 million in management fees. A year later, Bain led Ampad to go public, cashed out about $50 million in stock for itself and its investors, charged the firm $2 million for arranging the IPO and pocketed another $5 million in "management" fees. Ampad wound up going bankrupt, and hundreds of workers lost their jobs, but Bain and Romney weren't crying: They'd made more than $100 million on a $5 million investment.
To recap: Romney, who has compared the devilish federal debt to a "nightmare" home mortgage that is "adjustable, no-money down and assigned to our children," took over Ampad with essentially no money down, saddled the firm with a nightmare debt and assigned the crushing interest payments not to Bain but to the children of Ampad's workers, who would be left holding the note long after Romney fled the scene. The mortgage analogy is so obvious, in fact, that even Romney himself has made it. He once described Bain's debt-fueled strategy as "using the equivalent of a mortgage to leverage up our investment."
Romney has always kept his distance from the real-life consequences of his profiteering. At one point during Bain's looting of Ampad, a worker named Randy Johnson sent a handwritten letter to Romney, asking him to intervene to save an Ampad factory in Marion, Indiana. In a sterling demonstration of manliness and willingness to face a difficult conversation, Romney, who had just lost his race for the Senate in Massachusetts, wrote Johnson that he was "sorry," but his lawyers had advised him not to get involved. (So much for the candidate who insists that his way is always to "fight to save every job.")
This is typical Romney, who consistently adopts a public posture of having been above the fray, with no blood on his hands from any of the deals he personally engineered. "I never actually ran one of our investments," he says in Turnaround. "That was left to management."
In reality, though, Romney was unquestionably the decider at Bain. "I insisted on having almost dictatorial powers," he bragged years after the Ampad deal. Over the years, colleagues would anonymously whisper stories about Mitt the Boss to the press, describing him as cunning, manipulative and a little bit nuts, with "an ability to identify people's insecurities and exploit them for his own benefit." One former Bain employee said that Romney would screw around with bonuses in small amounts, just to mess with people: He would give $3 million to one, $3.1 million to another and $2.9 million to a third, just to keep those below him on edge.
The private equity business in the early Nineties was dominated by a handful of takeover firms, from the spooky and politically connected Carlyle Group (a favorite subject of conspiracy-theory lit, with its connections to right-wingers like Donald Rumsfeld and George H.W. Bush) to the equally spooky Democrat-leaning assholes at the Blackstone Group. But even among such a colorful cast of characters, Bain had a reputation on Wall Street for secrecy and extreme weirdness – "the KGB of consulting." Its employees, known for their Mormonish uniform of white shirts and red power ties, were dubbed "Bainies" by other Wall Streeters, a rip on the fanatical "Moonies." The firm earned the name thanks to its idiotically adolescent Spy Kids culture, in which these glorified slumlords used code names, didn't carry business cards and even sang "company songs" to boost morale.
The seemingly religious flavor of Bain's culture smacks of the generally cultish ethos on Wall Street, in which all sorts of ethically questionable behaviors are justified as being necessary in service of the church of making money. Romney belongs to a true-believer subset within that cult, with a revolutionary's faith in the wisdom of the pure free market, in which destroying companies and sucking the value out of them for personal gain is part of the greater good, and governments should "stand aside and allow the creative destruction inherent in the free economy."
That cultlike zeal helps explains why Romney takes such a curiously unapologetic approach to his own flip-flopping. His infamous changes of stance are not little wispy ideological alterations of a few degrees here or there – they are perfect and absolute mathematical reversals, as in "I believe that abortion should be safe and legal in this country" and "I am firmly pro-life." Yet unlike other politicians, who at least recognize that saying completely contradictory things presents a political problem, Romney seems genuinely puzzled by the public's insistence that he be consistent. "I'm not going to apologize for having changed my mind," he likes to say. It's an attitude that recalls the standard defense offered by Wall Street in the wake of some of its most recent and notorious crimes: Goldman Sachs excused its lying to clients, for example, by insisting that its customers are "sophisticated investors" who should expect to be lied to. "Last time I checked," former Morgan Stanley CEO John Mack sneered after the same scandal, "we were in business to be profitable."
Within the cult of Wall Street that forged Mitt Romney, making money justifies any behavior, no matter how venal. The look on Romney's face when he refuses to apologize says it all: Hey, I'm trying to win an election. We're all grown-ups here. After the Ampad deal, Romney expressed contempt for critics who lived in "fantasy land." "This is the real world," he said, "and in the real world there is nothing wrong with companies trying to compete, trying to stay alive, trying to make money."
In the old days, making money required sharing the wealth: with assembly-line workers, with middle management, with schools and communities, with investors. Even the Gilded Age robber barons, despite their unapologetic efforts to keep workers from getting any rights at all, built America in spite of themselves, erecting railroads and oil wells and telegraph wires. And from the time the monopolists were reined in with antitrust laws through the days when men like Mitt Romney's dad exited center stage in our economy, the American social contract was pretty consistent: The rich got to stay rich, often filthy rich, but they paid taxes and a living wage and everyone else rose at least a little bit along with them.
But under Romney's business model, leveraging other people's debt means you can carve out big profits for yourself and leave everyone else holding the bag. Despite what Romney claims, the rate of return he provided for Bain's investors over the years wasn't all that great. Romney biographer and Wall Street Journal reporter Brett Arends, who analyzed Bain's performance between 1984 and 1998, concludes that the firm's returns were likely less than 30 percent per year, which happened to track more or less with the stock market's average during that time. "That's how much money you could have made by issuing company bonds and then spending the money picking stocks out of the paper at random," Arends observes. So for all the destruction Romney wreaked on Middle America in the name of "trying to make money," investors could have just plunked their money into traditional stocks and gotten pretty much the same returns.
The only ones who profited in a big way from all the job-killing debt that Romney leveraged were Mitt and his buddies at Bain, along with Wall Street firms like Goldman and Citigroup. Barry Ritholtz, author of Bailout Nation, says the criticisms of Bain about layoffs and meanness miss a more important point, which is that the firm's profit-producing record is absurdly mediocre, especially when set against all the trouble and pain its business model causes. "Bain's fundamental flaw, at least according to the math," Ritholtz writes, "is that they took lots of risk, use immense leverage and charged enormous fees, for performance that was more or less the same as [stock] indexing."
'I'm not a Romney guy, because I'm not a Bain guy," says Lenny Patnode, in an Irish pub in the factory town of Pittsfield, Massachusetts. "But I'm not an Obama guy, either. Just so you know."
I feel bad even asking Patnode about Romney. Big and burly, with white hair and the thick forearms of a man who's stocked a shelf or two in his lifetime, he seems to belong to an era before things like leveraged debt even existed. For 38 years, Patnode worked for a company called KB Toys in Pittsfield. He was the longest-serving employee in the company's history, opening some of the firm's first mall stores, making some of its canniest product buys ("Tamagotchi pets," he says, beaming, "and Tech-Decks, too"), traveling all over the world to help build an empire that at its peak included 1,300 stores. "There were times when I worked seven days a week, 16 hours a day," he says. "I opened three stores in two months once."
Then in 2000, right before Romney gave up his ownership stake in Bain Capital, the firm targeted KB Toys. The debacle that followed serves as a prime example of the conflict between the old model of American business, built from the ground up with sweat and industry know-how, and the new globalist model, the Romney model, which uses leverage as a weapon of high-speed conquest.
In a typical private-equity fragging, Bain put up a mere $18 million to acquire KB Toys and got big banks to finance the remaining $302 million it needed. Less than a year and a half after the purchase, Bain decided to give itself a gift known as a "dividend recapitalization." The firm induced KB Toys to redeem $121 million in stock and take out more than $66 million in bank loans – $83 million of which went directly into the pockets of Bain's owners and investors, including Romney. "The dividend recap is like borrowing someone else's credit card to take out a cash advance, and then leaving them to pay it off," says Heather Slavkin Corzo, who monitors private equity takeovers as the senior legal policy adviser for the AFL-CIO.
Bain ended up earning a return of at least 370 percent on the deal, while KB Toys fell into bankruptcy, saddled with millions in debt. KB's former parent company, Big Lots, alleged in bankruptcy court that Bain's "unjustified" return on the dividend recap was actually "900 percent in a mere 16 months." Patnode, by contrast, was fired in December 2008, after almost four decades on the job. Like other employees, he didn't get a single day's severance.
I ask Slavkin Corzo what Bain's justification was for the giant dividend recapitalization in the KB Toys acquisition. The question throws her, as though she's surprised anyone would ask for a reason a company like Bain would loot a firm like KB Toys. "It wasn't like, 'Yay, we did a good job, we get a dividend,'" she says with a laugh. "It was like, 'We can do this, so we will.' "
At the time of the KB Toys deal, Romney was a Bain investor and owner, making him a mere beneficiary of the raping and pillaging, rather than its direct organizer. Moreover, KB's demise was hastened by a host of genuine market forces, including competition from video games and cellphones. But there's absolutely no way to look at what Bain did at KB and see anything but a cash grab – one that followed the business model laid out by Romney. Rather than cutting costs and tightening belts, Bain added $300 million in debt to the firm's bottom line while taking out more than $120 million in cash – an outright looting that creditors later described in a lawsuit as "breaking open the piggy bank." What's more, Bain smoothed the deal in typical fashion by giving huge bonuses to the company's top managers as the firm headed toward bankruptcy. CEO Michael Glazer got an incredible $18.4 million, while CFO Robert Feldman received $4.8 million and senior VP Thomas Alfonsi took home $3.3 million.
And what did Bain bring to the table in return for its massive, outsize payout? KB Toys had built a small empire by targeting middle-class buyers with value-priced products. It succeeded mainly because the firm's leaders had a great instinct for what they were making and selling. These were people who had been in the specialty toy business since 1922; collectively, they had millions of man-hours of knowledge about how the industry works and how toy customers behave. KB's president in the Eighties, the late Saul Rubenstein, used to carry around a giant computer printout of the company's inventory, and would fall asleep reading it on the weekends, the pages clasped to his chest. "He knew the name and number of all those toys," his widow, Shirley, says proudly. "He loved toys."
Bain's experience in the toy industry, by contrast, was precisely bupkus. They didn't know a damn thing about the business they had taken over – and they never cared to learn. The firm's entire contribution was $18 million in cash and a huge mound of borrowed money that gave it the power to pull the levers. "The people who came in after – they were never toy people," says Shirley Rubenstein. To make matters worse, former employees say, Bain deluged them with requests for paperwork and reports, forcing them to worry more about the whims of their new bosses than the demands of their customers. "We took our eye off the ball," Patnode says. "And if you take your eye off the ball, you strike out."
In the end, Bain never bothered to come up with a plan for how KB Toys could meet the 21st-century challenges of video games and cellphone gadgets that were the company's ostensible downfall. And that's where Romney's self-touted reputation as a turnaround specialist is a myth. In the Bain model, the actual turnaround isn't necessary. It's just a cover story. It's nice for the private equity firm if it happens, because it makes the acquired company more attractive for resale or an IPO. But it's mostly irrelevant to the success of the takeover model, where huge cash returns are extracted whether the captured firm thrives or not.
"The thing about it is, nobody gets hurt," says Patnode. "Except the people who worked here."
Romney was a prime mover in the radical social and political transformation that was cooked up by Wall Street beginning in the 1980s. In fact, you can trace the whole history of the modern age of financialization just by following the highly specific corner of the economic universe inhabited by the leveraged buyout business, where Mitt Romney thrived. If you look at the number of leveraged buyouts dating back two or three decades, you see a clear pattern: Takeovers rose sharply with each of Wall Street's great easy-money schemes, then plummeted just as sharply after each of those scams crashed and burned, leaving the rest of us with the bill.
In the Eighties, when Romney and Bain were cutting their teeth in the LBO business, the primary magic trick involved the junk bonds pioneered by convicted felon Mike Milken, which allowed firms like Bain to find easy financing for takeovers by using wildly overpriced distressed corporate bonds as collateral. Junk bonds gave the Gordon Gekkos of the world sudden primacy over old-school industrial titans like the Fords and the Rockefellers: For the first time, the ability to make deals became more valuable than the ability to make stuff, and the ability to instantly engineer billions in illusory financing trumped the comparatively slow process of making and selling products for gradual returns.
Romney was right in the middle of this radical change. In fact, according to The Boston Globe – whose in-depth reporting on Romney and Bain has spanned three decades – one of Romney's first LBO deals, and one of his most profitable, involved Mike Milken himself. Bain put down $10 million in cash, got $300 million in financing from Milken and bought a pair of department-store chains, Bealls Brothers and Palais Royal. In what should by now be a familiar outcome, the two chains – which Bain merged into a single outfit called Stage Stores – filed for bankruptcy protection in 2000 under the weight of more than $444 million in debt. As always, Bain took no responsibility for the company's demise. (If you search the public record, you will not find a single instance of Mitt Romney taking responsibility for a company's failure.) Instead, Bain blamed Stage's collapse on "operating problems" that took place three years after Bain cashed out, finishing with a $175 million return on its initial investment of $10 million.
But here's the interesting twist: Romney made the Bealls-Palais deal just as the federal government was launching charges of massive manipulation and insider trading against Milken and his firm, Drexel Burnham Lambert. After what must have been a lengthy and agonizing period of moral soul-searching, however, Romney decided not to kill the deal, despite its shady financing. "We did not say, 'Oh, my goodness, Drexel has been accused of something, not been found guilty,' " Romney told reporters years after the deal. "Should we basically stop the transaction and blow the whole thing up?"
In an even more incredible disregard for basic morality, Romney forged ahead with the deal even though Milken's case was being heard by a federal district judge named Milton Pollack, whose wife, Moselle, happened to be the chairwoman of none other than Palais Royal. In short, one of Romney's first takeover deals was financed by dirty money – and one of the corporate chiefs about to receive a big payout from Bain was married to the judge hearing the case. Although the SEC took no formal action, it issued a sharp criticism, complaining that Romney was allowing Milken's money to have a possible influence over "the administration of justice."
After Milken and his junk bond scheme crashed in the late Eighties, Romney and other takeover artists moved on to Wall Street's next get-rich-quick scheme: the tech-Internet stock bubble. By 1997 and 1998, there were nearly $400 billion in leveraged buyouts a year, as easy money once again gave these financial piracy firms the ammunition they needed to raid companies like KB Toys. Firms like Bain even have a colorful pirate name for the pools of takeover money they raise in advance from pension funds, university endowments and other institutional investors. "They call it dry powder," says Slavkin Corzo, the union adviser.
After the Internet bubble burst and private equity started cashing in on Wall Street's mortgage scam, LBO deals ballooned to almost $900 billion in 2006. Once again, storied companies with long histories and deep regional ties were descended upon by Bain and other pirates, saddled with hundreds of millions in debt, forced to pay huge management fees and "dividend recapitalizations," and ridden into bankruptcy amid waves of layoffs. Established firms like Del Monte, Hertz and Dollar General were all taken over in a "prairie fire of debt" – one even more destructive than the government borrowing that Romney is flogging on the campaign trial. When Hertz was conquered in 2005 by a trio of private equity firms, including the Carlyle Group, the interest payments on its debt soared by a monstrous 80 percent, forcing the company to eliminate a third of its 32,000 jobs.
In 2010, a year after the last round of Hertz layoffs, Carlyle teamed up with Bain to take $500 million out of another takeover target: the parent company of Dunkin' Donuts and Baskin-Robbins. Dunkin' had to take out a $1.25 billion loan to pay a dividend to its new private equity owners. So think of this the next time you go to Dunkin' Donuts for a cup of coffee: A small cup of joe costs about $1.69 in most outlets, which means that for years to come, Dunkin' Donuts will have to sell about 2,011,834 small coffees every month – about $3.4 million – just to meet the interest payments on the loan it took out to pay Bain and Carlyle their little one-time dividend. And that doesn't include the principal on the loan, or the additional millions in debt that Dunkin' has to pay every year to get out from under the $2.4 billion in debt it's now saddled with after having the privilege of being taken over – with borrowed money – by the firm that Romney built.
If you haven't heard much about how takeover deals like Dunkin' and KB Toys work, that's because Mitt Romney and his private equity brethren don't want you to. The new owners of American industry are the polar opposites of the Milton Hersheys and Andrew Carnegies who built this country, commercial titans who longed to leave visible legacies of their accomplishments, erecting hospitals and schools and libraries, sometimes leaving behind thriving towns that bore their names.
The men of the private equity generation want no such thing. "We try to hide religiously," explained Steven Feinberg, the CEO of a takeover firm called Cerberus Capital Management that recently drove one of its targets into bankruptcy after saddling it with $2.3 billion in debt. "If anyone at Cerberus has his picture in the paper and a picture of his apartment, we will do more than fire that person," Feinberg told shareholders in 2007. "We will kill him. The jail sentence will be worth it."
Which brings us to another aspect of Romney's business career that has largely been hidden from voters: His personal fortune would not have been possible without the direct assistance of the U.S. government. The taxpayer-funded subsidies that Romney has received go well beyond the humdrum, backdoor, welfare-sucking that all supposedly self-made free marketeers inevitably indulge in. Not that Romney hasn't done just fine at milking the government when it suits his purposes, the most obvious instance being the incredible $1.5 billion in aid he siphoned out of the U.S. Treasury as head of the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake – a sum greater than all federal spending for the previous seven U.S. Olympic games combined. Romney, the supposed fiscal conservative, blew through an average of $625,000 in taxpayer money per athlete – an astounding increase of 5,582 percent over the $11,000 average at the 1984 games in Los Angeles. In 1993, right as he was preparing to run for the Senate, Romney also engineered a government deal worth at least $10 million for Bain's consulting firm, when it was teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. (See "The Federal Bailout That Saved Romney"<file://1upmc-users10/politics/news/the-federal-bailout-that-saved-mitt-romney-20120829>)
But the way Romney most directly owes his success to the government is through the structure of the tax code. The entire business of leveraged buyouts wouldn't be possible without a provision in the federal code that allows companies like Bain to deduct the interest on the debt they use to acquire and loot their targets. This is the same universally beloved tax deduction you can use to write off your mortgage interest payments, so tampering with it is considered political suicide – it's been called the "third rail of tax reform." So the Romney who routinely rails against the national debt as some kind of child-killing "mortgage" is the same man who spent decades exploiting a tax deduction specifically designed for mortgage holders in order to bilk every dollar he could out of U.S. businesses before burning them to the ground.
Because minus that tax break, Romney's debt-based takeovers would have been unsustainably expensive. Before Lynn Turner became chief accountant of the SEC, where he reviewed filings on takeover deals, he crunched the numbers on leveraged buyouts as an accountant at a Big Four auditing firm. "In the majority of these deals," Turner says, "the tax deduction has a big enough impact on the bottom line that the takeover wouldn't work without it."
Thanks to the tax deduction, in other words, the government actually incentivizes the kind of leverage-based takeovers that Romney built his fortune on. Romney the businessman built his career on two things that Romney the candidate decries: massive debt and dumb federal giveaways. "I don't know what Romney would be doing but for debt and its tax-advantaged position in the tax code," says a prominent Wall Street lawyer, "but he wouldn't be fabulously wealthy."
Adding to the hypocrisy, the money that Romney personally pocketed on Bain's takeover deals was usually taxed not as income, but either as capital gains or as "carried interest," both of which are capped at a maximum rate of 15 percent. In addition, reporters have uncovered plenty of evidence that Romney takes full advantage of offshore tax havens: He has an interest in at least 12 Bain funds, worth a total of $30 million, that are based in the Cayman Islands; he has reportedly used a squirrelly tax shelter known as a "blocker corporation" that cheats taxpayers out of some $100 million a year; and his wife, Ann, had a Swiss bank account worth $3 million. As a private equity pirate, Romney pays less than half the tax rate of most American executives – less, even, than teachers, firefighters, cops and nurses. Asked about the fact that he paid a tax rate of only 13.9 percent on income of $21.7 million in 2010, Romney responded testily that the massive windfall he enjoys from exploiting the tax code is "entirely legal and fair."
Essentially, Romney got rich in a business that couldn't exist without a perverse tax break, and he got to keep double his earnings because of another loophole – a pair of bureaucratic accidents that have not only teamed up to threaten us with a Mitt Romney presidency but that make future Romneys far more likely. "Those two tax rules distort the economics of private equity investments, making them much more lucrative than they should be," says Rebecca Wilkins, senior counsel at the Center for Tax Justice. "So we get more of that activity than the market would support on its own."
Listen to Mitt Romney speak, and see if you can notice what's missing. This is a man who grew up in Michigan, went to college in California, walked door to door through the streets of southern France as a missionary and was a governor of Massachusetts, the home of perhaps the most instantly recognizable, heavily accented English this side of Edinburgh. Yet not a trace of any of these places is detectable in Romney's diction. None of the people in any of those places bled in and left a mark on the man.
Romney is a man from nowhere. In his post-regional attitude, he shares something with his campaign opponent, Barack Obama, whose background is a similarly jumbled pastiche of regionally nonspecific non-identity. But in the way he bounced around the world as a half-orphaned child, Obama was more like an involuntary passenger in the demographic revolution reshaping the planet than one of its leaders.
Romney, on the other hand, is a perfect representative of one side of the ominous cultural divide that will define the next generation, not just here in America but all over the world. Forget about the Southern strategy, blue versus red, swing states and swing voters – all of those political clichés are quaint relics of a less threatening era that is now part of our past, or soon will be. The next conflict defining us all is much more unnerving.
That conflict will be between people who live somewhere, and people who live nowhere. It will be between people who consider themselves citizens of actual countries, to which they have patriotic allegiance, and people to whom nations are meaningless, who live in a stateless global archipelago of privilege – a collection of private schools, tax havens and gated residential communities with little or no connection to the outside world.
Mitt Romney isn't blue or red. He's an archipelago man. That's a big reason that voters have been slow to warm up to him. From LBJ to Bill Clinton to George W. Bush to Sarah Palin, Americans like their politicians to sound like they're from somewhere, to be human symbols of our love affair with small towns, the girl next door, the little pink houses of Mellencamp myth. Most of those mythical American towns grew up around factories – think chocolate bars from Hershey, baseball bats from Louisville, cereals from Battle Creek. Deep down, what scares voters in both parties the most is the thought that these unique and vital places are vanishing or eroding – overrun by immigrants or the forces of globalism or both, with giant Walmarts descending like spaceships to replace the corner grocer, the family barber and the local hardware store, and 1,000 cable channels replacing the school dance and the gossip at the local diner.
Obama ran on "change" in 2008, but Mitt Romney represents a far more real and seismic shift in the American landscape. Romney is the frontman and apostle of an economic revolution, in which transactions are manufactured instead of products, wealth is generated without accompanying prosperity, and Cayman Islands partnerships are lovingly erected and nurtured while American communities fall apart. The entire purpose of the business model that Romney helped pioneer is to move money into the archipelago from the places outside it, using massive amounts of taxpayer-subsidized debt to enrich a handful of billionaires. It's a vision of society that's crazy, vicious and almost unbelievably selfish, yet it's running for president, and it has a chance of winning. Perhaps that change is coming whether we like it or not. Perhaps Mitt Romney is the best man to manage the transition. But it seems a little early to vote for that kind of wholesale surrender.
This story is from the September 13, 2012 issue of Rolling Stone.
Greed and Debt: The True Story of Mitt Romney and Bain Capital
How the GOP presidential candidate and his private equity firm staged an epic wealth grab, destroyed jobs – and stuck others with the bill
by: Matt Taibbi
The great criticism of Mitt Romney, from both sides of the aisle, has always been that he doesn't stand for anything. He's a flip-flopper, they say, a lightweight, a cardboard opportunist who'll say anything to get elected.
The critics couldn't be more wrong. Mitt Romney is no tissue-paper man. He's closer to being a revolutionary, a backward-world version of Che or Trotsky, with tweezed nostrils instead of a beard, a half-Windsor instead of a leather jerkin. His legendary flip-flops aren't the lies of a bumbling opportunist – they're the confident prevarications of a man untroubled by misleading the nonbeliever in pursuit of a single, all-consuming goal. Romney has a vision, and he's trying for something big: We've just been too slow to sort out what it is, just as we've been slow to grasp the roots of the radical economic changes that have swept the country in the last generation.
The incredible untold story of the 2012 election so far is that Romney's run has been a shimmering pearl of perfect political hypocrisy, which he's somehow managed to keep hidden, even with thousands of cameras following his every move. And the drama of this rhetorical high-wire act was ratcheted up even further when Romney chose his running mate, Rep. Paul Ryan of Wisconsin – like himself, a self-righteously anal, thin-lipped, Whitest Kids U Know penny pincher who'd be honored to tell Oliver Twist there's no more soup left. By selecting Ryan, Romney, the hard-charging, chameleonic champion of a disgraced-yet-defiant Wall Street, officially succeeded in moving the battle lines in the 2012 presidential race.
Like John McCain four years before, Romney desperately needed a vice-presidential pick that would change the game. But where McCain bet on a combustive mix of clueless novelty and suburban sexual tension named Sarah Palin, Romney bet on an idea. He said as much when he unveiled his choice of Ryan, the author of a hair-raising budget-cutting plan best known for its willingness to slash the sacred cows of Medicare and Medicaid. "Paul Ryan has become an intellectual leader of the Republican Party," Romney told frenzied Republican supporters in Norfolk, Virginia, standing before the reliably jingoistic backdrop of a floating warship. "He understands the fiscal challenges facing America: our exploding deficits and crushing debt."
Debt, debt, debt. If the Republican Party had a James Carville, this is what he would have said to win Mitt over, in whatever late-night war room session led to the Ryan pick: "It's the debt, stupid." This is the way to defeat Barack Obama: to recast the race as a jeremiad against debt, something just about everybody who's ever gotten a bill in the mail hates on a primal level.
Last May, in a much-touted speech in Iowa, Romney used language that was literally inflammatory to describe America's federal borrowing. "A prairie fire of debt is sweeping across Iowa and our nation," he declared. "Every day we fail to act, that fire gets closer to the homes and children we love." Our collective debt is no ordinary problem: According to Mitt, it's going to burn our children alive.
And this is where we get to the hypocrisy at the heart of Mitt Romney. Everyone knows that he is fantastically rich, having scored great success, the legend goes, as a "turnaround specialist," a shrewd financial operator who revived moribund companies as a high-priced consultant for a storied Wall Street private equity firm. But what most voters don't know is the way Mitt Romney actually made his fortune: by borrowing vast sums of money that other people were forced to pay back. This is the plain, stark reality that has somehow eluded America's top political journalists for two consecutive presidential campaigns: Mitt Romney is one of the greatest and most irresponsible debt creators of all time. In the past few decades, in fact, Romney has piled more debt onto more unsuspecting companies, written more gigantic checks that other people have to cover, than perhaps all but a handful of people on planet Earth.
By making debt the centerpiece of his campaign, Romney was making a calculated bluff of historic dimensions – placing a massive all-in bet on the rank incompetence of the American press corps. The result has been a brilliant comedy: A man makes a $250 million fortune loading up companies with debt and then extracting million-dollar fees from those same companies, in exchange for the generous service of telling them who needs to be fired in order to finance the debt payments he saddled them with in the first place. That same man then runs for president riding an image of children roasting on flames of debt, choosing as his running mate perhaps the only politician in America more pompous and self-righteous on the subject of the evils of borrowed money than the candidate himself. If Romney pulls off this whopper, you'll have to tip your hat to him: No one in history has ever successfully run for president riding this big of a lie. It's almost enough to make you think he really is qualified for the White House.
The unlikeliness of Romney's gambit isn't simply a reflection of his own artlessly unapologetic mindset – it stands as an emblem for the resiliency of the entire sociopathic Wall Street set he represents. Four years ago, the Mitt Romneys of the world nearly destroyed the global economy with their greed, shortsightedness and – most notably – wildly irresponsible use of debt in pursuit of personal profit. The sight was so disgusting that people everywhere were ready to drop an H-bomb on Lower Manhattan and bayonet the survivors. But today that same insane greed ethos, that same belief in the lunatic pursuit of instant borrowed millions – it's dusted itself off, it's had a shave and a shoeshine, and it's back out there running for president.
Mitt Romney, it turns out, is the perfect frontman for Wall Street's greed revolution. He's not a two-bit, shifty-eyed huckster like Lloyd Blankfein. He's not a sighing, eye-rolling, arrogant jerkwad like Jamie Dimon. But Mitt believes the same things those guys believe: He's been right with them on the front lines of the financialization revolution, a decades-long campaign in which the old, simple, let's-make-stuff-and-sell-it manufacturing economy was replaced with a new, highly complex, let's-take-stuff-and-trash-it financial economy. Instead of cars and airplanes, we built swaps, CDOs and other toxic financial products. Instead of building new companies from the ground up, we took out massive bank loans and used them to acquire existing firms, liquidating every asset in sight and leaving the target companies holding the note. The new borrow-and-conquer economy was morally sanctified by an almost religious faith in the grossly euphemistic concept of "creative destruction," and amounted to a total abdication of collective responsibility by America's rich, whose new thing was making assloads of money in ever-shorter campaigns of economic conquest, sending the proceeds offshore, and shrugging as the great towns and factories their parents and grandparents built were shuttered and boarded up, crushed by a true prairie fire of debt.
Mitt Romney – a man whose own father built cars and nurtured communities, and was one of the old-school industrial anachronisms pushed aside by the new generation's wealth grab – has emerged now to sell this make-nothing, take-everything, screw-everyone ethos to the world. He's Gordon Gekko, but a new and improved version, with better PR – and a bigger goal. A takeover artist all his life, Romney is now trying to take over America itself. And if his own history is any guide, we'll all end up paying for the acquisition.
Willard "Mitt" Romney's background in many ways suggests a man who was born to be president – disgustingly rich from birth, raised in prep schools, no early exposure to minorities outside of maids, a powerful daddy to clean up his missteps, and timely exemptions from military service. In Romney's bio there are some eerie early-life similarities to other recent presidential figures. (Is America really ready for another Republican president who was a prep-school cheerleader?) And like other great presidential double-talkers such as Bill Clinton and George W. Bush, Romney has shown particular aptitude in the area of telling multiple factual versions of his own life story.
"I longed in many respects to actually be in Vietnam and be representing our country there," he claimed years after the war. To a different audience, he said, "I was not planning on signing up for the military. It was not my desire to go off and serve in Vietnam."
Like John F. Kennedy and George W. Bush, men whose way into power was smoothed by celebrity fathers but who rebelled against their parental legacy as mature politicians, Mitt Romney's career has been both a tribute to and a repudiation of his famous father. George Romney in the 1950s became CEO of American Motors Corp., made a modest fortune betting on energy efficiency in an age of gas guzzlers and ended up serving as governor of the state of Michigan only two generations removed from the Romney clan's tradition of polygamy. For Mitt, who grew up worshipping his tall, craggily handsome, politically moderate father, life was less rocky: Cranbrook prep school in suburban Detroit, followed by Stanford in the Sixties, a missionary term in which he spent two and a half years trying (as he said) to persuade the French to "give up your wine," and Harvard Business School in the Seventies. Then, faced with making a career choice, Mitt chose an odd one: Already married and a father of two, he left Harvard and eschewed both politics and the law to enter the at-the-time unsexy world of financial consulting.
"When you get out of a place like Harvard, you can do anything – at least in the old days you could," says a prominent corporate lawyer on Wall Street who is familiar with Romney's career. "But he comes out, he not only has a Harvard Business School degree, he's got a national pedigree with his name. He could have done anything – but what does he do? He says, 'I'm going to spend my life loading up distressed companies with debt.' "
Romney started off at the Boston Consulting Group, where he showed an aptitude for crunching numbers and glad-handing clients. Then, in 1977, he joined a young entrepreneur named Bill Bain at a firm called Bain & Company, where he worked for six years before being handed the reins of a new firm-within-a-firm called Bain Capital.
In Romney's version of the tale, Bain Capital – which evolved into what is today known as a private equity firm – specialized in turning around moribund companies (Romney even wrote a book called Turnaround that complements his other nauseatingly self-complimentary book, No Apology) and helped create the Staples office-supply chain. On the campaign trail, Romney relentlessly trades on his own self-perpetuated reputation as a kind of altruistic rescuer of failing enterprises, never missing an opportunity to use the word "help" or "helped" in his description of what he and Bain did for companies. He might, for instance, describe himself as having been "deeply involved in helping other businesses" or say he "helped create tens of thousands of jobs."
The reality is that toward the middle of his career at Bain, Romney made a fateful strategic decision: He moved away from creating companies like Staples through venture capital schemes, and toward a business model that involved borrowing huge sums of money to take over existing firms, then extracting value from them by force. He decided, as he later put it, that "there's a lot greater risk in a startup than there is in acquiring an existing company." In the Eighties, when Romney made this move, this form of financial piracy became known as a leveraged buyout, and it achieved iconic status thanks to Gordon Gekko in Wall Street. Gekko's business strategy was essentially identical to the Romney–Bain model, only Gekko called himself a "liberator" of companies instead of a "helper."
Here's how Romney would go about "liberating" a company: A private equity firm like Bain typically seeks out floundering businesses with good cash flows. It then puts down a relatively small amount of its own money and runs to a big bank like Goldman Sachs or Citigroup for the rest of the financing. (Most leveraged buyouts are financed with 60 to 90 percent borrowed cash.) The takeover firm then uses that borrowed money to buy a controlling stake in the target company, either with or without its consent. When an LBO is done without the consent of the target, it's called a hostile takeover; such thrilling acts of corporate piracy were made legend in the Eighties, most notably the 1988 attack by notorious corporate raiders Kohlberg Kravis Roberts against RJR Nabisco, a deal memorialized in the book Barbarians at the Gate.
Romney and Bain avoided the hostile approach, preferring to secure the cooperation of their takeover targets by buying off a company's management with lucrative bonuses. Once management is on board, the rest is just math. So if the target company is worth $500 million, Bain might put down $20 million of its own cash, then borrow $350 million from an investment bank to take over a controlling stake.
But here's the catch. When Bain borrows all of that money from the bank, it's the target company that ends up on the hook for all of the debt.
Now your troubled firm – let's say you make tricycles in Alabama – has been taken over by a bunch of slick Wall Street dudes who kicked in as little as five percent as a down payment. So in addition to whatever problems you had before, Tricycle Inc. now owes Goldman or Citigroup $350 million. With all that new debt service to pay, the company's bottom line is suddenly untenable: You almost have to start firing people immediately just to get your costs down to a manageable level.
"That interest," says Lynn Turner, former chief accountant of the Securities and Exchange Commission, "just sucks the profit out of the company."
Fortunately, the geniuses at Bain who now run the place are there to help tell you whom to fire. And for the service it performs cutting your company's costs to help you pay off the massive debt that it, Bain, saddled your company with in the first place, Bain naturally charges a management fee, typically millions of dollars a year. So Tricycle Inc. now has two gigantic new burdens it never had before Bain Capital stepped into the picture: tens of millions in annual debt service, and millions more in "management fees." Since the initial acquisition of Tricycle Inc. was probably greased by promising the company's upper management lucrative bonuses, all that pain inevitably comes out of just one place: the benefits and payroll of the hourly workforce.
Once all that debt is added, one of two things can happen. The company can fire workers and slash benefits to pay off all its new obligations to Goldman Sachs and Bain, leaving it ripe to be resold by Bain at a huge profit. Or it can go bankrupt – this happens after about seven percent of all private equity buyouts – leaving behind one or more shuttered factory towns. Either way, Bain wins. By power-sucking cash value from even the most rapidly dying firms, private equity raiders like Bain almost always get their cash out before a target goes belly up.
This business model wasn't really "helping," of course – and it wasn't new. Fans of mob movies will recognize what's known as the "bust-out," in which a gangster takes over a restaurant or sporting goods store and then monetizes his investment by running up giant debts on the company's credit line. (Think Paulie buying all those cases of Cutty Sark in Goodfellas.) When the note comes due, the mobster simply torches the restaurant and collects the insurance money. Reduced to their most basic level, the leveraged buyouts engineered by Romney followed exactly the same business model. "It's the bust-out," one Wall Street trader says with a laugh. "That's all it is."
Private equity firms aren't necessarily evil by definition. There are many stories of successful turnarounds fueled by private equity, often involving multiple floundering businesses that are rolled into a single entity, eliminating duplicative overhead. Experian, the giant credit-rating tyrant, was acquired by Bain in the Nineties and went on to become an industry leader.
But there's a key difference between private equity firms and the businesses that were America's original industrial cornerstones, like the elder Romney's AMC. Everyone had a stake in the success of those old businesses, which spread prosperity by putting people to work. But even private equity's most enthusiastic adherents have difficulty explaining its benefit to society. Marc Wolpow, a former Bain colleague of Romney's, told reporters during Mitt's first Senate run that Romney erred in trying to sell his business as good for everyone. "I believed he was making a mistake by framing himself as a job creator," said Wolpow. "That was not his or Bain's or the industry's primary objective. The objective of the LBO business is maximizing returns for investors." When it comes to private equity, American workers – not to mention their families and communities – simply don't enter into the equation.
Take a typical Bain transaction involving an Indiana-based company called American Pad and Paper. Bain bought Ampad in 1992 for just $5 million, financing the rest of the deal with borrowed cash. Within three years, Ampad was paying $60 million in annual debt payments, plus an additional $7 million in management fees. A year later, Bain led Ampad to go public, cashed out about $50 million in stock for itself and its investors, charged the firm $2 million for arranging the IPO and pocketed another $5 million in "management" fees. Ampad wound up going bankrupt, and hundreds of workers lost their jobs, but Bain and Romney weren't crying: They'd made more than $100 million on a $5 million investment.
To recap: Romney, who has compared the devilish federal debt to a "nightmare" home mortgage that is "adjustable, no-money down and assigned to our children," took over Ampad with essentially no money down, saddled the firm with a nightmare debt and assigned the crushing interest payments not to Bain but to the children of Ampad's workers, who would be left holding the note long after Romney fled the scene. The mortgage analogy is so obvious, in fact, that even Romney himself has made it. He once described Bain's debt-fueled strategy as "using the equivalent of a mortgage to leverage up our investment."
Romney has always kept his distance from the real-life consequences of his profiteering. At one point during Bain's looting of Ampad, a worker named Randy Johnson sent a handwritten letter to Romney, asking him to intervene to save an Ampad factory in Marion, Indiana. In a sterling demonstration of manliness and willingness to face a difficult conversation, Romney, who had just lost his race for the Senate in Massachusetts, wrote Johnson that he was "sorry," but his lawyers had advised him not to get involved. (So much for the candidate who insists that his way is always to "fight to save every job.")
This is typical Romney, who consistently adopts a public posture of having been above the fray, with no blood on his hands from any of the deals he personally engineered. "I never actually ran one of our investments," he says in Turnaround. "That was left to management."
In reality, though, Romney was unquestionably the decider at Bain. "I insisted on having almost dictatorial powers," he bragged years after the Ampad deal. Over the years, colleagues would anonymously whisper stories about Mitt the Boss to the press, describing him as cunning, manipulative and a little bit nuts, with "an ability to identify people's insecurities and exploit them for his own benefit." One former Bain employee said that Romney would screw around with bonuses in small amounts, just to mess with people: He would give $3 million to one, $3.1 million to another and $2.9 million to a third, just to keep those below him on edge.
The private equity business in the early Nineties was dominated by a handful of takeover firms, from the spooky and politically connected Carlyle Group (a favorite subject of conspiracy-theory lit, with its connections to right-wingers like Donald Rumsfeld and George H.W. Bush) to the equally spooky Democrat-leaning assholes at the Blackstone Group. But even among such a colorful cast of characters, Bain had a reputation on Wall Street for secrecy and extreme weirdness – "the KGB of consulting." Its employees, known for their Mormonish uniform of white shirts and red power ties, were dubbed "Bainies" by other Wall Streeters, a rip on the fanatical "Moonies." The firm earned the name thanks to its idiotically adolescent Spy Kids culture, in which these glorified slumlords used code names, didn't carry business cards and even sang "company songs" to boost morale.
The seemingly religious flavor of Bain's culture smacks of the generally cultish ethos on Wall Street, in which all sorts of ethically questionable behaviors are justified as being necessary in service of the church of making money. Romney belongs to a true-believer subset within that cult, with a revolutionary's faith in the wisdom of the pure free market, in which destroying companies and sucking the value out of them for personal gain is part of the greater good, and governments should "stand aside and allow the creative destruction inherent in the free economy."
That cultlike zeal helps explains why Romney takes such a curiously unapologetic approach to his own flip-flopping. His infamous changes of stance are not little wispy ideological alterations of a few degrees here or there – they are perfect and absolute mathematical reversals, as in "I believe that abortion should be safe and legal in this country" and "I am firmly pro-life." Yet unlike other politicians, who at least recognize that saying completely contradictory things presents a political problem, Romney seems genuinely puzzled by the public's insistence that he be consistent. "I'm not going to apologize for having changed my mind," he likes to say. It's an attitude that recalls the standard defense offered by Wall Street in the wake of some of its most recent and notorious crimes: Goldman Sachs excused its lying to clients, for example, by insisting that its customers are "sophisticated investors" who should expect to be lied to. "Last time I checked," former Morgan Stanley CEO John Mack sneered after the same scandal, "we were in business to be profitable."
Within the cult of Wall Street that forged Mitt Romney, making money justifies any behavior, no matter how venal. The look on Romney's face when he refuses to apologize says it all: Hey, I'm trying to win an election. We're all grown-ups here. After the Ampad deal, Romney expressed contempt for critics who lived in "fantasy land." "This is the real world," he said, "and in the real world there is nothing wrong with companies trying to compete, trying to stay alive, trying to make money."
In the old days, making money required sharing the wealth: with assembly-line workers, with middle management, with schools and communities, with investors. Even the Gilded Age robber barons, despite their unapologetic efforts to keep workers from getting any rights at all, built America in spite of themselves, erecting railroads and oil wells and telegraph wires. And from the time the monopolists were reined in with antitrust laws through the days when men like Mitt Romney's dad exited center stage in our economy, the American social contract was pretty consistent: The rich got to stay rich, often filthy rich, but they paid taxes and a living wage and everyone else rose at least a little bit along with them.
But under Romney's business model, leveraging other people's debt means you can carve out big profits for yourself and leave everyone else holding the bag. Despite what Romney claims, the rate of return he provided for Bain's investors over the years wasn't all that great. Romney biographer and Wall Street Journal reporter Brett Arends, who analyzed Bain's performance between 1984 and 1998, concludes that the firm's returns were likely less than 30 percent per year, which happened to track more or less with the stock market's average during that time. "That's how much money you could have made by issuing company bonds and then spending the money picking stocks out of the paper at random," Arends observes. So for all the destruction Romney wreaked on Middle America in the name of "trying to make money," investors could have just plunked their money into traditional stocks and gotten pretty much the same returns.
The only ones who profited in a big way from all the job-killing debt that Romney leveraged were Mitt and his buddies at Bain, along with Wall Street firms like Goldman and Citigroup. Barry Ritholtz, author of Bailout Nation, says the criticisms of Bain about layoffs and meanness miss a more important point, which is that the firm's profit-producing record is absurdly mediocre, especially when set against all the trouble and pain its business model causes. "Bain's fundamental flaw, at least according to the math," Ritholtz writes, "is that they took lots of risk, use immense leverage and charged enormous fees, for performance that was more or less the same as [stock] indexing."
'I'm not a Romney guy, because I'm not a Bain guy," says Lenny Patnode, in an Irish pub in the factory town of Pittsfield, Massachusetts. "But I'm not an Obama guy, either. Just so you know."
I feel bad even asking Patnode about Romney. Big and burly, with white hair and the thick forearms of a man who's stocked a shelf or two in his lifetime, he seems to belong to an era before things like leveraged debt even existed. For 38 years, Patnode worked for a company called KB Toys in Pittsfield. He was the longest-serving employee in the company's history, opening some of the firm's first mall stores, making some of its canniest product buys ("Tamagotchi pets," he says, beaming, "and Tech-Decks, too"), traveling all over the world to help build an empire that at its peak included 1,300 stores. "There were times when I worked seven days a week, 16 hours a day," he says. "I opened three stores in two months once."
Then in 2000, right before Romney gave up his ownership stake in Bain Capital, the firm targeted KB Toys. The debacle that followed serves as a prime example of the conflict between the old model of American business, built from the ground up with sweat and industry know-how, and the new globalist model, the Romney model, which uses leverage as a weapon of high-speed conquest.
In a typical private-equity fragging, Bain put up a mere $18 million to acquire KB Toys and got big banks to finance the remaining $302 million it needed. Less than a year and a half after the purchase, Bain decided to give itself a gift known as a "dividend recapitalization." The firm induced KB Toys to redeem $121 million in stock and take out more than $66 million in bank loans – $83 million of which went directly into the pockets of Bain's owners and investors, including Romney. "The dividend recap is like borrowing someone else's credit card to take out a cash advance, and then leaving them to pay it off," says Heather Slavkin Corzo, who monitors private equity takeovers as the senior legal policy adviser for the AFL-CIO.
Bain ended up earning a return of at least 370 percent on the deal, while KB Toys fell into bankruptcy, saddled with millions in debt. KB's former parent company, Big Lots, alleged in bankruptcy court that Bain's "unjustified" return on the dividend recap was actually "900 percent in a mere 16 months." Patnode, by contrast, was fired in December 2008, after almost four decades on the job. Like other employees, he didn't get a single day's severance.
I ask Slavkin Corzo what Bain's justification was for the giant dividend recapitalization in the KB Toys acquisition. The question throws her, as though she's surprised anyone would ask for a reason a company like Bain would loot a firm like KB Toys. "It wasn't like, 'Yay, we did a good job, we get a dividend,'" she says with a laugh. "It was like, 'We can do this, so we will.' "
At the time of the KB Toys deal, Romney was a Bain investor and owner, making him a mere beneficiary of the raping and pillaging, rather than its direct organizer. Moreover, KB's demise was hastened by a host of genuine market forces, including competition from video games and cellphones. But there's absolutely no way to look at what Bain did at KB and see anything but a cash grab – one that followed the business model laid out by Romney. Rather than cutting costs and tightening belts, Bain added $300 million in debt to the firm's bottom line while taking out more than $120 million in cash – an outright looting that creditors later described in a lawsuit as "breaking open the piggy bank." What's more, Bain smoothed the deal in typical fashion by giving huge bonuses to the company's top managers as the firm headed toward bankruptcy. CEO Michael Glazer got an incredible $18.4 million, while CFO Robert Feldman received $4.8 million and senior VP Thomas Alfonsi took home $3.3 million.
And what did Bain bring to the table in return for its massive, outsize payout? KB Toys had built a small empire by targeting middle-class buyers with value-priced products. It succeeded mainly because the firm's leaders had a great instinct for what they were making and selling. These were people who had been in the specialty toy business since 1922; collectively, they had millions of man-hours of knowledge about how the industry works and how toy customers behave. KB's president in the Eighties, the late Saul Rubenstein, used to carry around a giant computer printout of the company's inventory, and would fall asleep reading it on the weekends, the pages clasped to his chest. "He knew the name and number of all those toys," his widow, Shirley, says proudly. "He loved toys."
Bain's experience in the toy industry, by contrast, was precisely bupkus. They didn't know a damn thing about the business they had taken over – and they never cared to learn. The firm's entire contribution was $18 million in cash and a huge mound of borrowed money that gave it the power to pull the levers. "The people who came in after – they were never toy people," says Shirley Rubenstein. To make matters worse, former employees say, Bain deluged them with requests for paperwork and reports, forcing them to worry more about the whims of their new bosses than the demands of their customers. "We took our eye off the ball," Patnode says. "And if you take your eye off the ball, you strike out."
In the end, Bain never bothered to come up with a plan for how KB Toys could meet the 21st-century challenges of video games and cellphone gadgets that were the company's ostensible downfall. And that's where Romney's self-touted reputation as a turnaround specialist is a myth. In the Bain model, the actual turnaround isn't necessary. It's just a cover story. It's nice for the private equity firm if it happens, because it makes the acquired company more attractive for resale or an IPO. But it's mostly irrelevant to the success of the takeover model, where huge cash returns are extracted whether the captured firm thrives or not.
"The thing about it is, nobody gets hurt," says Patnode. "Except the people who worked here."
Romney was a prime mover in the radical social and political transformation that was cooked up by Wall Street beginning in the 1980s. In fact, you can trace the whole history of the modern age of financialization just by following the highly specific corner of the economic universe inhabited by the leveraged buyout business, where Mitt Romney thrived. If you look at the number of leveraged buyouts dating back two or three decades, you see a clear pattern: Takeovers rose sharply with each of Wall Street's great easy-money schemes, then plummeted just as sharply after each of those scams crashed and burned, leaving the rest of us with the bill.
In the Eighties, when Romney and Bain were cutting their teeth in the LBO business, the primary magic trick involved the junk bonds pioneered by convicted felon Mike Milken, which allowed firms like Bain to find easy financing for takeovers by using wildly overpriced distressed corporate bonds as collateral. Junk bonds gave the Gordon Gekkos of the world sudden primacy over old-school industrial titans like the Fords and the Rockefellers: For the first time, the ability to make deals became more valuable than the ability to make stuff, and the ability to instantly engineer billions in illusory financing trumped the comparatively slow process of making and selling products for gradual returns.
Romney was right in the middle of this radical change. In fact, according to The Boston Globe – whose in-depth reporting on Romney and Bain has spanned three decades – one of Romney's first LBO deals, and one of his most profitable, involved Mike Milken himself. Bain put down $10 million in cash, got $300 million in financing from Milken and bought a pair of department-store chains, Bealls Brothers and Palais Royal. In what should by now be a familiar outcome, the two chains – which Bain merged into a single outfit called Stage Stores – filed for bankruptcy protection in 2000 under the weight of more than $444 million in debt. As always, Bain took no responsibility for the company's demise. (If you search the public record, you will not find a single instance of Mitt Romney taking responsibility for a company's failure.) Instead, Bain blamed Stage's collapse on "operating problems" that took place three years after Bain cashed out, finishing with a $175 million return on its initial investment of $10 million.
But here's the interesting twist: Romney made the Bealls-Palais deal just as the federal government was launching charges of massive manipulation and insider trading against Milken and his firm, Drexel Burnham Lambert. After what must have been a lengthy and agonizing period of moral soul-searching, however, Romney decided not to kill the deal, despite its shady financing. "We did not say, 'Oh, my goodness, Drexel has been accused of something, not been found guilty,' " Romney told reporters years after the deal. "Should we basically stop the transaction and blow the whole thing up?"
In an even more incredible disregard for basic morality, Romney forged ahead with the deal even though Milken's case was being heard by a federal district judge named Milton Pollack, whose wife, Moselle, happened to be the chairwoman of none other than Palais Royal. In short, one of Romney's first takeover deals was financed by dirty money – and one of the corporate chiefs about to receive a big payout from Bain was married to the judge hearing the case. Although the SEC took no formal action, it issued a sharp criticism, complaining that Romney was allowing Milken's money to have a possible influence over "the administration of justice."
After Milken and his junk bond scheme crashed in the late Eighties, Romney and other takeover artists moved on to Wall Street's next get-rich-quick scheme: the tech-Internet stock bubble. By 1997 and 1998, there were nearly $400 billion in leveraged buyouts a year, as easy money once again gave these financial piracy firms the ammunition they needed to raid companies like KB Toys. Firms like Bain even have a colorful pirate name for the pools of takeover money they raise in advance from pension funds, university endowments and other institutional investors. "They call it dry powder," says Slavkin Corzo, the union adviser.
After the Internet bubble burst and private equity started cashing in on Wall Street's mortgage scam, LBO deals ballooned to almost $900 billion in 2006. Once again, storied companies with long histories and deep regional ties were descended upon by Bain and other pirates, saddled with hundreds of millions in debt, forced to pay huge management fees and "dividend recapitalizations," and ridden into bankruptcy amid waves of layoffs. Established firms like Del Monte, Hertz and Dollar General were all taken over in a "prairie fire of debt" – one even more destructive than the government borrowing that Romney is flogging on the campaign trial. When Hertz was conquered in 2005 by a trio of private equity firms, including the Carlyle Group, the interest payments on its debt soared by a monstrous 80 percent, forcing the company to eliminate a third of its 32,000 jobs.
In 2010, a year after the last round of Hertz layoffs, Carlyle teamed up with Bain to take $500 million out of another takeover target: the parent company of Dunkin' Donuts and Baskin-Robbins. Dunkin' had to take out a $1.25 billion loan to pay a dividend to its new private equity owners. So think of this the next time you go to Dunkin' Donuts for a cup of coffee: A small cup of joe costs about $1.69 in most outlets, which means that for years to come, Dunkin' Donuts will have to sell about 2,011,834 small coffees every month – about $3.4 million – just to meet the interest payments on the loan it took out to pay Bain and Carlyle their little one-time dividend. And that doesn't include the principal on the loan, or the additional millions in debt that Dunkin' has to pay every year to get out from under the $2.4 billion in debt it's now saddled with after having the privilege of being taken over – with borrowed money – by the firm that Romney built.
If you haven't heard much about how takeover deals like Dunkin' and KB Toys work, that's because Mitt Romney and his private equity brethren don't want you to. The new owners of American industry are the polar opposites of the Milton Hersheys and Andrew Carnegies who built this country, commercial titans who longed to leave visible legacies of their accomplishments, erecting hospitals and schools and libraries, sometimes leaving behind thriving towns that bore their names.
The men of the private equity generation want no such thing. "We try to hide religiously," explained Steven Feinberg, the CEO of a takeover firm called Cerberus Capital Management that recently drove one of its targets into bankruptcy after saddling it with $2.3 billion in debt. "If anyone at Cerberus has his picture in the paper and a picture of his apartment, we will do more than fire that person," Feinberg told shareholders in 2007. "We will kill him. The jail sentence will be worth it."
Which brings us to another aspect of Romney's business career that has largely been hidden from voters: His personal fortune would not have been possible without the direct assistance of the U.S. government. The taxpayer-funded subsidies that Romney has received go well beyond the humdrum, backdoor, welfare-sucking that all supposedly self-made free marketeers inevitably indulge in. Not that Romney hasn't done just fine at milking the government when it suits his purposes, the most obvious instance being the incredible $1.5 billion in aid he siphoned out of the U.S. Treasury as head of the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake – a sum greater than all federal spending for the previous seven U.S. Olympic games combined. Romney, the supposed fiscal conservative, blew through an average of $625,000 in taxpayer money per athlete – an astounding increase of 5,582 percent over the $11,000 average at the 1984 games in Los Angeles. In 1993, right as he was preparing to run for the Senate, Romney also engineered a government deal worth at least $10 million for Bain's consulting firm, when it was teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. (See "The Federal Bailout That Saved Romney"<file://1upmc-users10/politics/news/the-federal-bailout-that-saved-mitt-romney-20120829>)
But the way Romney most directly owes his success to the government is through the structure of the tax code. The entire business of leveraged buyouts wouldn't be possible without a provision in the federal code that allows companies like Bain to deduct the interest on the debt they use to acquire and loot their targets. This is the same universally beloved tax deduction you can use to write off your mortgage interest payments, so tampering with it is considered political suicide – it's been called the "third rail of tax reform." So the Romney who routinely rails against the national debt as some kind of child-killing "mortgage" is the same man who spent decades exploiting a tax deduction specifically designed for mortgage holders in order to bilk every dollar he could out of U.S. businesses before burning them to the ground.
Because minus that tax break, Romney's debt-based takeovers would have been unsustainably expensive. Before Lynn Turner became chief accountant of the SEC, where he reviewed filings on takeover deals, he crunched the numbers on leveraged buyouts as an accountant at a Big Four auditing firm. "In the majority of these deals," Turner says, "the tax deduction has a big enough impact on the bottom line that the takeover wouldn't work without it."
Thanks to the tax deduction, in other words, the government actually incentivizes the kind of leverage-based takeovers that Romney built his fortune on. Romney the businessman built his career on two things that Romney the candidate decries: massive debt and dumb federal giveaways. "I don't know what Romney would be doing but for debt and its tax-advantaged position in the tax code," says a prominent Wall Street lawyer, "but he wouldn't be fabulously wealthy."
Adding to the hypocrisy, the money that Romney personally pocketed on Bain's takeover deals was usually taxed not as income, but either as capital gains or as "carried interest," both of which are capped at a maximum rate of 15 percent. In addition, reporters have uncovered plenty of evidence that Romney takes full advantage of offshore tax havens: He has an interest in at least 12 Bain funds, worth a total of $30 million, that are based in the Cayman Islands; he has reportedly used a squirrelly tax shelter known as a "blocker corporation" that cheats taxpayers out of some $100 million a year; and his wife, Ann, had a Swiss bank account worth $3 million. As a private equity pirate, Romney pays less than half the tax rate of most American executives – less, even, than teachers, firefighters, cops and nurses. Asked about the fact that he paid a tax rate of only 13.9 percent on income of $21.7 million in 2010, Romney responded testily that the massive windfall he enjoys from exploiting the tax code is "entirely legal and fair."
Essentially, Romney got rich in a business that couldn't exist without a perverse tax break, and he got to keep double his earnings because of another loophole – a pair of bureaucratic accidents that have not only teamed up to threaten us with a Mitt Romney presidency but that make future Romneys far more likely. "Those two tax rules distort the economics of private equity investments, making them much more lucrative than they should be," says Rebecca Wilkins, senior counsel at the Center for Tax Justice. "So we get more of that activity than the market would support on its own."
Listen to Mitt Romney speak, and see if you can notice what's missing. This is a man who grew up in Michigan, went to college in California, walked door to door through the streets of southern France as a missionary and was a governor of Massachusetts, the home of perhaps the most instantly recognizable, heavily accented English this side of Edinburgh. Yet not a trace of any of these places is detectable in Romney's diction. None of the people in any of those places bled in and left a mark on the man.
Romney is a man from nowhere. In his post-regional attitude, he shares something with his campaign opponent, Barack Obama, whose background is a similarly jumbled pastiche of regionally nonspecific non-identity. But in the way he bounced around the world as a half-orphaned child, Obama was more like an involuntary passenger in the demographic revolution reshaping the planet than one of its leaders.
Romney, on the other hand, is a perfect representative of one side of the ominous cultural divide that will define the next generation, not just here in America but all over the world. Forget about the Southern strategy, blue versus red, swing states and swing voters – all of those political clichés are quaint relics of a less threatening era that is now part of our past, or soon will be. The next conflict defining us all is much more unnerving.
That conflict will be between people who live somewhere, and people who live nowhere. It will be between people who consider themselves citizens of actual countries, to which they have patriotic allegiance, and people to whom nations are meaningless, who live in a stateless global archipelago of privilege – a collection of private schools, tax havens and gated residential communities with little or no connection to the outside world.
Mitt Romney isn't blue or red. He's an archipelago man. That's a big reason that voters have been slow to warm up to him. From LBJ to Bill Clinton to George W. Bush to Sarah Palin, Americans like their politicians to sound like they're from somewhere, to be human symbols of our love affair with small towns, the girl next door, the little pink houses of Mellencamp myth. Most of those mythical American towns grew up around factories – think chocolate bars from Hershey, baseball bats from Louisville, cereals from Battle Creek. Deep down, what scares voters in both parties the most is the thought that these unique and vital places are vanishing or eroding – overrun by immigrants or the forces of globalism or both, with giant Walmarts descending like spaceships to replace the corner grocer, the family barber and the local hardware store, and 1,000 cable channels replacing the school dance and the gossip at the local diner.
Obama ran on "change" in 2008, but Mitt Romney represents a far more real and seismic shift in the American landscape. Romney is the frontman and apostle of an economic revolution, in which transactions are manufactured instead of products, wealth is generated without accompanying prosperity, and Cayman Islands partnerships are lovingly erected and nurtured while American communities fall apart. The entire purpose of the business model that Romney helped pioneer is to move money into the archipelago from the places outside it, using massive amounts of taxpayer-subsidized debt to enrich a handful of billionaires. It's a vision of society that's crazy, vicious and almost unbelievably selfish, yet it's running for president, and it has a chance of winning. Perhaps that change is coming whether we like it or not. Perhaps Mitt Romney is the best man to manage the transition. But it seems a little early to vote for that kind of wholesale surrender.
This story is from the September 13, 2012 issue of Rolling Stone.
Back in 2009, [some guy] went season by season and adjusted Gretzky's point totals to the then league average of 5.82 goals per game. Not surprisingly, Gretzky's stats took quite the tumble. In today's numbers, Gretzky would have averaged 1.56 points per game for his career, good for 128 points over 82 contests. Adjust Mario Lemieux's career numbers in the same fashion, and he averages 1.61 points per game, which is exactly what Kid Crosby was averaging this season before his concussion.
(The areas with the highest rates of racially charged search terms were West Virginia, western Pennsylvania, eastern Ohio, upstate New York, and southern Mississippi.) Doens't surprise me about western PA.. lot of rednecks/hicks and anti-blacks.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e9/US_county_household_median_income_2009.png New Jersey and the DC area doesn't surprise me. All rich folks. Northern Alaska? jesus, where's their money coming from?
Me and Emily are at about the 63rd percentile of household income. AFter I'm an anesthetist, Emily can retire 'cause we'll be at either the 84th or 94th percentile. We definitely have too much money now.. if it wasn't for my student loans... too bad. If I get accepted into an anesthesia program, I'm definitely doing that military scholarship National Health Scienes program or whatever it's called, putting my loans on hold .. they can pay my anesthesia school tuition and then my current loans when I'm done with that. too easy. man, the military is nice for that. Not sure how I'm gonna be able to manage PT, though. I really can't run unless I wanna feel knee pain for weeks. I wouldnt' tell them that, at least not at the beginning.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e9/US_county_household_median_income_2009.png New Jersey and the DC area doesn't surprise me. All rich folks. Northern Alaska? jesus, where's their money coming from?
Me and Emily are at about the 63rd percentile of household income. AFter I'm an anesthetist, Emily can retire 'cause we'll be at either the 84th or 94th percentile. We definitely have too much money now.. if it wasn't for my student loans... too bad. If I get accepted into an anesthesia program, I'm definitely doing that military scholarship National Health Scienes program or whatever it's called, putting my loans on hold .. they can pay my anesthesia school tuition and then my current loans when I'm done with that. too easy. man, the military is nice for that. Not sure how I'm gonna be able to manage PT, though. I really can't run unless I wanna feel knee pain for weeks. I wouldnt' tell them that, at least not at the beginning.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
http://thelastpsychiatrist.com/2012/09/the_harvard_cheating_scandal_i.html damn, if this isn't a direct attack on the uselessness of college and academia, I don't know what is. I think every sentence connects directly on the center of the ball for the home run, the grand slam, the inside parker. The guy can think, that's for sure, even though most of his articles are pointless.
Too bad it was obvious to anybody that went to college. "need at least 5 references for an A" right there, what do you think's gonna happen? students are gonna have similar quotes/text references/citations. how's that cheating? i doubt that all 125 people collaborated for a mass cheating collusion, but i guarantee that at least some of them did. why not? intro level course, why waste your time? I cheated in World History I and 2.. definitely cheated on all of the 2 tests, I believe.. got my A, learned nothing, gained nothing, would have been the same as if I studied. I remember telling Ms. Sara (the psychology professor, cool woman) in psychology of personality that I could not find one useful reason for having taken that class. She gave me one , and I said something like, "Ok, sure, out of trivia games, I can't find a useful reason for it except maybe to understand history, but this stuff doesn't even relate to the current world." I could see she didnt' feel like debating which was fine with me 'cause it wasn't gonna change my mind anyway.
Too bad it was obvious to anybody that went to college. "need at least 5 references for an A" right there, what do you think's gonna happen? students are gonna have similar quotes/text references/citations. how's that cheating? i doubt that all 125 people collaborated for a mass cheating collusion, but i guarantee that at least some of them did. why not? intro level course, why waste your time? I cheated in World History I and 2.. definitely cheated on all of the 2 tests, I believe.. got my A, learned nothing, gained nothing, would have been the same as if I studied. I remember telling Ms. Sara (the psychology professor, cool woman) in psychology of personality that I could not find one useful reason for having taken that class. She gave me one , and I said something like, "Ok, sure, out of trivia games, I can't find a useful reason for it except maybe to understand history, but this stuff doesn't even relate to the current world." I could see she didnt' feel like debating which was fine with me 'cause it wasn't gonna change my mind anyway.
interesting in a way. i read the first third or so, maybe half, then skimmed the rest.
The Woman in 606
Aftermath of a Stranger's Death and the Puzzle of Psychosis
THE ALLEY WHERE HER LIFE ENDED She fell from the top floor.
Tools
Six months ago, my boyfriend and I were watching a movie in our apartment when he looked up and said, "Something's wrong." A moment later, he was pressed up against the front door, listening and whispering, "Something crazy's happening. Don't open the door. Something crazy's happening."
I listened through the door, and he was not wrong: Something crazy was happening. It sounded like a lovers' quarrel—shrieking woman, some man's voice, sudden crashes, doors slamming—and then it became clear that more than one man was involved. The male voices were calm, but the woman's screams smeared into the air, punctuated by adamant, half-heard declarations. Junkies wailing in distress in the hallway wouldn't be entirely unheard of, considering we live at the intersection of two busy streets on Capitol Hill, where junkies wail about their problems all the livelong night, but we're on the sixth floor, and anyway it sounded less like junkies wailing and more like a kindergarten being slaughtered. My boyfriend was worried about us stepping out into the middle of something we didn't want to be in the middle of, but whatever it was, at least one woman was being tortured, and are you going to be the guy who stayed in your apartment while your neighbor was being tortured?
Stranger Personals
Of course not.
So I vetoed my boyfriend and opened the door.
Half a dozen neighbors were already in the hallway, each outside their doors. I did not know any of their names. When I moved into the building seven years ago, I made it a point to meet my neighbors, but by now all those people had been replaced by strangers. Several looked at me like Where the hell have you been? It was clear no one knew what to do. The noises were coming from apartment 606, 30 feet from my door. The door to 606 was shut. I had no idea who lived there. One of the neighbors standing in the hallway, who introduced himself as Tom, started filling me in. He had been in bed just a few minutes before midnight when he heard the screams. Tom and another neighbor I'd never met, Dharma, who lives on the opposite end of the hall, had been the first to come out of their apartments to see what the trouble was. The woman in 606 had answered her door wearing only her underwear, they said, and Tom and Dharma had talked to her.
Or at least they had participated in an interaction involving words.
What she said didn't make any sense. She told them she was from the future. "I came back to get something," she said. She had covered her body in white powder and she was saying, "The cat's out of the bag," while holding a white sack with a cat in it, which she had stabbed "approximately seven times" with a butcher knife, according to a later police report.
She also said, "I killed it." When Dharma asked what she'd killed, she replied, "Me."
The woman told them to call her boyfriend, Thomas. She said she wasn't leaving without him, even though they hadn't asked her to go anywhere. She gave Thomas's number to Dharma, and then she slammed her door. That's when I walked out into the hallway. Dharma was on the phone with Thomas, trying to explain what was going on, telling him we didn't know what to do, telling him we were thinking of calling the cops. From the sound of it, Thomas was not interested. "Well, I guess if someone's calling the police, the police will handle it," Thomas said, according to Dharma.
So we did what anyone would do if a neighbor started stomping around, shrieking, smashing things, slamming doors, and stabbing a cat.
We called the cops.
Later, some of us would regret calling the cops, in light of what happened as soon as they got there. At the time, my main apprehension was that I'd just been spending some quality time with my boyfriend and my other friend and my bong. But I had to trust that whatever was happening in 606 was going to be more important to the cops than three stoners watching a movie.
Another neighbor I'd never met—a dance student at Cornish College of the Arts, I found out later, named Amy—grumbled as she dialed 911 that this would mean she would have to be up all night. I dashed into my apartment to hide the weed and returned to the hallway to listen to Amy describe the scene to SPD dispatch.
Amy said into her phone, "Is it an emergency? I don't know if it's an emergency..."
It was "insane" she didn't know it was an emergency, my boyfriend said later, but as she said it, I got hung up on the word, too. I sympathized with her language moment there. It wasn't precisely an emergency. It involved one person. It was contained behind a white wooden door. None of the neighbors were in danger. The cat was not having a great day. But by the sound of it, the cat was now moot.
The screaming and crashing did not let up.
Good thing the cops were en route.
Unlike her boyfriend, the cops were coming.
The cops arrived quickly, pounded twice, spoke loudly: "SEATTLE POLICE!" Within 30 seconds, they'd kicked in her door. The sound of it crashing open was so loud I jumped, even though I saw it happening. "I thought I was in a movie or something," Dharma said later. "Is this The Matrix? Do these guys know something we don't know? Why are they rushing to get her door down so quickly? Are they trying to get her before she transports back to the future or something? And if someone was in there having a psychotic breakdown, is that the best way to handle it? To startle them and kick in the door?"
The cops raced in to face whatever demons were in 606 and then, not five seconds later, raced right back out.
Whoosh.
Two blurry cops passing right back through the doorframe.
Which made no sense.
They tracked out white powder onto the red-and-gold carpet.
The white powder she'd covered her body in, she'd covered her apartment in, too.
As the cops ran through the hallway and down the stairs, one of them said either "She jumped" or "We got a jumper," depending on which neighbor you ask.
According to Officer Adley Shepherd, who wrote the police report, when he entered the apartment, he "observed a lone female seated on the ledge of the wide open window facing northbound. The female, later identified as subject Alyssa Rosado, looked at me and said something undecipherable while at the same time bowing her head and falling out the six-story window. I sprinted toward Rosado, but was unable to get her before she fell."
Rosado landed facedown in a concrete alley behind the building—and not a proper alley but a dead-end between buildings, part of the fenced-in area where the trash and recycling bins are. Part of her body hit an air-conditioning unit that refrigerates an American Apparel.
According to the police report:
Officers sprinted down the stairs to provide aid to Rosado. To get to Rosado, officers had to breach the chain link fence by cutting through the links with wire cutters. SFD responded and attempted to provide Rosado with medical care. SFD was unable to treat Rosado's mortal injuries.
Officers returned to the apartment and discovered an injured white cat that was wrapped in a white sack and tucked away in a basket on the bookshelf...
A six-story fall could go either way, but we weren't about to go downstairs and get in the way, so for a period of time, none of us knew what happened. I knew I could call SPD in the morning to find out, and besides, we have a view of the street from our apartment, where the sanguine glitter of emergency vehicles had gathered. I figured I could watch the gurney go into the ambulance and get my answer based on whether she was covered in a white sheet.
The ambulance sat there with its doors open. A few ambulance guys stood around, waiting for the gurney to return. I could tell from the casual way one of them was standing, the way he rocked back and forth, or did a dance move, or whatever it was he was doing, that this was not tense for him, that there was no urgency. My boyfriend was sobbing into his hands and saying repeatedly that he was having a panic attack. As I was comforting him, I looked away from the view of the ambulance, and when I looked back, the doors were shut and the ambulance was rolling away, in no apparent hurry, with its lights out.
The friend who'd been over watching a movie with us, Chris Parks, is an off-track snowboarder who'd recently survived two avalanches. He started shaking uncontrollably. He held out a hand to show us. Coincidentally, Chris was the building's maintenance guy seven years ago when I moved in. We became friends early on because my apartment needed a lot of maintenance—there was no kitchen sink, the shower never fully turned off—and even though he left the building years ago, we've stayed in touch. It was Chris's job to repaint the apartment of a young man down the hall who shot himself in his kitchen shortly before I moved in. Three elderly people died right around the same time, also on the sixth floor, including a woman who had lived in my apartment for some 40 years, and it was Chris's job to clean and repaint all four apartments—make them nice for the new tenants who didn't know, like me. He hadn't been present when those tenants died, though, so it felt different this time, he kept saying. He said he felt paralyzed, but he was pacing.
It was Chris's idea to invite Tom over. Chris knew Tom from way back, because Tom is another longtime resident of the building—he used to live on another floor. Chris said Tom was out in the hall kind of blubbering or staring at the wall or something. Unlike us, Tom had interacted with Rosado—had been one of the voices in the hallway trying to calm her down.
So we invited Tom over and the four of us drank.
I had that blood-drained feeling in the head, that throb of blankness that violence emits. Pouring and repouring vodka, I went into reporter mode, feeding Tom question after question.
There were so many things to wonder about.
What was all that white powder? Tom kept saying the white powder must have been drugs—must have been cocaine or meth—but the more we talked, the more it became clear that Tom's experience with drugs is not extensive. She'd coated the place. It seemed highly unlikely that she was sitting on that quantity of drugs.
It turned out to be flour. According to an SPD spokesman reached by phone the next day, she'd punctured a bag of flour and poured it everywhere.
So did the flour have anything to do with her cat, who was also white, although probably less white after those seven stabbings with the butcher knife? Was she trying to make the cat white again? Was she trying to make the white sack the cat was in white again? Was she trying to make herself white? In the only Facebook photo of her I could find, which was just a thumbnail image—and is not online anymore—she appeared to be a dark-skinned Latina. Was covering herself in white a race thing? Was it a virginity thing? Did it have anything to do with that thing about being from the future?
Actually, the virginity thing didn't occur to me until a week later, when I got the unredacted SPD report. Officer Shepherd writes in his report that he spoke to someone on the floor who "claimed to have attended high school with Rosado but said she did not really know her." This unnamed person "later accessed Rosado's Facebook account and showed Officers several recent comments that she posted." The police report quotes two status updates on Rosado's Facebook page posted a day and a half before she died. Here is the first:
Thanks Everyone for your concern! I had a rather emotional breakthrough regarding molesting that happened in my past, I've dealt with it now and you should hope to see really great things from me.
- posted wednesday @ 1:39 pm
One minute later, Rosado wrote:
My profile is public, if you've been molested or experienced something traumatic in your past, please confide in me. I understand and can help give you the tools to cope. You can message me privately, or if you'd like to be free, please post your pain in the comments :)
- posted wednesday @ 1:40 pm
Please post your pain in the comments.
I showed the police report to a psychologist who works with psychotic patients in one of the hospitals Rosado might have been taken to, had she survived. She requested anonymity because she was commenting on the mental health of someone she'd never met, which psychologists are not supposed to do. "If you're going to have your first psychotic break," she said, and then her voice trailed off. "Lots of people are isolated. They're cut off from their families or have some kind of compromised relationship with their families. And if you have just realized that you were traumatized, and you're trying to process it, you would need a community around you—you would need a context in which that was validated, even if it was just a symbolic experience. I think it's kind of interesting culturally that we're still unable to speak about molestation and abuse in an open way, in a way that addresses what it does to human development and human minds. Because we don't, really. I don't know what her experience is, but she wanted to have her witness borne. The cop who wrote the report bore witness to her. She came out of her apartment in her underwear because she wanted to be witnessed."
She was "asking for help in a bunch of ways," the psychologist said, explaining why she might write those things on Facebook. "She's looking for people to connect with her on it. She's looking for someone to help her make sense of the confusion and secrecy and pain of it. The way she was doing it on Facebook? If I just discovered I was molested, I would not want to broadcast it to the world. On a Facebook page? There's a weird thing with people with mental illness and Facebook. With all people and Facebook. Because it's fake intimacy. The idea that you're intimate with people by making confessional statements. It's really very impersonal. You're writing something to your high-school graduating class as if you had an intimate relationship with everyone. You know that's not intimacy, right? Why would you think you have a connection with them? I think Facebook can encourage delusions and psychotic processes. It encourages a sense that everyone's a star and that everyone cares what you ate for breakfast."
Six months before her death, Rosado was fired from Castle Megastore, a sex-supply emporium, according to someone who worked with her. According to the employee, Rosado was from Alaska, and she and her mother were estranged: "Maybe emancipated at one point. You can emancipate at a certain age, like getting divorced from your parents." Asked about Rosado's personality, she said, "Extra playful. Extra chipper. Goofy, friendly, sweet. When you look at it in hindsight, you think, 'Oh, maybe it was a cover.'"
After Castle, Rosado got a job at Pagliacci Pizza in Lower Queen Anne and a volunteer gig at the Apothecary, a medical marijuana dispensary in the same building as Castle. In the weeks before her death, according to people at those companies, she was fired from both of those positions.
The psychologist went on, "For me, the test of civility is whether we protect people in a state like that, in a psychotic state. I think that's a pretty vulnerable state. I can't think of a more vulnerable state. It's like someone who's just been in an accident and is coming out of shock. A woundedness. Psychotic to me is a kind of state that's more symbolically wounded. It's an old, emotional, ineffable state that's surfacing but can't bear the intensity and burden of itself. Some schools of thought deal with a hallucination and say it has no validity at all. There's another school that would say there's a communication in the hallucination. If she just stabbed her cat, that would mean one thing, but because 'the cat's out of the bag' has meaning, the hallucination is also an attempt to communicate something. So what is being communicated?"
And what could she be trying to communicate through all that stuff about being from the future? I asked. What about the flour she poured everywhere?
"A person in a psychotic state is trying to push their reality back into the environment," the psychologist said, describing a theory from psychoanalyst Wilfred Bion. "In a sense, you're holding it because she pushed it back out of herself. She put it back into your environment—whatever she was trying to express. So you're left with it as a mystery. Everybody in proximity is left with it. Everybody who witnessed it is holding it. So the cop has to hold it. You have to hold it. Your boyfriend is trying to hold it. And it's her trauma. It's her experience of trying to communicate a trauma, while not necessarily being able to process it herself. So when you work with people who are psychotic, the challenging thing is you're dealing with unspoken, often preverbal trauma that they're not emotionally processing, so you end up holding it for them. It's almost like they scattershot their reality at everyone. You're left with the mystery, right? What was the powder? Why'd she go out the window like that? What's with the white cat? We're still in her dream with her. So in a sense"—the psychologist stopped for a moment, watching me take notes—"so in a sense, you're writing about this because in a way she left you with all these mysteries. She left you with an unfinished dream and you're trying to finish it for her."
It's impossible to know what was happening in her mind, but it's also impossible not to wonder. Five months after her death, I finally got in touch with her boyfriend, Thomas, who'd known her for three years. "I talked to her like 10 minutes before she died," he said. "But she was incoherent and didn't know who she was talking to. She ended the conversation with 'Good-bye, I have to call my boyfriend.' It was pretty weird. I had no idea what was going on." The reason Thomas wasn't there the night she died wasn't because he wasn't interested; it was because he lives in Yakima, a two-and-a-half-hour drive away. He told me she was 23 years old, her father was out of the picture, her brother was in jail, she was under a lot of stress, she'd developed odd mannerisms like "taking down a lot of notes" and "saying things that didn't always make sense," and her marijuana use was "very, very frequent" around the time of her death. The county would not release a toxicology report to Thomas—or to me—citing privacy laws. But when the cops walked into 606, they found "a strong odor of fresh burnt marijuana lingering in the air," as well as 3.5 grams of pot labeled Pineapple Express and 4.7 grams labeled Crazy Train. No other drugs were found in her apartment.
When I asked the psychologist what she would have done had Rosado survived and been admitted to her care, she said she would have put a stop to the marijuana right away. When I asked why, she seemed surprised I didn't know. "If someone has a tendency toward bipolar disorder or schizophrenia or any schizoaffective disorder, marijuana isn't good," she said. "It can cause someone to go into a psychotic break. They would have to use it for a while, but it is not ideal for anyone with any kind of psychotic tendencies."
It is an article of faith among marijuana activists (the sort of people Rosado was surrounded by at the Apothecary) that marijuana is harmless, that anyone telling you that smoking marijuana can lead to a psychotic break is spouting some Reefer Madness bullshit. And it's true that for the vast majority of adults, smoking marijuana does not cause problems. Scientists disagree about whether very heavy marijuana use can cause psychosis in people who would not otherwise become psychotic. But even a hardened skeptic like Dr. Mitch Earleywine—a psychologist on the advisory board of the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws, the author of Understanding Marijuana: A New Look at the Scientific Evidence, and the star of at least one YouTube video passionately poking holes in studies that say marijuana can cause psychosis—says, "If you've had one schizophrenic episode or even something more modest, and then start smoking pot heavily afterwards, you're going to be more likely than not to have a second of those psychotic episodes." Moreover, marijuana will make a psychotic episode worse than it would be otherwise. "I think it's fair to say, if you're psychotic-prone, cannabis is not a good idea," Dr. Earleywine said. "Certainly anyone who has a twin with schizophrenia, a sibling with schizophrenia, a parent with schizophrenia would do well to stay away from the plant." People with bipolar disorder are also prone to psychosis and should only use marijuana "with extreme caution."
One afternoon recently, I met Dr. Roger Roffman, professor emeritus at the University of Washington's School of Social Work, in his office up on Roosevelt Way. He has a calm demeanor and a cozy office set up for counseling sessions: He has been studying marijuana dependence for nearly 30 years. I had sent him the police report about Rosado in advance. He offered me some tea and then sat on the couch under his third-floor window and said, "The research would tend to indicate that she was loaded for an explosion."
The moment he began to speak, it began to rain.
He said what loaded her for an explosion was being sexually abused as a child and then using marijuana heavily and then experiencing psychosis. Citing data from UK researchers published in Psychological Medicine in 2011, he said, "In some case examples where forced nonconsensual sex occurred during childhood, there was a risk from that experience for later psychotic illness, and that risk was exaggerated, made even greater, if the individual used marijuana." In the data, researchers found that if an individual's sexual trauma and marijuana use both began before the age of 16, their chances of being diagnosed with psychosis later on was "over seven times" greater. The researchers wrote that among other stress factors thought to contribute to psychosis—like ethnicity, employment, drug use, and family history of mental illness—sexual trauma was one "few researchers had acknowledged."
While reading through another piece of research Dr. Roffman gave me—a case study from Colorado about a young woman's two suicide attempts following two periods of heavy medical marijuana use—I came across this sentence: "Medical marijuana systems should attempt to identify not only people who might benefit from medical marijuana, but also those who might suffer from its abuse." Seems obvious, right? But as it stands, Washington State has no "medical marijuana systems" to speak of, certainly none to educate patients about potential risks. The industry, though lucrative, doesn't invest in that stuff.
In Washington State, information about the risks of marijuana use ostensibly comes from the provider of the authorization—a physician or naturopath—but most patients don't interact with that person again after their initial visit. The authorizer isn't even allowed to recommend a good dispensary. The patient then brings their authorization to a dispensary and interacts with whomever happens to be behind the counter. It is not their job to understand the medicine, and many of them aren't trained to.
At one Seattle dispensary that prides itself on training its employees, I mentioned the decades-old scientific association between marijuana and psychosis, and the guy across the counter said he hadn't heard of it. I talked to the owner of another dispensary who had never heard of an association between marijuana and psychosis, either; when I mentioned I had copies of several studies in my backpack, he asked to Xerox them. When I asked the owner of the Apothecary, Cass Stewart, if he knew anything about the association between marijuana and psychosis, he said, "I don't." I told him that marijuana has been shown to aggravate psychotic tendencies in people with certain disorders, and he said, "I never heard that." I reiterated that for anyone with bipolar disorder or schizophrenia, marijuana can be dangerous, and he said, "Are there studies on that?"
When I asked what he remembered about Rosado, Stewart said, "She only volunteered a very short time, so I would want to make sure that's clear. We don't really have employees. She volunteered maybe three or four times, a couple weeks maybe, so it was pretty limited. I had a conversation with her sort of early on. I couldn't tell exactly what was going on with her. Her work ethic and some of her thoughts—it was a red flag for me, to be honest."
An Apothecary volunteer named Casey told me Rosado "seemed very unstable." Casey had never heard of a link between marijuana and psychosis, either. When I asked how he keeps informed on developments in marijuana research, he said, "I scour Facebook, and there's tons of different blogs and tweets, and I do see all these studies on PTSD, anti-spasmodic, autism, any sort of seizure..." he said, slipping effortlessly into the sales pitch. Asked what kind of information the Apothecary provides about the possible risks of marijuana use, Casey said, "People drop information off here all the time. We pass on information and get other information from other patients. We never claim to be scientific or 100 percent accurate."
He also said, somewhat defensively, "My opinion on her—obviously, what went down, it wasn't because she smoked a joint."
After decades of propaganda exaggerating the risks of marijuana, not to mention the unconscionable disproportionate incarceration of minorities for marijuana-related offenses, the skepticism that prevails at marijuana dispensaries about the harms of marijuana is understandable. The rhetoric is polarized in both directions: The government tells you it's an insidious evil, the activists tell you it's merely an herb. But like with any substance, there are risks—for drivers, who show impairment at certain levels of THC; for teenagers, whose frontal lobes are still developing; and for people with mood disorders that make them prone to psychosis. For all the sanctimony espoused by medical marijuana establishments about the patients and the medicine, there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of concern for the science. When I told Dr. Earleywine that I had been to many medical marijuana dispensaries and had never been told anything about marijuana and psychosis—that I'd never heard of the connection before working on this story—he said, "It would make a really informative four-page handout. How hard would this be to get across?"
Which is why it's a little hard to swallow medical marijuana dispensaries' vocal and almost unanimous opposition to Initiative 502, the November ballot measure that would legalize, regulate, and tax the sale of marijuana to any adult in Washington State. I-502 would generate an estimated $2 billion in new tax revenue over five years. Annually, $44 million of that would go into educating the public with scientifically accurate information about the benefits and risks of marijuana, stepping in where the medical marijuana industry has failed. Another $4.4 million would go into research at the University of Washington and Washington State University about marijuana's long-term effects, which might finally answer the vexing questions about causation in the marijuana-psychosis link. That's not even mentioning the $22 million for community health centers, the $67 million for youth substance-abuse-prevention programs, and a whopping $222 million going into basic health. Again, every year.
"We're against 502," Apothecary owner Stewart confirmed.
Dr. Roffman, who has incensed marijuana activists by pointing out that marijuana can be harmful, happens to be a sponsor of I-502. "It took me a while to decide I wanted to do it," he conceded. "But as the initiative was being drafted, it was turning into a major instrument to enhance public health and safety." He added, "When you first called me, you said, 'I've never heard marijuana could be associated with psychosis.' And I wanted to say, 'You're damn right you haven't, because we've done a very bad job of educating the public about marijuana and its benefits and risks.'"
The morning after Rosado died, my boyfriend and I walked downstairs and behind the building to pay our respects. Everything had been cleaned up, but one side of the air-conditioning unit was dented and there were still traces of bright blood in the moss on the concrete walkway. There was also a pile of flowers left by neighbors. Two and a half months later, I had coffee with one of those neighbors, Amy, the dance student at Cornish, the one who'd grumbled about having to stay up all night as she was calling the cops. She told me, "That night is when my whole life started turning."
Three days after Rosado's death, Amy learned a family friend had died suddenly. In the aftermath of that news, she had a screaming argument with her next-door neighbor over whether Amy should have extended her condolences to the relatives who came to clean out Rosado's apartment—Amy had held a door open for them but said nothing—and the argument "shattered" their friendship. Then a coworker of Amy's at Starbucks freaked her out by saying, "They come in threes, you know... Deaths come in threes." And then six weeks later, Amy's boyfriend, also a student at Cornish, killed himself. "He had a history with depression but he was doing really well. And he really suddenly took his own life. And after that happened, I just broke down," she said. "It's a victory when I dress myself in the morning."
When Amy and I met for coffee, it had been a month since her boyfriend's suicide. She'd had trouble getting her shifts covered at Starbucks because her coworkers didn't really believe her increasingly depressing stories about why she couldn't come in. "When I sent out all these notes saying I need help covering shifts because I'm not okay, I got, like, 'I'm going shopping'... I had to quit my job because they wouldn't give me the time off... I was amazed at how little support I got from my coworkers."
And then there were the footprints.
During the first two weeks after Rosado's death, neighbors piled flowers outside Rosado's door, just as they'd piled flowers outside. But a ghostly smattering of white footprints kept showing up on the carpet outside of 606 as well. Whoever was cleaning up 606 kept tracking more flour out and leaving it there overnight. Amy said that after a few weeks of seeing "the flowers and the flour" whenever she was getting out of the elevator, she decided to move out. "I feel like that building has ghosts, and part of those ghosts are mine... I still have nightmares. I still can't sleep, since Alyssa. I would hear screaming that didn't exist," she said. She conceded that the screaming might have been coming from the Highline, a vegan hardcore club next door, in the same building as Castle and the Apothecary.
Amy happened to mention that her late boyfriend had been a pot smoker and that he'd struggled with mental illness. When I asked if she knew about the known risks of marijuana use for people with mental illness, she said, "I've never heard that before in my life." When I mentioned the link between marijuana and psychosis, she said, "Wow, I had no idea. That's really interesting... I know he was smoking a lot of pot before he died."
Truthfully, if Rosado hadn't called so much attention to her departure from the world, most of the neighbors on the sixth floor never would have noticed. It's an 88-year-old brick building with rodents and high turnover. People in the building "have their blinders on," Amy said. "I almost feel like I'm intruding if I try to have a conversation. You could say that's just Seattle, but I kind of feel like that's just the building."
The guy who shot himself in his kitchen down the hall seven years ago, shortly before I moved in, craved attention from his neighbors, at least according to the notes he wrote all over his walls. About one neighbor he wrote, "What a cunt. I had a 10-hour conversation with her nearly a year ago—I just wanted to be friends—and, for reasons I'll never know, she ignores me the next week." On a white door, he wrote, "I feel excruciating pain. No friends. No girlfriend. No job." On a wall next to the door, he wrote, referring to the Jewish god, "I sometimes think YHWH has forgotten me. Or doesn't care about me. YHWH is all I have in the afterlife. I've had a difficult and lonely life. I pray that He loves me and the afterlife is a lot easier to cope with."
He underlined "lonely" four times.
Chris Parks, the ex-maintenance guy who had to repaint those walls, took photos of them. As he explained: "It was pretty sad to be painting over the last, final expressions that the guy was trying to leave in the world, and I'm just going to cover them in primer and life goes on, right?" He burned the photos to a CD that he gave me seven years ago, but I was new to the building and too freaked out to look at them, and then I lost the CD. But shortly after Rosado's death, it turned up in a pile of papers. Looking at the guy's expressions of frantic isolation for the first time gave me a queasy feeling. It made me want to run down the hall and introduce myself to everyone in the building. It made me want to go back in time and introduce myself to Rosado. She clearly must have felt like the loneliest woman in the world the night she broke: confined to a studio apartment, estranged from her mother, three times fired, blocked from natural light by a rapidly developing new construction project, separated from her boyfriend by a mountain range, pleading for connection on Facebook. The two-story building that houses Castle and the Apothecary is right on the other side of the alley where she ended her life: She had to see it every time she looked out the window. Plus, marijuana has an isolating effect—that gauzy aloneness of being trapped in your own head.
It could not have helped matters that she happened to live in a building where none of the neighbors talk to each other.
Maybe if she knew a neighbor, she could have asked for help.
Maybe we were part of the problem.
Which is why I've spent a lot of time lately talking to the neighbors.
Even though I'd never met Tom before the night Rosado died, when he came over to drink, we found we have a lot in common. Standing inside his apartment for the first time months later, I was startled to see Rosado's window right outside his. Their apartments are at a 90-degree angle from each other. He said, "I occasionally look out there. I would sometimes look out there and still see the powder on the sill. But that was washed away by the rain eventually." We stop to talk whenever we see each other in the hallway or on the front stoop, and he's come to a few parties at my place and invited me to a few at his.
Dharma, the bicyclist and world traveler, met Rosado's cousin when she came to clean out the apartment, but Dharma then took a long trip to Spain, the Netherlands, and Guinea, so it was months before we ever got to talk. (Dharma gave me the cousin's phone number, but the cousin declined to be interviewed on the record, though she did give me Thomas's number. Thomas did not know how to get in touch with Rosado's mother and said that after the funeral, she "went AWOL.") I sat with Dharma in his apartment and we talked about Rosado, and then we talked about Guinea. "Africa was an amazing, eye-opening experience, for sure. No electricity, except for whoever has a generator. Walk a mile for water. If you want chicken, you're gonna kill it and pluck it. It's just so different, the way of life. All the stuff we have here that we take for granted is crazy."
As for Vera, the acquaintance of Rosado mentioned in the police report (the one who went to high school with Rosado but barely knew her), she answered her door the first time I knocked. She is a student at the University of Washington with beautiful eyes and a Russian accent, and she has lived on the floor as long as I have, yet looking into her face, I had no specific memory of her. She agreed it was strange that we were strangers. In Russia, she said, neighbors know each other. Vera immediately friended me on Facebook, which felt a little false, because we still didn't know each other, although also fitting, because people who hardly know each other are Facebook's forte. I wanted to be face-to-face friends more than Facebook friends, and Vera did, too, so a few weeks later, she had me over for a glass of wine and I met her boyfriend, Christian. They said they'd heard Rosado had covered her apartment in flour because she was trying to see a demon's footprints. Christian, who is Mexican, told me that Dominican people like Rosado usually "believe in voodoo."
It wasn't until I talked to Thomas that I learned that Rosado was only half Dominican—underscoring how little her only acquaintances in the building knew her. She was also half Tlingit, a people native to Alaska.
Eventually, in my conversation with Thomas, just like in my conversations with Vera and Christian and Dharma and Tom and Amy, we started talking about Rosado's cat. Whenever I see SPD spokesman Sean Whitcomb, we talk about the cat, too. In spite of being stabbed seven times, the cat survived, according to Whitcomb. He said it with awe in his voice. She made it through surgery and she was put up for adoption.
The Woman in 606
Aftermath of a Stranger's Death and the Puzzle of Psychosis
THE ALLEY WHERE HER LIFE ENDED She fell from the top floor.
Tools
Six months ago, my boyfriend and I were watching a movie in our apartment when he looked up and said, "Something's wrong." A moment later, he was pressed up against the front door, listening and whispering, "Something crazy's happening. Don't open the door. Something crazy's happening."
I listened through the door, and he was not wrong: Something crazy was happening. It sounded like a lovers' quarrel—shrieking woman, some man's voice, sudden crashes, doors slamming—and then it became clear that more than one man was involved. The male voices were calm, but the woman's screams smeared into the air, punctuated by adamant, half-heard declarations. Junkies wailing in distress in the hallway wouldn't be entirely unheard of, considering we live at the intersection of two busy streets on Capitol Hill, where junkies wail about their problems all the livelong night, but we're on the sixth floor, and anyway it sounded less like junkies wailing and more like a kindergarten being slaughtered. My boyfriend was worried about us stepping out into the middle of something we didn't want to be in the middle of, but whatever it was, at least one woman was being tortured, and are you going to be the guy who stayed in your apartment while your neighbor was being tortured?
Stranger Personals
Of course not.
So I vetoed my boyfriend and opened the door.
Half a dozen neighbors were already in the hallway, each outside their doors. I did not know any of their names. When I moved into the building seven years ago, I made it a point to meet my neighbors, but by now all those people had been replaced by strangers. Several looked at me like Where the hell have you been? It was clear no one knew what to do. The noises were coming from apartment 606, 30 feet from my door. The door to 606 was shut. I had no idea who lived there. One of the neighbors standing in the hallway, who introduced himself as Tom, started filling me in. He had been in bed just a few minutes before midnight when he heard the screams. Tom and another neighbor I'd never met, Dharma, who lives on the opposite end of the hall, had been the first to come out of their apartments to see what the trouble was. The woman in 606 had answered her door wearing only her underwear, they said, and Tom and Dharma had talked to her.
Or at least they had participated in an interaction involving words.
What she said didn't make any sense. She told them she was from the future. "I came back to get something," she said. She had covered her body in white powder and she was saying, "The cat's out of the bag," while holding a white sack with a cat in it, which she had stabbed "approximately seven times" with a butcher knife, according to a later police report.
She also said, "I killed it." When Dharma asked what she'd killed, she replied, "Me."
The woman told them to call her boyfriend, Thomas. She said she wasn't leaving without him, even though they hadn't asked her to go anywhere. She gave Thomas's number to Dharma, and then she slammed her door. That's when I walked out into the hallway. Dharma was on the phone with Thomas, trying to explain what was going on, telling him we didn't know what to do, telling him we were thinking of calling the cops. From the sound of it, Thomas was not interested. "Well, I guess if someone's calling the police, the police will handle it," Thomas said, according to Dharma.
So we did what anyone would do if a neighbor started stomping around, shrieking, smashing things, slamming doors, and stabbing a cat.
We called the cops.
Later, some of us would regret calling the cops, in light of what happened as soon as they got there. At the time, my main apprehension was that I'd just been spending some quality time with my boyfriend and my other friend and my bong. But I had to trust that whatever was happening in 606 was going to be more important to the cops than three stoners watching a movie.
Another neighbor I'd never met—a dance student at Cornish College of the Arts, I found out later, named Amy—grumbled as she dialed 911 that this would mean she would have to be up all night. I dashed into my apartment to hide the weed and returned to the hallway to listen to Amy describe the scene to SPD dispatch.
Amy said into her phone, "Is it an emergency? I don't know if it's an emergency..."
It was "insane" she didn't know it was an emergency, my boyfriend said later, but as she said it, I got hung up on the word, too. I sympathized with her language moment there. It wasn't precisely an emergency. It involved one person. It was contained behind a white wooden door. None of the neighbors were in danger. The cat was not having a great day. But by the sound of it, the cat was now moot.
The screaming and crashing did not let up.
Good thing the cops were en route.
Unlike her boyfriend, the cops were coming.
The cops arrived quickly, pounded twice, spoke loudly: "SEATTLE POLICE!" Within 30 seconds, they'd kicked in her door. The sound of it crashing open was so loud I jumped, even though I saw it happening. "I thought I was in a movie or something," Dharma said later. "Is this The Matrix? Do these guys know something we don't know? Why are they rushing to get her door down so quickly? Are they trying to get her before she transports back to the future or something? And if someone was in there having a psychotic breakdown, is that the best way to handle it? To startle them and kick in the door?"
The cops raced in to face whatever demons were in 606 and then, not five seconds later, raced right back out.
Whoosh.
Two blurry cops passing right back through the doorframe.
Which made no sense.
They tracked out white powder onto the red-and-gold carpet.
The white powder she'd covered her body in, she'd covered her apartment in, too.
As the cops ran through the hallway and down the stairs, one of them said either "She jumped" or "We got a jumper," depending on which neighbor you ask.
According to Officer Adley Shepherd, who wrote the police report, when he entered the apartment, he "observed a lone female seated on the ledge of the wide open window facing northbound. The female, later identified as subject Alyssa Rosado, looked at me and said something undecipherable while at the same time bowing her head and falling out the six-story window. I sprinted toward Rosado, but was unable to get her before she fell."
Rosado landed facedown in a concrete alley behind the building—and not a proper alley but a dead-end between buildings, part of the fenced-in area where the trash and recycling bins are. Part of her body hit an air-conditioning unit that refrigerates an American Apparel.
According to the police report:
Officers sprinted down the stairs to provide aid to Rosado. To get to Rosado, officers had to breach the chain link fence by cutting through the links with wire cutters. SFD responded and attempted to provide Rosado with medical care. SFD was unable to treat Rosado's mortal injuries.
Officers returned to the apartment and discovered an injured white cat that was wrapped in a white sack and tucked away in a basket on the bookshelf...
A six-story fall could go either way, but we weren't about to go downstairs and get in the way, so for a period of time, none of us knew what happened. I knew I could call SPD in the morning to find out, and besides, we have a view of the street from our apartment, where the sanguine glitter of emergency vehicles had gathered. I figured I could watch the gurney go into the ambulance and get my answer based on whether she was covered in a white sheet.
The ambulance sat there with its doors open. A few ambulance guys stood around, waiting for the gurney to return. I could tell from the casual way one of them was standing, the way he rocked back and forth, or did a dance move, or whatever it was he was doing, that this was not tense for him, that there was no urgency. My boyfriend was sobbing into his hands and saying repeatedly that he was having a panic attack. As I was comforting him, I looked away from the view of the ambulance, and when I looked back, the doors were shut and the ambulance was rolling away, in no apparent hurry, with its lights out.
The friend who'd been over watching a movie with us, Chris Parks, is an off-track snowboarder who'd recently survived two avalanches. He started shaking uncontrollably. He held out a hand to show us. Coincidentally, Chris was the building's maintenance guy seven years ago when I moved in. We became friends early on because my apartment needed a lot of maintenance—there was no kitchen sink, the shower never fully turned off—and even though he left the building years ago, we've stayed in touch. It was Chris's job to repaint the apartment of a young man down the hall who shot himself in his kitchen shortly before I moved in. Three elderly people died right around the same time, also on the sixth floor, including a woman who had lived in my apartment for some 40 years, and it was Chris's job to clean and repaint all four apartments—make them nice for the new tenants who didn't know, like me. He hadn't been present when those tenants died, though, so it felt different this time, he kept saying. He said he felt paralyzed, but he was pacing.
It was Chris's idea to invite Tom over. Chris knew Tom from way back, because Tom is another longtime resident of the building—he used to live on another floor. Chris said Tom was out in the hall kind of blubbering or staring at the wall or something. Unlike us, Tom had interacted with Rosado—had been one of the voices in the hallway trying to calm her down.
So we invited Tom over and the four of us drank.
I had that blood-drained feeling in the head, that throb of blankness that violence emits. Pouring and repouring vodka, I went into reporter mode, feeding Tom question after question.
There were so many things to wonder about.
What was all that white powder? Tom kept saying the white powder must have been drugs—must have been cocaine or meth—but the more we talked, the more it became clear that Tom's experience with drugs is not extensive. She'd coated the place. It seemed highly unlikely that she was sitting on that quantity of drugs.
It turned out to be flour. According to an SPD spokesman reached by phone the next day, she'd punctured a bag of flour and poured it everywhere.
So did the flour have anything to do with her cat, who was also white, although probably less white after those seven stabbings with the butcher knife? Was she trying to make the cat white again? Was she trying to make the white sack the cat was in white again? Was she trying to make herself white? In the only Facebook photo of her I could find, which was just a thumbnail image—and is not online anymore—she appeared to be a dark-skinned Latina. Was covering herself in white a race thing? Was it a virginity thing? Did it have anything to do with that thing about being from the future?
Actually, the virginity thing didn't occur to me until a week later, when I got the unredacted SPD report. Officer Shepherd writes in his report that he spoke to someone on the floor who "claimed to have attended high school with Rosado but said she did not really know her." This unnamed person "later accessed Rosado's Facebook account and showed Officers several recent comments that she posted." The police report quotes two status updates on Rosado's Facebook page posted a day and a half before she died. Here is the first:
Thanks Everyone for your concern! I had a rather emotional breakthrough regarding molesting that happened in my past, I've dealt with it now and you should hope to see really great things from me.
- posted wednesday @ 1:39 pm
One minute later, Rosado wrote:
My profile is public, if you've been molested or experienced something traumatic in your past, please confide in me. I understand and can help give you the tools to cope. You can message me privately, or if you'd like to be free, please post your pain in the comments :)
- posted wednesday @ 1:40 pm
Please post your pain in the comments.
I showed the police report to a psychologist who works with psychotic patients in one of the hospitals Rosado might have been taken to, had she survived. She requested anonymity because she was commenting on the mental health of someone she'd never met, which psychologists are not supposed to do. "If you're going to have your first psychotic break," she said, and then her voice trailed off. "Lots of people are isolated. They're cut off from their families or have some kind of compromised relationship with their families. And if you have just realized that you were traumatized, and you're trying to process it, you would need a community around you—you would need a context in which that was validated, even if it was just a symbolic experience. I think it's kind of interesting culturally that we're still unable to speak about molestation and abuse in an open way, in a way that addresses what it does to human development and human minds. Because we don't, really. I don't know what her experience is, but she wanted to have her witness borne. The cop who wrote the report bore witness to her. She came out of her apartment in her underwear because she wanted to be witnessed."
She was "asking for help in a bunch of ways," the psychologist said, explaining why she might write those things on Facebook. "She's looking for people to connect with her on it. She's looking for someone to help her make sense of the confusion and secrecy and pain of it. The way she was doing it on Facebook? If I just discovered I was molested, I would not want to broadcast it to the world. On a Facebook page? There's a weird thing with people with mental illness and Facebook. With all people and Facebook. Because it's fake intimacy. The idea that you're intimate with people by making confessional statements. It's really very impersonal. You're writing something to your high-school graduating class as if you had an intimate relationship with everyone. You know that's not intimacy, right? Why would you think you have a connection with them? I think Facebook can encourage delusions and psychotic processes. It encourages a sense that everyone's a star and that everyone cares what you ate for breakfast."
Six months before her death, Rosado was fired from Castle Megastore, a sex-supply emporium, according to someone who worked with her. According to the employee, Rosado was from Alaska, and she and her mother were estranged: "Maybe emancipated at one point. You can emancipate at a certain age, like getting divorced from your parents." Asked about Rosado's personality, she said, "Extra playful. Extra chipper. Goofy, friendly, sweet. When you look at it in hindsight, you think, 'Oh, maybe it was a cover.'"
After Castle, Rosado got a job at Pagliacci Pizza in Lower Queen Anne and a volunteer gig at the Apothecary, a medical marijuana dispensary in the same building as Castle. In the weeks before her death, according to people at those companies, she was fired from both of those positions.
The psychologist went on, "For me, the test of civility is whether we protect people in a state like that, in a psychotic state. I think that's a pretty vulnerable state. I can't think of a more vulnerable state. It's like someone who's just been in an accident and is coming out of shock. A woundedness. Psychotic to me is a kind of state that's more symbolically wounded. It's an old, emotional, ineffable state that's surfacing but can't bear the intensity and burden of itself. Some schools of thought deal with a hallucination and say it has no validity at all. There's another school that would say there's a communication in the hallucination. If she just stabbed her cat, that would mean one thing, but because 'the cat's out of the bag' has meaning, the hallucination is also an attempt to communicate something. So what is being communicated?"
And what could she be trying to communicate through all that stuff about being from the future? I asked. What about the flour she poured everywhere?
"A person in a psychotic state is trying to push their reality back into the environment," the psychologist said, describing a theory from psychoanalyst Wilfred Bion. "In a sense, you're holding it because she pushed it back out of herself. She put it back into your environment—whatever she was trying to express. So you're left with it as a mystery. Everybody in proximity is left with it. Everybody who witnessed it is holding it. So the cop has to hold it. You have to hold it. Your boyfriend is trying to hold it. And it's her trauma. It's her experience of trying to communicate a trauma, while not necessarily being able to process it herself. So when you work with people who are psychotic, the challenging thing is you're dealing with unspoken, often preverbal trauma that they're not emotionally processing, so you end up holding it for them. It's almost like they scattershot their reality at everyone. You're left with the mystery, right? What was the powder? Why'd she go out the window like that? What's with the white cat? We're still in her dream with her. So in a sense"—the psychologist stopped for a moment, watching me take notes—"so in a sense, you're writing about this because in a way she left you with all these mysteries. She left you with an unfinished dream and you're trying to finish it for her."
It's impossible to know what was happening in her mind, but it's also impossible not to wonder. Five months after her death, I finally got in touch with her boyfriend, Thomas, who'd known her for three years. "I talked to her like 10 minutes before she died," he said. "But she was incoherent and didn't know who she was talking to. She ended the conversation with 'Good-bye, I have to call my boyfriend.' It was pretty weird. I had no idea what was going on." The reason Thomas wasn't there the night she died wasn't because he wasn't interested; it was because he lives in Yakima, a two-and-a-half-hour drive away. He told me she was 23 years old, her father was out of the picture, her brother was in jail, she was under a lot of stress, she'd developed odd mannerisms like "taking down a lot of notes" and "saying things that didn't always make sense," and her marijuana use was "very, very frequent" around the time of her death. The county would not release a toxicology report to Thomas—or to me—citing privacy laws. But when the cops walked into 606, they found "a strong odor of fresh burnt marijuana lingering in the air," as well as 3.5 grams of pot labeled Pineapple Express and 4.7 grams labeled Crazy Train. No other drugs were found in her apartment.
When I asked the psychologist what she would have done had Rosado survived and been admitted to her care, she said she would have put a stop to the marijuana right away. When I asked why, she seemed surprised I didn't know. "If someone has a tendency toward bipolar disorder or schizophrenia or any schizoaffective disorder, marijuana isn't good," she said. "It can cause someone to go into a psychotic break. They would have to use it for a while, but it is not ideal for anyone with any kind of psychotic tendencies."
It is an article of faith among marijuana activists (the sort of people Rosado was surrounded by at the Apothecary) that marijuana is harmless, that anyone telling you that smoking marijuana can lead to a psychotic break is spouting some Reefer Madness bullshit. And it's true that for the vast majority of adults, smoking marijuana does not cause problems. Scientists disagree about whether very heavy marijuana use can cause psychosis in people who would not otherwise become psychotic. But even a hardened skeptic like Dr. Mitch Earleywine—a psychologist on the advisory board of the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws, the author of Understanding Marijuana: A New Look at the Scientific Evidence, and the star of at least one YouTube video passionately poking holes in studies that say marijuana can cause psychosis—says, "If you've had one schizophrenic episode or even something more modest, and then start smoking pot heavily afterwards, you're going to be more likely than not to have a second of those psychotic episodes." Moreover, marijuana will make a psychotic episode worse than it would be otherwise. "I think it's fair to say, if you're psychotic-prone, cannabis is not a good idea," Dr. Earleywine said. "Certainly anyone who has a twin with schizophrenia, a sibling with schizophrenia, a parent with schizophrenia would do well to stay away from the plant." People with bipolar disorder are also prone to psychosis and should only use marijuana "with extreme caution."
One afternoon recently, I met Dr. Roger Roffman, professor emeritus at the University of Washington's School of Social Work, in his office up on Roosevelt Way. He has a calm demeanor and a cozy office set up for counseling sessions: He has been studying marijuana dependence for nearly 30 years. I had sent him the police report about Rosado in advance. He offered me some tea and then sat on the couch under his third-floor window and said, "The research would tend to indicate that she was loaded for an explosion."
The moment he began to speak, it began to rain.
He said what loaded her for an explosion was being sexually abused as a child and then using marijuana heavily and then experiencing psychosis. Citing data from UK researchers published in Psychological Medicine in 2011, he said, "In some case examples where forced nonconsensual sex occurred during childhood, there was a risk from that experience for later psychotic illness, and that risk was exaggerated, made even greater, if the individual used marijuana." In the data, researchers found that if an individual's sexual trauma and marijuana use both began before the age of 16, their chances of being diagnosed with psychosis later on was "over seven times" greater. The researchers wrote that among other stress factors thought to contribute to psychosis—like ethnicity, employment, drug use, and family history of mental illness—sexual trauma was one "few researchers had acknowledged."
While reading through another piece of research Dr. Roffman gave me—a case study from Colorado about a young woman's two suicide attempts following two periods of heavy medical marijuana use—I came across this sentence: "Medical marijuana systems should attempt to identify not only people who might benefit from medical marijuana, but also those who might suffer from its abuse." Seems obvious, right? But as it stands, Washington State has no "medical marijuana systems" to speak of, certainly none to educate patients about potential risks. The industry, though lucrative, doesn't invest in that stuff.
In Washington State, information about the risks of marijuana use ostensibly comes from the provider of the authorization—a physician or naturopath—but most patients don't interact with that person again after their initial visit. The authorizer isn't even allowed to recommend a good dispensary. The patient then brings their authorization to a dispensary and interacts with whomever happens to be behind the counter. It is not their job to understand the medicine, and many of them aren't trained to.
At one Seattle dispensary that prides itself on training its employees, I mentioned the decades-old scientific association between marijuana and psychosis, and the guy across the counter said he hadn't heard of it. I talked to the owner of another dispensary who had never heard of an association between marijuana and psychosis, either; when I mentioned I had copies of several studies in my backpack, he asked to Xerox them. When I asked the owner of the Apothecary, Cass Stewart, if he knew anything about the association between marijuana and psychosis, he said, "I don't." I told him that marijuana has been shown to aggravate psychotic tendencies in people with certain disorders, and he said, "I never heard that." I reiterated that for anyone with bipolar disorder or schizophrenia, marijuana can be dangerous, and he said, "Are there studies on that?"
When I asked what he remembered about Rosado, Stewart said, "She only volunteered a very short time, so I would want to make sure that's clear. We don't really have employees. She volunteered maybe three or four times, a couple weeks maybe, so it was pretty limited. I had a conversation with her sort of early on. I couldn't tell exactly what was going on with her. Her work ethic and some of her thoughts—it was a red flag for me, to be honest."
An Apothecary volunteer named Casey told me Rosado "seemed very unstable." Casey had never heard of a link between marijuana and psychosis, either. When I asked how he keeps informed on developments in marijuana research, he said, "I scour Facebook, and there's tons of different blogs and tweets, and I do see all these studies on PTSD, anti-spasmodic, autism, any sort of seizure..." he said, slipping effortlessly into the sales pitch. Asked what kind of information the Apothecary provides about the possible risks of marijuana use, Casey said, "People drop information off here all the time. We pass on information and get other information from other patients. We never claim to be scientific or 100 percent accurate."
He also said, somewhat defensively, "My opinion on her—obviously, what went down, it wasn't because she smoked a joint."
After decades of propaganda exaggerating the risks of marijuana, not to mention the unconscionable disproportionate incarceration of minorities for marijuana-related offenses, the skepticism that prevails at marijuana dispensaries about the harms of marijuana is understandable. The rhetoric is polarized in both directions: The government tells you it's an insidious evil, the activists tell you it's merely an herb. But like with any substance, there are risks—for drivers, who show impairment at certain levels of THC; for teenagers, whose frontal lobes are still developing; and for people with mood disorders that make them prone to psychosis. For all the sanctimony espoused by medical marijuana establishments about the patients and the medicine, there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of concern for the science. When I told Dr. Earleywine that I had been to many medical marijuana dispensaries and had never been told anything about marijuana and psychosis—that I'd never heard of the connection before working on this story—he said, "It would make a really informative four-page handout. How hard would this be to get across?"
Which is why it's a little hard to swallow medical marijuana dispensaries' vocal and almost unanimous opposition to Initiative 502, the November ballot measure that would legalize, regulate, and tax the sale of marijuana to any adult in Washington State. I-502 would generate an estimated $2 billion in new tax revenue over five years. Annually, $44 million of that would go into educating the public with scientifically accurate information about the benefits and risks of marijuana, stepping in where the medical marijuana industry has failed. Another $4.4 million would go into research at the University of Washington and Washington State University about marijuana's long-term effects, which might finally answer the vexing questions about causation in the marijuana-psychosis link. That's not even mentioning the $22 million for community health centers, the $67 million for youth substance-abuse-prevention programs, and a whopping $222 million going into basic health. Again, every year.
"We're against 502," Apothecary owner Stewart confirmed.
Dr. Roffman, who has incensed marijuana activists by pointing out that marijuana can be harmful, happens to be a sponsor of I-502. "It took me a while to decide I wanted to do it," he conceded. "But as the initiative was being drafted, it was turning into a major instrument to enhance public health and safety." He added, "When you first called me, you said, 'I've never heard marijuana could be associated with psychosis.' And I wanted to say, 'You're damn right you haven't, because we've done a very bad job of educating the public about marijuana and its benefits and risks.'"
The morning after Rosado died, my boyfriend and I walked downstairs and behind the building to pay our respects. Everything had been cleaned up, but one side of the air-conditioning unit was dented and there were still traces of bright blood in the moss on the concrete walkway. There was also a pile of flowers left by neighbors. Two and a half months later, I had coffee with one of those neighbors, Amy, the dance student at Cornish, the one who'd grumbled about having to stay up all night as she was calling the cops. She told me, "That night is when my whole life started turning."
Three days after Rosado's death, Amy learned a family friend had died suddenly. In the aftermath of that news, she had a screaming argument with her next-door neighbor over whether Amy should have extended her condolences to the relatives who came to clean out Rosado's apartment—Amy had held a door open for them but said nothing—and the argument "shattered" their friendship. Then a coworker of Amy's at Starbucks freaked her out by saying, "They come in threes, you know... Deaths come in threes." And then six weeks later, Amy's boyfriend, also a student at Cornish, killed himself. "He had a history with depression but he was doing really well. And he really suddenly took his own life. And after that happened, I just broke down," she said. "It's a victory when I dress myself in the morning."
When Amy and I met for coffee, it had been a month since her boyfriend's suicide. She'd had trouble getting her shifts covered at Starbucks because her coworkers didn't really believe her increasingly depressing stories about why she couldn't come in. "When I sent out all these notes saying I need help covering shifts because I'm not okay, I got, like, 'I'm going shopping'... I had to quit my job because they wouldn't give me the time off... I was amazed at how little support I got from my coworkers."
And then there were the footprints.
During the first two weeks after Rosado's death, neighbors piled flowers outside Rosado's door, just as they'd piled flowers outside. But a ghostly smattering of white footprints kept showing up on the carpet outside of 606 as well. Whoever was cleaning up 606 kept tracking more flour out and leaving it there overnight. Amy said that after a few weeks of seeing "the flowers and the flour" whenever she was getting out of the elevator, she decided to move out. "I feel like that building has ghosts, and part of those ghosts are mine... I still have nightmares. I still can't sleep, since Alyssa. I would hear screaming that didn't exist," she said. She conceded that the screaming might have been coming from the Highline, a vegan hardcore club next door, in the same building as Castle and the Apothecary.
Amy happened to mention that her late boyfriend had been a pot smoker and that he'd struggled with mental illness. When I asked if she knew about the known risks of marijuana use for people with mental illness, she said, "I've never heard that before in my life." When I mentioned the link between marijuana and psychosis, she said, "Wow, I had no idea. That's really interesting... I know he was smoking a lot of pot before he died."
Truthfully, if Rosado hadn't called so much attention to her departure from the world, most of the neighbors on the sixth floor never would have noticed. It's an 88-year-old brick building with rodents and high turnover. People in the building "have their blinders on," Amy said. "I almost feel like I'm intruding if I try to have a conversation. You could say that's just Seattle, but I kind of feel like that's just the building."
The guy who shot himself in his kitchen down the hall seven years ago, shortly before I moved in, craved attention from his neighbors, at least according to the notes he wrote all over his walls. About one neighbor he wrote, "What a cunt. I had a 10-hour conversation with her nearly a year ago—I just wanted to be friends—and, for reasons I'll never know, she ignores me the next week." On a white door, he wrote, "I feel excruciating pain. No friends. No girlfriend. No job." On a wall next to the door, he wrote, referring to the Jewish god, "I sometimes think YHWH has forgotten me. Or doesn't care about me. YHWH is all I have in the afterlife. I've had a difficult and lonely life. I pray that He loves me and the afterlife is a lot easier to cope with."
He underlined "lonely" four times.
Chris Parks, the ex-maintenance guy who had to repaint those walls, took photos of them. As he explained: "It was pretty sad to be painting over the last, final expressions that the guy was trying to leave in the world, and I'm just going to cover them in primer and life goes on, right?" He burned the photos to a CD that he gave me seven years ago, but I was new to the building and too freaked out to look at them, and then I lost the CD. But shortly after Rosado's death, it turned up in a pile of papers. Looking at the guy's expressions of frantic isolation for the first time gave me a queasy feeling. It made me want to run down the hall and introduce myself to everyone in the building. It made me want to go back in time and introduce myself to Rosado. She clearly must have felt like the loneliest woman in the world the night she broke: confined to a studio apartment, estranged from her mother, three times fired, blocked from natural light by a rapidly developing new construction project, separated from her boyfriend by a mountain range, pleading for connection on Facebook. The two-story building that houses Castle and the Apothecary is right on the other side of the alley where she ended her life: She had to see it every time she looked out the window. Plus, marijuana has an isolating effect—that gauzy aloneness of being trapped in your own head.
It could not have helped matters that she happened to live in a building where none of the neighbors talk to each other.
Maybe if she knew a neighbor, she could have asked for help.
Maybe we were part of the problem.
Which is why I've spent a lot of time lately talking to the neighbors.
Even though I'd never met Tom before the night Rosado died, when he came over to drink, we found we have a lot in common. Standing inside his apartment for the first time months later, I was startled to see Rosado's window right outside his. Their apartments are at a 90-degree angle from each other. He said, "I occasionally look out there. I would sometimes look out there and still see the powder on the sill. But that was washed away by the rain eventually." We stop to talk whenever we see each other in the hallway or on the front stoop, and he's come to a few parties at my place and invited me to a few at his.
Dharma, the bicyclist and world traveler, met Rosado's cousin when she came to clean out the apartment, but Dharma then took a long trip to Spain, the Netherlands, and Guinea, so it was months before we ever got to talk. (Dharma gave me the cousin's phone number, but the cousin declined to be interviewed on the record, though she did give me Thomas's number. Thomas did not know how to get in touch with Rosado's mother and said that after the funeral, she "went AWOL.") I sat with Dharma in his apartment and we talked about Rosado, and then we talked about Guinea. "Africa was an amazing, eye-opening experience, for sure. No electricity, except for whoever has a generator. Walk a mile for water. If you want chicken, you're gonna kill it and pluck it. It's just so different, the way of life. All the stuff we have here that we take for granted is crazy."
As for Vera, the acquaintance of Rosado mentioned in the police report (the one who went to high school with Rosado but barely knew her), she answered her door the first time I knocked. She is a student at the University of Washington with beautiful eyes and a Russian accent, and she has lived on the floor as long as I have, yet looking into her face, I had no specific memory of her. She agreed it was strange that we were strangers. In Russia, she said, neighbors know each other. Vera immediately friended me on Facebook, which felt a little false, because we still didn't know each other, although also fitting, because people who hardly know each other are Facebook's forte. I wanted to be face-to-face friends more than Facebook friends, and Vera did, too, so a few weeks later, she had me over for a glass of wine and I met her boyfriend, Christian. They said they'd heard Rosado had covered her apartment in flour because she was trying to see a demon's footprints. Christian, who is Mexican, told me that Dominican people like Rosado usually "believe in voodoo."
It wasn't until I talked to Thomas that I learned that Rosado was only half Dominican—underscoring how little her only acquaintances in the building knew her. She was also half Tlingit, a people native to Alaska.
Eventually, in my conversation with Thomas, just like in my conversations with Vera and Christian and Dharma and Tom and Amy, we started talking about Rosado's cat. Whenever I see SPD spokesman Sean Whitcomb, we talk about the cat, too. In spite of being stabbed seven times, the cat survived, according to Whitcomb. He said it with awe in his voice. She made it through surgery and she was put up for adoption.
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