To David Foster Wallace

So who’s an asshole now, Mr. Wallace? I mean, your selfishness is jaw-dropping. In like, I am shocked at how selfish you are, or were. To just think that you could take yourself out when there were so many people waiting for you, depending on you, almost, for their, like, sanity, as a voice of, well, sanity and rational calm logical reasonableness -- a refuge from all the shit the shit rain that rains daily in our collective world community here today. Who are we supposed to turn to now? Thompson is gone, in the same selfish way, but he had already seen his best and we all knew it—except for some of that ESPN stuff, which could still be, at times, brilliant, magical. George Saunders is still producing but at a painfully small volume, and only one collection of essays so far, a place that you made really outstanding. And now the vultures are circling, picking off what is left – the Commencement Address, some guy from Rolling Stone, the stump of your half finished next work, which, did you really want to see that published? This stuff is not at all anywhere near adequate in terms of what we need to sustain us. Eggers made a nice try with that book about floods, but that is just not going to be sufficient, you know? And we would have had that anyway. You thought you could just, that you had dominion over your soul that you could just—don’t you remember that passage in The Recognitions where Stanley points out that – okay, I know you are not Catholic, but damn it, you don’t have to be religious, you don’t even have to be a deist to – the idea still applies—the principle is the same—for whom the bell tolls, y’know? Every diminution is a diminution of me too. Humanity is The Borg, don’t you see. Didn’t you see that? How can you not have seen that? You just can’t take yourself off line without, without, without saying good-bye for crissake. Its not even – the rules of societal politeness have a purpose, okay? They have a purpose and that purpose is to, to, … the purpose is to bring order to disorder, you see, as a salve for the rest of us when we realize that the world is random. If there is no order, we need to impose order. That is what humanity is about, to start with. And part of that order is a set of social rules that require greetings and salutations, addresses and ceremonies. It’s what works, for us, is what we have collectively figured out, apparently. Like that stuff they do in AA, which you seem to know very well. We need it. This bringing of order. So don’t’ rain on our parade, okay. Stay in step and let us know when you feel like checking out so we can, well, we won’t stop you necessarily, because that would open a whole new can of worms and the issues surrounding right to death are no where near being anything like “resolved”, like I don’t even think that word would ever be useful in the context of the societal terror of having to face questions for which different groups have arrived at different answers and the answer for one group is going to be an affront to the other group, which is what the Founding Fathers, were, I think, trying to avoid in the first place. So anyway, David, if I may call you that, and I feel like I have earned that right now that I have plowed through your “gargantuan, mind-altering comedy” to quote the book jacket, and thoroughly enjoyed, but I-will-be-the-first-to-admit, not necessarily understood, every word of, your essays, but certainly the gist, certainly; anyway, David, what I am trying to say is that I am really going to miss you, dammit, every day, for what are my own totally selfish reasons.

DVD extras: "The Making of ..."

Fade to shot of director sitting in chair, behind him a book shelf filled with magazines, books, objects, in disarray. Interviewer’s questions have been cut out, so the viewer sees only the director talking.
“When they brought this idea to me, I was like, yeah, I can really do something with this. The idea was really terrific. A romance-comedy, sex-crime-thriller, political-suspense drama. You know, never been done before. How far could we push the envelope? Now, each one of these genres has been done ad infinitum individually, but never all together, except for “January Man”, a film I am sure even Kevin Kline deeply regrets ever having appeared in. So I fluffed out the idea and took it to them. And boy howdy, I tell you. If that was not one humdinger of a script. You shouldda seen the looks on their faces when they finished reading that sucker. I could hardly stop laughing. After we had all gone out to lunch at Snarky’s and I had ordered the bass in the uni-sauce, with wasabi. Nothing like that uni-wasabi sauce. Anyhow, they offered to buy the script for a whole lot of money and you know what I said to them? Do you? After I sat back and ordered an espresso and waited for them to bring it just to leave them to wonder a bit, then I said to them, here is the deal. I get to direct. And the rest, as they say, is water under the bridge. So here I am today talking to you.
So, why Budapest, you ask. Well, its like this, we needed a metropolitan setting, and frankly, after Hurricane Katrina, there wasn’t any city in America that could support the kind of story line we had in mind. Hell, let’s face it. America has become just urban sprawl. It’s a mess. I needed something that did not involve sitting in a car all day staring as the used car lots roll by. Besides, the under world is much more accessible in Hungary anyway. Admittedly, it was a little difficult making it look like an American city, but I think we pretty much pulled it off. We tried to avoid any shots with old stone buildings in it. So we pretty much did have to stay indoors. But you don’t really need to go outside for a romance-comedy-sex-crime-thriller-political-suspense-drama anyway. Some people say it was over cast. I will tell right up front that I did not get all the names I wanted in this film. Costner was busy. Hanks was busy. Willis was busy. But I think you will appreciate some of the new talents that I discovered for this film. Oscar Tilmet is a really very, very subtle actor. And mature. A real talent. When he was on the set and doing that scene with Josh about his daughter on the stairs, the set crew just stopped. Literally just stopped. They were spell bound. I think. Yeah. I am pretty sure they were spell bound. I mean, it just became very quiet. Of course, we were filming so it was supposed to be quiet, but I mean, in the practice takes as well. Really. I could hear Fred the sound guy taking the cellophane off of his baloney and cheese it was so quiet.

Copyright 2010 Peter Swanger

Book Review - Policies and Procedures Regarding Compliance with Applicable Anti-Money Laundering Laws and Regulations

Menendez’s most recent work, “Policies and Procedures regarding Compliance with Applicable Anti-Money Laundering Laws and Regulations”, lacks the energetic drive of some of his earlier works such as “Internal Audit Guidelines and Procedures” and “Sarbanes-Oxley Compliance and You.” “Policies and Procedures” is the story of an organization that seeks to establish a policy regarding compliance with applicable anti-money laundering law and regulation; it unblinkingly addresses the paradox of how an organization, while made up of persons who, considered objectively, could turn against the organization at any time, can, through careful organization and backstopping, successfully prevent employees-cum-evildoers from taking the financial institution to the cleaners. This in itself is no mean task, but the reader is left wanting something more. Menendez’s prose does not lack for simplicity and accessibility, but the author’s achievement in clarity sacrifices character development and story. For example, Chapter 3, entitled “New Account Applications” in its opening sentence “The first line of defense against the abuse of our organization by money launderers is a careful investigation into the identity of the applicant” shows promise of meeting potential drug money launderers and riding shotgun with them on their daily collection routes, accompanying them to their rip-roaring drug parties with glittering supermodels and rapper icons, but fails to deliver even one marginally titillating moment. As like Chapters 1 and 2, Chapter 3 quickly devolves into mundane details about the contents of the account application form itself and checklists and punch sheets regarding the account opening process. Not one new character is introduced. There are no mysterious murders, no fifth column reporters, no conspiracy theory, no love. Menendez is no John Updike. While there are those who insist that he need not be; that such a comparison is patently unfair, please allow this critic to disagree. It was hoped, following his astonishing debut work, “Some Tips for How to Manage Accountants,” that this was a young author who had many promising years ahead. These hopes were confirmed by his next work, “Internal Audit Guidelines and Procedures”, which was filled with all of the exuberance of an aspiring accountant in love with his work and with life, and willing, on occasion, to take off his shoes and go wading through the babbling brook of daily human experience. In an interview at the time of publication, Menendez explained his life philosophy as “every day, I feel a little part of me die, but another part of me is born.” The characters in “Internal Audit Guidelines” showed how the author believed that life was more than just a constantly advancing conveyor belt down a long, narrow corridor to death. When “the manager” character, the presumptive hero (or heroine—Menendez’s characters are all asexual, throwing us off balance from the get go), engages the offshore entity balance sheet with his portable Sharp calculator, in a struggle that nearly ends in the destruction of the hero, the lesson is that somehow, each of us, has the potential to take hold of a part of life and reconcile it with someone else’s experience, making sure the numbers foot. Moreover, Menendez’s ground-breaking use of endnotes, rather than footnotes, took the concept of a “Guidelines” to the next level. It was, alas, a hope not to be realized. His next work, “Profits and Loss Columns”, took a step away from the edges of the abyss of personal human experience and brought the reader back to more mundane fundamentals of addition, and – more to the point – subtraction. The focus was on what was to be gained, and lost again, in a never-ending struggle for resolution of what at the end of the day, appeared, on its surface, to be insolvable. This critic, for one, found that model of life unsatisfying. Why must a victory inevitably mean a concomitant defeat? Why must a gain always be offset by a loss? Why couldn’t the forces of good outweigh the forces of bad? Wasn’t this more of a balance sheet approach to life? I, for one, had little stomach for it. And I told Menendez as much in my review of “Profits”. Hence, I was overjoyed to see he had taken my well-meaning criticism to heart when he followed “Profits” with “Balance Sheet Baby.” “Balance Sheet Baby” was his seminal work. In it, he brought forth all of the teaming angst that had been on the edges of his earlier works and, in this sly critique of off-balance sheet accounting and Sarbanes Oxley, summoned the wrath of the entire accountancy profession. His hero, Candice (Chad, after the sex change operation), was unflagging in her pursuit of the third party contracts and sale and lease back arrangements. When confronted by the aircraft engine leases, she stood her ground, even when the paralegal failed to show up. Time and time again in the course of the quarterly results teleconferences, Candice took no guff from the analysts and ultimately nearly lost an eye in a showdown with her CFO. It was, in its breadth and reach, in its understanding of the sinews and tendons of the corpus of financial accounting, a new height, a greater summit. Had it not been for the unfortunate S.E.C. summons and closed-door hearings subsequent to publication, I sincerely believe we would have seen more in the same vein from this promising young author.


Copyright 2009 Peter Swanger

The Cat in the Hat—A Parody for Our Times

It was no time to play. It was no time for fun.
Wages were stagnant and the good jobs were gone.
So we sat by the window, we sat there we two.
And we wondered and wondered for something to do.
Then Sally and I, we heard a bump
A bump and a thump and a painful-like grunt.
We turned in our chairs to see what was there.
And in walked a Cat, with a tie and a pair.
“Greetings, my friends, how sad you all look!”
Said the Cat in the Hat as he sat on a book.
“Allow me to help, I can see you need air,
And when you get older some money to spare.”
“Well yes,” said I, “that would surely be nice.
If you said something good we might take your advice.”
“All right,” said the Cat, “There’re some tricks that I know.
That will surely pay off a nice pension to go!”
There are risks to these tricks,” said the Cat in the Hat.”
“But they can’t be avoided, I’m sure you know that.”
“Get out!” yelled our fish, “You should not be about.
You should not do these tricks when our gov’ment’s out!”
“Oh phsaw!” Said the Cat, “There is no need to frown.
Market forces will make sure I don’t let you down!”
“How?” Said the fish, “How does that work?”
“Its simple,” said the Cat in the Hat with a jerk.
“If I did anything bad, I would not be let in.”
“So you see,” said the Cat, “it works out in the end.”
“But you came on your own,” our fish pointed out.
“Facts,” said the Cat, “are things which cause doubt.”
And doubt is not good, when you want to have fun!
So follow me now and let us begun!”
And the next thing we knew he was up on the desk.
He was bending and grinning. He looked Reaganesque.
“Look at me! Look at me!” He called with a shout.
“I can take your deposits and lend them all out!
I can write a nice story about your own future.
And sell it to you for my frontal lobe suture.
I can balance these books in my head without thinking!
I can get a good rating without even blinking!
I can hold these here shares while I sell short the warrants!
I can juggle these loans while defaults come in torrents!
I can cook a CDO right into this cake!
I can sell you this bond even though it is fake!
But that is not all! No, that is not all!”
“Stop this right now,” said the fish, clenched in dread.
I do not want you fooling around with our cred!”
“Sit back and relax, my dear fish.” said the Cat.
I am just getting started!” and he tugged his cravat.
“Look at me! Look at me now!
I can sell you these things, and then bet you will lose!
While denying my mother and father and dues!
I can manage your assets while getting a fee!
I can make bad decisions but it won’t bother me!
The investor is screwed but the market is fine!
After all the whole point is to have a good time!”
And then he seemed to have lost something vital.
For he stopped and he teetered, his mouth filled with spittle.
And then in the blink of an eye he had fallen,
And collapsed in a heap like a freshly baked stollen.
But then that Cat stood and he gathered his wits.
“I guess I got carried away, just a bit.”
“Please go,” said our fish, and he pointed the way.
“Please go, and do not come back any day.”
“But I like it here,” said the cat with a frown.
“I can do it again. I won’t let you down.”
And then in a flash he was gone through the door,
And came back with a box that was labeled ‘Gold Ore.’
“This,” said the Cat, “is a box full of blitzes.
Namely,” he smiled, “investment fund wishes!”
“Investment fund blitzes--what is that?” said our fish.
“I said wishes,” spit the Cat, “It’s what life is about.
And now,” he grinned, “won’t you try these Funds out?”
“Wishes for whom?” cried our fish, the old skeptic.
And Sally and I thought “was this some kind of magic?”
“Have no fear, little fish,” Said the Cat in the Hat.
“These Funds are good Funds.” And he gave them a pat.
Then in a flash they had shook both our hands.
They had bowed and saluted and done some handstands.
“They are strong. Oh, so strong! They have come here to buy.
They will give you some fun, and they won’t hurt a fly.
They like to have fun, and they know what to do.”
Then they dug in their pockets and took out some glue.
They took a big sniff, then they started to run.
With their blackberries, kindles, iPhones and spray guns.
They ran, oh they ran, up the halls and downturning.
Smashing windows and dishes and antiques for churning.
They smashed up our grandfather’s clockface and cradle.
They smashed up our grandmother’s favorite soup ladle.
They ran here and there. They laughed and high-fived.
They took all our money and callously thrived.
“Stop! Stop!” Cried the fish and cried Sally and me.
“This is not what we wanted! This is not what should be!”
“But you shook their hands,” said the Cat, with a smile.
“That was the sign that you thought them worthwhile!”
“But we trusted you!” and I stamped my foot downward.
“You trusted me?” smirked the Cat, “You’re a coward!
You have to be a judge of the risk for yourself.
Don’t make me think for you, you silly old elf.
The market won’t work, you see, if I’m liable.
My job is to keep things churning and viable!”
Then Sally, who I never had thought of this way,
Grabbed a tool from the fireplace, she was one foot away.
Before I could stop her she swung back the poker.
And brought it down hard on the Cat’s scarlet choker
The Cat stumbled and coughed, and then he fell forward
And then he was quiet and our fish said, “Oh Lord.”
We looked over all at the smoking destruction.
I sat down in shock, I could barely function.
“You see,” Said the fish his face sad just the same.
You should never trust someone who doesn’t have shame.”
Sally, with a sigh, came over to me.
And she said, “It’s okay, Love, at least we are free.”

Copyright 2010 Peter Swanger