Watch this 12 minute video. It is about the real estate bubble to top all real estate bubbles. And when it burst it could bring down the Chinese economy which would have repercussions around the world.
China's Real Estate Bubble
China's economy has become the second largest in the world, but its rapid growth may have created the largest housing bubble in history.
Those who claim that China's economy can continue growth at the present rate either haven't heard the news or they are in denial. When their real estate bubble burst, and it will burst, it could throw China into a tailspin.
And what will this do to world oil consumption? It could cause their imports to drop by over 2 million barrels per day, causing world prices to collapse. Perhaps and perhaps not. Anyway it is food for thought.
Ron P.
Saturday, March 09, 2013
Friday, March 08, 2013
Thursday, March 07, 2013
THE FINANCIAL PHILOSOPHER
THE FINANCIAL PHILOSOPHER: "My life has been full of terrible misfortunes--most of which have never happened." ~ Michel de Montaigne
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
Tuesday, March 05, 2013
On Healing Wings
On Healing Wings: Ideas have far-reaching consequences, and one must be ever so careful about what one allows to lodge in one’s brain.
Eric Metaxas, Amazing Grace: The Biography of William Wilberforce
Eric Metaxas, Amazing Grace: The Biography of William Wilberforce
On Healing Wings
On Healing Wings: I do not know what I may appear to the world; but to myself I seem to have been only a boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.
Sir Isaac Newton
Sir Isaac Newton
Monday, March 04, 2013
Sunday, March 03, 2013
American Nightmares: The Poetry of the Young Barry Obama @ AMERICAN DIGEST
American Nightmares: The Poetry of the Young Barry Obama @ AMERICAN DIGEST
Because the child is father to the man. Or, in this case, the man might have been the....
POP*
Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and broken
In, sprinkled with ashes
Pop switches channels, takes another
Shot of Seagrams, neat, and asks
What to do with me, a green young man
Who fails to consider the
Flim and flam of the world, since
Things have been easy for me;
I stare hard at his face, a stare
That deflects off his brow;
I’m sure he’s unaware of his
Dark, watery eyes, that
Glance in different directions,
And his slow, unwelcome twitches,
Fail to pass. I listen, nod,
Listen, open, till I cling to his pale,
Beige T-shirt, yelling,
Yelling in his ears, that hang
With heavy lobes, but he’s still telling
His joke, so I ask why
He’s so unhappy, to which he replies...
But I don’t care anymore, cause
He took too damn long, and from
Under my seat, I pull out the
Mirror I’ve been saving; I’m laughing,
Laughing loud, the blood rushing from his face
To mine, as he grows small,
A spot in my brain, something
That may be squeezed out, like a
Watermelon seed between
Two fingers.
Pop takes another shot, neat,
Points out the same amber
Stain on his shorts that I’ve got on mine, and
Makes me smell his smell, coming
From me; he switches channels, recites an old poem
He wrote before his mother died,
Stands, shouts, and asks
For a hug, as I shrink, my
Arms barely reaching around
His thick, oily neck, and his broad back; ’cause
I see my face, framed within
Pop’s black-framed glasses
And know he’s laughing too.
*A poem by Barack Obama published in the Spring 1981 issue of “Feast,” a 51-page student literary journal that described itself as "a semi-annual journal of short poetry and fiction collected from the Occidental College community.” The journal is no longer published, according to a college spokesman. From 2008-09-24
Vanderleun : March 3, 13
Because the child is father to the man. Or, in this case, the man might have been the....
POP*
Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and broken
In, sprinkled with ashes
Pop switches channels, takes another
Shot of Seagrams, neat, and asks
What to do with me, a green young man
Who fails to consider the
Flim and flam of the world, since
Things have been easy for me;
I stare hard at his face, a stare
That deflects off his brow;
I’m sure he’s unaware of his
Dark, watery eyes, that
Glance in different directions,
And his slow, unwelcome twitches,
Fail to pass. I listen, nod,
Listen, open, till I cling to his pale,
Beige T-shirt, yelling,
Yelling in his ears, that hang
With heavy lobes, but he’s still telling
His joke, so I ask why
He’s so unhappy, to which he replies...
But I don’t care anymore, cause
He took too damn long, and from
Under my seat, I pull out the
Mirror I’ve been saving; I’m laughing,
Laughing loud, the blood rushing from his face
To mine, as he grows small,
A spot in my brain, something
That may be squeezed out, like a
Watermelon seed between
Two fingers.
Pop takes another shot, neat,
Points out the same amber
Stain on his shorts that I’ve got on mine, and
Makes me smell his smell, coming
From me; he switches channels, recites an old poem
He wrote before his mother died,
Stands, shouts, and asks
For a hug, as I shrink, my
Arms barely reaching around
His thick, oily neck, and his broad back; ’cause
I see my face, framed within
Pop’s black-framed glasses
And know he’s laughing too.
*A poem by Barack Obama published in the Spring 1981 issue of “Feast,” a 51-page student literary journal that described itself as "a semi-annual journal of short poetry and fiction collected from the Occidental College community.” The journal is no longer published, according to a college spokesman. From 2008-09-24
Vanderleun : March 3, 13
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