Looks like keeping everything crossed last night did some good … now to see what happens when the market opens later on today. So far futures are indicating a broad-based up-market day, but how is that going to affect the financials, and specifically Morgan Stanley?

At least we’ve got our deal in place, and so far do not need direct government investment or intervention to survive.

MUFG Closes $9 Billion Pact With Morgan - WSJ.com

Mitsubishi UFJ Financial Group Inc. closed a $9 billion investment in Morgan Stanley that gives the Japanese company a 21% interest.

Under revised terms, MUFG has acquired $7.8 billion of convertible preferred stock with a 10% dividend and a conversion price of $25.25 a share, and $1.2 billion of non-convertible preferred stock with a 10% dividend. Previously, MUFG was getting a mix of preferred and common shares.

Morgan and MUFG had worked Sunday to finish the pact, as both sides pushed to keep the general terms of the deal intact and the U.S. government signaled it was prepared to protect the Japanese investment, people familiar with the matter said.

The U.S. government was involved with the talks but isn’t contemplating a direct investment alongside MUFG, one person familiar with the talks said.

This could show the government believes Morgan Stanley is strong enough to survive on its own.

There have been a lot of worries amongst my co-workers, especially some of the younger ones, about everything that’s been going on. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been through similar situations before (albeit not one this severe), but I know that there are things you can control, and things you can’t control … the best thing to do is to try not to worry about the things you can’t control, and do the best that you possibly can on the things you can control; and things will work out one way or another.

I’ve said for a long time that I want to make my career at Morgan Stanley, so I show up everyday and work hard, and try to maintain a positive attitude (not always the easiest thing to do, for those who know my personality). I’ve had some interpersonal problems at work, but I’ve been working hard to turn that around over the past couple of years, and think I’ve been making great progress. I try to maintain an air of calm in the face of all of bad news that has been coming over the wires, and not freak out, because I know that anxiety is contagious and can feed on itself … hopefully this also has a calming effect on my co-workers.

Even though inside, I am as anxious as everyone else, I have faith in my company’s underlying strength to survive this crisis, and this helps keep me going to ride out the storm instead of abandoning ship.

These are the things I can control.

Crisis on Wall Street as Lehman Totters, Merrill Is Sold, AIG Seeks to Raise Cash - WSJ.com

Fed Will Expand Its Lending Arsenal in a Bid to Calm Markets; Moves Cap a Momentous Weekend for American Finance

NEW YORK — The American financial system was shaken to its core on Sunday. Lehman Brothers Holdings Inc. said it would file for bankruptcy protection, and Merrill Lynch & Co. agreed to be sold to Bank of America Corp.

The U.S. government, which bailed out Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac a week ago and orchestrated the sale of Bear Stearns Cos. to J.P. Morgan Chase & Co. in March, played much tougher with Lehman. It refused to provide a financial backstop to potential buyers. Without such support, Barclays PLC and Bank of America, the two most interested buyers, walked away. Barclays said Monday it pulled out of the potential deal after deciding it wasn’t in the best interest of shareholders.

Early Monday morning, Lehman filed for protection under Chapter 11 of the U.S. Bankruptcy Code with the United States Bankruptcy Court for the Southern District of New York. Lehman said none of the broker-dealer subsidiaries or other subsidiaries of LBHI will be included in the Chapter 11 filing and all of the broker-dealers will continue to operate. Customers of Lehman Brothers, including customers of its wholly owned subsidiary, Neuberger Berman Holdings LLC, may continue to trade or take other actions with respect to their accounts, Lehman said.

On Sunday night, Bank of America struck an all-stock deal to buy Merrill Lynch for $29 a share, or $50 billion.

And:

Bank of America to Buy Merrill - WSJ.com

The futures of both Morgan Stanley and Goldman Sachs will be front and center Monday morning, as Wall Street wakes up to a world where the independent broker-dealers are increasingly few in number. They would be the last of the big five independent firms, with Merrill and Bear Stearns Cos. having been sold and Lehman likely to close down.

This tumultuous year has made it clear that investment banks like Lehman and Bear Stearns face vulnerabilities that commercial banks such as J.P. Morgan and Bank of America are less prone to. The investment banks must constantly depend on short- and medium-term money markets to fund their operations. Commercial banks, meanwhile, can count on more stable consumer deposit bases.

Knowing how anxiety affects me physically, I wonder what my day is going to be like today.

Yeah, sure, I work for Morgan Stanley, one of the survivors (according to the article in the previous post). It’s still going to be a painfully stressful time for anyone working for an investment bank for awhile.

I wonder how the hedgies are doing …

Nomads at last | Economist.com

Wireless communication is changing the way people work, live, love and relate to places—and each other, says Andreas Kluth.

Illustration by Bell Mellor

AT THE Nomad Café in Oakland, California, Tia Katrina Canlas, a law student at the nearby university in Berkeley, places her double Americano next to her mobile phone and iPod, opens her MacBook laptop computer and logs on to the café’s wireless internet connection to study for her class on the legal treatment of sexual orientation. She is a regular here but doesn’t usually bring cash, so her credit-card statement reads “Nomad, Nomad, Nomad, Nomad”. That says it all, she thinks. Permanently connected, she communicates by text, photo, video or voice throughout the day with her friends and family, and does her “work stuff” at the same time. She roams around town, but often alights at oases that cater to nomads.

Christopher Waters, the owner, opened the Nomad Café in 2003, just as Wi-Fi “hotspots” were mushrooming all around town. His idea was to provide a watering-hole for “techno-Bedouins” such as himself, he says. Since Bedouins, whether in Arabian deserts or American suburbs, are inherently tribal and social creatures, he understood from the outset that a good oasis has to do more than provide Wi-Fi; it must also become a new—or very old—kind of gathering place. He thought of calling his café the “Gypsy Spirit Mission”, which also captures the theme of mobility, but settled for the simpler Nomad.

It’s probably not a great secret that I consider myself to be something of a reluctant nomad. I think a huge part of that stems from how much I moved while I was growing up. Until I started university, I never went to a school for more than 2 years; and generally when I moved, it was mid-year.

So like many people in the generation that succeeded my own, I don’t have a deep-seated sense of place. Depending on my mood, when someone asks me where I’m from, I answer Tennessee, Northern California (Santa Cruz/San Francisco), and increasingly Utah.

Like Ms. Canlas, I seem to be connected constantly throughout the day via email, text, this blog, and now Twitter and Facebook.

Kim (my ex) considers the constant connectivity to be a bad thing … she steadfastly refuses to sign up for any social networks; but I tend to feel like so many of my connections are so tenuous that I need to maintain them in any way I possibly can. I find I’m reconnecting with people from my past though these social networks, and am redeveloping some friendships that I’ve let slip through my fingers in the past.

I’m also trying to disconnect from the Interwebs enough to connect with real live people in face-to-face social situations; I seldom refuse an invitation anymore, whereas, in the past I used to come up with any excuse I could come up with not to go out because I was letting my anxiety control me, rather than controlling my anxiety. When I do find myself in the company of other people, I’m working on being as warm and welcoming as I can be … to listen, to engage, and to forge lasting friendships with people; something which has always been a weak point of mine in the past. It’s still a struggle at times, but it gets easier.

And right now, that’s all I can ask for.

So after yesterday’s ride, I was pretty much wiped out in the evening … was thinking about going to bed about 9:00, when I get a tweet from the Reverend Big Ring, who was at the Bayou quaffing Chimay with his lovely fiancée Rachel, the Husla (who of course was not drinking), and a few other people.

The theme of the evening was to bring the bike. So I threw the fixie in the back of the Trooper and headed downtown … found parking a block or so away from the Bayou, and headed in for a couple Anchor Steams.

Eventually, a decision was made to head over to The Hotel Bar & Nightclub on 2nd South … so, hopped on two wheels, and rolled the few blocks north and west, and was confronted with one of the most insane situations I’ve seen in years … especially after The Rev and Rachel headed home.

At 42, I’m not used to the nightclub scene anymore … loud thumping beats, people trying to dress and look years younger than they actually are and just trying to get as trashed as they possibly can (and laid in the process).

On the other hand, I put myself into a situation that would normally having me freaking out with anxiety, by hanging out with a bunch of people I don’t know, especially once the the Husla and Rev both left. And I survived, albeit with very little sleep.

HEY ALLEN GINSBERG WHERE HAVE YOU GONE AND WHAT WOULD YOU THINK OF MY DRUGS?

A mouse went to see his mother. When his car broke down he bought a bike. When the bike wore out he bought skates. When the skates wore down he ran. He ran until his sneakers wore through. Then he walked. He walked and walked, almost walked his feet through so he bought new ones. His mother was happy to see him and said, “what nice new feet you have on.” —paraphrase of a story in Mouse Tails by Arnold Lobel

hey, listen, a bad thing happened to
my friend’s marriage, can’t tell you
only can tell my own story which
so far isn’t so bad:

“Dad” and I stay married. so far.
so good. so so.

But it felt undoable. This lucky life
every day, every day. every. day.

(all the poetry books the goddamn same
until one guys gets up and stuns the audience)

Then, Joe Wenderoth, not by a long shot
sober says, I promised my wife I wouldn’t fuck
anyone, to no one in particular and reads a poem
about how Jesus has no penis.

Meanwhile, the psychiatrist, attractive in a fatherly
way, says libido question mark.

And your libido?
like a father, but not like mine, or my sons’—

“fix it.”

My friend’s almost written
a good novel by which I mean finished
which means I’d like to light myself
on fire, on fire
with envy, this isn’t “desire”
not what the Dr. meant
by libido?
                         I hope—

not, it’s just chemical:
             jealousy. boredom. lethargy.

Books with prominent seraphs: their feet feet feet I am
marching to the same be—

other

than the neuronic slave I thought anxiety made me
do it, made me get up and carry forth, sally
the children to school the poems dragged
by little hands on their little seraphs
to the page my marriage sustained, remaining
energy: project #1, project #2, broken
fixtures, summer plans, demand met, request
granted, bunny noodles with and without cheesy
at the same time, and the night time I insomnia
these hours penning invisible letters—

             till it stopped.

doc said: it’s a syndrome.       you’ve got it,
                                     classic.

it’s chemical,
mental

circuitry we’ve got a fix for this
classic, I’m saying I can

make it better.

Everything was the same, then,
but better.

At night I slept.
In the morning got up.

Kids to school, husband still a fool—
hardy spirit makes
me pick a monday morning fight, snipe! I’ll pay for that
later I’m still a pain in the
elbow from writing prose those shift+hold+letter,
I’m still me less sleepy, crazy, I suppose
less crazy-jealous just
ha-ha now at Jesus’ no penis his
amazed at the other poet’s kickass
friend’s novel I dream instead about
the government makes me put stickers
on my driver’s license of family members
who are Jews, and mine all are. Can they get us
all? I escape with a beautiful light-haired man,
blue-eyed day trader, gentile.

gentle, gentle, mind encased in its
blood-brain barrier from the harsh skull
sleep, sleep and sleepy wake and want
to sleep and sleep a steep dosage—

             “—chemical?”

in my dreams now every man’s mine, no-
problem, perhaps my mind’s a little plastic,
malleable, not so fatal now

the dose is engineered like that new genetic watercress
to turn from green to red when planted over buried
mines, nitrogen dioxide makes for early autumn
red marks the spot where I must
watch my step, up one half-step-dose specific—

             The psychiatrist’s lived in NY so long
             he’s of ambiguous religious—
             everyone’s Jewish sometimes—
             writes: “up the dosage.”

now,
when I’m late I just shrug
it’s my new improved style
missed the train? I tug
the two boys single file

the platform a safe aisle
between disasters, blithely
I step, step, step-lively
carefully, wisely.

I sing silly ditties
play I spy something pretty
grey-brown-metal-filthy
for a little city fun.

Just one way to enjoy life’s
trials, mile after mile, lucky
to have such dependable feet.

you see,
the rodents don’t frighten I’m
calm as can be expected to recover left to my
one devivces I was twice as fast getting everywhere but
where did that get me but there, that inevitable location
more waiting, the rats there scurry, scurry, a furry

till the next train comes

“up the dosage.”

Brown a first-cut brisket in hot Dutch oven
after dusting with paprika. Remove. Sauté
thickly sliced onions and add wine. (Sweet
is better, lasts forever, never need a new bottle).
Put the meat on onions, cover with tomato-sauce-
onion-soup-mix mixture, cover. Back in a low
oven many hours.

The house smells like meat.
My hair smells like meat.

I’m a light unto the nation.

I’m trying
to get out of Egypt.
This year,
I’ll be better.

Joseph makes sense of the big man’s dreams, is saved,
saves his brothers those jealous boys who sold him
sold them all as slaves. Seven years of plenty. Seven
years of famine. He insomnias the nights counting up
grains, storing, planning, for what? They say throw
the small boys in the river (and mothers do so). Smite
the sons (and fathers do it.) God says take off your shoes,
this holy ground this pitiful, incombustible bush.

Is God chemical?
Enzymatic of our great need to chaos?

We’re unforgivable.
People of the salted
cheeks. Slap, turn, slap.

To be chosen
is to be
unforgiving/ unforgiv-
en, always chosen:
be better.

The Zuckers are a long line of obsessives.

This served them well in war time saw it
coming in time that unseeable thing they
hoarded they ferried, schemed, paced, got the hell
out figured out at night, insomnia, how to visa—

now, if it happens again, I won’t be
ready

I’m “better.”

The husband, a country club Jew from Denver, American
intelligentsia will have to carry me out and he’s no big
man and I’m not a small girl how fast

can the doctor switch the refugee gene back on?

How fast can I get worse? Smart again and worse?

Better to be alive than better.

             “…listen:” says the doctor, “sleeping isn’t death.
             All children unlearn this fear you got confused
             thought thinking was the same as spinning—”            
             Writes: “up the dosage.”
             don’t think. this refugee thing part
             of a syndrome fear of medication of being better…

Truth is, the anti-obsessional medicine works
wonders and drags me through life’s course…

About this time of year but years ago the priests spread
rumors of blood libel. Jews huddled in basements accused
of using Christian babes’ blood to make unleavened bread.

signs and wonders.
Christ rises.

Blood and body and babes.
Basements and briskets
and bread of afflictions.

I am calm now with my pounds of meat
made and frozen, my party schedule, my pills
of liberation, my gentile dream-boy, American
passport, my grey haired-psychiatrist, my blue-
eyed son, my brown-eyed son, my poems on their
pretty little fleet-feet, my big shot friends, olive-skinned
husband, my right elbow on fire: fire inside deep in the nerve
from too much carrying and word-mongering, smithery, bearing
and tensing choosing to be better to live this real life this better orbit this Jack

Kerouac never loved you like you wanted.
Blake.
Buddha.
Only Jesus and that’s his shtick,
he loves

everyone: smile! that’s it,
for the camera, blood pressure
normal, better, you’re a poster child
for signs and wonders what a little chemistry
does for the brain, blood, thought, hey,

did you know that Pharaoh actually wanted
to let them go? those multitude Jews
but God hardened Pharaoh’s heart against them [Jews]
to prove his prowess show his signs, wonders, outstretched
hand, until the dosage was a perfect ten and then
some, sea closing up around those little chariots
the men and horses while women on the far shore shook
their tambourines. And then what? Forty years to get the smell
of slavery off them.

Because of this. Bloody Nile. My story one of
the lucky. Escape hatch even from my own
obsess—

             I am here because of this.
Because of what my ancestors did for me to tell this
story of the outstretched hand what it did for me this
marked door and behind this red-marked door, around
a corner a blue-eyed boy waits to love me up with his
leavened bread, his slim body, professional detachment,
medical advancements, forgive me my father’s mother’s
father was the last in a long line of Rabbis—again! with this? This
rhapsody of affliction and escape, the mind bobbing along
in its watery safe. Be like everyone. Else. Indistinguishable but
better than the other nations but that’s what got us into this, Allen,
no one writes these long-ass poems anymore. Now we’re
better, all better. All Christian. Kind.

  — Rachel Zucker (b. 1971), American Poet, from Columbia Poetry Review #18, 2005.

Had an appointment with the crazy doctor tonight … and I’ve got a lot of thinking to do about some of the things that have been going through my head the past week or so.

Things like:

1. Beating myself up for stepping out of my comfort zone, and failing. Rather than beating myself up, I should be proud that I allowed myself to go into a situation where I might fail.
2. Trying to figure out what it will take to stop falling for people who are not available. I know why I do; as long as the people I’m attracted to are not available, either because they’re already in a relationship, because they live far away from me, or because it’s just not a good match due to lifestyle differences, then I don’t have to worry about opening myself up … I can just keep my walls where they are, and let them get higher and thicker and more impenetrable.
3. Figuring out what I’m going to do with my career.

In reality, it’s all about dealing with my anxiety, learning how to control it, without letting it control me. It’s about continuing to put myself out there with my friends, continuing to risk, and continuing to live life.

There is a theory in cognitive therapy that people repeat the same patterns because our minds become used to traveling particular neural paths; and thus seek those paths.

It’s sort of the mental equivalent of commuting … where you always take the same route to work, even though you know that sometimes traffic is really going to suck, instead of seeking a new/better way of getting where you need to go.

This also helps explain why people who have certain maladaptive schemas tend to keep being attracted to the same types of people. For example, the emotionally deprived (like my ex-wife) are constantly attracted to the emotionally inhibited (like me), and vice-versa.

The former believes that their desire for a normal degree of emotional support will not be adequately met by others; and this is reinforced by the latter’s inability to express spontaneous action, feeling, or communication — usually to avoid disapproval by others, feelings of shame, or losing control of one’s impulses.

By the same token, since the former is constantly seeking emotional approval and support, the latter begins to shut-down emotionally because they’re afraid they won’t be able to fulfill their partner’s needs.

It takes a conscious effort to break the patterns, but generally unless/until you understand why, you’ll continue to repeat them.

Some people can do it on their own, but to really understand why and change, most people need therapy. The problem is that few actually admit this to themselves and seek it out.

I don’t want to repeat the same patterns in my next relationship … my marriage falling apart was the most devastating thing ever to happen to me, and yet as far as divorces go, it was one of the easiest, as we had nothing to fight about … and so I am actively in therapy, and still on happy pills just to deal with the daily anxiety about my own self-worth.

Does this make me a weak man? I sure hope not. In fact, I believe this is making me a stronger man in the long run.