Yard Sale

I know times are tough, but I trust the Obama administration can come up with a better economic plan than selling off large chunks of government-owned land in the western part of the country. Alex Tabarrok’s big idea, which I stumbled on via Ross Douthat, seems a little excessive to me—not to mention a terrible waste of our natural resources and, frankly, an invitation for trouble. It also doesn't exactly bode well for people, like ranchers, who currently reside and live off these lands.  

He writes:

"It is time for a sale. Selling even some western land could raise hundreds of billions of dollars - perhaps trillions of dollars - for the Federal government at a time when the funds are badly needed and no one wants to raise taxes. At the same time, a sale of western land would improve the efficiency of land allocation."

Who would even be in a position to buy the land, especially now, several years after the land's worth has already depreciated significantly? The Saudis? China?

Welcome to Reno, a joint subsidiary of the Saudi Arabian Government and the People’s Republic of China.

I’m being glib, I realize. I’m sure there is some economic or academic merit to this argument that I’m incapable of seeing. (Full disclosure: I have little experience dealing with bills of higher denominations than 20). Still, you’d have to admit that Tabarrok’s idea has even less of a chance of becoming a reality than Ron Paul’s famous call to disband NASA.

Uncle Walt

I Hear America Singing
Walt Whitman

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand
singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or
at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of
the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows,
robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

(Via Poets.Org)