Being mired in poverty myself, I can't pretend like some people to have an answer for the world's economic woes, except possibly: create value, contemplate inherent beauty, and learn to distinguish vrai from faux [true from false] in any language.
The best I can do is latch onto an expert's analysis, Naomi Klein's, whose book "The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism" just won the inaugural £50,000 Warwick* prize for the best complexity. The "shock doctrine" is Klein's term for economist Milton Friedman's world-altering insight that since people in trouble grasp at straws, world-class moneygrubbers should have plenty of prefab straws up their sleeve, the better to vampirize the resources of people temporarily too shocked'n'awed to put up a fight.
The shock doctrine is shocking but makes sense of recent globalized corruption from Iraq to New Orleans. Filling in her overarching thesis with on-the-ground journalistic accounts of disasters worldwide, La Klein is calm, concise, Canadian, passionate and persuasive. And so girly. See for yourself. (The NYT article she references in the video below makes you want to scream, "Why didn't the NYT go after Greenspan before it was too crashing late?)
Naomi Klein-in-heels takes down Ole Man Greenspan in absentia.
Saturday Night Live, which has slid repulsively into macho sex jokes now that Tina Fey and Amy Poehler are no longer there dominating, had an inspired take on the nation's frustration with BHO's failure to top the morons still screwing with the economy even though they're totally outnumbered in Congress and the country, nay, the world is sick of 'em.
Referencing the Hulk's ability to self-transform from mild-mannered wuss to raging green giant, SNL left out the green part, too leprechauny mayhaps but so apt environmentally. They stuck with the testerone-driven penile-enhancement part: Fred Armisen's limp Obama morphs into Duane "The Rock" Johnson's tumescence.
BHO gets in touch with his anger: defenestration ensues.
Speaking of green things and arousal and the dangers of idle hands on internet-accessible keyboards, Joan Kelly's blog cited the bygone cultural buzzphrase "Where's me gold?" and before you could say "unrequited internet crush" I was watching Leprechaun (1993) in 10-minute segments on youtube.
Well, first I found the Trenchcoat Club's witty rap on the Leprechaun film franchise, but nothing motivates watching the intensely talented British dwarf Warwick Davis or even pre-Friends Jennifer Aniston like the hope of cramming the reference into my blog... and pinging Joan Kelly.
The once-and-future pro submissive was blogging about repetition compulsion, something she knows something about and which is the neurosis du jour behind the faith-that-refuses-to-be-shaken in Wall Street financiers or the ruling class or throwing good money after bad:
...the most egregious repetitive use of a cheesy tactic that didn’t work in the first place since Leprechaun’s (the first one) “Where’s me gold!” catch phrase in the early 90’s.
Hollywood's homicidal Leprechaun going after his stolen gold might inspire taxpayers sick of watching their wealth transferred without a fight to the uncontrite moneymeisters responsible for capitalism's assisted suicide. Bite 'em on the leg! Slash 'em! Wear green'n'white striped hose and green velvet tailcoats! Note: the film made its money back nine to one. Other note: Jennifer's face-à-face with the Lep at 4:15.
Jennifer Aniston takes charge in mini-shorts'n'shotgun.
*No relation to the guy who plays the Lep.