Trillions, billions, thousands -- what's the difference?

The Washington Post reports that "President Bush will ask Congress for close to three-quarters of a trillion dollars in defense spending on Monday, including $245 billion to cover the cost of fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan…"

It would be helpful if the Post did some math for us. How much is $245 billion? How much is three-quarters of a trillion dollars? Those numbers are abstract. The article throws around more numbers that are so large as to be meaningless: $170 billion to fight the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan this fiscal year and at least $145 billion next fiscal year, and $745 billion in war costs since Sept. 11, 2001.

That $745 billion comes out to about $2,500 for every man, woman and child living in the United States. In my family of three, that's $7,500 to pay for five years of war.

In 2003-4, there were 95,726 elementary and secondary schools (kindergarten through 12th grade) in the United States, and 48.4 million students. (Census) If we hadn't shipped that money to Afghanistan and Iraq, we could have kept it here and given it to schools -- for an average of $7,782,630 per school, total, over the five-year period. Or the federal government could have handed the schools $15,392 for each student. That's a student subsidy of $3,078 a year.

In 2004, there were 3.1 million public school teachers in this country. Instead of going to war, we could have given them $240,322 each. That would be an average annual raise of $48,000, which would more than double the average teacher's salary of $45,800. If we did that, we would probably end up with better teachers.

Does that put these numbers into perspective?

Blithe Manor

The New York Times profiles twentysomethings who fancy themselves real-estate moguls . Luciana Hyman is 24 and her husband, Daniel, is 27. They just bought a co-op in Manhattan for $875,000. Judging by the photo, it needs tens of thousands of dollars of fixing up.

As owners in a building with relatively lenient policies, like 10 percent down payments and flexible sublets, the Hymans talk about their apartment as a strategic investment that they someday plan to turn into cash.

"We're more comfortable with taking on debt and paying tomorrow," Mr. Hyman said. "If the cards topple, you can rent your place out and go somewhere cheaper."

Let's unpack this to demonstrate the unreality that the Hymans display, and the odd bias that the Times consistently shows -- an assumption that most twentysomethings (she's a schoolteacher and he's a securities trader) can afford homes that cost a million or more, give or take a hundred thousand.

I'll assume that they bought their share in the co-op building for $875,000 and put down 10 percent. That means they borrowed $787,500. Let's say that got an interest-only 5/1 ARM at 6.25 percent. The monthly payment for principal and interest is $4,102. That excludes co-op fees, taxes and insurance.

What happens if, in Daniel Hyman's words, the cards topple? Let's say that means there's a recession in which the value of the co-op falls by 20 percent and Daniel's income falls precipitously. At that point, their co-op is worth $700,000. If they have an interest-only loan and haven't aggressively been paying down principal, they owe $87,500 more than the place is worth. Meanwhile, their family income is down, so they decide to move out, find a renter, and rent an apartment.

If the co-op's value has dropped 20 percent, to $700,000, and if a lot of owners join the Hymans in putting their places on the rental market, the overall rental market is probably soft. What would be a fair market monthly rent in such an environment? $3,900, tops. Probably closer to $3,500.

Meanwhile, their monthly mortgage payment is $4,102, plus co-op fee, taxes and insurance. Unless they have $87,500 in cash, they can't refinance the loan. If they don't have $87,500 in cash, plus another $42,000 or so for the real-estate commission, they can't sell the co-op. On top of that, they're renting a place and commuting into the city.

It just doesn't work, and the reporter apparently didn't confront the Hymans for their blitheness.

Introducing Queequeg

In Moby Dick, Queequeg was the chief harpooneer on the whaling ship Pequod.

Ah, the Pequod. Then, as now, a metaphor for the United States.

The Pequod was commanded by the mad Captain Ahab, who had been hired by the ship's owners because he presented himself as a sane, sober man who would discharge his duties as a responsible steward of the ship on its multi-year voyage. Once the Pequod was far out to sea, Ahab revealed to his startled crew that he had his own agenda. The Pequod wasn't on a voyage to hunt whales and deliver a hold full of whale oil to the ship's owners; no, gathering whale oil was only incidental to Ahab's true purpose: to hunt down and kill Moby Dick, the great white whale that had "demasted" Ahab on a previous voyage -- had taken Ahab's leg.

The chief mate was Starbuck, a reasonable, moral man who knew that Ahab's mission was folly. Starbuck was decent and ineffectual. He prophesied that the voyage of the Pequod would end in doom, but he refused to challenge Ahab's authority, thus allowing the catastrophe to happen.

The second mate was Stubb, who didn't give a damn about anything and thought everything a joke, and the third mate was Flask, who had a third-rate mind and a blind hatred of whales.

And Queequeg? Queequeg was Starbuck's harpooneer. Whenever a whale was spotted, three boats were dropped into the water, each whaling boat led by one of the mates. In the whale hunt, Starbuck directed where to row the boats. But Queequeg did the important work, thrusting his lance into the quarry.