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FDIC Closes Netbank, One of the First Online Banks
An anonymous reader writes "NetBank, one of the first internet banks in the country was closed by the FDIC on Friday. Being a loyal customer for 8 years, I am saddened that an institution that provided me with so much great service and a cool, hi tech way to conduct my financial transactions is shutting down. Seems that mortgage defaults are to blame: 'NetBank's closure marks the first bank to close since the recent U.S. housing boom deflated. Critics have said that weak underwriting standards have led to record number of homeowners entering the foreclosure process. But NetBank's rare Internet-based business strategy made it a unique financial institution and its problems aren't expected to mirror issues facing other mortgage lenders, analysts say.'"
frist psot!
None yet e'er drank a honey'd draught Unnmixed with cup of bitter gall, And cup of gall for honey equally doth call, That so, the mixture one may easier drink. Beg Ivan-beg of ancestry heroic, Like tawny lion fought against the Turks, On every side, and deep in gory woods: Half of his lands the Turks did take from him, The country delug'd was with blood, These Moslems slew his doughty brother, - Ferocious dragon, Urosh Voivoda! - On tune broad fields of Tchèmovo. Ivan his only brother mourn'd. Mourn'd him more, - the Voivoda Urosh; - Than were he mourning both his sons; Mourn'd him more, the Voivoda Urosh, Than he could mourn a whole lost land; Mourn'd him more, the Voivoda Urosh, Than he could mourn the loss of both his eyes; Not dearer they to him than brother Urosh. Full many a time and oft the hero may Excite high heaven unto mighty laughter! Ivan with cup on high vow'd direful vengeance, Drinking the toast with consecrated wine. He lets his white hair fall upon his shoulder's. His white beard curling down unto his waist; With his old hands he grasps his sword and lance; Blood-sprinkled both his weapons and his arms, At every step he fells a Turkish foe; The old man bounds as were he nimble youth! O dear my Lord, it sure must be a dream, That on this wise an aged man can leap! Good fortune past returns to him again: At Karoutché upon Tsrmnitsa's boundary, Of whole band of fifteen thousand Turks, Not one of them escap'd alive; Their marble tombs, which men still see, Attest the glory of Prince Tsrnoyevitch: God grant mercy to the soul of Urosh. Wondrous offerings made men to his memory!