Unless you have inside information, stock prices are indeed a random walk. They cannot be predicted by past behavior no matter what the technical analysts may try to tell you. It's like looking at clouds. One man sees a mother bear suckling her cub and another espies Ben Hur in a chariot.
The best clues to future stock prices, in my view, lie in macroeconomic data that set the stage for change -- monetary policy, expected government expenditures, interest rates, inflation expectations. The wildcards are geopolitical events, which no one can predict.
The backdrop of these data, not the dismal 2008, suggest an up year in 2009. Indeed, it has already started in 2008, I believe. After all, every day, not just January 1, marks another 12-month random walk around the sun.
I might have been head-faked by the data. Pessimism could be deep enough to prevent a rebound. I would argue, though, that job losses are already baked into the cake and that the grow or die premise of a dynamic society will prevail. The contemporaneous news, such as employment and home sales, could well be dire, but I think the market already expects that and will be looking beyond.
Buy oil, copper, real estate, heavy machinery (I haven't bought in this sector yet), given the stimulus in the background. Alternative energy names should also be a buy if fossil fuel prices rise.
Granted, it's a forecast no more valid than any other, and I know I've said this before, but I'm looking at it as an investor, not as an extrapolator of yesterday or a judge of sinners today. Please, people, get over Madoff, etc. Yeah, he's bad, but being superior about it doesn't feed the admiral's pussycat.
Which brings me to no tears for all the fired coaches in the NFL, or major college football for that matter. They don't do it for free. None will be missing any meals, and spare me all the "we didn't give them enough time" or "he's a proven winner" nonsense. Sure, they coach because they love the game and want to win, but the amount of dough thrown at them kind of insulates the check signer from giving them the benefit of the doubt.
The final game for the Jets revealed the lack of genius in defensive-oriented guys like Mangini. Offensive-oriented coaches who take advantage of the rules will be winners, I believe. The wildcat formation was the difference for the Dolphins, and that was with weak-sister Chad Pennington! Drop-back, pocket passers are passe, to coin a phrase.
A backfield of Thomas Jones, Leon Washington and, dare I mention him, Michael Vick would hang half a hundred on most NFL "defenses" given blocking rules as they now exist, which virtually permit holding on every play.
Just watch the bowl games this holiday season for a view of the world to come.
Best wishes everyone for a happy and prosperous new year each and every day the earth manages to turn on its axis and orbit the sun.
Update on Kev's portfolio. Don't sue me if you lose your shirt. I'll be shirtless as well.
Ford (F) Sold at $2.15 on 12/24/08, gain of 46.5% booked from purchase at $1.15 on 11/20/08.
Advanced Micro Devices (AMD), bought at $2.19 on 12/15/08, down 1.4% at $2.16 on 12/31/08.
Palm Inc. (PALM), bought at $2.04 on 12/15/08, up 50.5% at $3.07 on 12/31/08.
Developers Diversified Realty (DDR), bought at $4.86 on 12/31/08, up 0.004% at $4.88 on 12/31/08
PowerShares DB Crude Oil Double Long ETN (DXO), bought at $2.24 on 12/29/08, up 13.8% at $2.55 on 12/31/08.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
All that glimmers
For all you "Caddyshack" fans, there is no god. But I do have a fleeting affinity for the one who enriches me, because it enables me to pay taxes and thus pay my share for civilization, enriching others. However, I will turn to Odin, Thor and Loki and the rest of Norse mythology, which, by the way, is my favorite explanation for the universe, before I bow to something buried in the ground. Yes, it's the gold bugs that bug me.
Gold investors, whether they admit it or not, denominate their investment in paper dollars. It is that conversion into something that can purchase goods and services that calibrates its worth. Until western society collapses and only a sliver of the metal, not a five-dollar bill, will buy a Big Mac and french fries, then gold is just a place to park dollars in the hope of making more dollars, the reason for all investments.
As George Bailey told Clarence, when the guardian angel remarked money wasn't needed in heaven: "Well, it comes in awfully handy down here."
All the gold in the world would not buy a Big Mac in such an outcome because the hamburger flippers and all the rest of us would be brigands bent on medieval-style looting and freebooting anyway. A kind of "we don't need no stinking badges" world.
To buy and hold it as the only true store of value seems irrational when the only way to realize the benefits is conversion into dollars. Should the fanciful apocalypse come and paper currency lose its power to persuade our republic to cohere, which some paranoid holders of gold expect and indeed appear to wish, then we are all in the soup.
A cellarful of it will hardly keep one warm and safe in a world lit only by the fire of torches and ruled by the mobs with pitchforks and machine guns.
I guess I've buried the lead, as we used to say in the newspaper trade, because it brings me to my latest "Manginius" point (more on the Jets and professional football culture in a future post).
I've taken the plunge and put my money where my mouth is. Recovery and inflation are coming and oil prices have bottomed. Yesterday, bought PowerShares DB Crude Oil Double Long ETN (DXO) at $2.24. This is a double-down (for all you blackjack players) on the price of oil. This exchange traded note is designed to go up or down twice as much as crude oil futures. I think it's going up. When (if) it does, I'll be looking to add alternative energy names.
I'm not buying oil because I think it's a superior god but because I expect its price in dollars to increase beyond the rate of inflation, enabling me to buy more goods and services and pay more taxes than otherwise would be the case. If you think the price of gold will increase, by all means buy and reap the benefits of more dollars. But genuflecting before a commodity (precious as it may be) is bad form. Just ask Moses.
Gold investors, whether they admit it or not, denominate their investment in paper dollars. It is that conversion into something that can purchase goods and services that calibrates its worth. Until western society collapses and only a sliver of the metal, not a five-dollar bill, will buy a Big Mac and french fries, then gold is just a place to park dollars in the hope of making more dollars, the reason for all investments.
As George Bailey told Clarence, when the guardian angel remarked money wasn't needed in heaven: "Well, it comes in awfully handy down here."
All the gold in the world would not buy a Big Mac in such an outcome because the hamburger flippers and all the rest of us would be brigands bent on medieval-style looting and freebooting anyway. A kind of "we don't need no stinking badges" world.
To buy and hold it as the only true store of value seems irrational when the only way to realize the benefits is conversion into dollars. Should the fanciful apocalypse come and paper currency lose its power to persuade our republic to cohere, which some paranoid holders of gold expect and indeed appear to wish, then we are all in the soup.
A cellarful of it will hardly keep one warm and safe in a world lit only by the fire of torches and ruled by the mobs with pitchforks and machine guns.
I guess I've buried the lead, as we used to say in the newspaper trade, because it brings me to my latest "Manginius" point (more on the Jets and professional football culture in a future post).
I've taken the plunge and put my money where my mouth is. Recovery and inflation are coming and oil prices have bottomed. Yesterday, bought PowerShares DB Crude Oil Double Long ETN (DXO) at $2.24. This is a double-down (for all you blackjack players) on the price of oil. This exchange traded note is designed to go up or down twice as much as crude oil futures. I think it's going up. When (if) it does, I'll be looking to add alternative energy names.
I'm not buying oil because I think it's a superior god but because I expect its price in dollars to increase beyond the rate of inflation, enabling me to buy more goods and services and pay more taxes than otherwise would be the case. If you think the price of gold will increase, by all means buy and reap the benefits of more dollars. But genuflecting before a commodity (precious as it may be) is bad form. Just ask Moses.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Good King Wenceslaus
This Bohemian nobleman looked out on the Feast of St. Stephen, Dec. 26, and spied a poor man "gathering winter fuel" as the song goes.
Though we are far from royal in these democratic United States, we will take my Great Aunt Mary at her word that the Donovans were once kings of Munster and use the royal we in identifying with the poor fuel hunter. Will a beneficent king take us in for a cup of wassail and a spell by a warm yule log?
All the signs point to a recovery sometime in the second half of 2009. Money supply is growing rapidly, massive government stimulus is all but assured, interest rates are minuscule, oil is cheap. The stage seems set for a rebound. The missing piece is job creation. Once that is visible, the aforementioned stage-setters could spark a take-off like a string of firecrackers.
If the boom doesn't come, it will be as big a surprise as the Yankees not getting to the World Series after setting their own table with Sabbathia, Burnett and Texeira this winter.
Though we are far from royal in these democratic United States, we will take my Great Aunt Mary at her word that the Donovans were once kings of Munster and use the royal we in identifying with the poor fuel hunter. Will a beneficent king take us in for a cup of wassail and a spell by a warm yule log?
All the signs point to a recovery sometime in the second half of 2009. Money supply is growing rapidly, massive government stimulus is all but assured, interest rates are minuscule, oil is cheap. The stage seems set for a rebound. The missing piece is job creation. Once that is visible, the aforementioned stage-setters could spark a take-off like a string of firecrackers.
If the boom doesn't come, it will be as big a surprise as the Yankees not getting to the World Series after setting their own table with Sabbathia, Burnett and Texeira this winter.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
I bring you tidings of...
I know it's the season for Pollyanna drivel and I'm as sentimental as the next guy, but soon the Christmas trees will be piled up for shredding and the realization comes that every day marks another 12-month revolution around the sun.
But, as I said, I'm a sentimental soul, and until that joyous moment when I throw the tree on the curb, I'm going to reflect on my blessings. In no particular order: I can read and write, get a haircut, pick up the dry cleaning and, oh yeah, try to get rich (sold Ford this morning at $2.15, locking in a profit of $1.00 after watching it melt down the last two days. Pressure from the Toyota news was too much it turns out and I got scared. Maybe we'll get back in later. I will let you know.).
I'm headed for the South Street Seaport in downtown Manhattan now with my children to last-minute shop for their mother and have lunch at Wendy's. This date and the destinations have been in my Palm for years since we started doing it some 10 years ago (at first with the older one and now with both). It's more fun than it sounds.
Dinner tomorrow? Same as years past: Prime rib (with horseradish on the side), twice-backed potatoes topped with cheddar and green bean casserole. I'm the chef.
Peace on earth, good will toward men. I read that somewhere. It's also in my Palm. Merry Christmas.
Now I've gotta find that Santa Claus tie I bought from a street vendor.
But, as I said, I'm a sentimental soul, and until that joyous moment when I throw the tree on the curb, I'm going to reflect on my blessings. In no particular order: I can read and write, get a haircut, pick up the dry cleaning and, oh yeah, try to get rich (sold Ford this morning at $2.15, locking in a profit of $1.00 after watching it melt down the last two days. Pressure from the Toyota news was too much it turns out and I got scared. Maybe we'll get back in later. I will let you know.).
I'm headed for the South Street Seaport in downtown Manhattan now with my children to last-minute shop for their mother and have lunch at Wendy's. This date and the destinations have been in my Palm for years since we started doing it some 10 years ago (at first with the older one and now with both). It's more fun than it sounds.
Dinner tomorrow? Same as years past: Prime rib (with horseradish on the side), twice-backed potatoes topped with cheddar and green bean casserole. I'm the chef.
Peace on earth, good will toward men. I read that somewhere. It's also in my Palm. Merry Christmas.
Now I've gotta find that Santa Claus tie I bought from a street vendor.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Saints and Sinners
Before there was a Joe Pa at Penn State there was a St. Bud at the University of Oklahoma.
Bud Wilkinson, the blond, debonair Minnesotan, father of the split-T offense and holder of a master's degree in English, reigned with gentlemanly grace as the Sooner coach 1947-1963. I watched his teams on Owen Field as a boy from a 40-yard line perch with my father, who had two season tickets as a graduate student from 1957-60.
Like Proust's bite of the madeleine cake, recalling the aroma of hot dog mustard and cigar smoke as we entered the stadium, shafts of light shooting through the ramps that led to the seats above, summons a whole world, as alive as if it were yesterday. We would buy a program and two cardboard visors to keep the powerful early autumn sunshine at bay. Hey, I still see the lonesome end offense of Army's Red Blaik in 1959.
Bud was many things -- a Pericles of the Athens of the Plains, innovative offensive football mind (the split-T presaged today's spread formations with its wider than normal splits on the offensive line), a scratch golfer and an astute appraiser of young men. Bud stood up against the Jim Crow pressure of the 1950s' South to recruit the first black schoolboy to play for OU -- the bruising academic All-American halfback Prentice Gautt.
The point of this stroll back to childhood is that Bud was convinced that free substitution had made the game less noble. He felt a crucial criterion in recruiting in the era of two-way players was character, found in fellows like Darrell Royal (OU quarterback and defensive back before he settled under the eyes of Texas as legendary coach) who had the discipline and steel to play 60 minutes on both sides of the ball with equal determination.
Yes, I think Bud would probably contend that two-platoon football has led directly to me-firsters like Terrell Owens (could you imagine his pout as a cornerback getting burned?) and hangers-on like Bret Favre (a hard-hitting safety in Wrangler jeans?). I think he would be right.
But enough of the churlish curmudgeon I've become. Happy days lie ahead for bulls, I believe. Miss Market is winking at us.
Given the coming stimulus plan and the Fed printing press, reflation, the gift that keeps on giving to debtors and commodity investors, is around the corner.
When times are beyond tough, as they are now, there seems to be a silly glee among the survivalist set. They think they'll finally get to eat all those cans of pork 'n beans in their basements, but they're going to be truly irked when they get through the first course and realize all those above are digging into filet mignon. Reflation is coming. If you're long pork 'n beans futures, liquidate and buy oil, copper and real estate if you have the dough.
Christmas message to come.
Bud Wilkinson, the blond, debonair Minnesotan, father of the split-T offense and holder of a master's degree in English, reigned with gentlemanly grace as the Sooner coach 1947-1963. I watched his teams on Owen Field as a boy from a 40-yard line perch with my father, who had two season tickets as a graduate student from 1957-60.
Like Proust's bite of the madeleine cake, recalling the aroma of hot dog mustard and cigar smoke as we entered the stadium, shafts of light shooting through the ramps that led to the seats above, summons a whole world, as alive as if it were yesterday. We would buy a program and two cardboard visors to keep the powerful early autumn sunshine at bay. Hey, I still see the lonesome end offense of Army's Red Blaik in 1959.
Bud was many things -- a Pericles of the Athens of the Plains, innovative offensive football mind (the split-T presaged today's spread formations with its wider than normal splits on the offensive line), a scratch golfer and an astute appraiser of young men. Bud stood up against the Jim Crow pressure of the 1950s' South to recruit the first black schoolboy to play for OU -- the bruising academic All-American halfback Prentice Gautt.
The point of this stroll back to childhood is that Bud was convinced that free substitution had made the game less noble. He felt a crucial criterion in recruiting in the era of two-way players was character, found in fellows like Darrell Royal (OU quarterback and defensive back before he settled under the eyes of Texas as legendary coach) who had the discipline and steel to play 60 minutes on both sides of the ball with equal determination.
Yes, I think Bud would probably contend that two-platoon football has led directly to me-firsters like Terrell Owens (could you imagine his pout as a cornerback getting burned?) and hangers-on like Bret Favre (a hard-hitting safety in Wrangler jeans?). I think he would be right.
But enough of the churlish curmudgeon I've become. Happy days lie ahead for bulls, I believe. Miss Market is winking at us.
Given the coming stimulus plan and the Fed printing press, reflation, the gift that keeps on giving to debtors and commodity investors, is around the corner.
When times are beyond tough, as they are now, there seems to be a silly glee among the survivalist set. They think they'll finally get to eat all those cans of pork 'n beans in their basements, but they're going to be truly irked when they get through the first course and realize all those above are digging into filet mignon. Reflation is coming. If you're long pork 'n beans futures, liquidate and buy oil, copper and real estate if you have the dough.
Christmas message to come.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Globalize me, baby
The blame game is always fun to play, regardless of your political bent, station in life or field of interest. So let's indulge.
Many streams feed the raging river engulfing the hamlets and hilltops of our American landscape of getting and spending. Subprime mortgages, derivative securities, volatile oil prices, fast-buck investment bankers, criminal lenders, mortgagees who never learned their multiplication tables, falling house prices, foreclosures, disinterested regulators, to name a few. Heck, let's throw in poor little lambs who have lost their way and gentleman rankers out on the spree. Baa, baa baa.
But I'd like to focus on one pernicious species of futurist and smarter-than-thou thinkers who extolled the blessings of globalization. Now, this breed may indeed be right that the earth is flat and we're all better off for the opportunities created by the employment of cheap labor offshore and unleashing of free markets without regard to national borders. In any event, it doesn't matter if they're right or not because it is here to stay. No Smoot-Hawley bills are in the hopper.
My quibble is with the argument that the dislocations would be just an irritating rash, a minor matter that would soon be overwhelmed by the application of entrepreneurial cortisone. These superior brains (many of whom who also drank the Iraq War kool-aid) assured the benighted masses that workers' concerns were small beer compared to the blessings that would follow.
The obvious, glaring example of this miscalculation is the plight of U.S.-domiciled auto manufacturers and their employees.
I can hear the ideologues now: It's all the unions' fault for their out-of-touch demands. And that's fair up to a point ("job banks" that keep paying laid-off workers for years and benefits for retirees will have to go, for example).
But the truth, in my view, is that the clock began ticking when foreign manufacturers set up shop in the U.S. with non-union labor. To overcome that built-in disadvantage, the Big 3, locked into contracts with organized labor, turned to light trucks for the North American market and built fuel-efficient, costly but profitable machines for overseas markets. Should the unions be blamed for forging a deal that Toyota, etc., would undermine in time with the steady drip of good, cheaply produced cars? Are the unions to blame for the price of gasoline dictating the manufacturing whims of management?
The idea spun by the flat-earthers that the pain inflicted by markets without borders would be negligible is now proven risible. Do Jets fans now feel they were better off getting rid of the reliable Chad Pennington for the go-for-broke Brett Favre? For the record, I thought the Jets would be better off, too. And they may yet be.
Globalization, as real and irreversible as it may be, has finally overwhelmed GM and Chrysler and threatens a standard of living once thought a birthright. So be it. It is neither to be rejected nor embraced, damned nor praised. It's only the way the world works, not a religion, so spare me the best-of-all-possible outcomes palaver from the deep thinkers.
Back to Miss Market tomorrow, as well as thoughts on the curse of free substitution in football, Bud Wilkinson, Bernie Madoff's golf scores and the sweet, athletic joy of kids' swim meets.
Many streams feed the raging river engulfing the hamlets and hilltops of our American landscape of getting and spending. Subprime mortgages, derivative securities, volatile oil prices, fast-buck investment bankers, criminal lenders, mortgagees who never learned their multiplication tables, falling house prices, foreclosures, disinterested regulators, to name a few. Heck, let's throw in poor little lambs who have lost their way and gentleman rankers out on the spree. Baa, baa baa.
But I'd like to focus on one pernicious species of futurist and smarter-than-thou thinkers who extolled the blessings of globalization. Now, this breed may indeed be right that the earth is flat and we're all better off for the opportunities created by the employment of cheap labor offshore and unleashing of free markets without regard to national borders. In any event, it doesn't matter if they're right or not because it is here to stay. No Smoot-Hawley bills are in the hopper.
My quibble is with the argument that the dislocations would be just an irritating rash, a minor matter that would soon be overwhelmed by the application of entrepreneurial cortisone. These superior brains (many of whom who also drank the Iraq War kool-aid) assured the benighted masses that workers' concerns were small beer compared to the blessings that would follow.
The obvious, glaring example of this miscalculation is the plight of U.S.-domiciled auto manufacturers and their employees.
I can hear the ideologues now: It's all the unions' fault for their out-of-touch demands. And that's fair up to a point ("job banks" that keep paying laid-off workers for years and benefits for retirees will have to go, for example).
But the truth, in my view, is that the clock began ticking when foreign manufacturers set up shop in the U.S. with non-union labor. To overcome that built-in disadvantage, the Big 3, locked into contracts with organized labor, turned to light trucks for the North American market and built fuel-efficient, costly but profitable machines for overseas markets. Should the unions be blamed for forging a deal that Toyota, etc., would undermine in time with the steady drip of good, cheaply produced cars? Are the unions to blame for the price of gasoline dictating the manufacturing whims of management?
The idea spun by the flat-earthers that the pain inflicted by markets without borders would be negligible is now proven risible. Do Jets fans now feel they were better off getting rid of the reliable Chad Pennington for the go-for-broke Brett Favre? For the record, I thought the Jets would be better off, too. And they may yet be.
Globalization, as real and irreversible as it may be, has finally overwhelmed GM and Chrysler and threatens a standard of living once thought a birthright. So be it. It is neither to be rejected nor embraced, damned nor praised. It's only the way the world works, not a religion, so spare me the best-of-all-possible outcomes palaver from the deep thinkers.
Back to Miss Market tomorrow, as well as thoughts on the curse of free substitution in football, Bud Wilkinson, Bernie Madoff's golf scores and the sweet, athletic joy of kids' swim meets.
Friday, December 19, 2008
The T-Bone Formation
Taking a break from Miss Market's wiles today. I've been thinking about the evolution or devolution of football.
Is the wildcat formation a throwback or a leap into the future? The direct snap to a multi-talented back who can run the option, throw on the rollout or dash on a keeper before the defense can adjust is employed more and more by colleges and the NFL since Arkansas dreamed it up for Darren McFadden. I'm awaiting the return of the classic single wing and its running game of beautiful fakes and spinning backfields.
Another thought on football. In the years to come I believe more and more teams will attempt the two-point conversion after every touchdown regardless of the score and time left to put maximum pressure on the opponent. If you succeed just 50% of the time you're no worse off than having converted every place kick. Odds are you're successful more than half the time.
The death of Slingin' Sammy Baugh of TCU and Washington Redskins' fame brought to mind a game called the Oil Bowl, a summertime affair played each year in Wichita Falls, Texas, between high school all-stars from Oklahoma and Texas. I covered one such tilt in the early '80s when the Texas coach was Baugh's son, a lean, rawboned ranchhand, the kind of ex-football player rarely seen anymore in the day of 300-pound offensive linemen and 230-pound quarterbacks.
I don't remember the game too well, but I do remember a succulent 16 0z. T-bone, iceberg lettuce salad with French dressing, baked potato wrapped in foil and smothered in butter and sweet iced tea I had at the diner next to my motel for under 10 bucks. It still beats any meal I've spent a paycheck on at a Manhattan hot spot in the years since. I suppose the taste buds vanish with other appetites as the years roll by.
Well, to mangle Rick's line to Ilsa, "We'll always have Wichita Falls."
Is the wildcat formation a throwback or a leap into the future? The direct snap to a multi-talented back who can run the option, throw on the rollout or dash on a keeper before the defense can adjust is employed more and more by colleges and the NFL since Arkansas dreamed it up for Darren McFadden. I'm awaiting the return of the classic single wing and its running game of beautiful fakes and spinning backfields.
Another thought on football. In the years to come I believe more and more teams will attempt the two-point conversion after every touchdown regardless of the score and time left to put maximum pressure on the opponent. If you succeed just 50% of the time you're no worse off than having converted every place kick. Odds are you're successful more than half the time.
The death of Slingin' Sammy Baugh of TCU and Washington Redskins' fame brought to mind a game called the Oil Bowl, a summertime affair played each year in Wichita Falls, Texas, between high school all-stars from Oklahoma and Texas. I covered one such tilt in the early '80s when the Texas coach was Baugh's son, a lean, rawboned ranchhand, the kind of ex-football player rarely seen anymore in the day of 300-pound offensive linemen and 230-pound quarterbacks.
I don't remember the game too well, but I do remember a succulent 16 0z. T-bone, iceberg lettuce salad with French dressing, baked potato wrapped in foil and smothered in butter and sweet iced tea I had at the diner next to my motel for under 10 bucks. It still beats any meal I've spent a paycheck on at a Manhattan hot spot in the years since. I suppose the taste buds vanish with other appetites as the years roll by.
Well, to mangle Rick's line to Ilsa, "We'll always have Wichita Falls."
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Crude Instincts
Stop the presses! This just in! Analysts at JPMorgan have lowered their oil price forecast to an average of $43 a barrel for 2009 from $69. Oil prices are falling, they say, due to "the ongoing deterioration in the world economic environment and the ensuing sharp contraction in global oil demand in both 2008 and 2009." (Source: Marketwatch).
What a clairvoyant bunch. We are lowering our forecast, they seem to be saying, because we stuck our heads out the window and saw which way the wind was blowing. We'll change our forecast when we stick our heads outside the window again and notice the wind is blowing the other way. And guess what. They also think voaltility in the oil market will subside once a supply/demand balance is reached. Thanks for the heads up.
For the record, WTI for January delivery fell $3.84 to end at $36.22 on the NYMEX today.
The time to get back into oil and gas names and sell the airlines may be coming soon. Reflating the economy is on the horizon and will probably work down the road. I'm keeping my eyes open, hoping not to be too cut up by the falling knife. I'll let you know when I decide to try and catch it.
Update on Kev's portfolio:
Ford (F) ended today at $2.84, down $0.30 on the day, up 147% since purchase on 11/20/08.
Advanced Micro Devices (AMD) closed at $2.23, down $0.06. on the day, up 1.8% since purchase on 12/15/08 at an intraday price of $2.19.
Palm Inc, (PALM) unchanged on the day at $2.20, up 7.8% since purchase at intraday price of $2.04.
Coming up: thoughts on football (including the return of the single wing, greatest games attended and the death of Slingin' Sammy Baugh and his connection to an ancient high school all-star game many years ago).
What a clairvoyant bunch. We are lowering our forecast, they seem to be saying, because we stuck our heads out the window and saw which way the wind was blowing. We'll change our forecast when we stick our heads outside the window again and notice the wind is blowing the other way. And guess what. They also think voaltility in the oil market will subside once a supply/demand balance is reached. Thanks for the heads up.
For the record, WTI for January delivery fell $3.84 to end at $36.22 on the NYMEX today.
The time to get back into oil and gas names and sell the airlines may be coming soon. Reflating the economy is on the horizon and will probably work down the road. I'm keeping my eyes open, hoping not to be too cut up by the falling knife. I'll let you know when I decide to try and catch it.
Update on Kev's portfolio:
Ford (F) ended today at $2.84, down $0.30 on the day, up 147% since purchase on 11/20/08.
Advanced Micro Devices (AMD) closed at $2.23, down $0.06. on the day, up 1.8% since purchase on 12/15/08 at an intraday price of $2.19.
Palm Inc, (PALM) unchanged on the day at $2.20, up 7.8% since purchase at intraday price of $2.04.
Coming up: thoughts on football (including the return of the single wing, greatest games attended and the death of Slingin' Sammy Baugh and his connection to an ancient high school all-star game many years ago).
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Gotta see a man about a horse
Whoa, Nellie. This nag is getting ready to work in the morning
"Morgan Stanley on Wednesday posted its own quarterly deficit, dogged, as rival Goldman Sachs reported a day earlier, by frozen credit markets, falling asset prices and stagnant underwriting.
Morgan said it lost $2.30 billion, or $2.34 a share, in the fiscal fourth quarter, compared to a loss of $3.59 billion, or $3.61 a share, in the year-earlier period. Net revenue was $1.8 billion, compared with negative $400 million in last year's fourth quarter. "
Source: Marketwatch
Included in the kitchen sink Morgan Stanley heaved into the latest quarter are the returns "investment" banks will aim for henceforth. By default (no pun intended), the United States, through its elected representatives and duly authorized agencies, holds the reins. The bridled horse may whinny and stand on its hind legs every now and then, but if it wants a feedbag full of oats at the end of its laboring day, it will have to accept ROEs that are well below what its previously unyoked shareholders had come to demand.
Hindsight is perfect, but oh that Lehman, Citigroup and AIG had realized sooner that the world had changed. John Mack, a smart guy, knows which side his bread is buttered on. Expect steady though unspectacular results from now on. Wall Street is in the stable, munching contentedly, looking forward to a hitch to the plow in the morning. Not as fun as galloping in the pasture but it beats a trip to the glue factory.
So, I'd be a buyer of MS and Goldman (both of which could be buyers of banks or sellers themselves).
Full disclosure: I own 2 shares of MS (at $16.64, up $1.02 on the day as I write), having sold much more years before to buy a house. I do not own GS (at $79.19, up $3.19 on the day).
Miss Market is giving us that come-hither look.
"Morgan Stanley on Wednesday posted its own quarterly deficit, dogged, as rival Goldman Sachs reported a day earlier, by frozen credit markets, falling asset prices and stagnant underwriting.
Morgan said it lost $2.30 billion, or $2.34 a share, in the fiscal fourth quarter, compared to a loss of $3.59 billion, or $3.61 a share, in the year-earlier period. Net revenue was $1.8 billion, compared with negative $400 million in last year's fourth quarter. "
Source: Marketwatch
Included in the kitchen sink Morgan Stanley heaved into the latest quarter are the returns "investment" banks will aim for henceforth. By default (no pun intended), the United States, through its elected representatives and duly authorized agencies, holds the reins. The bridled horse may whinny and stand on its hind legs every now and then, but if it wants a feedbag full of oats at the end of its laboring day, it will have to accept ROEs that are well below what its previously unyoked shareholders had come to demand.
Hindsight is perfect, but oh that Lehman, Citigroup and AIG had realized sooner that the world had changed. John Mack, a smart guy, knows which side his bread is buttered on. Expect steady though unspectacular results from now on. Wall Street is in the stable, munching contentedly, looking forward to a hitch to the plow in the morning. Not as fun as galloping in the pasture but it beats a trip to the glue factory.
So, I'd be a buyer of MS and Goldman (both of which could be buyers of banks or sellers themselves).
Full disclosure: I own 2 shares of MS (at $16.64, up $1.02 on the day as I write), having sold much more years before to buy a house. I do not own GS (at $79.19, up $3.19 on the day).
Miss Market is giving us that come-hither look.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Smoke 'em if you got 'em
Cheer deflation if you are, as am I, enslaved to legally lethal products.
"U.S. consumer prices posted a second straight record decline last month, falling 1.7% on a seasonally adjusted basis. That is the largest drop since the government started compiling the figures in 1947 and well in excess of the 1.3% decline Wall Street economists had expected. Excluding food and energy, prices were unchanged."
Source:WSJ news alert.
The markets for real goods and services are clearing. Even we nicotine addicts have reason to cheer. Just bought a package of Marlboro from my friendly neighborhood Hess station in New York (the cheapest legal outlet I can find) and was delighted to learn the price had dropped from $7.86 to $7.15. Just a week or two ago, the price was $8.06. It seems that even products with inelastic demand must bend to the harsh whip of demand for cheap substitutes.
"Something must be going on," said my gregarious friend who clerks behind bullet proof glass. He said it ominously, conditioned, I assumed, to prices of tobacco forever rising in sync with the drumbeat of the influential healthy lifestyle lobby that heaps steep taxes upon sinners in this state.
So in this season of light, let us light up with butane or paper matches. Those $100 bills we used in boom times are becoming more valuable day by day.
"U.S. consumer prices posted a second straight record decline last month, falling 1.7% on a seasonally adjusted basis. That is the largest drop since the government started compiling the figures in 1947 and well in excess of the 1.3% decline Wall Street economists had expected. Excluding food and energy, prices were unchanged."
Source:WSJ news alert.
The markets for real goods and services are clearing. Even we nicotine addicts have reason to cheer. Just bought a package of Marlboro from my friendly neighborhood Hess station in New York (the cheapest legal outlet I can find) and was delighted to learn the price had dropped from $7.86 to $7.15. Just a week or two ago, the price was $8.06. It seems that even products with inelastic demand must bend to the harsh whip of demand for cheap substitutes.
"Something must be going on," said my gregarious friend who clerks behind bullet proof glass. He said it ominously, conditioned, I assumed, to prices of tobacco forever rising in sync with the drumbeat of the influential healthy lifestyle lobby that heaps steep taxes upon sinners in this state.
So in this season of light, let us light up with butane or paper matches. Those $100 bills we used in boom times are becoming more valuable day by day.
The Ponzi Pawnshop
Aren't banks actually a form of Ponzi scheme: borrowing from depositors to lend to others? Of course, everyone knows that's the system, and fractional reserve requirements and the oversight of the Federal Reserve, FDIC, etc., are supposed to protect the widows and orphans by making sure the banks don't overdo it or fake it, but the idea is the same. When everybody wants their money back at once, the bank has to come up with the dough, be bought by another bank or be liquidated.
I remember some of the Enron fellows chalked up the firm's demise to a "run on the bank." In that argument, it was all just bad luck, not malfeasance. Juries didn't buy it, nor should they have.
In the Madoff case, the "depositors" didn't have the assurance of a Fed or FDIC that their returns or lack thereof were the result of that manager's good or bad investment decisions, not the ego of a titanic phony who obviously had issues with with the human reality of losing every now and then.
For those of the Greenspanian ilk who chafe at regulation, this is a big blow to their simplistic mantra of "free markets for free men" if it means "free money for con men." If our financial market regulators were publicly traded companies I'd buy the Fed and short the SEC. Call it investing in a Ponzi scheme in which everybody is in on the joke.
Stock pick update to follow when the market closes.
I remember some of the Enron fellows chalked up the firm's demise to a "run on the bank." In that argument, it was all just bad luck, not malfeasance. Juries didn't buy it, nor should they have.
In the Madoff case, the "depositors" didn't have the assurance of a Fed or FDIC that their returns or lack thereof were the result of that manager's good or bad investment decisions, not the ego of a titanic phony who obviously had issues with with the human reality of losing every now and then.
For those of the Greenspanian ilk who chafe at regulation, this is a big blow to their simplistic mantra of "free markets for free men" if it means "free money for con men." If our financial market regulators were publicly traded companies I'd buy the Fed and short the SEC. Call it investing in a Ponzi scheme in which everybody is in on the joke.
Stock pick update to follow when the market closes.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Charmer and the Charmed
It is convenient to divide the world into two camps. I do it often as a way to explain success, failure or just the amount of enthusiasm one has for getting up in the morning and facing Miss Market (I prefer to think of it as a she, not Mr. Market, for some vaguely sexist reason, I'm sure). But Mr. Madoff is off the charts. How he kept all those balls in the air for so long without Miss Market walking out on him will likely be studied by psychologists and fledgling con men for years to come.
I've tried my two-camps trick, as in "the world is divided between the suckers and the wise guys," or, "the world is divided between those who play by the rules and those who move their tee shot from behind a tree when no one is looking." But this guy separates himself. Your run-of-the-mill swindler fleeces and flees. Mr. Madoff stuck around, with a public profile as big as the Ritz, apparently never believing everybody would ask for their money at once.
Perhaps the lesson for investors is that you can't have it one way all the time. Take your best shot, and if you lose (hopefully fewer times than you win) chalk it up to fickle Miss Market and soldier on. If a money manager appears to be saying his trees grow to the sky year after year, take a look at the rest of the forest. Like picking football games against the spread, if you're right 60% of the time you're a genius, 100% of the time and the fix is in.
By the way, played at Dyker today. Putted well, tee shots were inconsistent, approach shots were atrocious. Oh well, the worst day on the golf course is better than.....Sadly, it looks like the last golf day for a time. Instead, I am devoting myself to analyzing the BCS championship game and trying to come up with a way for OU to score 60 points against Florida. I think that's what it's going to take.
I've tried my two-camps trick, as in "the world is divided between the suckers and the wise guys," or, "the world is divided between those who play by the rules and those who move their tee shot from behind a tree when no one is looking." But this guy separates himself. Your run-of-the-mill swindler fleeces and flees. Mr. Madoff stuck around, with a public profile as big as the Ritz, apparently never believing everybody would ask for their money at once.
Perhaps the lesson for investors is that you can't have it one way all the time. Take your best shot, and if you lose (hopefully fewer times than you win) chalk it up to fickle Miss Market and soldier on. If a money manager appears to be saying his trees grow to the sky year after year, take a look at the rest of the forest. Like picking football games against the spread, if you're right 60% of the time you're a genius, 100% of the time and the fix is in.
By the way, played at Dyker today. Putted well, tee shots were inconsistent, approach shots were atrocious. Oh well, the worst day on the golf course is better than.....Sadly, it looks like the last golf day for a time. Instead, I am devoting myself to analyzing the BCS championship game and trying to come up with a way for OU to score 60 points against Florida. I think that's what it's going to take.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
I'm in with the In Crowd
Let's face it. All of us prefer to think we're right.
Failures and busted dreams are always the fault of others. Our straitened circumstances, failed relationships and foozled tee shots, not to mention our ravaged portfolios, which I will mention in a moment, are always the result of implacable, unseen forces that only the In Crowd (Dobie Gray, 1965; The Ramsey Lewis Trio instrumental version later that year) can control and take advantage of. Sing it, guys, "We make every minute count! Yeah! Our share is always the biggest amount..."
The credit crunch, not wearing a watch, "the sun was in my eyes" and slick suits in league with the Federal Reserve all serve as convenient foils. Just ask Dick Fuld.
However, as Grantland Rice put it much better than I, these are only aliases. The real names of these Four Horsemen are: Baby, the rain must fall; didn't want to know what time it was; forgot to wear a visor and Ivy League envy.
In other words, the day of the stock picker has arrived, in my view. The volatility of the market is as great as trading in individual names these days, so why not swing for the fences? Briefly, the downside risk appears to me to be roughly the same, but the upside potential seems greater.
Fifteen years ago, Byron Wien of Morgan Stanley fame (not name-dropping; I'm sure he doesn't remember me) penned a piece in the firm's Investment Perspectives that resonates with me still: "I Hear the Death Rattle of Indexing."
The death rattle is now as threatening as the menacing announcement of a diamondback's desire to survive.
Here are two names I would look at for a short-term trade: Advanced Micro Devices ($2.28, up $0.08 on Friday) and Palm Inc. ($2.30, up $0.52 on Friday). They're chasing Intel and Research in Motion, respectively, but both, I believe, have competitive products that the big boys need to have in the mix to keep them on their toes.
Full disclosure: I currently own neither AMD nor PALM, but plan to buy at the opening market price Monday (Dec. 15, 2008) morning and then go play golf at Dyker (supposed to be 60 degrees and sunny). As I said, I'm like everyone else. I prefer to think I'm right and will crow if I am and make excuses if I'm not. Sell ideas to come.
Kev's buy list: F (recommendation initiated 12/12/08; I own F shares, bought at $1.15 on 11/20/08), AMD, PALM (recommendation initiated 12/13/08).
Failures and busted dreams are always the fault of others. Our straitened circumstances, failed relationships and foozled tee shots, not to mention our ravaged portfolios, which I will mention in a moment, are always the result of implacable, unseen forces that only the In Crowd (Dobie Gray, 1965; The Ramsey Lewis Trio instrumental version later that year) can control and take advantage of. Sing it, guys, "We make every minute count! Yeah! Our share is always the biggest amount..."
The credit crunch, not wearing a watch, "the sun was in my eyes" and slick suits in league with the Federal Reserve all serve as convenient foils. Just ask Dick Fuld.
However, as Grantland Rice put it much better than I, these are only aliases. The real names of these Four Horsemen are: Baby, the rain must fall; didn't want to know what time it was; forgot to wear a visor and Ivy League envy.
In other words, the day of the stock picker has arrived, in my view. The volatility of the market is as great as trading in individual names these days, so why not swing for the fences? Briefly, the downside risk appears to me to be roughly the same, but the upside potential seems greater.
Fifteen years ago, Byron Wien of Morgan Stanley fame (not name-dropping; I'm sure he doesn't remember me) penned a piece in the firm's Investment Perspectives that resonates with me still: "I Hear the Death Rattle of Indexing."
The death rattle is now as threatening as the menacing announcement of a diamondback's desire to survive.
Here are two names I would look at for a short-term trade: Advanced Micro Devices ($2.28, up $0.08 on Friday) and Palm Inc. ($2.30, up $0.52 on Friday). They're chasing Intel and Research in Motion, respectively, but both, I believe, have competitive products that the big boys need to have in the mix to keep them on their toes.
Full disclosure: I currently own neither AMD nor PALM, but plan to buy at the opening market price Monday (Dec. 15, 2008) morning and then go play golf at Dyker (supposed to be 60 degrees and sunny). As I said, I'm like everyone else. I prefer to think I'm right and will crow if I am and make excuses if I'm not. Sell ideas to come.
Kev's buy list: F (recommendation initiated 12/12/08; I own F shares, bought at $1.15 on 11/20/08), AMD, PALM (recommendation initiated 12/13/08).
Friday, December 12, 2008
More Ayn Rand/Ron Paul Nonsense
It seems many who would lock their neighbor out of the bomb shelter they presciently constructed are confusing what is fair with what the majority of the Senate, elected by the people, deemed necessary regarding the proposed taxpayer loans to and oversight of the Big 3.
No excuses need be made for recalcitrant labor or out-of-touch management, but prudent people fear the consequences of doing nothing without at least keeping the patient going in the hope that a meeting in the middle can mitigate what would otherwise be a scary outcome.
The Senate did not reject the bailout legislation. It never considered it really. In fact, it merely failed to garner the 60 votes out of 100, which, according to its rules, are needed to end debate and send the bill for a vote. A majority, 52, voted for this cloture. Thus, it could be argued that the administration in invoking TARP for help is carrying out the will of the people's elected representatives.
Surely, the posturing senators who voted against cloture knew this would be the outcome. So they enjoyed the chance to act like chapters from Profiles in Courage with no responsibility for a meltdown.
The market response seems appropriate.
No excuses need be made for recalcitrant labor or out-of-touch management, but prudent people fear the consequences of doing nothing without at least keeping the patient going in the hope that a meeting in the middle can mitigate what would otherwise be a scary outcome.
The Senate did not reject the bailout legislation. It never considered it really. In fact, it merely failed to garner the 60 votes out of 100, which, according to its rules, are needed to end debate and send the bill for a vote. A majority, 52, voted for this cloture. Thus, it could be argued that the administration in invoking TARP for help is carrying out the will of the people's elected representatives.
Surely, the posturing senators who voted against cloture knew this would be the outcome. So they enjoyed the chance to act like chapters from Profiles in Courage with no responsibility for a meltdown.
The market response seems appropriate.
Me and Miss Market -- We gotta thing goin' on
Did anyone seriously believe the United States would let the car makers go down because some posturing blowhards prevented cloture in the Senate? The stakes for the rest of the economy are far too high to let buffoons carry the day, regardless of where the blame lies (management, unions, legacy benefits, cheap Southern labor for the transplants, etc.).
Full disclosure: I own Ford shares, bought last month at $1.15. After last night's rump rebellion from the bloviators playing to the anti-union hillbillies back home (I am of hillfolk stock myself, so no angry "you think you're better than me" stuff), I admit I was ready to bail and preserve a short-term profit but held off from pressing the button when the administration unfolded the TARP to catch the falling Town Car this morning.
For the moment, greed trumped fear. My original reason for buying was supported -- I didn't believe that even the most rabid Ayn Rand freaks would release the hounds on what remained of the last limping female fox on the estate. Surely, I reasoned, the lord of the manor would want to keep her alive so that the species could repopulate and enable future hunts that would entertain his peers and keep enough commoners employed to hold the torch and pitchfork crowd to a minimum.
Ford (trading at $3.09, up $0.19 on the day as I write) is probably the safest (that is certainly a relative term) way to play the auto bailout. Its balance sheet is the strongest of the two publicly traded American car makers, and I take F at its word that it doesn't need the dough right away.
Who knows, but I still think Miss Market has a crush on me. At least today. Tomorrow I may be dealt a hand with no Greed trump cards courtesy of political events. And that last lady fox (no foxy lady she) may prove barren.
Full disclosure: I own Ford shares, bought last month at $1.15. After last night's rump rebellion from the bloviators playing to the anti-union hillbillies back home (I am of hillfolk stock myself, so no angry "you think you're better than me" stuff), I admit I was ready to bail and preserve a short-term profit but held off from pressing the button when the administration unfolded the TARP to catch the falling Town Car this morning.
For the moment, greed trumped fear. My original reason for buying was supported -- I didn't believe that even the most rabid Ayn Rand freaks would release the hounds on what remained of the last limping female fox on the estate. Surely, I reasoned, the lord of the manor would want to keep her alive so that the species could repopulate and enable future hunts that would entertain his peers and keep enough commoners employed to hold the torch and pitchfork crowd to a minimum.
Ford (trading at $3.09, up $0.19 on the day as I write) is probably the safest (that is certainly a relative term) way to play the auto bailout. Its balance sheet is the strongest of the two publicly traded American car makers, and I take F at its word that it doesn't need the dough right away.
Who knows, but I still think Miss Market has a crush on me. At least today. Tomorrow I may be dealt a hand with no Greed trump cards courtesy of political events. And that last lady fox (no foxy lady she) may prove barren.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
First Thought Concerning Those Who See What Others Don't
Newsletter peddlers and seers of various stripes, from Wall Street research departments to the corner bank branch with a 20-something in his first suit, raise the obvious question: If they hold the key to wealth why aren't they slipping it into the lock themselves instead of selling the secret to the rest of the world?
One reason, obviously, is that they really don't have a formula that will make them rich so to make a living they need to sell advice that purports to enrich their clients.
But another reason, perhaps even more important, is that they long for status that accrues to the brightest bulb that eludes them in other earthly endeavors.
Who knows? Maybe the next Great Carnak will quit hedging, take the plunge, declare a bottom and assure us his visions have been sealed in a mayonnaise jar kept on Funk & Wagnalls' porch.
Until then I'll look at the employment data and the head and shoulder pattern traced by the slumping silhouette of the weary investor. That is, unless you serendipitously run across the next Microsoft (hey! it could happen), Miss Market is that cute girl in high school you were sure had a secret crush on you even when she left the dance with the quarterback.
One reason, obviously, is that they really don't have a formula that will make them rich so to make a living they need to sell advice that purports to enrich their clients.
But another reason, perhaps even more important, is that they long for status that accrues to the brightest bulb that eludes them in other earthly endeavors.
Who knows? Maybe the next Great Carnak will quit hedging, take the plunge, declare a bottom and assure us his visions have been sealed in a mayonnaise jar kept on Funk & Wagnalls' porch.
Until then I'll look at the employment data and the head and shoulder pattern traced by the slumping silhouette of the weary investor. That is, unless you serendipitously run across the next Microsoft (hey! it could happen), Miss Market is that cute girl in high school you were sure had a secret crush on you even when she left the dance with the quarterback.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
The Past Perfect and the One to Come
The only cure for the golf addict trapped in the frigid northeast for several months is a set or two of tennis indoors. Similar skills are required, eye on the ball, etc., with the exception that the ball is moving and tennis is a sport, while golf is essentially a target game -- like darts or bowling.
One does, however, get the ecstatic "pure" feeling from a well-struck tee shot or forehand, much like the sweet kiss of bat on baseball that drills a line drive up the middle (for those of us who remember that feeling from Little League days). It is the memory of effortless execution, an almost magical outburst of art and science that makes the object to be struck vanish with astonishing power and speed that keeps all duffers, hackers and weekend softball players returning to the courses, courts and diamonds in hope of recreating the exquisite moment of perfection. It is as close to God as the sportsman gets.
Indeed, because perfection is so infrequent, its attainment is so much more tingling. It surprises me that artists such as Tiger Woods or Rafael Nadal do not get bored since perfection is so routine. What satisfaction can there be (other than pecuniary) when the outcome is largely predetermined? These men are wired differently than you and me. Perfection must have a different definition for them.
As for me, the blissful moment of one perfect stroke is worth a thicket of breakdowns regardless of the score. Now if I could just put two of those moments together in a row.
One does, however, get the ecstatic "pure" feeling from a well-struck tee shot or forehand, much like the sweet kiss of bat on baseball that drills a line drive up the middle (for those of us who remember that feeling from Little League days). It is the memory of effortless execution, an almost magical outburst of art and science that makes the object to be struck vanish with astonishing power and speed that keeps all duffers, hackers and weekend softball players returning to the courses, courts and diamonds in hope of recreating the exquisite moment of perfection. It is as close to God as the sportsman gets.
Indeed, because perfection is so infrequent, its attainment is so much more tingling. It surprises me that artists such as Tiger Woods or Rafael Nadal do not get bored since perfection is so routine. What satisfaction can there be (other than pecuniary) when the outcome is largely predetermined? These men are wired differently than you and me. Perfection must have a different definition for them.
As for me, the blissful moment of one perfect stroke is worth a thicket of breakdowns regardless of the score. Now if I could just put two of those moments together in a row.
Handsome Devil
To my future faithful readers, prepare yourselves for a life-changing revelation.
My universe as you know it has been turned upside down. After smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo, this middle-aged sportsman is through counting flowers on the wall. He is embracing the only occupation available to one too sissified to grab his clubs and head to Dyker Beach in the Decembery briskness that is part of Brooklyn's oppressive mantle of gloom in this season of light.
Henceforth, I am focused like a young lion on my career as male model/consultant/day trader. I have successfully consulted with someone who paid me (looking for others) and executed trades in the stock market. Alas, the modeling part is awaiting launch, but I'm sure Madison Avenue is looking for a new symbol of post-Pax Americana, the bumbling baby boomer at whom children shake their heads in sentimental but derisive indulgence.
Anyone inspecting my crib will find the requisite stacks of Sports Illustrated, dog-eared paperbacks, poker-playing dogs on the wall and flat-screen TV, which is only on for football these days. What more could an account executive wish for when looking for the next symbol of American decline with a whiff of past glory still clinging to his cheek with the help of Old Spice?
Dear reader (don't you love that in Trollope?), updates on my new career and stock picks for the Apocalypse will follow soon.
My universe as you know it has been turned upside down. After smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo, this middle-aged sportsman is through counting flowers on the wall. He is embracing the only occupation available to one too sissified to grab his clubs and head to Dyker Beach in the Decembery briskness that is part of Brooklyn's oppressive mantle of gloom in this season of light.
Henceforth, I am focused like a young lion on my career as male model/consultant/day trader. I have successfully consulted with someone who paid me (looking for others) and executed trades in the stock market. Alas, the modeling part is awaiting launch, but I'm sure Madison Avenue is looking for a new symbol of post-Pax Americana, the bumbling baby boomer at whom children shake their heads in sentimental but derisive indulgence.
Anyone inspecting my crib will find the requisite stacks of Sports Illustrated, dog-eared paperbacks, poker-playing dogs on the wall and flat-screen TV, which is only on for football these days. What more could an account executive wish for when looking for the next symbol of American decline with a whiff of past glory still clinging to his cheek with the help of Old Spice?
Dear reader (don't you love that in Trollope?), updates on my new career and stock picks for the Apocalypse will follow soon.
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