Our patron saint George Carlin’s wife, Brenda Carlin, died in 1997. They had been married 36 years, and they had a daughter, Kelly. After the 9/11 tragedy, George wrote the following, which I think shows a side of him most people didn’t know existed in such nuance:
The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but
shorter tempers, wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more,
but have less; we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and
smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees
but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more
problems, more medicine, but less wellness.
We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little,
drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too
little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our
possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and
hate too often.
The last trading week of the year looks to be quiet (unplanned events notwithstanding). The following Monday the 30th is a market holiday, and then of course that week June begins. And June, between the Brexit vote and the Fed meeting, promises to be a bit more tumultuous than somniferous May was.
My fellow bloggers are seeing the same thing I’m seeing: people are just leaving the market in droves. Why? Simple. Because hardly anyone can make money consistently in this beast. Just look at the recent activity. Neither bulls nor bears are winning. If you win one day, you lose the next, and vice versa.
I guess I’m semi-grateful that at least OPEX week wasn’t the bullish fiesta that I feared. But as I stand here right now, I’m outlining my first screenplay, because the boredom and insanity of this market action is really starting to get to me, and I need a creative, positive outlet. For once, I’m actually looking forward to the weekend. This market, once again, sucks.
For reasons I won’t bother going into, I found myself in the Merchandising Department of the Cypress Lawn funeral home. I’ve always found the business of selling stuff for dead people (particularly really, really overpriced stuff) to be tacky, to put it gently, but it’s a thriving, multi-billion dollar industry.
Human nature – – particularly collective human nature – – fascinates me. I was thinking this morning about the completely unprecedented event of getting three hate mails in a very tight cluster last month (whereas normally I might get one, if that, in an entire year), and I was wondering about when that happened; well, it was no big surprise:
It’s extraordinary to me that three men – – and, of course, they just had to be men – – would, without conferring with one another, all decide to take the trouble and time out of their oh-so-busy lives to write me something hateful. (After all, since they’ve given me $0.00 in my life, it’s perfectly fair of them to expect me to perform services for them of the highest caliber).
Suffice it to say I hope they all got very long based on their venom, and that they remain so. God knows that I deserve kindness, and nothing like this, although their unwitting “Short” signal was, in retrospect, mildly interesting.
As a courtesy, which none of them deserve, I’ve blotted out the surnames, not that anyone has ever heard of any of these people. I will not debase myself to the behavior of others.
During the many years that I’ve been running Slope, readers from all corners of the earth have shipped me gifts, such as chocolates, wine, little statues, and so on. I find it very touching anyone would take the time or trouble, but Scott (Iguanodon) created for me a couple of real gems. First, there’s this puzzle:
Today I received in the mail the State of California Primary Voter’s Guide, which the Secretary of State prints up by the millions and sends to every blessed citizen. I was expecting a few boring candidate statements of the U.S. Senate – AKA the World’s Most Exclusive Club – but, boy, was I wrong. Just take a look at some of these gems.
First off is a chap named Tim (I like him already………) who, understandably, doesn’t associate himself with any particular party. It seems what matters to him most is good old J.C., and he comes right to the point: