The longer I live, the shorter life gets.
It’s a truism, I suppose, and one of many which occur to humans as the years roll by. See, I started Slope as a pure-brown-haired lad in my 30s. As Slope now commences its 20th (God help me……..) year, the temples are greying, the teeth are decaying, and creditors are weighing my purse. Well, no, only the first of those is true, but I could not help letting a little Broadway slip into my off-the-cuff musings.
Prior to 2005, March 29th was just another day in the year, but now, every year, I think about what I’m going to write on the birthday of my electronic child. I was especially concerned this year since, frankly, I’ve never felt more despondent, more angst-ridden, more (dare I say it?) hopeless about the prospects we’ll ever see a real stock market again.
From everything I see, the so-called market has been completely captured, and the equity markets I knew as a young man in the 1990s seem absolutely innocent and respectable compared to the shameless cesspool we are in today. Even the so-called public servants of Capitol Hill have crafted it into no better than an ATM for themselves.
I mean, let’s be real: an actual market – – an honest-to-God level playing field of buyers and sellers – – does not look ANYTHING like the item below, in which virtually every single week since October was up in an economic and geopolitical environment which is, to put it kindly, not guaranteed to be trouble-free.
As phony and contrived as things appear to be now, I would be flabbergasted, astonished, and absolutely laid flat if, one year from now, the world had not been turned completely upside down at least once. We are approaching one of the most perilous elections in the near quarter-millennium our country has been around, and the “growth” in our economy right now is possible only because the current administration has increased the acquisition of debt at a pace never before witnessed in order to generate the simulacrum of prosperity. It is utterly devoid of dignity.
I toyed with the idea of stating that if, before Slope’s 20th birthday, we hadn’t had at least one major (and I mean MAJOR) shake-up in the financial markets, I would just conclude that the markets had been permanently and irreversibly captured, and that there simply was no point in continuing. I decided against this, however, because it would be way too tempting for the market gods to see if I would actually keep my word with such a dramatic promise. Far more important, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without Slope.
So, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.
As such, I want to take this opportunity to thank a few groups in particular.
First and foremost, thank you to our premium members, who, God bless ’em, pay for everything here on Slope, from the data to the engineering to the servers. Memberships are the one and only revenue source here, as I am too protective of Slope’s aesthetics to allow third party ads on the site, so we all owe paying members a debt of gratitude. If you aren’t one already, I would humbly urge you to give a package a try.
Second, I’d like to thank the five-star generals here: Baby Bear, Buccaneer, LZ, Mr. Wizard, Squirrel, NYUGrad, RNeo, The Joker, TNRevolution, and Violet. These folks have gone above-and-beyond for Slope as well as me personally, and I’m very grateful for their time and devotion to the site.
Finally, I’d like to thank all the members of our community. I know in the past I have not showed proper appreciation for the thriving membership that is so active here day after day, but I am indeed grateful that you elect to swing by Slope on such a regular basis. There are many dozens of tools, features, and services here on Slope, but the thumping heart of the place is definitely in the comments section where everyone swaps stories, ideas, and banter.
From the bottom of my heart, I am fervently hopeful that our 20th year is our best ever. Thank you for being part of this journey, which began as something I figured would last a week or two but has morphed into the lengthiest gig of my entire life.
