Greetings from Orange County; specifically, from Gate 18 at the John Wayne Airport. I have just completed a day watching one of my beloved children graduate, and I’m waiting to go home to my trio of dogs who are surely wondering where I’ve been all day.
The world-famous “Tim travels=markets plunge” folklore is still batting 1,000. Some here may recall that the last experiment we did in this respect, my wife and daughter were traveling, and we all wanted to see if this mystical power applied to family members or just me. It was quite clearly shown that, regrettably, I and only I possess this supernatural and as-yet unexplained potency. Perhaps it’s associated with abnormally large genitalia. The jury is still out.
I have suffered, as I always do, from panged feelings of guilty at not feeding my readers good content. And, as such, the site has been relatively inactive today, since I didn’t provide much red meat for the wolves. I’m trying a small form of recompense by sitting in this semi-comfortable chair and sharing a few reflections.
I will first note that never did I dream 4071 would be busted so gloriously. This is just magnificent. And proof, once again, that the only market signal that is even close to my “travel” magic is my “sullen” disposition. If you ever read me writing about how horrible I feel, and how I want to kill myself since I’m such an idiot, that’s the time to go all-in on puts. It was just a few days ago that this signal was screaming at you. For the record, I am not feeling giddy, so don’t freak out.
Even though I was 90% occupied with family matters today, I did engage in a very un-Tim-like trade and bought an absolutely shitload of July 22 calls on UVXY. In other words, for me, super aggressive. They did GREAT, and I dumped them just seconds before the close, which probably means the market will crash on Friday.
We’re in a no-man’s land right now. Here is the NQ. We are precisely in the middle of the Fibonacci retracements. It could go up a lot. Or down a lot. Pay the man, Harold.
Anyway, my shorts are doing peachy. A few days ago, I did my SHORT BEZOS post (since it is my purpose in life to pee directly onto Lauren Sanchez’s gold-digging face at every opportunity) and those puts are doing dandy, thanks for asking.
And my Brazil EWZ puts idea was PERFECTLY timed. It does my soul good to know that my premium members are actually getting way, way, WAY more than their money’s worth. God bless ’em all.
But here’s one last queer thing about me traveling. It seems whenever I travel from San Jose to Southern California, my shoes blow up. I’m not talking the shoe bomber dude. I’m talking about my beloved Ecco shoes (the only brand I wear) absolutely disintegrating the moment I walk toward the airport. It’s goddamned curious. I think the universe is trying to send me a message. It’s not like I am hard on my shoes, people. I have two dozen pairs of Ecco shoes. But this SJC–>SNA thing sends some kind of signal to make them just………..fall to pieces. These are literally pictures of my shoes at this moment:
It’s a strange world, isn’t it?
