By: K(en(neth Louis) G(rant)
They all said Louise was not that bad, it was written on the walls and window shades,
And how she’d act the little girl, a deceiver, don’t believe her, that’s her trade,
Sometimes, a bottle of perfume, flowers and maybe some lace,
They bought Louise ten cent trinkets, their intentions were easily traced,
Still everybody thought it kind of sad, when they found Louise in her room,
They always put her down below her kind,
Still some cried when she died this afternoon,
— Paul Siebel
I walked alone down the miracle mile, I met my baby by the shrine of the martyr,
She stole my heart with her Cajun smile, singing “Voulez voulez voulez vous?”
She loved the million-dollar words I say, she loved the candy and the flowers that I bought her,
She said she loved me and then she went away, singing “Voulez voulez voulez vous?”
And if you hear from my Louise, please tell her that I say hello…
— Donald Fagen and Walter Becker
Louise she’s alright, she’s just near, she’s delicate, built like veneer,
But it makes it all too concise and to clear that Johanna’s not here,
The ghost of ‘lectricity howls in the bones of her face,
While these visions, of Johanna, have now taken my place
— Bob Dylan
I actually don’t have that much to convey about theft — of whatever form it might assume. But whatever itis, we’ll attend to it in a bit.
First, I must offer my tribute to Louise, who flew off like a little bird this past week.
The lyrics presented above are for my musical Louises, whom I have loved for ages (almost, in aggregate, as much as I have loved you). One might call them my muse-ises, and I continue, even now, to follow their sirens’ song. They never managed to fare too well across the lines of verse, and maybe this is why I love them as I do.
A good-hearted (if recently departed) woman of the town, a lovely New Orleans street walker, an accessible lover to a man whose mind is on someone else. In addition to shared nomenclature, these ladies have the following in common: not a great deal of good fortune ever comes their way.
The history of the real Louise is told in more uplifting tones, sung in major, rather than minor, keys.
She lived something of a charmed life. Achieved respect and success in everything she tried. Travelled the world; arguably changed it. Met thousands of people, and I never heard her utter an unkind word – to or about anyone.
We haven’t been in regular contact in recent years, but she was my friend, nonetheless. And yes, you count me among those who cried when she died that afternoon.
Her death seems to have been a quiet one (no, the covid didn’t get her; it was the cancer). I (as the saying goes) did not even know she was sick. And there has been a surprising absence, given her widely distributed profile, of public tribute in the wake of her passing.
I’m assuming that the silence is in accordance with her final wishes. I think she would have wanted it that way.
Louise did not make it to the milestone of the Certification of the 2020 Presidential Election. Maybe none of us will. Though she was dying, I’m sure she made a point of voting – albeit in New Jersey, where (one can argue) voting is an exercise in futility.
And I, the living, will cop to running out of patience with this whole “contest-the-outcome” charade. It needs to wind down immediately (as the saying goes), if not sooner. I truly hate to plague you with political analysis on this pre-holiday weekend, but there’s not much else going on, so here goes.
Regular readers will know that I have been, and for the time being, remain, sympathetic to Trump. I have not failed to notice his myriad pathologies but have liked many of his policies. I have disagreed with him on a number of matters where he turned out to be right – historically right, and I turned out to be wrong. The two most prominent examples of this are Immigration and Free Trade. I’m trained to embrace Woodstockian/big tent approaches on these issues. But let’s be honest here: does anyone really think that it’s a particularly good time to open up our borders?
I believe the same sort of, er, re-imagining applies to International Trade. And all you need, to understand why, is the following factoid:
China manufactures over 90% of our computer components and > 95% of our antibiotics.
Whatever else happens, we have to find a way to repatriate this sh!t.
Trump knew this and was moving in the right direction. Had he been re-elected (which he was not) further progress was likely. I’m not guessing that the repatriation of products vital to our existence is a particularly prominent element of Biden’s policy agenda.
I also think that though it may take some time to manifest, history will give Trump due credit for mobilizing the private sector/regulatory bureaucracy and cranking out what looks to be an effective vaccine in record time. If this stuff actually works, then there’s light at the end of the corona tunnel. It might’ve happened anyway, but that’s beside the point. Trump pushed and pulled it off.
A quick word about the politicization of vaccine development efforts. Did Pfizer delay the announcement of its successes until after the election? Almost certainly. Was this decision politically motivated? Of course. Could an earlier disclosure have altered the outcome of the election? It’s entirely possible.
But I think Pfizer made the right call. Imagine, by contrast, that they released the results of their latest trials on, say, November 1st. Further envision a scenario where the good news tipped the voting outcomes in key states, in such a way as to have altered the tally. Now, consider the entirely feasible scenario under which the progress of vaccine development hit some sort of snag this winter (which still could happen). The public outcry, the accusations that the company misrepresented itself for political reasons, would have been deafening. The company would have faced an existential threat. My belief is that this is the reason their lawyers delayed spreading of the good news. And I think they made the right call.
Trump’s pissed, and maybe rightfully so. But politics (as the saying which Trump lives by goes) ain’t beanbag. Again, history will credit him for his work on this breakthrough, but only if he doesn’t allow the worst of his instincts to overtake him now. Because, if he doesn’t straighten out, he stands to lose what might otherwise be a much kinder legacy than is currently, by the casual observer, assigned to him.
Was there a lot of shady stuff going on before and around 11/3? Of course. I voted on Long Island and then bounced into Manhattan. Up till about 10:30 p.m. (more than two hours after the polls closed), poll workers were begging me to come in and vote. I’m pretty convinced that I could have cast up to a half dozen ballots that evening — with nothing more than my driver’s license (which expired the next day) and utility bill in hand.
But this kind of stuff has gone down since we were living in caves and counting ballots in the form of stones. When they added them all up, Joe Bag of Doughnuts was ahead. That’s not gonna change.
So, when my crew asks me whether Biden stole the election, my answer is as follows:
Maybe, probably, but he stole it fair and square.
And now it’s time to move on, because otherwise, we will have a real problem on our hands. There is simply no path for Trump to cop the electoral votes he needs to flip this bitch, and if he manages to invalidate electors and throw the outcome into the House of Representatives, all hell will break loose.
It’s just not worth it. Better for him and his acolytes to set an example of withdrawing with a (microscopic) shred of dignity. Maybe focus on those Georgia Senate races, to ensure that the progressives don’t run the table, because if they do, it could be (fossil fuel-powered) lights out.
But absent this act of discretion and grace, I think we’re about two weeks away from the Nixon/Watergate/Goldwater Moment, when respected members of a toe-tagged president’s party take a solemn trek up to the White House, to tell their man that his race has been run.
All eyes are on December 15th, when the Electoral College is scheduled to meet, and, more importantly, vote. My hopes and expectations are that the drama will over by then. The 15th, of course, is a Tuesday, but I’m focused upon the preceding Friday – December 11th. This is the deadline by which Congress must pass, and the President must sign, a Continuing Resolution to fund a federal government that will otherwise run out of money to wisely spend. There’s not a titch of doubt that Congress will act, but will Trump act out? This is a moment to watch closely, because he may view his signature as surrender. On the other hand, if he doesn’t sign (veto over-ride, anyone?), it might be tantamount to treason.
We probably don’t get there, and the hard fact is that the entire topic bores me to tears. But there’s really very little else about which to ruminate in terms of market matters. It’s quiet, and, outside of Washington, will remain so probably through the remainder of this “can’t-end-fast-enough” year.
It’s a good a time for a holiday respite, hard-earned this year as any I can remember. Then we can get back to business.
The most likely scenario I can conjure, over, say, the next rolling quarter, features the following components:
- Covid surges continue to plague us.
- Further economic disruptions ensue – particularly if, as is possible, continued vaccine progressprovides political cover for lockdowns.
- The new Congress (inaugurated on January 4) passes an enormous fiscal stimulus.
- Biden (inaugurated January 20) signs it.
- Everyone drawing a paycheck for doing so is relatively pleased to spend the winter at home.
- The economy ambles through, and then explodes as the covid circus leaves town (when theweather warms up and/or the vaccine is widely distributed).
- The Fed remains at its post, ready and willing to supply reinforcements as needed.
- Investors show their gratitude by hoovering up available securities.
No, my children, I don’t expect any of this to end well. As measured against the Gospel According to Saint Milton (Friedman) or Saint Friedrich (Hayek), it’s unholy; positively parasitic. But like Dylan’s Louise once said: “name me someone who’s not a parasite, and I’ll go out and say a prayer for him”.
And, holy or not, it’s the most likely scenario.
Unless Trump b!tches it up, by refusing to snarf off. Which he might, but I don’t think he will.
So, I think we have a plan, are connected, and are on our way towards our desired paradise.
But enough is enough. This note is about Louise, whose journey is over. They brought her home on the mail train. Somewhere to the south I heard them say. Too bad it ended so ugly. Too bad, she had to go that way.
And yes, the wind, is blowing cold tonight. So, all there’s left to say is “Goodnight, Louise, Goodnight”, and, as always…
TIMSHEL