“If something cannot go on forever, it will stop”
— Herbert Stein
“But will continue till it does”
— kg
I had a different hook in mind for this one, but after this past week, I’ll think I’ll save it for another time.
Meantime, can I get some snaps for my man Herb Stein? Chairman of the Council for Economic Advisors under both Nixon AND Ford?
Admittedly, these credentials are not quite conducive to the materialization of swarms of groupies, but on the other hand, Herb stayed married to his wife Mildred for 61 years (until she passed) and is the father of delightfully quirky Renaissance Man Ben Stein. So there’s that.
He is also the author of the sublimely simple and entirely authentic first half of this week’s title, which has become one of the most bandied about phrases in the macroeconomic lexicon.
This is not Herbert Stein. It’s not even Ben Stein. I can’t take the risk of using their images and potentially violating copywrite protocols on the interwebs. Of which we should all be mindful. Because the interweb cops are out there, and you should be concerned that they may be coming for you (more about this below).
So, instead, I am sharing a photo of my cousin: Ben Finkelstein, which: a) I don’t think is copyright protected; and b) even if it is, I don’t think he’ll sue me. Because me and him are, you know, boys. Ben is Booking Manager at The Birchmere – a fantastic music club in Alexandria, VA, which has managed to survive the covid. They have an interesting set of shows coming up, and, beyond that, I am able to state that Ben is one classy dude. So, everyone, say hello to Ben. If you go to the Birch, he’ll light you up.
Meantime, Stein’s Law is largely indisputable, but I believe the coda that I’ve added is equally valid, and (if I may make so bold) particularly applicable to many aspects of our current, collective experience. Let’s, by way of elaboration, take a brief inventory of these, shall we?
Plainly, there’s no starting point more appropriate than this here virus situation. History (which, as Twain famously tells us, does not repeat but rather rhymes) suggests that it won’t go on forever – at least as a global pandemic. Plagues — from Bubonic to Black (let me assure those of you who did not live through these that that they were MUCH worse) tend to run their course. As, presumably, will the covid.
But like I been telling yas, it will, more likely than not, continue until it ends.
Which brings us to the Public Health mitigants. Will we be wearing masks forever? Will I, for all time, be forced to accept a corpse-length space between myself and any other unit of human flesh (except, of course, you, from whom I cannot, for any reason under heaven, comply with this distance protocol) I encounter? Will businesses and schools continue to either be idled, or to operate with the ball and chain of limited capacity?
Again, probably not. But until these conditions end, they will ensue. Of this I am (nearly) certain.
However, there are glimpses of illumination at the end of this underground passageway. Vaccine development and (imperfectly executed) rollout have been nothing short of a miracle. I find entirely too much of the attendant analysis to be filtered through the frame of personal and political agendas, but the reality is that a bunch of fabulous folks designed, tested, manufactured and effectively dosed millions of humans — in less than a year – a fraction of the time window historically required for such an exercise.
The rollout, of course, is accelerating, and (wouldn’t you know it?) many of our most Napoleonic mayors and governors (including those who shut down whole areas of recreational wilderness this past summer) are now taking a second look. Thinking that now (or soon) might be a good time to open things up a bit.
The lockdowns, of course, couldn’t last forever. Maybe now they are winding down. In the meantime (must I point out?) they continue.
And I believe one can be forgiven for pondering the timing of this new thinking, coinciding as it does with the regime change scheduled take place on Wednesday.
On a related note, I do (to a degree) understand the fears of many that, absent indecorous intervention, the Reign of 45, was never gonna end. I myself addressed this topic in last week’s note, and was met with some responses that (not gonna lie) flat out hurt my feelings.
Please know that I forgive you. But at the point of this correspondence, it appears that no such intervention is in the offing, and the odds are that we will survive until Wednesday’s scheduled power transfer — that big orange hand on the nuke button for three more days notwithstanding.
The Trump Era couldn’t last forever; is now ending. It does puzzle me that many of those most eager for this milestone are seeking to perpetuate his presence through an impeachment proceeding that is entirely irrelevant insofar as it is: a) a process designed to remove someone from an office; which, b) he no longer holds. But this is a rhetorical rabbit hole into which (for the time being at any rate) I refuse to dive.
I will also suggest that the victors in these great political battles are, in some sense, rolling up the score, bringing to mind another test of Herbert Stein’s wisdom. My read is that the Big Butchers of Big Tech are placing their thumbs on the scale in a way that favors the winning side. Conservatives of every stripe are being shown the door, told that their custom is not wanted, while the cabal is contemporaneously and cheerfully selling products, services and access to the Ayatollahs, the Cubans, the power players of the People’s Republic of China and other meanies. Every member of that elite no-names-needed, corporate club – representing more than 1/3rd of the capitalization of Captain Naz (NDX), is guilty of this, er, hypocrisy.
I say it can’t last forever, and therefore won’t. First, I don’t think that even the mighty, collective powers of Silicon Valley can silence for all time any form of thought, including conservatism. Perhaps more importantly, though, is the following. If progressive rhetoric can be taken at face value, it must aim its guns at the Titans of Tech – which operate with deep gender and racial imbalance, and through which an embarrassingly large amount of wealth and income inequality is manifested. The progs and uber-capitalists know that while they are currently operating under an WWII German/Soviet sort of alliance, they must ultimately do battle. This is, in my judgment, inevitable; the détente cannot go on indefinitely. So it will end. And, for what it’s worth, when the footsie game is concluded and the conflict begins, I will be rooting for Big Tech, because I prefer their products to progressive dogma.
But in the meanwhile, the footsie game, with legitimate ideologies under heal from each side, will, indeed, continue.
The firms in question are the main drivers of the Great Bull Market, and whether the latter has run its course is a matter unknowable. The Gallant 500 did yield nearly 2% of hard-won new territory last week, as catalyzed by factors such as tepid bank earnings and (perhaps) an awareness that it just can’t keep advancing — without respite — into eternity. It certainly cannot last forever, and so, like Herbie told us, it the rally will eventually end.
Until it does, though, kg says that it will continue, and when has kg ever been wrong? About anything?
I view last week’s quaint little pullback as entirely consistent with both Herbie’s hypothesis and kg’s corollary.
Because the policy makers are all in cahoots to keep the rally juices flowing – until they can’t. At which point they won’t. But until that happens, they will continue to do so. We got a peek last week at Joe’s economic agenda, and it’s full of goodies for all – but mostly for favored constituents. His incoming Treasury Secretary’s former deputy – now running the Fed – took to the Princeton podium on Thursday, to inform us that he ain’t worried about inflation and is therefore untroubled by the prospects of extending the era of dollar dilution and suppressed interest rates – until he can’t. At which point he will stop.
So, you tell me. We got an economy pumped up on helium with a seemingly never-ending supply of He cannisters on their way. All being shoved into a system which now cannot circulate this stimulus in any comprehensive manner. Much of this liquid matter flows naturally into the markets. And, if one dares to extrapolate to a point when the economy actually is released from its shackles, there is every potential for an explosion of pent up demand.
Sounds like a good plan, right? Well, it won’t last forever, and when it stops (likely because dollars are so worthless, no one will hold them and hyperinflation will set in), I reckon we’ll all have reasons to lament its cessation.
But I’m here to tell you that until this point, it will continue.
Because it has to.
Because we have to. Continue. And grow. Together.
I reckon that’s about all I got. For now. Because, particularly after the last few days, I’m too tired to continue and need a rest. I couldn’t go on forever, right? And you wouldn’t want me to.
But I won’t be gone for long. I will resume; maybe not forever, but for the human equivalent thereto.
Until that point, I will continue. Until I stop.
And so, too, should you.
TIMSHEL
************
ENDNOTE. It came to my attention (somewhat belatedly) as I was writing this note, that the world has lost the great Sylvain Mizrahi – known to his fans as Sylvain Sylvain. He was a founding member of the deeply under-appreciated New York Dolls, and yet another in the string of fat Jewish shredders that seem to be dropping like flies these days.
The Dolls were a bit of a flash in the pan. Exploded on the scene, made their mark, and then, inevitably, went up in flames of their own making. With Syl’s passing, only David Johansen remains. Original drummer Billy Murcia drowned in a bathtub, but was immortalized by the late David Bowie in the song “Time” (“Time, in Quaaludes and red wine, demanding Billy Dolls and other friends of mine”). Johnny Thunders died in New Orleans, with a needle in his arm, some thirty years ago. Arthur (Killer) Kane had a fatal heart attack in – of all places – a Los Angeles Mormon mission, where he worked as a librarian, but not till after David Jo, with the help of Morrissey, dragged him on stage for one last reunion gig.
Jo and Syl reformed The Dolls about 15 years ago, and I had the privilege of seeing them – twice. Even spoke to Syl. Most of all, I will remember him for having penned one of the greatest double entendre songs in the rock pantheon: “Funky But Chic”, of which I’d share a link if not for fear of the copyright cops. Anyway, check it out on your own. It’s not hard to find.
Like The Dolls and everything/everyone else, Syl was not meant to last forever. And he didn’t. But while he was here, he did more than continue.
And, in tribute, I offer him (and the rest of us) an unprecedented, second…
TIMSHEL