Dedicated to Charlie
Does this count?
Before you decide, a little context is in order, and, for your guide, I will recount these rendezvous in chronological order.
First, there was 45-Trump (natch), who I originally encountered in the mid-90s, as he was seeking to rebuild what I believe was then a somewhat diminished real estate empire. He’d just purchased property that was to become Trump National, but at the time was the crumbling remains of a bankrupt golf course/country club facility adjacent to my digs in Northern Westchester County. I met with him and his crew — to express some concerns about the impact of his designs on my property. He, on the other hand, was shilling out discount memberships for a club dedicated to a sport I somewhat disdain.
I didn’t bite and was very afraid of his plans. But in the end, he did us right. Created a sweeping shrine of a golf course, which preserved taxable open space for the community. Put up like 90 rad cluster homes in the middle that sold out at nearly $1M per. Thus, for an all-in investment of less $20M, I figure he banked about $100 large in loose change — and built another track he can play for free anytime he wants.
Then, 45-Trump again (for a time, seemed to keep turning up in my field of awareness like a bad penny). As it happens, I was indirectly involved in sponsoring the post-9/11 Concert for New York. My former boss’s charitable outfit – the fabulous Robin Hood Foundation (who’s management were well acquainted with my rock and roll sensibilities) — showed their appreciation by allotting me the best seat in the house (yes, I made the full donation). I was front row of the Garden (the floor was appropriately reserved for first responders), parallel to the free throw line nearest to the stage. The security guards, understandably skeptical and expecting someone of higher visible status than yours truly to turn up, checked my ticket about 8 times before allowing me to plant my hindquarters in that hallowed seat.
And a few minutes later, who ambles up and plops down behind me? Yup. DJT, accompanied by Future First Lady Melania Knauss. Gave me a big ole double fisted handshake like I was some kind of big shot (because, after all, anybody who scored those seats must have some legit juice, right?). He even bought me a beer, which I drank while I watched the show. Then I went home.
I reckon that’s about it for Trump. Haven’t seen him since; hope he’s OK.
Last, 44-Obama. I had the honor of being the only jabroni from the above-mentioned town to be invited to a 2008/Park Avenue fundraiser for him, shortly after he won the Iowa Caucus. I laid in the full $5.6K allowed by law and headed down. I wasn’t entirely sold on him, but I figured I’d support anybody who stood the least chance of keeping Hillary out of the White House.
I later found out that I had only been invited because, four years earlier, for being the only jabroni from the above-mentioned town to have been coerced into forking out the full freight in support of the candidacy of Christopher Dodd (D, CT), who a different former boss had acquired as a political toy. Owing in part to my max contribution, Dodd managed to cop one vote in that year’s contest in Iowa.
44-Obama, of course, converted my donation into more self-gratifying outcomes. I have since wondered whether I got my money’s worth, but, hey, that ship has long ago sailed. In the meantime, what strikes me about that fundraising event was how chill it was. Walked right into the building, told the man I was there for the Obama fundraiser and he sent me right on up. Listened to his speech; shook his hand. Then, I went home. A few months later, it would’ve been impossible to get within 50 meters of him.
So, it’s been 13 long years since I’ve vibed with any Prez’s. And the Prez’s I did vibe with weren’t even Prez’s at the time – only future Prez’s.
With this in mind, I ask again: does it count?
And, while I am pondering such matters, I was also wondering about something else. I read today that McDonalds and WalMart have ended a thirty-year arrangement under which the former (heretofore) operated restaurants within the confines of the latter’s superstores.
This got me speculating: what about the Walmarts inside McDonalds? Are they on their way out, too?
And (taking this question to the extreme), I also ask: what about that McDonalds (somewhere, I think in Minnesota) that is inside a Walmart, which itself is inside a McDonalds?
Do they all have to go?
You don’t have to answer. Some quagmires are not within human capacity to unpack. However, if anyone has any insights or information, please do share, because I’m sure we’d all like to know.
OK; I admit it. My mind, never prone to stay in one place for very long, is currently manifesting mad wanderlust (mostly, I’m thinking about you, but I guess you know that). I should attend to more somber matters, and lord knows there’s a current treasure trove of material of this nature from which I am able, without, much strain on my senses, to draw.
I would, for example, be remiss if I failed to note the demise of that randy old hound dog: Prince Phillip/Duke of Edinburgh, who, just this past week, finally gathered to the dust of his forebears. Of his passing, I have little incremental to offer. There is much to admire about him – at least from some perspectives. Served, for instance, with combat distinction in WWII. But on balance, I don’t envy him his 99 years. All those hours standing in uniformed agony in the hot mid-day sun, reviewing troops and sh!t. Plagued with high-profile problems with his children and then (very recently and very publicly) his grandchildren. Lived with a woman who happened to be his Sovereign.
And, finally, I will cop to having a thing for his missus – Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, II, who has been putting lead in this boy’s pencil since he popped of the shoot.
Also, for her mother, the Ravishing Queen Bess.
Meanwhile, Her Majesty, like The Dude, abides, but one wonders for how long. My theory is that she is determined to outlive her eldest son: Charles, Prince of Wales, so as to deny him for all time that coveted spot — on the throne that rules the Empire upon Which the Sun Never Sets.
So, yes, the mind wanders. However, as another great Brit (J.R. Tolkien) reminds us, all who wander are not lost.
But as for the markets, far from being lost, they are marching with purposeful determination in a single direction – higher ground. Rallied all week – so much so that the Gallant 500 and its Comrades closed at their all-time tippy toes on Friday, thanks in part to a contemporaneous afternoon swoon by Vixen Vix — now at her most supine position in over a year.
Her sister in arms – Madam X (U.S. 10-Near Note), if not dropping her yield skirts entirely, continues to show enough leg to keep our equity and credit boys fighting to higher elevations:
Vixen VIX and Madam X: Is there a lovelier pair this side of Buck Palace?
The latter-mentioned lady received a strong assist last week – not only from Chair Pow, but also from his opposite number across the Atlantic: Madame LaGarde (Queen of the European Central Bank) — both of whom – surprise — hinted at incremental money printing coming to us, anon. We thus find ourselves, somehow, with an economy about to boil over, unmistakable signs of inflation, and a passel of fiscal stimulus pending. Q1 Earnings, which begin to drop next week, are projected to surge by an astonishing 25%. Yet bond yields, improbably, are holding in at historically suppressed levels, nonetheless.
I am on record in stating my belief that nothing much matters in the markets other than what is happening in Washington, and none of it do I believe is accretive, over the long haul, for the capital markets. The Energy, Health Care, Insurance and Banking sectors are in their crosshairs. They’re going to ram through new spending bills, chockful of political payola, the impact of which will dissipate like a sugar high. They’re ginning up tax increases and strongarming other countries into doing the same. They are giving the rock to public sector unions, and what could possibly go wrong there? They’re rigging the voting laws in their favor to cop a permanent majority, and now, as was inevitable, they are making their move to add new seats to both the Senate and the Supreme Court. Those of you that are hoovering up stocks and bonds like they are TP rolls in April 2020 should be advised that these stunts will come back to haunt us.
I have never met 46-Biden but have no regrets on that score. The fairest of the fair ladies I know ran into him more than once, and I don’t think the experience was, on balance, a pleasant one. I wish him the best but fear the worst; he strikes me as being like his 45-predecessor: a weak man seeking to show strength. And these types, my friends, are the most dangerous of them all.
I once had a conversation with 13-Millard Fillmore, but it was long after he was dead (and therefore not president). That story, though, is probably not fit material for this publication. I may have met other future occupants of the White House, but that is in the hands of God. Let’s fix on what we can control, so as investors, I close by reminding you it requires the purchase of a ticket to win at Powerball.
In today’s market, this may be all the risk management advice you’re gonna need.
TIMSHEL