Final (fantastic) update: I’m double dosed.
To state anything else would be a lie. So, if you ever finding me proclaiming that I’m not in full compliance with CDC guidelines, you will know that I have dissembled.
Until, of course, Dose 3 is, er, assertively encouraged by The Man.
At which point, I may feel compelled to begin lying. Again.
Which I would not do. To you especially. Because I promised not to.
As I type out this here note, on a Labor Day weekend that turned from doggy to soggy, the folks in these parts is still trying to towel off from Hurricane Ida, which first walloped the Gulf Coast, and then provided a mid-week gut punch to the Northeast — reminiscent (to me) of choking down a huge hunk of my eponymous grandmother’s dried out brisket.
That storm came packing, also, plenty of truths, perhaps, for our purposes, the most prominent of which is its having sent Natural Gas prices into the further uncharted stratosphere:
And in terms of veracity, as winter approaches, this here graph is a bit disconcerting to contemplate. It is not, as it well might have been, a reflection of sentiment as to the brutality of the weather conditions that await us, but rather one of concern as to potential supply disruptions, which could drag on for months. Because not only do they produce a good deal of those warming vapors down near the Gulf, but they distribute even more.
Thus, if those covid buggers force us inside later in the year (and even if they don’t), we can expect some sticker shock with respect to our wintry heating bills.
(On a happier note, while a new covid variant has emerged into our awareness, those big-brained scientists heeded my requests and assigned it the Greek letter Mu, thereby preserving a shed of dignity for my beloved Omicron).
But I’m not gonna lie (at least not to you): none of this is particularly encouraging from an inflation perspective.
And, truth be told, when one reviews non-price economic data, all signs point to a potentially nasty bout of stag-flation. We got a big reality dose of the stag portion on Friday, when the August Jobs Report came in exceedingly light.
And that wasn’t the only contributor to the simmering stag party. GDP projections are falling like last Wednesday’s Central Park rain – so much so, that the New York Fed – that Alpha Dog of central bank branches, announced abruptly on Friday the indefinite suspension of its GDP forecast tracker. But not before laying the following bit of tough love on us:
I will cop to being puzzled and disconcerted by the N.Y. Fed’s Roberto Duran “no mas” moment. Is it their policy to only report upticks? If so, it’s not hard to guess who is giving them these marching orders.
One way or another, the BACB (Big Apple Central Bank) yielded the forecast field entirely to the sleepier Atlanta Fed, whose projected metrics are reminiscent of what it must have looked like at Afghan Military Headquarters – after our Air Force did their midnight bail:
But, seeing as how it’s Labor Day and all, let’s revert to the Jobs Report. The numbers weren’t great but they’s plenty of openings — > 10M as of last count, and we’ll get another update on Wednesday. By then, the holiday, and with it, the summer, will be over. However, meanwhile, maybe we could turn the tables a bit?
Labor Day, of course, was dreamed up in the late 19th Century by a couple of union types, to honor the nation’s workforce, and, to provide a nice three-day weekend at the end of the summer.
But I’m not gonna lie. Part of me has always hated Labor Day, and not just because I’m a management type that must fork over a day’s wages to a staff that ain’t workin’ for it. It always feels like a sad, sucky ending – a dose of reality that playtime is over. I am ever wistful seeing the little fellers waiting at the bus stop and contemplating the back-to-school trudge. And, as for myself, I know that whatever hassles I have put off in favor of beach time will come careening back to bite me when the sun rises on Tumble Weed Tuesday.
Maybe, though, this year, we could mix things up and celebrate the working man by having the jobless put in a good day’s toil? It’s too late this year, but maybe next? It would improve my mood, and, maybe, yours.
Meantime, us hard-pressed investment types are confronting a scenario where there’s a great deal of wood to chop to ply some performance heat into this return-chilled year. And, truth is, the markets themselves aren’t helping. Because the refuse to go down. Like, ever. In the final week before summer’s end, our indices lurched to yet another set of all-time highs.
Perhaps it’s nothing more than an effort to extend the fantasies carried on by those warm summer breezes, but however one wishes to view these trends, they willfully ignore a passel of potential troubles that await us. Will Congress really blow through another $3.5 Tril? To spend on tasty but economically un-fortifying morsels such as free day care, tuition-bereft community college, student loan forgiveness, rent moratoriums and the continued knee-capping of a thorny energy patch? All financed by higher taxes?
Will the Fed abet these questionable tactics with unlimited, inflationary money printing? Will we be in lockdown? Will trends such as the > 10x cost of shipping a container from Shanghai to New York (presumably carrying the vital antibiotics — the manufacture of which we continue to outsource, full stop, to China) have any economic impact on us?
The truth is a definite maybe, with a tilt towards yes.
Because, in all honesty, there’s just too much liquidity out there, and too few options to warehouse it other than in the markets.
Know this, though, my loves: our condition is not unprecedented and won’t last forever. There are myriad devils out there to drag this market into the ovens of Hades; they may grab us, or we may elude their grasp.
But make no mistake: they’re out there.
And now, there’s nothing left to do but strap on our flame-retardant equipment and brave the blazes. And that’s what Ima gonna do.
I’m double dosed, ready for action, and hoping to avert disaster.
Separately, I’m available to speak to any of the 14 million currently unemployed, who, gosh darn it, can’t seem to find a single one of the > 10 million job openings to suit them.
You know where to find me.
And that’s the whole truth.
TIMSHEL