Oleanders, growing outside your door, soon they’re going to be in bloom back in Annandale,
I can’t stand her, doing what she did before, Leaving like a Gypsy Queen in a fairytale,
Well, I heard the whistle, but I can’t go, I want to take her down to Mexico,
But she said “whoah no, Guadalajara won’t do”, Well, I did not think the girl could be so cruel,
And I’m never going back to my old school
— Donald Fagan and Walter Becker
So, there I was, driving up Madison Avenue and who do I run into? Donald M%&rf%&@king Fagan, half of the fabulous duo that drove Steely Dan.
His partner – Walter Becker – was, at the time, nowhere to be found.
Fagan’s presence, though, was unmistakable, so I shouted out “Donald… …I love you”. He smiled and gave me a thumbs up.
That was it. But I thought y’all ought to know.
I won’t call “My Old School” my favorite SD composition, but it’s waaaay up there. As I’m given to understand, it tells the tale of a 1969 drug bust on the campus of Bard College – Fagan and Becker’s alma mater. Apparently, 44 people were arrested (in a positively bizarre twist, by a local prosecutor named G. Gordon Liddy (Daddy G.) of subsequent Watergate fame), taken to a Poughkeepsie jail, where the local 5-0 took the outrageous step of shaving off Becker’s magnificent locks. Very L7 of Daddy G, no?
So, Fagan won’t be going back to his old school. And Becker, as indicated above, is unavailable.
But thankfully, as I write this, his imminent return is not an issue, because today and tomorrow are listed on the college’s schedule as comprising the “Fall Breakaway”. Whether purposefully or otherwise, it coincides to what is traditionally referred, to the never-ending shame of certain elements of our society, as Columbus Day. Presumably, the Bard crew are among the lot that disdains the memory of that misanthropic 15th Century explorer. Business Insider rates it as the 7th most “woke” college in America, itself an impressive feat, and one that is likely, in these times, to be more difficult to sustain than achieve.
But Columbus Day somehow, abides. Government offices are closed, as are schools. They’re even holding the parade again on 5th Avenue this year (a vast improvement over 2020’s pathetic virtual version), albeit to be certain, with many fingers wagging at the more than five centuries of sins that are often laid at the feet of its eponymous seafaring adventurer. But the pageant is going down, and for this, at any rate, I am grateful, as nothing I can recall brings more joy to than watching the 5th Long Island Dealership float with the owner singing, karaoke fashion, “That’s Amore” to the adoring throngs.
The Columbus Day markets schedule is mixed, with no trading in the bond complex, but, for better or worse, the stock (and, of course, crypto) market fully operational.
The former can probably use the break, because bonds have had better weeks than the last one, during which Madam X raised her yield skirts to their highest levels since May (1.61%), taking the entire Treasury
Curve along for the ride. Somewhat counterintuitively, the big surge came on the heels of a Non-Farm Payrolls number that clocked in at < 40% of analyst estimates. The data suggest that there is a Labor shortage; maybe because the lunch pail crew prefers even going back to their old school to working.
The rate carnage also took a bite out of private bond valuations, whether they be Investment Grade or Junk:
Corporate Bonds – To Detention for You:
On the other side of the ledger, certain commodity markets win the “Teacher’s Pet” award:
Cotton and Crude: Go to the Head of the Class!
Joyfully, commodity futures markets are open today, so Cotton and Crude (CL and CT on your symbol guide), can, if they wish, continue their over-achieving ways, without bothering to pause in “parade” rest.
The official portions of Washington, where they do all the damage, will remain dark — in observance of the holiday, but I reckon we’ll have to watch these class clowns anyway – I suspect all day long. The big action of the week involved overwrought debates as to how much unfathomable cash their going to take and dish out, and how, in so doing, to avoid pro forma obstacles such as that annoying statutory limit on borrowings.
My phone has been ringing off the hook with socialized worries about a Treasury default, and the dire implications of same. I was actually talking with one of my clients about this topic when Fagan bounced by. I have done my best to calm these fears, which I believe are silly. All one needs to know is that: a) ALL politicians would pay what for them would be an unacceptable price for allowing this to happen; and b) they can eliminate this risk with a stroke of the pen.
In the end, they followed script and raised the ceiling by about a half tril – a mere trifle, representing barely $1,500 for every man, woman and child in the country, and an amount that will last us almost till Christmas.
I’m glad for this – from both a political and policy perspective. That ol’ Buzzard McConnell has taken some hits for his strategy, but I’m on other side of that argument. Wiley bastard that he is, this summer, he threw his weight behind the $1.2B Infrastructure package, knowing, I suspect, that it would split the coalition on the other side of the aisle. And it did. The Dems must now broker a deal between members who have probably already spent down their share of the pork, and those that wish to go for broke and bundle this with the full smash $3.5B extravaganza that is the real prize. The rift caused an embarrassing delay in the proceedings, but only for a few weeks, during which time the Dems will be required to settle this beef. The Debt Ceiling will surely go up, so why not give the Dems a little more rope with which to hang themselves?
I suspect this was McConnell’s play all along. Let Pelosi either send the Squad into a blinding rage that will positively cripple her coalition — or push all the moderates over the side of the mountain. Don’t allow them to suggest that all would be well if the stingy Republicans simply did the patriotic thing on the debt limit. If I’ve rightly described McConnell’s strategy, then the only role for him at his old school is one of Professor.
Elsewhere, our righteous leaders managed to carve out a comprehensive, minimum global tax deal that I believe is nothing more than optics. But we should pay close attention to the reality that about the only thing about which global politicians can agree is the establishment of minimum levels of our money that they feel compelled to remove from our control. God forbid any evil nation try to undercut this cartel.
And, whether we attend or not, the investment world’s academic calendar is chock full of important events. Earnings commence in earnest this week, with the banks, in time-honored fashion, being the first to the podium. Not gonna lie – the banks worry me. Not so much because they might’ve screwed the pooch in Q3 (though that is certainly plausible), but more so due to valuation. Our bulge bracket betters are about an 8 bagger since this whole QE nonsense began in ’09, and, if QE is indeed destined for wind down, then the rules first set forth by Cambridge Professor Isaac Newton, as they apply to capital markets, might, very well, set in.
Newton learned his lessons in the markets the hard way – schooled through that whole South Sea Bubble fiasco. But that happened so long ago, I barely remember it. He was Royal Master of the Mint at the time and probably should’ve known better.
Because conditions can change on a dime, as can our attitudes about everything under the sun. Newton died knowing this, but the lesson came at a great cost.
Maybe he should’ve gone back to his old school – Trinity College, Cambridge – for a refresher course. And, for the record, you should be made aware that my buddy Donald did just that. In 1985, he personally accepted an honorary doctorate from Bard College.
Daddy G, of course, eventually left the Prosecutors Office in Duchess County, NY, to become one of the central villains of Watergate. Like Becker before him, he went to jail, but then reinvented himself – as a radio host, author, actor and gadfly, all before dying, at 90, earlier this year.
And now, in offering you those 35 sweet goodbyes, I counsel flexibility – in an environment where you never know who you might run into, and which roads might lead you, willingly or not, back to your old school. I’ve actually done this myself, but won’t say more, because here, as everywhere else, your mileage may vary.
TIMSHEL