“Start off slow. Don’t add nothin’ extra. And stop when I tell ya”.
Archie Bunker
I borrow the above quote from the iconic 1970s sitcom “All in the Family”, which ruled the ratings roost for the better part of the decade, and as accompanied by the following contextualization.
The plot of the episode featured is an inability of son-in-law Mike to, for lack of a better way to put it, get his mojo working. His Johnson, in other words, quit on him. This naturally disconcerts his wife Gloria, who confides the intelligence to her delightful but entirely sheltered mother Edith.
Not knowing what else to do, and after much consideration, Edith determines to consult with Archie, who, after all, might have a better understanding of the intricate workings of the offending appendage than would his missus. But this is uncharted conversation territory for the Bunkers — Pere and Mere, Archie for all his Dubya Dubya Two macho, is a stone-cold prude, and Edith knows she must introduce the subject with all the delicate aplomb she is able to muster. So, she tells him that she’s got something private and somewhat embarrassing to discuss with him. She tries the side door, but Archie isn’t answering it. So, she plows ahead:
“Awchie, it’s sex-u-al”, she cringingly informs him.
After grimacing, Archie offers up our thematic quote.
Edith tries to slide into the topic, begins by mentioning an army buddy of Archie’s, who, injured in the war, was “wasn’t able to…”
Whereupon Archie tells her to stop. Other than verifying that she is referring to their offspring and her lord, he needs hear no more.
He tries his best to counsel his lump-headed son-in-law – of course to no avail.
But the point is this: I highly empathize with Arch on this one. Don’t wanna hear much about sex these days; still less about sexual problems. Thus, if you wish to consult me about same, I ask you to: 1) start slow; 2) avoid adding unnecessary detail; and 3) stop when I give the command.
More broadly, and as time goes by, I find myself in deeper sympatico with this man, who, for several seasons, was the world’s caricature of narrowmindedness. Archie was the quintessential L7. But if one digs, deeper, there’s more there. A working-class guy who proudly fought for his country. Came home, married, got a job, bought a house, had a daughter, and generally minded his own business.
He sees the world changing rapidly around him and tries to make sense of it all. More often than not, he fails. He is confused and frustrated and doesn’t try to hide it. He is baffled by the unrest, the dissatisfaction of youth with the global state of affairs. While he is not, per se, against racial equality, its details are too many for him.
The “free love” sexual revolution espoused by the young bloods is entirely above his paygrade.
But he works hard, loves his family, and, against his better judgment, takes his unemployed, annoyingly overeducated son-in-law into his hearth and home. The latter, a quintessential know-it-all, routinely belittles and disdains him. But never truly gets the best of him.
And all I can state, to tie together this digression, is that if I had the choice to interact with either of them in nearly any construct, I’d pick Archie every time.
And here I sit, as confused about the doings, as confused about next gen sensibilities, as Archie was on his worst day. And, fabulous though I continue to look, having on Saturday reached the age of 64 ½, I am now ten years older than Caroll O’Connor was when the original series ended. Archie’s book learnin’ ended with high school, whereas I hold three degrees from accredited universities. Arch busted his hump on the loading docks to earn his bread. I sit on my ass and think great thoughts.
But my world, like his, is changing in ways that confuse and frustrate me. I try to keep up but can’t.
And this (like Archie) across virtually all realms of existence. I have no idea what The Sphere is. I neither Tweet nor X. Tick nor Tock. I have not kept up with the Kardashians (though Lord knows I’ve tried).
I influence not a soul.
I worry perhaps less than I should about Greenhouse Gas Emissions. I tend to identify those I encounter as belonging to one of the two genders which I can recognize sensorially.
I root, nay, pray, for the prosperity, or, at minimum, the continued viability, of the State of Israel.
I favor low taxes, limited regulation, and a strong national defense.
In my spare hours, I watch the Hallmark Channel. And, during commercial breaks often cry.
I think, to summarize, I am deeply at odds with the core of the newfangled orthodoxy, and being so, have fully embraced a Bunker Mentality.
In my non-spare time, I watch the markets, think great thoughts about them, and share them with investors. For a fee. Frequently, they puzzle me, but I don’t let that interfere with my professional activities. I simply pretend that I know something, fake it till I make it. The strategy works surprisingly often.
And, while we’re on the subject of the markets, not much, according to my predictive models, is relevant before the commencement of 2023, when the equity complex, fresh off a deeply disappointing year, embarked on a 5-quarter rally which caused Col Naz to nearly double in girth. Other indices in arms similarly swelled, but then, as Q1/24 concluded, they all apparently decided that maybe it was time to go on a little diet. The party’s died down a bit since then. Not only are equities considerably off their highs but yields across the board are substantially elevated.
Economic trends have caused Fed Watchers to, in an Archie Bunker sense, “stifle themselves” with respect to their giddy shilling for rate cuts. Until, that is, last week. When first Chair Pow offered them soothing rhetoric, and then the April Jobs Report came in very meagerly – particularly when one backs out the hiring done by government agencies and the like. Now, hope for reduced rates is renewed.
This added some welcoming mojo to the equity tape, as further, er, goosed by a strong finish to the Mag 7 reporting cycle. So, the week ended on a strong note, as investors entered the weekend with visions of rate cuts and earnings surges dancing in their heads.
But at least some market participants are failing to pick up what’s being laid down:
If I read this correctly, nearly all God’s Children are short interest rate instruments and are this expecting higher yields in the near term.
I’m OK with this viewpoint. More than that, I believe a bit of rate discipline may yield tasty dividends down the road. Unless they skyrocket, while they may dampen investor exuberance a bit, they are not likely to cause much undue market damage. So, my best guess is that we drift around here a bit – if not much better, than not much worse – for the experience.
And I can’t take my leave without addressing the greatest issue of the day: the protests and the implied antisemitism implied therein. All of which recalls another great moment in the career of my idol, Archie Bunker.
When Archie’s longtime bestie Stretch Cunningham dies suddenly, and Arch is called upon to make the eulogy, he finds out, much to his surprise, that Stretch was Jewish. It was a moment of supreme irony, because the two buddies often bonded based on their racist and xenophobic sensibilities. Those around him offer various explanations as to how this could be true. Among these is the possibility that the surname Cunningham could indeed have an Hebraic origin. Archie considers this, but rejects it using the following argument:
“There ain’t supposed to be no ham in there”.
He’s not wrong on that score.
A yarmulke-wearing Archie delivers a moving farewell address to Stretch, furnishing one more reason for placing him in the pantheon of my hero worship objects.
So, I reckon I’ll continue giving this man mad respect, and emulating him – by remaining puzzled and frustrated, but retaining my determination to carry on regardless.
And all I ask of those around. me is that if they want to discuss market matters, social issues of the day, or (heaven forbid) sex, they start off slow, don’t add nothing extra, and stop when I tell them to.
TIMSHEL