Following on last week’s GTFO opus, I migrate to another of my fave acronyms, as captured in our title.
But before doing so, I have an obligation to fullPhil. I must offer a few words about Phil.
His death, even at the ripe age of 84, came as something of a shock to me, and I suspect I’m not alone. But Phil is a bit elusive in my mind. Deadheads, of course, believe him to be a bottom thumping god, but this is the same crowd that feels (dubiously in my judgment) two drummers were essential to a band that, whatever else, may be said about them, was not particularly driven by can smashing beats.
I can’t tell but suspect that Phil was pretty handy with his bass, and certainly innovative in mapping each of the 5 (yes 5) strings to different sections of the Dead’s iconic-if-excessive 20-story Wall of Sound speaker system.
But I don’t think he was ever quite comfortable with it all. He was trained as a violinist and only converted to bass at Jerry’s request. He fit the sound like a glove, but never stood out. And never embraced the rock lifestyle. He was, for instance, married to the same woman for 5.5 decades.
He looked stupid with long hair:
That’s him on the right. Next to Jerry, who also looks kind of stupid in this picture, but can be forgiven because he was, well, you know, Jerry.
Whatever his interaction with drugs, they certainly ended long ago. In these ways, he kind of reminded me of an American, string-plucking version of Charlie Watts, who also perfectly but uncomfortably melded into a great band where others commanded the spotlight.
More than anything, he was on a mission. He recognized Jerry’s singular greatness and made it his business to do all in his power to help him realize it. In this he succeeded, and for this, we thank him.
And now it’s time for me to STFU about Phil.
Other than this. His death transpired during a highly chatty season, one that has me wishing everyone would STFU. I may be a little early on this one, however, because one can at least hope that by Wednesday week, the implied message will: a) be obvious; and b) generally complied with.
In fact, though, I fear quite the opposite, and this has me, as your risk manager, more than a bit worried. And it’s not so much the results of the voting tabulations that has rendered me jumpy, but rather what happens in the aftermath of the counts, when the nominal outcomes (you know – the ones where the candidate that has garnered the most votes is declared the victor?) are compiled.
I won’t prognosticate an outcome. Because I don’t know. I suspect it will be close, which will be problematic for reasons further explained below.
Perhaps more importantly, I have made the editorial decision to withhold endorsements, for the following reasons: 1) I dislike the choices on the ballot 2) what’s good enough for the Bezos Washington Post (which had endorsed every Democrat dating back to Ike) is good enough for me; and perhaps most importantly: 3) me stating my preference might very well be the deciding factor, and I simply don’t want the responsibility.
So, I’ve decided to STFU in terms of projected results and associated personal preferences.
But as the ghastly day approaches, I dread it will not be the be the end of our current national nightmare, but rather the beginning of a new one – for the obvious reason that Tuesday week’s outcome stands every possibility of being no outcome at all.
My logic is neither original nor especially nuanced. Specifically, if there is any possibility for nullifying results, particularly in closely contested races, it’s clear that resources are being marshalled to do just that.
Now, at the risk of overtly telegraphing my political pre-dispositions, I must state that it is the lawyers, who all tilt one way, that I fear the most. They’re out there in force. And ready to act – at the National, State, County, and Municipal levels. They’ve made no secret of their intent to do so, and I suggest, as is only consistent with sound risk management practice, that we take them at their word.
So, if Trump wins, they’re gonna sue. They’ll find judges friendly to their cause in every state with a narrow outcome, who in turn will issue injunctions blocking the certification of results. If they’ve got nothing else, they’ll bust out that old, tired riff about voter suppression (difficult to prove but impossible to completely refute). It won’t matter if they ultimately prevail; the objective here will be to delay. Meantime, and at their instance (or at minimum with their full sanction), the cities will burn.
And even if their candidate carries it off, they’ll use the same tactics to disrupt the sign-off on closely contested Senate, House, Gubernatorial, Mayoral and Aldermanic contests.
In sum, I highly doubt we will know specifically who’s running this here the show till at least Thanksgiving. And maybe not until Christmas. Or later.
Were this not bad enough, Trump is scheduled to be sentenced for the 34 felonies of which he stands convicted – for the unpardonable transgression of securing a loan that the bankers approved, and that he paid back on schedule– on November 26th. And waddya think the Judge Juan (whose daughter is a seven- figure political consultant to the Democratic Party) is gonna do? Let him off on good behavior? No, he’s gonna hit him with all he’s got.
It is thus entirely possible that while the entire election cycle is in adjudication, the presumptive president-elect will have been sentenced to hard time at Rikers.
Moreover, even if we somehow survive this sequence and emerge unshattered in early January. Who is designated to certify the electors associated with a Trump victory? None other than Kamala Harris, who: a) will be mad as a wet hen; and b) will have precedent to impede the process, given what happened last time ‘round.
So, if this comes to pass, Daddy Orange will have no one to blame but himself. By refusing, with unmatched, trademark petulance, to accept the official results of the 2020 election – even to this day, he declared to the entire world, but mostly to his political enemies, that any and all tactics available to engineer a preferred political outcome are fair game.
It was one of the greatest unforced errors in electoral history, handing the weapons most favored by the opposition to them on a silver platter.
One can feel them licking their chops. They probably will not be unilaterally successful with this tactic, but they will have done enough to render governance as problematic as it was during the Trump 45 era.
And he will not have the ability to respond in kind if Harris wins (as well she might). First, he is likely to be fully occupied with the task of staying out of jail, as even his defeat is unlikely to stem the hot-blooded desire of those in a position to do so to incarcerate him. Beyond this, nobody – particularly, I suspect, Republicans, will want to listen to his bleating about being ripped off a second time. He’s already shot his wad in this respect. The gleeful, victorious Dems will dismiss him like the petulant child he is, and then focus on the more uplifting task of dividing up the spoils of their triumph. The Republicans, perhaps realizing under this scenario that while he did indeed draw an inside straight in 2016, he has captained them to four consecutive losses in the intervening years (’18, ’20, ’22 and ’24), will gladly try to forget him.
But until these matters are settled, there will be a significant lack of visibility in market realms, and, while I may be wrong, the election could go smoothly with the contours of the results plain and unambiguous, the risk of the whole thing devolving into a pig circus is, in my judgment, elevated, and I encourage my minions to take this into consideration as they contemplate their risk sizings.
Yeah, there’s other stuff going on. A decidedly “meh” earnings season is entering its most critical stage. Q3 GDP drops this week, with estimates in a spiffy 3% range. The Middle East caldron is simmering to a full boil. The October Jobs Report comes out on All Saints Day and is projected to be rather tepid.
But all of this is mere side show, because we’ve November 5th and its aftermath with which to contend. I don’t know. but fear it will devolve in ways that will cause consequences which I shudder to fathom.
But now it’s time for me to STFU. The election of course, is a week from tomorrow, and I am unable to resist the temptation to conclude with yet another of my preferred acronyms.
So, I offer everyone a friendly C U Next Tuesday, with all well-earned love and respect.
TIMSHEL