Tag Archives: Weeklies

Redemption

Posted on by

“Full count; runner on 2nd, 1 out. Cubs lead 3-0 in the top of the 8th. Prior delivers. Castillo swings. High fly drifting towards the left field wall. Alou reaches over. But wait! A fan knocks the ball out of his hand”.

The rest, of course, is history. It was the 8th inning of the 2003 NL Championship Series between the Cubs and the Marlins. Marlin Castillo drew a walk, Prior (who up to that point had been delivering a 3-hit shutout gem) fell apart, and when the dust settled for the inning, the Cubs (who were seeking to clinch the Pennant that night) were down 8-3. They lost the game, and then booted Game 7. The Billy Goat Curse, which had kept them out of the World Series since 1945 and denied them the Championship since 1908, remained intact.

Everyone blamed the misanthropic, over-reaching fan: one Steve Bartman. And he was an easy target, sitting in the front row, committing the unpardonable (for purists at any rate) sin of wearing big, honking head phones to a playoff game, and, through his unwitting actions, denying the Cubs their destiny. He became a pariah in Chicago – so much so that the Governor at the time: Philosopher/Moralist Rod Blagojevich, suggested he enter the Witness Protection Program. It would take another Baker’s Dozen-13 years, and 3 changes of ownership, before The Curse ended and the Cubs grabbed their rings. Bartman was persona non grata for the entire intervening period, but then, last week, the Chicago National League team did something classy: it awarded him a World Series ring.

Across these troubled times, the gesture was nothing if not a welcome act of Redemption, but it wasn’t the only one. Contemporaneously, a Nevada Parole Board granted to inmate 1027820: one Orenthal James Simpson, and I want everyone to be aware that I am OK with this. I mean, we all know that did Goldman and Brown, but way he was set up for the 8 year stretch he served was nothing short of epic. Some Vegas players take his memorabilia and let him know that the boodle is lying in an adjacent hotel room. They get him drunk, put a gun in his hand and break in. Within a matter of minutes, the cops arrive on the scene, and whammo! Open and shut case for armed robbery.

So Juice did his time, and now he can reorient his self-proclaimed “conflict-free life” to his solemn quest to find the “real” killer of his wife and the signally unlucky Goldman. Who knows? Maybe he’ll succeed. But one way or another, it’s time to move on. So let’s remember the Juice for his singular exploits on the gridiron.

Oh yeah, and for one more thing: in a very real sense, we owe O.J. a deep debt of gratitude for inadvertently giving us the Kardashians.
On the whole, we’re on something of a feel-good run, and nowhere is this more evident than in the investment universe. Our equity indices continue their climb to heretofore un-breached elevations, Q2 earnings have been, on balance, a blowout affair, and I’m assuming y’all saw (or in any event, read Trump’s Triumphant Tweets about) Friday’s Jobs Report. If one casts an eye beyond the Equity Complex, what is visible is a global bid on bonds, and even some love of the recently forsaken USD:

 

The recently “en fuego” grain markets have backed off, but let me ask you this: how bad is it if you pay a little bit less for that corn on the cob scheduled to grace the BBQs teed up as summer winds down?

However, in a widely reported and indisputably odd turn of events, perhaps the biggest recipient of heavenly and earthly Redemption is European High Yield debt complex. Continental “Junk” (apologies for descending into the decorum of the vernacular) bonds have been bid so strongly that somehow, improbably, they are trading at identical yields to those of the 10 year notes issued from our own gallant Treasury Department, for many generations considered the world’s most reliable borrower:

 

I will admit to having stared at this chart to the point of obsession. Among other matters, so desperate for this paper have investors become that from a point contemporaneous to the teeth of the crash till the present day, Euro Junk yields have dropped by an astounding 90%. Call me crazy (it’s been done before) but I have just the most sneaking hunch that these securities are a tad, shall we say, overvalued. This decade, we’ve been treated to multiple handwringing cycles of speculation about the prospects for an Uncle Sam default, but I’m here to tell you that: a) such an outcome is unlikely; and b) as a final line of defense, our paper is backed up not only by the full faith and credit of our federal custodians, but the considerable firepower of our military machine. By contrast, I’m pretty sure that some of these Euro obligors are living on little more than time that they borrowed as part of the lending package, and that when this precious but fleeting asset runs out, their lenders are likely to be left holding little more than an empty bag.

That strange days have found us is a matter of scant dispute; however, during this transient interval of Redemption, I am hesitant to press the point. Yes, market multiple metrics continue to soar to the arguably unsustainable elevations. In Washington, new Grand Juries are being convened at a point when the World’s Greatest Deliberative Body has adjourned to meet angry constituents, with little or nothing to show for its efforts. Our potential foes in Eurasia continue to join us in the language of brinksmanship. The domestic legislative agenda is stuck in either neutral or reverse, and we’re hurtling next month towards a debt ceiling/budget showdown that – come what may, is likely to please no one.

In short, there are many imponderables out there that threaten to kill our current buzz, and again, I believe that conventional risk measures of virtually every stripe are understating the true exposure — from a market and an economic perspective.

But on this bucolic summer weekend, as the sunny seasons slips inexorably away from us, I choose to focus instead on our Redemption theme. I hope Juice uses his freedom wisely, and I’m glad that the Cubs and the City of Chicago have, at long last, let Bartman off the hook. After all, he presumably paid for his ticket, and going for a foul ball that appears to be within your grasp is part of the decidedly limited appeal associated with the price of admission to a baseball game. He wasn’t looking at the left fielder; his eyes were squarely on the souvenir that gravity was sending directly towards him.

And there’s one other sin associated with this incident that wants atonement. On the following February 26th, amid much national (and indeed global) hype, the team gathered at Harry Carey’s downtown restaurant to ritualize the destruction of the offending baseball. They kept their precise methods a solemn secret, so, like everyone else, I tuned in to watch the spectacle. I had envisioned the launching of it from a cannon, to explode in mid-air, its debris scattered into the icy waters of Lake Michigan. Instead, they stuck it in a transparent box, pushed a button and it disintegrated. I found this disappointingly anti-climactic. Further, published reports (I’m not making this up) indicate that the restaurant then took a portion of the particlized remains and mixed it into the evening’s pasta sauce. Helluva shame. To my thinking at any rate, the infamous ball plainly deserved a more spectacular exit.

But that’s the way it goes – in baseball and in life. In more cases that we would wish, our hopes, dreams and even our nightmares end up dissolving into dust. There’s a lesson in there somewhere for the investor class, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to expend my energy attempting to ferret it out. Instead…

…I’ll leave this task to you. Give it some thought. You may come up with a suitable answer, and the exercise itself will do you no harm.

TIMSHEL

A Tale of Tutti Capis

Posted on by

In the wee hours of the morning on October 15, 1976, Don Carlo died, peacefully, in his own bed. By that time, he had run his eponymous Gambino family like the Israeli Special Forces for a full generation. He had hundreds of soldiers, thousands of associates and fear-driven respect across the globe. He ran a multi-billion-dollar enterprise that could bring the captains of many industries down to their knees with little more than a sniff from his beak-like nose.

One of his secrets was that he lived modestly, kept his mouth shut and wielded his immense power with as little fanfare as possible. The cops knew all about him, and harassed him as they could, but never laid a single finger extended from the long arm of the law on him.

But Don Carlo made one final, fatal mistake. Knowing he was about to check out, he named his cousin – Big Paulie, the brother of his wife (and also a cousin) as his successor. As Boss, Big Paulie was a train wreck. Lived large, squeezed his crews, took up publicly with his Filipino housekeeper (a shameful insult to his wife), allowed his palatial Staten Island mansion to be bugged by the Feds, and ended up with a 50-count open and shut RICO indictment staring down his (also beak-like) nose. As everyone knows, it all ended when a bunch of guys in Russian sable hats (some of whom may very well have been Russians riddled his body with bullets, just before Christmas, 1985, in front of a well-known Midtown steakhouse.

His assassin, as it turns out, was also his successor. Let’s call him Don John, and begin with the premise that he was the antithesis of the Don Carlo ideal. He was big and flashy and couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He relished in publicity, coveted the fleeting and dubious adulation of his minions, and was quick to violently punish anyone responsible for slights – real or perceived. The Feds targeted him obsessively s, and he seemed to relish his battles with them. He actually won a few rounds with the government, and couldn’t resist the temptation to crow about it. Eventually, they got him, hoisted him on his own petard of blabbering and well-deserved treachery among his inner circle. They sent him away for good, and he died, rather meekly in prison, a few years later.

I recount these well-known tales of New York mob history, because we have, as a nation, as a world, our own Don John to contend with: one Donald John Trump, 45th President of the United States. Like his namesake Don John Gotti, he is the polar opposite of the Don Carlo ideal. You’d think, being President, he’d have enough of the spotlight to suit him, but by all accounts, nothing could be further from the truth. He makes everything about him, even when he’d be better off shoving someone else onto center stage. Many of the Federales hate him to the point of obsession, and it’s clear they’re out to get him. From my perspective, he’s doing his level best to accommodate the realization of their objectives.

It strikes me that he stands a substantial and increasing possibility of being taken down by his enemies, and while he is certainly justified in calling this episode a witch hunt, it’s clear that if he falls, he will largely have himself to blame.

I offer this progressively wearying bit of political prognostication because I think that this is the biggest risk facing the markets. It is literally (or figuratively if you prefer) not possible to spit in any corner of this world and not hit something tied to the current D.C. investigations. They have taken on an accelerating momentum, and will not be easily stopped — even at a point when the enemies of the current administration would logically declare victory. If they achieve impeachment and take our good Don down, feeling increasingly emboldened, they will paint Pence as the illicit spawn of Hitler and Stalin, and, being naturally weaker, he will be an easier mark. At that point, nominally, the mantle would pass to Congressman Ryan, but (please forgive, yet again, the grassy knoll vibe here) I think there may be a plan afoot here to drag this out until just after the mid-terms, at which point, if the stars align perfectly for them, the Dems will have taken back the House, and can install Nancy Pelosi in the Oval Office.

Nancy Pelosi? If this happens, I think I’ll take a cue from the unfulfilled rhetoric of Barbra, Rosie and the rest, and check out of my digs in the amber grain waves.

Now, I admit all of this is far-fetched, but the problem, to use a favorite expression of the Prog orthodoxy, is that the situation is “non-binary”. The, er, Resistance doesn’t need to achieve the full smash outlined above to do their bidding. Every day we’re stuck in this cloak and dagger muck is one more day that the important reforms which presumably catapulted the Republican Party into its current position of hegemony will be stymied. I suspect that if the snowflakes and tree huggers can’t impose unconditional surrender on the rest of us, they’ll settle for some battlefield wins that bring both land gains and prisoners home.

It seems that this dynamic is indeed dominating the investment proceedings. Case and point: the FOMC and the macro economy. The last round of economic releases was, by all accounts, depressing. On Wednesday, the very morning of the Fed’s latest rate announcement, we were served up a ghastly trifecta of a negative CPI print, as well as the weakest Retail Sales numbers in 2 ½ years, and an equally tepid performance in terms of Business Inventories:

The Fed, nonetheless, went forward with its long pre-ordained ¼ point rise, accompanied by some tough talk about the balance sheet boogie monster. Subsequent to the announcement, we were treated to the mushy oatmeal of weak Industrial Production (flat), insufficient Housing Starts and disappointing Consumer Sentiment (both down).

Also during the week, ECB Chair Draghi spoke soberly of tapering, and the minutes of the Bank of England’s latest Monetary Policy Committee meeting told of a somewhat surprising sentiment to raise rates in that troubled jurisdiction.

But I suspect that CBers all around the world are very nervous here. One could hardly blame them for building some Trump-catalyzed deregulation and tax reform into their growth models: a prospect that now looks pretty iffy at best – at least for the foreseeable future. I think Yellen and Company stuck to the script because if they’d done anything else, it might’ve spooked the markets: a prospect which, for better or worse (read: for worse), they cannot abide. They spoke of one more rate increase this year, targeted for the December meeting, but right now, investors aren’t buying it, as another hike at that time is currently being priced at a < 40% probability. Also, significantly, post FOMC, longer term rates, not only here but across the globe, actually declined.

There was a great deal of jabber this week about the tightening in the 2s/10s U.S. Treasury spread, which is now as narrow as it’s been since 2009 (remember that frolicking year?), and let me tell you, friends, this type of squeeze does not tend to occur when economies are clicking on all cylinders:

U.S. Treasury 2s/10s Spread

My fear is that all of the above is informed by what may only be the beginning of the hit job on our current Don John. If matters accelerate, as well they might, then there’s virtually NO chance that government policy will be accretive to the investment process, and if the guys in the Russian hats do in fact take them down, as an old boss of mine likes to say (borrowing from the 1894 John Whitcomb Riley poem) it will be “Katy, bar the door”.

Of course, the equity markets barely register a pulse respecting these concerns, with domestic and global indices still hovering around all-time highs. There is continued concern about the recent cold streak of our favorite tech darlings, but never fear: the feature story in this week’s Barron’s assures us that the trend is transient, and they may be onto something. I mean after all, Amazon, through its purchase of Whole Foods, now pretty much sells us everything we might care to buy.

Often-times, though, to reverse a well-trodden idiom, it’s always brightest before the dusk. After most of Don John I’s myriad acquittals, he would go forth with much pomp among his minions, typically accompanied by fireworks that he generously funded out of his own ill-gotten treasury.

But in the end, they got him. And he helped them do it. And he died of cancer at the relatively young age of 62, while incarcerated in a Federal Prison in Springfield, MO. And the Gambino family never recovered its mojo.

All of this should serve as an object lesson for our current Capo di Tutti Capi: Don John II. But it’s a matter of supreme doubt as to whether he will heed the warning. So I pass the admonishment on to you. Rather than preening in front of any audience you can find, ‘tis better to go about your business with quiet dignity. If you do this, you stand a fair chance of shedding your mortal coil, peacefully, largely untouched by your enemies, and this, my friends, is an end to which we should all aspire.

TIMSHEL

Busting Out All Under

Posted on by

Just as May must follow April in her prime,

June will always find me, counting out time,

They buried Miss July, put her face down in the earth,

She called her baby “August” and died while giving birth

— Dave Rotheray

 

Well, my darlings, it is indeed June, but one hardly sees it busting all over. For one thing, the weather –at least in the Northeast, has pretty much sucked.  This here is shaping up to be a pretty nice weekend, and all I can say is it’s about time.

We just concluded the 6th month’s first full week, and for all of the dramatic promise it portended for those in the investment game, on the whole it was a yawner.

In fact, to date, I’d go so far as to state that from a trading perspective, June, thus far, is indeed busting out all under.

We can take last week’s big events in chronological order, beginning as late as Thursday with the widely anticipated, over-hyped Comey testimony.  With those on both sides of the political spectrum in pitched battle to outflank one another in hysteria, the end result was something of a disappointment.  To paraphrase Forest Gump’s mother, Comey is as Comey does, and Thursday’s turn at the microphone, in front of a group of glowering Senators, served to reinforce the point.  I found all of his responses to be lawyerly and self-serving.  When it suited his defensive interests to describe himself as a weak sister, he freely did so.  When, on the other hand, it behooved him to articulate his heroic support of his country, the government agency he recently ran, and his standing as a patriot, he did just that.

I do think there’s one under-analyzed thread in that whole sequence, deriving from his justification for contemporaneous note-taking as being driven by his agenda to see that a Special Counsel was named – to investigate the purportedly nefarious but as yet undefined Russian interference in the 2016 elections.  I suspect that this was indeed his game all along, and gosh all fishhooks if it didn’t work.  We’ve got us a Special Counsel, one Robert Mueller, former occupant of the seat from which Comey was so rudely dispatched, and longtime bestie of Comey himself (side note; Mueller was named FBI Director on September 4, 2001, so he must’ve had an interesting first few weeks in office).

Given that Comey was unwilling to answer any specific questions about the investigation, I suspect that there’s a long game afoot here, and one that continues to threaten the current administration.  Comey’s job was to get through the ordeal with as little mud splashed upon him as possible, and to punt any substantive queries to the SC. My guess is that this means, though we may not have to endure the redux for several months, that this thing ain’t over.

Investors: be forewarned.

As fates would have it, the Comey testimony came on the same day that the good citizens of the United Kingdom took to the polls, this time to deliver a rather unambiguous one finger salute to recently elected Prime Minister Theresa May.  The Brits stopped short of giving her the gate altogether, but the outcomes are such that she will have to struggle to retain her residence at 10 Downing Street, Westminster, London, SW1.   Perhaps as bad (or worse), the self-imposed ordeal (it was May herself that called for the elections) served to resurrect the political career of Labor Leader Jeremy Corbyn, a chap whose politics are often described as being to the left of Bernie’s, and who was, prior to Thursday, expected to fade into oblivion.  None of this of course, is an encouraging lead-in to the pending Brexit negotiations, which were going to be tricky under any circumstance, and may now devolve into a circus.

Some markets reacted to these tidings.  That the British Pound took an, er, pounding was perhaps to be expected, and, for what it’s worth, I can also see the framework for the rocky EUR ride:

 

Investors also served themselves up a hearty helping of government bonds, with most of the action, somewhat improbably, centered around the oft-beleaguered debentures of Southern Europe:

Spanish Yields:                                                 Italian Yields:                          

If one is looking for root causes here, the glibbest and most accessible justification is that the Continental unrest is likely to keep the ECB Ï printing machine running on all cylinders, and why not? Euro QE is humming along at about Ï90B/month, implying that Team Draghi has printed about $500B in 2017 alone, all directed to the purchase of member nation bonds.  With less transparency on Brexit, is a downshift likely? I think not.

I should also mention that my grain complex had quite a week, with the bulge bracket of Wheat, Corn and Soy Beans all enjoying bids across the cycle.

But as for the equity markets, they seemed to shrug off all external news flow.  In fact, most of Europe, including the U.K. gathered itself admirably by Friday.  Stateside, the SPX dropped 8 skinny handles for the week (> 0.25%), while the Dow actually closed at record highs.

Now, I know a lot has been written about Friday’s big puke of the power part of the U.S. equity lineup, with names such as Apple, Amazon, Alphabet, Microsoft and Facebook (which together, account for nearly half of the 2017 valuation gains in the S&P 500) all dropping 2% or more by the close.  This does indeed bear watching, but here, I can only go with my gut, which tells me that extrapolating out from this action is a dangerous construct.  There’s certainly a meaningful probability that investors view this selloff as a buying opportunity, and, gun to my head, if they don’t adopt this mindset now, they most certainly will at levels not much lower than Friday’s undignified close.

But what strikes me more directly is that there was a significant rebalancing of equity holdings across large capital pools late in the week, that it may not as yet be over, and that there may be more to this than the big whales being tired of making all of that FANG (or, if you will, FAAMG) money and deciding to ease back on that score alone.  I do expect other equities to be in play, and I don’t know how this will evolve, but the individual stock action early next week should be watched with careful eye.

Apart from that, we have a very low-drama FOMC announcement on Wednesday, where another quarter-point raise is a foregone conclusion.  However, by Thursday, we will have reached the midway point of June, and as mentioned in previous installments, I think that pricing action quiets down to almost inaudible levels from then till after the 4th of July holiday.

If I’m right about all of this, then, when all is said and done, June will indeed have spent its short life span busting all under, and then we’ll be on to July/August, during which time the action promises to pick up visibly.  In the meanwhile, perhaps we can take our cues from the song quote purloined above, and spend the last two weeks of the current month counting out the time.

I reckon there are worse fates than this.

TIMSHEL

I Don’t Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

Posted on by

I begin by taking care of an essential item of business: Happy Mother’s Day, everyone.  Today is my first motherless Mother’s Day, which is sad, but, on a happier note, my daughter (a mother of nearly two year’s standing herself) is due any day. So there’s that.

In addition, it’s true: I don’t know why the caged bird sings.  I have never read Maya Angelou’s magnum opus, and I don’t expect I ever will.  What’s more (though I’m not particularly proud of this), in terms of the motivations for the warbling of the captive orinth, I have never particularly cared to find out.

That is, perhaps, until now.  And here, of course, though reluctantly, painfully, I refer to the recent doings in the White House.  Indisputably, the Presidential Manse is something of a cage, and its current occupant is certainly capable of both flying and singing, or, more pertinent for our purposes, tweeting, which is, after all, the type of singing in which your typical winged tree denizen engages.

I wish he’d just shut his big fat beak.  His electronic croonings, long since tiresome, have now become dangerous.  Case and Point: this Comey thing (sorry).  When I’d heard that he canned that dissembling, misanthropic domestic law enforcement czar, I was pleased.  The guy should’ve been shown the door a long time ago.  Upon further immediate reflection, I decided it was a sublime political move.  I mean, his recently vanquished political opponent had just emerged, in rather unseemly fashion, to inform a sequence of enraptured audiences that, but for Comey, those new curtains she picked out would be dangling from the broad windows of 1600 PA Avenue as she spoke.  Of course, the other half of her rationalizations dealt with some nefarious, improbable linkage between the WikiLeaks DNC leakage, the Russians, and the Trump Campaign.  I’ll go on record as opining that this is hogwash, well, part of it any way.  Did the Russians hack the DNC? Probably. But so did everyone else.  Were they seeking to influence our elections? Of course they were. But boys and girls, it’s time to grow up.  Major nations have been messing with each other’s elections since mankind was still sporting tails, and I suspect that the most enthusiastic and effective perpetrator, for most of the last couple of centuries, is the good old U S of A.

But were the Trumpsters actively working with the Ruskies on this one? I highly doubt it.  What was the nature of the alleged collusion?  No one has said.  And what form could it have assumed? Did Team Trump pay Putin to do this? Please.  First off, Putin is, almost inarguably, through purloined riches, the wealthiest man on the planet, and the DNC Server was such a sitting duck that it couldn’t have cost very much.  Did the Russians feed the data to the Campaign, for them to leak? It would seem unlikely, and one way or another, the information would’ve gotten out.

Also, it may be worth remembering that as late as dusk on November 8, 2016, the probability of a Trump victory was placed, at best, in the low double digits.  The HRC triumph bash, replete with shattered glass and riverside fireworks, was all teed up.  And how long do you think, after, she took her hand off the bible on January 20th, would she have instructed the Bureau to put cement shoes on her hated opponent? Not very long, I imagine. Trump’s people weren’t stupid (they won an unwinnable election after all), and I doubt they were taking any undue risks of this nature with the perfidious Russians.  Plus, there was a great deal of roadkill on the President’s journey to the White House.  By my count, he deep sixed at least a dozen campaign managers alone.  Are there no disgruntled former insiders ready to sing a Russian ballad as a means of score evening? If so, they have yet to emerge.

But the Russian interference story lingers, used by Progressives like the drunk uses the proverbial lamp post: more for support than illumination.  And, with the Dems complaining that the FBI Director who was incentivized to push this narrative was to blame for their loss, how beautiful was it to have sacked him? Had it been handled correctly, it would’ve left the, er, left, with little fodder to use against their political foes (lest they demonstrate, yet again, their seemingly insatiable acumen for hypocrisy), and, as such, might’ve disappeared from our capacity-addled attentions quicker than a Snapchat photo (or, for that matter, the valuation of the device’s corporate owner).

But then came the tweets, including perhaps the most idiotic one in an ocean of moronic 140-character brain fluffs: the one warning Comey about the potential presence of taped conversations. Now, I hate to agree with the millions that are seeking to undermine the current government at every turn, but this stunt was completely out of bounds.  Just as (as pointed out by Deputy AG Rosenstein) FBI Directors do not comment on the decision factors on a case they’ve tried to drop, presidents don’t issue veiled threats at deposed FBI Directors.  And now, I think everyone’s got some reason to worry.  There is literally no telling what may next be issuing forth from the Presidential keyboard, and, if it gets much worse, Trump’s enemies may actually have a legal case against him.

But what offends me most is that this sequence more or less destroyed last week’s confident call for a breakout of the U.S. equity complex.  These ornithological discharges made me look like a simian, and I’m not one to sit idly by in consequence.  Yes, there were other contributing factors.  The late reporting Consumer Discretionary Sector dropped some pretty nasty waste — at a point contemporaneous to a rather tepid Retail Sales print.  There was some sort of global cyber-attack that hit about 900 countries on Friday, crippling enterprises ranging from Fed-Ex to the British National Health System.  The Energy Complex is bouncing around like a billiard ball.  L’il Kim lobbed another one into regional waters this weekend.

Still and all, Q1 manifested a 13.5% increase in earnings and a 6.5% jump in sales.  According to the published genius of the investment class, affairs are even rosier in portions of the investment universe ranging from Europe to the Emerging Markets.  Rates are low and showing no signs of busting out.  Most economic models are projecting back-loaded acceleration in economic statistics.  I’ve seen worse backdrops for loading up on stocks – Washingtonian nonsense notwithstanding.

But a couple of points bear mention here.  First, I’m really skeptical about all this Europe love.  I’ve seen the analyses that suggest the Continent is cheap relative to our own valuations, but I advise those who care to proceed to do so at their own caution.  It strikes me that Europe remains the same geriatric, declining economic beast with which we’ve been contending for most of our adult lives, with high unemployment, widespread credit issues, an unworkable fiscal matrix and a measurable disposition towards redistributive socialism.  Some of you pros may be well positioned to take advantage of transient upswings, but as for me, I think I’d rather keep my risk capital moored on these here shores.

On the other hand, I don’t, as a matter of policy, invest in the markets.

But even domestically, I’d be careful about where I place my bets.  That a perversely disproportionate segment of gains derive from a small handful of names is a widely analyzed phenomenon that need not be rehashed in this space.  For the mere mortal tickers in the stock trading universe, it’s really all about earnings, and, creeping into the dynamic, is the age-old problem of disappointers being punished more severely than delighters have been rewarded:

 

But with quarterly earnings substantially behind us, this is something that we arguably can ignore for a few weeks.  In the meantime, it may be worth remembering that tomorrow marks the 45-day window for hedge fund redemptions, and this may perhaps cause some gratuitously violent price action, as catalyzed by an 11th hour wave of unexpected redemptions.

The latter would be particularly true if the Washington bird flu, rather than subsiding, spreads to epidemic proportions: a scenario that one can now neither rule out nor discount.  As I have reviewed this wearying sequence of events, I cannot help but fear that Trump may have made the same type of early-term mistake as his two predecessors: taking a constructive action too precipitously, and with inadequate understanding of deferred consequences.  W. Bush invaded Iraq at a point of maximum post-9/11 goodwill, and we’re still stuck there.  Few rational folks would argue that deposing Saddam Hussein was an unholy objective.  But at the time we had more pressing geopolitical problems with which to contend, he failed to form the type of broad coalition that worked well for his father in Gulf War 1, and the W presidency arguably declined in a more or less linear fashion from there.

Then there’s Obama, who rammed through a massive, poorly framed and ineptly executed re-engineering of the Health Care system at a moment when our post-crash capital economy itself was just emerging from the critical care unit.  Unemployment at the time was peaking at 7.5%, and of course, he passed the bill through a reconciliation process that removed all transparency from the drafting of the final provisions (recall the Pelosi line).  At that point, the Health Care system was broken and needed fixing, but the timing was terrible, and, like the Iraq War fiasco, the coalition behind the reform was self-servingly narrow.  Of course, the economy slowly regained its footing in subsequent years, but ultimately, the framework at least partially imploded, and, as I’ve stated previously, I believe that the sticker shock of 2017 premium increases (disclosed in October of 2016) was, more than WikiLeaks, more than Comey, what turned the last election’s tide against his preferred successor.

As for Trump, though it’s impossible to know at the moment, it may be that he has fallen into the same trap.  Comey is indeed a showboat, more interested in his own agenda/standing than in doing his job appropriately.  He was not capable of running the FBI effectively and needed to be fired.  Had Hillary won, I suspect she would have taken this step herself.  But the timing may have been too precipitous.  Like his predecessors, he might’ve been better served by waiting, maybe getting the Republican Congressional Caucus together to pass some legislation, before putting two to the head of his target.  And the execution was terribly, well, executed.  Why not follow the Clintonian Friday afternoon news dump and then announce something constructive to change the subject?

But no, he did this on a Tuesday and then made matters worse with his messaging.  As a result, not only may he have bought himself a whole passel of problems, but also, as everyone has stated, he has rendered the path to delivering on key parts of his agenda much more problematic.

But the world is full of such improbable contradictions.  Take Maya Angelou for example.  She wrote (I’m told) profoundly of racism, sexual abuse and other horrors of growing up as a black female in the postbellum South.  Yet she freely admitted to operating as a madam in her young adult years.  Then, she settled down to accept an endowed professorship at Wake Forest University, which, though a fine academic institution, was founded and resides on a tobacco plantation that relied for centuries on slave labor.

So I’m gonna stop wondering why the caged bird sings, and can only, for the moment, pray for the sound of crickets emanating from such locales as the White House, Trump Tower and Mar-a-Lago.

TIMSHEL

Success Story

Posted on by

“We got the greatest country in the world here. The highest standard of living. The grossest national product.”
— Archie Bunker

For want of superior alternatives, I’m dedicating this edition to Archie Bunker, erstwhile “everyman” hero of the seminal 1970s CBS series “All in the Family”. Many of you may be too young to remember Archie, a hard-working, family loving, WWII vet, spewing out politically incorrect bon mots from his Queens enclave, but much is to be learned from him, that is, if one takes the trouble to pay attention. Improbably (at least to me), I’m now older than he was purported to have been during the run of the series, and, while I always liked him, I believe, with the passage of time, I have come to understand him better. He is a product of his environment and times, working hard, fighting for his country, supporting his family, and, in his off hours, coming home to arguments with his left wing graduate student son-in-law (whom he is supporting) who seeks to tame his ignorance even as he eats his food. He tries is best to cope with the world, rapidly changing before his eyes, but often, it becomes too many for him.

As time goes by, I increasingly know how he feels.

I felt particularly sorry for him when his best buddy, Stretch Cunningham, his doltish, wisecracking comrade on the loading dock, drops dead of a heart attack. Archie is asked by the family to speak at the funeral, and in the process, finds out that, unbeknownst to him and all his peers, Stretch was actually Jewish. This being a problem at the time for a middle aged, working class, high school grad, he struggles to understand, particularly given his fallen buddy’s decidedly Anglican surname. His family offers up the possibility that perhaps he changed his name, but Archie rejects this out of hand, for perhaps the best reason imaginable. If Stretch had indeed changed his name but retained his Jewish identity, one thing was certain:

“There ain’t supposed to be no ham in there”.

Apart from his devotion to his wife, daughter and (eventually) grandson, Archie is above all, a patriot. And, responding to one of his meathead son-in-law’s endless stream of criticism of the country that spawned him, reared him, and provided him all is comforts, he did indeed point out, in a first season episode called “Success Story”, that we have the greatest country in the world, the highest standard of living and “the grossest national product”.

A reading of Friday’s action would seem to corroborate, yet again, Archie’s clairvoyance. Though pointy-headed economists (a tribe to which I belong), for reasons that I have long ago forgotten, decided a couple of decades ago to switch the benchmark metric for nationwide output from Gross National Product to Gross Domestic Product, the introductory first quarter estimates can aptly be described as gross.

The Atlanta Fed’s GDPNow model, often referenced in this space, saw it coming, and, as the hours trickled down to the Friday/8:30 print, private economists started to catch on, with the final consensus coming in at 1.0%. But we missed even this diluted number by a full thirty percent, as, as everyone knows, the actual figure clocked in at 0.7%, annualized: the worst such showing in three years:

The results failed to jolt market participants over-much, and the rationalizations (crazy weather, seasonality, etc.) had been working their way into valuation for weeks. But the consumer spending print of 0.3% (vs. consensus estimate of 0.7%) is somewhat worrying, as is the unmistakable gravitational pull evidenced in the graph supplied immediately above.

Be that as it may, we all knew that the totality of the data coming our way was ambiguous, as evidenced in part by some boffo earnings results released in advance of the Archie Bunker GDP print. Names like Alphabet (OK; Google), Amazon, and sentimental favorite CAT were all astonishingly good. And, while there were some embarrassing misses (Airline Companies, Auto Companies, Starbucks), on balance, with nearly 60% of income precincts reporting, the overall tally is anticipated to come in at a 12 ½ % year-over-year gain – the best showing since the wretched year of 2011.

Moreover, the earnings picture has gained encouraging momentum in recent days:

Perhaps the other most salient dynamic is that Team Trump (never a group to let recent failures and/or humiliations slow them down in their headline grabbing frenzy) released its tax plan last week, a document which fell considerably short, in terms of volume, of the Manhattan telephone book benchmark for quantity of content. In fact, it is precisely one-page long. Scanning its voluminous details, I find it to be a bullish blueprint, and one that investors should embrace. But there’s a lot of caveats here, kids. First, as of right now, there’s no indication that anything of this nature can pass through Congress, and tax reform, an exercise not even attempted in 30 years, is a particularly sticky wicket. It may in fact be even stickier now, especially insofar as the Democrats seem determined to cast not a single vote (other than irrelevant salves to politically threatened seat holders of their own party) in favor of any bill produced by their opposite numbers, and that there is a core group of Republicans who are unlikely to support any tax plan that doesn’t provide offsetting revenues to match any relief provided therein. On offsetting revenues, the, er, tome is silent.

If, however, something of this nature goes through (and it says here that, best case, we’re looking at the end of the ’17 Congressional Calendar or beyond), there will be winners and losers. Perhaps in a dose of poetic justice, the plan calls for the elimination of the deduction of state and local taxes (a dubious and unfair proposition from the get-go) from the Washington-bound levies, thereby forcing us coastal denizens to pay the full freight already imposed upon residents of zero state tax jurisdictions such as Texas and Nevada. In addition, the banks will take a short-term hit – particularly (and you can’t make this stuff up) given the fact that significant portions of the left side of their balance sheets take the form of deferred tax credits, the value of which will be diluted by any reduction in the base rate itself.

I reckon they’ll survive this blow.

And, on the whole, I can’t say there’s an awful lot of which to complain, as the first trimester of ’17 melts into the second. There appears to be earnings momentum, and the dubious consensus may be right this time that: a) Q1 GDP is ripe for an upward revision; and b) the force of this metric may very well gain traction as the year unfolds. In the meantime, mixed macro numbers are likely to keep a lid on domestic rates, and, oh by the way, mid-week, ECB Chair (Super) Mario Draghi took to the podium to announce that he’s in no particular hurry to stop, or even downshift, the Brussels money printing machine.

Perhaps this is why the SPX, though nominally and patriotically selling off on Friday, is 13 puny index points from breaking out of this increasingly tiresome 23 handle, and 10 punier points from all-time highs. It also bears mention that the NASDAQ Composite, with minimal fanfare, crashed through the heretofore un-breached 6,000 threshold, and held this territory even through Friday’s Gross Domestic Product print.

So, on the whole, I am getting a bit more constructive. Next week features a continued onslaught of earnings releases, and, in macro-land, Friday’s potentially important April Jobs number. But this sets up to me as a bad and good news is good news paradigm, with a strong number corroborating happier days, and a weak one likely to be interpreted as being accretive to bonds and catalyzing to constructive fiscal (e.g. tax reform) and monetary policy.

But, global citizens that we are, it bears remembering that the week begins slowly, given Monday’s traditional celebration of International Workers Day. So I’ll conclude by giving a shout out to all of those wielders of shovels and welding equipment. It’s your day, and, as always, you’ve earned it. We don’t pay too much attention here in the States, but what do we know?

And as for Archie, he went from union man to entrepreneur, eventually taking ownership of his favorite local watering hole. Some of his simpatico was perhaps sacrificed in the transition, but at the end of the day, he was indeed a Success Story, and, were he with us today, I doubt he’d be taking May Day off. More likely than not, he’d be pouring drinks and ringing the cash register like always. As Archie knew in his bones, the path to Success, for all of us, makes very little allowance for virtues that run in conflict with diligence and perseverance.

TIMSHEL.