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Hope all goes well… “When the bogeyman goes to sleep he checks the closet for Chuck Norris,” said Teddy. “Chuck Norris doesn’t dial the wrong number, you answered the wrong phone,” continued my 11yr old, laughing, crying. And diving deep through so many layers of senseless market memories, petty Fed dot-plot archives, and useless Phillips curve arguments, I accessed my dusty college cache. “When Chuck Norris was born

Hope all goes well… “Some bad guy robbed our gas station today, he had a mask and gun,” said Charlie on Monday. “The same guy robbed Chase bank today,” said Olivia on Tuesday. Pressure on hedge fund fees has thrown Greenwich into a state of anarchy. “The guy robbed the same bank today – the exact same bank, two days in a row! Can you believe it?” screeched Teddy on Wednesday. And of course I can, volatility is

Hope all goes well… “Where did the first acorn come from Daddy?” asked Charlie, staring out the Suburban, on the drive home from lacrosse. “And where did the mountains come from?” continued my inquisitive 7yr old. “How was the world made?” he asked. “But where did the universe come from?” he asked, excited that each answer quite naturally led to more questions. “But then what came before the Big Bang?” asked Charlie,

Hope all goes well… Dusted off an anecdote from May 2015 on the topic of meaning. Back next Sunday with full wknd notes. Week-in-Review (expressed in YoY terms): Mon: US deploys warships to Korean waters, China to offer Trump better fin services access and beef/grain imports, Kuroda “will maintain QQE until core CPI exceeds 2%,” Russia “have discussed oil output cut extension,” France forecasts Q1 GDP +0.3% (full-yea

Hope all goes well… “False flag attack!” cried the alt-right conspiracy theorists, infuriated with their President. “Abu Ivanka!” tweeted Arabs throughout the Middle East, thanking the Father of Ivanka for finally confronting Assad. “Trump wants to prove to the world that he is no ‘businessman president’ and that he will use US military force without hesitation when he considers it necessary,” declared Chinese state

Hope all goes well… “How’s he going to cut taxes and make it revenue neutral?” asked the CIO. “How’s he going to do massive infrastructure when we’re so deep in debt?” he continued. “And why is the yield curve flattening? Why is loan demand declining? Why is consumer confidence at historic highs while retailer stocks are getting demolished?” He paused to catch his breath. And still panting asked, “What happens if he

Hope all goes well… “Where’s the beef?” bellowed Biggie Too. “Health care, regulation reform, tax cuts – where’s it at?” continued the Chief Global Strategist for one of those too big to fail affairs. “You boys were always gonna face this moment,” barked Biggie, sliding into a slow groove. “But here’s the thing brotha. The market doesn’t care about health care – you know that. Poor people care about health care

Hope all goes well… “I suck,” he said with a sigh. “But I think my family still loves me,” he continued, trying to make himself laugh but failing. “I got absolutely killed in January. Then I turned it around after that Trump speech in Feb.” He paused, a long one. I hugged him through the phone. We’ve all been there, it’s brutal. “Then I don’t even know what went wrong. Which admittedly doesn’t make sense. Because I r

Hope all goes well… “My father was born in 1900, and lived through the great depression, hyperinflation, two world wars, a Russian prison camp, and so forth,” said the German in perfect English, over lunch, looking out across the river Limmat, from Zurich’s Hotel Storchen, established 1357. “He would tell me and my brothers, the world does not wait boys, it does not stop turning.” Swans paddled against the current, m

Hope all goes well… “Un peu,” I answered. That means ‘a little.’ Which is about how much French I’ve retained after all these years. I’ve snuck into the Alps for a couple days with an old friend, 7th generation high-altitude mountain guide. And he’d asked if my legs were tired after five hours, knee-high in the forest, a late-season blizzard upon us. “Mon petit nature,” I continued, breathless, beating him to the pun