Two Hours of Sleep + Emotional Distress + Haiku = ?

Wait a minute, wait a minute, I remember this one from the level three exam.  It has something to do with the non-parametric estimate of volatility, right?  The one that ignores any econometric convention?  Carry the emotional distress and divide by two?

For the past two months, just about every thought that has made its way through the synapses of my brain has been painfully serious.  I've spent weeks trying to solve problems bigger than any individual's problem-solving capacity (perhaps not George Washington... but definitely in excess of Barack Obama's and BP's combined).

I have been faced with decisions to be made about my immediate, intermediate and "I'm just happy to still be above ground" future.  I have prioritized and re-prioritized only to find the top slot to be filled by the same thing, something as static as it is seemingly intractable.  What does one do when faced with the highest risk being attached to the only reward that matters.  Hold on for dear life?  Check.  Not working yet?  Thanks for nothing William Forsyth Sharpe, despite having the whitest name of anyone born outside of Westminster post 1609 AD, you have failed to be of any use.  I can't seem to find anything else that has the same hold -- fate is not subtle when she is actually present.  Like an Ohio State fan in a super-market when Hang On Sloopy musak plays, she is hardly delicate.

My solution, as I run on an unexaggerated 120 minutes of sleep, is naturally to write Haiku about my favorite 1980's & 1990's television shows.  There is some quasi-exponential logic embedded in there, but I promise it makes sense.  Really, I just don't want to lose my ability to laugh at myself (or Mr. Belvedere for that matter).  For the first time in my life, the past 24 hours have made me realize that such a vital thing might actually be perishable.  Now that's a come-to-Jesus moment that only Touch-Down Jesus could rival.

note:  it upsets me that "Jesus" is corrected to be capitalized by spellcheck but "Mr. Belvedere" isn't. 

Supermarket Sweep:

an explosion of
matching white sneakers and bangs.
don't forget the hams.

Who's The Boss:

was tony danza
really fit for childcare? when
he did so much coke.

GUTS:

but one agro-crag.
early on-set puberty.
why was Mo British?

A-Team

I pity the fool.
Singular earing not gay?
the mohawk says all.

Alf

best writing around
is based on puppet that eats
cats? Sorry Darwin.

The Cosby Show

J-E-L-L-O.
Non-threatening black family?
Whitest show ever.

I could, and may do this all day.  I'm finding it terribly useful.

Go go gadget,

-I Heart Palindromes