Ok, the inter-web is going to have to be subjected to this because I don't have anywhere else to go with it.
On Friday I had a meeting that our contact at Goldman prime brokerage asked us to take with a fund that they are doing capital-introductions for. The group of "gentlemen" that I met with included a marketing guy from New York (who was actually southern), an analyst from Los Angeles, and a portfolio manager from London. This already sounds like the start to a bad joke, it wasn't funny.
The meeting was roundly uneventful, the marketing guy talked too much, taking away from time for the PM. The PM was great, sharp guy, soft-spoken, very considerate thought process - everything you want and expect from a guy running hundreds of millions of other people's money.
The meeting was wrapping up at which point LA-based analyst (who to this point had said approximately nothing, which I would come to find, was the appropriate amount of involvement for him) chimes in with his two cents on the final question I had put to the PM. His answer basically contradicts what the PM said. We're already ten minutes over, so I'm about to let it slide and continue to get up from the table. This is when he cracks some joke about Brazilian women (this is an emerging market fund). He follows it up with a second, even less funny foray just to make sure we can't ignore the first one. The room falls silent and I am forced to actually pay attention to this kid beyond the three seconds I invested while taking his business card an hour prior. I had mentally noted that he seemed a little greasy (bad suit, too bold of a tie, gelled hair that is actually standing up - you know, what all the cool guys did... in 8th grade) but this is when I notice that he also has one of those stub goatee's just under the lip. He tried to awkwardly laugh it off. The marketing guy changed the topic and asked about follow-up materials. I couldn't stop looking at the Analyst, who's eyes were now down at the conference room table. Everyone shook hands and they headed off for LAX.
I don't know why this bothered me so much except that it just doesn't seem right. This kid has essentially nothing to offer the world. He was probably 2-3 years older than me, living proof that there are diminishing marginal returns on the natural ebb of maturation over time. It frustrates me that this kid has a job, went to university, probably has a girlfriend who thinks she's the luckiest girl ever to be dating him, and is so unaware of his own worthlessness that he opens his mouth in meetings where he should just put his head down and shut up. He is the epitome of what is wrong with Los Angeles and why I don't fit in well here.
This all came back to me because I got an e-mail from the PM this morning trying to recover from it all. No wonder the guys I used to work for want me to come back as opposed to taking a flyer on a new guy. If this is what is out there, I'd be worried too.
A little something I've learned over the past five years in a lot of meetings as both the allocator and as the analyst. Don't speak unless what you have to say is really valuable. I do a mental count in my head where I hold back until I really feel like I have to say whatever has come to my mind. Don't talk for the sake of participating, this isn't grade school and there are no points for effort. Also, if your PM says something, even if he happens to be wrong, don't ever contradict him. Think of him like the girlfriend that you're madly in love with but who happens to be in a horrible mood: she is always right, you are 100% on her side, whatever she feels is entirely valid. Just remember that and you should be good. My advice to this guy (who's name is Jeremy... figures) is just never speak, ever. Also, get yourself a better pair of shoes. It isn't just women who pay attention to that.
Venting complete,
-I Heart Palindromes
30 January 2011
The New Normal
Screw you Bill Gross. After a very long travel day(ish), I find myself in the office on a Sunday trying to get ahead of things for a busy few weeks work wise. I have a million things on my mind, a few big decisions to make and I'm moderately cranky because evidently flying does take a toll on me when Boondock isn't on the other end, who knew?! Reality has a way of slowly sinking in no matter how hard you try to get it drunk so it is more likable, what a buzz-kill.
Solution: the correct ratio of passiveaggressivenotes.com and haiku should be a start. Anything is better than rolling correlation and marginal-contribution-to-risk analysis. True story.
Captain Planet
Our powers combined.
Wow, what great propaganda.
Evil business.
Perfect Strangers
Set in Chicago.
Cousin Balki was the best,
despite the goat thing.
Reading Rainbow
Get kids to read more.
An admirable goal, but
who picked the host*?
*In 1986, LeVar Burton appeared in the music video for the song "Word Up!" by the funk/R&B group Cameo.
GUTS
Oh Agrocraig, you
will haunt my dreams forever.
Sill searching eBay.
Family Matters
I bet you didn't
know that Eddie is now on -
Young and the Resteless
Not great, I know. These aren't ideal working conditions. I'll stick with it.
Word,
-I Heart Palindromes
Solution: the correct ratio of passiveaggressivenotes.com and haiku should be a start. Anything is better than rolling correlation and marginal-contribution-to-risk analysis. True story.
Captain Planet
Our powers combined.
Wow, what great propaganda.
Evil business.
Perfect Strangers
Set in Chicago.
Cousin Balki was the best,
despite the goat thing.
Reading Rainbow
Get kids to read more.
An admirable goal, but
who picked the host*?
*In 1986, LeVar Burton appeared in the music video for the song "Word Up!" by the funk/R&B group Cameo.
GUTS
Oh Agrocraig, you
will haunt my dreams forever.
Sill searching eBay.
Family Matters
I bet you didn't
know that Eddie is now on -
Young and the Resteless
Not great, I know. These aren't ideal working conditions. I'll stick with it.
Word,
-I Heart Palindromes
26 January 2011
Mr. Market Says No Mas
There is essentially no past-time more sacred to anyone who has ever actually traded anything for an institutional hedge fund than mocking the talking heads on CNBC. Part of this emanates from our jealously at the fact that most of them have staggeringly market-applicable collegiate backgrounds in things like British literature or Frisbee golf. The other part comes from a more legitimate objection that they just about always get things dead wrong. I mean that in the most dramatic sense of the concept of being wrong, if we devolve into sports analogies, they aren't simply not in the same ballpark, they're often attempting a hail-Mary pass in a tennis match, at the special Olympics. The implied causation in 99.9% of their "news coverage" is just usually flat-out fictional.
The evolution of this CNBC-hatred follows a very strict exponential path:
1) One morning you'll wake up and hear one of the CNBC parrots squawking about some analyst changing their buy/sell/hold rating. This will not be because it is a slow market news day but instead because Joe CFA level I candidate from XYZ research in Baton Rouge, LA really knows what he's talking about. You take this in stride and explain calmly to your PM that Billy-Joe shouldn't influence the way he runs money (not to mention the fact that you spent two months refining your investment thesis). He agrees with you and the world keeps on spinning.
2) One afternoon shortly after the closing bell Erin Burnett's hair will interview an old white guy wtih billions of dollars who will mention a company that you are short. Post-interview Erin Burnett's hair will read deeply between the lines of the interview and insinuate that the company referenced might be an acquisition target for old white guy. She will be wrong. It won't matter as exactly three retail traders who are waiting around for Jim Cramer's show to start will bid your short up 10% in the after-market on a total of 156 shares that they traded for their 401K, each of them paying $25 to execute said trade. This 10% mark-to-after-market loss will equal hundreds of thousands of dollars to your fund. You explain to your PM that Erin Burnett's hair isn't the one who is a Rhodes Scholar, that's the other girl who's not as pretty. He sticks with your short and Mr. Market sweeps away that retail money by noon the next day. You move on.
3) Finally, the last straw approaches while you're sitting on the trading desk at 7PM on a Thursday evening trying to get your fucking VLOOKUP function to ignore non-alpha-numeric characters so you don't have to re-scrub your data set by hand (dorkville, population: me). That's when your ears will pick up a discernible sound from the high-pitched whining that is emanating from the TV hanging over your head. You will look up to see one of the tickers that you are positioned in prominently floating under Jim Cramer's beer gut as he throws stuffed animals at the camera. You will cringe. You reach up and turn up the volume to find out that Jim "have I mentioned I went to Harvard in the last three seconds" Cramer doesn't like your favorite long position because their employee uniforms are blue and he heard from a soccer mom that she's going to be shopping at a different place for back-to-school supplies this year. This is serious fare from a guy who consistently throws around the phrase "ran a hedge fund" when he really means "blew up a hedge fund... twice". He will throw around terms like cash-flow and earnings growth but the crux of his call will be from the aforementioned soccer mom, also that the CEO's wife's dog walker recently sold their 500 share position and that the CFO's name starts with the letter L. At least from what you can tell before he starts juggling knives on air. You will plead with your PM, as the stock drops 15% in the after-market on the massive 0.0001% of average daily volume that all of Jim's retail minions can muster. Some quant algorithm will pick up on the action and gap the bid/ask 5% on the market open the next morning. Your PM will panic, say something about not wanting to hold the risk over the weekend and blow the position out. You will put up a meager protest but agree.
Three weeks later the stock will be up 15% from your cost basis and Jim Cramer will be recommending it as a long position while humping a plastic cow. You will cry on the inside.
No, seriously, ask around, that's how it goes. What brought this up you might ask? Well, this morning I turned on my television as I made my way to the shower and was horrified to find a Dog The Bounty Hunter episode destroying my early morning sense of calm (almost as bad as real-houswives of DC... though that hasn't happened since I had a certain house-guest). I didn't recall leaving the television on A&E when I went to sleep but there was no time for logical deductions in this matter, I grabbed the remote and pushed in the one channel number I know by heart; CNBC.
I was greeted with this absolute gem:
"Come on now... I know the trade is your friend and you have to be invested at all times, that's your business but give me the odds of a pull back"
That little excerpt was uttered by that short British bald guy who sometimes gets lost in Erin Burnett's hair. I have already gotten worked-up enough about this so I will keep this short. The market cliche is "the trend is your friend" not the trade (the former of which at least has a logical progression, a "trade" isn't inherently directional so I have no idea how I could know if it is my "friend" or "enemy"?). Also, this particular cliche refers to a chartist's approach to investing, who is almost always delta zero overnight (meaning, unlike say a mutual fund manager, they are almost never "invested at all times").
My advice to you short unfortunate-looking British guy (redundant), when you can't even get the cliches right, just pack it up and go home. I mean now, you are cut off.
buy, I mean sell, I mean hold, I mean overweight, I mean underweight, I mean market perform, I mean market outperform, I mean beta-adjusted equal perform in odd numbered years after a presidential cycle in Kenya.
-I Heart Palindromes
The evolution of this CNBC-hatred follows a very strict exponential path:
1) One morning you'll wake up and hear one of the CNBC parrots squawking about some analyst changing their buy/sell/hold rating. This will not be because it is a slow market news day but instead because Joe CFA level I candidate from XYZ research in Baton Rouge, LA really knows what he's talking about. You take this in stride and explain calmly to your PM that Billy-Joe shouldn't influence the way he runs money (not to mention the fact that you spent two months refining your investment thesis). He agrees with you and the world keeps on spinning.
2) One afternoon shortly after the closing bell Erin Burnett's hair will interview an old white guy wtih billions of dollars who will mention a company that you are short. Post-interview Erin Burnett's hair will read deeply between the lines of the interview and insinuate that the company referenced might be an acquisition target for old white guy. She will be wrong. It won't matter as exactly three retail traders who are waiting around for Jim Cramer's show to start will bid your short up 10% in the after-market on a total of 156 shares that they traded for their 401K, each of them paying $25 to execute said trade. This 10% mark-to-after-market loss will equal hundreds of thousands of dollars to your fund. You explain to your PM that Erin Burnett's hair isn't the one who is a Rhodes Scholar, that's the other girl who's not as pretty. He sticks with your short and Mr. Market sweeps away that retail money by noon the next day. You move on.
3) Finally, the last straw approaches while you're sitting on the trading desk at 7PM on a Thursday evening trying to get your fucking VLOOKUP function to ignore non-alpha-numeric characters so you don't have to re-scrub your data set by hand (dorkville, population: me). That's when your ears will pick up a discernible sound from the high-pitched whining that is emanating from the TV hanging over your head. You will look up to see one of the tickers that you are positioned in prominently floating under Jim Cramer's beer gut as he throws stuffed animals at the camera. You will cringe. You reach up and turn up the volume to find out that Jim "have I mentioned I went to Harvard in the last three seconds" Cramer doesn't like your favorite long position because their employee uniforms are blue and he heard from a soccer mom that she's going to be shopping at a different place for back-to-school supplies this year. This is serious fare from a guy who consistently throws around the phrase "ran a hedge fund" when he really means "blew up a hedge fund... twice". He will throw around terms like cash-flow and earnings growth but the crux of his call will be from the aforementioned soccer mom, also that the CEO's wife's dog walker recently sold their 500 share position and that the CFO's name starts with the letter L. At least from what you can tell before he starts juggling knives on air. You will plead with your PM, as the stock drops 15% in the after-market on the massive 0.0001% of average daily volume that all of Jim's retail minions can muster. Some quant algorithm will pick up on the action and gap the bid/ask 5% on the market open the next morning. Your PM will panic, say something about not wanting to hold the risk over the weekend and blow the position out. You will put up a meager protest but agree.
Three weeks later the stock will be up 15% from your cost basis and Jim Cramer will be recommending it as a long position while humping a plastic cow. You will cry on the inside.
No, seriously, ask around, that's how it goes. What brought this up you might ask? Well, this morning I turned on my television as I made my way to the shower and was horrified to find a Dog The Bounty Hunter episode destroying my early morning sense of calm (almost as bad as real-houswives of DC... though that hasn't happened since I had a certain house-guest). I didn't recall leaving the television on A&E when I went to sleep but there was no time for logical deductions in this matter, I grabbed the remote and pushed in the one channel number I know by heart; CNBC.
I was greeted with this absolute gem:
"Come on now... I know the trade is your friend and you have to be invested at all times, that's your business but give me the odds of a pull back"
That little excerpt was uttered by that short British bald guy who sometimes gets lost in Erin Burnett's hair. I have already gotten worked-up enough about this so I will keep this short. The market cliche is "the trend is your friend" not the trade (the former of which at least has a logical progression, a "trade" isn't inherently directional so I have no idea how I could know if it is my "friend" or "enemy"?). Also, this particular cliche refers to a chartist's approach to investing, who is almost always delta zero overnight (meaning, unlike say a mutual fund manager, they are almost never "invested at all times").
My advice to you short unfortunate-looking British guy (redundant), when you can't even get the cliches right, just pack it up and go home. I mean now, you are cut off.
buy, I mean sell, I mean hold, I mean overweight, I mean underweight, I mean market perform, I mean market outperform, I mean beta-adjusted equal perform in odd numbered years after a presidential cycle in Kenya.
-I Heart Palindromes
23 January 2011
Bear Down
While grabbing brunch yesterday with Ducati I noticed that ESPN was doing a special on the NFC/AFC championship game. Upon further investigation, they were doing a "sport science" segment on the physics of Devon Hester's kick returns. This sounds legitimate enough if I stop the description there. The problem is, I just can't bring myself to do that. The kicker: they were comparing the speed/strength read-outs of the Devon Hester analysis against... a real grizzly bear. No, I'm not being figurative here, they had a bear in the studio.
This immediately struck me as essentially the SNL sketch the "Superfans" come to life in 2011. "Who do you like in the Bears vs. Giants on Sunday... well, I have a question... are these real Giants?"
I have a friend in DC who works for ESPN and I broke down and sent her a snarky text message. She noted that when you have big sporting events that have huge lead-in advertising value it is sometimes hard to fill all of the air time. I noted that this doesn't explain why there was a live bear in the ESPN studios surrounded by "scientists". She did't respond, at least not yet.
In any event, Go Bears today. I wish I was going to be dragging Boondock along to century city to watch me shout at televisions while wearing a Bears jersey but alas, I'll have to settle for Ducati. That's a painful sentence to write, ouch. The above bear story never would have made it to the inter-web if I had just been able to share it with the one person that I wanted to hear it. Worse yet, I am incapable of conveying how indignant I was via text. Le sigh.
There's a timeout... where?... on the field!
-I Heart Palindromes
This immediately struck me as essentially the SNL sketch the "Superfans" come to life in 2011. "Who do you like in the Bears vs. Giants on Sunday... well, I have a question... are these real Giants?"
I have a friend in DC who works for ESPN and I broke down and sent her a snarky text message. She noted that when you have big sporting events that have huge lead-in advertising value it is sometimes hard to fill all of the air time. I noted that this doesn't explain why there was a live bear in the ESPN studios surrounded by "scientists". She did't respond, at least not yet.
In any event, Go Bears today. I wish I was going to be dragging Boondock along to century city to watch me shout at televisions while wearing a Bears jersey but alas, I'll have to settle for Ducati. That's a painful sentence to write, ouch. The above bear story never would have made it to the inter-web if I had just been able to share it with the one person that I wanted to hear it. Worse yet, I am incapable of conveying how indignant I was via text. Le sigh.
There's a timeout... where?... on the field!
-I Heart Palindromes
21 January 2011
Really? A Time-share in Greece!?
As Boondock & Jr. Investment Banker know, working "legitimately" in finance, and having had my career directly (read: negatively) impacted by a Ponzi Scheme, leaves my initial reaction to most hedge fund frauds as a mixture of disdain, boredom and vindictiveness. That was, until I read this article from a hedge fund news boutique:
Seriously? There are 48 people out there willing to fork over $100,000 to a guy named James Brandolino? Is this New Jersey? Have I missed something? There has to be a Darwin tax in life at some point, like giving part of your retirement to a guy who says he's running a CTA with $5 million bucks in it. If he's willing to take $100,000 from you it's because he has no capital, which means he's never been a profitable futures trader. Come on now people.
As much as I want to be upset with this guy, I really just want to toss him a $20 and tell him not to buy booze with it. A 2004 BMW? Out of work infomercial hosts out here won't even have anything older than 2006. Just move out to California and take out a second lein on a house, fraud the old-fashioned and federally promoted way.
I think I found a new due diligence question to ask in hedge fund research meetings: "if you had $2 million dollars left to your name, and a year left to live free, what would you buy?" and if the answer is a Rolex and a time-share, the meeting just ends right there.
I wonder if he'll have to lie in prison like guys who are really just there for trying to sell cocaine but insist that they killed a guy two times their size. No, no, no, that's with a B... $3.5MBillion! Poor guy.
Compassionately,
-I Heart Palindromes
A former Chicago hedge fund manager was recently charged with allegedly bilking over $3.5 million from approximately 48 victims in an investment fraud scheme.
Since 2003, James Brandolino, 42, allegedly raised $4.7 million to invest in futures and commodities...
... Bradolino lost half of the total funds invested, and spent the remaining money on a 2004 BMW, a Rolex wristwatch and an interest totaling $107,000 on a condo in Greece
Brandolino faces up to 20 years in prison...
Seriously? There are 48 people out there willing to fork over $100,000 to a guy named James Brandolino? Is this New Jersey? Have I missed something? There has to be a Darwin tax in life at some point, like giving part of your retirement to a guy who says he's running a CTA with $5 million bucks in it. If he's willing to take $100,000 from you it's because he has no capital, which means he's never been a profitable futures trader. Come on now people.
As much as I want to be upset with this guy, I really just want to toss him a $20 and tell him not to buy booze with it. A 2004 BMW? Out of work infomercial hosts out here won't even have anything older than 2006. Just move out to California and take out a second lein on a house, fraud the old-fashioned and federally promoted way.
I think I found a new due diligence question to ask in hedge fund research meetings: "if you had $2 million dollars left to your name, and a year left to live free, what would you buy?" and if the answer is a Rolex and a time-share, the meeting just ends right there.
I wonder if he'll have to lie in prison like guys who are really just there for trying to sell cocaine but insist that they killed a guy two times their size. No, no, no, that's with a B... $3.5
Compassionately,
-I Heart Palindromes
20 January 2011
Relativity
On my way into the office this morning I was stuck rolling (at a Los Angeles-esque three miles-per-hour) behind a Toyota Lexus SUV. After snapping out of my Green Day induced trance (yes, my iPod has a flux capacitor set to 1997) I managed to become aware of the lone Bumper sticker on said Lexus:
"My child was student of the month in Mrs. X's 5th grade class at Low Expectations Elementary"
Seriously? This is what we've come to? Now, given the mosaic theory, I can compile a few key facts and draw a reasonable conclusion:
a) I live in Santa Monica
b) I work in west Los Angeles, just south of Hollywood
c) TheToyota Lexus
d) They were also coming from Santa Monica
From that I can deduce that the next Norman Einstein doesn't attend an overcrowded inner-city school with fifty-five classmates. In fact, he probably goes to one of the many prep schools in the area that likely have class sizes in the mid-twenties at most. I know there are only nine months in a school year but come on, we're handing out "best" awards to 33% of kids now? Name a single pursuit in life that has a 33% rate of notable over-achievement? there isn't anything that is even close. The only things that even have 33% or higher success rates are the binary ones or instances wehre the mean, maximum and minimum are so close that everyone just hovers around the average (think of an important example, like the amount of time anyone over the age of 13 can listen to a Miley Cyrus song... answer: 43 second average, 44 second maximum, 39 second minimum).
Last time I checked, success in fifth grade essentially meant being able to resist the urge to talk to your BFF (who you had invested three hours of orchestration that Patton would have been proud of, in order to sit next to) while the teacher was talking. I'm just saying.
I would like to think to myself that this phenomenon is specific to LA and will thus be awarding it one more point in it's effort to crush my soul. If I ever get the chance to raise an I Heart Palindromes Jr. and he brings home something like this I will do what Uncle #3 of 5 did when presented with a horrendously large art project (made mostly of plywood and glitter, from what I could tell) that his daughter won an "award" for. He looked at it, told her he was proud, and then put it in the dumpster behind the school when she wasn't looking. He certainly didn't take pictures of it and plaster it on the back of his car.
Yeah, I know what you're thinking. I'm sure I'll end up tempering. Boondock could always do that, but not enough to condone a student of the month bumper sticker. Ever.
Los Angeles: 5,383 -- I Heart Palindromes: 0
-I Heart Palindromes
"My child was student of the month in Mrs. X's 5th grade class at Low Expectations Elementary"
Seriously? This is what we've come to? Now, given the mosaic theory, I can compile a few key facts and draw a reasonable conclusion:
a) I live in Santa Monica
b) I work in west Los Angeles, just south of Hollywood
c) The
d) They were also coming from Santa Monica
From that I can deduce that the next Norman Einstein doesn't attend an overcrowded inner-city school with fifty-five classmates. In fact, he probably goes to one of the many prep schools in the area that likely have class sizes in the mid-twenties at most. I know there are only nine months in a school year but come on, we're handing out "best" awards to 33% of kids now? Name a single pursuit in life that has a 33% rate of notable over-achievement? there isn't anything that is even close. The only things that even have 33% or higher success rates are the binary ones or instances wehre the mean, maximum and minimum are so close that everyone just hovers around the average (think of an important example, like the amount of time anyone over the age of 13 can listen to a Miley Cyrus song... answer: 43 second average, 44 second maximum, 39 second minimum).
Last time I checked, success in fifth grade essentially meant being able to resist the urge to talk to your BFF (who you had invested three hours of orchestration that Patton would have been proud of, in order to sit next to) while the teacher was talking. I'm just saying.
I would like to think to myself that this phenomenon is specific to LA and will thus be awarding it one more point in it's effort to crush my soul. If I ever get the chance to raise an I Heart Palindromes Jr. and he brings home something like this I will do what Uncle #3 of 5 did when presented with a horrendously large art project (made mostly of plywood and glitter, from what I could tell) that his daughter won an "award" for. He looked at it, told her he was proud, and then put it in the dumpster behind the school when she wasn't looking. He certainly didn't take pictures of it and plaster it on the back of his car.
Yeah, I know what you're thinking. I'm sure I'll end up tempering. Boondock could always do that, but not enough to condone a student of the month bumper sticker. Ever.
Los Angeles: 5,383 -- I Heart Palindromes: 0
-I Heart Palindromes
18 January 2011
On a Rounding Basis
I live a life of contradictions. It is more exciting that way. I have an intense aversion to cliches but I also have an intense aversion to hipster's aversion to cliches. Yes, I am working on a powerpoint flow-chart to demonstrate this. I have, for the moment, run out of auto-shapes however, so that plan will be pending MSFT getting a little more creative.
I almost always refer to companies via their stock symbols, an out-growth of my early career as an equities analyst. It is somewhat surprising that the brain can retain very literally thousands of three-to-four character combinations that can often be rather similar. You would figure that some of that stuff would have fallen out of my brain by now but that just isn't the case. Yet I can only remember three birthdays by heart: The Legend, Boondock, The Dancing Orange. For two of those I have found a way to cheat at remembering. For the last it is only because I grew up being constantly reminded of the number of days older she was than me, which was a really subtle form of elitism. I always get confused with The Sky is Falling (terrible I know) because hers is so close to Thanksgiving (one of those odd holiday's tied to a day of the week instead of just the date) which always confuses me. I am easily confused, evidently. There is very little need for me to recall the birthdays of The Hammer, The Delorian, and The General because, well, we're boys.
It is really remarkable what gets stuck up there and what doesn't. I can't recall the names of just about any of my high school teachers or college professors but I can remember my high school girlfriend's phone number? That doesn't seem terribly useful. As the moniker of this blog would highlight, I have always had a thing for numbers. Naturally, this means that I subject the inter-web to my writing. Again, those wonderful contradictions.
I really enjoy writing Haiku, though never about nature like they're supposed to be. I like having to reduce an idea or a memory to that finite of a space. It just makes you think about things differently. Most of what I read is non-fiction but I did an independent study in creative writing at one point. I had a short story about baseball published nationally when I was in high school which instilled high hopes in The Sky is Falling. Alas, the gardening industry was too powerful a force to resist. My Philosophy professors in college (the ones' whose names I can't remember) were always indignant to find out that I was also a Finance major. It was outwardly demoralizing thing for them to realize that I could understand their gig so well without the same level of reverence for it. That's probably how born-again Christians feel about Biblical scholars who also happen to be gay... or worse, Irish Catholic.
There are commonalities in all of those things, of course. I gravitate toward things that rely on logic and structure. I have always been decent at identifying drivers of complex systems, about the only prerequisite to being friends with Mr. Market. The Chicago Mr. Market, not the New York Mr. Market, these are very different sirs, the latter is prone to spending far too much time at Brooks Brothers. Oh, but I live in Los Angeles? Don't worry, it makes sense.
-I Heart Plaindromes
I almost always refer to companies via their stock symbols, an out-growth of my early career as an equities analyst. It is somewhat surprising that the brain can retain very literally thousands of three-to-four character combinations that can often be rather similar. You would figure that some of that stuff would have fallen out of my brain by now but that just isn't the case. Yet I can only remember three birthdays by heart: The Legend, Boondock, The Dancing Orange. For two of those I have found a way to cheat at remembering. For the last it is only because I grew up being constantly reminded of the number of days older she was than me, which was a really subtle form of elitism. I always get confused with The Sky is Falling (terrible I know) because hers is so close to Thanksgiving (one of those odd holiday's tied to a day of the week instead of just the date) which always confuses me. I am easily confused, evidently. There is very little need for me to recall the birthdays of The Hammer, The Delorian, and The General because, well, we're boys.
It is really remarkable what gets stuck up there and what doesn't. I can't recall the names of just about any of my high school teachers or college professors but I can remember my high school girlfriend's phone number? That doesn't seem terribly useful. As the moniker of this blog would highlight, I have always had a thing for numbers. Naturally, this means that I subject the inter-web to my writing. Again, those wonderful contradictions.
I really enjoy writing Haiku, though never about nature like they're supposed to be. I like having to reduce an idea or a memory to that finite of a space. It just makes you think about things differently. Most of what I read is non-fiction but I did an independent study in creative writing at one point. I had a short story about baseball published nationally when I was in high school which instilled high hopes in The Sky is Falling. Alas, the gardening industry was too powerful a force to resist. My Philosophy professors in college (the ones' whose names I can't remember) were always indignant to find out that I was also a Finance major. It was outwardly demoralizing thing for them to realize that I could understand their gig so well without the same level of reverence for it. That's probably how born-again Christians feel about Biblical scholars who also happen to be gay... or worse, Irish Catholic.
There are commonalities in all of those things, of course. I gravitate toward things that rely on logic and structure. I have always been decent at identifying drivers of complex systems, about the only prerequisite to being friends with Mr. Market. The Chicago Mr. Market, not the New York Mr. Market, these are very different sirs, the latter is prone to spending far too much time at Brooks Brothers. Oh, but I live in Los Angeles? Don't worry, it makes sense.
-I Heart Plaindromes
Fore
I've spent a fair amount of time awake at these hours lately, paralyzed by my stream-of-consciousness brain and its inability to shut off. Twelve year-old Scotch will usually do the trick but I've only been imbibing for the right reasons recently, an important distinction.
I'm awake because of being unsettled, of trying to rationalize and become comfortable with a new set of facts. I have always wanted the things that I create to be rooted in humor before anything else, I have found that harder recently than it has ever been before but that doesn't mean I remain any less committed to it than I have always been. The potential that springs from a quantitative aptitude and a love for dinosaurs really does seem limitless. Ever expanding like the universe.
I have never been jaded or particularly cynical and I don't really care to add those things to my repertoire. I would instead like to think that the perpetually smiling blue-eyed kid that exists in every family photo is still at the heart of me. I don't think I have ever thought so much about being forgotten or finite as I have recently. Those just aren't distinctions that I would wish upon anyone, finite is about the antithesis of how I view the world. Life isn't a zero-sum game you know, you don't balance off what you give and what you get, that's why accountants aren't much fun, it isn't a very relevant skill set to being good at life.
So here I am, trying to tilt the balance back toward myself. I'm not good at turning off my self-reflection, I'm incapable of putting my head down and moving past things that I could only mislead myself into thinking aren't important. So instead I have a plan; protect what matters to me, remain the committed and rather certain version of myself that I know I will always be. I think I am better that way, best as a witty supportive partner in crime. Always prepared with the next joke, even if I know it is going to sail over heads like the last one. That just functions as a good screen of those around me, I know to pay more attention to the one's that laugh. Boondock for one, always my favorite.
I know what matters to me and so does everyone else who stops to listen for more than a few minutes. Those priorities haven't changed a bit in a rather long time and in order to let my head finally rest I'm not going to try to figure out if they should have. They didn't and I actually think I prefer it that way. Certainty provides calm in that respect. I'm going to hold on pretty tightly to those things, they just mean too much to me to let them go or distort them. The part that my head has been searching for is some kind of external OK. I never needed one before, I don't know why I would want one now, fear does odd things to people. I think the odds are still in my favor that I am more substantial than that, more valuable than that. I really liked that thought right there, I think I'll leave it at that.
Good morning Mr. Market,
-BRM
I'm awake because of being unsettled, of trying to rationalize and become comfortable with a new set of facts. I have always wanted the things that I create to be rooted in humor before anything else, I have found that harder recently than it has ever been before but that doesn't mean I remain any less committed to it than I have always been. The potential that springs from a quantitative aptitude and a love for dinosaurs really does seem limitless. Ever expanding like the universe.
I have never been jaded or particularly cynical and I don't really care to add those things to my repertoire. I would instead like to think that the perpetually smiling blue-eyed kid that exists in every family photo is still at the heart of me. I don't think I have ever thought so much about being forgotten or finite as I have recently. Those just aren't distinctions that I would wish upon anyone, finite is about the antithesis of how I view the world. Life isn't a zero-sum game you know, you don't balance off what you give and what you get, that's why accountants aren't much fun, it isn't a very relevant skill set to being good at life.
So here I am, trying to tilt the balance back toward myself. I'm not good at turning off my self-reflection, I'm incapable of putting my head down and moving past things that I could only mislead myself into thinking aren't important. So instead I have a plan; protect what matters to me, remain the committed and rather certain version of myself that I know I will always be. I think I am better that way, best as a witty supportive partner in crime. Always prepared with the next joke, even if I know it is going to sail over heads like the last one. That just functions as a good screen of those around me, I know to pay more attention to the one's that laugh. Boondock for one, always my favorite.
I know what matters to me and so does everyone else who stops to listen for more than a few minutes. Those priorities haven't changed a bit in a rather long time and in order to let my head finally rest I'm not going to try to figure out if they should have. They didn't and I actually think I prefer it that way. Certainty provides calm in that respect. I'm going to hold on pretty tightly to those things, they just mean too much to me to let them go or distort them. The part that my head has been searching for is some kind of external OK. I never needed one before, I don't know why I would want one now, fear does odd things to people. I think the odds are still in my favor that I am more substantial than that, more valuable than that. I really liked that thought right there, I think I'll leave it at that.
Good morning Mr. Market,
-BRM
17 January 2011
MLK JR B-DAY
It is gorgeous here right now, as in Summer-esque weather in the middle of January. The long weekend has made a serious dent in my farmer's tan which is nice. That's about all I have to show for it though, not as enjoyable as it could have been.
The good doctor was all about perseverance and quiet strength, good concepts from just about any angle. I could use a bit of both today.
In undergrad me and the housemates used to do a weekend trip to Windsor Canada because we figured that was what all the struggle over equality was all about. Or something like that.
I hear the PCH and a newly full iPod calling.
-I Heart Palindromes
The good doctor was all about perseverance and quiet strength, good concepts from just about any angle. I could use a bit of both today.
In undergrad me and the housemates used to do a weekend trip to Windsor Canada because we figured that was what all the struggle over equality was all about. Or something like that.
I hear the PCH and a newly full iPod calling.
-I Heart Palindromes
14 January 2011
Amazeballs
Los Angeles: 5,382 -- I Heart Palindromes: 0
You will note to the right that it is rather California outside today. It was just as I was thinking this that our CFO popped his head into my office to tell me that the office is closing at 12:30 today. Yeah, we're in Los Angeles, we do that kind of thing. The market hasn't even closed in New York and these guys are already on the golf course. Given that it's 12:13 at the moment, I figured this post would be as good a way as any of capping the week.
All I want to do is tuck into the corner of La Grande Orange with Boondock, a few beers, some travel-plan schematics and a lot of conversation. In lieu of that I am going to go hit the links with Uncle #3 of 5 and then probably head back to his house for a family dinner. Yes I am lame, I have learned to embrace it. It tastes like freedom.
When I first moved out here I couldn't understand why anyone would put up with Los Angeles. After a few weekends kicking around town with my favorite VT it became much more evident. I am going to try to embrace that to the full extent of my somewhat limited abilities.
Uncle #3 of 5 made a comment to me shortly after I informed him that I was moving west, one that hinted that my presence in CA ran counter to the natural order of things. Well, I have to admit that I am not so sure the world is the way it should be at the moment, things seem non-sensically out of place, so I might as well embrace being off-kilter for a bit. Always hoping for a mean reversion, I remain the eternal optimist. I also remain taller than average.
The sun can't fix those things but it can certainly make it an ounce or two better.
Lastly, as an aside, I realized today that the audience for this blog has expanded beyond what I had realized. With that in mind, from the bottom of my heart... I promise I will try to be funnier. No warranty about results but effort will abound.
DJ Tanner,
-I Heart Palindromes
13 January 2011
Market Maker
You either hit the bid
or lift the offer.
You can do neither.
You can't do both.
or lift the offer.
You can do neither.
You can't do both.
You can't lift a bid
or hit an offer
either -- or
they will DK the trade.
or hit an offer
either -- or
they will DK the trade.
These are simple concepts.
They would have to be,
the floor brokers
are usually drunk.
They would have to be,
the floor brokers
are usually drunk.
"Dino B"
Sometimes, it is comforting to know that the world does indeed hold a few constants. It is markedly enjoyable, at times, to be confronted with something static about yourself, something that you begin to think of as inherent in the person that you are. These foundational traits can be sources of strength during upheavals. Alternatively, they can be guide-posts by which you can judge your current actions and decisions in an effort to be a more stable and confident version of yourself. Self-reflection and evaluation, after all, are the basis of a responsible life.
That is why, as part of The Sky is Falling's move, I found going through my old records to be a particularly valuable use of an afternoon (which is why it has naturally taken me approximately six months to capitulate to its inevitability). In any event, going through the paper-work of young I Heart Palindromes I was struck by two equally significant motifs.
1) I was a ridiculously smart kid. This must have been particularly disappointing for my parents to be promised so much and yet, in my young adulthood, be delivered an equities analyst with hedge fund tastes and CFA-dreams. In all seriousness, I had no idea that there were so many institutions devoted to reminding a grade school, middle school, and high school student how epically brilliant he was. All of those certificates, plaques, letters and ribbons are now located at a Waste Management facility somewhere outside the city of Chicago (I would like to think Gary, IN for the poetics of it).
2) I fucking love Dinosaurs.
Exhibit A: My first known publication.
Much like Sting, there is no need for my full name to be attached to my works of literary genius. I am glad that I understood the importance of branding at such an early age. The simple moniker of "Brian" will suffice. Needless to say, the title A Bear and a Penguin and a Dinosaur is more existential than literal. I do believe that this could also, very well, be my new band name or potentially the greatest title for a one-man play ever. The possibilities are really endless, which I am sure was my intention when I crafted it... in first grade.
You may have to click on the image to enlarge the photo in order to read this masterpiece. I strongly suggest you do or you will be woefully unprepared for the surprise ending that remains in store. A few things I would like to note:
a) I had an early grasp of ecosystems as I have plausibly posited that a bear, a penguin and a dinosaur could only meet at the north pole. While there are bears (and potentially dinosaurs) at the south pole, there are no penguins and thus such a meeting would be preposterous. I am fairly certain that most thirty-year-old's that you know are unaware of this fact. Points to six-year-old I Heart Palindromes, all of those certificates must have been correct -- I showed great promise.
b) I have shown an uncanny compassion for diversity, clearly breaking down bear/penguin/dinosaur-cism by allowing all three animals to live happily in a single house together; really forward-thinking for 1990. I was clearly rather brave. Note that I have also placed a common enemy in the protagonists' midst, an essential to any good moral tale.
c) I have no idea what the pool in the desert was about, I have a hypothesis that it had something to do with the unfortunate unlikeliness of such an uplifting tale of acceptance and friendship... but my brief analysis does not leave me sufficiently convinced of my six-year-old literary intentions.
Exhibit C: The End.
What a shocking turn of events. First, I am struck by my rather early grasp of market dynamics. I believe I was juxtaposing the intangible value of time with the tangible asset of a clock, which can only measure time.
I would also like to point out that, throughout this entire epic, we have not been given much to go on by way of the other two character's relationship with the dinosaur. In retrospect, I believe that this may have been too sophisticated a structure for a first grade audience. I believe that I was trying to leave the dinosaur's presence as somewhat mythical (as dinosaurs always are... until they eat you). In any event, I don't think that this detracts from the story too terribly.
It's either that or I just fucking loved dinosaurs. Take that Pulitzer.
Either way, it is good to know that some things never change.
Word,
-I Heart Palindromes
That is why, as part of The Sky is Falling's move, I found going through my old records to be a particularly valuable use of an afternoon (which is why it has naturally taken me approximately six months to capitulate to its inevitability). In any event, going through the paper-work of young I Heart Palindromes I was struck by two equally significant motifs.
1) I was a ridiculously smart kid. This must have been particularly disappointing for my parents to be promised so much and yet, in my young adulthood, be delivered an equities analyst with hedge fund tastes and CFA-dreams. In all seriousness, I had no idea that there were so many institutions devoted to reminding a grade school, middle school, and high school student how epically brilliant he was. All of those certificates, plaques, letters and ribbons are now located at a Waste Management facility somewhere outside the city of Chicago (I would like to think Gary, IN for the poetics of it).
2) I fucking love Dinosaurs.
Exhibit A: My first known publication.
Exhibit B: Chapter 1.
a) I had an early grasp of ecosystems as I have plausibly posited that a bear, a penguin and a dinosaur could only meet at the north pole. While there are bears (and potentially dinosaurs) at the south pole, there are no penguins and thus such a meeting would be preposterous. I am fairly certain that most thirty-year-old's that you know are unaware of this fact. Points to six-year-old I Heart Palindromes, all of those certificates must have been correct -- I showed great promise.
b) I have shown an uncanny compassion for diversity, clearly breaking down bear/penguin/dinosaur-cism by allowing all three animals to live happily in a single house together; really forward-thinking for 1990. I was clearly rather brave. Note that I have also placed a common enemy in the protagonists' midst, an essential to any good moral tale.
c) I have no idea what the pool in the desert was about, I have a hypothesis that it had something to do with the unfortunate unlikeliness of such an uplifting tale of acceptance and friendship... but my brief analysis does not leave me sufficiently convinced of my six-year-old literary intentions.
Exhibit C: The End.
I would also like to point out that, throughout this entire epic, we have not been given much to go on by way of the other two character's relationship with the dinosaur. In retrospect, I believe that this may have been too sophisticated a structure for a first grade audience. I believe that I was trying to leave the dinosaur's presence as somewhat mythical (as dinosaurs always are... until they eat you). In any event, I don't think that this detracts from the story too terribly.
It's either that or I just fucking loved dinosaurs. Take that Pulitzer.
Either way, it is good to know that some things never change.
Word,
-I Heart Palindromes
12 January 2011
Haiku Part Deux
It is only modestly disturbing that the best education the world has ever been able to furnish has not been able to displace this data from my head. In good news, Haiku give me a tremendous opportunity to count on my fingers. A truly liberating experience.
Bill Nye, The Science Guy
Bill, that grass car is sweet.
Thanks for not mentioning that
girls hate science dorks.
Full House
Three men raise family.
The uncle plays with puppets.
Now, twins turn to drugs.
Saved By The Bell
Slater was a douche.
Zack was always too preppy.
Jessie later strips.
The Smurfs
Central planning, eh?
What a great lesson for kids.
Soviets in blue.
Hey Dude
I just can't believe
a show with an Indian
that is named "Danny"
Double-Dare
Red team versus blue.
With all that is known now,
Please don't slime the host
A-Team,
-I Heart Palindromes
Bill Nye, The Science Guy
Bill, that grass car is sweet.
Thanks for not mentioning that
girls hate science dorks.
Full House
Three men raise family.
The uncle plays with puppets.
Now, twins turn to drugs.
Saved By The Bell
Slater was a douche.
Zack was always too preppy.
Jessie later strips.
The Smurfs
Central planning, eh?
What a great lesson for kids.
Soviets in blue.
Hey Dude
I just can't believe
a show with an Indian
that is named "Danny"
Double-Dare
Red team versus blue.
With all that is known now,
Please don't slime the host
A-Team,
-I Heart Palindromes
11 January 2011
Big City Now Now... Beep Beep
"I haven't found anywhere in the world where I want to be all the time. The best of my life is the moving. I look forward to going." -S. Connery
If you can't ascend to James Bond, who can you agree with? That seems like reasonable logic to me. I remember standing at the end of the bar at Ceres (where traders from the CBOT/CBOE go for their Bloody Bulls at 7AM) with The Legend on his sixty-third birthday. It just so happened that some synapse in my brain fired and I noted that, since both The Legend's birthday and my own fell in the month of June, I was pretty close to exactly a third his age. That's when our shared sense of humor came out:
"Wow, I can't believe that I'm a third dead" -I. H. Palindromes
I ended up being a lot closer on that one than I had wanted to be, or at least on half of it. Deadpool still reminds me of that one, he also found it humorous at the time and even funnier in retrospect, that makes one of us.
In any event, the great Scotsman got me thinking about a recurring topic that my idle brain likes to kick around a fair amount. I am ridiculously and inexplicably lucky. This isn't a new concept for me. I remember telling friends in undergrad that since my heart had stopped beating when I was born, for a rather prolonged period of time, God must have already thought he had done away with me. Therefore, I reasoned, the standard diet of hubris and tough breaks that seemed to be doled out to those around me never managed to make their way to my plate. I think he may have heard me.
With all sincerity however, one of the best things in the world that came out of being the son of The Legend & The Sky is Falling was that travel was a requirement. While my "crushingly underfunded, 50% failure rate, overcrowded" primary school friends were making their way off to the Wisconsin Dells for summer vacation, my parents packed me and The Dancing Orange up for California, Hawaii, London, Tokyo, etc. I have half a Lupe Fiasco song in there. Not satisfied with the simple task of getting to a far-flung destination, my mother would canvas every museum, cultural center and landmark of historical significance she could locate. Then she would make me write book reports on them. You read that right, book reports in the summer. My father found every golf course with historical significance, which I also appreciated.
There were a few absolutely irreplaceable outcomes for me in all of this. First, I got to understand very early on that I was a minority (no no, not literally... come on now). The world was filled with people very different than me who lived in places that looked nothing like where I lived and valued things that I had barely even observed. Second, it propelled me to read a disturbing amount. How do you get a twelve-year-old to pick up The Letters of Seneca? put him on Kauai for six weeks pre-cell phones and satellite cable. These are the advantages that parents confer on their children for which they will never be thanked (until said child does so anonymously to the inter-web). Touching, I know. I want to make sure I can do the same for my kids someday, make them miserable in ways that they will grow-up to appreciate. Man those are going to be some lucky kids.
I now find myself in Los Angeles. I have lived in other hub-cities, most of which were patently more enjoyable, none of which had as nice of weather. Given my terminal case of finance-dorkiness (no, seriously, I have an HP12-C... no... as in I can reach out and grab it with my left hand right now...) I always assumed that I would end up in New York or Chicago. Perhaps I could have fathomed San Francisco or Boston if I ended up working for an odd asset manager. That's what this blog was born out of (outside of a certain more primary catalyst). I was looking for a way to vent about the ridiculousness of this non-city city. This place without character, a flaw that everyone seems to get over because it's always the same outside. "Don't worry, she's not all that enjoyable, not particularly bright, kind of difficult to deal with... but MAN is she consistently pretty!"
Yeah, guess what, they were almost right. I can still say rather confidently that I won't be here forever. I'm sticking around for a little bit more of life to develop first but I do know, at some point, I'll be confronted with at least the option to go elsewhere. The enjoyable thing for me is that the last two years (well, more like 19 months, but who's counting) have taught me what will actually get me to stay in one place. I've moved cities four times and apartments about eight since I left undergrad. I have finally found the one thing that can keep me static, and that's somewhat exciting. What is that thing you ask? Well, I'll give you a hint, it's on the back page of my passport. Crushing. Irony.
Now, off to dinner in Santa Monica, a return to more overtly clever and funny (at least as funny as can be expected from a guy who employs HP12C-based humor) material soon (I promise). Also, more photos (I just did mental jazz-hands to exclaim that last phrase).
Save Ferris,
-I Heart Palindromes
If you can't ascend to James Bond, who can you agree with? That seems like reasonable logic to me. I remember standing at the end of the bar at Ceres (where traders from the CBOT/CBOE go for their Bloody Bulls at 7AM) with The Legend on his sixty-third birthday. It just so happened that some synapse in my brain fired and I noted that, since both The Legend's birthday and my own fell in the month of June, I was pretty close to exactly a third his age. That's when our shared sense of humor came out:
"Wow, I can't believe that I'm a third dead" -I. H. Palindromes
I ended up being a lot closer on that one than I had wanted to be, or at least on half of it. Deadpool still reminds me of that one, he also found it humorous at the time and even funnier in retrospect, that makes one of us.
In any event, the great Scotsman got me thinking about a recurring topic that my idle brain likes to kick around a fair amount. I am ridiculously and inexplicably lucky. This isn't a new concept for me. I remember telling friends in undergrad that since my heart had stopped beating when I was born, for a rather prolonged period of time, God must have already thought he had done away with me. Therefore, I reasoned, the standard diet of hubris and tough breaks that seemed to be doled out to those around me never managed to make their way to my plate. I think he may have heard me.
With all sincerity however, one of the best things in the world that came out of being the son of The Legend & The Sky is Falling was that travel was a requirement. While my "crushingly underfunded, 50% failure rate, overcrowded" primary school friends were making their way off to the Wisconsin Dells for summer vacation, my parents packed me and The Dancing Orange up for California, Hawaii, London, Tokyo, etc. I have half a Lupe Fiasco song in there. Not satisfied with the simple task of getting to a far-flung destination, my mother would canvas every museum, cultural center and landmark of historical significance she could locate. Then she would make me write book reports on them. You read that right, book reports in the summer. My father found every golf course with historical significance, which I also appreciated.
There were a few absolutely irreplaceable outcomes for me in all of this. First, I got to understand very early on that I was a minority (no no, not literally... come on now). The world was filled with people very different than me who lived in places that looked nothing like where I lived and valued things that I had barely even observed. Second, it propelled me to read a disturbing amount. How do you get a twelve-year-old to pick up The Letters of Seneca? put him on Kauai for six weeks pre-cell phones and satellite cable. These are the advantages that parents confer on their children for which they will never be thanked (until said child does so anonymously to the inter-web). Touching, I know. I want to make sure I can do the same for my kids someday, make them miserable in ways that they will grow-up to appreciate. Man those are going to be some lucky kids.
I now find myself in Los Angeles. I have lived in other hub-cities, most of which were patently more enjoyable, none of which had as nice of weather. Given my terminal case of finance-dorkiness (no, seriously, I have an HP12-C... no... as in I can reach out and grab it with my left hand right now...) I always assumed that I would end up in New York or Chicago. Perhaps I could have fathomed San Francisco or Boston if I ended up working for an odd asset manager. That's what this blog was born out of (outside of a certain more primary catalyst). I was looking for a way to vent about the ridiculousness of this non-city city. This place without character, a flaw that everyone seems to get over because it's always the same outside. "Don't worry, she's not all that enjoyable, not particularly bright, kind of difficult to deal with... but MAN is she consistently pretty!"
Yeah, guess what, they were almost right. I can still say rather confidently that I won't be here forever. I'm sticking around for a little bit more of life to develop first but I do know, at some point, I'll be confronted with at least the option to go elsewhere. The enjoyable thing for me is that the last two years (well, more like 19 months, but who's counting) have taught me what will actually get me to stay in one place. I've moved cities four times and apartments about eight since I left undergrad. I have finally found the one thing that can keep me static, and that's somewhat exciting. What is that thing you ask? Well, I'll give you a hint, it's on the back page of my passport. Crushing. Irony.
Now, off to dinner in Santa Monica, a return to more overtly clever and funny (at least as funny as can be expected from a guy who employs HP12C-based humor) material soon (I promise). Also, more photos (I just did mental jazz-hands to exclaim that last phrase).
Save Ferris,
-I Heart Palindromes
10 January 2011
Momentum
Yeah, I've always been more of a deep-value kind of guy. Something about being asked to read all that Graham and Buffett stuff when I was far too young to even be thinking about what I wanted to do with my life. I was too young to even be thinking about things in the context of a life, frankly. I stepped foot on the floor of the Chicago Board of Trade for the first time when I was sixteen and my future narrowed dramatically. I have absolutely no idea what I would do if I wasn't doing this; one of those moments where you realize the real currency of serendipity. Not serendipity as an explanation for randomness but serendipity as an explanation for natural order. If I was born five years earlier there would have been no such thing as the hedge fund industry (in any accessible sense) when I needed to be cutting my teeth. I would have absolutely tanked as a mutual fund guy. The concept of doing stock research for a wealth management firm makes me want to opt instead for a Ph.D. in arcane Russian literature just so that when I ended up miserable, I wouldn't have to explain it to people. I've got the golf game of a commercial banker but that's about where the commonalities end. You might as well put me on a desk at a sell-side firm and ask me if that small cap stock is going to make $57.2 cents in Q4 or 52.7 cents. Now that's a really depressing thought. That kind of timing is too lucky to be luck. At least that's the way it feels to me.
Four years in, Mr. Market decided to make Black Monday in '87 look mauve. I can say this without the usual false-bravado of a kid who wasn't there because the guys I worked for had been. Oh, and they weren't wealth management guys telling their clients to get long Coca Cola and short IBM, they were floor brokers, locals and market makers in the pits at the CBOE -- you know, the markets that run on theta, delta, vega, gamma not this buy/sell/accumulate/underwight/overweight/market perform/underperform bullshit... enough. They told me it was worse, down to a man. This wasn't paper loses and failures of fly-by-night over-margined brokerage firms. This was the decapitation of entire bell-weathers. Bear who? This was the failure of fundamental transaction systems. What do you mean my T-Bills didn't settle? This will be the failure of sovereigns that have never failed before and the end of a number of economic cultures. You won't have to learn the terms default and cram-down in just Spanish. Just try to even fathom how you saw "shoot the equity holders" in Icelandic. I didn't bring enough consonants for that. Who ever thought the day would come when it wasn't just the habitually corrupt, impossibly backward, meaninglessly educated South American's that you'd have to look out for? Here I thought the only death-nail to the basic understanding of sovereign debt service was having been settled by Spain.
That's how the guys that let me run their tickets for them at the CBOT knew I'd hack it. I cherished their morbid sense of humor.
There is more death imagery in this industry than Italian literature:
Make sure you don't try to catch that falling knife with your bare hands, because you know that even a dead-cat bounces. Don't put on that widow-maker fighting the contango in the nat. gas unless you're OK to get carried out on a stretcher. Don't blow yourself up getting squeezed on that short, cut your losses quickly, don't bleed the position to death. It's tough to suffer losses but it is important not to go nuclear. The stock isn't down, it's getting hammered, crushed, destroyed or killed. Even M&A bankers can't escape the reality with all of their WASP gentleness. That company wasn't purchased, acquired, sold or bought. It was "taken out".
But you know what? I'm still here. Those same guys who told me how bad it was told me how lucky I was. Lucky to be going through something 40-year old investment bankers with two kids, a wife and a girlfriend to support were also just understanding for the first time. I was an all cash balance sheet with a cash-flow issue not a currently cash-flowing CDO^3 with a write-down issue. Three years on, I think they were right.
I don't know when it happened but lately I feel a lot older. Happier with and more confident in myself. Knowing that with all the advantages I took to get here, the last three years have been my own. They've been my own failures and my own successes. I am more able than I had hoped to be at this point in my life and that counts for something. I understand things faster and more completely than I used to. I can't watch CNBC or read the WSJ anymore for information flow because when even the guys at the FT are getting it wrong I know full well the former aren't even close. I am not a cliche. I'm not vain (vanity is the cancer of far too many otherwise interesting people). I am just older. I've worked, I've paid attention and I've learned the importance of being stubbornly humble. A lot of that success people view as their own is just delta anyway, the faster you learn that the better.
I like this trajectory in life; the deeper breaths and the more reasoned and tempered heartbeats. The feeling of real steadfast connections to ideas, concepts and people. If I haven't been shaken from those things yet, I think the odds are I won't. I like that. With a lot of runway still as a given, I don't think anything is intractable.
Now if only Dick Clark would die...
WWMMD,
-I Heart Palindromes
Four years in, Mr. Market decided to make Black Monday in '87 look mauve. I can say this without the usual false-bravado of a kid who wasn't there because the guys I worked for had been. Oh, and they weren't wealth management guys telling their clients to get long Coca Cola and short IBM, they were floor brokers, locals and market makers in the pits at the CBOE -- you know, the markets that run on theta, delta, vega, gamma not this buy/sell/accumulate/underwight/overweight/market perform/underperform bullshit... enough. They told me it was worse, down to a man. This wasn't paper loses and failures of fly-by-night over-margined brokerage firms. This was the decapitation of entire bell-weathers. Bear who? This was the failure of fundamental transaction systems. What do you mean my T-Bills didn't settle? This will be the failure of sovereigns that have never failed before and the end of a number of economic cultures. You won't have to learn the terms default and cram-down in just Spanish. Just try to even fathom how you saw "shoot the equity holders" in Icelandic. I didn't bring enough consonants for that. Who ever thought the day would come when it wasn't just the habitually corrupt, impossibly backward, meaninglessly educated South American's that you'd have to look out for? Here I thought the only death-nail to the basic understanding of sovereign debt service was having been settled by Spain.
That's how the guys that let me run their tickets for them at the CBOT knew I'd hack it. I cherished their morbid sense of humor.
There is more death imagery in this industry than Italian literature:
Make sure you don't try to catch that falling knife with your bare hands, because you know that even a dead-cat bounces. Don't put on that widow-maker fighting the contango in the nat. gas unless you're OK to get carried out on a stretcher. Don't blow yourself up getting squeezed on that short, cut your losses quickly, don't bleed the position to death. It's tough to suffer losses but it is important not to go nuclear. The stock isn't down, it's getting hammered, crushed, destroyed or killed. Even M&A bankers can't escape the reality with all of their WASP gentleness. That company wasn't purchased, acquired, sold or bought. It was "taken out".
But you know what? I'm still here. Those same guys who told me how bad it was told me how lucky I was. Lucky to be going through something 40-year old investment bankers with two kids, a wife and a girlfriend to support were also just understanding for the first time. I was an all cash balance sheet with a cash-flow issue not a currently cash-flowing CDO^3 with a write-down issue. Three years on, I think they were right.
I don't know when it happened but lately I feel a lot older. Happier with and more confident in myself. Knowing that with all the advantages I took to get here, the last three years have been my own. They've been my own failures and my own successes. I am more able than I had hoped to be at this point in my life and that counts for something. I understand things faster and more completely than I used to. I can't watch CNBC or read the WSJ anymore for information flow because when even the guys at the FT are getting it wrong I know full well the former aren't even close. I am not a cliche. I'm not vain (vanity is the cancer of far too many otherwise interesting people). I am just older. I've worked, I've paid attention and I've learned the importance of being stubbornly humble. A lot of that success people view as their own is just delta anyway, the faster you learn that the better.
I like this trajectory in life; the deeper breaths and the more reasoned and tempered heartbeats. The feeling of real steadfast connections to ideas, concepts and people. If I haven't been shaken from those things yet, I think the odds are I won't. I like that. With a lot of runway still as a given, I don't think anything is intractable.
Now if only Dick Clark would die...
WWMMD,
-I Heart Palindromes
06 January 2011
"Acres, Visible Horizon..."
I thought the clouds in the winter sky over the Pacific would make for a good CA sunset today. While nothing like what it looks like in the summer, I still thought it was worth taking some time to document. Sorry for the iPhone. I'm not a girl > I don't own a purse > I don't own a decent camera. Linear. I hope you still like it.
Onward,
-I Heart Palindromes
I'm Short Volatility
It is like the first day I learned that gravity wasn't real.
As in gravity - the concept I had previously learned - didn't exist.
I learned.
As in gravity - the concept I had previously learned - didn't exist.
I learned.
There is no force that pulls us down.
Apologies to Newton, we know that apple was convincing.
Take solace, you will forever place second in the big derby of apple-trickery
history.
We aren't pulled at all, rather pushed
and not by a friendly mathematical constant
but instead by the planet, or at least the forces upon it,
as it spirals through space
& time.
It is time that fixes you to the place that you are;
which makes sense when you think about it.
Ok, it makes sense when I think about it.
I do think about it.
The concept of time already seems to push many to their freezing point,
I'm talking absolute zero on a particularly windy day,
when it is hard to tell which way is north
and you run aground. Grounded.
Left to thaw only in time to reflect
on what was, as opposed to what will be.
Does being pushed instead of pulled change things?
It certainly does for me.
I am pulled in a million directions,
pulled back to reality,
pulled up by my boot-straps,
pulled through a storm,
pulled into love.
I am not pushed anywhere.
It is not the surface of Earth but the surface of
time that I am attached to.
I can handle that - time is optionality after all.
I have always been good with the valuation of options.
Just ask Mr. Market.
time that I am attached to.
I can handle that - time is optionality after all.
I have always been good with the valuation of options.
Just ask Mr. Market.
05 January 2011
Word(s)
Words are not created equal. Neither are ideas, principles or motives. The former can often skew the perception and acceptance of the latter. No major newspaper is published above a 5th grade reading level, you know, just to be safe. The premium placed on brevity is often just laziness all decked-out in efficiency's clothing. Simplicity is not a virture, it's a complex world out there and Occam's Razor (at least as applied now) was a made up concept. Sometimes the complex and ugly solution is better than the simple, clean, pretty and - and oh it just happens to be wrong - one.
Speaking of which, when did all those khaki-wearing Harvard MBAs get control of common parlance? When did efficiency and synergy devolve into Pavlovian cliches for use in 360 "just tell me the damn bonus figure" reviews? When did those and their contemporaneously valuable ilk get placed squarely within the ever-expanding box that those HBS kids are so good at thinking outside of? Well, you know, at least in the exact same way that all the other HBS kids learned how to - in their case studies course, of course.
Is that an unalterable side-effect of all of this Google'ing that college educated masses use to ascertain a rapid defition to every question regardless of complexity? Good concepts spread so quickly and so completely among those interested enough to evaluate their goodness that they are trampled, stretched, extended and finally over-used, all before they have a chance to ever be great concepts? That's awfully efficient. Google is a number you know, well - more a characterization or representation of a number. At least those kids were Stanford MBAs; they think outside of a different, more colorful box. It must be all the sun.
Good and great are just fine. They are decent, much more professional then tremendous or his eccentric cousin stupendous. I prefer apt; born out of a pragmatic resistance to being uniformly positive of any intellectual exercise. The heart can never be wrong but the brain is a whole different story. Apt has context, it possesses reserve, it can go away just as quickly as it showed up. Apt is also contingently useful, nothing can be absolutely good or always the best tool. Too much of a good thing, right? No. If it is too much it is no longer a good thing. All things in moderation. Yes, that's always a good idea.
I like the way the word wasps sounds but it has fairly limited application in my average day. I really like the word word; something Boondock loved to mock me over. I use the word fantastic with regularity; which would seem to call into question whether it is always apt. Perhaps I just encounter that high of a frequency of things that successfully defy disbelief. Commitment, that's a personal favorite. Steady, constant, loyal - full of respect and willful adherence. I don't have a commitment, I make a commitment. I am not committed to something but rather commit myself to it. See, those words, they can sneak up on you.
Word,
-I Heart Palindromes
Speaking of which, when did all those khaki-wearing Harvard MBAs get control of common parlance? When did efficiency and synergy devolve into Pavlovian cliches for use in 360 "just tell me the damn bonus figure" reviews? When did those and their contemporaneously valuable ilk get placed squarely within the ever-expanding box that those HBS kids are so good at thinking outside of? Well, you know, at least in the exact same way that all the other HBS kids learned how to - in their case studies course, of course.
Is that an unalterable side-effect of all of this Google'ing that college educated masses use to ascertain a rapid defition to every question regardless of complexity? Good concepts spread so quickly and so completely among those interested enough to evaluate their goodness that they are trampled, stretched, extended and finally over-used, all before they have a chance to ever be great concepts? That's awfully efficient. Google is a number you know, well - more a characterization or representation of a number. At least those kids were Stanford MBAs; they think outside of a different, more colorful box. It must be all the sun.
Good and great are just fine. They are decent, much more professional then tremendous or his eccentric cousin stupendous. I prefer apt; born out of a pragmatic resistance to being uniformly positive of any intellectual exercise. The heart can never be wrong but the brain is a whole different story. Apt has context, it possesses reserve, it can go away just as quickly as it showed up. Apt is also contingently useful, nothing can be absolutely good or always the best tool. Too much of a good thing, right? No. If it is too much it is no longer a good thing. All things in moderation. Yes, that's always a good idea.
I like the way the word wasps sounds but it has fairly limited application in my average day. I really like the word word; something Boondock loved to mock me over. I use the word fantastic with regularity; which would seem to call into question whether it is always apt. Perhaps I just encounter that high of a frequency of things that successfully defy disbelief. Commitment, that's a personal favorite. Steady, constant, loyal - full of respect and willful adherence. I don't have a commitment, I make a commitment. I am not committed to something but rather commit myself to it. See, those words, they can sneak up on you.
Word,
-I Heart Palindromes
04 January 2011
Constant
Good evening, to the sun as it breaks
the plane of the Pacific. Large and burning like during a harvest
when the optical illusion paints everything
bigger.
That's just dust you know.
It's no bigger or
smaller.
Stable, with gravity playing mason.
The sun is the sun,
foolish to fight it.
Dust is just that, dust.
One Goal
After coming out as flat as Carrot Top's career (yes, there was just a Carrot Top reference, it's still early out here), the Hawks traded goals with the Kings until taking the definitive lead with their 4th goal with about 5:30 to go in the 3rd. Great game, decent company with Ducatti, CFA and Indy Filmmaker in attendance. Also, the group of Chicago fans in our section were tremendous. There is nothing like hearing a south-side Irish accent screaming at a referee that his mother would be embarrassed of that last call while simultaneously teaching his seven year old son when it is appropriate to raise your middle finger and when it isn't, to remind a guy of home.
Always good to get to see the Hawks, even better to see them win, even better-er to see them win in front of loud LA "fans" who pretend to care about a sport that Kobe Bryant doesn't play.
Ed Belfour,
-I Heart Palindromes
03 January 2011
"He's got longer arms than I thought..."
With that said, the Hawks and Kings meet at the Staples Center (aka: the house that Kobe and gang riots built). I was planning to meet up with Ducatti to watch the game at our favorite Chicago-esque bar in Hollywood. As an aside, I know what you're thinking, and no there is nothing about this bar or its patrons that remind me of Chicago. You can't have anything Chicago-esque in Los Angeles, the time-space continuum would collapse in on itself if anyone ever succeeded at that. In any event, that was all before Uncle 3 of 5 (who has made other appearances in this space for being generally awesome) came through with his four Kings season tickets for me and the three LA based but Chicago-born Hawks fans I met during the course of the Stanley Cup run last year.
This is probably the perfect place to pause and remind everyone that the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup last year. Oh, and that 2 million people showed up to the victory parade. Did I mention that they managed not to riot or burn any taxi cabs during said celebration? Amazeballs.
Slainte.
Da na na na na na...
-I Heart Palindromes
02 January 2011
Was that Wesley Snipes?
144,400. A nice even number that happens to be the number of miles I travelled in an airplane in 2010. To put that in perspective, that is the equivalent of flying around the world via the equator six times. Word. This is why when people tell me that they like to travel I am always a skeptical. I think most people mean they like to take vacations, which is a little redundant given the inherent nature of a vacation. I don't like to travel -- I need to travel. If I have spent three consecutive weekends at home I get nervous, at least I think I did, the one time that happened.
United Airlines appreciates this affliction. On my first flight of 2011 (LAS-LAX, if you're curious) the pilot came back before takeoff to shake my hand and thank me for my "loyalty", whatever that means. He asked me if I was in management consulting, I have to answer that question a lot with United employees. No, I am not, I work in finance and a good 80% of that first number in this post was logged on weekends, no work travel there. In fact, outside of at the temptation of seeing Boondock, I rarely use vacation days. Friday night red-eyes after work are the most common.
I get a lot of odd looks when I try to explain this to people. Specifically, the people that I work with and for when they realize that I am travelling most weekends, even after travelling during the week. Why, they ask, do I feel such a need to fly other places when I live three blocks off the beach in a place that a lot of other people (read: Europeans) spend a lot of money to travel to? I usually try to gloss over that question with something about being young and doing it while I can. The real reason is both much more simple and much more complicated. The real reason is that there are people at the other end of those flights that I frankly don't care to replicate. I don't think I could ever let proximity determine who my best friends are or who I can fall in love with. Those people are irreplaceable to me and a few hours (or, you know, twelve) on an overnight flight is a small price to pay to see them. I am lucky enough to live in the first generation that has entered adulthood in a world where global communication, travel and mobility is not just possible, it's almost cheap. Well, not cheap, I could make the car payments on a V12 Vanquish with what I spend in a year on plane tickets but I can't imagine not doing it.
Yeah, I know, the person who really likes to take vacations and has trouble with jet-lag when they're traversing three time zones domestically is the one who is skeptical now. I think about this a great deal; what do you get for 144,400 miles in the air in a year? Should I just stay at home and play more golf on weekends? What did all of that moving around get me in 2010?
Here goes:
- Getting to see what The Hammer looks like before the sun comes up as he picks me up at IAD after a LAX-IAD red-eye. There is something particularly priceless about getting to wake up your friends who live a life of leisure at the hours you rise for Mr. Market from the west coast.
- A life-altering relationship with Boondock. Worth all those miles and then some if you ask me and I'm certainly not asking you.
- A picture of me with a stuffed koala in Sydney, AU.
- An understanding of just how bad modern art is in AU and how lacking in talent the homogeneous island is via their version of Australian Idol. Painful.
- Dinners with Boondock in Chicago, Seattle, New York, Los Angeles, London, Palermo. Some of the best hours of my life and the conversations that keep me sane.
- Making it back to Chicago for holidays with The Dancing Orange and The Sky is Falling
- Discovering that I heart crumpets -- seriously.
- Getting to tailgate for an MLS soccer game in DC and learn how to swear at other players in Spanish.
- The ability to render The General's 1970's vintage BMW inoperable and then participate in having to lift it into a parking spot for safe-keeping.
- My first ever SEC football game (USC vs. Arkansas) in Columbia, SC (along with the new parlance of "legit nineteen")
- Not nearly enough time on a couch or in bed with a book, The Office & Boondock.
- A round of golf on an ocean-bordered course in Italy.
- Sunday night dinners at the bar
- Watching The Hammer fall into the James River. Priceless.
- Drinking champagne in New Hampshire with Jr. Investment Banker.
- Cubs games at Wrigley, an irreplaceable part of my life.
- Have I mentioned more time with Boondock yet?
- A disturbing knowledge of booking codes, elite levels, upgrade probabilities. Also, the ability to make plane travel actually comfortable and enjoyable for those that I love.
...
A fraction, yes, but already more than I could live without. Sorry Santa Monica, you may be gorgeous, but you aren't all of those things. Not even close.
We've got the muscle -- We've got the hustle,
-I Heart Palindromes
I get a lot of odd looks when I try to explain this to people. Specifically, the people that I work with and for when they realize that I am travelling most weekends, even after travelling during the week. Why, they ask, do I feel such a need to fly other places when I live three blocks off the beach in a place that a lot of other people (read: Europeans) spend a lot of money to travel to? I usually try to gloss over that question with something about being young and doing it while I can. The real reason is both much more simple and much more complicated. The real reason is that there are people at the other end of those flights that I frankly don't care to replicate. I don't think I could ever let proximity determine who my best friends are or who I can fall in love with. Those people are irreplaceable to me and a few hours (or, you know, twelve) on an overnight flight is a small price to pay to see them. I am lucky enough to live in the first generation that has entered adulthood in a world where global communication, travel and mobility is not just possible, it's almost cheap. Well, not cheap, I could make the car payments on a V12 Vanquish with what I spend in a year on plane tickets but I can't imagine not doing it.
Yeah, I know, the person who really likes to take vacations and has trouble with jet-lag when they're traversing three time zones domestically is the one who is skeptical now. I think about this a great deal; what do you get for 144,400 miles in the air in a year? Should I just stay at home and play more golf on weekends? What did all of that moving around get me in 2010?
Here goes:
- Getting to see what The Hammer looks like before the sun comes up as he picks me up at IAD after a LAX-IAD red-eye. There is something particularly priceless about getting to wake up your friends who live a life of leisure at the hours you rise for Mr. Market from the west coast.
- A life-altering relationship with Boondock. Worth all those miles and then some if you ask me and I'm certainly not asking you.
- A picture of me with a stuffed koala in Sydney, AU.
- An understanding of just how bad modern art is in AU and how lacking in talent the homogeneous island is via their version of Australian Idol. Painful.
- Dinners with Boondock in Chicago, Seattle, New York, Los Angeles, London, Palermo. Some of the best hours of my life and the conversations that keep me sane.
- Making it back to Chicago for holidays with The Dancing Orange and The Sky is Falling
- Discovering that I heart crumpets -- seriously.
- Getting to tailgate for an MLS soccer game in DC and learn how to swear at other players in Spanish.
- The ability to render The General's 1970's vintage BMW inoperable and then participate in having to lift it into a parking spot for safe-keeping.
- My first ever SEC football game (USC vs. Arkansas) in Columbia, SC (along with the new parlance of "legit nineteen")
- Not nearly enough time on a couch or in bed with a book, The Office & Boondock.
- A round of golf on an ocean-bordered course in Italy.
- Sunday night dinners at the bar
- Watching The Hammer fall into the James River. Priceless.
- Drinking champagne in New Hampshire with Jr. Investment Banker.
- Cubs games at Wrigley, an irreplaceable part of my life.
- Have I mentioned more time with Boondock yet?
- A disturbing knowledge of booking codes, elite levels, upgrade probabilities. Also, the ability to make plane travel actually comfortable and enjoyable for those that I love.
...
A fraction, yes, but already more than I could live without. Sorry Santa Monica, you may be gorgeous, but you aren't all of those things. Not even close.
We've got the muscle -- We've got the hustle,
-I Heart Palindromes
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