I believe my blogs have become repetitious, all I do is talk about the exogenous risks and why I can’t buy stocks though I am a long term Bull. I have taken a significant beating shorting the market. I have a long list of names I look forward to buying at the appropriate time.
There are only two appropriate times, in the near term. Either I see a dump in the market, that convinces me we have completed the natural correction I believe we still need to experience, if not then I have lost my ability to understand what is a bizarre buying psychology and I guess I need to join the party.
Oil is not pulling back because ultimately, changes in the Middle East will take time, and the Market despises an information vacuum. Like an addict who needs a fix, even on my vacation, I woke up a few time in the middle of the night to check futures. Each day I see stability, makes me want to short them from a internet terminal in the Disney magic kingdom, outside the “it’s a small world ride”, instead, each day I ask my partner to short a little more in my account as I prepare for the dump that never came.
My partners are disappointed with me, my family is disappointed with me and my friends are disappointed with me. They believe I have lost my discipline. Perhaps they are right, but as I have never broken my primary rule “Do not do anything today that jeopardizes your business tomorrow”, I tend to disagree with them. That is not to say I traded inappropriately this past week.
I have lost and made money back on more than one occasion and I will do it again. I am going through a rough patch. At the end of the day I will repair myself, my own way in my own time. The irony is that I believe I give that consideration to all that are around me. Unfortunately, leaders are not afforded the same luxury. As the saying goes, “Some one has to pay the rent.” And while I appreciate Partners, Friends and Family concern, as the other saying goes, “It is what it is”. So to all of you, deal with it and stay focused on your own responsibilities, as I will do the same, as I have for my entire life.
Perhaps my mistakes of the past week would be better understood, if I took some time to analyse the very screwed up DNA that courses through my veins.
The environment I grew up in defines much of who I am. As I have spent many hours composing personal blogs that are meant to give insight into my twisted personality and complex psyche I thought I would publish my self analysis over a series of Blogs, as I will be trading very small over the next month and may have limited insight into trading.
The best way to understand ones DNA is to go back a few generations for insight.
My sister who shares the same unusual DNA mixture with me, has been exploring her own personal psyche for quite sometime and found it very therapeutic to put fingers to keyboard. Her account of our family history and existential exploration has been insightful and helpful in defining my own narcissistic and difficult personality. Clearly I am staying away from the few positive aspects of my personality, but that’s what happens when you go through a very difficult period. So I might as well ignore them for the moment.
If I sound somewhat sarcastic and pissed off, I probably am, so lets move on to the analysis. Lets go back to the beginning.
I think I should kick off by telling you that my Fathers parents were first cousins. Apparently way back when, this was de rigueur in the shtetels (Homogeneous turn of the century Jewish Polish village). Prewar J-date actually had a category for interfamilial candidates. It is rumoured that my grandfather, Pa, actually assisted in the birth of my Grandmother, Ma. When Ma emerged, an eligible single girl covered in a filmy layer of vernix, Pa was congratulated in Yiddish — “today, you became a Chasan. (Groom)” Needless to say a genetic jackpot was not ours for the taking.
Ma and Pa, (grandma and grandpa) escaped the Nazis in Germany by the skin of their teeth in 1939. With three children in tow and deutschemarks greasing the appropriate palms, they dressed up as if they were going to a cousins wedding in Belgium. Pa, having had a keen knack for always seeing the worst in people, had no problem believing that Jews were being fed into ovens like loaves of bread. In fact, one of the many gentile employees at his thriving textiles business approached him one day and urged him in no uncertain terms to get out of the country — now. They were on the next train out, on the Sabbath no less, a major transgression for Orthodox Jews such as my grandparents.
My grandmother, Ma was actually in labour with her Fourth child as they fled the country.
Most remarkable, though, is that in the midst of all of this chaos, my grandfather had the wherewithal to leave two weeks severance pay for all of his employees. I tell this story to anyone who will listen as it is indicative of a familial genetic trait that I believe courses through the streams of complex DNA that make up my entire extended family. honour and generosity have always been right up there along with anxiety disorder, OCD and general depression.
When I was a child, I was once treated to a rare day at the office with my larger than life father. It was several days before Christmas so I guess I must have had off from school and my Mother had surprisingly prevailed upon my Father to occupy me for the day. Anyway, I remember my Father instructing his assistant, to track down a Mr. So & So and have him stop by the office.
Two hours later, a small heavily accented man ambled humbly into my father’s office.
“Shut the door”, my Father told him.
Here was a time when I was grateful for the invisibility that I had somehow inadvertently achieved in my Fathers eyes, as I sat quietly in the corner of his office, pretending to doodle with my crayons.
“How is your family doing, Mr. X?” “Very well, sir, Thank you Mr. Former.” “And your new job as the super over at the new building?”
“Thank God, Mr. Frommer, no complaints.”
Out came an envelope, “Well I just wanted to thank you for the six months you spent managing this building this year.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Frommer.”
“Keep up the Good Work”, eyes back down at his desk.
Exit Mr. X.
The Ghosts of my grandfatherʼs textile workers emerged to shake my fatherʼs hand.
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