The title refers to a condition that you may have seen in the DOW, S&P, and other indexes last week, if you follow. It began a couple of weeks ago, actually. The markets were moving up, up, up…relentlessly — every day — with very little in the way of consolidation, profit-taking, or retracement. When that happens, the market reaches a condition we refer to as overbought and you can pretty much know with certainty that you’re going to get some stiff down days very soon.
Happened on Wed and Thursday. No surprise at all.
I wonder if we’re approaching overbought on this whole "airline security" thing, yet. It’s really up to you, you know. I mean, those TSA goons’ll be gladly ramming their latex-gloved fingers straight up your ass as a routine and widespread screening measure the moment they’re told it will be their duty to do so.
At what point will you demand an end to it?
If you didn’t catch it, yet, this was my experience heading out the other day. Billy Beck? He narrowly escaped being blown up by a "toddlerable’s" apple juice on his flight this morning. But, you know, they disposed of the highly volatile fluid in the "explosive-proof" trashcan sitting next to the TSA screening station.
Me? My flight this morning? Well, nothing stolen, though I did go ahead and leave behind the deodorant I bought at the hotel shop to replace what was stolen on the trip out. I did practice up on Beck’s routine for the thing — though it doesn’t require much practice. It happens that I was fortunate enough in my mélange of genes to have been bestowed with a natural frown. That thing you’ve heard about using less muscles to smile? Bullshit, as applied to me. I’m much more comfortable with a scowl. For added effect, I gave a bit of a nostril flair here and there, while looking as disgusted as possible.
"Thank you, sir," he says. I turn and walk away. No acknowledgment whatsoever. >snort<
We stopped off in the Starbucks on the way to the gate, my COO and I. (Somehow, these mysterious concoctions are no danger at all until brewed and mixed and placed in your care. That’s when they’re transformed into virtual orgies of hypergolic substance ready to blow — I dunno — when put in contact with the lousy coffee the airlines brew, and thus cannot be taken on board (for safety’s sake, don’tcha know).) I was telling him of my trip to Sevastopol, USSR, in 1990. Now I remember what all your faces remind me of, standing in that TSA line.
How long ya gonna put up with it?
I raise the volume of my voice, so others in the coffee shop were sure to hear. "I’m tired of hearing people thank those TSA assholes. Fuckers. Thieves. Thugs. They merit no respect and ought not be granted any by any sane person forced to undergo their gauntlet of intimidation and pacification."
Then I told him of how, there in Sevastopol, just about every afternoon trucks would suddenly arrive to various points in the city and begin unloading whatever goodies the commissars had in store for their subjects that day. Sometimes boxes of cupcakes. Sometimes boxes of ice cream bars. And everyone would scurry over like children receiving their treat for being such good and submissive citizens.
So don’t be surprised if, in the not too distant future, a clear and convincing display of submission to your authorities at airport security wins you a box of bon bons or the like at the other end.