Slope of Hope Blog Posts

Slope initially began as a blog, so this is where most of the website’s content resides. Here we have tens of thousands of posts dating back over a decade. These are listed in reverse chronological order. Click on any category icon below to see posts tagged with that particular subject, or click on a word in the category cloud on the right side of the screen for more specific choices.

Graced with Coniferous Green

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Couple in the next room's bound to win a prize.
They've been going at it all night long.

Well I'm trying to get some sleep, but these motel walls are cheap.

Lincoln Duncan is my name, and here's my song.

I frequently confess to having a limited set of skills.

I'm good at finding chart patterns. I have an uncanny knack for assessing the appropriate container size for a given leftover. And I sleep brilliantly.

This last skill, sadly, was challenged to the breaking point last night. In the course of my oft-cited travels of late, I found myself in an undisclosed location in a lodge that could be described as quaint, charming, and rustic.
As with most real estate terms, though, the adjectives only gently suggest the darker truth.

My family's lodging is adjacent to an ancient graveyard. One could open the bedroom window and touch a two-hundred year old headstone. This place is also said to be haunted, with many individuals reporting hair-raising sightings of spectres.

The heating, too, is ghastly. The ground outside is deep with snow, and the inside is heated with a gas fire which loudly turns on and off via thermostatic control. The groans and aches of the surrounding metal as it contracts and expands with these turnings is enough to wake the dead (which, conveniently, as I mentioned, are just outside).

NoisyBut this wasn't my problem, really. It was the couple upstairs. The couple that arrived at 1 in the morning. The couple whose every footstep emitted a grinding squeak as the adjacent floorboards on which they feet pressed pushed against one another. The happy, very sexual active couple, who made extensive and enjoyable use of the four-post bed in the room above. That couple.

Squeak squeak squeak squeak. Pause. Squeak squeak squeak squeak. Pause. Squeak squeak squeak squeak. Pause.

As I've been married a long while, when I first heard this noise, I wondered to myself – – and I am not making this up – – why someone was doing workwork at 1:30 in the morning. I listened carefully, deducing incorrectly that a skilled craftsman was making lusty use of a wood plane.

Only after the powerful deductive engine that we all hail as Tim's Brain set to work did I realize that two people were above me doing the nasty.

I was eager to strangle either of them, since killing them both would have been unnecessary to my goal of silence.

After a long, long while, a final squeak squeak squeak pealed forth, and the next sound I heard was…..a toilet flushing. I personally have never conjured up a visit to commode as the natural terminus to carnal embrace, but perhaps humanity has moved past my own knowledge of this area.

So, your beloved host had a very limited amount of shuteye last night, but as I am wont to do, I desired to share my anecdote with you since, in the market's current state, I really could do without charts for a day. Have a happy Saturday.

Pause.

The Five-Thousand Dollar Mouse Click

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Well, today's "action" on the market – – if you want to call it that – – hasn't changed anything I have to say one iota, so instead of wasting my time and yours re-hashing what I've said so many times recently, I will share with you my painful tale from this morning. It sucks out loud, but I've built an audience by being open, so here we go:

1226-tacksYesterday was, of course, Christmas, and my family hosted a banquet here for the extended family. It went from 1 in the afternoon until past 10 at night, and everything went smoothly. Lots of food, folks, and fun – – sort of like McDonald's, except with much better cuisine and less risk of diabetes.

Since I went to bed late (for me, at least) for two nights in a row, I failed to get up automatically at 5:30 a.m. as I usually do. I actually woke up at 5:15, glanced at the clock, went to sleep again, and woke up at 6:51.

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Humanity’s Constancy

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When I was all of fourteen years old, I was with a friend, being driven by his Dad somewhere, and the Dad told me, "Tim, you're too young to be a cynic." I don't remember what I said to prompt that remark, but even at fourteen, I guess I came off as – – I dunno – – a Sloper.

I was reminded of this, since I am reading – – for the first time, in spite of owning the book for decades – – Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds. The book has tales of all manner of human foible, and the first chapter describes the fascinating tale of The Mississippi Scheme, which principally took place in 1720. The book itself was written nearly 180 years ago, so the English is a little archaic, but I find that charming.

In any case, even having just read the first chapter, I am stunned at how little has changed in the world of people and finance. For instance, in recounting what people did with their newfound "wealth" provided by easy credit:

New houses were built in every direction; an illusory prosperity shown across the land, and so dazzled the eyes of the whole nation, that none could see the dark cloud on the horizon announcing the storm that was too rapidly approaching…..All those pretty trifles in the way of furniture and ornament which the French excel in manufacturing were no longer the exclusive playthings of the aristocracy, but were to be found in abundance in the houses of traders and the middle classes in general.

Sooooo……..sound like Las Vegas? Stockton, California? Does it remind you of families driving around in their SUVs, stuffing them to the brim with crap from Best Buy and Costco, all made affordable with their HELOCs? It does for me. And this was from an event three-hundred years ago.

In the midst of all the easy credit, acquisition, and greed, there were a tiny handful of wiser souls that knew the folly of what was going on around them. For example:

The honest old soldier, Marshal Villars, was so vexed to see the folly which had smitten his countrymen, that he never could speak with temper on the subject. Passing one day through the Place Vendome in his carriage, the choleric gentleman was so annoyed at the infatuation of the people, that he abruptly ordered his coachman to stop, and, putting his head out of the carriage-window, harangued them for a full half an hour on their "disgusting avarice." This was not a very wise proceeding on his part. Hisses and shouts of laughter resounded from every side, and jokes without number were aimed at him.

Yes, my friends, I am Marshal Villars brought back from the dead! It can now be told. Seriously, though, the good Marshal sounds like he'd not only be a frequent presence on Slope, he'd probably also be given a five-star general rank.

The principal difference between now and then is that their own parliament was the loudest nay-sayer to the tidal wave of paper money flooding France (our own Congress, sadly, has no choice but to bow down to the Bernanke cabal and consent to trillions a year):

Thus the system continued to flourish till the commencement of the year 1720. The warnings of the Paliament, that too great a creation of paper money would, sooner or later, bring the country to bankruptcy, were disregarded. 

This chart nicely captures the mania and its aftermath:

1223-southshare

Of course, after the collapse, people were simultaneously furious and self-assuring that of course they had seen this all coming. Some were creative with their discord, offering up poems and songs lambasting the perpetrators of this fiasco; I particularly like this snippet suggesting what Mr. Law could do with the paper-money notes he had conjured up:

Many of these songs were far from decent; and one of them in particular counselled the application of all his notes to the most ignoble use to which paper can be applied.

We have seen the future, Slopers. And it has happened countless times throughout the course of human history, including in France three centuries ago. But it's different this time. Isn't it?

I Was the One-Percent

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Well, my friends, I am chartless tonight. That is to say: the good folks at Ameritrade are doing some kind of scheduled upgrade, and thus all us ProphetCharts users are resigned to a chart-free evening. (Back in the day, when I ran Prophet.net, I did upgrades like this during the middle of the night on Saturday so I didn't impact people as severely…..but I digress).

It's no big deal in any case. My view on the market really hasn't changed at all, so I don't have much new to say (except to thank my lucky stars to have covered my CBOU short last Friday, for no particular reason; when I saw they decided to go private today, shooting the stock up over 30%, I was relieved to have no position at all).

I will, however, share a thought or two about something that's been on my mind. Over the past few days, I've been doing a bit of tax planning, since we're drawing near the end of the calender year. It struck me, quite frankly, what a small income I had this year. Now I am acutely aware of my finances; I have a family to support, and I am very much a self-employed person. But as I added the figures up, it dawned on me what a dramatic diminishment my own take-home income had been experiencing (suffice it to say, the latest proposal on raising taxes for those earning over $400,000/year doesn't have me concerned).

1217-biltmoreI vaguely recalled, during my days as a Senior VP at Investools (owned by Ameritrade) having a few years of being an honest-to-God executive, complete with year-end bonus. I grabbed a few file folders from years passed and looked at the year 2008 and was stunned to look at my old return. I had to ask myself: I made that much?

It struck me as odd. First off, I don't know where all that money managed to go. It's way, way, WAY more than I'm making now, but my lifestyle hasn't changed one iota (nor do I worry these days whether or not I'm going to write a check that's going to bounce). Second, I felt kind of proud for being perceived as worthy enough to be paid that well, but at the same time, I was shaken by the trajectory of my income over the past several years. At this rate, I should start hunting around for a good-looking shopping cart. Extrapolition can be a nasty thought-pattern!

But seriously, I live in a place that is simultaneously surrounded by wealth and hardship. In my social circles, I know people that rent, and I know people that live in twenty-million dollar mansions (the real deal; not McMansions; but the holy-crap-look-at-that-place kind of mansion). I know families in which both spouses work hard to make ends meet; and I know families that could have stopped working years ago, but choose to keep working full-blast, because they love what they do.

For myself, I'm neither rich nor poor, but I am, in my work, usually content. That has been, I feel sure, an expensive insistence on my part; that is, my personal requirement to love what I do has, I suppose, cost me a lot of cash over the years. If I were the sort that would be willing to travel constantly, manage a group, go to meetings, and do whatever else a given corporation insisted I do, perhaps I'd have more in the bank. (Or perhaps not; my bizarre fixation on charts compelled me to build, grow, and sell Prophet, so maybe that makes up for it).

So, as I said, I'm neither rich nor poor, and it's likely I'll never be either of those in my life. But I'm here because I want to be here. I do this blog because it gives me pleasure. I created the comments system because I love our community. I'm working on SocialTrade (and, believe me, you're not going to recognize it in a couple of months) because I take joy in the act of creation. All these things together pay me peanuts, but as long as I'm able to support my family, there's more to life than having the biggest bank account on the block.

So you're stuck with me. And maybe one day I'll somehow chance into another nice payday like I did with Prophet, although I'm not counting on it. But let me at least say – – once again – – how grateful I am that you are here, and how excited I am about what we're going to do with the world of Slope in 2013. Good night.

Peeve Dump

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Even I have my limit as to how many charts I want to look at in a given day, and that limit has been reached. So, instead of yacking about bar graphs, I'll just get some pet peeves off my chest. Now is as good a time as any, and it'll be a nice way to wrap up my blogging day.

Entering Key Codes Twice -  perhaps this is peculiar to the Macintosh, but when logging in to a new WiFi hotspot with password protection, you have to enter the password twice. There is absolutely no logic in this! If you were setting up a network, yes, I can totally see the need to enter the keycode twice, because you want to make sure you've got it right. But – – when joining a network – – it's hard enough to get all the characters (uppercase, lowercase, special characters) correct in the first place. Where is the value in entering a password two times in a row? You don't know, do you? The reason is simple: there IS no value.


1126-princeMusicians as "Artists"
-  You hear this all the time, including when folks are commenting about those cranking out rap music and other such crap; these individuals are referred to as "artists", in the same way a Monet or Van Gogh would be. Look, the fact that these guys have made millions upon millions with their own form of creative expression is just fine and dandy, but these are no more an "artist" than I am. (This includes The Arist Formerly Known As Prince).

United Healthcare Advertisements -  There is no company I detest more than United Healthcare. I could do a whole series of posts as to why, but suffice it to say I've never dealt with any
1126-unh organization more horrible. Just to add salt to the wound, the good folks at UNH have decided to advertise on the radio, on buses, and on the trains around here, and the most egregious of these ads appears on NPR. If you listen to NPR, you've probably heard it.

It features a woman with a slight but clearly present Hispanic accent; she speaks of her accident, and a chorus of what sounds like a mariachi band starts playing louder and louder in the background. She speaks fondly as to how United Healthcare "spoke her language" and helped her with the aftermath of the accident ("They even helped me calculate what it would cost!" – – as if that's some kind of favor; notice she didn't mention them helping her pay for the damned thing). Bring me the head of the SVP of Marketing from UNH on a platter!

Tellme's Popcorn Sound –  When you call a computerized phone-tree system these days, you will likely be dealing with TellMe technology. The computer will ask you questions in a very friendly feminine voice, and you will need to respond (I offer my responses with clever obscene phrases at the end, since it doesn't seem to affect the outcome of my vocalized input).

Anyway, as the computer is "thinking" about things, between each question, it creates sort of a popcorn-popping sound. Perhaps in this world of six billion humans, there is someone who finds this sound to be jaunty, clever, or even amusing. I do not. Which is why I'd like to point out that there is still room on the aforementioned platter for the head of whoever came up with this idea. Because I don't need a cute little popcorn sound to let me know that a computer is processing my request. Just get me a freakin' human with whom I can speak.


1126-johnsonSC Johnson
– I have nothing against the company or its products per se. What grinds me is how, whenever they mention their name either in print or in a television ad, they have to tack on: "A family company." Is this supposed to be sweet or sentimental?

Am I expected to come all over myself because a real, live human family – – perhaps a pipe-smoking dad with a child on each knee, and a mom in an apron in the background pulling out a freshly-baked pie from her oven – – is behind this multinational organization? Folks, this is a 12,000 person company with $9 billion in annual revenue. I think they can just drop the feel-good suffix. Jesus.

Commercial Chain "Chefs" – I enjoy eating good food, which means I steadfastly avoid the Olive
1126-taco Gardens, the Chili's, the TGI Fridays, and all the other casual dining establishments out there. I can eat much better food, at much better prices, at my local, well-known venues (most of which are "family companies" in the real sense).

I read recently that most of these places don't even conjure up their dishes out of cans; instead, a corporate distribution network ships them all what are essentially frozen dinners that they microwave when a customer orders them.

Since I don't eat there, I don't really care, but what does sort of gall me, because I have a deep loathing of fakery and phoniness, are the commercials that come on showing the chef (or an entire crew of chefs, plural) scampering around the kitchen, expertly carving up choice cuts of meat, fresh vegetables just picked from the garden outside, and spices they carefully ground in a nearby mortar and pestle. Tall white chef hats are required, of course.

A recent Taco Bell ad I saw showed a woman (who was presented as the Head Chef of the entire operation) excitedly talking about her "latest creation". You know as well as I do that every single dish at Taco Bell is simply: (a) ground beef; (b) cheap spices; (c) masa flour, offered up in some form of hard or soft shell; (d) diced tomatoes; (e) cheddar cheese; (f) refried beans; (g) sour cream, all of which are assembled in some certain fashion. There is no chef, and there are no latest creations.

Wearing a Wristwatch Backwards – Please tell me you don't do this. By "this", I am speaking of the habit of wearing a wristwatch so that you have to flip your hand upside down to read the time. (That is, the face of the watch is the same direction as the face of your palm). Why do people do this? Just to be different? Surely it's not for ergonocmics, because it seems an awkward prostration to go through. Just wear your wristwatch like everyone else. We'll still respect you.

OK, enough griping. See everyone on Tuesday morning…….