Autograph This!
The Dow Jones fell a record 2,997 points on Monday, or 12.9%. That’s the worst ever day in the Dow’s history. Ever. Just one more example of President Trump’s behavior/character/personality. He gooses the market on Friday afternoon, gets a 2,000-point jump before the close, takes a victory lap and sends an autographed print out of the chart to Lou Dobbs.
The next trading day? The Dow’s worst ever, at least in total number. The third-worst in terms of perecentage drop-off.
We’re not taking any joy in this. It’s all about hoping he’ll finally understand: it’s about fighting the virus, not about fighting the Dow’s downward trajectory. Get people to take the virus seriously, provide leadership and healthcare at a federal level, and the Dow will eventually recover. Not immediately. But it won’t drop as precipitously.
The market keeps selling off because investors have no idea how bad this pandemic will be and for how long it will last. And the reason behind that is because the White House has yet to admit to itself, or to us, just how serious this is. All we know is that it’s still in denial. Get past that, and the drop offs will stop.
I hope.
COVID-19 As A Force Majeure
Someone posted the avalanche clip from Force Majeure on Twitter yesterday using new captions that related directly to the coronavirus. I cannot find it but I don’t think you have to use your imagination too much to make the analogy for yourself.
TVIX
You can still make money—crazy money—in the market. If you know where to look. Spoiler Alert: I did not.
TVIX stands for VelocityShares Daily 2x VIX Short-Term ETN and I don’t know what the hell that means. All I know is that the more volatility in the stock market, the more people are buying and selling stocks and not holding them, the more this stock rises. Credit Suisse created this fund.
Well, yesterday TVIX opened at about $335 and it closed at $591, for a one-day percentage gain of 76%. I’m not going anywhere near it. But I thought you might like to know.
Carole Landis
Watching Noir Alley on TCM at Saturday midnight. Eddie Mueller introduces the 1941 film I Wake Up Screaming (perfect title for these times) that stars Victor Mature, Betty Grable and someone I’d never heard of, Carole Landis.
While those first two names got top billing and have become known as much bigger stars, Landis was the one you couldn’t take your eyes off. Betty Grable was one of THE pin-up girls of World War II, along with Rita Hayworth, but Landis was every ounce as lovely. And as it turns out, she traveled as frequently and as far on U.S.O. Tours as anyone during the war.
So how come I hadn’t heard of her? Had you? As it turns out, her life story played out like a classic Hollywood tragedy of its time. Born in Wisconsin in 1919, Landis’ father ran out on the family. Then it later became known that that man may not even have been her biological father (may explain why he ran out).
Landis’ mom moved the family out to San Bernardino, Calif. When she was a teenager she started dancing in clubs. Not much of a dancer, but her beauty was undeniable. By age 22 she was in the film mentioned above. She was also involved in an affair with Daryl Zanuck, who was the studio head of Twentieth Century Fox. Also 17 years her senior. Also married.
It eventually ended. Landis, who’d taken her stage name as an homage to Carole Lombard (who would die in 1942 in a plane crash), moved to England to get in the picture business there. And then she began an affair with Rex Harrison (“I think she’s got it! I think she’s got it!”). He, too, was married.
This affair also ended. Lombard moved back to California. She would take her own life, in 1949 at the age of 29, via a barbituate overdose. Along the way she would find the time to get married four times.
Hollywood, man. Chews ’em up and spits ’em out.
Say Nothing
Are you Irish? Do you know someone who’s Irish? Are you a U2 fan?
If you answered “Yes” to any of the above, I highly recommend this book. Started it last Thursday and already finished it (not having a job helps). And by the way, neither U2 nor Bono are ever mentioned in the book, though you can feel their songs all over it, particularly “Sunday, Bloody Sunday,” “40” and “Mothers Of The Disappeared.”
The author uses the disappearance in 1972 of Jean McConnville, a widowed Belfast mother of 10 children, to launch into a comprehensive tale of The Troubles: the IRA’s re-formation in the late Sixties and all of the characters who inhabited it: the scholarly Gerry Adams, who was once one of the top commanders in the IRA who since went on to become the leader of Sinn Fein (while always denying he was ever part of the IRA); the sisters Dolours and Marian Price, the most militant females in the IRA, the former of whom married actor Stephen Rea (who starred in The Crying Game); Brendan Hughes, one of the top soldiers; and Alfredo Scappaticci, an IRA enforcer whose job it was to torture and murder “touts,” or IRA members who worked as informers for the British… and was actually himself an informer for the British (what better cover than that?).
It’s insane. Tragic. At times, very funny. Compelling. Another book I’m recommending that you probably won’t read, but please don’t hate me for trying.