The logic: "Since the stock market leads economic recoveries, once the stock market recovers, the economy will recover." That is, the stock market is a leading indicator.
I disagree.
I could've asked you between mid-October 2008 - mid-January 2009, "What would you say is the current health of the economy?", you might've said something like, "Well, the stock market seems to have found a natural bottom around 8,500 (DJIA), so I think we've seen the worst of it, and so I'd expect a recovery in not too long once investor confidence returns in full." How would you explain then the following month and a half we spent below 8,000?
There's an inherent problem in using a stock market index both as a measure of economic health and as a future indicator of economic performance. Analogously, you need both a thermometer and a barometer to perform an analysis of the current environment and to create a forecast. The stock market has no foresight, it is purely reactionary, and so cannot be a barometer.
Why Any Index Sucks
What the Dow Jones Industrial Average Index (DJIA), for example, represents is an instantaneous assessment of investor demand for what the Dow Jones Company deems a representative sample of all publicly-traded companies on the New York Stock Exchange. When the DJIA goes up, the investor demand to own a percentage of those companies within the representative sample of publicly-traded companies goes up, and vice-versa when the DJIA goes down. In fact, it may be the only real world example of a Giffen good. Leaving aside the validity of any non-statistically selected sample to accurately assess a whole market, we have to question whether the dynamics of that index are capable of capturing (1) the entire current economic state of affairs, and (2) the outlook for the future.
On (1), conceivably, the movement and value of an index, being a representation of investor willingness to own publicly-traded companies, would accurately reflect the overall state of the economy because those informed people buying up company assets in the form of shares would be reacting to a full set of up-to-date economic data, financial forecasts, industry surveys, and deep corporate analysis of assets and liabilities. The errors enter when you consider how inaccurate that full set of up-to-date information really is. E.g. No nation's central bank forecast this global recession. Alan Greenspan just shrugged his shoulders back in 2004. "A new paradigm!" Can you say the U.S. economy was actually strong 1.5 years ago when the DJIA was tickling 14,000? Or was it a facade of cheap capital that bloated the market's perception of those companies' value and led to our current situation? Even greater than inaccurate information is the investing feedback loop. A big mutual fund company dumps a load of cash into a company or industry, prompting others to do the same to catch the ride upward, prompting smaller investors to do the same and grab the sloppy seconds. All parties then unload their shares, in the process taking some good profit, to the latecomers who think they're onto the next hot stock. Did the value of the company ever actually change, or was it just the perception of the value of the company that controlled the stock value? Of course it was just the perception, and when you start attaching numbers (in this case, dollars) directly to people's perceptions, you get misinformation. For example, I'm an Orioles fan (as much as one can be anymore). Would I have put $10,000,000 on a bet at the beginning of the season that the Orioles would make the playoffs because their new pitching talent was being talked up on local sports radio? What if they're winning percentage in the first 20 games is .750? Doesn't sound like a bad bet, until you consider that the Orioles fucking suck and they have been hot early on but then collapsed at or before the All-Star break every year for the past 12. Anyway, the point is that gambling follows the same principle. You attach a value to your perception of the likelihood of the team you bet on winning, and your perception is based on imprecise information compounded with a dependency on the actions of individual people. The stock market is no different.
On (2), I think the obvious volatility caused by overreaction is enough to tank any stock market index's ability to forecast economic performance. Sure, whatever happens today may have residual effects in the future, but on the whole, it's merely a snapshot and an instant history. Looking at the artificial floor at ~8,000 in early February is enough to call this into question. You could point out that the market is back to about 9,500, but then I'd have to wonder why it ever bothered dropping 20% to 6,500 at all if it were a solid predictor of economic activity. It's not, and its value only tells you what other people just like you think it's worth. For that reason it is often considered a measure of investor confidence. This, I think, is true, but it doesn't really matter that much how confident investors are in the long-run. If all it took was confident coke-snorting traders on Wall Street then the DJIA would have gone into orbit by now; investors were mighty confident two years ago until they realized a lot of their money was tied up in things that weren't worth anything. That is, investor confidence is just a projection of past performance onto the future.
Why Weathermen Are Better At Their Jobs
The weather is a chaotic system. There are countless variables that influence it and there are countless attempts to do so. But despite its complexity, weather still follows the immutable laws of physics. The stock market, and for that matter, the economy, ultimately relies on a deeper chaos: human behavior.
What the stock market, or any index, really is is a forced amalgamation and an instantaneously fleeting assessment of what investors think of the value of traded companies, with no memory and no foresight. Simpler? It's an artificial grouping of what people think things are worth right now. Any attempt to derive much of a prediction from stock market data is doomed to fail eventually, because it's essentially a prediction of what people will do, and predicting people's behavior is, well, impossible, unless you work for Pixar.
Why I'm So Damn Right
Instead of breathing a sigh of relief watching the DJIA tick up-up-upwards, I'm rather concerned about the fact that unemployment---as measured by our screwy method---has increased by 62% since last July. If we're looking for a recovery, it's consumers, as always, that will drive it, and if there is less capacity for consumption, then there's less recovery. Less consumption and wages also means less tax revenue for federal and state governments, and the current government economic stimulus is not sustainable in the medium-term anyway.
I know people don't like thinking pessimistically, and for those without jobs it's particularly difficult to bear, and of course I hope I am wrong and the economy does turn around, but I think for financial analysts in the media and in the markets to continue to herd after the stock indexes is overly simplistic and will only lead to further calamity in the future.
Showing posts with label reality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reality. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
February Spites East, Prepares Impassioned Exit
In a move described by weather policy experts as puzzling and exasperating, February has signaled its general dislike for both the people of the East Coast and the month of March in its declaration of a warm weather embargo to conclude its annual rotation in the weather presidency.
"It's a general 'Fuck all of you'", says Robert Straus, an expert in foreign weather policy at the University of Colorado's Center for Atmospheric Research.
Straus is not alone in his assessment of February's brusque behavior. Conditions seemed to be warming between the rogue month and the people of the East Coast for several weeks, bringing higher temperatures and brighter spirits across the land. "Easterners who were led to believe the harsh winter cold was in a welcome recession are now left wondering what happened as they grab for their down jackets, scarves, and little colorfully patterned rubber boots that I guess they buy at Urban Outfitters."
Some speculate that February is again using its position as a bridge month between much-reviled winter and favored spring to gain leverage with the international weather community after a particularly unfruitful meeting of the G12. February is believed to have lured in half the country with a delightful warm spell, only to lash out in a childishly retributive manner to bring much-desired attention on its supposed plight. "February has long wished to use the arctic blast weapon to convince the 12-member governing body that its allocation of 28 or 29 days is unfair and moreover, bizarre" believes James Ogden, the U.S. Deputy Ambassador to the UN Special Commission for Clouds, Rain, and Grey Skies.
But Straus doesn't think it's that simple. "Why now?" asks Straus. "If this is the feared arctic blast weapon then where's Jake Gyllenhaal and those crazy ice wolves everybody predicted?" Straus favors engagement with February, noting that as the month warmed, the public began to write it off and take its unusually pleasant weather for granted. "I think this really pissed February off. It didn't have to be nice outside on the weekends. It could have been a blustery hell, as February always is, with crazy ice wolves lurking around every corner."
There may be some truth in that. As January's annual reign of terror came to a close, relations between the neighbors were frosty, at best. At a temperature-fixing summit in Kathmandu, Nepal, January delivered a scathing polemic to February for its cozy relationship with March, a month considered to be partly aligned with the centrist Spring bloc. January, long the hard-line member of the G12, was likely lambasting February for its decision not to support January's Joint Resolution To Act In Accordance With The Groundhog Day Proclamation, thus depriving it of the needed supermajority.
"I really don't think the public understood what February had given up to leave January...out in the cold. I'm not particularly surprised this happened, particularly considering the potential for puns" says Frank Case, a former national climate and weather security adviser to President Clinton.
Additionally, while much of the attention has been paid to February's drastic actions and its affect on the East, little mind has been paid to February's other immediate neighbor, March. The enigmatic month has been conspicuous in its denunciations of February's measures. Enraged at its stained reputation as it is forced to swallow a massive cold front and late-winter snow and ice squall pushing eastward across the Midwest just as it begins its term, March has threatened to cut off diplomatic ties with February. "It's just what we need, a more disjointed, confusing transition of power from February---a month with a variable number of days---and March---a month symbolized by two completely opposite animals, the lion and the lamb," says Straus.
February, at least, for its part, is not so pessimistic. While senior officials could not be reached for comment, a high-level source within the month's government tell End The Cola Wars Digest that the reasons for the row came down to the economy. According to the source, February receives covert netback revenues from the natural gas and power industries. Given the presumed state of the month's treasury (it does not release official figures), it comes as little surprise that it has chosen to turn the screws on the public in a bid to shore up domestic reserves. "February has no real economy of its own when it comes down to it," says Case," it's essentially a middleman between the prolific cold exporter January and Ides-heavy March; February's' just a broker."
How the breakdown in relations between February and January and the general public in the future remains to be seen, but cracks have already started appearing in February's grip on state control. "I've about had it with this damn month," proclaims Mary Radabaf, a manager at a Washington area Haagen Dazs. "Every time you think February's had enough, it turns out you were wrong, and it's cold as shit all over again." Sentiments among the public do not stray far from Ms. Radabaf's harsh remarks. A Pew poll on the 25th showed that 95% of people disagreed strongly with February's handling of its rotating presidency; the remaining 5% of people indicated to the pollster that they hadn't left their residences since September ended.
Ogden is more pointed: "We're looking at a possible paradigm shift in the whole world order. Blizzards in July, heat waves in November, fall in April, and frogs in May. The whole system could be on the brink of collapse."
There may still be some hope, believes Case. "With such opposition from all fronts, it might be difficult for February to continue to isolate itself. February's unexpected cold tantrum will really damage its ability to influence the annual two straight weeks of misty drizzle, this year planned for late May."
August could not be reached for comment.
Brice Lord reporting from Los Angeles.
"It's a general 'Fuck all of you'", says Robert Straus, an expert in foreign weather policy at the University of Colorado's Center for Atmospheric Research.
Straus is not alone in his assessment of February's brusque behavior. Conditions seemed to be warming between the rogue month and the people of the East Coast for several weeks, bringing higher temperatures and brighter spirits across the land. "Easterners who were led to believe the harsh winter cold was in a welcome recession are now left wondering what happened as they grab for their down jackets, scarves, and little colorfully patterned rubber boots that I guess they buy at Urban Outfitters."
Some speculate that February is again using its position as a bridge month between much-reviled winter and favored spring to gain leverage with the international weather community after a particularly unfruitful meeting of the G12. February is believed to have lured in half the country with a delightful warm spell, only to lash out in a childishly retributive manner to bring much-desired attention on its supposed plight. "February has long wished to use the arctic blast weapon to convince the 12-member governing body that its allocation of 28 or 29 days is unfair and moreover, bizarre" believes James Ogden, the U.S. Deputy Ambassador to the UN Special Commission for Clouds, Rain, and Grey Skies.
But Straus doesn't think it's that simple. "Why now?" asks Straus. "If this is the feared arctic blast weapon then where's Jake Gyllenhaal and those crazy ice wolves everybody predicted?" Straus favors engagement with February, noting that as the month warmed, the public began to write it off and take its unusually pleasant weather for granted. "I think this really pissed February off. It didn't have to be nice outside on the weekends. It could have been a blustery hell, as February always is, with crazy ice wolves lurking around every corner."
There may be some truth in that. As January's annual reign of terror came to a close, relations between the neighbors were frosty, at best. At a temperature-fixing summit in Kathmandu, Nepal, January delivered a scathing polemic to February for its cozy relationship with March, a month considered to be partly aligned with the centrist Spring bloc. January, long the hard-line member of the G12, was likely lambasting February for its decision not to support January's Joint Resolution To Act In Accordance With The Groundhog Day Proclamation, thus depriving it of the needed supermajority.
"I really don't think the public understood what February had given up to leave January...out in the cold. I'm not particularly surprised this happened, particularly considering the potential for puns" says Frank Case, a former national climate and weather security adviser to President Clinton.
Additionally, while much of the attention has been paid to February's drastic actions and its affect on the East, little mind has been paid to February's other immediate neighbor, March. The enigmatic month has been conspicuous in its denunciations of February's measures. Enraged at its stained reputation as it is forced to swallow a massive cold front and late-winter snow and ice squall pushing eastward across the Midwest just as it begins its term, March has threatened to cut off diplomatic ties with February. "It's just what we need, a more disjointed, confusing transition of power from February---a month with a variable number of days---and March---a month symbolized by two completely opposite animals, the lion and the lamb," says Straus.
February, at least, for its part, is not so pessimistic. While senior officials could not be reached for comment, a high-level source within the month's government tell End The Cola Wars Digest that the reasons for the row came down to the economy. According to the source, February receives covert netback revenues from the natural gas and power industries. Given the presumed state of the month's treasury (it does not release official figures), it comes as little surprise that it has chosen to turn the screws on the public in a bid to shore up domestic reserves. "February has no real economy of its own when it comes down to it," says Case," it's essentially a middleman between the prolific cold exporter January and Ides-heavy March; February's' just a broker."
How the breakdown in relations between February and January and the general public in the future remains to be seen, but cracks have already started appearing in February's grip on state control. "I've about had it with this damn month," proclaims Mary Radabaf, a manager at a Washington area Haagen Dazs. "Every time you think February's had enough, it turns out you were wrong, and it's cold as shit all over again." Sentiments among the public do not stray far from Ms. Radabaf's harsh remarks. A Pew poll on the 25th showed that 95% of people disagreed strongly with February's handling of its rotating presidency; the remaining 5% of people indicated to the pollster that they hadn't left their residences since September ended.
Ogden is more pointed: "We're looking at a possible paradigm shift in the whole world order. Blizzards in July, heat waves in November, fall in April, and frogs in May. The whole system could be on the brink of collapse."
There may still be some hope, believes Case. "With such opposition from all fronts, it might be difficult for February to continue to isolate itself. February's unexpected cold tantrum will really damage its ability to influence the annual two straight weeks of misty drizzle, this year planned for late May."
August could not be reached for comment.
Brice Lord reporting from Los Angeles.
Friday, August 01, 2008
It's Been Awhile
No, I haven't posted anything since June 12, that's right. I got married on June 22 and then had 3 weeks of vacation following, but I haven't yet determined if that's related.
Since you've all waited so patiently, here's a gem from Wired Magazine's coverage of Comic-Con 2008. A 38-year old self-styled Los Angeles superhero who I've dubbed The Blue Bulge.
Since you've all waited so patiently, here's a gem from Wired Magazine's coverage of Comic-Con 2008. A 38-year old self-styled Los Angeles superhero who I've dubbed The Blue Bulge.
The Blue Bulge is: Repulsive.
This is another mark against humanity's survival, I think.
I've got a busy weekend ahead rooting for losing DC sports teams (DC United and the Nationals), so I'll add stories and pictures from our wedding and honeymoon in Greece sometime in next week-ish.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Success!
Somehow, I got into grad school. I'll be going back to school in the fall, which means I have to fit in 3 years of fun I won't have over the next 3 years into 6 months of fun over the next 6 months. I hope you like that redundancy. I'm looking forward to commuting on the green line and being an awkward mascot gag at parties, like my man Testudo here.
Friday, December 28, 2007
indisputable
Ever think of something in the shower that seems so clever and illuminating that you think everyone should hear? Me too.
Bill Parcells. Spencer Pratt. The latter is 35 years the younger of the former. Get that?
Bill Parcells. Spencer Pratt. The latter is 35 years the younger of the former. Get that?
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
My Hero
Man arrested for shooting traffic camera
I've always dreamed of shooting a stop light camera out of raw enmity, but I've never had the guts, nor the $50, to go through with it. What I find most humorous is that felony vandalism and reckless endangerment with a firearm only add up to a $50 fine in Tennessee. Shit, I wonder what you'd have to do to get slapped with a $500 fine? Shoot speed, strangle a puppy and throw babies off a roof?
This reminds me of my trip to Tennessee in senior year of cool-ege when a few buddies and I visited an old friend in Nashville. Posted on the walls of every bar bathroom you can find were advertisements for DUI Mike, who was an attorney that did exactly what you think he would do: get you out of DUIs. I made fun of DUI Mike while in the bathroom and some well-meaning countryboy was sure to get the facts straight by saying that, "Hey, don't make fun of DUI Mike. DUI Mike got my buddy out of a DUI." Touche.
When DUI Mike died unexpectedly a few years ago, there were rumors swirling that, ironically, he died when a drunk driver hit him. This isn't too dissimilar from the hilarious rumor that local fitness "celebrity" John Basedow died in the Thai tsunami in 2005. Here's the originating seed of that rumor. It even inspired some amateur photoshopping (below). Upon hearing this, Basedow himself quickly took action, and wrote on his MySpace page, "John Basedow is not only still alive but has never even been to Thailand." John Basedow smart.
KNOXVILLE, Tenn. - Police have lost red-light cameras to traffic accidents but never to gun play. "This is the first one that's been shot," Capt. Gordon Catlett said of the wounded camera at the intersection of Broadway Avenue and Interstate 640 — one of 15 camera-equipped
intersections in the city.
Clifford E. Clark, 47, was charged with felony vandalism and reckless endangerment for allegedly firing at least three rounds from a .30-06 hunting rifle at the camera, knocking it out of action.
He was arrested after patrol officers heard shots around 2 a.m. Sunday, spotted a minivan leaving the parking lot of a closed business and pulled it over. Inside they found Clark and the high-powered rifle.
Clark, now facing a $50 fine if convicted and loss of his rifle, refused to say anything about the incident to police, leaving the motive unclear.
Catlett, who oversees the red-light camera program, said 6,798 drivers have been photographed running the red light at Broadway and I-640 and ticketed since the camera was installed in 2006. Clark was not one of them, he said.
I've always dreamed of shooting a stop light camera out of raw enmity, but I've never had the guts, nor the $50, to go through with it. What I find most humorous is that felony vandalism and reckless endangerment with a firearm only add up to a $50 fine in Tennessee. Shit, I wonder what you'd have to do to get slapped with a $500 fine? Shoot speed, strangle a puppy and throw babies off a roof?
This reminds me of my trip to Tennessee in senior year of cool-ege when a few buddies and I visited an old friend in Nashville. Posted on the walls of every bar bathroom you can find were advertisements for DUI Mike, who was an attorney that did exactly what you think he would do: get you out of DUIs. I made fun of DUI Mike while in the bathroom and some well-meaning countryboy was sure to get the facts straight by saying that, "Hey, don't make fun of DUI Mike. DUI Mike got my buddy out of a DUI." Touche.
When DUI Mike died unexpectedly a few years ago, there were rumors swirling that, ironically, he died when a drunk driver hit him. This isn't too dissimilar from the hilarious rumor that local fitness "celebrity" John Basedow died in the Thai tsunami in 2005. Here's the originating seed of that rumor. It even inspired some amateur photoshopping (below). Upon hearing this, Basedow himself quickly took action, and wrote on his MySpace page, "John Basedow is not only still alive but has never even been to Thailand." John Basedow smart.
Note the cherubic glow surrounding Dr. Basedow. Also note the hot pants and amazing abs.
Anyway, though DUI Mike does maintain an eerie posthumous web presence, he just died of a heart attack. Tennessee is a straaaaaange place.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Drukgz
I was planning on putting together a polemic "hip-hopera" on our great nation's War on Drugs and the impotence and hypocrisy therein, but I came across something much simpler in the Economist that I could plagiarize and still get the general point across, thus saving me about 4 hours during which I can instead work sedulously and exacerbate my slightly sore throat and stuffy nose... RUN-ON!!!!
"NEARLY 1.9m people were arrested in America for drug offences in 2006—over three times the number detained in 1980. Around one in eight arrests is now drug related. But what they achieve in the "war on drugs" is unclear, according to a report by The Sentencing Project, an advocacy group. Fewer people take drugs: 14% of people reported using them monthly in 1979, but only 8% in 2005. But arrests are increasingly for more trivial crimes: in 2006 only 17.5% of arrests were made for the sale or manufacture of drugs, whereas some 39% were for the possession of marijuana. "
"NEARLY 1.9m people were arrested in America for drug offences in 2006—over three times the number detained in 1980. Around one in eight arrests is now drug related. But what they achieve in the "war on drugs" is unclear, according to a report by The Sentencing Project, an advocacy group. Fewer people take drugs: 14% of people reported using them monthly in 1979, but only 8% in 2005. But arrests are increasingly for more trivial crimes: in 2006 only 17.5% of arrests were made for the sale or manufacture of drugs, whereas some 39% were for the possession of marijuana. "
- Economist, October 09, 2007
So, over 700,000 people were arrested for having some weed in 2006, while 1.4 million were arrested for drunk driving (2004). Weed killed nobody, but drunk driving killed over 17,000 people. Hmm.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
The Spanish Exposition
However belated, I put together some final thoughts, observations and impressions developed during my recent trip to Spain. This was the first time I'd ever been to Europe, and the first time I'd really ever been to a truly foreign country (not counting Mexico and the Caribbean), so whatever I write may seem pretty obvious or self-evident to those of you who've had the benefit of traveling abroad, but this is my goddamn blog and I'll say what I want, alright?
The Royal Palace in Madrid
2. The sense of personal space is VERY different than the U.S. I found myself saying "pardón" a lot when I'd rub against someone or nearly knock into them when I first got to Spain, but then I realized that they never said it back. People constantly bump into one another, cut each other off, and dodge in and out of pedestrian traffic. Aside from the obvious language barrier, this was probably the hardest thing to get used to.LEFT: The Barri Gotic, or Gothic Quarter, in Barcelona.
3. Some people in Barcelona know English well enough to communicate, but many in Madrid definitely don't. I found myself needing to use my Spanish far more often there than in Barcelona, though I always tried to speak Spanish regardless.
4. Servers at restaurants are definitely not very friendly at all, possibly because they're not really working for tips and thus have many more tables than they do here. It was actually kind of annoying dealing with unfriendly waiters constantly, I definitely enjoyed coming back to the States and having friendly service, even if it may be put-on a bit.
5. Madrid quite literally shuts down at 3:00pm for siesta, though Barcelona pretty much stays open throughout the day. This is probably because Barcelona is about 10-15 degrees cooler than Madrid.
The Toledo cityscape.
6. Traffic laws are more like suggestions, particularly in Barcelona. Rush hour in Barc. was an amazing site. In one cab ride home I saw two people riding a large ATV in the middle of the city, cutting back and forth across lanes, cleverly dodging the countless dirtbikes, motorcycles, and scooters. The whole scene looked like some sort of varied vehicle race.
7. I'd like to know why the DC Metro can't work the way it does in Spain. In both cities, trains came every ~2.5 minutes. I really never waited longer than that, and there's no such thing as off-peak. The trains just keep going and going and going.
8. Prostitution seems to be A.O.K. in Madrid, where you can find hookers lining the streets and sketchball Spaniards sidling up to them once the sun starts to go down.
9. The beaches are topless, which in my opinion is most triumphant. It's actually kind of interesting, too. Since Spain is such a vehemently Catholic society, you'd expect them to be more conservative, but of course my definition of "conservative" as an American clearly differs from theirs. Kudos to nudity.
10. I saw a lot of Yao, LeBron, and Iverson jerseys while over there, which was surprising.
11. As beautiful and awe-inspiring as the palaces and cathedrals are---particularly in Madrid and Toledo, respectively---I can't help but think the Monarchy and Church completely fleeced the people to build these things, forcing everyone but the elites to live in abject poverty.
The Cathedral in Toledo. Yes, that's all gold.
I guess that's about it. Now leave me alone.
Friday, June 15, 2007
A Modest Proposal
So I'm engaged. And here's how I did it.
[Proprietor's note: for those who don't know me, I've used a transgender eponym throughout this post, see if you can spot it. If you can, you win!]
I proposed to my beautiful Moroccan boyfriend, Michael, last Wednesday, and he said "yes." I put "yes" in quotes because a) it's the proper thing to do grammatically (please don't double-check this) and b) he didn't actually say the word "yes." In reality what happened was that I proposed and then Michael broke into song about how his father would never accept this love. Fortunately I hired a string and horn section to help convince him by musical counterargument. My ragtag orchestra quickly picked up on the unusual Dorian C-flat he was using and things went pretty well for me from there, ultimately leading to a dramatic but light-hearted climax by the strings section during which he exclaimed "yes!" in response, and we all went into a delicate and timely pianississimo outro. I really hate musicals, so this meant a lot to Michael.
Seriously, where did this fucking woman come from? If I were a pious man I'd have thought this was a sign. Thankfully, I'm not, and instead realized that this woman is probably just married to the creepy, sometimes-eye-patched, one-crutch Pakistani dude who runs the $5 "claw" umbrella outfit atop the Dupont North metro stop.
So I got back to our apartment and started planning the night out. I set up a little pedestal in the entryway with a single rose in a vase and taped this small Ikea spotlight that I haven't used in years to a doorjamb to make it all dramatic. I wrote out a note about the cab, etc, and stuck it in an envelope and put it next to the rose.
The next order of business was to arrange the taxis; one for me, and one for him. I thought this would be easy, but it turns out that DC taxis won't pick you up at a scheduled time unless you're going to an airport or train station. That would've been good to know beforehand, huh? So I spent 45 minutes trying to find a cab company that would send two cabs at the needed times. Finally, I found this dispatcher with Diamond Cab that, after explaining my dilemma, volunteered to help. He offered some advice though: "Something will go wrong tonight, whether it's the cork on the champagne shooting off and killing a squirrel that falls onto your girl's head or something else, something always goes wrong." Sage words.
So with the cabs coming at 8:15 and 8:30, I was all set. What was supposed to happen next was that I'd get in the first cab and take off for the Reflecting Pool close to the WWII Memorial. Then Michael, getting home from work at 8:30, would go up to our apartment, see the note, and go back downstairs to get in the second cab which would take him to the same place. Upon arriving I'd be standing there in a suit with a little boombox playing "our song" and propose there under the watchful eyes of Honest Abe a handful of teary-eyed tourists. By the way, "our song" is Waltz #2 by Elliott Smith, who stabbed himself to death in his kitchen ...lovely.
So, as I was coming down the stairs of our apartment building to go and hide around the corner in case Michael got home early, this black sedan pulls up. I had no idea who was in it because the windows were tinted black, but just in case I tried to run down a little ramp and duck behind some of the landscaping. Of course, as Michael got out of the sedan he saw me feverishly running around the patio in a suit carrying a dozen roses and a backpack. The next thing I hear is "What are you doing back there honey?"
So I had to pull the trigger early and I proposed in our apartment. The story wouldn't be complete without adding that when the similarly hopeless-romantic cab dispatcher called to tell me the first taxi was outside, I told him that Michael got home too early and the plan had to be aborted. To which he replied "I told you something will go wrong, something always does." Touche cab dispatcher, touche.
If you're thinking about proposing and need an idea, feel free to take mine, but just do me the courtesy of telling me if it worked. And if you're not 100% confident in your decision to pop the question, I wouldn't recommend going to the flower shop on Q St between Connecticut and 19th.
[Proprietor's note: for those who don't know me, I've used a transgender eponym throughout this post, see if you can spot it. If you can, you win!]
I proposed to my beautiful Moroccan boyfriend, Michael, last Wednesday, and he said "yes." I put "yes" in quotes because a) it's the proper thing to do grammatically (please don't double-check this) and b) he didn't actually say the word "yes." In reality what happened was that I proposed and then Michael broke into song about how his father would never accept this love. Fortunately I hired a string and horn section to help convince him by musical counterargument. My ragtag orchestra quickly picked up on the unusual Dorian C-flat he was using and things went pretty well for me from there, ultimately leading to a dramatic but light-hearted climax by the strings section during which he exclaimed "yes!" in response, and we all went into a delicate and timely pianississimo outro. I really hate musicals, so this meant a lot to Michael.
Michael and I at our celebratory happy hour. Confused?
This is how it all went down like a clown.
-------------------------------------------------
Michael was heading out of town for a friend's engagement party last weekend, so I knew he wanted to show off his shiny new precious to all his friends. This meant I had to act fast, considering I didn't really decide until Wednesday at 4:00pm to "pop the question" that evening. Michael was getting home from work late that night, around 8:30pm, so I had time to put some rudimentary plans I had been working on into motion.
Getting home from work at 6:30pm didn't give me much time, but I went into action quickly, and being someone who likes to work under pressure, some natural gay inspiration struck.
The general idea was for Michael to come home at 8:30 on Wednesday night, walk in the entryway, and find a note telling him to meet me at a predetermined (but secret) location, and that there's a cab waiting outside to take him to meet me. Upon meeting me at the location (the Reflecting Pool between the Lincoln Memorial and WWII Memorial), I'd get on one knee and propose. The trick was for the proposal to be a "sneak attack" (thanks to Jewish Nate for this tactic) by making him think it'd be on Thursday, since it was somewhat expected to be coming. Things weren't quite that simple, as I found out, and didn't quite work out as planned...
So the first order of business was to trick Michael, which I did via text message by saying "we should go to a nice dinner tomorrow night." He replied "that sounds nice..." and I knew he'd taken the bait. The next order of business was to get some flowers.
So I walk into the flower shop on Q St just off Connecticut Ave in Dupont and ask for a dozen roses and the woman running the shop goes to retrieve them. Then that really creepy, sometimes-eye-patched, one-crutch Pakistani dude who runs the $5 "claw" umbrella outfit atop the Dupont North metro stop showed up and started conversing with the woman getting my flowers. That's when I knew things were about to get kinda awkward. Upon bringing my flowers back, she asks "what's the occasion: anniversary, birthday?" I said, "uhhhh, proposal, actually." What came next was completely unexpected and bogglingly long-winded. It's as if I had been thrown into the middle of a fucking Friends episode. I won't bore you with a transcript of the entire one-way "conversation", but it was highlighted by comments like these:
- "you'll be lucky if you only end up getting married 3 times," and,
- "you're young, marriage is fun, but when you get old it's absolutely miserable," and finally,
- "If I had to do it all over again I would never have gotten married, NEVER!"
Seriously, where did this fucking woman come from? If I were a pious man I'd have thought this was a sign. Thankfully, I'm not, and instead realized that this woman is probably just married to the creepy, sometimes-eye-patched, one-crutch Pakistani dude who runs the $5 "claw" umbrella outfit atop the Dupont North metro stop.
So I got back to our apartment and started planning the night out. I set up a little pedestal in the entryway with a single rose in a vase and taped this small Ikea spotlight that I haven't used in years to a doorjamb to make it all dramatic. I wrote out a note about the cab, etc, and stuck it in an envelope and put it next to the rose.
The next order of business was to arrange the taxis; one for me, and one for him. I thought this would be easy, but it turns out that DC taxis won't pick you up at a scheduled time unless you're going to an airport or train station. That would've been good to know beforehand, huh? So I spent 45 minutes trying to find a cab company that would send two cabs at the needed times. Finally, I found this dispatcher with Diamond Cab that, after explaining my dilemma, volunteered to help. He offered some advice though: "Something will go wrong tonight, whether it's the cork on the champagne shooting off and killing a squirrel that falls onto your girl's head or something else, something always goes wrong." Sage words.
So with the cabs coming at 8:15 and 8:30, I was all set. What was supposed to happen next was that I'd get in the first cab and take off for the Reflecting Pool close to the WWII Memorial. Then Michael, getting home from work at 8:30, would go up to our apartment, see the note, and go back downstairs to get in the second cab which would take him to the same place. Upon arriving I'd be standing there in a suit with a little boombox playing "our song" and propose there under the watchful eyes of Honest Abe a handful of teary-eyed tourists. By the way, "our song" is Waltz #2 by Elliott Smith, who stabbed himself to death in his kitchen ...lovely.
So, as I was coming down the stairs of our apartment building to go and hide around the corner in case Michael got home early, this black sedan pulls up. I had no idea who was in it because the windows were tinted black, but just in case I tried to run down a little ramp and duck behind some of the landscaping. Of course, as Michael got out of the sedan he saw me feverishly running around the patio in a suit carrying a dozen roses and a backpack. The next thing I hear is "What are you doing back there honey?"
So I had to pull the trigger early and I proposed in our apartment. The story wouldn't be complete without adding that when the similarly hopeless-romantic cab dispatcher called to tell me the first taxi was outside, I told him that Michael got home too early and the plan had to be aborted. To which he replied "I told you something will go wrong, something always does." Touche cab dispatcher, touche.
If you're thinking about proposing and need an idea, feel free to take mine, but just do me the courtesy of telling me if it worked. And if you're not 100% confident in your decision to pop the question, I wouldn't recommend going to the flower shop on Q St between Connecticut and 19th.
Friday, June 08, 2007
So...what's new in my life?
It's been over a week since I posted something, and that's probably because life's been a bit hectic lately. Let's see why it has been:
1) Big meeting next week that still isn't fully planned
2) Weekend away in the hills
3) Caught the plague from Bon-Journey
4) Planning a business trip to Spain
5) Got engaged
More on these, and other far more important topics, soon.
1) Big meeting next week that still isn't fully planned
2) Weekend away in the hills
3) Caught the plague from Bon-Journey
4) Planning a business trip to Spain
5) Got engaged
More on these, and other far more important topics, soon.
Friday, May 18, 2007
oh me, oh my
I hate writing about real stuff that happens to me in reality because who really cares what's going on in my little corner of the world? I mean, I just completed Gran Turismo on the hardest setting (reference anyone?), but why should you care? Actually that would be pretty spectacular from my point of view.
Anyway, I spent about 4 hours at Kaiser Permanente on Tuesday getting two sets of X-rays and visiting the orthopedist twice as well. Though I did gain the ability to see through walls from the seven x-rays I had done, that wasn't the point of my visit to the ole' HMO joint.
You see, I went skiing in Vail back in February during which I fell...over and over and over again. The biggest fall was also pretty much my last, and the one that I think landed me in the situation I'm in now. I chose the words "fall" and "landed" very carefully, because during the Minturn Mile run I hit the third of a set of three man-sized moguls a bit crooked and ended up sailing through the air into the side of a hill, landing on my right shoulder.
I'd be lying if I said that a spill I took during my first run at Whitetail a week earlier in Pennsylvania wasn't the instigator of all of this shoulder trouble, but that'd be a pretty fucking pathetic story to tell at bars...as I found out the other night.
I still blame my inadvertent hang-time out in the backcountry in Vail for wildly exacerbating the injury, though. My friend Eric was there, he'd back me up on that spill. In fact, I can still remember him laughing hysterically when it happened, followed by the compensatory "uhh...are you alright dude?" Of course, as a guy, having "dude" and "you alright?" in the same sentence mandates a response of "fuck you dude, I'm fine."
According to those ability-enhancing x-rays, however, my shoulder doesn't think so. I've either got a fractured glenoid (the cup that holds the ball of the humerus) or a slightly torn rotator cuff (the thing that helps my curve ball hang instead of drop). If it's a fracture there's a chance that there's a few bits of bone hilariously floating around in my shoulder causing me pain, in which case I'd need arthroscopic surgery to reunite them with my savings account. No matter what it is, I need an MRI, which is cool but not cheap. With an MRI I'd also get to enjoy a "magnetic shit" injection, as I call it, directly into my shoulder. Since I love needles so much, I may as well plan on hyperventilating and passing out that day, in addition to driving to fucking Fairfax. Maybe I'll take advantage of the situation and pick up some delicious suburbs-only fare like Noodles & Company while I'm at it.
The really fun part is that I got to wait 2.5 weeks before I could see the orthopedist, and I get to wait another 4 weeks to see her again (assuming I can fit in and afford an MRI in the meantime).
Now, I'm not ragging on MRIs, they're pretty cool shit. From what I've read on CNN.com's tech section, they can see into the future to predict how shitty your life is about to get. They also excel at making you feel like you're stuck in a really expensive trashcan for an extended period of time. Pretty amazing stuff.
Anyway, no matter what happens, I'm on pins and needles about finally being able to join in on conversations when people talk about broken bones, because I never have before (KNOCK ON WOOD !!! /.... LOL!!!LLOL!!1LO!O/!!7O11!L!L). I can also join those supermacho conversations about sports injuries, which in most cases, are probably more underpinned by acute office-related atrophy than Dan Cortese-esque extreme sports accidents.
Whatever happens, I wish god had given me an adamantium skeleton instead of this intelligently-designed bullshit.
Anyway, I spent about 4 hours at Kaiser Permanente on Tuesday getting two sets of X-rays and visiting the orthopedist twice as well. Though I did gain the ability to see through walls from the seven x-rays I had done, that wasn't the point of my visit to the ole' HMO joint.
(ABOVE) My non-adamantium skeleton and its unintelligent design
You see, I went skiing in Vail back in February during which I fell...over and over and over again. The biggest fall was also pretty much my last, and the one that I think landed me in the situation I'm in now. I chose the words "fall" and "landed" very carefully, because during the Minturn Mile run I hit the third of a set of three man-sized moguls a bit crooked and ended up sailing through the air into the side of a hill, landing on my right shoulder.
I'd be lying if I said that a spill I took during my first run at Whitetail a week earlier in Pennsylvania wasn't the instigator of all of this shoulder trouble, but that'd be a pretty fucking pathetic story to tell at bars...as I found out the other night.
I still blame my inadvertent hang-time out in the backcountry in Vail for wildly exacerbating the injury, though. My friend Eric was there, he'd back me up on that spill. In fact, I can still remember him laughing hysterically when it happened, followed by the compensatory "uhh...are you alright dude?" Of course, as a guy, having "dude" and "you alright?" in the same sentence mandates a response of "fuck you dude, I'm fine."
According to those ability-enhancing x-rays, however, my shoulder doesn't think so. I've either got a fractured glenoid (the cup that holds the ball of the humerus) or a slightly torn rotator cuff (the thing that helps my curve ball hang instead of drop). If it's a fracture there's a chance that there's a few bits of bone hilariously floating around in my shoulder causing me pain, in which case I'd need arthroscopic surgery to reunite them with my savings account. No matter what it is, I need an MRI, which is cool but not cheap. With an MRI I'd also get to enjoy a "magnetic shit" injection, as I call it, directly into my shoulder. Since I love needles so much, I may as well plan on hyperventilating and passing out that day, in addition to driving to fucking Fairfax. Maybe I'll take advantage of the situation and pick up some delicious suburbs-only fare like Noodles & Company while I'm at it.The really fun part is that I got to wait 2.5 weeks before I could see the orthopedist, and I get to wait another 4 weeks to see her again (assuming I can fit in and afford an MRI in the meantime).
Now, I'm not ragging on MRIs, they're pretty cool shit. From what I've read on CNN.com's tech section, they can see into the future to predict how shitty your life is about to get. They also excel at making you feel like you're stuck in a really expensive trashcan for an extended period of time. Pretty amazing stuff.
Anyway, no matter what happens, I'm on pins and needles about finally being able to join in on conversations when people talk about broken bones, because I never have before (KNOCK ON WOOD !!! /.... LOL!!!LLOL!!1LO!O/!!7O11!L!L). I can also join those supermacho conversations about sports injuries, which in most cases, are probably more underpinned by acute office-related atrophy than Dan Cortese-esque extreme sports accidents.
Whatever happens, I wish god had given me an adamantium skeleton instead of this intelligently-designed bullshit.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Still not sure why I care, but...
It's like almost midnight, and the stupid Warriors/Jazz game is only at half-time. This comment is weird for two reasons.
I'm exhausted from working a 12-hour day, so I'll conclude by saying that the world should all work in the same time zone even though it would mean those wacky arabs and asians working in perpetual darkness just so that I could catch the end of this game instead of finding out tomorrow morning that the Warriors blew the game with their a) missed free throws b) sloppy ball-handling or c) awesome haircuts. That is, of course, if my computer is able to load ESPN.com's usual video and advertisement orgasm. I blame the lingering ghost of Kenny Mayne's smugness for that, by the way.
Anyway...uhh...Go Warriors!
UPDATE: GOD DAMNIT!.
- I don't really like basketball, especially the NBA.
- I've never even been to Oakland/SanFran nor Utah (or "ni...ni..." for you Spanish-speakers)
I'm exhausted from working a 12-hour day, so I'll conclude by saying that the world should all work in the same time zone even though it would mean those wacky arabs and asians working in perpetual darkness just so that I could catch the end of this game instead of finding out tomorrow morning that the Warriors blew the game with their a) missed free throws b) sloppy ball-handling or c) awesome haircuts. That is, of course, if my computer is able to load ESPN.com's usual video and advertisement orgasm. I blame the lingering ghost of Kenny Mayne's smugness for that, by the way.
Anyway...uhh...Go Warriors!
UPDATE: GOD DAMNIT!.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
PLAYOFFS !?!
I rarely write anything about sports...in fact I never do...nor do I ever really think about sports, especially when it comes to the million-dollar baby league known as the NBA. But, I found 8-seed Golden State's 4-2 series upset over the 1-seed Mavericks, a first in NBA history, compelling enough to root for the Warriors and watch about three quarters and half of overtime during last night's game, even though it means not seeing any Mark Cuban highlights for the next 9 months.
Maybe I like Golden State because they don't have any big names and therefore no expectations nor outrageous egos, or maybe I just like rooting for the underdog. I saw Baron Davis do the Five Good Minutes segment on PTI last week and he convinced me that they're the team to root for. Also, every time I hear Stephen Jackson's name uttered by the announcers I giggle because that Ball State sportscaster somehow managed to say "Stephen Jackson's Stephen" during his historically awful segment.
Watching them play last night was actually entertaining. They have the energy of a Final Four college team and their ability to pass the ball (entertainingly) has clearly made a difference in the playoffs. I'm not too knowledgeable about basketball strategies, but on offence their penetration near the board was lacking, and they were often spread way to far across the court with random picks thrown here and there, which probably resulted in the poor penetration. I think the wild passing may have confused the Jazz but not enough obviously.
The real letdown came when Mickael Pietrus missed two free throws with like 20 seconds left that would've won the game for the Warriors. After that the Jazz took over and won in OT convincingly. Oh well.
And for my own entertainment, here's Jim Mora yelling about the "PLAYOFFS!?!"
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Congrats
Congrats to my good friend Nate K and his wife on their marriage this past weekend. It was loads of fun and I wish them all the luck in the world (minus the luck I horde for myself). While it's obviously quite exciting on its own, this marriage will also help to serve as a good litmus test for the other three Nate's I know.
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