My timing was off by a couple of weeks, but I’m sorry to say my prediction of the market collapse has been pretty much spot on: first, a 500 pt drop, followed by 1,000 (Okay, it was “only” 635), which means if my reading of the “Tea Party” leaves continues to bear its rotten fruit, today will be the day we all sing the Tom Petty ditty ‘Free Fallin’.
So, if I’m so smart, I must have unloaded my entire portfolio by now, and moved it into one of Rush’s gold funds, correct?
No, as in every other market crash (I’ve lived through a half dozen) I sat there, just like you, probably, like a paralyzed mouse in the shadow of an approaching alley cat, and just watched a good chunk my life savings evaporate, telling myself ‘Don’t worry, it always comes back’. But will it, this time? And when?
Speaking of Cat. One of my runnin’ buddies from back in the day corrected my memory of that balmy spring ’70 night, which, per his recollection, went like this:
“Was that the watered down version for your God fearing constituency or a memory fade? The Cat sat at the sill of a first floor window while he warmed up and we passed back and forth with him doobies and cans from our utility belts until after his promoters came in the room two or three times and told him the audience was getting overly restless and he needed to get on stage. Unfortunately, The Cat showed he was not full bore Man of the People yet when we asked him to let us climb in the window and he told us “I can’t, Man, I just can’t.” At any rate, that is how these old alcohol sodden memory banks recall the event.”
Together, we could remember everything.
Rupert