Posters on stock message boards like iHub have a limited narrative.
If the stock price is going down
1. the market makers are walking it down to shake out weak hands, or
2. someone is shorting it, or
3. shorts are covering (yes, I've actually seen someone say that)
If the price goes up it may be the "short squeeze" everyone wants to see happen so the shorts get it in the shorts, so to speak. This even if it rises $1 or less.
And, of course, they are "slapping the ask."
If you post a negative opinion, you are a "basher" working for
1. a market maker, or
2. the shorts (which may actually be market makers, they're not sure)
And if you hold a stock for a period of time, you are "long and strong" and obviously proud of that.
If you are buying shares, you have "backed the truck up," ostensibly loading it up for the next run.
And if you are still holding some cash in your account, you're keeping your "powder dry" in the event the markets tank and there will be cheap shares you can "scoop up" or load your imaginary truck with.
It would all be quite amusing if it hadn't turned into cliche long ago, because they were saying the same things on the RagingBull message boards back in the late 90s.
Breaking Bad was five seasons of watching Walter White transform from squirrelly high school chemistry teacher and car wash employee to a wealthy drug kingpin.
Along his journey, White was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. Knowing that his time was limited, he kept telling Skyler that he was cooking meth to provide his family money they could live on after he was gone. As their marriage fell apart, he kept reiterating that point to her.
However, in the series finale he asked her if she knew why he had done all of it. All the drug production, sales and murder. She didn't want to hear him say he did it for his family again. She was weary of that excuse.
Instead, though, he said "I did it for me. I liked it. I was good at it. And I was really -- I was alive."
So, in the very last episode of the series, Walter White's truth came out, and it made him a totally believable human being. After failing at teaching, parenting and being a husband, his words rang hollow when explaining motivation, and the viewer eventually sensed that as his actions escalated to a point beyond just merely manufacturing an illegal substance.
His epiphanic statement in the finale brought a closure that was needed and understandable. It didn't make him look like a good guy after all; instead it did the opposite. But it made sense and that was a satisfying gift provided by the writers.
Do you have a truth in your writing?
Be careful how you answer that because it's easy to convince ourselves of things that just aren't reality. It takes an objective sense of self-awareness to come to a conclusion of truth, not just a series of emotions.
But, once you find the truth in your writing, it can open up whole worlds that were previously outside your otherwise narrow perception.
Eddie Van Halen died 2 days ago, and I feel like I'm writing eulogies like this more frequently these days.
I admired Eddie, his skills and showmanship. Back in the day I think I only had one Van Halen album. This was probably due more to the fact that I picked up guitar fairly late in life and didn't have any real understanding or appreciation of what he was accomplishing with his playing.
Now, I'm suitably awed when I listen to him.
I have liked many Van Halen songs over the years though I didn't collect their albums. Among those songs are Humans Being, Panama, Everybody Wants Some (for the intro), Ain't Talkin 'Bout Love, and Jump, to name a few.
If you listen carefully to the magic that Eddie Van Halen weaves throughout each song, you should be impressed, too. -----------------------------------
A lot of well-known music artists have died over the last 60 years.
Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon, Otis Redding, Ronnie Van Zandt, Duane Allman, Freddie Mercury, George Harrison, Tom Petty, Prince, Dimebag Darrell.... the list is so much longer that it would take up the rest of this blog.
But whether they died of overdose, accident, disease, suicide or murder, each death left a unique hole in the fabric of our music culture, a hole that cannot be filled by anyone else.
And with each passing, I have taken a moment to contemplate what was, what is and what will be without them and have been thankful for the recordings which never let them die completely.
But Eddie Van Halen is different, and I think I know why.
He was close to my age and he died from cancer.
Not from some drug overdose which seems almost cliche these days though still tragic. Not from a vehicular accident where he was traveling to another show.
Cancer.
Cancer.
-----------------------------------
I had cancer back in 2012. Fortunately, surgery took care of the problem - it hadn't spread from my prostate. And there was no need for chemo or radiation. My PSA level is still monitored yearly with a blood test.
Eddie was a heavy smoker. I used to smoke, but quit in 2006. He died of lung cancer and I have long suspected that would be my downfall as well.
So far, so good, though.
But I have known a lot of people who have died from the insidious disease and that is sobering.
Even more than that, though, was the fact that we were close in age.
Jimi Hendrix died at 27 and I was only 10. The same with Janis Joplin.
There were other people who died close to my age, but back in my 20s, my mortality wasn't quite on my mind like it is now.
I keep thinking Eddie could have lived another 20 years and still been creating new riffs and solos. But that is probably just a fantasy even though the antediluvian Mick Jagger and Keith Richards haven't quite hung up their spurs yet.
Everything has a shelf life. Everything ends eventually.
And Eddie Van Halen's is just a reminder that the end is not so far away any more.
I will close with this. Just listen to that guitar.
We're on the back side of August and the nights have grown noticeably cooler.
From a practical standpoint, that means we don't have to run the air conditioner n the bedroom any more. But from a season standpoint, it means the year is starting its wind down.
Geese are on the move as they honk their way over our house on their flight to somewhere. This has been going on for a couple weeks now.
Days are shorter as the darkness starts to infringe on both ends.
There's still another month of summer remaining. At least that's what the calendar says. But the heavy, burning days of sweat and cicadas are behind us.
Sitting by an open window in the evening watching television is more likely to lead to grabbing a blanket than a cold drink.
The days are still warm, less so than even just a few weeks ago. However, the froth of seasonal change has started to wreak its unsettled yearning upon the soul.
The transition from summer to fall is more impactful, more eloquent than any other season changes throughout the year. Perhaps winter to spring comes close, but in Maine it's such a nebulous time that it is difficult to pinpoint as to exactly when it happens.
Summer to fall, though, is rife with portents and melancholy. A lovely change that impresses a bittersweet sensation that all things must, indeed, eventually end.
The warnings are there and they shout to be sensed more than heard.
As time unfolds more quickly this time of year, it won't be long before the landscape has become barren, the trees denuded of leaves and the sky turned a steel gray with frost on one's breath.
And with this we say goodbye to "summertime and the living is easy."
We are far removed from where we were 20 years ago. 10 years ago. The chasm between then and now is deep, uncrossable. Feeble flights can be made through the use of photographs, video, memories. But these are no more than nickelodeons that play for a while before fading out. So, where does the sum total of all those years go? The past is a great vacuum cleaner sucking up moments as they blip out of the present. And they go to a great cosmic closet to wane, whither, and sometimes morph, especially the farther away one gets from them. The aging process is tragic. Most don't want to admit that. Instead they chant mantras to make themselves feel better about it.
"It's better than the alternative."
"Looking forward to retirement and freedom."
"60 is the new 40."
Or
"Age is just a number."
But the real fact of the matter is our lives have peaks. Peak energy, peak fitness, peak sexual desire and performance, peak endurance, peak interest levels, peak earning ability. And after scaling all those peaks, there is just ongoing dwindle until we find ourselves in a recliner, too tired to get up and wondering where all the years went. All the loved ones went. The ones we buried. Mysterious aches and creaks become the norm. Remembering things often requires Olympic effort with no guarantee of success. Visual and audio acuity begin to wind down, and they are fortunate who can be called mentally sharp when in their 80s. But it's not just the physical decline that defines aging. It's the constant change. Old neighborhoods and play areas so fondly recalled from childhood grow and shift until they become unrecognizable. Sometimes they are demolished and replaced. People who were once an integral part of our lives move away only to be seen once a year in a Christmas card. Or they die. And the music, oh Lord, the music. At least there are records, tapes or CDs. And once popular bands still touring though they look like they should be using walkers or wheelchairs. The world continually transforms itself into a place where the elderly feel more and more like strangers in a strange land. Is it any wonder that old folks like to talk about what was familiar to them ad nauseum? It's because the contemporary world they suddenly find themselves in is oriented to a younger demographic and there's not much in it for the life-experienced. If none of the above speaks to the reader as being tragic, then consider this... Did you know that sex post-60 is vastly different than in one's 20s? It's okay and that's about it. Just okay.
Bud Abbott, Lou Costello, Larry, Moe & Curly, Lucille Ball, Buddy Ebsen, Andy Griffith, Barbara Billingsley, Red Foxx.
The screen used to be smaller. It only showed images in shades of black, white and all grades between. The sound came out of a small speaker, and you had to turn a dial to change the channel.
There was NBC, CBS, ABC and Public Broadcasting.
None of them broadcast 24 hours a day. Instead they ended the television day around midnight by playing the national anthem, usually with an American flag flapping in the breeze. Bob Denver, Davy Jones, Bob Crane, Ross Martin, Irene Ryan, Jim Backus, Jean Stapleton, Farrah Fawcett.
Mid-1960s, color was introduced. Full, glorious technicolor, just in time to usher in the age of psychedelics. The Partridge Family, The Monkees, H.R. Pufnstuf, and the Saturday morning cartoon lineup; there was bright, vivid color splashing the screens keeping us enthralled.
Film noir in its deep black and white tones had become outdated, relegated to the old days of entertainment. And even though neonoir carried the mantle of its predecessor, it didn’t capture the classic feel of the originals instead creating its own atmosphere heavily influenced by the Cold War.
Don Knotts, Eddie Albert, James Doohan, Eva Gabor, Frances Bavier, Ernest Borgnine, Carroll O’Conner.
Sometime in the 70s, the broadcast signal stopped coming via antenna and was delivered to subscribed households through wire, into a plastic box with a row of buttons. Channel choices went through the roof from four channels to thirty. We could even watch stations from the Boston area.
Our options were far greater than they had ever been.
Peter Graves, Lloyd Bridges, Darren McGavin, Jack Lord, Dennis Weaver, Ted Knight, Sherman Helmsley.
The 80s saw a spate of uninteresting programming. The edgy issues-oriented comedy, the steampunk thrillers, the pioneering sci-fi, the intriguing action were all replaced with unfunny school and family scenarios and glam evening soap operas.
The one show that still had merit, though it had strayed quite a ways from its roots, M*A*S*H, bowed out in 1983 with one of the most watched series finales in history. It was a holdover from the 70s and with its closure, a golden era of television had come to an end.
Larry Linville, McLean Stevenson, Harry Morgan, Jack Webb, Tom Bosley, Bill Bixby, Barbara Stanwyck, Natalie Schafer
Now we are treated to vapid reality shows, raunchy sitcoms, mindless drivel and the occasional interesting show. Programs that show promise get cancelled early while the most mundane filth is renewed season after season. The golden era is far behind us reflecting the tastes of a culture that has grown cynically numb to good storytelling. Titillation is the norm, and that envelope gets pushed further and further in attempt to keep interest levels high
Thought is out. Articulateness is passe. Talent is disregarded. Symbolism is dead. All that remains is flesh. Can death be far behind?
Television is entropy.
Phil Silvers, Don Adams, Bea Arthur, Fred Gwynne, Vivian Vance, Harvey Korman, Lorne Greene, Bob Keeshan
Most people gaze neither into the past nor the future; they explore neither truth nor lies. They gaze at the television. ― Radiohead
Tomorrow morning, around 3:15, I will have lived for 60 years.
Some people find meaning in ages with phrases like 'Sweet 16' and 'Lordy, lordy, look who's 40.'
Others simply snort and say, "It's only a number."
I probably relate more to the former group than the latter. I know that when I turned 30, I was melancholy to have left my 20s behind. So much happened in that decade that was monumental to me that I hated to exit it.
However, when I turned 40 and 50, it didn't seem that big a deal.
I have been dreading (if that's the correct word) turning 60 for a lot of my 59th year. It seems like an old age milestone to me, and I can't imagine how it will be for 70 or even, God willing, 80.
I'm not sure when a person is technically considered a senior citizen. Or elderly, for that matter. But, though I see those in my own parents, both of whom are still alive, I don't relate the terms to me.
On the other hand, I complain now and then about getting old and the ways it has affected me and my wife physically. I won't go into all the details, but there's many a time I have wished I could be 30 again.
But, there's no going back and that's a tragedy of life.
Of course, there are those who would snort and say, "It's better than the alternative."
