The Market is a fickle mistress

Even if you are a painter, the stock market can mess with you. Witness this, shot from my iPhone:



When the shit hit the fan late last week, and the Tao plunged 500 points and the specter of a long, hauntingly ugly, double-dip recession sucked all the breath out of a lovely summer afternoon, I thought I'd spend the weekend painting an updated version of The American Investor.

This being the original:

It makes me laugh when you call the Dow the Tao.
Does it?
Yes.
Good. We're here to serve.
Lovely.
They're pronounced similarly, of course.
Duh--otherwise it wouldn't be a joke.
And there are larger lessons to be learned from both.
Yes there are.
I'm listening to my Buffalo Springfield channel on Pandora Radio--although they're currently playing Janis Joplin.
I'm listening to that female bass player with the amusing name who I often get confused with Meshell Ndegeocello.
Cool.
Yes it is. Some would say I'm too cool for my toga.
Some, yes.

Anyway, the Tao then dipped another five hundred or so on Monday, and I was thinking to myself (admittedly selfishly) that this was fabulous.

What kind of person thinks that way, anyway?

So I kept painting away, with an eye towards popping up in front of the NYSE on Wednesday. But the painting took a turn for the worse--which happens--and the stock market took a turn for the better--which happens. And now it's Wednesday, and I'm not in NY but rather in Troy, staring at my damned painting.

The solution, you're no doubt wondering?

The solution is two-fold. First, fix the goddam thing (although about that I'm sanguine), then white out the title and replace it with "The American Worker". Because the market may be bouncing back but I'm doubtful about the employment figures.

What kind of person thinks that way, anyway?
I know. It's disgusting, right?
You are a self-centered little shit of a man.
So the evidence suggests. Although I'm now listening to The Wind Cries Mary ... which is something.