I grabbed my mackintosh last week, for a pre-dinner stroll along the Hudson River in lower Manhattan. The go-to event was a drizzly tribute to the QE2, on her swan song dance down the Hudson.
This New York harbor walk came the night after a Ferrari-owning trader explained high finance to me, over martinis at New York’s Soho Grand Hotel.
Dalboz17 at Flickr“It’s like this, Anne. Wall Street has always been a game of musical chairs. In today’s world, someone has to lose. Forget that Ayn Rand, enlightened, greater-good argument. The Street has always been a jungle without enough stools for everybody. Each day now, another chair is pulled away. If you think anyone is thinking clearly and caring about the future of the free world, well … have another martini, my dear.”
I do remember stumbling into our Upper East Side kitchen, when my Solomon, ibanker partner was having a swig of morning vodka, preparing to face another grueling day. I said nothing, leaving the room as quietly as I came.
What if my Soho Grand guy is right? What if all my assumptions about how things work are totally wrong?
An Estrogen Mist Could Be The Street’s Financial Fix
Searching for a sense of next-day psychological security in the New York fog, I was glad my friend the QE2 was not steaming solo across the Atlantic.
Her Majesty’s gal pal on this final Atlantic Ocean crossing was another member of the Cunard royal family, the Queen Mary 2. This larger, more modern majesty stood anchored in waiting, near the Statue of Liberty.
Seeing her there brought a sense of reassuring order to my world. Tradition, reliability and duty stood tall and focused with attention in the New York Harbor.
Wiping away the evening mist on my face, I enjoyed my first laugh on a dreary, economically depressing day. The Queen Mary 2 appeared to me as a sophisticated, cultivated, reliable suitor waiting for a dance with the regal, composed, duty-driven QE2.
I could only describe them as two cruise ships going on a date. Lady bisexuals? Perhaps. It’s a major trend in female sexuality.
Seeing an ocean vessel as an impatient lover or intimate best friend, is a stretch of one’s creative imagination, but no crazier than photos of jubilant traders high-fiving on Monday and then crying in their beer two days later.
Literature implying that women have an exclusive reign over irrational, hormonal outbursts must be written and researched by men. Mars and Venus bedroom spats are one life challenge. Bringing down the global economy is another.
Perhaps the financial boy’s club is serious need of an estrogen balance?
Man Crazy
I’ll be brutally honest here. Men have treated me fabulously throughout my entrepreneurial career. In payback, no one has defended men more than have. In fact, I adore the male species to a fault, but this Wild West, swinging dick, testosterone imbalance scares the wits out of me these days.
In spite of a 24-hour financial news day in America, our masters of the universe exhibited shock, then total panic last Wednesday, with the release of September retail sales. Traders looked like deer caught in Bucks County headlights, suddenly discovering what we all know to be true. Consumers are holding back on spending.
Come on guys, this was a surprise to you?
The frenzied trading-floor photos reminded me of Jim Cramer, his proverbial arms flailing in mid-air two years ago, telling viewers to buy his numero uno favorite retail stock at $13. Eighteen months later, the stock trades at $1.18. (Update: it later hit $.56.)
As an executive consultant, I knew my client was treading water from a future revenue standpoint. Ooops, Jim.
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