Awful quiet out there. You can almost hear a price drop. In this odd interlude of an impasse that’s been elevated to full celebrity status for maximum dramatic effect and rousing entertainment value. The economy held hostage – Day 57. Good news for Fox News Ratings. Takes Rupert Murdoch’s mind off of Rupert Murdoch’s own troubles.
As we used to chant in the old days of an earlier baby boom incarnation: ” The Whole World is Watching.” Not to mention waiting. And probably scratching its head in disbelief over the strange endgame that the Washington Capitals are playing in painful, ultra slow-mo live action.
All eyes are glued to the monitors in the ICU. Minutes, seconds, hours of tickertape ticking by. Readouts from the Dow & the S & P 500 and the Global Futures Market streaming steadily across the screen. Weaving and wandering. Spiking and plunging like the heart rate and blood pressure of a drunken sailor or troubled patient.
We can’t help ourselves. We are transfixed by the beating pulse and the bouncing ball of those magic numbers. Even if we don’t quite know what they mean. No one has written an algorithm for all the algorithms yet.
I’m staring at the monitor right now. It’s not clear whether there’s enough oxygen getting to John Boehner’s brain. He may be the House Whip but this isn’t going to whip the market for houses into shape anytime soon. Who’s default is this anyway?
Hopefully the patient won’t expire before the deadline expires…while we are all still standing around talking about him like he’s not even in the room. Just because he’s unconscious doesn’t mean he can’t hear us. More anesthesia! Stat!
So the countdown continues. 3 days 13 hours and 15 seconds until our notice of default goes from action to auction. Is this the countdown to a brave new paradigm? Is the ball in Times Square going to drop in orderly fashion? Or will it come crashing down through the bottomless pit of all the previous debt ceilings?
I’m just praying that Dick Clark will check himself out of the cryogenic lab one more time. Defy the effects of his own recent stroke and come to our rescue at the stroke of midnight. Make sure that we get one more New Year’s Rockin’ Eve Budget under our belts before we reach the end of the Mayan Calendar in 2012.
We’ll know by next week. And then we can get back to the real, real estate business at hand. The you and me kind. Like how we can increase the personal debt ceilings of all those would-be buyers out there. And how we can increase everyone’s revenue stream without creating new jobs. All the while making sure that Moodys doesn’t downgrade our FICO scores and increase interest rates.
If the US doesn’t have to pass muster on a full doc loan, why should the rest of us? Seems so…un-American. Making regular folks go through a tortuous water boarding process just to get a loan through those nasty Guantanamo underwriters.
This is the last thing we needed. In the recovery-less realm of our own undiscovered recovery. Another big excuse in a long line of excuses not to buy or sell.
It’s fascinating to watch. On one hand, there are lots of Sellers saying: ” I’m going to wait until next year when the market is better to put my house on.” But, Sellers are Sellers. They always say that.
What is different is how many Buyers are intent on sitting it out. Saying to anyone in shouting distance: ” I’m not going to buy now. I’m going to wait until next year when the market is worse. ”
They can’t both be right. Something’s gotta give. Or not.
I can’t remember a time when the market was in the clutch of such deep partisan divide. Sellers. Buyers. Republicans. Democrats. Never the twain shall meet? Both jockeying for position while the chasm grows wider?
Last night I dreamt I was Evil Knievel rising to the occasion once more. Ready to defy death again, all the way from the after-life. Firing up my rocket-powered Harley for a last crazy attempt to bridge the gap between the two sides of the River Styx. I was all ramped up. Revved and ready to launch. And then I woke up.
See you on the other side next week sportsfans.