Don't you just want to punch him?
So I’m here on the verge of my next song, frantically seeking inspiration, and finding Somewhere Over China waiting for me.
It’s a desperate place to be. I feel like a cornered animal.
Let me help you out here. My favorite song on this album, “Where’s the Party,” simultaneously evokes the M*A*S*H theme (yes, “Suicide is Painless”) and Rick Astley’s “Together Forever.” And while I’m not entirely disappointed by that, because both of those songs are rad (Jimmy’s is, let’s say, less rad), that’s the level of stimulation I’m dealing with here. Suicide and Rick Astley. Together. Forever.
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Pretend I made a clever joke about what "BP" stands for.
As mentioned earlier, I’m no longer buying stock on a schedule. I’m buying it when I see a deal, just like Warren.
Small problem: I don’t know how to recognize a deal.
So far that hasn’t stopped me from trying. And I continued yesterday by acquiring — at least by TBB standards — a large amount of BP.
(And I can’t tell if this is delicious irony or just regular irony or Alanis Morissette non-irony, but the irony of buying stock in a company responsible for destroying Jimmy’s treasured Gulf is not lost on me. I’m sorry, Jimmy. It’s not personal. OK, just a little bit.)
If I had them, I would point out the legitimate reasons for my BP acquisition. Here instead are some things to distract you from the lack thereof:
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This week I had a crisis of conscience — “conscience” is perhaps putting it strongly, but what else does one have a crisis of? — and considered prematurely ending this project. Why? Lots of reasons, mostly related to ego (and net-worth) damage.
But as I wrestled internally, I paid attention to signs from the Brothers. Today I’m discussing them, and at the same time trying something new: merging 1985′s letter and Coconut Telegraph into one unholy Buffett buffet.
Let me set the stage: I’ve got Coconut Telegraph on the hi-fi; 1985′s letter, the longest to date, stacked in front of me; a glass of port in my hand. I’m the man your man could smell like.
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I may not be the biggest man, but I was the biggest boy.
It takes a big man to admit when he’s wrong. But, really, the biggest man of all is the one who has the ability to admit he’s wrong — but never actually has to.
I am no longer the biggest man.
I’m taking a cue from Warren tonight — WB in his letters routinely admits to being an idiot — and recognizing a sad fact: ten albums in, Jimmy is… how do I say this… not that bad.
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So, Volcano. Yeah.
This is one of Jimmy’s more poorly reviewed (or, in parrothead-speak, “less beloved”) albums, though I have a hard time distinguishing it significantly from the other nine. Jimmy’s inconsistency is totally consistent: Volcano‘s wide variety of styles and rampant vacillation between ballad and peppy beach tune are typical of JB.
One amusing differentiation: Volcano (released mid-1979) is clearly JB’s attempt to bridge the new, synth-heavy 80s with the country/Key-West persona we know so well. It’s as if Jimmy’s got a Caribbean soul he can barely control, and some Hall and Oates hidden here in his heart.
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Caution: Corny mountain-climbing theme ahead.
With this letter I proudly reach base camp: officially 1/4 of the way through the combined Buffett oeuvre. I could wax poetic on what I’ve learned, but I think that would do both of us a disservice. You: reading about nothing. Me: realizing I’ve learned nothing.
Let’s just get on with 1984.
We start off with a brief dispute between the New York and Omaha offices of accountancy Peat Marwick (yet another in their storied “East-Coast/No-Coast” rivalry) regarding share repurchases. Not worth going into detail beyond my weak Biggie-Tupac joke, but WB takes the opportunity to again highlight how much he loves companies that buy their own stock. Two reasons, which are sort of circular within circular: (This is Spirograph reasoning.)
- If the stock is cheap (i.e., below intrinsic business value) the company is automatically increasing said intrinsic value even further by buying an undervalued asset.
- A company that repurchases its own shares sends a message to investors that it is acting in their best interests (i.e., increasing intrinsic value regardless of share price), which will increase investors’ confidence in the company’s future, thus raise share prices to a more appropriate level.
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It’s funny. When we* started this project I feared more for the songwriting than the stock-picking. In retrospect this makes no sense, as the latter is measurable and absolute — and costs me money — and the former is an art**, immaterial, subject to opinion. Meaning if you don’t like my songs I’ll just call you an idiot and reassure myself that you don’t get it.
(Because my songs are awesome.)
But unfortunately the Power of Irrational Thinking (2011, Putnam Penguin) doesn’t help when it comes to comprehending a balance sheet. Like mine over there on the right. (Actually that one is pretty easy to comprehend.) What I’m saying is this stock-picking is hard, and Warren has yet to make it any easier. And even though the markets are practically teeing me up for some value investing, I still have no idea what to do.
And I have already read seven letters. Let’s get it on already, WB. Read the rest of this entry »
(No reported changes in gratitude.)
Serious dilemma here with Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes.
This weekend was my son’s birthday party, right? So, afterward I’m driving home in the support car with eight pounds of dry ice in the backseat. Of course.
Anyway, the one thing they tell you when you acquire dry ice in substantial quantities is “roll your car windows down” — lest you pass out and die a carbon-dioxide-rich death. Problem: I am in the middle of breaking down “Margaritaville” on the car stereo.
Do I:
- Allow “Margaritaville” to blare through open windows — while I am in my own town, within earshot of people I could possibly know?
Or:
- Keep the car sealed and maintain my pristine, non-drunken-frat-boy image? (Except, of course, with the emergency crew, who will be forced to operate the jaws of life to the easygoing strains of the Gulf Coast.)
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So, as you may know, every month or so I challenge myself — in a single day — to write and record an entire frickin’ song based on my Buffett influences. And I don’t want to to overstate here, but by and large this is the hardest thing anyone has ever done.
Anyway, we’re here at Round Two (here’s round one), and I submit to your judicious ears “A REAL Pirate Looks at Forty.” You might recall that when I encountered “A Pirate Looks at Forty” on JB’s A-1-A, I was ticked that it wasn’t about an actual pirate. Where Jimmy failed to deliver, I have stepped in:
Fun facts about “ARPLAF”: (continued on the full post)
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