Global Inflation!

Global inflation is a major downer. Yield curves have flattened globally. Those Europeans are really making a show of their upcoming rate hikes. The US is not nearly in the same position, yet the US curve has flattened more than any other! I like the US yield curve being flat as much as I like my women being flat. That being said, I like inflation about as much as I like my women inflated. I'd rather have flat than inflationary, I suppose. . . Really, when it comes down to it, we just need natural, full and shapely curves with very low inflation. Why can't we just have it all?

New Year's Eve

New year's eve has always struck me as a rather arbitrary holiday. Just because it's arbitrary, however, does not mean you can't take advantage of it. Every lonely skank is looking for someone with whom to "bring in the new year." As I like to remind girls as I speak to them on NYE, "how you spend new year's eve is how you'll spend the rest of the year. "

2pm rolled around, early close for new year's. I saw my boss pick up his bag and go, of course his bag was already packed by the time the clock struck 2. I leaned back in my chair and used my mini-baseball bat to hit a line on my turret.

"Lehman." Some guy picked up.

"Put Emily on the line." I ordered. A brief pause followed.

"This is Emily."

"How're you doing? You sound like you just sprinted the length of your floor."

"I'm building the last few trades from our swaps desk and ran around the desk to pick you up."

"Put that guy back on the line."

"This is John."

"John, go build those trades that Emily was building and put her back on"

"Uh. . . okay."

"What'd you say to him?" Emily got back on the line.

"Nothing, so what's the plan tonight? Pre-game at my buddy's, new year's eve at Socialista and new year's day at my place?" I figured we might as well cut to the chase.

"You didn't say nothing." Emily retorted. Why do girls get so caught up in the details and miss the important parts?

"I told him if he didn't build the trades for you that you'd start stripping on the trading floor. He got so scared he jumped off the line and asked to build your trades. At least I assume that's what happened."

"Haha, very funny."

"He did ask to build your trades, right?"

"Yea, but. . ." She hesitated just a moment too long.

"See, he did get scared. No matter, I'd welcome your stripping at my place after Socialista tonight. You coming?"

"You're going to Socialista?" She asked. Hadn't I already mentioned this twice? You sometimes have to wonder how many times they need to confirm to get things through their head.

"Yes, pre-game at my buddy's, Socialista for New year's eve and new year's day at my place. You in?"

"Of course!"

"Good, I'll have a car pick you up at 10. See you then." I tapped the release button with my bat. Looking around at the floor, people were emptying out quickly. The fixed income side was nearly empty although the equity side was still full. Those equity schmucks don't get early closes. How sad. Entirely too bad, but you can't help but laugh at them for having chosen equity as their profession. At least it's not as bad as FX though--they never get days off for all practicality. I pulled up my blotter for the day to make sure everything was entered correctly and walked it over to my TA.

"You got New Year's plans, rookie?" I asked.

"Yea, a few of my friends are having a rooftop party." He answered. Doubtlessly some analyst at a bank was throwing together something on top of his Gold st apartment or something. Either that or he has some hipster friend in Brooklyn who are going to be drinking Korbel at midnight thinking they're being classy. They doubtlessly wouldn't be able to afford heat-lamps for said party. . .

"In this freezing cold? Seriously? A rooftop party?"

"Yea, it should be fun. Lots of people. You can come if you want." The eager analyst smiled, probably to try to gain a few extra points.

"Not my thing. I like my New Year's parties warm, indoors, brimming with Dom,Krug and with models looking to get lucky."

"What's Krug?"

"Google it, kid. And have fun at your party tonight. Don't forget, you're a trader now. You get your shit done when you're at that party. Take risk and take home the reward." The kid responded with a shit-eating grin. They love it when you call them traders. The TAs all walk the street saying they're traders anyway. Only after they actually start taking risk on their own book do they finally realize the stark difference between a trader and a TA. Oh well, let him live his fantasy for a night. It could only help him.




10pm rolled around and my friend Dave's place already looked like they were ready to host the after-party. His loft had cocktail waitresses wandering around in skin-tight black tube-tops that left little to the imagination pouring champagne into any empty glass that wasn't on someone's lips. Dave walked over with his arms draped over a couple of them. Apparently they weren't just hired to serve drinks.

"Hey, you made it." He greeted me. "You need a drink and a lady." He snapped his fingers at one of the girls with a bottle and a glass found my hand within seconds. I roamed the room a bit. The usual crowd was there. Many traders and salespeople from the street. Some standouts: Rick, the ambiguously gay salesperson who swears he's straight (but has never had a girlfriend). John, the guy who regularly dates strippers with large fake boobs. Alice, the first stripper John "befriended." Roger who has filtered through his third nickname--I think the latest was 'Skippy.' I did the usual meet and greets and then ran into her.

She was six-foot two, blonde and gorgeous. While she was tall, she was dwarfed by her six-foot four friend. Both were wearing heels. Now while most guys might be intimidated by this, I found it stunning. Now I'm not a tall guy. I'm five-foot ten, rather geeky looking and a scrawny frame. I am, however, a trader. Good traders have taught themselves to separate emotion from action, and above all that they have the ability to get anything right. The greatest thing about being a trader is that things like approaching women no longer qualify as risk. Risk is flinging billions of dollars in the face of a market blow-up. Approaching a couple women with legs that go on forever--a mere diversion.

"Hey, are you two strippers?" Always keep them on their toes.

"What? What makes you think we're strippers?"

"Sorry, wasn't sure. My friend John over there only dates strippers, I thought you had come here with him." It was obvious they weren't strippers. They didn't have huge fake boobs the way John would have liked them. I carried on the conversation for a while. The highlights were that they were both models in for the holidays. I waved over one of my salesepeople and introduced him. "Matt! Hey, Matt, good to see you. Meet Allison and Christie. They're lesbian."

"No we're not!" They both exclaimed at once.

"Okay, they're not, but they should be." I continued and leaned over to Matt's ear, "give me a hand and pull Christie's attention away for a while, will you?" It's always good to have a wing-mate. After a bit more conversation I managed to isolate Allison to one of the couches as she talked about her dreams and goals--none of which I remember. Finally she got around to asking,

"So what do you do?"

"I train monkeys." Eh, it might as well have been true.

"No you don't."

"Are you mocking my profession?"

"You obviously don't train monkeys." She giggled as she gave me a light shove.

"What's wrong with training monkeys? I love training monkeys."

"What do you really do?"

"I'm a male stripper." She giggled more.

"No you're not. Tell me what you really do." At this point she had her arm around me and was basically begging for it.

"I'm a trader. I trade prop for a bank." She let out a moan that I imagined she would give as she reached orgasm. "Whoa, there. Try to contain yourself." I gave her a light push away as if I was going to get up.

"Wait, don't go. That world fascinates me. You know, I'm all in fashion and such, so I love it when I meet guys who are all into math and do that stuff." She obviously had no clue what she was talking about, but her blonde hair brushing by my face reminded me that it really didn't matter. I decided I was ready for the night to end. She put her hand on my shoulder, "so what do you think of the market? Long or short?" Apparently she was ready for the night to end too.

We took a cab back to my place. Right as my clock struck midnight she let out a moan, as if to celebrate the new year.

It was the same moan she let out earlier that night.