Drinking coffee on a free table next to my six-year-old who wanted spaghetti for breakfast. I need to put up the 4th of four cameras to discourage the neighbor-kid from fucking with my shit and make some toffee because a friend is having a game night over at her house (her kids are named Ripley and Bishop; Ripley is a frenemy of my daughter and there's nothing quite like watching a hive of Mean Girls work out their alliances at the ages of 5-7). My wife is off delivering a baby; this means there are only five more overhanging Christmas but at least the in-laws are in town this year (rather than being in Illinois) so the festivities don't grind to a halt when the babies come.

I return to Los Angeles in ten days. This displeases me. At the same time I live a life where I am so grossly overpaid for highly-technical work that I can go "eh" when they reject my unemployment, in no small part because there remain five women overhanging Christmas. And I can drop $500 on cameras to keep the neighbor kid away from my daughter because it's hella cheaper than moving and I expect a buyer's market in another eighteen months.

I found myself blasting David Starfire and watching the markets crash yesterday. Baron Rothschild probably never said "the time to buy is when there's blood in the streets" because it's exactly the sort of thing WASP capitalists want those evil Jews to say but there is a delightful schadenfreude in watching every Captain of Industry go from gung-ho junk bond baron to pussilanimous panicky bed-wetter in an 8% drop. Nick Murray defined a bear market as "a period where stocks are returned to their rightful owners" and I cannot wait for those fucking eTrade commercials to be ironic again.