The weekend is on its way, and as always I should be life-ing as opposed to working, but when the stock market takes as big a hit as it did yesterday it just gets my mind going. I do have plans with my wife and daughters on Saturday, so maybe, just maybe, I won’t give into the “my parents grew up during the depression” madness that still plagues me today. It’s like that scene in “Annie Hall,” where Alvy Singer is eight years old and obsessed with the idea that the universe is expanding. Despite reassurances from the adult world, he knows something bad is coming.
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