Tearing myself away from my OCD with CNBC I ran to lunch at Michael's the other day fearing I'm isolated now that my consulting work is vanishing faster than the puffy smoke at the Vatican that signals a new pope — or is it a dead one? Poof and there goes my monthly retainer while I sit glued to watching my equity sink, lip-synching to every whisper of hope from Erin Burnett and Mark Haines. My hope had been to leave the city after lunch and head to my pink and green pad-let in South Beach where I would take advantage of a Jewish holiday and Chris Columbus's first step on our soil — way pre FOMC days when Isabella and Ferdinand used gold coins. Wonder what the price of gold was then?? Michael's was beyond frenetic with table hopping I'd not witnessed before and I felt as if I was dining on the Titanic before the ship went...
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