“Believe it or not, George is not home.” Damn it, 3:45 a.m., time to get up after a long three-day weekend. Fully five days since I’ve seen Seinfeld, and that stupid jingle is still in my head. When will it leave me, I ask, as I slink to the shower to start my day.
4:30 a.m. Dressed and have read the Journal’s first edition, which is delivered, like clockwork, at 4 a.m. Slow weekend. Leads are American’s pilots and Starr’s departure. Starr’s quitting may get the market going higher. Time to bang out one piece for The Street, my Web site, about how I can’t call the top of the market like journalists can, because I am a professional money manager. I can’t be “prudent.” I have to be right.
4:50 a.m. Kyle, my driver, is here. He’s got the second edition of the Journal and the late edition of the Times. We are five minutes ahead of schedule. Didn’t get to finish the piece.
Oh Jesus, lead story of second WSJ edition: Ahmanson has bid for Great Western Financial. $42. Forty-two dollars, and I sold mine just last month after owning it for two years!!! Stupid, stupid, stupid. Left 10 points on the table. Unforgivable. Gotta get the next one.
Scanning down the front column: Oh no, another bid, this time for Horizon. Who would buy that dog? Gotta cancel plans for breakfast. Too much happening. Can’t do that; no, have to, feel too guilty missing this opening.
Must reread whole paper.
I turn to the Times’ business section. Nothing hot.
What’s this? I’ve got a run in my sock, brand new Banana Republic socks from Cece for my 42nd birthday. I can see why women must be driven crazy by this stuff. Who will see it? I will. Damn. It’s a big hole.
Finished with both papers by the time we get to Holland Tunnel. Time to finish “tops” piece for The Street and start a piece I want to do about Coke. And write this entry into my journal.
5:25 a.m. Arrive at office. Call Goldman Europe while going online. Dollar’s way too strong again. Will Rubin keep his mouth shut? Answer mail queries while I find out about Germany, Japan, and London. Nothing big. Delete e-mail about better nails, delete e-mail about hot women, delete e-mail about beating the busy signal, delete phone-card e-mail. Hmm, that leaves me almost nothing. So time to go over notes from the weekend.
5:45 a.m. Pull out piece on Tasty Baking Co. expansion from Monday’s Philadelphia Inquirer. I missed the Interstate Bakeries ramp last year, won’t miss this local shooting star. Call up documents and reports online to read later in the day.
5:50 a.m. Time for a workout at Cardio Fitness. Maybe get the darn GWF bid out of my head. And this moronic Seinfeld jingle. They make fun of me every morning for listening to disco on my headphones–they all watch Eyewitness News–and for actually being animated during workout. Today is no different.
7 a.m. Two miles and a shower later I am back at work. Everybody is in already. Time to get cracking. Still kicking myself from that Great Western miss. How will it affect the S&Ls I own?
7:20 a.m. Finish reading Financial Times and the biz sections of the L.A. Times, Washington Post, and USA Today. Gotta cancel uptown meeting. Gotta find the guy. Leave messages everywhere.
7:30 a.m. Time for meeting with Jeff Berkowitz, my partner, about how to make money today. Oh no, I am at 574 words already, and the sun is just coming up.
To be continued tomorrow.
James J. Cramer
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