Stock futures were plunging again Sunday evening, continuing a steep selloff that began after President Donald Trump announced reciprocal tariffs.
Just after 6 p.m. EST on Sunday, Dow Jones Industrial Average futures were down more than 1,700 points, or 4.4%; S&P 500 futures were down 5%; and Nasdaq Composite futures fell 5.3%.
A selloff at the market open in New York on Monday would extend two consecutive days of steep declines that have erased $6 trillion in stock market value.
The Dow Jones Industrial Average fell 3,269 points, or 7.9% last week, to 38,315. The S&P 500 dropped 9.1% last week, to 5074, and the Nasdaq Composite fell 10% to 15588.
The tech-heavy Nasdaq Composite entered a bear market on Friday, sinking more than 20% below its December record. The Dow Jones Industrial Average sank 2,231 points, down 5.5%, after China said it would retaliate against the U.S. with 34% tariffs of its own....
....MUCH MORE
DJIA futures down 1640 (-4.26%) S&P 500 down 241.75 (-4.73%)
Stocks go up and stocks go down and if you can't sleep at night because you are worrying about your net worth, you are betting far more of your bankroll than you should be.
And to contextualize April 5's "Warren Buffett defended his massive $300 billion cash pile in February. Now he doesn't have to." (BRK), Mr. Buffett wasn't selling 60% of Berkshire's Apple position (or whatever the exact number is) and building one of the largest cash positions outside of the central bank realm because of the tariffs but because he thought stocks were pricey and he couldn't find anything worth buying i.e. the market was too expensive. Stocks were expensive and now they are less so.
Here's a repost from June 7, 2008, almost exactly three months before all hell broke loose that may give one some comfort (and for the curious, we were as on top of that unpleasantness as anyone):
Okay, the Dow Jones Industrials are Down 428 Points in the First Five Days of June. Now What?
Well, the retail guys have their lips on autopilot: "And Mr. Big, if you annualize that...", but I suppose that sounds better on the upside.
Grandmother would say something like "If the initial condition given is 'The sky is falling', your course of action would be to short sky, try the eggplant"
By David Carkeet
Admit it: You want to be the sole survivor of an airline disaster. You aren't looking for a disaster to happen, but if it does, you see yourself coming through it. I'm here to tell you that you're not out of touch with reality—you can do it. Sure, you'll take a few hits, and I'm not saying there won't be some sweaty flashbacks later on, but you'll make it. You'll sit up in your hospital bed and meet the press. Refreshingly, you will keep God out of your public comments, knowing that it's unfair to sing His praises when all of your dead fellow-passengers have no platform from which to offer an alternative view.
Let's say your jet blows apart at 35,000 feet. You exit the aircraft, and you begin to descend independently. Now what?
First of all, you're starting off a full mile higher than Everest, so after a few gulps of disappointing air you're going to black out. This is not a bad thing. If you have ever tried to keep your head when all about you are losing theirs, you know what I mean. This brief respite from the ambient fear and chaos will come to an end when you wake up at about 15,000 feet. Here begins the final phase of your descent, which will last about a minute. It is a time of planning and preparation. Look around you. What equipment is available? None? Are you sure? Look carefully. Perhaps a shipment of packed parachutes was in the cargo hold, and the blast opened the box and scattered them. One of these just might be within reach. Grab it, put it on, and hit the silk. You're sitting pretty.
Other items can be helpful as well. Let nature be your guide. See how yon maple seed gently wafts to earth on gossamer wings. Look around for a proportionate personal vehicle—some large, flat, aerodynamically suitable piece of wreckage. Mount it and ride, cowboy! Remember: molecules are your friends. You want a bunch of surface-area molecules hitting a bunch of atmospheric molecules in order to reduce your rate of acceleration.
As you fall, you're going to realize that your previous visualization of this experience has been off the mark. You have seen yourself as a loose, free body, and you've imagined yourself in the belly-down, limbs-out position (good: you remembered the molecules). But, pray tell, who unstrapped your seat belt? You could very well be riding your seat (or it could be riding you; if so, straighten up and fly right!); you might still be connected to an entire row of seats or to a row and some of the attached cabin structure.
If thus connected, you have some questions to address. Is your new conveyance air-worthy? If your entire row is intact and the seats are occupied, is the passenger next to you now going to feel free to break the code of silence your body language enjoined upon him at takeoff? If you choose to go it alone, simply unclasp your seat belt and drift free. Resist the common impulse to use the wreckage fragment as a "jumping-off point" to reduce your plunge-rate, not because you will thereby worsen the chances of those you leave behind (who are they kidding? they're goners!), but just because the effect of your puny jump is so small compared with the alarming Newtonian forces at work.
Just how fast are you going? Imagine standing atop a train going 120 mph, and the train goes through a tunnel but you do not. You hit the wall above the opening at 120 mph. That's how fast you will be going at the end of your fall. Yes, it's discouraging, but proper planning requires that you know the facts. You're used to seeing things fall more slowly. You're used to a jump from a swing or a jungle gym, or a fall from a three-story building on TV action news. Those folks are not going 120 mph. They will not bounce. You will bounce. Your body will be found some distance away from the dent you make in the soil (or crack in the concrete). Make no mistake: you will be motoring.
At this point you will think: trees. It's a reasonable thought. The concept of "breaking the fall" is powerful, as is the hopeful message implicit in the nursery song "Rock-a-bye, Baby," which one must assume from the affect of the average singer tells the story not of a baby's death but of its survival. You will want a tall tree with an excurrent growth pattern—a single, undivided trunk with lateral branches, delicate on top and thicker as you cascade downward. A conifer is best. The redwood is attractive for the way it rises to shorten your fall, but a word of caution here: the redwood's lowest branches grow dangerously high from the ground; having gone 35,000 feet, you don't want the last 50 feet to ruin everything. The perfectly tiered Norfolk Island pine is a natural safety net, so if you're near New Zealand, you're in luck, pilgrim.When crunch time comes, elongate your body and hit the tree limbs at a perfectly flat angle as close to the trunk as possible. Think!
Snow is good—soft, deep, drifted snow. Snow is lovely. Remember that you are the pilot and your body is the aircraft. By tilting forward and putting your hands at your side, you can modify your pitch and make progress not just vertically but horizontally as well. As you go down 15,000 feet, you can also go sideways two-thirds of that distance—that's two miles! Choose your landing zone. You be the boss....
