I'm feeling frisky today and I think we all know why: numero seis marks the final episode of Wall Street Warriors, and my residence in the fiery depths of hell (just kidding, you know Jews don't go to hell, but bless your heart for thinking otherwise). If that last statement came off as indication that I have unflattering thoughts about the series, let me clarify: while I may have lingering feelings about the unparalleled bathos that was episode five, episode six was an absolute delight to the senses. (Did this have to do with the fact that, subconsciously, I knew every WSW moment—cue intro replete with portentous music and tickertape, "Street Talk," etc, etc—would be the "last intro replete with portentous music and tickertape," the "last Street Talk," the "last etc, etc"? Questions best left unanswered). But really, let's talk seriously for a second—episode six wasn't that bad. (Last aside: is it just me or does it feel like I haven't been able to say something like that since the Algonquins had a fair shake in the 48 contiguous states? Or Jeffrey Epstein had a pure thought about a fifteen year-old girl? Or episode four?). A bunch of new characters are introduced; Sandy Navidi meets with a man in a seersucker suit; Tim Sykes "makes a million dollars" and, later, kicks a fan, as is apparently de rigueur with the Wall Street-reality TV star set. Those are the highlights, let's get down to the nitty gritty geniusmediocrity show that is episode 6 (why do we hurt the ones we love most?).
John Hanemann, commodities broker, shows us the hand signals for “buy” and “sell.” He’s been a member since 1970 and, by his own account, the oldest guy on the floor. (This scene is not representative of the WSW greatness that will unfold shortly).
Shahnaz Hussain, raised in London and of British descent, is an independent trader, working with German fixed income security. She informs, “I got into finance to make money,” a statement we appreciate for its lack of bells and whistles/bluntness, but mostly because of the English accent that delivered it. “Since I’ve been trading on my own, I’ve been doing pretty well. My returns have been pretty high...unbelievably high...” She’s kind of fantastic and I’m a little bitter she didn’t get more airtime on the series. Everyone loves an accent, myself obviously included.
One of Timmy-boy’s investors wants to take his money out of the Cilantro Fund, which is down 300k. Tim doesn’t think the guy’s lost any money, “just confidence.” He kicks (and knocks over) a freestanding fan. This, clearly, is hilarious but the fact that it all happens while Sykes wears a bathrobe with “Timmy” stitched on the pocket and white tube socks, makes it one of the best, if not the best, WSW moments EVER. (And I am not prone to hyperbole. Well, actually, I am, but not when it comes to WSW).
Sandy is having lunch with “a bunch of topnotch portfolio managers.” They include Frank Mlynarczyk, Kevin Casey, Bruce Galloway and Herbert Mahler. Mahler’s the one in the seersucker suit and, therefore, hands down, by no exaggeration, awesome.
Andrew Barber explains what a “naked short” is; his definition differs somewhat from mine, namely because he claims that it has nothing to do with pornography. Whatevs. I’m not backing down on this one.
Tims is waiting for potential-investor Rich Taglianetti at a restaurant in midtown. Tim wants his money “bad.” (Rich, you’ll recall, was, coincidentally, the narrator of episodes one and two. He also sounds exactly like Adam Corolla or, as he is better known, Death).
While walking Sandy out, Mahler tells her about meeting with a “Chinese fellow” who he “attacked…with an aggressive approach on certain touchy subjects” so as to “find out what he was made of.” “I never would have found out what he was made of without insulting him,” Mahler adds, not not making things awkward for everyone involved.
When cab drivers hear Shahnaz's accent they try and “take her around the block”; for the proverbial “ride,” so to speak. Shockingly, b-roll of Alek “I was a cab driver before a trader” Gerchick does not follow.
Back at Skyesala’s lunch, Rich asks our guy whom he’s targeting, the answer apparently being “rich investors.” Seems reasonable enough. Outside the restaurant, Tim walks down the street like Tom Cruise on Oprah (more forward, less vertical motion, however), telling the camera:
“I’m pretty damn happy now; everyone can sense I’m happy; [to passerby] why am I so happy?!; I’m happy, I don’t know, I’m happy; I’m a celebrity; I just got a million dollars!”
Sandy Girl-About-Town Navidi goes to meet with Jim Rogers, who started the Quantum Fund with George Soros in 1973. For some reason, we’re informed that his apartment is on the market for $15 million. Good to know. Jimmy tells Sandy about the extensive traveling he’s done with his wife; apparently, during one excursion he met a man who was shocked-- shocked!—that the Rog-ster did all this in a “two-seater,” prompting the man to share, and Rogers to share with Sandy, "my fiancée and I set out to drive from Connecticut to California and we hate each other, we’ve never spoken to each other since! That bitch, that bitch got out in Denver, and I didn’t even slow down!” [Nobody move; don’t make a sound; okay, let’s all walk slowly and quietly out of the room and for the love of god, don’t get too close to him, he could snap at any moment. I SAID TIPTOE!]
WSW: you will be missed.