If it quacks like a duck, waddles like a duck, and drones on about “data dependency” for forty-five minutes, it might just be Jerome Powell wearing a Kevin Warsh nametag.

Honestly, watching Warsh speak yesterday was like watching a cover band play the Fed’s greatest hits.

Same chord progression, same mic-drop non-answers, same “we’re closely monitoring incoming data” while incoming data is somewhere in the parking lot, still not here yet. I kept waiting for him to say something, anything, that Powell hasn’t already said in a beige suit at a podium.

Instead I got the monetary policy equivalent of a Xerox of a Xerox.

The odds of another .25% hike before year-end are climbing faster than my blood pressure watching this press conference. At this point the Fed’s dot plot is less a forecast and more a haunted house, every time you think you’ve reached the exit, another quarter-point pops out and screams “SURPRISE.”

The Fed keeps swinging at inflation like it personally insulted their mother, when the actual culprit is oil prices doing backflips because of the conflict in Iran. It’s like trying to fix a leaky roof by yelling at your electric bill. Wrong problem, right amount of confidence.

I’m Ok, just a bit rattled by what I heard yesterday.

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