In today's Early Look: "Hedgeye For Financial Advisors" Everyone in financial services should be either terrified of AI or excited about it. AI still can't hedge macro market risks or #GoAnywherethe# way we do with our hard-earned capital, but it's better than your grandfather's 60/40 portfolio. That's not a compliment to AI. That's an indictment of the 60/40.

I don't go anywhere without Grok. Every place I visit is because of Grok. He's my tour guide and I just pull out my phone, open the app, turn on the camera and talk to Grok. Two days ago I learned a little about mussels. Day 81

Get out of your fucking room. Pack up your laptop and go to a coffee shop. Rent a Airbnb for the weekend. Go into a different city. Get into nature. Whatever. Go anywhere but your room. Staying in your room is killing your thought process. The amount of new ideas you get when you switch locations is incredibly insane. Go and gtfo there.

In Japan, there is one unbreakable rule about travel. If you go anywhere, you bring something back for everyone at work. It's called omiyage. It must be small. It must be individually wrapped. It must come from the place you went. One for every single person. It is not a gift. It is an apology for having been gone. Last year, my coworker Nishimura was transferred to our office in Indianapolis. On his first Monday, he brought omiyage from Tokyo. Thirty-eight little cakes, individually wrapped. He explained the rules to everyone. This was a mistake. Indiana loved it. Gary spent the weekend at his mother-in-law's in Tulsa. On Monday, he walked in with thirty-eight pieces of beef jerky. Each one wrapped, by hand, in Saran Wrap. He had done this in his car. In the parking lot. For forty minutes. Patrice from accounting went to Gatlinburg. She brought back fudge. Cut into thirty-eight identical squares. With a ruler. She showed us the ruler. Big Ron went to the dentist. He came back with thirty-eight little packets of free floss. "Nobody said how far you had to go." He was not technically wrong. Glenn had jury duty. He brought back omiyage from jury duty. Mints from the courthouse lobby. Nobody asked about the verdict. Everybody took a mint. An intern drove three miles down the road, crossed the county line, bought thirty-eight bags of chips at a gas station, and drove back. "Different county," she said. "It counts." It does not count. Nobody has told her. The plant manager went to Wisconsin. He brought back thirty-eight cheese curds, individually wrapped in paper towels. By 10 a.m., the entire office was squeaking. Then Norm, who had gone nowhere, walked in with thirty-eight tomatoes from his backyard. Nishimura gently explained that you only bring omiyage if you have been away. Norm thought about it. "I was out back all weekend," he said. "I missed you guys." Nishimura has decided this counts. By spring, the office kitchen had a shelf with a hand-lettered sign: OMIYAGE. Somebody made a chart. Somebody made a rule that you can't bring the same state twice in a row. Two departments are no longer speaking because of a dispute over whether Ohio is a trip. Then a box arrived from Tulsa. Gary's mother-in-law had heard about all this. She sent thirty-eight homemade cookies, individually wrapped, with a note: "For Gary's office. I hear you're the people he thinks about." She has never been to Indiana. She has never met a single one of them. She sends a box every month now. Nishimura came home to Tokyo in September. Two weeks later, a box arrived at our office. From Indianapolis. Thirty-eight things inside. Every one different. Every one individually wrapped. A jar of honey from somebody's uncle's farm. A tiny checkered flag from the Indy 500. A bag of popcorn from a county fair. A cookie from Tulsa. And, from Big Ron, floss. On top was a note in Gary's handwriting: "We think we're doing this right. Come back and check." Japan gave Indiana one small custom. Indiana gave it back bigger, louder, and wrapped in Saran Wrap.