Time to Join the Great Stock Ball?

Remember when all the world (at least the only part that really mattered) was a stage for an economic party that ran for years? The dot-commers, gyrating to the frenzied applause of their venturesome partners were in the center. Lights were strobing through the darkness, music was blaring, and everyone was laughing.
Naturally, things got out of hand from time to time: A few companies got smashed and some people lost their shirts. At one point, the dot-com dancers hurled the concept of profit through a plate glass window, while their capital partners tried to stuff dollars down their clothes. Oh, what a glorious time was had by all!

            Well, not quite all. Outside, pressing their faces against the windows, millions were aghast at the bacchanalia within.
Inside, sulking in the shadows, Old Economy companies stared sullenly at their orthopedic shoes. For years, they had moved in measured sweeps around the dance floor. They’d milked the Dow Cow and called the tunes and ruled the world. Now they’d been shoved aside by teenage mutants who convulsed in the shifting lights of the Great Stock Ball. Standing in clusters, thinking dark thoughts, they muttered curses from the sides of their mouths. When a few of them slipped out a side door, no one noticed.

But everyone noticed when they came back in. They were bigger now, with bold synthetic names. Wearing painted smiles and pounds of makeup, they stood along the wall until enough dot-commers were spun out of the windows to make room on the dance floor. Then these newcomers jumped and gyrated with all of the others to the New Economy songs of eternal profits and never-ending revenues.

Soon the crowd morphed again. Oh, the dot-commers and the Old Economy floozies were still there, but their partners were changing and multiplying. as one by one, then in droves, the window watchers came inside. Some cut in on the venturers, who promptly headed for their night deposit slots. Others stood in front of the wallflowers and cheered on the dancers. The music got louder and faster. The Dow was going to 36,000, and everyone was going to be rich….

But just when you thought the party would never end, it did — with a jolt. Suddenly, the band stopped. The overhead lights glared on and you got a good look at your dance partner. As the makeup slid off her face, she laughingly told you everything she’d said had been a lie. And then she ran out the door, brandishing the car keys and bank card you’d given her at the height of the party.

            As you took the long walk home, you suddenly felt an arm wrap around you. “Don’t worry,” said a smooth voice. “I’m from Congress, and I’m going to take care of everything. We know all about hiding figures and changing facts. Forget your losses. We’re going to solve all of your problems. We’re going to ban makeup and remove the light dimmers, so you’ll never be surprised by your partner again. Come with me, and I’ll tell you all about it.” And from the dimly-lit place where he was leading you, you could hear the familiar sounds of laughter and clinking glasses.

            Now, that place is no longer dimly lit, it’s blasting with strobe lights and loud music. You go to the window, but with the lights zapping your eyes, you can’t see who’s dancing. Should you go in and join the party, or remember how it ended the last time and walk away?

            That, gentle reader, is the question.