Starbucks and I are out of sync—I finish my lunch break just ahead of my tea.
Which probably only says that I’m timing by the wrong mechanism.
It was kind of my friends to throw me a surprise party, but the jovial mood was tainted by the presence of my nemesis. I knew this stout black man from his neighborhood pool cleaning service but apparently he moonlighted as a cake baker. And tonight, not only was he baking my cake, he was extorting six dollars from me for a cake pedestal—whatever that was.
Ah well—I brushed it off and returned to the party, replete with champagne and cubic leather ottoman. It was a clear night with the stars overhead and enough of a chill to keep formalwear comfortable. Everyone was having a great time. Wait, maybe not. I spotted Kyle sitting alone, clearly dejected, on an elevated balcony.
I grasped the cold metal ladder leading to the balcony with the intent to climb to my friend. It was made of flattened steel pipe, pressed into an oval cross-section. I tried to put my foot on the first rung but it quickly hit the wall behind, leaving only a couple inches of traction. Still, this should have been easy. Then it hit me—I was drunk.
With newfound knowledge of my condition, I gave up my ascension and stumbled to the nearest ottoman.
It gets fuzzier after that.
I couldn’t tell you who she was, but she was beautiful and her tongue was down my throat. In the fitful gaps between rapid-fire kisses I was attempting to sing “birthday kiss” to the tune of Jeremih’s Birthday Sex. In the moment we both seemed to think it was clever. In retrospect it’s downright embarrassing. In any case, “all’s fair in love and war”, and I tend to think of flirting as the intersection of the two.
I awoke in a psychiatric hospital. I might have said this was my first day there but I knew where to go and I knew what they wanted. They were trying to steal my urine.
I got out of bed and tread lightly down the monotonous white halls in my flimsy hospital gown. I ducked into an alcove when I heard a nurse approaching with a gurney. I waited, breathless, until he passed. This was serious business. I passed the men’s restroom on the right. I had to go, but I couldn’t go there—the urinals were tapped! I knew the enemies’ ways. I’d have to find a potted plant or something; that would be safe.
I took a later right turn into an open doorway and sat down across from the only friendly face in the hospital. She looked like Janeane Garofalo in Rivers Cuomo glasses. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad, but at least we could talk.
And so we did. We talked at length about life and love and I espoused the view that at a base level, attraction is not a choice, and that only the magnitude of attraction can be consciously influenced. She seemed receptive.
I asked her about her passion for her occupation as a psychologist. She sat in awkward silence, struggling with a cacophony of internal conflict, and then, with an uncommon honesty, admitted she’d had none since her teenage years. And so we sat, in wake of the tragedy of irreclaimable years and the majesty of young dreams—the liberation born of destruction—and I knew we were on the same side.
I looked to my right and for the first time noticed that we had company in an adjacent room with a connecting window. We were being watched, but not too closely—they had ordered Chinese and were divvying it up for lunch. I leaned forward and strained to read a small white tag attached to a polystyrene box. It read “Tso’s Forward Chicken”.
We did it. We defeated them.
It would be laborious to explain every battle with each of the twelve uniquely vulnerable foes, but the tale of the last is quick enough.
We drove on an oval racetrack, Matt at the wheel and I in the passenger’s seat. In the center of the track was a raised stage and atop that was the beast.
He must have stood forty feet high. His feet were metal pinchers and his legs were giant braids of cable; twisted mechanical sinews. The legs connected to the body via large, flat metal rings each with a single large barb protruding towards the sky. It had a carapace like an insect and a face too horrible to describe.
We circled it at high speed, dodging its deadly pincher attacks. But it was impossible to maintain control at these speeds. Our vehicle kept scraping against the outer wall of the track. The heat from the friction was palpable and I imagined the frame of the car thinning, grinding away that which kept me from being ground away.
Just then we discovered what we needed to slay our foe. We found the weapon on the track, as if spawned for this purpose—a power-up. A rectangular wooden crate emitting a soft pink light. “The Physical Embodiment of Love”.
We used it to obliterate the beast.
Over the stacks of yellowed keyboards and discarded soda cans, her husband’s obese face could just be made out in the ungodly light cast by the computer monitor. He was insisting once again that it’s only natural for a child to know how the human body works. Slothfulness yielding to agitation, she relented and agreed to teach him.
With a hefty sigh and a complaint about the clutter, she pushed aside her half-eaten salisbury steak TV dinner and a curious little metal device like a miniature swingset with dozens of tiny chrome skulls suspended by wire in place of swings. The skulls clacked together in reply.
Taking pen to paper she carefully drew out a human form, with each small area of the body represented by a complex, curved shape. The shapes interlocked cleanly, never overlapping; composed of fluid lines, together they comprised a baroque human figure.
She hobbled over to a desk in the corner, and from a shallow, felt-lined drawer she produced a set of knives, one-by-one. The knives were ornate and of impractical form, but each she carefully placed on an adjacent table. Each played the role of a shape in her drawing—a map of sorts—and the knives formed the figure of a human being.
She presented it to the child—his education was now complete.
If you’re hoping for some sort of unifying logic, sorry, I don’t have it.
All of this is exactly as I dreamed it, without added embellishment. Strangely enough these dreams took place back-to-back on a single night in late January. Crazy, huh?
Let’s wax intellectual for a moment:
Well, the Apple tablet, the “iPad” was just announced. I was fairly accurate with my predictions for the device: 9.6 in. screen, 3G internet connection, $499 price tag. Now that we have the details we’re left wondering how this fits into our repertoire of technological devices. What can it do for me?
Developers seem to be on the fence. For the most part we’re thinking it’s too phone-like to replace our laptops, and too big to be a phone—why would I shell out $500?
I think that rather misses the point. Sad as it is to say it: developers, this isn’t for us. You can get bigger hardware bang-for-your-buck elsewhere, and you’ll probably never be able to code on this thing.
But the key is that it’s genius for the casual crowd. The people who mostly just browse the web, watch youtube videos, and shoot off the occasional email will likely find it a beautiful and ideal device to kick back with on the couch. The Kindle owners also have to start wondering what they’re doing on an expensive, even more limited device.
Furthermore, it’s genius for the publishers. With newspapers dying, publishers are begging for a bailout. Built-in monitization solutions are the future of computing. And in this day and age, how long did we really expect a black-and-white, static display (i.e. the Kindle) to be the dominant device for reading?
In any case, I have lots of outstanding questions about the device, and some of the answers will perhaps make a difference in its success:
“There are no atheists in foxholes and no ideologues in financial crises.” — Ben S. Benanke, Chairman of the Federal Reserve (source)
No, Mr. Bernanke, you are wrong on both counts: there are plenty of atheists in foxholes and many of us “ideologues” actually believe in our ideals. That’s what makes them ideals.
“They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.” — Benjamin Franklin
So…the stock markets are soaring today on news that the government has banned naked short selling. Add this to the jumble of other awkward, piecemeal “solutions” they’ve vomited out and what it leads to is disaster.
Banning naked short selling is not a solution, it’s a bandage. No, it’s worse than that; it’s a faustian bargain. Yes, shorting creates bearish pressure, but it’s not the reason we got into this mess, and those reasons seem to have been forgotten behind the backdrop of exciting new pain-avoidance strategies.
Let’s recap:
We’re here because of homeowners who made ridiculous gambles on adjustable rate mortgages in order to buy homes they couldn’t reasonably afford. They thought they’d find easy street, but the market called their bluff as it is wont to do.
Compounding the problem is the other side of the transaction, where banks who sold bum mortgages—which they reasonably should have known would never be paid back considering who they lent to—and recorded this outstanding debt as valuable assets, working under the false assumption that they would one day see this money.
So, both sides made foolish, risky trades for their own benefit and, lo and behold, to varying degrees, both lost. The meaning of risk is thus: sometimes someone gets screwed, and that guy could be you. It’s not complicated.
And that’s perfectly fine. We engage in risk every day (it’s unavoidable), and it’s our job to determine our personal cut-off point in the risk/reward spectrum (really more like regions in a plane, but whatever). E.g., driving a car is very dangerous, but I find the risk acceptable for the benefit of getting around. I could have purchased a sub-prime mortgage and bought myself a nice chunk of suburbia, but I didn’t because it’s less financially risky for me to own an apartment. It doesn’t mean I like living in an apartment, it means I made a conscious determination to scale back the quality of my home so that I wouldn’t be that guy who is now concerned about losing his home. It’s called ‘responsibilitity’.
As all of this was happening, and as the attitude of lenders and borrowers changed from ‘money should be borrowed with care’ to ‘WOOHOO, FREE MONEY FOR EVERYONE!!’, the “U.S. homeownership rate increased from 64 percent in 1994 (about where it was since 1980) to a peak in 2004 with an all time high of 69.2 percent” (Wikipedia). And as the windbag politicians prattled on about how ‘owning a home is American’, anyone who was reasonably considering this situation should have seen the writing on the wall:* a non-emerging market probably can’t sustain 70% growth*. But what do I know? I’m just an un-American apartment renter.
Regarding my comment above about 70% growth, I’m rereading this as of 2009-12-11, and realizing that I obviously made some kind of typo. Frankly, however, I don’t know what I was intending. It’s not 70% growth, it’s about 0.52% per annum (
(69.2 - 64) / (2004 - 1994)). My intention is not to mislead, so I apologize for the error persisting so long. Fortunately it was so egregious that likely no one took it seriously.That said, I still believe the growth rate is rather out of hand and the original point still stands, and I’ll try to back that up with some sane math.
If you take the U.S. Census Bureau’s data, which goes back to 1968 (I’m using the first quarter numbers), the average yearly growth in homeownership is 0.14% per annum (
= (68.6 - 63.6) / (2004 - 1968)). Put simply, homeownership grew at a rate almost 4 times as fast during those ten years. This shouldn’t happen in a non-emerging market without some kind of technological miracle.
Then suddenly, rather like someone who just got the ‘deal of a lifetime’ buying a “Rolex” on the streets of NYC, the uber-Americans (homeowners) realized they’d paid too much (I imagine this probably happened around the 7th inning, mid-bite into a slice of apple pie). Though for myself, I’ve oft wondered if anybody thinks paying 15 years of your annual salary for a place to live seems like a reasonable idea.
On the other side, the banks woke up and realized that their speculative “profits” were vaporous, but these debts had already been bundled into commodities which were bought and sold all of the world. And suddenly the world let out a collective, oh, shi—
And somehow nobody saw this coming…? Oh wait, maybe a few “crackpots” did (but who understands those capitalist guys, anyway?).
Ok, sorry, longest recap ever.
So yes, people shorted. What of it? Those people made the right call. The shorters didn’t take the value out the market; they just profited when everyone else finally realized that there wasn’t much value there to begin with. All of investing is about making the right call and there’s nothing inherently wrong with thinking that call should be in the downward direction. There are some difficult considerations with naked shorting potentially creating a false magnitude of bear pressure, but the fundamentals of American home lending were fundamentally wrong, and naked shortselling alone would never have brought us anywhere near here.
Now that the market has become aware of the problem, it will, unaided, resolve the situation. But of course that solution is not pretty: the dead weight has to come off. Those who made bad financial decisions (on both sides) need to pay the cost. Yes, that means some companies need to go under, and yes that means some homeowners need to lose their homes. It has to happen for recovery. Think of it as sweating the fever off. The magic of capitalism is that it resolves problems like this, and it does so by purging the toxic elements.
What frightens me is how little understanding there seems to be of this very simple concept…or maybe it is understood, but it’s not a politically marketable viewpoint. People losing their homes?! This is terrible. Maybe I’m next! But reallly, folks, listen to these characters you’re going to have to pick from in November yakk about the poor, innocent homeowners:
“We need a more institutional response to create a system that can manage some of the underlying problems with bad mortgages, *help homeowners stay in their homes* […]” —Sen. Barack Obama, Obama would rescue Main St. along with Wall St.
And here’s the other one:
“There is nothing more important than keeping alive the American dream to own your home, and priority number one is to keep well meaning, deserving home owners who are facing foreclosure in their homes” —Sen. John McCain, McCain Refines Plan for Homeowners
I, for one financially-responsible American, don’t feel the need to fund the homeownership of others based on someone’s unfounded, poorly-defined ideal that homeownership is American. * I resent the idea that my hard-earned cash will be ransacked for the sake of those who indulged in luxuries they couldn’t afford* in the form of increased taxation. And meanwhile I don’t get so much as a ‘thank you you being a financially-responsible American who contributes to the stability of this economy.’ No-siree.
The market would find the right price on its own, it just takes time. But every time the government steps in and injects funds, it creates a false sense of security; the illusion that financially inviable entities are viable. Injecting capital doesn’t improve the business models, it doesn’t eliminate the weak, and only serves to create competition for the responsible corporations who would aide in our swiftest recovery if we allowed them to. But injecting funds does create that A-OK appearance so valuable to a pandering politician by making things better in the short term.
It is the very basis of capitalism that the best companies thrive and the worst die: we need to shake off the dead weight.
I have a new form of entertainment in my life: stock trading. I’ve been watching the markets for a few weeks, and I made my first trade on the 16th, purchasing MLS when it was low, and riding it up. My investments have been very small thus far—roughly $1000. While that’s not exactly pocket change, it’s difficult to get away with much less. Assuming a brokerage fee of $13 (E*TRADE’s basic price), which has to be paid on both on your buy and sell order, you’ll need to earn 2.6% (= 2 * $13 / $1000) on your investment just to break even. 2.6% percent isn’t a tremendous amount, but what if you discovered a mechanism whereby you could (near-)consistently make 0.5% on your short-term trades? You could make quite a bit of money over time, except you’d be destroyed by brokerage fees. But if you invest more than $5200 (= 26 / 0.5%), then your low gain percentage strategy can still work.
So far I am a member of the camp which says that in the short-term the market acts more like a voting machine than a weighing machine. In other words, while we sometimes look at the market as a reflection of the health of a company, there is actually a strong human element affecting the price of a stock. The confidence of investors in the health of a company is the most important fact, not the actual health of the company. That said, it is the job of a short-term trader to predict how other investors will react to the market, and to use those predictions to eir advantage.
Some argue that the behavior of the market is so erratic as to be essentially random. If the market actually is random, then we have a 50% chance of making money. We invest, and half the time it goes up, half the time it goes down. That’s based on investing and simply selling consistently at some fixed interval after the investment time. Not very realistic because usually we would not cash out at a low point, but we would cash out at a high point, but let’s use it as a model.
Of course the market is not truly random; it’s values are the product of something (maybe mostly human opinion, maybe mostly economic factors, who knows), but what we really care about is our ability to predict future values. The market might have the appearance of randomness, perhaps like a chaos system. Let’s assume that the average investor experiences 50% success (and therefore breaks even). If we wish to make money, “all” that we need to do is gain a slight advantage over our competitors. We need to beat 50%. More precisely we need to beat (BROKERAGE RATE * 2 / INVESTMENT AMOUNT) + 50%, or 50.5% for our example $5200 investment with $13 fees. Seems possible, right? So the question becomes ‘how do we boost our odds?’
I’m sure there are many ways you can gain a slight advantage. The most obvious is education. Gain a better understanding of how the market works. Watch the market and amass knowledge of it’s behavior. Read what resources you can find. Surely you can gain an edge from education (besides, the word ‘education’ has ‘edge’ built right into it…surely that means something good ;)). The second means is to use technology. I spend a great deal of time watching Google Finance. Why? Because the charting capabilities are awesome, and because it plots relevant news events on a timeline. Sure the quotes are delayed twenty minutes—I have to watch a real-time quote source as well—but the ability to easily see how the market reacted to news makes me a more informed investor. Also consider that some portion of the investor population only uses the newspaper to monitor their investments. And that leads me to my final method for gaining an edge: watch the market constantly! I’m usually at work for the hours the market is open, so I keep a stock ticker on the top of my screen. If the market rises to a nice sell point, but then falls again in a span of time when you weren’t watching it, you missed a great opportunity. Not everyone watches the market constantly, so take advantage of that.
Now, a couple corrections to what I said above, because it was definitely a simplification. First, my 50.5% math is a little bogus. Some portion of the activity on the markets is the result of full-time, highly-educated investors. I don’t know what fraction this represents, but if you know, please inform me. This will push your starting point below an even 50%. Second, I wouldn’t expect a uniform distribution of investors’ market successes, so to say that you beat 50.5% percent of investors doesn’t precisely say that you made 0.5%, but it still might be a useful heuristic for average cases. My suspicions are that the 50% model is accurate enough to be useful.
Closing thoughts: it’s far from a sure thing. Don’t say that I said it was it was a sure thing; I didn’t. In fact, I think there’s a 50% chance you will fail (at least until I know more about who you are). I’m not an expert, I’m a 22-year old computer scientist trying something new and offering my speculations. Don’t invest money you can’t spare in something as volatile as your stock picks. Even neglecting the fact that you might lose it (duh!), your fear of losing it will cause you to make less rational, less calculated decisions than someone we is investing spare income. You’re giving your opponents the edge. And if you don’t believe me, ask a poker player about that.
How am I doing? Well, so far I’m up 11.5%. That’s an amazing return for nine days’ work. But it’s a small sample set. I’ll report back later. In any case, it’s a lot of fun. Certainly better than an MMO, IMHO =). I actually enjoy waking up early to check the market, and that is unique for a college student.
Out of pure coincidence today I happened upon a blog directly related to my previous post. Check out Literally, A Web Log, “an English language grammar blog tracking the abuse of the word ‘literally’.”
I have an on-going love affair with the English language. I have a vast appreciation for the many ways in which the language is spoken and written. I have great respect for those who devise clever word usages and linguistic manipulations. But in modern language there’s a particular failed attempt at such effect which is truly irritating…
The ability to use words figuratively is a powerful tool. It allows us to express complex thoughts in terms of things easier to understand (e.g. “The General embraced the idea of a cease-fire”). At times it simply makes for a great literary device (e.g. “Those boxes were so heavy that my arms are going to fall off!”).
But if any statement can be meant figuratively, how can we ensure that a reader will realize a given statement is not figurative when there might be doubt? Lucky us, We have a special word just for this purpose: “literally”. It is the single magic word which dispels all doubt.
Except now people are using the word “literally” figuratively! That doesn’t work. You can’t do it. “Literally” is the only word in the entire English language that you can’t take figuratively. Choose a different victim. “Literally” is an English axiom. I commonly hear statements like “he literally went ape shit” (he became gorilla feces??) and “at that point she literally just lost her head” (sounds inconvenient). These people are attempting to inject grandeur into their speech and they end up sounding like chumps.
Our words are rapidly losing meaning because of the way we abuse them. I can’t help but be reminded of 1984’s Newspeak, a language so watered down that one cannot express a logical thought.
I am getting really tired of every community-based website creator feeling the need to reimplement basic functions of the web. Why does every site have to have a ‘Message This User’ action? Has everyone forgotten about email? The problem of sending a body of text to another individual on the web was tackled long ago! Let it be!
Under the ‘I’m going to reimplement a perfectly good system’-system I now have to check yet another message box. Oh goodie, in addition to the six mailboxes I already check, I get to check another. And this one I can’t access though the mail client I use to access many of my others. No, I have to log onto some stupid website with a stupid unique interface. And how many sites with this “feature” do I have accounts on? Far too many. Every one a different website, every one a different interface. I’m not going to remember to check them all regularly, and even when I do, I wont remember how they all work. That’s bad for everyone (including your precious community).
So some genius gets an idea: “I’ll email the users when they get a message!” This is even more foolish! Now I get an email telling me that I got an “email” somewhere else. How bloody convenient!
I guarantee you that no matter how snazzy your messaging interface is, it’s not as effective as how I manage my email. My email is set up in a way that is useful to me. Me, the user. I chose the email program I wanted, I chose the spam filtering solution I wanted, I configured procmail(1) to drop emails into appropriate mailboxes in just the way I like. Email is a stable system that puts the control in the hands of the users. People like email.
To trendy-community-site-creators: the world does not revolve around your website. You do not have to provide every service a person could ever want from the internet. We all visit multiple sites (not just yours). Every site does not need to include a profile, a blog, a messaging system, a set of communities, a news system, a photo gallery and a search engine. Do something new. Do it well. And don’t force your inferior replacements of existing web services upon us. We don’t want them.