I can quit anytime I want

Like most other twit­ter users, I have been afflicted recently by the slow­down and gen­eral wonk­i­ness of twit­ter. Where is this plague com­ing from? Who shall we blame? Well, we know who to blame… obvi­ously Israel.

I did notice, how­ever, that my behav­ior as a result of this twit­ter brown-out was wor­ry­ing, to say the least. My trusty Tweet­Deck was fail­ing me (ok, to be fair, it’s the twit­ter API that’s fail­ing) so I found myself refresh­ing the twit­ter home­page sev­eral times a minute. Why?

It would seem that I am addicted to twit­ter. This is not some­thing I am proud of, but I take solace in the knowl­edge that many of my fel­low twit­tites share my obses­sion. The num­ber of tweets refer­ring to how slowly twit­ter is updat­ing and how it is affect­ing them assures me of that.

I would go on, but I noticed that the main part of my post is just under 140 words. You understand…

Chapter 2: Elementary Economics (or How to hold onto your lunch money)

Last chap­ter we dis­cussed the impor­tance of genet­ics in finance. To sum up: it’s pretty darn impor­tant. Now let’s look at fis­cal con­cerns dur­ing early edu­ca­tion. I skipped over the baby years between because, let’s be hon­est, babies have an excel­lent return-on-assets ratio. For every asset they receive in their mouths (such as spinach) the return is much more than the par­ents bar­gained for. And the return usu­ally ends up all over the couch and bed­sheet and ceil­ing. And for­get about the smell…

Any­way, on to ele­men­tary school. The first thing you have to remem­ber is that every cent you save is going to go down on your per­ma­nent record. No, wait, sorry…. I mean every cent you save is going to pro­duce more inter­est in the bank and be a big­ger help when you get older. Unless you have piggy bank. What a cruel, inhu­mane and sick mar­ket­ing ploy: We’ll help teach kids how to save money by screw­ing them out of poten­tial inter­est and earn­ings on their sav­ings! You didn’t have a piggy bank, did you? You did!? You poor sap! Well, at least now you have this book to help you out, because you cer­tainly need it.

So we have ascer­tained that you need to save as much of your money as early as pos­si­ble, espe­cially in an account that grants inter­est. The obvi­ous prob­lem that plagues all lit­tle kids is… school bul­lies. Or so it would seem accord­ing to all comics and car­toons depict­ing Amer­i­can grade school. Have you ever had a run-in with a bully who took your lunch money? (Hint: No) When was the last time kids had lunch money? (Hint: The Civil War) How much was lunch money at that time and how much lunch could it buy? (Hint: If you ask your grand­fa­ther, it was a nickel and it could by lunch for your­self and two friends at the Ritz-Carlton, a cruise to the Bahamas and a mail-order bride.)

So what is the real chal­lenge fac­ing our grade school stu­dents? I have no idea. Hon­estly, did you ever have money when you were in Ele­men­tary and Mid­dle School? I didn’t. Even when my par­ents finally decided to give me an allowance, it was ridicu­lously small, and I was always reminded that it was sup­posed to help me learn to be a respon­si­ble adult which, as far as I could tell, meant being a miser. Because I was never sup­posed to spend it. It was sup­posed to stay in my room, in my under­wear drawer, slowly build­ing until, finally, I’d have enough to pay for my 10-speed in cash. Riiiiiiight.

I’d blow what­ever money I got on candy or toys. I think. I don’t remem­ber much from that period of my life; maybe I spent all that money on alco­hol. The only big money giv­ing occa­sions were birth­days; hol­i­days were devoted to sweaters and socks, and my allowance was the most con­fus­ing thing about my life at that time. Puberty was noth­ing com­pared to how my father cal­cu­lated my allowance.

I know some of you lucky kids had par­ents who were lazy and just decided on a flat amount as an allowance. They obvi­ously did not care about you. My father was one of the ones who decided that my allowance should be based on my age and grades and Body/Mass Index and Fed­eral Inter­est Rate and Wind Chill Fac­tor. The for­mula he used was insanely com­pli­cated and it inevitably came out to an even, round num­ber. Some­times it was very round. (He’s try­ing to be clever. He means it was noth­ing. (See, because 0 = round.)) Some­times it was even zero. (Oh, well then, we have no idea what he meant.)

So, to sum up: save what­ever money you can and try to put it some­where that will help it grow. Like in a mound of peat.

Dis­cus­sion Questions

  1. Have you ever had a run-in with a bully who took your lunch money? Explain.
  2. When was the last time kids had lunch money? Explain.
  3. How much was lunch money and how much lunch could it buy?
  4. Do these ques­tions seem famil­iar? Don’t Explain.
  5. What the heck is peat?

Chapter 1 — Fetal finance

There isn’t much of this. How­ever, this is where most of the finan­cial know-how and entre­pre­neur­ship comes from. That’s right, it’s genetic. As proof, allow me to use a well-known exam­ple from all of our child­hoods:
When you were a child there were the kids who were like me – lazy. I never tried to mow the lawn for money, I never tried to shovel the dri­ve­way for money, hell, I never even tried to sell lemonade.

Then there were the kids who did try to make some money by doing what we nor­mal peo­ple call chores. These kids can be split up into two, eas­ily iden­ti­fi­able groups. The first group is not very large and is mainly pop­u­lated by future accoun­tants and Bill Gates. These were the kids who would trawl the entire neigh­bor­hood, sub­tly insult­ing and sab­o­tag­ing all the other kids’ attempts at mak­ing money. You know what I’m talk­ing about. The lit­tle snot would walk up to the door of a big house that’s at least 12 blocks away from where he lived and when the well-to-do-but-elderly-and-infirm-silver-haired-lady opened the door, he would almost bow.
“Good morn­ing, Mrs. Liv­er­spleen! I see that your lawn/walk is cov­ered in grass/snow. Now, either, “he would con­tinue, half-sniggering in a way that would seem obscene and pos­si­bly ille­gal if he was any older, or Mrs. Liv­er­spleen any younger, “either you were kind enough to allow lit­tle Joel Hic­cup­schmit to mow/shovel your lawn/walk, or nobody has been kind enough to offer to do so. Please, allow me to take care of it for you.”

Of course, Mrs. Liv­er­spleen would let him and he would do a fab­u­lous job, since that’s the kind of job a kid like that does, and Mrs. Liv­er­spleen would never even think of let­ting a bright, tal­ented and dar­ling young man like that do such a fab­u­lous job with­out some sort of com­pen­sa­tion. You or I would get lemon­ade and speech about her child­hood, but this lit­tle snot ends up mak­ing $17.50 an hour. And a shot of whiskey.
Of course, should poor lit­tle Joel Hic­cup­schmit ever come knock­ing to try and do a few chores, he’ll be chased away (albeit, at a slow speed) with a broom.

How­ever, there is another group. This group is pop­u­lated by poor, lit­tle Joel Hic­cup­schmit, and by Rex Luzer, and many, many other kids. This is the group that sucks. They don’t mean to, but they do. It shouldn’t even reflect badly on them. They have won­der­ful inten­tions; they try their hard­est. They just end up half done and some­thing hor­ri­ble hap­pens. Like the elec­tric lawnmower’s cord gets unplugged and they think it’s out of gas so they try refill­ing it, and the owner of the house sees the loose cord and plugs it back in and the poor sod ends up send­ing curse words via smoke sig­nals that are vis­i­ble from outer space.
Or they do a superb job shov­el­ing the walk, and then the tree that over­hangs the walk spon­ta­neously com­busts and the melted ice lands on the walk which, being cold, imme­di­ately freezes the water. Of course the poor kid went inside to get the owner and when the owner comes out to view their freshly shov­eled walk, they end up going on a very short and single-manned luge into the street, just when the snow plow is dri­ving by in the government’s effort to insure that every dri­ve­way in the state is blocked.

Yes, I am refer­ring to you and me. (Okay, not me; since we already estab­lished that I was too lazy to even bother try­ing in the first place. But I didn’t want you to feel lonely.) The key here is that you’re try­ing. You may not be suc­ceed­ing, but you’re try­ing. And that is why you bought this book. (Unless you bought this book because you needed a last minute gift and you were about to get the Best of SNL: The Knock-Knock Jokes when the guy behind you who reminded you of the nerd in 7th grade every­one beat up told you that it was his sec­ond favorite book, just after the Lord of the Sword of the Chron­i­cles of the Lion, the Ring and Flame series of 43 books and 12 appen­dixes. At that point you picked up the clos­est book at hand and bought that instead. Of course, since you gave it as a gift instead of read­ing it, I shouldn’t be blab­bing this all over town. Oops.)
Where were we… Oh yes, we were about to discuss…

Dis­cus­sion Questions

  1. Do you think this first chap­ter is a load of crock? Explain and bring proofs. (10 pts.)
  2. Do you think you will get graded on the dis­cus­sion ques­tions? (10 pts. if you answered “No”, –746 pts. if you answered “Yes”.)