Ever have so many projects in the air that you can’t seem to get any one of them out the door? That’s where I am right now.
I have multiple articles in progress right now with lots of words like Federal Reserve, deflation and *&%!! in them. I want to get them finished and published before the Fed lowers (25 basis points on September 18, quite possibly before, my name is Will and I approve this message).
Then I still have that Major Backtesting Project I undertook through the Spring and much of the Summer which changed the way I trade, and so far at least, it’s looking goood. I’ve got to get that article out.
And this past week, I’ve invented my own currency. No, really. It’s an idea I came up with in the late 90s and never implemented due to the divorce, the work, distractions, obligations, nymphomaniacs… just not enough time in a day.
The market, yeah. Motorcycles, yeah. Trading, good wine, cold beer, all passions. But the one that eclipses everything is my passion for parenting. I can objectively tell you that my daughters are the best, most wonderful kids in the world, and if you don’t believe me, just ask me.
Well, you parents know that you don’t want to deny them the things they want, but they’ve gotta do their part (the connection between freedom and responsibility, choices and consequences is my life’s mantra, particularly in regards to parenting). And when they refuse to do their part, you can’t just crack their heads open, no matter how much you feel like it at the moment.
So, I pay them. But not with small denominations of U.S. Treasury notes. Nope, not with Uncle Sam’s money. I pay them with my money. You see, that way, I completely control the money supply, the exchange rates, and most importantly, the rate of inflation.
They mow the yard? I pay them a predetermined amount of Funny Money [(I’m very generous with the pay scale) -Ed.]. Do the laundry… more Funny Money. Ditto for everything I want to encourage them to do, from chores and good grades to homework and going to bed on time.
What if they want to go to the mall? They pay me.[(with Funny Money) -Ed.] Talk on the phone for an hour? Pay me. Go to a sleepover party? Pay Daddyo. Spend the night at the boyfriend’s house? Not in this lifetime, young lady!
If they refuse to take on enough responsibility to earn sufficient Funny Money, they in effect ground themselves because they can’t afford to do the things they want to do when the time comes.
They can exchange their Funny Money for real money, also. As above, at a predetermined rate [(right now I allow them to trade $2fm for $1 U.S. at any time, guaranteed) -Ed.]. Of course, if I were like an unscrupulous Federal Reserve, I could gradually make the Funny Money worth less and less Real Money, and “inflate away” the value of their efforts. But I don’t.
Anyway, we had a great time this weekend, and I got to try out my latest mondo lens (77mm front element, yum) taking pictures of them playing in the rain this afternoon. (Don’t tell the teenage friends, that might not seem cool). As I was transferring the pics onto the computer, we looked back through some earlier shots and I saw this one I took of the middle daughter a few months back (she’s 13, don’t get any ideas):
Her comment? “Argh, I look fat!”
…. teenagers!
