As it turns out, Milton Friedman and I agree about at least one thing: economic problems occur when you f*** around with the monetary supply (layman’s terms, of course). As for that pesky hyper-inflation thing, just stop printing money already. Honestly, some governments are just like children: “What do you mean, money doesn’t grow on trees?”
In the news today: Ontario’s minimum wage rises to $8.75 per hour. This is great news for the people who are working for the minimum and manage to keep their jobs (but let’s hope that their health benefits and training allotments aren’t reduced); stimulating news for discouraged workers who may now decide to enter the labour force (as the supply of labour increases); and definitely not so great news for those who will become unemployed as the demand for labour decreases.
Specifically, won’t this wage increase spur growth in the population of “idle teenagers”? Heavens… we can’t have that. Maybe it’s good news for the federal government: finally a way to be rid of all those controversial EI surpluses! But definitely bad for society as a whole due to upward pressure on the price level, more incentive for people to drop out of school and look for work, more actual unemployment, and more barriers to entry for start-up firms due to higher factor costs (less market competition).
Is THIS the way to combat poverty? Sure, the wage floor strategy wins the average vote… because, arguably, the average voter doesn’t know or care about economics. Intuitively, you’d think: “I want a higher wage for what I do because then I could afford to pay rent and feed my family”. It’s hard not to find that idea appealing; it’s hard to realize that it’s just a cycle of pain for the working poor.
There’s just something about free-wheeling political glitz destined to capitalize on the ignorance of voters that is shameless and repulsive…
With Democracy as with Capitalism: it’s not a great system, but it’s the best we’ve got.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Stella
I walked by the Waldorf school this morning, on the way back from my French placement test. There was something comforting about hearing a couple of girls singing the same clapping game in the schoolyard that I'd known in my childhood. .. Just to know that 20 years later kids can still be kids, that some things don't change all that much, and that there is actually some innocence left in the world.
Kind of makes me feel that bringing a child into this screwed-up world isn't such a horrible idea after all.
Kind of makes me feel that bringing a child into this screwed-up world isn't such a horrible idea after all.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Breathing Easy
Alright… just to tell the story because several of you folks have expressed concern… I’m alive, no worries.
I spent most of the long weekend studying (and took two days off), so when Sunday rolled around I was ready for a good workout. I didn’t go crazy, just about 20km’s easy running and then a tough indoor bike workout. I was hitting zone 5 repeatedly on the intervals, but actually was somewhat happy that I could even reach that intensity indoors. Took a walk to loosen up in the evening and felt great.
Monday, did an easy 13km’s. Felt some resistance in my lungs when I tried to push the pace, so kept it nice and slow. Finished the day with about 10km’s of walking, and felt fine.
Tuesday evening I went to swim practice. Felt a bit tired beforehand, but that’s not surprising (I hardly slept Monday night). Started swimming and felt really slow… pushed harder but didn’t feel any faster. When we started the main set I self-placed halfway down the lane… but after some good-natured jesting it was agreed that I should have to lead at least once. I tried. I was doing ok for the first 50m but then I just couldn’t ignore the stabbing pain I felt when trying to breathe. I slowed down but my breathing didn’t get any easier… I briefly thought of how disruptive it would be for me to pass out in the water, swallow gallons of chlorine and have to have one of the lifeguards save me from my own stupidity. My coach would think I'm an idiot and the lifeguard would curse me for having had to get wet. So I stood up. It felt like I had cramps in my lungs…strange. Kind of scary too.
When I got out of the pool, my chest hurt and it was hard to breathe even while resting. I was doing this mixture of huffing and wheezing… not asthma, and not infection-related or I would’ve coughed. I walked around a bit with a friend in the evening and tried to relax… when you can’t breathe, it’s hard to stop the panic!
The next morning, the stabbing points had morphed into a generalized ache and tightness. I could only say a few words at a time before having to gasp for air. I went to work, but by the end of the day I was practically crazy with anxiety and couldn’t think of anything else. Even though I am grateful beyond words (and lucky!) to have a great medical/ family history, low BP etc, there is just something about having chest pain that freaks me out: it’s not like a pulled hamstring or something.
6PM Wednesday: I drag myself to the Urgent Care clinic and hunker down in a corner, trying to fend off the virtual army of germs being spewed out by, oh, about 20 very virus-infested persons. I’m sorry, but the last thing I need right now is the flu.
Much to her credit, the triage nurse was excellent, efficient and sympathetic. I saw the doctor less than an hour after I checked in.
The doctor was also very efficient. This is basically how it went:
“Where’s the pain?”
I pointed.
“Tell me when it hurts.”
She presses down on my sternum with what? 700psi of pressure.
Let’s just say I didn’t need to tell her... she could pretty much guess. The painful area stretched about 6 inches: she seemed a bit surprised at that.
“What were you doing when the pain started?”
“Swimming”
“Do you exercise a lot?”
“Yes.” I shrug. “15 hours a week?”
“15 hours?”
“Yeah”
“Every week?”
“Yup”
“Doing what?”
“Swim, bike, run”
She is typing furiously on her laptop. “Ok you have costochondritis, caused by exercise. I’ll give you some anti-inflammatories, but you’ll have to take them for some time before you notice any improvement. It could even get worse at first.” She said it was an inflammation of the cartilage between my ribs.
I’m still smarting from the pain she’s caused me, and panting out these tiny pathetic breaths, but I manage to say: “Do I have to take some time off?”
Now she looks at me like I just stepped off a spaceship and asked her to kill the Big Bad Wolf.
She shakes her head, probably thinking “WTF is wrong with these friggin’ triathletes?” and tells me that the longer I aggravate it, the longer it will take to heal. She tells me I will probably need all 3 refills for Naproxen (well I guess that would make it 60 days, not 45…) but I already know I will not be taking it that long.
You see, I’ve grown rather fond of my stomach lining.
I’ll try to get a second opinion before Europe, just to be safe. But for now… I’m overflowing in free time. Maybe I'll finally get to clean up my inbox, or get my hair cut, or have my monthly pint of beer & rant session, or, wait… UPS came by with my lovely CFA curriculum, neatly packaged and brand spanking new. It was heavy enough that even the UPS guy said: “Wow, you’ve got a lot of studying to do.”
Thanks, UPS guy.
I spent most of the long weekend studying (and took two days off), so when Sunday rolled around I was ready for a good workout. I didn’t go crazy, just about 20km’s easy running and then a tough indoor bike workout. I was hitting zone 5 repeatedly on the intervals, but actually was somewhat happy that I could even reach that intensity indoors. Took a walk to loosen up in the evening and felt great.
Monday, did an easy 13km’s. Felt some resistance in my lungs when I tried to push the pace, so kept it nice and slow. Finished the day with about 10km’s of walking, and felt fine.
Tuesday evening I went to swim practice. Felt a bit tired beforehand, but that’s not surprising (I hardly slept Monday night). Started swimming and felt really slow… pushed harder but didn’t feel any faster. When we started the main set I self-placed halfway down the lane… but after some good-natured jesting it was agreed that I should have to lead at least once. I tried. I was doing ok for the first 50m but then I just couldn’t ignore the stabbing pain I felt when trying to breathe. I slowed down but my breathing didn’t get any easier… I briefly thought of how disruptive it would be for me to pass out in the water, swallow gallons of chlorine and have to have one of the lifeguards save me from my own stupidity. My coach would think I'm an idiot and the lifeguard would curse me for having had to get wet. So I stood up. It felt like I had cramps in my lungs…strange. Kind of scary too.
When I got out of the pool, my chest hurt and it was hard to breathe even while resting. I was doing this mixture of huffing and wheezing… not asthma, and not infection-related or I would’ve coughed. I walked around a bit with a friend in the evening and tried to relax… when you can’t breathe, it’s hard to stop the panic!
The next morning, the stabbing points had morphed into a generalized ache and tightness. I could only say a few words at a time before having to gasp for air. I went to work, but by the end of the day I was practically crazy with anxiety and couldn’t think of anything else. Even though I am grateful beyond words (and lucky!) to have a great medical/ family history, low BP etc, there is just something about having chest pain that freaks me out: it’s not like a pulled hamstring or something.
6PM Wednesday: I drag myself to the Urgent Care clinic and hunker down in a corner, trying to fend off the virtual army of germs being spewed out by, oh, about 20 very virus-infested persons. I’m sorry, but the last thing I need right now is the flu.
Much to her credit, the triage nurse was excellent, efficient and sympathetic. I saw the doctor less than an hour after I checked in.
The doctor was also very efficient. This is basically how it went:
“Where’s the pain?”
I pointed.
“Tell me when it hurts.”
She presses down on my sternum with what? 700psi of pressure.
Let’s just say I didn’t need to tell her... she could pretty much guess. The painful area stretched about 6 inches: she seemed a bit surprised at that.
“What were you doing when the pain started?”
“Swimming”
“Do you exercise a lot?”
“Yes.” I shrug. “15 hours a week?”
“15 hours?”
“Yeah”
“Every week?”
“Yup”
“Doing what?”
“Swim, bike, run”
She is typing furiously on her laptop. “Ok you have costochondritis, caused by exercise. I’ll give you some anti-inflammatories, but you’ll have to take them for some time before you notice any improvement. It could even get worse at first.” She said it was an inflammation of the cartilage between my ribs.
I’m still smarting from the pain she’s caused me, and panting out these tiny pathetic breaths, but I manage to say: “Do I have to take some time off?”
Now she looks at me like I just stepped off a spaceship and asked her to kill the Big Bad Wolf.
She shakes her head, probably thinking “WTF is wrong with these friggin’ triathletes?” and tells me that the longer I aggravate it, the longer it will take to heal. She tells me I will probably need all 3 refills for Naproxen (well I guess that would make it 60 days, not 45…) but I already know I will not be taking it that long.
You see, I’ve grown rather fond of my stomach lining.
I’ll try to get a second opinion before Europe, just to be safe. But for now… I’m overflowing in free time. Maybe I'll finally get to clean up my inbox, or get my hair cut, or have my monthly pint of beer & rant session, or, wait… UPS came by with my lovely CFA curriculum, neatly packaged and brand spanking new. It was heavy enough that even the UPS guy said: “Wow, you’ve got a lot of studying to do.”
Thanks, UPS guy.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Dreams, caffeine, and Pepto-Bismol
I made a killer dinner for my visiting mother yesterday: chicken and chickpea veggie-packed burritos… yum. And then a taste of whole wheat baguette and provolone, paired with a steaming hot cup of tea and a handful of premium dark-chocolate almonds. Quite the Easter feast… a splurge for me, anyway.
Well dark chocolate may be beneficial to your health, but it also contains ample quantities of caffeine. I realized this last night while staring wide-eyed at the ceiling…brain was chugging along merrily while body desperately craved sleep. However, my dear upstairs neighbour must have been away for the weekend, because the silence was blissful…
But altogether, this past weekend I got more shut-eye than I’ve had for quite some time; and, with the added sleep, the absolute wackiest dreams ever. I mean, totally whacked as in flying horses, deep outdoor wells of spinach, an alarm-clock store on a yacht, and a parade of people that I would never have remembered during my waking hours (like a co-worker from a retail job I held 10 years ago). There has to be a scientific reason for that. A well-rested brain goes nuts during REM? Who knew?
When I was younger I tried to keep a log of my dreams, but my interest quickly succumbed to the frustration of trying to remember what had happened after waking. There is that point right between sleep and waking where your body is still frozen but your mind begins to “see” the dream as a dream… that is the point at which you have to remember what happened by refreshing the sequence in your head…. once you’re in full daytime mode it’s too late!
But I did manage to nap for a few hours…Never underestimate the placebo effect of Gravol.
Also! Drinking imitation Pepto-Bismol directly from the bottle is a survival skill that everyone should master. I’ve done it on a train (on the way to a funeral with a baby shrieking in my ear), in a bus several times, and at 6AM before swim practice. Mind over matter and a chaser of ice-cold water….
I still remember a friend of mine pulling out a bottle of the pink stuff after we drove to Toronto for the orientation at UofT. He took a swig as if it were Gatorade… wiped his mouth like he was on a Nike commercial, gave a sigh of satisfaction and replaced the cap; it made me cringe. Well, that, and we had to ask passers-by for quarters for the parking meter…
Fun times.
Well dark chocolate may be beneficial to your health, but it also contains ample quantities of caffeine. I realized this last night while staring wide-eyed at the ceiling…brain was chugging along merrily while body desperately craved sleep. However, my dear upstairs neighbour must have been away for the weekend, because the silence was blissful…
But altogether, this past weekend I got more shut-eye than I’ve had for quite some time; and, with the added sleep, the absolute wackiest dreams ever. I mean, totally whacked as in flying horses, deep outdoor wells of spinach, an alarm-clock store on a yacht, and a parade of people that I would never have remembered during my waking hours (like a co-worker from a retail job I held 10 years ago). There has to be a scientific reason for that. A well-rested brain goes nuts during REM? Who knew?
When I was younger I tried to keep a log of my dreams, but my interest quickly succumbed to the frustration of trying to remember what had happened after waking. There is that point right between sleep and waking where your body is still frozen but your mind begins to “see” the dream as a dream… that is the point at which you have to remember what happened by refreshing the sequence in your head…. once you’re in full daytime mode it’s too late!
But I did manage to nap for a few hours…Never underestimate the placebo effect of Gravol.
Also! Drinking imitation Pepto-Bismol directly from the bottle is a survival skill that everyone should master. I’ve done it on a train (on the way to a funeral with a baby shrieking in my ear), in a bus several times, and at 6AM before swim practice. Mind over matter and a chaser of ice-cold water….
I still remember a friend of mine pulling out a bottle of the pink stuff after we drove to Toronto for the orientation at UofT. He took a swig as if it were Gatorade… wiped his mouth like he was on a Nike commercial, gave a sigh of satisfaction and replaced the cap; it made me cringe. Well, that, and we had to ask passers-by for quarters for the parking meter…
Fun times.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Object Sentimentality
While cleaning the kitchen in preparation for a family visit on short notice (what!?) I noticed that I had an empty plastic water bottle sitting beside my “air-cleaning” potted plant.
This water bottle is now 10 months old, but it is perfectly useful to remind me to water the thing. I can’t bring myself to recycle it. When the plant dies, I will retire the bottle. Underneath the plant, an old blue shop-towel has turned practically yellow with age. However, it is still clean and does a great job of soaking up the occasional overflow from an especially zealous watering session.
Another worn-out item: a small, rectangular zip-close plastic bag which is the absolute perfect size to enclose a pack of Trident gum. I’ve used it for several months to keep my chewing gum dry in the event of a surprise rainstorm. (Or a fall in the snow). You can never be too prepared, right? Well, it finally gave out… the bottom seal has split. I was just about to repair the battered bag with duct tape when I realized how stupid that was. Regretfully, I threw it away. My gum will now be exposed to the elements within the confines of my coat pocket.
Correction: my borrowed, 20-year old Columbia jacket which my good friend loaned me to replace my former second-hand, 20-year old Columbia jacket. I’m sure that one day I will learn to dress properly… let’s keep hope alive.
Oh isn’t this fun? I was cleaning out my 10-year-old wallet (yes, that would be high-school!) and pulled out business cards from just about every restaurant I’ve ever been to, doctors and dentists I’ve seen, random people I’ve met, you name it. The one I really can’t part with is the one from my bike shop with the quote for my current (first!) bike, signed by the owner. I love that thing. I’ll never part with it.
When I was in Grade 7, a friend gave me a small rubber chicken named “Ed”. Ed the Rubber Chicken decided to live in my clarinet case, and from that day on, that is where he stayed. I traveled with him everywhere: tours, competitions, concerts, you name it. I took him to UofT where my professor and colleagues looked curiously at him; poor Ed was not quite the same brilliant shade of yellow as he’d been in his youth. But it just wouldn’t be the same without him roosting in my case, among the reeds. He lives there still, almost 14 years later.
So part of the reason why I approach shopping with fear and loathing is that most purchases I make will enter my circle of being for years! I’ve worn and patched jeans until only half of the original material is left, and they can no longer adequately do the job of covering skin in crucial places. Groceries are somewhat easier, but still a challenge sometimes, especially when I’m tired or otherwise lacking in decisiveness.
At least I can laugh at the fact that I’ve made all the most important decisions of my life on a “spur-of-the-moment” basis (don’t ask me how I chose business school!) but find it hard to pick out a new T-shirt.
This water bottle is now 10 months old, but it is perfectly useful to remind me to water the thing. I can’t bring myself to recycle it. When the plant dies, I will retire the bottle. Underneath the plant, an old blue shop-towel has turned practically yellow with age. However, it is still clean and does a great job of soaking up the occasional overflow from an especially zealous watering session.
Another worn-out item: a small, rectangular zip-close plastic bag which is the absolute perfect size to enclose a pack of Trident gum. I’ve used it for several months to keep my chewing gum dry in the event of a surprise rainstorm. (Or a fall in the snow). You can never be too prepared, right? Well, it finally gave out… the bottom seal has split. I was just about to repair the battered bag with duct tape when I realized how stupid that was. Regretfully, I threw it away. My gum will now be exposed to the elements within the confines of my coat pocket.
Correction: my borrowed, 20-year old Columbia jacket which my good friend loaned me to replace my former second-hand, 20-year old Columbia jacket. I’m sure that one day I will learn to dress properly… let’s keep hope alive.
Oh isn’t this fun? I was cleaning out my 10-year-old wallet (yes, that would be high-school!) and pulled out business cards from just about every restaurant I’ve ever been to, doctors and dentists I’ve seen, random people I’ve met, you name it. The one I really can’t part with is the one from my bike shop with the quote for my current (first!) bike, signed by the owner. I love that thing. I’ll never part with it.
When I was in Grade 7, a friend gave me a small rubber chicken named “Ed”. Ed the Rubber Chicken decided to live in my clarinet case, and from that day on, that is where he stayed. I traveled with him everywhere: tours, competitions, concerts, you name it. I took him to UofT where my professor and colleagues looked curiously at him; poor Ed was not quite the same brilliant shade of yellow as he’d been in his youth. But it just wouldn’t be the same without him roosting in my case, among the reeds. He lives there still, almost 14 years later.
So part of the reason why I approach shopping with fear and loathing is that most purchases I make will enter my circle of being for years! I’ve worn and patched jeans until only half of the original material is left, and they can no longer adequately do the job of covering skin in crucial places. Groceries are somewhat easier, but still a challenge sometimes, especially when I’m tired or otherwise lacking in decisiveness.
At least I can laugh at the fact that I’ve made all the most important decisions of my life on a “spur-of-the-moment” basis (don’t ask me how I chose business school!) but find it hard to pick out a new T-shirt.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Tim's Correction
So I learned something from the binomial stock price model.
Namely, my Tim's calculation is ok, but has nothing to do with Poisson. In fact, the binomial distribution is only ok because I am using a probability of success given by the uber-wise marketing folk that is supposedly constant for the duration of the game.
Well no, I am not ripping off the tabs and mailing them back to head office for re-use into those ubiquitous red-and-yellow cups. But while the pool is not limitless, the apparent success rate is.
Quite the assumption, I agree...
Namely, my Tim's calculation is ok, but has nothing to do with Poisson. In fact, the binomial distribution is only ok because I am using a probability of success given by the uber-wise marketing folk that is supposedly constant for the duration of the game.
Well no, I am not ripping off the tabs and mailing them back to head office for re-use into those ubiquitous red-and-yellow cups. But while the pool is not limitless, the apparent success rate is.
Quite the assumption, I agree...
Recipe for Level 1
2 cups corporate finance
1 cup valuation
1 cup accounting fundamentals
1 cup economics
¾ cup ethics and professional standards
½ cup ratio analysis
¼ cup portfolio management
¼ cup derivative investments
¼ cup securities markets and equity investments
2 tbsp DDM (Dividend Discount Model)
1 tbsp probability
1 tsp calculus
Pinch of panic and adrenaline
and one HP TI Plus
In a large bowl, combine all ingredients except for the HP TI. Fold in HP TI, but take care not to overmix. Bake in a pre-heated brain, at the hottest setting, for 10 weeks. Turn out onto wire rack and serve up for the CFA Level 1 exam before it cools.
That’s pretty much what’s cooking as I hole myself up all weekend, looking longingly outside at the sun…
Sure I’ve seen the ingredients before, but not all in combination! Memorizing 6 pages of formulas is hard enough; but I pity those who’re taking this without a finance background. I’m left to wonder: what’s left for the next exams, levels 2 and 3?
Happy Easter, for sure.
1 cup valuation
1 cup accounting fundamentals
1 cup economics
¾ cup ethics and professional standards
½ cup ratio analysis
¼ cup portfolio management
¼ cup derivative investments
¼ cup securities markets and equity investments
2 tbsp DDM (Dividend Discount Model)
1 tbsp probability
1 tsp calculus
Pinch of panic and adrenaline
and one HP TI Plus
In a large bowl, combine all ingredients except for the HP TI. Fold in HP TI, but take care not to overmix. Bake in a pre-heated brain, at the hottest setting, for 10 weeks. Turn out onto wire rack and serve up for the CFA Level 1 exam before it cools.
That’s pretty much what’s cooking as I hole myself up all weekend, looking longingly outside at the sun…
Sure I’ve seen the ingredients before, but not all in combination! Memorizing 6 pages of formulas is hard enough; but I pity those who’re taking this without a finance background. I’m left to wonder: what’s left for the next exams, levels 2 and 3?
Happy Easter, for sure.
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