Y’day, I fired my broker. A review of the past few years shows that his performance as an expert was no better than mine as an amateur, and I lately was consistently beating his performance by nearly double. I keep this small reserve for my own eventual funeral, and as long as it kept up with inflation, I’m happy. I invest in tax-free munis, which does not require an MBA taking 5% commissions. The guy succeeded my original broker when she became disasterously ill in 2002.
It was also a revelation on some long-term decisions I made back in the 80s when launching my cubicle career with the corporate masters of our society. I calculated that in the long run, you make $5 per month for every thousand you have successfully invested. Any better return is risky, so the operative word is “successfully”. I stuck with bond funds that paid monthly dividends for my own sure thing, although this meant I would have to have $100,000 invested to make a lousy $500 per month. But time has proven that is the only source that has never let me down. (I got out of bonds just before interest rates fell in 2001.)
Hold on there, music has always been there and is by far my most cost-effective investment. I estimate, for performing musicians the rate of return is 130% annually. Please note I consider performing an active investment, while recording artistry is passive. While not strictly true, if the truth were known most studio types wind up with a net loss in life, none of it never recovered by that single hit song.
I fully grasp the fascination with cutting an album, but that isn’t music; that is gambling. It is the classic legal pyramid scheme, with every musician convinced he only has to believe to achieve. His wonderful personality counts for everything. It’s an X billion dollar a year industry and home recording gear or studio time is the price of the startup kit. Put the right team together, motivate them, and yours is the power and the glory. Make a list of all your friends and family, invite them to a music party, and get out there and sell, sell, sell.
Ooooh, did I step on some toes about guitar music last day? Good, because most guitarists I’ve met need to learn that guitar is not the most important instrument. I did a two year house gig without a guitarist, and as soon as I have the time I intend to put a lot of that material on youTube or possibly this blog. I was making the point that I would coach Jag on the relationships between the instruments so he could play the guitar correctly.
For example, “A Long Time Leavin’”, by Toby Keith. If I’d taken guitar lessons, I would have learned it was a guitar song, that the guitar was necessary, and without the guitar the audience would not know what tune I was playing. Yet, when I heard the tune, I counted four instruments, namely drums, vocals, bass and guitar. Guitar was only 25% of the music, and my video proves it the least important part. Watch my performance and convince me those people singing along were only guessing.
[Author's note: posting on youTube was only a consideration which ended quickly when I discovered that once something is posted on youTube, you cannot delete it. Ever.]
What’s this, the British have mapped the wheat genome. While I don’t trust genetic alterations yet, the prospect of growing perfect wheat in the desert sounds like a winner. But imperfect food probably causes cancer. I suppose the first step is to isolate the good from the bad. It’s not the technology I distrust, but the technicians. It’s like growing marijuana for a lab study, only one tiny cutting has to disappear and a zillion people go brain dead.
This month was financially my worst ever since bingo started. On top of that, Theresa is refusing to pay rent. Peasants have incredible timing that way. She seems to think I’ll forget she promised me she’d pay. She says only if she had a job. You can't get a job sitting here watching soaps. She's getting attitude from somewhere and I think I might know who. Meanwhile, no job.
Yeah, right, as if somebody getting a free ride will ever find a job. I was wondering why she was recently making snarky comments like me having money stashed away somewhere. Lady, it’s beginning to sound like I’m the richest man you’ll ever meet—and you totally messed up. As if I would ever fall in love with a liar. She needs to seriously grow up and face adult responsibilities. No, raising young does not count, because even monkeys and pigs can manage that. I’m talking real responsibility. Like paying your share. Like keeping your promises. The tough stuff.
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