One year ago today: August 18, 2016, nonsense or resistance.
Five years ago today: August 18, 2012, home sweet home.
Nine years ago today: August 18, 2008, that’s “over”, not “on”.
Random years ago today: August 18, 2011, good old JJ.
I found a 1993 Ford Taurus that seems in good running condition, but it has 158k on the meter. The interior is spotless, it’s a four-door station wagon, a vehicle that I am familiar with. No dents or scrapes, but the paint job and exterior trim are mold-stained. The super low price tag indicates there may be something wrong with it, but replacing even a transmission would bring the car in at less than half what I’m prepared to pay. I’m thinking on it, though I don’t really need a car until December, and even then it is just a convenience.
Until that happy time, you might get used to these pictures of my yard. This shows the new growth of the spike plants. The brighter green shoots indicate the things are taking root. Otherwise, the rest of the yard is getting so overgrown round back that I don’t want you seeing any pictures. Ah, the approaching winter drought will make it die back. So much work was done there last winter that this upcoming while will make it look civilized. Right now the priority is a Power Ball ticket. The radio says the jackpot is up there, and when it is over $50 million, I buy a ticket.
There is something you should know about these advertised amounts. They are lies. A thousand other blogs could tell you the same, ha, but could they get into the mechanics? Nope, because they are all talking about taxes. I’m talking about how the winning figure itself is a lie. The lottery corporation knows the few people who read the fine print probably have no idea about TVM. That’s the time value of money, discussed quite a few times in this blog, if you care to go look for it.
A prize, take an example of $50 million, is based on the future value of a series of monthly payments over 30 years. I don’t have the exact figures, but I’ll show you how to calculate the present value because, less taxes, that is all you would get. Thirty years is 360 months. TVM is that you are due or must pay a series of equal payments until some point in time. Winning the lottery means you are due the payments, signing a mortgage means you must pay them. Either way, interest and compounding periods come into play and people like myself who understand them own a house without the mortgage, is all I’m sayin’.
One easy way to think of what’s happening is imagine one dollar. If somebody owes you that dollar in the future, it is worth less than today. The theory goes that he could give you a smaller amount today and you could invest it at interest so that in a year, when the payment is due, you would have your dollar back. What is the lower amount he could give you today, assuming you had a 6% annual interest rate (called your APR) compounded monthly. (This works with any interest rate, I’m using 6% as an example, and yes, the compounding period and decimal points are very important.)
He could give you 94.141 cents today. Read the chart. BB is ‘beginning balance’ and you figure out the rest. Continue reading for more information on this.
Flag of Andorra.
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So how much is a jackpot of $50,000,000 over 30 years actually worth today? Now the calculation is a little more complex because you are receiving monthly payments. This works like an annuity. You are seeking the amount you would have to deposit monthly for 360 months to in the end have a total of $50,000,000. Most people cannot do this calculation. The lottery corporation knows this.
They would only have to give you $18 million today, chickenfeed for that operation. This $18 million is known as the present value of the $50 million. The other $32 million is the projected income you theoretically could earn if you redeposited every penny back into the bank for 30 years, never taking out anything. I know people who, on a somewhat different scale, live this way. Now you understand why most people take the much smaller cash buyout. If it [the cash payout] is more than the present value, take the money and run. The reasons for this thinking are strong, because taking the money over time makes the following assumptions.
1) That the lottery people be around in 2047 to keep their promises. Think Enron.
2) That inflation does not exist. You will be paid in paper dollars.
3) There will be no new taxes. Read my lips.
4) That the projected interest rate is realistic. Like it has been since 2003.
5) That your government is full of cheerful, friendly people who would never in a zillion years suddenly decide you have too much money like what happened in Greece two years ago and has never been properly explained.
Let’s not forget what happened with gold in 1933 or that windfalls were originally not taxed. The way the tax law was first worded, unless you were a professional gambler, winnings were considered a fluke and did not incur tax liabilities. But since most lottery players buy tickets systematically, that is in the nature of a business and taxable. Note that you could, in principle, write off the tickets and even the mileage to the store as business expenses, but nobody ever does. If they did, the bureaucrats know today’s citizen is too apathetic to object if they just changed the law.
Moral of this story? Take the cash payout now. Put it in a Swiss bank. Move to New Zealand.
“Which one of these is the non-smoking lifeboat?”
~ Unknown, but millennial for sure.
Top story? The insulation in the living room. Why? Because that room is the largest in the building by nearly half. Holy moly, what a difference to the entire place. Usually the room is off limits above 88°F without the A/C. Now, not only is it bearable on the hottest afternoons, the rest of the place is cooler also. Yes, this surprised me, since the larger footage of that room is in the shade of the camphor trees. The entire house, including the kitchen, is cooler, which in this climate means the interior is down to shirtsleeve comfort. It is the same temperature out there that only a day ago made the spot intolerable without both fans and A/C. Now I can stand in the living room on the hottest days and perceptibly the only thing going up is the price of this old cabin.
The downside is it is 15 miles out of town. The Rebel, as shown, makes quick work of grocery shopping, but that is still a hike. My real estate lady [from the trailer court] moved to some island in the Caribbean, so I’ve got no inside on the property. It could probably be flipped because of the nice places on either side, the rest of this year is a somewhat risky time for me to be investing. Still, I wonder if I should low-ball this one. The building should probably be replaced but it is livable for now. The second bathroom was kind of carved out of the old living room and has a distinct 1960 look about it. Pink fixtures.
ADDENDUM
Friday and I’m not playing out anywhere. Whose fault is that? Well, partially it was the guitar players who lied to me and wasted my time, so I’m not taking the fall for everybody. Lying is where the guy tells me he is a fast learner but is really is too thick-headed to learn anything. Prime example is Russ, from New York. I always pre-qualify these characters by telling them they will be required to learn 15 new songs first before we touch their song list. Why? Because I know I can learn the bass, but can they learn rhythm? I know my list is new because I’ve never met a guitar player who naturally plays them. Example, “These Boots Are Made For Walking”, alright?
That lying prick said no problem so I drove 15 miles to his place. Here’s how to waste three weeks of my time.
Week 1: pretend that my music is so obscure you just need a little time to pick it up. Leave me wondering why you can’t strum through a two-chord special, but assure me you’ll get it. Don’t admit that “Jambalaya”, the simplest of all hit songs, is too complicated for your retard brain, just keep telling me of all the wonderful bands you played in back in New York, like that makes any difference. Besides, if you learn even one of my songs, I’ll just want you to learn more, and after all, you are the guitar player in this band and you need sufficient time to remind me of that.
Week 2: still can’t play “Jambalaya”, but tell me about other songs that are even better for duo work, even though this is your first duo and my ninth. And by golly, you already know them tunes, same as every other guitar player. Give me the impression you haven’t practiced because you are busy moving or still getting used to rehearsing again. Keep talking about songs that your other band used to play until I agree to learn one. Keep pointing out, that while you still can’t strum even one song, that the way I play bass is not identical to the original, even though we’ve been over that five times already. It is the original, with extra notes and you are free to do the same—as long as all the original notes are there and you don’t change the character of the song.
Week 3: ah, third week and you’ve got me—I’ve learned one of your songs. My will to play those silly “bass songs” has been broken by your superior will to play your guitar songs, and this was accomplished by simply dragging your feet and making promises you never intended to keep. You still have not learned “Jambalaya” but look how cleverly you tricked me into learning one of yours. You are so damn smart you will now get me to learn your entire song list so you can play the hero you never were in the first place. Man, how come you’re so smart and I’m so dumb? I mean, you got me to drive out to your place three times, and if that ain’t smart, I don’t know what is.
What loser that guy was. Oh, and did I mention why I learned that one song of his? Because he was needing a lesson on how a real bassist works, that bass is not “easy”, and to emphasize it was his sluggishness at learning that was holding things up. But he’s dealt with upstart bassists before and the one thing he rehearsed is how to ignore my bass line no matter how good it is. He’s got on his old tack, finding faults in my music that can be cured, of course, by adding more band members. Forget that we agreed on a duo. And he’s full to the brim with ideas how to “improve” that song by changing the bass to match the amateur way he plays it wrong.
And that guy was not at all the worst of the lot. Like so many third-raters, he wanted a band where he comped along to every song and wanted a bassist to comp along with him. Then add a drummer so he didn’t have to play any rhythm, why he could play one-note lead breaks all night long. A complete, total asshole, identical to every guitarist I’ve met in Florida with one exception. What? Oh, the Hippie. Yes, he was an asshole too, but at least he could play that guitar. He never mastered the art of listening to the bassist, a common musically incurable condition that gravely impairs any guitarist’s odds of success. Especially when the bassist is smarter than the guitarist.
Last Laugh
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