Has it really been ten years?

A high school reunion brings on a bout of reminiscing...

When you left school, where did you imagine you would be in ten years? A qualified surgeon maybe, or an astronaut, a movie star or a mum?

Regardless of what career ambitions you may or may not have dreamt for yourself, I’m sure you thought that ten years on you’d certainly be older, wiser and more mature. While I am older, I’m not so sure I am that much wiser or more mature than that 18 year old girl that was once called an ugly duckling. More jaded, yes. More experienced, certainly. But wiser?  

Looking back at the past is like looking the wrong way into a telescope. You can see a small version of yourself standing there, slightly distorted by time, blissfully unaware of the future that lies ahead – that future that you have already lived through.

“You will get your heart broken”, you want to warn yourself, “but you will survive.” Pastyou just stares unblinkingly through the telescope. “You will make some really dumb mistakes, but don’t worry, you will learn from them and they will shape who you are.” No reaction.

Undeterred, you press on: “You’re friends now will not all be there in the future, but you are going to meet some wonderful people in unlikely places who will enrich your life. Getting to know them will be a lot of fun.”

I can almost see my past self looking at me with a know-it-all expression, rolling their eyes at the perceived condescension in my words. “Shut up old fogie” Pastme retorts. “I’ve got it all figured out. You’re just jealous.”

In a way I do envy past me because of all those experiences I’d love to live over again. Oh the things I’d like to have the chance to do, the things I would change! Just think of the words you could take back, or the words you didn’t say that you should have. Hindsight can be cruel.

But then I’d also have to sit through exams again, have an awkward first kiss again, get my wisdom teeth taken out again, go through break ups again. No thanks!

What brought on this reminiscing was my ten year high school reunion that I attended on Friday. Ten years ago we graduated and were released from the all-girl prison we had been trapped in for 13 years. In my graduating class there weren’t any astronauts or movie stars, but there were a few mums to be. The reality is that no one has really changed that much over the past ten years.

Maybe the next ten will be different.

My enemy wears a kilt

Some of you already know that I have a mortal enemy. Oh yes – it’s true. I have a foe.

 The very existence of this individual tortures me. Just the sight of him invokes an intensely angry physical response. I almost feel like a red hot wave of hatred is rising up in me and I might go berserk at any second.

Who is this person? You may wonder. How did they inspire such hatred in me?

My enemy is: The Bagpipe man. Yes, you know the one – the shortish fellow with receding hair who tends to loiter on Prince’s Bridge, heaving his lungs out into that wheezing tartan bag of noise.

The Bagpipe Man incessantly plays his repertoire of 3 songs morning, noon and night, rain, hail or shine. When he’s not on the bridge he’s on Bourke Street harassing shoppers with his noise pollution. I’ve even spotted him pestering unsuspecting AFL goers on their way to the MCG.

Like taking hot pokers to my ear drums, The Bagpipe Man puffs out a succession of out-of-tune screeches (notes?) into vaguely familiar songs. How that cacophony can be called music is a mystery to me. I find it utterly perplexing that anyone would give him money, more still that someone hasn’t yet pushed him into the river.

Now that I have vented my anger against The Bagpipe Man, I will now turn to the other buskers and performers who are a permanent fixture of the area where I live. Some of these performers don’t bother me, some I actually even enjoy. Take the old guy in the electric wheelchair who likes to sing country music – now HE is talented.

The guy with the drum kit made out of rubbish cans does pretty well for himself. The men who do the chalk drawings on the pavement are really fantastic – although it would be nice to see something other than Johannes Vermeer's girl with a pearl earring.

The magic trick people I have a growing animosity towards, especially the ones who use dogs for tricks. The gold painted still lady and the bronze man just look bored. But the fire juggling people are, quite frankly, dangerous.

“We need your support.” They plead to the crowd. “We rely on nice folk like you to support us so we can continue doing what we love”. In other words: “give us your hard earned money so we can continue to hazardously throw flaming sticks around while contributing nothing to society and taking up most of the footpath”.

A musical friend of mine once told me that they had a policy of giving to ever busker, but not to beggars. This got me thinking about the difference between busking and begging. Both are actually very similar. In both instances you are requesting money from strangers in a public place. Buskers, unlike beggars, will give you something in return for your donation.  

But The Bagpipe Man, unlike buskers or beggars, is just there to annoy the crap out of you.

So next time you walk past him, do as I do. Glare at him and block your ears. Let your eyes convey the message: You are not getting a cent out of me.

Mind over platter - the detox challenge

For the past week I have been doing a Detox. What does this mean? It means that for 8 whole days I haven’t touched caffeine, alcohol, dairy, wheat or grain products, processed food, or sugar of any kind. Combine that with the fact that I don’t eat meat and have a restricted sex life means that I am feeling pretty nun-like at the moment.

Why on earth would I do this? Why would I, a foodie, who lives for coffee, cheese, wine and chocolate torture myself in this way? Precisely because I’ve lived for wine and chocolate all my life, and it had to stop. My liver was screaming out for an alcohol free day. My jeans no longer fit me and my belly button was threatening to disappear under my tummy flab.

Apparently the jury is still out on whether detox’s are even good for you. Most nutritionists would say no, especially if you go on one of those Celebrity detox diets or that one where you just drink lemon juice and maple syrup.

The benefits of a real detox, like the one I’m doing, WEED: to remove the bad bugs, SEED: replace the good bugs, FEED: improve my digestive function, and SEED: increase the effectiveness of my body to remove toxins. What are toxins? They are substances that reside in our body that are poisonous. Toxins are either environmental (external) or endogenous (made in your body).

Others say that not only do toxins not exist, but detoxing it is not proven to have any benefit and depriving your body of nutrients can actually be dangerous. In my case, I don’t feel deprived of nutrients. I’ve never felt healthier in my life. The challenge is coming up with a variety of tasty meals I can actually eat!

The detox has forced me to be aware of the nutrients within each food, and I am now much better ensuring I get enough protein. This was particularly useful because often vegetarians end up just living on carbohydrates (Next time you are at a restaurant, check the veggie option. It is guaranteed to be mushroom risotto).

I’m not doing this detox alone. I’m doing it with the assistance of a medical nutritionist and 25 others who signed up for this purification process. We are a virtual team (we will never meet) but keep in touch with each other’s progress via email. The nutritionist has tried to make it fun by creating a points system and setting us challenges.

My first challenge was to eat a meal blindfolded. Actually harder then you may think! Thankfully I had assistance from my ‘support crew member’ Alex who ensured I spooned the food into my mouth and not onto the floor. The purpose of this challenge was to actually taste each mouthful rather than just eat mindlessly. I was also instructed to stop eating when I felt full as opposed to just eating until there was nothing left my plate. This challenge was fun and educational, although quite messy.

The finish line is in sight!

I have 5 more days of this to go. After which I plan on rewarding myself with a glass of red wine, a coffee, some vegemite toast and some chocolate. But not in that order of course, and only in moderation. The real reward will be confidently whipping out my bikini at the Goldcoast next weekend. Waterslides here I come!

If you want to read more, this is a really good article on dextoxes:

http://www.motherinc.com.au/magazine/everything-for-mum/health-and-fitness/exercisenutrition/299-detox-diets-do-they-work

Investing by cartoons

Recently I have started working in the investment business. Do not fear – I am not managing any money (I am nowhere near qualified and I technically I am not legally allowed to do so).  At this stage I am just learning the ropes through research and observation. Because of this, I feel I have a unique outside view to a world that, while not entirely foreign to me, is shrouded by some degree of mystery.

In many ways investing, and funds management in particular, operates like a fraternity. How so? Well, it is a male dominated club or brotherhood of people with similar interests who work for their mutual benefit. Sometimes they may come into conflict, at which point the fraternity becomes divided and factions emerge due to the existence of various alliances. Pretty gangster eh?

Investors themselves each have various styles, and they in turn form networks with like minded investors. These ‘guilds’ often span the globe. For example, an investor with a particular style who lives in Japan may have an equivalent in the US who focuses on US markets.

Some tools and methodologies:

Then of course there is no methodology at all, which is really pure speculation often precipitated by mass hysteria:

The world of financial securities is a funny place. I find it fascinating that companies can be bought, sliced up, repackaged and sold again. So can bonds, or tranches of mortgages. You can then even buy insurance on those repackaged mortgages – If you bought credit default swaps on mortgage backed securities in 2006 you would have made a motza during the GFC.

I find shares a lot less complicated than the other financial instruments. I think this is because companies with shareholders are like mini democracies. When you buy stock in a company you are taking a portion of ownership in that company. Depending on the type of share, this may entitle you to rights; The right to receive dividends, the right to vote at the annual general meeting and the right to call an extraordinary general meeting.

If a company is like a democracy, then the board is like it’s governing council. They are elected to act as a nexus between the company and its shareholders.  They must serve in the best interest of the company, which in turn naturally corresponds with the best interests of the shareholders.

Interestingly, some board members do not know this. They treat shareholders (and funds managers) as adversaries and not as allies. A very few see it as their role to be “independent”, which is quite preposterous as members of the board are able to own shares themselves. Indeed, who better to look after the best interests of a company than someone who has ‘skin in the game’ so-to-speak.

This cartoon illustrates this attitude well:

New Yorker Cartoon  by Joseph Mirachi

So if you’d read this far you are probably wondering what the point of this musing was? It may seem like I am arguing that to be a successful investor you need to be a well networked male with a sophisticated investment technique, that you act in a contrary fashion to the masses, that you focus on equities and only invest in companies who’s board members are shareholders themselves.

Not so. Anyone can be an investor. All you need is a cat.