I don’t need a Nobel Prize in Economics to understand the wild world of modern finance (which I pronounce “f’nance”). Though if I wanted to buy one off a down-on-his-luck Chicago boy who can barely rub two Bitcoins together, I could and I would. When it comes to money, a great number of people are all about trying to outsmart another party or individual. I’m not quite sure what that would entail (isn’t it odd that entail is one “r” away from entrail?). I stay away from the market, unless the weather’s good and the raspberries are in season.
However, I do possess a cavernous understanding of stocks and how they fit comfortably into the many facets of the working world. You have to realize that when most people see a stock, any stock, they think, “isn’t it just broth?” You would be forgiven for such a common misapprehension. But no, it’s not. Broth is thinner, blander and otherwise less than. And yes, before you ask, the term “broker” is derived from broth. I hope I don’t have to explain why “brother” wasn’t the winning term.
Stock adds flavor to life. But that's the same thing as the spice of life. That’s something different. Something dryer, something found on dusty shelves in containers caked together after years of callous neglect. Beef, chicken, squirrel, sturgeon – each contribute in their own small way to one’s financial mastery. Or some I’m told. You can try to live your life in the dark, ignoring stocks at your peril, but why? Who cooks with the lights off anyway?
But it’s not all feasts and meals either. Stocks teach us a great deal about mortality too. Think about it. When you draw a hot bath of Churchillian proportions, you are, in essence, in the initial stages of making stock. A rather humbling realization for the shower-averse.
While I don’t invest, I am extremely invested in everything I believe. Right, wrong, or otherwise insufficiently seasoned.
No comments:
Post a Comment