Trial and Error are Rotten Teachers

Almost as bad as her

The folks at Go Banking Rates are holding a contest among personal finance bloggers: write a post on the topic of education and wealth, and the lucky winner takes home the Readers’ Choice winner of Favorite PF Blog Writer! (exclamation point theirs.) Thanks to Go Banking Rates for accepting our entry, and may the most interesting and worthwhile post win.

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April, 1976. 7-year old me, returning home from school. The teachers had set up a lunchtime hot dog cart. (It was a Catholic school, they raised funds however they could. This predates school-supply drives and the Department of Education.) I eat my lifeless baloney sandwich in silence, jealous of the moneyed kids waiting in line, flashing their quarters like so many engagement rings. Tube steak in a bun, 25¢. And as much as I can remember, my first practical exposure to the idea of money.

Me (trying to determine the family’s net worth in hot dogs): Mom, how much money does Dad make?
Her: (silence)
Me: MOM?!
Her: Don’t you have homework?

And so began a typical North American financial education.

Cannibalism. Atheism. My female teenage cousin’s illegitimate child. In my house, these were just a few of the topics considered more appropriate dinner-table conversation than was money.

Every transaction was a secret. Every dollar figure carried with it the potential for embarrassment. Give a kid even a general idea of his family’s finances, and the next thing you know he’ll be blabbing to the neighbors. We can’t have that. Etiquette should always trump knowledge, shouldn’t it?

1979. I have never read the money section of the newspaper, but the sports section is all mine. Nolan Ryan signs with the Houston Astros for an unprecedented $1 million annually. We have a baseline! My father must make less than that, so…$700,000, maybe? (NB: in his best year he probably made 5% of that.)

To high school. Where the extent of financial instruction consisted of an introductory bookkeeping course, in which we measured the debits and credits of fictional XYZ company and its competitor, ABC company. You know, because terms like “cost of goods sold” and “depreciation” were so relevant to the everyday life of an overloaded teenager who’s already dealing with acne, introduction to beer, football roster cuts, and watching girls’ breasts develop.

14, first job. Washing dishes in a restaurant for minimum wage. Mom exercises her parental right and keeps every check, possibly as partial payment for a lifetime of free room and board.

Fast forward to graduation, and an unsentimental introduction to the real world. Rent? Insurance? 401(k)? IRA? CD? FICA? ARM? S&P? P&L? Drowning in acronyms without a lifeline.

I’m one rung above poverty, which is fine for someone 17 and living on his own for the first time. Wages barely cover necessities, which include a futon and not much else. My one extravagance is books, organized on a bookshelf composed of air. Air, and a floorboard.

And then, those naïve unfortunates at American Express ease the pressure by sending me a credit card I didn’t solicit. The symbolism is overwhelming: plastic signifies my passage into adulthood far more convincingly than any driver’s license or wispy sideburns could. I can buy real furniture! Pick up some new clothes! Dig up the fake ID I’ve been using since the age of 15 and conceivably, rent a car!

Instinctively, I understand that addition is cumulative. A plus B, added to C = A+B+C. It’s one thing to know that in theory, another in practice. Yesterday’s purchase plus this morning’s plus this afternoon’s will look quite different 30 days from now than it does today.

The bill comes. $749.23, which might as well be a quadrillion. The statement contains a caveat that turned out to be a blessing: “PAYMENT MUST BE MADE IN FULL.” I knew this. It was in the agreement I signed and presumably read. No excuses, even though I was a minor.

My right brain tries to convince my left brain that I should become the first person in history to pretend he no longer lives at the address the creditor has on file. An airtight plan that D.B. Cooper himself would be proud of. Fortunately, the left brain wins.

How to get covered? Everyone I know (and who will take my calls) is as poor as me. The right brain thinks about requesting a payment plan, but gets outvoted by reality: a collection letter typed in boldface, immediate interest charges, and the destruction of a nascent credit rating before it even had a chance to grow legs.

Buying a car would have to wait (several years, it turned out.) Same thing for any kind of social life or vacation. A credit counseling company got American Express to take 70 or so cents on the dollar, and I got to start again at zero. Older but still not old, and wiser but still not wise.

What would I change? Nothing and everything (he said in Zen-like fashion.) Nothing, in the sense that I’m grateful that I got the inevitable mistakes out of the way early. Everything, in that sending a young adult out into the world with zero financial knowledge is irresponsible on the part of parents and teachers alike. I might have been one of millions in that situation, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Oh, and parents? Keeping your kids in the dark about finances really helps them out when it comes time to negotiate wages and prices.

It should be effortless to know what things cost – including one’s own labor. No one should have to enter adulthood without knowing the fundamentals of finance – how and where to spend, when and why to invest. If you can understand a savings account, then you can understand a checking account, a money-market account, and ultimately how to buy a car, buy a house, do your taxes and assemble your own S corporation. None of this is that complicated. Our blog proves it.

Epilog: Today, hot dogs cost about $2.69/lb. wholesale. That’s 34¢ a dog, and they retail for at least 79¢, meaning pay a 135% markup or cook your own.

Manifesto

It's not a PC thing, either. Lame sites appear on Macs, too.

 

There are at least hundreds and possibly thousands of active personal finance sites, depending on your definition of “active”. So what makes Control Your Cash so special, so worthy of your attention when you could be reading someone else’s site?

Apparently it’s industry SOP to write blog posts in numerical point form, so let’s incorporate that method to answer the question, just to illustrate a point:

1. We assume you can breathe through your nose.

The content that fills most personal finance sites, including plenty that are more popular than this one, is largely useless. It’s tough to point out examples without sounding whiny. We even hesitate to use verbatim quotes, because it’s easy to Google them and identify the “writers” who are dispensing said useless content. But we promise that never will Control Your Cash waste your time. Here’s a recent post on a high-traffic blog. The post’s headline lists the ways the author thinks retail workers ought to behave, and continues:

“Everyone gets coughs and colds but try not to emphasize that to customers, especially when handling their food products.”

This is just one example, and not even a particularly egregious one by the standards set for these things. We’re unsure what inherent value there is in reminding people not to sneeze while handling customers’ “food products”, or food. Anyone who got smarter by reading that post – in other words, anyone who thought it was OK to blow their nose into someone’s soup and now understands that it isn’t – isn’t the kind of person we want reading Control Your Cash anyway. Try here instead.

There are worse examples than that, too. For instance, one wag tells you you need:

-“a properly diversified portfolio holds stocks of all types, sizes, nationalities, and flavors”

Literally, all sizes? All nationalities? So I should include some Nauruan mid-caps along with my good old Canadian penny stocks?

That second example is worse because it’s trying to educate you on something that isn’t obvious – and only giving half the story.

We understand that people are reading our blog and others for value. If you’re here, presumably you want to get something meaningful out of the few minutes you spend with us. Therefore it’s on us, the Control Your Cash team, to quantify and clarify. Like:

“You need a diverse portfolio: one that isn’t beholden to just one (or even two) market segments. And don’t feel that you’re obligated to invest exclusively in American companies, either. Money flows as quickly as electrons, and there are more chances for you to capitalize on that now than ever before.”

Which we’d follow with examples of stocks available in, say, Europe and Australia, with recommendations on how to locate and invest in them. Which will take more than a few minutes, and which we might write about at length sometime. What we won’t do is patronize you with half a sentence about the most generic type of diversification.

2. The passive voice is not the one in which we communicate.

This isn’t just a schoolmarmish grammar issue. Here’s a recent example from a competing blog, citing different ways to pay your federal income taxes if you’re strapped:

“There are a number of factors that must be taken into consideration when deciding which payment option is best for your unique circumstances. It is important to consider how fast you can feasibly pay back the taxes owed, making sure to take living expenses into account. The applicable interest rate for each option is another significant factor.”

Are you trying to put me to sleep? I’m serious: are you actively, deliberately, attempting to render me unconscious? Write like a freaking human. You know, so people can understand you. Something like:

“If you owe the IRS, ask them for a payment plan. (Ed. Note: we’d follow this with the procedure for doing so, and the likelihood of it working.) Or borrow money from a friend or a professional lender. Paying interest is bad, but tax liens are worse. Prison is worse still.”

3. We’re not just going to cut and paste whatever Dave Ramsey said this week.

Dave Ramsey is a hero to many personal finance bloggers, likely because of his prolific output and his foundation in Biblical principles. Mr. Ramsey seems like a nice fellow. He’s as successful at this line of work – dispensing financial advice – as just about anyone. We’d be thrilled if we sell half as many books as he does. But his advice is obvious at best and stifling at worst.

Credit card debt is bad. Fine, so is putting your hand in a piranha tank. If you don’t already know that, you shouldn’t be in front of a computer or any other bright shiny object.

Some people, like Mr. Ramsey, take this to its logical extension and decide that credit cards themselves are horrible and should be put to death.  This makes as much sense as going without a car because you got in a minor accident. Credit cards are tools, no better nor more evil than guns and flashlights. Exercise a little self-control, and your cards will be loyal and dutiful companions. Without credit cards,

-buying concert tickets and lots of similar items is a pain, if not impossible;
-you’re telling the world, “Rob me! I am completely liquid! (This goes octuple in exotic countries);
-you can dispute the charges on a big-ticket item if the seller turns out to be unscrupulous. Try doing that with a cash purchase;
-you’re screwed by the time value of money. Why would I pay for something immediately, when I can wait as long as 60 days and pay the same amount?

Incur the charges, pay the freaking balance off on time. Nothing is easier than this.

4. We stand “standard” advice on its head when warranted.

For instance, debt isn’t all bad. (Heresy!) If you really believe that, you shouldn’t buy a house until you can afford to pay cash for it. The median house price in America is about $184,000. How many times your annual salary is that? Now calculate it as a multiple of your salary minus what you require to feed and clothe yourself, among other things. You really want to pay cash for a house, and do so before you turn 90?

A house is a reasonable investment to finance. Groceries, bar tabs and tanks of gas are not. The house will still be there 50 years from now, presumably. It comes with built-in tax breaks. You need somewhere to live anyway. Sure, in 2010 your house can lose value in the eyes of an appraiser. But any rent check you write will lose value for you every time, without fail, regardless of the strength or weakness of the underlying economy, from now until the sun goes red supergiant, forever and ever, Amen.

5. We wrote this amazing book.

It drove us crazy. There was no personal finance book out there that had anything worthwhile to say. Well, that’s not technically true, but most of the books we saw would follow an insightful sentence or paragraph with 20 pages of fluff and nonsense.

So we wrote a book that explains every aspect of personal finance to the neophyte. We’re not looking for morons to read our book. We’re looking for people who aren’t intimidated by words like “neophyte”, and who know plenty about the world around them, but who admit that they don’t know enough about money. The book assumes you don’t have a handle on the jargon and the complex concepts that a regular Wall Street Journal reader understands, and also assumes that you’re not a retard. We know you don’t have time to plow through condescending “tips” (“buy things on sale”), but could probably use a little elucidation instead of guessing your way through your finances. Sound too good to be true? Read the sample chapter.

So just why should I buy your book, anyway?

That’s the one most common objection, from people who stumbled across one of our guest posts at Free From Broke, or Money Funk, or Len Penzo, or Credit Card Chaser, or 20sMoney, or Planting Dollars, or My Journey To Millions, or one of the other myriad places that’s been gracious enough to let us beat our chests with our unnuanced approach to building wealth. Yeah, sure, Greg McFarlane can turn a phrase and make me giggle, but why should I trust Betty Kincaid and him to advise me when Dave Ramsey is so earnest and reputable? And Suze Orman so brassy? And Clark Howard so breathtakingly sexy?

If you’re in your early 20s, have negative net worth, and have adopted the belief that debt is just an inevitable fact of life for your remaining decades, you need the book. If you’re adult enough to admit that you don’t know a blessed thing about money, you need the book. If you let someone else do your taxes every year, and isn’t because your finances are so ensconced in LLCs and S corporations that if takes a CPA to decipher your ability to maximize deductions and credits, you need the book. (You also need to start doing your own taxes, at least once.) If you work on Wall Street, dealing in conditional variance swaps and measuring third-order derivatives of the option value to volatility, you can probably skip the chapter on securities and head straight for the chapter on how to buy a car.

We wrote the book to eliminate guesswork for people who can’t be bothered to learn every nuance of someone else’s field of endeavor. Escrow, for instance. Say you’re about to close on a house. If you’re sitting across from an escrow officer who’s talking about proration schedules and title search indemnity, and you nod your head for fear of seeming clueless or unsophisticated, your pride will cost you money. Possibly lots of it.

If you reach that point, in that scenario, your only other option is to admit your ignorance and sit there as the escrow officer goes through every line from every one of the dozens of documents you have to sign. The proceedings will slow to the speed of evolution. It’ll take 5 or 6 hours to go through every contingency, and there’s no way you’ll be disciplined enough to sit through it all anyway.
Or, you can spend $10 or $14 (prices vary, usually downward) on the book. Then you’d know what to have asked the real estate agent and the mortgage lender weeks before you’d gotten to this point.

Tell us, right now: where do the deductions from your paycheck go? (Don’t say “the government”, that’s a D- answer.) How much goes to where? Does any of it ever get returned to you? And if so, then why did the government confiscate it from you in the first place?

Admit it: you probably don’t know. You don’t know what the acronyms stand for (FICA? COBRA?), nor do you know what percentage of your money you’re losing before you even get to touch it.

Are you the least bit interested in minimizing those deductions? In taking home a larger piece of what was yours to begin with? Then you need the book. Control Your Cash isn’t just a memorable and semi-mellifluous title. It’s, as the advertising drones say, a call-to-action. Put it this way: someone’s going to control your cash. If you’d rather it be someone other than you, you’re either a child or retarded.

We wrote the book because we couldn’t find all this stuff – bank accounts, credit scores, home buying, entrepreneurship – in one volume. In the words of Alan Schwarz, author of The Numbers Game and probably not the first author to articulate this thought, “This is the book I wanted to read, but no one had written it. So I did.”

And thus, a book that breaks down your 1040 form line-by-line without boring you into catatonia. A book that teaches you how to walk into a car dealership and treat that tobacco-stained salesman in the Men’s Wearhouse shirt and tie like the petty thief he is. A book that explains how, when and why to invest.

But not what and where to invest. Control Your Cash: Making Money Make Sense doesn’t recommend particular places to put your money. It just explains what those places are, because most people can’t begin to guess. The book teaches you how all the particular investment classes work, and what their potential pluses and minuses are. But what securities, real estate or bank instruments you choose to build your fortune with are your business.

We’ll teach you to drive. Whether you become Dario Franchitti or Chris Waffle is up to you and chance. But you don’t need to be the former to get where you want to go quickly and safely.