Millionaire/Billionaire mindset vs. Actually living life

Not too long ago I chanced upon an inkling of a billionaire's past life; he sold toys in a market. Twenty-odd years later, he owns Chelsea FC and a host of other luxe commodities, and I think a couple of yachts? All entirely self-made (well okay, maybe organised crime was involved but you'd have to be somewhere big to get their support anyway?).

Another very rich guy made heaps out of flatpacking and supplying us Allen keys to make things ourselves, and he still takes the train and still owns his old 240GL stationwagon.

A wise friend of mine once said that "millionaires don't get rich by spending their money", which is quite true.

How to be rich and boring?
It takes a special breed of person to become self-made super-rich. Shrewdness is one thing; grabbing opportunities to consolidate and grow wealth are key steps in becoming rich, as is careful risk management. Luck plays a part, but only to an extent, just look at the stories of lottery millionaires who end up returning to social support/Centrelink payments; a lack of shrewdness and discipline let them down.

Discipline. Discipline seems to be a standard theme in building any sort of massive project, whether it is a cult of personality or a large amount of wealth. Following strict rules and self-control, you will be able to do well, anything. Build pyramids, fast cars. A billion dollars. Ya.

Now, starting from the ground up. Considering you saved everything, and you spent nothing outside of pure essentials. No entertainment, no non-essential hygiene like EDT, no indulgence. Then you save maybe, $10,000 to $15,000 a year, if you worked casually. That's a lot of money, but no you can't touch it; it goes to an investment of sorts. Slowly it will develop into a large sum of money, and you may become a millionaire five times over in perhaps, 10 to 15 years of doing this. You really could.

But it's not money you can actually appreciate, or enjoy. You get wound up into an unreality of wealth without the trappings that come with it. The situation? You have everything, but nothing to show for it.


Profligate Hedonism: The Antithesis to Wealth
Consider making $200,000 a year, after tax. Plenty of money that?

Think about not saving a cent.

Buy yourself a Porsche on loan. Get another loan, and get a top-flight penthouse. Dinner, every night, at a posh restaurant, running up at least $100 each night. Fancy, expensive designer whatevers? Get the lot. Your bank account consistently has less than $1000 in it.

The situation? You have nothing, but you have everything to show for it. But heck, is it fun or what?!

GAH, WHAT DO I DO?!
At the end of the day, wealth building and the enjoyment of wealth appear diametrically opposed. There naturally needs to be a balance of in vs. out. The facilitation of a lifestyle beyond that of wealth generated has been financed via credit for eons, but this has naturally led to the current credit crunch, as we all can plainly see. Avoiding your own personal credit crisis is favourable in these times, but it is a banal piece of advice parroted through the ages, only because it is so exhaustively true. Ah well, this is what we can do:

1. Minimalism is chic
2. Less is more
3. Location, location, location

Hope that helps :-)

Winnie the Pooh

See the animals above?

Read this

Pathology in the Hundred Acre Wood: a neurodevelopmental perspective on A.A. Milne

Sarah E. Shea, Kevin Gordon, Ann Hawkins, Janet Kawchuk and Donna Smith

Abstract

Somewhere at the top of the Hundred Acre Wood a little boy and his bear play. On the surface it is an innocent world, but on closer examination by our group of experts we find a forest where neurodevelopmental and psychosocial problems go unrecognized and untreated.

I have always, always wanted to do this. Pity these Canucks beat me to it, and what a good job they've done!

Girls of the Internet

There once was a legend asserting that there are no sane girls on the series of tubes, that these women are either:

1. Thick-glassed entomologists ,
   
2. Crazy cat ladies (Laugh out loud, cat),
3. Charged $4.95 a minute,
4. Robots, or
   
5. Men

Not true. Not true at all.

Maaaaaybe prior to the WWW (a time when BBS and Gofers lived on the otherside of a 2400 baud monstrosity) there were fairer-sex types fullstop, because their live were richer and more interesting than that of your typical whistlephreaker.

But today, surprise Geek-san, there are girls online. And not your katoey flavour either.

What are they like?

Feeling like a cat with a deathwish, I signed up to a website whose name is the same as that of a great rock band, and a wet spot in the desert.

Of the myriad of gorgeous and frankly downright wonderful women, I dated Bushpig and Psychopatty, mainly because the others gave me the proverbial "You're a nice guy, but."

Anyway...

Ms. Bushpig came from a state less backward than WA, but my god did she belong here or what? Heck, she was trailer-park. Nevermind, give it a chance. A couple of dates. I couldn't have the heart to turn the heifer away, lest she think I were a male chauvinist (who, me?). The story Bushpig brought to sorry little Perth was no less pathetic. Kicked out by her mother for being, frankly an unproductive, unskilled, hedonistic, corpulent, Peter Jackson-chugging degenerate, Ms. Bushpig hurtled her way to beach-side Scarborough. Sad, but hey, everyone deserves a second chance, make something of themselves. So we get her a job at K-Mart as a checkout chick.

She complained about the 3 hours' of work she did on a cash register ('It's too long', 'my feet hurt', 'My boss won't let me smoke' and various other complaints). Coup d'grace? Bushpig tried her best to cost me my OSCE by being someone too clingy and precious than her BMI 50 would've suggested. Nah. Fuck off.

Psychopatty's words were like cocoa butter, sweet and creamy. She seemed perfect, fun-loving and family-orientated. You love Wii's and DeviantArt? Wow, me too! "I love you, I would never cheat on you". That, almost as sweet and gentle as that sledgehammer of an innocuous text message, "I cheated on you and I never loved you", five days later. Heh.

Later on came MingleSum (figure it out), Narcissist (I come to look for dates so I can talk about myself), DSM-IV BPD Punk (I love you/Don't talk to me) and various others. All of them, fuck off.

So, what is it about Internet dating that attracted this reputation? 100% safe? Maybe. But will you find love? Proper love? Is it really that much better than meeting the nutcase next to you at the Leedy vying for a free grenadine vodka?

The datum point of this issue lies in trust. Ever noticed just how much paranoia there is in the world today? Never mind the terrorists and pretence wars; look at your mates.

How many of them are reluctant to share the phone number of a mutual friend? For fear that you have some beef for them, or worse, you're a stalker?

So what hope is there for a person shouting into the dark, "Is there anybody out there?!" if only the psychopaths and the deranged will answer?

PICO

Every once in a while, a man discovers that he has happened upon a question that no one has asked.

The opportunity it presents? The answer, to a question, no one asked.

PICO questions in paediatrics are like that. Patient, Intervention, Comparator, Outcome. Is there an association between febrile convulsions and later development of dyslexia? Fuck knows.

There were no papers on both topics on Medline, at least. This makes for a fertile research opportunity, and perhaps the possibility of shaking things up in the medical world. Maybe febrile convulsions are not so benign after all? After all, a febrile convulsion could well be a sign of something sinister; who knows what happens to the long-term synaptic developmental patterns of a child subject to a fit?

Just because conventional Medicine says that febrile convulsions in themselves are well, benign, in the short term at least, does not mean that we should ignore possible long-term subtle damage.

Oh? Who says?

So you get stood up by yet another pink-haired DSM-IV quoting BPD posing to be sane, and after losing a few worthless tears you pull your socks up and...write a blog.

Today a virgin died and a whore is born, check it?

Medicine is whom I'm married to. That MBBS is almost within grasp, and should I have the temerity to savour its flavoursome prestige? Of course! Why, why not call it a wedding when an engagement ring just slipped on her finger? An unconscionable benefit for a conscionable cause perhaps? Shut up, let me enjoy this prepulence!

Stop watching Disney, stop watching House. Happy endings are for girls not yet pubescent, and the seat of diagnosis rests not in a brilliant comedian pretending to be a trumped-up nephrologist in a fictional "diagnostic department". Who'dathunkit?

Today's a day I toast myself and politely tell the world, fuck you.

Today's also a day for writing PICO questions. Feck.