Self help

Hedging your bets in the book of life

By Jerry Fraser

I used to spend a lot of time at Scarborough Downs betting on horses. I admire standardbreds -- trotters to non-horseplayers -- but I was never especially good at figuring out which one was going to win a particular race.

I was good at reading books, though, so I bought one on racehorse handicapping. In it, the author, a college professor, admonished his disciples that although his book might not win them any money, they could at least look forward to losing knowledgeably.

Of course, when it comes to your hind pocket there is no difference between losing knowledgeably and losing in complete ignorance, and I got the message. I threw the book away without reading another word, thanked the author for no doubt having saved me many thousands of dollars, and stopped going to the races.

If only we could apply handy aphorisms to other facets of our lives that tend to lead us down the primrose path.

Take golf, for instance. Someone once said that cocaine is God's way of telling you that you have too much money. I think golf is His way of telling you that you have too much time. You can play a hand of cribbage in six or seven minutes; a pickup game of basketball fits easily into the lunch hour. Eighteen holes of golf, on the other hand, will chew up four hours (the Titanic sank in two and a half, and even the movie was over in three) and, unless your name is Tiger, it will leave you with an attitude that only another hour, spent drinking, will cure.

If I were writing the book on golf, I would say: this book will not take one stroke off your score, but you'll feel like a master on the driving range.

Then there is the business of earning a living. Those of you who are workers know all too well that no one is paid what he or she is worth. You are overworked and under-appreciated, and management is out of touch and ought to step aside and let you take over before it's too late.

If you're management, the grim reality is that good help is impossible to find and that stockholders and the board of directors cannot see beyond the next quarterly report. You've got a good mind to pack it in and open up a movie theater in Skowhegan, just like you've always talked about. That'll show 'em.

If I were writing a book on surviving the workplace I would say: this book will not get you one nickel in additional compensation, but homelessness will seem like a reasonable alternative to your current existence.

How's your love life?

If you're single, chances are you're attracted to someone who doesn't know you exist -- and if they do, they probably wish you didn't. The good news is, whoever they're attracted to feels the same way about them.

If you're divorced you're wondering what attracted you to your ex in the first place.

And if you're married you're very careful about making smart-aleck pronouncements about the arrangement in the Portland Phoenix.

Nonetheless, if I was writing the book on relationships, I would offer the following proviso: this book can't help you find true love, but sex with strangers won't seem so bad.

If you don't want answers, there's always the economy. President Truman supposedly said he wanted to find a one-handed economist, because he was tired of his advisers and their "on the one hand . . . on the other" forecasts. A half century later, we're still clueless, a few basic rules notwithstanding. These rules are:

*rising prices always surpass income;

*it's a buyer's market when you're selling and a seller's market when you're buying; and

*if your neighbor were making as much money on stocks as he says he is he wouldn't be living next door to you.

My volume on economics, when it is released, will offer this cautionary advice: this book cannot explain the inexplicable, but with a little luck you can fool your friends.

Last, but not least are computers. Computers have made a lot of people rich -- but not you, most likely. They have also driven a lot of people crazy, and that is probably where you and I come in. Or if not us, our employers.

In my own case, I bought a computer on which to write the great American novel. Things have not worked out exactly as I planned, and for the most part I write little and read jokes e-mailed by friends.

My mother-in-law, on the other hand, bought a computer to e-mail her friends in Mexico, which is much cheaper than phoning them. But the software is cranky, and every time she sends an e-mail she has to call to see if anyone got it.

You get the picture.

At work, my employers are continually upgrading our computer system, and my colleagues and I appreciate it. The lurid photos that once took minutes to download now open in the twinkling of an eye, leaving us plenty of time to surf the Web and execute day trades.

My book won't tell you how to save you time and money with your computer, but it'll certainly make you wish you had a lot more of both.

Jerry Fraser can be reached at cavu@cybertours.com.