Optimize everything?

 

Hamster on Wheel

Hamster on Wheel (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

One of the benefits to the flood of information available on the web, and the self-publishing industry that the web makes possible, is that in two seconds or less, you can learn the ultimate best way to pick stocks (so they say), paint your porch, or manage your office work flow. Not a day goes by that I don’t get calls or a dozen emails from people pitching me to optimize my insurance recommendations, my archival backup, or my time management. Have a senior in high school? If they don’t know how to write a college admissions essay, hundreds of books and consultants will drum it into their slacker little heads.

But should we? Maybe even Harvard can’t transform Junior from a slack-ass into a star. Of course, if Junior’s last name is Bush, it won’t much matter in the slacker department. If not, he better be knocking himself silly from seventh grade on. In the rush for college admissions that consumes the better part of all day, every day from September to January for parents and high school seniors, I’m bemused (horrified, actually) at the number of kids I know with eating disorders, super-sensitivities, self-harming behavior, can’t be touched, not interested in the opposite sex—all the same issues as stressed lab rats in too small cages. In “my day” we just smoked dope, hated our parents, and went to protest rallies. And didn’t think the world would end if we didn’t go to Ivie U.

So let me ask you, have you had anything like these conversations lately?

            “So, how have you been?” “Really busy, as always.”

            “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you, I’ve just been so BUSY.”

            “Is now a good time to talk?” “There’s not really ever a good time.”

Yeah, me too. Regrettably. And I keep picturing a future when things are sure  to “slow down”.

Then there’s the endless financial and job advice.

  • Are you saving enough for retirement? (the answer is always no).
  • Is this a good time to buy ______? (No, but whenever you didn’t, THAT was the good time)
  • Is this the optimal mix of investments? (let’s argue about whether you should have 8% or 11.5% in internationals).
  • Should I buy Apple? (Even if you did, you won’t be happy. Because then you should have bought it in 1985, when it was $15 and your ex-husband wouldn’t let you. Or you did buy 25 shares at $200, but why didn’t you buy 100? Both of those would be me.)

So, my financial advice for today is, go live your life! Go slurp down a frappucino without thinking about the calories or the cost. Your kid will survive a few rejection letters. Don’t have a virtual life.

Maybe, just maybe, financial planning advice could set some of these things to rest. As to the optimal mix of investments, we do know what “works” and it’s pretty simple—keep costs down, don’t churn your account, have a decent mix of types of investments, save and live below your means. A financial advisor can certainly help with a plan, set it in motion, and help you manage it. Professional advice can do much of the fine-tuning (and worrying) for you. But really, lighten up. You can only control your decisions, not every possible outcome. Make a sensible plan and let go.

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College planning–how much should your child contribute?

 

The young typist

(Photo credit: Mikamatto)

It’s that time of year—that time of year when parents of college bound seniors get to sign up for the monthly payment plan. That time when you look at your kid and ask yourself whether it really is worth it to pay someone $56,000 to take them off your hands. Just kidding. But another question does arise—how much, if anything, should Jason or Jennifer be expected to pay?

Easy answer, huh? As much as possible! But what is really possible, in this economy? Herewith I share with you a view from the trenches, highly personal but with applicability to many families in similar straits, um, situations.

My assumption, up until this summer, was that my own little darling would have a summer job, save $1,500-$1,750 (what colleges figure when they do your financial aid budget), and contribute to tuition and books with that. It was not to be. She started looking in late April, and blanketed 3 high rise office buildings, every store in our town and the nearby mall, and registered with three temporary agencies. The kid types 85 wpm, knows Excel, is very web savvy, a great organizer, loves elderly people, and has worked in a nursing home and in retail. What did she find? Nada. A couple of one-day gigs with a temp agency, but otherwise absolutely no bites until this week, when one temp service placed her as a clerical assistant at a property management firm, which looks like it will last until school starts, so maybe she’ll nail down $1,000.

I thought maybe she had a unique experience. Now I hear that none of her friends has been able to land a job either, this summer. Recently I’ve also heard from two UChicago and one Northwestern grad that they were NEVER able to find a summer job during their undergrad years (since 2008). A temp agency used to be a slam-dunk, and is in fact the way I put myself through college and grad school—and it paid more than on-campus work. Now it appears that employers use temp as a way to try out for permanent, and they’re not interested in anyone who actually wants to be temporary.

So that got me thinking, is it still possible to put yourself through college, or even contribute significantly by working–no loans? Sadly, I don’t think so for most kids, and here’s why.

College costs are so far beyond what the average unskilled worker can make, that even covering a significant portion is pretty nigh impossible. Let’s take a look at my own experience. Back when Moses was a pup, I worked about 20 hours a week. I really don’t remember what I made (memory says $10 an hour and if that’s true, kids today aren’t much further ahead than 30 years ago, because my dear one is getting $12). So let’s say I’m getting senile and I actually made $5/hour=$100/week. In 36 weeks of school I’d make $3,600, which, conveniently, was exactly what my tuition was in graduate school. Then, 16 weeks of summer at 35 hours = $2,800, which is about what I lived on—my rent at the time was $150/month. I also worked full time over Christmas and spring breaks, so excess would cover books. Most years I got grants or scholarships, and a few loans—I graduated with $10,000 in debt, which was less than I could expect to earn my first year out. It was a lot of work, and I didn’t spend spring break in Cozumel, but certainly it was doable.

It’s easy to see that this kind of economics no longer works. At $12/hour, dear daughter can’t begin to cover the tuition bill at a private school if she works the same 20 hours/week for 36 weeks ($8,640 is about half State U’s tuition). In fact, to pay the total freight at the Univ. of Illinois, she’d need to come up with $30K. I’m so sick of “college counselors” advocating State U as an affordable alternative and quoting some ridiculous tuition. You need to add on room, board, books and activities fees! Actual cost of attendance is the only meaningful figure. And she couldn’t even rent a room for $150 nowadays.

The only ways I see that kids can work their way through college nowadays are to stretch it out by part-time attendance, choose a junior college for the first two years, live at home, and work their butts off. Yeah, it can be done, but there are so many downsides—no enriching and network-building extra-curriculars, no time to explore ideas, generally a lesser school and lesser academic experience, etc.

Still, I think it’s very, very good for kids to have skin in the game. Having difficulty getting a job teaches 1) start early and 2) value what you get—both good lessons. Once you get a job you learn 1) how hard it is to make a buck (puts a whole new economic spin on that iPod) 2) what you’re worth depends on what skills you have but also what the marketplace has need for—excellent lessons for choosing a major. No kid who’s worked all summer at a real job is going to major in communications or hospitality. And finally, it teaches desperation—nothing made me stay in school like the specter of being a file clerk my whole life.

She’s a great kid and she’ll contribute all she makes toward her college expenses. After working so hard to get a job, then working hard at it, I think she’ll take a much more consumerist view toward her college classes. For example, I suggest she evaluate her classes by figuring out what each costs per term, and considering how long she would have to work to earn that money. Kinda prevents taking classes like bowling. Next, I told her to figure out her cost per each class—when you’re tempted to cut and stay in bed, think about how long you worked essentially to throw that money out the window. And finally, I hope she does what I did in evaluating professors—not choosing ones who will give an easy grade, but ones who worked hard, taught fiercely, and gave me my money’s worth. If I’d had to put money in a meter outside the prof’s classroom each day, would I? She actually did run these number, and it gave her indigestion for the rest of the evening.

I’m not giving her any spending money, not paying for books (which I hope will encourage her to shop around), and right now I’m expecting her to make at least one of our monthly payments out of earnings and savings (she has a little internet biz as well). She’ll end up covering about 1/3 of our costs via earnings and loans. She’s looking for a near-campus job right now. YMMV, but I think that’s reasonable skin in the game.

If a kid didn’t have at least this much hustle, I’d really re-think whether I would consider an investment in tuition a good one. It’s not just off-loading, after all, it’s sinking a lot of capital into someone. Would you give $200,000 to a start-up venture if the entrepreneur didn’t appear to be pretty hard working?

And oh, by the way–anybody need an assistant near Philadelphia?

 

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Pricing luxury–what should you spend on a hobby?

 

Singer sewing machine - 31K32 (detail 1)

Singer sewing machine (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

How much should you pay for something that is purely a “want”, not a need? There are formulas for what house you can afford, how much of your budget should go to utilities, etc. but what if it’s something you just plain want?

Recently my sewing machine went kaput. Seventeen years ago it was top of the line, and since I’ve been sewing since I was 10, I figured I’d replace it with whatever was currently tops—I’ve earned it, no? When I was in my chocolate-chip-cookies-Mommy phase, I made all of dear daughter’s clothing for about her first five years of life. It was “free” because I’d inherited a closetful of fabric from my aunt in the nick of time. The machine at the time cost me $3,600, so clothing my daughter cost me about $720/year if I amortize it over those years. And of course I got 12 more years of use out of it, and the joy of having something really, really fine. Totally worth it.

Fast forward to about a month ago. I remember when machines lasted forever, but apparently not so with the new super duper computerized models. Like every other computer I’m forced to wrestle, eventually they have a nervous breakdown and fail spectacularly and totally, throwing all plans and projects into complete disarray. Sound familiar? I’ll just go get another one—computers have gotten far cheaper in the past 17 years.

Whoa, baby. Replacing my machine with an equivalent model is now about $7,500. A top of the line model (a Bernina red job) clocks in at $13,000. For that, I think it ought to drive you to the store to buy more fabric. It’s particularly a shock compared to the cheaper (in real terms) prices of other big ticket items like cars and the aforementioned computers. I wish Wall Street had done as well in the same time period.

So how do you assign a price to what you “should” pay? Well, for $7,500 I could be in head to toe Armani and bag the sewing entirely. For $13,000 I could buy my kid a crappy used car but since she won’t learn to drive I can probably put that one off. Unless you’re Bill Gates, there are always tradeoffs (and he probably doesn’t have time for hobbies anyway. Actually, neither do I.)

Let’s not kid ourselves that our hobbies save money. I know I spend more cooking organic food with fresh herbs than I would eating out every day at Subway. I get an excellent quality garment when I sew, but I’d probably never buy that level of retail—my clothes tend to be Eileen Fisher, not Armani, and you still have to pay for fabric. Whether it’s a boat, or new golf clubs, or a sewing machine, how can you pick a price?

  1. What will it cost per year over its expected life? Let’s take 10 years for a sewing machine. Even though it comes with a 25 year warranty, I don’t expect anything electronic to last that long—computer technology just moves too fast. Working with my $7,500 example, the thing will cost me $750 a year, or $62.50 a month. Will I save that much? Borderline—if I made 2 suits, a shirt, and a pair of silk pants, maybe.
  2. Does it have maintenance or corollary costs? For a boat, gas, maintenance, a place to dock or store it, maybe a trailer to haul it, bigger car—there’s a reason why people say a boat is a black hole in the water where you pour money. For a sewing machine, it’s a question of restraining yourself from buying more and more fabric, books with cool ideas, new gadgets, a yearly tune up ($100), etc. That’s what a hobby is, but you need to consider that one purchase will likely make you spend on more purchases. For me, the books, gadgets and tune up probably add $300 a year. I’m not telling on the fabric.
  3. What’s the entertainment value worth? The 750 bucks is about the same cost as season tickets to the opera and a movie a month. I’d rather have the sewing machine than the movies, and now that dear daughter is off to college, I’ll probably cut down on the number of operas. Or think of it as a weekend away—definitely worth it for me by this measure.
  4. Have you wanted it for a long while, and scoped out what’s available? Impulse or crisis purchases tend to be less satisfactory. Even if money is no problem, I recommend connoisseurship—if you really know what you’re buying, and know it’s perfect for you, you’ll get far more value and satisfaction from your purchase.
  5. Drill down. Once I started sitting in the driver’s seat, I discovered that there are some cachet issues—some brands have a tremendous snob value (what a surprise). Even if you know what you want your purchase to do, there are so many improvements that you may discover you can do stuff you never even knew you wanted to do. But the less advertised brands may be trying harder, and offer a lot more.
  6. Check out warranties and trade in value. Maybe you don’t have to go quite so large immediately if you can get good trade-in in the future. Get used to the new offerings and changes and see if you really value or use them.
  7. Is there a resale or pass-it-on value? If you upgrade before the wheels fall off, there might be enough resale value to make a big purchase be a smaller net purchase. Or your child may be salivating to steal the darn thing right off your desk.

So what have I ended up with? After test-driving a bewildering array of brands, reading a lot of reviews on the internet that I really didn’t have time for, and making a chart of features and cost per year (what did you expect? I’m a financial planner), I finally popped for a $1,600 Brother “pre-loved” with full warranty and trade-in value. My kid figures she’ll sweet-talk me out of it in about 2 years.

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