DAYTRADING: The Highs and the Woes
I just returned from my weekly session with my shrink, the garrulous but never gabbledygooky Doc Kronkite. It was interesting.
“So how was your week trading?” he asked as I plopped happily onto his lumpy couch.
“Great doc, just great. Best trading week I’ve had in the past six weeks.” I bubbled.
“So finally you made some good trades?”
“Sure did doc. Took a few points out of OPWV. Took a few more out of NTIQ. And a bundle I took when I bought JNPR from Jenna’s watch list. And Tuesday I made a ton when I shorted ONIS.”
“So my work with you finally took?” he said proudly.
“Mmm. Well doc, you sure have been helpful. But Dortmunder had an awful lot to do with it.” I said.
“Dortmunder? What’s a Dortmumnder?” he asked, puzzled.
“Dortmunder’s a chimp.” I told him.
“A chimp?”
“Yes doc, a chimp. I’ve kinda been keeping it a secret from you.”
“A secret you kept? From me? Never keep from me a secret. Secret-keeping sets back our progress anywhere from six to nine months. You could look it up.”
“I know doc. But Dortmunder is special.”
“Special, schmechial. So talk on me already about this chimp, this Dortmunder.” He demanded.
“It was a couple of months ago doc. At 4:00 a.m. You know that I get up early to look at Jenna’s watch-list and look at charts.”
“I know, I know” he said impatiently. “Go on, go on.”
“So it’s about 4:10 a.m. and Captain Tomato, our black lab, starts barking furiously at the door. It was very unusual doc.”
“You’ve got a dog named Captain Tomato?” he asked.
“Sure doc.”
“Mmm” he said, writing something, and shaking his leonine head with the Mel Brooks haircut.
“You couldn’t go maybe with ‘Blackie’ or ‘Fido’?”
“Nope doc. She’s Captain Tomato.”
More writing he does. More head shaking.
“So I tell the Tomato to lie down. She sits of course because she’s very obedient. Then I approached the door to see what caused Tomato to bark. I gotta tell you doc I was nonplussed. I almost fell over backwards at what I saw.”
“A burglar with a gun?”
“Nope.”
“An enthusiastic Girl Scout pushing those terrible cookies?”
“Nope.”
“Two Jehovah’s Witness off to an early start?”
“No doc. Standing on my stoop in what looked like a three-piece Saville Row suit with an Investors Business Daily under one arm and a rolled up bumbershoot, that’s what the Brits call an umbrella doc, under his other arm was a Chimp!”
“Have you been hallucinating lately? Smoking those funny cigarettes?”
“No doc. I saw a chimp.”
“Continue” he said.
“Well doc, the chimp said, in a clipped British accent, “My dear fellow, may I enter?”
“Er, ah, er” I stammered.
“I am not here seeking to sell you a subscription to the Wall St. Journal. Nor am I here to read your gas meter. It is rather chilly out here and I should prefer entrance. Are you unaware of the guest-host protocol?”
“Ah, er, ah. Certainly. Please come in” I mumbled.
So in he walked doc, spotted the island counter in our large kitchen, sat in my seat and said “I could do with a pot of tea. Camomille is my preference. Hot. And a plate of scones.”
“Stones?”
“No dear chap. Scones. You have scones of course?”
“Oh sure. Unfortunately we just ran out of scones. Will a bagel suffice?
“Doc, I was dumbfounded! I mean a chimp, a talking chimp!”
As we sipped our tea he told me his story. Seems he’d been captured along with a bunch of other chimps by the CIA. They were transferred to a government-funded lab for “scientific” research.
“They locked him in a small cage doc, tossed him a banana every so often. After a week or so they began the tests. They gave him a set of
thick wooden blocks and a large board. They showed him how the round block fit into the round hole, the square block into the square hole. Dortmunder yawned and finished the test rather quickly. They put him back into the cage and tossed him a banana.
Next day they gave him the Rorschach ink-blot test. “Now you gotta understand doc that Dortmunder didn’t utter a word to these guys. He had a plan doc, and he wasn’t about to tip ‘em off.
“So he ignored the ink-blot test, and they gave him an IQ test. His score was off the charts.”
“Just an aberration” says one researcher to another. Back he goes into his cage. They toss him another banana.
His cage is secured with a combination lock. Dortmunder filched an emery-board and files his fingernails. He puts his ear close to the lock, turns the knob, listens for the tumblers to click. Within three minutes he’s got the three numbers. He waits until 3:00 a.m. when the lab is empty, opens the lock. He’s out and at my door in an hour.
“You have an vivid imagination. Nice story. Now go home, your hour’s up,” said the doc.
“I’m telling you the truth doc,” I said, then got up, walked to the door and opened it.
Dortmunder walked in, looked about, frowned.
“Chintzy desk” he said in his clipped British accent.
“Chintzy? I paid $10,000 for that desk you silly monkey.. Anna bought it for Sigmund Freud. It’s an antique. Priceless.”
“Indeed,” Dortmunder snorted.
This was not going well. I had hoped that Dortmunder and the Doc would hit it off.
“So you’re a Freudian shrink.” Dorty continued.
“Indeed I am. I treat traders, day-traders. I’m a specialist. And what do you do Doodlebunter?” asked Kronkite.
“I happen to be a day-trader.”
“Then you need analysis. All day-traders need analysis. I may have an opening for you,” said the doc.
“You jest!” said Dorty.
“I never jest,” said the doc. “But I can solve your trading problems. I’m a trader too” he said proudly.
“Kramer tells me that you work with traders beset with phobias, fears, insomnia, bad dreams, emotional travaili and sexual dysfunctions. I suffer none of those,” said Dortmunder.
“But you must” cried Kronkite. “All traders suffer. Didn’t you read my best-seller, “The Truss: Friend or Foe?”. Chapter 49. I did an entire chapter on traders and their problems.
“Indeed. However, it is apparent that you need immediate help. I’m staying with Kramer. Call Suzy, make an appointment. I’ll help you, as I owe Kramer a favor.”
“You’re the one in desparate need of my analysis. Did I tell you that I’m a specialist? Make with Thelma Tushbumper my receptionist an appointment on your way out,” said doc Kronkite.
Dortmunder chortled, picked up his bumbershoot, placed his black bowler squarely on his head and slowly sauntered out.
“Call me!” the doc told me frantically.
“I will doc, I will.” I assured him as I followed the little guy out.
Lee Kramer
DAYTRADING: The Highs and the Woes 12/23/00
1150 words
I just returned from my weekly session with my shrink, the garrulous but never gabbledygooky Doc Kronkite. It was interesting.
“So how was your week trading?” he asked as I plopped happily onto his lumpy couch.
“Great doc, just great. Best trading week I’ve had in the past six weeks.” I bubbled.
“So finally you made some good trades?”
“Sure did doc. Took a few points out of OPWV. Took a few more out of NTIQ. And a bundle I took when I bought JNPR from Jenna’s watch list. And Tuesday I made a ton when I shorted ONIS.”
“So my work with you finally took?” he said proudly.
“Mmm. Well doc, you sure have been helpful. But Dortmunder had an awful lot to do with it.” I said.
“Dortmunder? What’s a Dortmumnder?” he asked, puzzled.
“Dortmunder’s a chimp.” I told him.
“A chimp?”
“Yes doc, a chimp. I’ve kinda been keeping it a secret from you.”
“A secret you kept? From me? Never keep from me a secret. Secret-keeping sets back our progress anywhere from six to nine months. You could look it up.”
“I know doc. But Dortmunder is special.”
“Special, schmechial. So talk on me already about this chimp, this Dortmunder.” He demanded.
“It was a couple of months ago doc. At 4:00 a.m. You know that I get up early to look at Jenna’s watch-list and look at charts.”
“I know, I know” he said impatiently. “Go on, go on.”
“So it’s about 4:10 a.m. and Captain Tomato, our black lab, starts barking furiously at the door. It was very unusual doc.”
“You’ve got a dog named Captain Tomato?” he asked.
“Sure doc.”
“Mmm” he said, writing something, and shaking his leonine head with the Mel Brooks haircut.
“You couldn’t go maybe with ‘Blackie’ or ‘Fido’?”
“Nope doc. She’s Captain Tomato.”
More writing he does. More head shaking.
“So I tell the Tomato to lie down. She sits of course because she’s very obedient. Then I approached the door to see what caused Tomato to bark. I gotta tell you doc I was nonplussed. I almost fell over backwards at what I saw.”
“A burglar with a gun?”
“Nope.”
“An enthusiastic Girl Scout pushing those terrible cookies?”
“Nope.”
“Two Jehovah’s Witness off to an early start?”
“No doc. Standing on my stoop in what looked like a three-piece Saville Row suit with an Investors Business Daily under one arm and a rolled up bumbershoot, that’s what the Brits call an umbrella doc, under his other arm was a Chimp!”
“Have you been hallucinating lately? Smoking those funny cigarettes?”
“No doc. I saw a chimp.”
“Continue” he said.
“Well doc, the chimp said, in a clipped British accent, “My dear fellow, may I enter?”
“Er, ah, er” I stammered.
“I am not here seeking to sell you a subscription to the Wall St. Journal. Nor am I here to read your gas meter. It is rather chilly out here and I should prefer entrance. Are you unaware of the guest-host protocol?”
“Ah, er, ah. Certainly. Please come in” I mumbled.
So in he walked doc, spotted the island counter in our large kitchen, sat in my seat and said “I could do with a pot of tea. Camomille is my preference. Hot. And a plate of scones.”
“Stones?”
“No dear chap. Scones. You have scones of course?”
“Oh sure. Unfortunately we just ran out of scones. Will a bagel suffice?
“Doc, I was dumbfounded! I mean a chimp, a talking chimp!”
As we sipped our tea he told me his story. Seems he’d been captured along with a bunch of other chimps by the CIA. They were transferred to a government-funded lab for “scientific” research.
“They locked him in a small cage doc, tossed him a banana every so often. After a week or so they began the tests. They gave him a set of
thick wooden blocks and a large board. They showed him how the round block fit into the round hole, the square block into the square hole. Dortmunder yawned and finished the test rather quickly. They put him back into the cage and tossed him a banana.
Next day they gave him the Rorschach ink-blot test. “Now you gotta understand doc that Dortmunder didn’t utter a word to these guys. He had a plan doc, and he wasn’t about to tip ‘em off.
“So he ignored the ink-blot test, and they gave him an IQ test. His score was off the charts.”
“Just an aberration” says one researcher to another. Back he goes into his cage. They toss him another banana.
His cage is secured with a combination lock. Dortmunder filched an emery-board and files his fingernails. He puts his ear close to the lock, turns the knob, listens for the tumblers to click. Within three minutes he’s got the three numbers. He waits until 3:00 a.m. when the lab is empty, opens the lock. He’s out and at my door in an hour.
“You have an vivid imagination. Nice story. Now go home, your hour’s up,” said the doc.
“I’m telling you the truth doc,” I said, then got up, walked to the door and opened it.
Dortmunder walked in, looked about, frowned.
“Chintzy desk” he said in his clipped British accent.
“Chintzy? I paid $10,000 for that desk you silly monkey.. Anna bought it for Sigmund Freud. It’s an antique. Priceless.”
“Indeed,” Dortmunder snorted.
This was not going well. I had hoped that Dortmunder and the Doc would hit it off.
“So you’re a Freudian shrink.” Dorty continued.
“Indeed I am. I treat traders, day-traders. I’m a specialist. And what do you do Doodlebunter?” asked Kronkite.
“I happen to be a day-trader.”
“Then you need analysis. All day-traders need analysis. I may have an opening for you,” said the doc.
“You jest!” said Dorty.
“I never jest,” said the doc. “But I can solve your trading problems. I’m a trader too” he said proudly.
“Kramer tells me that you work with traders beset with phobias, fears, insomnia, bad dreams, emotional travaili and sexual dysfunctions. I suffer none of those,” said Dortmunder.
“But you must” cried Kronkite. “All traders suffer. Didn’t you read my best-seller, “The Truss: Friend or Foe?”. Chapter 49. I did an entire chapter on traders and their problems.
“Indeed. However, it is apparent that you need immediate help. I’m staying with Kramer. Call Suzy, make an appointment. I’ll help you, as I owe Kramer a favor.”
“You’re the one in desparate need of my analysis. Did I tell you that I’m a specialist? Make with Thelma Tushbumper my receptionist an appointment on your way out,” said doc Kronkite.
Dortmunder chortled, picked up his bumbershoot, placed his black bowler squarely on his head and slowly sauntered out.
“Call me!” the doc told me frantically.
“I will doc, I will.” I assured him as I followed the little guy out.
Lee Kramer
DAYTRADING: The Highs and the Woes 12/23/00
1150 words
I just returned from my weekly session with my shrink, the garrulous but never gabbledygooky Doc Kronkite. It was interesting.
“So how was your week trading?” he asked as I plopped happily onto his lumpy couch.
“Great doc, just great. Best trading week I’ve had in the past six weeks.” I bubbled.
“So finally you made some good trades?”
“Sure did doc. Took a few points out of OPWV. Took a few more out of NTIQ. And a bundle I took when I bought JNPR from Jenna’s watch list. And Tuesday I made a ton when I shorted ONIS.”
“So my work with you finally took?” he said proudly.
“Mmm. Well doc, you sure have been helpful. But Dortmunder had an awful lot to do with it.” I said.
“Dortmunder? What’s a Dortmumnder?” he asked, puzzled.
“Dortmunder’s a chimp.” I told him.
“A chimp?”
“Yes doc, a chimp. I’ve kinda been keeping it a secret from you.”
“A secret you kept? From me? Never keep from me a secret. Secret-keeping sets back our progress anywhere from six to nine months. You could look it up.”
“I know doc. But Dortmunder is special.”
“Special, schmechial. So talk on me already about this chimp, this Dortmunder.” He demanded.
“It was a couple of months ago doc. At 4:00 a.m. You know that I get up early to look at Jenna’s watch-list and look at charts.”
“I know, I know” he said impatiently. “Go on, go on.”
“So it’s about 4:10 a.m. and Captain Tomato, our black lab, starts barking furiously at the door. It was very unusual doc.”
“You’ve got a dog named Captain Tomato?” he asked.
“Sure doc.”
“Mmm” he said, writing something, and shaking his leonine head with the Mel Brooks haircut.
“You couldn’t go maybe with ‘Blackie’ or ‘Fido’?”
“Nope doc. She’s Captain Tomato.”
More writing he does. More head shaking.
“So I tell the Tomato to lie down. She sits of course because she’s very obedient. Then I approached the door to see what caused Tomato to bark. I gotta tell you doc I was nonplussed. I almost fell over backwards at what I saw.”
“A burglar with a gun?”
“Nope.”
“An enthusiastic Girl Scout pushing those terrible cookies?”
“Nope.”
“Two Jehovah’s Witness off to an early start?”
“No doc. Standing on my stoop in what looked like a three-piece Saville Row suit with an Investors Business Daily under one arm and a rolled up bumbershoot, that’s what the Brits call an umbrella doc, under his other arm was a Chimp!”
“Have you been hallucinating lately? Smoking those funny cigarettes?”
“No doc. I saw a chimp.”
“Continue” he said.
“Well doc, the chimp said, in a clipped British accent, “My dear fellow, may I enter?”
“Er, ah, er” I stammered.
“I am not here seeking to sell you a subscription to the Wall St. Journal. Nor am I here to read your gas meter. It is rather chilly out here and I should prefer entrance. Are you unaware of the guest-host protocol?”
“Ah, er, ah. Certainly. Please come in” I mumbled.
So in he walked doc, spotted the island counter in our large kitchen, sat in my seat and said “I could do with a pot of tea. Camomille is my preference. Hot. And a plate of scones.”
“Stones?”
“No dear chap. Scones. You have scones of course?”
“Oh sure. Unfortunately we just ran out of scones. Will a bagel suffice?
“Doc, I was dumbfounded! I mean a chimp, a talking chimp!”
As we sipped our tea he told me his story. Seems he’d been captured along with a bunch of other chimps by the CIA. They were transferred to a government-funded lab for “scientific” research.
“They locked him in a small cage doc, tossed him a banana every so often. After a week or so they began the tests. They gave him a set of
thick wooden blocks and a large board. They showed him how the round block fit into the round hole, the square block into the square hole. Dortmunder yawned and finished the test rather quickly. They put him back into the cage and tossed him a banana.
Next day they gave him the Rorschach ink-blot test. “Now you gotta understand doc that Dortmunder didn’t utter a word to these guys. He had a plan doc, and he wasn’t about to tip ‘em off.
“So he ignored the ink-blot test, and they gave him an IQ test. His score was off the charts.”
“Just an aberration” says one researcher to another. Back he goes into his cage. They toss him another banana.
His cage is secured with a combination lock. Dortmunder filched an emery-board and files his fingernails. He puts his ear close to the lock, turns the knob, listens for the tumblers to click. Within three minutes he’s got the three numbers. He waits until 3:00 a.m. when the lab is empty, opens the lock. He’s out and at my door in an hour.
“You have an vivid imagination. Nice story. Now go home, your hour’s up,” said the doc.
“I’m telling you the truth doc,” I said, then got up, walked to the door and opened it.
Dortmunder walked in, looked about, frowned.
“Chintzy desk” he said in his clipped British accent.
“Chintzy? I paid $10,000 for that desk you silly monkey.. Anna bought it for Sigmund Freud. It’s an antique. Priceless.”
“Indeed,” Dortmunder snorted.
This was not going well. I had hoped that Dortmunder and the Doc would hit it off.
“So you’re a Freudian shrink.” Dorty continued.
“Indeed I am. I treat traders, day-traders. I’m a specialist. And what do you do Doodlebunter?” asked Kronkite.
“I happen to be a day-trader.”
“Then you need analysis. All day-traders need analysis. I may have an opening for you,” said the doc.
“You jest!” said Dorty.
“I never jest,” said the doc. “But I can solve your trading problems. I’m a trader too” he said proudly.
“Kramer tells me that you work with traders beset with phobias, fears, insomnia, bad dreams, emotional travaili and sexual dysfunctions. I suffer none of those,” said Dortmunder.
“But you must” cried Kronkite. “All traders suffer. Didn’t you read my best-seller, “The Truss: Friend or Foe?”. Chapter 49. I did an entire chapter on traders and their problems.
“Indeed. However, it is apparent that you need immediate help. I’m staying with Kramer. Call Suzy, make an appointment. I’ll help you, as I owe Kramer a favor.”
“You’re the one in desparate need of my analysis. Did I tell you that I’m a specialist? Make with Thelma Tushbumper my receptionist an appointment on your way out,” said doc Kronkite.
Dortmunder chortled, picked up his bumbershoot, placed his black bowler squarely on his head and slowly sauntered out.
“Call me!” the doc told me frantically.
“I will doc, I will.” I assured him as I followed the little guy out.
Lee Kramer |
