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Strategies & Market Trends : Trend Setters and Range Riders -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: X Y Zebra who wrote (17107)	5/10/2002 6:40:24 PM
From: lee kramer	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 26752

Zebra: Not bad about the MasterClass room. I should have left a week or too sooner. Stay tuned...interseting things coming. As for doc Kronkite, he gives me a discount as he's Suzy's cousin...and he Validates!

To: X Y Zebra who wrote (17107)	5/11/2002 10:50:23 AM
From: lee kramer	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 26752

DAYTRADING: The Highs and the Woes I called my shrink, doc Kronkite, at 2:00 a.m. “Doc,” I cried, “can I come over now? I think I’m in crisis.” “Who is this?” he demanded, “waking me up in the middle of my dream?” “It’s me doc, Kramer. You dream?” I asked “Of course I dream. I was dreaming of Ziggy Freud. You heard of him maybe? The grandfather of psychocannabis.” The doc was slipping into his malapropistic mode. “Ziggy was about to tell me the secret of psychocarnsey. Then you called and I never heard Ziggy’s answer. Do you realize how many patients you setback?” he hollered. “Gee doc, I’m sorry.” I said. “Say, who is this, anyhow?” he asked. “It’s me doc, Kramer the day-trader.” “See miss Tushbumper at your regular time.” He said, slamming the phone down. I ran three stop signs, narrowly missed a deer and out-ran a state trooper on my way to see doc Kronkite. I tend to rush when in crisis. I flew into the doc’s reception room. Miss Tushbumper, with the milky white cheeks, the legs that would make a run-way model weep and the bodacious ta-ta’s smiled at my entrance, spread her arms wide and waited for the hug and kiss that had become our weekly ritual. I flew by her and ran into the doc’s office. The doc was asleep on his lumpy leather couch. I shook him awake. “You!” he cried. “Again you killed my dream with Siggy, as he was about to tell me the secret of psychodialysis.” He got up from the couch. “Assume the position” he commanded, pointing to the lumpy couch. “I can’t doc, I gotta stand, walk around even. I’m in crisis doc.” “Crisis, schmisis” he said. A frenetic fruitcake is what you are. So how was the market this week?” he asked. “Market, schmarket,” I cried. “Who cares?” “I care. I have a portfolio you know. Mendelbaum the fund manager set me up with some good companies. So talk on me about the market. Then we’ll talk about your crisis.” I capitulated. “They went up, they went down.” I told him. “This is all you give me after I’ve given you ten years of psychoparalysis?” “Ok doc, I did a quick check. Your portfolio lost 12 % this week.” The doc took to his lumpy couch and began to weep. “Mendelbaum! I’m gonna strangle Mendelbaum. No jury would ever conflict me for what he did to my portfolio. The doc regained is composure. “So tell me about you latest crisis. A book on you I’m writing even. Gonna call it “His Six Crises: And Still counting.” A best-seller no doubt. Did I tell about my first book, “The Truss: Friend or Foe?” All about you meshugga traders.” “Yes doc, you did.” I said. “So talk on me about your latest crises” he snickered. “Well doc, I decided to leave the room.” “The room? No problem. Many of my patients leave the dining-room, the living-room, the rump-room even. They get over it with help fro me. Did I tell you I was a specialist?” “Yes doc, I think you might have. But the room I left was the trading room.” “What means a trading room, why is a trading room, where is a trading room?” “Doc, it’s a place where traders gather to exchange ideas and trade stocks.” “And where is this trading room?” “It’s in cyberspace doc.” “Yes, yes. Near Secaucus isn’t it? I had an office there once, before they lifted my license. So another room you need,” he stated emphatically. “Gee doc, I don’t know. Eighteen people in the room contacted me, said I should have a new room. “You don’t get to the top of the psychorigamarolisis game without occasional flashes of brilliance. A flash I just had,“ he beamed. “Tell me doc, tell me,” I cried. “I’ll call my no-good son-in-law, Morty-the-Muddler. A hammer and a bucket of nails he has. A nice room he’ll build you. A southern exposure even. All set you’ll be. And it’ll sit eighteen, stand twenty-eight. “Doc! I bellowed. You’re a genius.” The doc bowed at the waist, smiled and directed me to make nice with Miss Tushbumper on the way out. “I will doc,” I promised.”And doc, you are a genuine genius. You could teach that Freud fellow a thing or two.” "Of course, of course. Indeed. Same time next week." "You can mount on it doc." Lee Kramer