I came across a link to a USA Today article on the internet the other day. After the requisite clicking and waiting, I couldn’t get past the first sentence:
“Americans eat an estimated 50 billion burgers.”
This begs a lot of questions. Which ones? How many times a week? Do they have 50 billion orders of fries, or just 50 billion fries? How long does it take? Even Joey Chestnut ate just a mere 103 hamburgers in 8 minutes. Source: Joey Chestnut eating records: King of more than hot dogs – ESPN
Did you click on that link? Who knew his famous Nathan’s Fourth of July Hotdog winnings were the mere tip of the iceberg? And how did he decide one of his life’s goals would be to eat more, faster than anyone around? Was he planning a stint in either the Marine Corps or state prison? Is a stent also in the plan down the road?
I am way too fastidious and delicate of constitution to even watch speed-eating contests.
I don’t even like to think about it. The winners of these contests never seem to be particularly overweight, which is inspiring, until you think too deeply on the subject. Yeech.
I did try speed dating once, however.
There were about a dozen of each gender that arrived at the appointed time and place and found their assigned seating. Each table had an egg timer, a note pad, pencils with freshly minted erasers, and a stack of cards. The cards included various information topics in case one could not fill ten minutes of time with some sort of conversation with a person of the opposite sex. You had, as I recall, eight minutes with each potential match before the bell sounded. The emcee kept the time, so heaven only knows why each table had its own timer. Perhaps it was intended for those who needed to make sure they got their last question in before the bell, and they could not afford a wristwatch.
Clearly, my first question immediately became “Do you own a wristwatch?” A “no” was an immediate disqualifier because, well, obviously.
One of the cards suggested “How often do you change the oil in your car?” as a get-to-know the potential love of your life discussion starters. I am not making it up. Who are these people and are they related to Goober from Mayberry, NC?
There were a couple of no-shows, so once or twice I had a chance to ogle all the other folks during my downtime. That was fun to see the body language, the discomfort and the posturing going on. Lots of desperation showed up that night.
I, of course, came up with my own names for the ladies I met. I can remember Mrs. Robinson, Bo Peep, Mary Kay, and Norman Bates’ Mother. Perhaps this wasn’t flattering, but they did get points for being memorable. I wonder to this day if these people dolled up like that every day, or they were going for a particular statement. Me? I wore jeans and an Oxford shirt with a Blazer. Mr. Nerdly, I bet they called me. Better than Mr. Bean.
You’ll be shocked to hear, I didn’t match with anyone. I think you know that I met up with my current wife at a funeral, and I knew her from My High School days. I think my opening line was, “You come here often?” Both times.
In other High School memories, I just found out that a longtime Allen & Company client of mine who lives in Virginia is first cousins with the girl I dated for about five months in my senior year.
She was drop-dead gorgeous as I recall, and her waist-length black-as-midnight hair would just shimmer in the lights of the football stadium. I’m pretty sure it didn’t last because after football season we began to see each other in daylight hours, and she was able to see me a little more clearly. In my defense, there have been only seventeen male, high school seniors in all of history, who were admirable on extended and in-depth examination. I was not one. I’m not going back for a second go ‘round either.
But back to the Queen of the Fall Nights … or at least evenings. I think I had to have her home by ten on school nights, 11 on weekends…it seems that following my one serious auto accident in my life, the one that broke out my front teeth and gave me the $7,000 bridge you see today (no, you can’t write on it like the Berlin Wall in 1989, it cost too much and I don’t want to go through getting another one any time soon), as I was saying … it seems … following my auto accident she tearfully (sixteen year-old girls can call up the tears faster than a can of mace at a 70s peace rally) asked for prayers for “her boyfriend that had been involved in a serious auto accident”. I remember a bunch of people calling me to ask if I was dead. Nope, not dead.
I walked away with four broken teeth and a lip needing several stitches. You can see ‘em at our next meeting if you give me some advance notice. I kept them in a pill jar. Perhaps one day my daughters can make some jewelry that showcases the ivories so Dad can be around 24/7.
I also recall that on Christmas 1974 I gave her a colorful wax rooster candle.
It was over a foot tall, and she loved it. In hindsight, I have sometimes doubted her veracity at that moment in our relationship, but I remember her as being one of the kindest and most honest people I ever knew. Later visits with hometown friends through the years confirm my estimation of her. I give thanks to Providence that I was never subject to the tortures of being stretched between the forces of kindness and honesty. You’ll have to decide where I fall on that continuum. Here’s a hint because I am just a giving kind of guy (today). When answering the test question, “Does this dress make me look fat?” I once replied, “No, no, Dear, it’s not the dress”. I had to get the bridge replaced after that one too.
She, being thoughtful and not a cheapskate, gave me a western motif belt with horsehair inserts. It was a size 36 and I was a size 29. I saved that sucker for 40 years until I could wear it, and wouldn’t you know that at about age 49 & ½, I went from a 34” waist to 42” in about fifteen minutes. That was about the same time they started selling Blue Bell ice cream east of the Mississippi. Purely coincidence, hindsight suggests.
One time I wrote one of these blogs without any reference to (reverence for?) investing.
The editing department came up with one for me. I think they dug up Herb Tarleck from WKRP In Cincinnati to write it. It was embarrassingly trite and overtly sales in a used car-lot tone. “Come on down and have a look around. We’ll take a test drive and grab some hotdogs and an RoC Co-Cola and hit the Mets game. You’ll drive home in shiny new (to you anyway) wheels and everyone will be checking you out.”
Anyway, that experience taught me a lesson and since that day I have never failed to do my duty as decreed by fathers Allen, and finish on a note appropriate to our journey through the investing world. So here you are:
Investing, like speed eating, high school dating, selling radio ads for a hometown radio station in Cincinnati, and blog writing, require hard work and discipline.
Just not today, it seems.
PS:
Today’s word is a fun one:
You will have so much fun thinking of examples or preparing your outline for discussing my idea of fun.
See you soon.
LDB
September 2025
