Safe Betting

The coast is clear (or, in more geographically-correct terms, the hills and strip malls are clear) -- I think Kevin and Alex have finished remodeling. The screens and doorknob look good.

You may be wondering how the doorknob suffered enough damage to necessitate two bachelor remodelers. Okay, you aren’t wondering, but I’ll tell you: the doorknob cracked when someone tried to break into our house.

Surprised? So am I. This abortive break-in may have occurred while I was away in PA, AR, or MA, or perhaps I was home but didn’t hear it.

Either way, it’s scary.

Crime is something that happens to “other people.” Sort of like rare diseases and freak car accidents. Robberies take place in NYC or in rural communities where Sheila’s Good-Time Diner serves grilled cheese sandwiches 2 for $2. Crime exists only on the 11 o’clock news. Yes?

No.

So, last night I lay awake well past midnight, listening for the scritch scritch-scritch of a crowbar yanking at our front door. Usually, somebody in my family sets our security system before bed, but yesterday it remained off -- Mom and Dad were already asleep by the time I came upstairs to read, and I didn’t want to wake them with the BEEP of alarm activation.

I was playing the odds, sure. Chance of me waking the ‘rents by turning on the alarm: 85%. Chance of a psychotic serial rapist entering our unprotected home: 2%.

And that 2% ruined my chance for a pleasant night’s slumber.

Of course, nothing happened. Much as I enjoy blogging, I wouldn’t be writing if I had recently fallen prey to a psychotic serial rapist. I’m not that dedicated.

Insomnia is often good for realizations, and as I stared at my ceiling last night, I came to this earth-shattering conclusion: hey, security is important.

With the security of my home in jeopardy (real or imagined), none of my chronic neurotic concerns seemed quite as crucial. Will I have time to hit the gym tomorrow? Uh, not if a homicidal maniac busts our screen in the next 10 minutes. Did I pick the right Ph.D program? Should I ask the guy in the ski mask?

Here’s a fact: even if I had a high-tech security system and two Vin Diesel-sized bodyguards standing at my bedroom door, I’d still spend a lot of time worrying about security. Job security, the security of my friendships, my own insecurities....I’m more security-obsessed than a ring-wing warmonger on speed.

I’m probably not alone. I know I’m not alone. I mean, how much money does the magazine industry make playing on women’s insecurities? Oh God oh God oh God, I’m too fat...I’m not sexy enough...I’m not fashionable enough...I’m not happy enough (wonder why). I buy into it all the time. Cosmo has yet to send me a thank-you note.

Today I joined Dad on a visit to his investment analyst. Discussion item #1: financial security. Over a round of Diet Pepsis, we all examined the analyst’s J-chart. The J-chart shows risk vs. reward of investing in stocks and bonds. I’m not a “numbers person,” but I know that if you dole all your cash into stocks (100% stocks), that’s awfully risky. And if you buy totally into bonds (100% bonds), you’re playing it yawningly safe. 50% stocks/50% bonds would put you in the middle, I guess.

The chart should be linear -- risk rising with % invested in stocks. But it isn’t. It’s a “J”-chart, not an “I”-chart. The hook of the “J” shows that your safest bet is actually a mix of stocks and bonds. More bonds than stocks, but a small percent of stocks nonetheless. (This advice is free, by the way).

Don’t ask me to give the reasoning. I asked the analyst, but I don’t remember enough to paraphrase his answer. I’m more than a little insecure about my ability to explain money matters, anyway.

I only know the bottom line: security isn’t always what it seems. And sometimes it pays (literally) to drop a security blanket or two.

But I guarantee I'm setting the alarm tonight.