My dear coachc,
Thank you very much for your kind words of advice. I am going to try one more time to communicate with you regarding my posts. However, before you read this personal message to you, I shall have to ask you to do just a little bit of homework and just a teensy bit of review. Think of this as a quick scan of your notes regarding “the other team” before a big game. Just as you prepare mentally for a game or a match, please do your best to refresh your recollections about our previous conversations and my background so that we may better understand each other. Please read my posts #1975 and #1999.
Assuming you have read these posts again, I can now address your latest message. Let us begin at the beginning, go the end, and then stop. On our path we will analyze, comment, understand and, perhaps, achieve moments of clarity. Our goal shall be to enter The Honesty Zone and to see if “the truth is somewhere to be found in Lake Forest, CA.” (#2237, Bengal Man). Let us deal with your post #2246, line by line and idea by idea. “Bostonman... why don't you take the time that you are wasting quoting posts from 2 months ago and use that time a little more productively by contacting CryoPort and getting the straight story? Maybe your falcon could fly over there and gather the information for you.”
“…why don't you take the time that you are wasting quoting posts from 2 months ago…?” Coach, I can’t help but think about your words and advice from the past. I have quoted you many times in my "worthless, longwinded dribble" messages. This is not a waste of my time. It only took a few seconds. No big deal. All I did was read a few sentences, check a calendar, match up a few dates and then decide that I have no understanding of what you are talking about in your posts.
“…use that time a little more productively by contacting CryoPort and getting the straight story?” Coach, I don’t think contacting CryoPort would do me a bit of good. First of all, remember why and how I got into this stock in the first place. It is one crazy story.
Remember that, at an earlier point in my life, I had elected to check into what is known as “an institution of mental and psychological restoration and reclamation”. This was located in Western Massachusetts. At “the institute”, there were many very very sad people. They used to sit by the windows, stare blankly outside at the peaceful surroundings, and cry. They would sometimes cry all day. They were part of a group of hopelessly ill people. We had people who were severely depressed, bipolar, suicidal, schizophrenic and……….cryogenic. These are the ones I just told you about who used to sit at a window and cry all day.
Having been around these people for a few years, I thought I knew something about cryogenic personalities. So, when a guy told me about a company called CryoPort, I thought I was investing in a company that worked with all of the cryogenics out there, through a web port. I thought modern technology could help these people via the internet.
With this kind of preparation and knowledge, how could I possibly ask the CryoPort people anything? What would they tell me? Are they going to tell me we are just about to announce a big contract with somebody or that major financing is just around the corner? Are they going to tell me we are just about out of the woods and that I should come down from the hills, where I live? Are they going to advise me to buy every share I can get my hands on now, because new financiers are probably shorting this stock in order to knock the price down so that they can get more shares, in the future, when they convert into equity? Are they going to tell me the company is “this close” (with thumb and index finger pressed together to demonstrate) to hitting it big time in the markets? Are they going to refer me to the FedEx portal that was set up well over a year ago? I doubt it. My guess is that they will tell me to carpe diem, hit the road and don’t come back no more until later in the year.
“Maybe your falcon could fly over there and gather the information for you.” Sweet of you to suggest this, but you have to understand that falcons are as good as their falconer, and that’s me. I cannot allow him to fly all that distance because he could then no longer hear me. This is not good. Things would fall apart, the center would not hold and all kinds of bad stuff would occur that you wouldn’t like coach. In point of fact, my falcon does give me information when he sees something noteworthy. I have tried my best to tell you about these things in my past messages but, somehow, you still seem unable to separate the "worthless, longwinded dribble" from the slam-dunk. (I’m doing my best to communicate with you coach. I like your style: The “dribble” pun was a good one!).
Now that we are back up in the hills, we are again spending considerable time talking to our neighbors (the very smart and honest investment bankers and money managers and financial planners) and peering down deep into the Valley below. The secrets are down there somewhere. I can feel it. I can see the nervous ruffle of my falcon’s feathers. I hear the sounds of his call. He is on to something but I just haven’t figured it out yet.
Tonight is campfire and Indian ice cream night up here. I am going to talk to all of my smart banker and investment manager friends up here and try to get “the scoop” (that one’s for you coach) on how they see things. A number of them have come by to welcome me back and a few have said they want to have a serious talk with me about something. I am sure it will be interesting and informative.
The last time I went to one of their parties (before leaving home to do my FAA work), there was a particular group of five guys who loved to talk and analyze stocks and who loved their drinks. One always had his Tom Collins. Two of them loved their Scottch and sota. Another guy referred to himself as “Jim Beamer”. (Don’t ask me. I have told all of you in the past that it gets Weirdin these hills at times). The part I remember best is that, after they finished their drinks and their investment discussions, they all grabbed a handful of Tootsie Rolls and went home.
I have to run now coach. It’s laundry and cutting nice pieces of fresh meat for my falcon’s Friday night dinner. Big night tonight for him: He seems to enjoy parties. Everybody up here makes quite a fuss about him. They carefully rub his head, feel his feathers and stare into his eyes. He takes it all well. As long as I am there with my big leather glove and an occasional chunk of rib-eye, he’s a happy guy.
AI
