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7 Things Guys Should Not Say At Work

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Time for some serious financial advice:

I’m recycling old magazines and donating books. My bookshelves are busting at the seams with books and periodicals I’m keeping for reasons beyond my knowledge. While I was making stacks today, I came across an Esquire special magazine which featured a HUGE list of phrases guys shouldn’t use at work.

Keeping a job isn’t just a good part of being a guy…it’s part of being financially fit. That’s why, if you’re wondering how the hell this post fits this website, I was able to sneak it in under the wire.

I’m trying to help you keep your job.

Being a guy is part science/part art. Sometimes, I’ll admit, I  don’t even quite understand “the rules.” I admitted at a bar one time that Muriel’s Wedding was one of my favorite movies.

Let’s just say that didn’t go well.

I tried to make it better by telling them that I loathe Steel Magnolias (don’t get me started), but apparently admitting that I’d even seen the film was a reason I’ve been told I have to forfeit my man-card.

That said, if you were a dude and said any of these in the office, it might catch my attention:

 

My Favorites From Esquire’s List of “Things a Man Should Never Say at Work”

 

7) “You seriously wanted me to do that?”

6) “Nice Botox”

5) “I had a dream about you last night.”

4) “How much’re they paying you anyway, sweetheart?”

Zumba

I’d fit in like a lobster at a seafood restaurant

3) “It’s called Zumba. I’ve lost 12 pounds.”

2) “That’s not how we did it at my last job.”

…and my favorite line from Esquire’s “Things a Man Should Never Say at Work”

1) “They’re white-chocolate cranberry. I baked them last night.”

 

I hope these tips helped you hold onto your job a day or two longer. Any I missed?

You Have No Idea What I Paid For This Room

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Welcome to another installment in a series of posts about an Average  Joe trying to just get along…and finding new and funnier ways to fail at it.

For past posts in the series, catch:

There’s Something Wrong With The Car

Networking 101: Meeting Basketball Insiders (a How Not To Manual)

I’m Not an Expert on Everything

I Miss Checkbooks

Sprint Teaches Me Geography

Blog Post of the Week! by Money Beagle (intro section)

Sometime The Grass Isn’t Close to Green On The Other Side Of The Fence 

 

Our Story

 

I couldn’t believe a girl this HOT liked me. Cheryl was smart AND beautiful AND (the best part!) dating me.

Realizing that sooner or later she’d wake up and actually look at the guy she’d decided to hang out with, I knew I had to impress her fast. Time for some decisive action…something that would really WOW her. …something she’d remember in the middle of the night when she wondered “What am I doing with this dork?” I needed something to counteract that inevitable occurrence…something spectacular and romantic.

I had it: we’d take a long weekend getaway to Chicago.

Checking a few quick travel guides I stumbled on a bonus: there was a boutique hotel called the Claridge just north of the corner of Rush and Division (home of many bars and nightclubs!). Reviewer after reviewer said this place was a hidden gem, nestled among brownstones in a nice neighborhood.

We were college students. I was paying my own way through school, working three jobs: building radiation walls (crappy work), as a telemarketer (even more crappy work), and as a DJ at frat parties and weddings (awesome work, but with horrible hours). Somehow I scrounged up $250 for two nights at the Claridge (now a boutique Hotel Indigo…here is the website), enough for gas to get from Detroit there and back, and a little more for food and spending money.

Out the driveway in Detroit, the trip was immediately a success. We laughed the whole way to Chicago, listening to music. Holding hands. I thought, “It can’t get any better than this.”

 

Oh, it did.

 

A room at Hotel Indigo (The Claridge when we were there)

My hotel choice was freakin’ awesome. The neighborhood was gorgeous, and sure enough, among the quiet brownstones, a little narrow hotel rose into the sky. Although the place was old, it had been recently renovated and had an old city charm. You would never know, with all the greenery and the families strolling outside, that some of the busiest bars in the city were only three blocks away.

We parked the car ($20 a day in 1992. Are you kiddin’ me?). Valets carried our bags and I made my way to the reception desk. Seconds later I had my key and we were on the elevator upstairs.

We opened the door to our room.

There wasn’t a view of the city, but who cared. We had a carefully appointed room with classic prints on the walls, a big beautiful bed and nice little bathroom.

I’m from the country. This farm boy had never seen anything so upscale.

Get this: there were even terrycloth robes in the closet! Terrycloth robes!

I put one on. Cheryl snapped a picture of me in it.

She went into the bathroom to freshen up, and I flipped on the television.

That’s when I noticed it.

There was a fridge in the room.

This wasn’t like a spring break fridge next to the scary kitchenette. Nope. This was a high end hotel.

This was a FULLY STOCKED refrigerator.

Nuts, beers, chips, those little Jack Daniels and Schnapps bottles, and more. I grabbed a beer, some macadamia nuts, and settled into a football game.

I’d worked my way into the peanut M&M’s when Cheryl appeared in the bathroom doorway.

“I think you have to pay for those,” she said.

I smiled at the silly, silly girl.

“You have no idea what I paid for this room.”

She smiled, said, “Really? Cool!” and grabbed a little single serving wine bottle and the Toblerone.

After our on-the-house snack we hit the town hard. A little shopping on Michigan Avenue, Pizza at Gino’s East. Dancing at Mothers on Division.

Imagine our delight to find chocolates on our pillows and the bed was turned down. This place was awesome.

Even more awesome?

Someone had completely restocked everything we’d eaten from the fridge.

 

Day Two

 

Make sure you visit Shedd Aquarium when visiting Chicago

The next day we were up early. After a morning at the Art Institute we had Chicago-style hot dogs off a cart in Grant Park. Then we toured the shark and penguin tanks, among others, at Shedd Aquarium. On the way back to the hotel we stopped at a steak place on Rush Street and then listened to some sultry sounds at a jazz bar. We were both tired from the day out and headed back to the hotel.

Fridge? You guessed it. Restocked again.

I loved this hotel.

I immediately grabbed us a nightcap from our now-personal supply. We’d be leaving in the morning and I wanted to get my $125 per night worth. M&Ms, chips and wine up late talking with the hottest girl I’d ever dated.

This was the life.

 

Leaving

 

The next morning we packed early. Cheryl and I both had busy days coming up, so it was an early start, but I was sad to go. We left the room and were halfway to the elevator when I realized: the fridge.

“Where are you going?” she said as I turned and marched back to the room.

“Just meet me in the lobby.” I opened the door, crossed the room and laid my suitcase in front of it.

Why hadn’t I thought of this before? This room was expensive as all get-out. I couldn’t leave these riches to waste. I’d already remembered to swipe the shampoo and conditioner. I’d stayed at a Days Inn before. This was just a Days Inn on a much grander scale, and I needed to take full advantage.

In fairness to me, our minibar didn’t have the pressure pads OR warning this one is equipped with.

I opened the fridge door, took my hand and in one motion swiped everything from each shelf into my suitcase. Then I grabbed the drinks from the side holders and carefully placed those among the other treats. At the very least, this would help subsidize the trip and give us some snack food on the drive home.

There was so much, we might not even have to stop for lunch. Bonus!

This was before quick checkout procedures were popular, so I stood in the world’s longest line just to hand over my keys and grab the receipt. By the time I reached the desk, there was still a monster line behind me. Like I had with the people before me, I’m sure they were hoping I’d get out of the way quickly.

The front desk person smiled and said, “How was your stay?”

I handed her the keys. “This hotel is incredible. We had a wonderful time.”

“I’m glad to hear it, sir,” she said as she typed in my information. “Did you enjoy the mini bar?”

What difference is it to you? I thought. But, she was being pleasant, probably passing time while she looked up my record.

“Yes, we enjoyed it very much. It was great.”

She reached below the counter and produced a piece of paper. “We have the record of the first two nights, but if you could just mark anything you had since seven o’clock last night, I’d appreciate it.”

 

The List

 

I was shocked.

Those macadamia nuts? $5.25. Each beer? $6.00. The Toblerone? I was in shock and don’t remember exactly, but I think it was around $1,245,435.09.

I glanced at my suitcase full of treats and then back behind me. The line now stretched across the entire little reception area.

“Sir? Is everything okay?”

I glanced up at her, looked down at my bag again and across at Cheryl waiting patiently across the lobby.

There was truly only one thought going through my head:

I’m the world’s biggest dumbass.

I looked back up at her. “Everything is fine. What did you say?”

She appeared confused. “Just mark everything you had since we restocked the bar last evening, and we’ll put it on your card. Is that okay?”

I looked at her, trying to keep the pained look off my face. The keys to the room were still sitting in front of me. All I had to do was grab them and run for the elevator. I’d put it all back.

The guy behind me grunted, a little impolitely, and I glanced over my shoulder again. Cheryl was staring at me from across the room and pushed up her shoulders as if to say, “What’s going on?”

I made my decision. I looked back at the woman.

“I had all of it.”

She leaned forward. “Excuse me sir?”

I tried not to glance at my suitcase.

“I had all of it.”

This woman was a true professional. The corners of her mouth only rose slightly before she said, “Very good, sir. Just sign at the bottom. Should I put it on this American Express card?”

I’d brought the AmEx card only because I needed something for incidentals. I had no intention of using it.

“Sure.”

“I hope you enjoyed your stay.”

I tried to smile over my shoulder, not sure how I’d pay this huge amount off my card. “You have no idea.”

 

Photos: Chicago: Bert Kaufman; Hotel Indigo: Jim Moore; Shedd Aquarium: JohnCarlJohnson; minibar: James Fraleigh

 

Any good hotel stories to share? Let’s keep the idiocy rolling in the comment section!

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Americans Are Worried About Retirement. Really?

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Yesterday’s USA Today featured a study commissioned by the Consumer Federation of America and Certified Financial Planner Board of Standard, which revealed that more households are struggling financially than 15 years ago.

I’m not shocked by this “revelation.” Talking to one of my favorite bloggers, Len Penzo (from the aptly named Len Penzo dot Com) a couple weeks ago, Len commented that a “big” financial blogger is lucky to find 700-800 unique visitors per day. I know that financial blogs don’t always have the money answers, but on a recent visit to web-traffic website Compete.com, I saw that another favorite, humorist writer The Bloggess receives about 1400 unique visitors a day.

So, using my extraordinary math and non-scientific research skills, it appears that about double the number of people enjoy humor during their day than seek out financial management techniques and discussion.

 

Are we really worried?

 

People sometimes think that financial plans are for the rich. “I don’t have money to plan,” you may be telling yourself right now. But how can you get out of debt if you don’t plan your financial future?

The survey shows that when low-income families put together a financial plan, they’re able to stay out of debt and pay credit card bills in their entirety. However, only 31% of people surveyed have put together a financial plan (with or without an advisor’s help).

31%? And the headline reads that we’re “worried about retirement?”

More evidence of financial ennui from the study: more people are living paycheck to paycheck, less are saving toward their college-bound children’s education, less can retire at age 65 and more think they won’t be able to cover basic expenses in retirement.

It sounds like we have big financial headaches and 69% of people aren’t attacking the problem.

Normally, I’m a “glass half-full” kind of guy. However, in this case, I think the headline “Americans Worried About Retirement” should be replaced with “Americans Screwed and Not Doing Much About It.”

I’m glad you’re visiting today to be the few…the proud…the 31%!

Captain America photo: Gage Skidmore

 

Let’s vote: Glass half full? Half empty?

In The Trenches: New Advisor Tales

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I’ve been traveling across the country this week, so I haven’t read enough blogs to decide on a Blog Post of the Week! Instead, how about if Uncle Joe tells you a story about the good ol’ days….

I’ve had requests from people who read this blog for stories about how advisors are trained. I obviously can’t put a dot on “the one way” people are trained. Even within the organization I worked in, some were trained well and others poorly. Some came with great skills and others with none.

Here’s how my journey began:

I always imagined that anyone working in the financial planning business spent most of their day either in meetings with clients or in a room full of computers drawing up strategies or watching them unfold.

Yeah, that stuff happens.

In fairy tales.

Nope. Conditions in my office were so bad initially that I’ll tell everyone reading this not to follow my route. It was an ugly way to start a career.

 

How We Spent Our Days

 

My early clients would never want to hear that I didn’t have time to prepare adequately or follow up enough with their plans. We spent about 80 percent of our time making phone calls. By “we” I mean me and about 12 other brand new recruits who were trying to break into the business. We’d gather daily in a large conference room, pop a film like Rambo or Wall Street on a television and call as many people as possible.

 

Young Financial Planners

Why we wore suits is still beyond me. I could have been in sweatpants and felt more comfortable while I cold called hundreds of people a night.

 

Why didn’t we work on strategies more? The reason is simple: I couldn’t survive on three or four clients and the management machine knew it. Sure, I was ignoring my early clients, but I needed to still have a job in the future if those first clients ever expected to get decent help from me.

When people tell you that you should hire an advisor who’s been in the business 10 years, it’s for two reasons: first, they’ve been in the trenches and have probably seen damned near everything. Second, they don’t have to worry so much about marketing and actually DO spend time on client strategies.

When did we work on a client’s business? Maybe for about an hour each morning. They weren’t very well thought out. We had calls to make.

 

Our Marketing Strategy

 

The call strategy, no longer used by the company I was with, was called “A/B.” On call A we’d offer free literature about tax planning, retirement planning, or college planning, whichever the victim of my call thought might be most helpful.

How did we get names? We used phone books.

If someone took us up on our offer, we’d call back after sending them a generic brochure to see if they had questions about the literature and just exactly “why they requested it.”

Here’s a typical call. This happened about 24 Million times:

Me: So, why did you request the information, sir?

Them: I didn’t request the information, you called and asked if I wanted it. I said I don’t care.

Me: Well you must have thought tax planning was important at some point.

Them: Listen, I just declared bankruptcy. I don’t really care about taxes.

But, once in awhile, I’d hear this response:

Me: Why did you request the information.

Them: I’m not happy with my financial advisor and I was hoping your firm would do better.

Me: (pause. I’m pissing my pants. Somebody said something positive.)

Them: Hello? You still there?

Me: Uh…yeah. We’re really good advisors. (why did I say that? I’m such an idiot.)

Them: Can I  come in and meet with you?

Me: (I just want to do a dance right about now) Sure. When would you like to stop by?

Them: I’m sure you’re pretty busy. What times do you have open.

Me: Pick a time next week and I’ll be here waiting.

I was that desperate.

So was everyone else in the room. Most people washed out.

Why did I stay? How did I make it?

It was because of a woman we’ll call Renee.

 

Renee’s Story

 

I earned the nickname Gepetto because Renee, this older, gray haired Russian woman who sat next to me during the end of my first year, was a liar. She escaped to her car a few times every day to drink vodka, and come back glassy eyed and give every guy in the place back rubs. It was more than a little uncomfortable.

Worse? Wait til you hear what she’d say to clients on the phone.

Renee: What rate you get on CDs at you bank

(everyone in the room would stop talking because we knew there was a whopper on the way) She’d listen on the phone, unaware that we were all hovering around.

Renee: 4 percent? You get 4 percent? We give you 6 percent. Guaranteed. I guarantee you that when you come in, you get 6 percent here.

(I’m not making fun of her accent here…there was plenty about Renee that I could make fun of, but the way she spoke wasn’t one of them.)

I felt bad for her, so I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. But on the other end, being one of the senior people in the room (I had the second highest seniority in my office once I hit the one year mark), I had to help her learn that it wasn’t acceptable to just throw out a rate of return. Plus, we were planners, not brokers. Regardless, I didn’t know of ANY CD at the time that paid better than 4 percent. Anywhere.

So, to save her feelings, I started to call her Pinocchio. It was a way of hinting at the fact that she might not be entirely truthful.

So, the crazy people I worked with started calling me Gepetto.

By the time she was fired, this woman had eight clients. Eight people had sat across from this woman who CLEARLY lied and definitely was drunk a fair amount of the time and said “She’s the kind of help I need.”

So when people ask me how I succeeded and made it through the system without any really successful planners to emulate and only spotty product training, for the most part it was because of Renee. I knew if I worked hard enough, no matter how bad things got, that I was better than Renee and she had eight whole clients. If she can get eight, I should have 800.

It’ll work for you, too. I think in any field if you work hard and realize that life is about pressing on, you can find your opening and build a career.

How about you? Any horror stories about where you work/worked? Let’s hear about some in the comment section. I’d love to know how you got started in the trenches….

 

Photo: Businesspeople, Businessman: Victor1558

How Did You Golf Today? Ask Me About My Portfolio….

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If you’re a subscriber to our podcast, then you know one of the things that I really enjoy is golfing – so it’s not uncommon for people to ask (even if they’re somewhat kidding) “So, how did you golf today?”  (Truth be told – pretty bad.  I’m usually a mid-80’s golfer, but today I shot a 93.  Boo.)

To me, answering the “how’d you golf today” is the same as “What did the market do today?”  I don’t like answering either.  Trust me – when I golf well, or if the market did exceptionally well today, I’ll let you know.

Golfing and investing are very similar; they both require similar skill sets and disciplines.  Last week  discussed how you have personal responsibility with your investing plan

– today let’s talk about what to do when you hit a wayward tee shot.

Sometimes even with the best swing, the ball just slices ever-so-gently into the rough (or as was my case today, the bunker).  How do you respond?  Well, there are two ways: first, you can throw your club, swear at the wind (or the tee box, or your teammate, or whatever) or you can focus on what you need to do to get the ball back in play.

 

One of the first things I learned about golf, after I gave up the swearing and became  semi-serious about it, was to always try to get the ball back in play.  If you’re in the bunker, goal #1 is to not have another bunker shot.  If you’re in the rough, goal #1 is to get it out of the rough.
Unless you’re pro golfer Bubba Watson and can snap-hook a 7 iron from 185 yards in a playoff hole in the Masters, goal #1 is just to get the ball back in play.Investing and financial planning follow the same logic.Sometimes you hit a crappy tee shot (read: make a bad initial investment, have some external

 

force impact you financially, etc.) and you can respond only one of two ways:  you can throw your statement, complain about how your broker screwed you, whine about how the dude on CNBC lied, or:

you can get back in play.

Sometimes that means you have to punch out of the rough under a tree branch; sometimes you have to layup to the 100 yard marker; either way, don’t get upset – just get back in play.

When you make a poor investment decision that means:

1) Don’t worry first about assigning blame. Worry about correcting the problem.

2) Stay calm. Getting upset isn’t going to help you create better returns later.

3) Once you’ve regrouped, THEN determine what went wrong. Was your broker the problem? Did you not analyze the investment correctly?

You’ll invest much better following these simple steps that I learned from playing golf.

Facebook and Morgan Stanley: Who is To Blame?

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Whose responsibility is it when your investment in Facebook or Morgan Stanley declines in value? The company? A broker?

Certainly you’re not to blame.

The current proliferation of lawsuits against these companies makes me ask a straightforward question. Should there be lawsuits against Facebook and Morgan Stanley? (See these articles for more information if you don’t know what I’m talking about: Forbes: Facebook Lawsuits Piling Up.)

I’m reminded of society’s lack of personal responsibility each and every time I drive up the highway to see my mom.  I haven’t added all the advertisements up, but there is a certain personal injury lawyer in our town who advertises everywhere.  I don’t know this lawyer intimately, but my wife works in the same office building and sees the people who come in and out of the front door.  There are all sorts of people trying to sue for anything under the sun.  Instead of trying to take over the world, they’ll just take it from someone else, because somehow, they’re “owed” something.

One of my favorite books is The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck, M.D.  That book contains my favorite quote from any book:

We cannot solve life’s problems except by solving them. This statement may seem idiotically tautological or self-evident, yet it is seemingly beyond the comprehension of much of the human race. This is because we must accept responsibility for a problem before we can solve it. We cannot solve a problem by saying “It’s not my problem.” We cannot solve a problem by hoping that someone else will solve it for us. I can solve a problem only when I say “This is my problem and it’s up to me to solve it.”  But many, so many, seek to avoid the pain of their problems by saying to themselves: “This problem was caused me by other people, or social circumstances beyond my control, and therefore it is up to other people or society to solve this problem for me. It is not really my personal problem.”

This is as true in the investment world as anywhere. As an investor, you must accept responsibility for your own investing decisions.  You cannot blame others for your decisions (or indecisions).  You won’t help your cause with a “I’m mad I made a bad decision in investing so I wanna sue everyone” mentality.  Recent lawsuits against Facebook and Morgan Stanley make me crazy – I don’t believe for a second that if some magical prospectus would’ve fallen from the sky that all these people wouldn’t have bought Facebook stock.  There’s all this talk about how Morgan Stanley screwed everyone and how Facebook lied — why didn’t these people do their own research?  Take some personal responsibility!  I’m pretty sure that had Facebook stock gone from $38 to $75 in one day, Morgan Stanley would not have called all the new shareholders and said “Oops, we priced this incorrectly so we need to sue you to find a more correct price.”

As an investor, you and you alone are responsible for the actions and outcomes of your investing decisions.  Whether you have an advisor, a consultant, or are a DIY’er, remember one thing: it’s your money.

Be accountable for it.

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Sometimes the Grass Isn’t Close to Green on the Other Side of the Fence….

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Ah, the stock market. The only spot where intelligent people are quite at home with the words “soared” and “plummet.” (Imagine if those were your choices in an elevator…).

And yet, is there much difference between the ups and downs of the stock market and those on a family vacation? In both cases, you’re in danger if you become too emotionally invested. You might get your heart broken when what you expected and what happened turn out to be two totally different things.

That was the case in this instance.

On one memorable trip, I felt like Clark Griswold loading two eight year olds and my wife into a car jam-packed full of camping equipment and making the six hour drive to Mammoth Cave, Kentucky. It sounded like fun to spend a few nights out under the stars, singing around the campfire, so I booked us four nights at the Jellystone Campground, in Cave City.

This place is custom made for kids. There was a pool, water slide, mini golf, and arcade. Heck, who cares about the kids, I was fired up.

I needed a break.

I was a financial advisor and it was July of 2002. I spent every day on the phone with clients reassuring them that the financial meltdown wasn’t swallowing all of their money. I’d revisit our defensive strategy. In fact, even on this trip, I’d been sneaking off for an hour each day to keep making phone calls.

I felt guilty being on vacation, but I kept reminding myself that this was “recharging the ol’ batteries” to keep fighting the good fight. The markets had started tanking 24 months earlier and hadn’t stopped.

Of course, the second we jumped in the car the Dow Jones took its worst turn of all. We didn’t know it at the time, but I was vacationing at the very bottom of the market.

So I’m just hanging up after strategizing with a client on the third day of our trip when the activities coordinator (who looked to be about 17) approached me.

Him: Sir, would you mind helping me with the hayride?

Me: Sure. (Are you kidding me? I wanted to hug the guy. I’d pay money to do anything besides talk about how the worst time to sell was when the market happened to be in free-fall).

Him: How’d you like to be Yogi Bear?

The Yogi Bear Show

The Yogi Bear Show (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Me: Come again? (I didn’t know if I should be offended. I knew I’d had a few beers in my day, but my waist was still fairly trim).

Him: Yogi Bear. I like having dads play the part of Yogi Bear on the hayride.

Me: You’ve got to be f$%#ing kidding me. Hell yeah. I’m in.

He tells me to be back at 2:30 to get into costume. I’m practically skipping as I cross the campground to tell my family. This is my big break. Maybe I’ll be able to turn this into a full time job as the hay ride Yogi Bear. It sure would beat having the same conversation over and over and over and….

Cheryl: Better day than yesterday?

Me: You’ll never believe how much better. Guess who’s Yogi Bear?

Cheryl: Is that some kind of code? Because I’m not Boo Boo.

Me: No! Guess who’s going to be Yogi Bear on the hayride.

Daughter: Oh no.

Son: No you’re not.

Me: Am too. High five me. (I’m pretty sure kids don’t do that, but I’ve never tried to be hip. These Jordache jeans are a little snug, but they go with my mullet.)

Cheryl: Don’t do anything stupid.

Me: What are you talking about?

Cheryl: Just do what the guy tells you. Don’t try to be funny.

Me: I wouldn’t try to do anything funny.

Cheryl: Like the time you tried to break dance at that wedding.

Son: Or when you tried to start the wave at the Tiger game.

Daughter: Or when you were trying to get the neighbor’s attention and she thought you were a peeping Tom looking in their window waving your hands.

Me: None of that was my fault, except the wave, and those were some lousy fans.

Cheryl: (sigh) Okay, good luck.

So….2:30 rolls around and I’m standing outside the campground office, ready to completely forget about the financial markets. In fact, I’m so stoked, I’d showed up ten minutes early.

Director: There you are, ready?

Me: Sure. What’s the belt for?

Him: Well, it’s about 85 degrees. Inside that costume it’s going to be a furnace.

Me: (totally sure this is overkill) Is it going to melt my pants off? Why the belt?

Him: Feel it.

I do. The huge pockets around the parameter are all ice. I can’t imagine why I’ll need that.

We head up a little hill where there are houses that are supposedly home to Yogi and Boo Boo. He unlocks the largest house and we step inside.

There it is.

My escape from the markets: hanging on the hook is a pristine Yogi Bear costume. Next to it on a bench is that big ‘ol crazy Yogi Bear head.

Me: This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Him: (laughs. Thinks I’m joking.)

We put the belt around my waist. It’s freezing. Immediately I’m freezing.

Me: This is too cold.

Him: Put on the suit.

Me: Can we just take the belt off first? I don’t think I need it.

Him: How about this. If you’re complaining about ice once we get the suit fitted, we’ll take it back off.

I realize he’s placating me, but it’s good enough reassurance. We put on the suit. Now I have a pair of shorts, tee shirt, ice belt, and furry Yogi suit.

Him: How does it fit?

Me: I might get one of these for home.

We put on these huge hands. He shows me how to wave. Then he feeds me the great Yogi Bear hayride secret. I’m not to talk. At all. That sounds like heaven. After the last two years of client call after client call, I’m glad to have someone tell me to shut up.

Him: If you talk, you’ll try to sound like Yogi Bear. You won’t sound like him. I’ve had dad’s try. Don’t talk.

He shows me how to wave, and tells me that once we have the head on, I’ll need to turn my whole body if I want to look at things.

Don’t approach kids unless they approach me. Some kids cry. If they do, don’t try to console them; you’ll scare them more.

Cool. I think. I’m ready.

That’s when he puts that flippin’ head on me.

I’m not sure of the exact temperature, but I think it must have been somewhere in the range of 162 degrees.

Me: It’s hot in here.

Him: That’s why you have the ice belt.

Me: I still have on the ice belt?

He presses it into my skin. I feel a sharp stab of cold. But now it doesn’t radiate.

He’s talking to me and I can’t see him. Even when I turn my body like he told me I have a hard time tracking just where the heck his voice is coming from.

Him: Ready?

Me: No. How do you see out of this–

Him: Okay, let’s go. I’ve got your hand. Wave.

Ignoring my protests he opens the door and here comes the activities director and a sweating, bumbling Yogi Bear.

Twice I almost fall. Somehow, we make it to the wagon. They help me in. I’m sitting along a bench that runs the length of the thing. Kids jump on all around me. From time to time I see them. I’m waving like the queen on steroids. Every once in awhile I hear an adult say to a whining child, “maybe if you put your hand higher, Yogi will be able to see you.”

Hayride in Turner County, South Dakota

Hayride in Turner County, South Dakota (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Thanks for the hint, parents.

Then I’d look down, almost dropping my Yogi head. Their pride and joy is standing right under me, hoping for a hand shake.

I deliver somewhere between a high three and high four. Usually I miss the kid’s hand altogether.

It’s now 199 degrees, but its okay because we’re singing songs. From time to time the wagon stops and more kids climb in. For the most part I hear this but don’t see them because I’m still trying to figure out how to see through that little hole.

We launch into “Old McDonald.”

Old McDonald had a —

All the sudden, I’m nearly yanked off the bench. Someone was pulling something in front of me. Then they let go.

“…farm, eee, iiii, eee, iii, oooo. And on his farm—“ I look around. I can’t see who did it. Hell, I can’t even find the little hole I’m supposed to look out of. When I straighten up there’s just some guy in his twenties. If he’s doing it, he must be a client I’d forgotten to call.

“he had a duck. eeee, iiii, eee, iii, ooo. With a qua—“ I’m just starting to figure out how to clap my hands and someone yanks me toward the floor again. I have to hang onto the side of the wagon to stay upright.

I can’t see anything out of the little f%$ing hole in the mouth. Sweat is dripping from every pore in my body.

Finally I find my culprit! Sitting right next to me…almost on top of me, is a little blonde kid. Maybe four. He’s staring right into the little hole I look out of. The guy in his twenties must be his dad.

The kid smiles, reaches up, grabs my tie, and forces me to the floor again.

I grab for the kid, but miss, and this time I go down. People stop singing. The director is helping up Yogi Bear. I’m trying to keep my head on and maintain regular breathing because it’s only 265 degrees. Something is baking. I’m pretty sure it’s my ass.

Director: Hey, don’t pull his tie, okay?

Dad: Who are you talking to?

Director: Your son is pulling Yogi’s tie.

Dad: Oh. Sorry.

I realize by his tone that Dad isn’t sorry at all. He’s barely paying attention. I’m horrified when the director lets it go and turns away.

This time I knew it was coming. Like slow motion the kid reaches up again, but I can’t stop it.

The second–and I mean the second–the activities director turns his head away I watch the kid reaches up, grab my tie, and yank the hardest he’s ever yanked anything in his whole life.

I have my feet dug in this time, and avoid the first Yogi Bear hayride accident on record.

I turn my body so the little eye hole can find the dad. He’s staring at me, with a monster grin on his face. Suddenly, I realize: he thinks this is hilarious!

Now they’ve gone and gotten Yogi Bear angry.

I’m going to grab that damned kid by the throat and choke him. I’m sure the heat wasn’t helping curb my rage. What about the ice belt, you ask? What $%#! ice belt? I had steaming hot water in a pool around my waist now. My nerves were shot.

Yogi Bear had one thought: Damn kid’s goin’ down.

I didn’t care anymore. That punk was about to learn a lesson.

Luckily for us all, the hay ride ended right then. Everyone got off. The director marched me back to Yogi’s house. He lifted the head off me and suddenly I could breath again. We took off the costume and I was a free man.

Thank goodness I hadn’t gone after the child, although I think it would have been a memorable YouTube video: Yogi Bear beating the $%!T out of some kid at the Jellystone Mammoth Cave Campground.

I marched back to the campsite.

Son: We saw you!

Daughter: You were funny.

Cheryl: What did you think? Fun?

Me: I’ll take calling clients about the market any day over being Yogi Bear.

Any day.

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Beware Charts, Graphs and Snake Oil

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I did away with my Boner of the Week! series that called out stupidity in financial media and blogs because I didn’t want to be that guy. Well, at least not be that guy not every week.

But this site is called the Free Financial Advisor for a reason. My task is to show people the difference between the truth and lunacy; to dole out useful tips that you can apply, sprinkled with my own quirky sense of humor.

Buy the doughnut, the frosting comes free. Bargain!

What I also drag along is a HUGE sense of anger when I see absolute baloney (polite terminology) on the internets.

I fought it as an advisor, and I’ll fight it here for you.

So, this week I’m going to un-bury the Boner of the Week! segment, along with the prerequisite, er, uncomfortable picture. Because I’m too lazy to find a new one, you’re treated to my favorite from the old series.

You’re welcome.

Let’s rant:

 

A Tip For New Investors:

 

If someone shows off a chart with a couple squiggly lines and points at them BUT REFUSES TO TELL YOU WHAT THEY MEAN it isn’t “analysis.”

It’s smoke and mirrors.

That’s why I like the DQYDJ blog and ws fired up when PK agreed to join our little podcast. He presents a chart or concept and then explains it. I’m a little smarter for visiting DQYDJ. Check out How Do You Know You’re Ready For Active Investing? Sure, I get PK’s returns, but I also get books to read, a chart on his personal progress and the story of how he began. Good story, good tips, good times.

Onboard?

Don’t try to just show me a chart and tell me “I predicted the financial markets would decline, and see, I’m right.” No reference to how the chart works. No rationale behind the prediction. Just “I’m right. Deal with it.”

Even if the chart is flippin’ brilliant, do you treat financial sites like the circus? Do you come here to see my dogs and ponies? My smoke AND mirrors? Do you want me to flash you a quick glimpse of my 12 inch wealth of knowledge so you can swoon over it?

Hell, no!

Like you, I visit sites for tips and tricks THAT I CAN USE. I don’t want to be shown stuff that I don’t understand.

If you hand me a shovel and I don’t know how to dig, all you gave me was a stick with a funny metal end.

Our “Boner of the Week!” target post (which I no longer point to directly, because that’s not the point of the piece….the point is to help you make better, more informed decisions. If you visited this bloggers site this week, I’ll apologize on his behalf), told us this week that “Mr. Brilliant” called the exact day the market was going to decline. He then advised us to stay out of stocks because it’s a bad, bad time for the market which will correct to (AND THEN HE BESTOWED UPON US THE EXACT RANGE!!!!).

Someone alert Jim Cramer. There’s a new sheriff in town.

Why the hell isn’t this guy working for a huge Wall Street firm or being paid the big bucks by wealthy investors who eat these gurus up? I used to ask my clients this question when they’d bring in what I’d call “miracle fliers” from their mailbox. Some dude telling them that he has all the answers.

I was a good financial advisor. I knew one thing: I didn’t have all the answers. Ta-Da!!!

Oh, my friends, that alone wouldn’t raise my ire. Ready for the next one?

Then he tells us to subscribe so we can find out what stocks we should buy when the time is right.

Thank you, your lordship Mr. Merlin soothsayer.

I don’t want a magical list of stocks. IF I did, I wouldn’t be looking for them on your free internet site.

Here’s what I want: tell me the criteria you used and I want to be taught to use it.

 

What I’m Railing Against

 

Did the dude call the market?

Yup. It appears he did.

Could he know how market conditions work?

Yup, he maybe can.

Are you just whining, Joe?

No.

I want this dude to tell me why, not what! A site like this is dangerous because you become dependent on the author. What happens if Mr. Brilliant has a Philly cheesesteak sandwich that doesn’t agree with him tomorrow and his indigestion decides that you should go 100 percent into Zynga stock? Or he tells you that the end of the world is coming and you should sell everything? Would you just follow like a lemming off the cliff?

  • Don’t follow someone blindly.
  • Learn to do your homework.

I naturally mistrust when ANYONE tells me they can call the market (after 16 years as a financial pro I saw professional gurus get beaten down by the financial markets time and time again).

One of my favorite stock trading books is called Trading Rules: Strategies for Success’ target=_blank>Trading Rules, by William F. Eng. The basic tenant of the book is that you do yourself a huge favor when you quit pretending you know anything about the financial markets. Once you realize that it’s a freakin’ scary-ass place, you’ll start protecting yourself and making money.

One of Mr. Eng’s fundamental rules: Tips Don’t Make You Money (Rule 7).

William F. Eng is a wealthy trader. I understand his background. I know nothing about wonderboy Mr. “I called it” dude.

Set stop losses. Learn how fundamental analysis works. Explore technical analysis.

But don’t let someone tell you when it’s the time to buy and the time to sell JUST BECAUSE THEY TOLD YOU SO!

They won’t lose the money, you will. And then you’ll be cursing the blogger, who won’t hear you over the dance music he’s playing for the rest of the suckers who hang on every word he says.

Rant over.

You Can’t Make This Stuff Up

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Blog Post of the Week! will return next week.

I was riding the elevator this morning at Crittendon Hospital in Rochester, Michigan.

What was I doing there, you ask?

My daughter, who’d come to the Intensive Care Unit with us, wanted to get a drink. I could have used a strong one….but it was only a coffee shop and I wasn’t about to be the drunk guy at the hospital….

Autumn and I were sharing stories about my father-in-law, “Papa Dave,” as we have all week. He’s one my best friends. Last Saturday he fell while walking the dog and suffered a closed head injury. As I write this from the family waiting room, he’s expected to pass away any moment.

While we were talking, remembering, and thinking about Papa Dave’s last moments here, the elevator door opened to let more people onboard. A grandmother and three freckled kids, all between the ages of four and eight, piled into the elevator. One held flowers and another clutched a brand new teddy bear. They looked pensive and it appeared they’d been instructed to be on their best behavior.

I sickened. I’m sure Autumn had the same thought as me: they’re here to see a loved one die, too.

Autumn wiped away a tear and smiled. The grandmother couldn’t keep it in any longer. She spoke quickly.

“We’re getting a new baby brother this morning!” she beamed, nodding toward the girls.

The oldest one blushed.

I asked if they were excited. Each nodded.

When the elevator door opened, they piled out, rushing to see the new member of their family arrive while ours leaves.

There’s irony all around me today.

So, because I need a laugh, I’m going to provide one. Here’s one of my favorites….again, not suitable for little Jimmy or Julie, unless you want to show them what really goes on with Elmo Behind the Scenes.

Go hug somebody today.

j.

Being Okay With “I’m Not Okay” Financially: Our Cuppa Joe Discussion

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As I chronicled on Erin Shanendoah’s The Dog Ate My Wallet blog, I spent a year without much income (roughly $12,000). This lit a collection agency fire to the huge mound of debt I’d already wracked up, wrecked my credit rating and emptied my savings.

During this period I was renting a house in a nice neighborhood for far less money than I would have paid to own a home.

I hated the house.

It was a leaky, old 800 square foot bungalow and our young family of four was shoehorned in. I enjoy a small house, but this the double feature:  small and unattractive.

When my twins were in kindergarten a friend of my daughter’s came over and said, “I love your house. It reminds me of our cottage. It’s tiny!”

Kids say the cutest things. Yeah, right.

Once my income picked up, I wanted out of the house but I was trapped by those piles of debt. One day at lunch I was flipping through the newspaper and found another option: a house around the corner was up for rent at only $200 per month more than our current house! Better yet, it was 1,200 square feet and a bazillion years newer and more attractive.

I immediately imagined living there. In my mind, that felt like a palace compared to our house. I was motivated. I called the owner and talked it over. Things looked promising. Cheryl, initially worried, became excited too when we walked through the house. The kitchen was brand flippin’ new. There was a basement rec room where the kids could escape (or we could escape from them!) This was a dream come true. We could rent a nice place while we sorted out our debt troubles.

No more cottage. Hello real world.

I’ve been lucky to surround myself with people who aren’t like me. They think differently than I do. I suppose I’ve done this on purpose. I like a good discussion, and I don’t get angry when people disagree, as long as I understand the logic of the argument.

I told a close friend about this, very excitedly, and she didn’t seem as fired up. In fact, she didn’t get excited at all, even though I was flailing arms and explaining just how awesome this house was going to be for us.

I asked her what was going on in her head. Her answer changed my view then and still colors by lens when I approach financial situations today.

She said:

“Do you want to live in a nice place while you’re still buried in mountains of debt or do you want to come home to the reminder of why you need to change?”

She might have well punched me in the gut. I was desperate to change. I wanted to be free from the stomach-clenching thoughts of how long it was going to take to repay my lenders. She knew that the house would be pretend things are a-okay, and under all this enthusiasm, so did I.

Cheryl and I discussed the woman’s concerns. We decided to stay where we were.

Motivating Yourself to Change

 

Popular motivational speaker Anthony Robbins says that change happens because of desperation or perspiration. In most cases, people only change because they aren’t comfortable with their current reality.

That was the case for me. In other areas of my life, such as this blog, it’s still the case today. I’m not happy with where I am now. I need to motivate myself to continually improve and respond.

It may be the case for you now.

Are you living in reality or pretending things are okay?

Are you okay with “everything’s not okay?”

 

Case Studies: Confronting Change

 

When I was a financial advisor, if someone was single, they were coming to see me because they felt something wasn’t working correctly. Unfortunately, with many married couples, they would come in only because one of them wanted to change.

In essence, one saw the true picture and the other was in fantasyland.

You could tell when people didn’t want to change. They’d talk about “baby steps” and “getting comfortable” with one tiny recommendation I’d made before implementing the next one. When you dig to the root of this thinking, it’s easy to see what’s going on in their head:

Change is more scary and difficult than staying the way I am.

To bust through this wall of inactivity, it’s important to ask yourself a few questions. Here are the ones I’d use with myself and with clients:

1) If I stay where I am financially, where will I end up? What will the world look like down the road?

2) If I change, how will my world look down the road?

Often, when people actually analyzed their situation, change was less painful than staying the same. The future looked far, far brighter.

3) What systems can I put in place to automate the change and decrease the pain?

4) How long will the pain of change really last? Will it be hurtful for a long time?

5) If it does end up being more uncomfortable then I wish, can I come back to “the way I’m doing it now”?

Once people realized that they’re better off with the new strategy than the old, they became open to change. They still were understandably worried about the pain of change.

We’d discuss the actual immediate pain. There was never a time that change didn’t come with some pain. It was like ripping off the band-aid. Some hairs under that thing were going to die. We all feel better when we can identify exactly how it will hurt and for how long.

I still believe that if I’d actually moved into that house to dress up the present and pretend things were wonderful, my future wouldn’t have been as bright as it has been since.

I can’t say things aren’t perfect, but I’m glad I became okay with “things aren’t okay“ and faced the short term pain of achieving the freedom I was after.

 

Okay, that’s my story. Do you have a story about people who aren’t okay with “things aren’t okay?” Are you okay with “things aren’t okay?” or do you have some good coping mechanisms?