Friday, February 20, 2009

Crazy Eights




Dear Mr. Fisher of Fisher Investments,
Can I call you Ken? I feel very close to you -- you put a personal note on the outside of the envelope (In cursive. I guess that means you only sent out a few of these). I'm pretty sure you have a mustache that will tickle when you kiss me on the cheek. I'm hoping I can come to dinner some time. Your return address is Skyline Boulevard in Woodside California. Sounds nice and cozy and wealthy; you have a craftsman perhaps? Or are you neo-modern. In any case, I'm sure you have a nice view and pour a mean pinot.

Your letter was very long and chatty, and I only posted a couple of pages here. Nice you told me you have a column in Forbes Magazine. I said to myself, "Oh, it's that Ken."

Knowing so much, and living in the sky and the woods and all, I'm sure time is on your side. I, on the other hand, have the nightshift at MacDonald's, so will cut to the chase.

200 MILLION PEOPLE IN AMERICA HAVE BEEN MAKING THE SAME EIGHT FUCKING INVESTMENT ERRORS? And you knew about this? AND YOU SAID NOTHING? You have a column, for christ sakes. You just sat on these hard eights for years and decided to spring it now?

I'm really rather irritated at you Ken. You've been a naughty boy. You waited until I lost a third of my investments before coming to me with your gold-leaf envelope and sweet talk and toast points and advice.

Ok, pour me another pinot and let me calm down.

Maybe I should be glad that our mistakes have been limited to eight. You could have said ten or a five hundred. But by specifying eight, the number is manageable. There's a path out of this mess, and Ken can light the way. Eight ways. We can all count to eight. Even after two carpentry accidents.

Ok, feeling better now. No one has to tell you how flattering it is to be part of your "private investment group." Knowing you so well, I'll be happy to disclose my investment size and send it along in your post-paid envelope. Can I do less? You ask for the favor of my reply, and it makes me feel all giggly and Jane Austeny.

In closing, I appreciate the book. I like books, and I guess you remembered it's my birthday (six months ago). But timing was never your strong suit.

22 comments:

  1. Ok, first of all, "We can all count to eight. Even after a carpentry accident."

    I laughed. (Not right away but its been a long week.)

    Also, I wasn't going to be the first one to leave a comment again (Is this twice this month?) but the Word Verification [PRORT] is so tempting, so beguiling....

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  2. The favor of your reply is always appreciated (I edit after I walk the dogs).

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  3. You said it so well for all of us! And you made me crack up (I even woke up the animals).
    You lucky girl - only 1/3 of your investments...

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  4. I knew I should have invested in plastics!

    prepu

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  5. Yeah, what's your secret for only losing a third? Don't tell me your home only depreciated by a fifth! You should be writing that column for The Economist!

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  6. Yeah, the finger-thing works even at this distance.

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  7. Don't believe a word he says. I met Ken on an internet dating site. He drives a 75 Mercury Comet. Skyline Blvd is nothing more then an office overlooking the Pomona Freeway. Woodside? the name of an industrial business park. Dessert was green jello mixed with mandarin oranges. Stay clear of the Kennyman.

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  8. Oh right PA. Next you'll tell me they're rethinking the buy high sell low strategy.

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  9. I like my Crazy 8 List better:

    Mantu
    Aushak
    Bulanee E Katchalu
    Pakawra E Badenjan
    Bulanee
    Pakawra E Katchalu
    Aush
    Sambosa

    If you're Norwegian you'll probably understand. But, I would never ask anyone to depend on my food advice.

    Ok, pour me another Cafe Mocha & let me take in the view out de Cafe.

    Ok, feeling much better now.

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  10. In my hood, Ken speaks Spanish, and he promises to find a loophole in my mortgage that will allow me to own the home free and clear.

    Don't be fooled by the Economist column gig. It's probably just one of those unpaid 'citizen journalist' deals. Why pay Ken, when Monsanto's PR department will do it for free?

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  11. Ken sounds like a typical shister investment jerk. I think PA might be right about him. I hate green Jello.
    V

    PS My word is SCRUIT!!!!!!!

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  12. I'm giddy from spending the entire day in a Catholic church on Pensacola Beach whilst plumbing the depths of my soul. And taking almost 500 photographs. And now I'm learning that Ken could have saved the nation, nay, the world with his insight and wisdom. What was I thinking?
    (Co)Incidentally, I bought a paper shredder so I could have bangin' bedding for my worm composter. Forward that mail to me, Karin. I'll give it what for.

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  13. hahahahaha! Did Ken leave any pomade on his envelope?

    Only a third? Hiker, it's time for you to send out a letter. Or maybe start a column. What's your secret? Can you tell us in a post?

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  14. I've been meaning to tell you that I think your new photo is fabulous. Did you attach that to the NY-er submission?

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  15. Snooping around on relate blogs and laughing. I'm curious, did you actually mail it? I hope so! Think you'll get a reply?

    Mid-Town G

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  16. Midtown G, my suburban, corn tassling soulmate. Yes, I sent. And yes I got a reply. And yes it was no; but I'm not finished yet. (The second one I sent made fun of them -- probably not a good idea.)

    Haha, thanks Tash. And as for the rest, yes Petrea, maybe that will be a post...

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  17. My financial advisor often suggested I move an investment a day late, I think. Whenever I had the temerity to go online and look at what I had, I would feel a tad squeamish. That is until this last time. I took such a hit, I felt I was reeling from a side kick to the gut, thrown by my favorite jockette AH. I suppose 40% loss ain't bad if it's 40% of something. Is that true? I'm confused!

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  18. I'm very upset to know that when Ken wrote to me, he was not writing just to me. That two-timer! I assume he only wrote to you and me, but still. He'll pay for this.

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  19. I didn't know! I think the best advice to give myself is to stop listening to those homo sapiens who listen to Mister Fisher.

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  20. This is New Yorker material. Brilliant and funny.

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