Why Morgan Stanley Smith Barney are thieving, corrupt bastards...

In !998, my father, who was a teacher for 28 years, started a ROTH IRA for me. He started it with around 1000 dollars, and told me that I should do my best to add money to it every year. Being the 27 year old that I was, living in New York City and living more or less paycheck to paycheck, I contributed absolutely nothing. And here is where the story gets interesting. The Fund that had was bought and traded a few times over the years, until I ended up getting statements from Morgan Stanley Smith Barney. Or as I like to call them, a bunch of morally corrupt douchebags. I've had a lot on my mind. Between work and family and life, I gave my statements a passing glance here and there, but since this was a RETIREMENT account, a Roth IRA, I figured it would sit there fine until such a time as I was in a place to start really contributing. Now I know that the market has been screwed over the past 15 years, but when I looked at a recent balance on this account back in February, I noticed that the Total Value was now considerably less - about HALF of what my Dad originally put in the account. THis seemed odd. I mean, even my limited financial knowledge brought me to the conclusion that something didn't smell right. And then I found it. MORGAN STANLEY SMITH BARNEY charges a monthly Low Balance Household Fee - which used to be 35 dollars a month, and now has gone up to 50. That's right. Even though they have your money, and even though they have been (apparently) horribly inept at making it grow, they punish you if you have less than 25,000 dollars in your account. I may be simple - but to me, this seems like a fee for not being wealthy. And that is just plain f*ed up. If I left my account alone, what would happen is that eventually, since the money never grows, the fees (for doing absolutely nothing) would eventually take my entire meager balance. I would just like to go on record as saying that it is practices like this that make the average american think that Wall Street and companies like this are cold, calculating jackasses. All it would have taken was a single phone call from someone there saying, maybe you are better served moving your retirement fund elsewhere? Or even better, maybe when I called the number on my statement to ask someone about the situation, if I hadn't been left on hold for over an hour before my call was magically cut off. Shame on you Morgan Stanley. Shame on your for stealing my father's hard earned money. My apologies if the amount isn't enough for you to actually warrant as important enough not to steal. I hope your company goes belly up, and all of the people responsible for policies like this lose their shirts. Maybe then they will have an iota of conscience. That's how I see it. PS. The two gentleman who I talked to on the phone today were both incredibly helpful. And now I am closing my account and moving it elsewhere.

On the road again...

Well, folks - It looks like I will be going on the road - so I will make sure and try to drop random notes on here, recounting all of my crazy experiences. Or more likely, talking about random things that happen, or perhaps even some hard hitting social commentary. Well, that or fart jokes. Something anyway... Til then - Peace!

I'm Mad as Hell!!!

It all comes down to Pie.

The economy is in the crapper, jobs are scarce and prices are soaring, but it didn't hit me until today. A few weeks ago, the Chinese restaurant in my neighborhood raised the price on everything by 25 cents. One shiny American Quarter. I was ok with that. And then last week, I noticed that a diner near me had raised the prices across the board, but again, inflation, I get it. Then came the smack in the face. On my way home, I stepped into the Little Pie Company (as I am occasionally observed to do) to pick up a tasty little treat to get me through my day, and what did I find?? The price for their smallest pies has gone up to 7.50. Seven dollars. And fifty cents. 750 pennies. 

Now let me explain. Until very recently, these pies could be yours for a 5er . 5 bucks. A beautiful small pie. But now, that price has gone up, not by 10 %, not by 25 %, but by 50 PERCENT! And so I did what I never thought I would do as long as there was oxygen to breathe and beer to drink. I left the Little Pie Company without BUYING ANYTHING. I managed to make it home ok, but the withdrawl is pretty fierce.  If I could say one thing to the owners, it would be: You capitalist communist bastards.(irony intended) How could you? The world is falling apart, and you have to inflate the prices of your baked goodness to a point where average people feel guilty buying it. Or even worse, actually can't afford it.  

The economic problems of this great land were apparent before, but when they put a barrier between me and pumpkin goodness, or chocolate cream deliciousness, there's gonna be hell to pay and fast. 

PS. Sarah Palin hates pie.

Home Again, Home Again, Sniffity Sniff?

New York is an amazing city. New York contains within its hallowed walls, almost everything that you could ever want or need in a city. The only problem, I have noticed in the time since I have returned from abroad, is the smell. That heat of August, urine/garbage/bad perfume/trash trucks/i just threw up a little bit inside my mouth/smell.  And while, I am sure that after a few weeks it will pass as the weather gets colder, or my olfactory senses once again become deadened to it's impervious power, right now, I just want to stay inside, light up some big manly scented candles, and imagine that the whole city smelled like fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. Now, that, would bring me outside.  And remember, my blog skipped first and second grade and reads at a 4th grade level...

You are my Sarajevo, my only Sarajevo….

Bosnia Air started off well, they were amazingly nice, helpful, and great about fitting the band’s stuff on the plane with no extra charges (unlike that scam artist of a hack airline Alitalia) (Who I hope goes bankrupt) (Seriously, what a bunch of jerks)

Our next surprise was that much like Baltic Air, which we took to Latvia, the atewardesses in this part of the world seem to be hired from modeling agencies. It was the first time I have ever watched the entire safety instructions and paid attention. At one point, the blonde stewardess walked down the aisle at a clip, simultaneously removing her jacket, and it was like she was on stage at the Moulin Rouge. Not a bad way to fly. And then we arrived in Bosnia. And by We, I mean, everyone, and everyone else’s bags. Mine, apparently, decided to catch a quick drink pre flight in Frankfurt, and missed the flight.  Mostly clothes, so no big deal. We came into Sarajevo and just missed the end of Joan Baez, who was the festival headliner. Something I am pretty sure of is that she played at least one protest song. We walked around a lot the next day. Sarajevo has the café society down, people out walking, seeing and being seen, and a virtual plethora of café’s from which to sit, drink Turkish Coffee and watch the world stroll by.

It is a mstly Muslim country, and I was tempted to buy a t-shirt I found that said, ]

“I’M MUSLIM. DON’T PANIC.”  And unlike the prevalence of the Burka in Afghanistan, I think the women here are trying to make up for their Afghani sisters, by showing as much skin as humanly possible. Let’s put it this way, I could have made several entire outfits out of a couple of dinner napkins. The local beer was great, and the show was too a small but appreciative crowd that included a slew of military who were serving there. Good to meet them and chat.  Our last stop of the night was a hookah bar, which was fun, and then a couple of hours sleep before we leave to head….wait for it, back to France. More soon, and remember, my blog ate my homework.

La Roque, La Roque, La Roque is on Fire….

Did I mention that I am moving to the south of France??? First, the countryside is just beautiful, and then they have pastries that will honestly make you cry with pleasure.,On top of that, the people are incredible.  Our hosts at the festival, and the founders of thie festival, Raul and Marie,  had us over 2 nights for dinner, and were just incredibly generous and kind and funny. They run a bed and breakfast, and the house is everything I like about European architecture, with a large courtyard patio with Lemon trees that leads to a 2^nd with a pool and Jacuzzi. The 2^nd night, there were 10 ofr us at dinner, and I am fairly certain we ate 400 lbs of meat.  Steak, Pork ribs, Kebabs, add to that the best greek salad around and lots of wine, and you had a wickedly content group.  The town itself is sleepy, no MacDonalds, no Starbucks, incredibly refreshing to see somewhere that isn’t yet spoiled by the capitalism monster. There is an old Abbey there, which we walked around, but there were no monks or beer to be seen. Our hotel was kind of like indoor camping: clean, basic, and no frills. You couldn’t help but expect that Jennifer Grey and Patrick Swayze would come sashaying around a corner at any moment. That said, the pool was nice and cold, and we desperately needed the down time.  Next up – Bosnia!

And remember, my blog won the 84 Olympics.

Latvia Takes the Lead!

Ok. If you had told me prior to this trip that the best meal I would have would be Bauska, Latvia, I would have asked what you were smoking... but truth be told, our lunch today was out of this world. Presentation, Taste, the whole shebang, it was amazing. And then we headed to check out the Rundale Palace, Latvia's own little version of Versailles. Just gorgeous, and one of the first times on this trip that the gang (and the filmmakers) have gotten to be tourists and just wander around.  Our guide/Girl Friday, Aneta, gave us the whirlwind tour (as she had to catch a bus back to Riga) and because the guys need to rest before the show tonight. Should be fun, and I will say this. I had heard rumors about the beauty of Baltic women, but nothing can prepare you. It's like standing in Soho on a summer day outside a modeling agency. Everywhere you look, another woman more beautiful than the rest. Makes a fella want to stay for a while, but alas, we are headed out tomorrow early, back to the south of France. Ciao, and remember, My Blog ran with the bulls in Pamplona, and then it wrestled a bull to the ground.

Annecy, I Think I Love You..

Let’s face it, after Albania, an overnight train ride from Rome to Paris where we bribed a train official to get a room for two of us that was acceptable instead of share the same size room with 4 strangers, and then more trains to get there, anywhere where I could actually lay down was going to be awesome. Then came Tours, France, and I felt totally at home. The Country Western  Festival was a blast, rife with Confederate flags, boots, Dusters and honest to goodness Bull Riding.  The place was incredible, super well organized, and we ate ad drank for the first time without worrying about repercussions.

The next day we headed back through Paris to Annecy, which is the home away from home for the band, as their French manager’s family has a flat there. I cannot honestly describe how beautiful the city is. On the edge of the Alps, with a huge blue lake, and an old city with canals reminiscent of Venice.

This morning, I needed to send some things back to the US, and so I hiked about 2 ½ miles to a Mailboxes, Etc. which was pretty much the only game in town. After hearing the price to send said stuff home, fainting, and coming to terms with it, the man who worked there offered me a cup of coffee, which he made with a press, and brought out.

Where in the US would that EVER happen? Then, my new French friend found out that I had walked there and offered to give me 2 Euros for the bus back. Again, can you imagine this in NYC?

On my walk back I stopped off to buy a bottle of wine and an apple at a local market. And as I was paying, my extremely limited understanding of French managed to figure out that the shop owner was offering to wash the apple for me. Okay. WHAT is going on? Is this Crazy Nice Land? Are there hidden cameras?  What do they think, they’re Canadian?  Add the sweetness of the people to the clean clear water, the gorgeous old town, cobblestone streets, pastries that I am still drooling thinking about, and then top it off with the fact that it is not in any way near or related to Albania, and Annecy, France is now one of my top 5 favorite places. I will be back there later in the trip, and I plan to do the 3 day woo and marry to any waitress that will have me. NYC, Au Revoir. Til Next time, may all of your days be blogalicious.

 

 

ALBANIA STRIKES BACK!

I am writing from the cushioned comfort of 1^st class on a French train from Annecy, France to Lyon. It’s taken me a few days to put together my thoughts on Albania in a level minded way after our experience there, but here goes:

 I never ever ever ever ever need to go back to Albania. Harsh but true….

 Albania was under communist rule from the 40’s through the 90’s, and then had a civil war, so the country is just beginning to get its legs.  Case in point, finding a telephone that works is a little like trying to find the abominable snowman. You keep hearing about it, but when you get there, no such luck. My friend Ben got very sick, and ended up staying an extra night in one city, while we traveled to the next for a show. When I called the hotel, which was a kind of expensive “business” hotel, I found out that they couldn’t connect the outside call to the room, so they had to have my incredibly sick friend come down to the front desk so I could make sure he was still breathing. Ridiculous. 

 I like Fish. I consider seafood to be one of my favorite meals, yet, when offered nothing but a variety of whole fried fish for 3 meals in a row, I was ready for White Castle. And then to top it off, we all started to get sick, one by one, dropping like large American flies. Everyone ended up catching a brief version of what I will call, “The Albanian Plague” except for Chris (who found out while he was there that he is probably descended from Albanians, and Mickey – who never ate any fish. …

Traveling around was also kind of scary. They are just now starting to build roads, and the rules of driving seem to be that, well, there are no rules for driving. According to one guy, the “law” says you have to be 18, but many 11 and 12 year olds drive on a regular basis.  Sorry, what? 11 year old behind the wheel of a car?  Makes you long for the suburbs when those Mature 15 year olds are sneaking out minus their guardian when they only have a learner’s permit.  There were police all over with what were apparently radar guns from the 1950’s, but I never once saw them pull someone over, and we passed them at 120 mph at least 5 times. And when you are barreling down a freeway full of Mercedes (did I mention everyone drives Mercedes? Seriously. 7 out of 10 cars were Mercedes) the last thing you want is someone crossing the freeway on foot. Which happens about every 4 minutes. On a positive note, there is a chain of gas stations called KASTRATI.

The people were wonderful, they were fascinated with the US, helpful, and the women were very easy on the eyes. But as one of my friends put it, often times, you really have to talk to someone like they’re 6 years old if you want to get something done. It’s odd. 

Finally, the worst thing about many of the merchants we dealt with, was that they smell Americans and they salivate dollars. So, if you are even at all trying to be on a budget, count on the fact that some might try to overcharge you like crazy. We stayed in one hotel that can only be described as an extremely dilapidated fixer upper, which may or may not have had a brothel downstairs, and which our Albanian guide called a “5 euro” hotel. And yet they were charging us 30 euros each. But at least the towels were made of sandpaper. I had never experienced drying off and exfoliation simultaneously before. Pain. On a plus note, at the top of the stairs was a gi-normous poster of a scantily clad Carmen Electra greeting us when we came home. Thank goodness for small blessings.

Our Desk Clerk the first and last nights, Festim, was amazing – his English was probably better than mine, and he was engaging and told us a colorful tale of life in the last 20 years there. I hope for the sake of the Albanian people that they can find a way to put Festim in charge of EVERYTHING.  Festim for President. Case in point, he was better versed on the policies of Obama and McCain than I am, and he lives in Durres, Albania.

Heck, forget Albania, Festim in 2012! Remember, my blog can whup your blog.

 

PS – Alitalia is the WORST AIRLINE EVER. Don’t even get me started on the scam they pulled on us in Rome. I hereby add Alitalia to my official s#%* list, and be warned, if I see Alitalia on the street, we're talking fisticuffs....

(Continental to Europe also really sucks, minus the bilking you for thousands of dollars part)…

 

 

Sweet Home Albania!

Before I came here, all I knew was that Albania was a little diddy that kept getting stuck in my head sung to the tune of "Saints go Marchin In" : Albania, Albania, You border on the Adriatic, Your land is mostly mountainous and your chief export is Chrome. The school of "Cheers." Mom is so proud. Anyway, here for a few days, it is a beautiful country, with a lot of eccentricities. 1 is the fact that there are 700,000 bunkers built everywhere by an eccentric dictator during communist rule so that the peasants had somewhere to fight from against the bourgoise.

Now apparently they are mostly a hassle for farmers and a popular place for teens to lose their virginity... I have had fish for 3 meals straight, and have sweat off at least 5 pounds. That's all for now, and remember, my blog can beat up your blog.