Wednesday, May 2, 2007

Cablevision Sucks

Well, since it's so late, I can no longer access my execution system to see my numbers. After a certain hour, my company won't let me back in... no idea why, but, whatever.

From what I remember, my best trade of the day was in WLL. I got in early on the day and sold in the .60s and .70s. I had a bunch of decent winners on the day, probably 6 stocks over the $100 level.

But on the downside, I booked over $300 in losses between TNH and CF trying, foolishly, to short them.

Since I don't have access to my trades to explain them adequately, I'm going to let it go.

So I'll tell a brief story about my Cablevision experience.

The problems really began yesterday. My connection was slow and I was dropped a couple of times. The same thing happened this morning, but the real party started at 2pm, when they went down for the count.

So, I did the unthinkable and called their "customer service" line.

It was great, I spoke to a polite, clearly well educated and sincerely sympathetic technician who knew exactly what my problem was. He walked me step by step through the problem. No attitude at all, clearly had been well-trained and enjoyed his job. Not. NOT!

After sitting through over 3 minutes of automated bullshit that didn't apply to me or my area, I finally spoke to a "technician" named Nicholas.

I told him that I couldn't get online and he said, "We don't have a modem associated with your account." What? Okay, well, I wasn't lying to him... I pay them over $100 bucks a month and I have a modem... I was staring at it.

When I got him to understand that I actually have a modem, he told me to unplug my modem and then plug it back in. Every time some idiot technician tells me to turn something off and then turn it back on I feel like brain cells, somewhere, are being slaughtered.

But as he told me to do this, the lights on my modem went out. I asked him if he had reset it. He said, "Sir, I can't reach through the phone and unplug your modem for you." I clenched my teeth and took a breath.

It's moments like these that I feel the mediation class I took on Saturday has actually helped already. Because instead of letting him freak me out too much, I simply realized that "Oh, I'm talking to a miserable fuck" and with that realization I was able to even have a little sympathy for the shit.

Of course I still had the problem. He then asked me how many splits I have in the house. I have one. He told me that was the problem. I asked him (calmly, calmly) why I've never encountered this problem anytime in the past 2 years? He told me the split went bad and that I should buy a new one. Okay, fine. I also scheduled a "technician" to come to my house tomorrow sometime between 10am and 8pm (LOL!) to fix the problem.

The best thing was that at the end of the call he actually said, "Sir, is there anything else I can do for you today to provide you with excellent Cablevision service?" As if by telling me that I just received "excellent" service that it must make it so...

Anyway, the end of the story is that I went to Radioshack and shelled out $12 for a new splitter. I brought it home and it didn't work.

5 hours later, Cablevision calls me to let me know there was a service outage today. Therefore, they wanted to "free up my day" tomorrow and not have me wait around for a "service technician" that I wouldn't even need.

So, thanks to Cablevision, I am free tomorrow, except I have to go back to Radioshack to return the damn splitter.

Virtual Office, $5136, Dow, 75.74, 13211.88.

Misstrade, $4895 on 24,600 shares.
Evolution Trader, $1152 on 42,400 shares.
Me, $958 on 25,400 shares.
One Bad-Ass Trader, $270 on 30,200 shares.
NYSE Scalper, -$240 on 45,200 shares.
Dehtrader, -$1899 on 32,400 shares.

Sorry for the late and non-linked post. My cable connection went down at 2pm and hasn't returned. I have no idea when it will be back up. I'm doing this from a neighbor's house... hahahaha!

Anyway, since the cable company told me they'll be at my house between 10am and 8pm I have no idea whether I'll be trading tomorrow, much less blogging.

Check back.

Until then, trade well,


UPDATE: It's 9pm and I'm up again. I have no idea why which leads me to doubt this will last. Anyway, I fixed the links on this post. Hopefully I will be up and running tomorrow with no glitches.

Death to Cablevision.

UPDATE #2: It is now 9:15 and Cablevision called me to tell me that there were "outages" in my area today and that everything is cleared up now. So I think I'm back for good.

Still, Death to Cablevision.

Will Ferrell Is The Best

Misstrade turned me on to this web-gem.

The Interview

"IS ALBERT BETTER THAN YOU?" Peter roared across the desk at me.

I was taken aback by the question and before I could answer, he answered for me.

"HE'S 3.8, YOU'RE 3.6, HE'S BETTER."

His office was small and cluttered. Or perhaps it just seemed small because his voice was so big, and his presence larger. I had taken a seat in the recently vacated chair. The hot seat. From the corner of his desk, he lifted a stack of resumes. On each were illegible scribbles in red pen. Peter's desk was littered with red pens. There was some sort of order in the office, though maybe only in the same way that wind has direction. He began to read the GPAs off the resumes to me, "3.8, 3.7. 3.9, 4.0... he must have read 30 different GPAs, and not one was lower than 3.5. He was proud of this stack of resumes. He was in control of this stack, these traders.

He patted the stack with his hand and yelled, "ONLY THE BEST! THE BEST!" Proud of his traders, like they were his children and he their twisted father.

Peter looked directly at me, breathing loudly through his large nostrils. Like bull-nostrils, I thought. His forearms were large but oddly, hairless, and they rested on the desk. His thinning hair was a mess. He had strange eyes... was he drunk? on some drug? There were sweat rings under his armpits even though it was the middle of the winter. I couldn't guess how old or what nationality he was. He was like no one I had ever met before.


He held the stack of resumes up and shook it at me again before I could answer, "THESE GUYS WIN." He threw the stack of papers down. I didn't know if I should say anything, so I didn't. Peter stared at me, and without breaking the stare, he reached for a red pen, bit the cap off and spit it on the floor. He picked up my resume and started to dissect it, circling my GPA and making notations in the margins. What could he be writing down?

"GOOD SCHOOL!" He flashed the wolfish smile again.

But a second later he looked up at me shaking his head, and sneered, "BIRDWATCHING?"


He snorted at his own joke but I wasn't overly amused. He looked at me like he had just bestowed some great truth upon me and I didn't get it. He seemed disappointed. A look of boredom crossed his face and his eyes moved and met the flashes on his computer screen.

The interview didn't seem to be going well.

He continued to watch the screen, eyes darting back and forth, up and down. Now he smiled, then, he frowned. His brow furrowed, then it went calm. He seemed to be on some kind of mental roller-coaster but he was just staring at flashing numbers on a screen. He was completely absorbed and seemed to forget I was even there. Minutes passed. He was watching trader's profit and loss numbers and Anvil's volume totals. I guess to him it must have been like watching a horse race where you see your winnings pile up regardless of who comes in first. The room was silent and the screams and clatter from the trading room outside the door which once were so disconcerting, now seemed comforting.

Suddenly, as if a spell had been broken his face snapped away from the screen and he began to scrutinize me with those crazy eyes. He had been gazing at the screen for so long that I thought I could see little numbers and blips of red and green reflected in his pupils. He was number-drunk.

"WANNA TRADE?" he bawled across the desk.

I hedged. "Yeah, I'm really thinking about it..."

"DON'T THINK." He interrupted. "TRADE."

And with that, he yanked open a drawer and produced a huge blue vinyl-clad binder with the words "Series 7 Examination Manual" embossed in gold across the front. He thrust it across the desk at me knocking red pens onto the floor.


He stood up from his desk, swung open the office door and yelled "NEXT!" to no one in particular and then stormed down the hallway knocking thumbtack-stuck papers off of the cubicle walls.