I hover around the pull-up bar. It's the best pull-up bar in the weightroom for people under 6' tall without solid leaping skills. I fit in that demographic and so do many other shorter, less springy folk. We all keep glancing over our shoulder waiting for our chance to move in on the equipment.
A guy wearing blue seventies-style nylon shorts rushes in for a turn before I can cut him off. He does a couple of pull ups and then squats down right below the bar, placing his hands underneath his feet. He straightens his legs, hoisting his ass skyward in some sort of advanced leg stretch maneuver.
After a few minutes, he performs a hop and more pull-ups. Followed by another round of leg stretching. And some pull-ups. I monitor his activity wondering what the fuck limber hamstrings have to do with pull-ups.
I realize that I will need to ask to work in with this guy because this could go on for hours. I also realize that if I do ask to work in with him, I will have no choice but to basically march up and address his ass.
His ass agrees to my inquiry.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Wednesday, August 07, 2013
|Lots of manly men at a meeting at Personal Capital. |
Photo credit: www.personalcapital.com
Here's the timeline of this endeavor. Please note how many sentences start with "I." They start with "I" because I perpetrated the action, all by myself, like the Lone Ranger.
- I sign up for Personal Capital using my name, my home phone number (which coincidentally happens to be Tom's home phone number) and my email address
- I enter our investment accounts into the Personal Capital app. Most of the accounts I enter are the ones in my name, because they are the ones I know the passwords for. I also enter some joint accounts that are in both my name and Tom's name. I can't remember Tom's passwords, so three days go by.
- I get one of Tom's passwords and enter a money market account he has.
- I tinker around with the available selection of charts and graphs.
Tom was vaguely aware this Personal Capital operation had been set in motion. He was deeply engrossed in a full scale investigation of the question, "Is a Waterbug really an American Cockroach?" Meanwhile, I got back to my usual life-- pouring over Ladies Home Journal, dusting, and harvesting sacks of clover from the front yard.
Except I'm not a subjugated housewife from 1950, so I didn't really do any of those things; I was just being sarcastic. Mostly I filled my days kicking spreadsheet ass and having fights with commercial realtors who sneak around in the middle of the night changing the suite number on our office.
But I did manage to check our home answering machine. A dude from Personal Capital had left a message. Here is the message:
"Hi Tom, this is Scott from Personal Capital. I just wanted to follow up because I see you recently registered for Personal Capital. I want to offer you a complimentary financial consultation and analysis that you are entitled to as a new user. Call me to put some time on the calendar."
Tom recounted these goings on to some guys at work standing around the coffee machine. After he got to the part about the culmination telephone message, his business partner paused and then carefully replied: "That was a very bad move."
(Something I just noticed which is at least true at a glance: Unless you count a half visible head of long hair in a photo carousel, there's not one woman pictured or listed in a leadership role on the Personal Capital web site. Perhaps all the girl fridays were freshening up their lipstick in the ladies lounge while the company was being formed.)