A Deadly Bank

“… and, so, my dear.” I was in explanatory mode, “the banks are both haughty and incompetent. When it comes to customers, there is nothing that they can do properly.”

“I think you’re exaggerating, Dan.”

Note: As I compose this update, I admit to being flustered by Nazy’s comment. Exaggeration in my blog update? Perish the thought! That’s as likely as finding a factual error on the internet.

“The Bank of America,” I continued. “Is a prime example. I ordered new checks..”

“I know, Dan. They came. On time. While you were in London.”

“I see them,” I replied. “These are checks for The Estate of Daniel and Shahrnaz Martin.”

“The estate? But..”

“That’s right, Nazy. It is a grave mistake: the Bank of America has killed us.”

“Now you are exaggerating; they just think we’re dead.”

“But we are resilient, my dear. We can’t be killed by gross ineptitude.”

I called to correct the mistake. Astonished, I actually reached a human being.

Uncharacteristically, the Bank apologized for killing me.

“… and my wife,” I interrupted.

“Yes, of course. It was a terrible mistake.”

“She was surprised when I told her,” I continued.

“We will provide new checks for free.”

A harbinger of...

I have been traveling to London semi-regularly for many years. This makes it tricky to find theatre that I haven’t already seen. I was, however, able to find two shows that were completely new to me. (They have been playing in London for a long time; I just hadn’t seen them.) Because dealing with my customer reminds me of an anesthesialess root canal, I wanted something bright and cheery. I wanted a happy ending. I did not choose wisely.

The first show, “The Woman in Black”, was a thriller. The woman, a ghost living in (somewhat redundantly) a haunted castle, had a non-speaking role. She simply appeared at surprising times. In the second act, each appearance was marked with a scream. Hence the tagline for the show: “I came. I saw. I screamed!”

The show was well-done and very entertaining. However – people died in the end and, in my view, death makes a happy ending problematic. Undaunted, I decided to go to a musical the next day. “Musicals,” I thought, “are always happy and bubbly.” I was thinking of Mama Mia! I should have been thinking of Cabaret.

The Blood Brothers were dead when the show began. Everything else was a flashback.

“Bubbly and happy,” I thought as the overture played, “is unlikely.”

The Brothers are twins separated at birth. One is raised by a very rich family, the other is very poor. The same actors play the twins at ages 8, 13, 17 and 25. The show, which has been on West End for 20 years, was great. It just wasn’t happy.

“Enough with the shows,” I thought. “I’ll bury (an unfortunate choice of word) myself in English history.”

Editorial note: This thought shows my state of mind. I was looking for something cheerful in English History – a field that has brought us King Henry VIII (and his many wives), Mary Queen of Scots, Thomas More, Thomas Beckett and Oliver Cromwell. It didn’t occur to me that historical Britain wasn’t as comical as the antics of the current Royal Family.

I walked from Piccadilly Circus to Trafalgar Square and then strolled down Whitehall to Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey. I last visited the Abbey when I was working with Shell (more than 15 years ago). The early history of the building is murky. Some say that it was founded in 604 by King Sebert, others say that Dunstan, Bishop of London. opened a monastery on the site in 960. It is known that the Abbey was consecrated on December 28, 1065. In short: it is old.

It is also the burial site of many. Entombed in Poets corner, for example, are Geoffrey Chaucer, Charles Dickens, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Oscar Wilde, Robert Browning, Christoper Marlowe, Cannop Thirwall (history is not kind) and Thomas Triplet (to everyone). There are also tombs for Elizabeth I, Winston Churchill, Edward the Confessor, Isaac Newton and very many others. It had an aura of death about it.

Was someone trying to tell me something?... To be continued.

Swiss-Ness

In Switzerland, we are in the midst of yet another election campaign. The SVP party has unveiled its latest offensive poster [see above: note that even the minaretslook like missiles.]
The poster reflects the general mood of the country. Although there are very few minarets in Switzerland (research indicates 4), there is a concern that somehow new and different people will dilute and overwhelm Swiss culture established over the many centuries. Swiss-ness is at risk!

“It’s ridiculous, Nazy.” I explained. “Do they really think that a bunch of..”

“… Serbians…”

“Serbians? Are these Serbians going to fill up all the holes in Swiss cheese?”

“Dan..”

“Will Moslems will paint Arabic numbers on Swiss watch dials?”

“Aren’t Arabic numerals, eh, “normal numbers? 1, 2, 3, 4..”

“Precisely, my dear. New-fangled symbols are replacing the traditional Swiss Roman Numerals like I, V and X.”

“Why are Roman numerals more Swiss than Arabic numbers?”

“Nazy,” I replied. “You are getting bogged down in detail. The concept is clear: these newcomers are threatening Swiss-ness. They will make the Swiss Guards at the Vatican swap their colourful garb for khaki; all Swiss Army knives will need an indicator that points to Mecca, cuckoo clocks will issue calls to daily prayers. Raw ingredients for chocolate will be imported from countries in South America or (gasp!) Africa. A foreign carrier will take ownership of the national airline.”

Oops, Lufthansa owns Swiss International Airlines and I don't think any cocoa beans are grown in Switzerland.

The Deal Falls Through

We have spent the last six months working on our response to the customer’s RFP. Now, according to the team…

“It’s an impossible situation,” Steve explained. “They want to transfer all the risk to us..”

“Of course.” I replied.

“.. and their contractual terms eliminate our ability to mitigate the risk.”

“Naturally, my friend. You know who we’re dealing with...”

“But you said that they wanted a new relationship: a marriage.”

“They are polygamists.”

“That’s not..”

“They just want us to join the harem.”

“Dan!”

“At the back of the line.”

I pretended to be unfazed, but the news was not good. The newly announced requirements did, in fact, make it impossible for us to respond.

I considered ways to explain the problem to our executive management team. “Simple”, I thought. “Simple should appeal to them.”

Bad! Bad! Bad!
Deal Sucks!
Sad! Sad! Sad!
Hockey Pucks!

I know that the ‘poem’ is nonsense. Remember, however, that I was writing for executive management. Having read their dispatches, I assume that they like nonsense.

The Spousal Interrupt - Redux

So, after several weeks and five visits by repairmen, the landlord agreed to replace the clothes dryer. The new machine features typical German over-engineering: multiple filters requiring substantial manual intervention, a control panel that would look at home on the Starship Enterprise and…

Spousal Interrupt: “Do not use this letter to complain about Swiss appliances. The reader doesn’t care and is tired of hearing this from you.”

“Hmm,” I thought. “This is getting difficult.

Yesterday morning, while Nazy was retrieving her breakfast eggs from the refrigerator, she knocked a bottle of ketchup over. And …”

Spousal Interrupt: “This is not funny, Dan.”

“Quiet, my dear. I am on a roll.”

“… red ketchup, launched by the equal and opposite reaction generated when the bottle hit the floor, followed a parabolic path upward..”

Spousal Interrupt: “This is really not funny, Dan.”

… until it reached the ceiling. At that point, abrupt deceleration caused the spherical ketchup droplets to flatten. Portions remained on the ceiling. Other parts, lacking viscosity and the associated surface tension, simply obeyed the law of gravity and accelerated downward.

“Yuck!” Nazy said as a ketchup storm hit her hair.

My reaction was exactly what should be expected of a concerned, carrying and compassionate husband.

“Are you laughing?” Nazy growled.

“Of course not, my dear. I am sympathizing.” I reached for my digital camera.

“That’s not a good idea,” Nazy said.

Were I brave enough, I would have included the aforementioned photographs. It did however, remind me of the time that someone turned the blender on – but forgot the lid.

Spousal Interrupt: “This is really not funny, Dan.”

Or the time, in Vancouver, when someone forgot eggs were on the stove. When the water boiled away…

Hmm… I have decided to change the subject.

The Spousal Interrupt

“So,"I thought. "My wife doesn't want me to blog about unfair US taxes."

"I don't want you to complain," Nazy replies.

Accordingly, I have shifted gears:

“Garry,” I said. “You must join the call. You’re the head of the Division; the deal is all about storage. We need you to represent the company..”

“… Dan…”

“You must explain that they are being unreasonable. As head of the business unit, you have clout.”

“Clout, Dan? Here? I’m wondering why I left my ‘clout-filled’ job at..”

“So, Garry,” I interrupted. “You’ll kick-off the call at noon?”

“I have to fly home, Dan. And before I leave for the airport, I have to fire three people. My personal ‘touch’ is required for that. My wife is poorly. The cat died last night and the kids are crying. We’ve just moved into a new house and the plumbing is leaking, the movers ruined my wife’s heirloom credenza…”

Spousal Interrupt: “Do not use this letter to complain about your employer, Dan. The reader doesn’t care and is tired of hearing this from you.”

“But, my dear, I’m not complaining about my employer, I’m going to complain about the customer.”

“No.” Nazy replied.

“She is so understanding,” I thought – shifting gears once again.

After several weeks and five visits by repairmen, the landlord agreed to replace the clothes dryer. The new machine features typical German over-engineering: multiple filters requiring substantial manual intervention, a control panel that would look at home on the Starship Enterprise and…

Spousal Interrupt: “Do not use this letter to complain about Swiss appliances. The reader doesn’t care and is tired of hearing this from you.”

“Hmm,” I thought. “This is getting difficult.”

Taxes

The week began on a frightening note. Following routine, I collected the mail form our postbox. Anxiously I opened one (rather hefty) envelope as I took the elevator to our apartment. A piercing pain gripped my body and I slid to the floor wailing. My final USA tax assessment had arrived.

While Nazy reassured the neighbors, I crawled to the medicine cabinet and quaffed several (extra strength) pain killers. After I regained my strength (a process that took several hours, eh, days) I telephoned Caspar, my US accountant.

"It’s unfair, Caspar.” I explained, patiently.

“It is the law. As an American, you are not allowed to take advantage of the fact that you live in a low-tax country. You have to pay the difference.”

“Caspar!” I exclaimed. “My income went down. How can my taxes go up?”

“The dollar, Dan, went down, so your total income in US dollars increa$ed. A lot!”

“The dollar may have collapsed, but I am paid in Swiss Francs. My expenses are in Francs. The change in the dollar does not affect my cost of living in Switzerland.”

“You won’t need as many Francs to pay your American taxes..”

Spousal Interrupt: “Do not use this blog to complain about American taxes, Dan. The reader doesn’t care and is tired of hearing about this from you.”

... Now I have to think of a new topic....

P.S. The photo is of me scouting out a place to pitch a family tent in the forest. That's about the only place we will be able to afford if the taxes... oops, my wife is striding into view....

Juggling Action Items

“Why are you complaining, Dan?” My boss asked. “You’re in the golden state.”

“It’s 3:00AM. That’s why I’m complaining.”

“That’s funny. It’s noon here.”

“It’s dark here, so I can’t tell if it’s golden. But wind is driving supersonic (rain)spheroids against the window, so I’m pretty sure…”

“It never rains in Southern California, Dan,” My boss interrupted.

“I’m in Northern California.” I replied.

“Well, eh, hmm. I just wanted to wish you luck with the customer meeting.”

“Thanks. Good night.”

“And,” he interjected. “You need to revise the forecast, redo next year’s business plan, update the response sheet for the Sun attack, Mainframe attack and Cisco attack..”

“I thought we were partners with Cisco.”

“Of course. The Cisco partnership call is..”

“I get the idea.”

“And how will you use the marketing assistance..”

“I won’t.”

“… revise the strategic growth initiative, respond to the management mandate, complete the standards of business conduct course, watch the Ethics in Action webcast…

“The Ethics in Action webcast!” I interrupted. “I’ll do that right now. Goodbye.”

In truth, suffering from jetlag, I had been awake when he called. “But,” I thought. “I know that the Ethics in Action webcast will put me to sleep.”

Who'd a Thunk it?

The big news this week concerns Dr. Darius D. Martin who has earned his Ph.D. in Economics from the University of California, Santa Barbara. The path has been long (UCSB is excited to retire the oldest student ID in history) because Darius didn’t want to write a thesis, he wanted to win a Nobel Prize. I will take this opportunity to review father-son conversations over the last few years.

“My paper must astonish! It’s magical.”

“Do it on-time,” I admonish.”It’s maniacal.”

“You’ve complained,” Darius exclaimed.

“The path is fraught,” his father thought.

“It will be great.” Darius replied.

“It will be late.” “Before I’ve died?”

Unlike his Dad – who wrote a thesis proving that “Two Heads are Better Than One” (I am not making this up), Darius (The Great) likes complexity. His thesis has integral signs and math stuff.

I knew, of course, that the final submission would take place at the last hour of the final day. And, because Darius needed to have UCSB send a completion note to the American University of Beirut by September 15, I naively assumed that he would be done on September 14. Unfortunately, one of his committee members was on holiday – scheduled to return on the 16th. Darius talked him into coming back a day early and convinced Beirut to interpret “September 15” as “September 15, Pacific Daylight Time”. It was the last possible minute.

Nazy has interrupted the preparation of this letter. She claims:

“Darius finished, Dan! It’s great! So stop making jokes. Besides, didn’t you spend 10 years at Georgia Tech?”

“But I got an undergraduate degree and a..”

“And when you left, didn’t Georgia Tech celebrate retirement of the oldest student ID..”

“Wait a minute, Nazy.”

“And didn’t you finalize your Ph.D. the last possible day?”

Flashback: June, 1974

I was getting nervous. It was noon – scheduled time for my defense of thesis. I also had to deliver three copies, signed by my advisory committee, to the graduate office before 4:00PM. My professorship in Memphis was contingent on receiving this information on, or before, this date. Nazy and I were booked on a flight to Iran the next day. We hadn’t heard from my outside advisor, Dick Kain, who was driving to Atlanta from Minneapolis. We couldn’t get in touch with him. [It was 1974: mobile phones had not been invented.] At 12:30 Dick called from a payphone [In 1974 these telephones were quite common. It was a wired device that was coin-operated.] at a nearby McDonalds. [It was 1974: McDonalds had been around forever.]

The thesis defense, rescheduled for 1:00PM went flawlessly. As Dick signed the document (at 3:30):

“You’ve misspelled my friend Lewis Cobbam’s name,” he told me.

“Chobbam?” I replied.

“No ‘h’,” Dick said. “Just fix it before you hand in the final version.”

“Naturally,” I replied. (Evasively.)

Thoughtfully, I carried my thesis to the graduate office. I submitted it unchanged. [There was only one person in Atlanta certified to type a Georgia Tech Ph.D. thesis and there was no time to take it to her.] When we returned from Iran, I checked out the three copies in the library and crossed out, in ink, the superfluous ‘h’.

Present Day

“Dad,” Darius had said. “Perhaps I shouldn’t submit the thesis. It will be published and accessible on the web. Someone might find a mistake.”

"Undoubtedly, Darius wouldn’t approve of my approach," I thought. I said something else:

“That will mean that someone is reading it, Dar. They’ll cite your paper. Your academic stature will expand. Perhaps you should offer a reward for people who find errors – and cite your paper. Google rankings, Dar, are based on cross-references. If your paper is cited often, you’ll move to the top. Make errors intentionally.”

“Is that what you did?”

“Of course, not, Dar. I make my errors unintentionally.”

“But..”

“Submit and get out, Dar. It’s time.”

“Do you think?”

“Yep.”

Darius celebrated with his sisters before leaving for a quick trip to Thailand and Cambodia. On the 25th he passed through Zurich “on his way” (routing courtesy of Darius) to Beirut. He will start work at the American University on September 28. Friends responded predictably.

“He’s working in Lebanon? As in Lebanon?”

“Of course,” I replied. “He is Darius. As in Darius.”
.

The Planetary Walk

Nazy planned several activities for the visit of Mitra and Stefan. Stefan, a vegetable connoisseur, really enjoyed the Burkliplatz farmers market. (I like it too, but mainly for the flowers.) Following tradition, we took them on the planetary walk on the crest of the local Uetliberg Mountain.

I had a 3:00 PM con-call (my employer keeps getting in the way of my social life) so we left early – and just missed Tram 3 toward Central Station. (The next tram came 9 minutes later.) We arrived at Central Station, only to discover that we had just missed the train. (The next train came 15 minutes later.)

The planetary walk features a scale model of the solar system. It begins with the Sun (the size of a basketball) and continues with scale models of the planets. (The Earth is the size of a pea.)

As we were nearing Uranus (a ping-pong ball 2 miles from the start), I explained the solar system to Mitra.

“But,” I said. “The model is not completely accurate.”

“Why not, Dad?”

“The solar system doesn’t go uphill,” I puffed.

“Hmm..”

“And it’s a good thing that we didn’t do the interstellar walk.”

“Why Dad?”

“On this scale, the nearest star would be in Rome.”

Passing Neptune (pictured above), we arrived at a picturesque restaurant and took a short break. Then we walked to the cable car for the ride back down the hill. We just missed the departure. (The next cable car was scheduled in 15 minutes.) We admired the view while we waited. Somehow we didn’t see the arrival of the subsequent cable car and, as a result we just missed its departure. (Add another 15 minutes.) Arriving (finally) at the bottom of the hill, we walked to the train station arriving just as the S-18 departed for the Hauptbahnhof. (The next train arrived 15 minutes later.) We made it to the central station 15 minutes before my con-call.

“Just enough time,” I thought, “to make it home for the call.”

It would have been, but I just missed tram 3. I took the con-call in the tram.

Love Means...

It had been a long trip and, although the flight home was smooth, I arrived tired. I’ve found that the best way to handle east-bound jetlag is to take a short nap upon arrival. Nazy saw that I was tired and concurred. Leaving me on my own, she left to buy some groceries.

“Don’t worry, Dan. I’ll be back in about 2 hours.”

“That’s great!” I replied, locking the front door and simultaneously failing to notice that I had left the key hanging in the keyhole. I took a quick shower and instantly fell into a deep sleep.

As promised, Nazy returned home a few hours later. As mentioned, I was sound asleep. There was one unforeseen development: It is not possible to unlock the door from the outside if there is a key in lock on the inside. Nazy couldn’t get in. Unaware that I was sleeping with my good ear buried in the pillow, Nazy rang the doorbell. I didn’t hear it. She called the home phone. I didn’t hear it. She called my iPhone – it was on my desk in ‘silent’ mode. Nazy left several messages – culminating in:

“It’s been two hours, Dan.”

She was just about to call the police (maybe something had happened to me), when I heard the pounding and ringing. Nazy was not amused.

“When I left the key in the lock and trapped you outside for 20 seconds, Dan,” she noted. “You were very angry. You kept me outside more than two hours. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

The photo shows the messages left on the iPhone (which was in the other room). A similar number showed up on the home phone (also in another room).

The Upgrade

While Nazy was battling the (deputized) tram police, I was in London talking with the customer. The London trip was fairly simple – until I discovered that I would have to be in New York the following Tuesday and in Frankfurt on Wednesday and Thursday. The company-negotiated fare category (LPP: Lowest Possible Price) was, naturally, not upgradable. Equally naturally, Nazy was not convinced.

“I’ll ask Astrid.” She explained. “I am sure that she will give you an upgrade.”

“I’ve already called Continental Airlines, Nazy,” I explained. “It costs $1493 and 25,000 miles to upgrade. One way! There is nothing that Astrid can do.”

It is a rare pleasure for me to make the following announcement: I was right. Nazy was wrong!

In fairness (and as a result of considerable pressure on the domestic front), I provide a few additional pieces of information:

· After I took my (economy class) seat on the Zurich to Newark leg, Astrid came into the cabin to apologize: “Please tell Nazy that I really tried,” Astrid told me.

· On the Newark to Frankfurt leg, I was upgraded for no miles and no dollars. “Thank you!” I replied hearing the news. “Don’t thank me, sir,” the agent replied. “This is a favour for Astrid.” (And she did it as a favor for Nazy.)

· It is better to be upgraded on the flight from the USA because that flight occurs over night.

The meetings went... [response to additional spousal interrupt: “Yes, my dear, the flight was exceptionally comfortable. Thanks to you!”] ... smoothly.

The Tram Deputy

Current dreary fall weather matches the current economic condition. It's so bad that even civil servants have begun to worry about meeting the budget. Desperate times call for innovative measures:

“Vigilantes, Dan!” Nazy exclaimed.

“What?” I replied. (Articulately.)

“A random woman asked to see my tram ticket.”

“I hope you told her to get lost.”

“She had a badge, Dan. Someone had deputized her.”

“In that case, my dear, she wasn’t a vigilante. She was an irregular member of the law enforcement community.”

“Irregular? She smelled.”

“Dealing with criminals rubbed off on her. Eh, did you have a ticket?”

“Of course I had a ticket. But that vigilante..”

“... deputy sheriff....”

“... gets a percentage of what she collects.”

“Isn’t it great? Capitalism and job creation combined in a way that fosters human initiative.”

“Just make sure that you don’t forget to buy a tram ticket, Dan.” As usual, Nazy had the last word.

Stonehenge Redux

I have considered critical comments that had been received about the recent post describing my trip to Stonehenge.

Example: The letter is all nice and pleasant, but there is no evidence or proof that you actually visited the site. The excellent photo was unrepresentative of your usual ill-focused and poorly framed efforts. Perhaps you simply downloaded them from the web. No photograph of you, for instance, was available to confirm your presence.

“Ah, ha,” I thought.

I was, of course, prepared for skepticism. In fact, I had the exact remedy for comment at hand: A self-portrait with Stonehenge in the background, poorly framed, ill-focused and featuring inadequate lighting.

The Basement

The news was ominous and frightening.

“He says,” Nazy explained, “that there is a water leak in the basement.”

“So? They will have to fix it,” I replied.

“The leak is directly under our storage and we will have to clear..”

“Oh No!”

Like all Swiss apartments, ours includes a storage closet in the basement bomb shelter. Our storage contains an eclectic mixture of random stuff stacked to the ceiling. Luckily, many of the items are useless drivel that should be trashed. Unluckily, because I have been consistently unable to fathom Zürich’s complex garbage and recycling regulations, nothing has been disposed of. As a result, my response to the troubling situation mirrors a predator’s response to a skunk: avoidance. I never go to the basement. You can, therefore, imagine my reaction to Nazy’s suggestion, eh, command:

“We will have to sort the storage.”

“That means we will have to go downstairs and look at it.” I replied.

“And sort it, Dan. Be Brave!”

I shuttered.

Undaunted, Nazy enthusiastically directed activities. I moved everything into the hall. She sorted.

I noticed a musty smell as I dislodged useless waste, eh, treasured possessions. (The water leak had bubbled up through the crushed gravel ‘floor’.) Nazy, meanwhile, had rapidly constructed a “disposables” mound. Old and empty suitcases formed a foundation that was two meters high. In addition, we discovered several Apple Computers (last used in the previous millennium), a computer monitor heavier that the Battleship Missouri, and a collection of pots and pans that had been earmarked for donation to archaeological researchers. As these were cleared, I located cartons of VHS tapes (we no longer have a VHS player). Tape theme established, I uncovered a few boxes of cassette music tapes. (We found a cassette player in one of the boxes. It didn’t have a power cord.)

The musty smell grew stronger as I continued the excavation process. I eventually located something important – boxes of photographs and files of important papers. All suffered significant water damage. (My thesis, for example, had the pages stuck together and smelled like a broken septic tank.) Nazy, surveying several boxes of photographs from her childhood in Iran, was not amused.

“You, Dan, arranged the basement when we moved.”

“Well..”

“And you, Dan, put the most important stuff in the absolutely worst location.”

“I protected all of that stuff by covering it with impervious layers of suitcases and electronic equipment.”

“Dan..”

“Who would have thought that a Swiss residence would suffer from a water leak? I am sure there is a rule about that.”

Clearly on the back foot, I decided to change the subject. “Well, my dear,” I craftily began. “What do you plan to do with the stuff that you put in the ‘dispose’ pile?” Well aware of the garbage regulations, I was confident. “Heh, heh, heh,” I thought. “I wonder if she’ll try to stuff those suitcases into a Zürisack?”

“We will take it to Schneider’s in Meilen,” Nazy replied – instantly. (And triumphantly.)

“But..” I spluttered.

“Bunzi told me that Schneider will take everything.”

“For a fee,” I replied.

“A small fee, Dan.”

The following four sentences have been inserted into this post as the result of a spousal command: Schneider took the junk off of our hands. And, as Nazy predicted, the cost was low. She paid a meagre 10 Francs to get rid of a zillion suitcases and a variety of useless electronic equipment. Without her, nothing would have happened.

Update note from Dan: Schneider was closed when we arrived the first time.

Stonehenge

Not quite sure what the customer said, I made it back to the bus just in time for the departure to Stonehenge.

Although work on the monumental structure began more than 5050 years ago, there are significant similarities to the present day. For example, the entire edifice was handled the same way we do software development:

1. They began with a ‘henge’ which is a circular ditch. (This was the Stonehenge beta release.)
2. Progress continued with Woodhenge , completed 4600 years ago. (In this case, they added a wooden structure in the center of the henge.

3. Various upgrades, using stones – e.g. Stonehenge 2.0; Stonehenge 3.2a; Stonehenge Pro 4.6 - were completed during the next 1000 years.

Moreover, other similarities came to light. The Sarsen stones were dragged from Marborough Downs (19 miles away), the Bluestones from the Preseli Mountains in Wales, 240 Kilometers away. I imagine that the guys doing the dragging questioned the sanity of the managers in charge of the project. Imagine a worker conversation 3000 years ago:

“Dragging this rock…”

“Stone, my friend.”

“… from a zillion miles away is sheer insanity.”

“Are you questioning our leadership?”

“Me? Question the leadership? Of course not. It would be nice, however, if they’d join in the dragging.”

“Do you know what we are building?”

“No. What?”

“We are making a calendar.”

“A calendar? And nobody thought of parchment?”

“It hasn’t been invented yet – at least here.”

No, dear reader, I am not making this up. Stonehenge is a calendar. It is arranged so that the sun will shines through the monument differently each month and will be aligned through the middle of the structure at the Winter Solstice . I cannot personally verify this since it was drizzling while I was there (no Sun) and it wasn’t solstice time. As an aside, New York City can also be a calendar. At the summer solstice the sun shines directly down the streets – between the buildings.

Windsor Castle

“You know, Nazy,” I said. “I think I’ll just take a day for myself during this trip.”

“You won’t spend all your time working?” Nazy was flabbergasted.

“No, I’ll go and see Stonehenge.”

In spite of many trips to the UK, I almost always stay in London to work. If I go out, I usually focus on West End shows, but I have visited the British Museum to see all the non-British stuff like the Rosetta Stone [Egypt] and parts of the Parthenon [Greece]. A misguided sense of ‘duty’ prevented me from venturing farther afield. Recent company behaviour is effectively eroding that sense.

I decided to give myself ½ day ‘off-duty’. However, as the concierge explained, the standard tours include Windsor Castle, Stonehenge and Bath. In short, there are no half-day excursions. I considered (and rejected) an idea to drive to Stonehenge.

“The company can spare me for the day,” I thought as I booked the trip. My iPhone responded with the distinctive ring (the theme from Jaws) indicating a call from THE CUSTOMER. I had just completed the (non-refundable) transaction.

“We need to update you on our analysis of your response to our RFP.”

“No problem,” I replied. “I’m all ears.”

“We have to do it tomorrow.”

“I will be in Stonehenge tomorrow,” I thought. “Hmm,” I replied.

“Shall we make the call at noon?”

“Can you update me now?” I replied.

“No, my colleague is not available. Is noon okay?”

I anxiously reviewed the tour itinerary. “I’ll be at Windsor Castle,” I thought. “That will be fine,” I replied.

“So much for a whole day away from work,” I thought.

With the con-call programmed into the iPhone, I left early the next morning.

The first stop was Windsor Castle where Elizabeth II still spends her weekends. I saw Queen Ann’s Doll’s House (which is roughly the size of our apartment) and a variety of tastelessly ostentatious, but nevertheless interesting, formal rooms.

At noon (CET), I slipped out of the tour group for my con-call. Gobsmacked to see a huge group of people gathered around the courtyard, I dialled in. I announced my attendance just as the changing of the guard ceremony began. A loud marching band with bugles, drums and other noisemakers appeared whilst I was trying to find the mute button. I slipped into the nearby Abbey.

“You!”

“Shssh..” I said, phone on mute. “This is a religious building.” I wanted this guy to shut up.

“No mobile phones,” the busybody complained.

“It is very loud outside,” I replied – trying to concentrate on the messages being delivered by my customer.

“You can’t use your mobile phone in the Abbey,” a church official, alerted by the commotion, told me: “You! Must! Leave!”

Note: Although Windsor Castle is spacious, it is located very close to Heathrow. I wonder how the Queen copes with the noise. (See Photo).

The Opera

Each summer the city of Bergenz hosts an opera on Lake Constance. The outdoor theatre seats 700o. The set, nestled in the water, is gargantuan. [Disclaimer for Opera buffs: the performance is more spectacle than opera.] Although major operas are chosen, they are edited and rearranged to fit into Bergenz standard: 2 hours, no break. Aida, which normally lasts 4 hours, is this year’s opera. Since we were going to ‘the Opera’, I have to say that I was pleased by Bergenz rules.

I prepared myself with an on-line review. I have found that it’s not easy to follow the ‘plot’ because the singers, especially sopranos and (overweight) tenors, take forever to get to the point. There is also a rule against writing an opera in English – a fact that might explain the popularity difference between Harry Potter and Aida.

The weather was threatening during the drive. Nazy assured me that the ticket could be exchanged in the event of rain. (The performance is outside and the theatre has no roof.) Note: Some cynical readers may assume that I was hoping for rain; in fact, I wanted to see the show. I did hope, in vain, that the Wolford Factory Outlet would be shuttered during the Bregenz Opera Festival.

It rained for the (many) hours that we spent at Wolford, but the weather cleared for the evening performance. We had dinner at lakeside with a nice view of the set.

“You told me that this Opera takes place in ancient Egypt,” Nazy said.

“That’s right. It involves an Ethiopian princess/slave (Adia), the Pharaoh, his daughter (Amneris) and the young captain of the guard (Ramades).”

“Why is the set a giant blue and gold Statue of Liberty?”

“Nazy, my dear,” I replied. “It’s trendy, it’s avant gardé, it’s Opera translated to the 21st century..”

“Weren’t the Pharaohs alive in the, eh, ‘minus 3rd’ century?”

“You are missing the point. When people think of Opera, they think ‘stuffy’. This Opera is edgy. It’s chic. It’s fashionable.” I was eloquent. “It’s stupid,” I thought.

The set, constructed in the water, included not only the blue (and dismantled) Statue of Liberty, it also had two giant cranes and a stage the size of Luxembourg.

Before this trip, I thought that the Opera was essentially like a Broadway Musical with the cast singing in Italian. That wasn’t quite right.

In a Broadway Musical, the characters do not need binoculars to see each other. In this performance, the characters, separated by vast distances, needed the Hubble Space Telescope. For example, Aida might be standing on the stage (and in water 4 inches deep) while singing to Radames. He would be on the other side of the lake in a boat held 80 feet aloft by a construction crane. In short: the distance between them was the same as the distance between the Earth and the (dwarf) planet Pluto. It was difficult sometimes to tell who was singing to whom. In fact, it was sometimes difficult to even see who was singing. (I didn’t bring my space telescope.)

The Hike

Unlike me, Nazy had prepared for anniversary holiday by researching the area. She noted that her book of “1000 things to do before you die” waxed eloquent about the walk along the coast to visit each of the five cities, eh, towns, in Cinque Terre. Each had begun as a fishing community with its own character.

“The towns,” Nazy said, “feature colourful houses perched on the sides of steep cliffs.”

The word ‘steep’ should have gotten my attention. The next morning, armed with a small map, we confidently strode from hotel, walking south. We were greeted by a set of 342 narrow steps (all going up) as soon as we left the hotel grounds. The path continued to wind upward with a mixture of steps and narrow ‘walkways’ precariously perched along the mountain.

“I will not be the first to suggest that we stop and rest,” I thought.

The climb continued. After what seemed like the 32,342nd step, I began to reconsider my options. Nazy, buff and prepared, marched onward and upward, accelerating as she went.

“Why don’t we stop and admire the view?” I asked. “Before I expire,” I thought.

“Are you getting tired, Dan?” Nazy asked.

“Tired? Me? The view is spectacular,” I replied. “But it is hard to enjoy because I’m wheezing, my glasses are fogged and my legs feel like limp spaghetti.” I thought.

“This hike is one of the 1000 things we have to do before we die,” Nazy continued.

“I won’t be able to do the other 999 things if I die on this walk,” I thought.

We (finally) paused just before the path started down toward Vernazza (Nazy thought the town was named after her) where we had lunch. Nazy ordered the ‘local cuisine’ – i.e. fish and a tomato/mozzarella salad. She also befriended fellow tourists from Sweden.

“Sven says that the path to Cornigla, the next town, is long and steep, Dan.”

“Well, if you are not up to it,” I began. “Please, God,” I thought.

“But my book says that the hike is a ‘must’..”

“A ‘must’, my dear?” I replied. “There ‘must’ be a mistake,” I thought.

“We can ask more people,” Nazy suggested. Simultaneously, I began to scan the crowd for people who looked exhausted.

Everybody that had walked between Cornigla and Vernazza recommended the train. Amazingly, Nazy suggested that we take the train. I “reluctantly” agreed. It was an excellent decision. Cornigla, the smallest of the towns, is also the most boring. Getting “there” after a two hour hike would have been disappointing. Luckily the final two stops (Manarola and Riomaggore) were relatively easy and flat walks away.

The photo is of Portofino; more on that in the next posting.
[1] Nazy is convinced that they named the city after her…

The Business Offer

Pesky company business was interfering with my plans and wreaking havoc with my trip. An extremely complicated customer request had activated our company’s process genes. Meetings, con-calls and reviews were scheduled with no understanding whatsoever of the consequences (e.g. time zones) of the spheroid shape of the planet. Critical conferences were routinely scheduled for midnight or 1:00AM Hong Kong time. My boss called demanding an explanation.

“It is all my fault.” I confessed. “I am trying to do something different.”

“Different? Why would you…”

“Our marketing materials say that customers can purchase technology as if it were a utility: paying for what they use and only when they use it.”

“That’s just marketing, Dan..”

“The customer believed it.”

“What?! How could you let that happen?”

The challenge was clear: Naively, I was trying to deliver what was promised in the advertisements. Naturally, this unprecedented approach attracted the risk assessment subcommittee of the Business Avoidance Division (BAD).

“Your proposal, Dan,” one call began, “is untenable. It requires a coordinated response from our Financial Services, Storage, Technical Support, Software, Consulting and Outsourcing units.”

“The customer wants a solution.”

“And you expect to deliver it in North America, Europe, Asia and Austraila.”

“The customer wants a global solution.”

As it began to look like we might actually sell this, internal activity accelerated – sucking time and generating work. The risk assessors demanded ever-increasing detail and mitigation processes. Their objective was to raise the price so high that the customer wouldn’t buy the solution. (No Sale, No Risk.) At the same time, business managers who had been hostile to the approach began to realize that they would look like nay-saying fools if the customer actually bought the solution. As a result, a concerted effort to ‘help’ (i.e. ‘claim credit’) ensued. All of this resulted in a plethora of phone calls. Thus, I shouldn’t have been surprised at 3:00 AM when the iPhone began to emulate Big Ben.

Note: I just like the photo, I don't think it has anything to do with the posting

I'm practical

“Why do you always make ‘the Darius character’ look bad, Dad?”

“Why do you ask, Darius?” I replied.

“People will think that the only thing I can do is lose things.”

“Well - you did leave your shoes in Iceland..”

“Dad…”

“And you mobile phone and the pillow and..”

“Please make Melika the star of this episode.”

“Sounds fair to me,” I replied. “I’ve just finished a telephone conversations which may provide material,” I thought. Melika had volunteered information:

“Darius is helping me with economic advice, Dad.”

“Really? How is it going?”

“It is very complicated, Dad…”

“You’re a lawyer, Melika. You revel in complication.”

“I know, Dad. But, as a first step, I like to simplify things.”

“I see.”

“I think Darius is saying that the general idea is to try to arrange it so that, eh, I spend less each month than I earn.”

“What a unique idea.”

“Unique and implausible, Dad.”

“I agree that it would be a life-style altering approach for you, Melika.”

“That what I told him, Dad: I was like, ‘Get real, Dar.’ I'm not sure that he appreciated it. I mean, I am practical, Dad, but…”

“Practical, Melika? You got a dog.”

Too many.....

I was trying to get to my meeting in South Mumbai. The car wasn’t moving and there wasn’t much to look at. In fact, I tried to avoid looking out because professional beggars were scratching at the window. “These people are so different,” I thought. Satish, my driver, wasn’t amused either.

“Politicians do nothing for the people,” he opined.

“We’re not so different,” I thought. “Politician-bashing is a universal human activity.”

“Seven million people move into the city to work every day,” Satish continued.

“They don’t look like they’re moving, Satish.” I replied. “7 million people,” I thought. “It’s like the entire population of Switzerland driving into one city.”

“They don’t all drive, sir. Some take the train.”

“Too many cars, Satish.” I replied.

“Too many cars. Too many people. Too many languages. Too many religions…..”

“My driver is a philosopher,” I thought.

“… too many problems.”

“And a realist,” I concluded.

Note: The photo directly shows two of the three types of taxis. The third type is a blue ‘cool’ taxi – i.e. air conditioned. (You can see one in the background.) I was in a car arranged by the hotel. (I hope the company pays my expense claim.)

Jellyfish and Chicken Feet

I am trying to nourish my customer relationships in Asia-Pacific. To that end, I invited them to join me for lunch. They suggested a nearby Chinese Eatery.

“What would you like?” Richard asked.

“I’m not particular,” I replied. “I can eat anything.” (“Except cucumbers,” I thought.)

“Be careful about what you say,” Richard replied. “You are in China.”

“Good point,” I said. “I can eat anything normal.”

“I understand,” Richard replied. Then he ordered the starter: jellyfish.

“What does this taste like?” I asked.

“Cucumber,”

“Wonderful,” I thought.

“Actually, there’s not much taste. You have to dip in garlic and soy sauce.”

It looked, well, it looked like a blob of gelatine. It was, however, crunchy and, with the garlic, somewhat tasty. I politely demurred on the chicken feet option.

Hong Kong is a very dynamic city. They continue to reclaim land from the harbor and building construction hasn’t diminished. Many banks are moving to a new facility that is being erected on the Kowloon (mainland) side of the harbour. Interestingly, even though the building is not finished, tenants have already occupied into the bottom 30 floors.

The economic situation has a positive side here. The skies were actually blue. The last time I saw something like this in Hong Kong was 1993.

The Monsoon

Before coming to India, I used the internet to identify the important sights in Mumbai. It was, interestingly, a difficult search. According to Google, none of the zillion pages and websites on the internet contains information about ‘must see’ sights in Mumbai. If I don’t want to see a Bollywood production site or visit a modern (i.e. ‘western’) shopping mall – well…

Having a free day – Sunday – at my disposal, I decided to arrange my own tour. I checked with the concierge.

“You want to take a city tour?” He appeared to be incredulous.

“Yes.” I should have detected the scepticism.

“I will arrange a car and driver….”

“An air-conditioned car,” I interjected.

“Of course, sir.”

In my experience, most city tour guides focus on the good parts of the location. (Most, not all: the tour guide in Palermo, Sicily showed us bombed out buildings from World War II.) The Mumbai excursion began at the JW Marriott Hotel in North Bombay. We drove past what I would call slums. People were living in shacks made of sheet metal or living under a tarpaulin stretched across a couple of poles. Every part of the city was dirty – garbage in the streets and bricks, tiles, cans, etc. piled up everywhere. The number of really poor people was astonishing. The city has a population of somewhere between 15 and 20 million. There is no rapid transit system. Public conveyance is a mixture of three wheel motorcycle taxis, 15 year-old Fiat taxis (100,000 of them), ‘cool taxis (i.e. 'air-conditioned) and a variety of overcrowded buses. Believe it or not, however, all of the taxis are powered by LNG, so they don’t pollute. (There are plenty of people, however, to take up the slack.)

The first stop on the tour was the outdoor laundry. 10,000 people work in this huge site, a service dominated by about 500 families. They heat the water, bash the items against stones and then hang it out to dry. (See photo.)

Dry, of course, is a relative word. The weather was humid and hot when I arrived. However, the Monsoon was running late – a situation that is not good news for the farmers. Luckily, I had a solution.

“You want rain?” I asked.

“We need the rain.”

“You have come to the right place, my friend.” I replied. “I am an expert in rain generation. When I got to Hong Kong, the typhoon arrived. Whenever I return to Zürich, thunderstorms begin. Your Monsoon will arrive before the day is out.”

Just to be sure, I noted the large outdoor swimming pool at the hotel. This was the first time I’d seen a pool large enough to do laps. Naturally, I went to my room and collected my swim suit. The rain started before I could make it back to the pool.

Visiting Asia

Please forgive the delay in posting. I am in the middle of a trip to Asia and in the middle of a complex deal with my employer.

Trip preparation took place in the customary way. After examining flight possibilities that the travel division might choose, I invented, eh, I discovered an urgent need to be in Singapore at 6:00 AM. This meant that I would be unable to travel cramped class on our normal airlines and would, instead, be forced to use a Singapore Airline flight. Amazingly, the travel division bought this proposal. The flight was smooth, and my seats (all three of them) were spacious. I arrived as refreshed as possible after a 12 hour flight.

After a nap, I met David, our account manager for Asia-Pacific who is based in Singapore. I noted that the airline and hotel were great. David was quick to reply.

“This is not London, Dan. London is too expensive. What do they make in the UK to justify the high costs?”

“Money, David. They make money.”

“Not any more. And I hate the London hotels. Too expensive!”

“Well..”

“And the rooms are small, the TV has only 4 channels, the beds are old..”

“Antique, David.”

“And the linen is moldy.”

“I can see why you’re living in Singapore, David.”

The Singapore portion of the trip went well. Now I am in Hong Kong – hence the picture.

Swiss Appliances

A few weeks ago, the Casa Carmen Refrigerator demanded its quarterly defrost. (It seems like it needs a quarter hourly defrost.) Nazy and I were naturally concerned…

“… for the safety of the planet, my dear,” I explained.

“The safety of the planet? Surely you exaggerate, Dan.” Nazy replied.

“If we let this ice,” I said, hauling a Rhode Island-sized berg toward the front door. “If we let this ice melt down the drain, Lake Zürich will flood and, when the overflow reaches the Atlantic, it will be just as if the Greenland icecap had melted. The Gulf Stream will be diverted and..”

“That’s absurd..”

“We have friends who live in coastal areas. We have friends in Holland. Do you want to be responsible for a disaster?”

Nazy wasn't convinced and somehow planetary destruction was averted. This week, it was the washing machine that demanded attention. It began with a simple assertion from Nazy:

“There’s a puddle on the floor.”

“I didn’t do it, Nazy.” I replied – confidently.

“Did you overload the machine?”

“No. Did you check the filter?”

“Did you fail to slide the soap dispenser all the way in?”

“Did you neglect the auxillary lent removal device?” I had quick retorts.

“No. Did you, Dan, empty your jeans pockets before loading the washer?”

“Oops,” I thought. “I will clean the filter.”

The mechanism has many filters, but the one in question is located a tenth of a millimetre from the floor. Before it can be accessed and cleaned, the pre-filter retaining flask must be drained. This is done by deftly removing a micro-clamp from a straw-sized, flexible, plastic pipe and directing the flow into a shallow collection container. As you can undoubtedly imagine, several cycles are required before the water is evacuated. Only then can the filter be unscrewed, cleaned and replaced – while you are crawling on the floor.

I performed all of these actions flawlessly and without complaint.

Spousal Interrupt

“Flawlessly, Dan? You dripped water all over the floor.

“How can you tell, Nazy? That’s the same puddle that you saw in the first place.” “And,” I thought, “that’s the puddle that provoked the work.”

“Without complaint, Dan? You muttered incomprehensively the whole time you were working on the filter.”

“Incomprehensively,” I thought. “Thank God.”

The Travel Division - Redux

Nazy, making travel plans by herself, found a great price and had a pleasant journey to Paris on the super-fast TGV train. Planning an expedition to Asia on behalf of my employer, I was forced to use the professional travel division. As usual, their work was stunning:

“This is the lowest possible fare,” they explained.

“But I can’t even upgrade,” I replied.

“The lowest possible fare,” they repeated.

“I can’t change the itinerary and I can’t get a refund.”

“This,” they said. “This is a very ¢heap ticket.”

“I know,” I thought.

A week later the customer requested that we swap the times of the Singapore and Hong Kong meetings. This led to another discussion with the travel division.

“You can’t change the ticket,” they explained.

“The customer has changed the meeting.”

“That ticket is non-changeable….”

“I should have told the customer.”

“… and non-refundable.”

“Now it’s also non-usuable,” I replied.

“We’ve lost all the money,” the travel division representative complained. “All the money is gone and that was a very expen$ive ticket.”

“Get a flexible ticket this time.”

“That will require the CEO’s personal approval.”

“Do you know if he’ll be using the jet?”

He's Back!

The Hague, The Netherlands 1994

Nazy and I were at Naf Naf, a discount clothing store. A colourful shirt caught my attention:

“You want that?” Nazy asked.

“Well, yes.” I replied.

“It is three sizes too big and I can’t think of any possible occasion when that shirt would be appropriate attire.”

“How about a costume ball?”

“Excuse me?”

“I would go as a clown.”

“How much does it cost?” Nazy asked.

I was momentarily stunned. “Nazy never asks about the price,” I thought. Wondering what she was up to, I looked for a price tag.

“It’s five guilders,” I replied. (At the time, this was about $2.50.)

Unable to argue about the price, Nazy approved the acquisition. But..

“You’ll never find an appropriate place to wear that shirt.”

Zürich, Switzerland 2009

“I can’t believe you spent 80 Francs getting that shirt tailored to fit,” Nazy exclaimed.

“Well, my dear, you were right about the size," I replied. "There’s enough material left over to create a wall mural.”

“Not in my house.”

“I’m really glad this shirt fits,” I thought.

“You’ll never find the right place to wear it,” Nazy said – repeating a mantra that I had heard for the last 15 years.

“Your wrong!” I replied triumphantly as we walked down Bahnhofstrasse.

The Planetary Continent

Nazy, just aware of the definitional change is particularly appalled by Pluto’s demotion from planet to ‘dwarf’ status. She telephone to complain.

“Pluto has always been a planet, Dan.”

“It wasn’t a planet before it was discovered.”

“What does that mean?”

“If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to..”

“Dan, you are missing the point. Pluto should be ...”

“… a dog?”

“Dan..”

“Oh, right, you didn’t grow up with Mickey, Donald and, eh, Pluto.”

“Dan?”

“The Astronomers came up with a defensible, scientific definition, my dear. It has to do with gravity, orbital mechanics and spheroids.”

“Nevertheless, it seems..”

“It has set the stage for the next big fight – in the area of geology.”

“Geology?”

“Of course. Do you think Europe is a real continent?”

“Europe?”

“It is attached to Asia. It is a tiny appendage on a huge land form. There is no scientific reason to call Europe a continent – and I’m ready to lead the way toward change.”

“They could call it Eurasia.” Nazy was trying a rational approach.

“They could, but I think ‘Asiape’ is more realistic. Anyway, after I eliminate Europe, I will move to have France redesignated as a haughty hamlet.”

“The whole country?”

“Precisely, my dear,” I replied. Nazy wasn’t convinced.

The Career Path

Over the weekend, thoughts about my “career” came to mind. Everything is precariously balanced as the economy stagnates. But in an unexpected and unprecedented serendipitous coincidence, corporate objectives of my customer and my employer are completely and totally aligned: both are in cost-cutting mode. In practice, this means that my company is trying to reduce my income and eliminate my benefits. The customer, by not purchasing our products and services, is working hard to help accomplish the same result.

In an unanticipated development, the customer has actually been effective in its execution. Because of this unusual development, I am hoping that they will reconsider the goal. Our company’s success was not so surprising: cost elimination has always been our core competency.
I’m left in a quandary, but luckily, a sign from my travels clearly points the way.

The Amber Gift

Nazy’s return from America was marked by celebration and joy. Arriving like Santa Claus dragging giant bags, okay, suitcases, stuffed with acquisitions and presents, she freely dispensed joy and merriment. In spite of the gargantuan heft of her luggage, it was not possible for her to hand carry all of the gifts. Amazingly, the US Postal Service and Swiss Die Post effectively worked together to deliver a package before Nazy even arrived.

Darius was in Pakistan when this happened. Thus, I was able to secretly unpack two gargantuan flasks of Real New Hampshire Maple Syrup. I immediately hid one in the back of my closet. I filled an old (Canadian) container with a small portion of the Real stuff. I secreted the remainder far from Darius’ view. (Note: we have a very small refrigerator; the interior volume is less than the exterior size of the two Maple Syrup containers.)

The Maple Syrup that Nazy shipped from New England is Grade A Light Amber. The substitute available here is Grade D Heavy Crude. The photo makes it clear which is which.

The Decision

The “Darius Character” has returned to Santa Barbara – arriving just in time for wildfire season. Although recent blog postings have focused on his objective analytic business skill – the “real issue” involved making an employment decision.
__________________________________________________________________
Aside: The “Darius Character” and the “Omnipotent Father Actor” did not come to agreement about the current business conditions. The father does not favor having his personal salary reduced. The father does not think that his job should be outsourced. The father is not surprised by disingenuous statements from executive management. The father does not believe that “the baby boomers” are the cause of the current economic downturn, the inexorable deterioration of the environment and the failure to end world hunger.
___________________________________________________________________
In search of a graduate-level faculty and research position, Darius visited universities in China and Pakistan.

“What is wrong with California?” Nazy asked.

“Darius doesn’t speak Spanish,” I replied.

“Or Zürich?”

“He doesn’t like cheese.”

“Or Locust Grove, Mississippi?”

“We’ve been to Locust Grove, Nazy.” I replied.

“Withdraw the question.”

Darius has chosen Shandong University in China. He will learn Chinese. (He will have to learn Chinese.) We expect a few cultural adjustment challenges. (See photo.)

All seriousness aside, this is an excellent opportunity and challenge for Darius.

The Job Interview

“Talking with you is a waste of time.” Enrico began, clearly not attempting to put me at ease.

“Excuse me? What do you mean…”

“It’s too late in your career to move to sales.”

“I’ve just sold two deals, Enrico.”

“This job involves relationship building, Dan. What do you know about relationships?”

“Well, eh, I’ve been married for 30 years.”

“The customer wants a single point of contact. Do you know anything about our products? After all, you have been in Services your entire career.”

“Of course I know about our products. Our PCs are commodities – just like everyone else’s. Our servers use Intel™ processors – just like everyone else. Our storage….”

“You can see why the product division doesn’t think highly of you, Dan.”

“Enrico,” I interjected. “we are successful because.” “Hmm, This is going to be a stretch,” I thought. “Because our skilled consultants are able to help our valued customers achieve their critical business objectives through innovative use of our world-class products, superior and comprehensive support delivered consistently, globally and appropriately.”

“You may have a future in Sales.”

Enrico described the measurement system used to compute variable compensation for the Global Sales Managers. I was…

“…baffled, Enrico. This is so complicated. I understand the hurdles, but the variably sloping ramps, the gates, the caps…”

“Don’t forget the caveats, conditions, disclaimers…”

“It seems far too complex. Besides, as far as I know, there is no way to measure the world-wide revenue for a global customer.”

“Correct!” Enrico beamed. “That’s why I’ve created this Excel Spreadsheet.”

A detailed description ensued…

“As you can easily see from the summary in row 3248, column QY…”

“This beautiful spreadsheet…”

“.. it is lovely, isn’t it?” Enrico was beaming.

“It is spectacular! But the focus is on revenue. As I understood the quantum mechanical aspects of the variable compensation metrics, we need to have information about profit.”

“Of course. It is not useful to sell things that aren’t profitable.”

“How do we figure out the profit by product line? Just counting the revenue is difficult enough.”

“We use proxy profit.”

“Proxy profit?”

“Yes, for each sale your make, we compute the proxy profit by using the average margin for the product line.”

“Isn’t the proxy profit totally unrelated to what I would do?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I am able to get the customer to pay a high price for our product, I don’t benefit because we use the average profit.”

“So..”

“And if I give the customer an enormous discount, I’m not penalized since we use the average profit.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So, to maximize my income, I should ignore profit entirely.”

“Dan,” Enrico enthused, “you have completely justified my hiring decision. You are a natural.”

Note: The picture has nothing to do with this entry, but it is Spring in Zurich.

The "Darius Character"

The blogger notes the commentary posted about the previous blog. The “Darius Character” has been providing material for decades. The following posting recounts an event from the mid-1990s. It took place in The Netherlands.

Darius was puzzled. Typically, he wasn’t speechless. “What’s this, Dad?”

“It’s your allowance, Darius”, I replied.

“But it’s in an envelope.”

“That’s right Darius, I’ve provided your first regular monthly pay slip. It details your gross pay as well as various deductions.”

“Deductions?”

“Just read the pay slip, Darius. Your mother and I are going out for a walk. We’ll talk to you when we get back.”

Darius looked puzzled. He began to rip open the envelope. I dashed downstairs and grabbed Nazy. “Let’s go, dear, we’ve got to get out of here for a few minutes to let him calm down. We don’t have much time, I only used five embedded envelopes, a roll of cellophane tape and a tube of superglue.” The door slammed shut just - and an ear-piercing screech wafted down from Darius’ room.

Nazy and I had decided that Darius needed an introduction to the world of low finance. In particular, we thought it would be nice if Darius could last an entire day with his allowance in his pocket. We felt that Darius suffered from a surplus of thoughtfulness and a dearth of common sense. The situation was difficult - the common sense we wanted to inject would probably mean that he wouldn’t be buying us flowers as often.

Our approach to financial training began with the monthly allowance. This month we had kept a journal of Darius’ overdrafts. Typically, he had spent previous months’ allowance the day he received it. Predictably, he borrowed money from me, Nazy, Mitra, Melika, his friends, his teachers, the neighbors, the tram driver, the principal and the Queen. We had deducted these additional expenditures from the allowance of this month. We weren’t completely accurate - that would have required presentation of an invoice. In this case, deductions exactly matched income.

After a moderately long walk, Nazy and I returned home. Darius was in a complete tizzy. He had nailed a formal petition to our bedroom door. He demanded a family meeting.

He was in luck. Nazy had just been elected President of the Petroleum Wives Club. She had a gavel and a grasp of Robert’s Rules of Order - which she used to call us to order.

“The chair recognizes Darius.”

“Daddy put a bunch of reductions in my allowance; I didn’t get any money. I move we throw Daddy out of the family - right after he pays a fine for annoying me.”

This was a bit too much for me. “They’re not reductions, Darius, they’re called deductions. And we used them because you must learn to manage your money.”

“Oh, yeah? My allowance is reduced isn’t it?”

“No Darius, your allowance is unchanged. The deductions are subtracted from your unchanged allowance.”

“The amount of money I get is reduced isn’t it? Besides, how can I learn to manage my money if your stupid reductions don’t let me have any?”

I grabbed Nazy’s gavel. I wanted to use it on Darius’ head.

“That’s out of order, Dan”, Nazy said, grabbing control of both the conversation and the gavel. “Besides, Darius”, she continued, “it wasn’t just Daddy who decided on the reductions. We decided together.”

“It’s deductions, Nazy”, I interjected.

“Deductions, reductions what’s the difference? The bottom line is...”

“Zero, Mom. That’s what the bottom line is. Zero!”

“That’s enough, Darius”, I shouted.

“It’s not enough Dad. That’s why we’re having this meeting.”

“Nazy! I need the gavel!”

The Economic Discussion

Thinking about my professional employment is rather disheartening. The global economic meltdown, combined with the fact that our executive management possesses a preponderance of genes scavenged from Ebenezer Scrooge, makes the work environment less than fully enjoyable. Naturally my son, the economist, was supportive:

“They are reducing the salaries by 10%, Darius.” I explained. “It is a permanent salary cut and they’re doing simply because they can…”

“Of course, Dad. All companies should optimize labor costs.”

“By optimize, you mean reduce?”

“From an economic perspective, it is a fundamentally flawed strategy to pay more than replacement value for anything. Right now there is a huge labor surplus. Therefore..”

“Darius..”

“In these conditions, Dad, companies can reduce employment expenses. Thus, to stay competitive, they must reduce...”

“I don’t want my salary to be reduced.”

“Things will eventually turn around, Dad. The economy will reverse itself. Labor will be in short supply and then you will be able to demand a higher wage.”

“Somehow, Darius, I doubt that my ‘demand’ will be answered.”

“The economic model is clear..”

“The model doesn’t know that I’ll retire before the economy itself sesrever.”

The Race

While Nazy is enjoying Easter in California, Darius and I are relentlessly following the detailed instructions (volumes 1-16) that she left behind:

“Mom says we should pre-heat the oven, Dad.” Darius said.

“Okay.”

“What’s an ‘oven’, Dad?”

“Check the definitions page in Appendix XIV,” I replied.

“And she says that we should prepare a mixed salad. What should we mix?”

“Well, I’ve found a cake mix. Do you think that will suffice?” I asked.

“Mom says we shouldn’t eat too much red meat.”

“No problem for me, Darius. I never eat red meat.”

“Do you want some crackers and peanut butter?” Darius asked.

“Is that on Mom’s list?”

“No, but I think we can figure out how to prepare…”

“Speaking of preparing, Dar,” I interrupted. “Prepare yourself to leave. I think we should eat out tonight.”

In fact, Darius is actually preparing for his forthcoming job interviews in Pakistan, Lebanon and China. Nevertheless, we found time for a few manly activities:

“Would you like to an expedition to the Go-Kart racetrack?” I asked.

“Wow!”

“I think it’s the kind of place that Mom wouldn’t enjoy quite as much as we will.”