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.”