Retaining Retainers

Irving, my butler for many a year, approached me yesterday with a problem. Apparently the TV cable to the servant's quarters had been inadvertently cut by some oaf hired by the city to clean out culverts. Attempts to have the cable company rectify this situation had all fallen flat, with a series of little trucks appearing off and on, with their occupants all bearing the same message: "Your cable is cut." This Irving already knew. What he wanted was someone to fix the damn thing.

"Well," one cable employee said, "we will need a permit from the city in order to dig. This may take between six and eight weeks." Irving, knowing that the staff would find this intolerable, came to me.

Now it has always been my policy to keep retainers happy, and if access to such things as cable TV fell into this category, so be it. Although why both the upstairs and downstairs maids were so intent on gardening and food channels escaped me. What is "Reality Cooking" anyway? Surely not haute cuisine, a phrase, to my way of thinking, that describes food eaten on the moon. Nevertheless, a happy staff is an industrious staff, and action was called for.

Actually, the whole matter was resolved rather easily. I placed a phone call to the CEO of the cable company (on his private line -- we have had dealings before -- and suggested the problem should get fixed within the next half hour, reminding him as well that I was privy to certain of his actions with regards to just who could, and who couldn't, get the food concessions at a little baseball emporium he owns. Within the aforesaid half hour, three trucks appeared along with a small army of technicians, and all was done, permits be damned. (I suspect he has a number of permits already filled out for just such occasions.)

That night the staff were especially attentive, reinforcing my policy of contentment breeding contentment. As for my own TV needs, a discreet satellite tucked under the east wing eave serves all my HBO needs, a small gift from NASA for certain services rendered in the past.

I wonder, however, what people must go through with cut cable lines when one doesn't have access to the CEO? Perhaps it is just as well that Canada has very strict gun control laws.

The Great Financial Fiasco

Well, finally back in Toronto from Washington, and sorry about the delay in writing these little slices of life. The time has been spent in endless meetings with financiers where hands were wrung, sweat wiped from brows, and everyone bemoaning, and bemoaning, and...er...bemoaning. It was really sad. I mean, it was not rocket science to see this thing coming. I had, of course, liquidated most of my holdings in mid-2007, following the advice of a good friend (and maybe somewhat more) of my great Aunt Maud, Bernard Baruch, who once said, "I made all my money by selling too early".

The prevailing zeitgeist in Washington was not to do anything, and leave the whole mess in the lap of the incoming President. However, things were a bit too hairy for that, and so massive infusions of capital were decided upon, with the U.S. Government buying into a number of financial institutions. This received my full support -- needs must -- but of course the action provoked howls of outrage from a number of the more diehard Republicans, who saw the dandruffy head of socialism arising. Maybe so, maybe not, but one thing is certain -- the American taxpayer is on the hook for a lot of cash.

Yet all was not entirely gloom and doom. The Watergate being under renovation, I was forced into The Willard, and while sipping a fine martini in the Round Robin bar encountered my old friend, the Compte de Rienville, who had made, and continues to make, a fortune in sugar beets.
Way led on to way, as these things will, and in his five room suite, the earth moved that night. To divulge any other details would be prurient, and sex in the city is not what this column is about. At least not this time.

As for the second major topic in Washington, the election, I will have more to say on this in another post. Suffice it to say that there are troublesome fiscal seas ahead, and a sturdy ship is called for. McCain looks to embark on the U.S.S. Phil Gramm, while Obama hopes to board U.S.S. Paul Krugman. McCain's choice would be a disaster (Gramm saw the Dow Jones Index surpassing 30,00 some six months ago) while Obama's looks shrewd, particularly after Krugman has just received a Nobel Prize for his work in international finance. And if you don't really know who Gramm and Krugman are, well dig, folks, dig -- I am not writing these things for an audience that says, "Oh, who cares what economists think. I don't have to -- I watch Oprah."

See you soon.

A Somewhat Hairy Hiatus

I had thought to do this on a two or three day basis, but got called away to Washington to attend a number of meetings. Apologies. It appears that a number of financial chickens have come home to roost, and since I had managed to keep my little credits some distance away from my debits, certain economists and politicians wondered t just how I had accomplished this feat. Particularly at the multi-million level. A meeting of a number of key players was called, and I proceeded to address the meeting.

The address was not particularly well -received.

Perhaps this was because I began with that great economist Charles Dickens, who made the point, I believe in Bleak House, that if income was more than expenditure, the result was happiness. If income was exceeded by expenditure, the result was misery.

From the looks on faces, it appeared that misery was in full sway.

Well what do you expect? I mean, if you're going to offer $400,000 mortgages on houses worth $200,00, then bundle the deals together and sell the packages off in the form of debt that was unaccountably given an AAA rating in terms of eventual return, and then compound the whole mess by re-packaging in the form of swaps, debentures, derivatives or God knows what else, then eventually some institution somewhere is going to default, and suddenly everyone wants their cash back. Only it isn't there.

There is a name for this sort of thing. It is called a Ponzi Scheme, whereby a financial pyramid is created. Now as long as members keep joining, and throwing their money into the pot, those at the top of the pyramid cash in and do very well indeed. When the bottom frays, however, and the incoming funds dry up, the whole thing comes crashing down. And it is not pleasant -- just ask any Albanian.

So in America now, and since a number of global institutions also dove into these murky and dangerous waters, the debt crisis now has international legs.

In several papers, I had warned my financial colleagues that they were sailing in a very leaky ship, but these were laughed at or ignored. What hurt was a comment by one CEO: "Simone's a woman -- what does she know?" This from a twit that, had I a mind to, I could buy his bank out from under him in two hours. Stupid man. I take comfort in Schiller: "Against stupidity, the gods themselves rail in vain."

There is a way out, but that is for another day.

A Little Discussion With The Mayor

I can let you know that I've settled in nicely, having purchased a small holding in the north central area of town. Well, not that small -- one must have adequate,if austere, rooms for the servants -- but all in the household seem content. The grounds are not what I recall from my English ancestral home, but to find several acres of land in the middle of a city is not possible. Unless one purchases a park. I flirted with this idea for a time (there is a neat one in the West End) but decided I would put my financial resources to better purpose.

I have also taken time to review the governance of the city, and was appalled. Nothing would do but to have a discussion with the Mayor. This was easily arranged by one of my colleagues. All she did was to put into His Honour's tinted ear that a sizable campaign offering could be on the table if he could free himself from bicycle paths for a moment and enjoy lunch with the erstwhile contributor. That is, me.

His Honour accepted immediately.

Now the Greeks, having given up on mathematics and entered the restaurant business, run some superb places, and it was at just such a place that I met the Mayor, and over some fine moussaka and feta drizzled salad, aided by a vintage Retsina, we got along famously, even to the point that he allowed that I was one of the most attractive women he had encountered. Compliments are always welcome, and I was going to return the favour, but thought I would first raise some questions that needed some clarification.

"Would you agree, sir," I asked forthrightly, "that socialism is what makes capitalism bearable?"

"Absolutely," he replied. "If only some of my fellow councillors --"

"And would you further agree," I interrupted, " in the reverse of the medal?"

"What?"

A blank look. Oh, oh. This is going to be a bit more difficult that I thought. But I persevered.

"Just flip the phrase. That is, if socialism makes capitalism bearable, then would not capitalism make socialism bearable?"

"Not really," he said. "The poor need our help. Capitalists don't."

Which was not an answer to the question, but now he was warming to his topic.

"You see, the city never has enough money. We have to obtain it through other levels of government, and our own revenue enhancers."

"Revenue enhancers?" I queried. "You mean taxes. But where on earth does the money come from that is to be taxed?"

"The term 'taxes' is misleading," he replied, a note of superiority in his voice, and again ignoring my question. "We at the Executive Council prefer the tern 'revenue enhancers.'"

"The Executive Council. What's that?" I said, fixing him with my eyes.

"Well, it's sort of a Cabinet. To work out, er, final details."

"The deliberations of this Executive thingy. Are they open to the public?"

"In a sense. When the policy is presented to the full Council."

"So it's a kind of Star Chamber."

His Honour looked at me, confusion in his eyes. "I don't know what you mean. Do you mean that we have our meetings in the offices of the newspaper, The Toronto Star?"

"No, my dear Mayor, I mean the Chamber dating back to Henry VII of England, a judicial body separate from the Privy Council, and later became more powerful than the Council under Charles I. There was a star painted on the ceiling in the palace at Westminster where the meetings were held. All was done in secrecy, and the illegality of the Chamber proved one of the reasons Charles lost his head. I think, Your Honour, with your Executive Council, you are treading on dangerous ground."

"I really must go," he said, "I'm already late for a meeting on traffic calming."

He rose, and hurriedly left the restaurant.

Oh, dear, I thought. Poor Toronto.

Arrival

So there I was, enjoying the sunlit afternoon at my rented villa on the Black Sea, when I heard a rumble in the courtyard. Closer inspection revealed a Russian tank , a T90 if I was not mistaken (and about such things, I rarely am). I made my way down to the courtyard and greeted the soldiers, who were busily scrambling out of their lumbering conveyance. Hoping that my Russian was up to it, I invited them in for tea. This took them somewhat by surprise, but after a brief discussion among themselves they followed me into the villa.

Over tea and scones, I learned that they were, Sherman like, going to march through Georgia. Apparently the powers that be in Tbilisi had seen fit to poke the Russian bear in the eye, always an ill-advised move. The tank crew had received orders to commandeer the villa and establish some sort of staging area, and I was asked to leave. The request was made politely -- I make a very good scone -- and besides, the owner of the villa, a clan leader with some 200 men at his command, would be perfectly capable of sorting the whole thing out. One way or the other.

And so I returned to North America, after a rather tortuous journey involving a hike through the Caucuses, and a grim trip through Bulgaria involving third class rail. But needs must, and from Sofia I could access my accounts, and arrange a flight from Sofia that eventually landed me in the leafy and somewhat socialist city of Toronto, where everyone was chattering about elections -- the Canadian (just announced) and the American (perpetual).

Before going into these elections, I want to take some time to adjust to the North American way of doing things before posting any deeper thoughts on the process. But I will say this. In Canada, it would appear that the Conservatives have a leader much more popular than his party, while the Liberals as a party are better received than their leader, even if aided and abetted by the Greens. And (this is a bit worrisome) the Socialist party, the NDP, appears to be making strides. There are other parties, but these serve more as background noise to the main event rather than having any chance to grab the brass ring.

America features a rather inexperienced but charismatic black contender, accompanied by a battle-hardened politico, against which we have another battle hardened veteran accompanied by an attractive, gun-toting paragon of Christian womanhood.

I rather suspect the American thing will trump the Canadian in terms of public interest, but we will see.

All for now, it's good to be back, and may all live long and prosper.