“... a well-organized parade, Nazy.” I complained. “It started half an hour late.”

“Fashionably late, Dan. You lived in Switzerland too long.”

“Not only did it start late, there are unforgivable gaps between the participants.”

“I can’t disagree with that.”

It was too painful to stand in one place to wait for the parade to pass by. (“Pass by” conveys the inaccurate perception that something was actually moving.) We decided to walk the parade route ourselves, but in the opposite direction. It didn’t take long to reach the beginning of the route - and the end of the parade. There was a juxtaposition of Swiss and American culture.

A convoy of street sweepers closely followed the last float, cleaning and washing the pavement. (How Swiss.) The sweepers were escorted by a squadron of motor-cycle police, several SB police cars and a a few State Patrol vehicles. (How American.)

We continued on our way to the Natural Cafe a few blocks further. After a leisurely lunch, we walked back along the (short) parade route and actually caught up with the parade.

“Continental Drift is faster than that parade,” I said to Nazy. “That float is a stylized slug.”

“No..”

“Do you see the trail of slime?”

This week also featured a significant victory over a large bureaucracy. The beginning of the month had dawned ominously. When the pension payment from Switzerland did not arrive on time, I knew something was wrong. I sent an urgent email to Nyon, near Geneva. I realized the dire nature of the situation when I received their response.

“Since you are dead, we did not pay your pension.”

Frightened by this news from knowledgable authorities in Switzerland, I checked with Nazy.

“You would have told me if I was dead, right?” I asked.

“Sure,” Nazy replied, “If I noticed.”

With this marginal spousal endorsement, I sent a ‘proof-of-life’ form to Nyon. I also asked why they had lost my address change form. They promised a quick payment. It wasn’t quick:

“... it wasn’t paid at all, Nazy.” I explained. Moreover, polite email queries were ignored. Aware of the nine hour time change, I set my alarm for 2:00AM. Unsurprisingly, I woke up in a bad mood. The discussion was frank. Not only had they lost my change of address form, they had reverted to my now frozen Swiss bank account. I politely explained that they needed to fix the problem immediately. I followed with an email:

You must fix this today. (Not Thursday, not Friday and certainly not next week - as has happened now two weekends in a row.)  In short: I need to have the mistake corrected, the transfer made and the money received in my Bank of America account TODAY - Wednesday. (I.e. two weeks late.)

My forthright approach worked. I bragged about my negotiation skills with a friend from The Netherlands. Bert was suitably impressed:

“Since you got them to pay a dead man, I want you to handle my salary discussions with HR.”

And then (gasp!) I thought about my last meeting with a rather strange tax agent from the IRS

This week was also the deadline for filing the FBAR (Foreign Bank Account Reporting) forms with the IRS - the USA taxation and root canal authority. Because Credit Suisse wants to deactivate, indeed, close, my account, this may be one of the final times that I have to file this wretched form. Before beginning, I collected all of the necessary documents from my flawless filing system.

“Flawless filing?” Nazy asks. “You just have a pile of paper.”

“Au contraire, madam. I have many piles of paper.”

“Which pile has the documents you need now?”

“As always, Nazy, you see the crux of the problem.” I replied. “I don’t have a clue,” I thought.

It took most of the day to navigate, sort, eh, sift through the documents. Then I logged onto the electronic filing site to transfer the information that the IRS will use to trigger an audit and my subsequent dismemberment. I got to the last step, which I thought was going to be “click to submit”. I was mistaken. It actually said: “You should save a copy of your submission on your own computer. Enter file name for your saved FBAR.” I entered a name i’d remember:

FBAR2013Martin for blood-sucking IRS dweebs enforcing unfair tax law

The next step handled the actual submission to the IRS: “To transfer the file you just saved, enter the file name.”

“It is not a good idea to transfer a file that calls the IRS bloodsuckers to the IRS,” I thought. “I wonder if bottom-dwelling leaches would be better,”

In the end, I wimped out with a totally innocuous name: FBARCompliance form2013Martin

Of course, the week also featured significant development and maturation of our new grandson. His studies in physics accelerated - he is, in fact, now competing with the Large Hadron Accelerator in Geneva. He knows why (and how) the Higgs Boson gives mass to all elementary particles. In Math, he has proved the Reimann hypothesis and Fermat’s Last Theorem. He knows how to bring peace to the world and can end hunger and unhappiness everywhere. We just have to wait until he learns to talk to get his information to the public. It shouldn’t be a long wait, but..

“I just hope he doesn’t forget while we’re waiting,” I said to Nazy after describing his accomplishments.

“His Dad wants to know if he can play golf.” Nazy replied.

“Of course not, Nazy. He can’t walk yet. Don’t be silly.”

As you may have guessed, Nazy and I are proud of our new grandson. He is, of course, the most talented and wonderful baby to arrive since our own were born.