How much is that really?

Dear Congressman,

It appears the French bank employee who traded above his pay grade has received the French version of justice. Jerome Kerviel is most well known for moving the Dow over 500 points downward when the US markets were closed for Martin Luther King Day as his superiors at Societe Generale desperately unwound his unauthorized positions before anyone got wind of what they were doing. Societe Generale took a huge loss on his trade positions, approximately $6.7 billion, when they closed them out. However, if they had let word out before hand about what they were doing, then all the other traders would have sat on their hands and held out for rock bottom pricing, costing them even more in losses and potentially bankrupting one of France's largest banks.

So it was no surprise that besides a five year jail sentence, Jerome was ordered to repay the entire $6.7 billion to Societe Generale.

How is he going to accomplish this? Lets run the numbers....

Jerome will go to jail for about 2.2 years of a 3 year sentence before release for good behavior. He was born in 1977 so in when he is released he will be 36 years old. As the average life expectancy in France is currently 81 years, Jerome will need to find employment that pays $148 million per year to meet this bill before he meets his maker. Even if Jerome takes no vacation time, he will still need to earn $1,590.69 per hour of every working day of his life, unless he works some overtime, and then that will lower the average a bit. That doesn't include any taxes or factor in that Jerome will occasionally want to eat or drink something, so actual needs might be a tad higher.

Or, lets say French doctors put down the wine and cigarettes long enough to come up with a miracle drug that makes us live longer. A big if... but what the heck... that would mean that if Jerome can find a gig that lets him clear $80,000 per year (not to shabby for a convicted felon), then he will only have to labor a mere 83,750 years before Societe Generale will stamp his lien free and clear. So he might miss a couple of ice ages here and there, but at least he will have a clear conscience.

Litter mates...

Dear Congressman,

I must admit that living downtown is a big change from my days in the burbs where everyone had a yard and (for reasons I will never understand) parked two cars in their driveway while their garages were overfilled with stuff. We have managed to fit our car into the one car garage that came with our townhouse, however it took a herculean effort on our part to get to this point.

The biggest problem we currently have to battle is littering. Every other day Melody has to don a set of surgical gloves and clear the trash that individuals have casually just tossed aside thinking that the trash fairy will come along and clean it up. I guess that would make Melody and I the trash fairies.

It would be unfair to designate that the majority of people who live downtown are litterers. We have a city supplied garbage can on the street corner that is usually overflowing with trash, indicating that 99% of residents have the common decency to place their debris where it belongs. It is that other 1% that seems to believe that it is okay to just chuck unwanted items onto the streets of Cincinnati that create the ambiance we are desperately trying to avoid.

So, as an urban dweller, I would propose a new slogan for my neighborhood.

"Don't snitch, and don't litter either....."

Sport fan advice to the uninformed

Dear Congressman,

Since you spend so much time defending the halls of Congress from the Republican onslaught of guns, God, and tax cuts, you are probably unaware of some of the faux pas that exist out there in the world of sports fans that could potentially get you strung up from a lamp post in some remote part of the world. Fortunately, I have a few examples of what not to wear when donning souvenir athletic apparel .

Rule #1: If you spend any time in Cleveland, do not wear a Miami Heat Lebron James jersey in public, unless you enjoy having half-filled glass bottles of beer lobbed at your head. Also, expect to be spit upon and have the tires of your car deflated by a sharp object. Do not expect sympathy from the Police. Expect to get a ticket for having an inoperable vehicle on a public street, then tazed repeatedly if you try to argue with him/her.

Rule #2 If you go to Ireland, do not wear a New York Red Bulls Tierry Henry jersey in public. Mr. Henry single-handily kept Ireland out of the 2010 soccer World Cup by using a single hand to allow France to score a goal in overtime and pip Ireland for the final European place in South Africa 2010. The Irish general public has not forgotten this and would gladly spike your next Guinness with arsenic if you even mention his name.

Rule #3 If you decide to spend some time in Stockholm, leave the Tiger Woods Nike baseball cap at home, as (for obvious reasons) he is not the most popular person in Sweden since it was disclosed that he was engaged in carnal knowledge with every female in America except for his Swedish wife. They probably won't like you because you are American anyway, so don't complicate the situation by being accused of favoring Tiger.

Rule #4 If you find yourself hanging out with new friends in a pub in West Ham on the eastern part of London, it is best if you do not wear the blue and white of bitter rivals Millwall FC, and ditto if you happen to be in Southwark section of London wearing the claret and blue of West Ham United. Either way, you are in danger. You will probably not understand the cockney accents that are challenging you to a fight to the death. Just apologize profusely and head for the Westside of London as soon as humanly possible.

City dwellers

Dear Congressman,

As part of my new routine since moving into your district, I take a stroll of approximately 8 blocks to 6th street in front of the Contemporary Arts Center to take the 2x bus to CVG. When I started this walk during the heat of the summer, I was making the trek in broad daylight. However, as summer has started moving toward fall, it is darker during the morning portion of the journey.

But with that said, I am pretty sure of what I saw the other day. It was actually the return leg of my journey, and due to work duties I was on a later bus, not arriving in Cincinnati until after 7:30 pm. It was still light out, but was slowly fading as the minutes passed.

I crossed through the northern parts of Cincinnati and made my way to Central Avenue, which runs north-south from the riverfront all the way up to the northern reaches of the city, about a 2-3 mile stretch. After passing ninth street, the brownstone style building of the city give way to a large parking lot and power relay station on the east side of the road and the historic smaller residential buildings of Betts-Longworth on the west.

Ahead, running from under the fence of the relay station and headed across Central to the residential area was a squirrel. However, I noticed that it ran like no squirrel I had ever seen, as it more trotted then the usually bouncing motion one expects to see from the numerous furry rodents that populate North America from coast to coast. I looked a little harder as it continued it's journey across the road and noticed it had a long snout and skinny black tail.

It was a rat. A very impressive rat.

Now, I have seen plenty of rats in my day, some socially of the human variety, and others of the same genre of this particular creature, but I have never seen a rat the size of a squirrel before. It crossed the sidewalk and disappeared into a crevice underneath a small apartment block near the intersection of Clark Street. I pretty much stopped in my tracks, wondering whether to take a detour around the area ahead or knock on every door of the apartment complex and let them know that the Godzilla-rat lives under their stairs.

I elected to just continue on my way, but with my situational awareness studies expanded from large groups of youths to singular incidents of large Rattus Norvegicus.

Knock knock.... who's there?

Dear Congressman,

Today I thought we should discuss a common problem that occurs in our community from time to time. To put your mind at ease, I am not talking about a re-incarnation of Billy Mays selling Oxyflush 2012 to the unsuspecting minions out there, but a menace more invasive in your personal life and space.

What is this vile behavior that I am referring to? This would be the invasion of your doorstep by members of a religious organization different from your own. In this particular case, this world of front door warriors include both the Mormons and the Jehovah's Witnesses. These groups clean up real nice and always have a smile as they gently apply their knuckles to your portal, but once you open up they start the sales pitch to include your soul and that of your family in their immortal plan. Now personally, I have nothing against these two religions and wish them well in all their deeds, with the exception of an inane marketing plan that involves knocking on my front door when the Bengals have a 3rd and 1 in the opponents end of the field.

So... how do you defend yourself against God's chosen few? Easy, here is a few simple lines that might prove effective if they invade your porch...

#1) Hi, I'm Tony and I am a member of the Church of Latter Day Saints. Does Jesus play a role in your life?

Answer: (Gently rubbing your head) Gee, Tony, I don't know. You see, I love God and all that stuff, but I love beer, and I heard you guys don't drink, so that is a no go for me as I plan on drinking nightly for many years to come! Cause, I really love beer!

#2) Hi, I'm Tony and I am a member of the Church of Jehovah's Witnesses. Does Jesus play a role in your life?

Answer: (staring at Tony like you are looking at his left ear) Hi Tony, I like waffles. Do you like waffles? I like waffles with blueberrys and bananas. Do you like blueberrys and bananas? I ate waffles for breakfast yesterday. Did you eat waffles for breakfast yesterday. I am gonna eat waffles for dinner tonight. Are you gonna eat waffles for breakfast tonight? Waffles are really good food. Do you think waffles are really good food, Tony?

Wait for Tony to respond and then repeat word for word the answer above.

#3) Hi, I'm Tony. Does Jesus play a role in your life?

Answer: Yes, yes he does. And he is a wonderful fellow. As a matter of fact he was here yesterday with his friends Juan and Cuauhtémoc trimming, mowing and edging the yard. He doesn't speak much english but he understands just fine. A great worker and always has a smile on his face! (serious stare at Tony) Your not undercover border patrol, are you? Cause Jesus is the best darn gardner I ever had and you would have to torture me before I would tell you where he lives. (slam door in Tony's face)


And Congressman, this one should work well for you.

#4) Hi, I'm Tony and I am going around your neighborhood interviewing your neighbors. Does Jesus play a role in your life?

Answer: Gee, Tony, I appreciate the question but my relationship with God is just dandy. However, I do have a recommendation of someone who is truly lost and could use your worldly guidance. I have a friend who lives in West Chester who has sinned his whole life and is ready for conversion. Here is his address. Now Mr. Boehner will try to slam the door in your face and tell you to get lost, but really, he does need your help, so be persistent and don't take no for an answer. After all, you are doing the Lord's work and no one said it would be easy!!! Good luck, Tony...

A trip to the courthouse

Dear Congressman,

On Monday I finally got back the post office return receipt for one of the final pieces of information I needed to complete the filing of account for the probate of my mother's estate. Needless to say it has been a long and arduous process in getting it completed, mainly because I had to open probate in two different countries to complete it.

So this morning I borrowed the wife's car and tootled off to Hamilton to the Butler County Probate clerk's office to file some of the final paperwork required by the court. The probate office opens at 8:30 am, so I arrived about 5 minutes past that appointed time to circle the courthouse and find a parking space. Fortunately, the meter where I parked displayed a notice that it was not enforced until after 9:00 am, so the need to feed coins into the metallic lollipop on the curb was not required, as I was fairly certain I would be in and out in less than ten minutes. (a correct assumption on my part)

The courthouse is an old building, having been completed in 1889. Now I know by European standards that is practically brand new, but since it was probably last painted in 1909 and the woodwork inside is all original, it does have an ambiance that would be more suited to listening to Perry Como rather than the Black Eyed Peas.

Only one entrance is open to the courthouse, and that houses the metal detectors and Sheriff's deputies who work the post. Once past this guard post, the center of the build is an open design with a view in the center up to the top of the building, once a dome but now closed off after a 1912 fire. The two staircases on either side of the building that ascent to the upper floors are a deep rich walnut that has wear patterns on the banisters from over a century of hands grabbing on as people walked up for their appointments.

Today was a court session day for the criminal court, so there were people milling about inside the central area of the courthouse, with even more waiting in the wing across from the guard post that housed the trial courtroom.

In front of my staircase I could not help but notice a family sitting in the four matching walnut chairs that lined the front of the staircase leading up to the probate clerk's office. In front of the family was a lawyer discussing something with them. He was kneeling down in front of all of them and speaking directly to a young man whose head was down as he listened.
The family members were all leaning in with concerned looks on their faces as they took in every word that the young lawyer was conveying to them. On either side of the young man was his mother and father, with other siblings on the outside of the huddle and what I can only guess was an uncle stand by on the bottom rung of the staircase leaning over them and listening as well.

Everyone had a concerned look on their face as the lawyer was talking. The young man had a pale look as he was described his options. If this was not the saddest day of his life, his posture and expression would indicate that it was a close second. As a family they had the appearance of working class, based on my observation of their appearance and dress. They did not present as "trailer trash", but also by no means had the box next to the Vanderbilts at the Opera on Saturday night.

The lawyer, continuing in his whispered tones, was mentioning something about "pleading no contest" and a potential for a shorter jail sentence by a few years, so obviously there was some type of felony involved in the young man's indictment. I continued past them and up the stairs without breaking pace, as this was a sad time for them and not a moment for me to hang around and rubberneck.

As I past, the uncle on the stairs looked up at me with a solemn gaze. I nodded as I approached, respecting the moment. He held my gaze for a split second, slightly nodded in return, and put his attention back to kneeling lawyer with the bad news.

Within a few minutes I had filed the paperwork and headed back out the door of the probate office. As I came past the lawyer was still talking, but now the mother figure was sobbing as he spoke. I did not look back or slow down as I past them, but kept a respectable pace and headed out the same guard post I had entered from not five minutes before. My day in court was done; the young man's day in court was ahead.

A little piece of cake...

Dear Congressman,

Please don't ask me where this one came from, but I have had Elvis's version of Mac Davis's "In the Ghetto" stuck in my head for the last few days. But I prefer my version, influenced by my youthful days in France. As always, no accounting for taste!

(to the tune of "In the Ghetto")

As the snow flies
On a cold and gray Parisian morn'
A creation from a pâtisserie is born
It's a gâteaux

And the pastry chef cries
'cause if there's one thing that he don't need
it's a cake that tastes like chicken feed
It's a gâteaux

People, don't you understand
the cake just needs a helping hand
or it'll grow to be stale one day
Take a look at you and me,
are we hungry enough to see,
do we simply turn our heads
and walk off to the buffet

Well the world turns
and the cake with that no one chose
sits in the window as its age starts to show
It's a gâteaux

And as it starts to rot
the chef finally gives up
and he has to admit
the cake was no good as it tastes like s*&$
It's a gâteaux

Then one night in desperation
He flings open the rear door
Walks to the garbage, opens a can,
ponders for a sec, and then dumps the whole pan
And his ego cries

And then crowd gathers 'round the forsaken food
cuz their homeless and hungry and basically screwed
And want some gâteaux

As his cake is devoured
in an alley on a gray Parisian night,
he'll bake another cake til he gets it right
It's a gâteaux