Fit

Sonnet and I have a raucous dinner with the CIO of the Carnegie Foundation at The Ivy (no celeb spottings this time). Kim is in town for several of her funds and we are honored to have her to ourselves. Not surprisingly we discuss the wacko that is Elliot Spitzer and agree: WTF ? Kim notes that the risk assessment of being caught, however calculated by male, is quite simple for her: 100% busted. 100% I'm gone. We've experienced a number of divorces in our group from a reckless dick and when kids are involved there is no forgiving the mistake, if that indeed is what it was. People are just plain mean to each other and this is about as low a blow as one can strike - life is too hard anyway to fuck it up so terribly.

Madeleine is up-and-at-'em today, in swimming suit and almost out the door when Sonnet and I roll our eyes heavenwards and ask for ten more minutes of sleep. Last night Sonnet was at our school's "field of dreams" auction fund raiser, which brings in $20 grand I learn. Her contribution was a tour of the V&A's fashion gallery, which went for $500. The tops was a full-catered dinner for six by Eitan's teacher who, by-the-by, is quite "fit." Hers went for $700. Sonnet's plan to run the Fleet half-marathon Sunday in jeopardy as she has a nagging side injury - with a month to go before the London marathon, no taking chances.

Eitan, Madeleine and I dance some early-morning disco to Hot Chip, trying out a few new disco-moves. I show them the "wave" to their delight and Sonnet's bemusement. The beauty of your kids is you can be one.

El Presidente explains yesterday the mortgage crisis to the ROW:
“You know, these mortgages can be pretty frightening to people. I mean, there’s a lot of tiny print."