Last Night

Since I know, Dear Reader, you are on the edge of your seat to see a Goremiti described the other day up close - here it is. In this instance, expertly manipulated by Nathaniel. From what I can tell, the object to knock your opponent's mini-figure off the table violently. I let the kids beat me up - which they love - until decided by the kids they enjoy themselves and their Goremiti rules more than me. Fair enough. Last night's slumber party goes to plan which is to say I yell several times and threaten to pull Eitan from the scrum. Eventually the wrestling turns to shouting then talking and finally murmuring and... silence. Which lasts until 7AM. It is good gang of Madeleine's friends and though I moan a bit here, it is a pleasure to clown with the kids who are excited to sleep in an unusual environment and gorge themselves on television and chatter. I recall night parties from about third-grade when the TV was Giligan's Island, Star Trek, the Great Grape Ape and Scooby Due. Usual stuff - some of it around still. In those 70s we kids dropped off to shred the hosting house sometimes tossing mattresses down stairways or jumping from first floor windows to access the otherwise forbidden outside. Who knew there were parents? Our last night a bit more contained and all exits bolted and double-checked. Madeleine at some point upstairs complaining it is too loud to sleep but I soundly order her back to her friends. In for a penny, in for a pound.

A-Rat

Alex Rodriguez, held forward as an example of healthy playing to fans and America, tested positive for drugs in '03, Sports Illustrated reports. Should we be surpised that he played for Texas, once owned by ex-el presidente W. Bush? Today A-Rod plays third-base for the NY Yankees and for the period since 1996 he leads Major League Baseball in home runs, runs scored, runs batted in, total bases and extra-base hits. Among all players in baseball history prior to their 31st birthday, he is currently first in runs scored and total bases, second in extra base hits and RBI, and fourth in hits. In addition, to this point in his career Rodriguez has more home runs, runs batted in, runs scored, and base hits than all–time leaders Hank Aaron (RBIs) Barry Bonds (HR), Rickey Henderson (runs scored) and Pete Rose (hits) did prior to their 31st birthdays. He is the youngest player ever to hit 500 home runs, breaking the record Jimmie Foxx set in 1939. He is also the youngest player in Major League history to hit for the cycle, at the age of 21 (all stats from MLB.com). This extraordinary data now jeapordised thanks to A-Rod's friend and steriod Primobolan, which comes out five years after the testing. Oh boy have we seen this with Wall Street and sub-prime: the owners are the regulators. In this familiar story, Major League Baseball responsible for the league's drugs-testing program and if that was not conflicted enough, the MLB bound to confidentiality as part of a player's union contract. I mean - WTF? I no longer give any pro the benefit of the doubt- Conseco, Bonds, McGuire and now Rodriguez - the best the game's got - all needled up. Too bad for the honest sluggers BTW. Baseball, like Wall Street and mortgage backed securities, has no credibility - as an industry, there appears to be no desire to awknowledge or rid itself of the problem. The beauty of baseball, you see, is being able to compare figures - and there are plenty of figures - between eras. One can look at Ty Cobb and compare him to Pete Rose... or construct his success versus Nolan Ryan or Sandy Kofax. Say good-bye to all that. What is worse, really, is that the drugs use not a baseball problem but rather a public health issue - illegal, unregulated , unknown sourcing and distribution, unsanitary delivery and all outside medical oversight and likely at the back of the club house. The player's health at risk and unlike the industry, their loss could be a tragedy.

Katie Couric in 2007: "For the record, have you ever used steroids, human growth hormone or any other performance-enhancing substance?"

Rodriguez: "No."

Photo from the New York Yankees

Officially Seven

Madeleine blows out more than seven candles yet needs only one breath. She's always had big lungs from the minute she came from Sonnet screaming bloody murder. Anthony, pictured left, joins us from Islington and the party a success. From pizza we see the Disney action-dog-movie "Bolt" which is fantastic (I admit to my surprise). The movie's inspired character is a wired hamster who moves around in a hamster-ball and easily steals the show. Sonnet and I laugh uproariously at moments and I am nearly drawn to tears by the dog-and-little-girl reunion at the story's end. I recall a similar feeling returning from Taipei watching "Free Willy" - I openly wept when the killer whale finds the boy one last time before being free. I was also at 35,000 feet and exhausted which might explain some of my emotion but who knows? I still get a laugh whenever I describe this tearful moment usually explaining to Sonnet or someone my sensitive side. Being a metro-sexual, you see, means being in touch with one's feelings. The second part of Madeleine's party to shortly kick-off with the slumber party. At some point soon I will shut off this computer and go upstairs and hide.

Eitan: "Dad guess how many people can fit in Old Trafford?" (Old Trafford being Manchester United's stadium)
I raise a curious eyebrow.
Eitan: "76,212"

Pizza Party

Here is the Birthday Girl on No. 8 at the Birthday Party pizzeria. 

The unanticipated Six Nations rugby at nearby Twickenham means the restaurant is crowded to capacity but despite our size and enthusiasm the staff handles us professionally, gratefully. It is all boys excluding Sonnet and our nanny Natasha - in fact, Madeleine's pendant states: "Birthday Boy." I am right in my element and soon discussing the "Gormities" - pictured in front of Alex and Nathaniel. Goremities for those older than ten are “The Invincible Lords of Nature” (Gli Invincibili Signori della Natura) or two-inch tall non-articulated mini-figures. 

Each has a special skill, you see, and a power-ranking inscribed on the foot which presumably suggests who might win a battle. I also rake the boys about school (grown), spelling and football which they all love, pardieu, with Manchester and Chelsea being the most popular teams. This no surprise since A) each tops in the Premier League; B) Chelsea not too far from Richmond; and C) superior marketing dollars. I am also curious to know about their new teacher, the wonderfully named Mrs. Chattaway. I learn she is rather serious and has the boys on notice already three days into the job (Madeleine's term-one teacher on maternity leave). 

The menu eventually arrives and includes a dough-ball appetiser+garlic butter followed by pizza or pasta - there is a vegetable medley included but rest assured untouched. I know enough by now not to badger them into eating their veggies but Eitan shoots me a dirty warning nonetheless. Madeleine a fabulous host greeting her guests at the restaurant entrance and not seating herself until everybody accounted for and comfortable. 

She makes a point of visiting each side of our long-table to spread her cheer and squeak with her friends. In short, a natural.

Eitan sets his sights on the Nike "High Voltage Vapor" football boots, which retail for £189.99 at the top of the range. When I tell him it is a nice goal to save for he looks at me bluntly: "well, give me more allowance" he says. Fair enough but not so easy - I am happy to receive his written presentation why, including a budget, and add this may not warrant a raise if it makes no sense. We debate chores and how much he should be paid for cleaning the living room or bathroom. Sonnet meanwhile aghast at the idea of an eight-year old wearing such expensive shoes. Eitan and I look at each other knowingly - mom just doesn't get certain things.

Warm Up

Madeleine with her cake, which she lovingly made last night and will consume this afternoon. No doubt. Here is something to make long-term investors perk up: the US stock market, on the whole, trades at .9X the replacement value of the economy's underlying assets (Van Hulzen Asset Management). One interpretation is that general managers are expected to reduce the value of their hard-properties by, er, managing them. It also means that taking over a company, breaking up the pieces, and selling them off for cash would net an instant return. We have not been in this territory since the early 1990s. As my friend Joe would say: "It's like picking up dollar bills on the street for 50 cents." The peak, by the way in 2005, was 2.4X. While we are thinking of this, consider Florida which the New Yorker magazine profiles as the ultimate ponzi scheme. Florida's business-model has been tourism and population growth, fueling a real estate market that became speculative. Thanks to Jeb, who was in the pocket of "pro-business" and their dollars, there was no over-sight. Bank tellers earning $20,000 could obtain financing >$300,000 sight-unseen. No wonder 10,000 convicted criminals were in the mortgage business, including four thousand as licensed brokers (until recently changed, felons in FL lost the right to vote but could still sell homes). Think there was fraud? In 2005 alone prop values up 28% and today these same communities gutted with foreclosure, vacancy and neglect. So the house of cards worked like this: since FL one of nine states without income tax it is disproportionately dependent on real estate deals and sales taxes. Counties therefore issued bonds on unrealistic property growth assumptions which are now, of course, under pressure or in default. According to Lance deHaven-Smith a public-policy professor at Florida State, Florida's policies are "the most disingenuous system of government." The visible circus: people leaving in droves. Disney's stock price down 38% on the year. Unemployment accelerating, officially 8.1% in December '08 up from 7.4% in November (including unemployed no longer seeking work and in certain areas, it is >10%). The state is in need of a bail-out. Line up with the rest, you chumps. The whole thing depressing: crooked mortgage dealers, home-buyers flipping houses (estimated two-thirds of all buyers), conflicted oversight and peddled regulation. And another Bush. Thank God my Grandmother not around to see this pathetic place. It makes me cry for my kids. I wonder if we are out of this mess by the time they are working age? I wonder if Europe presents a viable alternative?

Hot-chili clock a gift from Katie BTW and my favorite thing in our kitchen after Sonnet's cooking.

Lucky 7

And so, Friday - and this one special as Madeleine turns a year. Sonnet makes the Birthday Girl breakfast-in-bed and Dana and Nathan call to wish happy cheer. I ask our hero how she feels and she replies: "a bit different, dad. But not really." Fair enough. The party is tomorrow when 12 children and four adults will attend the London premier of super-dog "Bolt" (tagline: "Fully Awesome. Ridonculous. Let It Begin." At least it is not "Space Chimps") followed by pizza and cake and ice cream (mais oui!). Should be fun and I do love any instance where I can act their age. This morning I sit on Madeleine's bed as she chews away on a pecan sticky-bun and we talk "stuff" like what she was like when little - both kids enjoy this immensely. I inform her that she began walking at ten-months or, and this the important bit - eight months before Eitan. She pumps her arm: "yes!" I also recall a morning in Paddington Park when Madeleine, age two maybe, attempts to climb some tricky stairs to enjoy the slide. The slope outside her ability but she refuses any assistance. All I can do is watch nervously and pick her up at the fall. Undaunted, the kid won't give up until she makes the top, which of course she does - and exactly how I know her today. We both chuckle at the story ("did I like the slide really?") and then she bounces up and is gone getting herself ready for school. Ridonculous.

Photo of Madeleine in Richmond Park drinking hot-chocolate, not coffee which I don't anticipate for another two or three years.

Brian

The Bank of England lowers interest rates to 1% which has never happened and the bank has been around since 1694. Buses stopped Monday due to 20 cm of snow - this also a first including the Germans and WWII. Liverpool loses to Everton in the 118th minute of play last night on a teenager's first Premiere League goal. No wonder Gordon Brown notes that the world is in a "depression" for Pete's sake. Last year I blogged about the gay cowboy and Silver tells me that Gordon MaCrae "was my mother's student in children's theatre classes in Syracuse - I was too little for the classes, but I was allowed to roam around the building; this was during the war, when gas was rationed, and we almost always went to Syracuse by train or bus.

"Skip to summer 1957, my second as a councilor at Perry-Mansfield. I had the cabin off the junior camp lodge and Heather MacRae - daughter of Gordon and wife of Sheila - was one of my campers, about age-ten. She had an illness or condition that should have had medical treatment. I called home to Tully to get advice. Response: no doctor would be allowed, Sheila was Christian Scientist. We managed thru the summer.

"Years later, traveling production of Jesus Christ Superstar comes to Anchorage! With Heather MacRae in the chorus. I wish I'd had a chance to go backstage and talk to her. Ah well."

Photo of Brian Cohen mistaken for Jesus in "Monty Python's Life Of Brian" (photo screen-shot distributed by Warner Bros./Orion Pictures Corporation). Here are the lyrics they sing which are appropriate for our days (by Eric Edle):

"Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best...

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

"If life seems jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing.

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

"For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.

So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath

"Life's a piece of shit
When you look at it
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true.
You'll see it's all a show
Keep 'em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.

And always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the right side of life...
(Come on guys, cheer up!)
Always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the bright side of life...
(Worse things happen at sea, you know.)
Always look on the bright side of life...
(I mean - what have you got to lose?)
(You know, you come from nothing - you're going back to nothing.
What have you lost? Nothing!)
Always look on the right side of life...

"

Adam The MD

Here is Adam, who I noted from Alphabet City in Manhattan. He is a doctor in Critical Care Medicine, Infectious Disease and Internal Medicine at Lincoln Hospital in the the Bronx. I would trust him with mine for sure. Adam the father of a super cute kid just under age-one and the younger brother of Alison who I dated briefly in high school. Until I dated Alison's best friend. But this for another blog. Sonnet and I go to Bikram last night and stretch ourselves silly. I seem to have got my mid-section under control, which dear reader and for the first time, had obtained some girth. So health and maintenance on my mind. Looking through our photo albums, which stopped around 2002 thanks to digital, I am amazed how time takes its toll. Our friends and family who looked young when we first arrived London are 12 years older and have aged. Not in a bad way, mind you, but it is there - wrinkles around the eyes, receding hair and worry lines. There are health issues too which I confront even my generation - two instances early cancer and one sudden, tragic heart-attack in '94 which I still think about all the time. Of course life is precious but somehow this doesn't feel so until now - mid-life crisis for me maybe? Having kids also changes one's perspective no doubt - the idea of loss sometimes so frightening it wakes me up. But, hey, every day is a God Damn miracle - rolling out of bed, seeing Sonnet and hearing the Shakespeare's chirping knowing my parents, sister, extended family and friends out there somewhere... being able to do yoga or jog and pay bills and watching movies and being a part of it all - I know I have it lucky.

Madeleine: "Why did the chicken walk across the road?"
Me: "Why?"
Madeleine: "Because he didn't want to run!"
Long pause, Madeleine: "That's not very funny, is it dad?"

Super Returns

Madeleine before pre-school yoga. It is supposed to be a relaxing thing. The private equity Super Return conference takes place in Berlin and this year I opt out (private equity BTW is private investors buying a non-listed or private company's stock). The conference normally attracts two to three thousand investment professionals ranging from the general partners (GPs) who manage venture or buy-out or other types of funds and limited partners (LPs) who supply the managers their dough. LPs are fund-of-funds (get it?), pensions, insurance companies, banks, endowments, foundations and so on and so forth. It is usually an exciting affair with plenty of net-working and late nights - a number in our industry have become famous like Henry Kravis or Stephen Schwarzman and certainly many have become rich. Very rich. Despite private equity's growth and success these past twenty odd years, the market has turned and we are by no means immune. Bigger firms have produced their results via leverage which today no longer exists and worse, weighs on the portoflio like a heavy anchor. Many cherished, private equity backed businesses will fail. A source of industry liquidity has been secondary buyers who purchase limited partner positions in the after-market (or secondary market) which generally trades around 3% of the primary market and today may be at 10% or 15%; even this group hesitates given the debt loads - nobody believes we are at the bottom. The last few years at the Super I have pondered the audience's homogeneity - almost entirely men with maybe 100 women and no minorities. Further, everybody looks the same with healthy cheeks, slicked hair and Hermes ties. No doubt it is mature and consequently buyers looking at the same deals bidding them up presumably. Until now - no debt, no deal, at least for the bigger transaction. The good news I suppose is that GPs have every interest in saving their troubled companies and are the most willing to stump up cash, if needed. I have seen this first-hand, much to the detriment sometimes of the remaining portfolio but hey, this be human nature.

"If you don't like change, you're going to like irrelevance even less"
General Eric Shinseki, former chief of staff of the US Army

Dorothy

Here is my wise Grandmother, who passed away in 2002 at the age of 93.

She did meet her great-grand son but sadly missed Madeleine. Dorothy spent her later years in Sarasota, Florida, following the early death of my Grandfather when I was in sixth grade. Visiting was always a bit exotic - the Gulf! Fried Oysters! Humidity! Her one requirement of her assisted living center was the top-floor, in this case 10, so she could watch the sunsets - and they were lovely, too, over the emerald and flat gulf water.

In college I slept in her guest room, watching TV or trying to write some miserable paper - one Thanksgiving I arrived with a ton of books, failed to finish anything, missed my return-flight and ended up in Boston in Katie's dorm-room using her Mac to produce something, anything, due the next day. Oh brother. On another occasion in college Grandma treated me to Disney World which I politely suffered being rather sensitive of my age - exactly the wrong age to be solo at an amusement park.

Then there was the mall and cineplex if bored of the clam-fry or beach. It is easy to see why the Eastern Board spends its winter or retires in Florida - the climate balmy no matter when and getting off the airplane it's a whole 'nother world. Impossible not to relax, really. Dorothy almost stayed in Upper Arlington, Ohio, where she raised her family including my mom - she had put a deposit down on a condominium but my chain-smoking Aunt Mary-Lucia put her off that idea noting smartly her grand-children would be more inclined to visit her on the beach.

Sad to think the top-floor room no longer hers.

Winter Wonderland

London slowly returns to normal though the roads icy and a foot of snow on the ground. The news is all about the storm and commuters bitch and moan, especially at the airport (poor souls). One fellow goes as far as to say "it is a disgrace" and waving a hand at the white: "it is like a third-world country." Now, having been to the so-called Third World many times with HTWS I find this to be insulting. Firstly, the third world does not get snow. Secondly - England gets a real dumping once every three or four years and yesterday the worst in 18 years. And thirdly - I have seen people in the "third world" react to a flat tire or similar crisis - they come out in droves, work together. Get it done. No complaing and a sense of cheer. London copes poorly in comparison especially compared to Boston or Moscow and the Third World but hey, I would rather my council pounds go to immediate concerns like the police or schools. Sure, just like terrorism, we could spend the whole pot on the potential uncertanties of a Big Event but then there would be nothing left (Eisenhower understood this - he being the last President to control military spending). These Brits do love their weather though and why not - it changes all the time and serves as a unifying force - kinda like baseball or the Sopranos in America. Any business gal or fella knows the safe-neutral pre-meeting topic is how grey or white or overcast or cold or whatever is London. We all shiver a moment then get down to work, whatever that might be. Heathrow BTW our second favorite subject - every traveller, and I do mean every traveller - has a horror story and deep personal hatred for the airport made worse as we could get a fourth runway. So back to the snow: the deep depression bringing the wet and cold expected to stay through the week and while it might not snow again temps will remain at freezing. Kids don't mind as school cancelled a second day and possibly even tomorrow. Their joy is frozen as I put them to homework and tell them I expect a written story book by this evening or else. It can't be all fun and games, after all.

My photo of the Mortlake Brewery (the Thames River on the opposite side). Oliver Cromwell born just nearby.

Dodge

A Guardian investigation reports that UK firms' secret tax avoidance schemes cost the UK billions- perhaps up to 13 a year. They do this by transferring brand ownership to low-tax locations like The Netherlands, Dublin or the Carribbean or loading debts whose interest negates tax or internal transfers to side-step local requirements. Top accountancy firms charge >£500,000 a pop to invent avoidence schemes and, according to the National audit Office, in 2006 more thatn 60% of Britain's 700 biggest companies paid less than £10 million corporation tax, and 30% paid nothing. This despite having access to the fourth wealthiest population in the world and the London and other stock exchanges for deep capital and a regulatory 'lite' enviroment good for business generally. WTF? Hard working Brits and ex-pats pay their 42%, a figure that will only go up with the >£1 trillion banks bail-out. Companies play a similar game of smoke screens and transparency. This whilst enriching their shareholders and management. These pounds ever more valuable in the recession with >2 million unemployed and social services stretched to extreme - and it will get worse. If our most respected companies doing a legal tax dodge one might ask - why shouldn't I?

Snow

Guess who gets it this morning - pictured. We are belted with >20cm, the most in 18 years meaning buses, trains and even the underground cancelled. The Shakespeares in our bedroom, 6AM pitch-dark, eyes wide and together: "Can we go outside dad? Can we!?" The news gets better and better as Sonnet learns museum closed and - happy day! - school cancelled. Sonnet takes Eitan and Madeleine to Richmond Park with a bunch of rowdy neighborhood kids who also cannot believe their good luck. Great way for them to start the week - says Eitan: "this is the best day of my life so far!"

I don't really understand why Barack Obama making an effort with the Republicans, where he spent several hours on Capital Hill trying to convince them of his stimulus plan. Obama went further, calling on Democrats to strip some elements from his bill that Republicans objected to including tax cuts (same old bullshit from them). The Republicans thanked the president by voting, without one exception, against the stimulus plan. No doubt, and voiced by the fat fuck Rush Limbaugh, the party would like Obama to fail. Republicans, you see, bankrupt of ideas - which is better, Lord knows, then the last eight years. Further, they lack leadership, ideals and in disgrace - imagine Colin Powell and Rush Limbough in the same party. We voters did not simply celebrate Barack; personally I champagned equally the git-gone of Bush and his incompetents. So today here lies the dead elephant - instead of dusting themselves off, the Repubs become nasty. Just maybe however there is important role they will fill the next four years - we need a good opposition to balance the controlling power. It would be nice, certainly, if the opposition brought a sense of civic-mindedness unlike witnessed in the stimulus bill - after all, the Republicans gave us Paulson and de-facto nationalised our banks after their scorching and burning. For them to reject Obama is unpatriotic. And believe you me, we are in a state of war and I do not mean Iraq nor Afg. So why is Obama trying to help them out? As he has noted before "We just have a difference here, and I'm president. So I'm going to prevail on that." This may be the last bone. If Democrats get to 60, which they well may with two independents and MN pending, there really will be no need at all for the president to use any political capital on such a sub-prime party.

Header

Here we are, Sunday afternoon. I swear this kid would spend his life on the pitch. Already the call to green is netting results, though not (yet) from Detroit: Japanese electronics companies Toshiba, GS Uasa and others have announced plans for new battery plants even as their industry cuts capital investment. When Sony announced factory closers last month the one area it promised growth was batteries. Research company Fuji Keizai expects the rechargeables market to double to $14 billion by 2012 and the overall battery market to grow by 37%. The growth comes from from mobile devices like laptops and iPhones and storage of renewable energy like wind or solar and of course cars. Hybrids and electrics at the cusp of mass production and Honda and Nissan are investing billions gearing up production lines and entering joint-ventures. Strange to think that automobiles to feed tech growth but this what Panasonic, Sony and Sanyo expect - Sanyo plumping Y80 billion into energy tech by 2012 while Toshiba begins battery mass-production costing $100s of millions - despite their pulling out of lithium-ions in 2004. It must feel good to take the bull by the horns - this is the future, after all. And the Americans? The Big Three playing catch-up with tax dollars - this their Big Chance to show something good. Where have you gone, Lee Iacocco? (Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you).

Madeleine is so excited about her gold-fish that I start to feel guilty. Is this kid somehow deprived otherwise, I wonder?

Another Goal And A Goldfish

Sports absorb our Saturday morning as usual. Sonnet takes Madeleine to swim-practice then football while I break our routine to swing Eitan by the Kew Park Rangers. The Rangers are a football local club with >500 kids ranging from under-6's to 16's. It is part of the England Football Association (FA) and competitive but games against other teams not until age-nine and up; as the coach tells me "no need for the parents scream'n at the lads to do things they can't do." He then yells at two boys climbing a fence in their cleats: "get the hell offa that thing!" I am convinced and now it is up to Eitan, who is looking into the next-level now that he has nearly outgrown Palewell Park. I don't care where he plays - my only stipulation is that he visit at least three teams before making up his mind. All are enticing, you see. So here we are on a freezing cold morning in North Sheen with the District Line rumbling by and Eitan twitchy and nervous. Coach hollers at him to join the crowd and the boy goes loping onto the pitch a bit embarrassed by his scarf and hat, which I have made him ware. He tosses both on the ground without looking back. It is a new set of dads to break into so I just watch this morning - no need to make an effort if we are not coming back. The coach splits Eitan's squad into reds and blues and it is game on. Within 30 seconds Eitan scores the first goal and his side pump their arms jubilantly into the air. It is a screamer too - he rips down the sideline and connects his outside foot to the ball sending it the opposite spot anticipated by the goal-keeper. Eitan's blues wins 4-2 and Eitan accounts for two strikes. From North Sheen we dart to Palewell Park so he can catch his friends for the rest of the morning. He would play no-stop all-day if he could. We are both excited for tomorrow's Liverpool v. Chelsea. What Super Bowl?

Madeleine, it is agreed, to have a gold-fish. She has been begging a pet for, like, ever and Sonnet, I nor our nanny have any desire to walk a dog. So the fish are agreed and we look into a multi-gallon container. Did you know a gold-fish can live to four or even five years? In college I had a fish tank and my guys rarely made it through a semester.

Butcher

Here is a local butcher (though not ours) on the high-street whose strangely creepy figure captures my eye. The chicken rotisserie takes me back to Park 'N Shop on Salano Avenue in Berkeley - its delicious smells bring good memories of shopping with mom and sometimes sugar cereal which broke the household rule. As Berkeley upscaled from its hippy roots, the grocery taken over by wonderful Andronicos in the 1980s; Andronicos offers yuppie fruit and veg on par with anything in France. Maybe better in fact - during season, there must be >25 varieties of tomato. Andronicos also absorbed The Berkeley Co-Op whose '60s ambition to return profits to the customer - kinda like communism maybe? - but that business model failed, oh boy. Nobody complained though I did miss the sugar-baked cookies. Sometime later Starbucks took over Ortmans Ice Cream, Eddy's became Peet's Coffee; Hinks a Ross and now closed... this be progress in the East Bay.

Mary is in town and we dine with her, Dana and Nathan at Racines - a favorite French bistro in South Kensington that actually is... French! The waiters from Paris or wherever with attitude and all that and most of the diners French-speaking. I get to stumble through a few words impressing really only myself but hey, I enjoy it. I learn Devon a top notch skiier and now competing at high-levels; I am sure he and Eitan will absorb themselves in sports when we are with them in May.

Self Portrait IV

And it is Friday. This week end special as it returns the Super Bowl, our multi-billion-dollar game. I admit to having lost some interest without the once-feared Oakland Raiders or those 80s glamour pusses the San Francisco 49ers. The Bay Area's last best effort was '02 when the Raiders got blown out by the Tampa Bay Buccaneers in XXXVII 48-21; Tampa Bay coach Gruden fired the prior year by Raiders' owner Al Davis. Think they were motivated? Since '02 neither club has made it to the playoffs which consistent, really, with our other local sports: the A's and Giants remember their far-past glory while the Warriors have not been contenders since the the 1970s and Rick Barry's golden years. And don't even mention the Cal Bears. But back to the SB, which really owes itself to Joe Namath in III. Broadway Joe was the son of Hungarian immigrants and Pennsylvania steelworkers; he would have been in Viet Nam if not his throwing arm. In college he won a National Title with Alabama and Bear Bryant. He was famous for booze and broads and often enjoyed both together game-night but it was not until '69 that he achieved icon status becoming the rare sports-athlete to influence American culture. Of course he famously predicted a win for his under-dog Jets would defeat Johny Unitis and the Baltimore Colts. This the season before the merger of the National Football League and the AFL, creating the NFL, and the game's outcome increased the market-value of the combined franchise. Even more so, it paved the way for black sheep Oakland and hard-knock NY and Green Bay which captured America's attention. The country saw its values in their local clubs, which often enjoyed mythic stature - consider the Pittsburgh Steelers in the '70s, the 49ers in the 80s or the Dallas Cowboys and Denver Broncos of the early-mid and late 1990s, respectively - perfect representations of those cities in each era. I was flush with Ken Stabler, Dave Casper and Ray Guy. Those were the times. Oh, and the cost for a 30 second TV ad during the SB this year $3,000,000.

Roma

While on to childhood photos, here is Sonnet with her brother Marcus in Rome. I don't have the circumstances behind the photo - maybe Silver or Stan can fill me in - but I do know the fountain from a number of visits: Trevi the largest baroque in the city+26 meters high and 20 meters wide; tourists toss coins and prey for the better. And here is what I cheats from the Internets: "the fountain at the juncture of three roads marks the terminal point of the "modern" Acqua Vergine, the revivified Aqua Virgo, one of the ancient aqueducts that supplied water to ancient Rome. In 19 BC, supposedly with the help of a virgin, Roman technicians located a source of pure water some eight-miles from the city. However, the eventual indirect route of the aqueduct made its length some 14-miles. This Aqua Virgo led the water into the Baths of Agrippa, which served Rome for more than four hundred years. The coup de grace for the urban life of late classical Rome came when the Goth besiegers of 537 broke the aqueducts. Medieval Romans were reduced to drawing water from polluted wells and the Tiber River, which was also used as a sewer. The Roman custom of building a handsome fountain at the endpoint of an aqueduct that brought water to Rome was revived in the 15th century, with the Renaissance. In 1453, Pope Nicholas V finished mending the Acqua Vergine aqueduct and built a simple basin, pictured.

Rome, as I am often to say, is my second favorite city in Europe after Paris. At some point pre-kids and post-European passports we considered living in Rome - a half-baked plan, no doubt, because nobody actually works there (and I would most definately have to work, dear reader). I say this with some prejudice as the fellow I started Trailhead Capital from Rome- and while he did make a vast fortune in the hege fund business I don't think he has worked a day in life. Also pulling us towards this exquisite city is opera, Bru and Sonnet, who is fluent in Italian from her year in Florence while at Smith. And of course the lifestyle. Pardieu the Italians now how to live la dolce vita.

When the moon hits your eye
Like a big-a pizza pie
That's amore
When the world seems to shine
Like you've had too much wine
That's amore

When the stars make you drool
Joost-a like pasta fazool
That's amore
When you dance down the street
With a cloud at your feet, you're in love
When you walk in a dream
But you know you're not dreamin', signore
'Scusami, but you see
Back in old Napoli, that's amore.
- Dean Martin

San Ramon

Katie lends me this photograph from 1860 San Ramon which I scan and blog. The picture probably taken by Moe or Grace in 1970 or '71? This is the house I grew up in, at least until age-ten. Todd is to the left then me, Katie, Eric and Stephen and Todd's sister Hillary. Wow. Todd was the fabulous next-door neighbor+four years older so there was considerable hero-worship on my part believe-you-me. He taught me many of the things I today hold dear and pass along to Madeleine and Eitan like: how to make a perfect paper airplane or draw the Starship Enterprise doing battle with the Klingons. Eventually our enthusiasms turned to model rockets and we built hobby kits complete with launch pad and blast off. We made ships from basement wood sailed at nearby Tildon Park and wound slot cars in the downstairs playroom. Without hesitation, though, the most thrilling, most absorbing thing we did was go-carts. Collecting old strollers or steeling trollies from Safeway we got wheels. We found rods for the central axis and old-timber for the frame; strings were used to steer and the ever-present emergency brake to-hand though sneakers worked better. Added touches: saran wrap windows and rubber-band guns. Every kid on the block had one. San Ramon enjoyed two reasonably steep hills sloping towards Stone Face park and El Cerito Canyon; since we were below the busy Arlington Avenue the traffic fairly lite not that we kids gave a hoot about the cars (is it inevitable that we remember childhood freedoms not to be granted our kids?) On one particularly memorable day - I was in the fourth grade at Washington Elementary - it snowed which, I believe, not repeated since. Out early for the day, Todd, Johny, Donovan, Shannon, Eric and I dared each other to pop our carts down the snow-covered streets. Man those were great times without a parent in sight.

Who Me Overpaid?

Here's a graph, published in December 2008, which kinda says a lot. Like I should have stayed in banking longer. Source: Wages and Human Capital in the U.S. Financial Industry: 1909-2006

My return flight uneventful and I arrive home just in time to catch the Shakespeares on their way to school with Sonnet. They squeal and we all hug it up - is there anything that can put one in a better mood? I have the added pleasure of joining Eitan's classroom which snaps me out of my travel fog and surrounds me with 25 squeekers. Year-three demands attention and Eitan is happy to have mine, though bashful too ("Dad, just don't act silly" he says beforehand). Today the children constructing a story with an Egyptian theme following their trip to the British Museum last week Thursday. They patiently draw out a "skeleton plan" then fill in the beginning, middle and end. I add support but otherwise it is all self-motivated - snakes, quick-sand, pyramids, trap-doors, mummies and so on and so forth. We only have time to set the story structure so I may have to return Thursday to see how things end. I am on pins and needles.

Is anybody as sick of the Accenture-Tiger Woods campaign as I? They are plastered all over Heathrow and given today's clime we are told: "In these difficult times it is tough to be a Tiger." Puke.

Madeleine: "Did you bring me a present?" and "What did you bring Eitan?"

Hummer

I watch Barack Obama give a brief announcement declaring America's suffering, naming the lay-offs by company+his green agenda. Detroit and the lobbyist are bitching, no doubt, about how new standards will ultimately be paid for by the government and you and me but to them I say: fuck you. If we don't get our country off this carbon addiction somehow the long-term consequences dire ranging from the Arabs to global melting. I have no problem buying a Japanese hybrid BTW and frankly the nips should take over Detroit and run our companies properly - it sure couldn't be any worse. Obama's green agenda include the states who will (finally) have greater authority to establish car milage and polluting standards. California has been at the fore-front of this movement aiming to raise MPG >20 but was sued by GM, Chrysler and Ford. No surprise. To high-finance: a WSJ covering story suggests that global bank UBS may have helped a further 17,000 Americans avoid paying taxes. Fuckers. Ken Lewis, CEO of Bank of America, may be on the chopping block for failing to disclose the disasterous Merrill Lynch acquisition - ML, of course, made loses >$15 billion the quarter immediately following the deal so presumably Lewis new what was in store. He did sack Merrill's Chief Exec John Thain for spending >$1 million of office-design work and lobbying his new BoA friends for a $30 million bonus AND front-ending $4 billion of bonuses to ML staff before the take-over complete while ML taking tax-payer support. Fuck faces, all. I look at Obama who really is the only ray of public hope - he is surrounded by scoundrels and rats who have harmed our country on par with any terrorist. The next four years are make-or-break.

Do recall as recently as last year those buying a mid-size to larger (loaded weights of 6000 lbs to 14,000 lbs) Truck or SUV for "business" were paid by our government. In 2008 Congress finally eliminated the accelerated expensing of the first $25,000 in the purchase-year of such a new behemoth (diesel or gas) and only those >14,000 lb now apply. Larger "soccer mom" SUVs are only allowed to expense $2,960. Hardship, man. Not to worry if you are a serious business person though - you can still take advantage of the full deduction if you choose wisely. Pick-ups with separate cargo areas of at least five-feet, "farm vehicles" and cargo-trucks and vans still offer the full accelerated amount. Bingo. Still, the suburban SUV loop-hole finally closed. Baby steps, dear reader. Baby steps.

Macho Hummer photo from Hummer.com. Fuckers.

Seagram's

There ain't much to do but look up when on this side of Park Avenue - in this case 345 at 52nd Street. The Seagram's building, designed by Philip Johnson, was completed in 1958. It is 515 feet tall with 38 stories and stands as one of the finest examples of the functionalist aesthetic and a masterpiece of corporate modernism. It was designed as the headquarters for the Canadian distillers Joseph E. Seagram's & Sons, thanks to the foresight of Phyllis Lambert, the daughter of Samuel Bronfman, Seagram's CEO (Junior, we may recall, bet the ship on the Medias: with $9 billion from the sale of the family business, Bronfman, Jr., bought music Polygram, and film entertainment MCA and Universal Pictures. Jr's new entertainment conglomerate had a brief life before needing a strategic partner, who actually knew what he was doing, which led Seagram into a controversial all-stock acquisition by French conglomerate Vivendi in 2000. Can you feel the market peaking, Dear Reader?). 345 Park also hosts The Four Seasons for the ultimate Power Lunch. Surrounded by Rothko's it is a lovely affair. As the sun sets Katie and I move onward Northward stopping momentarily at the Sony centre to entertain a new Viao then a ride home. Happily it is Saturday night and no plans - just recovery from Friday which lingers on in my fatigue. We flop in front of the flat screen and watch mindless television; Katie falls asleep on the couch and I give her a kick before going to bed myself and amazingly it is before Midnight.

Tim

I met Tim, pictured, in '99 on the roof-deck of our first London flat in Maida Vale. Tim grew up with Sonnet's cousin Bru visiting us at that time from Italy. Tim's father a law-partner of Sonnet's Aunt Missy's husband and Bru's father; subsequently all of us visited Bru in Rome when he was working at the Vatican. Got that? What is important our friendship. Tim left London five years or so ago and now lives in Brooklyn with his wife Kitty; here we walk Lower Manhattan and catch up on stuff including professional as he is CFO of a security technology company employing >700. Before that he was Finance Director for NTL Networks, a multi-billion dollar division of NTL Cable now owned by Virgin. We share a common love of Bru who is possibly crazy and certainly lived an interesting life. In London that day, Bru arrived in a yellow crepe sports coat, patterned shirt and pink pants with a rhinestone heart sewed in the hip; his hair swept back and eyes somewhat menacing. Of course his Italian girl-friend Manuela stunning. As for his story: after following the Grateful Dead for years Bru decided he should go to college and was accepted by his only application - Cornell, age-25. From his room-mate, he found a job in the Vatican bursar's office where Tim, Kate, Sonnet and I lunched with at least one Cardinal who fortunately failed to notice Bru's black tie with a graphic image of a couple in flagrante delicto. Oh dear (I learned yesterday that his two studio apartments off the Piazza Farnese supported by, ahem, "adult productions"). The thing about Bru is that his heart of gold. He also knows Rome like the back of his hand including the best retail where we collected some shopping that I wore with great pleasure during my reversion to high-school around those Internet years. Another high-light watching Roma football and eating pork sandwiches at a shack-house some Sunday afternoon next to the Residenza Papale or the Pope's summer palace. Today Bru remains in Rome with his daughter though he and Manuela no longer together.

Casbah Club

The past several months I have listened to The Clash's Live-At-Shea-Stadium concert in '82 when they opened for The Who. Two weeks later the band broke up. The opening salvo amazing: “Welcome to the Casbah Club” are Joe Strummer’s first gravelly words into the microphone then straight into the Armageddon "London Calling" influenced by the '79 meltdown of Three Mile Island and problems of rising unemployment, racial conflict and drug use in Britain. It is also Summer's call to arms and demand for (the city's) relevancy. Here Katie and I pose by Tomkins Park. Strummer died in 2002, age 50.

Tomkins Park even on a freezing cold day is filled with youngsters wearing different variants of jeans and colours. I'm not entirely sure but from this sample it appears bell bottoms are back and grunge remains stylish. Puffy down jackets also Big but it is -5 so this may effect the style, though I doubt it. Ray Ban wayfarers seem to trump over-sized aviators.

"London calling to the faraway towns
Now war is declared, and battle come down
London calling to the underworld
Come out of the cupboard, you boys and girls
London calling, now don't look to us
Phoney Beatlemania has bitten the dust
London calling, see we ain't got no swing
'Cept for the ring of that truncheon thing

[Chorus 1:]
The ice age is coming, the sun's zooming in
Meltdown expected, the wheat is growing thin
Engines stop running, but I have no fear
'Cause London is drowning, and I live by the river"
The Clash

Somewhere Who Knows?

A corner I like, pictured, though I have no idea about the building. A reason walking Manhattan fun is the change by neighborhood and sometimes city-block. The closer to Midtown, the more modern. A buffer occurs north of Union Square and the 1980s sky-scrapers where the 20+ story buildings are brick-by-brick; I always wonder who lives in such things today or maybe it is business space?

Reviewing my notes I appreciate that much of my commentary sniping on the U.K. economy or the British this-or-that. Such snootiness allowed any ex-pat however I hope my love for London clear. When we first arrived and my spirit in California, Sonnet asked what I liked about the place and my only reply the weight of the pound (it is rather substantial one must admit). Today happily my affection goes deeper: the free and world-class museums, pop-venues and Brit pop, Van Gough's "Sunflower," non-stop football, PM questions, Fleet Street's 18 daily rags from The Economist to The Sun and Page Three which outsells the former >10X, our worldly friends, Patrick O'Brian's Master and Commander and Greenwich, Sonnet's job, the Meridian line, Kate Winslet, Richmond Park, Roman history, Ze Queen and above all - a sense of humour just beneath the overly polite and simply mortified middle-classes. And of course my English kids who remind me this country has taken care of us through it all and so far. Now let's hope the banks don't collapse.

Alphabet City to Midtown

Katie and I start our day on Riverton in the lower East Side where we meet up with Christian, Adam, Tim and Kitty (pictured with Anabel) and an assembly of cool New Yorkers. We eventually break into smaller teams and Tim, Katie and I walk the East Village visiting clothes, a gallery and my favorite - a candy shop with the yuful stuff: Now-'n-Laters, pop rocks, Sugar Daddys and the most shocking: gum sticks packaged as cigarettes right down to the camel or red-box. I am tempted to buy several as a joke for my pals with kids but for once think twice. Our ramble passes Tomkins Park, Union Square, Irving Place and Gramercy Park. It is a sunny, freezing day and as ever the hustle and bustle non-stop wherever we are. I buy a pair of three-stripe kicks which puts me in a good way then we sit around a coffee shop and chew on the economy. Tim is CFO of a security business which has raised >$120 million and he was responsible for the last financing which introduced some of the largest investors anywhere. From here Katie and I stroll northward to Midtown where we are surrounded by height including my favorite horror on Park Avenue. How can I not be impressed? Up and up and up and up. By now the sun sets, it is dark, I am cold; we head back to Katie's Upper West Side. Another great day in the Big Apple.