Saturday

Here I am, dressed to the nines and - just like the kids - scrubbed to an inch of my life.  This is the expression Sonnet often uses.  We are at Natasha's wedding and Eitan grumpy since A) I yank him from football ten minutes before over and B) he has to wear a tie. Really, this the worst thing in the world.

The country otherwise focused on the Lake District, which is flooded by record rains. Cumbria receives 314 mm (12.3 inches) in 24 hours, compared to 280mm which fell in Martinstown in, Dorset in 1955 the worst rainfall on record before today.  According to Hilary Benn, the Environment Secretary, this "a once in a thousand years event" which has destroyed flood defences built only four years ago during another flooding; scores of homes in  Cockermouth and Workington swamped. Super Gee promises £1 million, which would buy, like, a house in London.  WTF?  Why not offer these poor people donuts or something instead? The Chief Constable pleads for tourist to stay away since the area otherwise popular with vacationers - Sonnet and I rambled in '99 and lovely  The police concerned gawkers drawn to the River Derwent which has taken Pc Bill Parker, father of four.

Meanwhile, following the horrible "two-hand-touch Thierry" keeping Ireland from South Africa, European football officials announce the arrest of ring-leaders in a far-reaching match fixing cartel involving 200 games in at least nine continental countries. The German police, who lead the investigation, suggest the sport riddled with corruption worse than fans or officials otherwise suspect and "this may be the tip of the ice berg."   England's Premier League the exception - clean. And why not? These lads paid huge dough but, if I have learned anything, enough is never enough. The scandal a black mark and I am glad the Germans all over it - if anybody can worry the wise guys, it is the German stasi.

Lift Off

We're off to Brixton to see current favorite band White Lies. Joining us are David from the neighborhood whose son Joe Eitan's best pal, Paul and his friend Steph who is from France and attractive in a way one can be at 30.  Beforehand, we have dinner at a family-style Portuguese which Sonnet and I discovered some long while ago and has become our pre-concert routine.  The best thing about the place: multiple old television screens always showing some far-away football game between two lesser countries.  The way it should be.  In Beijing I recall a meal by myself without a word of English.  The food unbelievably hot and a soccer match between two obscure provinces blinkered on a raised TV with bad reception. So I wonder: is it possible to have any understanding, let alone insight, into a billion people and their different history? Their's utterly meaningless.  I think often still as some many investors plough their dough into Asia assuming the magnificent growth an apple for the plucking.  I think not or, at least, the harvest to somebody who understands China far better than I.  And yet there I was, watching a game, and the obvious strikes me: we be one.

Handball

Another grey day in London. I borrow Madeleine's shades.

The French really got away with murder Wednesday, equalising against Ireland in the final moments of a World Cup play-off match.  Thierry Henry openly admits his two hand-balls (should replay not be enough) which keeps the ball in action allowing the Frogs to score and advance to South Africa next summer.  My Irish friend David is bothered immensely, poor fellow, but those are sometimes the breaks.  Ireland's Prime Minister demands a rematch which FIFA rejects (FIFA is Federation Internationale de Football Association - French!).  The Iris already believe global football a stitch-up which prefers the bigger football loving countries like France and perhaps they are right.  I would prefer France v Brazil or Germany or England.  And especially France- it is just too much fun to root against them.  Freedom fries and all that.  I tell David the French guaranteed to win the World Cup trophy given this week's omen. We bet ten quid on it.


I have often wondered where the expression "the beautiful game" originated, and learn the phrase coined by Brazilian superstar Didi - the Brazilian expression Joga Bonita (to "play beautifully) parallels this phrase.  In 1977 Pele, named his autobiography "My Life and the Beautiful Game" whose dedication reads: "I dedicate this book to all those who make the game beautiful."  

"I never make predictions.  And I never will."

--Paul Gascoine, legendary England player

Paternoster and St Paul's School

 

I am out late last night with Nick and Walid from Columbia Business School. We go to the Chop House in Paternoster Square next to St Paul's (which looms overhead, lit in foggy white).  The square once the center of London's publishing trade and devastated by German bombers during The Blitz.  Somehow the Wren cathedral survived but she did.  Today, the area modernised (glass, steel and faux-marble stone - how unimaginative) and home of the London Stock Exchange which moved here in 2004 from the wonderfully named Threadneedle Street.  Since the old adage "to make money, you have to be near money" holds true, we find LSE's neighbor Goldman Sachs - hovering, no doubt (yesterday BTW Goldman's CEO made to apologies for his firm's grubby behavior by none-other than Warren Buffet who, along with me and you, bailed their asses out. Goldman has not been particularly adroit regarding PR, before yesterday noting that "we are doing God's work" by contributing less that 0.5% of their record-setting 2009 bonus pool to charity).  Walid whip-sawed by last year's melt-down but now Ok having moved his trading to Nomura. What comes across from Walid how uncertain his life was in September 2008. And perhaps for us all, too, though we were blind to the cliff's edge.

Sonnet and I visit St Paul's School which celebrates its quincentenary this year.  Prince Charles to stop by next week and pay his respects.  Tucked into a gentle curve of the River Thames at Barnes and due South of Hammersmith, the school grounds enormous for London: 45 acres including tennis courts, football and rugby pitches, cricket grounds, fencing, basketball and 25-meter swimming pool used by Eitan and Madeleine.  The academics most impressive: 2009 GCSEs produced 79% A* and 97.5% A*/A or the second best in the school's history and the best GCSE results in the UK.  St Paul's, simply, the best academic secondary school in Britain.  Similar to Hampton, there is unimaginable opportunity here - our student-guide shows us proudly his wood-shop project which is a beautifully crafted knife wrack with child safety cover - he is encouraged to patent the thing.  From arts to the sciences, reading libraries to language rooms, world-travel, sports, music, computer programming, individual tudors and motivated teachers - this place is the bomb for geeky kids. On campus, according to the Head Master who provides the general overview, the most capable maths boy in Europe. He is 13 and probably goes toe-to-toe with Eric. Eitan would do well here, I think, but no doubt it would be a shock from his state-school; he would be at least one-year behind.  Plus he has to get in - St Paul's draws almost exclusively from the prep schools. Oh, and 46 went to Cambridge or Oxford last year - out of 159. And one kid went to Brown which, in fairness, has a higher acceptance bar.

"It is a miracle that curiosity survives formal education."

--Albert Einstein

"Your ability to learn faster than your competition is the only sustainable competitive advantage."

-- Arie de Gues

Self Portrait XIII

I buy a 'miner's lamp' to allow Sonnet to sleep while I read.

London's climate a lot better than most people think - temperate, with modest daily highs during summer and winter lows that are seldom below freezing.  Most taxi drivers can tell you how The Capital once under two or three feet of snow but no longer thanks to global warming. Rainfall 20 inches a year or identical to San Francisco. Unlike the Bay Area, here fairly regular and mostly drizzle, occurring throughout the year. Morose skies may last months.  Personally, I don't mind the weather - in fact, the "gale force winds" that rip through the Southest somehow cozy, and the clouds whiz along  by. The loss of light another story.  By the winter solstice, the sun-up 8AM and sets 3:50PM, hanging low on the horizon all day.  It's nothing like Anchorage, where Sonnet grew up, but compared to the Sunshine State, it don't.  This is 51-degrees latitude, after  San Fran, by comparison, 37 and LA 34 and no wonder these Brits dream of California.  Especially now. Since weather an important topic of conversation deserving a stock reply, mine is "we choose to live here."  My little inside joke - because we all want to.

Eitan and Madeleine visit a church for some school trip, coming home with the book "The Pilgrim's Progess."

Madeleine describes the story: "there was a Pilgrim, but he changed his name to Christian." 

Me: "what is a Pilgrim?"

Madeleine: "How should I know?"

The book jacket notes helpfully: "John Bunyan wrote this book originally so that we can learn that our most urgent problem is our sin and that the only solution is Jesus." 

Madeleine continues: "And the Pilgrim had some Jewish food.  Or maybe it was Christian?"

Me: "Was he eating a bagel?"

Madeleine:

Me: "Is the book about Jesus?"

Madeleine: "Who's he?"

Eitan: "Well, he's in the book."

Me: "Did you read the book?"

Eitan: "No, but I read the blurb.  About Jesus."

Me: "Jesus was a Jew."

Madeleine: "He liked bagels?"

Me:

Anish

Kapoor displayed at the Royal Academy from last month and this - pictured - what greets visitors in the courtyard. Pretty cool. Unfortunately tickets have been sold out for the week end, otherwise I would take the kids who, I am most certain, would love his stuff.  I must be more organised.  I am up for an early morning bike-ride around Richmond Park and then to town for a business lunch then a meeting and now home for family dinner.  Monday the best day of the week.

Sonnet, during today's school run: "Madeleine, Natasha (our recently married nanny) is not pregnant."

Madeleine: "Yes, but they've done that thing where they put the two things together."

Sonnet:

Sex Ed

 Madeleine: "You know, Dad, you aren't even a quarter as smart as Einstein."


I enter Eitan's room to have the conversation.  Eitan reading his ManU magazines and the last thing in the world he wants is a discussion about girls, and whatever comes with that package.  I remember being about Eitan's age, lying on my bed on a lazy Sunday reading comics (Peter Parker the Spectacular Spider Man - issues #1-25 mint) and my father having the same conversation.  In the UK, sex education is a compulsory part of the national curriculum in primary and secondary schools to cut teen pregnancies and sexually transmitted diseases, which I applaud though many uncomfortable with the general early start.  Britain has some of the worst statistics in Europe. A new personal, social and health education (PSHE) curriculum, expected by 2010, will include compulsory sex and relationships education as well as better advice warning children against drugs and alcohol. Children will learn about body parts and the fact that animals reproduce from the age of five, puberty and intercourse from the age of seven and contraception and abortion from the age of 11.


Madeleine and I spend the entire afternoon at Eitan's 8-11 borough swimming championships, watching him compete two laps.  At least they were 33 meters and he tries the butterfly.  Madeleine is to die from boredom and, frankly, so am I.

Jump !

Madeleine has Jackson over and I tell them whatever they wish.  Two movies? Go for it.  Ben and Jerry's? Finish it all.  Stay up late? As you wish just don't bother me.  I make hamburgers and french fries, which are not especially good - Grace later tells me the secret is to soak them for some time in cold water to remove the starch.  This is one of those great things to know, which nobody other than your mom is going to tell you.  So we have a fun evening and they have deserved it.  The movies BTW are "Star Wars Clones" and "Honey, I Shrunk The Kids" which I recall from '89 the year I graduated college. Oy vay. The special effects are pretty weak especially the giant ant the shrunk kids befriend. Said ant battles red tarantula and we all morn its death.  Rick Moranis pretty damn funny though he will always remain the nurd chased down by the devil dogs in "Ghost Busters."

"Honey" was a summer-release and postered across Manhattan. I know this because I drove into Greenwich Village on 5 July to start my post-University life.  My first apartment, 373 Sixth Avenue, ghastly. Found by Brown pal Mark, we shared two floors with seven Financial Analysts representing Merrill Lynch, Goldman Sachs, Morgan Stanley and of course, the mighty First Boston.  Only two remain. My room in the middle, overlooking a dark 8' by '8 light-shaft which somebody astro-turffed for their children complete with play gym.  This is NY.  The best thing about the place that we didn't care about its trashing - which we did on numerous occasions hosting boozy parties.  All furniture pushed to one end, keg and bar in the upstairs kitchen, dancing anywhere until dawn.  The first floor tenants four uniquely attractive students at Parsons School of Design and its fair to say their girl-friends pretty much made those evenings.  Our main problem keeping out the cornerside riff-raff who wished to share our treasure (girls, spirits). Ah, twenty-one and in the Big Apple for the first.

The first guy I met BTW a chubby Korean in a wife-beater t-shirt named Yangki who also, it turned out, working at First Boston.  Yangki partied like nobody's business and slept all day Sunday.  And there was Jimmy, an ice-hockey player from Brown whose only rink-time 2AM Monday mornings. He never missed.

Ten-hut!

Sonnet is in Bath this week end with Halley and I get to shape the silly puddy sans interference.  I drive them hard: oh-six-thirty reveille followed by breakfast and maths home work.  Madeleine and I sanitise Foxy's Habitrail while Eitan guards the hamster with his life.  We then put the rodent in its ball and clean-up the dishes.  Madeleine picked up for swim-practice at seven-forty sharp. I take Eitan to football where we debate practice since "torrential rain." Why question? This is England. The boys go ahead.  I visit the hard-ware then the dump, pick-up Eitan from football and Madeleine from a post-swim play-date and home where they begin .. chores!  Today brutal, too, since autumn deposits a blanket of leaves on the front and back.  The Shakespeares drag their feet.  It rains. Oh well.  Madeleine asks timidly: "may I have something to eat?" which is a fair question since I have forgotten lunch. I make toasted egg, cheese and ketchup sandwiches. Again Madeleine: "Dad I did not know you could cook like this!".  After lunch, more chores now home work, which the kids do in fear since I threaten demerits for lallygagging.  It is one o'clock.  After an hour's silence (minds at work), I give them free-time until 3PM when Eitan has a birthday party and Madeleine and I to pick up Jackson for an overnight.

Me: "Ok, kids, make yourself some breakfast."

Madeleine: "Can I have marsh mellows?"

Me:

Madeleine: "Chocolate lollies then?"

Me:

Madeleine: "Well, you did say for us to have what we want!"

Preview

I watch a bit of the movie 'Hoodwinked' which the kids absorb on 'movie night.'  It's awful - nouveau animation, loud music, awful plot, silly charters.  I point this out and Madeleine, eyes glued to the set: "It is a kids movie, Dad. You don't understand it."  And I suppose, indeed, she is right.

Sonnet and I visit the Hampton School in Surrey this afternoon. Eitan will sit his exams in Year-6 while we are a year or so ahead of the curve, reviewing state and public schools for his secondary education (the equivalent of Jr and High School in the US). Madeleine will begin next year.  Hampton was founded in 1552 and remains steadfastly all-boys, though there is a neigbhoring sister school where, I am sure, the hormones make a bee-line.  The Head Master leads a presentation equal to anything I saw at the Columbia Business School (though without cheese nor $200K signing bonuses).  The school's data speaks for itself: around 77% of the boys scored  "A" on their GCSEs while the national average (including girls, boosting the rate)  20% (GCSEs BTW are part of the National Qualifications Framework. A GCSE at grades D–G is a Level 1 qualification, while a GCSE at grades A–C is a Level 2 qualification. An A is an exceptional outcome).  This makes Hampton School one of the top ten secondaries in Britain.

Of great interest to our house: football popular and Hampton won the Indpendent School's Cup in 1999 and 2007 and reached the final in 2005 and 2009.

Any wayssss .. Sonnet and I impressed by the lads who are tall, purposely disheveled, handsome, friendly .. I can see Eitan here but who knows? For his part, Eitan aware of the Hampton School since many of his school pals want to go here (or at least, their parents want them to go here).  Stay tuned.

Sonnet and I discuss the differences of Hampton  vs. her Anchorage high school Steller or my Berkeley High School.  There is no doubt a top British public school (ie, private) opportunities enormous especially here in or around London.  Beyond tradition and all that, these boys travel. They visit or do exchanges around the world in places like Uruguay and Malowi - 27 countries in all last year.  The cricket club was in South Africa and will tour India this year.  Wow. I got a good education at BHS and was lucky or motivated to spend a year in Geneva but this unusual - my parents made it so.  Here, anything can be done. And why not? As a teacher says today: "We should set the example. We live in the fourth wealthiest country in the world and ours one of the ten best secondary schools."  And there you have it.

Eitan: "You have an extraordinary ability to remember every bad thing that has happened to you."

Madeleine: "Eitan - that is the nicest thing you have ever said to me!"

Lunch And A Mistake

I take Madeleine from school for lunch, where we stare at each other over pizza, her favorite dish. Hers: pepperoni, of course.  It is hard work getting inside the head of a seven-year-old and I find myself leading many fits and starts. How is school? Fine. Do you like your teacher? She's Ok. What's your favorite subject? Art. Why? I don't know. And so on and so forth.  Being with her fills my heart with joy.

Gordon Brown has taken a hard one this week from grieving mother Jacqui Janes whose son Jamie, a professional soldier, died in Afghanistan. Brown sent Janes his condolences and mis-spelled Janes' name - or at least it appears that way in the letter posted by The Sun who gleefully reports the outrage. Brown (who also lost a child - his ten-year-old daughter Jennifer to a brain haemorrhage) mortified, calls Janes to apologies and lambasted by her for inadequate helicopter support that, she shrills, caused her son's death. The Sun releases the conversation (Janes denies being wired, but she is a liar).  In the US, Cindy Sheehan effectively used her son's death to galvanise anti-war protests.  I have every sympathy for Jacqui Janes (and Cindy Sheehan) but I have no tolerance for her public attack on Brown for attempting to provide comfort .. Brown's letter may be filled with errors, but it is lengthy, hand-written and seems genuine.  Janes and The Sun turning this into a media event is tacky.  Or worse.  Jamie's death should be honoured with dignity and respect.  

"He didn't sound apologetic in the phone call. He didn't actually apologise. He said sorry a lot, sorry that I didn't understand his writing, sorry about all that. Today he looked sincere. He looked humbled. He is now going to get a record of my son's death, of the day's events. I hope that he has the sleepless nights I have had for the past five weeks because my son sustained horrific injuries."

--Jacqui Janes

Me: "How was your morning?"

Madeleine: "Good."

Me: "Use more than one word."

Madeleine: "Really good."

Me (before dinner): "How was your day?"

Eitan: "Good."

Me: "Use more than one word please."

Eitan: "Rea.."

Me: "And don't you dare say 'really good.'"

Fancy Dress And Bullet Payments

Eitan moments before his tie for Dana's christening.  He is not a happy camper.  Dana did inform us dress-up unnecessary for the Sunday ceremony but Sonnet and I feel a little formal good for the boy.  It does not happen often - in fact, the last time at Diane's wedding in June.  Same for Madeleine and a dress, which is unfortunate because I like her in one.  I am sure every parent goes through the same over fancy dress (check); homework and chores (check); take a bath (check); go to bed (check, check, check).  We try to choose our battles, Dear God. We do try.


There are some indicators that London coming out of the financial mess, including commercial property values which have snapped back from their deepest slump on record and now worry pundits we are entering another bubble. Oy.  I am not convinced, however, that we are through the tunnel.  The Financial Services Authority, which regulates the UK's financial industry, saw 247 new applications for authorisation in the third quarter, the lowest in three years, while 643 firms cancelled their registration (source: IMAS Corporate Advisors). The country's financial engine, The City, continues to shrink even while bonuses return to 2007 (Goldman, bastards).  The real worry, however, 2012: this when 'bullet payments' come due on company debt issued in a leveraged buy-out in 2007. This, of course, being the top of a toppy market.  Company valuations were then out of wack with historicals and now these investments underwater (like negative equity on a house).  Nobody really cares about value flucuations as long as the debt serviced .. which it typically must be in five years after the issue date. If the economy has not returned to terra firma, we may see defaults which could .. only hurt a struggling economy further.    


"If your love life is rife, it could save your life."
--A losing entry for a new, national condoms campaign

On Jewishness

Here is a pic of our groovy concert Friday.  We were close-up this time which - surprise! - makes a big difference.
One I am watching closely: Britain's Supreme Court decision regarding 'Jewishness.' Here's the stem: a 12-year-old applies to North London's Jews' Free School (founded in 1732); the boy's father Jewish and his mother a 'converted' Jew. JFS does not accept Mom's religion, boy denied entrance and family sues JFS.  The Supremes will decide whether the school's test of Jewishness based on religion, which is legal, or on race (or ethnicity), which is not.  The issue divisive and all the more interesting, through my American peepers, as JFS could not exist in the US as state schools (for now) not allowed to consider religion in the classroom (never you mind 'creationism,' deary).  Every community in England confronts this issue at some point as state-sponsored religious schools often better than the local general primary or secondary.. how far would you go, as a parent, to ensure the best education for your child?  In the case of JFS the question goes deeper: who decides what is Jewish? The school? Community? Local rabbi? Courts? 


I can honestly say, after three countries and 42 years, I have never experienced anti-semitism.  I am also not a practicing Jew nor look particularly Jewish, whatever that may mean. Hooked nose, I suppose. Many of my friends are Jewish (none with hooked noses) - in fact, probably the majority - which I have wondered about from time to time.  I think  this because of personality or success or whatever, not because of similar last names - but, really, who knows? Maybe we are all drawn to what is familiar despite whatever. In any event, I am proud race was never much of a consideration in Berkeley.  Just look at my sixth grade class photo. Thank you, Moe and Grace.

Christ!

We are in North London for Dana, Dakota and Calvin's christening at the Church of The Most Holy Trinity and then aftewards, a party at their place in Primrose Hill.  The ceremony filled with interruptions from babies crying and little kids running about, as it should be. Ours watch with raised eye, as though to say - "can you believe how rude these children are?"  Dana's place filled with champagne, food and cheer, as it always is. I recall an evening some many years ago and Dana with an enormous carving knife, she hidden behind a rack of meat Flintstones style.  And it is true - we no longer entertain like we once did.  In our hay day, during those go-go Internet years, de rigeur was two dinner parties a week and usually a week end brunch; Sonnet likes to say we fed all of Maida Vale.  We met a lot of people then and many of those good ones still with us today, God bless.

At the party, Nathan finds the ManU vs. Chelsea game on the Internets which is the ticket. Unfortunately, the Blues defeat the Red Devils 1-nil.

Madeleine credited for this photograph.

Fawsky And Mancroft II

Madeleine and hamster Fawksy - pictured.  She saves her pennies to buy Habitrail extensions.  Approaching 24 hours and the thing has not escaped.

Eitan's KPR plays the Mancroft 'A' team - recall, the Mancroft's Bs handed KPR their first loss of the season last week end, 2-1.  Sonnet wants to see the lads in action and attends her first game, which turns out to be a drama-filled cracker.  Today a 'tournement' and the winner advances to the quarter-finals.  Mancroft goes up 1-nil and Eitan scores the equaliser, again, this time on a left-footed shot which even he is pleased with.  Following two overages of five-minutes each - the dreaded penalty kicks.  Unlucky me to miss the most exciting match of the season.  Our boys triumph in PKs reaching a three goal difference first. Phew!

Burgers And Diabetes

Here is the motley crew flipping away (missing from photo is Andrew).  We cook 300 hamburgers and 200 sausages along with cheese and onions, crisps and soda.  The queue 25-30 long for most of the evening so we don't have much time to watch fireworks.  We make some money for the school, which is what counts.  Since greasy fair, it seems appropriate to hear Sonnet comment on "Fast Food Nation" which she reads in bed as I blog. Did you you (she asks) that the average American adult consumes 56 gallons of soda a year?  Bloated, dude. Blo-ted.  Twenty years ago, teen-age boys drank twice as much milk as soda.  Today, they drink twice as much soda as milk.  Of course we know our eating habits bad - look at us, we are fat. Not just fat - obese, which leads to diabetes, high blood pressure and all sorts of terrible health consequences. And here is the epidemic: 26.4% of US men and 24.8% of women are now obese, according to the US Department of Health and Human Services.  Over 40% over-weight.  Britain BTW catching up fast. We are fat because fast-food convenient tastes good and cheap.  A killer combinatin.

Sonnet and I in Kentucky driving across the nation following my MBA school circa June '97.  We had breakfast at a family restaurant and the waitress suggests the turtle pie and a cherry Coke: "a slice of heaven" she says.  Breakfast.  I kept to coffee.  I don't really see fat people in London or New York or California nor are my friends over-weight excluding the occasional 'love handles' us men seem to have.  No, the cellulite mostly in the Midwest (or the Midlands in the UK).  Arriving in St Louis for my cousin's wedding some years ago I was surrounded by happy, fat people ..  like Gulliver must have felt.  There is nothing funny nor cute about this - not only are the over-weights compromising their health and lifestyle, they will eventually bankrupt the medical system. The UK debates how diabetes may destroy the NHS: at our London arrival in 1997, 1.4 million had diabetes - today, it is 2.5 million. By 2025 it will be over four million. Most of the cases will be Type 2 diabetes, because of our ageing population and rapidly rising numbers of overweight and obese people. Japan does not have a similar concern despite their older society.  So we must eat less and exercise. Obvious but can it be done?  Or is it another one of those time bombs like the national deficit or global warming that just goes tick.. tick... tick .. 

Effigy

This sucker's going to burn. Yes, Guy Fawkes again - well, Thursday, actually, but tonight the fireworks celebration. As before and before, I organise the BBQ and we sell 'beef burgers' and 'sausages'. My photo on the kids' grounds before people arrive.

Madeleine and I go to the shoe store for some black school shoes (she will only take the boys style) and I throw in a pair of green Converse All Stars to make her happy. They look good on her. The next stop: pet store, since we have to replace Monty though, of course, Monty can never be replaced (kids leave out food and water every night). This time, Madeleine goes for a tawny coloured Syberian whose long, shaggy hair attracts its hamster shit. Madeleine doesn't care - she buys a hamster brush with her allowance. God bless. We hope this one will stay with us longer than one week. She names the hamster "Foxy" or "Fawksey" as in Guy Fawkes "since we bought him on Guy Fawkes day, Dad." (I haven't the heart to tell her G-F Thursday). I like the ring of it.

Madeleine: "How was the world made?"

Sonnet: "Some people say it was made by the Big Bang, others believe it was by God."

Madeleine: "I don't believe in God ... it might take me my whole life to figure it out."

Sonnet:

Madeleine: "Not even Frankenstein could know the answer."

Sonnet: "Frankenstein, Madeleine?"

Madeleine: "Yes, the really smart guy." (of course she means Einstein)

Airbone Toxic Event

Sonnet and I catch The Airborne Toxic Event last night at the Shepard's Bush Empire (great venue).  The band from California while the name a nod to Don DeLillo's novel White Noise.  The group ensembled in 2007 and released their first album earlier this year which I bought, bored, at Heathrow Airport.  TATE combines a bit of rock-a-billy and punk with a violin and try to hit Arcade Fire's sweet angst.  It works, too, and their show a blow-out. I think even they surprised by their reception, asking "how do you know a small band from LA with one record lasting 37 minutes?" yet we do, jumping wildly at the louder riffs.  Afterwards, lead singer Mike Jollett (center of picture) hangs around for thirty minutes to shake hands and accept accolades.  Must feel pretty good to visit London and be loved so.  Cool.

Before the concert, I meet my gal and we have dinner at a local Thai, as we do every time we are in this part of London for a show.  We catch each other up on a busy week which mostly means Sonnet has to listen to me talk (I do occasionally ask her if she gets bored?).  I revisit a few good meetings and several school runs. We talk about the kids and Sonnet had a drinks-night out with the mums in Eitan's class.  Apparently several of the girls having "issues" and Eitan and pal Cyrus (Egyptian maths genius) asked by the teacher to "act out" best behavior.  Eitan does not seem to mind but who knows?  I also have a physical for insurance where the doctor tells me, "in the end, you will die. This I know for certain." Great.  When not the grim-reaper, he's otherwise pretty funny and we exchange barbs (He: "the rich, you know, often have the most complicated lives. And this makes them unhappy." Me: "You're a doctor on Harley Street - you must be miserable" and so on and so forth. I am pretty darn happy BTW and not rich).  He gives me a thorough running over and, I may report, everything tip-top. I also do one of those echochardiograms where they shave the chest, glue on conducting pads and plant me on the treadmill.  Wish I had a picture of that one. My heart healthy and so I would hope  following Berlin and London this year.

Photo from Airborne Toxic Event promo and I will poste en scene shortly.

Thorpedo

Before Michael Phelps raised the bar has high as humanly possible, there was Ian Thorpe - pictured - who retired in 2006. Recall Thorpe the youngest men's world champion in swimming history at the age of 14, by winning the 400 freestyle final at the 1998 world championship. 14, dude. He went on to win five Olympic gold medals and ten Commonwealth golds. From 1998 until retirement, he dominated the 400-meter freestyle, winning the event at every Olympic, World, Commonwealth and Pan Pacific championships, excluding a brief break following Athens. He took home 11 World tiltes - the most by any swimmer until Phelps. At the 2001 World Championships, in Fukuoka, Japan, Thorpe grabbed a record six titles (also broken by Phelps). From 1999-2002, Thorpe broke 13 World Records. He won Swimming World Magazine's 'World Swimmer of the Year' award four times.

Today, not one of Thorpe's records stands, not even his remarkable 400 meter long-course freestyle record of 3:40.08 set in 2002. Over several years, Thorpe lowered the mark by five seconds. Some thought this mark would stand 20 years but it went down to Germany's Paul Biedermann who swam 1/100 second faster at this summer's World Aquatics Championships in Rome. Since the body-suit banned from January 2010, unlikely that the 3:40 mark will be broken for a long time. Boy, things have come a long ways since my day. I recall the great Russian Vladimir Salnikov cracking 15-minutes in the 1500 meters - a time some thought unobtainable. He would not make the finals today. Salnikov also the first man under 3:50 for the 400, which he achieved in 1982 at the USR vs. GDR dual meet. That most have been something to see.

Photo, uncredited, from the WWW.

"Being compared to Ian Thorpe, that could be one of the greatest compliments you could ever get in swimming - being compared to him and Mark Spitz."

--Michael Phelps

Marc - Hawkings - A Monty Update

The kids watch "World Pup" about dogs and .. football. Groan.  It's right up there with "Space Dogs" where the dogs go into ..

So I am at Automat last night for a dinner party honoring Marc who is in town for a conference and meeting investors for his Texas-focused buy-out fund (Texas is, he points out, the 12th largest economy in the world).  At the table are the usual hedge-fund suspects as would be expected from the Harvard Business School where Marc was graduated, mid-1990s. 

On my right Lucy who was was a journalist in New York and now completing her third book in a children-series about a kid, George, who finds a way to slip through a computer generated portal and travel around the solar system.  I probe a bit and turns out out that George has been translated in 38 languages and her father Stephen Hawking - you know, theoretical science and all that. Black holes.  

I suggest to Lucy that this must be difficult for her - proving my point by swapping my interest from her to her dad (who can forget the Hawking-Preskill bet where Hawkings argued that since general relativity made it impossible for black holes to radiate, and lose information, the mass-energy and information carried by Hawking Radiation must be "new", and not originate from inside the black hole event horizon.  Since this contradicts the idea under quantum mechanics of microcausality, quantum mechanics would need to be re-written.  Preskill, of course, disagreed and the winner to receive a set of Encyclopedias.  Suck on that one, Connally).

Lucy's book sounds pretty cool, as is she, and I scribble myself a note to buy George for the kids.

Monty update: for those following the trauma, the hamster alive somewhere in the house and we can hear the damn thing scratching.  Madeleine dutifully sets out a bowl of nuts and water and sure enough - gone in the morning.

Goof Off

I come home in time for dinner to find the kids eating pretzels, having already finished their meal.  Hmm.  Eitan in his football gear following practice; he also had Spanish though for the life of me I don't know why since he cannot even respond to 'cómo te llamas' - sheesh, even I know that.

Me: "What did you do in school today?"

Madeleine: "We had to do that thing where we named two words that are the same."

Me: "What were yours?"

Madeleine: "I did 'force' like push and pull and 'force' of the dark side, like in Star Wars."

Eitan: "Can't you pick the easy ones?"

Madeleine: "All the easy ones were taken!"

Me:

Me: "Is Madeleine upset about Monty?" (the hamster, who is gone for good this time)

Eitan: "No, because she is getting another one this week end."

Madeleine: "Or a lizard!"

Eitan: "You are not getting a lizard. It is just because you want to show off for Joe.

Madeleine: "Or a guinea pig."

Madeleine: "Dad, you know my fish has died? He died this morning."

Me:

Supertanker

I am way deep into tankers, trying to sell five of them.  Know anybody? A supertanker, pictured, is generally more than 250,000 dead-weight tonnes (dwt) and capable of carrying two to three-million barrels of oil. The largest supertanker - in fact, the world's largest boat ever - the Jahre Viking who now rests permanently moored as the storage tanker Knock Nevis. Poor guy.  It weighs 564,763 dwt. In the 1950s, tankers with only a tenth of that capacity would have been called supertankers. That, as one says, is progress.  Photo of the SKS Tanker from their website.  Note how low she rests in the water - clearly a hefty load.


Grace points out that my below snow phot-o following a Taho blizzard (there was a devastating avalanche one month later). The family car broke down and mom notes: "we depended on the kindness of strangers" to get home. This was the era of the Sony Walkman, which I received for Christmas, and I listened to The Police's "Zenyatta Mondatta," like, a hundred times.


Madeleine: "I want to live in America."
Sonnet: "Why is that?"
Madeleine: "Five reasons.  One - we'd get to see Gracie and Moe all the time. Two - I love it there. Three - It's warmer. Four and five I forget."

Private Equity Pay

On a cold today, this photo seems appropriate - snow to come but let us hope not too much if at all. Image taken by Moe in Yosemite or 1982 or '83 before Bear Valley.

Private equity pay: despite the financial mess, fund managers maintain their salary thanks to the ever-ongoing 2% management fee charged on assets.  For your typical Senior Associate, according to PEI, this is >$460,000 per year while partners earn above a bar. GPs at the mega-firms, or those with at least $1 billion, receive many times this figure.  But, as any fund investor appreciates, a general partner motivated by 20% of the upside.  Historically private equity has outperformed public stocks rather substantially.  Well, until now that is with worse to come as the industry's (over)leverage works its way through the portfolio.  To appreciate how bad, consider secondary players who provide industry liquidity by purchasing private equity stakes on the cheep - today they sit on the sidelines despite everybody selling anything before the house. Next year, no doubt, the secondary industry will return ensemble driving up prices .. until they, too, have a hard time making a return.  Same as it ever was. 

Fund managers find themselves in a pickle if A) they cannot raise another fund (many cannot) or B) the partnership breaks under the  strain (restructurings are a drag but the fees keep a com'n).  PAI, for instance, a French 'mega' firm who has cooked its goose - maybe. PAI's m&a advisor insinuated himself into the partnership and forced out two founders this year triggering a Key Man event.  Investors rightly demanded their dough.  Since PAI receiving $100 million of fees per annumn, the fight is 'on.'  Unfortunately for investors, PAI's dissolution requires two-thirds investor consent.   I give it less than 50-50. 

Despite a few bigger, bunk or over-leveraged firms, private equity without hesitation good for industry and so society. Businesses owned by an independent, financially motivated shareholder generally better managed then families or publics; under-performing CEOs may get fired, redundencies cut fat, not muscle. A few lucky owners get paid a lot of money. The losers, like PAI, should die quickly .. but they rarely do.

KPR Lose - Some Chores - A Metaphor

On a wet and miserable day, Eitan's KPR lose their first game of the season 2-1 to Mancroft in Surrey. Eitan scores the equaliser but the other side has the boys' number.  Eitan notes that his team missing their two best players but overall, the lads seem happy with their play (I miss the match, gratefully accepting the car-pool).  The boy now does his house chores and none to happy about it either.  Bummer of a day, dude.  While Eitan away, Madeleine and I bike half-way round Richmond Park. She hits every puddle and a soaking mess but loves every moment.  Sonnet does some house organising, gets out the winter gear &c.  I make a trip to the dump and blog away.

Me: "What is your favorite subject?"

Madeleine: "Lunch."

Me: "Try again."

Madeleine: "Pasta bolognese?"

Me: "Our goal is to fill your tool-box with skills."

Madeleine: "That's a metaphor, Dad"

Me: "Good. What are some things you want in your tool-box?"

Madeleine: "Art and drawing.  Also maths."

Me: "Math is like the hammer. Any others?"

Madeleine: "Thinking."

Me: "Excellent!"

Madeleine: "That one is like a chainsaw, isn't it dad?"

A Motley Crew

 Kids assembled, we do a line-up before marching out the door.  Our block relatively quiet for trick-or-treaters as there are older couples sans children.  We head for the honey-pot or a street where the neighbors compete for the best affects.  Antony, for instance, an actor on a popular T.V. show who blacks out his house and wires the front for sound - howling wind and ghoulish cackles .. the kids gather at his door and slowly it opens .. opens .. and then his grey hand and a blood soaked shirt appear ..finally a face .. eyes glassed over - extends a gruesome box of various candies.  We adults giggle nervously and the kids bolt, screaming - especially the under 6's.  Bravo!  Another house with a long black tent inviting the kids into darkness and .. who knows? Even Eitan hesitates before the over-riding need for more sweets overcomes his inhibition.  There are many well-carved pumpkins and the kids move from house to house just like Charlie Brown.  In our crew, as can be seen, we have a dalmation, Dr Death, Dracula and Madeleine, with a spike in her head.  She and Eitan argue about the make-up, which he somehow feels rightly his until I point out that his Bart mask does not allow for it.  Anthony joins us and afterwards we have dinner and drink red wine, eventually watching a couple of episodes of 'Mad Men' before bed.  All together, a good night in London.

Me: "What does Hallowe'en mean to you you?"

Madeleine: "Treats, candy, having fun."

Me: "Anything else?"

Madeleine: "Can I eat my candy now?"

Bart

And yes, after a half-hour of nagging, Eitan gets a 'Bart Simpson' costume for this evening.  I think he does a rather good job of 'feeling' Bart in this photograph.  Sonnet, meanwhile, prepares for seven children who arrive inside an hour for the afternoon then 'tricks or treats.' The parents to show up later for a glass of wine or cocktail - probably much needed by all of us.  I shell a few hard-boiled eggs and Sonnet finishes off a poppyseed cake (which she slyly calls "spider egg cake" for the occasion).  Madeleine runs into the kitchen just now dressed in a jolly clown suit wearing a black wool cap with bloody knife protruding each side. She asks: "do you like it, Dad? Do you?" and I must admit - is it a happy thing or a sad thing?  There is some wrangling about rules governing the post-candy-collection with Eitan and Madeleine wanting complete freedom and Sonnet wishing to control their consumption.  I drop in with some order - "two pieces a day. That's it!" Sonnet looks at me angrily - no way are they eating two chocolate bars or whatever every day until the pillow case empty.  So we agree: the kids to turn over their score to mom, who will dole out the treats according to prudence.  This, I agree, takes the wind from the sails but it is sensible, dear reader. Oh so sensible.

Purnima - SouthBank - Monty Escapes (Again)

Last night we and the kids on the Southbank Centre to try something different - Purnima Chaudhuri, a singer of Akashvani and Doordarshan who has appeared in the National Programmes and Akashvani Sangeet Sammelan various times. B.B.C. TV has also telecast her programme.  Chaudhuri is Sangeet Pravin (M.Muse) from Prayag Sangeet Samity, Allahabad. Her wailing, to the traditional hindu drum and strings, beyond me but the audience enraptured, emitting exclamations of enthusiasm at moments which do not seem to correspond to a song's rythme.  Madeleine loves the performance while Eitan reserved - he leans on my shoulder, clearly drowsy and up past his bedtime. The both of us, brother, and I too fall asleep (Sonnet jabs me a few times as my head rolls).  Afterwards we stroll along the river and catch a train from Waterloo.

Before the performance, we have dinner at buzzy new restaurant 'Bangalore Express,' which is the head-chef from Chelsea's 'The Painted Heron.' Of note are the booths, which are stacked on each other so we enjoy the unusual luxory of dinner ten feet above the floor.  I comment to our waiter that hoisting food and drink up a ladder not particularly easy and she shrugs - just like any job, I suppose.  The kids climb around like moneys and Sonnet on edge that one will fall off - presumably into someone's dahl below.  From there we stroll to Queen Elizabeth Hall and pass a late-evening bike ride with spooky-costume theme - pictured.  The nights now early and dark, which is the perfect foil for this pre-Hallowe'en event.  Any kind of communal excercise to ward off the the natural anxiety of an approaching winter welcome, I am sure.  Since I have my trusty camera I take a lot of images but unfortunately without a tri-pod they are mostly bunk.

Monty escapes again and this time smart enough to find a safe=haven behind the children's bathtub. This becoming a lot like work.  The morning spent coaching the rodent free, me using broom stick, which elicits an occasional shrieking sound from the poor thing. Madeleine cries.  We leave Monty for the day, hoping his nocturnal nature will give us the evening advantage -- upon our return, we are unable to find him despite barricading bathroom the door. More Madeleine tears "this is the saddest day of my life" she wails from her bed and "I just want to hold Monty." Eitan saves the day, hearing Monty scratch behind his bedroom drapes, and the chase is on. Sonnet screams a few times as the hamster - a fast little bugger - races around the room with us in hot pursuit. We nab him, finally, and plop! back into the Habitrail.  This, I tell Sonnet, one of those priceless family moments. And it is.

Pumpkin

We carve up the pumpkins and crack each other up.  Sonnet misses the fun as she works late, but I rip into a bottle of wine and allow my creativity to flow.  Oh boy.  The best part of the massacre the mess - I pull gooey pulp - brains! Eitan skins off the face on his and we revel in the gore.  Madeleine goes for the standard 'triangle' cuts while mine has 'personality' (ie, ugly). The pumpkins sit in front of the house waiting to get tossed by the local teen-agers, saving me a trip to the dump's compost heap.

I vaguely recall our growing-up Hallowe'ens on San Ramon, where there was a gang of kids who begged for candy.  We did a fairly good job, too, since this part of Berkeley a family community who knew the difference between an apple (bad) and Milky Way (good).  Every block has the spooky house, and ours the dark, pointy brickstone across the street owned (I believe) by the Cliffords, an elderly couple who nobody ever saw.  We sometimes ran through their backyard always looking over our shoulder to ensure nobody watching from the top floor.  On Hallowe'en, their windows dark and we dared not trick-or-treat.  Once we moved to the North Berkeley Hills, Katie and I old enough to go out with our peers .. and eventually, the parties more absorbing.  Alcohol, you see.  Past costumes were ghosts (1970-75); Rocky Balboa ('76); witch ('77, also my 'first kiss' to Sarah where I tripped and fell into her garden); Spider Man ('78) and no more from there on.  Or at least until college when it became fun - and sexy - to dress up and flirt (or more) with the party girls. And why not? At Brown, every other night locked up tight.

Madeleine: "Dad! Tell Natasha you almost squashed Monty." (when trying to corner the thing after her jail-break).

Monty Free And More CCTV

It was bound to happen - Madeleine in tears and Monty on the lamb. Somehow the clever rodent dis-connects a Habitrail tube, drops four-feet to the ground and scrambles - all clear! Eitan, Madeleine and I follow her trail - food in the corner, nibbles behind the bed.. we find droppings in Eitan's room and finally indications in ours .. I open the radiator and there she is - shocked by the light and three over-sized faces peering down upon her with the gravest concern. The poor thing freaked and welcomes the comfort of her hamster-ball offered by Madeleine. Mission accomplished.


With barely any notice, government databases - including CCTV - used by local councils to access our information for the most basic observations. This otherwise the preserve of the police who pursue terrorists or abducted children; the police follow strict guidance established British courts. Not surprisingly, they are concerned. This issue to the forefront as a mother accused, using secret video surveillance, of a false cachement to ensure her child's place in the local primary. Ultimately the charges false yet the council's position: "what, me worry?" Cameras now found in the classroom - like Stockwell Park High School, where 68 in place. Or pursuing flytippers and home recycling and other pettinesses. A person's image protected by the Data Protection Act yet local government failing to adhere to the most basic guidelines like notifying neighborhoods of surveillance. No doubt and eventually, policing supplemented, if not completely taken over, by new technology.


"There are jobs Americans aren't doing .... If you've got a chicken factory, a chicken-plucking factory, or whatever you call them, you know what I'm talking about."
--George Bush, Tipp City, OH, April 19, 2007

Big Brother is watching you.

--George Orwell

Vampire

Sunday evening from Boston, Marcia meets me at Laquardia and we head strait to the field club and gin and tonics.  Bliss.  Marcia and Larry have lived in Bronxville for, like, ever and it is a good community. Sunday night sees young families, attractive teen-agers and older couples buzzing about drinking adult drinks and discussing .. whatever.  At our table, we parry US health care since Marcia and Larry Republican and Larry conservative and from the South.  I hold back my Berkeley and we have a good conversation - it is easy to respect his view, though different than mine, since he is self made and one shy of being the President and CEO of Bank of New York. And what is going on with Obama anyway? Sigh.  He will need more than a year to make over the world, God bless.  Bronxville has forever been my, and Katie's, safe-haven from New York.  It is the perfect 30 minute commute from Manhattan and .. tranquil.  Katie (and my friends) launched many a night from here when younger .. or recovered from the stressful work week, post college. 

So during my few days in the Big Apple, I see a lot of good people for work and pleasure which usually mean the same thing. For instance, I am with Professor Meyer, the former Dean of the business school who is now a Special Advisor to Morgan Stanley and sitting on six boards including Macy's and USB, where he is Chairman of their asset management business.  NY mayor Mike Bloomberg, a friend of Meyer's, asked Meyer to be the President of NYC Global Partners, which manages the relationships between NYC and other global cities - he had dinner last week, for instance, with Boris. This suits well, as the Professor loves London and travel, though he notes otherwise on the travel. I think he cannot get enough, he being one of those guys without enough time in the day or years in a life.  Speaking of those, I also see my former colleagues from First Boston, who are now buying banks instead of advising them .. I may help them raise some of their next fund. Regardless, the jokes the same only with a few more wrinkles and we pick up the thread as yesteryear.  Am I old, dude?

Middle Age is when your age starts to show around your middle.

--Bob Hope

I don't feel old. I don't feel anything till noon. That's when it's time for my nap. 

--Bob Hope

After the age of 80, everything reminds you of something else. 

--Lowell Thomas