Helsinki

Sonnet sits in front of our hotel, The Kamp. It's a nice getaway while the kids are with Aggie for the night. The last time we snuck away was Berlin which was equally fun. As you may know, Helsinki is the capital and largest city of Finland. It is in the southern part of Finland, on the shore of the Gulf of Finland, by the Baltic Sea, where Sonnet and I went last night on a car ferry. The population is 568,146 from October, making it the most populous municipality in Finland by a wide margin. The metropolitan area generates approximately one third of the Finnish GDP and is roughly 1.5 times the national average, making Helsinki one of the wealthiest capitals in Europe.

Design

Sonnet and I visit two in one morning: Helsinki's Architectural Museum and the National Museum of Design (fish, pictured). At the first, we see buildings in the Eastern Bloc where investors demand a new asthetic and certain areas are prone to Euro chic - notably Poland and Lithuania, the home of many new, young and good looking architects... or are they artists? or cigarette smoking models dressed in black turtle necks with matching spectacles? Well, in any way, they make nice structures which are curvy and stylish, often shaped to their surroundings and always with glass exposures for us to see in, and them to see out. Afterwards, we stroll the high streets and marvel at the cool shops, which sell a bit of home ware, some kitchen fixtures and a sample of clothing all-in-one. Most have a burning candle on their entrance door step - a nice touch, especially on a cold day like now, with a dusting of white snow to make it cozy.

Front Tooth

Eitan has a wobbly - pictured. The boy will not be outdone by his little sister, who lost her second front tooth this weekend. Sonnet and I catch a morning flight to Helsinki, where we stay at The Kamp, a fancy hotel in the center of the city and not far from the Gulf of Finland. In fact, we take a late-evening ferry to one of the many islands and sit outside to watch snow-fall before returning to the hotel for dinner. Despite the dark (sunset around 3PM), the city is alight with candles and Christmas celebrating their good cheer. Our proximity to Russia and its history manifests itself in the dialects and the orthodox church, which towers over us from the tallest point in town. Sonnet and I plan to rise early for museums and etc. before she returns to London and I get to work. The kids are dee-lighted to have Aggie for the night in one big, happy sleep-over. Are we missed by them? Nah.

British Riviera

Here I am being silly, to the kid's disgust but to my bonhomie. After an early morning run to work off the Big Dinner, we head for the British seaside, in this case Torquay which has lovely fine sand and long wide beaches. Even better and since tidal, there are rocks where the kids scramble for crabs and sea-shells (Eitan wales when he cannot bring his crab home - I tell him OK but on the condition we ferment the thing in rubbing alcohol. I figure it is a good science project). Everybody is pretty darn tired when we arrive home this evening, so the kids in PJ's fast and I prepare for tomorrow's trip to Finland. Sonnet will join me, which will be fun and a fun adventure.

Madeleine tells me she hates the following chewing gum, all of which I have purchased for the car-rid: spearmint, peppermint, cherry and Tutti Fruitti. "No way, dad" she exclaims close to tears. Eitan pipes in: "she only likes Hubba Bubba." (and God only knows what that is).

Fozzy

Fozzy here belongs to Halley and Willem, and was bred to chase foxes down holes, Willem tells me. These dogs travel with the hunt and when the fox makes a break for it down a tunnel, in goes Fozzy. Not surprisingly, he is irrepressible and chases everything from rabbit to dog, sometimes resulting in a a nasty growling or worse - a pit bull, for instance, recently got a clamp on Fozzy, who almost lost his front leg in the exchange. Eitan and Madeleine argue over the leash and it is questionable whether dog or child has the lead.

Meanwhile, in the afternoon, Halley prepares a 20 lb bird for our belated Thanksgiving - the meal is fabulous, with all the stuffing. I'm impressed as Halley and I have joked about cold turkey sandwiches on Wonder bread with mayonnaise so my expectations were, ahem, low. Any case with us are two of Willem's colleagues at Exeter University, who have joined Willem this fall from Duke and Michigan. In total, we are four PhDs, and seven MA's. Since it is Thanksgiving, I ask for a count on the Star Spangled Banner. There is some shuffling, but I think most of us can mumble our way through it. On the U.S. Constitution, it is dire: nobody is able to list the first ten amendments. If not this crowd, I wonder, then who? Bush and the Republic fight for our so-called freedoms, but how do we know when they have gone? In England, we will surely have identity cards and I am photographed 300 times a day in Central London - soon, no doubt, this data will be linked to the police, my medicals and etc. England has a parliamentary democracy and the Magna Charta instead of a Constitution - the politics therefore work, but our civil rights are greying. In America, perhaps it is the the reverse - for now, until your phone is generally tapped and habeas corpus gone, thank you Gitmo. But hey, man, if nobody knows what they are missing - what the worry?

Madeleine loses her second front tooth in the car-ride to Devon, and promptly loses it. It is somehow retrieved in the seat-crack otherwise, I tell her, "no Tooth Ferry." Those are the breaks, kid. Sonnet awakes at 5AM in a panic, remembering to put two pounds under Madeleine's pillow.

Exuberence

Madeleine at Hotel Barcelona in Exeter. We drive to Devon yesterday afternoon, just nipping the weekend traffic. The journey is about three hours and we amuse ourselves with Willie Nelson and Twenty Questions, which I enhance with a £1 promise to the winner. Both kids go for it with varying degrees of interest and success. Our weekend will be spent with Willem and Halley, Sonnet's dear friend from Smith and their two lovely girls (Sonnet is the God Mother to the youngest). We have been here many times including this hotel which is funky, has a cool art-deco bar and kids friendly - what more could one wish for? In 2000, months before Eitan was born, we rambled through the countryside visiting small villages each with a 500 year old church and a few gravestones, a red mail box and phone booth and of course a cozy pub. Sonnet huffed and puffed. This morning following breakfast (Buffet! the kids shriek) I arrange several "time trials" so they may burn off energy before we start the day - pictured.

During 20 Questions, Madeleine: "It is a person."
Me: "Is it somebody I know?"
Madeleine: "No."
Me: "How can I guess if I don't know the person?!"
Madeleine, after a thoughtful pause: "Well, I know her."

Oh Sweet Blood

Madeleine, feeling a bit jealous about other's attention, upgrades the scratch on her nose to a medical situation. She begs for a cotton bandage, which Aggie lovingly provides just prior to bed time: "I'm going to take it to show-and-tell!" she exclaims. And she does.

Sonnet and I see the fabulous Joshua Redman at the Queen Elizabeth Hall last night with Emily - who runs the BBC's religious desk and recently earned two prestigious awards on her program's coverage of Israeli-Palestinian organ donations. Any case, Josh was graduated from Berkeley High School in '86 and with Katie, went to Harvard U. His father, Dewie Redman, is a jazz legend and Josh's road forked when he got a perfect score on his LSATs and admission to Yale Law. Rather than pursue fortune, he went for fame - and has achieved both with numerous acclaimed albums including his most recent "Back East." His main instrument is the tenor saxophone, but he also plays other wind instruments during the two hour performance which raises the house at its conclusion. Josh is anything but still and jumps and jives around his trio who themselves are world class on the strings and drums. Sonnet and I saw both Redmans at different times in Camden our first years in London - each time bringing Berkeley props in da house. Oh yeah.

Turkey Hangover

Steve McClaren and fitting for the photo, resigns as Coach of Team England following the disaster that was Wednesday's game. Adding to the misery, Croatia captain Niko Kovak rubs it in: "it was easy to beat England" he says, describing our lads as "predictable and one-dimensional" only playing the long-ball to Crouch "making it very easy to stop." Kovak's nail in the coffin: "Croatia are a team while England are not. We have players who love to take the opponent in a one-to-one situation but England don't seem to have players like this." Ouch.

Such comments are shaming given England invented the Beautiful Game, for Pete's sake, and has the most competitive and expensive league in the world. Sadly, the net net is a bunch of over-paid prima donas who cannot come together for their country, who is desperate for a bit of respect on the global stage. Instead, our guys whine, whenge and moan when things turn against them and they are pilloried in the press - which Wednesday they clearly deserved along with the coach. And who will take the helm next? And who would want to, that is the question, dear fan.

Croatia 3, England 2

Well, we lose another heart-breaker this time failing to get the crucial result at Wembly. England had to earn a draw last night to advance to the European Cup Finals but it was all dashed in the first 14 minutes when Croatia punished our new goal keeper Carson, who let through two dreadful strikes (Eitan: "I could have stopped that one, dad"). Despite the first half, England made some adjustments and came out swinging - tying the match on a Lampard penalty and then a lovely Beckham to Crouchy pass-header (Crouch pictured, thank you Getty Images). It was all looking rosy until the hammer dropped with Croatia's third strike, a stunner that sailed past our day dreaming, butter fingered Carson. 25 minutes plus 3 more in overage netted zilch and England Coach McClaren was sacked today in an emergency FA counsel meeting, 0800 (bru-tal). The country now settles into its post adrenaline, way hung-over and all-collective b-u-m-m-e-r. It is raining in London and no championships to look forward to.

Spy vs. Spy

Ah, Spy vs. Spy. I'm not sure why I'm on this trip but I recently sourced the cartoon on the Internet. For those on the outside, Spy vs. Spy is a wordless black and white comic published by Mad Magazine since 1961. It was created by Cuban Antonio Prohías, who fled to the U.S. in 1960, just days before Fidel Castro took over the Cuban free press. Needless to say, The "Spy vs. Spy" cartoon was symbolic of the Cold War, and was Prohías's comment on the futility of armed escalation and detente. Under the Spy vs. Spy title panel, the words "BY PROHIAS" are spelled out in Morse code, which would be: -••• -•-- •--• •-• --- •••• •• •- •••.

I remember perusing the magazines rack as a kid while Grace shopped in Safeway or the Berkeley Co-op on Shatuck Ave. (now Andronico's). Mad was the so obvious choice - a cartoon first of all, but also edgy and an unintentional secret view into the adult's world. There were violent and sexual themes (Spy vs. Spy was hugely gory and a precursor to The Simpson's "Itchy and Scratchy Show" which amuses Bart with its decapitations and blood-lettings). Most of all, Mad was a secret pleasure, a comic that could be read in the privacy of one's closet or in the basement. It wasn't Playboy or Penthouse - that would come later - but for a ten year old, man, it was all that.

Whomper

Picture of Eitan with his "tactic" Whomper. Recall that the boys trade these action figures like crazy and Whomper is at the top of the value-chain given his mass and over-sized swinging arm which, presumably, can crush other tactics. I dash across town from Mayfair to see the kid's singing assembly, though when I ask just now what they sang both reply with blank faces and silence. Each has more important thing on the mind : tonight's do-or-die Euro Cup qualifier against Croatia, for instance. Russia coughed up a hair-ball Saturday losing to Israel and giving us a window of hope: a tie puts us into the summer '08 finals while a win would be, well, ecstasy. The game kicks off at 8PM, well past Eitan and Madeleine's bedtime, but I tell Natasha that if they do a solid hour of reading and other homework, the first half of the game is theirs. Come on, England!

Darling

What is going on with our Chancellor?! Alistair Darling was forced to defend his handling of the Northern Rock collapse, making his second statement to the Commons in as many days as the Rock's shares went into a free-fall following a failed sale to private equity (note, dear reader, that an unseemly depositor run on Northern Rock occurred last month due to its exposure to the sub-prime fiasco. Northern Rock is (or was?) the UK's fifth largest mortgage lender. We, the friendly British tax payer, have been stung by at least a £20B exposure). As if that were not bad enough, Britain's most senior tax man, Paul Gray, quit his £170,000-a-year job today as head of HM Customs and Revenue after he lost two discs containing confidential bank details on 7.5 million British families including, perhaps, US. This data includes bank account details, birth dates, addresses and tax-payer IDs (the equivalent of a U.S. Social Security number). The names of 15 million children are there too. Such a mess to occur in England, home of the world's financial center, is just plain shocking. Gordon Brown has rolled from one crises to the next since taking over from Tony. To his credit, until the autumn elections cock-up, Gordon has handled himself admirably. Oh how the perception of him has changed. And fast. Good bye, lame duck.

G I Jane

Sonnet puts her British on before a Mach VIII Cromwell. She must deliver an item from the Imperial War Museum to the V&A so I pick her up for lunch and accompany her to the pick-up. I'm pretty interested in the V-2 rocket in the main gallery and a staple of Thomas Pynchon's "Gravity's Rainbow" which I famously quit with 40 pages to go. What the hell is Pynchon about? I still wonder. Any case, I wandered the Imperial for the first time during the Orenstein family's European Hot Rocks trip in 1980. I distinctly recall the toy soldiers and etc. Moe was pretty keen on the battle stuff too- and why not? Guns and steel is cool at any age. In the museum shop I purchase Shoah, which tells the Holocaust through first-person witness.

The Cromwell, BTW, was the fastest British tank to serve in WW2, with a top speed of about 40 mph. - fast for its time. Thanks to its Christie parentage the Cromwell was also agile on the battlefield, blasting away without a care in the world. The dual purpose 75 mm main gun fired the same ammunition as the US 75 mm gun and therefore it had around the same HE and armour-piercing capabilities as the 75 mm equipped Sherman tank. The Cromwell's armour ranged from 8 mm to 76 mm thick overall but the maximum thickness was later increased to 102 mm with appliqué armour plates which were welded on. This armour compared well with that of the Sherman although the Cromwell did not share the Sherman’s sloped glacis plate. The Cromwell crews in North-West Europe succeeded in the Cromwell with superior speed, manoeuvrability and reliability outflanking the heavier and more sluggish German tanks; however, the Cromwell was still not a match for the best German armour and British tank design would go through another stage, the Comet tank, before going ahead in the tank development race with the Centurio tank. Ah, such blissful times and times of bliss.

Sonnet gives a late evening tour of Haute Couture at the V&A with our friends Tony and Susan; afterwards we have a fun dinner and to bed at mid-night. Both of us feeling a bit flattened today following a boozy night (me) and five hours rest (us).

Lifeline

Despite best efforts to miss the '08 European Cup, England is given a big assist from Israel who defeats heavily favored Russia in a crucial qualifier yesterday (photo from prweb.com). England will play Croatia Wednesday and we must win or draw for a ticket to the finals (if Russia had won, it was all over). I tell groggy Eitan first thing this morning about the Ruskies loss and he jumps for joy. It is not all good news, though, as Michael Owen is lost for Croatia having re-injured himself against Austria in a lack-lustre 1-0 victory (Crouchy scored the decider on a ripping header). We will be glued to the T.V. come Wednesday, no doubt.

The average top fooballer earns £21,154 per week, up from £100 in 1966. This compares to a teacher (£661 per week now, versus £27 then) and a GP (£2,115, up from £71) and the national average( £452 now, £18 then). Footballers have enjoyed a %1,459 salary gain, after inflation which is one reason the hard-hats, such as the tube, go on strike. Yet even they, oh fabled consumers of The Sun's page three titties and the heart-stopping chip buttie, would agree that football is far more important than keeping the country running. And by a large margin, BTW.

Kiddios

Yes, it is way past fall and Eitan and I discuss why leaves change in autumn and winter: "photosynthesis!" he shouts, and I note that it is the lack of sunshine which triggers their loss.

Me to Madeleine: "What is five plus one?" Madeleine: "Six!"
Me: "What is twenty-five plus one?"
Madeleine: "Dad! that is too hard!"

Rather than drive to the toy store for Eitan's Tamagatchi, we walk which raises howls of protests then a discussion about ways we can reduce pollution. Some good ideas:
"Take the bus!
Don't use plastic bags!
Turn off the lights!
Hug a fish! (Madeleine)
Don't flush the toilet! (Eitan)
Be friendly to people (Eitan)
Walk on your hands! (Madeleine)

Eitan goes to a Lucas and Emma joint birthday production at Syon Park, so I am solo with Madeleine for two hours. We visit Snakes and Ladders, then load up on a bag of self-selecting candy and look at all the Christmas crapolla which is now on sale nearby. A simple holiday wreath goes for £25 while a faux tree billed as "urban chic": £500. Nuts to that, I say.

Madeleine tells me several kids in her class are better in maths. I tell her the only difference between her and them is "studying, which is hard work." She ponders this then: "well, I'm good at sports."

Tamagotchi In The House

Eitan wakes me early: "I am going to buy a Tamagotchi today" he informs me, matter-of-factly. The toy's cost: £13 Stirling, which is within his savings of 25 quid safely tucked away beneath his bed collected from weeks of allowance and minor chores. Madeleine, on the other hand, has been less frugal and she breaks into tears when she learns the Tomagotchi's cost. Her savings is 45 pence, five one dollar bills from a trade with Eitan for pounds, and a few Euro coins. She sobs: "It will take me years and years to save that much!"

Eitan tries to make her feel better: "Madeleine you can watch me get a Tamagotchi at the toy store."
And: "I'll let you play with my Tamagotchi for two hours, if you are nice.."

And what is a Tamagatchi, you may ask? It is, you see, a hand-held digital pet created in 1996 by Aki Maita and sold by Bandai. The Tamagotchi is housed in a small and simple egg-shaped computer (the name comes from "tamago," the Japanese word for "egg," and the English word "watch"). Three buttons allow the user to select and perform an activity, including feeding the Tamagotchi a piece of food or a snack, playing games with the Tamagotchi, cleaning up a Tamagotchi's waste and checking its age, job, hunger, weight, happiness and other useful equally things. Think of it as a sinister device that preys on the mind of the young. Think of it as a child's toke on a Grade A drug. Think of it as a warm up for the Game Boy.

St Pancras

I catch the first commercial train from rebuilt St Pancras station, the London terminus for the Eurostar high-speed train connecting us to Paris and Brussels (as if we care about Brussels). The station is termed the "Cathedral of the railways" and includes two of the most celebrated structures built in Britain from the Victoria era. The main train shed, pictured, was completed in 1868 by the engineer William Barlow and was the largest single-span structure built up to the time. In front of it is St Pancras Chambers, formerly the Midland Grand Hotel (1868–1877), one of the most impressive examples of Victorian gothic (architect: George Gilbert Scott). The station also services East Midlands Trains which take us to Cambridge or north and places otherwise not worth seeing excluding Hadrian's Wall, which is worth seeing. The French Connection now takes two hours flat versus two hours and twenty minutes from Waterloo station (which, I might note, is way more convenient to Richmond). The train house was opened by HRH, The Queen, on 7 November following ten years of build and £8.5 billion or costs - the largest project in Britain, which will be surpassed by our 2012 Olympics (Her Majesty doesn't get out of bed for anything less than £5 billion). And the ride? Smooth, baby -- smooth. That is, until Paris where a strike forces me to wait an hour for a taxi. Leave it to the French to ruin England's special train day.

"Competence is a narrow ideal. Competence makes the trains run on time but doesn't know where they're going."
George Bush, El Presidente

I am late taking Eitan and Madeleine to school:
Madeleine: "Dad, we can be either early, late or on time."
Me: "I think we've covered all the options, no?"
A pause, then Eitan: "Well, we could be super late."

Last night's discussion at grocery store Waitrose regarding Ben & Jerry's Caramel Chew Chew or Fish Food:
Eitan: "Fish Food is my favorite, Madeleine, it has everything in it."
Madeleine: "Have we ever had it, Eitan?"
Eitan: "No. But I just know."
Madeleine: "Well, I want Caramel Chew Chew."
Eitan: "Madeleine! You're just saying that because I want Fish Food!"

Eitan informs me matter-of-factly that I had told him he could have a large bowl Caramel Chew Chew, which is not true. When he starts to whinge, I tell him: "You can have what I give you or nothing. You decide." He ponders this a moment before going for the Chew Chew.

Giant Peach

Madeleine's "James and the Giant Peach" from last year when Sonnet read Eitan and Madeleine Raold Dahl's1967 classic (did you know that because of the book's content it has been the frequent target of censors and appears on the American Library Association list of the 100 Most Frequently Challenged Books of 1990-2000 at fifty six?!). Madeleine's "Portrait Of Peach" has hung on my office wall until this weekend when, out of the blue, she asks for it back. Madeleine draws me a replacement and tells me earnestly: "this one's for you dad - but I want the other one" which I scan for you now, dear reader. It is intriguing what sticks in the kid's minds - for instance Spider Man, who has been out of favor for two years, returned during story time just recently. When asked who Spidey should "do battle with" Madeleine instantly asks for "The Giant Green Cricket" or the "Blind Black Mole"- both characters I made up on the fly. Eitan wants "The Spider Killers" which are three Spider Man destroying robots he imprinted from the television cartoon. Violence is always fun-and-games when a Super Hero (or now a "tactic") is involved.

The kid's morning squabble escalates:
Madeleine: "Well, that is mine, Mister."
Eitan: "Smelly Pants!"
Madeleine: "Poo poo head!"
Eitan: "Ugly bottom!" (which gets a perplexed look from all of us before we crack up)

Meetings all day yesterday in Paris go well, but we shall see by Thursday, fingers crossed. I return again tomorrow and will be the first passenger from Eurostar's new St Pancreas station (build cost: £8B).

Norman Mailer

1923- 2007

"There are two kinds of brave men: those who are brave by the grace of nature, and those who are brave by an act of will."

(photo from the Mailer Family Archive)