You Look'n At Me?

I check in with Taxi Driver, a remarkable film from '76 and known for its shocking violence. Scorcese says that he, writer Paul Schrader and De Niro were in a bad place when the filming began in New York during the post-Viet Nam era - a time when the city was generally coming apart from crime, violence and racial tension (racism is an ugly theme explored in Taxi Driver). Schrader debates whether film blood begets street violence arguing socio-paths exist regardless of the art, "which explores and reflects culture and not the other way." Taxi Driver works on many levels but the realism catches one off guard - from the strange film work catching Travis Bickle's moods (alka seltzer, rear-view mirror, overhead shots &c.) to the concluding tour de force which almost netted an "X" rating. Scorcese believed he was making a niche film with little outside appeal and was "surprised" by Taxi Driver's acceptance and Oscar nominations. And is Travis somehow cured following his bloody heroics and media fame? Absolutely not - he will kill again...

... and in England this past month alone we have sentenced the Suffolk Strangler Steve Wright who murdered at least five women in Ipswitch; Mark Dixie who knifed repeatedly then raped the corpse of teenager Sally Ann Bowman; and Levi Bellfield who stalked young women bludgeoning them with a hammer.

"All the animals come out at night - whores, skunk pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies, sick, venal. Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets. I go all over. I take people to the Bronx, Brooklyn, I take 'em to Harlem. I don't care. Don't make no difference to me. It does to some. Some won't even take spooks. Don't make no difference to me. "
Travis Bickle

Pizza

Eitan has a "football party" celebrating Sasha's seventh at the Bank of England club. During, I take Madeleine to her choice - Pizza Express - where I tell her a Spider Man story (her request) and we discuss school, friends and love mano-a-chica. My fund BlueRun Ventures leads Zivity's $7 million series "a" round with Founders Fund, the creators of PayPal and Facebook. Zivity is, ahem, an adult website that provides "a community powered showcase promoting female beauty." In other words, a sure-fire winner. Speaking of the flesh, Eitan - who watches Football Italiano - Milano v. Empou - shouts: "they're watching naked dad! Those people do not have any clothes on!" How Mediterranean.

Katie tells me her beachside photo taken in the Dominican Republic - "on the other side of the island" and presumably without tourists. She is surfing

Keep Off The . . .

The kids watch cartoons ("Johny Test") and Sonnet runs - her London Marathon is five weeks.

Our government, dear reader, intends to roll-out a camera that sees through clothing at 80-feet and meant to detect weapons, drugs and explosives. The maker, ThruVision, already offers a smaller device that scans clothing at 30-feet and used at Canary Wharf to target terrorists. Not surprisingly, the police expect ThruVision to be in shopping centres, on high streets and in airports or wherever without consultation with we, the people. No doubt ThruVision will also help police recruiting - line up, lads! - and welcome to our surveillance society.

Feets

Katie sends me her feet from the beach.

After swim practice today, the boys discuss Saturday's football results including loses by ManU and Chelsea to lower-division teams in the FA Cup knock-out round. I'm impressed by The Knowledge, from minute detail ("Joe Cole was definitely fouled inside the box"; "Drogba, Lambard, Ashley Cole and Michalaelie injured and out for Chelsea") to the strategy (Barnsely played six guys up front"). I have to hustle Eitan otherwise he would be content for the morning.

Finn

I return from Finland yesterday (in unison: "Dad, did you get me a present?") where I have a meeting and some free time. It sprinkled snow and the Finns worry about the winter (Finland is equally effected by changes in the jet stream, which keep the UK warm and moist). This is my third time to Helsinki in '08 which is no bother. The city's architecture is famous for its Art Nouveau from the early 1900s and more recently Alvar Aalto's "functionalism." Helsinki is often used as a Hollywood backdrop for the Soviet Union in many Cold War Hollywood movies like Reds and Gorky Park. The Finnish government, I'm told, secretly briefed its white-collar workers to make producing these, often clearly Soviet-negative, films in Helsinki as hard as possible due to diplomatic pressure from Moscow !

What's the most important thing in the world (asked over cereal)?
Eitan: My match attacks, Pokoman cards, Teddy and family
Madeleine: Family and doggy

Manchester United is eliminated from the FA Cup by Portsmouth. Eitan sheds a tear of frustration, becoming further irritated when I mention it is only a game.

Orange

Katie sends me her orange dress, which we all agree is pretty. Darn. Cool.

I'm enjoying London at the now while spring has arrived early with daffodils. Still nippy, the season is in the air and large white clouds pass overhead during mid-day run in Richmond Park. I pass aside a herd of antlered bucks who barely pay me a glance despite my being feet from their grazing. King Georg I's hunting lodge never looks as lovely as mid-week when the rest of the world is working away and I'm goofing off. Yesterday Sonnet and I visit Eitan and Madeleine's teachers for a brief update on their classroom progress and I am delighted to report that both children are exactly as they should be.

Rum, Romanism and Rebellion

Here is a photograph of Sonnet's Great Grandmother Blaine. Stan tells me that both the grandparents were teachers and had four daughters and Grandfather Blaine was the Superintendent Of Schools in Glenwood Springs and was Supt in Longmont, CO when he died in the mid 1930s. The Blaines descended from James G. Blaine the corrupt U.S. Senator from Maine who almost became President. This last bit of treasure is too good to be left hanging so I spend some time today digging online.

Grandpa G. Blaine was born in West Brownsville, Washington County, Pennsylvania near Pittsburgh. He was the great-grandson of Col. Ephraim Blaine (1741-1804), who during the American War of Independence served in the American army from 1778 to 1782 as commissary-general of the Northern Department.

After graduating Washington and Jefferson College, Blaine settled in Augusta, Maine, in 1854, becoming editor of the Kennebec Journal, and subsequently on the Portland Advertiser.

Editorial work was soon abandoned for a more active public career. Blaine served as a member in the Maine House of Representatives from 1859 to 1862, serving the last two years as Speaker of the House. He also became chairman of the Republican state committee in 1859 and for more than 20 years personally directed every campaign of his party. Among his adoring admirers, he was known as the "Plumed Knight." Blaine was the unsuccessful Republican nominee for President in 1884; he was the only nonincumbent Republican nominee to lose a presidential race between 1860 and 1912, and only the second Republican Presidential nominee to lose at all. Republican reformers, called "Mugwumps" supported Cleveland because of Blaine's reputation for corruption. After heated canvassing, during which he made a series of brilliant speeches, he was beaten by a narrow margin in New York. Many, including Blaine himself, attributed his defeat to the effect of a phrase, "Rum, Romanism and Rebellion", used by a Protestant clergyman, the Rev. Samuel Burachrd, on October 29, 1884, in Blaine's presence, to characterize what, in his opinion, the Democrats stood for. "Rum" meant the liquor interest; "Romanism" meant Catholics; "Rebellion" meant Confederates in 1861.

Blained refused to be a presidential candidate again in 1888 instead becoming Secretary of State in the Cabinet of President Benjamin Harrison fromm 1889 to 1892.

His service at State was distinguished by several notable steps. In order to promote the friendly understanding and cooperation of the nations on the American continents he projected a Pan-American Congress, which, after being arranged for and led by Blaine as its first president, was frustrated by his retirement. (Its most important conclusions were the need for reciprocity in trade, a continental railway and compulsory arbitration in international complications.) Shaping the tariff legislation for this policy, Blaine negotiated a large number of reciprocity treaties which augmented the commerce of his country.

He upheld American rights in Samoa, pursued a vigorous diplomacy with Italy over the lynching of 11 Italians accused of being Mafiosi who murdered the police chief in New Orleans in 1891, held a firm attitude during the strained relations between the United States and Chile over a deadly barroom brawl involving sailors from the USS Baltimore; and carried on with Britain a controversy over the seal fisheries of Bering Sea—a difference afterward settled by arbitration. Blaine sought to secure a modification of the Clayton-Bulwer, and in an extended correspondence with the British government strongly asserted the policy of an exclusive American control of any isthmian canal which might be built to connect the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.

Blaine resigned on June 4, 1892, on the eve of the meeting of the Republican National Convention. His name, when once again submitted for consideration by the delegates, drew little support.

Daffodils

After swimming we go to Kew Gardens to see the daffodils which flower a month early. We then goof by the river, pictured, and Madeleine shows her bouquet which, dear reader, was fallen from the stem before picked by her. The gardens remain a favorite place and with Richmond Park, the perfect fall-back should we not have weekend plans. Today we head to Kew to escape Madeleine's new toy "Noisy Putty" which simulates a "bronx cheer" (what a great name for a fart). The box says: "plunge fingers into the gunge to produce repulsive lavatorial sounds!" and of course Madeleine has been hooked and non-stop. We sing Hot Chip in the car: "Do it do it do it do it do it now! Show me show me show me show me show me how!"

"One swallow does not make a spring, nor does one fine day."
Aristotle

Blood & Gore

Here is Friday's concert, pictured. We're pretty close to the action and it is a rowdy crowd - at least for us old-timers. Last night we sleep by 8PM and Sonnet kicks me awake to take the boy to swim-team. Ug. Listening to Hot Chip in the car, Eitan refines his career plan to include a rock & roll band, which he names "Bloodhawks." I tell him great name but a bit gorey which nets a conversation about blood and guts. He doesn't come off his idea though - good lad. Madeleine asks if a fella would live without his guts: "will he dad? wil he?"

Hot Chip

Sonnet and I meet in Brixton to see Hot Chip, pictured, at the Academy. Beforehand, we have dinner at a family-style Portuguese restaurant complete with an old television showing Italian football and, surprisingly, Portuguese people. There's a real hustle-bustle with children running around the bar, a few tables with young couples smooching and the old timers drinking their whatevers watching the scene contentedly. Perfect. As for Hot Chip, the show goes on at 1130PM and is well worth a lost night's sleep (oh I suffer now). Hot Chip is from south London and plays techno-pop disco with quirky addictive songs using strange instruments and computer monotones. The lead singer is slight and nerdy, which ads to their geekiness. The sold-out crowd loves the vibe, as do we, and the noise from them and us is deafening. Sonnet prefers opera and again proves a trooper for humoring me - our last gig together was the Chemical Brothers when she told me flat that I had better find a music buddy. Christian, who introduced me to the Artic Monkeys and Hot Chip, is that guy but in California. Most dads in our neighborhood would never consider a live act and too bad for them.

Sports

Eitan realises the value of reading - here he is in the sports section and Manchester United.

Meanwhile, I have to threaten Madeleine with a consequence last night for her to bed. I realise that the Hand Of God is always on her forehead, the poor kid, and so I ask her how she feels: "like I'm in prison, Dad" she tells me. "I want to be a Bird or a butterfly. They can do what they want. We had a butterfly in class, who I named "Butty," that got its leg caught in the cocoon. He died." And, I might add, did not enjoy his freedom.

Sonnet and I are gearing up for Hot Chip tonight at the Brixton Academy. They are scheduled for 11PM and since it is a bit disco, I'm planning my outfit: something green and loud, I think. No pictures to be posted, I promise. Renata is babysitting, which earns a squeel of happiness from the peanut gallery.

Modigliani

Today I visit the Courdault Gallery where Renoir's "La Loge" is on display. These paintings, from 1874, are considered to be a master work of the impressionist movement and display the theatre boxes of Paris's cultural houses. The paintings present the social classes in various states from sexually beguiling to just plane board. Fan-taby-tosa, as Madeleine would say. Modigliani's female nude, pictured, reminds me of my wife.

I'm near Sommerset House (location of the Courdault) following lunch at nearby Christopher's, a cocktail-and-media haunt with my friend Matthew who is at the Economist. For the last four years we have engaged in a bet where the loser buys lunch. Bets have ranged from the fall (or not) of Google's stock price to David Montgomery going to prison (Dear Reader, I worked with David on a buyout several years ago and found him most unsavory). Next year the wager is on the non-dom tax and how many of us will leave. Matthew thinks small number while I think more than 18%. Stay tuned. A gentleman's side bet is Facebook losing 20% of its audience.

Catching up from Sunday: I return from Helsinki greeted at the door by the usual post-trip query spoken in urgency: "did you bring us any presents? Did you?" Ah, yes - familiarity. I'm in Nordea meeting with several investors and pursuing a secondary deal or two. Sonnet, the road-runner, recovers meanwhile from a half-marathon in Tonbridge Wells where she completes the hilly race in one-hour and 52-minutes. Bravo! This is the course I finished in 1:16.30 in 1998 while preparing for the London Marathon. I imagine I won't be going that fast again but oh well, I'm happy to be alive. Sonnet gives a press interview where she discusses feathers in fashion. Apparently they are making a come-back.

Coal Mine

Big Pit's winching mechanism - pictured - once dropped miners, horses and equipment into the coal beds, hauling out their efforts upon return. Today, we wear a plastic hard hat and ‘safety lamp’ and clip our re-breather emergency supply which, in an emergency, will filter foul air for approximately one hour giving us a chance for survival and escape. Contraband like my camera and blackberry are surrendered as anything containing a dry cell battery, which could spark, is prohibited. The dangers of the mine are real - the safety posters on the stages of Carbon Monoxide poisoning serve as museum pieces and reminders of the dangers of underground. Automatic gas monitoring systems are discreetly positioned around the tunnels as are emergency telephones. No wonder Madeleine freaks out.

Stan points out that my guess at Sonnet's age is off by a decade. It is more likely 1985, or perhaps highschool graduation in '86.

"To cure the British disease with socialism was like trying to cure leukaemia with leeches."
Margaret Thatcher

Big Pit

We stop at Big Pit, a coal mine in Blaenovon, south-west Wales. Since 1983, it has been open to the public and designated a National Heritage Site. The pit was first worked in 1860, called "Big Pit" because it was the first shaft in Wales large enough to allow two tram-ways. In the late 1870s the shaft was deepened to 293 feet. By 1908, Big Pit provided employment for 1,122 people, but this number gradually decreased until 1970 the workforce numbered 494. It closed on February 2, 1980. We learn that the mines were worked 365 days a year in two twelve hour shifts. Until the late 19th century, children as young as six were used underground and a miner typically worked with his teenage son. Our guide tells us the comradery was special and generally the men could do whatever they pleased "but don't go bend'n over for your soap" he says (ar ar). Until electrics, welsh horses (small in size) were used for hauling carts and kept in the mines 50 weeks of the year, never seeing sunlight or green pasture. Safety was never an owner's priority and it was not until the early 20th century that the workers received government protections and unionised. As for us today pictured - we go down 400 feet - Eitan loses his safety belt - Madeleine hates it - I try to keep us up with the group having no desire to be left behind on this one.

Water

Yes, the spa has a pool and Eitan is excited. Friday we swim two-hours in the morning and two hours in the afternoon. They. .. never . ... grow . . . tired . . . . Both show me their racing dives which amount to a jump (Madeleine) or belly-flop (Eitan). They goof with kick-boards and other floaties while I have fun tossing them about or carrying each on my shoulders. Pruny fingers and boredom (me) drag us away. Finally.

On to football: Eitan is transfixed by Manchester United, whose win today closes the gap with Arsenal who draw with Birmingham City. As we glossy readers know, United's star striker Wayne Rooney will marry grade-school sweetheart Coleen, who is planning the wedding and, surprise shocker, Wayne's family - not invited! Coleen has learned her lesson: her eighteenth birthday saw both sides of the family in a fist fight (Wayne's family are amateur boxers); her 21st found Wayne's cousin Natalie famously out of her dress (weeks later, Natalie underwent a boob job, upping herself from 34C to a more media friendly 34FF, noting "I'll be getting them out all over the place"). Wayne's cousin Stephen is on record wearing knickers ("If Coleen wants me as a bridesmaid then she won't be let down. I've been hitting all the shops"). Egad. Worse, Eitan sees David Beckham wearing an Armani bikini on the back of some mag. For the boy, it remains somehow about the football. Me, I just want a World Cup.

Wales

I've only been to Wales several times, including a memorable trip with friend Rhys in '98 then climbing Snowdownia, the highest peak in the country and second highest on Britain after Ben Nevis where we spent Eitan's first birthday (another story). Phew. Wales is not particularly inspiring by my experience and the towns are pretty dreadful - we visit Newport, at the mouth of the River Usk, on our way and boy is it dreary. Never mind that the Usk is tidal so we see mudflats. There just ain't much to the city other than a depressing high-street, idle teenagers and old-age pensioners hanging out at the British Home Shop (BHS) department store where we have lunch (kids happy with a greasy fry-up). Yes, I'm glad to fly through here. I think of Pennsylvania or some other rust belt place which perhaps appropriate as the Welsh economy was in large part based on coal until Maggie famously cracked the unions in the mid-80s. Today Wales struggles to find its place and there is plenty of subsidised construction, at least in Newport, suggesting a revival attempt: architectural bridges, brand-new road ways, condo developments. Now if it would only stop raining.

The kids watch The Incredibles and post-movie we discuss the best action hero. Eitan goes for testosterone: Ben 10! The Hulk! Mr Incredible! Madeleine: "Definitely Mrs. Incredible. She's super cool." We argue who would win a fight: Ben 10 v. Spider Man or The Hulk v. Mr Incredible. We all have an opinion and I use The Hulk as a segway to temper management - who says the Super Hero's don't teach life-lessons for the adults?

Brecon

Solo, I take the kids to thee Brecon Beacons (Welsh: Bannau Brycheiniog) as Sonnet is saving her holidays for summer plus preparing for a Sunday half-marathon. The Beacons, I learn, are a mountain range in south-east Wales belonging to that country's largest national park. We stay at the Nant Ddu Lodge and Spa which is tucked away in the hills next to a mountain stream and open fields stuffed with sheep. The Brecon Beacons range, properly speaking, consists of the mountains to the south of Brecon, a mid-evil trading village. The highest of these is Pen y Fan (886-meters and pictured through the fog- barely) then Corn Du (873-meters), Cribyn (795) and Fan y Big (719). It is popular hiking no doubt but rest assured, Dear Reader, that the cold, misty clime and lack of proper gear, ie, non-trainers, keep us in the car. The mere suggestion of a stroll - let alone a hike - nets a tremendous push-back from the little ramblers. So I take some snaps, kids in car, and a local caf tells me the Beacons are named after the ancient practice of lighting signal fires (beacons) on the mountains to warn of attacks by the English. Now it is done to commemorate public and national events such as coronations or the millennium.

Wales has castles aplenty and we find a lovely not far from the main road. Further angry protest from the back-seat results in a forced march but we are eventually rewarded with splendid views of the Tretower castle, which was built in the 12th century. Way cool.

Rock Don Ron Is A Non-Dom

Northern Rock chief Ron Sandler enjoys privileged non-domicile tax status, it emerged last night (The Sun provides my title). For those not following the melt-down that is British Chancellor Alistair Darling, Northern Rock was nationalised Monday following a bona fide run on the bank last year. We tax payers find ourselves on the hook for £100 billion after the government failed to sell the mortgage lender despite several offers including Richard Branson. Furthering Alistair's misery today, he blatantly stole an ill-conceived Tory suggestion to levy a £30,000 annual charge for UK residents who don't declare foreign income (so-called "non-doms"). This is us and about every other American in London. The intention is to penalize the Russians and the other in-your-face rich but instead may net an exodus of talent from London's financial centre, perhaps the sole world class asset this country enjoys and a driver of the UK economy. Us ex-pats pay in over £2 billion per year in taxes, excluding what we spend on the high street or invest from abroad. While Darling rescinded several of his more onerous positions including tax on foreign trust and asset registration, the nut remains in place and we shall see the outcome.

Photo of Sonnet from 1975, I would guess. Perhaps Stan can give me the year? Tonight Halley joins us for the night and we are having drinks with her and other non-dom friends at The Lanesborough.

This Chick Can Fly

Another world Record falls in Missouri, this time by Cal alum Natalie Coughlin who clocks a 59.21 in the 100-meter backstroke yesterday (photo of Coughlin from mariasphoto.com). She breaks her prior time by .23 seconds and remarkably is .4 seconds off-pace at the 50-meter mark in the race (this is about a half-body length). In 2007 she became the first woman under one minute in the event. Natalie is from Concord, California, which is not too far from Berkeley beyond Oakland's Caldecott Tunnel and next door to Walnut Creek where I trained with the weirdly named Aqua Bears. She's 15 years younger so I've not seen her swim but I do keep track of her progress - several years ago she was profiled in the New Yorker magazine, for instance. Also on Sunday, Katie Hoff set her second American record in as many days as she took the women's 200 meters freestyle in one minute 56.08 seconds to defeat Coughlin for the second time in two days. The women's team appears ready for Beijing

England has focused its attention on the wild cat - apparently the creature's population dwindles and is seldom seen these days. In response and with earnest concern, an all-hands request has gone across Britain to report wild cat sightings. The wild cat was once prevalent in Britain - as ubiquitous as the red fox or wily stout - but today its populations is estimated to be 16,000. What is unusual about the wild cat is that, unusually, it looks just like a house cat. Same size. Same coloring. No wild temper nor sharp fangs like a U.S. bob-cat. So I must wonder: does this really merit a slot on the BBC's prime-time news or front page of many Fleet Street newspapers? To a countryside rambler, it is a cause célèbre and a contrast to the US's Paris Hilton or Britney Spears.

World Pace

19-year old Katie Hoff breaks the U.S. 400-meter freestyle record in Columbia, Missouri, finishing in 4:03.20 (picture from U.S. Swimming). The record, until yesterday, was held by Janet Evans and the oldest on the American record books dating to the '88 Seoul Olympics. In the next lane, Kirsty Coventry topped the 17-year world record in the 200-meter backstroke, finishing in 2:06.39 nearly three-tenths of a second faster than the record. In Sydney, 22 year-old Eamon Sullivan set the world mark in the 50-meter freestyle with his time of 21.56, eclipsing the great Russian Alexander Popov's 2000 time of 21.64. I recall Dano Halsall, who I trained with in '84 and Geneve Natation, during my high school junior year, setting the record of 22.52 in 1985 (four months later it was surpassed by American Tom Jager). In 23 years, the race has improved 4.3%. Dano lives in Switzerland and owns a small sports chain.

Madeleine, unable to sleep last night, draws a mural on her bedroom wall. Boy, we've been here before but not for several years. Yes, she is testing our boundaries and Sonnet and I put on a stern face while chuckling behind her back. For the record: the drawings are actually pretty good and her threatened punishment, should she not clean things up, is no holiday this week (we will go to the Brecon Beacon in Wales). This gets her attention.