Katie's Cat

Katie and I have a New York evening in the West Village, starting at MacDougal Street and a gin bar where we meet one of her pals Michelle, who may become the chair of Katie's Board. Katie knows Michelle from the Woodhull think-tank - she is also a VP, business development, for PR News Wire, owned by United Business News, where my old boss John Botts a Board Member. Six degrees? Michelle remarks on Katie: "there is an enormous market for what she does and nobody addressing it." and further, "[Katie] can make a ton of money." We like Michellle.Similar to Mary yesterday, she gives a strong validation for The Op-Ed Project and no surprise - it is a nifty endeavor. From Michelle, we enter the Lower West Side to visit David who opens his fourth restaurant on Carmine Street. The evening buzzes and I see Katie's über-cool friends including Nicole who I was last with in '95 at her and Katie's graduation from Columbia's International Affairs program. We squeal. From CIPA, Nicole got a law degree then The Hague where she persecuted International War Criminals and met her husband James; she is now pregnant for the first-time. At the table is Michael who exposed NYT's reporter Judith Miller for sourcing-errors regarding the Bush administration’s conclusions about Iraq’s alleged WMD Program in 2003 and Miller's involvement in the Valery Plame Affair - all of which eventually netted Michael an apology from The Times who otherwise resisted him. Another former, and Senior NYT writer next to me indites the whole newspaper for its support of the Iraq war. Phil is now a successful blogger and we discuss media and its changing business model. Various others include Zac, a PhD Historian who has published ten books most recently on the US-China affair and now considers a green-fund. Missing is New Yorker writer Sondro who is in Italy with his son. I enjoy my London status, which gives me some street-cred, and even use my french with Deborah who is back from three-weeks in Paris where her gay boyfriend takes her on retreat in the 7th arrondisement (Le Marais). I cannot think of a better thing to do. We part: "a plus." Fun.

Eitan, to Sonnet, back of car: "I cannot believe Katie is 40. She looks twenty or something."
Katie, next to me replies: "Aww, tell him this is what I tell Sam (Sondro's toddler) who reports my age to everyone!"

Madeleine names her gold-fish "Bubbles" and "Flippers."

Stimulator

So the $787 billion stim-u-lus passes the House - despite lacking one Republican vote. And here is the scary thing: the Japanese are criticising us for not enough. Let us not forget their "lost decade" when Japanese banks crippled with toxic debt from a real estate collapse following their easy-credit bubble. Sound familiar? The fall-out: 15 consecutive years of real estate price-declines ending in 2002 (source: Financial Services Agency via T Hoshi and A.K. Kashyap). In their socieity, as ours, the house a family's largest investment and its value-decline ensures the worsening of their standard of living. Ouch. I was in college when the Japanese economy went tits up (there is that expression again). Timid government under-funding of half-measures meant the financial system lost trillions and only until 2002 began a recovery. It is estimated that the public will recoup less than 50c on a dollar committed. So to us and so far: Obama's plan avoids the hardest decisions like nationalising banks, wiping out shareholders or allowing banks to collapse under the weight of their own bad debts. In the end, Japan had to do all these things: from 1992-05, Japanese banks wrote off 96 trillion yen or 19% of the country's annual GDP. Surely this has been studied by somebody in the White House? Probably not Republican Judd Gregg, who withdraws his bid to run the Commerce Department, and fails his country along with the rest of his party who got us here these last eight years.

Japanese women eating sushi from Japan Newsgroup Jucee.

Deja Vu

And here it is Friday again. I fly into NYC yesterday to join Katie and her business plan and, as always, life is a goof in the Big Apple. As though I need an excuse to be here. As I write Katie plugs away - same as it ever was, and a good thing as her business growing. My plugging away can be done from anywhere with this notebook and my mobile - in outer-space, nobody can hear you scream. And besides this year there ain't much plugging going on in privé equité though I do make sure I am with the people that count. Like Mary - who we see this morning. As ever, she is inspiring and half-way through I begin considering ongoing business education but then I come to my senses: I've not touched a trades book since '97 and Columbia Business School. Mary has a unique talent anyways that comes from within and I can't touch that, though I admire. No wonder she advises the CEOs of the world's biggest companies and despite the recession is more in demand than ever - three all-nighters this week+world travel (we saw her in London several weeks ago for dinner). And today she turns her great attention on Katie's Op-Ed project before dashing into a waiting limosine to take a conference call on route to Midtown. Her time is valuable. Switching to London, Madeleine asks about war which is so everywhere that I filter it gone but for the kids it is shocking. And needs to be explained, which Sonnet does without me. Later she receives a call from the constable concerned about fraudulent frocks sold at Sotheby's - the criminal apprehended, you see, and Sonnet to provide the comparable evidence. Meanwhile the V&A's next exhibition this month (though not Sonnet's): hats. Oooo it is going to be swe-et.

Thank You's, A Marathon Plus Some Deer

Madeleine writes thank-you's from her birthday party this morning before the school-run. Note the spot on her sweat-shirt which is flaxseed oil. Yes, I make the kids take their dose every morning and boy do they resist sometimes leading to a mess. At least it is not disgusting cod liver oil (which we used to do). This morning I complete a circuit-run in Richmond Park including bench steps, squats, heel presses and etc. It is part of my training program for April's London marathon, which I will do for charity (don't worry - the request is coming). Unlike the past ten years where I have ramped up on at least four occasions only to be disappointed by injury, I intend to run London for fun vs. a time. I have acquired my chicken costume. In '98 I ran London, my last marathon, in 3:11 and while this ain't a bad time, I bonked at mile-23 or the Tower Bridge. It started pouring rain. Forced to walk I missed my goal of three-hours and, dear reader, the chance to never run a marathon again. Those are the breaks sometimes. So this morning - the park slicked over with ice and cold; a few cyclists barrel by in their aero-dynamic outfits plastered with colourful Italian and various logos; I say 'hello' to an older gent dressed for the hunt: olive moleskin cap, tweed jacket, baggy pants+ walking stick. He smiles a cheery back at me. Since Richmond is a deer park I pass a heard of bucks who, ancient mystery, are always separated from the does. The next cull is this month so the older beasts have magnificent antlers which must be six or seven-fee from the head. Their breath puffs as they stare at me without interest. Who would think we live in a cosmopolitan city? The deer could care less anyway.

Rakaposhi

Here is Rakoposhi, which I photographed in 1997 from the Karokoram Highway (KKH) in Pakistan. The mountain is part of the Karakorams in the Nagar Valley or approximately 100 km north of Gilgit, where we spent several days on our way into the Hunza Valley. 

Rakoposhi is 7,788 metres (25,551 ft) at its peak and means "shining wall" in the local language. It is also the 27th highest in the world and the 12th in Pakistan - K2, which I also saw from the KKH, is Pakistan's highest at 8,611 metres (28,251 ft). Rakaposhi was first climbed in 1958 by Mike Banks and Tom Patey of the British-Pakistani expedition, via the Southwest Spur / Ridge Route. Weeks before our arrival, an ill-prepared Pakistani team became stuck at 24,000 feet - not anticipating several nights exposure on the open redige several died from the extreme temperatures. As our guide Munir told me, "it was a macho thing." 

Apparently and not surprisingly, Pakistani men feel an urge to prove themselves against their mountain Gods. Rakaposhi is also notable for its exceptional rise over local terrain. On the north, it rises 5,800m in only an 11.5km horizontal distance from the Hunza River. The skree at the bottom of the photograph is a glacier. 

I took this photograph, using my father's Nikon F-2, at Ghulmat (located in the Nagar Valley) which is called "Zero Point of Rakaposhi;" there has otherwise been no doctoring of the image. Recently I scanned a number of similar photos so I will try to post them here occasionally.

Prophecy Of Doom

This graph, from Credit Suisse, shows where we may be heading and why Obama pushes hard for further stimulus dollars, which was approved yesterday despite Republicans. From now there is no more. I shudder to consider that America no longer exports products the world wishes to buy with the exception (and a big one) of the iPod+technology. The last 25-years fueled by the services sector - Europe being the biggest buyer - which, thanks to Wall Street, has vaporised. Anybody with an oversized or variable rate mortgage and especially the elderly, who cannot reboot, are in for it.

Armani Twins

Here is a picture of reality - not. I post this image and wonder if the heavy black mascara, gaunt faces and direct, almost mocking look reflects the times? Too bad for your bad luck, sucker. Kate Moss, for instance, famously caught the mood with her "heroin chic" in the mid-1990s characterised by pale skin, dark circles underneath the eyes and jutting bones. She also promoted emaciated features and androgyny, and was in direct contradiction to the healthy and vibrant - cheery! - look of models like Christy Brinkley, Cindy Crawford, Claudia Schiffer and Heidi Klum. I remember the LA Times article BTW in '96 or '97 that charged fashion with a nihilistic vision of beauty that was reflective of drug addiction. Anorexia increased. The Armani Twins here certainly don't look emaciated from the neck up but neither do they look particularly happy either. In fact, they look alien. I otherwise have little insight into a woman's beauty other than sometimes it works and with others it doesn't. Go figure. I know that I was struck with Sonnet when I first saw her that evening at Ivor and Alison's wedding at the MOMA in San Francisco. In fact, unlike advertising's general consensus that beauty fades I believe it to be the opposite - my wife more bewitching today than 1993. I still find myself pondering sometimes what is going on inside her despite sharing about everything. I find her mystery greatly interesting.

A Castle And Venture Capital

Here is a tired looking me in Chiltenham. We are getting pelted by another storm though no snow, thank goodness, as all the local councils have run out of salt. You might ask "so what?" but last week many villages cut off from their distributions and food shelves empty. Plus the military had to evacuate people from their cars stranded on the motor ways. So we are grateful for rain. Sonnet off early for France where she will spend the night in a 14th century castle with a couple of gay guys. She always gets the fun stuff. Not surprisingly, her destination has no heating - accept for the occupied rooms - and she layers herself with hi-tech under-garments and a heavy jacket. Tres glam. It is a quick visit to pick up donated garments for her V&A collection - I really should know the full story behind these treasures but my mind blank. Stay tuned (for the story, not my mind).

Of interest to venture-capitalist, 2008 saw British venture-backed companies receive the most venture-capital since 2000 or the peak of the venture-market. Oh boy. This about one billion squid. I would like to think the entirety of money to new start-ups but rather the figure due to existing investors protecting their companies with more cash. I lament Europe's lack of a Silicon Valley or Herzliya Pituach - without tech there is little hope against India or Asia. Typically during recessionary periods job-cuts net talent for early-stage, high-growth businesses and this what happened during the '80s when American Industry down-sized and Northern California took off. Today the orient emmerges as a fierce competitor for limited VC - visiting one can see why. China has taken 70 or 80 years of development and cherry picked the best - on show at the Beijing Olympics and everywhere from phones to wireless. There will be hiccups for sure but entrepreneurs now head for Shanghai and New Dehli before Frankfurt or Manchester. Silicon Valley retains its aura, if not dominance, thanks to Google, Apple and eBay - but today's trend is expat-repatriation where Stanford or Berkeley trained engineers go home. Unlike before, there are dollars chasing them. I think Obama gets this and so choses John Dohr and Mark Gallogly of Kleiner Perkins and Centerbridge to be among his 16 advisors re the economic recovery.

MLP and Yates

Here is Mary Louise Parker photographed for her Broadway play "Hedda Gabler" by Martin Schoeller. It appears in the New Yorker, which otherwise doesn't especially like this time's interpretation of the Ipsen play. I otherwise love the photo and ML whom I became enchanted with during the first two series of her Showtime "Weeds" (the final series three sucks). Weeds takes place in some Southern California suburb probably just like FL in 2005 - ML loses her husband to death leaving her with two teenage boys and a mortgage. Mom does not wish to give up her lifestyle and SUV so she sells... weed. Given California's medical marijuana laws, this is not as far-fetched as it would seem I am sure. The show works because Parker comes across as a control-freak parent who is otherwise coming apart at the edges and we know, as did William Butler Yates, the center cannot hold. Every parent feels this at sometime and in today's horror show probably more often then ever. I know we have, though this is a good time to be alive - as is any, for that matter. The luck of the draw and one direct shot. Go figure.

Yates' full quote:

“Things fall apart;

the center cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity”

"Some of us create happiness wherever we go.
Others create happiness whenever we go."
Oscar Wilde

Last Night

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

A-Rat

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

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

Rodriguez: "No."

Photo from the New York Yankees

Officially Seven

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

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

Pizza Party

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

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

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

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

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

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

Warm Up

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

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

Lucky 7

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

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

Brian

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"

Adam The MD

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

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

Super Returns

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

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

Dorothy

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

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

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

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

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

Winter Wonderland

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

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