Pre-Party and Smoking Kills

Madeleine (and Doggie) checks out the pre-Reception space at the marvelous Wilburton, overlooking the Green Mountains of Vermont and comprised of the Appalachians and the Berkshires. Soon Madeleine to be surrounded by 150 wedding guests, many of whom I know from as long ago as college thanks to Bronxville holiday dinner-parties. 

The resort's 23 acres covered with objets d'art - some work like the rusty New Mexico sculptures while others miss, like the house-size gold Wicker Man which oversees the bonfire area (appropriately enough for those who saw the classic '73 horror movie). 

The Wilberton owner, I learn, an Irish collector who supports mostly local artists and part of "The Sculptural Trail" which I think a hippy hang-over from a by-gone era. A lot of grass once smoked here, I am sure. Dorset, the proprietess informs me, has changed considerably from blue-collar and working farmland to college preppy. I confirm this by jogging past a lacrosse tournement, marked nature trail and ski-head waiting patiently for winter. 

On the same run, I note Norther Harwoods, Beech, Yellow Birch and of course the Sugar Maple, which is Vermont's famous state tree. All vibrantly green yet the time to see them, famously, is autumn when they explode colour.


Oxford University reports an increase in the cost of smoking to the NHS - about £5.2B per year or double previous estimates. Oxford calculates that in 2005 around 110,00 people died as a direct result of cigarettes , accounting for almost one in five of all UK deaths. It is amazing to me that anybody smokes in this day and age - we know the facts despite years of deception - and we know it is deadly. 

The UK has some of the harshest anti-smoking labelling anywhere: on each box "Smoking Kills" pretty much says it all. No doubt this has worked: >50% of British men smoked in 1980 and today it is 22%; for women it is around 20% (Cancer Research UK). Yet a nasty little fact is that by age 15, 20% of children are regulars despite it being illegal to sell tobacco to under 18s. Girls smoke more than boys: 24% compared to 16% in 2006. 

I have mixed feelings when I see the poor slobs huddled outside some office with fag to hand, often cold and usually looking pretty miserable. I hate their second-hand smoke and am unafraid to ask them snub it out when my kids nearby. Yet smoking no easy thing to quit. I've never been addicted to cigarettes yet Wayne and I used to puff away while drinking Cuba Libres and dreaming of eye glasses (this with Help The World See, pre-MBA). 

No, it is not easy so I also feel sympathy for those unable to win their battle against nicotine. But only to a degree.

Swoosh

Pity Gordon Brown, who went against character for ten long years as Chancellor of the Echequer while that lightweight Tony Blair caught, and rode, the New Labour wave (we can still hear Brown's teeth grinding from way back then). Talk about selling your sole to the devil - and now, as PM, the devil collects dues: since his leadership, it has been nothing but downhill and last night's European election sees new lows for the Labour party who take a horrible beating, coming in third after the Conservatives and the UKIP who I have never, ever heard of. The UKIP, I learn, aims is to git England the hell outta Europe (says they officially: the UK"shall again be governed by laws made to suit its own needs by its own Parliament, which must be directly and solely accountable to the electorate of the UK." The UKIP founded in 1993 by Alan Sked and other members of the all-party Anti-Federalist League members - I have yet to know if this the emergence of the Far Right, similar to what we have seen with Le Pen in France (a worrisome early nod: Aiden Rankin, co-author of the party's 2001 manifesto, was once involved with the Third Way, which was founded by former members of the National Front, Alistari McConnachie, a five-time UKIP candidate and National Executive member, was expelled from UKIP for his views on the Holocaust). Stay tuned.

What we do know for certain is the last two weeks has seen a crisis for the government and if not for the fact that Brown Labour, he would most likely be gone by now (as in the US, the conservatives in Britain ruthless. Who can forget Maggie getting bumped from power whilst traveling abroad, unable to defend her thrown?). Yet Gordon soldiers on though he doesn't have a snowball's chance. We, the people, have had enough - recall Super Gee has never faced an election. It ain't just me: six Cabinet Ministers have resigned on top of a recent re-shuffle and ultimately the voter voted in the EU polls. We will have a next election no later than June 2010 but it is pretty clear who will rule pssst the initials "DC." But don't feel too sorry for Brown: despite his fiscally conservative approach as Echequer, his "austerity" programs got us here today: de-regulation, property bubble fueled upwards and now fiscal budgets chucked from the top window of 10 Downing. Who would have believed that the Conservatives, who took such a thrashing in '97 that some pundits thought they were gone for good, would be back in top form so quickly. They have seized the golden opportunity and are sticking the knife in.

The query is freezing most of the year and today no exception. Eventually it will warm to maybe 70 but now it is like 62 or 63 from the snow melt and before warmed by the summer. It reminds me of the Pacific Ocean in Norcal without wet-suit. Forget it. The kids and I dare each other forward until I'm gone - pictured.

"We need to make our economy more pro-competition and pro-enterprise. Wherever there are barriers to companies, we will remove them."
-- Gordon Brown, 2007

"The Arctic Monkeys really wake you up in the morning."
-- Gordon Brown in the 2006 summer issue of New Woman magazine.

Diane

Diane is the bride-to-be, and also my cousin who has always been vocal. How I remember her joy from early visits to NY or Paris when she always had a tune or some chatter. Not surprisingly, then, she is the co-anchor of the three hour morning show on FOX23 News which reaches a couple million people. Im-pre-sive. From her profile: "Diane Lee co-anchors the three hour morning show on FOX23 News. The New York native joined the team in August of 2006. Before that Diane was the main anchor for WYOU-TV, the CBS affiliate in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. She got her start as a one-woman-band at WRNN in Kingston, NY, and was eventually promoted to “Valley News Live” Anchor. Diane's investigative reports on topics like battered women, prostitution, nuclear power and the homeless have been recognized with awards in excellence from the Pennsylvania Association of Broadcasters (2006) and the New York State Broadcasters Association (2002)." How cool is that?

The only down-side to her glamourous career are the hours: she is "on" from 2AM which is a full three hours before my wake-up call back in those hard-ship days of swimming. Believe you me, I know how difficult it is to pull one's tired self from bed to face the far-away dawn (it also never helped that Moe sang "it's uppy, uppy , time" in his good spirits which usually made mine, ahem, worse). Diane I learn goes to bed at 5PM but this does not deter her week ends where she converts to "normal time" usually in the Big City at dinner parties or on the town. She has the energy to do it. So today she prepares last minute vows for Saturday and soon-to-be Kenny.

I almost forgot to mention Diane's singing voice, which is butter: in 2005 Diane produced a charity Christmas CD that raised >$20,000 for the Children's Miracle Network. Bravo.

Dorset

We arrive in Dorset, VT in anticipation of Diane's Big Day and a bit nervous about the weather - forecast has been for rain and apparently snow at 1,500 feet the other night. Plus the last ten days here apparently cold and wet - sounds like England to me. My photo from Marcia and Larry's porch. I have shot the pond before and it is always different, beautiful. Larry, who is a serious photographer in his semi-retirement, and I discuss the view which he has captured "many tens of thousands of times" he chuckles and while it never grows old, there is only so much space on a wall. Instead, Larry traveling the country or the world taking images, according to Marcia, of things that may not be around. I see shots of rusting bridges or unused barns, old trucks and empty highways; in China, there is a craftsmen doing work that otherwise churned out by factory. We spend some time talking about photography's change awknowledging that we may never to return to the dark-room, much to my regret, having learned this craft after a considerable investment in time when the kids were young (I cherish my B&Ws BTW which, unlike digital, rest in a stack that I continue to study). Any way, today is about reunions as cousins Kelly, Susan, Diane, Katie and Me together with the three Aunts Grace, Marcia and Carla (note that I am proudly the only male in the lot, oh how my Grandfather Manning must have rejoiced)+husbands+the next generation of DNA. Sonnet/My DNA re-acquant themselves with Jake, Joey and the mill pool. It is a lovely afternoon and when the mosquitoes arrive at dusk, we move inside until the children beg for bed.

Hawthorne Rd

Marcia and Larry's home in Bronxville has been a wonderful presence ever since I can remember. Ivor and I stayed here the two weeks before Brown and somehow by ourselves, oh dear. Following several nights at The Palladium and Tunnel, we were out of money fast and spent our time eating bologne sandwiches and watching James Bond since Larry owns the collection starting with Dr. No. During this time we were joined by Berkeley High friends Dan, on his way to Cornell, and John. We tripped around Manhattan checking out girls and being 18. New York was a bit grimier then and the subways graffiti covered. Still, the boom was "on" in '85 and insider trader scum like Ivan Boesky "greed is good" celebrated by our culture and appearing on the cover of Time. These fuckers never go away.

Katie and I also used Bronxville as home-base in college on our way into the Big City and then of course First Boston post-college a night here was bliss away from commanding Managing Directors who all wanted my ass. Being in Bronxville equivalent to a five-star hotel - one knows they are in good hands. The grass groomed, flowers seasonal, shops charming and everybody knows each other. Catching the morning train to Manhattan the gentlemen wear similar outfits (tan Burberry if rain; Brooks Brother tie; black wing-tips) and absorbed in the WSJ. The wives have the kids and the kids have each other: the Bronxville school from K to 12 and one of the best in the county. Marcia and Larry have been important contributors to the community too - Marcia being the mayor and Larry recently becoming a Board Trustee of Sarah Laurance College. On the week end or whenever, they have Vermont where we are soon off to for Diane's wedding. Life is good.

New Yankee Stadium

I like the sunset from where we are sitting off the right field line. The sky's colour matches the diamond. Much of the new stadium incorporates design elements from the previous Yankee Stadium, paying homage to the Yankees' history including 'Babe Ruth Way' where we meet Katie and Jeremie.

Although construction here began in '06, the project has spanned years and faced all kinds of controversy, including the destruction of residential buildings and greenways. Financing for the stadium has also been divisive, with many criticizing a new sports venue instead of other pressing issues like, you know, schools, bridge works, water maintenance and so forth. But this is New York City, afterall, the home of baseball and what's a couple billion for a new ballpark? The cost to date $1.5 billion and the second most expensive stadium in the world after - you guessed it - ding ding - Wembley Stadium in London (we need a bunch of Chinese on spec and on time like their Olympics or the Beijing Airport). At least in NY the field sees at least half a baseball season while Wembley costs maybe £10 million an event (my estimate) based on depretiation and maintenance cost against a disturbingly low usage rate.

The Bronx BTW made some serious concessions to keep the Yankees as George Steinbrenner played hard-ball threatening to move the club from New York. As if. In return for giving up park space, the Bronx keeps the old Yankee's ball field while the existing infrastructure torn down. Everything else becomes parking, still under construction, and financed (of course) by the New York City taxpayer, God bless 'em (total parking construction cost >$70 million). Georgie got a pretty good deal and so did his sons, who now run the club. Moe tells me that Steinbrennner didn't trust his offspring to take over the team gifted management to his daughter's husband, he being George's son-in-law. Well, shithead divorced and now the boys in charge. They all must hate each other so let us hope they do a good job protecting the city jewel given the tax payer's investment. Regardless of the prattle, it is a magical place to see a baseball game with near-perfect visibility from every seat. There is an over-abundance of media screens offering live coverage and the Jumbotron (or whatever the hell it is called) enormous. Bathrooms, beer and services abundant and the only inconvenience finding your seat. Totally appropriate for America's biggest baseball market and the fans, well, forgetaboutit.

So here are the comps between old and new:

Characteristic	Old Stadium [as of 2008]	New Stadium
Opening Day	April 18, 1923	April 16, 2009
Capacity	56,866	52,325 (includes standing room)
Seat width	18–22 inches	19–24 inches
Legroom	29.5 inches	33–39 inches
Concourse width (average)	17 feet	32 feet
Cup holders	None	All seats in general seating bowl
Luxury suites	19	56
Team stores	6,800 square feet	11,560 square feet
Restroom fixture ratio	1 per 89 fans	1 per 60 fans
Public elevators (passenger lifts)	3 (OTIS Traction)	16 (KONE traction)
Video scoreboard	25 feet by 33 feet (Standard Definition LED)	59 feet by 101 feet (High Definition LED)
Distance from Home Plate to:
Backstop	72 feet 4 inches (22.05 m)	52 feet 4 inches
Left Field	318 feet	318 feet
Left Center	399 feet	399 feet
Center Field	408 feet	408 feet
Right Center	385 feet	385 feet
Right Field	314 feet	314 feet
Source: The New York Yankees

Today we have another most excellent New York afternoon seeing "West Side Story" at the Palace and then dinner at The Oyster Bar before our train. I have what I always have: New England clam chowder and seafood salad. Why mess around?

"When you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way! from you first cigarette to your last dyin' days. "
-- Riff, singing

Hot Dog

The kids wiggy with baseball, crowds, junk food and hot dogs, Auntie Katie, Jeremie and the grand-parents as the Yankees play the TX Rangers. Life does not get much better than this. Eitan remembers the rules from the Rockies while Madeleine just goes with the adrenaline. A pounding, seven run third inning puts NY up for good and Madeleine and I high-five each other and pump our fists for joy. Go team. Eitan reluctantly admits that he enjoys the national past-time but nothing like football, where his true love placed. He spends his pre-game watching DVD highlites of Manchester United from previous seasons. Since he has seen it a gazillion times before, he alerts me: "watch this shot by [Ryan] Giggs!" or "Ronaldo is going to make the penalty shot." The re-plays allow him to actually enjoy the game - any true blooded football fan will tell you the anticipation during a match murder and ManU's recent loss to Barcelona pins and needles (Eitan to me during the game: "Dad, please don't talk to me now."). After baseball we take the MetroNorth straight to Bronxville concluding a perfect New York evening.

Old Yankee Stadium

Behind us is the original Yankee stadium in The Bronx and home to the Yankees from '23 to 2008. It has / had a capacity of 57,545 and hosted 6,581 Yankees regular season home games during its 85-year history (wikipedia). It was also the home of the New York Giants, as well as the host of twenty of boxing's most famous fights and three Papal Masses. The stadium's nickname is "The House That Ruth Built" whose prime years coincided with the beginning of the Yankees' winning history.

This was the first three-tiered sports facility in the US and one of the first baseball parks to be given the lasting title of stadium as baseball teams usually played in a park or a field. The field was initially surrounded by a (misshapen) quarter-mile running track, which served as a warning track for outfielders, a feature now standard on all major league parks. The left and right field bleacher sections were laid out at right angles to each other, and to the third base stands, to be properly positioned for both track-and-field events and football. The large electronic scoreboard in right-center field, featuring both teams' lineups and scores of other baseball games, was the first of its kind.

Strangely enough, the stadium's design partially accommodated the left-handed Babe Ruth. Initially the fence was 295 feet from home plate down the right-field line, referred to as the "short porch", and 350 feet to near right field, compared with 490 feet to the deepest part of center field, nicknamed Death Valley. The right-field bleachers were nicknamed "Ruthville." Although the right field fences were eventually pushed back after the 1974-1975 renovations, they were still relatively close to home plate and retained the "short porch" moniker. Here are the stadium's changing dimensions (from Wikipedea):

Year	Left Field Line	Straightaway Left Field	Left Center	Straightaway Center Field	Right Center	Straightaway Right Field	Right Field Line	Backstop
1923	285 ft.	395 ft.	460 ft.	490 ft.	425 ft.	350 ft.	295 ft.	82 ft.
1937	301 ft.	402 ft/ 415 ft.	457 ft.	461 ft.	407 ft.	367 ft/ 344 ft.	296 ft.	82 ft.
1976	312 ft.	387 ft.	430 ft.	417 ft.	385 ft.	353 ft.	310 ft.	84 ft.
1985	312 ft.	379 ft.	411 ft.	410 ft.	385 ft.	353 ft.	310 ft.	84 ft.
1988	318 ft.	379 ft.	399 ft.	408 ft.	385 ft.	353 ft.	314 ft.	82 ft.

My first Yankee in '77 when Marcia got us tickets behind home plate. I remember quite clearly the green grass and the heavy smoke back when people puffed away. The action on the field barely above the chatter of the crowd, which was like another player somehow. It all seemed .. and in fact was .. bigger than life. That was the year of Reggie Jackson, Thurmon Munson, Bucky Dent, Lou Piniella and Mickey Klutts whose name I could not forget if I tried. We saw Ron Guidry pitch - the Yankee's won but I have no idea the score, and Reggie hit a home-run which is all I wanted, really. This was a magical year for the team, who finished 100-62 finishing first in the AL East and beating the LA Dodgers in the World Series four games to two. Reggie had his own candy bar and despite black-outs and race riots, it was all good. And the manager? Billy Martin, of course, who would bring his genius to Oakland in the early '80s right when I was transfixed by the game.

Paint Job

The kids help me paint the railing of Marcia and Larry's house in Bronxville. It is a secret so shhh. The last time I did this was in '94 and regained Larry's favor following many instances of irresponsible youth .. like taking the family car into Manhattan to go clubbing .. but this another story. Today we finish off the wire scraping and add some primer. The Shakespeares lay newspaper to stone to avoid drips and Madeleine washes everything down with TSP solution. They get bored by the prep work pretty quickly - but, as with most things, this is the part that counts. No paint coating will hide a weak foundation as we know so well from the Bush era. Eitan and Madeleine work for $5 each assuming, of course, that their tasks complete. It stands at 50-50. My favorite part so far the Tuckahoe paint store which has not changed in fifteen years. It returns me to Providence where the first stop of my summer day Glidden or Benjamen Moore (each had a different personality. Benji Moore upscale though not as haughty as Pratt & Lambert; Glidden strictly blue-collar and Sears or Cabot - forgetaboutit). Back then we credit gorged contractors milled about drinking free coffee anxious to get started on the job. My state "fearful" managing 30 guys and barely 20. In Tuckahoe today I chat with an old store hand who is well beyond retirement which reminds me of "Uncle" Ed in Providence. Uncle Ed was as senile as a bat but loved being in the paint store. All the guys gave him grief but he soaked it up and I used to think then what a nice way to keep it vital in one's sunset years. Maybe some day it will be me (though I doubt it).

Sonnet gets a freebie in NYC where she meets several designers and visits the Frank Lloyd Wright exhibition at the Guggenheim, which celebrates its 50th.

Madeleine and I drive to the market with radio blaring.
Me: "What do you think these songs are all about?"
Madeleine: "Love."
Me: "Why do you think I love your mother."
Madeleine: "Because she is pretty."

Me to Eitan: "Why do you think school is teaching you the differences between boys and girls?"
Eitan: "Stop it dad. I don't want to know."

Madeleine at the super-market: "Can I have a box of cookies? Can I have that pie? Can I have some sugar cereal? Can you get me those crisps? Can I have a pickle? Dad! It is so unfair! You never let me have anything I want but you get everything for you!"

"I'm a strong believer in it [water-boarding]. I thought it was well done."
-- Dick Cheney at today's National Press Club appearance

Here Comes The Sun

Madeleine describes herself: "It is me with a helio-thing."
Me: "Say some more."
Madeleine: "Only if you let me paint. With your brush."
Me: Ok
M: Well, let me think. It is colourful. Damp. No! take away 'damp.' It is big. It starts from small and goes to big. The first and second time I tried it on it got stuck in my hair. Well, this boy found it before I came into the room, and I was amazed. It stuck onto my head and I did not have to hold it.
Me: Anything else?
M: nah.

(Photo from Katie)

Tortoise

Jeremy introduces us to cool band Tortoise last night at some venue in Brooklyn (we dine at a new, old-school restaurant with tiled floor and excellent long-bar). Tortoise's almost entirely instrumental music defies categorization, and the band gained significant attention I learn from their early career when they came up in Chicago's music scene, playing in various indie rock punk groups. Tortoise was among the first American indie bands to include styles closer to Krautrock, dub, minimalism, electronica and various jazz styles, rather than the standard rock and roll and punk that had dominated indie rock for years.

Afterwards, driving home, I get totally lost again finding Bronxville. I swear this place impossible to find -- maybe it is a protective mechanism to keep wanderers from Yonkers or wherever away.

Today glorious and when such weather hits there is only one place to be -- Paris. New York is the runner-up and I take advantage of springtime to jog a couple loops around Central Park. This has to be one of the most entertaining runs on God's green planet. I pass a Jewish-Japanese Day Celebration on the East Side; on the other side of the road, baseball in full swing. A fire hydrant blasts water and kids squeel in their freedom. Mixed in are walkers and runners of every type and the freaks: wrongly dressed for the day or ghoulishly pale. Or obese. Then there is the flesh - everywhere, but especially Sheep's meadow which is like a college-campus only a few years on and, presumably, more sexually active (then, my comp is Brown). And naked - or at least g-strings and bikinis (men and women) and lycra tights (mostly men). The youth simply lounge, sometimes reading or more likely sunning themselves. London has no equivalent but the temps never so hot that a sensible gal would ditch her bra and go strapless. We Brits are much too sensible for that - it takes seven or eight tequilla slammers to get ours there. The day ends with a BBQ and, as I blog, everybody happy to be down for the night.

Saturday Night And The Blowtards

Katie on the Upper West near her flat on our way to Brooklyn to see the band Tortoise, which is new to me. The grandparents hosting the kids - I cannot remember that last time we had a free night out.

I've been thinking about the absurdity of the recent Obama-Cheney "debate"on terrorism that took place last week, and how irresponsible the Republican party today. Cheney suggests that Obama's efforts making the country "less safe" while the Senate craters to closing Guantanamo. The reality, of course, far more sinister in my opinion: the Retards have no counter for the economy, health-care and the financial crisis and so they use their trump card: 9-11, which Cheney mentions 22 times in his speech. Of course Cheney also lied, as reported by Jon Landay and Warren Strobel, who also held the media to task in 2002 by reporting the run-up to Iraq based on faulty information (all this and more in today's Frank Rich column). What Bush & Co. don't want us to remember or know is that they took their eye off the prize post 9-11 which was Al Queda and Bin Laden. Iraq a distraction (or worse) from Afghanistan and Pakistan, which may turn out to be the real villain thanks to A. Q. Kahn's nuclear network. India not the only ones to fear the melt-down on its border. Iraq has delievered nothing meanwhile. So here we are, new President and government, yet allowing Cheney to redraw the battledground for posterity (Dale and I have a dinner bet on the Bush legacy to be paid up in 25 years when history has passed its judgement - Dale believes it will be kind to el Presidente). It is one thing to argue a position and Lord knows we need intelligent input. It is altogether another when a failed party led by a bunch of fat blowtards, like Newt and Rush, pedal fear via an acquiescent media, to a public unwilling or unable to change its story arc. Obama, meanwhile, appreciates we are not secure while loathed by others enflamed by torture, Gitmo, Israel, drone-bombings, occupation and Al Quada. This effects me. This effects my kids. These unpatriotic fuckers should be swept aside, ignored and forgotten. Until we need them again and their party lanced of its stale leadership and disproven platform.

"The compulsion to listen to the news is to be joined to a community of anxiety."
-- Ian McEwan

Central Park

Moe on 102nd Street.

We head for Central Park on a gorgeous Saturday and seat ourselves next to The Pool: W101 which otherwise has no name. This a remarkably pristine part of an unusually natural environment given what surrounds it: concrete, for miles and miles. Our seclusion includes drooping willows, algae green waters formed in a grotto from stacked boulders. It is also a favorite haunt of the Great Egret and bird watchers nestle here to spot the many migratory species. Kind of like the Barnes Wetland Centre which also attracts its share of eccentric nutzos. 

I remember here from autumn when the red maples, Osage Orange, Moccernut hickory and American sycamore burst into colour like nobodies business. In the winter, the water freezes and impossible not to consider the stupidity of those who ice skate or walk on the ice. 

For many, this area remembered for the brutal rape of an investment banker by five youths and New York's social breakdown - ushered in the Giuliani era. The attack shortly before I arrived and when the city's killing on a murderous, upward rate. The case also introduced us to the term "wilding" and fueled fear for the after hours. So today all that 20 years ago and our grassy knoll shared with a middle-aged couple enchanted by their new-born; a large Black man who snores while his daughter and Madeleine build a tee pee from leaves and branches; a group of young people who sit on a flat rock and flirt and feel each other. 

All this while joggers and bikers stream by in a liquid flow. As Sonnet notes, the park an extension of every New Yorker's living room.

Seamus

Seamus I visit yesterday in Midtwon as he considers buying a pharma company following a career at Elan and GE at strategic consulting firm the Mac Group who I interviewed with while at First Boston for their London office. Seamus an old college friend who I have not been with since his wedding which seems like yesterday but somehow five years ago. The bachelor party fun too BTW - golfing on a resort in Galway with his friends and brothers, one of whom works for distribution of Guinness. A handy ingredient. Also on hand is Suresh, who had sold his security software company to Microsoft and abuzz about Bill Gates several months before. Suresh advised by his new VP "not to engage Bill." Apparently Gates does not to look new relationships in the eye on account that he scares the crap out of them. In true fashion, relays Suresh, Gates had his company power-point presentation before him and threw it across his office at Steve Ballmer and Suresh's new business unit executives: "This is the biggest piece of shit I've ever seen" and "why the fuck did we buy this company?" If not for an accelerated earn-out, it would have been an even more terrifying event. Gates calmed down and eventually focused on the task, which I suppose how to integrate Suresh's software into the Death Star. They got along fine. Since, Seamus tells me, Suresh left MS and founded another start-up which sold to Symantic. Budda-bing.

Seamus transferred to Brown from Dublin and a stand-out runner though not on par with Greg Whiteley, who he sees at Brown's 20th reunion last week end while I am in CT with Mary and her gang. Seamus formed a contingent of elite athletes who together ranked in the NCAA Top-10 for cross country when I joined my Junior year after ditching my life-long passion and the unpleasant dudes on the Bruins swim team. Seamus leads a successful life and I was fortunate enough to see him on a Friday afternoon, which he informs me with a chuckle is when he plays golf. He joins me to Lincoln Center where we pick up my parents, Sonnet and the kids so he can meet Eitan and Madeleine and reunion with Moe and Grace - the last time being, I believe, on College Hill for graduation. Life moves on. Life is good.

"There once was a cheerful old bear,
who suddenly lost all his hair.
And though he was sad,
he knew it was bad ...
to cry and completely despair."
-- Eitan

Fish And Fear

Here is one from the pet store, which earns a thumb's up for weirdness from Madeleine and Eitan.

We catch the North White Plains line from the 125 Street Harlem station, which is yet again an entirely different world. NYC has cleaned up considerably since my first arrival in '89 when the city seemed dangerous above 95th ... this imaginary boundery gone, enforced by Columbia Business School expanding up to 140 Street. Sure, there are dilapidated pockets but these mostly isolated to Harlem and the Bronx though I admit my window from a taxi. I read that certain New Yorkers nostalgic for '70s urban grittiness - like having black-outs and a heroin problem a good thing - you know, Pop-Eye Doyle or Travis Bickle and all that. There probably was a creative and artistic environment, sex and drugs and rock and roll - but the city was bankrupt and pity those poor middle class honkies cowering in their flats. Or fleeing to the suburbs. And what about Times Square which is now owned by Disney and nary a porno theatre nor prostitute to be seen? Can the under-belly of Gotham really be one giant, police controlled pedestrian walk? But to Harlem: there is no longer racial tension that once made this place simmer and a no-go zone for the post-college, professional types I hung with .. nor is there a hint of drugs or violence which was on offer 20 years ago - 1990 being the year New York set its record for annual murders at over 2,000. We, the people, were bombarded by this news every day and though Greenwich Village and the Upper West Side, where I lived, perfectly safe it did not feel so. Humans have a great ability to misjudge a risk based on repetition or scale of threat - death by murder being an extreme worry, I might suggest. How simple a time, then, when the only thing to fear a mugger or graffitti covered subway after-hours. At least the bogeyman was tangible, unlike what we have been sold since 9-11.

"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."
-- H.P. Lovecraft.

Bryant Park

Bryant Park a magnificent oasis which really should not exist. Surrounded by sky-scrapers - in this case, the MetLife and BankAmerica Towers facing east - it offers a blip of calm in an otherwise frantic part of New York rubbing up against Time's Square. Eitan asks if the BankAmerica tower bigger than the Empire State Building but actually it is about half the size or 54 floors. Holy mackerel. On the other side is the library and we are encased by 5th and 6th Avenues and 40th and 42nd Streets for about 9.6 acres. The place has a rich history not surprisingly, and here is what an Internet rake brings forward:

"In 1686 when the area was still a wilderness, New York's colonial governor Thomas Dongan designated this spot a public space. George Washington crossed it while retreating from the Battle of Long Island in 1776. Bryant Park was a potter's feild (a graveyard for the poor) from 1823 to 1840, when thousands of bodies were moved to Ward's Island.

Later on, the square was used for military drills during the Civil War, and was the site of some of the New York Draft Riots in 1863, when the Colored Orphan Asylum at Fifth Avenue and 43rd Street was burned down.

In 1884, Reservoir Square was renamed Bryant Park, to honor the New York Evening Post editor and abolitionist William Cullen Bryant. In 1899, the Reservoir building was removed and construction of the New York Public Library building began.

The construction of the Sixth Avenued Elevated railway in 1878 had cast a literal and metaphorical shadow over the park, and by the 1930s the park had suffered neglect and was considered disreputable. The park was re-designed in 1933-1934 as a Great Depression public works project under Robert Moses. The new park featured the great lawn.

By the 1970s, Bryant Park had been taken over by drug dealers, prostitutes and the homeless. It was nicknamed "Needle Park" by some, due to its brisk heroin trade, and was considered a "no-go zone" by ordinary citizens and visitors. From 1979 to 1983, a coordinated program of amenities, including a bookmarket, a flower market, cafes, landscape improvements, and entertainment activities, was initiated by a parks advocacy group called the Parks Council and immediately brought new life to the park -- an effort continued over the succeeding years by The Bryant Park Restoration Corporation, which had been founded in 1980 by a group of prominent New Yorkers, including members of the Rockefeller family, to improve conditions in the park. In 1988, a privately funded re-design and restoration was begun by the Bryant Park Restoration Corporation and here we are today.

"

My Pet

We sit in Bryant Park on a muggy early afternoon and Madeleine sneaks up on me to put leaves down the back of my shirt: "did you notice me there, dad?" as I take her photograph. HSBC sponsors a little book corner for kids and Sonnet reads happily to them while I mess around taking photographs. Too much to see and take in. There is also a carousel which the Shakespears beg for and win, over my preliminary early miserly objections. Me the Grinch - but it is $2 a go and that seems like real money, oh boy. Initially our aim to take the kids into the NY Public Library (I have never been myself) but too warm a day+the we need to burn off some steam having sat around this morning while I made work calls. A 30 minute promise always comes in around two hours. I think they are used to it - but hey, they get to gorge on TV which is (usually) a rarity - only after homework, though, which seems to be a bit slack for now Sonnet and I agree.

Madeleine beside herself when she finds her penguin buddy's legs broken off. She to Sonnet: "who could have done this mum? Why oh why?" and to me: "I am very sad right now." I tell he she will just have to love the penguin regardless of its legs. Love it more so, in fact. She remains hopeful: "I know crazy glue can fix her."

After dinner, we stroll to Katie's pet store on 102nd and Broadway. Madeleine pleads for a pet and I tell her a cat, as long as we kill and stuff it for the plane ride home. I add helpfully: "I will get a large mallot .." Madeleine glares at me.

Me to Sonnet, Madeleine listening: "Let's get a goat. That should travel well."

In the pet store Madeleine bonds with the mice: "Dad we have to buy them so they are not fed to the snake!"

Eitan unsure when I tell him the squirrels in New York City talk, just like in the movie Madagascar. I prove my point by chirping at one who seems to pay attention before darting up a tree. Eitan: "Mom! Is that true?"

New Yawk

Another image I like - this one from the playground on 81st and Central Park West. Eitan has carried a soccer ball all day and now rewarded with some playtime - the other kids look on suspiciously at his ball skills and accent. Eventually we hustle out when the mist becomes a dull wet+time for dinner. Without hesitation this is the best city I know for photography. Every angle weird and wonderful - modern, old or crumbling. I don't have the courage to take frontal shots of people but that is where the best action is. For instance I stroll pass an enormous black man who advances with an awkward shuffle as though one leg longer than the other (it probably is) and dressed in black suit, narrow black tie and black fedora and black thick glasses. Next to him a much shorter Hasidic Jew and they talk rapidly about who knows what? Or the model who passes us, elegantly, wearing a scarf, Izod and sweat pants - his hair perfectly Elvis. The thing I really enjoy is the people welcoming - especially the Joe's on the street who always seem to have a smile and a wisecrack, though maybe these the guys I naturally chose for directions or whatever. Very different from London which somehow less inviting nor bubbling with enthusiasm about their city. New Yorkers love it here and why not? Anything humanly possible and all it takes is an imagination and hard-work. Mostly. At the very least, NYC the only city I know where such a gratuitous comment just might hold true.

Taxi, Teddy & Echoing Green

Eitan in a yellow taxi (he resists for a dollar). The Natural History Museum greets us with four quotes from Theodore Roosevelt, each uniquely appropriate for the setting. Here is one at the westward front entrance:

"I want to see you game boys. I want to see you brave and manly. and I also want to see you gentle and tender.
Be practical as well as generous. In your ideals, keep your eyes on the stars and your feet on the ground.
Courage, hard work, self-mastery and intelligent effort are all essential to a successful life.
Character in the long run is the decisive factor in the life of an individual and of nations alike."
-- Teddy Roosevelt

Grace buys me Roosevelt's biography which I probably won't read since I only do fiction since post MBA. I ask Eitan and Madeleine their favorite part of the NHM and, expectedly, get: "gift store." And: "shopping." In fairness, Gracie buys Eitan a battery powered flying Space Shuttle and Madeleine and collection of rocks she thinks diamonds. Hard for anything stuffed to top that. Katie, meanwhile, gives a presentation to her Echoing Green foundation, who chose her with four others to demonstrate what social ideas and capital may accomplish. She is then off to see Jeremy plan in his band somewhere in lower Manhattan. We gently decline the invitation as the Shakespeares wiped out.

From the Echoing Green website: "Since 1987, Echoing Green has provided seed funding and support to more than 450 social entrepreneurs with bold ideas for social change in order to launch groundbreaking organizations around the world." Katie tells me the foundation supports less than 1% of applications. Here are several examples:

Adarsh Kumar - building an (rural India) venture capital fund to serve businesses owned by or employing low-income producers, enabling them to scale up their businesses to become commercially successful companies.

Anne Tamar-Mattis - protecting the civil rights of children born with variations of sex anatomy.

Ben Schmoltz - improving the nation's disaster management systems through public accountability, citizen oversight and empowerment, whistle-blower engagement, and policy research.

Elizabeth Scharpf - Amplifying girls' and women's economic potential by launching female-run franchises that manufacture and distribute low priced, high-quality, environmentally-friendly sanitary pads.

Inspiring.

Manhattan

It takes us a while to get rolling this morning, though Sonnet up early to meet a rep from Helmut Lang to choose several pieces for her V&A collection. Us, we drive into the city which seems like a great idea until I can't find parking nor parking garage. Duh. We meet Moe and Grace and off to the American Natural History Museum where we see the fantastic Cosmic Collision:

"Viewers will witness the violent face of our Sun, imaged by NASA satellites, that produces enormous ejections of material from our star towards our planet. The resulting subatomic clashes, as streams of charged particles from the Sun strike the Earth's magnetic field, produce the eerie glow of the aurora borealis and the aurora australis that fill the Hayden dome. Cosmic Collisions will also show the creation of our Moon some five billion years ago when a wandering planetoid struck Earth; the violent meeting of two stars at the edge of the galaxy; and the future collision of our Milky Way galaxy with our closest neighbor, the Andromeda spiral galaxy, a cosmic crash that will produce a new giant elliptical galaxy billions of years from now.

Audiences will feel the ground shake beneath them as they experience a thrilling recreation of the meteorite impact that hastened the end of the Age of Dinosaurs 65 million years ago and cleared the way for mammals like us to thrive. Another dramatic sequence highlights a frightening future scenario where humanity desperately attempts to divert the path of an oncoming "doomsday" asteroid headed on a collision course with Earth."

All this and narrated by Robert Redford. Wow.

My photograph from the fourth floor of the museum in the eastward facing sitting area of the Koch Dinosaur gallery.

"Few people realise the immensity of vacancy in which the dust of the material universe swims."
-- H.G. Wells