Burgers And Diabetes

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

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

Effigy

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

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

Madeleine: "How was the world made?"

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

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

Sonnet:

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

Sonnet: "Frankenstein, Madeleine?"

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

Airbone Toxic Event

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

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

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

Thorpedo

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

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

Photo, uncredited, from the WWW.

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

--Michael Phelps

Marc - Hawkings - A Monty Update

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goof Off

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

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

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

Me: "What were yours?"

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

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

Madeleine: "All the easy ones were taken!"

Me:

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

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

Madeleine: "Or a lizard!"

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

Madeleine: "Or a guinea pig."

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

Me:

Supertanker

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


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


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

Private Equity Pay

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

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

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

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

KPR Lose - Some Chores - A Metaphor

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

Me: "What is your favorite subject?"

Madeleine: "Lunch."

Me: "Try again."

Madeleine: "Pasta bolognese?"

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

Madeleine: "That's a metaphor, Dad"

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

Madeleine: "Art and drawing.  Also maths."

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

Madeleine: "Thinking."

Me: "Excellent!"

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

A Motley Crew

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

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

Madeleine: "Treats, candy, having fun."

Me: "Anything else?"

Madeleine: "Can I eat my candy now?"

Bart

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

Purnima - SouthBank - Monty Escapes (Again)

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

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

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

Pumpkin

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

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

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

Monty Free And More CCTV

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


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


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

Big Brother is watching you.

--George Orwell

Vampire

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

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

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

--Bob Hope

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

--Bob Hope

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

--Lowell Thomas

Season's Change

Another shot from Cambridge.  So here is what I learn: three factors influence autumn leaf color-leaf pigments, length of night, and weather, but not quite in the way we think. The timing of color change and leaf fall are mostly regulated by the calendar, that is, the increasing length of night. None of the other environmental influences-temperature, rainfall, food supply, and so on-are as unvarying as the steadily increasing length of night during autumn.  The intensity of colors related to weather conditions that occur before and during the time the chlorophyll (which gives leaves their green pigment) in the leaves is dwindling. Temperature and moisture being the main influences.


A succession of warm, sunny days and cold - but not freezing - nights bring about the most spectacular color displays. During these days, lots of sugars are produced in the leaf but the cool nights and the gradual closing of veins going into the leaf prevent these sugars from moving out. These conditions-lots of sugar and lots of light-spur production of the brillian anthocyanin pigments, which tint reds, purples, and crimson. Because carotenoids are always present in leaves, the yellow and gold colors remain fairly constant from year to year. Soil moisture also plays a role - a sever summer drought, for instance, may delay autumn by several weeks. 


Every season hath its pleasures;
Spring may boast her flowery prime,
Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures
Brighten Autumn's sob'rer time.
--Thomas Moore


Fall is my favorite season in Los Angeles, watching the birds change color and fall from the trees.
--David Letterman

Make The Most Of It

So .. where am I? Well, back in London from today and online again.  I have a lot of catching up to do. This photo from Sunday at the autumnal peak, following a rain that cleans the air and leaves the air damp and ground mushy. Ideal for walking, which Eric and I do for four+ hours before ending at a Greek diner somewhere on Mass Ave. I am relieved.  The colors vibrate while our traverse takes us onto the Minuteman Bikeway, which passes through the American Revolution, which began in April 1775. We detour to get fabulous coffee and spike ourselves with caffeine. Ah, sweet caffeine.  Along the way, Eric has a favorite plaque of some old cuss who took a beating by the Red Coats yet managed to kill a bunch of them and live into his 80s.  Spit'n tobacco and skinning beavers, I am sure.. The trail opened in '92  and connects the Alewife "T" station in Cambridge to East Arlington or 11 miles; it located on a discontinued railroad. In 1994, the bikeway honored for Urban Design Excellent by the Boston Society of Architects and recognised as a Millenium Trail by the White House.  No doubt it is well used and passes by some lovely areas - I see locals cutting back weeds and keeping things tidy. It has become a community thing which has been emulated across the country: by 2006, there are 1,350 rail-trails in the US.

Pimp

Eric buys the hat - pictured - for Hallowe'en. It goes with a red leather jacket and he will be a 'pimp.'  Kinda hard to picture, really, but why not?  This morning he makes breakfast, sets off the fire alarm, placates the neighbor Don, deals with soccer issues, cleans the kitchen, sings "Delta Don What's That Flower You Got On?" plans out the week's logistics, goes to the store ..  all before 12 noon. Ben arrives with iPod buds in and observes it all before joining us at the table.  He's grown since the last time together, and his hair several inches shorter.  He wears the teen-agers suit of jeans and sweat-shirt made cool with a blue pea-coat. He has a look going on and it works - but then, a 14 year old whatever he wears cool and  big companies spend huge to capture it.  I know I try.


"Saying Fox News is America's favorite news source like saying Coke is the most popular juice."
--As read on reddit.com

Eric And Stats

I am with Eric this week end and visit his new place around the corner from his old place, which is no longer his.  Eric is going through a divorce and this not an easy period.  Like Todd, our together about old times .. in fact, just like old times since we fall into humour and patterns  enjoyed since the summer of '87 when we met in Providence, RI, and painted houses.  He actually painted and I drove around finding the houses to paint.  Depending on one's perspective then, not clear who was the better off.  I owning  responsibility that made me ill - every day my pager brought some new, horrible, calamity.  Then as now, we survived and Eric's moment will pass into a new life.


Arriving in Sommerville, we head for a new Japanese and discuss why, in an increasing random sample size, the mean and median return (IRR) converge. For instance, a portfolio of 100 investments should have a tighter spread.  I note this reduces volatility and hence risk; Eric explains that it is directional - since the  mean captures outliers one should know where such points occur - above or below the mean - since they pull the median up or down (down being bad). For instance, suppose a portfolio of 20 investments has an IRR of 20% but a large spread and the mean below the 20% IRR, one would wish to pull the mean up, closer to the median.  This may be done by increasing the portfolio from 20 to, say, 100.  A manager who enjoys 20% IRRs where the median and mean tighter is better than the manager who enjoys the same IRR with a greater spread, which suggest greater uncertainty in those returns.  In venture capital, the typical fund holds 25 companies regardless of fund size .. so why don't manager own more investments? A reason may be the partnership's ability to find, select and execute deals .. 25 may reflect the best size for post-investment monitoring .. a partner's time valuable and she can only do so much.


Back in London, the kids begin 'half-term' and no school for the next week, lucky devils. Madeleine pre-occupied with her hamster 'Monty' who is a girl. She wanted a male hamster BTW but their balls unseemly.  Eitan gears up for ManU vs. Liverpool Sunday, which he will watch with Joe (he: very excited).  Now this a huge game.  Tomorrow he has a swim gala which I will miss. Bunk.

Wellesley

I arrive in Boston Wednesday for a beautiful Indian Summer making me wonder why I packed myself for winter. I am here for meetings and to see friends, like Todd and has family - pictured. Instead, yesterday I spend battling for my name as a reseller captures the 'orenstein' URL and it takes hours to get things right. On the one hand, these online databases efficient and when things work, a God send. On the other, when they ain't, there is sometimes no customer support. This is what I find with domain name hosting. Well, the good news seems to be that, for now, I am back online and blogging away which, I hope, for some of you, a good thing.. on the Internet, nobody can hear you scream ..


So Todd I have known since 1990 from 'the mighty First Boston' when we shared hours of misery and toil in the trenches of Wall Street on the 39th floor of PAZ. Todd notes aptly that it was, indeed, "like war" and we have the hilarity to prove it - our stories from then as raw as yesterday and seem to only get better as our lives more routine. Today, Todd a practioner at a prestigeous investment firm and his office views from the top floor of Boston a testimony - there is the Charles river weaving its way into the brilliant orange/yellow/mauve sunset with the city's back-bay surrounding us. There was never a doubt that Todd would be here - from Wharton Underground (not an Ivy League, really, I tell him) to First Boston then HBS and now. It has always been up, and great for me to enjoy his ride from afar. Todd is one of those thoughtful guys whose success driven by interest - not bank. He loves describing his work and his deals come alive with humour, strategy and positioning - a good case study with equal entertainment combine to make a powerful telling. Last we saw Todd and his wife Marci in London when they celebrated his 4-0 and we had a night on the town. Good times.


One of Todd's companies Dunkin Donuts which I learn the most successful coffee chain on the East Coast. McDonald's, for instance, has one store per 25,000 people in the US which is considered "saturation"; Dunkin Donuts has one per 8,000. While there is no Dunkin Donuts in California, yet, the state the largest buyer of their coffee beans (mostly via online) in the United States - go figure. It is these out-of-store sales that make this, and similar franchises, a good investment. Sonnet and I should know since we ship Peet's from across the globe. Coffee is a drug, after all, and what a great thing to build your business around.