Sidelines And A Denial

Yesterday morning, KPR v Hampton Youth, which the lads handle 4-2 with Eitan scoring twice.  His coach tells me "Eitan raises the level of play. His team-mates want to play up to him."  


Us dads and some mums stand on the sideline drinking Starbucks cappuccinos and chit-chatting current events.  We know we're wimps.  Sunday's air-time the French-Ireland double-touch fiasco and we all agree that a replay of the match untenable.  Still, instant-replay, in my opinion, also no good as it changes the dynamic of the game yet it also does not serve when millions of TV viewers know the ref missed a critical call.  Ireland, suffering economic malaise, could use a shot in the arm and football brings ££s of advertising, merchandising, tourism and other commercial crapola.  It also provides a monumental distraction from these hard times and may raise a nation's spirits to unimaginable highs (England, '66) or lows (England, ever since).  Whoever thinks 'just a game' has never a clue in the world.


Here are a couple of self-righteous, conservative God-fearing douche bags - Coburn and Ensign, who represent me and all Americans, bastards. Today's headlines:  "Senator Tom Coburn on Sunday denied that he had a role in helping Senator John Ensign negotiate a payoff of a former aide and close friend, whose wife had an affair with the Nevada Republican Senator."  Do you have any faith in Coburn's denial? Who are these people?

Go Bears!

Cal defeats #14 Stanford at Palo Alto - and it is a thrilla, 34-28. Moe and Grace host a party of 30 at 1530 and everybody goes away feeling good. The Axe, which stays in Berkeley, rewards (somewhat) our season's high-expectations for a BCS Championship or at least Rose Bowl (50 years and counting, after all+Jahvid Best). Sorry, dude. I took this image at the Royal Academy visiting the 'Summer Collection' thinking, hoping, that I would post it for Pasadena with a clever blurb about good things going to those who wait and all that. Well, as Moe and I say at some point every year regarding the Rose Bowl:  "just wait 'til next year!" We renew our pledge tonight.  Some rituals should go away BTW.  And at least this year in the glow of a winsome Big Game.

The statue reminds me of 'Oskie', the Cal mascot and favored name of many Berkeley alumni pets.  It is a great name - better than 'Oscar' which we considered for Eitan.  The term is used in football to let the lineman know to block the closest person on the other team when the ball is intercepted or a fumble recovered.  Call called "Oskie!" in the final moments of yesterday's victory when Stanford QB Lock was picked off in the end-zone by Bears linebacker Mike Mohamed, securing the W.  This game swe-et since it ended the Cardinals chances for a R... O.... S ..E   B-O-W-L.  If we can not have it this year, neither can those private-schooled peninsula preppies. 

"This was one of our greatest wins."

--UC Chancellor Robert Birgeneau (who clearly was not around in '82)

A Behaving Hamster

Madeleine loves Foxy and I do admit, the rodent cute.  

The dog-discussion remains ongoing but now problematic considering holidays and day time when nobody home.  So .. although the Golden Hamster first described scientifically in 1839 (er, mesocricetus auratus) it was not until 1930 that researchers able to breed and domesticate the creatures. The pet syrians, pictured, descended from hamsters first found and captured in Syria by zoologist Israel Aharoni, a zoologist in Ottoman and British Palestine widely known as the "first Hebrewzoologist."   He probably had a bunch of girls begging for a Habitrail.  

Madeleine still shy with her pet who becomes more used to our advances.  Imagine the poor dear, sleeping peacefully, awakened by a gigantic face poking, prodding and enticing it from the warm cage. That would be me.  

At first Foxy a nipper, which explains Madeleine's concern, but now she jumps from hand to hand or tries to scrabble to the floor .. to bolt .. and end up like Monty, dead somewheres in the wood-work. We are each driven to our own destruction, iInevitable, really.

I bring Madeleine to my office so she can do her homework sans distraction. She: "Dad, will you stop working so I can work?"


Our friends Ramsey and Jennifer over for brunch.  Eitan, whispering to me: "Tell the story when I sleep-walked and peed down the stairs."

Weddink

Natasha has been with us for three years and now she is married. We attend the ceremony in London, and her family arrives from Macedonia.  She loves the kids, who love her and Madeleine, with my camera, takes pictures inside the church.  I take a few, too, including this one after out front.  We head for late lunch and champagne.

Natasha has a masters degree, published, and speaks four languages no one has ever heard of - at least, I've not.  The kids respect her, and that is the main thing.  Usually. 

"An ideal wife is one who remains faithful to you but tries to be just as charming as if she weren't."

--Sacha Guitry

We finish the second season of Mad Men, which is the best show on television. I thought the 'Sopranos' the bee's knees but Mad Men may actually be better.  I want to be Don Draper.  Who doesn't? He being the abject lesson on how to be a Business Man.  Cool and collected or, like the British say: "stay calm and carry on."  My favorite scene of Season Two when the otherwise maligned executive Duck puts together a deal with his Stirling Cooper and Young & Rubican. Fishing for a non-existent job with Y&R, he returns to vodka: "Do you really think I come here with nothing to offer?"  and so Duck engineers the m&a between the two firms.  All this while Don at Hotel California deciding between his life and a 21 year old. Of course Duck self-destructs when he cannot corner Don and alcohol does him in. Rather than the President of the whole enchilada, his new owners note: "he never could hold his liqueur."  Heavy stuff. And everybody with their white pocket kerchief,  two-millimeters showing. Perfect.

A Boozy

I take Eitan out of football ten minutes early and he is crabby all afternoon.  We go to Natasha's wedding - she is the kids' care-taker and they love her. Further aggravating the boy a tie: he has to wear one and doth he protest.  I threaten Manchester United v. Everton, which is on now and we listen as I blog (ManU 1-nil in the beginning of the second half).  Any ways, before this evening is the Church ceremony and the kids scrubbed and coiffed - Madeleine in dress then hair-dried by mum while Eitan his suit and  a 'Vineyard Vines' cravat,  bought by me at Bloomingdale's.  Marcia assures me this what all the bankers in Bronxville wearing these days.  Me, I look forward to a boozy since the union of Natasha and Giuseppe join Italy to Macedonia. Surely there is entertainment?   Both parents traditional and assuredly formal, arriving a few days ago and leaving soon.  And boozy afternoon, indeed. From early champagne to red then white wine. I take great joy looking upon my family through glazed eyes - Eitan dark and moody, Madeleine anxious (reading a poem) and Sonnet's loving eyes always.  Yes, Madeleine determined to present Carol Ann Duffy's "The Rings" and she does: following the father-of-the-bride's toast, Madeleine marches to Natasha and, with deep breath, reads.  Her wonderful job gets our full attention including the Italians who stop speaking for no one.  An ovation too.  Madeleine returns to her seat knowing she has done something good.  Sonnet and I pleased -- thrilled -- that our girl captures a scene for herself.

Eitan: "I want to do some cooking."

Me:

Eitan: "Right here and right now. What do you want?"

Me: "I'm not hungry."

Eitan: "Well, I am going to make an orange soda.  And an omelette.  With a bit of magic, we might be in for something."

Saturday

Here I am, dressed to the nines and - just like the kids - scrubbed to an inch of my life.  This is the expression Sonnet often uses.  We are at Natasha's wedding and Eitan grumpy since A) I yank him from football ten minutes before over and B) he has to wear a tie. Really, this the worst thing in the world.

The country otherwise focused on the Lake District, which is flooded by record rains. Cumbria receives 314 mm (12.3 inches) in 24 hours, compared to 280mm which fell in Martinstown in, Dorset in 1955 the worst rainfall on record before today.  According to Hilary Benn, the Environment Secretary, this "a once in a thousand years event" which has destroyed flood defences built only four years ago during another flooding; scores of homes in  Cockermouth and Workington swamped. Super Gee promises £1 million, which would buy, like, a house in London.  WTF?  Why not offer these poor people donuts or something instead? The Chief Constable pleads for tourist to stay away since the area otherwise popular with vacationers - Sonnet and I rambled in '99 and lovely  The police concerned gawkers drawn to the River Derwent which has taken Pc Bill Parker, father of four.

Meanwhile, following the horrible "two-hand-touch Thierry" keeping Ireland from South Africa, European football officials announce the arrest of ring-leaders in a far-reaching match fixing cartel involving 200 games in at least nine continental countries. The German police, who lead the investigation, suggest the sport riddled with corruption worse than fans or officials otherwise suspect and "this may be the tip of the ice berg."   England's Premier League the exception - clean. And why not? These lads paid huge dough but, if I have learned anything, enough is never enough. The scandal a black mark and I am glad the Germans all over it - if anybody can worry the wise guys, it is the German stasi.

Lift Off

We're off to Brixton to see current favorite band White Lies. Joining us are David from the neighborhood whose son Joe Eitan's best pal, Paul and his friend Steph who is from France and attractive in a way one can be at 30.  Beforehand, we have dinner at a family-style Portuguese which Sonnet and I discovered some long while ago and has become our pre-concert routine.  The best thing about the place: multiple old television screens always showing some far-away football game between two lesser countries.  The way it should be.  In Beijing I recall a meal by myself without a word of English.  The food unbelievably hot and a soccer match between two obscure provinces blinkered on a raised TV with bad reception. So I wonder: is it possible to have any understanding, let alone insight, into a billion people and their different history? Their's utterly meaningless.  I think often still as some many investors plough their dough into Asia assuming the magnificent growth an apple for the plucking.  I think not or, at least, the harvest to somebody who understands China far better than I.  And yet there I was, watching a game, and the obvious strikes me: we be one.

Handball

Another grey day in London. I borrow Madeleine's shades.

The French really got away with murder Wednesday, equalising against Ireland in the final moments of a World Cup play-off match.  Thierry Henry openly admits his two hand-balls (should replay not be enough) which keeps the ball in action allowing the Frogs to score and advance to South Africa next summer.  My Irish friend David is bothered immensely, poor fellow, but those are sometimes the breaks.  Ireland's Prime Minister demands a rematch which FIFA rejects (FIFA is Federation Internationale de Football Association - French!).  The Iris already believe global football a stitch-up which prefers the bigger football loving countries like France and perhaps they are right.  I would prefer France v Brazil or Germany or England.  And especially France- it is just too much fun to root against them.  Freedom fries and all that.  I tell David the French guaranteed to win the World Cup trophy given this week's omen. We bet ten quid on it.


I have often wondered where the expression "the beautiful game" originated, and learn the phrase coined by Brazilian superstar Didi - the Brazilian expression Joga Bonita (to "play beautifully) parallels this phrase.  In 1977 Pele, named his autobiography "My Life and the Beautiful Game" whose dedication reads: "I dedicate this book to all those who make the game beautiful."  

"I never make predictions.  And I never will."

--Paul Gascoine, legendary England player

Paternoster and St Paul's School

 

I am out late last night with Nick and Walid from Columbia Business School. We go to the Chop House in Paternoster Square next to St Paul's (which looms overhead, lit in foggy white).  The square once the center of London's publishing trade and devastated by German bombers during The Blitz.  Somehow the Wren cathedral survived but she did.  Today, the area modernised (glass, steel and faux-marble stone - how unimaginative) and home of the London Stock Exchange which moved here in 2004 from the wonderfully named Threadneedle Street.  Since the old adage "to make money, you have to be near money" holds true, we find LSE's neighbor Goldman Sachs - hovering, no doubt (yesterday BTW Goldman's CEO made to apologies for his firm's grubby behavior by none-other than Warren Buffet who, along with me and you, bailed their asses out. Goldman has not been particularly adroit regarding PR, before yesterday noting that "we are doing God's work" by contributing less that 0.5% of their record-setting 2009 bonus pool to charity).  Walid whip-sawed by last year's melt-down but now Ok having moved his trading to Nomura. What comes across from Walid how uncertain his life was in September 2008. And perhaps for us all, too, though we were blind to the cliff's edge.

Sonnet and I visit St Paul's School which celebrates its quincentenary this year.  Prince Charles to stop by next week and pay his respects.  Tucked into a gentle curve of the River Thames at Barnes and due South of Hammersmith, the school grounds enormous for London: 45 acres including tennis courts, football and rugby pitches, cricket grounds, fencing, basketball and 25-meter swimming pool used by Eitan and Madeleine.  The academics most impressive: 2009 GCSEs produced 79% A* and 97.5% A*/A or the second best in the school's history and the best GCSE results in the UK.  St Paul's, simply, the best academic secondary school in Britain.  Similar to Hampton, there is unimaginable opportunity here - our student-guide shows us proudly his wood-shop project which is a beautifully crafted knife wrack with child safety cover - he is encouraged to patent the thing.  From arts to the sciences, reading libraries to language rooms, world-travel, sports, music, computer programming, individual tudors and motivated teachers - this place is the bomb for geeky kids. On campus, according to the Head Master who provides the general overview, the most capable maths boy in Europe. He is 13 and probably goes toe-to-toe with Eric. Eitan would do well here, I think, but no doubt it would be a shock from his state-school; he would be at least one-year behind.  Plus he has to get in - St Paul's draws almost exclusively from the prep schools. Oh, and 46 went to Cambridge or Oxford last year - out of 159. And one kid went to Brown which, in fairness, has a higher acceptance bar.

"It is a miracle that curiosity survives formal education."

--Albert Einstein

"Your ability to learn faster than your competition is the only sustainable competitive advantage."

-- Arie de Gues

Self Portrait XIII

I buy a 'miner's lamp' to allow Sonnet to sleep while I read.

London's climate a lot better than most people think - temperate, with modest daily highs during summer and winter lows that are seldom below freezing.  Most taxi drivers can tell you how The Capital once under two or three feet of snow but no longer thanks to global warming. Rainfall 20 inches a year or identical to San Francisco. Unlike the Bay Area, here fairly regular and mostly drizzle, occurring throughout the year. Morose skies may last months.  Personally, I don't mind the weather - in fact, the "gale force winds" that rip through the Southest somehow cozy, and the clouds whiz along  by. The loss of light another story.  By the winter solstice, the sun-up 8AM and sets 3:50PM, hanging low on the horizon all day.  It's nothing like Anchorage, where Sonnet grew up, but compared to the Sunshine State, it don't.  This is 51-degrees latitude, after  San Fran, by comparison, 37 and LA 34 and no wonder these Brits dream of California.  Especially now. Since weather an important topic of conversation deserving a stock reply, mine is "we choose to live here."  My little inside joke - because we all want to.

Eitan and Madeleine visit a church for some school trip, coming home with the book "The Pilgrim's Progess."

Madeleine describes the story: "there was a Pilgrim, but he changed his name to Christian." 

Me: "what is a Pilgrim?"

Madeleine: "How should I know?"

The book jacket notes helpfully: "John Bunyan wrote this book originally so that we can learn that our most urgent problem is our sin and that the only solution is Jesus." 

Madeleine continues: "And the Pilgrim had some Jewish food.  Or maybe it was Christian?"

Me: "Was he eating a bagel?"

Madeleine:

Me: "Is the book about Jesus?"

Madeleine: "Who's he?"

Eitan: "Well, he's in the book."

Me: "Did you read the book?"

Eitan: "No, but I read the blurb.  About Jesus."

Me: "Jesus was a Jew."

Madeleine: "He liked bagels?"

Me:

Anish

Kapoor displayed at the Royal Academy from last month and this - pictured - what greets visitors in the courtyard. Pretty cool. Unfortunately tickets have been sold out for the week end, otherwise I would take the kids who, I am most certain, would love his stuff.  I must be more organised.  I am up for an early morning bike-ride around Richmond Park and then to town for a business lunch then a meeting and now home for family dinner.  Monday the best day of the week.

Sonnet, during today's school run: "Madeleine, Natasha (our recently married nanny) is not pregnant."

Madeleine: "Yes, but they've done that thing where they put the two things together."

Sonnet:

Sex Ed

 Madeleine: "You know, Dad, you aren't even a quarter as smart as Einstein."


I enter Eitan's room to have the conversation.  Eitan reading his ManU magazines and the last thing in the world he wants is a discussion about girls, and whatever comes with that package.  I remember being about Eitan's age, lying on my bed on a lazy Sunday reading comics (Peter Parker the Spectacular Spider Man - issues #1-25 mint) and my father having the same conversation.  In the UK, sex education is a compulsory part of the national curriculum in primary and secondary schools to cut teen pregnancies and sexually transmitted diseases, which I applaud though many uncomfortable with the general early start.  Britain has some of the worst statistics in Europe. A new personal, social and health education (PSHE) curriculum, expected by 2010, will include compulsory sex and relationships education as well as better advice warning children against drugs and alcohol. Children will learn about body parts and the fact that animals reproduce from the age of five, puberty and intercourse from the age of seven and contraception and abortion from the age of 11.


Madeleine and I spend the entire afternoon at Eitan's 8-11 borough swimming championships, watching him compete two laps.  At least they were 33 meters and he tries the butterfly.  Madeleine is to die from boredom and, frankly, so am I.

Jump !

Madeleine has Jackson over and I tell them whatever they wish.  Two movies? Go for it.  Ben and Jerry's? Finish it all.  Stay up late? As you wish just don't bother me.  I make hamburgers and french fries, which are not especially good - Grace later tells me the secret is to soak them for some time in cold water to remove the starch.  This is one of those great things to know, which nobody other than your mom is going to tell you.  So we have a fun evening and they have deserved it.  The movies BTW are "Star Wars Clones" and "Honey, I Shrunk The Kids" which I recall from '89 the year I graduated college. Oy vay. The special effects are pretty weak especially the giant ant the shrunk kids befriend. Said ant battles red tarantula and we all morn its death.  Rick Moranis pretty damn funny though he will always remain the nurd chased down by the devil dogs in "Ghost Busters."

"Honey" was a summer-release and postered across Manhattan. I know this because I drove into Greenwich Village on 5 July to start my post-University life.  My first apartment, 373 Sixth Avenue, ghastly. Found by Brown pal Mark, we shared two floors with seven Financial Analysts representing Merrill Lynch, Goldman Sachs, Morgan Stanley and of course, the mighty First Boston.  Only two remain. My room in the middle, overlooking a dark 8' by '8 light-shaft which somebody astro-turffed for their children complete with play gym.  This is NY.  The best thing about the place that we didn't care about its trashing - which we did on numerous occasions hosting boozy parties.  All furniture pushed to one end, keg and bar in the upstairs kitchen, dancing anywhere until dawn.  The first floor tenants four uniquely attractive students at Parsons School of Design and its fair to say their girl-friends pretty much made those evenings.  Our main problem keeping out the cornerside riff-raff who wished to share our treasure (girls, spirits). Ah, twenty-one and in the Big Apple for the first.

The first guy I met BTW a chubby Korean in a wife-beater t-shirt named Yangki who also, it turned out, working at First Boston.  Yangki partied like nobody's business and slept all day Sunday.  And there was Jimmy, an ice-hockey player from Brown whose only rink-time 2AM Monday mornings. He never missed.

Ten-hut!

Sonnet is in Bath this week end with Halley and I get to shape the silly puddy sans interference.  I drive them hard: oh-six-thirty reveille followed by breakfast and maths home work.  Madeleine and I sanitise Foxy's Habitrail while Eitan guards the hamster with his life.  We then put the rodent in its ball and clean-up the dishes.  Madeleine picked up for swim-practice at seven-forty sharp. I take Eitan to football where we debate practice since "torrential rain." Why question? This is England. The boys go ahead.  I visit the hard-ware then the dump, pick-up Eitan from football and Madeleine from a post-swim play-date and home where they begin .. chores!  Today brutal, too, since autumn deposits a blanket of leaves on the front and back.  The Shakespeares drag their feet.  It rains. Oh well.  Madeleine asks timidly: "may I have something to eat?" which is a fair question since I have forgotten lunch. I make toasted egg, cheese and ketchup sandwiches. Again Madeleine: "Dad I did not know you could cook like this!".  After lunch, more chores now home work, which the kids do in fear since I threaten demerits for lallygagging.  It is one o'clock.  After an hour's silence (minds at work), I give them free-time until 3PM when Eitan has a birthday party and Madeleine and I to pick up Jackson for an overnight.

Me: "Ok, kids, make yourself some breakfast."

Madeleine: "Can I have marsh mellows?"

Me:

Madeleine: "Chocolate lollies then?"

Me:

Madeleine: "Well, you did say for us to have what we want!"

Preview

I watch a bit of the movie 'Hoodwinked' which the kids absorb on 'movie night.'  It's awful - nouveau animation, loud music, awful plot, silly charters.  I point this out and Madeleine, eyes glued to the set: "It is a kids movie, Dad. You don't understand it."  And I suppose, indeed, she is right.

Sonnet and I visit the Hampton School in Surrey this afternoon. Eitan will sit his exams in Year-6 while we are a year or so ahead of the curve, reviewing state and public schools for his secondary education (the equivalent of Jr and High School in the US). Madeleine will begin next year.  Hampton was founded in 1552 and remains steadfastly all-boys, though there is a neigbhoring sister school where, I am sure, the hormones make a bee-line.  The Head Master leads a presentation equal to anything I saw at the Columbia Business School (though without cheese nor $200K signing bonuses).  The school's data speaks for itself: around 77% of the boys scored  "A" on their GCSEs while the national average (including girls, boosting the rate)  20% (GCSEs BTW are part of the National Qualifications Framework. A GCSE at grades D–G is a Level 1 qualification, while a GCSE at grades A–C is a Level 2 qualification. An A is an exceptional outcome).  This makes Hampton School one of the top ten secondaries in Britain.

Of great interest to our house: football popular and Hampton won the Indpendent School's Cup in 1999 and 2007 and reached the final in 2005 and 2009.

Any wayssss .. Sonnet and I impressed by the lads who are tall, purposely disheveled, handsome, friendly .. I can see Eitan here but who knows? For his part, Eitan aware of the Hampton School since many of his school pals want to go here (or at least, their parents want them to go here).  Stay tuned.

Sonnet and I discuss the differences of Hampton  vs. her Anchorage high school Steller or my Berkeley High School.  There is no doubt a top British public school (ie, private) opportunities enormous especially here in or around London.  Beyond tradition and all that, these boys travel. They visit or do exchanges around the world in places like Uruguay and Malowi - 27 countries in all last year.  The cricket club was in South Africa and will tour India this year.  Wow. I got a good education at BHS and was lucky or motivated to spend a year in Geneva but this unusual - my parents made it so.  Here, anything can be done. And why not? As a teacher says today: "We should set the example. We live in the fourth wealthiest country in the world and ours one of the ten best secondary schools."  And there you have it.

Eitan: "You have an extraordinary ability to remember every bad thing that has happened to you."

Madeleine: "Eitan - that is the nicest thing you have ever said to me!"

Lunch And A Mistake

I take Madeleine from school for lunch, where we stare at each other over pizza, her favorite dish. Hers: pepperoni, of course.  It is hard work getting inside the head of a seven-year-old and I find myself leading many fits and starts. How is school? Fine. Do you like your teacher? She's Ok. What's your favorite subject? Art. Why? I don't know. And so on and so forth.  Being with her fills my heart with joy.

Gordon Brown has taken a hard one this week from grieving mother Jacqui Janes whose son Jamie, a professional soldier, died in Afghanistan. Brown sent Janes his condolences and mis-spelled Janes' name - or at least it appears that way in the letter posted by The Sun who gleefully reports the outrage. Brown (who also lost a child - his ten-year-old daughter Jennifer to a brain haemorrhage) mortified, calls Janes to apologies and lambasted by her for inadequate helicopter support that, she shrills, caused her son's death. The Sun releases the conversation (Janes denies being wired, but she is a liar).  In the US, Cindy Sheehan effectively used her son's death to galvanise anti-war protests.  I have every sympathy for Jacqui Janes (and Cindy Sheehan) but I have no tolerance for her public attack on Brown for attempting to provide comfort .. Brown's letter may be filled with errors, but it is lengthy, hand-written and seems genuine.  Janes and The Sun turning this into a media event is tacky.  Or worse.  Jamie's death should be honoured with dignity and respect.  

"He didn't sound apologetic in the phone call. He didn't actually apologise. He said sorry a lot, sorry that I didn't understand his writing, sorry about all that. Today he looked sincere. He looked humbled. He is now going to get a record of my son's death, of the day's events. I hope that he has the sleepless nights I have had for the past five weeks because my son sustained horrific injuries."

--Jacqui Janes

Me: "How was your morning?"

Madeleine: "Good."

Me: "Use more than one word."

Madeleine: "Really good."

Me (before dinner): "How was your day?"

Eitan: "Good."

Me: "Use more than one word please."

Eitan: "Rea.."

Me: "And don't you dare say 'really good.'"

Fancy Dress And Bullet Payments

Eitan moments before his tie for Dana's christening.  He is not a happy camper.  Dana did inform us dress-up unnecessary for the Sunday ceremony but Sonnet and I feel a little formal good for the boy.  It does not happen often - in fact, the last time at Diane's wedding in June.  Same for Madeleine and a dress, which is unfortunate because I like her in one.  I am sure every parent goes through the same over fancy dress (check); homework and chores (check); take a bath (check); go to bed (check, check, check).  We try to choose our battles, Dear God. We do try.


There are some indicators that London coming out of the financial mess, including commercial property values which have snapped back from their deepest slump on record and now worry pundits we are entering another bubble. Oy.  I am not convinced, however, that we are through the tunnel.  The Financial Services Authority, which regulates the UK's financial industry, saw 247 new applications for authorisation in the third quarter, the lowest in three years, while 643 firms cancelled their registration (source: IMAS Corporate Advisors). The country's financial engine, The City, continues to shrink even while bonuses return to 2007 (Goldman, bastards).  The real worry, however, 2012: this when 'bullet payments' come due on company debt issued in a leveraged buy-out in 2007. This, of course, being the top of a toppy market.  Company valuations were then out of wack with historicals and now these investments underwater (like negative equity on a house).  Nobody really cares about value flucuations as long as the debt serviced .. which it typically must be in five years after the issue date. If the economy has not returned to terra firma, we may see defaults which could .. only hurt a struggling economy further.    


"If your love life is rife, it could save your life."
--A losing entry for a new, national condoms campaign

On Jewishness

Here is a pic of our groovy concert Friday.  We were close-up this time which - surprise! - makes a big difference.
One I am watching closely: Britain's Supreme Court decision regarding 'Jewishness.' Here's the stem: a 12-year-old applies to North London's Jews' Free School (founded in 1732); the boy's father Jewish and his mother a 'converted' Jew. JFS does not accept Mom's religion, boy denied entrance and family sues JFS.  The Supremes will decide whether the school's test of Jewishness based on religion, which is legal, or on race (or ethnicity), which is not.  The issue divisive and all the more interesting, through my American peepers, as JFS could not exist in the US as state schools (for now) not allowed to consider religion in the classroom (never you mind 'creationism,' deary).  Every community in England confronts this issue at some point as state-sponsored religious schools often better than the local general primary or secondary.. how far would you go, as a parent, to ensure the best education for your child?  In the case of JFS the question goes deeper: who decides what is Jewish? The school? Community? Local rabbi? Courts? 


I can honestly say, after three countries and 42 years, I have never experienced anti-semitism.  I am also not a practicing Jew nor look particularly Jewish, whatever that may mean. Hooked nose, I suppose. Many of my friends are Jewish (none with hooked noses) - in fact, probably the majority - which I have wondered about from time to time.  I think  this because of personality or success or whatever, not because of similar last names - but, really, who knows? Maybe we are all drawn to what is familiar despite whatever. In any event, I am proud race was never much of a consideration in Berkeley.  Just look at my sixth grade class photo. Thank you, Moe and Grace.

Christ!

We are in North London for Dana, Dakota and Calvin's christening at the Church of The Most Holy Trinity and then aftewards, a party at their place in Primrose Hill.  The ceremony filled with interruptions from babies crying and little kids running about, as it should be. Ours watch with raised eye, as though to say - "can you believe how rude these children are?"  Dana's place filled with champagne, food and cheer, as it always is. I recall an evening some many years ago and Dana with an enormous carving knife, she hidden behind a rack of meat Flintstones style.  And it is true - we no longer entertain like we once did.  In our hay day, during those go-go Internet years, de rigeur was two dinner parties a week and usually a week end brunch; Sonnet likes to say we fed all of Maida Vale.  We met a lot of people then and many of those good ones still with us today, God bless.

At the party, Nathan finds the ManU vs. Chelsea game on the Internets which is the ticket. Unfortunately, the Blues defeat the Red Devils 1-nil.

Madeleine credited for this photograph.

Fawsky And Mancroft II

Madeleine and hamster Fawksy - pictured.  She saves her pennies to buy Habitrail extensions.  Approaching 24 hours and the thing has not escaped.

Eitan's KPR plays the Mancroft 'A' team - recall, the Mancroft's Bs handed KPR their first loss of the season last week end, 2-1.  Sonnet wants to see the lads in action and attends her first game, which turns out to be a drama-filled cracker.  Today a 'tournement' and the winner advances to the quarter-finals.  Mancroft goes up 1-nil and Eitan scores the equaliser, again, this time on a left-footed shot which even he is pleased with.  Following two overages of five-minutes each - the dreaded penalty kicks.  Unlucky me to miss the most exciting match of the season.  Our boys triumph in PKs reaching a three goal difference first. Phew!