Maya

Maya this morning - she is wonderfully photogenic and unlike mine, she does not avoid the camera. Nor do I have to pay her per photo. Here is what Maya says about this shot: "I am a berry monster. I eat strawberries." Sonnet and Mary head for yoga - Sonnet in a borrowed pair of leapoard skin tights which are tres cool. Rrrrrr. Mary up at 5:15AM to do some work - she has a client in Amsterdam - while I manage to do the opposite sleeping from 8PM until 8AM. I am not embarrassed, I might add. This the price of travel - at some point I crash out and need to re-boot. It is amazing, really, that we take global travel for granted. I can jump into a metal tube and voila! arrive on the other side of the planet earth. Humans not meant for this kind of thing, surely, but not that I complain. It allows us to live far away and enjoy our family and friends. Somewhere in there too I can work - as now, with Correlation Ventures which is a new West Coast client using hard-data input to rank particular meaningful decision variables and so quantify venture investing. It is different (or "differentiated" as the industry likes to say). None of this I could have ever planned.

Power Rangers

Eitan and Simon in a war of water - pictured. Sonnet and the kids arrive at JFK about the same time as me so we randez-vous at the National car rental and then the hotel. Me coming from California, of course. Eitan makes a point of watching seven hours of media on the flight over - three movies then England's Top 50 goals; Madeleine saturated after several hours and everybody exhausted by New York. Yes, we are grateful to be together and no one more so than Sonnet, whose US passport expired several months ago unbeknownst to her. That little discovery occurred at Heathrow Terminal 5. Fortunately, a representative of the US Embassy on site so presumably this happens often enough to merit his presence. After several serious questions - like whether Sonnet renouncing her US citizenship - she receives a special approval and makes her flight in a nick of time. Phew. This morning we are up early (London time!) and drive to Connecticut to visit Mary and Amado.

Sweetie Pie

Here is the aptly named Sweetie Pie, who has been a part of my parent's house these past four years when Grace found her ferrill, neglected and underfed being the runt of a litter. Grace popped the cat into a pillow-case then my sister's bedroom for several months until sure the cat not going any where. As with many things receiving love and attention, Sweetie Pie has thrived and one of the most patient and affectionate cats I know. Madeleine, of course, fallen in love with her and on occassion has asked my parents to put the phone by the cat so she can talk to her. Madeleine to the cat, that is.

I am at the Cal Rec Center early this morning to do some leg exercises as part of Martin's marathon program. I am always impressed by the young people, even at this early hour, and it is a joy be surrounded by youth. At the very least, it gives me something to look at - oh boy. I bump into Jack Ball who was my Jr High PE teacher and is just as fit and healthy as I last recall. Jack and my dad are gym buddies along with a crew of six or so early-bird work-out junkies. We catch each other up a bit and compare notes on Berkeley, hiking trails and peiople we have known over 30 years. At one point I owned the school's seventh-grade mile record of 5:30, but broken same year by John Pokorney who completed the track in 5:20. Woosh. I admit to some unfair advantage from swimming twice a day back then. John, on the other hand, a natural athlete and he cranked on his own ability. He went on to play tennis and I saw his sister Carolyne (a swimmer) this week at the Berkeley Y, where Moe a Director. These long standing friendships gold-dust.

Mum

Here I am with my very special mother in front of the house I grew up in from age 11. The mother-son relationship unique, and I know how I feel about Madeleine and while not quite the same of course I may assume understanding how my mom feels about me. Cool. At age 22, Grace joined the Peace Corps and fled the 1950s, emerging eventually in Berkeley married to a Jew and just in time for the cultural uprising the brought us People's Park, draft-card burning and the Beat Generation. Wow. My parents were not hippies - too sensible for that - but they were progressives or liberals, and both sought their freedom from the Midwest. Having relocated to a new place myself, I know how hard the transition and similar to London, California was a new start. While Moe began his successful law career, Grace started a Montessori school in Oakland with all sorts of neat people involved including dear friend Katrina who is still with her today. Eventually, she got a Masters and PhD, starting age-50, and I remember like yesterday her graduation which brought tears to my eyes. Inspiring. And now she is the founder and Executive Director of non-profit The Link To Children which is about early childhood mental health development and intervention. TLC has funding from donors and California (It. Is. Always. About. The. Fundraising). Grace and I have breakfast this morning at Fat Apples which used to be Fat Alberts before Bill Cosby got wind and forced a name-change. It is nonetheless a Berkeley institution which I recall from early age since near King Jr High School and Mr Mopps. Soon I will jump a plan to NYC where I will meet Sonnet and the kids who are in transit now. Somehow I got the lucky break on this one which I am sure Sonnet will remind me ..

Salix and Jeanine

Salix is six months and Guy and Jeanine's first grand-child, though they expect number-two any day know. There is a lot to be grateful for, too, given Guy's cancer scare and septic shock - he tells me that the doctors gave him a 5% chance of survival and if not for his being a serious hiker and cyclist he would not be with us today. Guy and I talk finance and politics, which are topics that have always engaged us and nobody more connected into the Northern California political scene then he. We wonder why Democrats choose to engage the opposition rather than getting on with their agenda - the Republican party today discredited and irrelevant and should be ignored, really. And yet here are the Democrats feeling on the defensive in self-destructive mode already .. Majority Harry Reid not enforcing discipline and there is inside sniping and potential break-aways weakening us in anticipation of massive objectives yet ahead with the financial system, health care and social obligations like social security to be tackled. We need a Tom Delay or somebody everybody will listen to.. and support with the bucks. Guy for his part, being a major organiser and supporter of the party, has contacted Senator Reid noting that if a promised progressive agenda not pursued he wants his money back. This netted a request for a private meeting, which Guy may or may not accept. For us liberals, New York, Southern California and NorCal are the gold mines. So the world very different from twelve months ago and we are all relieved Guy with us to continue to fight the good fight. Jeanine loads me up with books and presents for Eitan and Madeleine. Salix's sweater and cap BTW knitted by Jeanine.

Claremont Hotel

I arrive in Berkeley Monday and zip around the Bay Area - today, it is the Claremont Hotel - pictured, 1909 - and before that, San Francisco, Mill Valley and Tiburon. I visit Industry Ventures, Christian and HS friends where last night we see the Decemberists, a hot band which plays the Fox Theatre in Oakland, which has recently been refurbished and hosts great talent like Franz Ferdinand, Bloc Party and others. Before that we reunion at Van & Clef which is a cool lounge joint, dark and covered with crap offering superb cocktails. I also catch up with Sloan who is up to her usual magic with a new business consulting (mostly private equity) professionals on their careers and taking care of business with the PTA. All this while Rob in Brazil. In short - she is a super-star. So the Claremont Hotel. We are happy to have it around as it faced destruction in the '91 fire, which stopped feet from the grounds. Unusually for now and in the 1930s, transbay line was run right to the doors of the hotel (eventually designated the "E" line), approaching from between the tennis courts. The tracks were removed in 1958 when the Key System ended rail service, but the tennis courts survive, with a path between them where the tracks used to be. I mention this because I played summer tennis here before swimming took over everything. An old legend I pull from the Internet: after prohibition, the Claremont continued to suffer from a state law banning the sale of alcohol within one mile of the UC Berkely. In '36, a Cal student measured several of the possible routes, finding that the shortest distance from the school to the hotel's front steps was a few feet over a mile. The Claremont immediately opened a bar and awarded the student free drinks for life.

Dick

I am in Northern California this week and my Dad and I discuss Vice President Cheney. We agree he is bad for the country and quite possibly mad.

Fortnum & Mason

I have walked by Fortnum's many if not hundreds of times and never inside, until yesterday - pictured. Amazing. I'm greeted with coffees, teas and candies; chocolates, exotic fruits, and flowers. This most famous of British stores is located on Piccadilly where it has been since 1707 when founded by William Fortnum and Hugh Mason. It is know for its quintessential English charm and is possibly one of the most famous stores in the world - certainly on par with Harrods and Bloomingdale's - and has held many Royal Warrants for over 150 years while being the shop most closely associated with our humble Royal Family. Its fame rests almost entirely on the magnificent food hall but there is the bonus of a celebrated tea shop and Britain's only hair salon dedicated to long hair. Go figure. The store underwent a controversial £24 million refurbishment in 2007, celebrating 300 years of existence, and while there is plenty of hustle and bustle I am forced to wonder how this icon fairs during recession - it seems uniquely structured to suck wind in down-times given its haberdashery and high-end inventory. As expected, the kids run amok and demand candy. Since they have three-quid allowance money, I tell them to spend it and there is a desperate attempt to find something they can afford. No dice, though we do spot some syrupy bottle that is just over.

Royal Warrants of Appointment have been issued for centuries to those who supply goods or services to a royal court or certain royal personages. The warrant enables the supplier to advertise the fact that they supply to the royal family, so lending prestige to the supplier.

Madeleine: "women wear high-heels to make themselves look taller."
Eitan, matter-of-factly: "well, men wear spats."

Bryan Kneale

This morning in Mayfair we poke our head into the Royal Academy's courtyard to find the assembly of .. a strange silver sculpture that looks like an oil-tanker's propeller. Cranes do their heavy lifting and ten our so engineers beaver away to put the pieces in place. I want to learn more, including the artist, and later we stop by to find the artist himself - Bryan Kneale, pictured. Kneale studied at the Royal Academy in the 1940s and went on to win the Rome Prize and spent much of his life and career in Italy though he is from the Isle of Man. During the '50s he learned welding and in 1960 took to sculpture in preference to painting. Today he is gentleman if somewhat frail, and I note his spectacles need a cleaning. His mind is sharp and we discuss a bit of his life, and he tells me that this particular sculpture flowed from his fascination of how an orientation effects the space it occupies. He named it "Triton III" after the work completed, and notes to Madeleine that "it is a three-part system and reminds me of the Greek god's sword" (Triton the messenger of the deep, and son of Poseidon; both carried three-pointed tridents). An interesting collaboration takes place between Kneale and the builders, which in England is the Cass Sculpture Foundation, a charity dedicated to commissioning twenty-first century British sculpture (I spend some time talking to the head engineer and he takes his job seriously while admitting it is a bit, ahem, esoteric). I thank Bryan and promise him this photo.

Berkowitz

Ellen and Alan are in town for a visit, on their way home from Madrid where Alan presenting. Moe and Alan former law-partners at Schactor, Krisotoff, Orenstein and Berkowitz (or "SKOB") from the mid-1980s but our families have known each other well before that. I believe, though perhaps Moe will correct me, that both began their career at the National Labor Relations Board or NLRB (together with the Friends) which was the equivalent of my Financial Analyst program at First Boston - that is, highly selective and an entry point into a field of business. Adam and Eric, the Berkowitz children about my and Katie's age, often found ourselves in some kind of mischief as the adults entertained themselves. Along with the Jewish holidays and firm outings, we reunioned in Yosemite for the California Bar (Moe once Chair) or hikes from Mill Valley to Stinson Beach usually in the fog and cold. Today, they are in good health and spirits. Here we are, pictured, on St. James's Street or the most glamorous in London (my opinion) at Piccadilly facing downhill to St James's Palace and Pall Mall. Madeleine still has Barnebie Bear, which is returned tomorrow to school , with photos from various places, for the next kid.

Junkola

Sunday morning and this means homework for both kids. Madeleine does hers dutifully though insists word-spelling with mom. Fair enough. As for me, I am out the door early to run around Richmond Park where half-way it pours and the temperature drops 15-degrees. Must be May. Since the kids live in a rat's nest, I focus momentarily on a clean-up invading their space with a garbage bag and instructions to "toss everything in site." This produces a wail of protest from the Shakespeares and we enter negotiations on everything they hold dear. Rocks, balls of string, broken CD player, dolls, stacks of football magazines and clippings, doll house, toy furniture and on and on it goes. Finally I give in as the anguish genuine and my resolve noncommittal. I vaguely remember how I, too, horded my junk - Todd and I famously traded live salamanders for garage junk - so I have some empathy for the little pathetics. Sonnet, on the other hand, takes a different tactic: wait until the house empty.

Eitan: "Ok, ok dad - I know the speech."

Suit

Eitan tries on his new suit for Diane's wedding and boy is he not happy about it. No kid wants to look like a peacock but Eitan an extreme. When I ask why? he sniffs: "because I don't want to." When I tell him this no argument he widens his answer: "because I really don't want to." Despite my strong tones, Sonnet and I chuckle - poor kid. He does look smashing in a white shirt and tie though and I am often prone to call him (and Madeleine) DDG or "Drop Dead Gorgeous" which is what Diana called Wills (but never Harry). Eitan hates it.

Eitan begins Kumon (maths tutorial) following a year-long campaign culminating in a solicitation-for-support from his grandparents. Terms are agreed between Eitan and Moe, Eitan has his financing, and away we go. Madeleine has been in Kumon for two years under strong protest. Despite the resistance, she has enjoyed rapid improvement and she is now on pace with school targets whereas before - oh, dear. Eitan, on the other had, begins ahead of the curve and already one of his class's top-performers. This is why I resist additional work but forced to change my position when Eitan noted bluntly: "Dad, you always say you want me to be the best I can be and now you are not letting me" and what can I say? Kumon. (Thank you Moe and Grace)

Chinatown

Madeleine is tasked with photographing Barnebie, pictured, which is then handed to the next kid and the next. Here we are, with Sonnet, in Chinatown last night as Eitan with his class for an overnight in the assembly hall - pity Head Teacher Mrs England who joins every year to make it a special, bonding event. I am told the children usually sleep by midnight and I can only imagine. So Madeleine is most excellent company. She makes a concoction of salt, pepper, Sprite, Soy Sauce and anything else she can put into her cantor stirring it up with chopsticks. When she has had enough (or I tell her: stop it!) she coyly asks: "can I put it on another table? Nobody will notice." We talk about the usual stuff on a kid's mind and for Madeleine it remains Tom Boy. No girlfriends, no frilly dresses and of course sports (Friday-Night-Fives sees the Badgers lose 9-nil while Madeleine notes that "three shots almost made it" presumably from her side). From dinner we go to the cinema to catch movietoon Coraline in 3D whose PG rating probably a tad too much, and Madeleine comforts Sonnet who covers her eyes during the scary bits. Ar, ar. Afterwards walking through the West End at late hours is like visiting another city. I've not done this in ages and here it all is: boys drinking and dodging traffic on Shaftsbury Avenue, girls wearing as much as they can without wearing anything. Wild animals. We receive a few suspicious looks from revellers curious to see a seven-year old at this hour. Madeleine falls sound asleep in the car and I carry her upstairs to bed. She awakes to give me a hug then rolls over and out. A Mastercard moment.

After Action Report: Eitan's teacher, Mrs. X, informs us that the first School Sleep-over feet-patter at 4:30AM and many of the kids up by 5AM. The boys enter a scratch game of football which pretty much ends any idea of anything more than five hours of shut eye. After the pick-up, I rush Eitan to a football tournament where the KPR win two, draw one and lose two. Unfortunately Eitan in the goalbox for the final game and allows two goals - I know tears are coming well before the whistle. From the tournament to Joe's house to watch Manchester United seal the Premiership with a tie against Arsenal. I take the gang to Sheen Common for more .. football. It. Never. Ends.

Bomb Shelter

Here is Sonnet in front of a bomb shelter, which once was a standard extension to any London house, indeed - a sought after item raising the value of the property, I am told. Most likely the last ones from the 1930s - by the time WW II under way, nobody building construction. Those who had 'em were relieved: The Blitz, or Nazi Germany's sustained bombing of Britain, endured from September 7, 1940 to May 10, 1941. While many towns and cities were hit, it began with London for 57 consecutive nights. By the end, over 43,000 civilians, half of them in London, killed and more than a million houses destroyed or damaged in London alone. Miraculously, St Paul's survived despite being the biggest bulls-eye imaginable from the sky above. And lest you think London lives in its past, consider that in June 2008 an unexploded World World War II bomb weighing 2,200lb was found near the Bromley-by-Bow Tube station by a digger clearing a site being prepared for the 2012 Olympics. Fifteen disposal experts from the Royal Engineers made the bomb safe after it started ticking and carried out a controlled explosion. The bomb was discovered next to a gasworks and police were initially considering evacuating 40,000 people.

"But it is a curve each of them feels, unmistakably. It is the parabola. They must have guessed, once or twice -- guessed and refused to believe -- that everything, always, collectively, had been moving toward that purified shape latent in the sky, that shape of no surprise, no second chance, no return. Yet they do move forever under it, reserved for its own black-and-white bad news certainly as if it were the rainbow, and they its children. . . ."
--Gravity's Rainbow, Thomas Pynchon

Leicester Square

Here is the boy sometime around age two. I was experimenting with photography and use of light. As always, the kids are my guinea pigs which was never a problem until a couple of years ago when they wised up: "give me a pound, dad."

Eitan has his Big Overnight at the school, so I am trying to think of something equally fun to do with Madeleine since Sonnet and I have her all to ourselves. This, like, the first time ever. I am thinking a late evening excursion into the West End for a Chinese and movie at Leicester Square, or London's theatreland and home to the biggest cinema in the UK at 1,600 seats (and there, gentle reader, is your factoid for the day). This a good place to see James Bond. What I like about the otherwise dirty and bustling spot surrounded by Picadilly, Chinatown and the National Portrait Gallery/ Trafalgar Square are the statues: in the middle is a 19th century bust of William Shakespeare surrounded by dolphins. What the heck is that about? The four corner gates have Sir Isaac Newton; Sir Joshua Reynolds, the first President of the Royal Academy; John Hunter, a pioneer of surgery; and William Hogarth, the painter. The most recent addition is a Charlie Chaplin. On the pavement are inscribed the distances in miles to countries of the former British Empire. Every corner of offers some fascination and me lucky enough to have the time to enjoy it - mostly. It is just a matter of keeping your eyes open - like the time I stumbled on a gas lit street lamp at Lincoln's Inn- turns out, this the last holdover when the Victorian streets lit by flame fueled by methane from the sewage.

Venture And A Conviction

Pictured, the Prudential Building at Holborn on a wet day (water mark included) - this the last great gothic revival building in London, erected in 1879.

Well, we all know it is a rough time for venture capitalists and worse for entrepreneurs as the IPO markets are null and void while the capital crisis has crunched M&A. In short: there are no exits, which drives the venture model from risk to joyous liquidity. And how bad is it? The first three months of the year saw one soliltary IPO (a big one though: $828 million deal by kids food maker Mead Johnson Nutrition). In contrast, the first quarter of 2008, when IPO flow was already starting to fall off a cliff, had 10 deals yielding $20.6 billion. March '09 the second quarter in a row to see only one deal, the first time such a six-month drought has happened this decade. Ouch. Here is what my friend John Malloy of BlueRun Ventures in Menlo Park said at the Red Herring North America 100 Conference yesterday: "I can think of two words that epitomize the situation for many startup ventures. One is constraint, and understanding this is a new world of constraints. The other is optionality. Remember there are multiple ways to solve a problem." and further, “you certainly shouldn’t believe just what your bankers tell you.” Amen, brother.

Of course one man's misery is another's opportunity, which is why I am an investor in Industry Ventures who aims to buy venture positions in the secondary market. The ugly word is "distress" while the more gentlemanly "transfer" or "early liquidity" is what I choose. Either way, it is a motivated seller who has other things to own than some non-performing partnership which has promised returns starting ten years ago but never delivered. There are many of these funds which sit at 50% cost while the manager collects fees (and surely will never work again). So the Valley needs a re-boot. There are plenty of good tech and IT companies growing >10% per year despite the recession; the trick is buying into their capital structure without paying a primary-rate. Today's environment opens these doors and many guys will benefit.

Sonnet's remarkable case at the Old Bailey comes to its conclusion yesterday with a double-life sentence conviction. The case against two murderers from Shri Lanka who are part of the Tamil Tigers and inside the UK illegally. They brought their violence with them, using a samurai sword to hack to bits one victim while knifing the next - these gruesome murders witnessed by neighbors. The villains fled for home in '03 but were extradited at an estimated £6 million to the British tax-payer. Sonnet notes justice served and the British judicial system impressive in the extreme.

Karakoram

Yaqub on the "roof of the world" somewhere in the Karakorams in '97. Datas from the Internets: the Karakorams border Pakistan, China and India and one of the Greater Ranges of Asia, often considered together with the Himalayas but not technically part of that range. The Karakoram is home to more than sixty peaks above 7,000 meters 23,000 feet, including K2, the second highest peak of the world at 8,611 meters. K2 is just 237 meters smaller than Everest. The range is aprox. 500 kilomters in length, and is the most heavily glaciated part of the world outside of the polar regions. The Siachen Glacier, for instance, 70 km and the Biafo Glacier at 63 km rank as the world's second and third longest outside the polar regions. The Karakoram is bounded on the northeast by the edge of the Tibetan Plateau, and on the north by the Wakhan Corridor and the Pamir Mountains. Just to the west of the northwest end of the Karakoram lies the Hindu Kush. The southern boundary of the Karakoram is formed by the rivers Gilgit, Shyok and Indus which is the fastest moving body of water on the planet; together they separate the rangee from the northwestern end of the Himalayas. Due to its altitude and ruggedness, the Karakoram is much less inhabited than parts of the Himalayas further east.

From Sir Peter Hopkirk's book "The Great Game" (which I highly recommend), European explorers first visited Central Asia early in the 19th century, followed by British surveyors from 1856. In that vain, The Muztagh Pass was crossed in 1887 by the expedition of my hero Colonel Francis Younghusband and the valleys above the Hunza River were explored by George Cockerill in 1892. Explorations in the 1910s and 1920s established most of the geography of the region. This a period of great tension between Britain and Russia as each raced to discover new trading routes to India.

At one point I stood at the Gilgit and Indus crossing, looking in one direction at the Pamirs; the other - Himalayas; and the third - Karakorams. Wow.

Lionel Shriver

This afternoon at BBC World Services I meet author Lionel Shriver who has been made famous by her '03 book "We Have To Talk About Kevin" which has sold over 1,000,000 copies and won Shriver the '05 Orange Prize, one of the UK's most prestigious. Shriver was interviewed by Harriet Gilbert and I was one of fifteen invited into the the studio (Gilbert BTW has a wonderful, throaty, British voice that is immediately recognizable on-air). Unusual for most Americans who leap enthusiastically, Shriver paces her sentences and carefully selects her words. Occasionally she would re-state a phrase or ask for a re-take on an answer. I like this. The program discusses Kevin, which is a brutal depiction of a high-school slaying told from the perspective of the mother. The book caused considerable enthusiastic debate in my book club which was unable to answer a basic question: nature or nurture? The mom, you see, despised her son from pregnancy - heresy in our, and most societies. Shriver, for her part, leaves it open - and indeed, emphasises that the why does not matter. Instead of seeking blame or justice, she argues, certain things unexplainable and require .. healing. Shriver informs us her mental state decidedly depressed when she penned Kevin and this enabled her to get inside the protagonist's head; as for the book's namesake - she loves Kevin for his intelligence and humour. Any mother will tell you it is impossible not to love your creation.

Photo from the Guardian.

MPs' Expenses

Eitan, despite his serious or even anxious nature, has the capacity to goof. I like this about him.

The noxious smell around ministers' expenses has reached epicness as standard government practices exposed by Fleet Street. And why today? Well, firstly, the 2000 Freedom of Information Act took force in 2005 but with delayed-controversy around certain items relating to "national security." In 2007 an Amendment tried to exempt Members of Parliament and Peers from the 2000 act but failed. Finally come July and nine years later, MPs' expense reports will be released to the public. Brother, this is a leaky ship if ever there was one and The Telegraph, God bless them, has enjoyed insider status all the way. Each new revelation trumps the prior: from inappropriate second-mortgages to the sauna and today a moat and on and on to the next - each front-page news. MPs, for their part, failed to appreciate their hot-potato and get ahead of the curve by releasing their records themselves in advance. Instead they wail: "We acted within the rules." So here is the run-down: our 642 MPs receive £64,766 per year salary+allowable expenses which go untaxed. Many of them commute to Westminster so need a flat or second home and so receive reimbursement up to £23,083+a further £2,812 for London. Fair enough. Staff costs, travel expenses and the cost of running an office: £21,339 and £90,505, respectively; Stationary £7,000. Plus gas, temporary staffing, spouse and family travel &c. It all adds up in a big way. Unfortunately, the majority of ministers view their allowance as an entitlement and have simply gamed the system. Without transparency, human nature takes over and voila: a bona fide scandal. Bare in mind per capita income here is about £25,000. To attract qualified government, we must pay a reasonable rate and know what we are paying. The inner rot only weakens our democracy. I am not the only one itching for the next election.

Peddling

Here is all you have to know, from the Huffington Post and The Atlantic:

In 2008, the largest corporate or trade association source of campaign contributions, including employees, was Goldman Sachs at $6.9 million, followed by JP Morgan Chase at $5.8 million while Citigroup at $5.5 million, came fourth; Morgan Stanely $4.3, 7th and the American Bankers' Association $3.7, 10th. Over the past two decades, Goldman has been the second largest corporate contributor at $30.9, beaten only by At&T at $40.8 million. I have blogged about Goldman before, most recently for ripping off the United States by shorting the financial sector, playing part in Lehman's collapse, then trying to repay TARP so their partners can pay themselves $2.5 million each in accrued bonus from the Lehman trade. Take a look at the Q1 report for yourself. Further showing Wall Street's money-pockets, the financial sector never once earned more that 16% of domestic corporate profits until '86 or the Ivan Boesky era (who can forget his Time Magazine cover in December '86? He was later fined $100 million for insider trading back when that kinda money meant something. Prick). From then to 2000 it reached 30% then 41% this decade. Pay followed: from ~100% of the average for all domestic private industries in '83 to 181% by 2007. We have every reason to be pissed - and why are the Democrats and Obama treating this with kid gloves? Our system has been hijacked by a few who take for themselves and I don't yet see an inkling of the regulations needed to address the problem.