City Of Lights

I am in Paris, my favorite city, for work. It is an easy trip, too, now that the Eurostar finally high-speed in France and England where it once dragged along at local rates.  From St Pancras, it is 2 hours and twenty minutes or the perfect time to catch up on emails &c.   Photo by Arnaud Frich, la suite sur www.arnaudfrichphoto.com.

I read that, on Christmas Day, the typical British family has its first fight before 10AM (this from a survey of 2,000 reported in the Daily Mirror).  The first drink by noon.  Apparently the ‘festive season’ considered the most stressful time of year with house guests and cooking and claustrophobia and all that.  Good to know we are no different from anyone else.  What is needed: American football. NFL or college, who cares? The holidays about indulgence and what can be more American than the play-offs played in some Godforsaken second-tier city in an ancient bowl while it snows or sleets? Now that is a game to watch and I don't care who the teams are. Or the Rose Bowl, Cotton Bowl, any bowl on New Year's day? The perfect cure-all for morning-after.

Me: “Do you believe in Santa Claus?”       

Eitan: “Of course.”

Madeleine: “Don’t be silly, Dad.”

Me: “Well, what do you want him to bring you?”

Eitan: “I want him to bring me a Lego Republic Attack Gun Ship and Yoda, Mace Windu and Anakin lego figures."

Me: “Do you want anything from Paris?”

Eitan: A DS. Or at least a game boy.”

Madeleine: “Do you remember that time last year when we saw on TV where Santa lives?

Me:

Madeleine: “I think it was Greece.”

Sonnet: “It is a bit hot there for Santa, I should think.”

Madeleine: “Maybe it's Greenland. Oh, I know - Finland!”

Royal BS

Here is our backyard. Clearly I am uninspired this morning and with good reason - another cold, soggy, grey day in London.  Sun comes up late. Sun goes down early.  It is not as bad as those early, post-college days at First Boston when the gloom pervasive but then again, nothing as miserable as that.

Royal Bank of Scotland, that piece of shit bank owned by me and other tax payers who bailed there asses to keep the global economy together, announces over £1B of bonuses or roughly three-times per capita income for each receiving RBS employee.  This several months after RBS receives a further £20B of government largesse. Worse: we learn that UK banks have at least £5B of exposure to Dubai. Who are these morons?  Showing themselves capable in the PR department, the RBS Board of Directors threaten to walk-out, ensemble, should they lose control of compensation.  Their argument, of course, that under-paying star-employees will drive them to Goldmans or Barclays or some other place, leaving the state-owned clunker even worse off than before (recall we got to this when sad-sack loser ex-CEO Fred Goodwin bought ABN Ambro, calling the peak of the market. This fucker then argues about keeping his £700,000 per year pension after he gets shit-canned and sends a noble institution to the tax-payer).  They have got balls and us by the balls. Government should stand up: if the Board don't resign, sack 'em – they can sell insurance for a couple of years.  Or work the soup lines like I did after eZoka.

I have said before: I have no problem with bankers or anybody making themselves a fortune. We are capitalism, after all, which works better than the alternatives.  And I believe in it. RBS  and these other wacko bank jobs galling for horrific performance yet outrageous pay. Entitlement babies.  Bankers simply have too much leverage and for the life of me, I do not understand why the biggest not chopped up. This concept of “too big to fail” idiocy.   The US has been through monopoly deconstruction before and banks, while more complicated then oil or software since intertwined, no exception.

Me: “Do you know about Tiger Woods?” (who has been caught in extra-marital dalliances)

Eitan: “Yes.”

Me: “How have you heard about it?”

Eitan: “The news papers.”

Me:

Eitan: “I only read sports. And gory things. I find them more interesting than a cat getting caught up a tree.”

Bee Gees - Fried Frank - Kids Quotes

My morning begins with a burst of silliness. Learning that the Bee Gees are 50 years old - 50! - I irritate the kids with Staying Alive and other renditions they simply are unable to tolerate. Oh, the embarresment of Dad. Yesterday, it was my poncho. Since raining, I wore one and Eitan begged, pleaded, for me to stay away from the playground.  Madeleine complains: "why do you have to make our lives so hard."  In the end I shoo them away, allowing their independence on the school grounds.  

So I am in coat and orange tie to visit lawyers Fried, Frank, Harris, Shriver and Jacobson to discuss a structure for my ships deal.  Bob, the partner who opened Fried Frank's London office, the best I know.  We go back to '99 when he did the legal work for eZoka; otherwise his time spent mostly with Goldman Sachs (in New York, the relationship so entwined the firms neighbors). Me and Goldman, baby.  So today I discuss convertible bonds or Sr Secured Notes or maybe subordinated debentures.  Something will work I think.  Fried Frank thinks so, too, and will do their early effort on spec.  Promising, but a long ways to go yet.

Sonnet has several interior decorators in the house as I blog (my tolerance about 45 minutes). They recommended to her by .. wait for it .. her gay hair stylist in Barnes.  

Eitan: "Dad, this guy eats crackers."

Me: "Which guy?"

Eitan: "Foxy. He's mad about them."

Madeleine, whispering: "What are those men doing in our house?"

Me: "They may do some work on the place."

Madeleine: "You mean, now?"

Me: "Yes, Madeleine. Their pick axes are in the car outside."

Madeleine: "Really? Are you joking?"

Me:

"Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk,
I'm a woman's man, no time to talk.
Music loud and women warm.
I've been kicked around since I was born.
And now it's all right, it's O.K.
And you may look the other way.
We can try to understand
The New York Times' effect on man.
Whether you're a brother
Or whether you're a mother,
You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Feel the city breakin'
And ev'rybody shakin'
And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha,
Stayin' alive.
Stayin' alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha,
Stayin' alive.

"-- Bee Gees

Underground

So imagine it here, during the Blitz, when the Capital bombed by Nazi Germany from September 7, 1940, to May 10, 1941.  While the Blitz hit many towns and cities across England, it began with London for 57 consecutive nights. Many people found shelter - and slept - in the Underground, pictured, here at Bank tube station where I am this morning.  By the end, over 43,000 civililans, half of them in London, killed by bombing and more than a million houses destroyed or damaged in London alone.  Hitler's aim to break Britain's morale before invasion. Morale unbroken, Hitler's attention turned on the east. While the Germans never again managed a similar large scale air attack against Britain, they did carry out smaller strikes taking the death-toll to 51,509.  In 1944, the V-1 flying bombs and V-2 rockets scared the shit out of Londoners but too late to inflict catastrophic damage - in all, the V weapons killed 8,938 in London and the south east.  Thomas Pynchon turned this outrage into a most outrageous novel, "Gravity's Rainbow," where the pavlovian Tyrone Slothrop gets a boner moments before a V-2 strikes. Such an absurd, mad, premise until one considers the reality.  


"All propaganda has to be popular and has to accommodate itself to the comprehension of the least intelligent of those whom it seeks to reach."
-- Adolph Hitler

New New Thing

We say a fond farewell to Halley and Willem and greet Dale and Hillary who join us for lunch and more champagne.  It is 5PM somewhere.  Dale and I once together for my start-up internet company eZoka and since we have looked at a few deals together including an MBI for a listed consumer electronics company.  Dale and Hillary met years ago in Hong Kong - he working for Dixons as the Commercial Director and she at the Daily Express then the South China Morning Post. I think they lived large in the expat community on expat packages before 1997 brought an end to all that.  Dale then worked for the Murdochs and Sky Services then the New New Thing.  They have two kids successfully through university and beautiful - their daughter, who aims for Oxford and medicine, could easily model which she once did.  She is one year from being declared cancer-free.

Since Dale/Hillary's kids of hiring age, we talk about the jobs market which, for a younger person, dire. These days companies ask applicants to complete IQ and personality tests before granting an interview. This reflects opportunity's scarcity. Worse for the youngsters, British universities charge whereas recently free often gifting debt with diploma. If work flush - OK; unemployment and accruing interest not.  Times have changed and the best economies, at least for now, not here.  I would not wish to be graduating today in the Western World.

The rotten weather remains. Eitan's KPR dominates the Junior B's 9-1 with Eitan scoring two goals.  Madeleine users her microscope to examine pond water.   Eitan meets a potential tutor for next year's entrance exams.  Yours truly does some dishes and reads the Sunday Times.

Eitan: "Dad, are you finished with your blog? How many more sentences?"

Tom Boys

Halley and Willem join us for the week-end and a belated Thanksgiving, which we celebrate yesterday with Dana, Nathan and their family.  Ava, pictured with Madeleine on the pitch, similar to Madeleine not tolerating frilly things while loving Manchester United, being muddy and playing football, which the girls do at Palewell Park with Madeleine's team.  All good.  At home, Sonnet busies herself with cooking and a 20 pounder+every thing that goes with it. She turns on her Martha Stewart, lucky us.  My job once to make vodka martinis but our habits mellow in middle-age.  Now it is rosy champagne and wine. 

We hear about Zoe's new school, which is one of the most prestigious grammars in the country.  Homework is minimum 40 minutes of three disciplines each and, she says, "it usually takes longer."  This is my Junior High, or its England equivalent, but with less homework. I recall how strange it all was. Not yet a teen-ager, first-time book reports (groan), boring, rainy weekends with nothing other than .. school work (double-groan). Feathered hair, parted down the middle; Nikes and derby jackets.  Girls looming in the back-ground though not yet dear but nonetheless.. interesting.  How can I forget my first "relationship" when I called Sarah on the phone, heart-thumping and breathless: "Will you go with me?" She: "Sure." Me: "Great. Bye."  This results in a series of awkward recesses where I feel some profound obligation to stand by her yet all the time tongue-tied.  Sarah being, ahem, advanced soon moved on quickly.  All this now ahead for ours and I do look forward to being a by-stander. 

Madeleine examines pond-water with her microscope, finding a bug: "Can we keep it as a pet?"

Madeleine and Ava play hide-and-seek with Foxy, she: "Dad, quick, put it under your shirt!"

The Ghost Of Monty

Yesterday, appropriately on Thanksgiving, Monty comes in from the cold.  Recall Madeleine's hamster escaped two weeks ago after only four days in her possession, poor dear.  Ever since, the Shakespeares have filled a food-bowl nearby where the rodent last seen on the second floor.  Each morning it's empty. Sunflower seeds found in hidden corners. Sonnet maintains composure. During her escape, we hear scratchings in odd places: the kitchen over the stove; under Eitan's bedroom carpet. Madeleine's bedroom. Me, I hear nut-ting.  Until last night when, quietly reading, a scuffle of little feets across the carpet making a beeline for the radiator. Yes, Monty.  After about an hour of patient waiting, Monty's nose pokes out every now and again then - WHAM! I nab her. The whole thing entirely silly accept for this morning when Madeleine close to tears of happiness knowing her hamster returned.  No doubt, this story will be told over and over and over and over .. . .


Me, at bed time: "Knock if off! You kids are acting wild."
Madeleine: "Well, Dad, we were born to be wild."


Madeleine: "So then, um, I made a hamster trap. And I put a trail of hamster food across the (upstairs, carpeted) hallway into a shoe box. And mum was, like, um, not very happy about that. And so she told me to put the trap away."

Palm Stinker

As if we couldn't see this freight in the tunnel.  Yesterday, Dubai World - the investment platform owned by Dubai's government - requested that its creditors accept a six-month debt standstill on its $60 billion of debt.  In addition, another $300 billion of construction projects stopped. Just like that.  It is unclear yet how this will effect Dubai World's wide-ranging, global porfololio of private quity investments, but it will.  Through its subsidiary platform Istithmar World, the group holds stakes in emerging markets banking group Standard Chartered to US publisher of education books EMPG.  The firm's 12 investments includes Barneys New York, which Istithmar bought for $942 million in August 2007. That would be THE peak of the market.  The group also has a 20% stake in Cirque du Soleil and 3% of hedge-fund GLG, one of Europe's largest. Since British banks enjoy several billions of credit exposure to Dubai, the FTSE off 3% yesterday while bank stocks, already pummeled, down 6-10%.  Ouch.

The center piece of this catastrophe is the Palm Jumeirah, pictured, Dubai's man-made, palm-shaped island development. Oy vey. Wonder if David Beckham, Brad Pitt and Elton John sold at the peak. Probably since they are smarter than me.  Today the Palm worth nothing.  I would rather live in Cleveland.  Ok, maybe not Cleveland.

Sonnet and I spent a stressful night at the Dubai airport sorting a visa into Pakistan.  In 1997, Dubai owned one tall building and of course the US Embassy on the top or 42nd floor. Otherwise it was sand and water, nothing else. Would it have stayed that we today many better off.

Photo from Dubai real estate website.

Thanksgiving

For good reason, no Thanksgiving here. The Brits lost the colony after all.  Today just like any other - I bike around Richmond Park, Sonnet takes the kids to school.  I pick them up then Kumon. Eitan gets every answer right, Madeleine gets 24 wrong. How many questions? I ask her and she shrugs - no answer.  Still, her maths making great progress and everybody comments on how she has her additions and subtractions down cold while working through the times-tables.  Unfortunately, Kumon has always been the proverbial thumb-on-forehead, the first thing that greets her day: "Awwww, nooo" she wails from bed. Sonnet and I agree to re-consider Kumon in December.


Eitan: "Once Natasha found a worm in my hair" (Eitan's uncombed hair an ongoing battle with Sonnet)
Me:
Eitan: "It was green.  She also found a spider web and a lady bird."


Eitan looses all privileges following bad-behavior reflected by five demerits. This includes Sunday's KPR match, which he did not reckon I would take away.  So today, walking home, we discuss how he can get back the demerits.
Me: "What are some things I would trade for? What do I need?"
Madeleine: "Money!"
Me:
Madeleine: "Good behavior. Not complaining when doing chores!"
Eitan: "How should I know?"
Me: "Well, what do we send out every time this year?"
Eitan, Madeleine:
Me: "To all our friends?"
Madeleine: "Christmas Cards!"
Me: "Good. And what do we not have?"
Madeleine: "Christmas cards?"
Me:
Eitan: "A Christmas photo."
Me: "Yes, good. That is what you call leverage. Now how shall we use it?"
Eitan: "Um, Dad, if you take away a demerit, I will take a Christmas photo."
Me: "I will take away one demerit if you take the Christmas photo with your hair combed."
Eitan: "That is so unfair!"
Me: "Make it worth your while"
Eitan: "Four demerits"
Me: "You've got a deal. Well done."

Cheshire Cat

Yesterday a good day for British Bankers: firstly, these Cheshire cats allowed to keep, and continue to charge, for over-drafts which is one of those nasty things suffered by the unfortunate or disorganised. A typical over-draft charge £25 but some banks levy a fee for each transaction once the over-draft breached before the depositor knows his error. So, for instance, you over-draft £5 then another £5, you get double fined and so on and so on.  The banks also charge interest and some charge more than £25. Outrageous.  Still, the Supreme Court unanimously decides against consumer, arguing the fees all part of the customer contact and so what? Banks, for their part, indicated they would find other ways to charge if not by over-draft so, I guess, good for me since I square my balance.  I am equally concerned that banks, with such a permission, will find other, similar, clever ways to skin me.

Banks also ducked full disclosure for employees bagging £1 million or more.  Instead, these lucky fellows  remain cloaked though un-named salaries otherwise public from January.  I agree on this one - nobody should be dragged over the coals for making legal money. Shareholders, though, should know senior management compensation and salary concentration, if not by name.  Still, do not underestimate how loathed this group following their failings.

Sonnet is at an art-opening on the King's Road.  I am solo with the Shakespeares which means rice and beans plus a move (the BBC's "Yellowstone" which makes me think of those Disney films from the '50s).  

"One day Alice came to a fork in the road and saw a Cheshire cat in a tree.  Which road do I take? she asked. Where do you want to go? was his response. I don't know, Alice answered. Then, said the cat, it doesn't matter."

-- Lewis Carroll, "Alice In Wonderland"

Kashgar Market

I take this photograph of a man sharpening his tools at the Kashgar market. This during our trip to Central Asia in '97 and Kashgar one of the many highlights.  I learn that the oasis city first mentioned when the Chinese Han Dynasty traveled the Northern Silk Road to explore what is today the western part of the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region of China, tucked between the Tian Shan mountains and the Taklamakan desert and the driest place on Earth. Sunday's market sees the surge of humanity and 350,000 people become twice that. Vendors jam narrow, ancient streets carrying bundles of their trade often trailed by a bleating sheep, giant bull or snooty camel (Kashgar means "variegated houses").  All and everything for sale.  We see barbers shaving a row of men bald; a stand selling intestines, another organs. There are Kalashnikovs, cigarettes, used electronics, junk. A kaleidoscope of woven fabrics, rugs and heroine (supposedly) found behind doors marked with a sheep's head.  Dried fruit, motor parts, assorted nuts, tampons, batteries, anything. The buildings ready to crumble which contrasts the surrounding energy of it all. Thank goodness no automobiles though this has probably changed by now - or maybe not. There are plenty of bicycles and motor-bikes and of course donkeys and mules. Dust covers all. How blessed am I to have been here.


Walking to school, me: "what is the thing you value most?"
Madeleine: "Doggie. And Foxy."
Eitan: "Well, Teddie.  And then you and mum."
Me: "How about your skills? One day, they may be quite valuable."
Madeleine: "I don't have any skills."
Me: "Sure you do. How about your times tables? I imagine somebody would value that."
Eitan: "I'm doing remainders. I'll bet that is worth ten pounds."
Madeleine: "No it is not!"
Eitan: "Yes it is!"
Me:

Secret Bridge Loans

We learn yesterday from the Bank of England that Britain's two largest banks - Royal Bank of Scotland and HBOS - given a £62 billion 'bridge' loan last year on top of the £500 billion tax-payer bail-out (a "bridge loan" usually two weeks to three years pending the arrangment of a larger or longer term financing; if the financing fails, the bridge collapses. Exhibit A: First Boston (now Credit Suisse) and Ohio Mattress) This emergency funding suggests our banks in far greater peril then understood generally and, according to the BoE Governor Mervyn King, within hours of collapse. Who can forget the 2007 run on Northern Rock? What makes the secret bridge-loans more astonishing: Chancellor Alistair Darling tried to convince Lloyds to buy HBOS - in short, the Chencellor knew he was selling Lloyds a lemon. Why do this? To save his own skin.

The same shoddy deal occurred when sub-prime Merrill Lynch hoisted on Bank of America's shareholders who had no idea the depth of Merrill's problems. So bad the transaction that in April, 2009, BoA CEO Ken Lewis testified to Congress that he was pressured to keep silent about "deepening financial difficulties." Ken got fired.

The Bank in England's bridge loans fortunately repaid while the Government scrambles to justify the Bank's decision to keep the bridge-loans secret for a year. The aborted Lloyds deal collateral damage. Parliament gave the Bank a green-light to operate covertly supporting the banking system., trying to keep them alive and avoid panic. We know today how close to ruin we came. Government did the right thing.

Image from Top Secret Plant Nutrients

On Gambling

Photo in front of our house - Kids bribed with something, I am sure, to stand there but I might suggest whatever on offer not enough (incidentally, Sonnet hid the kids Halloween candy and I am munching on a Twix bar).  Before photo, I combed Eitan's hair+shirt tucked in+tie - all undone by him - and boy is he pissed.

Over dinner, we discuss gambling.

Me: "Has your life ever come down to the roll of a dice?"

Madeleine: "Yes, dad, there was that time about two-pounds, fifty... I cannot even talk about it."

Me: "You mean when we bet on what was in my pocket?" (last year I bet Madeleine her allowance on money in my pocket, which was zilch; she of course thought it might be more than her allowance).

Madeleine: "I cannot believe you even took my money."

Eitan: "In Kew Gardens, there was a set of stairs, and we would throw our money, and whomever was closer to the stairs won the money."

Me: "I recall .. "

Eitan: "We really started off with two-pence, and I won. And then it was a 20P. And I won. And then it was a 50P. And I won. And then it was back to 20P. And you won. And then it was one-pound. And I won. And we finished off with me winning two pounds."

Me: "Would you ever gamble again?"

Eitan: "If it was against you...? Yes."

Madeleine: "Alex gambles, like, money and pencils."

Me: "Why does he do that?"

Madeleine: "Because his dad bets on horses."

The War President

Note: I change the photo of Bush since it bothers me to have his image again on my blog. There are plenty of photos from Google images offering horrific bloodshed.. instead, I choose this one to replace our former President.  Iraq, I sadly must remind myself, more than a geography or name or war.


Britain is doing the right thing regarding the mess that is now Iraq: an investigation, open to public hearings, which begins today. There was initially considerable backlash from White Hall about transparency while guys like Tony Blair balked.  Due to the public's anger - and free from repercussion -  Tony will.  The panel, appointed by Gordon Brown, will not lay blame nor establish criminal or civil liability. The panel will offer stern reprimands, smack a few wrists soundly with a yard-stick and make a recommendation or two. Nobody to be held accountable. No one discredited for perhaps the greatest strategic blunder of the last fifty years. Notes panel Chair John Chicot: "Our determination is to do not merely a thorough job, but one that is frank and will bear public scrutiny."  Milk toast.  The  report done by the end of 2010 and not in time for the next general election which must be held by June 2010.  Super Gee did a good job on that one, though I suppose we should be grateful to have any serious review of Iraq.  The stakes high too: 179 British soldiers dead, a broken country and hundreds of thousands of Iraqi civilians displaced or perished.  A failed state, terrorism and a resurgent Iran who actually builds a nuclear bomb.  Nobody would have thought Viet Nam, again, either. But we should have learned.


"Let Freedom reign!''
--George W. Bush (scribbled on a note to Condalisa Rice) 


"The War President" montage of American deaths in Iraq from "Faces of the Fallen" Washington Post online exhibition.

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.