Wolf

Here's the Little Shakespeare in yesterday's Christmas production (Silver I see your eyes rolling). The boy corrects me from yesterday's erroneous blog-quote. His line is actually: "we wolves have a bit of a reputation" which immediately becomes my mantra to his and Madeleine's distress. Roger and I used to say: "repetition is the best form of comedy" or at the least, irritating. From wolves to teen sex, the Church of England is Up In Arms as under-16s will be allowed birth-control without parental or GP consent. BTW this only became an issue when girls allowed birth control - condoms have been a drug-store staple forever. Britain, you see, has the highest teen pregnancy rate in Western Europe at 42.3 conceptions per 1,000 girls in 2003. For 13–15 year-old girls, it is 8.0 conceptions per thousand according to the British government (by contrast, her holy of hollies the United States sees 79 pregnancies per thousand for the 15 to 19 year old crowd). Any way, I am all for free birth control until Madeleine becomes a teenager. Then I am against it.

Baby Jesus

The Christmas play is this morning and Sonnet nabs front center seats in the otherwise over-subscribed school auditorium. On display are school Years One and Two, pus Reception looking a a bit dazed and confused (Madeleine tells us the Year One's call the reception kids "chubby cheeks"). My photo is taken in Madeleine's classroom after the children have changed into costume - Madeleine is excited to have me there and allows a few photographs - here with friends she is plainly proud of. Moving on to the auditorium, a medley of religious scripts presents itself between chorus and Madeleine's voice is heard above the crowd. From her day at St Mary's when she belted out "The Bossy King" her lungs have never failed. She glows in the back row and looks to her teacher and us for encouragement. Eitan, dressed as a wolf, gets a choice line: "We wolves have a thing or two up our sleeves," says the boy slyly to the crowd before breaking into a rhythm and dance set with the other wolves. And so it goes. Afterwards Sonnet and I chuckle before heading off for the day and me my blog.

"We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatable with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love."
George W.

The Orensteins

Here is my family - ta da! - taken at cousin Kelly's wedding in Akron, Ohio. A key part of that '05 summer's bon voyage was the three days spent at Cedar Point, the world's largest amusement park with 70 rides including the world's second tallest and second fastest roller coaster, Top Thrill Dragster which goes 120 MPH. I stared at it for a half day before deciding: "No f***ing way." Happily for the Midwest, Cedar Point has been voted "Best Amusement Park in the World" by Amusement Today and Those Who Care for the past ten years. We found it particularly "amusing" as Madeleine picked up the mumps the first night of a five week holiday. Oh boy. Back in the day when we visited grandparents in Columbus, Ohio, I would lose sleep before Cedar Point or King's Island. (Grandpa) George would load up the Buick and we would take off for Cincinnati in the early morning hours to max-out our visit. Grandma would sometimes accompany me on the coasters and she was fearless, God Bless Her. Or I would ask for a stranger's hand for rides like "The Demon" and "Racer." These places are generally made with kids or early teens in mind (I think) but man it is great to have an excuse to go back.

Zurich

Zurich airport at sunset, a picture I took last week and think cool somehow. The Modern World.

Sonnet off to a quick Monday, jogging into work despite the cold wind and rain. As I write, the kids look out the window staring at the trees... thinking about what? So I ask: Madeleine says she is considering eating the candy canes from the Christmas tree and Eitan responds, matter-of-factly:
"Madeleine, the candy canes are very old and you will throw-up."
Madeleine: "I will not throw-up!"
Eitan: "Will so."
Madeleine: "Mind your own bee's wax!"
Eitan: "You mind YOUR own bee's wax!"
And so it goes.

Madeleine, conspiratorially: "Did you know the Shaggy DA is about love?" [Dad's Note: The Shaggy DA is a Disney movie]

Madeleine comes downstairs with her dress "choking me, dad!" When I point out that the dress is on backwards, she rolls her eyes and goes: "aw, man." Yes, we all have our Mondays.

Swim Racer

Yes, history repeats itself as I find myself on the pool deck watching my son prepare for his swimming heat (Moe is smiling as he reads, of this I am sure). We arise early and Eitan is full of butterflies as we head to St Paul's and the competition. The age bands go from under-eights to over-14's and it is generally a fairly relaxed atmoshphere with helpful judges and a friendly "starter" who sends the kids on their way. The audience gives a big applause after each race especially for the smaller kids, who seem about Charlie Brown's age. The parents talk about who has swum what and when - the Speedo league championships were Friday and Saturday and apparently Richmond placed third overall when expecting to be eighth on the depth chart. There were some fast times too, sending a few boys and girls to the British nationals (presumably an early read for the Beijing Olympics?). Eitan completes a length of breast-stroke and freestyle, winning his heat in 25.41 as he stabs a triumphant fist into the air.

Goalie

It is miserable in England, and Eitan is in the goal box. Before, he and I sit on the sidelines enduring a pelting rain while Madeleine plays her group (boy, was she NOT happy about the ride to the park). Sonnet, meanwhile, has been at the school preparing turkey, ham and cheese sandwiches for the Christmas Fair creating a logistics nightmare as after footie Madeleine has to be at performance class. We manage a plan. So back to the goal keeper: Eitan's least favorite position earns shouts from the sideline dads, much to my irritation, who cajole him: "Come forward!" "Stand back!" "Put your hands up!" Eitan and I wink at each other when I tell him he could be England's goal keeper - he knows he's otherwise the best kid on the pitch despite playing in the older group. To prove the point, he makes a sliding tackle taking down two boys while placing the ball perfectly for a follow-up strike. As a reward, he now sits on the couch, under a blanket and in front of the fire, watching football highlights on the tele.

Full English

Ah, there's nothing like the British heart-stopper and day starter: the Full English Breakfast, usually ordered by some old codger after a contemplation - as if there really is a choice. Did you know that by 1914, Britain was the world's largest consumer of tinned goods? - a fact that echoes today in its consumption of "ready meals," which are three times more than the European average. In 1937, according to the IHT, George Orwell wrote: "We may find in the long run that tinned food is a deadlier weapon than the machine gun." How true when we observe England's obesity rates, which are fast approaching US standards with over 25% of the population - worse in children and young adults. Tick. Tick. Tick. Of course, the British favorite used to be the Sunday roast, hot from the oven spit, served with gravy and without spices or foreign trickery. It was indicative of the yeoman's strength and pleasure. Today, the roast has been replaced by chicken masala, a popular, yellow-sauced invention of Britain's Indian restaurants. When we arrived in London, Britain's culinary transformation was in the middle-beginning: even as recently as then, the low quality of food and services and few good restaurants was overlooked or so what? Today, London hosts 23 of the world's best restaurants according to Conde Naste. There is a price: Mayfair may charge over $200 per plate, without wine, for lunch. Us, we stick to the good old basics of Sonnet's fine cooking and our household favorite: rice and beans.

Eitan and I do some chill-out moves to Zero 7, a mellow vibe introduced to us by Christian.

Kapoor

I present my final self-portrait in front of a Kapoor mirror. Part of his mystic rests in the materials used for his art: industrial and sleek without the slightest indication of human craftsmanship. I arrive in Munich yesterday from Zurich and have an evening to myself (thank goodness). I force myself to go jogging this despite the dark grey morning and my resolve from the space occupied by my running gear dragged across four cities and three countries. Afterwards, it is the usual rush of meetings, a nice lunch, some more meetings and a plan. I arrive home before Sonnet and Madeleine's first words: "where's mum?" Ah, yes - it is great to be home. And it is.

Sonnet, meanwhile, is baking 20 pounds of turkey for the school Christmas Fair Saturday, where she and other moms are responsible for the concessions. Rather than sell your usual junk-food tosh, the gals are going organic - God Bless 'em - so Sonnet is up late night cooking. I've kept a healthy distance from the affair choosing to ignore the tens of multiples of emails winging around the school community. I read the kids a new "Wallace and Grommit" before their bed and I am soon to follow. Madeleine is a bit incensed, feeling short-changed that we only finish one book. Too bad, her.

hausderkunst

Haus der deutschen kunst' or 'House of German Art' and where I am today, was constructed from 1934 to 1937 following plans of architect Paul Ludwig Troost as the Third Reich's first monumental propaganda building (Troost was also a furniture designer). The museum was opened in March 1937 as a showcase for what the Third Reich regarded as Germany's finest art. The inaugural exhibition was the Grosse deutsche Kunstausstellung ("Great German art exhibition"), which was intended as an edifying contrast to the condemned modern art on display in the concurrent Entartete Kunst exhibition, which was eventually sold in foreign countries or burned. Hitler inaugurated the building and later used the main hall for speeches and radio addresses.

After the end of WWII, the museum building was first used by the American occupation forces as an officer's mess; in that time, the building came to be known as the "P1", a shortening of its street address. I see the building's swastika-motif mosaics in the ceiling panels of its front portico - when I ask a cab driver why Germany did not destroy Kunst, he shrugs and says "it would not be efficient."

Munich

Between meetings I visit the hausderkunst to see the Robin Rhode exhibition and Anish Kapoor, pictured. Kapoor is a Turner Price winning sculptor born in Bombay and attended the Doon School, located in Dehra Dun. He moved to England in 1972 where he has lived since. He studied art , first at the Hornsey College of Art and later at the Chelsea School of Art Design. In the early 1980s, Kapoor emerged as one of a number of British sculptors working in a new style and gaining international recognition for their work (the others include Richard Wentworth, Richard Deacon and Antony Gormley who we saw earlier this year at the Southbank Centre). As of 2007, Kapoor works in London, although he frequently visits India and has acknowledged that his art is inspired by Western and Eastern cultures. Kapoor's pieces are frequently simple, curved forms, usually monochromatic and brightly coloured. Most often, the intention is to engage the viewer, evoking mystery through the works' dark cavities, awe through their size and simple beauty, tactility through their inviting surfaces and fascination through their reflective facades. I first became aware of his work in 2003 when he filled the enormous Tate Modern hall with a giant "cochlea" shaped object of red and black. Magnificent. Today's exhibition is equally dramatic and showcased by a red track of wax, dripping plastic and Vaseline that extends the gallery representing the messy natures of human fluids and life.

Rotterdam

I'm in Rotterdam to meet with several pensions and try a Michelin star restaurant, which is excellent.

It is a good day which goes from London to Amsterdam to Rotterdam then The Hague and now Amsterdam and bed. My photo is by Central rail station surrounded by massive development. I learn from my afternoon that Rotterdam is the second largest in the Netherlands after the capital, Amsterdam by population size, and the largest city in the South Holland (no American, including me, can get Holland, The Netherlands and Denmark right.

Adding to the confusion: Nordea and Scandanavia. Oh boy). The port is the largest in Europe and was the world's busiest port from 1962 to 2004, when it was overtaken by Shanghai. Rotterdam is situated on the banks of the river Nieuwe Mmass ('New Meuse'), one of the channels in the delta formed by the Rhine and Meuse rivers.

The name Rotterdam btw derives from a damin the Rotte river. Sadly its ports made Rotterdam a prime target for the Germans in WWII and the city was flattened during the war.

Haute Couture

Here's a snap from yesterday's visit to Sonnet's museum and the Haute Couture exhibition, which is quickly becoming the VA's most popular exhibition ever (the lighting doesn't really do the dress justice). I learn from Sonnet that haute couture, or "high dressmaking," refers to the creation of exclusive custom-fitted fashions in Paris. The couturier Charles Worth (1826-95), is widely considered the father of haute couture as it is known today. Although born in England, Worth made his mark in the French fashion industry while creating one-of-a-kind designs to please some of his titled or wealthy customers. He was best known for preparing a portfolio of designs that were shown on live models at the House of Worth. Clients selected one model, specified colors and fabrics, and had a duplicate garment tailor-made in Worth's workshop. Worth combined individual tailoring with a standardization more characteristic of the ready-to-wear clothing industry, which was also developing during this period. Following WWII (and the focus of the exhibition) the Parisian design house flourished establishing Chanel, Dior, Vionnet, Fortuny and others under the leadership usually of one high-profile designer. By the the '60s a group of young designers who had trained under men like Dior and Balenciaga opened their own establishments which included Yves Saint Laurent, Pierre Cardin, and eventually Lacroix, Jean-Paul Gaultier and Thierry Mugler.

Claire Wilcox is the curator of Haute Couture - bravo!

Sunday at the V&A

We meet Erik, Dana and Dakota and new friends Brad and Deborah and their two well behaved children at the museum for a rainy-day tour of Haute Couture. Brad I recently met at an investor conference and we hit it off around politics. He's a pragmatic, ie, disillusioned, Republican whose roots are in North Carolina where his kin are part of the political establishment. From a small town to Chapel Hill, Brad received his Masters and Law degrees before striking for the financial community where he helped create the CDO market in the mid-1990s with First Union and then Wachovia following an m&a. Brad is a self-professed geek, proved when somehow the quadratic comes up and he bats off the polynomial formula without a hesitation: ax²+bx+c.

Over lunch we talk about America, Obama's chances and whether the country is racist (Erik says yes; Brad and I demure). We all agree that Barack is what the country now needs and debate why his campaign cannot shore up support even from his hometown Chicago. Photo of Madeleine inside the V&A and taxed following the exhibition.

Vegas

Katie yesterday at Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas - the same place where Evil Knieval attempted to jump the towers (presumably pictured). On the day and after doing his normal pre-jump show and a few warm up approaches, Knievel began his real approach. When he hit the takeoff ramp, he felt the motorcycle unexpectedly decelerate. The sudden loss of power on the takeoff caused Knievel to come up short and land on the safety ramp which was supported by a van. This caused the handlebars to be ripped out of his hands as he tumbled over them onto the pavement where he skidded into the Dunes parking lot. As a result of the crash, Knievel suffered a crushed pelvis and femur, fractures to his hip, wrist and both ankles and a concussion that kept him in a coma for 29 days. No wonder we loved him.

Motorcycle recklessness aside, Katie is in Las Vegas with her Woodhill Institute where UNLV hosts a panel discussion exploring the beauty and pop cult. According to Woodhill and Katie, Only 2 percent of women around the world choose beautiful to describe their looks: 75 percent of women strongly agree that they wish “the media did a better job of portraying women of diverse physical attractiveness—age, shape and size.” 72 percent of girls 15 to 17 withdraw from life engaging activities due to feeling badly about their looks. More than 90 percent of girls want to change at least one aspect of their physical appearance, with body weight ranking the highest. On the panel are Naomi Wolf, author of “The Beauty Myth” and co-founder of The Woodhull Institute, Courtney E. Martin, author of “Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters,” filmmaker and teacher and others, while Katie is the Moderator. You go, Girl!

Evil Knieval

Evil Knieval died yesterday, age 69, and probably 20 years past his shelf-life. As a kid I, and everybody else, had the Evil Knieval Motorcycle Action Kit which included a wind-up and ramp to mimic Knieval's feats like the Caesar's Palace Jump which landed him 40 broken bones. Just the name was fascinating to us and somehow a secret window into the weird ways of Adults. And of course the crazy outfits and insane daredevilry - his audience was the eight to eleven year old crowd and us at Washington Elementary happily obliged in those 1970s. Knieval began his career barn-storming in the West, doing motorcycle jumps from Colorado to California. He became a part of America's pop culture on September 8, 1974, for his attempt to clear the Snake River Canyon in Idaho in a rocket-powered "Skycycle" (pictured, photo from the Knieval archive). The Skycycle could be purchased (of course) and became a valuable addition to any boy's toy collection. The jump failed spectacularly when Evil's parachute opened early but still netted him more than $6 million from ticket sales, paid sponsors and ABC's "Wide World of Sports" (this during the era of "That's Incredible!" where idiots swam in shark tanks and etc. for money and the viewing public's titillation). At the same time, Mohammad Ali was The Greatest In The World and we school boys had some real heroes to aspire ourselves to be.

On the walk home from football, I ask Madeline to list her favorite things (in order):
1. Mum!
2. My family
3. Doggy
4. Bedroom
5. Eitan
6. California
7. My school
8. Charlie & Nugget (horses in Colorad)
9. Dad (who is happy to make the Top 10)
10. Performance class

Sunflower

Today I'm a glutton and attend my second museum, this time with Scott to see van Gogh's magical painting and a favorite (image from artquotes.com). A real pleasure for me is revisiting a lovely for an instant or two while avoiding the less interesting stuff. This is easy in London where museums are plentiful and free. Beforehand Scott and I have lunch at the Portrait Restaurant overlooking Lord Nelson who faces White Hall and Big Ben (the restaurant on the 4th floor with sweeping views). Scott has been practicing law first as General Council for Fleet Bank in Rhode Island and the last 17 years with Brown Rudnick where he opened the London office. He is also on the Board of Trustees of Brown University and on the Acquisition Committee of RISD. His wife Cindy has been involved with Brown affairs, and they have known each other since Scott was 14. This summer, Scott and I celebrated 100 years with a magnum of champagne and big dinner party when I hit 40 and he 60.

Eitan gives a full moon to Natasha, who yelps her surprise. He strips naked and bounces around the living room while my requests for underwear, please, ignored.

Coka Cola

Here's one I like from October 2003 - The Coke That Devoured Madeleine. It is worth pointing out Madeleine's haircut from the barbers, who I think thought she was a he. I was in Sonnet's dog house for six months on that one. Today I have a meeting in Charterhouse Square next to Spittlefields market and the Barbican Centre, which is ghastly and surely foretold by J. G. Ballard's "Highrise". I have a couple of hours to spare, so I visit the London Museum to revel in, well, London - founded in 43 A.D. by the Romans after Julius Caesar invaded Britain (Claudius handled the details). Of particular interest is the 1666 fire, which destroyed most of the city, and the Black Death. In 1346, a rumor spread across London that strange death was spreading from Persia and Northern Africa heading for Europe. By 1347, the bubonic plague had killed 40,000 Londoners - half the population. The descriptions of death are ghastly - blood from orifices, pustules, black tongue and boils ("Ring around the rosy, a pocket full of posy. Ashes! Ashes! We all fall down!"). Emergency cemeteries were created but so swift the disease that the dead were left to in the street. The plague eventually took 30 to 40 million European lives and to this day its spread a mystery, though most believe it was an air-born virus or a rat's flea bite.

Leon

Leon is an old Berkeley true-hand turned fashion photographer with genuine success. To become, he relocated to Paris to establish his studio and build a portfolio, which now includes Japanese and Hong Kong Marie Claire and Harper's Bazaar, Cosmopolitan and Chinese Elle, as well as nine other French, Swiss, and Japanese magazines. I was present for the lovely pictured, when we spent the afternoon shooting before London icons. Beforehand, the team assembled at the Lanesborough so our model, a 19 year old whose parents are Spanish Norwegian, could be styled: hair, make-up and clothing. I must suggest that the gal was a head-turner, especially in her shiny outfits, which stopped the crowds dead in their tracks. I felt like a million bucks to be a part of the crew, I tell you. For Leon, it was routine but me? What a great story to retell the lads at the pub.

I return home this evening, greeted by Madeleine's usual: "Where's mum?" Otherwise, they tell me about their day, tennis and various items of importance - like the value of pepperoni on a pizza, which is the best vegetable and so on. I tell them it is important to wash hands, and prompt Madeleine for when: she replies "After number two! Touching worms! Stroking a cat! Touching chemicals!" Anyway, I think my point well made. From there, I quiz the kids on reality: how do we know our experience is not a dream? Eitan jumps up, smacks his forehead then pounds his head against the carpeted floor: "See dad, I could never sleep through that!" he exclaims, to my and Natasha's bemusement. Finally when I ask if we are living life forwards or backwards, he surmises: "well forwards because fires must be lit" to which I say: bravo!

Spider

In the Design Museum, I take a few photos and get a growl and elbow from Sonnet, who reminds me of the "Photos Not Allowed" sign post. Well, I can see no harm in a few digitals, which won't otherwise become post cards or used commercially. The cool spider is by Bertal Gardberg, a Finnish artist who combines an industrial element to a table set: this is a napkin holder, I think. Other style icons originating from here are the modern orange-press, scissors with back-stop (found in every grade school in the world) and, of course, chairs - lots of chairs. For some strange reason the Finns were at the forefront of the simple stool, bean-bag and practical plastic office chair, which can be stacked a mile high. After taking in the coolness of it all, Sonnet says good-bye and I meet a pension fund.