World Pace

19-year old Katie Hoff breaks the U.S. 400-meter freestyle record in Columbia, Missouri, finishing in 4:03.20 (picture from U.S. Swimming). The record, until yesterday, was held by Janet Evans and the oldest on the American record books dating to the '88 Seoul Olympics. In the next lane, Kirsty Coventry topped the 17-year world record in the 200-meter backstroke, finishing in 2:06.39 nearly three-tenths of a second faster than the record. In Sydney, 22 year-old Eamon Sullivan set the world mark in the 50-meter freestyle with his time of 21.56, eclipsing the great Russian Alexander Popov's 2000 time of 21.64. I recall Dano Halsall, who I trained with in '84 and Geneve Natation, during my high school junior year, setting the record of 22.52 in 1985 (four months later it was surpassed by American Tom Jager). In 23 years, the race has improved 4.3%. Dano lives in Switzerland and owns a small sports chain.

Madeleine, unable to sleep last night, draws a mural on her bedroom wall. Boy, we've been here before but not for several years. Yes, she is testing our boundaries and Sonnet and I put on a stern face while chuckling behind her back. For the record: the drawings are actually pretty good and her threatened punishment, should she not clean things up, is no holiday this week (we will go to the Brecon Beacon in Wales). This gets her attention.

Dizzee Rascal

Paul, Erik and I join an all-white audience to see Dizzie Rascal at the Shepard's Bush Empire last night. It's an intense show that gets people moving and pointing in unison to the beats - Dizzie raps and high-fives the adoring front row. His pants are baggy and crotch at the knees; his kicks are new and his confidence huge. I first became aware of him several years ago while driving HW 101 in California when he was profiled on the BBC World Radio. As for the musician, Dylan Mills was born in 1985 and grew up in London's East End in the South Bow council estate. As a teenager, he was detained for stealing cars and robbing a pizza deliveryman, and expelled from four secondary schools. A sympathetic music teacher introduced him to music production on a school computer. And the rest, as they say, is history. Dizzie Rascal began MCing on pirate radio and at raves at fifteen, but since his mainstream success he has distanced himself from the fledgling scene. He used to be a member of the Roll Deep crew, until a conflict with former friend Wiley, another rapper.

His music is an eclectic mixture of garage and hip-hop beats with broad influences, ranging from metal guitars to found sounds, drill and bass synth lines, eclectic samples and even Japanese court music. His vocal performance is also distinctive, he uses a fast style of rapping which blends elements from garage MCing, conventional rap, grime and ragga. It is fresh. Photo from Matador Records.

"You could be a dappa you could be a don but i dont watch your face i dont care where your from"
Dizzee Rascal

Taco Salad

Madeleine at morning swim practice, which would be Saturday 8AM. Sharp. Otherwise yesterday is filled with usual family stuff and not much to write home about (or put into this blog). Moving to the mundane and with regrets, Dear Reader, I take Eitan for a haircut at the Turks then make taco salad for dinner - a recipe from Houston, Texas, via Roger whose mother Genie passed along this classic. Back in the day, Roger and I would go running or whatever in San Francisco then flop down for an afternoon of eating and dozing in front of the T.V. - this before business school and around the time I met Sonnet so circa 1993. Russian dressing is involved and since the Brits don't know such a thing, Sonnet creates the it from her Better Homes and Gardens cookbook ("America's favorite cookbook" since 1958) - who would have guessed the key ingredient is ketchup? With the Russian, multiple prepared ingredients are chucked into a garbage bag with tortilla crisps then crushed about and served. The kids watch bug eyed as I do this then get into the spirit squealng delight. Madeleine crushing away: "This is the best dinner ever!"

Howard

Steve Gerber died today at age 60. He's famous for many things but for comic fans it was Howard the Duck in the mid-1970s that caught our attention. Howard was a bit too weird for my tastes as I liked my super heroes manly: Spider Man and the Hulk remain, air sealed, in my parents basement neatly stacked and presumably appreciating in value every day. Can you feel the wealth?

As for Howard, over 27 issues he's firstly abducted from his native world and dropped into the Florida Everglades by the demonic Thog of Overmaster of the dread realm Sominus. Eventually he ends up in Cleveland, Ohio, battling various super villians along the way including Garko the Man-Frog and vampire cow, Bessie the Hellcow. In his journey, Howard meets the sexy Beverly Switzer and a bizarre series of encounters followed. He battles Pro-Rata, and then Spider Man. He also fights Turnip-Man and the Kidney Lady. He then learns Quak Fu, encounters the Winky Man, becomes a wrestler, and fights an animated Gingerbread Man. After a short time in Cleveland, Howard and Beverly take to the road for New York City, where Howard is nominated for U.S. president by the All-Night Party (pictured) but a doctored-photo scandal leads him to Canada, and the defeat of a supervillain, Le Beaver, who falls to his death. Howard then suffers a nervous breakdown. And so it goes.

"trapped in a world he never made!"
Signature for Howard The Duck comic

Loot

I take Madeleine to swimming and we goof around before the pool doors open - pictured. Meanwhile, Eitan on being famous: "It is when you have done something that is really good like painting a picture or writing music." Eitan lost a tooth this week and is now loaded with Tooth Ferry cash - to be spent on football cards for sure. He rubs his hands together anticipating a Joe Cole or Peter Crouch "Man Of The Match." I roll my eyes as this is all he talks about - comparing card values, players and teams. He knows every guy on England and awaits next month's friendly with France: "how many days until the game?" he begs. Our nanny Natasha, not a football fan, will see Chelsea today and I tell Eitan: "she has just gotten a lot more interesting to you." He shrugs in reply "Well besides they're behind Manchester United" which, of course Dear Reader, is his club. And there you have it.

Update: Eitan's savings of £11.52, carried in a sock, are dumped on the counter of the local news agent and 32 packs of trading cards are purchased. He's giddy and actually skips down the block. We bump into a bunch of his school chums on the high street and he shows off his loot to "ooos" and "ahhhhs." At six cards per pack, this should keep him busy for a day or so.

Cross The Line

Here we are around the corner on the school run. Eitan is grumpy because his football trading cards are left home - after he cannot get his s*** together to leave the house on-time. Madeleine hates to see her brother cry so she tries to relieve the tension: "Will you take away the T.V. dad? Will you?" His bad vibe continues until I threaten him with no school. He smells a bluff and turns homeward - "fine!" Momentarily flustered, I up the anti handing him the house keys and bidding him good-morning: "keep the place clean for Natasha" I say. This works and Fear Returns. Katie yesterday mentions that she thought I would be a more severe father (assumption: I'm not). The proof positive will be the 'morrow and whether the ship leaves the dock on time. Then we shall see if the battle has been won or temporarily delayed.

D.C.

Dan, pictured front, is a Columbia Business School pal who retired last year from a $5B hedge fund that he helped build in Minneapolis St-Paul. Now, as far as I can tell from his blog, all he does is bicycle. Er - bike, I mean to say. Dan has always been an intense fellow and now his secret athlete is unleashed. From what I can tell, he has a number of wheelers equipped for each season including today when the temps fall below -20 and the roads icy or closed. He's now working a MN CX 2008, even in February, and chides: "anybody who hates the CX does so because they are slow." Or a loser. Or fat. What would he say about my old Cannondale? I shudder. Dan races all year, sun or snow or worse and I spot a number of trophies and medals across his weblog. Happily he has created a community of wackos who share his passion, compare bike parts and tour the country or Europe. Oh boy, It is a good thing that his wife is interesting. Photo from Dan's blog.

Veggie Valentine

You may not "carrot" all for me the way I care for you.
You may "turnip" your nose
When I plead with you
But if your "heart" should "beet" with mine
Forever "lettuce" hope
There is no reason in the world
Why we two "Cantaloupe."

Sent to me by Katie (photo from the WWW)

My Valentine

Well, after the school drop I go to The Victoria for a dry cappuccino and to read my book. Sonnet joins me on her way home from an appointment - pictured - and we sit around talking kids and &c. We used to make a frequent breakfast at Mayfair favorite The Wolsely but these days I try not to go into town unless necessary. We now miss our fun dates which allowed us to talk outside of the daily routine (has anyone seen Bill Murray's "Groundhog Day"?). Yes, it's an effort to have adult reunions and this morning is a nice way to greet Valentines.

Madeleine has a nightmare and Sonnet lets her sleep on my side of the bed, forcing me eventually to the couch. When I ask her to describe the dream, she breathlessly tells me: "Shark, dad. With a red eye. Coming out of the Thames to grab me. And I couldn't run!" So last night I break the rules and allow Eitan to sleep in her room, which makes both happy (These camp-outs are limited to the week-end). Sonnet disapproves - another sign I've been rolled.

This morning Madeleine lies on the floor reading. I ask if she looks forward to being a teen-ager and she replies positive: "then I can have a pet" she says matter of factly. "But not a goldfish." She is no doubt counting her days and wishes for a pup or a cat.

Christmas Past

Here I am with Katie on her Upper West Side some time who-knows-when. This time of year I keep my eyes open for discarded Christmas trees - the thought of some poor bugger holding on to the holiday spirit months past the sell-by date is morbidly fascinating. I spotted a brown, dried-out fir in Notting Hill yesterday resting curbside (I sms'd Sonent). The record is late March. It is the same in New York BTW. Perhaps this is a Big City thing: people hiding away not wishing to face the New Year and its stress. Who knows? but it makes me anxious.

The kids have yoga this morning and I enjoy sitting through their class before the morning school bell. I use the time to read and am half way through Lord Jim ("You shall judge of a man by his foes as well as by his friends . . . "). Sonnet has her Fashion Week and complains when she cannot get a seat at the popular shows. I mean, really. She's home late paying witness to the Next Big Thing and I plan to watch "The Haunting" and not the silly remake with Nicole Kidman, mind you (Sonnet refuses to watch anything with even the most mild tension). The '63 film from Shirley Jackson's book remains a horror classic and has scared the bee-Jesus out of a generation of movie fans. It is a rough life indeed.

Good Bye, Roy

Roy Schieder, who died yesterday of a rare blood cancer, became famous thanks to the shark - a movie BTW I was not allowed to see in '75 though it was rated "PG" (in 1976 I was allowed to see "Orca," a killer-whale rip-off of Jaws. We were on summer holiday in Ohio). Schieder was a short tough-guy who always seemed genuine. He starred in several favorite films including Klute, The French Connection (which I watched last month) and The Marathon Man.

Appropriate to this photo, Madeleine had a "pool party" Saturday celebrating birthday number six. In attendance are 20 screaming kids who strip into their swim suits and kick and scratch (me) for an hour. And this before the drug surge from chocolate cake laced with bon bon decorations. We survive and Madeleine has a lovely afternoon. Eitan feels dejected but he works it out with hugs from me and mum.

I listen on the radio that we Brits will be charged for our water usage. Is nothing left sacred?

Madeleine happily exclaims: "Fan-tabby-tosa!"

"You're gonna need a bigger boat."
Roy Schieder in Jaws

Richmond

After morning swimming, we meet Paul and Camilla and Lars and the twins for a walk in Richmond Park than lunch riverside in Richmond. It is a beautiful, spring-like day in London and the masses fill our borough with their cars - the good with the bad. Lars retired last month at the ripe old age of 37 having founded a hedge fund Holte Capital four years ago. He and his family will spend several months "in the largest RV I can get my hands on" touring the United States beginning in the Deep South - a trip I have yet to do - lucky bastard. Lars's wife Puk is in Copenhagen for Fashion Week so he is solo with Anna and Sophia - both mischievous and two steps ahead of us adults, who are usually pre-occupied with whatever until some near catastrophe ("Eitan! Get down from that roof!"). After lunch we take in the sun on Richmond Common while the kids eat gelato and Paul, Lars and I exchange real estate pornography. Just your typical lazy Sunday, Oh, God bless England.

This old photo of the Kingston Bridge not far from us today. There is evidence that a wooden bridge has existed at Kingston since the 13th century. Until a wooden bridge was built at Putney in 1729, Kingston Bridge was the only bridge on the Thames between London Bridge and Staines Bridge. This contributed greatly to Kingston's success as a medieval market town (today I shop Gap, John Lewis and &c.)

The first masonry bridge was built in 1828 of Portland stone at a charge of £26,800 - the first stone was laid in 1825 and opened for tranport ion 1828. It became free from tolls in 1870 ending 650 years of charges (!) Celebrations including a fireworks show were followed a few days later with the burning of the toll-gates on Hampton Green, as one does. The most recent work was finished in 2000 to allow bicycle lanes, larger pavements and a bus lane. Photo from the National Archive and shows the first tram crossing.

From Russia

Here is the author whistl'n dixie at the end of a week. I meet new friend Brad from North Carolina this morning at the Royal Academy to see the Russians - a wonderful collection of paintings from the late 19th century to the mid 20th. The exhibit explores the interaction between Russian and French art during a period of profound social upheaval and political revolution, the program tells us. Works include many of the great pioneers of modern art from Realism and Impressionism to the abstract movements of Suprematism and Constructivism: Renoir, Cézanne, Van Gogh, Gauguin and Matisse together with Kandinsky, Tatlin and Malevich. The paintings are from four Russian Museums and opens with "Tolstoy In Bare Feet." Fantastic. The show almost did not arrive thanks to tense Russia-UK relations - Moscow demanded protection from descendants of former owners who have attempted to have the works impounded in recent past. In the end, the Ruskies are satisfied somehow and below is Matisse's The Dance, a centre piece of the show (image from the Matisse Archives):

Football UK

I and the kids watch England versus Switzerland last night in a "friendly", which we win 2-1. Joe Cole, pictured, sets up Jermaine Jenas for the first strike: Cole's footwork was masterful. When not with England, he plays with Chelsea - Eitan has his football card which notes: "Joe started his career playing for West Ham from an early age. He now plays fpr Chelsea as a high class midfielder. He made his debut for England in May 2001 playing against Mexico. Joe looks to be set to play for England for many years to come." The card trades pretty well at the schoolyard cards market (Eitan tells me).

The kids eventually go to sleep around 10PM and this morning is a drag getting them out of bed. Sonnet does the school run and runs ten minutes late (Eitan threatens not to go until I drop The Fury Of God on him).

Pre Fab Comes To London

While visiting the Tate Modern Sunday, I note a strange thing going up on the concourse. I now know it is the Maison Tropicale, designed by French architect Jean Prouvee (d. 1984) and purchased by hotelier Andre Balasz - it now stands proud on the Thames's south side, pictured. Maison is one of three designed by Prouve in pursuit of a demountable and remountable house. Ours was made in France and shipped by air to the Congo in 1951. If only houses could be made in factories like cars, Prouvee thought, then assembled in days, sitting lightly on the ground until moved elsewhere. How perfect for our mobile and unencumbered youthful world. His vision influenced Norman Foster and Richard Rogers and while Prouvee's dream remains unfulfilled, it has been revived in recent times by IKEA. In this line,Sonnet and I visited Le Corbusier's Villa Savoye at Poissy-sur-Seine in France pre-kids. It was equally groovy.

6 !

Madeleine turns a year and receives morning presents: "this is the best birthday ever!" she exclaims with her new watch, stuffed toys (thank you, Stan and Silver, for the cat) and pop up and other books and toys (this before the sun cracks the horizon). She marches out the door with two sacks full of Kit Kats for her class room and Sonnet observes the loving attention she gets from Mrs Reynolds who is no doubt equally excited by 25 kids on chocolate.

The Democratic primary has reached London and last night celebrates at the Porchester Hall with flags &c. for those who participated with a view. I can only image the coverage in the US but here the Obama-Clinton battle has received some considerable attention - a friend asks me why I would ever want a British passport given the sheer entertainment of the American presidency.

The older the fiddler, the sweeter the tune.
English Proverb

Ballach

Here is Adam in Southern California where he moved recently and bought a surf board. Adam and I have a lot of history going back to the seventh grade at King Junior High School. He introduced me to the cool crowd, then dubbed "the Benchies" and we have remained friends ever since. In 1995 when I returned to New York for business school, Adam crimped a room before Sonnet joined me with her cat. With Christian, Blake (at Columbia Law) and down-town artist Sarah all transplaced from the Bay Area, drinking martinis or having dinner parties was never more stylish. Even better was Katie nearby becoming a writer.

Cleavage

Here's another one from the Tate Sunday - The Kids Investigate. I'm excited by Super Duper Tuesday, which is getting its fair share of press in the UK. The British are entranced by the Democratic front-runners: a black man or a woman. Anyone in doubt of the the Great American Experiment have only to tune in today and November. The thing that irritates me though are the silly interviews with voters - I mean, do I really need to know what Sally, 32 and working at TJ's, really thinks? Or Fred, a paralegal in Memphis, who offers this: "after six years (!) of Bush, we want a motherly figure to lead us." Now there is some insight shared across Britain. Of better interest, the Demo party has united in London and there is a Obama celebration this evening in Notting Hill, U.S. passport required. Our friend Eric, who we saw for dinner Saturday, is advising Barack regarding the economy - Eric is a partner at McKinsey. He is also involved with the Obama campaign here in London and he has invited me to meet Michelle Obama during her fund raising visits.

"You know, my faith is one that admits some doubt. "
Barack Obama

Doris Salced

A giant crack spreads across the turbine hall - the work of Doris Salcedo who is the eighth artist commissioned to produce work for the museum . Her piece, Shibboleth, is a 167-metre-long cleavage in the hall's floor that Salcedo says "represents borders, the experience of immigrants, the experience of segregation, the experience of racial hatred. It is the experience of a Third World person coming into the heart of Europe". More generally, the artist was born in 1958 and is a sculpture from Colombia. She lives in Bogotá and teaches at the Universidad Nacional de Colombia. Pretty damn cool and we and everybody are transfixed.

Tate Modern

We arrive on the river's south side and have pizza overlooking the Thames and Shakepeare's Globe theatre. From there, we make the short walk to the Tate Modern where Eitan and Madeleine run about with glee in the turbine chamber. I chase them between "homey" and we are all perspired following several hours of this. As we leave, Eitan disappears to our great distress - happily, a family takes him to the information counter where I find him following a frantic ten minutes. Everybody, including the the helpful guards, is tearful at the re-union and we recover over gellato on the way home. I'm happy to report that Eitan remembered to seek adult help and call home, so he was never completely out of touch- but what a stress for sure.