Field Trip!

Madeleine's class visits the Sciences Museum. No way will I miss this and so I join 30 kids, two teachers and 15 parents in South Kensington at 10:10AM sharp. From there we spend the day in various examinations beginning with bubbles - pictured. The kids scream when an instructor makes bubbles that float, sink, with CO2, in bunches or solo. The finale are bubbles so large they surround two eager volunteers. The museum, I learn, was founded in 1857 to do something with the surplus of the Great Exhibition (also known as Crystal Palace). It was first called the Patent Office Museum BTW and its art collection (also from Crystal Palace) eventually found its way across the street to the V&A. But back to today: I'm assigned three children, including Madeleine, and do my best to keep up. In particular Adam keeps me on my toes. Adam is a mischievous little tyke with a pension for hitting. Me. In. The. Balls. By mid-day I've used every tried-and-true threat on him including time-outs, "secret consequences," double-secret probation" and simply telling him I'm going to leave him on a bench where he will be left behind. Nothing works but I love him the more for it.

I drive a group of us home (parking at the V&A, thank you Sonnet) while Madeleine takes the coach - she would have it no other way. BTW she was pretty cool about my picture-taking though the occasional, exasperated "Dad!" could be heard hissed under her breath from time to time.

SNF

Katie sends me her pic and asks me to identify the bridge - which shockingly I get wrong. She asks: "haven't you seen Saturday Night Fever lately?" and indeed I am shamed. The bridge, made famous by Bobby C's death (Tony: "Sometimes you can kill yourself without killin' yourself...you know?") connects Staten Island and Brooklyn and owned by New York City and the last great project of Moses Brown. The thing cost $320 million then, and opened in November '64 following five years of construction. It was the world's longest suspension until 1981 when overtaken by the Humber Bridge in England (where the hell is that?!). The bridge is named BTW for Italien explorer Giovanni da Verrazzano, the first European navigator to enter NY Harbor and the Hudson River, while crossing The Narrows.

SNF is remembered for its '70s outfits and disco. Forgotten is the no-way-out tale of these Brooklyn losers destined for... well, nothing. In the middle there is Bobby C, the gang-rape of Tony's girlfriend Annette in the back of his car and a blood fight. It feels raw and real - and the Bee Gees add dimension with their fantastic music. They also complete Tony's journey to Manhattan, when he finds Staphanie Mangano with another man. The song, of course, is 'How Deep Is Your Love' which plays as the sun rises over the Manhattan skyline and an emotionally wrecked Tony. Movies like this stopped being made somewhere in the '80s, which is too bad for us.

Tony: "Oh fuck the future!"
Fusco: "No, Tony! You can't fuck the future. The future fucks you! It catches up with you and it fucks you if you ain't planned for it!"

Catherine

Madeleine and I drive Catherine to T5 this morning. Madeleine sits quietly in the back listening to us talk about politics.

Ever wonder why you get car or seasick? Well, your inner ear tells your brain that you are moving while your eyes - focused on the shoreline or a book - tell it you are still. The brain interprets this confusion as a hallucination caused by poisoning and triggers the stomach's defensive action - to purge.

Madeleine to Eitan at the dinner table: "Eitan remember that time you puked your guts up?"
Eitan: "It looked like green oatmeal."

Dropping Catherine at the airport, I ask Madeleine if she knows how planes fly? She: "Magic?"

Eitan, playing soccer with the older boys, receives two back-to-back fowls the latter sending him to the grass both preventing a score. He is bitterly disappointed and off the pitch he goes. Two old men watching the action tell him: "you were sure fouled mate. Your pride just took a knock that's all."

van Gogh

Eitan helps me in the garden with his flippers, purchased for swim practice. He's useless but I enjoy the company.

Eitan's class visits the National Gallery Thursday:

"The Sunflower Painting, by Eitan.
My faveroute (sic) painting was the sunflower painting because its (sic) really strong paint and really bright colors. Also the sunflowers stand out allot on the picture. My other favorite was the one with the really swirly clouds. It was was also painted by Vincent van Goph. I liked it because he made the clouds like the northern lights."

Rinaldo

Our weekend begins, of course, on the football pitch. Catherine is with us - hooray - and she joins the action with me from the sideline (Sonnet goes running).

Friday night we see modern dance at the Southbank - created by Jonathan Lunn, who choreographs, and Anthony Minghella, who won an Oscar for The English Patient and sadly recently deceased. Natasha Richards of Harry Potter fame narrates the action. It is a weird and extraordinary performance - think ballet+yoga which takes place at super-natural human movements. The dancers' bodies are fluid and they "bounce" as though muscles rubber. And spring. The crowd too is pretty cool - a perfect date place on a summer evening, like tonight, spilling onto the Thames and views of Somerset House, Blackfriars and of course that Wren Cathedral.

The European cup begins last night and Aggie babysits the action. Sonnet, Catherine and I go for a drink at our local - The Plough - which recently re-opened as a gastro pub. Before it was your typical neighborhood public serving fags and .75l liquor to the local pensioner and construction worker. Now its outdoor garden heaves with yuppies and their kids. Fun. Catherine and Sonnet revisit Smith and other fond memories. I return early to watch footie with the boy - our fave Portugal defeats Turkey 2-nil and the world is in order. Portugal is the birthplace of Christiano Rinaldo who has announced his desire to play for Madrid despite four years on his ManU contract (Eitan: "It is actually three years and five months"). We wonder why Rinaldo would wish to leave the world's greatest club, which is paying him £72 million, to go to Spain. It couldn't be the sunny clime and lifestyle? Sexy culture and worshipping fans and media? Naaah.

Wookie

Here is Wookie with Barak (or is it Barak with Wookie?) Any case, Wookie belongs to Guy and Jeanine Saperstein who have been early and committed supporters of the campaign (Barak's, that is).

The UK's tremendous interest the US primaries eclipses politics here - which has been nothing but depressing since Super Gee took over from Tony (without a party election, oh dear). Obama clinching the Demo's pole position is Fleet Street's front-page news. These Brits are sick of El Presidente and we are probably more forgiving than the rest of Europe. Excluding Poland, but who cares? Barak presents a completely new image of America - the English generally assume Americans are racist, self-indulgent and inward looking (like father, like son). And while there may be a smidgeon or more of truth here, Dear Brother, Obama is an in-your-face example of a party giving us the sweet tune of a working democracy. Race and privilege be damned. We the people (for I still vote in the US) reject, for now, a white and tired administration that has really outdone itself to fuck our country. Can Barak overcome Nixie-land and win the blue-collar backwaters like PA and Ohio, which he needs for the White House? Can he avoid racial type casting- not black, Dear Sir - but Muslim? Is his life safe? These are all things to be found out but let us Thank God that we have finally found a fella unafraid to bring it on.

Rook

Eitan has been in chess class for some time and Madeleine learning the rules. This morning I watch the kids play and tempers, at times, soar. Madeleine does not quite understand check-mate and demands that Eitan "play fair" which leads to a "am to!," "are not!" exchange that seems never ending but does when I holler. From there I take the kiddos to school and Eitan anticipates a field trip to the National Portrait Gallery, lucky him. It is a perfect day for the outing - so far and as I blog, weather sunny and warm, though rain is supposed to spoil the cheer. Catherine arrives too - she will stay with us for the weekend before returning to L.A.

Bruni

I am in Paris where I snap this bus next to l'église Sainte Marie Madeleine. Vivre la France. 

This country sexually relaxed, no doubt - at least compared to England or the US. And Paris is of course home to mega sex object and First Lady Carla Bruni who married Nicolas Sarkozy in February. She is everywhere like our Diana. The French seem mixed about Bruni- some like her yuf, style and story arc while others irritated by her lack of interest in representing France or the President's office. 

One thing for sure: she did not marry for money or career: Bruni is heiress to the Italian tire manufacturing company CEAT which was founded by her grandfather and sold to Pirelli in the 1970s. Her debut album in 2005, Quelqu'un M'a Dit, went gold. Bruni grew up in France from five and attended boarding schools in Switzerland (sadly not Collège de Candolle - we are the same age, Dear Sister). She studied art and architecture but left school at 19 to become a model. 

Plus she has shagged everybody: Louis Bertignac, Mick Jagger (Jagger's wife Jerry Hall acknowledged his affair with Bruni was a reason for their separation), Eric Clapton, Donald Trump (gross!), Leos Carax, Charles Berling, Arno Klarsfeld and Vincent Perez and former French Prime Minister Laurent Fabious. She's a slapper. So what is this savage woman doing with the French midget? 

Well, power is an aphrodisiac no doubt+she is getting on in her spider widow years. According to Bruni, Bruni gets "bored with monogamy", and "Love lasts a long time, but burning desire - two to three weeks." We are all no doubt greatly interested. This not your usual politics-as-usual, that's for sure.

Oh- and I am in Paris for the day to see my friends at Astorg Partners, who raised our €800-million fund. Beforehand I sneak into the Jeu de Paume and am treated to photographs by Alex Soth, a Minna-soo-tan whose work is "acclaimed for having both a cinematic and folkloric feel: it evokes and hints at the story behind the image he is photographing." He likes rural, and poor, America and his scenes are depressing though also beautifully composed.

FAB

Here are Halley and Catherine from this weekend's re-union. The three glam gals met at Smith and have been steadfast ever since - in past they have re-unioned on Cape Cod or elsewhere on the East Coast (Halley and Catherine from New England) but now their intercontinental lives make anywhere possible. Catherine lives in L.A. and Beijing (these days) while Halley in Exeter. Sonnet tells me they see the Pantheon, Coliseum, Forum, Museum of Rome and other spots - and shop for shoes too, of course. We have not seen Catherine since her wedding in Pacific Palisades. Oh- and she is pregnant!

Eitan and I set our sites on the European Cup Finals, which start in three days. Earlier this year England crashed out against Croatia in a game where they needed tie. This leaves us and England wondering: who to support? There is a whole host of reasons to hate every competing country (Germany is Germany while France is France; the Russians have ruined London and Turkey not really even a member of the EU.... Greece won last time and Italy a bunch of soccer cheats....). Yes, there is only one team that the boy and I hope for: Portugal! And why, Dear Reader, you may ask? In an icon: Rinaldo. Rinaldo! Rinaldo!

I meet a fellow, John, who was at T-Mobile for 20 years and now tasked with raising money for the T-Mobile cycling team. Only problem: thanks to last year's doping scandel, T-Mobile withholds its brand. And name. And nobody wants to be associated with the sport- certainly not a corporate buyer. John tells me he makes 300 calls a day and hears back from five: who tell him to fuck off. Now that is a tough sale.

BRU

Here is Bru and Lucca. Bru is Sonnet's cousin and the son of Missy. He has lived in Rome since at least 1997 and before that Cornell and somewhere in Berkeley or Santa Cruz following the Greatful Dead. I met him in London in 1998 when he arrived at our flat in the most fabulous outfit: yellow crepe jacket, plaid shirt and pink pants with embroidery on the hip. Of course his Italian girlfriend Manuela perfectly stunning. We have been fortunate to visit Bru twice when he took us around the city and outside, including the Pope's summer palace where we feasted on pork sandwiches by the Papal lake - normally a Roma football match showing on an old television box, all the better for a lazy summer's afternoon.. Another highlight then was seeing Don Giovanni in the courtyard of the local church. Bella. Bru's cool fashion convinced me to purchase black Helmut Lang jeans which I wore with pride whilst raising $15 million during the Internet era (some might argue it was because of those jeans - it certainly wasn't my partner- that brought in the dough). But that is another story, oh boy. Today Bru is a full-time dad and Sonnet reports a most excellent father who enjoys his role. Bellisimo.

American Embassy Berlin

Here is another one from Sunday.

I return from Berlin - and the heat - to London and - surprise -the rain. Last night I am up until 3AM doing who knows what? but my flight fortunately leaves at the agreeable hour of 11AM. This allows a whistle-stop tour of the Brandenburg Gate, Reichstag and new rail station built for the '06 World Cup - tres modern. The most disappointing new building in Berlin (and there are a lot of them, especially in Potsdam Plaza) is the American Embassy which officially opened some weeks ago on the famous Pariser Platz. The building looks like a bunker - all concrete and sharp angles. It could have been way different given the open-space and airy plaza+nearby Berlin Park. Instead, America post 911 is on display: Impenitrable. Serious. Pissed off. The same theme BTW applies to the American Embassy in London, which itself opened in 1960 and during the peak of the Cold War and mistrust of the commies. Oh boy it too is u-g-l-y. Rather than convey our friendly, democratic society welcoming the world, our newest embassy looks afraid. Very afraid.

Madeleine, out of the blue: "Dad, never take me down a coal mine again."

Berlin

View in 1986 from the west side of graffiti art on the wall's infamous "death strip". Taken by Berlinmauer.org

I'm in Berlin, a favorite city, to have dinner with a friend at CAM. It is hot - like 105 degrees - and I sweat from the airport, dressed in long pants and a blazer. I shed that outfit fast and buy two Eton shirts at, what I am told, is the largest department store in Europe off the Lutzow Platz (one shirt turns out to be too pex tight - read: too gay - and I may have to leave it behind). Sonnet and I were here last year and despite setting aside five hours to visit Museum Island, I remain near the hotel and department store - too sunny to be inside looking at art anyways.

Unnamed

(Unfortunately I do not have the artist) I ask Madeleine what she sees in the painting and she concentrates for a moment then: "City, dad. There are the houses, and the roadways to get to the jobs. And shops. There are trees too. The sun is going down and that is why the colors are changing." I tell her: bravo.

Vans

We spend some of our day at the Tate Modern, which is surprisingly empty - the main chamber awaits its next exhibition so this perhaps the reason. We use the space to play tag - the Shakepeares try to cross the chasm without my tagging them. They squeal in genuine fear as I bear down upon them, top speed. Eitan is extra motivated when I tell him that "I will cross your hand with silver" should he succeed. Nothing motivates Eitan like money, Dear Reader. We then have lunch and afterwards, much to their consternation, we visit the permanent collection. Madeleine the artist is more interested than her brother but in fairness, they have been running around like crazy and it is a sunny day. Plus the allure of ice cream to hand: "can I have an ice cream dad? Can I have an ice cream dad? Can I have an ice cr...." And so it goes. I try turning this around on them: "Do you want an ice cream Madeleine? Do you want an ice cream Madeleine? Do you want an ice cream Mad..." and you know she answers every time? Brother. On the way home we stop to get some tennies and Madeleine choses checkered Vans (Vans are California stoner shoes popular from the 80s). When Madeleine hears they wear them in the USA she is thrilled: "Oh yea" she says, pumping her arm downward. She definitely has her sense of style.

Four Towers

I am a sucker for the Battersea Power Station - it is just way cool. Anyone in Chelsea or Pimlico or driving along Chelsea embankment are treated to its magnificence and reminded ever of the industrial revolution that changed England and the world. Today the structure is crumbling and saved from demolition thanks to its Grade II listing. A while back there was some momentum to convert the icon into condos and shopping - maintaining the exterior integrity - but this was shelved due to transportation. There is none, really - and it certainly is not Central London convenient. Nor does Battersea offer the Chester Square address. Not quite, Dear Sister. But still she stands, the old gal, occupying her meaningful presence on the Southside and a corner of the city's imagination. I cannot resist stopping the car for photo today and every time I see her.

Secret Probation

Here is another one of Aggie and the kiddies.

Ok, for the record - here is what's gone down since Sonnet's departure: 1) I take the kids to a bar; 2) sugar cereal (Kellogg's Co Co Rocks described as a "soft chocolatey coated centre and hard crunch rocks"); 3) Edwin and Effie BBQ where 2X cup cakes+lemon pie+chocolate fudge cake consumed; 4) 2X Harry Potter+TV (being watched now BTW). The kids play me for a sucker, but I enjoy it. As they are sans nearby Grand Parents or relatives to spoil them rotten, I tell Sonnet that I am happy do so. Within reason. Usually. The strange thing is that I am also the disciplinarian- I say strange as Sonnet is a pretty substantial figure and everyone just assumes that she lays down the law. The kids know however where the buck stops and boy have I scared the bee-Jesus out of them on occassion. On training the little Shakepeares: Sonnet and I have never spanked nor used any sort of physical intimidation yet my intentions do come across, Dear Father, when obedience required. I am not afraid to go eye-to-eye and lay it out plain - usually this means consequences. Sometimes even "secret consequences" or "secret double probation" which means I can punish them at my whim with no warning. This rattles Madeleine especially and she begs to be released from this unsettling state. Me, this is just where I want 'em sometimes.

I have a discussion about school with Eitan and ask if he has any enemies. Replies he: "Chelsea?"

Madeleine comments on my pimple: "will it explode?"

Madeleine in my office: "Can we sleep here?"

I look quizzically at Eitan jumping from foot to foot. Madeleine: "he needs the lou but can't find the remote control."

AG 3X

Aggie turns 3x and Eitan, Madeleine and I put on our costumes and head for the party, which is at a local gastro pub. 

I don't think Aggie or anyone expecting my gorilla mask and I get all sorts of encouragement as I work my way through the bar crowd. Cool. We arrive on the tardy side of the kid's bed-time and straight from swim team (Eitan) and play-date (Madeleine). The kids also had three hours of football this morning so they are... wired. 

At first each child a bit shy of the adults and adult-setting but Aggie covers them with her affection and they warm to the occasion. Special ice cream+cake kick it up a notch. I turn at one point to find Eitan surrounded by five guys arguing football. The lads are amused that a seven-year old owns more statistics about the Premier League than they do collectively and they turn the heat on. 

I watch anxiously as the hot gleam of craziness enters the boy's eye and overhear him say: "well you smell like Drogba!" (a Chelsea player, Dear Reader). I'm ready to take the boy out but a nice woman leans over and tells me "he is doing wonderfully holding his own" and I relax a bit. On the other side of the room Madeleine entertains her crowd with the funny glasses and by 9:30PM I have to drag them away. They are lucky to have Aggie. Oh, and I force Eitan to say good-bye and "thank you" to his new friends. They give him high-fives.

Eitan, Madeleine and I examine a human-body poster and I point out the heart, aorta, lower intestine and lungs. I ask where blood takes oxygen and nutrients. Madeleine: "your toes?"

Glasses

I buy a gorilla mask for Aggie's birthday party and toss in face masks and glasses for the kids - pictured. Sonnet off to Rome this morning to meet Catherine and Halley - the gals celebrate 4-0 this year - so it is me and the kiddies for the weekend. Woo hoo!

Madeleine has a special afternoon with Sabi at her Wimbledon studio to see what it is like to be an artist, her on-record self ambition (Eitan: "I want to play for Manchester United" which is at least easier to get into than the Ivy League). I pick Madeleine up and she is genuinely thrilled with her work and adult-time. She comes home with four paintings and one canvas. God bless you Sabi.

Driving home Madeleine and I listen to Radio 4 and learn that teen-age knifings have become a serious national problem. A simple solution offered: square or round the end of kitchen knives, which account for the majority of the violence. When Britain's surgeons suggested doing so three years ago they received overwhelming public support but we remain still far away from its reality. According the Metropolitan police, knife crime declined from 12,122 to 10,220 incidents over the two years ending December, 2007 and teen-age knife-crime the only category increasing.

PMQ

I YouTube Barak's "A More Perfect Union" at Philadelphia, watching its entirety or 38 minutes - a commitment for a work day like now. It is interesting to compare with his 22 May Tampa Bay and Hillary's same-day Jacksonville, where she spends 30 minutes arguing for Michigan and Florida's count. Life moves on. A favorite for my in-laws in Montrose is "Prime Ministers Questions" which they catch on cable and I watch Sunday. Every Wednesday, while the House of Commons is sitting, the PM spends half an hour answering questions from Members of Parliament - widely available on YouTube or www.number-10.gov.uk. This past week, for instance, Super Gee addresses the Embryology Bill (can human-animal hybrids be used?), the 10p tax-rate (political disaster and bail-out), Zimbabwe, our economy, visas and angling - this just a sample. PMQ started in the '50s as twice weekly then once by Tony. I appreciate why shortened - a PM must be well prepared on all subjects relating to him or her - Blaire was a master while Super Gee learning though his goose probably cooked already. On display is Britain's wit and "long knives" as the sides openly go at each other's throats- always civil, dear Reader, always civil. One shudders to imagine El Presidente in this situation - on record - telling the truth - being coherent. But back to Barak: his presence remarkable and speech peppered with micro-pauses that add emphasis to what he is saying - and boy, what he says: who else so magnificently addresses race in America? Focuses on the forward? And called Iraq? Bill Clinton too was mesmerising but with Barak I hang on every word. Can't remember this before. Bush Sr? Reagan? Carter?! (photo from British Government)

I find Eitan in the kitchen staring at the washing machine awaiting his uniform. I suggest that "water watched never boils" - more fatherly advice washing from the duck's back.

XC

While thinking about the glory years, here is a neat photograph sent to me by Dave in New York. I'm in a few of the shots having joined the squad sophomore year following miles (and miles) logged in the chlorine. Dave is another dear college friend and running stand-out who today practices pediatric orthopaedics in NYC where he does "a lot of work with congenital foot problems in kids (clubfoot) and cerebral palsy." No surprise here as I recall clearly his college drive to enter medicine then Duke and now his Big Apple practice. Dave always somehow focused on athletics and still today: a runner's dearest possession, of course, being his feet. Dave and I had several post-college, post and pre-grad school years together in Manhattan. We managed some good nights out including a number of double-dates. Ah, we were young. Today, Dave lives on the Upper East Side with his family and running 30+ miles a week, presumably in Central Park, oh lucky fellow.