Me And Madeleine

Madeleine wears a dress for the first time in a year. There are plenty of tears but finally she succumbs. I promise her that if she gets the dress dirty with a good rip or two, she won't have to wear it again. This psyches her up.

One of my favorite things about Madeleine is her energy - she is a slow starter in the morning but once she is revved up, there is no slowing her down (Auntie Katie is a night-owl and I wonder: how did Katie survive those 6:30AM workouts when we were growing up?). On the week ends I find Madeleine red cheeked from running or biking or doing some outdoor activity often wearing long pants despite the summer's heat (recall she ran the five-mile fun run in her jeans). She shows great compassion of little creatures and spends hours trying to understand bugs and backyard critters. Our poor dear was devastated when one of our frogs died and we agreed the best way forward to release the remaining 49 tadpoles into the pond - she checks every day to see how they are doing (though they seem to have disappeared - oh, dear). Last week she found an injured dragon fly and gently nursed it to life in a plastic bin with green leaves and a few bugs to eat, never you mind that one critter's life might cost another's. Madeleine's enthusiasm brings me and others along with her and, more than her brother, she owns a Californian spirit: rules are there but they are also meant to be broken. Could she be a future entrepreneur? I would not bet against it.

Spitfire

We join Dave and Tabitha in Bath to celebrate their tenth anniversary+Dave's 4-0, which is later this year. One of many highlights is a fly-over of the beautiful Submarine Spitfire, pictured. It is one of 44 remaining, and ours the first plane to record a "kill" in the Battle of Britain. Dave's grandfather, who I stand next to during the fly-by's, repaired Spitfires during the war. He recalls the bullet holes that suggested the intensity, and seriousness, of those overhead battles. The Spitfire has a distinctive sound to accompany its unique and elegant design and I learn from our B&B that that drivers pull of the road to watch the spectacle. It is a rare thing indeed to see Britain's most revered aircraft in action.

The Spitfire began with RJ Mitchell's design to meet the Air Ministry specification for a new and modern fighter capable of 251 mph, which netted an open-cockpit monoplan with bulky gull-wings and a large, fixed spatted undercarriage powered by a 600 horsepower Rolls Royce engine. It made its first flight in '34, and despite being airborne, it was a big disappointment to the design team. That year, Mitchell decided to use an elliptical wing shape to solve two conflicting requirements; the wing needed to be thin, to avoid creating too much drag, while able to house a retractable undercarriage, plus armament and ammunition. Beverely Shenstone, the aerodynamicist on Mitchell's team, explained the wing's qualities:

"The elliptical wing was decided upon quite early on. Aerodynamically it was the best for our purpose because the induced drag, that caused in producing lift, was lowest when this shape was used: the ellipse... was theoretically a perfection .... To reduce drag we wanted the lowest possible thickness - to-chord, consistent with the necessary strength. But near the root the wing had to be thick enough to accommodate the retracted undercarriage and the guns... Mitchell was in intensely practical man... The ellipse was simply the shape that allowed us the thinnest possibly wing with room inside to carry the necessary structure and the things we wanted to cram it. And it looked nice."

(source: wiki)

Another WC Draw

Another Friday evening, another England draw - this time against Algeria, nil-nil. Our squad ineffective against a team that, man-for-man, does not stack up. Slovenia next week in a must-win or England's world cup hopes come to a crashing end. Happily (?), I have been rooting for the Bears my entire life so I am well versed in high-expectations that wilt to bitter herbs. Are there some lessons here somehow? No wonder Eitan roots for Manchester United. You might as well pick the winners whenever and wherever you can. Come on, England!

Ray

Marcus makes a memorial for Ray, as he would have wanted it. Ray was married to Robin and 82 when he passed. He was involved in the La Veta community where, amongst other things, he helped restore the local library which is a gem on the main street. I take the kids there during our summer visits. Ray was a skilled builder and completed Robin's jewellery studio next to their house, which he also turned into something special - my favorite feature the front porch where one could rest in a hammock and watch the local high school football team practice in a nearby field or take a nap on a lazy week end. Before retiring to La Veta, Ray and Robin lived in Virginia with their horses and border collies - we spent Thanksgiving with them my second year of graduate school (I watched a lot of college football) and their home filled with Robin's art, views of fields and woods and of course interesting stories from Ray and a lot of love at the kitchen table. I remember that well. Ray worked for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, rooting out moonshine makers in the Virginia hills. He was also a dowser and village story teller. He will be missed by us all.

Me: "Do you have any thing you wish to say about Ray?"

Eitan: "I didn't really know much about him. He was good at building. He let us throw the frisbee for their dog."

Me: "Are you sad that Ray is gone?"

Eitan: "Yeah. He was in our family."

Hike

Sonnet was in Colorado last week with her family to celebrate Ray's life. Here, she and Marcus are on a hike from Telluride or nearby her parents home outside Montrose. She tells me they reached a 'spectacular waterfall' and had a picnic lunch. Marcus is finishing a screen play for a television series which he hopes to sell. It is about NGO workers in world hot-spots like Afghanistan - recall, dear reader, that Marcus has helped to set up girl schools in this part of the world. He also contemplates a move to Portland, Oregon, which we both agree is a great city and well suited for his temperament. Otherwise, Marcus has been in Seattle for the last five years.

Madeleine stuffs some notes in her pocket.

Me: "Excuse me, but those are not yours. Besides, you cannot spend them here - they are euros."

Madeleine: "You mean I can have them?"

Me:

Madeleine: "Oh, I thought you said they 'are yours.'"

Eitan to Sonnet: "Will you make me some hot cocoa?"

Sonnet: "Why don't you make yourself some breakfast?"

Eitan: "Well, that is not what I asked."

Me to Eitan, hovering over my shoulder and munching on a sticky bun: "Do you have anything you want to add to my blog?"

Eitan: "It's not a sticky bun."

Me: "Well, what is it?"

Eitan: "I don't know. It's not a sticky bun."

Me: "Well, find out what it is?"

Eitan: "It is not a sticky bun."

Me: "A sticky roll?"

Eitan: "No. It is not a sticky roll or a sticky bun."

Me: "What the hell is it then?"

Eitan: "Dad! You can't write that!"

England Fans

I have said it before and I will say it again: this country takes its football seriously. And tonight, the stakes could not be higher as England plays Algeria which kicks off at 7:30PM. Recall, of course, that the three lions tied the Americans in last week's action. Eitan has his over-sized St George's flag+other ornamentations around the house and on our car. He will miss swim-practice. Madeleine is not quite so do-or-die about the whole thing though she, too, enjoys the spectacle. Me, I am just happy it is Friday following a long week.

As for the rest of the country: tens of thousands of Brits expected to skive off work to get the best seat at the pub or bar - it becomes spooky during game time when there is no traffic. And it is eerily silent, too. Today will mark the biggest day of the year for breweries given the kick-off hour+week end and the drinks industry will make an extra £40 million on top of the normal £100 for any old Friday night, according to the British Beer and Pub Association. That means nine million more pints than usual during the match. As though this country needs an excuse to drink. Come on, England!

"In soccer, the form of the encoded adjective is well-developed."

--Julian Barnes, British author and critic

How Your Bread Is Buttered

Barton = Apology to BP = Republican = Jackass.

Joe Barton is from Texas and has received $1,447,880 from the oil industry (source: Center for Responsive Politics). As at now, an estimated 73.5 million to 126 million gallons of oil has come out of the breached wellhead, wheher into the Gulf water or captured. How dare Barton wear the Stars and Stripes.

Vauxhall Sunset

My photo on the way home from St Pancras changing from the underground to the overland rail. Vauxhall is a poor area of London south of the Thames with a few neighborhoods that have gentrified. Parliament is on the other side of the river. The land was flat and parts were marshy and poorly drained by ditches, and only started to be developed in the mid-18th century but remained a village. Somehow it has retained this stigma.

Today, there is a large Portuguese community in Vauxhall and a favorite pre-concert restaurant of ours is a family Portuguese complete with seven old TVs showing some obscure football match without sound; the food excellent, tables checkered, wine cheap and the waiters there, like, forever. My kind of place.

Pictured in my photo is Secret Intelligence Service building (with antenna), home of MI6 (foreign intelligence) and MI5 (internal Security Service). SIS is sometimes referred to inside the Civil Service as Box 850 after its old MI6 post office box number. It has appeared in several Bond movies. The steel object across the photo is the Vauxhall Cross transport interchange, built in 2005. Its solar panels supply energy for 60% of the bus station's lighting.

And here is what makes Vauxhall vibrant: it has become London's gay village, home to an ever-increasing number of gay bars and nighclubs like Area, Barcode, Chariots, Crash, The Eagle, Fire, the Royal Vauxhall Tavern which dates back to the 1800s and was once a cabaret. When the club scene in central London became to commercial, the serious pleasure seekers went south for their good times. As often, the gays make a neglected urban area cool and then others follow - I think of Greenwich Village, NY, or Shoreditch. And now here.

"You're a woman of many parts, Pussy."

--James Bond in 'Goldfinger'

Tyler Rides

Tyler bikes The Pacific Coast Highway also known as The Great Highway or HW1 for charity. Yes, the OP behind him. Tyler and his fellow peddlers net over $10 million to fight HIV and AIDS. He notes that on the 560 mile journey he had little difficulty nor a single flat with perfect weather and, of course, beautiful scenery. His favorite stretches "the quiet valleys north and wet of Paso Robles" and the coast north of Pismo Beach, pictured. I grew up with Tyler and have known him since at least the seventh-grade. He is a Lawyer in the East Bay with his own practice - the road less travelled. Bravo!

Corn Face

We toast each other for our week together over hamburgers and .. corn. I .. am.. ready .. for Sonnet .. to be home.

Driving to the Pembroke Lodge in Richmond Park, Eitan sings, repeatedly, the "Boom Boom Pow" song.

Madeleine: "Eitan stop! You are driving me crazy!"

Eitan keeps singing.

Madeleine: "You are a maniac. No, wait, you are a moron!"

Me: "What's the difference?"

Madeleine: "Well, a maniac is someone who is very, very, crazy and a moron is someone over the edge."

Me: "That sounds like the same thing."

Eitan: "Yeah, Madeleine - those are the same things."

Madeleine: "Well, Eitan, you would know."

Boss Of Me

Yes, following a week without Sonnet who is in the states with her family until tomorrow, this picture pretty much captures the moment.

Me: "Anything interesting to say for the blog?"

Eitan: "I am so glad to be done with my homework so now I can frolic."

Me: "What does that mean?"

Eitan: "I am going to play football in the garden."

Madeleine finds a dragon fly on its last legs. She takes sympathy and makes a cage complete with potted plant, a few leaves and a fish-tank castle.

Madeleine: "What do dragon flies eat?"

Me, after googling: "Looks like they are carnivores and eat bugs."

Madeleine: "Can I feed it some bugs?"

Me: "Sure, if you can find them. Won't you feel bad for the bugs?"

Madeleine: "Well, I like the dragon fly more."

Madeleine rushes into the living room with a centipede in her palm: "Is a centipede a bug?"

Me: "Yes. Actually, I have no idea."

Madeleine: "Will the dragon fly eat it?"

Me: "It might eat the dragon fly."

Madeleine: "This is a bit of a problem, isn't it dad?"

Eitan: "Dad do you realise that mum's nearly home and we have survived the most of it?"

Me: "Thanks for pointing that out."

Eitan: "Can I have some pretzels?"

Me: "No."

Eng v USA

I quietly disappear from a party last night to ensure the kids home and in bed at a somewhat reasonable hour since Eitan and I up at 6:15AM for his swim practice. It is Sunday, mind you (picture post-workout, pre-comb). Last night I drop the kids off at Joe's house so they can watch the World Cup (England v America!) while I surround myself with English fans and drink Pimms on a beautiful London sunset which stretches into the night. I rarely think about the differences in appearance between our cultures but, boy, the English squad looks, well, like English and the Americans like.. me and us. How strange. My friends blend into the same kaleidoscope and no longer look either or. Despite a thrilling start behind a powerful Stevie Gee goal inside four minutes, England takes a draw after a first-half goalie error: pity Robert Green, the most reviled man in England at now. This morning's trade rags and talkies are endless grief. No doubt every player commits hundreds of small mistakes during a match but the Goalie, well, he is not allowed even one. It takes a special dude to take that heat. God bless Robert Green.

Michigan

It is hard to keep up with Katie these days. Here she is in Lansing, Michigan, where she gives a keynote to 700 people at the ProgressMichigan Summit. Her photo with the Exec Director David Holtz. ProgressMichigan's main interest is, well, Michigan, and focuses on re-energising the state, tackling budget reform, job creation and energy independence. Making a difference every day, America.

Moe attended Michigan Law School in the early 1960s, something I was vaguely proud of as a youngster- bragging rights at primary school, I suppose. I had no idea what law school actually was, mind you, but it sounded impressive somehow and Michigan Law always compared to Berkeley or Yale or other equally prestigious institutions so it had to be good. More importantly, I knew from the earliest age my father was a winner. I had complete confidence in him and never doubted once his capability, work ethic or integrity which, I hope, I have captured even a small fraction of. I recall one lazy Sunday reading comics in my bedroom, probably about age 12 or 13, and he entered to tell me he was leaving his law firm to form another one. I wanted to read my comics. Moe's firm, Schacter, Kristoff, Orenstein & Berkowitz grew into one of the largest labour management practices on the West Coast and I had no doubt: of course it would. With some perspective and kids of my own, this was a huge moment for my father and, to Moe's credit, I never once thought it might be a concern of mine.

One thing is for sure - I did embrace my father's love for college football and Michigan a powerhouse franchise. Now if only Cal could capture some of that. Deep down, my Dad remains a Wolverines fan unless we are talking baseball, then it is the St Louis Cardinals. One forms one's sports allegiances early, dude, and while we may have moved to the north Berkeley hills to be near the Berkeley campus and Memorial stadium, I grew up with the Bears while Moe adopted the team. Unlucky me since the last Rose Bowl in '58 which causes some anxiety. I think Eitan has the same relationship to England football - I can root for the three lions but the boy lives it. So last night's World Cup opener against the U.S. disappointing despite a 1-1 tie. England should have clobbered the Americans. Man-for-man, this is one of the top-three teams in the tournament final. The country's last WC title in '66 so I hope Eitan has a better chance than me and my Bears.

Rebound ?

Given the hyperbole surrounding a U.S. recovery, I wanted to see some facts and one good indicator is our exports - pictured. Outbound container traffic from Los Angeles and Long Beach (about 40% of US container traffic) reflects a rebound in US goods exports. This has occurred despite the dollar's appreciation against the Euro and other currencies following Greece making U.S. goods more expensive. Indeed, outbound containers shipped from LA in May were only a few thousand shy of their level of May '08, almost a complete recovery (container traffic is not seasonally adjusted) from the global trade collapse of late 2008. Strong export activity is not only good for U.S. growth, it also reflects health of the economies of our trading partners.

Allegro

It is hard to believe that once, Britain was the world's greatest car manufacturer. Following WWII, there was little competition from Europe while demand for new cars in America and Australia outpaced Detroit's ability to supply them. In 1937, Britain made 15% of the world's cars; by 1950, a year in which 75% of British car production and 60% of its commercial vehicle production was exported, Britain provided 52% of the world's market. Well things went pear-shaped from '55 onward as our engineering unable to compete on production cost and design simplicity or elegance. The world wanted Herbie and 22,529,464 Love Bugs rolled off the assembly line (source: Wikipedia)

And this brings us to the Austin Allegro, pictured, which was profiled on Radio 4 this morning as the worst car ever made in Britain (Richard Porter notes in his book, Crap Cars, "the only bit of the Allegro they got even vaguely right was the rust-proofing.") The Allegra was Britain's attempt in 1973 to create a design "for the 1980s and beyond" while providing a small family car. It was manufactured by British Leyland until 1983. From the start the Allegro was plagued with problems and a commonly-given example of the the car's poor design that it was more aerodynamic when going backwards. Apparently, the car had a difficult time actually going backwards and the salesman would try to avoid this procedure at all costs during a test-drive. Back in the '60s, according to the radio, people bought British because, well, they were British and 642,350 Allegros sold during its ten-year production life. There are only a few Allegros left which makes me feel a bit more safe on the A3.

My first car BTW a yellow VW Hatchback which was shared equally with Katie when she got her driving license a year later. The car was a blessing since I was commuting 90 minutes each way between Berkeley and Walnut Creek for swimming. It also gave us freedom on the week ends - a remarkable gift from our parents, really. I recall driving to Redding for a swim meet with Doug seeing if the hatchback could break 100 mph - I don't know if we hit the target but the cop who overhauled our asses was going pretty damn fast and, without one friendly word, wrote a fat ticket+points on the license. Doug was driving. That same week end we slept in the back of the car at a Red Lion not wishing to shell out thirty bucks for a room. We tried to sleep, that is, until some drunk dude threatened to beat his naked girlfriend who had fled the hotel and locked into the car next to ours. We got out of there pretty fast.

Summer Chores

Ok, here is my morning: Up at 7AM for Madeleine, who is picked up at swimming. I race Eitan to football practice to be home in time for Madeleine's return, then bolt out the door (snack to hand) for her performance class. I have a scant few moments to get Eitan then together, we visit the dump, gas up the car and hit the Home Depot before home. Phew. Eitan's good mood falls like BP's market cap when he hears those dreaded words: backyard chores. He slumps around until I get irritated and tell him he is getting close to a yellow card, which means losing a World Cup game. "What's a red card?" he inquires. That's easy, miss an England match. He stiffens and suddenly I realise what an easy month this is going to be.

Eitan: "I love the name of the player who scored for South Africa yesterday."

Me: "What was it?"

Eitan: "Shaba-laba."

Me: "Get out, that's excellent."

Eitan: "You spell it t-s-h-a-b-a-l-a-b-a. "

PM On BP

Madeleine and I hang out at the Victoria early morning after dropping Eitan off at choir practice. I think I am goofing for the photo but maybe not. Madeleine likes it any way.

PM Cameron in the press for not standing up to anti-British sentiment following BP so today he defends the oil company, which is not easy to do given BP has, like, destroyed the Gulf of Mexico. I listen to Deepwater Horizon survivor Mike Williams on 60 Minutes. Williams was the chief electronics technician in charge of the rig's computers and electrical system; seven months before, he had helped the crew drill the deepest oil well in history at 35,000 feet (his story miraculous in itself - he jumped 200 feet from the inflamed platform into darkness and the burning water). The guy is alive to testify that BP failed to observe safety procedures against profits, despite making $5.6 billion in the first quarter of this year. Williams notes that faster well development, pushed by BP, caused the bottom of the Deepwater well to split open, swallowing tools and the drilling fluid called "mud," which is a man made drilling fluid that's pumped down the well and back up the sides in continuous circulation. The sheer weight of the fluid keeps the oil and gas down and under control: "we actually got stuck. And we got stuck so bad we had to send tools down into the drill pipe and sever the pipe" says Williams. The well was abandoned and Deepwater Horizon had to drill a new route causing weeks and millions to BP. The next hole, well, we know the rest of that story so far. Will we rid ourselves of carbons or ourselves from the planet first?

The World Cup begins today: South Africa and Mexico draw 1-1. Here we go.

Run Around

The kids have their annual 'sports day' and the upper classes organised into four groups by colour with ours in red (again). Interestingly, Eitan and Madeleine on the same team and I observe .. that they get along and even (gasp) support each other. We like this. Events include team relays, long-jump, push-ups, co-ordination games and the like. Us parents shuffle from place to place following the action while the younger classes replace balls and jump ropes, mark times and generally make themselves useful. Hero warship is about age difference more than anything else at this stage of life. Were it always so. The reds are runner's up and everyone a winner says the head master though Eitan does not agree.

With Sonnet in Colorado, we have made it through the week in one piece, more or less. Sure, a permission slip for a field trip missed and today the kids went to school without their packed lunches. The school secretary gives me a knowing look: "mom's away" which somehow does not make me feel better or anything. OK, expectations are low for any dad left with his kids for a week but I do fancy myself above average: they're getting at least two squares a day. Maybe a bath. Anyway, we enjoy ourselves together and, chores aside, have had an agreeable time. Maybe even fun. I have.

Eitan: "When does mom come home?"

Me: "Monday."

Eitan: "It's been a bit rough without mom this week."

Me:

Eitan: "She is part of the team."

Me: "Yes, we all play an important role in our family."

Eitan: "Well, hers is more important."

Tommy Encore

I know - I know - all hamsters the same but there is something special about Tommy. He really is darn cute and Madeleine shows him off whenever we have a guest, grabbing the creature by the mid-section and thrusting him forward like a Popsicle. The poor nocturnal yanked from a cozy sleep at least three times a day and on the week end, maybe twice that. Still, he is a friendly soul. Sure, there was that time when he sank his long teeth into Madeleine's fleshy middle finger requiring her to shake him free. Well, that was traumatising but she soon forgot and Tommy became used to us, well, part of the family even. Unfortunately, Tommy a poor substitute for a dog, which is what Madeleine dreams of. We did an investigation last year including visits to the kennel but Sonnet and I concluded a puppy with two working parents not feasible. Madeleine, though, persists and has done her research: neighborhood dog comparisons and dog magazines and books from the library. She is 24/7 on the subject, dear reader. So maybe we shall revisit. Maybe.

Richmond Park, 10:30AM

England has a couple of good months every year that allows us to forget the rest and we are now in the sweet spot: warm, lazy afternoons and sunsets after 9PM; Wimbledon around the corner and August hols to look forward to. This year, we have the extra added bonus of the World Cup and our lads may have a chance of .. winning the trophy. We are seeded fourth, in a relatively easy group and, player-for-player, field a world class squad. This is a time to dream big, baby. For my part, I would love to be in this country if the Cup came home. When England won the Ashes in 2005, defeating Australia for the first time since'87 in five Tests with the final result 2-1, the country went mad. Throughout, the nation glued to its radio, watching the weather and guessing tea-time. And, when we finally pulled it off following some dodgy wickets, Britain did what it does best: drink. England's captain Michael Vaughan met the Queen 24 hours later unshaven and hung-over, possibly still drunk. The rest of the squad doused with alcohol. And we cheered and boozed with them. I can only imagine what the celebration would be like for a WC victory. This country lives and dies by the sport, afterall. I get a tingle imagining the first kick-off, which is five days away, vs. USA. After fourteen years here I can say: come on, England!