A Re-constructed Diary, Part 1

A few people have asked me what's it's been like to be near the front-lines of the financial (and now economic) crisis. Actually I find the media coverage so expansive that there's nothing I know that's not reported out there somewhere.

That said, I've recently realized that a personal history might be interesting to look back on some day. It is now conceivable that we're watching a world being dissolved a week at a time, for better and/or worse. So, since I wasn't disciplined enough to keep a diary, here's an attempt to reconstruct one of the past couple of months.

September 1-8. We are in a cabin outside Machias, Maine, enjoying a much-needed late summer vacation. I am reading topology(!!) and Will Durant's ancient Greek history, written in 1938-39 (and found on the New York streets for free!). Durant makes the point that it takes a few hundred years to complete a cycle of ascendant culture, cosmopolitan cities, trade-driven prosperity -> stability, some sort of democracy -> concentration of wealth and power, subversion of government -> revolt or dictatorship -> land and wealth re-distribution -> trade-driven prosperity. This goes back to Minoan times, and probably further. It is both unnerving and comforting: why were we raised to think we're any different?

An anecdote. It seems the (subprime?) mortgage brokers and securitization conduits have devastated this part of Maine. All kinds of people must've re-financed unwisely, because 20-30% of the property is for sale, and it's not just the vacation homes. Very sad.

September 9-14. I'm back in the office on Tuesday. Thanks to Jérôme Kerviel's shenanigans we now have to take off five consecutive business days, and we have a database to prove it. ( I am neither a trader nor controller, though conceivably I have access to systems.)

Lehman shares are sinking fast. There have been times in my career when our higher-ups have publicly said that they expected some consolidation in our industry. But it's clear they never meant this, and we are nervous too. On Thursday my boss tells me with a shrug some colleague is buying Lehman at $7. He knows this since he has to approve all trades we make, even for our personal accounts. I tell him that some Lehman employees have brought cameras into the office to take goodbye photos of their colleagues -- this is via a friend of Sofia's who works there. He's silenced by this thought, and yet he's been at the Firm for 20 years, and is perceptive enough to have told me in May that "it'll be a recession for the country and a depression on Wall Street."

On Sunday evening I'm in JFK, flying a red-eye to Budapest where we have an analytics team. I call my parents, as waiting for flights is some of the least chaotic time I have for catching up with family. We discuss what's being reported about what's going on inside the New York Fed regarding Lehman. I actually think that Lehman is technically solvent, but that they are suffering from a panic; my father thinks they are insolvent. It probably all comes down to the price one puts on illiquid assets, which may as well be a whim.

I then board the plane, which is one of the few ways left on this planet to have a Blackberry in your pocket and still be in a news blackout.

Thinking about Lehman

(From wordle)

I dunno, this one is kind of sad, and not just because I know a few people there, or people who for whatever reason had a chunk of their net worth in their stock.

Lehman was not an Enron, Long Term Capital, or even a Bear Stearns.

Ellie's Yellow Belt

Of course, we are very proud parents....

(For windows users, a better video host is here.)

Cookies in August

Seems Ellie was flipping through back issues of her Ladybug magazine and *really* wanted to decorate gingerbread men. At least it wasn't 98 degrees out with the oven on.

Rainy Day Marble Run

AKA "I can't remember the word 'block'."

Pre-school Year-End Photos

Probably a lot more photos of other people's kids than most of you would ever want to see, but what the heck.

If you have windows, you might try this link. Otherwise:

Borough Sense

This actually happened last October. I suppose Ellie had been asking how she came into being, and Sofia told her that we'd been looking and looking and looking for her for a long time.

So she relates this to her Baba (grandmother):

Ellie: Before I was born Mama and Papa were looking for me everywhere -- in the park, the bushes, around the trees....
Baba: What about me, wasn't I looking for you too?
Ellie: Oh, no, Baba. You were in Brooklyn.

Comes With The Job

And it's a perk.

Last Stop for Poetry In Motion

Just learned it's the end of the line for Poetry In Motion. Kinda sad. Hope I don't forget what the city I moved to was like....

Dance Recital

First Tomato Soup

Had my usual Saturday walk with Ellie and Lucy this morning. To Riverside Park and the River Run playground. Once we were home, Ellie talked about making tomato soup. Now, Sofia's made many fine soups, but none of them tomato. (I'm hoping for matzo ball soup one of these days.) I asked Ellie if Baba taught her how to make it, and pointed out that I've never made it. (I've only had the one Warhol presumably liked.) "No. I know myself." she said. Thinking this was going to be more pretend cooking I settled into some web browsing.

Then some tomatoes attached to Ellie walked by -- to the bathroom, where she can reach the sink. I paid a bit more attention when a pot of water came walking back from the bathroom, most of it (not all) staying in the pot. "OK," I thought, "this is not entirely pretend." and cleaned up the floor.

So I peeked into the kitchen. (Thankfully we live in an open-plan apartment, so this required leaning back about One Inch.)

Turns out that peek was some sort of sixth parenting sense: there was Ellie standing on her chair, serrated knife in hand, halfway through a tomato on a precariously placed cutting board on the narrow part of the counter in front of the sink. Knife is On. The. Way. To. The. Fingers.

[Oh. Jesus.]

I guess she knew she shouldn't have had the knife because I didn't have to say much or say it loudly. Nonetheless, lots of sobbing tears -- body-heaving sobs. Sheer physical trauma from the disappointment. This girl *really* wanted her tomato soup.

So we talk, and I explain that I don't really know how to make it. But we can always look it up in the Joy of Cooking. (Amazing book, that.) And of course it was about the fifth soup recipe.

And so we cut the tomatoes. (Ellie watched this time.) And sautéed some onions in olive oil, just like Joy says to. Ellie got to put in the onions. Then the tomatoes about seven minutes later. (Any risk of her standing near the stove on a chair seemed worth it.) We munched on some bread while it simmered. Finally we did the puree thing, added a touch of cream, simmered a bit more, and served.

So maybe I don't get a listening award. Or a home safety award.

And I certainly didn't get the salt right. (Not enough.)

But it was a very fine soup.

That's My Generation

We were sitting in Big Nick's Pizza Joint last night where the TV is always showing Charlie Chaplin or the Three Stooges and the music is always some doo-woppy mix from the early 60's. (As is the grime, er, I mean, character.) So I was trying to think of how this music might sound from Ellie's perspective. She certainly didn't seem very interested. (But then again, she had Pizza on her mind.)

Let's see....the early 60's are roughly 45 years before she was born.

45 years before I was born was the mid 1920's.....

And it hit me: the Beach Boys are to Ellie as Puccini is to me. That's right, Puccini's last opera, Turandot, was written in 1926. (OK, if you don't like the classical music cross-over, how about Basin Street Blues?)

Of course by now you could replace the Beach Boys with the Beatles.

Wonder what the 'boomers think of that!

Springtime

Happy Easter

We're here in London for one last weekend. Unfortunately, today might've been the best weather we're going to get. Not very "springy": snow is expected on Sunday. And even today we got some hail between the sunny spells (as they say).

Went up to Kenwood House in Hampstead Heath and did an easter egg hunt consisting of a map and clues to nine eggs around the house and grounds. We found eight of them. At some point 3-year-olds (and their parents) get tired of tromping through an 18-century house where the main thing to talk about was 'Don't touch' / 'Why?'. Maybe it would've been better for older kids.

Anyways, Hampstead seemed very tweed-and-cashmere English, which is why we stayed here for the long weekend -- to get a further sampling.

Re-tracing Steps

It was our first non-jet-lagged weekend in London, so we decided to head down to the coast and see Brighton and walk the Seven Sisters, repeating a walk I did in 2002, when Sofia was in NYC and Ellie wasn't even on the planet. That day still glows in my memory.

We got away a bit later than we'd somewhat optimistically hoped, and arrived in Brighton a bit after noon. Spent a little while on the beach looking at the waves and all the rocks (and remembering reading Graham Greene's Brighton Rock back in high school). Ellie in particular had a good time collecting rocks, climbing rocks, throwing rocks.....you get the idea.After a lunch of chicken fingers and chips, we headed uphill to the bus station to catch bus 12 for the trail head. This turned into an interminable journey -- apparently some local train line was out of service this weekend, so the 10 or so miles to Seaford took over an hour. I think we stopped at each possible bus stop.

Finally we got there a bit after 3pm. Between the clock and the steady 30-mph winds, it was clear we were not going to trek all seven of the Sisters, have tea in Birling Gap, see the lighthouse at Beachy Head, or descend into Eastbourne past the hotels of bygone English holidays, or have a dinner of fish and chips before catching the last train back to London.

Yes, the first time around Kurt and I managed to do all this, and see the Royal Pavillion in Brighton. Sigh. As if I needed the reminder, six-year-older knees and the addition of a child to one's life really do make a difference. I was chided gently by a grandmother on the return bus who reminded me how fast children grow, after I had mentioned how much further down the trail I'd gotten the first time around.

Great days really can't be re-traced: you really do have to savor them at the time. And yesterday, I have no doubt we did too.

Yada What?

A couple of weeks ago while Sofia was at work and I was trying not to burn dinner, Ellie and I were watching Seinfeld on TV. I had figured that this was not a very interesting show for three year-olds, but that doesn't mean they stop trying:

Ellie: What is George saying?
Me: [How does she know his name?] I dunno, let's listen....
A bit later...
Ellie: What's Kramer doing?
Me: [???!] Well, let's watch and see....

She knows Jerry too, but seemingly not Elaine.

Wonder if she'll learn it as "Eeelaaaaaaayne"?

The Village Vanguard

Sofia and I got out to celebrate our anniversary Friday night and ended up where we usually do for a birthday, or when someone is in town, at the Vanguard. Thankfully, this was after a so-so Italian dinner in the meat-packing district, where pretty much all the other diners were born AFTER the Michael Jackson songs being played were released. (And, yes, too loudly.)

Anyways, the Ed Simon trio was playing in front of the red velvet curtain. Among us and the Japanese tourists (ok, and a few others), there were just piano, drums and this guy, John Patitucci:


Wow. For some reason a great bass player can really steal a show. They played several of Patitucci's compositions -- he's at least as much a composer as bass player.

Simon's playing is something like Bill Evans -- lots of colors and pretty. But after about ten minutes of Evans playing I always end up thinking "this guy can't swing to save his life!". Anyways, Patitucci can, and it was a solid show.

Made me come home and think about the other bass players we've heard over the years, and found that Ron Carter will be playing in April at the Blue Note. Can't wait.

Back Seat Accompanist

Just a few minutes ago, while playing (practicing?) Shubert's G-flat Impromptu:

Sometimes I think Kuzia had a past life in a nineteenth century concert hall or opera house. She always a willing audience for classical music.

It's One of Those Years.....

Cute. Really. Makes the dot-com burst feel nostalgic, knowing how it ends.

But the bloodletting is trickling down. There were actually layoffs within trading and technology, much closer than the article suggests.

That said, all is well personally. It's times like these that I'm glad I ended up in plain old interest rates. Stuff that was supposedly "done" 10-20 years ago and many consider "boring".

Must be my laid-back Midwestern style. (Funny, I'd mostly forgotten about that till the reunion last summer.)

So it seems like another 'season' is underway, and it certainly looks like it'll be plenty exciting -- re-orgs, new priorities, the works. Will have to enjoy it while it lasts. Seems the sports analogy is apt: very few go out winning their last game, on their own accord. Thinking back on the people who are out of the industry, mostly it's a tap on the shoulder and the manager asking for the ball. Or spending too much time on the bench and getting the hint.

It ain't a walk through the tulips. But I guess that's a fun part too. Especially seeing how I suck at sports.

Speed Limit

Ah, good to be back home even if it was a 29-hour day.

So....think this month had something like 27,000 miles in it. Let's see

27,000 / 31 / 24 = 36.3 mph

for an average speed for the month.

Makes me even more tired. Was hopefully a unique month, fun but not exactly something I want to repeat.