anecdotes

“You’re too early mate, don’t come yet, markets are ahead of themselves,” said the speculator. And I knew he must believe it. Because he’s tried for years to fly me down to his polo estate, and I’d called to announce I’m coming, to explore an investment theme. “Kirchner’s finished, in Oct 2015 we’ll have new leadership, maybe Socialists, even Radicals, though they’ll look more like Lula or Chile than Chavez,” he expl

“Now I know what really goes on behind the scenes!” exclaimed the investor, excitedly. I smiled. Proudly. You see, there’s nothing more gratifying than giving credit where it’s due. And I just had. We’d been discussing weekend notes. How it started almost by accident. How it evolved, grew. And as it did, how it demanded more and more. Which pushed me to search harder and harder. To discover interesting questions, occ

Whitewash raced up the sand. Crashed against our shins. With each wave, the ebb, the flow, we sank deeper. Wiggling our toes. Burrowing. Squinting as we watched our oldest sons battle thundering 6ft Santa Barbara surf. “Don’t see Europe pulling out of this,” said my buddy. I’d asked what trends he saw unfolding. He leads a vast global corporation. And as sales roll in from every nation, he watches tides rise, fall, g

“I know how good I am,” said the Greenwich Bulldog, rebuilding his book, lifting his leg, marking territory, as others downsize into year-end. “I’m good at my craft, I apply hard work and discipline to what I do,” he continued. “Not good at much else, but I’m good at this.” And I didn’t interrupt the tenacious beast, to remind him he’s a great father. A great friend too. Generous. Loyal. “Which means I’m under no ill

“Guess how many kids bought me a latte?” asked the leader of America’s greatest iconic brand. And I shook my head, knowing the answer was zero. You see, we were talking about young talent. And he told the story about speaking to a room of 800 college students. Who had come to hear him discuss branding, business-building. Leadership. Plus my buddy has a touch of rock-star; lighting up rooms, drawing crowds, talking TE

They stood perfectly, in a line, white linen gloves pressed tightly against their outer thighs. And bowed deeply. I returned the earnest gesture. Rather awkwardly. And stepped through the entrance, marveling at this sublime charade. You see, I’ve long since discovered how utterly insignificant I am. It’s the one thing we all have in common. And what a gift. Because with every bow, every small act of kindness, of resp

“Give me your hand,” I told Jackson, coming to a halt, as waves rolled in. He looked at me, suspiciously. And as I peered at my son, now a handsome young man, memories flashed by. Of how he’d ride atop my shoulders, down to this secret beach. My trusted lookout. Searching the foggy horizon for pirate ships. With the coast clear, we’d scour jagged rocks between sets. And no sooner had I secretly emptied my pockets of

Jack Johnson came home. To Santa Barbara. And rocked the Arlington; our classic venue. Mara and I stood toward the back; a birthday gift to one another. As the crowd came alive. Singing each line to every song. You see Jack twists words, and turns phrases, in magical ways. Painting beautiful pictures. Sharing glimpses of his life. And that transparency helps us understand him – ourselves too – making ever

“I’d be staggered if there weren’t an all-mighty crash at some point,” admitted the Chief Global Strategist, one of Wall Street’s finest, a curious-minded fella, my favorite kind. “But for now, the world’s split between rotational optimists and speculative pessimists – of course both are bullish.” The government has no money, consumers have no dough, but corporations have hoarded more cash than at any time in recorde