anecdotes

Turned a corner, early evening. A sharp switchback, around a towering rock. And encountered a fox. He leapt, gracefully, spinning his body, to point it away. His head turned back, our eyes locked. And with this hedge thus perfectly placed, he held position. Relaxed. Curious. Watching. So I did too. It’s summer time in Santa Barbara. Which means it’s dry. Just over the mountains, this season is deadly hot. So savvy pr

“So what’d you tell ’em?” I asked. And he laughed. You see he’s one of my references, my second boss – Lehman London ’92. But he’s a great friend now, a guy I call for business advice, family too. Which I never asked for back then. “At the end they asked, ‘Is there anything we didn’t ask but should’ve?’” he replied. So he proceeded to tell them his golden rules, learned over decades of building businesses, inve

“It’s a wake up call,” he said, calm, relaxed, alert. “A fire drill,” continued the market’s top volatility trader. You see, all this tapering talk from the Fed was a trial alarm. To test the market’s state of awareness. And as it turns out, the world was sound asleep. Even Goldman’s Hatzius was surprised, and of course, no one knows the Fed better than Jan. “Everyone was on the wrong side of this move, there was too

“Whoa! Hold up fellas,” I said, excited. And they halted, abruptly. I grabbed a long stick. To scare the serpent from our path. Wolfie heeled. Obediently. As the garter snake lay still, stretched across the trail. Then slithered away. Harmlessly. Which sucked. You see, I needed a good story. Somethin’ funny. Somethin’ scary. Stupid. Sentimental. Somethin’ anything. An anecdote. And Sunday approached. Of course, the o

Every breath you take. Don’t stand so close to me. Roxanne. And as Mara and I watched Sting rock the stage, beneath the stars, at the Santa Barbara Bowl, we drifted back to our late teens. Twenties. You see, like most artists, his greatest work wasn’t his first. Nor was it his last. But it came early, toward the middle. And Sting wrote lots. So the 61yr old star fills 2hr shows, ferrying his Baby Boomers and Gen Xers

“Volker killed the bond market,” said the CIO, calmly, definitively, high in his glass corner, as storm clouds rolled across NY harbor. “A year ago Wall Street banks held $275bln in treasuries, today it’s more like $50bln.” Plus, foreign banks now have to capitalize their US subsidiaries, amplifying the contraction in risk-taking. “In any given day, we own $15bln of bonds,” he continued, and let out a little laugh. “

Grabbed all four. The dog too. Packed up, headed to the water. Real early. And as my clowns spilled out, tumbling across the sand, a smile slipped. You see, like most everyone, I want the best for our little ones. Especially my own. And here in Cali, they got it good. But I spent my early years in NYC, getting schooled at PS 158. And later, worked on the Street. Trained to look over my shoulder. To avoid the madness

“What’s up?” I asked, dressed in my frat-boy finest. “Makin’ shoes,” he answered, perfectly assembled, in designer-distressed. And I smiled, nodded, “Yeah, me too.” It’s our ritual greeting. Saturday mornings we man the sidelines, watching our sons play lax. Talking trends; last season, today, tomorrow. We’re Right Coast boys who turned Left, building young firms, with piles of miles. Crisscrossing continents. Scribb

Swung by the Dakota, back in 1988, to visit a buddy. Met his doorman. A wounded man, gentle, sad, tragic. You see, one afternoon in 1980 a fan approached, asked when Lennon would return. The doorman dropped a hint. Then watched the guy cross 72nd street, to wait quietly, patiently. John arrived, the fella drew a gun, and did the unimaginable, shooting Lennon dead. Anyhow, I often visit the spot, considering gunshots