A simple poem sits, framed on my desk. Called the Road Not Taken. It’s a Robert Frost masterpiece. Dad gave it to me back in 1996. A year later I ditched Credit Suisse’s shiny Canary Wharf tower. For a shack in the French Alps. To climb mountains. And knowing how way leads on to way, doubted if I should ever go back. Naturally, I didn’t. Which is not to say that was a great call. Or the most lucrative one. In fact, I

Week-in-Review: Mon: China property cooling measures (Shanghai -3.7% — worst in 2yrs), Spain unemploy 23.8% (23.5% prev), EU invest sentiment drops, PPI +0.6% (core +0.2%), UK construction PMI 46.8 (Oct ’09 low), Fitch “Positive” on California, S&P +0.4%; Tue: China services PMI 52.1 (2mth low), China NPC targets (GDP 7.5%, CPI 3.5%, deficit 2%, foreign trade 8%, money supply 13%) – Shanghai +2.3%, India se

Hope all goes well. “Sorry I’m late for our call amigo,” I said to my buddy. “Got caught up in the mountains after dark,” I continued. “Misjudged the light, and raced down as quick as I could, but you know what it’s like, trail-running in the dark can get pretty hairy.” No matter how well you know the terrain, you’re bumping into boulders, stumbling over sticks. Which of course he could appreciate. ’Cause that’s what

They got no grand entry. No art collections. No mahogany boardroom. No twenty-foot ceilings. They don’t need ’em. ’Cause they got no investors. They just got hundreds of millions of dollars of capital. All their own. Accumulated by trading options, through a tumultuous decade. And they got an army of young kids; Harvard, Stanford, Princeton, Columbia, MIT. Dressed in baseball caps, frat-house wear, and mathematics di

See the signs brother? Yeah me too. Everything’s connected. Pope Benedict is 85. Retiring early. Hasn’t happened since 1294, when his Holiness, Celestine the 5th, was Pope for 5mths and 8days – then hit the bid. His successor, Boniface the 8th, immediately placed humble Celestine in prison – where he promptly died. Went to heaven, and was canonized as a Saint – for that early exit. While Boniface clung to

Hope all goes well. “Please don’t ask what I think,” sighed my buddy, atop his prodigious pile of paper. “Every single call I make is wrong.” Which of course is just as rare, and as valuable, as its inverse. “But tell me what you see,” he continued. And I explained it feels we’re entering the most exciting trading environment for years. Maybe a decade. “Why?” he asked, surprised. And truth is, I don’t know exactly wh

Hope all goes well. We breezed through Denver airport. Mara and I exchanging glances, in silent celebration, of how far we’ve come. You see, all four kids carried their backpacks. And walked on their own. They’re growing up. They’re real people. Curious creatures. Colorful personalities. And at security, a monochrome guard asked for my stack of tickets. Interrogating each of us in turn. And ended with our youngest. “

Not a single soul in the room could read the statement with a straight face. But practice makes perfect. So they kept trying. And drinking spiked punch. Late into the Moscow night. Of course, Japanese can’t hold their liquor. And Tokyo’s feather-weight finance minister soon found himself legless. Oh, how the crowd laughed as they egged him on. “C’mon you little Aso, read it one more time,” they chortled. And try he w

“Yours,” I yelled, amidst chaos. And the closing bell rang, surprising me. Frightening me. Leaving me short 100 wheat contracts. Which may not sound scary. But in 1990, I was a pit trader. Trading my own money. Which wasn’t much, but was everything. And 100 contracts was 80 too many – to hold overnight anyway. Naturally, news hit the tape that Egypt purchased wheat. So I raced to call my roommate, who assisted

Hope all goes well. “Happy V day baby,” I texted my Valentine, from Chicago O’Hare. Which ain’t exactly a pro move, in case you wondered. And to make matters worse, Mara read my note while packing our bags. You see, I’d left her on her own, back in Santa Barbara. To spend the Day of Love schlepping four kids and ski gear to the Rockies. Which is a scene that never found its way into Romeo and Juliet. So at our rendez