Watch those borders boys, here come the refugees. Yeah, Syria’s civilians are on the move. They got no money. Just sorrow. And the odd trunk full of chemical weapons. Of course, they’re not alone. Displaced Palestinians, simmering for decades in refugee camp squalor, joined the rebellion. And if that ain’t chaotic enough, Iran stung 5 Israeli children on a Bulgarian bus. You see, we kicked the Persi

Hope all goes well. And that your Summer ain’t too relaxing. Mine certainly isn’t. You see, I’ve long since ceded control to two women. Who own me. Ida packed my week with curious adults, who flew in, from all over the world. Mara packed my weekend with curious kids, 8 in all, sleeping over, who insist no game is possible unless I’m playing. And of course, mkts remain relentless. So I worked late into the

“120,000 terawatts,” he answered, definitively, without hesitation. Yeah, I love dude’s like that. Scientists. Mathematicians. And this one was my brother Craig. Silicon Valley entrepreneur, inventing revolutionary materials, transforming sunlight into electricity, grey matter into green matter. I’d called with the kind of odd question I consider when seeking distraction, inspiration, a break

She’d long since tumbled. Down the rabbit hole. Nibbled a mushroom. Indeed, her adventure had just begun. And Alice stared at her reflection. In a mirror. Wondering, “What will happen if I step through?” “Impossible,” you say? Well, everything’s possible today. Anyhow, through the looking-glass, she discovered Jabberwocky, a masterpiece of nonsensical poetry, that when read backwar

Hope all goes well. Osama bin Charlie infiltrated our bed. Pre-dawn raid. Crept between us, dragging his blanket. Growling, “I’m gonna be a tiger when I grow up, a big fat tiger.” Which is cool with me, though Mara prefers the doctor route. So I asked our cub how we’ll know when he’s finally grown up, we can hardly wait. “When I can swim,” whispered the 3yr old terrorist. And

They’d had it. The corruption, hypocrisy, intimidation, oppression. So 56 prominent, brave men, with everything to lose, signed our Declaration. Naturally, ever since, Americans have had a soft spot for revolutions. Started quite a few. We know civil war too. Ain’t afraid to pick sides. Of course both are ugly, tragic. But inevitable, natural. Man’s nature. And they’re bubbling up everywhere.

“I’ve been up large, twice this year,” admitted one of Europe’s biggest portfolio managers. “But I’m back to flat now, cut my risk to nearly nothing, probably done for Summer.” Which didn’t surprise me. In our two decades of obsessing together, we’ve shared a similar education, evolution. Learning that with few exceptions, the fittest survive by trading with trend

Hope all goes well. Summertime in Santa Barbara. Not a cloud in the sky. Creeks run dry. And we’re not alone. Midwestern farmers are baking. Crops withering. And even on Wall Street they’re doing the rain dance, an awkward white-guy shuffle. Praying for liquidity. You see, there’s very little now. And in all this heat, illusions arise, mirages, whipping markets around wildly. Overall: Barry bit his

Took a long walk, to shake a long flight, Seoul to NY is a bitch. Strolled through the World Financial Center, where a crazy mensch, gave me a shot, back in 1991. High above, floated two ghosts – Twin Towers. On which, I held my little brother, upon my shoulders, whispering the truth, “Pete, you’re on top of the world.” That was 1993. In the distance, stood our Lady. Liberty. I spun, headed uptown. Meat Packing

Barry bit his nails, dying for a smoke. And paced. Waiting for the verdict on his legacy; Obamacare. You see, folks remember just one thing about their leaders; Jimmy wore a sweater, Ronny ruined the Russians, Daddy accomplished a mission, Slick Willy stained a blue dress, and Baby declared mission accomplished. But of course, Barry wasn’t the only leader pacing. Assad, fearing for his unusually long neck, decl