Hope all goes well.I call him Osama bin-Charlie. A term of endearment. Got a soft spot for the little terrorist. ’Cause he’s my 4th. My last. And while bin-Charlie’s just mid-way through the terrible two’s, I know his reign of terror’s nearly over. Stockholm Syndrome’s setting in. He infiltrated our bed, 5am, whispering, “Charlie’s a superstar.” Over and over. And over. And over. Yeah, he talks in 3rd person, like a

The endgame seemed dreadful. Most guys would agree. So I’d done what I could to dodge destiny. But in the end, each action I took sparked unacceptable side effects, unintended consequences. Every path proved a dead-end. And you see, men through the ages (and especially these days), trapped within such a maze, do one of two things: start wars, or kick the can down the road. Of course, wars are dumb, and while they giv

Ronald Regan chafed. A small open sore. That never healed. And as folks described his greatness, she’d quietly cringe. Naturally, she loved JFK. FDR too. Clinton was ok. But at the mere mention of Baby Bush, she’d erupt. And launch a blistering attack on Cheney, Wolfowitz, Rummy, Halliburton, war crimes, arrogance, ignorance, incompetence. Leaving her audience shocked. Awed. Then in 2003, she announced plans to vote

Hope all goes well. Got the news. In-flight to Miami. Made me shiver. Just another reminder I’ve accomplished so little. And it’s got nothing to do with the fact the guy built a $200mm fortune. Paid less than 14% tax (I paid 35%). Has 5 kids (I stalled at 4). Saved the Olympics (I coached 6yr old girls soccer). Or published a best-seller (ughhh). Nope. What really got me was this: $21mm in investment income last yr.

World’s most powerful leader stood. Stated his case. To our Union. The den of thieves rose and fell. Clapping on cue. Camera’s captured Generals in proud, non-partisan support. Beamed the message. Around the globe. To friends. Competitors. Enemies too. Wonder what they think about it all? You know, Obama announced he’s ending two wars. Gonna use those savings, cut deficits, nation-build. Here at home. Upgrade infrast

Poor little Indian. Low man on the totem pole. “Just punch those new ratings into the spreadsheet and go home,” ordered his chief. At Standard & Poor’s. The young scout entered 9 EU downgrades into Excel – France, Austria, usual suspects too. “How?” he grunted, as a “Circular Reference” error flashed on his EFSF AAA ratings tab. So he sent a smoke signal. And his chiefs rushed back – for pow wow, and pipe. Yeah,

We dropped anchor. Motored ashore. Hired a driver. To explore. “Careful dat door man, it’s a little broken,” he warned as we climbed aboard his crumbling mini-van. Dodged potholes, crawled through Dominica’s ghetto’s. Hit a town called Massac(re). “Da world’s oldest woman lived here man, 122yrs old,” he claimed. Yawn. So I shook it up, asked if Dominica’s politicians are as corrupt as ours. “No man, maybe a little ch

Hope all goes well. Monopoly mania. Hit my house. Boardwalk. Park Place. Jail. Pass Go, watch M1 grow. Jackson’s ruthless. Olivia sneaks money to the needy. Teddy’s despises the rich, but covets cash, property, punishing peasants. Charlie fondles dice. Drools on dough. Mara loves winning, hates losing. And I watch. As my kiddies buy, sell. Rise. Fall. Beg. Negotiate. And slowly discover that the downtrodden need a he

Sharpen your pencils boys. Knives too. The pie is shrinking. Gotta steal market share. Make some money here, save a little there. And if all else fails, well, screw your competitors – that’s good fun. Anyhow, Obama’s downsizing the Pentagon. Pulled the boys outta Iraq too. You see, he’s found a cheaper way to herd those bearded cats: who needs a Battalion when you can send one scooter-riding assassin to deliver plast

Plato stood upon the shoulders of Socrates. And spun his ideas. Into the Dialogues. No one truly knows where one man’s brilliance began and the other’s ended. But both endure. Mankind’s worthiest works do. Anyhow, my pulse quickened. As I read Plato. ’Cause I’d discovered the lyrics to a famous Jay-Z rap. Now, you might not expect to find Socrates’ words in Brooklyn ghetto poetry. But you see, Man has so few new idea