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Hope all goes well. It’s Summertime. Our four little terrorists are home. Subversive. Restless. Commitin’ thought crime. Jack the Ripper, Olivia Hearst, Teddy Kaczynski and of course, Osama bin Charlie. Naturally we love them. Want to create a utopia for ’em. But what’s utopia without a little dystopia? Anyhow, I’d like to say that I read 1984 this wk in response to the PRISM revelations. But truth is, I re-read it c

Hope all goes well. “They’re praying, ‘Oh dear god, please get me back to even and I swear I’ll never do this again,’” laughed the PM, one of Greenwich’s biggest. “If you help me just this once, I’ll follow every stop-loss on every position for the rest of my life,” he continued. You see, he took profit on nearly everything a few wks ago, days from the highs, and has listened with great amusement, as the Nikkei colla

Hope all goes well. “NY, Kansas, Chicago, LA – you know what I hear from all our biggest clients?” he asked. And I sipped my VT, three limes, muddled, imagining the infinite possibilities. You see my pal ran mountains of money, hosts TV, and Vice Chairs nearly $2trln. So I gave it a guess: Can you lower my commissions? “They’ve woken up to the fact that their savings are being destroyed.” Which we agreed seems

Hope all goes well. Swung through NYC. Without a moment to myself. The Big Apple’s booming. Cranes are swinging. Clubs thumping. And of all the stories that swirled, the one that made the biggest impression, was the one I never heard. You see it’s May. And not a single person told me that they sold. And went away. With their prodigious piles of paper profits. To play. Overall: “Wasabi Abe?” asked Ben, answering his b

Hope all goes well. “Please tell me you’ve stayed long,” I said to the CIO. A brilliant, humble fella, who made a fortune on Wall Street, left the past behind, and moved West. “You can’t talk about something like this as much as I have and not be long,” he replied. You see, we discuss science, technology, robotics, the looming transformation, the coming revolution, winners, losers – and he’s loved this stock fo

Hope all goes well. “I really don’t know how a rational person can make this much money,” said one of Greenwich’s biggest managers, hung-over. You see he’s been long Nikkei and short Yen all year, uninterrupted. In monster size. Balancing the fight-or-flight instinct, with a trader’s need-for-greed. “I think the only way to do this is to have enough in the bank that you don’t care anymore — and you need to drin

Hope all goes well. “I don’t want us to delude ourselves,” he answered. “I’m old enough now to know how this is going to ultimately play out,” continued the philosopher. And I laughed, ’cause I’d asked about markets and he’d answered about life. “But in a world of activist central banks, every day’s a new adventure,” said the top performing CIO for many yrs running. “And today, it’s not that important to have a view,

Hope all goes well. “Can I tell you my fantasy?” he asked, over his fifth gin and tonic. And with five empty glasses before me, I nodded, preferring simple gestures to sloppy slurs. You see, we’d been exchanging war stories. And he, being one of North America’s biggest investors, has fought for decades. Winning more often than not, but always enduring the kind of stress few fellas can bear. “I wanna tattoo ‘John Thom

Hope all goes well. “What makes this both iconic and ironic?” he asked, sliding me a gold coin. So I picked it up. Excited. I love riddles. Puzzles. “Well, there’s a Buffalo on one side, an Indian on the other.” He smiled. “They’re American icons, driven to near extinction by the Gov’t that minted them.” His grin widened. So I pocketed $1,395 of gold. And upon further reflection, chuckled. ’Cause we were both wrong.

Hope all goes well. “Notice something?” whispered Mara, as the sun slowly rose, lighting our room. “Yeah,” I replied, my first word of the day, in a tone at once happy, sad and nostalgic. “He’s not here.” You see for years now, like clock work, Osama bin Charlie, our youngest little terrorist, infiltrated our bed in a ritual pre-dawn raid. We’d hear his little feet patter down the hall. But he’s growing up. Nearly 4