weekend notes

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

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 —

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 impor

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 wan

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

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 g

Hope all goes well. “Know what I’m naming my new yacht?” he asked, not bothering to even give me a ‘Hi, how are you?’ So I gave it my best guess: The Schmuck. “Nope, I’m naming it The Kuroda,” he said, giddy. Then carried on incessantly about how much he made in the wake of Kuroda’s first act as Bank of Japan governor. “Before the meeting I was literally throwing up in the toilet,” admitted one of

Hope all goes well. “Cyprus changed the game, it was Europe’s Northern Rock moment, it was pivotal, we now really know how committed they are to one another,” explained the CIO of the best performing macro fund in recent years. Then that Dutch guy with the unpronounceable name said Cyprus was a template. “It’s like telling your mother-in-law she’s fat — no matter how hard you try, you can ne

Hope all goes well. Spring Break in Santa Barbara. Loaded our kiddies into the Prius; Jackson packed Lacrosse sticks, Olivia her violin, Teddy his hamster Harriott. Osama bin Charlie smuggled his coveted collection of Darth Vader Lego guys. And Mara and I flashed a glance at one another, suppressing a joy beyond expression. As the jam-packed circus car pulled out the driveway. With Grandma at the