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Hope all goes well… Spent the week in Singapore. Hong Kong. Tokyo too. And as China’s communist plenum, petrified by distorted demographics, loosened their lonely-only policy, Mara flew out for an impromptu Asian rendezvous. Escaping the consequences of our free-market four-child policy. So we’re heading out now to have a gander at Ginza. Explore a nation in reflation. I’ll see you next Sunday with full wknd no

Hope all goes well… “My father was tough but fair,” said the lovely young woman, in a tender tone, turning back and smiling. Hiking high above Santa Barbara. He marched just behind us – her proud father – one of Scandinavia’s top investors. He’d brought her along, combining adventure with business. As conversation wandered from family, to sports, life’s winding paths, innovation, investment themes, and hi

Europe’s brightest economic PhD’s gathered in Frankfurt to discuss policy-induced deflation. After much erudite deliberation, and self-congratulation, they boldly slashed interest rates by 25bps to 0.25% — hoping to spur inflation. Investment bank PhD’s re-ran models. Recalibrated forecasts. Stocks yawned. In America, Wilcox and English, two brilliant Federal Reserve PhD’s, provided intellectual cover to mainta

“Give me your hand,” I told Jackson, coming to a halt, as waves rolled in. He looked at me, suspiciously. And as I peered at my son, now a handsome young man, memories flashed by. Of how he’d ride atop my shoulders, down to this secret beach. My trusted lookout. Searching the foggy horizon for pirate ships. With the coast clear, we’d scour jagged rocks between sets. And no sooner had I secretly emptied my pockets of

“We laugh at the very things that hurt us,” said the International Clown Convention’s leader. Yeah, the world’s 500 most distinguished jokers gathered in Mexico City, publicly condemning the clown-clad assassin who recently popped Francisco Felix, a notorious drug trafficker. The clown conclave “broke into a spontaneous 15-minute laugh-a-thon,” and having cleared their collective conscience, moved on to o

Jack Johnson came home. To Santa Barbara. And rocked the Arlington; our classic venue. Mara and I stood toward the back; a birthday gift to one another. As the crowd came alive. Singing each line to every song. You see Jack twists words, and turns phrases, in magical ways. Painting beautiful pictures. Sharing glimpses of his life. And that transparency helps us understand him – ourselves too – making ever

Hope all goes well… Osama bin Charlie, my 4yr old, wired on Wonka, dressed as a zombie ninja, sporting oversized UGG boots, tripped and screamed. Mummies moaned. Fairies floated. You see, Mara had fired a distress flare. So, dressed as a hedge fund putz, I rushed home early to help with Halloween. And sought solace in an ice-cold Sol. A buddy arrived, dressed as an overworked internet entrepreneur, sharing my stunned

“I’d be staggered if there weren’t an all-mighty crash at some point,” admitted the Chief Global Strategist, one of Wall Street’s finest, a curious-minded fella, my favorite kind. “But for now, the world’s split between rotational optimists and speculative pessimists – of course both are bullish.” The government has no money, consumers have no dough, but corporations have hoarded more cash than at any time in recorde

Hope all goes well… “When will grandpa die daddy?” asked Charlie, my four year old, prying an oversized spoonful of cocoa puffs into his little mouth. So I told him I don’t know. “Well, when will grandma die?” he continued, munching away. Of course I don’t know that either. “How about you,” he asked, “when will you die?” I peered into my bowl, at the remaining cocoa puffs, swirling. And reluctantly came clean, admitt