$$$ Carlyle sued by Kuwaiti group over fund [FT]
$$$ Charlie Gasparino: Goldman is about to be come a “second tier” bank. [TDB]
$$$ Treasury’s Confidential ‘Break The Glass‘ Plan [Andrew Ross Sorkin]
$$$ The Fall of Mean Jean [Crain’s]
$$$ Canada Somehow Ranks Ahead of Mexico in PwC’s Global Economic Crime Survey [GC]
$$$ Some Of Wall Street Is Spending Again. Like one animal-in-formaldehyde lover in particular: Sandy Heller, an art adviser who buys for SAC Capital Advisors founder Steve Cohen, says he is taking Wall Street clients to next week’s major art fair, Art Basel Miami Beach. “We’re not going to Miami so we can buy everything with a credit card,” Mr. Heller says, “but as far as a broad mood goes, my clients are feeling more positive.”
Others, not so much: A senior investment banker at a major Wall Street firm recently planned to impress clients with front-row World Series tickets. The company, a recipient of U.S. government aid, nixed the plans, citing potentially bad publicity. The investment banker wound up schmoozing his clients about 20 rows behind third base at Yankees Stadium. [WSJ]
$$$ Sex Diaries: The Rebounding Financial Analyst [NYM]
Archive for November 2009
$$$ Carlyle sued by Kuwaiti group over fund [FT]
No one’s said anything but it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility. At the very least he’ll score an invite to the nuptials of the former first daughter (and current Avenue Capital analyst) to GS employee Marc Mezvinksy, in which case gift ideas would be much appreciated (LB’s not a registry kind of guy). And it goes without saying that he’ll be watching– always, and at times offering an unsolicited helping hand (Lloyd has played a pivotal role in many of his minion’s marriages, which includes being present at the time of consummation– the gold plated scrot can be difficult to maneuver and they do not come with a user manual).
Like many a lass from a respectable family, Dick Bové’s mother once cautioned her that no one’s gonna buy the cow when they can get the milk for free, and to “cover up those bosoms, you look like a floozie.” Unfortunately, Divé, young and full of hormones and headstrong like you wouldn’t believe, refused to listen to the advice (or to cross her legs in public). “Oh mother, you’re so old-fashioned,” she told Mrs. Bové as she got ready for the dance by stuffing her bra. Divé lost it that night, in the back seat of a Buick, to a guy she wasn’t going steady with (this was the 1930s, so a pretty big scandal) and from then on it was a different guy, or guys, every night of the week. Most mornings she’d wake-up in an alley off 42nd Street, fishnet stockings torn, no recollection of how she got there, or who she’d done along the way. And she was fine with this sort of existence. She didn’t care what people thought of her, and no one was going to tell her how to live her life. The mutters of “tramp” didn’t hurt, nor did the burning sensation when she peed. But then something happened. She met a guy.
His name was Ken. And she knew he’d turn out to be the greatest banker in all the land. And she knew it was wrong, but she was just so scared he’d think she was damaged goods or something, so she told a little lie, about how he was the only man Bové had ever been with, and not the 937th. Their children would most likely be punished down the road because mommy used to go slumming but at least she could give Ken this. And a funny thing happened after that. Bové started to like not being such a two-bit whore. Unfortunately the pimps and the druggies were still under the impression she was up for a good time and would drop by the house during dinner, much to KL’s disturbance; and Bové knew what she needed to do. Start demanding a little respect. And she would start by respecting herself:
Research by prolific banking analyst Dick Bove won’t be as widely available for at least the rest of the year and possibly longer, as his employer aims to preserve its value. Selected reports will be available to the media on a case-by-case basis. But the full research reports will no longer be readily available to reporters and other non-clients, Bove said Monday.
Who needs John Paulson? Not Paolo Pellegrini.
Canned by JP for his bad attitude, this Italian Stallion knows that living well is the best revenge. And so far, Pellegrini’s PSQR Management is living very well, up almost 65% this year.
Barclays Global Head of Investment Banking Writes Tear-Stained Letter To Son’s School, Demands Teacher’s Firing For Trash Talking Barclays, Making Son CryBy Bess Levin
Hugh “Skip” McGee III is not happy. The former Lehman Brothers head of investment banking/current Barclays employee of the same title is specifically not happy with the hippies at The Kinkaid School. You see, kids, The Kinkaid School is an institution Skippy spends good money to send his children to and lately? The commune seems to be poisoning the McGees’ minds in a dangerous way. And to be honest, Skip has had it. He’s held his tongue ’til now but not anymore. So what’s going to happen, is Skip is going to sit down and lose his shit in a letter to the school, demanding the dismissal of a whole buncha personnel, and come seriously close to giving himself a hernia. You wanna know why? Skip’s got three reasons:
1. The school made a bunch of high school boys very upset (not just upset, “humiliated”) when it wouldn’t let them dress in drag for a pep rally.
2. Something about “a gay female coach” who The Skipper wants fired.
3. (The pièce de résistance:) History teacher Leslie Lovett should also be fired because she injects her ‘leftist invective’ in the curriculum and said mean, hurtful things about investment bankers, particularly those working for Lehman and Barclays, and made Skippy’s son cry. Luckily, Skip Jr. wiped his eyes, stood up to Ms. Lovett and said, you are wrong about my dad! He wanted to save Lehman. He wanted to save Lehman so bad!
Skip is deadly serious about these charges (if his demands are not met he’s threatening to pull his third child out of the school and send her to another Houston prep school), so we strongly suggest you read the entire thing. We almost didn’t post this because it starts off kind of slow and we got distracted by other stuff. Then something, I don’t know what– the ghost of Dick Fuld, with whom the Skipper has some beef– told us to give it a second look. Thank god we did, or we would’ve missed gems like:
Now renting at a steep discountNot to pile on Dubai today, but we thought we’d offer a hearty congratulations to the crowd of media-hungry, isolationist, rabble-rousing politicians who fought so hard three-and-a-half years ago to keep American ports out of the hands of Dubai Ports World, a subsidiary of Dubai World, formerly thought to be a subsidiary of the Dubai government.
Now, we know their concerns had more to do with the unpleasant prospect of Arabs running out ports than with an impending debt crisis in the emirate, but bravo. Your racism has helped insure our shipping industry isn’t relying on a bankrupt disaster of a company.
Who wound up buying those ports, again? Oh, right. These guys.
“Citigroup – a conglomeration of worst-practice from across the financial spectrum.”