Here is VN latest tweet @VicNiederhoffer: "ok they gave me a terrible drubbing last week. the beaver builds his dam. it gets washed away . he builds it again." @VicNiederhoffer: after 12 weeks this year without a drubbing, it ws guaranteed to happen. you learn more from the losses than the wins" Remember, these folks who claim VN is a one trick pony when it comes to strategy are FOS. I have spent much time in his Weston CT trading room , there are multiple traders there , all trading different strategies.
no wonder the airline business is booming. trekking between CT and the golddiggers at sykes location in fl. must be great for the airlines. "there are multiple traders there , all trading different strategies.[" how much in assets? do they cross in house to save on commissions? where is his track record, mr. market surfer?
AFAIK, Sykes published one month's returns. VN lost >$400MM in 2007 and >$150MM in 1997. He has not earned >$600MM lifetime. Do the math.
post them. but you can't because they are nonexistent. i guess that if you left your fantasy world you would have no raison d'etre to live. post their records.
Karen has given hers out. Granted she has not posted pictures of boats or beaches. That's certainly a bit suspicious.
I didn't know Victor had Twitter, but if he admitted to being "drubbed" that is a good sign. I guess it is time to start over again, Victor. Check out this white noise nonsense from 2006. Total white noise, and delusional crap. Check out the name of his daughter's book...The Taxonomy of Barnacles...lol. That is just brutal. This article was a little over a year before Victor went to zero once again. People here have stated the loss was 400 million. I guess his father was the last in his family to even consider a real job. Everything else is strictly some sort of odd mental exercise to avoid offering something of value to the world by giving an honest day's work. Looks like everyone is with the same program. Think about stuff and write about it, but always remember to avoid a real job. Bravo, Victor! You taught everyone well. A self-made asset gatherer who loses it all many times. Nice. http://www.nytimes.com/2006/02/28/arts/28iht-galt.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0 When family fiction is tamer than truth By Erika Kinetz Published: Tuesday, February 28, 2006 NEW YORK â It is a truth acknowledged in the Niederhoffer family that a man in possession of six daughters must be in want of a son. The man in question is Victor Niederhoffer, son of a Coney Island cop, who in the mid-1990s was recognized as one of the most successful (and most idiosyncratic) money managers in the nation. On a recent Sunday his ex-wife, Gail, his current wife, Susan, who is divorcing him, and five of his six daughters - Galt, Katie, Rand, Artemis and Kira - gathered for brunch in the airy Manhattan apartment Galt shares with her fiancé, James Strouse, and their 19-month-old daughter, Magnolia. (Victoria, the sixth sister, was busy studying great books at St. John's College in Santa Fe, New Mexico.) There were no Niederhoffer sons in evidence, at least not yet. The sisters packed themselves onto the couch for pictures. Lucky the dog clambered in with them. Magnolia grabbed Katie's necklace. Rocket, the other rat terrier, stepped into the picture. Galt started singing. Artie whipped out her ponytail. They all leaned on one another, arms wrapped around shoulders, hands in one another's laps. The moms snapped away with their small cameras. "Don't put your hand on my thigh," Rand said to Galt. Katie said, "I wish there were a mirror in front of us." "Pfft," went Galt. "It's called my book." Galt Niederhoffer's first novel, "A Taxonomy of Barnacles" (St. Martin's Press), is a kind of modernized Victorian comedy of manners: A wealthy, eccentric patriarch declares, with social Darwinist flourish, that his six daughters must compete for his fortune. Whoever can best carry on the Barnacle name gets the Barnacle cash. Much of the book is devoted to the amorous to-ings and fro-ings of the two eldest (Jewish) Barnacle sisters and the cute (WASP) Finch twins next door. In the end a Barnacle son appears unexpectedly. Niederhoffer, 30, has blonde hair, blue eyes and apple cheeks, which is to say that she possesses most of the attributes typically accorded Ivy League squash stars. And yet, on most days, these enviable elements seem, in Niederhoffer, to have been thrown slightly out of whack: the skin is a little too pale, the eyes a bit weary, the clothes fitful, unarranged. Her parents, who are both Jewish, named her after Francis Galton, a cousin of Charles Darwin and a Victorian polymath who is often called the father of eugenics. Niederhoffer maintains that Galton was basically a good guy, a scientific genius who pioneered the concepts of correlation and regression and invented fingerprinting, among other things; why hold him any more responsible than say, Beethoven, for Hitler's hateful use of his legacy? Galt, however, still wonders: genius or jerk? "Daddy," Niederhoffer said one recent afternoon as she sat in the library of her father's 20,000-square-foot, or 1,900-square- meter, Connecticut house. "Why do you think it's a great namesake for a girl?" At the other end of a long wood table rested a worn volume her father had pulled from his prodigious collection: Charles Darwin's 1869 copy of Francis Galton's "Hereditary Genius." Victor Niederhoffer, his orange pants blotched with the ink of a renegade pen, wandered out of the room. "Galt is a great name," he called from the hall. Most things in the Niederhoffer family come back, somehow, to Victor. Galt said, "I don't want to demean him," meaning her father. "But he's a very unusual man, unusually bright, kind, and weird." "Being born into a family like that and being given a name like Galt doesn't give you much choice to go down the middle road," she added. So what's a girl to do? Get depressed, for a start. Eat Gruyère and pizza until, by the age of 12, you weigh 180 pounds, or 82 kilograms. Develop anorexia, temporal lobe epilepsy and panic attacks, and drop out of Harvard during your junior year. Go to therapy. Then, perhaps, write a book. The Barnacles of her novel are eccentric, to be sure, but delightfully so. They seem to suffer so little. Niederhoffer has dusted the pages of her novel with references to Darwin, filled it with unsettling but not terribly painful genetic twists, and fictionalized the unruly narrative of life into something palatable if not too deep. "If I wrote the true story of my family, it would have been darker," she said. "The mother would have been drinking Absolut vodka from a paper cup. I would have found her on the kitchen floor when I was 5. I would have known about all my father's philandering before his wives did. I would have been in and out of hospitals. This was wish fulfillment. This was me transposing myself into the fiction of Jane Austen." To the world at large, however, Galt looks not just normal, but blessed. After she dropped out of Harvard, she got an internship at the French Film Office in New York, and along with her boss, Gill Holland, started a production company they financed with money from rich people they knew, Victor Niederhoffer among them. Their first film, "Hurricane Streets," won three awards at Sundance. By the age of 23, she had produced seven movies. She went back to Harvard in 2001, at 26, and soon after she graduated founded an indie film production company, Plum Pictures. That resume is enough to make some people wonder if her pedigree or her prose has earned her acclaim. It's a question that Niederhoffer, in her weaker moments, seems to ask herself: "How much pride do you have for someone who is self-made,which is why I idolize my father," she said, "and how much shame do you have for being born into privilege? Are you deserving?" She added, "You could say, 'You were born with a silver spoon, and you kept on eating.' From my perspective I felt like an impostor. I was a Jew among WASPs assimilating, a fat girl among skinny girls, dieting." In recent weeks Niederhoffer family life has taken a surprising turn toward Barnacle family fiction, which became clear to Galt in January, over lunch with her father at the Four Seasons. They sat in the pool room and he told her, "Galt, there is something in your book that's oddly prescient." That something is a son. In Niederhoffer's book, the contest for the Barnacle fortune ends with the surprise appearance of a male heir. And now, thanks to science - and more particularly thanks to Francis Galton, if you, like Victor Niederhoffer, credit him with pioneering genetic engineering as well as eugenics - Victor Niederhoffer will finally beget a boy. Ask Galt if her father wanted a son, and she will tell you that when Magnolia was born, he said, "Well, at least she's healthy." ("We forgive him," she added. "It's like he's from another planet.") Ask Victor Niederhoffer's wives if he wanted a son, and they will say yes. Ask Victor Niederhoffer himself, and he'll say: "I love my children. A daughter is just as good as a son." He acknowledged that he could, technically speaking, have tried to increase the chances that his seventh child would be a boy. Did he? "No comment," he said, and pounded up the stairs, back to the trading room. Aubrey Darwin is due on May 30.