Musings on topics of small or large importance. Especially partial to subjects that include baby boomers, public figures, friends, Corporate America, the Denver Broncos, NASCAR, my previous home towns of New York City and Columbia (Maryland), stupidity (mine and others'), diets and health and who knows what else!

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Oh No! Not an Aneurism! Not to Him!

Last night I learned that a longtime business and personal friend had an aortic aneurism that burst when he was in his office last Friday night. Mike Kidder, one of Bechtel Group Inc.'s senior public affairs directors, as I write this, is still unconscious and while doctors and family are hopeful, his condition is extremely serious.

I am in shock.

Mike has been an extremely devoted Bechtel-ite for many years, and so it's no surprise to hear that he was in his office on a Friday night. He was in the company's headquarters in San Francisco until recently (he's now in Bechtel's Maryland office), and even with the 3-hour time difference, we would always know that we could talk late, or early. We joked many times about our mutual tendency to work long hours, but he consistently took it to the max. I wondered many times if that was really required for him to do his job or if it was his perfectionistic nature to give that much all the time.

These days, Corporate America is leaner than it's ever been, which means that people are doing three people's jobs as a matter of routine. How many people is that killing and how many lives are we shortening with that being the case? I know that in my own company, more than one person has ended up in the hospital, some hit with serious, life-changing attacks. They've all come back, fortunately. So far.

Last night as my tears fell as I e-mailed my colleagues about Mike's condition, I thought back to the early days as my friendship with Mike developed. It began in early 1991. He was the contact at Bechtel during the first Gulf War. I was the editor at Engineering News-Record (ENR) who covered the reconstruction of Kuwait and I was seeking information. Mike couldn't tell me anything -- they had people trapped in Iraq and didn't want to jeopardize their lives. I kept calling, several times a week, and he kept not giving me anything. But he and I chatted each time and developed a good rapport. Eventually he could dribble tidbits of information to me, and as he saw how I handled them and as he dribbled a little more, our mutual trust grew. And we liked each other -- we made each other laugh. He has a great dry and wry sense of humor and once we broke through the barriers of formality with each other, we could jab good-humoredly at our companies, ourselves and each other.

When Mike learned that I was going to Kuwait to report on the rebuilding, he couldn't help me find their people there per corporate instructions. Bechtel was in charge of the logistics of putting the fires out in the oilfields. I'm not a reporter for nothing so I eventually found Terry Farley, Bechtel's guy in charge of the whole venture in Kuwait, but I had to extend my 10-day trip an extra day or two to find him. We -- ENR -- named Farley our "Man of the Year" for 1991 for getting the fires out months ahead of what they expected. (No link available to that story, unfortunately. Too bad -- Farley is quite a character and it's a good story.)

I didn't meet Mike in person until I went to San Francisco to interview Terry and other Bechtel folks for the Man of the Year story. (ENR now calls it "Award of Excellence" winner -- doesn't have quite the impact but it's more politically correct.) Mike took great care of me when I was there and our trust and friendship grew.

We've co-conspired on many projects since 1991, all beneficial to our respective companies. He went through a nasty divorce (aren't they all?) a few years ago, and as he confided in me as that went on and on...and on, our bond increased. I coached him when he wanted to get back out into the dating world -- "Go somewhere casual on the first date, maybe for lunch." -- but he wasn't in the dating pool long. He met Lynne and that was it. I was very happy for him.

Two weeks ago, he called me and we took some time to catch up a bit. I wondered at the time what prompted the call, because it had been a long time since we'd just chatted as buds. I felt very good when we ended the call. Now in light of his unbelievable condition, I'm sooooo glad we had that chat. I pray it wasn't our goodbye talk.

Mike, my prayers -- and tears -- are flowing for you. And Lynne, for you and the whole family too.

Today is Thanksgiving, and I'm thankful for Mike's and my friendship. It will continue, no matter what.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

In Praise of Hotel Rooms

Okay, I admit it: I'm a fan of hotels. Preferably Marriotts (all levels), Hiltons (they've gotten a lot better lately, though it aggravates me that they charge for one night when you make the reservation -- that's why I choose Marriotts whenever I can), many of the hotels on the strip of Las Vegas and many of the other hotels I get to stay in for various conferences, seminars and other business-related and personal ventures.

I've slept in beds that were lumpy, sloped (the latest was at a Hilton and the right side was several inches higher than the left side), way too soft and way too short -- just not all at one time, fortunately. The best beds have firm mattresses and fluffy comforters and lots and lots of pillows, some to stack to lean against and some to rest my head on and some to hug when I go to sleep. I try not to think about all of the bodies that have touched the bedspread, comforter or duvet. I try not to think about what body fluids are there. Have you ever seen a hotel housekeeper take a bedspread or comforter away to be laundered or bring a fresh one in? I certainly haven't. Yuk!

I rarely have trouble with uneven or cold water or pressure in showers in hotels. Just lucky, I guess. Usually hair dryers, irons, shampoo, conditioner and lotion are there. TVs in hotel rooms are usually larger than my little 13-incher in my bedroom at home. The towels are usually fluffier than mine at home and sometimes there's even a robe and slippers provided to relax in.

Since I travel a lot, I have my own tricks and preferences. I don't care if I'm near an elevator or ice machine. I care more if I'm close to the elevator but preferably not the first room (for security purposes). I generally don't hear noises -- 12 years of living in New York City cured me of my sensitivity to nearly every noise.

I leave the tv on and the Do Not Disturb sign on when I leave my room at night. I get VERY very very very aggravated when the mini-bar people or the housekeeping people come in when I'm gone and have the sign on. It happened to me this past week in Chicago at the Hotel Allegro and I was livid. The manager, Andrew Wright, was gracious and wanted to make it up to me after the mini-bar person came in anyway and took my Atkins shake that I'd put in the fridge to keep it cold. But I don't think he ever got it that I was upset about the VIOLATION and not about the damned shake. You put the DND sign on and you trust that the hotel staff will honor it. Trust. TRUST!!! Big word. Big concept. I was nervous the entire rest of the time I stayed there because I didn't trust that the staff would stay out when it was on the door.

I actually love the Hotel Allegro. It's downtown and comfortable and has eclectic decor to die for in a hotel, and, best of all, they now have a FREE high-speed wireless Internet connection throughout the hotel. What a luxury to be able to sit on my bed and work with my feet up. And then to carry my connected laptop down a flight of stairs to my meeting room, sit in the back row of our tables and still be connected. That enabled me to work during a couple of the sessions I would otherwise have had to miss.

Why do I love hotels? Well, life is simpler in a hotel than it is at home. It's an unreal world. There are no closets or kitchens or bathrooms or garages that cry out to be cleaned. There are no dishes to do. There is no dusting or vacuuming or scrubbing to be done.

And, I generally get treated like a guest at a hotel. Certainly that is not the case with the airlines, sad to say. But once I get to the hotel, the staff acts like they're there to serve us and like they're glad to see us, which is truly refreshing! I'm usually there for something fun, so I'm in a good mood. I get to see a city other than my own, and I try to always get some kind of a view so I can enjoy the city I'm in.

I collect the Do Not Disturb signs and the keys from the hotels I visit. I've got a good collection of each, some of which are very creative and colorful. Hey, it's better than stealing the towels!

Saturday, October 22, 2005

Enough, Already!

As I write this, it's raining here. I can hear the steady staccato of it outside my window. I can see the puddles it's creating behind my car. The lights flickered earlier but the power stayed on so I could watch game 1 of the World Series (even though the Yankees aren't in it).

My thoughts and sympathy go to the beleaguered residents of Florida who have been boarding up their homes and businesses and leaving town as they seek safe harbor in drier towns. And to the people in Mexico who have been pounded for two straight days by Wilma. And of course to the thousands and thousands of people who were killed or devastated by Katrina. My God!

I was in New Orleans just two weeks before Katrina hit for a business conference. We had a great time -- but it was miserably hot and muggy. I found it nearly unbearable after just an hour walking around the French Quarter, even though I was able to duck into air-conditioned stores for a break every few minutes. How in the world did the people there endure that for days on end??? I truly believe that after just a few hours, I would have cried out, "God, take me now!!!"

I am sooooo glad to see summer end. I hate being hot and feeling clammy (a euphemism for sweaty). I hate feeling the trickle of sweat running down my back, whether I'm in good clothes for work or my ratty t-shirts. I like being cool. I like layers and sweaters and coats.

Meanwhile, the world waits to see what destruction and pain Wilma and her successors will bring. Can we please have some mercy here? Can we please end this storm season? Enough, already!

Sunday, August 07, 2005

On Being Sub-Human

What does it say about us as a society that the United States, Britain and Japan sent people and equipment that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars (millions?) to save seven crew members of a Russian mini-submarine? It says that we're a caring people, we humans. It says that we'll go to extraordinary lengths to save a handful of lives that are at risk halfway around the world. And thank God for that.

But at the same time, every day we murder each other, we attack each other in war, we abuse the people we supposedly love in dozens of ways.

A couple of years ago, when the film We Were Soldiers came out, I watched the brutal war movie in a jam-packed theater in Manhattan near a couple of Viet Nam war veterans and their families. As the merciless acts of one soldier to another went on in one gory scene after another, the macho vets openly sobbed. I did too, but mostly I was hit by how cruel we could be to one another. How on earth can we do that to a fellow human being? And how can the same human race react so forcefully and passionately in two such diametrically opposed ways? I truly don't understand.

Saturday, August 06, 2005

Train Spotting

Following the July 7 London bombings in the subways and the bus, New York City and New Jersey took instant action. Penn Station was thick with National Guardsmen and city and transit cops. Uniformed policemen appeared on train platforms almost immediately. Even in my little town in New Jersey, three cops appeared at our New Jersey Transit station within a few days. I really never see one uniformed policeman or Guardsman anymore -- I consistently see three to five together. At the Secaucus Junction station, which I heard one fellow passenger refer to the other day as "Memorial Station" because there are so few passengers at NJ Transit's newest station, there were more cops on the platform than passengers.

That was the first week after the London bombings. Then they started random searches of bags and briefcases in NYC subway stations and, later, on commuter lines in New York and New Jersey. At first I wondered if that would impact the train schedules and/or result in some people missing the trains they usually take. It hasn't, from what I know. I still try to be at least a few minutes early to catch my trains, just in case.

At my little station in New Jersey, one day more than half a dozen state troopers showed up, looking tall and stocky and mean, and set up tables near the stairs leading up to the platform. They stopped a few people, pawed through their backpacks and bags and made a great show of force. But one day was it. Have seen nary a trooper there since. (Maybe they were federal officers of some kind -- I admit that I didn't pay that close of attention. Wow, and I call myself a journalist?!)

The debates are about privacy vs. protection...about window dressing vs. really deterring potential troublemakers. (Troublemakers = the bastards who want to kill us and are willing to die to do it!) These are not easy issues to sort out.

I am basically a libertarian, philosphically speaking. I only voted for a Libertaran Party candidate once, in some presidential election a few ago, when I couldn't bring myself to flick the lever for the Republican or Democrat. In most areas, I think the government should leave us the hell alone and not interfere with our lives. I resent them constantly protecting us from ourselves. In that vein, I think that prostitution is one of the most ridiculous things in the world to make a crime. And for sodomy and even oral sex between married people to be illegal in some states -- unreal! Any kind of sexual activity between two consenting adults in the privacy of their own home is nobody else's business. I may or may not choose to participate but that's my business, not the government's. Get the hell out of our bedrooms, for God's sake! And to go to the lengths they do to refuse to legalize the use of marijuana, even for medical purposes, is beyond ridiculous when you compare the harm that pot does compared to the devastation that alcohol wreaks, and alcohol is legal. (No, the point isn't to make alcohol consumption a crime.)

These days, I know it's not that simple to just want government out of our lives. It's way too complex of an issue and too much of an internationally interwoven society for that to be reasonable. Most days, I just opt not to focus my energies on that whole macro-topic. I just go on with my day, happy in my own oblivious world. If I clean up my own life, I figure that's what I can contribute and I wish others would try to do the same.

We need to be careful not to "protect" ourselves right out of being a free society. We are less free every day as it is now. Right after the London bombings, they shut down cell phone service in the Holland Tunnel and Lincoln Tunnel going into New York City. Fortunately, they let it go back on within a few days. But earlier they were also looking at banning photos of subways or other trains, even from public streets. We should make sure we don't rip away the rights of the majority -- law abiding, honest, well-meaning citizens -- to try to "protect" ourselves from the occasional nut job. And let them use real knives again on airplanes, please. Geez. Real forks can cause just as much damage, as can 1,000 other things that we all carry around with us every day and use for their intended purposes.

Despite my misgivings about privacy and my desire for less intrusive government, I admit that up on my NJ Transit station platform the day that the troopers were there, I felt a little bit safer. I also find myself breathing a little easier when I see the Guardsmen in force in Penn Station and the deliberately surly-looking cops in the various New York City subway stations. I hate that I feel that way but I do. I am also gut-level grateful for the men and women who are there trying to keep us safe.

Sunday, July 17, 2005

Judith Miller -- My Hero

Pulitzer Prize-winning New York Times reporter Judith Miller has been in jail for nearly two weeks now for refusing to reveal her confidential source to a grand jury. The Karl Rove story is headline news all over the country, if not the world, and part of that story is about two journalists involved, and their two media organizations.

Time magazine reporter Matthew Cooper also refused to reveal his source to federal prosecutors. But his editor, Norman Perlstine, decided to turn over Cooper's original e-mail and his notes, thereby giving up the source, who turned out to be presidential advisor Karl Rove. Still, to Cooper's credit, Cooper held fast to his refusal to testify until he got permission from Rove in writing to testify to the grand jury as to his identity.

On "Meet the Press" this morning, Cooper told NBC's Tim Russert that Perlstine had a tough decision that he put a lot of thought into but that Cooper disagreed and that it was a disagreement between individuals. Very charitable, I thought. I doubt that I could be that politically correct if I were to speak about my boss betraying me and everything I and supposedly he believed in as journalists and editors. I hope never to have to find out.

As an aside, on CBS' "Face the Nation" this morning, host Bob Schieffer ended it with the editorial comment that the White House's investigation as to who leaked the information that Valerie Plame was a CIA operative should have never gotten to the point of naming a special prosecutor, which has cost taxpayers millions of dollars. It should have remained in-house, he said; President Bush should have called together his top staffers and told them he wanted to know the identity of the leaker by the end of the day. Period. Hear, hear, Bob Schieffer!

Matt Cooper is testifying before Congress in support of federal shield legislation that would give protection to whistleblowers and confidential sources to members of the press. Miller would no doubt love to do that too, but it's a little tough to do from a jail cell.

I always thought when a reporter was sent to jail for refusing to reveal a source that it was punitive. But I learned through the federal court papers on this case that it's not supposed to be punitive but coercive. It's supposed to convince the reporter to give up their source and testify in compliance with a subpoena, which is the reason for the time being limited to the term of the grand jury, not to exceed 18 months. District Court Chief Judge Thomas F. Hogan denied Miller's motion to reconsider the order because she (supposedly) failed to make the case that "there is no realistic possibility that confinement would be effective in obtaining Miller's compliance."

Also in those court papers, in the "Government's Memorandum in Opposition to Judith Miller's Motion for Reconsideration," about 3/4 down the page under II B, it says, "Much of what appears to motivate Miller to commit contempt is the misguided reinforcement from others (specifically including her publisher) that placing herself above the law can be condoned...."

Schieffer says in a column on the subject, "What I find most offensive is this government claim that Judy Miller considered herself above the law. If that were true, she would have tried to escape. She recognized the authority of the court and went to jail just as Martin Luther King, Jr. and other Americans before her went to jail when they thought a law was wrong."

In my own career as a journalist, which dates back to 1984, I was confronted early on by the seriousness of the decision to keep my sources confidential. I was writing a column on advertising for the Arizona Business Gazette in Phoenix and one of the local radio stations had conducted a survey on opinions of their station, which they presumably hoped to make public. The responses were so negative that they kept it as an internal document. But I got a call one day from a source telling me about it and asking me if I'd like a copy of it. Well, of course! It was juicy and relevant to what I wrote about. My source made me promise not to reveal his or her name and I, of course, agreed. I got a copy of the survey and responses from the source and called the station's general manager for comment. He was livid and told me he would sue me if I ran anything about it. He accused me of stealing it. He was powerful enough to possibly follow through with this threat so I didn't take it lightly. I decided on the spot and knew deep in my soul that I would go to jail rather than reveal my source. I ran the piece and never heard a word from the station.

Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein kept the identity of "Deep Throat" to themselves for 33 years. They didn't even tell their spouses at the time, both of whom are now ex-spouses, which may be the ultimate manifestation of source protection. Only after Mark Felt's family decided they wanted to benefit from his "help" in the Watergate scandal and went public with Felt's identity did Woodward confirm it.

The irony in the Judy Miller situation is that she never wrote the story that this case is all about. Still, she sits in jail while the court hopes to coerce her to testify. We can only hope, for the sake of a free press, that other journalists would have Judy Miller's courage. And, most of all, that Congress quickly passes a federal shield law. Judith Miller, from one journalist, please hang in there, for all of us. And to both her and her courageous editors at the New York Times who have consistently stood behind her and the 1st Amendment, thank you, thank you, thank you!



**Note: Registration required for the Sydney article, the New York Times and the Washington Post.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Insomni-aaaack!

Once again, I'm wide awake late at night. I should be and want to be sleeping. Well, I guess if I wanted to be sleeping that badly, I'd be trying to instead of writing in ye olde blogge. But after years of chronic, sporadic insomnia, you get to know the signs and just kind of submit to it. This is somewhat inherited. My mom has been an insomniac for years. As my dad used to say, "How can you sleep with a problem like that?"

In all these years of stolen awake time, I could have learned a language or written a novel or cleaned every drawer and closet in my place numerous times. But instead I've read whatever mystery or thriller I'm reading (currently Edna Buchanan's Shadows). I read until I realize I've read the same paragraph 4 times and don't have any idea what it says, or until the book crashes onto my nose.

Or I've watched tv -- everything from the reshowing of the day's Oprah (which starts at 1:30 a.m. where I am) to middle-of-the-night news to Celebrity Justice to Elimidate (AWFUL!!! but it has its own morbid fascination) but rarely a movie because I usually see it through to the end even if it's 3:00 a.m. I can tell you pretty much what's on every major channel all night long. Usually I know I'm in trouble early on in the late night if I see the end of Craig Ferguson. I love his take on the U.S. and American quirks from the point of view of a Scotsman -- we are a funny bunch, aren't we?

So tonight I actually did sort out my books and video tapes (DVDs take up so much less space!) and then succumbed to part of the Michael Clarke Duncan interview on Jay Leno, which at least wasn't a repeat as Letterman was. Then I flipped over to take in the first few minutes of Jimmy Kimmel (Gary Busey, his first guest, is just sooooo strange....and/or high on something), but the moment Ferguson came on, I was there, even though it was a repeat (with Dr. Phil).

Now Ferguson's over (Ringside, his musical guest, was good! I'm a new fan) and Elimidate is just starting. I can't handle it -- I think I will try again to sleep. Wait, first I have to see which catty bitch will be dumped in round one....

Monday, July 04, 2005

Tales of a Neophyte Blogger

Okay, I confess: I thought this was going to be easier. The blog that I started on Construction.com over a year ago, Diggin' Deeper, involved me "just" writing and e-mailing pics and our fabulous production people doing the layout, photo sizing and formatting and posting. (Yes, amazingly and ridiculously enough, we do the blog manually. Hopefully that will soon change.) So I figured I'd take an hour or two this weekend -- when I couldn't sleep late last night -- and start a personal blog. I've never particularly wanted to before but on a whim I thought, hey, why not? How tough could it be?

Ha! Wake up and hear the fireworks! I don't find
this blogging siteware especially intuitive, and I've spun my wheels, gone around in circles, chased my tail and every other cliche for several hours this afternoon. I *should have been* sorting through the zillions of papers I promised myself I'd go through this long weekend. My fabulous business coach will kill me. How ironic. I used to clean out my drawers or desk to avoid writing and now I'm writing to avoid cleaning out my drawers and desk. Yes, I know it's beautiful outside and I've been out some, but my mission this weekend was to be able to truly get organized. Will I ever learn?

Yes, as a matter of fact, I've learned a lot! When I went to sleep last night at something like 3:00 a.m., I had no pictures in my paltry little one post, I couldn't figure out how to post a picture in my profile ("
Hello" siteware isn't intuitive to me either). But now I have all of that down pat (except for some mysterious disappearances as I changed templates or added another posting). Still, it's disappointing that I couldn't figure it all out in a couple of hours. Maybe it's that, as a baby boomer, I have to try harder to master some of this tech stuff I didn't grow up with. Or, maybe I'm just not as smart and I thought I was.

Fireworks


It's actually shortly after midnight -- the 4th of July has 23-1/2 hours to go before it ends, at least on the East Coast of the U.S. Earlier this evening, but under the cover of darkness that shields thieves, miscreants and chicken****s, some kids (regardless of age) were outside my window (which faces a wildlife sanctuary) setting off fireworks. Not the pretty kind. The loud kind. The jolting, nerve-wracking, angering kind. My least favorite kind, especially in this day of any explosives making some of us -- me, certainly -- skittish and nervous. Reading CNN online (I can't get the videos there to work and I'm a pretty good techie) and seeing the stats of suicide bombers diminishes my already nearly nil fondness for fireworks other than the awesome kind that Macy's puts on at a safe distance every year in the East or Hudson River.

Driving around my little town today (I actually went to the gym, which necessitated my driving through our two-block "historic" downtown), I saw American flags clumped together, probably 20 of them, around our city sign and single ones poking out from several houses that normally are unadorned. My dad used to hang out the flag on sporadic holidays and I used to think it was geeky and old-fashioned and loser-ish of him. He served in WWII (memorized the eye chart so he'd get in when he normally wouldn't qualify) and always felt patriotic, though he only demonstrated it that visibly a few times a year. Now I know what he meant -- I still have a "United We Stand - 9-11-01" sticker in the rear left window of my car that I got a few days after 9/11.

The neighbors on our block (and many blocks around the country) on the 4th of July used to break out the sparklers and hand lit ones to us kids, and we'd twirl them in circles and infinity curves and delight in the light trails. Fireworks were legal then and little temporary stands would dot the major roads in Littleton, Colorado, where I spent much of my youth. Every year there were stories of some kid in the area (though never on my block) getting a hand blown off or an eye put out by an exploding device gone wrong, and it never appealed to me to mess with the damn things. That was an innocent time and I think I even felt that way then. I miss that.

I probably won't go see the lavish Macy's fireworks display this year now that I don't live "in the city" (Manhattan) anymore and it would eat up a day to take the train in, navigate to a good watching place, wait and wait and wait (standing, unless you have friends in high places) for the show and then impatiently inch along in the mass of bodies moving as one giant quivering blob away from the river, get back to Penn Station (along with a zillion other people, including drunks and whiny and screaming kids) and muscle into a jammed train to get back. Sounds like fun, huh?

What I like best about this July 4th is that so many people across the country will be doing somewhat the same thing on the same day, i.e., putting out the flag, barbecuing, watching the fireworks and, just for a moment, at least, feeling pride and gratitude for being a "free" (don't get me started on that, post-9/11) American. It is a unifying moment for a very ununified nation.