Charles and Camilla: One of History's Great Love Stories

Many years ago, a miniseries ran on TV dramatizing the relationship between Britain's King Edward VIII and married American socialite Wallis Simpson. Edward abdicated his throne in late 1936 to marry her -- she had divorced her second husband (who supposedly also had been married when she met him) -- and after they wed, they were known as the Duke and Duchess of Windsor. The miniseries, of course, made it sound like the love story of the century. The truth may be a little less romantic. Who knows?

Even if theirs was a fairy tale of sorts, I think the romance of Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles trumps it. She isn't the most popular partner of a British Royal, to say the least, but I think history eventually will recognize it as one of history's great love stories.

I mean, c'mon! The Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall (their official titles), well, theirs is an unreal story, highly unlikely to be believed if you were writing a script for such a tale. Would anyone believe that a prince, steeped in tradition and heavy with certain expectations that go along with his position, would marry a stunningly beautiful, sweet, besotted young woman while he was still in love with an older, much more plain former girlfriend whom the Royal Family disapproved of as a marriage partner many years before? They loved each other for over three decades before they could finally overcome scorn from a royal family, rejection from the public and taunting from the media to really, officially, legally be together as the couple they always wanted to be. It really is an amazing scenario.

Jay Leno and other comedians regularly make jokes about Camilla, referring to her rather square, rather long face as horsey. Many comedians over the years have similarly made fun of Charles' big ears. Personally, I think Charles is getting better looking as he gets older. And I think Camilla's looks would be just fine if it weren't for the comparison to Diana.

We only know their public sides, other than the famous overheard phone conversation years ago when Charles supposedly told Camilla he wished he were her tampon. How many commoners abroad, here and worldwide have, with love and lust, said something in a similar vein to their lovers? Fortunately for the rest of us, only our intended recipient hears our most intimate conversations, not the whole world. So these people, these royals, these very public figures are human too. And they did what countless couples have done when their parents didn't approve of their union: they eventually found a way to be together anyway. Good for them!

What Is Congress Doing in Baseball!?

It is absolutely beyond me how this country evolved to the point where Roger Clemens is in danger of doing prison time after being investigated by a House committee for taking steroids at some point in his career. The Committee on Energy and Commerce, no less. What the heck is Congress doing in baseball, anyway?

Is this an "energy" issue because it takes energy to be a professional athlete? Is it a "commerce" issue because teams travel from state to state? Is it a consumer protection issue because we could be influenced by these high-profile athletes' behavior? Come on!

Let's see.... It is hardly a Homeland Security issue, which I'd think would be more appropriate for a "Commerce Committee" to concern itself with. Our country is just as safe from terrorists whether Clemens got shot up with steroids or not. If it's a criminal matter involving drugs -- are anabolic steroids and human growth hormones illegal, by the way? -- why isn't one of our numerous law enforcement agencies taking charge? FBI? ATF? NYPD?

Aren't there plenty of energy and commerce issues to keep that committee busy? Important things that affect our global economy, our health, our well-being and our future? Apparently not.

Instead, Congress asked the Justice Dept. to look into whether Clemens lied to a House committee, which was investigating something I believe it had no business poking into in the first place. Clemens could spend up to five years in prison, not for taking drugs, but for lying to a body whose business it isn't what he did in baseball.

For that matter, why is that same committee investigating pro wrestlers in World Wrestling Entertainment and other sports? When and how did Congress get involved in policing pro sports?

Am I just naive?

My Libertarian nature blanches at the thought of government getting its snout too deep into matters best left to the free market to resolve. Yes, I actually voted for perpetual Libertarian presidential candidate Harry Browne one year when my frustration level took hold of me like a crab's pincer in the voting booth. I didn't intend to but at the last second I just couldn't bring myself to vote for either major candidate. I can't even remember which election that was, but it could have been any one of several.

I hate the social interference of the holier-than-thou Republicans and the economic interference of the let's-steal-from-the-middle-class Democrats. I hate how the aftermath of 9-11 has eroded so many of our freedoms. Our freedom to keep our shoes on while going through Security. Our freedom to carry more than a sample size of hair spray in our carry-on bag. Our freedom to bring a never-popped-open Diet Pepsi Vanilla, which they don't sell at any airport I've seen, on the plane side of the terminal. (Can you tell I fly a lot?) Our freedom to walk along the street without a driver's license or passport. Our freedom to talk on the phone to anybody anywhere around the world without Big Brother possibly listening in.

I believe that many of those so-called safeguards are more for political show than to really keep us safe. If they were really serious, there wouldn't be the holes the size of Montana in our security systems. So we go through all of the gyrations and pretend that we're being kept safe, but I think we've just plain been lucky. Thank God.

But I digress.

I ask it again.... What is Congress doing in baseball? What good for our country is it when they call for taxpayer money to pay for their own and some Dept. of Justice investigation into what goes on in baseball? What's next? A committee inquest into prescription drug use in music? Or show business? Those are also industries with a lot of highly paid heroes for kids to worship. Watch out, American citizens. There are a lot of House committees that can probe into pretty much whatever they want and subpoena pretty much anybody. Who knows, you may be next.

Ordinary People

A TV spot for Barack Obama that's running here, the only one that I've seen (over and over and over) has him starting out with these words: "Ordinary People...."

He goes on to say that (now I'm paraphrasing) as "ordinary people" in America struggle to meet their obligations and live paycheck to paycheck, why should we give tax benefits to companies that outsource jobs overseas, that we should give those breaks to companies that employ people here at home.

These political ads -- for ALL the candidates -- drive me crazy. They've all got the candidates talking. Talking. Talking. Talking. Yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada. We know they talk, for God's sake. That's all we get, is what's become another overused word in political campaigns, "rhetoric."

The reason I can't remember what Obama says after "ordinary people" is that I get stuck on the idea of "ordinary." Do people really think of themselves as ordinary? I don't think anybody is ordinary, frankly. They may look ordinary at first glance. But in nearly every case, when you talk to someone and dig under the veneer, you find out that they've done, endured, conquered and overcome a whole lotta stuff that would have felled "ordinary" people. I say that about everybody from CEOs to janitors, doctors to Wal-Mart workers.

We're all extraordinary, Mr. Obama and all other politicians that use that word. Please consider banishing that word from your campaign.

Talk about Baggage....

I started out roaming around various news sites and ended up clicking away into several never neverland topics. Two caught my eye, both about, in one form or another, baggage.

Southwest Airlines has changed its baggage policy and now will only check two bags at no cost, not three. Fine. Yawn.

But this "baggage" story really astonished me. Mississippi Representative W. T. Mayhall Jr. this past Friday introduced a bill in the Mississippi legislature, House Bill No. 282, that would actually make it a crime for restaurants to serve food to obese people. So anyone with a BMI (body mass index) of over 30 could not be served in a restaurant. The restaurants would have to keep records of those numbers to be in compliance. If they violate the proposed law, they could lose their business licenses. Incredible!

According to healthcare blogger Sandy Szwarc, who actually spoke to Mayfield, the man is serious about this bill. He doesn't think it stands a chance of passing (thank God) but he wants to "call attention to the serious problem of obesity and what it is costing the Medicare system," says the blogger. You can read what else he says as well as the entire (mercifully brief) bill on her blog.


I'm sure this guy, Mr. Mayhall, thinks he is well-meaning. But good Lord, who the hell is he to come up with an offensive, obnoxious, none-of-his-fucking-business rule as to who restaurants can and can't serve, especially tied to weight?! And he wants to make the restaurants keep records on their customers' BMIs? The guy, Mayhell, should be ruled incompetent! I would like to drop his ass in a chair in a Weight Watchers meeting, or L.A. Fitness or Jenny Craig so he can hear the stories of people who truly struggle with weight issues. It's not just some little will-power problem that people can control. Mayfuck's idea of punishing overweight people by banning them from public places and making it illegal for restaurants to serve them is beyond offensive, beyond violating civil rights and beyond nuts! Not that I have an opinion.

City Slicker Meets Coyote

I am the ultimate city slicker. I couldn't survive in the wild, any wild, unless it's the wilds of Manhattan, for more than a few days. I couldn't tell you what a tamarask tree is. I don't know what trapping bait is (don't ask). And I've never felt particularly kindly toward coyotes.

Until now.

Through a Yahoo! writing group I'm a member of, I learned of a blog called "The Daily Coyote," kept by 30-year-old photographer and author Shreve Stockton. I'm about as likely to read about a coyote as I am to fly to Alaska tonight. But I went to the blog out of curiosity and not only ended up reading the entire thing, every post, but also falling in love with the coyote, Charlie!

You must see this blog. No wonder, according to someone in the writing group, Shreve got a book contract to turn her photos and memoir writings into a book. So take a look at the blog, even if you're a city slicker like me.

And in the Beginning....

In my reminiscence of my friends among the ENR Newsmakers (the item below, written last night while watching an NFL playoff game), I can't believe my omission. Here's the story.

Some 12-1/2 years ago, I "discovered" the Internet. Of course, it had been around for many, many years, but it wasn't very user-friendly and the World Wide Web wasn't yet very mainstream. I'd never heard of it.

I was the person that my editors gave stuff to that they didn't know what to do with. Being tasked with writing a review of the book Sex and Buildings comes to mind. So when a press release came in saying that Winter Park Construction had a "home page," ENR's editor-in-chief at the time, Howard Stussman, gave it to me. I recruited fellow ENR editor Bill Angelo to help me with the story, and we wrote a pretty lame story about this incredibly newsworthy event, namely that a construction company had a home page. They didn't call them Web sites yet, and most of the sites really did consist of just a page or so. They were basically brochures online, if that, many created by renegade IT people who wanted to play on this new playground.

A few days after the story ran, I got a phone call from Jon Antevy, who, with his partner at the time Dave Gruber, had a small company -- shortly thereafter named e-Builder -- that helped construction companies use the Web in a way that would help their businesses do business and make money. He said he'd seen my article and he asked, "Do you know much about the Internet?" Nooooooooo. That was pretty obvious from the article, I could see later when I learned a few things. So he started telling me about it.

I had been multitasking when he called, basically waiting for him to get through what I thought would be his "I shoulda been in the article too" that we often get after we write stories. But I heard something amazing, about a world I had no idea existed. I stopped doing anything else and listened. I'll never forget this moment: I got it! I saw the window open and I saw the world beyond that he was describing. I was hooked!

Jon didn't ask for anything. He just said he'd like to come up and explain more about the Internet to us ENR editors. I immediately said yes, which seemed to stun him. I think he was prepared to sell me on the idea. When he let me know the date he and Dave could come up, then I had to sell my fellow editors on the merits of taking half an hour out of their day to learn something about this strange computer thing.

The day came and Jon and Dave set up their laptop in one of our smaller conference rooms. Our editors weren't much interested and they kind of drifted away one by one. But I was enthralled. I ended up taking their picture and writing up a little article on what they were up to and the concept of what the Internet was capable of. "It's a tool, not a toy," was Jon's mantra.

I was the first person to cover the Internet and the Web for construction. I was the first of ENR's editor to get on the Web. I got special permission to get a modem -- unbelievably slow dial-up -- but there was only one phone plug so I could use either my phone or my modem, so I had to switch back and forth. I spent dozens of nights, sometimes til midnight or later, surfing the Web and learning the technical aspects of computers and the Web. I'd run up against a wall, run into my boss' office across the hall, call Jon, get instructions, put the phone down, run back to my computer, do what he said, run back to the phone and tell Jon what I was seeing and get the next instruction, etc. Jon was so patient with me, because I was not a techie and this was all new to me.

I covered the Internet, online forums, Partering on the Web, etc., and finally -- I mean many months later -- all of the other editors got modems and the Web hit warp speed and the rest is history.

At the end of that year, I nominated Jon and his business partner from FMI, Hoyt Lowder, to be Newsmakers "for bringing Partnering to the Web." They passed the vote, and they were our first Web-related Newsmakers.

e-Builder is pretty much the only independent Web service provider in the construction industry among the dozens that sprouted up over the next few years that has survived, let alone thrived. The others died, were absorbed or sold, or just faded away. A few exist today but they are parts of bigger companies. Jon and his current partner, his brother Ron Antevy, didn't succumb to the temptation, as most of their competitors did, to seek millions in venture capital money and spend like drunken sailors. It wasn't easy to resist when most of their highly visible competitors were receiving all the publicity in major business magazines and were seemingly going to be flying high forever. How some of those tanked would make its own book. But Jon., Dave and Ron kept to the original plan of their business, and today e-Builder is still around, still independent, still making money, and Jon and Ron are still the majority owners of their business. And, in 1999, ENR named Jon as one of the 125 Top Innovators of the past 125 years (and I had nothing to do with that selection).

Jon and I have been in close contact all those years. Hoyt and Ron, too, though I've lost track of Dave. I definitely consider Jon a very good friend. I trust him more than 99.9% of people I know. We've seen a lot of growth and many changes in each other. I hardly even remember when he was a 23-year-old entrepreneur who flew all over the country pitching e-Builder but couldn't even rent a car by himself because he wasn't 24. But I remember the principled, dedicated, hard-working person he was then...because he still is.

Newsmakers and Friends

The magazine I used to work for (and still freelance for), Engineering News-Record (ENR), long considered the bible of the construction industry, has just released their annual list of The Top 25 Newsmakers. I am thrilled to report that one of them is "mine," one that I wrote the story on that made him eligible to be nominated for the honor.

Bob Nilsson is being cited for his admirable work with severely injured vets at Walter Reed Army Medical Center and Bethesda Naval Hospital. He (and Jim Todd, head of The Peterson Companies, a developer -- Bob always demands that the credit be shared) came up with the idea of a scholarship for deserving injured vets, most of them amputees, which would pay their expenses beyond what the government pays them while they finish or expand their education.

Bob and Jim have been raising money from their fellow Urban Land Institute Foundation governors, from Turner Construction, where Bob serves as a senior advisor, and from anyone they can corner who has $25 to spare. They have talked the ULI Foundation into letting them use it as a platform for the scholarship, so it's called the ULI Second Chance Scholarship. They have two recipients, both of whom, not coincidentally, plan to go into construction or real estate when they finish their studies. And they have more in the pipeline. But beyond that, Bob spends several days a week out at either Walter Reed or Bethesda basically helping the injured vets adjust to their new life, helping their families through the overwhelming and confusing bureaucracy, and pumping them up in general. There's nothing that gets him more excited than to get a call or a note from a vet a few months after his or her release from Walter Reed saying how well they're doing out in the world. Some of them are doing absolutely awesome things!

I've known Bob for somewhere around 17 or 18 years. I met him when he was president of Turner International. I liked him immediately. He was always the one with the brightest eyes and the sharpest mind in the room. He looked waaaaay ahead, was always a visionary. And he was a nice guy who gave a rip about people. He still is, obviously.

Bob helped me immeasureably when I went to Kuwait in the early 90s to report on the rebuilding after the first Gulf War. (Who knew then that it would be the first and not the only?!) He hooked me up with his guys over there, and they and the other contractors my various construction pals linked me up with absolutely made my trip possible, fruitful and a whole lotta fun! And Bob and I have kept in touch all these years ever since. He's been keeping me up to speed on his activities with the amputees for several years and I'm delighted and gratified that he's getting some of the recognition he deserves.

I absolutely consider Bob a friend. In fact, I consider all of the Newsmakers I've considered "mine" over the years to be friends, as well as "my" two winners of ENR's big annual award, the Award of Excellence. As a journalist, it's good to have objectivity, but, especially in the trade-magazine world, we go back to the same people, the top dogs in the industry, over and over and you kinda can't help but get to be friends with them when you've known them and talked to them frequently over 10, 15 or more years.

"My" first winner of ENR's top award was Terry Farley -- he prefers going by the name "Chip" -- who was president of Bechtel Construction, then a unit of Bechtel Corp., when they were charged with doing whatever it took to get the fires put out in Kuwait after the first Gulf War. Terry -- I still have a hard time calling him Chip -- calls me when he's in the neighborhood and he frequently sends me jokes via e-mail, some better than others. At the time, ENR's top award was called "Man of the Year" award, which was a very strong name that everybody in the industry knew.

When my second top award winner was named two years later, it was a woman, Ginger Evans. First woman to snag that award. She was honored for being responsible for getting the Denver International Airport (DIA) built. Getting the environmental and other approvals to even build it was the hardest part and she accomplished that. She also was the project manager for the city for the whole huge project. (We won't talk about how controversial the baggage system was at DIA and how long it delayed the airport's opening.) By the time she won the honor, it had been mandated from above at McGraw-Hill that we change the name from Man of the Year to something less sexist. So it became the namby-pamby "Award of Excellence." Well, what could they do? But Ginger wanted equal status with the Men of the Year, so we called her the "Woman of the Year" and the "Award of Excellence" winner. (That was a challenge for our art director.)

Ginger and I got to be friends after I followed her around for several days at the airport and we are to this day. I watched her three daughters grow up! I consider her one of my best industry friends. Post-DIA she went to CH2M Hill, Carter & Burgess and, as of this month, Parsons Corp., where she's a senior VP.

My two other Newsmaker-friends are both now-retired military guys, Generals, in fact: Ralph Locurcio and Pat Burns. I met Ralph in Kuwait -- he was in charge of the reconstruction for the Army Corps of Engineers. He was the most dynamic, personable and common-sense-oriented leaders I'd ever met. And he was beyond creative in his approach to getting things done. (Ask him how he got his guys into Kuwait in the first place!). He's now a professor at Florida Institute of Technology, and, true to form, he has brought innovation, this time in the form of a construction management degree program. I see Ralph mostly at ENR and SAME (Society of Military Engineers) events these days, and we always give each other great big hugs. Get a drink or two in him and get him talking about driving his sports car (Porsche, was it?) across the nation, and you'll be rolling on the floor.

Pat Burns was my most recent Newsmaker before Bob. Pat -- General Burns at the time -- was the chief engineer of the Air Force's largest command, Air Combat Command (ACC). He led a major-league turnaround of construction times, budgets and methods for ACC, some of which extended to the Corps and NAVFAC. When I wrote about him, everybody talked about how brilliant he was, and how competitive, both of which, combined with his high perceptivity and level of caring about people, made him good at what he did. Pat's passion for music -- he was lead guitar in the ACC band -- got me back into music too. I now have an 88-key electronic keyboard (which I don't play nearly often enough) and an iPod with nearly 2,000 songs on it. Pat is now a VP with Mortenson Construction and a frequently requested speaker all around the nation. Some egotistical retired military officers insist, even tacitly, that you still call them "General," but Pat, from the first moment he retired a couple of years ago, said, "Call me Pat."

My Newsmaker-friends are wonderful human beings. If I forgot anybody, I apologize. I'm writing this as I watch the Green Bay Packers whup the Seattle Seahawks in the NFL playoff games -- YAY! Love to see Brett Favre win! All of these guys -- Ginger's one of the guys too -- are inspirations to me, true mentors, and I feel privileged to call them friends.

Believing Someone Who Believes Roger Clemens

Aa a recent former New Yorker, over the years I heard a lot about Roger Clemens when he was a Yankee...and beyond, when he played for Houston. He was an awesome pitcher. He was a hero. Now he's being bashed by people left and right after his former trainer claimed he injected Clemens with steroids on several occasions. Who do you believe and how do you know how to judge?

Well, I believe Clemens.

I am not in a position to know anything about what happened or what didn't. But someone I know and respect is an award-winning, longtime sports writer who has covered Clemens for some years, and he has taken a strong stand for the (hopefully) future Hall of Fame pitcher. His name is Mike Geffner. Mike is a passionate do-gooder in the BEST sense of the word; he has created several writers groups online solely for the purpose of giving writers a place to go for help, to help other writers and to learn about writing. If you write anything, or aspire to, I urge you to subscribe to Mike's Writing Newsletter (free!), join Mike's Writing Workshop (a Yahoo group), and become a "friend" of Mike's on his MySpace page.

Mike posted a blog item today on his MySpace page called "Believing in Roger Clemens." You can see it on his MySpace page and on recordonline.com. He says he believes Clemens because he knows him, knows who he is as a person, and he believes in him. That's good enough for me.

People have no idea what journalists get to learn about people. They, well, we -- I'm one too, which is how I know -- are attuned to whether someone is being straight with us or not. Our job is to ferret out the exaggerations, distortions and outright lies and deliver the truth to our readers, and we get to be very good at it. We can smell a lie a mile away. Not always -- we can be gullible too. But by and large, we know who people are when we talk to them. It's a lot about patterns. When we see something 150 times, we can assume when we see it for the 151st that it's a lot like the first 150.

But really and truly, the great benefit of being a journalist is the relationships we form with the people we write about. It would absolutely astonish you to learn what people tell us. They start to trust us or they get caught up in the conversation and they forget we're journalists and they open up to us. I've had people tell me the most private things about their businesses, their marriages, their extracurricular activities, their bodies, their partners and their deep-down frustrations and desires. I know when they lost their virginity and to whom (the best was at a Black Sabbath concert), I know the exact moment their marriages took a turn for the worse, I know the political landscape and that they're angling for the CEO position (or leaving the company) before they've told anyone else. I know the real reasons for their actions despite what they've told their colleagues, clients, spouses or their p.r. people. So I totally believed Bob Woodward when he said that William Casey, the former head of the CIA, revealed deep secrets to Woodward on Casey's deathbed for Woodward's book Veil: The Secret Wars of the CIA, 1981-1987. Casey's wife said it never happened, that Casey would never do that. Well, wives, p.r. agents and best friends never know what people say to us one-on-one. There is no doubt in my mind that Casey had that kind of conversation with Woodward, a journalist he trusted. Hey, journalists will go to jail to protect their sources. You're better off telling things to a journalist than to your best friend.

So when Geffner says he believes Clemens, I believe him. And, therefore, I believe Clemens.

Endings and Beginnings

With one day left before 2008 begins, I was thinking today that I'd like to do a kind of post-mortem on 2007. Ask myself what was good about the year, what I accomplished, what progress I made, what things I'd absolutely said I'd do that I didn't, what I didn't do all of but feel good about anyway, etc.

And I was thinking that I want to look ahead to 2008 and put down in writing what I'd like to accomplish or have happen in my life and in the world in 2008, whether I feel I can control the creation and outcome or not. I gave up on New Year's resolutions years ago. But I find it miraculous that when I write down what I want to happen, a year later when I look at my list, I see that somehow the universe has helped many of those things come about without my doing much, at least not consciously. Good deal!

Then I got a New Year's message from a friend, one I've known for many years, though not well. It was one of those graphical e-mails that he sent to many people from his consulting firm that bears his name. In it, he referred to something in his blog. He's a positive person, a motivator, an inspiring guy, so I clicked on the link, and -- don't you love so-called coincidences? -- his blog entry suggested some of the very things I'd been thinking about.

Great minds...etc.

So go check it out! And...Happy New Year!!

Remembering Harry Simeone, My "Little Drummer Boy" Neighbor

When I lived in Manhattan in the mid-1990s, my next door neighbor for a couple of years was Harry Simeone. He is credited as a co-composer of the world-famous, fabulous Christmas carol "Little Drummer Boy" and he wrote dozens, maybe hundreds, of other songs and music for various projects. He was a lively, wiry, gentleman of a certain age (or is that a phrase reserved for women?) whom I met for the first time in the hall. He was in his slippers.

We had probably a dozen conversations in the two years that I lived in that gem of an apartment building (more about that place later). Early on, I baked chocolate chip cookies -- pretty unusual for me, as cooking has never been a great passion of mine -- and took some over to him, all but the ones I saved for me. He loved them and we were pals from then on. He lightheartedly pestered me frequently to make him some more.

I've thought of Harry many times since I moved out of that building at the end of 1996 (BIG mistake to move!). I've wondered if he was still alive but every time I thought of looking him up on the Web to see, I was in the grocery store or in the car or otherwise away from the Web. Well, yesterday when I heard "Little Drummer Boy" for the 100th time this Christmas season (and I never get tired of it, that and Jose Feliciano's "Feliz Navidad"), I finally looked and, unfortunately, Harry died in 2005 at the age of 94.

When we were neighbors, from my bed if I pressed my ear to my bedroom wall, I could hear him playing his piano fairly clearly. I didn't hear his melodious sounds often because I worked long hours but once in awhile.... One day when I saw him out in the hall, he asked me if his piano playing bothered me. "Yes," I said. "You don't play often enough or long enough." I think I was his favorite neighbor after that.

He was so dedicated -- he played every day. Every day. E-v-e-r-y day. Incredible. I looked at my own level of commitment to the important things in my life as compared to that and... well, no wonder he was a phenomenal success. Even in his 80s, which he was then, he was composing music for various projects and people -- for pay. He didn't have to. He wanted to. And, he said, he was doing it to ensure the futures of his grandchildren.

Harry lived alone. But one day, right before I moved, I knocked on his door to tell him I was moving and a woman about his age was sitting on the couch with him. He introduced me to...his wife! I tried to hide my shock and tried to be polite and cordial. Clearly there was a story there, but I never got to hear it. I hope they lived happily ever after.

What a wonderful Manhattan experience to live in that building -- supposedly (according to the longtime staff members there) the former home of Gene Rayburn, Marlo Thomas, Imogene Coca and Grace Kelly, among others. Manhattan House, built in 1950, was the first highrise apartment buiding in Manhattan, award-winning, designed by Gordon Bunshaft of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill. It is still a primo building. It takes up a whole city block, between 2nd and 3rd Avenues and 65th and 66th Streets. Moving out of it is my one great regret in life. I took a job in Washington, D.C., and my lease was up -- I had a person who wanted to sublet it from me, which was allowed, but I thought my move to D.C. would be permanent so I let it go. Eighteen months later when I ended up coming back to Manhattan, prices had skyrocketed and I couldn't afford it. I loved my spacious, generously appointed one-bedroom apartment, for which I paid $1,262.21 a month. Sigh.

My neighbor Harry Simeone was really the only neighbor I knew well ("well" being a relative term), so always and forever, when I think of the rich experience of living in Manhattan House, I will think of the richer experience of having Harry Simeone as my next-door neighbor, and friend.

Dancing with the Un-Stars

On my Boomer Blog, I have a new post that I hope you will read. It's here.

Cell Phones in the Loo

This is the last line in a Nov. 15 article in Advertising Age: "Studies show that the highest percentage of consumers (upward of 40%, depending on the study) use their mobile phone in the bathroom."

Now where did your mind go when you read that? Did you unwillingly visualize someone sitting on the throne with their cell phone plastered on their ear? Did your face redden as you felt outed? Did you feel vindicated because you're not the only one? Did you cringe as you pictured your friends talking to you while taking care of business?

My friends who have gone to the loo while talking to me fall into two categories: those who try to act like they're not and those who just openly do it. I'm not sure which I prefer. Generally, I find that I know what they're doing even if they don't acknowledge it. I'm a reporter, after all, trained to listen for the slighted aberration from normalcy in a phone conversation. So a sudden echo signals a move to a small, enclosed space. A steady stream of faucet water makes me suspicious of what it might be covering up. A small trickle, even when covered up with conversation, is pretty clearly what it sounds like. And let's not even get into the other sounds that could, ah, erupt. Another giveaway is the mute button. When all background ambient noise ceases momentarily, and the person pretends to carry on an intermittent, normal conversation, I play along and ignore it. I think I almost prefer when my friends just say, "It's either this or I'll have to call you back."

Have I done the talk-in-the-loo routine? I plead the fifth. I'll just say that sometimes an hour-long conversation, or an ill-timed 10-minute chat, is tough to break away from, because, I don't know about you, but some of my friends are talk-to-em-now-or-it'll-be-another-month type of people. Or, the conversation is, for whatever reason, enthralling, or they're pouring their heart out to you and it is unthinkable to interrupt them and say, "Gotta go, sorry."

But...I take my phone into the bathroom with me when I'm drying my hair, taking a shower, cleaning the sink, creaming my face, putting on my mascara and a myriad of other things. I'm sure that's the kind of thing they meant when they said people use their mobile phone in the bathroom. Aren't you?

Semper Fi

This is Veterans Day weekend. I don't normally pay much attention to it, I admit. It's inconvenient because the banks and post office and government offices are closed an extra day. It's good because most of the retail stores have sales. Otherwise life goes on.

But maybe I'm getting more patriotic or sentimental or both in my old age. This year I'm actually thinking about the men and women in the military who are sacrificing their time with families, their arms or legs, or their lives for their country. Our country. My country.

I hate the wars that President Bush has gotten us into. Yes, more than one. Philosophical wars as well as physical wars. But, like most Americans, I "support our troops," whatever that means. Since I don't personally know anyone who's in Iraq or Afghanistan, supporting our troops isn't all that real to me on a daily basis.

But a few months ago I met several amputees at Walter Reed Army Medical Center when I was writing a story about their new Amputee Training Center. They stuck with me. Their sacrifices. Their moment-by-moment challenges as they struggle to do what most of us take for granted every day. And most of all their attitudes, filled with optimism and humor.

Even with that wake-up call, I still didn't think much about this Veterans Day...until this morning when I got an e-mail from GoDaddy.com. You know, the folks with the racy, sexist tv commercials that ran in the last couple of Super Bowls. Well, I have a couple of domain names registered through them and they send me e-mails about their programs and discounts fairly frequently. I don't open most of them. But I opened this one. Subject was "USMC 232nd Birthday Salute." Hmmmm, I got curious. What I saw was what you see here. I clicked on the Marine Corps logo and it took me to this page.

You've got to watch it. It's a tribute to the Marine Corps (GoDaddy.com CEO Bob Parsons is an ex-Marine and Viet Nam War veteran) and it's so well done. We -- okay, I -- forget that so many troops from so many wars for so many years have fought for our freedom. And even though I think we're not nearly as free now as we were on Sept. 10, 2001, we do have so much to fight for. Just watching the pictures flash by from the wars beginning with WWI on to now and then the movie (wait for it -- it's worth it)...well, how can you not be moved? And grateful.

"The Bancrofts" Would Give "Brothers and Sisters" a Run for their Money

ABC's Sunday night prime time hit "Brothers and Sisters" is filled with intrigue, betrayal, loyalty, jealousy and,of course, love. Ah, family! Well, a prime time soap about the real-life Bancroft family would be far more juicy, I think, if the e-mails among them are any clue.

Who the hell is the Bancroft family? They held the single largest block of stock in Dow Jones & Co., whose most prestigious asset is the Wall Street Journal, until they decided to sell it to Rupert Murdoch's News Corp. Under the terms of the "merger" -- aka acquisition -- the Bancrofts had the privilege of naming one of their family or someone designated by their family to represent them on the News Corp. Board.

Somehow the Wall Street Journal got a hold of the e-mails the members of the Bancroft family sent to each other and posted them on the wsj.com Web site. You can see them all for free here if you register for the free Congoo NetPass. The e-mails made me laugh out loud several times.

The bottom line is that the family had many weeks to decide who to put on the board but could never make a decision. (Can you relate?) They didn't even have a family vote until after the deadline. So Rupert's organization decided for them.

In the e-mails the family debated who should be named. They suggested a couple of outsiders -- to their credit, exemplary journalists. Three family members nominated themselves and tried to make a case for their selection. They were eloquent, except for the one who was ultimately chosen, who was refreshingly blunt and direct. Some emphasized the importance of selecting someone who would maintain the high quality of journalism for which the Journal is famous. Ironic, since the family voted to sell it to Rupert Murdoch's organization, which struck fear, terror and dread into the hearts of true journalists around the world, certainly including those at the Journal. Do I know that for sure? Of course not. But how could it be any other way?

Some of my favorite highlights from the e-mails:

July 27, Natalie Bancroft: "I adore many of you...."
(but not all, clearly)

July 27, Natalie Bancroft: "I am not for the selling because I believe the buyer is definately not the right person to own this paper, but on the other hand, as protective as we are, and with much of the false pride many of us have, do we deserve to own this paper any longer? We are the stewards, but our stewardship has been laclustre in many aspects to say the least."
(Misspellings are hers.)
(This is great, because she's the one who ultimately ended up being chosen, by Murdoch, not by her family.)

Sept. 20, Christopher Bancroft: "Our family's concerns about journalistic integrity are clearly indicated by our willingness to sell Dow Jones to News Corp."
(Touche!)

Sept. 20, Tom Hill: "At this rate I'm confident we'll have a nominee by the end of the year. I'm just not sure which year."
(I like this guy!)

Sept. 20, Crawford Hill: "This entire, sad and pathetic, final episode is a fiasco. No wonder we lost Dow Jones!!"
(He probably subscribes to this: "Friends are God's apology for family.")

Sept. 21, Natalie Bancroft: "This may sound far fetched to you, but...I would like to say that I am interested in the board seat. I know that I may be one of the least appealing choices due to my age...."
(She's 27, studies opera, is fluent in French, lives in London. For more on her, read this.)

Sept. 25, Elizabeth Steele and Michael Elefante: "We have heard from a substantial number of you.... Mike Hill received a large majority of the votes.... We will communicate the results to News Corp. and will let you know what we hear back."

Nov. 5, Elizabeth Steele and Michael Elefante: "We learned today that News Corp. intends to nominate Natalie Bancroft to its Board and to propose her name to the Special Committee for its approval. While News Corp. is aware that other members of the family received more support from within the family, News Corp. has interviewed Natalie and elected to nominate her. We trust that Natalie will endeavor to represent effectively the family's interests on the News Corp. Board."
(At least they were gracious about it, sort of.)

Remember, those were the words that made it to semi-public e-mails. Imagine what the behind-closed-doors conversations were like. If this family gets together for Thanksgiving, that would be an interesting family dinner.

Where Have All the Outlets Gone?

Have you tried to find an electrical outlet in a hotel room lately? Available, reachable outlets are as rare as a Red Sox jersey at Yankee Stadium. That's true even in recently renovated rooms, unfortunately. What are hoteliers thinking? Clearly they're not. Travelers these days want to plug in, log on, tune in and chime in, even when they're traveling on a so-called pleasure trip. So make it easy for us, already!

I admit it: I'm a laptop addict. I don't have a BlackBerry or a Treo. Probably will within a few months but even when I get one, my laptop has abilities that BlackBerries/Treos don't. Laptops hold a LOT of information. Laptops allow for full-size viewing. Laptops let you download, view, change and update information on documents you need to view BIG, such as PowerPoint, Excel and many Word docs. On a recent trip, a friend with a BlackBerry e-mailed an Excel doc to me. He needed to see it and edit it for a meeting the next morning. I downloaded it onto my laptop, he made changes for an hour, and I e-mailed it back to him. The point is, laptops aren't going away any time soon, even with the smaller devices. So make it easy for us to use them in your hotel rooms!

The gyrations I have had to go through to plug in my laptop would be laughable if they weren't so annoying. I've twisted around like a giant pretzel or crawled along the floor like a bug, or both, reaching behind, under and sometimes through desks, beds and other furniture. I've moved desks, nightstands, couches, heavy chairs and giant lamps to get to an outlet. That's not customer-friendly!

And try finding one in a hotel room anywhere near the bed. I have a wireless broadband card (wouldn't leave home without it) so I can be on the Web while sitting on the bed with my feet up and a bunch of pillows behind my back, usually while watching tv. As I write this, I am on a trip and am plugged in to an outlet at the desk, while listening to "The View" on tv. I can't watch it because the tv doesn't swivel around enough to be viewed when I'm at the desk. That's the case in many hotel rooms. Of course, I could work with my battery but most times I work longer than my battery's capability. The outlets by the beds are unreachable and unavailable. One's behind the bed in the middle where I can't reach it (as most are, especially if the bed is king-sized). Another is behind one nightstand but those two outlets are already taken up by the lamp and the clock. Along the walls there are none. There never are. I think the game is, how many walls can we put into a hotel room with no outlets. I see this over and over in all brands and levels of hotels. Aggravating!

Here at the desk, there are four unused outlets, two on the wall and two on the lamp. That's a good start. But we need them also by the beds so we can easily reach to answer our cell phone while it's recharging, and preferably both of us can if there are two of us. We need to be comfortable while working on our laptops, even if we're not on the Web. Both of us at the same time! I have an extra long power cord (which I guard with my life) so I can sometimes find a plug close enough so it'll barely stretch, but then someone else or I risk tripping over it.

So help us out, hoteliers! Even if you can't give us the outlets we need where we need them, give us the option of power strips that are long enough to accommodate our stuff. I've seen exactly one of those in my last 25 hotel stays. I take so many chargers and power cords with me on trips that I sometimes wonder how the airport screeners let me go through with all of the tangled cords in my carry-on. Why do they let me through? Because there are a lot of us who travel with five or more power cords for our various devices. So hoteliers, give us more places to plug them in!

Cut Off!

My cable television and high-speed Internet connection are both out. Must be a fairly wide and serious outage because it's been 4-1/2 hours since my cable tv got stuck on one sound, which I thought at the time was just an irritatingly bad musical group on "The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson." It was late anyway so I slammed off the tv, rolled over and went to sleep. But shortly before 6:00 a.m. I turned on the tv again to see what had happened in the world in the last few hours and got a black screen.

That woke me up!

I tried my kitchen tv. Got the "Early Today" full-screen logo on that tv.

Comcast's local customer service phone line is by turns saying "All circuits are busy" and "Due to a high volume of calls, we are unable to connect your call at this time; please call back later." So they definitely know there's a problem.

So how am I connecting to the Web? Good old Verizon broadband card. I believe in back-ups.

God, it's quiet. I'm used to tv aiding my insomnia. I usually have early-morning tv's going in my bedroom and the kitchen before the sun comes up. I pad back and forth between the maybe-something-in-the-refrigerator-will-help-me-get-back-to-sleep and the let's-try-the-bed-one-more-time. The chatter of the too-bright-and-feaux-witty tv personalities usually distract and calm my racing mind and allow me to get a few more winks before my day has to begin. Insomnia is such fun -- I can tell you what's on every major tv channel between midnight and 6:00 a.m.

Ah, better. I just went to the Web site of my favorite local country music station, WPOC 93.1 in Baltimore, and am listening live. Ugh -- Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire" greeted me first. I prefer the new country in the morning, not the stuff from three decades ago. So at least I know that the world is pretty much as it was last night.

Well, eventually they'll get the cable fixed. Until then, I feel kind of disrupted. I hate being cut off. Even if it's bad news, if something's happening, I want to know.

Neoteny -- The Excitement of Newness

I rarely think back on the times when I first was in the business world and wasn't of sufficient stature to go to industry trade group events or have my company pay for membership in them. I paid for them myself, they were so important to me, despite the fact that I was making peanuts. I was a little networker even back then. I was excited to go to those lunches and dinners then, an enthusiasm I didn't always have later as they became more obligatory. In fact, I downright dreaded some of them, the very same types of events I was so pumped to attend when the business world was so new to me.

This came to mind this morning when my good professional friend, longtime construction professional Bob Nilsson, sent me a note about the Urban Land Institute (ULI) in Orlando, Florida, inviting to their meetings an inspiring young man, Jason Scott, an Iraq war vet who ended up an amputee at Walter Reed, where you can find Bob two or three days a week, talking to the amputees and their families, making things happen and solving problems behind the scenes. Jason, a Chicago boy who's now enrolled in the MBA program at the University of Florida, is the first recipient of the ULI Second Chance Scholarship founded by Nilsson, an impressive scholarship that pays the difference between what the GI Bill pays for and what the real expenses are as amputee vets go to school. The idea is to encourage these kids (though Jason is now 31, so he's not a kid anymore) (but to me at this point, geez, nearly everybody is a kid) to go into real estate or construction as a career. However, there is no requirement that the recipients commit to any specific career. But if paying for one's expenses isn't encouragement to go into the career where the stipend comes from, I don't know what is. (You can read my story about this in Engineering News-Record [ENR]. Unfortunately, it'll cost you $4.95 unless you're an ENR subscriber.)

So Bob's note brought to mind the whole idea of the excitement of newness. I think that's what ADD is all about, not landing anywhere too long, even mentally.

I remember once when a married professional friend of mine, a loving and faithful husband, had a few too many drinks and propositioned me. I was astonished. I said to him, "We're friends and you are crazy about your wife. Why would you ask me that?" He said, "Because I trust you, I know I'm safe with you, and I just want someone who isn't my wife." I said no, by the way. I was only married once, for all of two years, and I've never, ever experienced that kind of boredom with a partner, but I wonder how longtime married couples keep the excitement in their marriages...or if they just kind of give up on that.

It's tough to keep an attitude of neoteny about life, especially the more mundane or repetitive aspects. Merriam-Webster defines neoteny as "retention of some larval or immature characters in adulthood." But I use it as a consultant for Disney I knew years ago used the term. He defined it as a childlike attitude of wonder and excitement about life.

There aren't a lot of little kids in my life, but occasionally I get to see the world through their eyes as everything is new to them. When I lived in Manhattan, one day I was riding the subway. It was cheek-to-cheek packed, and it was bumpy as the fast-moving express train tore through the tunnel. I was one of the dozens standing, as all of the seats were taken. We were all swaying and jerking as we rode, hanging on tightly to the metal straps or the poles as we rode. The car was quiet, a phenomenon that often happens in New York commuter trains and subway cars, even when they are full. I was just thinking about how uncomfortable this ride was, how I hated having to stand again and how hard it was to stay upright and dignified...when suddenly a little girl holding on to the same pole looked up at her mother and exclaimed excitedly, "Mommy, isn't this fun!?" The mood in the whole car changed from dour and barely tolerant to happy, chatty and light.

The other night, late, the power went off on our block. The lights went out, the tv went dark, the refrigerator went quiet, the neighborhood went still. How long would it last? I wondered. Would my frozen food melt, my milk go warm? Would vandalism start? (Hey, it was late and dark!) In about 15 minutes, everything came back on and guess what wasn't so old-hat anymore. I even had a related burst of appreciation for running water. Ha! But even a day later, I didn't give water or power another thought.

It's all in how you look at it. It's so easy to let things get old for us, including things that used to thrill us. Those are usually the things that, if they were taken away from us, we'd roll over our grandmothers to get back.

Rather Sticky: Dan Rather Sues CBS in the Interest of "Freedom of the Press"

Longtime news anchor Dan Rather is suing CBS for $70 million, alleging he was forced to step down as the network succombed to outside pressure after a "60 Minutes" story ran in 2004 questioning President Bush's service record. Rather said in an interview with Larry King on CNN, "You can't have freedom of the press if you're going to have large, big corporations and big government intruding and intimidating in newsrooms. The chilling effect on investigative reporting is going to be something we don't want to see."

Good for him!!

I've been a journalist since 1984, working either freelance or on staff for a daily newspaper, a monthly general-interest magazine, two monthly business magazines, a weekly business newspaper, three weekly trade magazines and two business Web sites. I can attest that there can be a nasty level of pressure and sometimes downright interference from corporations, politicians, unions, associations and other organizations to not make them look bad.

Some examples, some of which involved me, some of which involved colleagues:

* One publisher pulled a cover photo right before it went to press because the cover photo included a prop that happened to be a brand that competed with a major advertiser.

* Many more than one editor has called a reporter on the carpet for not including a major advertiser in a round-up article, or for writing something that made a major advertiser look bad. In one case, the reporter deliberately did not include what was said about that advertiser because all comments were negative and he didn't think they were particularly justified, but the editor, even after hearing that, lambasted him anyway.

* I once wrote a story about a company that had done illegal things, gotten kicked off of a government project and banned from doing business with that government entity. The CEO deliberately lied to me -- I asked certain questions every conceivable way, knowing the answer, and he denied, denied, denied -- but I had all of my facts confirmed from the right sources. He said to me, "You're going to hurt my business if you write about this!" I told him I was reporting on what had happened on a government contract, which was public information. After the story ran, the CEO called my editor and complained and, unbeknownst to me, got my editor to agree not to have me cover his company after that.

Probably a year and a half later, that CEO and I were at the same conference, went into the bar at the hotel where the conference was, I let him vent, I told him my side of things, we hugged and made up and we've been pals ever since. (His business is now thriving, by the way.) He's the one who told me that he'd asked my editor to take me off of covering his company, which my editor had subtly done. I thought that was pretty skeevy on the part of my editor, who usually stood up for his reporters. So much for taking a stand for the truth.

Should subjects be able to dictate who in the media covers them? No way! Barry Manilow was scheduled to appear on "The View" last week, but requested that anyone but co-host Elisabeth Hasselbeck interview him. "View" producers refused and Manilow did not appear. Whether it was his idea to cancel or theirs, I like the idea that someone couldn't dictate who interviewed him. (And I do like Barry Manilow.)

And don't even get me started on news organizations paying sources for interviews, a la Paris Hilton recently when she got out of jail. I was delighted when the sordid pay-to-play offer that NBC allegedly made to Hilton came to light, which an embarrassed NBC denied...sort of. ABC also supposedly made an offer but both networks ended up passing, no doubt to try to salvage their reputations, as it's a huge, HUGE no-no for legitimate news organizations to pay for interviews. No doubt that's eroding too. It's coming out that "certain fees" are negotiated at times to pay for certain expenses the subjects may incur. Geez.

On the positive side, one of my editors wrote a rather critical cover story about our biggest advertiser, knowing that their annual advertising contract was up for renewal the next month. To their credit, the advertiser renewed.

It's not unusual for publications to give positive coverage to major advertisers. I've always been lucky to work for pubs that subscribed to the philosophy that there should be a rigid line between church and state. But advertisers sometimes end up getting positive press because the sales person talks with the company, hears something interesting and passes it along to a reporter. Pressure from sales people usually hasn't netted anything but a little slap on the hand of the sales person. Most understand that it's the independence of the reporters that gives legitimacy to whatever positive press a company gets.

Every corporation has its politics. Every news organization has to weigh the risks and rewards of every story. The best illustration of this was well documented in the true-story movie The Insider, starring Al Pacino and Russell Crowe. It's about what (ironically) CBS went through when "60 Minutes" went after the tobacco industry for lying about cigarettes not being addictive via an interview with a research chemist whistleblower. Terrific movie! Really shows, fairly realistically, in my view, the passion, the angst and the behind-the-scenes discussions, arguments and blow-ups when corporate politics are involved.

Most corporations get away with their politics inside the organization. It's just the way they do business. Most don't consider that they even play politics, which ihs a political play itself. The fact that Dan Rather, a truly credible newsman, is bringing CBS's corporate politics into light, whether he wins or loses, is already a big win for journalism. And God knows, in this day of eroding freedom of the press, we can use all the help we can get.

Old Cars, Old Shoes, Old Friends

I have a great car, a 2003 Nissan Altima that's loaded with absolutely everything. I had to play the Bose sound system at high volume to make sure it was truly awesome before I'd even consider test driving the car. It was. I did. I bought it.

But even as wonderful as it is, as cushy and smooth and well equipped as it is, I'm not in love with it. I appreciate it but don't feel an emotional attachment.

It's like a rock-hard, very manly-handsome guy I went out with a hundred years ago. He looked great on the outside, my friends would have thought I was so lucky, and I *should* have been wild about him, but I didn't feel any chemistry. I only went out with him once.

The two cars I've owned that I loved wholeheartedly were both red but otherwise very different from each other. My 1980 Nissan 280ZX was fabulous. Power, looks, handling, luxury -- I felt like I was driving a cloud. I loved that car every moment I owned it.

And my 1993 Dodge Intrepid with rich-looking gold-edged wheel covers I loved also, even though it didn't have a sun or moon roof or a Star-Wars-looking interior dash set-up or an impressive sound system. But I loved the look and the feel and, most of all, the memories that went with the car. My dad and I picked it out together -- for him -- just a few months before he died. A few years later, after my mom had put all of maybe 2,000 miles on it, I got the car and loved it every moment I had it until I sold it about a year and a half ago. I passed up the opportunity to sell it to a neighbor who had 2 little kids who trashed and threw up in their car -- I couldn't do that to my Intrepid. I kept it way longer than I'd ever kept any other car because I felt it held a little piece of my dad and I didn't want to give it up. But I couldn't stand to see it deterioriate either so I sold it when it was still looking good and performing well. It was a good find for the guy who bought it. He passed muster with me so I let him buy it.

Both cars I had an affinity with, a chemistry. And we made memories together. We survived things. I was married when I owned the Z, and my husband and I zipped around town in our Zs -- he bought one shortly after I bought mine. One day he tried to run me in my Z off the road with his Z. Imagine what that phone call to our insurance agent would have been like. Not long after that, amazingly enough, I moved out. But I have good memories of us, too, earlier, with our almost-matching Zs.

As for shoes, if I like a shoe, I'll buy it in a couple of colors and I'll buy spares. I hate it when they discontinue a style I have adopted as mine. If I have enough back-ups, I'll wear them long after they're no longer available to buy. Okay, so I'm not a fashion trendsetter. But I bond with my shoes. I'd never be like the women who have 300 pairs of shoes...unless it was 30 pairs each of 10 styles.

And then there are friends. I haven't lived in Maryland very long and I didn't know anyone when I moved here. Slowly I'm meeting people. We're all friendly, cordial and happy to see each other. We laugh, we trade stories, we banter, we empathize and we sympathize. But we're still polite with each other. Not very real with each other.

I miss my old friends. The ones who call me on my bullshit and I call them on theirs. The ones who roll their eyes and know that I'm not like that, or that I am. The ones with whom I have history -- it only takes one look and we remember whole long, complicated stories about each other. The ones who know my foibles and love me anyway. The ones who've grown so fond of me that by now they see only a tiny fine line between my strengths and my weaknesses. The ones I can call in the middle of the night if I need to, and they me, even though we rarely do. The ones I'd want near me if anything bad happened to someone I love. The ones who know me, who fit me like my favorite shoes and thrill me -- every time we talk -- like the first time I drove my Z.

Eventually I'll have history with friends here. They'll fit like my well-worn Ecco sandals that I kick and scream at the thought of not wearing as fall arrives. They'll understand my passions, my quirks, my resistances, my moods, my dreams. They'll know the characters, past and present, in my life. And they'll become one of them, two of them, hopefully more. We'll have that rare and beautiful friend-shorthand that only comes with time. Even in this MTV-fast, quick-cut, instant-gratification world...some things still take time.

Broncos and Raiders -- Surprise!!

Living on the East Coast, I rarely get to see the Denver Broncos' games. Including today, when their longtime rival, their nastiest rival, the dastardly Oakland Raiders, came to visit.

So at the beginning of the preseason, I signed up, as I have before, for the NFL Field Pass, which allows me to listen to any NFL game's radio broadcast during a game. Then I can hear what's going on while "watching" the action on the NFL.com site. Unfortunately, it's not streaming video or any video at all. It's a largely dead Web page that refreshes itself every few seconds with the new score, new time and a little field with lines for the lines of scrimmage and where they need to get to for the first down. The only animation, which is a generous term in this case, is when little green dotted lines move down the field to signify a kick. Pretty lame for a bigtime site for such an action-oriented sport.

So that's how I experienced today's Broncos-Raiders debacle. The Raiders have been playing dismally, the Broncos well, and it should've been a slam-dunk (to borrow a basketball metaphor) for the Broncs. The first half was great for Bronco fans -- Broncos dominated (as they should) and the half ended with Broncos 17, Raiders 3. I heard the live radio feed from the Denver Broncos Network and watched the little field on NFL.com.

The second half was a blazing disaster for both teams. Broncos and Raiders alike just kept messing things up. But the Broncos seemed to fall apart and the Raiders caught up, helped in part by the Broncos spotting them two points, via a truly unnecessary safety. Suddenly it was 20-20 and the game went into overtime.

Then a miracle. Two, actually. The first was that right after the Ravens-Jets game ended (Ravens actually won! 20-13), CBS went to Denver and showed the entire overtime. Wow! (Glad I was multi-sporting and had the Ravens game on tv as I kept up with the Bronco game.)

I called my mom and her significant other, Lloyd, a former Raiders fan that we've "persuaded" to become a Bronco fan. They're in Phoenix, where they didn't get the Bronco game either. But there, who knows why, CBS did not air the overtime. So I kept Lloyd on the phone while I gave him my own play-by-play as I watched the live game. Involuntarily I punctuated it with groans, light profanity, squeals and, ultimately, cheers, as at first it looked like the Raiders had won with a Janikowski field goal....But the Broncos had called time out just before (JUST before) the snap, so it was deemed a practice kick. He had to do it all over again and this time it went wide right. That was the second miracle. The highly motivated Broncos jammed the ball down the field and gave superkicker Jason Elam an easy field goal for the true overtime win of 23-20.

The recap video of this incredibly twisty-turny game isn't nearly as much fun to watch as it would've been to see live. But I can't have DirectTV where I live now to see the NFL games so I have to settle for whatever CBS, Fox, ESPN or NBC give me. The NFL Field Pass is a pretty poor workaround for Bronco fans who can't see the games. But I'll take what I can get. And thanks to my local CBS station for airing the overtime part of today's game!

Meeting the Creators of Dismas Hardy and Little Miss Sunshine

Highlights of the Maui Writers Conference, was when we were royally entertained by author John Lescroart (pictured here), screenwriter Michael Arndt, and authors Scott Turow, whose books I've always loved as much for the beautiful writing as much as the plot, and author Buzz Bissinger.

Lescroart (pronounced "Le-SQUAW") is the writer of the best-selling series often featuring lawyer and smart figure-outer Dismas Hardy, his friend the gruff and crusty Detective Abe Glitsky and now a new character, private investigator and former foster child Wyatt Hunt. (They all have "issues.") I was already reading Lescroart's newest paperback, The Hunt Club (Wyatt Hunt's debut), when I left for the conference so I brought it with me, not realizing that Lescroart would be here, let alone a keynote speaker. Next time I may actually read the brochure before I come to the conference.

Arndt is the creator and screenwriter of the raw but hilarious movie Little Miss Sunshine, for which he won an Academy Award this year. I first saw it on an airplane, loved it, and rented it for my mom and her significant other. Mom hated it because of the incessant profanity, which had all been edited out for the airplane version. I still loved the quirky little flick.

Both writers told their stories, what they did when they were waiting to hit it big, what they were thinking at various stages, etc. Lescroart quit his day job many times, and he had many, many day jobs. Arndt only quit his day job twice, the same one twice, in fact, that of being a personal assistant to actor Matthew Broderick. Both talks were just so inspiring. Writers love hearing first-hand stories of writers who have made it. Lescroart was impressive not only for his writing but also for his humility. He kept quoting Arndt in his session the next day on "Six Steps to a Best Seller," which was definitely another highlight. I even bought the CD of that. I loved his steps on "genius mode" and "idiot mode."

Buzz Bissinger is a former journalist, or a current journalist, for all I know -- a journalist, is the point. I haven't read Friday Night Lights, which is a true story, but I love the tv series, which is not. But to tell an author that is like what one public relations person told me a few years ago when she saw a story I'd written about one of her clients that had some very rich photos with it that our photographer had taken: "Ooooooh, it's great!" I said, "But you haven't read it yet." She said, "Oh, no one reads the words anyway."

Scott Turow is a working lawyer and a successful author. Wow. And a nice guy too. During his book signing, his line moved super slowly because he took the time to talk to each person pretty much as long as they liked. I wanted to kick them in the ass, but he was gracious. Admirable.

Fraternizing with fellow writers was such a treat. It's one time when I don't have to explain myself or apologize for my bookworm side. The trick is keeping the magic in mind when we're all back in our real lives.

I did make it to the ocean, but only once. And that was time well spent -- the time at the conference, that is.

Maui: Paradise, But Not for the Reason You Think

I arrived yesterday afternoon in Maui. Paradise. Not because of the ocean, which I haven't been to yet, even though it's mere steps away from my hotel room. Not because of the view, which is spectacular. Not because of the succulent fruit and fresh fish, which are delicious. Why, then?

Because I'm with others of my ilk! I'm at the Maui Writers Conference (MWC), one of the few places I ever go where I don't feel like a freak for taking a book with me everywhere I go, or packing two mysteries, the one I'm currently reading and a spare in case I finish it before I head back, even though I know I'll buy a couple more in the MWC bookstore because I'll hear an author I like and can't resist buying one of his or her books.

One year, Catherine Coulter was a speaker. I'd never read any of her books. She was a history major and she writes very well-researched historical romance novels, and, at the opposite end of the spectrum, current-day FBI thrillers. She was funny and warm. She said she wrote one book in first person as a man but she won't do that again. "He had a problem and got frustrated and I had him eating chocolate and calling a friend and my husband said, 'No, no no!,'" she said. Her seminar on writing sex scenes had all of us rolling on the floor (with laughter, not acting out the scenes). I ran into her in the bookstore, told her how much I'd enjoyed her but that I wasn't a romance novel reader. She suggested that I read her FBI series -- I've since read every one -- and she picked up two of her romance novels and said I should read them too, because one was funny and the other was....well, I can't remember why she said to read that one, but I did read those two and she was right. I took back an armload of her books, fortunately all in paperback.

Today I went to lunch at our hotel out by the pool and nearly every table was occupied by just one person, reading. The veranda also was occupied this afternoon by single souls scattered about, all reading. Even a couple weren't talking but were reading, side by side. My kind of book nerds!

The conference officially starts tomorrow but most of us come early to snag 10-minute consultations (at $40 apiece) with noted agents and editors, which is quite a process in itself. The conference creators have refined the procedures over the 15 years that the conference has been going on, so it's pretty painless now, compared with the first time I attended several years ago when we stood in line for what seemed like a long, tedious time.

This evening I just happened to bumble into the area where the authors and presenters were gathering for a group photo. I stuck around and chatted up the photographer. A few minutes later, they descended in a swarm, smiled pretty for the camera and disbanded, all within about five minutes. I saw John Saul, always a conference favorite, talking with John Lescroart, one of the featured speakers, one of whose books I'm reading now, coincidentally, and brought with me. I didn't even realize Lescroart would be here. Very cool! Maybe I'll have him sign his book that I'm reading. And one of my goals is to find out how to pronounce his last name.

The time difference between Maui and Maryland is six hours. It's 9:00 p.m. local time, which is 3:00 a.m. body time, as I call it. I'm going to bed now (those of you who know me must be quite shocked) so I can plunge in to the big doings tomorrow revived and refreshed.

I may or may not make it to the ocean. Stay tuned.

Cougars vs. Kittens: A Meow-Fest

I'm not proud of this. I am watching NBC's summer reality frolic "Age of Love." It pits women in their 20s -- aka "kittens" -- against women in their 40s -- aka "cougars" -- as they all compete for the affections of Australian tennis star (and hunk, if you like that type) Mark Philippoussis, who's 31. The goal is a long-term relationship, possibly a marriage proposal. (Notice I said marriage proposal, not marriage.)

Oh brother!

I watched the very first episode a few weeks ago and I spent much of the hour shaking my head. Dumb, dumb, dumb. A total waste of time. Don't encourage them by boosting the ratings. Etc. But what the heck, it's summer! It's supposed to be fun. So now if I miss an episode on a Monday night, I stream the video on nbc.com. My only objection to the way NBC.com does that is that they play the very same commercial on every break! Geez, at least have different commercials for the same product. It's a waste to beat us over the head with the same one four times in the hour, no matter how good it is.

They started out with six cougars and six kittens. As of the end of tonight's episode, there are two left of each, kittens and cougars. I think they're all about as selfish, self-centered and immature as high school girls. They're all in it for themselves. They could care less whether they're right for the guy or he's right for them. They are competitive, bitchy and jealous. They just want to win whatever the prize is, and it's Mark.

The girls are great specimens of the best of their age groups. Flat stomachs, no discernable cellulite, smooth faces, bright teeth. But the backbiting is rampant. I think it's sad. I think the whole thing, the whole premise is shallow, counterproductive and demeaning not only to the participants but to the whole concept of real love. There's just no real love when a guy is dating 12 women, or, now, 4 women. He's been kissing and caressing all of them since there were 8. Even at the end, there will be 2. So Mark will be deep-kissing and running the bases (no proof but c'mon!) with both of the finalists until the moment he sends one of them home and then turns to the winner and says, "I love you" or "Will you marry me?" or "I'm serious about you."

Mark seems like a nice guy: considerate, sincere and well-meaning. He gets rid of anyone he perceives as playing games or backstabbing one of the other gals. Good for him! But Mark, you poor sweet sap, some of the women (two in particular) are running their manipulative games on you and you are falling for them. Being good at playing the guy game is not the same as being a good partner.

It's the meowing and manipulating, pouting and crying, and kissing and stroking that make for good television. Mary, the kitten who was sent home last week, was the best. She cried and wailed through most of the last two or three episodes and then walked away basically saying, "Well, at least I have my dignity." Gotta love it.

So why do I watch? I semi-secretly enjoy one guilty reality TV pleasure at a time. One summer it was "Big Brother." Didn't go back. This past fall it was "The Amazing Race," which was probably the best of the reality shows. The funniest was "My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance." I never got into "American Idol." Loved "Dancing with the Stars" once I started watching it. "America's Got Talent" is hilarious and touching.

I could be watching PBS or the History Channel or reading a book or learning the piano or Spanish. Yeah, well...maybe tomorrow. Meanwhile, if I could write the ending of "Age of Love," I'd have the Australian tennis star pick a cougar, with both of them knowing they'd end up good friends, and then after the show's over, he could go out into the real world and find a real, genuine love. I'd make a lousy TV program manager, wouldn't I?

IRL vs. NASCAR -- Give Me NASCAR!!

A wonderful friend of mine had an extra ticket for the Sun Trust Indy Challenge at Richmond (VA) International Raceway a couple of weeks ago and asked if I'd like to go. She'd pay for the ticket if I'd drive since she doesn't have or need a car as a Georgetown resident. Good deal for both of us.

Now I'm a NASCAR fan, have been since way before NASCAR was cool. It wasn't easy being a NASCAR fan when I lived in New York City, where the few folks who knew what NASCAR was would look at me like I'd just drunk out of the finger bowl. But that didn't bother me. I wore my red and black Dale Earnhardt (Sr.) windbreaker with pride, right out there on the streets of Manhattan. Nobody ever beat me up and a few would high-five me, even if just with their eyes. Out-of-towners, no doubt.

I don't even follow the Indy Racing League (IRL), never have. Though I did study up for this race by watching the Indy race the week before on TV. Who knows why, but the stock car races have always sucked me in, whereas the how-can-you-watch-those-cars-just-go-round-and-round attitude that people have who don't "get" NASCAR is pretty much the one I have for IRL. Yes, the Indy cars go faster and are sleeker. The many non-American drivers are sexy and suave. IRL has women drivers, the most famous of whom is Danica Patrick, all 100 pounds of her, though don't discount Sarah Fisher. And NASCAR doesn't have a driver's spouse equivalent to Ashley Judd, wife of IRL star Dario Franchitti.

But I don't care. I love the diversity of NASCAR fans. (Too bad the diversity doesn't extend to the drivers. How many NASCAR drivers or even crew members of color have you seen? And women? Not in Nextel Cup racing, yet, though a couple have slipped in from time to time in the Busch series.) I love the 42ish-driver field in each race. I love the long races, the longest of which is the Coca-Cola 600, which takes place in Charlotte, N.C., every Memorial Day weekend. The Indy race in Richmond was 250 miles, just a warm-up for NASCAR races, and had all of, I think, 12 drivers starting out and took only a little more time than it took my friend and me to wait and creep through the traffic getting out of the parking lot and crawl toward our hotel just a few miles away.

I love the strategy employed by NASCAR drivers. (Yes, strategy, you non-NASCAR fans who taunt us with, "Strategy? Turn left, turn left, turn left, turn left!") I saw a little of it in the Indy race too, but, unfortunately, it didn't appear to last long. The same roster of five leaders was frozen in place for the last half of the race. And there were no crashes. Neither would ever happen in NASCAR. The lead usually changes upward of a dozen times in each race. The last five laps in NASCAR are certainly when I sit glued to the TV when I'm watching a race on Sundays (or, less fun, on Saturday nights).

This isn't to trash IRL. As a racing car fan who has dealt with my share of NASCAR detractors over the years -- I view them as ignorant, not evil -- I don't want to demean IRL or their drivers or fans. I'm just ignorant about IRL.

The Richmond race was a wonderful experience. It was perfect weather, and day into night was beautiful. The novelty of a new racing venue was fun. My favorite driver, Mario Franchitti (what do I know?) won. The Star Spangled Banner live never fails to stir me. Being there with a friend was great -- I know more about NASCAR but she knew more about IRL so it was educational as well as entertaining. And, the thrill of all that speed never gets old.

I'm just sayin'....if I had my choice between going to an Indy race or a NASCAR race -- unless I was invited to an Indy owner's skybox -- you'd find me screaming myself hoarse at a NASCAR race.

Have My Chips Been Dipped Before?

A couple of days ago, I went to my favorite little neighborhood Mexican food restaurant for lunch. The chips and salsa are especially good there. The chips are crispy, strong enough for dipping, salty enough but not too, and actually tasty rather than cardboardy like some of them can be. The salsa is flavorful, relatively smooth (tomato chunks and onion slivers are the lazy version of salsa) and, thanks to those little devlish jalapeño pepper seeds, spicy-hot. I made the mistake of not waiting for the water before popping a dipped chip into my mouth and found myself coughing and sputtering like a gringo. A few minutes later, I heard someone at the table two behind me doing the same thing. Now that's salsa!

Normally I overindulge on the chips before the entree arrives, but this little place is so fast that I only got through a small handful of them before my queso chicken burrito landed in front of me.

So, since I had a nearly full bowl of chips and a nearly full container of salsa, and since (I believe) by law they can't serve chips and salsa that have been served and removed from a table to anyone else, after my meal I asked to take them with me.

"We don't usually do that," the manager (who was also my waiter that day) told me. I looked him like "You've gotta be kidding!" and he quickly said, "But if you want to...." I said I did and he got me a foam box for my chips and a mini-cup and top for my salsa. And I was happy.

But...I couldn't help but wonder why they "don't usually do that." It's not like I ordered a refill. If they serve them to customers in open bowls, surely they wouldn't bus the tables and dump the uneaten but pawed-over chips into the big bowl they scoop them from, or pour the uneaten but dipped-into (and maybe double-dipped-into) salsa into the vat they ladle it from. Would they? WOULD they???

I've seen many restaurants in the past pour remaining salad dressing from tables back into the big tub from which they fill the little individual plastic cups. Oooooh, gross!

Even though I don't have any hard evidence that my maybe formerly favorite Mexican food restaurant returns chips and/or salsa to the community bowl, I admit that I feel a little squeamish about returning there. Of course, that didn't stop me from eating the chips and salsa I doggie-bagged home. I figure there are a million little things like that going on every day in restaurants that we don't see. And don't want to. So I just look at it as keeping my immunity up!

Passing in the Night

My ex-husband was found dead this week and even though I hadn't seen him in probably 15 years, he's the only ex-husband I had so I thought it was worth commemorating. I'm just not sure how to do it.

A Yahoo! search of his name, Walter Choate Sweet, turns up nothing. "Walter Sweet" nets several listings -- a professor emeritus in geology at the University of Iowa, a painter born in 1889, a philanthropist in New York (sorry, took me awhile to stop laughing at the prospect of that being him) and an auto mechanic who went on to own that dealership who just died this week also -- none of them my ex. "Walt Sweet" on both Yahoo! and Google turns up a musician and designer of a keyless Irish flute, hardly my ex. He (my ex) wasn't particularly musical himself -- in fact his sense of rhythm was so off that it drove me crazy to dance with him -- though he did buy me a stunning Yamaha upright grand piano, which I still have. I keep it at my stable mom's house because if it had gone with me on all of my moves since I trekked east nearly 19 years ago, it would've been jostled and moved some nine times. Reminds me, I need to get it tuned again.

Well, at least the Walter Choate Sweet that I knew and loved at one time will be on the Web, even if it's just here. Actually, I need to do the same thing for my wonderful father, John Walter Schriener, whom everyone knew as Jack Schriener, who died in 1994. He wanted to be cremated, which we did, and although as a World War II veteran, he was eligible to be buried in one of the military cemeteries, there is no place to go to see his grave, no marker or tombstone to even let people know he existed. So I will do that at some point, just not here and now. This is for Walt, or at least about Walt.

Walt and I were married for just two years. It was incredibly tumultuous. We didn't even know if we'd make it to our first anniversary, let alone our second. In fact, we were not together on our second and our divorce was final later that month. He swore when we got divorced that he'd never be friends with me, but, fortunately, that didn't hold. He came to visit me after I moved to New York -- well, he was there anyway for something else and stopped by to visit me, let me buy him a pizza and put him up for the night (platonically, not that it matters). At that time, we looked at each other and both marveled that we couldn't imagine that we'd ever even really known each other, let alone been married. Time heals all, I guess -- by that time, we'd been divorced for eight or so years.

But let me talk about the good stuff. He was smart and always interesting -- one of the reasons I married him was that I knew I'd never be bored. He was affectionate and loving and took great care of me throughout our marriage. He was creative -- I still have (somewhere) a huge envelope of all of the inventive cards he gave me, most of which were originals. He had a sense of humor and wasn't afraid to look silly. I have a great picture of him in a lawn chair with his "horny hat" on, a maroon baseball cap with silver horns. He had great respect for skill and accomplishment, even if it was at his expense. He was a judo player, and in one tournament, his opponent felled him with a stunning move that prompted Walt to applaud him along with everyone else. I always admired that about him.

The saga of our divorce could fill a book. It was traumatic, as all divorces are, and about that I'll only relate one little story. He was the consummate list maker. We took our property division list to the one lawyer that we were going to share (bad idea! don't do it) and as the lawyer perused the list, he said, "I've never seen a swingtop wastebasket on a property settlement list." I said, "Wait til you get to the lightbulbs." True story.

The best thing about our marriage, it turns out, was his daughter, Carey, who was 12 when I met her and 15 when we got divorced. Thank God, she and I have kept in touch all these years and even though we don't talk or see each other all that often (we are on opposite coasts), every time we do, it's like we are finishing a sentence we started the day before. She used to tell people about us and the fact that I used to be married to her dad, "We dumped him and kept each other." It wasn't true, of course, but it made me feel great. I'll have to do a blog item on her too. She's been the true gift from my marriage to Walt.

The second best thing, believe it or not, is his first ex-wife, Sheila (pronounced "SHY-la"). Of course, we didn't start out being friendly, even though I came along awhile after they had separated. But before Walt and I got divorced, she and I had grown to be quite friendly, and then we got friendlier after the split (yes, somewhat hilariously at his expense). One of the highlights of a couple of my trips to Phoenix a year or two ago was having lunch and dinner with Carey and Sheila -- and, at one of them, also Carey's half-sister Elizabeth. So those are great gifts from a marriage gone bad.

See, I'm having trouble keeping to the subject of Walt. Well, for one thing, the "bad" stories about him are far more entertaining, incredible, amazing and, for some of them, far sadder than the good ones, but I really don't want to do that in a commemoration (I wouldn't call it a tribute, as such). He seemed to isolate himself and have a fair amount of fear or even paranoia, I'm told, in the last few years. So I'll just say that I hope he finds the peace in his passing that he didn't seem to be able to find on earth. And, for a variety of reasons, I'm grateful he was in my life.

Crime Columbia Style

In my new home town of Columbia, MD, in an effort to get to know the area, I read the free weekly paper the Columbia Flier. (Well, it says it's $1.00 newsstand price, but I've only seen it for free.) I read the ads and pretty much every page.

My favorite part of the paper is the Crime Log. There are usually several car thefts and a few break-ins, but there are some great small-town crimes that are priceless. My favorites of late:

"West Running Brook, 5100 block, between 6:30 a.m. and 3:15 p.m. May 16. Cigarettes, soup and cash stolen from residence after window pane pulled from front door." (Judy's note: SOUP?!)

"Basket Ring Road, 9600 block, 2:47 a.m. May 19. Resident heard knock at bedroom door and later heard front door close. He looked out the window and saw two males run toward Thunder Hill Road."

"Broken Land Parkway, 9800 block, 8:30 p.m. May 9. Female was walking along bike path when male exposed himself. Male then fled."

"Flowerstock Row and Tamar Drive, 1:15 a.m. May 10. Female and two friends were walking when a dark vehicle pulled over and an armed male got out and demanded cash. Walkers told the gunman they had nothing of value. Gunman got back into car and drove off."

Don'tcha love it? May all crimes be only as serious as these.