This is the story of a very good day. I credit it all to Ameen, someone I hadn't met until this afternoon.

Today really started yesterday, when I called my friend and fellow photographer, Steve. Saturday was going to be beautiful. I had some free time. Would he like to drive to Litchfield County to take some photos?

Steve was here at noon and by 12:30, with my car's top down, we headed north.

Where were we going? I had no clue. I'd printed out two Google maps. They were wide shots of Litchfield County - Connecticut's northwest corner. The maps were good enough to help find a road back home, but not specific enough to take us anywhere in particular.

We took Route 69 through Bethany and Prospect to I-84 in Waterbury, then up Route 8 to Winsted. We were in the country now. We continued northwest on Route 44 to North Canaan. Not one photo had been snapped!

That's why I hit the brakes and turned into the parking lot when Steve caught sight of the Collin's Diner. It was very retro and very photogenic.

The diner was tiny, sitting toward the back of a large, but mostly empty parking lot. The building itself had a glass brick foyer, enameled outer panels under the windows and sweeping curved lines where corners are usually found.

We took our cameras from the trunk and began shooting away. A minute later a man walked out of the restaurant and in our direction. He was short, but muscular, with a do rag on his head, a chain with charms around his neck and tattoos on every part of his body not covered by a Wesleyan University t-shirt and Dolce & Gabanna sunglasses.

We soon learned he was Ameen. The restaurant was his family's business. And, he didn't mind us taking pictures if we'd send him copies.

We continued to chat and within a few minutes he'd invited us inside to meet his mom and the rest of the family working there.

When we were ready to leave, I asked Ameen where we could go to take some good pictures? He said, "follow me." For the next few hours we followed Ameen's hybrid SUV through rural Northern Litchfield County.

Over the past few years, property in Litchfield has become very desirable to New Yorkers looking for a country place. To many people, that's the new face of Litchfield County. But Ameen has spent a lifetime in these hills and he was going to take us to meet some locals and see things only locals know.

I can't tell you exactly where we went, but the first stop was the side of a quiet country road where the view was expansive. The mountains in the distance were part of the Catskills in New York State. Between us and them were working lime rock quarries.

We continued uphill. Ameen must have really known the roads because my little sports car kept falling way behind his top heavy SUV. We stopped at Rustling Wind Farm.

Ameen knocked on the door to make sure it was OK for us to take pictures. He got a yes and a hug! As it turns out, at one point he lived in a little house on the property.

Rustling Meadow is the kind of countrified place once foreign to a city boy like me. Even now, it's heartening to realize places like this really do still exist.

We walked through the upper field, past reminders that horses run here, and stopped to listen to the wind. There was no city noise - nothing mechanical. There was, however, the rotting exterior of a real outhouse!

Back in the car, we headed to the Munson's. They are a family out of Litchfield County central casting - Karl and Laura are very attractive and earthy parents with two exquisitely beautiful children¹. As we drove up, mom and daughter were playing in the front yard. The younger son was up in a tree, sitting comfortably as if it were a living room chair.

It didn't take more than a few seconds to notice a large, four panel solar array, mounted on a post. This single installation provides all their electricity! In fact, power lines from the local electric company don't even come onto the property!

I've met people who were off the grid before - but they usually had to live spartan lives to make it happen. Not so the Munson's, who store their solar bounty in an array of batteries and have enough for a few weeks of rainy days. There are a few concessions, like a gas powered refrigerator and fluorescent lights, but mostly you wouldn't notice the difference... until the electric bill didn't come.

The next thing I noticed was the stone. Karl is a stone mason, and there was what looked like a small stone home off to the side, with a bigger one in the process of being built.

Before there were any buildings, the Munsons lived in a yurt! Like I said, they were out of Litchfield County central casting. They could not have been friendlier or nicer, nor could their life seem more idyllic.

We headed out again, to our next stop at Wangum Lake, a reservoir for the local water company. Like so much else in Northern Connecticut, it is isolated, rural and beautifully pristine.

This was our last stop with Ameen, who was taking his sister out for her birthday. We said goodbye and headed south on Route 7, along the western bank of the Housatonic River. There was one more stop to make.

A few hundred feet off Route 7 in West Cornwall, Route 128 crosses the Housatonic via a covered bridge. There aren't many of these left. It's a one lane bridge running not quite the distance of a football field. Could there be anything more New England than this?

It was time to head home, a little over an hour away.

Connecticut never ceases to amaze me. It really is a beautiful state, with sharp contrasts between the shoreline and the hills in its northwest and northeastern corners. Today it was worthy of nearly 200 photographs from me alone. Steve and I had an excellent time.

There's no doubt, we wouldn't have seen half as much without Ameen. If you're ever up in North Canaan, please stop by the Collin's Diner and tell him we were raving about the hospitality. Next time, we'll even try the food!

¹ - Both Munson children were incredibly photogenic. However, this being the 21st Century, I'm not going to post their photos online.

I am a photographer. That's my hobby.

I'm a good photographer. I've seen the work of great photographers. Their best shots are better than my best shots. I'm OK with that.

I take a lot of care with the mechanics of my photography. I try and think through shutter speed, aperture, lens focal length and film speed (it's still called that) before I press the shutter. I don't always get it right, but at least I think about it.

As a photographer there is a question I'm asked all the time. In fact, I received this yesterday:

Let me repeat the operative part: your camera seems to take really great pictures.

I know the writer meant well. I would guess every photographer gets asked this question from time-to-time. It misses the point. It used to bother me. Oh hell, it still bothers me, but I've gotten used to it.

There is an excellent shot of Helaine, Steffie and me, taken a few years ago in Newport, RI. The sky had turned blood red at sunset. I've never seen anything like it.

I set the camera and handed it to a passerby. His shot was great, but it's really my shot. If he would have just pointed and shot, the effect wouldn't have been as vivid. I took the picture!

My camera is a Canon Digital Rebel. It's the original 300D. I usually carry 4 lenses which go from 10 to 300mm.

It takes better pictures than when I first got it.

It's after 3:00 AM here in the East, but it's late everywhere across America. I just turned on the Jerry Lewis Muscular Dystrophy Telethon. Jerry's nowhere to be found.

Please don't get me wrong. MDA is a great charity. Helaine makes sure we give every year. But right now, this looks like "Parents Night" at my folks' condo!

Currently hosting: Norm Crosby. Norm will be 80 in a few weeks.

Ed McMahon is there too. Ed is 84.

They both look great for their ages, but if I see either lick their lips one more time, I'll scream. They both just act and sound old.

There's music, but I don't see any musicians nor Lou Brown, the perennial band leader. Maybe he'll be on later. He's 86.

Unfortunately, from a production standpoint, the telethon has a very dated look. It's as if they haven't caught on to the fact they're competing in a 100+ channel environment, reaching viewers with remote controls at the ready. Having this geriatric crew as the face of the telethon only goes to reinforce that feeling.

B.B. King just appeared on a promo. He seemed sharper and younger than Ed and Norm, but even B.B. will 82 in a few weeks.

Year-by-year it's harder for MDA to do what they do. Stations are reticent to pay to staff, then give away nearly a full day of airtime (and I suspect MDA might be paying to get on in some markets).

Here in Connecticut, the telethon moved from its long time home at WFSB to WTIC. A decade ago, that switch would have been unthinkable. It was a high profile event on Channel 3 with their front line anchors hosting. I suppose telethons aren't as special any more.

At some point MDA will have to make a decision to go younger. As long as the hosts are getting older, so will their audience. Over time, that becomes unsustainable on both ends.

I'm off to Florida this afternoon. First, another trip to get my glasses problem fixed, then a haircut.

I plan on checking no bags. Much of Helaine and my discussions last night centered on what can and cannot be brought on an airplane. My deodorant is 3¼ oz. Anything over 3 oz is considered a lethal weapon by TSA¹.

I'm taking it anyway. What a rebel.

The trip to Florida will take about five hours. That includes a 1:35 stopover in Baltimore. As I remember, they have pretty good WiFi coverage in the terminal.

Air travel may be cheaper than ever, but it's not any faster. Even Southwest, who claims to not be a hub and spoke airline, shuttles a lot of people through Baltimore and Las Vegas, which sure seem like hub airports.

I have some tutorials for Javascript and PHP, two computer languages, I'm taking along. I plan on spending my travel time learning to better program. Last night my mom asked why I was doing that? Is it OK to say, I don't know?

¹ - Though written for effect, that statement is literally true. They don't want me to bring any liquid or gel over 3oz because it might be used as a weapon of some sort!

I'm on my butt, on the thin carpeting, over the very hard floor, at Gate 6 at Bradley International. That's the only way to sit near an electrical outlet.

I know the label 'International' now fits this airport because across the hall Northwest Flight 98 to Amsterdam is getting ready to board.

I went through security with one tiny problem. As my bag was rolling into the x-ray machine my cellphone began to ring! The TSA agent told me it was OK to answer it... but what a bad place to start a conversation.

As I was reconfiguring my baggage - putting my watch on, my wallet in my pocket, my belt on my pants, my laptop back in its case, etc., an older woman was being frisked. She stood there, arms outstretched horizontally at her sides while a guard waved a metal detecting wand up and down her body. Her feet were carefully placed on the foot outlines stenciled on the mat she stood on.

Here's the deal. I am willing to live with the risk this woman is a terrorist. Let her pass. Is there anyone who could possible consider her a threat?

Frisking her doesn't make me safer. When I start hearing about gray haired old ladies making trouble, I'll reevaluate my position. There's a happy medium between profiling and stupidity.

Seeing her there only went to point out the foolishness of the whole security procedure. Truth is, by noon on September 11, 2001, the type of hijacking we'd experienced that morning was no longer viable. Emboldened passengers, not governmental vigilance, changed the paradigm.

Can you tell I'm upset?

I don't remember my father as an early kind of person. He is now - big time.

I went to sleep last night around 3:30 AM. My dad rapped on hard my door around 7:30 AM. He was told to be at the hospital between 9:00 and 10:00 and he was aiming for 9:00... maybe 8:45 AM.

He's going to the hospital today though his procedure won't take place until tomorrow. Today is a day for medicating. His angiogram uses a dye which is stressful on his already compromised kidneys. The medicine will reduce that stress.

It's a 20 minute drive from my parents condo in Boynton Beach to the hospital in Boca Raton. I remembered this hospital from when I lived down here nearly 40 years ago. The area was less congested, more residential, but the hospital building is still intact and well kept.

Boca Raton is different now. We pulled into the valet parking area. A Rolls pulled behind us.

When you check in, you become a part in the massive hospital machine. Hopefully you're getting the treatment you need, though that result seems ancillary. The hospital is just moving you through the system, in much the same way UPS moves packages.

We walked in and sat in a room where patients are admitted. Wrong room. A volunteer was called to walk us through the maze to the correct admitting room.

After a few questions my dad was led to an alcove screened off with a curtain. There are eight beds in this unit, though none but my dad's is in use right now as I type.

Two nurses walked in and began to prep my dad in much the same way Swift preps turkeys at Thanksgiving. They were fast and efficient - a well coordinated team. It only took a few minutes for my dad to give blood, get hooked to monitors and receive an IV drip.

While all this was going on his cardiologist walked in.

In our society, we encourage the brightest to become physicians. That's a good thing. On the other hand, they often are not our most coordinated or athletic. That's OK for diagnosis, but these doctors are also opening us up and sticking instruments inside our most vital organs. That part has always concerned me.

The plan is for my dad to have his angiogram around 7:30 AM tomorrow morning. Most likely that will be followed by the insertion of a stent.

I asked, and was told, bypass surgery (which my dad had 16 years ago) was an unlikely result. Of course bypass surgery is what worries us.

The nurse informs us that my dad's room is ready and someone will be down to get him in a little while. His trip through the hospital machine has begun.

My mom and I are in the 4^th floor waiting room at Boca Community Hospital in Boca Raton. My dad is being repositioned in his bed.

Everything went perfectly.

Last night at 11:00 PM I called the hospital to find out when my dad was scheduled for his procedure. 7:00 AM! No wonder I never became a doctor.

By the time my mom and I arrived this morning he was already in surgery. Cardiologists are early risers.

An artery, replaced in his bypass surgery 16 years ago, was no longer vital. No repair there. Another artery, one which carries lots of blood, was heavily blocked. The doctor inserted a stent and, voila, fixed.

We were called in to see my dad a little before 8:00. He was groggy, but otherwise fine. He had no idea what had been done.

Recovery is minimal. The doctor said my father could be driving by this weekend - a good trick since he hasn't driven in years. We still got the point.

Without a doubt, this is the perfect outcome.

We're in the room with my dad now. He can't lift his head, but my mom is feeding him scrambled eggs.

He's hungry. That's excellent.

In the midst of all this a volunteer walked in, asking if we wanted a newspaper? Then, she gushed about the BINGO games this afternoon at 1:00 PM on the in-hospital TV channel. "They have prizes," she said.

This is Florida!

This is a nice hospital, but it has one old touch, semi private rooms. I think, by and large, hospitals favor private rooms now.

I mention this, because I'm listening to a surgeon explain bypass surgery to the man in the next bed. It's not a pleasant conversation. The flimsy curtain between us is not stopping the sound.

This man, like my dad, came in expecting an angiogram and nothing more. Now he's going to have his chest cracked open. He's been told to plan on taking 6-8 weeks off from work and that the procedure will leave him feeling as if he's been hit by a truck!

Holy crap. I don't want to have a surgeon have this conversation with me. I can't imagine the emotions they're feeling on the other side of the room.

We went to pick up my father this morning. The hospital is done with him.

Hal, a volunteer, came to wheel him down in a chair. Hal has got to be as old as my dad. Isn't this rolling exit a quaint tradition that can end?

Driving up and back from Boynton Beach to Boca Raton gave me a good chance to watch the Florida sky. It is definitely different than the Connecticut sky. Maybe I'm just more attuned to looking up because I'm a meteorologist, I'll admit to that. But there is a difference.

Even with high humidity levels, the air here is mainly clear and the sky is mainly blue. Days that would feature haze in Connecticut don't here.

Still, the real star of the sky is the clouds. They are white and puffy and well defined and tall. These are towering cumulus clouds - a term often seen in airport observations, but never so literally true as here.

Yes, these towering "Cu" produce the numerous thunderstorms found over the peninsula every day. It's a fair trade. They're amazing.

My parents have phones in every room, and each phone has a ringer - A LOUD ringer.

That in and of itself wouldn't be so bad, but each phone has a different ringer. And, again, not so terrible by itself.

The clincher is, they aren't synchronized! You couldn't do this if you tried. When the phone rings, each phone rings separately, actually starting and ending at different times!

It's like living inside a clock factory where the top of the hour is a real experience!

Please, don't call.

I'm typing from seat 3A aboard Southwest Flight 616. It's a direct, as opposed to non-stop, flight from West Palm Beach to Hartford via Baltimore. All the passengers, save four, thought Baltimore was far enough.

This afternoon I couldn't help but think of my first commercial flight. It was on a Lockheed Electra L188, a second section flight on the Eastern Shuttle¹. I was on my way to a college interview in Boston. That was 40 years ago. A lot has changed in flying.

Back then I could have asked to see the cockpit without being arrested.

I remember looking out the window during that flight, much as I looked out the window on this one. I was fascinated by the countryside of Connecticut and Rhode Island as we flew from LaGuardia to Logan. Today I was fascinated by the clouds that floated above Florida and the adjacent Atlantic.

We headed pretty far east before heading north today. The pilot did a good job avoiding the towering thunderheads. I wonder if anyone else on board knew how bumpy it might have been?

I don't remember the flight attendants from that first trip, though they probably would have been puzzled by the term "flight attendant." They were stewardesses, mainly young, probably pretty. To me, a seventeen year old unaccustomed to any of their world, they were glamorous and sophisticated.

None of my flights for this trip have been full. From what I read, that's unusual. No one sat in the middle seat between me and the strangers with whom I've shared the row. Nowadays, that's a luxury.

Being an early boarder from Southwest's Group "A", I had my my choice of seats. On the way down it was on the aisle. Now I'm at the left window, chosen for its access to a view of sunset. I try to sit forward of the wing, where first class is on other airlines, the better to snap a few shots.

I watched a PHP tutorial video on the computer, ate an unbelievably expensive sandwich I bought in the terminal, took some photos, loosened, then removed, my sneakers and fidgeted. Helaine should be glad she wasn't here. My fidgeting would have driven her nuts.

I just looked down to see a dense lattice of streets. I didn't recognize it at first, but it was Brooklyn. In the distance, Manhattan was underwhelming. I made it out by its shape more than its lights.

I did catch the lights from Shea Stadium and the Tennis Center, but mostly everything under me is nondescript. Anything I recognize from here in will be because I've lived there.

I'll be flying this route again Wednesday. This trip was a last minute deal because of my dad's hospitalization. Next week it's my mom's birthday.

Actually, this turned out to be a pleasure trip, didn't it?

¹ - Back then, if the plane was filled, another would be rolled out for the remaining passengers. Though the scheduled flight was on a jet, an old prop plane served as the backup.

Have you noticed the trend in online video where you can't stop or even pause the commercial that precedes video content?

I understand these commercials pay the freight. It is, after all, where the money to pay my salary comes from. I also understand that providers have the right to place this roadblock between you and the video.

However, if I make the decision that watching the commercial is too high a price to pay, why must I close my browser to stop it? Why am I committed to seeing an ad even if I choose not to watch what it's paying for?

This has become more and more common. I've just experienced it at Yahoo! I'm not pleased.

I was out of bed at 11:00 this morning. That's especially early for a Sunday start.

Helaine had long since left the bedroom. She was downstairs, doing everything she could to be ready for today's important business - football!

Though New Orleans got clocked by Baltimore (I know - live with it) Thursday night, the season really starts today. The Eagles will be playing at Lambeau Field in Green Bay. And, of course, we live and die by the Eagles.

Two hours before game time, as she sat and intently listened to the ESPN coverage, Helaine turned to me and jokingly said, "I am every man's fantasy. A woman who loves football."

She is.

When we were married, it was her subscription to Sports Illustrated that came to our Buffalo apartment. She's enough of a fan to root against teams, because my enemies enemy is my friend.

Oh, speaking of ESPN, five commentators on the set makes for one of the most unwieldy camera shots ever. Five guys in a row is just too wide. Maybe it's better on HDTV with its stretched screen.

The real deal begins in about a half hour. A competitive team will make for a fun fall. Wish us luck.

Helaine put the MTV Music Awards on. Britney Spears opened the show.

Out of shape. No discernible dancing skills. She couldn't even lip sync.

This is the end of her career, right? It's sad. She was so cute before she became a walking train wreck.

I plan on wearing this sticker to work today:

I had to make two calls to insurance companies this morning. There were two problems that needed attention.

Let me establish two points:

• My call is important to them
  
• My blood pressure is currently high enough to power the hydraulic system in a 737

In my first call, to my dental insurance provider, I waited on hold 10 minutes before a human picked up the phone. While waiting, Helaine and I discussed whether the on hold music was specifically chosen to encourage people to hang up. It is.

The agent who answered couldn't find my claim because he was health, not dental. He gave me the dental number.

STOP!

That's the number I called! Had I not looked, I would have gotten back in the same queue.

It was about this point I realized, I must dot every "i" and cross every "t," but they don't have to do anything. Sure there's an obligation to get it right at some point, but no incentive to get it right the first time... and, if I get frustrated and give up, that's a disincentive to get it right the first time.

I was calling because they sent me a notice saying they paid $.00 of $149 in dental bills.

It turns out, they had paid the bill. I am told the dentist already cashed the check.

Why did they send me this? Who knows? The person I spoke with certainly didn't. No explanation.

If I got the paperwork wrong... well, you know.

The second call was to our drug plan about a prescription. It's for a daily medication. It was for 12 months worth. They should have filled the prescription for 90 days - but only filled it for 30. That's because the doctor wrote it up as twelve one month supplies.

What difference does it make? Well, the 30 day supply is $10. So is the 90 day supply!

I need to get another prescription to get this dispensed in 90 day chunks. So, now my pain also becomes the doctor's pain.

Here's the frustrating part. The prescription will be for the exact same number of tablets! It will still be for a year. It will still be for the same number of pills every month. There is no practical difference - none.

There is no reason for me to submit a new prescription, except to cut my cost. This resubmission has nothing to do with medicine.

I am really upset. This wouldn't be a good day to piss me off.

I just finished watching The Daily Show. It's recorded on the DVR and then streamed here to my laptop.

When the show ends, the DVR freezes on the last frame recorded. I'm not sure why, but tonight I looked to see what was there.

Salvatore Ferragamo is providing shoes. Seriously.

Hey, I'm on TV and one of the benefits of my job is a clothing allowance. Maybe I shouldn't comment?

Actually, it's not as glamorous as it seems. In essence it's part of my salary (which you I pay taxes on) which I commit to spend on clothing. It forces me to dress nicely, benefiting both the station and me.

Here's the difference with Jon Stewart. You never see his feet! He spends 100% of his time behind a desk. He still gets shoes.

I can't even imagine how this entered into his contract negotiations. Here's a guy with a seven figure salary. How important could a few pairs of wingtips be?

This will go down as one of life's truly great mysteries... undoubtedly provided by one of show businesses truly great agents.

I'm writing this while on my way to Florida - again. This time it's with Helaine and Stef, and this time it's a more pleasant occasion - my mom's birthday.

Because of where Steffie goes to school and because you can fly to West Palm Beach non-stop, we've opted to fly from Islip's MacArthur Airport on Lawn Guyland.

This is an interesting airport in an interesting place. It is hemmed in on all sides by the sprawl that Long Island's become. In that way, there are similarities to Midway Airport in Chicago.

We found our way to the remote long term parking, right on the airport grounds, and waited no more than a minute for the shuttle. The terminal was another minute or two away.

From a distance the terminal looked large. That perspective remained as we pulled up, except now it reminded me of the airport in Rockford, IL.

Stick with me on this.

In Rockford, the airport is large, but usage is not. Same here. Judging by the TV screens, nearly all the flights are operated by Southwest. The few USAir and Delta flights smelled of commuter plane routes. This is an airport where 737's share the taxiways with Cessna 150s.

As we pulled away from the gate, I saw all six Terminal A gates and jetways. They were all vacant. It's a shame (though nearby Islip residents might not agree with me on that).

Our flight headed southwest down Runway 24, took off and turned east. We flew over the center of Long Island. Off to the south was Fire Island. North was Long Island Sound and Connecticut.

I don't know that much about Long Island landmarks, but I was able to pick out Brookhaven Airport, an abandoned Naval airfield and Gabreski Airport in Westhampton Beach before we turned south, heading over the Atlantic in the general direction of Florida.

The flight was a non-event until the last few minutes. With towering thunderstorm clouds on either side of the plane, the pilot came on the PA. The rest of the flight was going to be "very bumpy."

Ding.

On went the seatbelt signs. The flight attendants were asked to take their seats. We headed down.

It wasn't as bad as the pilot let on. It wasn't too smooth either. We landed 15 minutes early.

It's nice to see my folks, even though it's only been a few days since I last saw them. Florida, as it turns out, has changed. It's much more humid. Much.

For dinner tonight, we headed south to Boca Raton and a place called Stir Crazy. I forgot to bring "Clicky." A shame, because this was a very photogenic place.

Basically, you choose your protein and vegetables and then watch as your dinner is stir fried while you stand and watch. Pretty cool. Very tasty.

I'm bushed.

Oh how times have changed! Here we are visiting my parents in Boynton Beach, and here's the scene on the dining room table this morning.

Three of us. Three laptops.

This is either a sign of a very hip and techno savvy family or a sign we've just fallen off the deep end. Your choice.

Thursday in Florida. My mom's birthday is tomorrow.

Today, we wanted to get out of the house. My choice was to take Steffie somewhere she'd never been... and yet there was still shopping. We headed to Palm Beach and Worth Avenue.

Long before there was Beverly Hills and Rodeo Drive, there was Palm Beach and Worth Avenue. Beverly Hills is nouveau. Palm Beach is old line.

We crossed onto Palm Beach Island at Southern Boulevard, making the sweeping left around Mar-A-Lago (Hi Donald) and then north on Ocean Boulevard, aka A1A. When we hit Worth Avenue, we turned left.

It was eerie. It looked like the day after a neutron bomb. Worth Avenue had cars parked on both sides of the street, but there was no foot traffic. It looked deserted.

The cars were a show in and of themselves. I saw Ferraris, Masseratis (yes, more than one), Rolls, Mercedes and Porsche. Only on Palm Beach does a Lexus represent Chevy values.

Beyond the curbline around 25% of the shops were still closed for the summer. September... hot and sweaty September... is not the season in Palm Beach.

Stefanie lit up as she looked around and recognized the names. Every high end, decadent, over priced retailer was there.

Guys don't get it. Certainly, I don't get it. Stefanie does. It's been there from birth.

We walked around for an hour or so, then headed south. Steffie left carrying a shopping bag. I can't tell you more than that as we have a don't ask, don't tell policy in the Fox Family.

We took A1A home, passing through Palm Beach, South Palm Beach and Manalapan. It is difficult to fathom the amazing estates that front the ocean and Intracoastal. Some straddle the road and front both.

Mainly the buildings in Palm Beach and along A1A are what I consider "Spanish Mission" style. Whether that's the real name or not, it's what I call it. They are appropriate and strikingly beautiful.

Today is my mom's birthday. We came to celebrate. Helaine made the plans from Connecticut, but everything was kept hush-hush.

This afternoon at 4:00, we headed south to Ft. Lauderdale for 5:00 PM reservations at Mai Kai.

What's a Polynesian restaurant doing in Ft. Lauderdale? I don't have a clue. Yet Mai Kai has been here for over 50 years. I'm not sure much of what's there has changed in that time.

The doors opened at 5:00 and we walked in. It was dark... really dark. Quickly, a conversation sprung up at our table questioning whether we really wanted to see the place with the lights up!

Our waiter came, bringing a four page drink menu for each of us. If it sounded South Pacificy and was rum based, it was there. I hate to sound like a wuss (and I will), but I had some sort of frozen fruit melange which Steffie and Helaine both agreed was very tasty.

Next we ordered dinner. Mine was a seafood noodle dish which was pretty good.

The service was attentive and complete. I do hate being asked whether I want bottled or tap water. Tap - the answer is tap water. Can you just pass the word around for me.

We finished our dinner, walked around the tropical gardens (again, all the accouterments seemed like they were installed when the place first opened), then headed back for the Polynesian revue.

Recently, in light of Britney Spears bare midriff performance, a new sensitivity has sprung up around who can and cannot expose their middle in public. Tonight we found one performer who hadn't heard.

Mostly, the show was pleasantly tacky, with a monotone emcee, four musicians and five dancers. It was what you might expect for a Polynesian show in Ft. Lauderdale.

Seriously though, the show didn't matter. All that was important was, we were here for my mom's birthday and we had a good time.

Mission accomplished.

I have a Motorola RAZR phone from Cingular AT&T. It's a nice phone and it's served me well. I anticipate getting a new, more fun phone really soon. My contract is up next month (though at this point I'm guessing they'd be glad to renew my business for another two years).

For the past few months I've been studying what phone to buy. There's a new Motorola Q (Q9h) due in a few weeks. That looks appealing. The same goes for a new version of the Samsung Blackjack.

Like I said, neither is available yet, but I'm willing to wait... except last night my RAZR died. Oops.

It's a death that others have reported. The only key that works is the one that turns the phone on and off. I can watch calls come in. I can't answer them. I can't dial.

It's frustrating.

Some forums report success in leaving the phone unpowered for a day or two (no one says exactly how long). That seems far fetched, though I'm trying it.

Based on my scanty knowledge of electronics and this phone, it seems like a switch has failed closed. In other words, it's a key that gets pressed in normal operation, but now is ALWAYS pressed. If that's the case, there's little I can do.

I'm hoping I have an old GSM phone at home that can take my SIM card and stretch my usability before having to sign a new contract. I'm not sure.

In the meantime, if you need to reach me - email.

There are scattered bags all over my parent's place and scattered showers on the radar. It's time to leave Florida.

Our only real problem during this trip happened yesterday afternoon. We were getting ready to get in the car when I looked down at the front left tire and saw the internal mesh peeking out where the rubber had begun to separate!

Did you know BJs sells and mounts tires until 7:00 PM on Saturdays? Neither did we. That was a pleasant surprise.

We've got one last stop to make before we leave. Steffie has been watching TV commercials for Sonic for years - but there are none in Connecticut. There's one about a mile from here and we're stopping.

Our flight to Islip leaves around 2:30. We're back in the Northeast before the Sun goes down.

Aloha.

I left my cellphone unplugged with its battery removed for a little over a day, hoping (but knowing otherwise) that being powerless would convince it to start working. No such luck.

Tonight, back in Connecticut, I rummaged through my cabinets of old electronics and found two LG G4010s. Nice phone, back then. One had been Helaine's, the other mine. Guess which was in better shape?

There's no Bluetooth and, so far, I've found no way to move the phone numbers from the RAZR to the LG.

Hey, at least I have a working phone!

Of course any phone number that's been changed, or newly acquired by me, is not in this old phone. I'll survive.

Now I can go about my new phone plan acquisition at a more leisurely pace.

I watched the Emmys tonight. Helaine recorded it, knowing we'd be home after 8:00.

Boy there are a lot of people on TV I don't know!

With the show over, I have two questions. Is Ryan Seacrest the right guy to be host? And, why were there three obvious edits to censor material?

Seacrest first. I remember him on CNet TV. He was a correspondent on the show Richard Hart hosted. He was fine.

Am I surprised he's hosting a huge, killer hit like American Idol? Absolutely. But he's fine as a straight host.

No cheap jokes, please.

The Emmys normally have an entertainer as host. I don't see Seacrest in that role. In fact, as the show opened up, Ray Romano basically took over the host's job of doing a monologue.

That brings me to point two. Why was Roman censored? This was more than a beep. The full video feed cut away.

I've seen Ray Romano in person. He is not a blue comic. Even if he said a 'curse,' I'm convinced it wouldn't have offended my mom or her mom (though it's a little late to ask my grandma).

The same cutaway thing happened to Katherine Heigl and Sally Field.

Actually, with Heigl they didn't cut away soon enough and so America got to see her mouth the word "shit." Crude and inappropriate as it is, I've never understood why shit is considered a curse word. It has little to do with the more sexually oriented words that can get a network fined... or worse.

I believe Sally Field got pulled for saying goddamn. It's not polite to say goddamn. It's never been my choice to say that word on TV. But it's Sally Field for heavens sake.

I must be missing something? What could Sally Field possibly say that would injure me?

I believe it was Letterman's staff who began the tradition of having weird intros to the comedy writing nominees. That's something I now look forward to. I enjoy it a lot.

I also liked the nice eulogy for Tom Snyder, pieced together from contemporaneous remarks by late night talk show hosts. Tom liked adulation. He would have enjoyed that genuine emotion.

This morning on Instant Messenger:

Here it is!

As mentioned earlier, we went to Sonic yesterday. This was Stef's doing and really does prove the persuasiveness of television advertising. Sonic has been seen on our TV, but unavailable locally for years. When given the opportunity, Stef couldn't stay away.

Sonic is a fast food restaurant. If there's a food difference between it and any other fast food joint, it would probably take more than one trip to know. I had a chicken wrap and the chicken was grilled, not fried. Score one for Sonic.

What sets Sonic apart is, it's a drive-in. There's a distinction here. I didn't say drive-thru.

The servers bring your food to your car while riding on roller skates¹. Shades of American Graffiti! I liked the idea that they each wore a coin changer on their hip. I haven't seen one of those since bus drivers gave change (and I was taking buses).

With five of us in a Honda Accord, eating in a vehicle was out of the question. We moved to the patio. It was under cover, had fans above, but was still incredibly uncomfortable in the sweltering Florida steam.

We ordered while standing in front of the same kind of sign you might see at a drive-up window. The volume was low. It was difficult to understand. At one point I looked at Helaine, unsure if we'd properly communicated what we really wanted. I paid by dipping my credit card.

My guess is my parents, who live five minutes away, probably won't be Sonic habitué's. Stef (who now has a Sonic bag on her dorm wall) will definitely stop by on her next rip to Florida.

¹ - Every day on my way to work I pass by a bike/walk/run/rollerblade trail. It is my observation that the roller bladers have the best bodies in general and the nicest legs specifically. My observations are driven strictly by my love of science.

I had some meetings today on the 19^th floor of the Omni Hotel in New Haven. If you're reading this from out of town, 19 stories is pretty tall for us. There are only two or three taller buildings here.

During some lulls I looked down at the city. New Haven is loaded with old buildings, most with beautiful features. With the resurgence of Downtown New Haven, many are in the midst of conversion from business to residential.

Obviously, as techniques have changed, so has construction. No one is putting up these little three and four story structures anymore.

Each one, almost without exception, had intricate work on the facade. Many still had the name of the company they were built for.

Who put up the Johnson Building? I have no idea, but Johnson lives on with his name permanently affixed.

Sometimes the name of the company is tough to see. There's one building which was home to a coal company. You can't read all of it, but "COAL" shows through.

A few days ago I walked by what probably was the headquarters of the water company, when it was a private entity... and a whole lot smaller than it is now.

This is a blog entry which calls out for photos. I apologize they're not here. I've got to take my camera and capture some of this old school ambiance. Who knows how long any of it will last?

What upsets me is how easy it is to walk by this stuff and never see it! That's what I've been doing for years. In that regard, I've got to change.

Usually, when I come home from work, Helaine is already asleep. I understand her plight. Light sleeping Helaine needs to get some quality pillow time before "Snoring Geoff" comes to bed.

Last night, as I pulled in front of our house, I noticed a light on in the family room. She was awake, and I knew why.

Sitting on the sofa, Helaine had her laptop running with the Phillies game on. As is often her custom in a close game, the sound was down.

Just in case you're not a baseball fan, let me get you caught up. The Phils began the season by losing nearly a month's worth of games. As spring progressed, it was easy to see the Phils weren't going to have a good year.

As poorly as the Phillies played, the Mets were their opposite. They were steamrolling through the regular season and by the first days of summer, post season play seemed inevitable.

And then it changed!

I'm not sure how, but the Phillies have clawed their way back. It's obviously been done with smoke and mirrors, because they don't have any relief pitching. I say that and I'm a fan!

So, as we stand now, the Phillies are tantalizingly close to catching the Mets, but the season is dwindling. That's why last night's game against St. Louis was keeping Helaine up.

The Phillies went ahead in the top of the 9^th only to give up the lead in the bottom of the inning. The 9^th became the 10^th and then the 11^th. With every Cardinal batter we feared... no, we knew, the wheels would come off the cart and the Phillies would lose.

They didn't.

In the 14^th inning and out of position players, the Phillies scored three, held on and won! Jose Mesa, the General Custer of closers, pitched two flawless innings.

Poor Helaine. For her, it was the middle of the night!

Odds are we'll end the season disappointed. The Phils are still 1½ games out of first and 1½ games behind the San Diego Padres for the Wild Card. They need to catch up to play on, and with other teams in front, it's might be out of their control.

Right now, it's just fun rooting for them. They seem to want to win.

It was also very nice to see my wife when I got home. Thanks Phils.

Back in 1980 I was working in Buffalo. My Philadelphia friend, Lucy, invited me to join her for a weekend at a family owned compound in what is referred to as "Cottage Country," north of Toronto.

On a frigid, crystal clear lake, reachable only by their classic mahogany power boat, it was pretty close to heaven. For that weekend I was part of her family, joining them for every activity. I even went to church with them (and throughly enjoyed that experience too).

While driving up, I got hungry and stopped along the road for some food. I bought a sandwich and a Coke, handed the clerk a US $20 bill and got $22 Canadian change... plus my food!

What a country!

Actually, all that meant was, the US dollar was worth a lot more than its Canadian equivalent. As of today, they're of nearly equal value. I think the proper term is, they're at par.

I'm not an economist, but I'm pretty sure the value of a nations currency is directly tied to the strength of its economy. Our dollar is weak.

Over times, things tend to even out. A weaker US dollar makes our exports more reasonably priced overseas... at least it does with those things we still make here. Conversely, imports continue to cost more. That's an incentive to buy American, here and abroad.

Still, having the US and Canadian dollars at par troubles me on an emotional level. Our dollar being more valuable has always been a given. It's the first time in my life it's not.

I don't personally see signs of a weak economy, but obviously, others do. Our cheaper dollar is screaming that to anyone who will listen.

Writing here in the past, and in emails to friends, I have often wondered about the new power of the consumer. For the first time ever, a disgruntled customer can get his hands on a 'printing press' in the form of a website.

I'm saying this after reading the full text of Lowes-sucks.com! Lowes is not pleased.

In this case, it seems to be Lowes misfortune to have underperformed for someone already inclined to be a gadfly. To say this guy's prose reads like a rant is an understatement.

On the other hand, based on his side of the story, he was wronged. True or not, and with Lowes not addressing his gripes, his online attitude shows he thinks they have a lot more to lose than he does¹.

There is already a loser here: Lowes. This guy's beef is $2,500, but it has to have already cost Lowes more than that in bad will and negative publicity.

Forget the always powerful steamroller that is geofffox.com. The story has been posted on Consumerist - a reasonably well traveled site of whiners (that I visit a few times a day). Lowes-sucks.com is undoubtedly getting traffic.

A former friend of mine... an attorney who held another business-sucks website... told me in no uncertain terms: it's protected speech to mount a 'sucks' site.

So, let's revisit my original thought. Does business disregard this new consumer power at its own peril? Is it fair to give this much power to a consumer... even a wacko consumer?

These are questions that are now being asked on a daily basis by corporate officers not used to worrying about individual consumers. I'm not unhappy about that.

¹ - I'm a firm believer, in a pissing contest everyone gets wet

It's a day and a half since I was last outside. I am recuperating after having more gum surgery yesterday. I don't recommend this as a leisure time activity, but it's not as bad as you might think.

I knew I needed this last treatment for a while, but hadn't made an appointment. A few weeks ago, Helaine pointed out yesterday would be the perfect day (is there a perfect day for periodontal work?). No appointments were available.

I asked to be contacted if anyone canceled and that's just what happened.

Actually, this was a perfect outcome. Who doesn't anguish over upcoming dentistry - especially if you're going to have your gums sliced open like a piece of ripe fruit? I had less than a day to be a head case.

Believe me, I am a head case!

I got to Dr. Weiss' office at 10:15. By 10:20 I was in the chair. By 10:21 Rebbecca, his assistant, had spun the knob and the nitrous oxide was flowing up my nose.

I'm no doctor, but if you're going for dental work, have fear of pain and don't get gas - you're nuts. It doesn't stop pain, but it does relax you and (in my case) remove inhibitions.

I've been taking gas for dentistry since I was a kid. I remember sitting in the dentist's office and feeling the window mounted air conditioning unit vibrate. Trust me - you wouldn't feel it vibrate without gas!

After the gas comes the novacaine. Actually, as I understand it, it's really not novacaine anymore. This is the part I dislike most. Getting a shot is one thing. Getting one in your mouth is way over the top.

Lying on my back in the dental chair, I stretch my body and arch my back, but it's a reaction that speaks to fear more than pain.

By the time the injections have taken hold, I'm high as a kite from the gas and totally numb where the work is being performed. When Helaine came to pick me up, she was told I talked through the whole thing... not that I remember much of it!

Exactly what went on in my mouth is a mystery to me. Dr. Weiss said I needed this one additional section of gum fixed and who was I to say no?

Dentistry is very much a matter of trust. After all, how many places do you go feeling well, knowing you're not leaving that way? You either trust your dentist or not.

Yesterday, after the injections wore off, I was uncomfortable, but not in pain. That discomfort has diminished over time, but it's still there a little as the ibuprofen's effect slacks off between pills.

Along my gum line, on the tongue side of my teeth, there is a piece of plastic material - packing. I'm surprised it's still there protecting the surgery. When it falls away (any time I expect) the stitches Dr. Weiss used to close my wound will be exposed.

I should be pain free, with only the weird sensation of the surgical thread against my tongue to remind me what went on.

He's a nice guy, but I'd rather just see him somewhere else.

Our modern society makes it very easy for data agreggators to know nearly everything about us. Someone knows what I watch on TV, surf to on the Internet, buy with my credit card, drive to with my EZ-Pass. You get the idea.

The more these individual pieces of data are put together, the less privacy I have. That's pretty simple to understand.

My opinion is, we need more protection against the dossiers that are already being compiled on all of us. Those who do the compiling disagree, of course. Knowledge equals money.

I am worried about this corporate spying. I am worried about government spying. I'm most worried when it's done by the government in concert with corporations - like the phone and cable companies.

Newsweek is covering this in depth.

I am old enough to remember the government's roughshod disregard of privacy during the 60s and 70s. Using the less sophisticated means available, intelligence was amassed against political opponents.

These weren't dangerous people. They were ideological adversaries. I don't want to see that happen again.

Even without nefarious intent, when you cast a net this wide the number of false positives within the billions of pieces of data available becomes unwieldy and impossible to thoroughly check.

In this world of secrecy, how are errors corrected? How do you offer defense against a shadowy accuser who might not tell you what you're accused of or how they came to their conclusion?

All I can think about is airport screening. The TSA treats everyone like a criminal... everyone like a terrorist. I've seen old women, hands outstretched, probed by a wand as the other passengers look on.

I want my intelligence agencies to be able to discriminate between real threats and crap. I'm willing to ride with the added danger white haired old women pose.

If this is the best they can do in public, what's going on in private, with little or no oversight? I don't want my personal data being scrutinized in the same way, and by the same people, who make me remove my shoes at the airport.

I value my privacy, even with nothing to hide.

Blogger's addendum: After posting this entry I ran into another article, this from the Washington Post, looking at more troubling compilations of data on random citizens.

I took my hurricane presentation up to the American Radio Relay League this afternoon. The ARRL is the 'mothership' for ham radio in America. It's located into Newington, under an hour north of the house.

I don't want to do it too often, but I enjoy the opportunity to present before a live audience. The response is totally different than what you get on TV (obviously).

I have certain expectations. There are times when I hope for laughs, other times when I'm looking for attentive silence. Much of what I do is similar each time. The reaction isn't always the same.

I used to find that puzzling. What I've come to realize is, audiences are different. That's especially true with school audiences. There is an institutional personality that can guide everyone in the room to conform. That's bad much more often than it's good.

Today's audience was very attentive and kind in their response. A friend in the audience commented later that my presentation didn't have a tidy conclusion and payoff.

Unfortunately, he's right. My subject is hurricanes and New England. There's no neat payoff because a major hurricane up here (ala 1938) would be catastrophic. We're not prepared in any sense of the word.

My story asks lots of questions but offers few answers.

About two years ago, a bunch of my friends got together to make a movie for an 8 hour film contest. One of the participants was Harvey. Harvey is a physician, heavy on the research, whose specialty is getting women pregnant.

He likes to say that. Me too.

One of the things Harvey has devised is a test used to better understand why some women don't get pregnant... and how to change that. I'm oversimplifying, but you get the idea.

When we made the movie, Harvey knew nothing about video production. Because he had Final Cut Pro on his Mac laptop, and because he didn't know how to use it, he asked if he could be our editor!

He wanted others, people who did know what they were doing, to teach him the software. That was a masterstroke.

That afternoon, Harvey began to edit. What he did was rudimentary, but before we began, Harvey didn't know enough to know the extent of what he didn't know!

I got an IM from Harvey yesterday. He was working on his own video project, explaining a medical test he's devised for IVF candidates. Would I look at it?

What Harvey brought was a little rough. You could see it wasn't done by someone who edited a lot. But, it was easy to see there was a really good and effective presentation hidden beneath the rough cuts.

First I, then my weather partner Gil Simmons, watched the video and took notes. Most of the problems were simple things - dissolves versus cuts and how to work around shaky shots. Harvey took it all in.

The really cool part was, Harvey had gotten so close by himself. He shot, wrote and edited the whole production¹ with no outside help.

We had dinner and Harvey headed home, hoping to begin cleaning the production up. We spoke again at 11:30 PM.

By this time, I was as anxious to make the video a success as he was. I drove to his home and spent nearly three hours with him working on graphic elements.

Final Cut Pro is an amazing product. Just using the tools he had at home, Harvey was beginning to have a very slick looking production. It will end up being burned on DVDs and put on the web as Flash video.

There is a moral to this story. The kind of production Harvey assembled could have cost well into five figures - and it would have been worth it. Now, effective video production can be done by anyone, even a multiply doctored academician from Yale!

It's true he needed some professional help to get him on track, but he was incredibly close to success all on his own. Non-linear editing tools allowed us to manipulate the project where it needed to be with little trouble.

Video production is the most powerful storytelling medium ever devised by man. It has been democratized.

¹ - Writing is probably the most important part of video production. A well written story is the blueprint which guides how everything is assembled. Good writers are tough to come by.

Let me talk about my father as if he wasn't reading this... which he most certainly is. At 82, my dad's totally sharp, but some of his parts are definitely out of warranty.

Botched cataract surgery left him with one working eye. The good eye has cataracts too, but he's petrified to do anything about it. I can't blame him.

Over the years his hearing has also begun to fail. If my parents are watching TV, anyone within a few hundred yards knows and when the telephone rings... holy crap, it's like noontime at a cuckoo clock factory.

Of course the problem with my dad's hearing loss is he really has no way of knowing what he can't hear.

He wears a hearing aid in each ear, but why? They do nothing, except squeal when he removes them. It's been frustrating for everyone involved, my dad included.

When we were visiting a few weeks ago, I asked my folks to check. Maybe there's a better hearing aid available now, or his could be adjusted? It couldn't hurt to ask.

They went today.

Yo, Costco. Shout out from Geoff. You rock! My dad can hear again. Let me kiss you on the lips.

My dad and mom went to Costco this afternoon. He met with an audiologist who gave him a hearing test and then adjusted the electronics in his hearing aids. It's not just volume that gets tweaked. A good hearing aid should compensate differently at different frequencies.

"You don't need new hearing aids," the audiologist said. In fact, as it turns out, there's still plenty of room to adjust them should his hearing continue to change. And did I mention - since he bought them at Costco originally, no charge.

My dad put them in and... oh my God, he can hear clearly. It's the first time in years.

My mom was so excited she left a message on my cellphone. I could hear her voice bubbling as her voice played back.

When I finally spoke to my dad, I'm certain I could actually hear him grinning. "I can hear the microwave," he said from the kitchen. "I never did before."

I started to cry.

Actually, the most telling evidence came when my dad walked out of the bedroom. He complained to my mom the TV was too loud.

Hallelujah!

Like so many of us, as he upgraded his PC, my friend John¹ didn't know what to do with the old one. He had a relative, a grown man, with no computer, and John asked if I'd set him up with this old one.

This is something I've done dozens of times, and I almost always reinstall Windows. This time, I thought I'd try something a little different.

The end user wasn't going to play games or work in multimedia. He was going to use the computer for web surfing and email. Instead of Windows, I installed Ubuntu Linux.

My thought is, this guy doesn't know anything technical. Why saddle him with an operating system that's got a bullseye on it, attractive to anyone writing spyware or viruses?

The install went flawlessly. I inserted the Ubuntu disk, answered a few questions (actually, John did all of this) and let the PC do its thing. The only bumps in the road had to do with installing Flash (I wish Ubuntu came with this already installed) and attempting to upgrade the video driver.

I rebooted after updating the driver and ended up with a blank screen! Damn you penguin. As has happened so often in the past, I had fixed the computer to the point of breaking it!

The bad video driver was quickly removed. John watched as I typed some cryptic commands into a text based terminal screen. One bad part of Ubuntu (and all Linux distributions) is, most people would be lost at this point with a dead PC! There are fewer 'Geoff's' to call for technical assistance with this esoteric operating system.

John was pretty pleased (and hopefully his relative will be pleased too). The old computer is quite agile and more than beefy enough for its new assignment.

Refurbishing this computer was the purpose of his trip, but John brought more goodies with him. His wife's company had thrown out some older laptops... which she then rescued from the trash. I could have one, but there was a problem. It was unusable!

The laptop, a very sweet Fujitsu Lifebook Series B subnotebook (a tiny laptop, perfect for traveling) had Windows 2000 installed and was password protected. The password kept me from getting to the programs and the lack of a CD drive kept me from installing a new operating system (like Linux) as a replacement.

In situations like this, I become obsessed.

The Fujitsu has only a USB external floppy drive. It was a comedy of errors as I realized none of my current home machines had floppies, plus I had no floppy disks. There was lots of ad libbing and part swapping to be done.

I scrounged the hardware, then headed to the net, trying to find a solution. Amazingly enough, there are simple single floppy programs which will read and then allow you to overwrite a password. I didn't have to crack the code. I just inserted my password where the original had been.

I felt like a spy as the computer was now programmed to consider me the administrator.

This was great for me, but you have to worry about the level of protection built into today's modern computers. In essence, Microsoft led the original owners to believe these laptops were under electronic lock and key. A guy in his pajamas sitting on the floor shouldn't be able to crack open this laptop... but I did.

Before I went to bed, the laptop downloaded a few years worth of patches from the Microsoft site and was fitted with a wireless card.

This morning, I brought the machine downstairs and played with it a little while eating my breakfast. I was proud of my accomplishment.

"Why do you need another computer," Helaine asked?

It's an obsession I suppose. Some folks go nuts over shoes or jewelry or cars. For me, it's wire and computers. Neither should ever be thrown out - ever.

¹ - John's friends call him "Big John." He is a massive man, well over six feet tall. John's heart is proportional to his height.

The Phillies won last night. The Mets lost. There is joy in the Fox household. For the first time all season, the Phils have a piece of first place.

There's nothing inherently wrong with the Mets, except they stand in the Phillies way. That's pretty simple. They might be working on a cancer cure in the clubhouse. I still don't want them to take Philadelphia's spot in the post season.

Knowing I was writing this, I searched for a graph of this season's performance, because if you're not a baseball fan, you have no idea how remarkable the Mets September swoon has been! It is a classic choke.

Of course all this could change in an instant. The Phillies have broken our hearts before and could do it again. Their 1964 collapse is legend. Squandering their incredible late season sprint on the last weekend would be painful. Please don't do that.

Helaine already has our weekend planned. "The Phillies are on national TV tomorrow," she let me know as I was having breakfast. That means we stay home and remain angst ridden.

In the end, of the eight teams making post season play in Major League Baseball, only one will win its last game. At this moment, just being in the eight would an accomplishment.

I've just watched ABC News reporter Jim Sciutto's package from Myanmar (Burma). The story is powerfully told from a place most of