Tag: Buffalo

More On The Seal

Tonight on the news, right next to my name was the American Meteorological Society’s Broadcast Seal of Approval.

It was actually cooler than I thought it would be. Is this ridiculous?

Let me explain. The seal’s purpose has, in my eyes, changed over time – not necessarily for the good.

Originally, the AMS Broadcast Seal of Approval was given to anyone who showed their broadcast was based on sound scientific principles. I’m sure the wording was a little different, but that was the gist.

About 20 minutes after I started doing the weather in Buffalo, that changed. In order to get the seal you needed to be a meteorologist. For most people, mature in their careers, that was a real sticking point.

Of course, necessity is the mother of invention – and so the distance learning course from Mississippi State was born. Three years, nine semesters, 53 credits and you too can be a meteorologist, all while in your pj’s!

I took the MSU course and immediately found adult Geoff was different than kid Geoff. I’m not sure why, but the passing grade for me became “A.” It’s ridiculous, because no one really cared whether I finish with honors (I did) or by the skin of my teeth. But, 55 is not 18! I was a motivated student.

I finished MSU last summer and almost immediately started getting my act together for the seal. In order to apply, you have to send airchecks from three consecutive day’s broadcasts to a panel of AMS certified broadcast meteorologists.

The panel is very critical (or so I’ve been told). No bit of minutiae is too small to get by. I haven’t received their comments, but word on the street is, they’re always somewhat brutal – pass or fail.

I sent my material to the judges in the beginning of November 2005. That I need to post the year gives you an idea of how ponderous this process is. I received word today – though if I had waited like the patient guy I’m supposed to be, word wouldn’t come for another week or two.

Why does it take over six months? I’ve not a clue. There’s nothing in the process that should take so long. Each member of the panel got his/her own individual copy of my airchecks.

More importantly, isn’t it in the public’s best interest for the AMS to do this quickly? If this is to tell the public someone’s got the goods, why wait?

There is some frustration on my part and I intend to find out why it takes so long.

So, what does this seal certify? From the American Meteorological Society’s website:

the stated goals of the program will be to ensure that meteorologists who hold the Seal of Approval exhibit scientific competence and effective communication skills in their weather forecasts.

In other words, I’m not longer just a schlemiel giving the weather. I’m an actual meteorologist whose scientific competence has been established. Wow.

My mom said she was proud. My wife complimented me on the accomplishment. I’m pretty happy myself.

Curling – More Than Shuffleboard On Ice

Before I left home, and now that I’m at work, I have been watching the one Olympic sport I really enjoy – Curling!

I’m not some curling “Gord come lately!” Helaine and I used to watch curling on Canadian TV when we lived in Buffalo.

The Canadians used to re-brand and then run ABC’s Wide World of Sports. When swimming or other warm weather sports ran, the Canadians would cover them with curling, clips from the Calgary Stampede or other suitable north-of-the-border fare.

It is such a simple game to understand. At first glance it looks like shuffleboard on ice… except this isn’t smooth ice… and then you add in the guys with brooms. It’s crazy.

There’s lots of strategy and tension, no doubt. But, why lie? I like curling because I think I could probably play it. There are few… no, there are no other Olympic sports I ‘d even attempt.

Imagine me on the luge! Imagine me in one of those form fitting outfits the downhill racers wear! imagine me on skis with a rifle! You get the idea.

As I’m writing this, Fred Rogan (who normally anchors sports at KNBC in Los Angeles – a curling hotbed – not) is reading viewer emails. A genuine Canadian is answering them.

I am transfixed!

I just called Helaine. Maybe we could join a co-ed curling league?

Don Chevrier, a Canadian sportscaster who is working with Rogan, has just commented on the curling heat, building in the United States. He was surprised in Salt Lake City, and it’s continuing in Torino.

No matter how much I kid around, I seriously enjoy watching curling. I can’t say that about any other Olympic sport.

Holy cow! What’s wrong with me?

Radar Watching Time

I am watching the radar tonight the same way some people follow the stock market. I’m trying to understand every tick, every nuance.

The computers continue to churn the numbers every six hours, and there continues to be little change in the forecast. Later tomorrow, or maybe Monday, we’ll be digging out from a substantial snowstorm. On the way to that conclusion we’ll experience a few hours of blizzard-like conditions.

I remember driving in a “white out” back in Buffalo. Imagine opening the window and trying to drive with your head outside because you couldn’t see the intersection as you approached them. I can live without that experience for a good long while.

Right now there’s nothing to do but sit and wait… and hope the weather is “as forecast.”

Flying Monkeys Scarred Me As A Child

I am a grown-up. My childhood fears are all in the past – except one. I am still petrified by the flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz.

I’m bringing this up because Helaine informs me the Wizard of Oz is on TV tonight (WPIX-11 from New York). Helaine was scarred by this movie as well.

When I was a kid, The Wizard of Oz ran yearly. CBS made a big deal of it – an event. I avoided it.

I guess sometime early on, I watched and saw monkeys flying from the castle’s tower and panicked. That one scene is one of the few childhood nightmares I remember. Rather than face my fears, I just stopped watching.

Helaine’s problem with the movie is different. She was petrified by the Wicked Witch of the West, aka Margaret Hamilton. As was the case with me, Helaine had nightmares featuring this “Wizard” character.

Later, Hamilton went on to be featured in a series of commercials as Cora, pitching Maxwell House Coffee.

When we moved to Connecticut, Margaret Hamilton lived here! Helaine says, if she had known, we’d still be in Buffalo. As it turns out, Margaret died a year later, though Helaine has suspicions otherwise.

It’s a pretty intense movie for little kids. We can’t be the only ones who still get the heebie jeebies.

Ice – Maybe That’s The Worst Weather

My car never made it home last night. It spent the overnight hours parked about a half mile from me in a stranger’s driveway. More on that in a minute.

Late yesterday evening we started to get rain and sleet here in Connecticut. Though it was forecast, it came an hour or two early. At cloud level temperatures were above freezing. It was a different story on the ground. As soon as the rain hit, it froze.

At work we saw it on our traffic cameras and even ran an advisory on the air. Whatever we could do, we did.

Leaving work at 11:35, my car was covered with a thin sheet of ice. Actually, it was Steffie’s car! My car, a little rear wheel 2-seater, doesn’t leave the garage on days like this.

I chipped the ice off, but it was obvious as I slipped across the parking lot, braking action would be low.

The scene on I-91 was surreal. There were at least a dozen spin outs and accidents. It was an equal opportunity storm – trucks, cars, 4WD SUVs all off to the side.

I am normally a speedy driver. Last night I moved along at 20-30 mph on the Interstate. Unfortunately, conditions like this create extra problems because the difference between the fastest and slowest cars get large. Some people were doing 20 mph. Others were doing 50 mph.

I exited to the Hamden Connector and really slowed down. This wide stretch of highway… the one place where I have opened it up to see how fast my car would go… was empty, and I was petrified. I slowed down to about 15 mph.

The road surface glistened. Rain was falling. My defroster was able to handle the lower reaches of the windshield, but ice was spreading downward from the top. On each sweep of the windshield wiper I could hear the blade scrape the solid surface. It was a reminder things were getting worse.

I took the local road through my town and then turned up a broad, freshly paved and regraded road – a road with a significant grade.

Eggshells. That’s what I tried to remember. Drive like my foot and the gas were separated by eggshells. Don’t break the shell. I slowed to 10 mph.

I turned onto the last well traveled street before my home, but felt very uncomfortable. I tapped the brake lightly, but there was little response other than the chugging of the ABS system.

There was one more dip to make before turning onto my street. I let the car slow to a crawl and hit the brake again. Nothing. I slid. There was no way I was going to make that dip.

All I could picture was sliding down into the abyss, Steffie’s car hitting a tree or sliding off the road and into a brook. I stopped at the edge of the dip. It was reminiscent of me standing along the edge of a swimming pool, deciding whether or not to jump in.

I wimped out.

There was a driveway to my left. I tried to pull in, but there wasn’t enough traction to turn. Now I got scared. I backed up a few feet to lessen the angle of the turn and tried again.

It was about 12:10 AM when I knocked on the door of the house whose driveway I had just entered. There were lights on and a TV visible. Of course I could leave my car there.

It took about 10 minutes to walk from there home. The side of the road had enough rough surface to give me traction, but if a car had come along, I would have quickly moved into the snowy shoulder.

I was caked in ice by the time I hit the front door.

I’ve lived in Buffalo. Driving in snow doesn’t scare me. I know what to do and how to handle myself. but there’s no one capable of safely transversing this stuff. It was treacherous and unforgiving. I’m glad I got close to home before giving up the car.

Today, with temperatures in the 40s, Helaine dropped me off to pick up the car. No one was home, so I opened the door of their Jeep and dropped off a box of candies as a thank you.

It was a good and nice thing to do – I’m glad I did it. It was totally Helaine’s idea. Give her the credit.

So, how did you spend your Thursday night?

Who’s Hot In Your Family?

From time-to-time I’ll get calls from policemen or public officials asking for weather info. Because I don’t want to be someone’s expert witness, called into court, I just tell them where the data is (sometimes holding their hand while they get it).

A few weeks ago the call was from a building inspector in a nearby town. After taking care of him, I asked a favor. “By law, how warm must a residential building be heated?”

I wasn’t totally surprised when he told me 65&#176.

“So, you mean, I can have Helaine arrested?”

Helaine doesn’t keep the house this cold because she’s looking to hang meat. It’s this cold because it’s her comfort level. It isn’t mine.

We are not alone. By law, no married couple has the same internal thermostat! Whether it’s the husband or wife, who specifically is cold/hot doesn’t matter. Their spouse will be the opposite.

When I was single, living in a Buffalo apartment that had a measurable wind chill, I could often be found on my sofa, naked. Those days are long gone.

Nowadays I’m a flannel wearing, white sock footed, shivering, wuss. I think Helaine walks around drinking iced tea and fanning herself.

There’s no way around this other than compromise… which is what we do. We compromise and let her set the thermostat.

My Wife And I Have Balls

It’s cold. It’s the winter. The countryside is covered in snow. This is not perfect weather for the Fox Family.

It’s also Saturday. We wanted to do something and not waste a perfectly good weekend day.

A quick check of the paper showed nothing at the movies we wanted to see. The Yale Rep and Yale Cabaret are both dark&#185.

I looked for a comedy club. The Treehouse, in Fairfield County, had listings for Wednesdays and Saturdays in November (update the website guys) and December, but is mysteriously empty this weekend.

Finally Helaine suggested we go bowling. She made the suggestion knowing full well I’d find an excuse to say no. I didn’t.

I called our local bowling alley (I’m sure they’d rather be called a bowling center… and they can, on their blog). There were lanes open, but they asked for my name, in case things got busy. No names – I had my info.

We went and had dinner at the local Chinese buffet. Overhead speakers blasted Christmas music from a local radio station. My favorite, Darlene Love’s “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home),” played.

The bowling alley was only a few minutes away. We walked in and found the place more empty than full.

Helaine and I have a history with bowling, and this seems as good a time as any to tell the story.

Back in Buffalo, among other duties, I was the weekend weatherman. Helaine, living and working in Philadelphia, would come and visit on weekends. We were the proverbial strangers in a strange land.

Saturday nights, after the late news, we would join a bunch of people from the station and go to “Moonlight Bowling.” There would be Phil Kavits and Mike Andrei, Rhona Shore (one of our reporters) and Jim Sherlock (assistant news director and her boyfriend).

I’m sure there were others, but this was nearly 25 years ago. Forgive me.

The concept of “Moonlight Bowling” is simple. You turn off most of the lights, light a few black lights, add a smattering of multicolored pins on each lane, and pay bowlers cash when certain pin arrangements come up and they make a strike.

It was a quarter here, fifty cents there. Not big money. It was a blast. And we had fun blowing off a little steam. Like all employees, we weren’t adverse to second guessing our bosses.

This group from the TV station would go nearly every Saturday night. Then, when it was over, we’d get breakfast. That was around 3:00 AM.

It should be noted, somehow in those years I had entered into a pack with the Devil, allowing me to eat anything and never gain a pound. The Devil and I have had a falling out since then.

None of us were ever good at bowling. But, we had a great time bowling.

Flash ahead to Connecticut. When we first moved here, Helaine met some people and ended up in a bowling league. When she bought a ball and shoes, I did too. So, as the title says, we both have balls. Even better, neither of us wear rented shoes – one of life’s stranger concepts.

Over time, we just haven’t bowled much. Steffie had a bowling birthday party while growing up and I’m sure we went to parties thrown for other kids, but that’s a long time ago.

12-10-05_1910Actually, there’s a better way to demonstrate how long it’s been since we bowled. When we went to unzip our bags to take out the balls and shoes, the zippers were rusted shut! Really. You could see a tinge of green around the immobile zipper.

The bowling bags ‘live’ in the garage, so the culprit is probably salt spray from our cars’ tires. Another reason to dislike winter.

Luckily, the guys behind the counter were happy to help… and much stronger than me. Before you knew it, the zipper was zipping and we were ready to bowl.

12-10-05_1915We moved to lane 11.

Just as we were about to begin, the lights went out and the music started blasting. It was “Moonlight Bowling” all over again! There was one addition, stage fog, and one subtraction, no cash payouts.

We started slowly. My first ball was a gutter ball. In the first game, I barely broke 100. Helaine wasn’t far behind.

The second game went a little smoother, but I was still out ahead. In fact, Helaine trailed by thirty pins in the seventh frame.

bowling1Then, she caught fire!

Helaine rolled a strike in the eight frame… and the ninth… and two in the tenth – four strikes in a row! By the time all was said and done, Helaine had beaten me 158 – 143. She will be tested for steroids later.

Did she want to bowl again? Hell yeah!

bowling2We started our third game, and this time it was my turn to get hot. I made marks in my first 8 frames, finishing with 175, my personal best.

Helaine probably won’t admit this, but she’s just as competitive as me. Now there’s incentive for us to go again.

I’m a lucky guy. Two decades and change since “Moonlight Bowling” and I still have fun with the girl I took back then… and I still beat her.

&#185 – I’m embarrassed to say we’ve been to neither. That’s a shame. As much as I enjoy theater (and I really do), I need to be taking advantage of local resources like that.

How I Met My Wife

Helaine and I have known each other for twenty five years. I wish I remembered the exact date. I don’t. I know it was around this time of year, sometime in mid-July.

I was working at WIFI – a horrendous top-40 station in Philadelphia. Though owned by the movie chain, “General Cinema,” it seemed more like a mom and pop operation. The equipment was tired and in a semi-constant state of disrepair.

On the air, we used every gimmick possible to try and magnify what meager ratings we had. We even ‘kited’ time checks to try and inflate the amount of time people said they were listening!

Though a true blue radio fanatic, I was getting burned out by my time at WIFI. The final straw was getting calls from nine and ten year olds asking me to play, “We don’t need no education.”

I felt, single handedly, I was leading American society into some sort of social abyss. I made the decision to leave radio and get into television.

Though thirty, I was very young looking. I had only begun to shave on a regular basis. Here’s my 1980 driver’s license. You make the call.

I took everything I’d ever done in front of a camera (and this included telethon appearances, an Evening Magazine audition in Philadelphia, even “Popeye’s 50th Birthday Party”) and started searching for a TV job. On this particular July day the call came in&#185.

I was incredibly excited. Not only would I be leaving WIFI, I’d also be starting a new life a television… albeit in Buffalo.

My air shift ended at 10:00 AM. I ran out of the studio, toward the parking lot&#178 where I’d meet some friends and tell them the good news.

To exit the WIFI studio, you opened the door, turned right, walked down a hallway and then around the edge of another studio, making a full 180&#176 turn! As I rounded that corner I ran into a woman who had just started working in the promotion department.

When I say “ran into,” I am being literal. I ran into her and knocked her to the ground! That was my first contact with Helaine!

We saw each other a few times, but I was exiting Philadelphia in a few weeks. I was a guy who tried to avoid commitment during normal times… much less now, as I packed my stuff.

OK – I’m a jerk. I’m a fool. For all intents and purposes, I should have lost her to someone smarter and more mature. But, I didn’t.

I left Philly and didn’t see Helaine for another year and a half. I’ll tell how we got together some other time. It’s an interesting story with me, again, playing the part of the jerk!

The story you’ve read has been told a zillion times. It needs no embellishment, because it’s totally true.

As it turns out, it might be the best day of my life. The day my career changed and, more importantly, the day I met the woman I’d love for the rest of my life.

Maybe this is why I love the summer and why July is my favorite month. I bet Helaine knows the exact date.

&#185 – The call came from WGR-TV’s program director, Farrell Meisel. I can never thank Farrell enough for that first opportunity. He took a great chance, considering I had no experience in TV at all. Farrell and I are still really good friends, though I can no longer work for his TV station as I don’t speak Arabic!

&#178 – WIFI’s studio were in a mid-rise office complex in Bala Cynwyd, PA (yes, that’s how it’s spelled). In that pre consolidation era, we were in the same building as four other radio stations.

Gee Geoff, You Must Love This Stuff

It happens with every snow storm and every severe weather outbreak. Someone will come to me and say, “You must really enjoy this wild weather.” No. The simple answer is no.

I’m not sure why it happens. Would someone go to their doctor and say, “Boy, you must really love it when someone gets sick?” I hope not.

The truth is, though most weather is harmless… even most severe weather… some is not. A call came in a few minutes ago from a co-worker telling me about all the tree limbs down in his part of the state.

“Was it a microburst,” he wanted to know?

Sometimes lightning strikes. Sometimes bigs winds do blow things down, damaging property, hurting people. Snow storms cost money too, as well as having the potential to hurt you.

There are lots of people who do what I do because they grew up enjoying storms. I can’t blame them for that interest. But, as an adult, it’s time to look at this with perspective.

Last night I watched a lecture in one of my meteorology courses. The professor was practically frothing at the mouth as he talked about the setup for a possible tornadic outbreak. He used phrases like, “what you want,” while talking about what we actually don’t want.

I found it disturbing. I was getting angry as I viewed the DVD.

I’m sure he meant no harm and wouldn’t want people injured or property destroyed. That was, however, what he was excited about. He seemed unable to separate his fascination with storms from their reality.

I read things like this on a weather related bulletin board I frequent too. These don’t seem to be rare instances.

Maybe I don’t get it because I came upon weather later in life. It was originally a way of working inside during Buffalo winters. It wasn’t my passion as a child.

Whatever the reason, I find it distasteful.

The Trip Continues

Getting to Philadelphia was no problem. It was leaving that seemed to be the sticking point.

I had a long layover in Philadelphia – over an hour and a half. The Embraer Regional Jet to Atlanta was in on time. We boarded on time. And then the announcement.

The pilot came on from the cockpit to tell us thunderstorms around Atlanta were going hold us up. It would be an hour until he found out when we’d be!” And, since the gate was needed for another plane, he’d drive to a quiet spot for us to wait.

I’d like to tell you the passengers protested, or the wait was interminable or some other tragic story of passenger pain, but it wasn’t that bad. We left Philadelphia about an hour and a half late.

I actually found the plane, an ERJ170, reasonably comfortable. Just like the Dash-8 I took from New Haven to Philadelphia, this plane had plenty of legroom in narrow seats. The interior was spartan and somehow European. The interior actually reminded me of a Fokker-100.&#185

Is it just me or is it weird to be on an airplane designed and built in Brazil?

The trip to Atlanta was bumpy, but uneventful. Getting off in Atlanta was another story. The terminal looked like a mall on the weekend before Christmas. It was jammed – as busy as any airline terminal I had ever visited.

Helaine had found a great deal for a medium size car from Avis. That ended up being a Chevy Malibu. It is possible there is a car that has less style, but I doubt it. It looks like it was designed and built with absolutely no anticipation anyone would actually want to own one. They were right.

My hotel is the Hilton Garden Inn – Perimeter in one of the many exurbs that ring Atlanta. This is actually a fairly nice hotel and a good value. And, along with everything else, there’s free high speed Internet service (though not enough signal at the desk in this room to use it from there).

This evening (a late evening) I joined Mark and Annie, both of whom I worked with at Channel 8, for dinner. I left it up to them and we went to Ted’s… owned by Ted Turner and featuring Bison meat!

We all had Bison burgers, which were very good. I also had New England clam chowder (could have been warmer and larger, but it was very tasty). This being Atlanta, Coca Cola’s world headquarters, I broke down and had a Coke, which was served from the glass bottle.

Next stop was CNN, where Mark and Annie now work. This is interesting because there are familiar views in the CNN Center that I’ve seen for years.

Visiting CNN at night, there were no on-air types to be seen. Most of their nighttime programming is from New York or Los Angeles (Larry King).

Actually, that gave me more of an opportunity to look around. Their newsroom, directly behind the news set, may be the most photogenic TV space I’ve ever been in.

Busy day. I’m going to bed.

&#185 – The Fokker 100 is a small, though older, regional jet. USAir used to fly them to Buffalo. They were quite comfortable, except for the low ceilings. They were low enough that I once asked a flight attendant if her assignment in this particular model was penance for something she had done?

King of the Wusses

Next Friday marks 21 years that Helaine and I have been married. I am the lucky one here – let there be no doubt.

As it turns out, we very nearly didn’t get married. This is not a story about the guy getting cold feet or anything like that. This is all about blood! In order to get married you take a blood test. Though it’s seldom discussed, the romantic reason is to make sure you have no sexually transmitted disease. Nice.

We were in Buffalo. We were excited. We were ready to get married. I had never given blood before. I’m not certain Helaine had either (though that certainly has changed, especially while she was pregnant with Stefanie).

Where does one go to get a blood test? We didn’t know, but our friend Jeff Lapides recommended his friend (and former high school classmate) Tommy Cumbo – by this time Dr. Cumbo.

It isn’t the fault of Dr. Cumbo or his office staff, but they couldn’t get blood from my quivering arm. I was so panic stricken it’s a wonder they got within ten feet of me!

Time was running out. The wedding was approaching. No test – no license.

Finally, with little time remaining, we went to the hospital and a phlebotomist (let’s see if that word makes it through the spell checker). This was a woman whose sole job was extracting blood. Dealing with little wimps like me was just a normal part of her day.

Amazingly, she did it. And it didn’t even hurt.

That last part is important, because it should have said to me, “Idiot, you need not fear this.” Good luck on that happening.

I didn’t need another blood test for years… decades actually. Unfortunately, as I got older, my current physician wisely thought it would be a good idea to check my cholesterol. After all my dad has had bypass surgery plus surgery on both coratid arteries because of a buildup of plaque. Even if it wasn’t hereditary, I ate the same food he ate for 18 years.

The test came back with bad news for me. My cholesterol was high. I don’t remember the numbers but they were enough to make those in the know go, “wow.”

There is good news too. Cholesterol can be controlled with drugs. I started taking Baycol (since recalled because it was killing people – oops) and now Lipitor. My cholesterol is within the reasonable range.

Unfortunately for me, there are risks with taking these ‘statin’ drugs. So, every six months I have to have more blood drawn. Tests are performed to make sure the Lipitor isn’t hurting me and to see where my cholesterol stands.

Every six months a blood test… and I still panic as if it were the first time.

Today was my day to go. I went to a huge medical building on Whitney Avenue in Hamden. Inside are dozens of doctor’s offices and the lab. From the outside, it looked as if they were passing things out for free because the place was jammed.

I didn’t wait long to see the phlebotomist. She remembered me from a prior trip and my anxiety.

I sit in the chair, try to clear everything from me mind and close my eyes tight. She told me to take a deep breath, but I couldn’t.

The last time it didn’t hurt at all. This time it stung and then burned. It wasn’t awful… but it isn’t the kind of thing I’d do as a hobby. Or, more to the point, there is little chance of me becoming an IV drug user anytime soon.

When I was done, I hugged the woman who had drawn the blood. She knew it was coming. It is somewhat symbolic, but it’s also an incredible release after all the tension and foolish anticipation I had built up inside of me.

Within the next day or two the doctor will call and tell me what’s good, bad and indifferent in my system. I will be safely away from having blood drawn for another six months.

When I go back, and I will, I’ll still be scared as if it were the first time. It seems so silly that I can’t place this little pain in its proper perspective. That’s what you get when you’re a wuss.

Diner Discussions

This was originally going to be called “Dinner Discussions,” but when I made the type to “Diner Discussions,” I realized it fit better.

I got a call this afternoon from my friend Farrell. He and his wife were in Connecticut at Mohegan Sun Casino. Actually, I think Farrell called out of a sense of boredom because casinos were not built for him!

I asked when they were driving back to New Jersey. When it seemed like a reasonable time, I asked if they’d like to stop for dinner in New Haven?

Farrell said he was in jeans and I didn’t feel like shaving&#185, so we decided to meet at the Greek Olive. The Greek Olive is a diner located right off I-95 at Long Wharf in New Haven. It’s about 15 minutes from here and under an hour from Mohegan Sun, but on the way home for them.

Tony and Anna who own it, used to own the luncheonette next to the TV station. I’ve known them and their daughters for years. I eat there two or three nights a week.

I drove to Long Wharf, getting there before Farrell, his wife and sister (who lives in Derby and was invited to join us). It was reasonably crowded, but someone was leaving a circular table tucked away in a corner of the dining room and Anna asked if we’d like it.

I know this blog is read all across the world (that continues to completely stun me), so I should explain the concept of a diner. They will make pretty much anything – from prime rib down to scrambled eggs and everything in between. The service is fast. The portions are generous. The coffee is never ending.

Though I’m not eating desserts at the moment, diners are known for their amazing baked goods – and this place is no exception. As you walk in, it’s tough to miss the huge cakes sitting in a refrigerated, glass walled case.

I have known Farrell for nearly 25 years. He was responsible for me getting my first TV job in Buffalo. I try not to hold that against him.

Everyone sat down, and the small talk began. It wasn’t long before we began to talk politics and the election. There is no doubt in my mind that the interest in this particular presidential election is just as great, maybe greater, than any in my lifetime.

I don’t think the country has been this divided Nixon – McGovern in 1972. By that I mean the supporters of either candidate find it difficult to understand how anyone could vote for the other guy. Back in 1972 the two side were also far apart in policy but very mismatched in strength. Nixon was a juggernaut in that election.

This time the lines are again well drawn, but the supporting camps are more evenly matched in size.

After a little while Tony walked by, pulled up a chair and sat down to join the discussion. It was great.

Really good discourse of any kind (but especially political) is a lot of fun. It is to your brain as exercise is to your muscles. It made a good meal with friends even better.

I watched Jon Stewart of the Daily Show on Crossfire on CNN a few days ago. He criticized the hosts (Paul Begala and Tucker Carlson) for using dogmatic arguments or quotes out of context or just plain spin to promote people they supported. Stewart claimed this ‘ends justifies the means’ method of political argument seen so often on cable TV does our country a disservice.

I agree.

That’s why this discussion, which was so free wheeling and open was so much fun.

I don’t agree with everything everyone said… in fact I disagree with lots of what I heard. I was just glad to have the workout and suspect everyone there was enjoying it too.

What I expected to be a terribly lonely night, in the house by myself, turned out better than anticipated.

&#185 – If Helaine found out that I shaved on a Saturday while she was away, she would call for an investigation – and be justified doing it.

Winter – Sooner, Not Later

I was looking back at past winters, seeing how early it’s snowed. Sobering. Even this early in October there have been significant snows in the past. Whatever we get, it’s better than my last home.

I lived in Buffalo for four years. I don’t think most people understand how pervasive and localized Lake Effect snow can be.

My wife and I were married in Pennsylvania, so we drove to Erie for our marriage license. As we left our house, near downtown, there were flurries. Once we got to South Buffalo and the so-called Southtowns, the snow was moderate to heavy. Within ten miles we had left the snow and driven into the sunshine. It was that way, sunny, all the way to Erie.

On our way back, the bands had not moved. So, it was totally clear until the Southtowns, then moderate snow and back to flurries at home!

It snows often enough in Buffalo that my television station (WGRZ) had heated sidewalks and a heated driveway. The hot water pipes from the station ran close to the surface and water was shunted in when needed. I had never seen an installation like that before or since.

There were times when some snow was recorded every day for a week or more!

I do not miss Buffalo winters. I am not looking forward to winter here either.

Stay Safe… Except Me

Hurricane Alex has just left the East Coast. Within days it will be a memory, absorbed into the normal flow of extra-tropical weather. As hurricanes go, it was small and its impact to the Carolina’s will be discernible, but small.

Since Alex was never thought to be a huge storm, I didn’t get to cringe at the sight of TV reporters, and weather people, standing in the thick of it all – all the while telling others to stay inside where it’s safe.

I think this is right up there with tobacco companies telling me not to smoke. Where’s the credibility.

I know where this came from. Dan Rather got his TV chops covering a hurricane in Texas. It was because of that very gritty series of on-location reports that he was plucked from obscurity. Good for Dan.

The problem is, all the warnings we give on TV are correct. Hurricanes are dangerous storms. Being in the midst of an open area, adjacent to open water, with a hurricane coming on shore, is going to get someone killed.

I have watched live shots as reporters tilted off vertical, into the wind, in order to stand. In the background of those shots I’ve also seen debris and building materials turned into missiles. That they didn’t find a reporter is only luck.

In a larger sense, aren’t we sending the wrong signal to viewers? It’s a ‘do as I say’ mentality that will entice others into harm’s way.

You might be saying, “But Geoff, you’ve flown through the eye of two hurricanes. Isn’t that a little crazier and a lot more dangerous?”

Thanks. I’m glad I asked that.

Flying through a hurricane is totally different. The planes are specifically outfitted to withstand the buffeting they get. The planes are flown at an altitude where there is no solid debris to run into. And the well trained crews have the benefit of radar and other instrumentation to know where, and where not, to go.&#185

I also won’t criticize tornado chasers. As far as I can tell, no one has ever been hurt while chasing a tornado. These are compact systems with reasonably predictable paths. It is quite reasonable to watch a tornado safely from a distance, if you know what you’re doing.

Back when I did PM Magazine/Buffalo I used to joke around about the fact that you can’t get hurt if you’re in front of a camera and tape’s rolling. Of course that’s just not so. Unfortunately, it looks like a lot of the reporters in big storms feel just that way.

I hope this isn’t the year when something tragic happens. That time is coming. It’s not a question of if, but when.

&#185 – Hurricane Hunter planes never fly directly into the eye. They always turn into the wind and cut diagonally to the eye. This makes some of the terrible force near the center nothing more than a ferocious headwind.

David Letterman

I’m going to say bad things, so let me start by saying nice things. It’s part of my inherited guilt.

I think David Letterman is the king of talk show hosts. I have been watching him for at least 25 years – maybe more. He has always been on edge, always been witty, always been funny.

Back in Buffalo I kvetched and complained until our program director, Vicki Gregorian, began running his NBC late night show. Did I have anything to do with our finally clearing it? Probably not, but it still felt good and was the right thing to do.

Before I left Buffalo, I threw a party and sent an invitation to Dave. He never answered. I never thought he would, but it was an expression of the depth of my admiration for him.

There have actually been times when I’ve purposely not watched Dave because I felt I was ripping him off. I didn’t do it on purpose, his influence was that strong.

At home, I have the DVR set to record his show every night. I only watch once or twice a week and then I skim. The truth is, Late Night with David Letterman has gotten stale. It hurts me to say that because of all the respect I still have for Dave.

Tonight was a perfect example of what’s gone wrong. Much of the first half of the show was taken up by tired, reused bits like “Will It Float” and “Know Your Current Events.” This is the antithesis of what made Dave what he is – unpredictable, off-the-wall material. This is the guy who jumped into the water wearing a suit of Alka Seltzer, crushed items with a steamroller, and dropped watermelons off a building.

The show can be saved, but someone’s going to have to shock him into it. I don’t know Dave personally, but everything I’ve read says that won’t be easy. It’s time to scrap the repetition and move on.

Who has the guts to tell him?

As it is, a much less astute, less intellectual, but harder working Jay Leno cleans up in the ratings. It just shouldn’t be. Dave has to take a fair share of the blame. Now it’s time to move on and regain what once was.