Haiti: What I Remember From Being There

It’s impossible for us to fathom what Haitian life must be like tonight. People who never had anything now have less.

haiti-beach.jpgLike you I’ve been watching the coverage of the Haitian earthquake. Each detail makes this sad story sadder. It’s difficult to imagine a spot less able to cope with this kind of adversity.

I have been to Haiti. Strange as it seems I vacationed there with my friend Neal sometime in the late 70s. We spent a week at the Club Med “Magic Isle.”

Even then Club Med never mentioned the country’s name in its promotional material. The club is long since closed, a victim of Haiti’s reputation as the basket case of the Western Hemisphere.

A few weeks before the trip we got paperwork from Club Med. We’d need to take medication before our departure. Malaria was the concern. In most of the country modern sanitation just didn’t exist. Judging by what’s coming out tonight that hasn’t changed.

We flew from JFK non-stop. Back then the airport bore the name of former Haitian president Francois “Papa Doc” Duvalier. His son, “Baby Doc,” was in charge of the country. This was an iron willed dictatorship which produced riches for a few on the backs of many.

Our bus trip through the countryside passed many streams. All were marked with health warning signs. Still there were people in each of them, mostly washing clothes. We didn’t slow down. My glimpses were brief.

Club Med “Magic Isle” itself was an armed camp. A guard station turned away locals who wanted in. Once a week local craftsmen were allowed to approach on the beach. It was obvious this part of Haiti was not for Haitians!

During our week there Neal and I never left the property.

The club itself was as beautiful as it was underused. About half the rooms were empty–this after being priced well below any other Club Med facility.

The view from my room was of stark mountains. They had been clear cut for charcoal–a cash crop. Haiti’s sister country on Hispaniola, the Dominican Republic, had similar rough hills. Theirs were covered in green!

The club was reasonably new when Neal and I arrived. Staff who’d been there for the construction told us the property was totally built by hand. There were no bulldozers or excavators. Hiring locals was much cheaper!

I was conflicted vacationing in this incredibly poor nation. I didn’t think of it before the trip, but it was tough to get off my mind while we were there. I had never been… still have never been… anywhere else with this much poverty. It was everyone. I was unavoidable… except inside the club.

It’s impossible for us to fathom what Haitian life must be like tonight. People who never had anything now have less.

The earthquake is just the first disaster. The next will diseases as dead and decaying bodies rot in place.

It is monumentally sad.

Should I Care About Letterman? I Do

It was obvious the audience was also caught off guard. They didn’t seem to get the drift of what he was saying.

“I’m glad you folks are here tonight, and I’m glad you folks are in such a pleasant mood, because I have a story I’d like to tell you and the home viewers as well.” – David Letterman

letterman-ticket.jpgI rushed home and quickly turned on the TV. I wanted to watch David Letterman’s mea culpa. I am not proud this was must see TV.

A few quick notes. The Letterman extortion story exploded because of the Internet and social media. It wasn’t long after Letterman’s audience exited the Ed Sullivan Theater that the twittering began. Though Letterman was mum the accused perp’s name surfaced by 11:00p and his CBS News affiliation a few minutes later.

Social media led mainstream media by a mile. The Washington Post/CNN’s Howard Kurtz is a perfect example of the new pecking order.

“Weird: I tweeted, Anderson Cooper’s person saw it, seconds later I’m phoning in to CNN on the Letterman affair(s). Talk about Twitter power” – Howard Kurtz via Twitter

I’m a big Letterman fan and have been for nearly 30 years. I watched his confession tonight–that’s what it was.

I knew Dave was a flawed man, but this wasn’t a flaw I’d expected. My assumption was his shortcomings were beyond his control. This decidedly is not.

It was obvious the audience was caught off guard. There was no context so they originally felt Dave was setting up some bit. They didn’t get the drift of what he was saying. More than once there was awkward silence as they grasped to understand what was unfolding. They would have benefited by being pre-tweeted.

I wish I knew if tonight’s revelations would affect my ongoing viewing or even my opinion of Letterman in general. Though disappointing, these affairs of his aren’t at the Polanski level nor what suspect was Michael Jackson’s dysfunctional worst. I still enjoy Woody Allen movies and he’s been pretty skeevy as an adult.

I am conflicted. My opinion will certainly be swayed by the opinions of others.

Why should I care anyway? But I do.

She Says I Snore

Along with its magical quieting power a mouth guard limits the mobility of your jaw/mouth while you wear it. That is no small thing and a little uncomfortable.

puresleep.jpgHelaine says I snore. I’ve never heard it… and I sleep with me every night! She says over the years this alleged snoring has gotten worse. Think subway collision and one of the trains is loaded with explosives.

In order to preserve domestic tranquility I offered to do what was necessary–even surgery. Helaine is against that and I suppose I’m glad she is.

Still, with each passing day my alleged snoring became louder. Something had to be done.

A few weeks ago Helaine order a PureSleep mouth guard thingy for me. I am wearing it at night and, though not 100% gone, the alleged snoring has allegedly been reduced to a soft murmur.

That’s the good news. There is also bad news.

The PureSleep is a molded mouth guard. Stef wore similar devices when she played high school sports. I dropped it in boiling water, waited for it to cool and bit to fit.

Along with its magical quieting power a mouth guard limits the mobility of your jaw/mouth while you wear it. That is no small thing and a little uncomfortable. I fall asleep quickly (once fell asleep during gum surgery), but not as quickly.

If I wasn’t really motivated I wouldn’t wear it. As it is, when I hear Helaine leave bed I remove it.

The thought of wearing something like this forever is a little daunting. With time it should become a little easier to take.

Wearing it is worth it if Helaine can get more/better sleep. If it’s something you’re consider, ask yourself how motivated you are?

At The Airport

IMG_9391I’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?

Our Eventful Trip To Florida

This was an interesting trip to Florida. Everything went wrong. Everything went right.

The trip to Bradley Airport was just fine. We pulled into Roncari, dropped off our car and hopped into the van. Because we were going to Florida, we left our coats in the car. Because it was just sitting, the van’s engine and heater were off. Bad time to be coatless.

It wasn’t a particularly busy Saturday afternoon. We wheeled our bags in, checked the one that held the always suspect and always dangerous toiletries (can’t carry those on anymore) and headed toward security.

Even on a light travel day, if you only have two of the four screening stations open, there will be a line. There was a sizable line. Still, we were early – no sweat.

A man wearing a white TSA shirt with those weird epaulettes yelled instructions vaguely in the direction of the line. He held up a one quart plastic bag. He said something about laptops. He was the vocal equivalent of the hodge podge of Scotch taped signs carrying most of the TSA’s rules.

Hint: Dirty, sometimes ripped signs, affixed to pillars with tape, is not the way to make people think you’re a top notch safety and security organization. They will think of you as the DMV with arrest powers. Better still…

Do this. Don’t do that. Can’t you read the signs? – “Signs,” Five Man Electrical Band.

Remember, these people thoroughly screen all the pilots even though they will be at the controls of the actual airplane!

I emptied my pockets, removed my shoes, put my laptop in a plastic tub – flat. This wasn’t my first time to the rodeo. I knew the drill.

I walked into the phone booth GE claims will sniff out explosives. Little puffs of air poked at my clothes. I waited. I waited some more. The door opened and I stepped out.

Next up was the metal detector. I was told, unless I was wearing a “country trucker” belt buckle I’d be OK. I walked through

BEEP.

I looked down at myself. Oops. My Bluetooth headphone was sitting on my shirt. I handed it to the guard… a guy who remembered me from when he worked at Sears Optical.

BEEP.

I’ll bet you didn’t know this. The TSA has a two strikes and you’re out policy. I needed to be patted down.

I’ve heard stories about how terrible this is for women. Get in line. It’s demeaning for everyone.

The guy was doing his job, I know. I just don’t want anyone feeling me up. And, in essence, that’s what being patted down is.

Before he went to my most sensitive parts, he told me he was going to use the back of his hand. it made no difference.

These guys are doing their job. Of course. Does this job make us safer? I don’t think so.

Our plane was due at Gate 4. As is the norm with Southwest it unloaded quickly, but before we could board, there was an announcement. On the way in, the plane had flown through a flock of birds and struck one with the leading edge of the left wing.

They didn’t think the plane suffered any damage, planes are designed to survive, but maintenance would have to look and make sure… and they don’t work for Southwest… and they’ll have to drive over from wherever it is the folks who work maintenance Saturday afternoons are kept.

Within a few minutes the pilot decided the plane would pass, so we might as well board anyway, even though the inspection hadn’t started. And we did.

So, we’re sitting there on the plane, and Helaine is staring at a guy wearing shades, looking at the wing, when the pilot comes on the P.A. He’s still expecting a passing grade on the wing, but now TSA was telling him there’d been a security incursion at the airport and until the two people who wandered where they shouldn’t be were located, there would be no landings, no security screening and no departures!

Did I mention we were flying to Tampa, with a 45 minute layover before boarding a connecting flight to Palm Beach International?

The minute hand on my watch began moving fast enough for me to see. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Then it was a half hour and forty five minutes.

I saw the pilot, standing near the door, and explained our plight. He said he’d check.

As the one hour mark approached, we were cleared to go. Michael, a ground agent from Bradley and Dominic, a flight attendant came over to where we were seated. They understood our predicament… one shared with 13 others on the flight… and would make sure word got out.

I’m not going to make you sit through the second-by-second details, but we landed too late to make that connecting flight. Except Southwest held it at the gate!

I know I’ve slobbered endlessly in the past about my great affection for Southwest, but you tell me if this is the outcome you expected? And it wasn’t because I was TV-boy.

We walked the three gates to our outbound flight, handed over our boarding passes and started to walk down the jetway. Along the way, I thanked EVERY Southwest employee I saw. I wanted them to know this was the decision they needed to make, and I appreciated them making it.

“Avoid eye contact,” Helaine said as we boarded the plane. These folks had been sitting aimlessly, waiting for us.

As I walked down the aisle I looked up and to no one in general said, “Thank you for waiting.”

After all this tumult and grief we landed in Palm Beach about ten minutes late! My parents were waiting for us.

It was a very bad day to be a bird flying low over the Bradley Airport approach. It was a good day to be the Foxes. We’re in Florida.

Into New York For Friday Night

I picked up the phone and the first words were, “When’s this rain gonna stop?” Actually, there was another word between this and rain, but you get the point.

A friend of mine, from California, was in New York City. It was a quick trip to visit his dad and have a business meeting. I said I’d see him after dinner.

I left Connecticut around 8:30 and headed toward the Turnpike. Though it had been raining earlier, skies had become partly cloudy. The 100 mile trip to the city was a breeze.

I drove down the FDR Drive with the East River and Roosevelt Island on my left. The buildings of Manhattan were blocked on my right, but it didn’t matter – it’s a beautiful ride on an awful road.

I called my mom on the cellphone. More than anyone, I share my love of Manhattan with her. Given her druthers, that’s where she’d be living. Me too.

My friend’s dad’s apartment is right off the FDR. I got off the exit and turned down into the basement garage, less than 100 feet away.

This is a very expensive building on one of New York’s best known streets. In fact, this neighborhood is best known by the street’s name.

As I waited, the parking attendant pulled a huge Bentley from its space. A diminutive woman and her equally small husband walked toward the car. She looked familiar.

I stared at her and she looked back. Then it hit me – Judge Judy.

I don’t have something pithy to say to everyone I meet, but this was Judge Judy. I told her I followed her on-the-air every day and then explained how I was on the news in Connecticut.

My camera was hanging on my neck, so I asked for a photo. She was very gracious. I suppose she isn’t often asked for a photo in the garage of her apartment building!

I walked out of the garage and around the block to the building’s main entrance. Residents have a key card. I was just visiting.

A doorman stood guard in front of a bank of security monitors. After a quick call to clear me, I was in.

Years ago this was a ‘full service’ building. It is probably the last place I rode an elevator that had an elevator operator (even though it was a self service elevator). Those days are gone. Even the well to do have to cut back a little.

My friend and I decided to go for coffee. That’s one of the nice things about Manhattan. You want coffee – it’s a short walk away.

In fact everything in Manhattan is close by and it’s very walkable. I’ve joked in the past, New York is the only city in America with 24 hour room service.

It’s true! You can easily get Chinese food delivered at 3:00 AM.

The coffee, in a small Italian place under the shadow of the 59th Street Bridge, was fine. The company was better.

Since I’m talking about the building, I’ll leave his name out to preserve a little privacy. This is someone I’ve known for nearly 40 years. We have been through good and bad times together.

We’re both happy with life right now – in a good place. Professionally, he’s doing very well, and I couldn’t be more pleased.

We walked back up First Avenue, past a construction site with New York City steam blasting from a subturranean vent. Though already midnight, the city was teaming with activity.

My assessment of New York is probably overly romanticized. My friend, staying in a Manhattan apartment, said he hated it – would be glad to never leave his California home. I shrugged.

I got back to Connecticut a few minutes before 2:00 AM. I suppose that’s a lot of trip to pack into one short evening. I’m glad I did.


Visiting Colima Volcano

Aboard the Norwegian Star

I woke up early enough to hear the Captain on the P.A. system. The harbor pilot was coming on for our entry into the harbor at Manzanillo. I moved to the balcony.

It certainly was the warmest we’ve felt so far. The humidity was way up too. That’s the way it should be, nearly 1,500 miles south of Los Angeles.

The ship slowed as it moved into the channel. Along side, two tugs watched our every move (though we weren’t using the tugs for guidance).

A small boat with a handful of soldiers moved up and down alongside the ship. This boat was loaded for bear. It looked like everyone onboard was holding an automatic weapon.

After a shower and quick breakfast, I was off to meet Gilles. He would be my guide for Colima Volcano.

Two gangways led of the ship. I went down one, looked, didn’t see Gilles and moved on. I went to the second. He wasn’t there either!

I paced the quay for 20 minutes, looking for a tall, thin man with a volcano t-shirt. Nothing. I asked a guard. Still no positive response.

I borrowed a phone from one of the ship’s officers and called Helaine and Stef. They were gone.

Panic was starting to set in. Stood up, I’d be alone in the ‘crying lane’ on the ship.

Back up in the cabin, I re-read Gilles email. He would meet me at the gate. I hadn’t seen a gate. Oops. I’d stopped too soon.

Long story short, it wasn’t long before I was in Gilles SUV and we were heading out of Manzanillo.

Gilles is around 6′ 2″, thin and looks like the college teacher he is. Though from France, via Canada, he is married to a woman he met here (also at the university). They have a four year old daughter.

After a few minutes of city streets we were on a divided highway heading out-of-town. The ocean was on our right, though not for long.

You’ll be glad to know there are toll roads in Mexico. This was one. Gilles fished out a 100 peso note for the 85 peso toll and we continued.

We began seeing the volcano over 25 miles away. Even then it was a large presence.

As we approached Colima, we left the highway for a more traditional road, then cobblestones through a town and finally onto a winding rutted dirt road running along the edge of a cliff.

It wasn’t long before we came to a substantial gate blocking our progress. There was no lock. We opened it and continued, closing the gate behind us.

There was another gate farther up the path and we repeated the process.

A few minutes later, the path opened up and we were in a meadow. Cows were lazily grazing the short grass on this open space, about 5,000 feet above sea level. East of us, dominating the sky was Colima. It is magnificent.

Even if you’d never seen a volcano, it is immediately obvious. The sides are steep and a light gray, courtesy of the ash which accompanies eruptions.

Gilles took some cloth chairs from the back of the SUV and placed them under a banyon tree. We sat and watched, hoping there would be some activity. The volcano does ‘go off’ a few times a day – though not in a cataclysmic fashion.

As we watched super heated steam escape from the top, another truck pulled up. Inside were three Mexican men, in the forties. They sat down and watched too.

I asked if I could take a photo and then spoke with them. Though from Colima, one admitted he had never been to this spot. But, even with the volcano an ever present part of their lives, they wanted to come and watch. They sat and drank wine.

Even without major activity, Colima was active. The plume’s steam intensity varied with time. Every once in a while a different plume of steam or smoke would rise from one of the mountain’s faces. Gilles said, at night you would often see the glow of molten lava.

After a while we turned to leave. After all, I had a ship to catch.

I think the altitude, or maybe just the excitement and early angst got to me. I became very tired and began to yawn. It was uncontrollable – almost comic, as I kept taking down those huge swigs of air.

I’m back on the ship now. It was quite a day.

This is one of those things you remember forever.

Thunderstorms And Weathermen

From the time I woke up today I was consciously checking the radar, looking back every so often to track storms in Central New York State. They were where I expected them to be. The computer guidance implied they would fizzle as they approached Connecticut.

That kind of advice is mostly good, but you can’t let your guard down. Tonight was a prime example.

As the storms rolled out of the Catskills and into the Hudson Valley they were still intensifying. I spent significant time on them during my trips to the weather wall. As we approached 6:30 PM it became obvious they would still be a threat as they entered Connecticut.

It’s interesting, but I adopt a different persona when the weather demands real time action. You know the phrase, “it never rains, it pours?” That applies to weather. It either easy or nerve wracking. There is no middle ground.

As the news ended, I went to the ‘back’ and gave our engineers a heads up. There might be a Severe Thunderstorm Warning. I wanted it on quickly. Advance planning helps in that regard.

Within five minutes the Weather Service began to issue warnings. First Litchfield, then Fairfield then Hartford County. Over the next forty five minutes they were all lit up on the map at the top of the TV screen.

I have to make an interesting decision under these circumstances. Does the warning stay up 100% – even through commercials? These storms looked pretty potent, so I said yes.

It’s interesting to note that these warnings came without benefit of a Severe Thunderstorm Watch – the Weather Service’s equivalent of a heads up. Sometimes I think they are too caught up in what has been forecast and don’t pay enough attention to what’s actually going on. Just my opinion.

I spoke to our promo producer, making it clear I wanted all the time on our 7:22 live cut-in. Then I went to engineering to see if there were any promos that could be cut, allowing me to extend my time. What was scheduled for 35 seconds became :50. It doesn’t sound like much, but that’s a major help.

Going on the air during a severe weather situation can’t be taken lightly. I don’t.

I worry about all the people I’m scaring. I worry I won’t properly communicate the gravity of the situation, letting some people poo poo what they’re hearing. I worry about people outside the warning area who are ticked off at me for cluttering up the screen or interrupting programming (which I didn’t have to do tonight).

So far things have gone well. A few small pieces of equipment didn’t perform as expected. It wasn’t something a viewer would have noticed, just a little extra feature I wasn’t able to use. I tried working with the tech support people to correct it, but decided to wait until after the storms have cleared.

Having more toys, more capabilities, has actually made my job tougher. There is more I can do to get out the word and get it out faster. That will be my challenge this summer. Tonight was a good first step.

My heart is still pounding a little harder than usual.

There’s a weather bulletin board I check in on from time-to-time. Lots of the participants salivate waiting for strong storms. I don’t get it.

Why Is This Man Smiling?

That’s Jeff Mielcarz on the left. He is the reason I’m in Atlanta this weekend. Tonight at 6:00 PM he’ll be marrying Lauren.

I had told him I wanted to visit The Weather Channel, where he works. He said, “Yes.”

I said, “Jeff, you’re getting married in a few hours. Wouldn’t you rather have someone else take me? Maybe there’s something you need to do?”

He was having none of that.

I met him at The Weather Channel at 1:00 PM. The Weather Channel is located in a nondescript modern office building in the Atlanta suburbs. There is a small sign at the entrance to the parking lot, but no signage on the building itself that I could see.

I snapped a few pictures of their satellite dishes before a guard came out to ask me to stop. He was pleasant, and I understood. I stopped.

Inside, the building is modern and nicely appointed. I’ve always felt you can judge a company solely by its lobby – and their lobby is nice with photos and awards, plus a split screen of some of their programming.

The studio itself is in a working newsroom, very much as it looks on the air. I was a little surprised by how connected it is to the working guts of the newsroom, where people were walking around and staying busy. The forecast area, in the back, is behind glass.

I saw a few people I recognized from TV, including Bob Stokes, Mark Mancuso and Stephanie Abrams. I think Mancuso was there when they went on the air! I also ran into Dr. Greg Forbes, their severe weather specialist.

The facility is very nice, don’t get me wrong. And, Jeff showed me where they’re geting ready to build a bigger studio. But, last night I was at CNN and this just doesn’t compare.

Going To Malibu

Today, let me start before the beginning. We are in a beautiful hotel. Our room in it is very nice as well. But, there has been this one nagging problem.

Last night Helaine complained that at the top of every hour, the room’s alarm clock chirped a tone. Ever the electronics wiz I looked, but could find no way to turn it off. I called housekeeping.

This being a very good hotel, without skipping a beat they offered to swap our clock for another.

While we were out today they did just that. We knew it, because when we returned the clock was a different color. Sitting next to the clock was a Casio “G” Shock watch… not ours.

Coincidently, as I walked over to pick it up and look at it, it chirped. It was the top of the hour! It hadn’t been our alarm clock making the noise but a watch, left by a prior guest. Oops.

This evening Helaine brought it to the front desk to, hopefully, be reunited with its owner.

On to our day.

The plan of attack was to head to Malibu and take in the sights. Quite honestly, the weather could have been nicer. We have overcast skies with a bit of humidity. Not a perfect California day.

Malibu is a very easy drive from ‘headquarters’ in Century City. We took a left on Santa Monica, cut up Beverly Glen to Sunset, and then west past UCLA, OJ’s old neighborhood, Pacific Palisades and down to Pacific Coast Highway at the water’s edge. From there it’s a right turn and you’re traveling north toward Ventura County.

We were all hungry, so we looked for a nice place and lucked out when we found Marmalade Cafe in a small Malibu shopping center. Luckily, there was also a Radio Shack as Helaine can’t stand the touch pad on this laptop and was desperate for a mouse.

I had blueberry pancakes (excellent) and coffee (fair).

Let me become petty for a second. Coffee is lightened with cream, not milk. When restaurants bring out that tiny pitcher with white liquid, it should be cream. It was not at Marmalade Cafe.

We got back in the car and continued our trip north. As we approached Zuma Beach I could see some surfers, so we pulled over and I got out to shoot some pictures.

It was chilly and sandy and I suppose this qualified as a Geoff thing… a photo op. Helaine and Steffie stayed in the car.

A few months ago I had seen some surfing shots on a website, and I wanted to try my luck. I believe these surfers had about the same skill level surfing as I have with photography, but I got a few good shots anyway.

This was an opportunity to throw on the ‘long’ lens, my Sigma 75-300 mm. It’s not a bad lens, though it’s sort of slow&#185. My surfers weren’t up enough to get a lot of shots, but I caught a few that were actually in focus, with the surfer atop his board.

I’d like to try this again some time on a sunny day, and a little closer to the action.

Part of the reason for this trip was to go to the Malibu Beach Colony. The Beach Colony is a very exclusive, very expensive neighborhood of homes. This is a community of the well known, well connected and powerful. The homes are behind a guard house on private roads. The backs of the houses are right on the beach.

If it were up to the people who live there, the beach behind these homes would be private – but California’s laws are pretty explicit in this regard. The land from the mean high tide line down to the ocean is public right-of-way.

We pulled into a public beach parking lot and then, while Helaine and Stef sat on the sand, I walked under a chain link fence and headed down the beach.

The homes in the Malibu Beach Colony are ridiculously expensive. Of that, there is no doubt. They are also squeezed as tightly together as can be. Yes, you can paint your neighbor’s kitchen while standing in yours!

The homes are mostly small, mostly two stories and all with incredible Pacific Ocean views. There is no Malibu architectural style. The homes are eclectic and totally different.

As I walked, there were no residents to be seen. There were, however, a lot of workers – all seemingly Hispanic men. A group of four or five were repairing and painting some steps, others were cleaning and sprucing up homes.

Actually there were some residents around – two dogs who barked at me as I passed their deck.

Peoplewise, except for me, this beach was empty.

It is a really beautiful place. Unlike the East Coast where most of the shoreline is on a coastal plain, there are cliffs and palisades along the immediate beach here. Not far to the east are steep hills separated by deeply etched canyons.

It is there, on the hills, where the really big houses sit. Some are spectacular. Others, like this ‘castle’ are just weird. More proof that money doesn’t necessarily buy taste.

When we left Connecticut there was still snow covering the grassy surfaces. Here it is definitely spring, with colors poking out as the rain fed ground gives life to flowers and plants.

Later, this summer, months after the last rain, these plants will die and set the scene for the brush fires which will surely follow. It’s the natural cycle of California. The beauty is so great – the climate so friendly – that people build here knowing full well it could all go up in a puff of smoke… or wash away in a heavy rain.

It does every single year, without fail.

We headed back toward Century City. Unlike our trip west, this time there was traffic. We crawled back up Sunset, retracing our steps to the Century Plaza. We’d need some time because we were going out to dinner tonight with my friend Howard and his wife Maria.

I’ve known Howard since our first day of college when he was (as I realized tonight) exactly Steffie’s age. We’ve been friends for over 35 years… and we’ve been friends through a lot.

Howard and Maria live here. Howard’s been in the L.A. area for close to 20 years. He is a show biz manager – a profession I still don’t understand 100%. Ido know Howard’s a great manager, especially based on some of the work his clients have had.

Tonight’s choice for dinner spot came from Steffie. We went to “Dolce” on Melrose Avenue. Melrose is very trendy, and “Dolce” fits in nicely, with celebs as the owners.

The restaurant is dark with loud (though very good) music, mostly from the 70s and 80s. The five of us sat in a banquet type booth. It is not the optimal table for conversation.

Though food was secondary in Steffie’s decision process, this was to be a meal. “Dolce” features Italian cuisine, and it was delicious. I had a pasta dish with Italian sausage. Helaine and Steffie had pasta with lobster. The portions, though not large, were decent. The food came out piping hot. Or waiter was attentive.

For desert we all had chocolate souffles which were rich and tasty. Unfortunately, it was milk and not cream (again) for my coffee! I know, I’m getting obsessive about this.

Considering this restaurant was picked more for its back story than it’s food, we were very pleasantly surprised. And, all things considered, the meals were reasonably priced.

Tomorrow, it’s dinner out with friends again! I’ll be 400 pounds by the time I get home.

&#185 – The relative speed of a lens refers to its ability to capture light. A slow lens captures less than a fast lens, forcing you to slow down the shutter speed. The faster the lens the better… and of course the more expensive.

I’m Not That Nice

A few months ago, Elizabeth McGuire (no Lizzie McGuire jokes, please) asked if she could interview me for Hartford Magazine. Never the shy one, I said yes.

I have just read the article, and can now guarantee, I’m not anywhere as nice as she portrayed me. I am grateful, however, she lied on my behalf.

Only part of the article was on the magazine’s website, so I retyped it to place here on my site. Other than changing the spelling of my daughter’s name, and my length of service at WTNH, I’ve left it as is.

Hartford Magazine / February 2004

WTNH weatherman Geoff Fox doesn’t mind being call a weather geek. In fact, he finds it flattering. Fox loves the scientific process of predicting and forecasting the weather. “I’m the kind of guy who does like to look at lists of numbers, charts and gr4aphs. It’s a different math puzzle every single day, and no matter what you do, you’re presented with another math puzzle the next day,” Fox says.

Day after day for the past 19 years at WTNH-TV, Fox has pored over the maps, graphs and charts; analyzed the data; and then translated the information into “plain English” for his viewers. Fox gets two to three minutes during evening newscasts to tell viewers how the weather on any given day is likely to affect them. Without being asked, he answers dozens of questions such as, “Should I wear a raincoat, start that outdoor project or cancel that backyard picnic?” Fox says many viewers listen critically to his forecasts, and they hold him accountable when he’s wrong. “Believe me, people can be tough if you are wrong – and they should be, because other than the Psychic Friends Network, there aren’t too many people who come on television and predict the future for a living,” Fox explains.

As we sit at the kitchen table in Fox’s spacious Hamden home one recent afternoon, Fox explains to me that advances in computer technology have increased weather forecasters’ ability to develop more accurate forecasts. Suddenly, Fox excuses himself and leaves the room. Moments later he’s back with his laptop computer. There begins my tutorial on weather patterns. A map with curvy lines shows barometric pressure, one with splotches of color shows precipitation, and a pretty blue graph shows, well I’m not sure what that one showed, but it sure is colorful! Though much of what Fox explains is lost on my unscientific mind, his main point isn’t: The mathematical calculations and other technical information computers offer weather forecasters are essential tools of the trade. Like blueprints to contractors, or EKG printouts to doctors, computers make it easier for weather forecasters to be correct more often. “We can get more detailed information about what the atmosphere is doing… why it’s doing it… how it’s doing it…”

But once Fox comes out from behind the computer, he is able to deliver important information in an easy-to-understand, conversational manner. And he just about always throws some humor into his forecasts, often catching his co-anchors off guard. “I’ve always been the guy who told the jokes and made funny little remarks. And I think I have good timing,” says Fox.

Fox honed his timing during his 11 years as a morning-radio personality in Cleveland, Philadelphia and Buffalo. In 1980, Fox became the host of a Buffalo TV magazine show at WGRZ-TV. That’s where he became interested in weather forecasting, applied for a weekend weather position, and got the job. Fox realized meteorology was an area in which he could use his math and science skills. Fox says he was always good in those subjects and was even on the school math team as a kid growing up in Flushing, Queens, NY.

Even though Fox says he scored higher than 700 on the math portion of the SATs, he tells me he was not a very good student, especially in college. “I was in the accelerated dismissal program at Emerson.” he jokes. In fact, he flunked out the first time he attended the Boston college that specializes in communications.

He is now, however, getting straight A’s in his course work to become a certified meteorologist. He’s enrolled in a distance learning program at Mississippi State University. But most of what Fox needs to know to get a degree in meteorology he already knows.

After years of on-the-job training and watching New England weather patterns, Fox has a pretty good track record of predicting the weather. A classic example of getting it right was his forecast for the so-called “Storm of the Century” (as some television promotion departments dubbed it) that took aim at Connecticut the first weekend of March 2001. Most of the computer weather models were indicating the strong possibility of at least three feet of snow with blizzard conditions. But Fox didn’t think they were correct. He had been using a different computer model (maintained by a major university) during the 200-2001 winter season, and it had been extremely accurate. So, Fox was pretty certain the site’s calculations on heights, temperatures and pressures in the atmosphere were reliable. He stuck with his prediction that the storm would bring mostly rain, sleet and perhaps a few inches of snow. “If you’re confident in your abilities, you have to give what you think is best, in spite of the pack,” he says. Fox’s news director at the time questioned the accuracy of his forecast but then decided to trust it. Gov. Rowland, however, put his faith in the blizzard forecasts and practically shut down the state. The “Storm of the Century” never materialized. Fox would later write an Op-Ed piece for the New Haven Register that he was “hurt” by an article in that paper, which led readers to believe that all area forecasters got it wrong.

That’s not to say, however, that Fox gets it right all the time. Even after 20 years in the television business Fox says he is still “incredibly bothered” when his forecasts don’t bear out. “there will be times when I wake up on a Saturday morning and I will be upset that it’s sunny. If I said it’s gonna rain, than a rainy day is much nicer than a sunny day.” Fox has been know to apologize to his viewers on the air when one of his forecasts has proven incorrect.

In the family room of Fox’s house, the fireplace mantel is crowded with pictures of his 16-year-old daughter Stefanie, in various stages of childhood and Fox’s wedding pictures. Fox and his wife Helaine recently celebrated their 20th wedding anniversary. Next to the mantel, behind the glass door of his entertainment center, Fox displays his seven shiny gold Emmy awards – meticulously lined up in a row. He earned those awards for weather and science reporting. Along with his work at WTNH-TV, Fox has hosted a show called “Inside Space” on the SciFi Channel and has been a fill-in weathercaster on ABC’s “Good Morning America.” Fox says he would like to do more work for ABC because the experience was “cool.” He’d also like to host a game show but says those jobs would be in addition to his work at WTNH-TV.

When Fox isn’t working, he spends his time with his family, maintains his Web site(www.geofffox.com) with his daily postings and plays Internet Poker. Fox also does charity work, and his favorite charities include the March of Dimes and the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. Fox sums up his feelings about the charity work and accurate forecasts this way” “Look, I’m not living in a hovel. I’m not driving a ’65 Pinto, and the reason I have whatever success and nice things I have is because of the people of Connecticut, so I feel there’s an obligation to give something back.”

Happy New Year Dick Clark

It’s a family tradition that we don’t go out on New Year’s Eve. There are a few really simple reasons for this. First, I usually work. Second, we don’t drink.

Years ago, the last time we really went out for New Year’s, a drunk guy started making a pass at my wife. In fact (though we laugh about it now) we almost broke up on our first pre-marriage New Year’s Eve together.

This year, we stayed home with Steffie and watched some of the goings on in Times Square. Helaine said she wasn’t, but I was very worried that some masterstroke terrorist act would take place in Times Square while the World watched.

Though we moved back and forth between Fox, MTV and ABC, we mostly stayed with ABC. Sure, I work for an affiliate, but there is also a tradition with Dick Clark. Again this year, for at least the second year in a row, Dick was inside a warm studio above Times Square. I’m sorry. He needs to be outside. And last night, the weather wasn’t all that bad.

I was also upset at the use of Steve Doocey – who represents Fox News Channel’s morning show – as ‘talent.’ This is not to say Steve isn’t good… he is. But, this is another case of cutting your nose to spite your face. Why would ABC want to shine such a bright spotlight on someone who is trying to eat their lunch? Doesn’t anyone in the company realize that using talent from other networks is the equivalent of dumping the Disneyland live shots for Six Flags or Universal?

There was a pretty tough article on Dick Clark in Newsday recently. I’ve attached it to this link.

Maybe because I knew most of this before, or maybe just because it’s becoming more obvious now, I have trouble finding Dick warm and likable. His interaction with others, especially on ‘tosses’ from live shots, or look live taped pieces, is forced and a little too staged.

On the other hand, I’m not ready to cede New Year’s Eve to Ryan Seacrest or the stable of hosts on MTV (none of whom stick out in my mind).

Happy 2004

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