Tag: Stef

Busy Week Ahead

If all you do is look at the number, 25 seems like a lot of years. In real life you live it day-by-day. That’s why 25 years actually feels like the blink of an eye.

There’s a lot going on with the Foxes this week. Everything is pointed toward Wednesday–Helaine and my 25th wedding anniversary.

If all you do is look at the number, 25 seems like a lot of years. In real life you live it day-by-day. That’s why 25 years actually feels like the blink of an eye.

We’ve been through a lot. We met in Philly, married while living in Buffalo and moved to Connecticut in 1984. Stef was born three years later. Helaine’s parents have passed away. Mine have moved away.

We fly to Las Vegas Wednesday morning. I’m not sure there will be time to sleep after working Tuesday night. We’re praying for good weather at Midway where we change planes.

Stef and my parents arrive separately as do my California cousins. Wednesday evening we’re renewing our vows in a wedding chapel on Las Vegas Boulevard. Elvis is not attending.

It’s winter in the desert too. Rain is expected while we’re in Nevada. They’ll welcome it. We definitely will not.

There’s a lot of configuring and packing still to come. Like I said–busy week ahead.

Stef’s Laptop Continues On The Slow Road

This is really vexing. I have no idea what’s going on, though it seems like something is leeching on normally occuring processes.

Though Stef’s laptop seemed stable for six or seven hours at some point this afternoon her problems came back. The CPU usage level shot to 100% with normal programs taking abnormal resources.

This is really vexing. I have no idea what’s going on, though it seems like something is leeching on normally occuring processes. I don’t even know a good search term to use on Google!

Helaine drove to Stef’s college this afternoon. I think (hope) she’s on her way back now. It was a computer swap with Stef’s modern Dell coming to me and an old PIII-800 laptop going to her.

“It’s as slow as the other one,” Stef told me on the phone after the tiny PIII was fired up.

That might be true, but the good news is, I’ll fix the other one and send it back. Or, possibly, I’ll just reformat and reload. Stef has few programs installed. Maybe the end’s in sight?

She’s Gone

Am I now just well trained?

Helaine left yesterday for St. Charles, IL. Stef joins her tomorrow. Our cousin, Melissa, is also there. The house will be quiet this weekend.

I came home last night and made my unmade bed–then wondered why? Am I that well trained?

Intrigue With The Missing Car

There must be a way out, I thought. Tonight I drove by the scene of the ‘crime’ looking for anything that might be helpful… and there it was.

The cost for the ticket and tow Stef acquired this afternoon was $127. It upsets me. There must be a way out, I thought. Tonight I drove by the scene of the ‘crime’ looking for anything that might be helpful… and there it was.

The “NO PARKING” sign is mounted on a pole closer to five than six feet above the sidewalk. I consulted the Connecticut State Traffic Commission Regulations.

Sec. 14-298-514 Height

(b) In business, commercial and residential districts where parking and/or pedestrian movement is likely to occur or where there are other obstructions to view, the clearance to the bottom of the sign shall be at least 7 feet. The height to the bottom of a secondary sign mounted below another sign may be 1 foot less than the appropriate height specified above.

Tomorrow I’ll make some measurements and take some photos. I’m pretty sure the ticket is invalid because the warning does not conform to the regs. How I get the tow fee back is another story. It can be done. I just need to figure out how.

Playing lawyer is fun–undoubtedly, more fun than being one.

She’s A Jolly Good Fellow

Helaine just called from Atlantic City. It was as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. For the first time in over a week she was calm, collected, smiling.

Here’s the back story. Helaine and Steffie are big fans of Rick Springfield. You remember Rick Springfield: Jessie’s Girl, Don’t Talk To Strangers, Dr. Noah Drake from General Hospital.

With a huge dollop of help from the Internet, Springfield is able to tour the country, mostly on weekends, filling nice sized venues. A significant percentage of each show is filled with his most rabid fans. These are people who can sing the songs and have probably memorized the set list.

Stef and Helaine try and catch his shows whenever they can, usually a half dozen or more times a year.

Though Helaine is active in his ‘fan world&#185’, she isn’t an officer or board member of anything official. She’s just a fan… an active fan.

As a fan, Helaine knows about Sahara, who with her mother are also fans from Cape Girardeau, MO. Sahara has cancer of the brain stem.

No explanation is necessary. It’s as horrible as it sounds… and Sahara has not quite entered her teens.

Helaine thought it might be a nice idea to help the family by throwing a fundraiser… and that’s what she did, just a few hours ago at Harrah’s in Atlantic City.

It’s not easy organizing a luncheon for 125 woman when you’re three or four hours from the luncheon site. Helaine rounded up items to be auctioned (you have no idea how much Rick Springfield stuff is available on EBay)&#178, arranged for the room and its fixings, dispensed the luncheon tickets and got a commitment from Rick Springfield to show as a special, unannounced but hinted at, guest.

One afternoon, she sat me down with Photoshop to design a “Love for Sahara” logo, which was then printed on buttons. Gotta love the Internet!

As the luncheon got closer, Helaine got a little more antsy. Had she remembered everything? Would Harrah’s provide what she’d requested? What would go wrong?

Let me answer that last part first: Nothing! It all worked perfectly.

Helaine and Steffie, along with Stef’s sorority “Big Sister” and a few other friends, executed Helaine’s wonderful plan. The food was great. The venue perfectly set. The auction a total success.

The numbers aren’t finalized, but when all is said and done, somewhere around $11,000 will find its way to Sahara’s family. I’m sure, with everything that’s going on, the money will help.

I never had any doubt Helaine could pull this off. She very organized and very smart. More importantly, I’m proud of her big heart and compassion.

A room service sandwich is on its way to her hotel room. She threw a luncheon and never had time to eat.

Right now she’s feeling relief… and pride.

&#185- I refer to Rick Springfield’s fan base as the “Rickdom,” which upsets Helaine to no end.

&#187 – My personal thanks to Regis & Kelli and Rachael Ray. Working for an affiliate, I asked for and received tickets to both shows, which were then auctioned off.

Blogger’s note: The original entry has been edited to correct Sahara’s age, which is 12.

What I Have Learned From High School Musical

I’m not sure how or why, but Steffie has been drawn in by the whole High School Musical craze. I’d like to think it’s because she works at a store where HSM is big business and cuts from the soundtrack are on ‘power rotation’ through overhead speakers. It’s modern day brainwashing at $8.00 per hour.

Over the holidays, Helaine and I sat down with her to actually watch the High School Musical DVD. It’s not high art, but it’s cute and sweet and innocent enough for middle schoolers to watch. It premiered as the Disney Channel’s highest rated show of ’06 and became the biggest DVD seller of the year.

Are there really that many adorable actors in Hollywood? I guess so.

From Wikipedia: High School Musical is an American made-for-television musical film, produced and distributed by Disney Channel, and was released on January 20, 2006.

The Emmy Award-winning television film was one of the most successful Disney Channel Original Movies ever produced, with a sequel confirmed and soundtrack that is certified triple-platinum, making it one of the most commercially-successful records of 2006.

High School Musical has turned into a running family joke. Steffie and I have threatened Helaine that we’ll learn the dance steps (they’re taught on the DVD). Earlier today Stef wanted me to do a jumping split, as they do in the movie.

I’m sure I made it at least 3″ off the ground. Hey, I’m approaching hip breaking age!

It’s good family fun… not the movie so much, but how we joke about it between ourselves. If Steffie and I are both laughing uncontrollably while Helaine looks on… well it’s a choice family moment. Most parents fantasize about this kind of bonding.

Today, Steffie and I turned to youtube.com for a look at how High School Musical is represented. I was amazed at all the school groups and individual kids who have videotaped&#185 their HSM performances, lip synching to the tracks (as the actual movie actors did).

Then, Stef told me about Ashley Tisdale, one of the stars of HSM. There, on youtube, was Ashley’s video blog.

We’re not watching a PBS documentary here. These are simple video slices of life from her day on the road with the High School Musical touring company. No script. No edits. Just a little flavor of this small part of her day.

As I type this, her ‘channel’ has been viewed over 450,000 times. Mull that number in your head a moment.

What a concept. For a performer, it’s an astoundingly effective way to solidify a base of fans.

I’m probably not going back to watch more of Ashley, but I will ponder where this short video clip fits in the general scheme of things. Yes, video blogs or vlogs already exist. This is different. This is brand extension, an affinity builder.

It might be the best marketing tool I’ve seen in a long time.

&#185 – Videotaped – how last century is that? Most of the video I saw was captured to some sort of memory device, then streamed as digits across the Internet. No tape was involved at any point in the process.

Will the word, “taping,” like “dialing” a telephone, survive even after the specific function described ceases to exist? Probably.

All Night At The ER

If you’re squeamish, maybe this isn’t the blog entry for you. I’m about to write about bodily fluids. This is not everyone’s idea of a good read.

Our story starts at 1:00 AM. Helaine was asleep. Steffie was watching TV. I was in my upstairs office, playing online poker.

It’s difficult to describe the sound of someone throwing up, except to say it’s pretty distinctive. Stef was throwing up.

I went to see her, but was rebuffed. She wasn’t feeling well, but it wasn’t a big deal. Everything was fine.

It was not.

Before long she was back, leaning over the toilet, letting loose.

Stefanie is 19. She lives in a dorm most of the year. Late night barfing is commonplace. Her own stomach distress wasn’t a major concern – even though she hadn’t participated in the usual pre-throw festivities that make college life so… well, college life.

Within 10-15 minutes she was back.

We tried Pepto Bismol pills and some soda, to replenish the fluids she lost. As quickly as they went down, they came back up. Her forehead went from warm to cool with each episode.

Helaine and I were getting nervous. We had never seen Stef like this before. Upstairs, we spoke about what to do, while downstairs Stef moved between the family room and the bathroom.

I started talking to Stef about going to the hospital, but she would have none of it. “People don’t go to the hospital because they’re throwing up,” she said.

I totally see her point. She knew she wasn’t feeling well. She also thought you had to be in much worse shape to demand any ER attention. The ER is a place where people come with limbs hanging off.

But things weren’t getting any better. Stef was out of solids in her stomach and quickly depleting herself of fluids.

“We’re driving, or I’m calling an ambulance.”

With Helaine, Stefanie and an oversize kitchen pot in the back seat, we set off for Yale/New Haven Hospital. I was driving fast. I already had decided what to say if stopped by the police.

We navigated our way through New Haven to the ER entrance. The receiving area has a small circular driveway with a cement island in the middle. I pulled up onto the island and shut the engine.

Stefanie plopped in a chair as a technician entered some rudimentary patient information into a computer, put a blood pressure cuff on her arm and pulse monitor on a finger. It’s tough to put in words, but this was done in spite of Steffie’s being there. She was obviously in distress and continuing to heave, but the cuff and monitor went on as if they were in some parallel universe.

A wheelchair was rolled in and we made our way to an examining room.

Emergency Room is a misnomer. At Yale, it’s a sprawling area of many rooms with dozens of staff members, visitors and patients. We turned right, just past the nurse’s station. Along both walls, patients laid in gurneys.

The first held a man, no shirt, with an intricate tattoo covering his arm and some of his chest. I didn’t see the rest. I looked away. Helaine later told me, she did the same.

We made a left, into a small room. To our right, in a doorless small room divided by a flimsy curtain, a man on drugs, alcohol or both, incoherently babbled about his hate for his mother and how he wanted to get home to go to sleep. He was loud and angry. I’m not sure where he belonged, but it wasn’t on-the-street without supervision.

Stef’s exam room was small and dingy. Let’s assume it was clean. It would have seemed cleaner with a fresh coat of paint.

A succession of nurses, physicians assistants, technicians and one doctor came and went. Each was confident. Each had a job to do. We think they were happy to be taking care of someone whose distress was not self imposed – certainly not the babbler across the hall. No one could possibly relish the thought of quality time with him.

One of the nurses brought in an IV bag, and a drip was started. Whatever else they’d find, Stef needed to be hydrated. It’s sort of Gatorade in a bag, minus the sugar.

Through all this, there was no change in Stef. Every few minutes she was back with her head down, holding a pan the hospital provided to replace the kitchen pot we’d brought.

The first attempt at treatment was an anti-nausea drug injected directly into her bloodstream via the IV. When there was no change, in went the next potion. We were told there were a half dozen they could try…but they didn’t have to.

If you’re a parent, I don’t have to explain this moment to you. If you’re not, there’s no way I can explain it. Stef began to respond. She was still talking in monosyllalbes , but now there were a few strung together. She leaned back and put her head on the pillow. It looked like she was out of distress.

You don’t go from as sick as she was to ‘pink of health’ in an instant, but this was still a pretty rapid turnaround. There was no guarantee, once the medicine wore off, she wouldn’t revert – though she didn’t.

By now, whatever was the cause of her nausea was long gone. The body is amazing, knowing perfectly well how to expel those thing which might harm it. A best guess is food poisoning from chicken she had eaten earlier. Though Helaine and Stef had eaten together, it was Steffie’s first meal of the day. Any pathogen was going to find little in her stomach to dilute its power.

As Steffie rested, we waited for the attending physician, the ER’s ‘boss,’ to come and say it was OK to go home.

I can’t begin to tell you how impressed we were with the professionalism that marked the care Stef received. It’s always possible whatever celebrity I have here could bring more attentive care, but this was beyond that. Every person who touched Stef was confident, well spoken and obviously well trained. There was never a moment when we didn’t feel they warranted our trust.

We got home long after the Sun had risen on a beautiful June morning. As I type this, 12 hours after we walked into Yale’s ER, Steffie is weak, tired and well.

Your child can grow up, but she’s always going to be your baby. Sorry Stef – that’s how it works.

Blogger’s note: Originally, I offered up to Stefanie, this would be something not shared in the blog. She asked why? So, here it is.

If there’s a lesson to be learned, it’s don’t wait. If you’re considering going to the hospital, that’s probably all the evidence you need to go!

The photos were taken after Stef felt better.

No News On The Weekend

This has been a lost weekend for the Fox family. Though today was Stef’s birthday, we didn’t do much. Our big celebration, a ceremonial family dinner, happens tomorrow.

Earlier this afternoon, Helaine was watching TV. It was food or shopping. I can’t be sure. I glaze over at the thought of either.

I asked nicely if I could put on the news, and proceeded to do just that. It was mid-afternoon. No local TV news then. CNBC was running an infomercial. MSNBC was in some prison. I caught the last moment of a female anchor tossing to a long form program on CNN. I ended up at Fox.

We watched for a minute or so – until the anchor started reading copy about a story we had on my station two nights ago.

“No news today,” said Helaine.

It’s a real pity, but news does seem to stop over the weekend. It’s not limited to TV. Here on the Internet, many of my favorite niche sites stop updating on Friday and pick up again on Monday. A few rotate through their headlines, so there are different lead stories showing, but it’s the same overall rundown. I’m not fooled.

I guess it’s because of traffic. This site, as an example, has its lowest traffic on the weekend.

Maybe, on the other hand, it’s a self fulfilling prophecy. Cut back on content and readership/viewership will fall too.

Because of the Internet I need more, not less content. I’m like a caged animal, flitting between sites and networks all weekend. It can’t be just me?

Mazatlan and Jorge – Another Great Day

Aboard the Norwegian Star

I’m not a light sleeper, so the captain speaks up when he comes on the P.A. early each morning we’re in port. This morning he addressed us at 7:30 AM.

In spite of being in Mazatlan, the spa will be open. He will be there. Too much information.

I assume the captain is Norwegian. Should I meet him, he will be the first Norwegian I’ve run into! Same thing goes for the United States and Mexico.

The crew is very much like the United Nations with a few critical expulsions.

We are in Mazatlan. I knew there was a city named Mazatlan, but nothing else. Shame on me. It’s too large not to know. This is a city of 700,000 (source – cabdriver).

Looking off the balcony this morning, I saw a small city… until I pierced the haze. There in the distance, tall buildings that usually accompany larger populations (I have enhanced the photo which reduces the haze and lets you better see the distant skyline).

I’m not sure if the haze is a product of pollution or the local geography. Some cities can be naturally hazy (Los Angeles), though pollutants can make it much worse.

Steffie was still tired, so Helaine and I headed up to Deck 12 for breakfast. It is cafeteria style up there, but still tasty. And there was no problem bringing a full plate back to our cabin on Deck 11.

Have I mentioned the stairs? I wish I had a pedometer. We have been walking stairs like crazy. Each of us climbs and descends dozens of floors worth of steps. Sure, I huff and puff when I reach our room, but isn’t that OK after climbing six or seven flights?

Today was going to be a beach day. We stopped at the reception desk to ask where to go. Hotels and shopping were in the Golden Zone, we were told.

Since we’re in an industrial port, with lots of activity, including auto imports, we got on the mandatory, but free, shuttle, which brought us to the main gate. From there we hopped a cab.

The sign said the fare to the Golden Zone was $10, so I never verified it. When we got to our destination, $12! My fault for not asking. Of course I was taken. Was it worth kvetching in a foreign land with limited time?

We got out, walked to the sidewalk, and about three feet later Helaine and Stef walked into a store selling silver and other things you buy in foreign ports. Stef got a few little rings.

We walked down the main drag toward the Casa de Oro, stopping again in an area of small mom and pop shops. Stef bought something else, while Helaine and I bought a ceramic Sun. We have a small collection. This one was 100 pesos – $10.

We had been told on the ship we’d be welcome to use the facilities and beach at the Casa de Oro. We never announced our arrival and they never asked.

Considering this was a mystery resort, what we saw was a pleasant surprise. We walked through the lobby and between hotel buildings, following signs to the “playa/beach.”

The pool was built adjacent to a retaining wall at the beach. It was really beautiful and the people there looked to be relaxed and having a good time. Next to the pool were a bar and restaurant.

We made our way to the beach, to a man sitting in his ‘office’ under an umbrella. Did he have wave runners to rent? You bet!

I rented two, one for me and one for Stef, and we set out to explore the bay. There was just enough wave action and chop to make it an exciting ride.

The bay itself was large and bounded by hilly islands. Criss crossing the water were other wave runners, sail boats and power boats, some towing tourists harnessed into parachutes.

As we began Stef was a little apprehensive and followed me. Before we were done she was leading the way, forcing me to ‘gun it’ to keep up.

I don’t know that much about wave runners, but I do know we went fast and neither of us had the guts to really let them run! I can’t imagine.

As we cut across the bay, our little jets would jump out of the water, throwing spray in our faces. Behind us, a tail of water shot high into the air.

This was very cool.

I know it wasn’t Steffie’s first thought for a good time. That changed by the time we were done.

Helaine, not wanting to ride in the bay, stayed on the shore, looking for shade and clicking away. I had put the longer lens on ‘Clicky’ and Helaine took advantage.

I’m sure there will be more than a few shots worth framing from a day Steffie and I will long remember.

We headed back through the hotel, looking to find a cab. Here in Mazatlan there is a strange looking, open air vehicle, used as a taxi. If you recognize what this was when it started life, let me know. There are no identifying marks – as if the manufacturer wanted to disavow all knowledge of its Mazatlan usage.

I told the girls I wanted to go back in one of those cabs. No sooner did I say that than Jorge pulled up to the curb.

I checked. Jorge wanted $10 to go to the ship, so we jumped in – Helaine and Stef in the back, me in the front passenger seat.

As we drove, I stuck my body to the right, out of the vehicle, and took photos. It didn’t take Jorge long to notice. Before long we were slowing down for anything vaguely resembling a photo op.

We passed the university and headed into the hills. Ships don’t dock above sea level, but we didn’t question Jorge. Up we drove, until we rounded a curve and Jorge slowed to a stop.

We were at the edge of a hill with an unbelievable view of the buildings below and our beautiful ship.

I’m glad I have this shot, because it is really the first time I’ve been able to show the ship in perspective. It is a behemoth – and I think you sense that looking at the size of things in the foreground.

The Norwegian Star is longer than three football fields, has fourteen decks I know of, and is carrying 3,000 souls.

Every time it docks, it is as if a small town had floated into town!

Jorge (note the Red Sox hat) asked for $10, but got $15. He is the kind of good will ambassador any tourist town needs. I speak no Spanish and I think Jorge matches me in English.

Stef was my reluctant translator, feeding me the words to ask Jorge for his name. That was the sum of our communication, except for my ‘muchos gracias’ at the dock.

We’re back on board now. The captain says we’ll be leaving in a few minutes. No word on his spa treatment. I’ll let you know should there be late breaking spa news.

Tonight it’s a slow sail northwest to the tip of Baja California, Cabo San Lucas.

Meanwhile, we still have dinner to eat, and another chance to see Dave Heenan, the comedian. Steffie says we should take in both his shows.

Hey, isn’t that what vacations are for?

Blogger’s note: As I put the finishing touches on this entry, at the computer area, a couple sat down at a nearby terminal. While I typed, he showed her an email – and she went a little nuts.

As far as I can tell their son has accepted an athletic scholarship to Cal Poly. He must have been heavily recruited by more expensive and prestigious schools.

Mom was very upset – very. I will spare you quoting her opinion of her son and Cal Poly. She will not get a humanitarian award based on this evening, and this cruise will not end on a pleasant note for them.

I suppose having access to the outside world is both good and bad.

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.

L.A. In The Sunshine Is Very Enticing

I had a ‘date’ for lunch, so I drove Stef and Helaine to Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. There was a time when I had to explain Rodeo Drive to people who had never been to L.A., but it has become larger than life and universally known.

I wasn’t there, so I don’t know much of what went on (and since it was primarily shopping, I don’t want to know). There is one story the girls shared with me.

As they walked down the street they passed a trash can with smoke pouring from it. A man walked out of a store, poured a bottle of water in&#185 and left. But the smoke continue to waft out.

Within a few minutes, the sound of sirens. Then a Beverly Hills fire truck, police cars and traffic agents showed up. The street was blocked off and firefighters, direct from central casting, put out the smoldering trash receptacle.

Meanwhile, back in Century City, I was pulling onto the 20th Century Fox lot for lunch. Originally I drove in from the main entrance on Pico. The security guard there re-directed me to the parking garage off Galaxy.

Though I was farther from my destination, that was a good thing. I got a chance to walk through the Fox lot.

Make no mistake about it, this is a movie factory – which is very cool. Everywhere you walk are signs you’re in “Hollywood.” Though I saw no production in progress, it was obvious there was a lot going on.

There is no strange thing I saw at Fox. There were at least two vending boxes selling the NY Post. Granted, it is owned by Rupert Murdoch who also owns Fox, but it’s just a strange place to see the Post on sale.

Lunch was with someone I first met in 2nd grade! He is now a highly placed executive at Fox Television… and that’s why I’ll preserve his anonymity.

He’s a very nice guy, was very bright back then, and hasn’t changed. He is in a business where each and every decision has dollars attached to it. It’s a lot of pressure, a lot of accountability and I think he enjoys it.

We talked about people we knew from school and our families. In some ways our lives have run parallel. We both started families, having children, later in life.

It was really a great lunch and fun talking with someone who has insight into a part of my business that I normally have little contact with. As we said goodbye, the Robert Blake verdict came in.

Wow. No one more surprised than me. Well, maybe Robert.

I left Fox and headed to Beverly Hills to pick up Helaine and Stef. There had been a whole lot of looking and a little bit of buying.

We headed back to the hotel so I could pick up my camera. When we got there I noticed the satellite trucks and microwave vans lining up on Avenue of the Stars, in front of the hotel. “Arnold” was coming to speak at the Century Plaza tonight and protesters were expected! Coverage was assured.

After a quick break we headed back to the Valley. We wanted to take a look at a house. It was 4:30 and traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard was awful. The 405 was worse!

In the car, the subject turned to driving on California freeways. The 405, for instance, is 5 lanes in each direction. If you’re used to driving on 2 or 3 lane Interstates, 5 lanes can be unnerving.

Steffie’s theory is the right line on a 5 lane highway isn’t the breakdown lane, it’s the crying lane! People who are flustered, or otherwise unable to handle the highway pull to the side and cry. She might be right.

We cruised through Encino and Sherman Oaks, stopping at “Belle Gray,” a boutique owned by Lisa Rinna. Though Stef bought a shirt, she said the folks in the store weren’t particularly friendly or helpful.

After stopping at Ralph’s to pick up bottled water and fruit for the room, we headed to the Sherman Oaks Galleria and dinner at the Cheesecake Factory.

The Galleria was the mall setting for the movie “Fast Times at Ridgemont High.” Of course nearly every place in the Los Angeles area has been the setting for something. A few years ago, after falling on hard times, the mall was closed, gutted and rebuilt. What is there now is smaller and open air.

In fact for dinner, we sat under a propane heater on an open air patio. The night was beautiful. The portions immense. We ate an left.

So, here it is 9:39 PM, as I type. Helaine and Stef are in bed and asleep. I won’t be far behind.

Tomorrow we’re planning on heading to the Pacific Coast Highway and driving through Malibu. Later, we’ve got dinner reservations with some friends. More tomorrow.

&#185 – This being Beverly Hills, I assume it was Evian.