A-Musings

Week 3, Nov. 8 – 11, 2010 TravelBlog: Day 15 (Mon.) Killer day. Up at 3:30am for a 4:00am shoot of the Royal Promenade, the center and largest of the 5 (or is it 6?) “avenues” in this floating city. Breakfast, then we dash to shoot Rita’s Cantina and Pinnacle Lounge. Lots of prep … we encounter Thomas’s last gasp – nausea-inducing, rolling swells and rainy, gloomy skies – as we pass through the Bermuda Triangle. This should clear by tomorrow morning, leaving 2 days of sunny sailing before we arriving in FLL … Tried to nap after this morning’s exhausting shoots, but yet another safety drill kept me up. “Bravo, bravo, bravo” (code for fire) and instructions blaring over the PA for nearly two hours. (FYI, “alpha, alpha, alpha” = serious injury; “oscar, oscar, oscar” = man overboard!) Another dirty little secret: Some crew members never get to come above Deck 3; they are never permitted to step foot in passenger areas. Mole people - what a life. Michel’s origina...

Week 2: Nov. 1 – 7, 2010 TravelBlog: Day 8 (Mon.) Slept like the dead for the first time since leaving NYC. And we gained an hour … but still not caught up by a long shot. Daniel spent the night in the bathroom, emptying from both ends. Similar to what I suffered on the Oasis, divided by 12 (little slice of hell, though this trip I have the opposite problem). Must be something in the start-up kitchens, or with the swill they feed the crew/staff we’ve been served, which differs enormously from the passengers’ fare. It may better than some of them eat in their native land, but by western standards it’s nasty drek which tastes bad and smells worse … So far no other casualties, except Michel has this strange and itchy rash that appears to be spreading. Bedbugs from one of the flights??? In our staterooms??? Oy vay - Sailing “the Manche”, aka the English Channel. We passed the white cliffs of Dover during the night … So far surprising calm seas and clear skies, no...

Week 1, Oct. 25 – 31, 2010 Travelblog: Day 1
(Mon.) So trying just trying to get to the airport! Damn the MTA - service cutbacks have made taking the M60 to LGA an even longer nightmare ... Get to the airport 50 minutes before take off. Why isn't the security line moving??? The plane's an inferno, no a/c until take-off ... The row of Jewish grandmothers block the aisle, keep standing up during take off and landing as well, and scold everyone for everything from putting things in "their" overhead bin to wrinkling their sweater ... Arrive in Miami and it's hot-hot-hot – Dinner with Michel, photographer to the cruise lines, who hired me for the gig - Travelblog: Day 2
(Tues) Morning in Miami - took a bike ride over the bridge, along the bay, through old Miami, South Beach ... e-business over a coffee on Lincoln Rd. People seem friendlier and more relaxed than in NYC. Wish I had more time to just "be" here - but we gotta pack up for take-off. Hop...

ESTABLISHING: HUDSON RIVER, WEST SIDE OF MANHATTAN, MID SUMMER. From a distance, we see what appears to be a man and a woman barely out of their teens, on the cusp of adulthood, strolling together along the Hudson. Their body language says it all: Full of hope and expectations, bashful and sweet, crazy in love. The sunset, bathing the horizon a sexy crimson, provides the requisite romantic backdrop. He boldly grabs her hand, raises it to his lips. She, the more cautious and unsure of the two, tentatively acquiesces. He gently pulls her close, slowly moves in for a kiss. She hesitates, and … FREEZE FRAME ZOOMING IN: We soon realize, upon closer inspection, these crazy kids are not kids at all, but rather adults well into mid-life. The past has collapsed into the present; in an instant, two adults magically, instantaneously returned to their former selves, teenagers in love ... MID SUMMER, 2010: That sultry July evening, L, my college sweetheart, and I found ourselv...

No, I haven't taken one ... Please excuse my scarcity this summer. I'm actually busy at work, writing articles, co-designing a coaching partnership program, developing a television show ... I'll be back as soon as I have something wonderful and worth sharing with you! PS - Happy Birthday, Daddy! I miss you!

“What are you planning to do? You’ve gotta do something, something, you know, big …” Oh, the pressure. To do something big . Grand. Special. Memorable. To mark. Celebrate. Commemorate. This milestone. Passage. Crossroad. New beginning. But for something new to begin, something established must end. And letting go, even of a pile of old stinky dreck, can be a struggle - Now that it’s recently passed, over and done, this birthday milestone, and I have a bit of distance and remove from it, I can see it more clearly for what is actually means, what it actually is - Earlier in June, as the 28 th loomed large on the horizon, its importance inflating more and more, I convinced myself it was a day I wanted to highlight less and less. Truth be told, I was indeed torn: to fete or not to fete, that was the question. Whether ‘twas nobler to ignore the day entirely, make believe it wasn’t happening, didn’t matter, meant nothing. Distance myse...

I'm having a birthday this month. A biggie. At this advanced age, early Alzheimer's may indeed be setting in. But I never had much of a memory, especially when it comes to childhood and family matters (perhaps a subconscious but intentional internal editing?). Nonetheless, a few things I’ll never forget. One is a comment made several years ago by a male in-law regarding a female relative. One of the family beauties, in fact. She, at the time, was probably somewhere in her mid to late 30’s, as lovely and sweet as the day she was born. He, on the other hand, carried no distinction, just one of the unillustrious m en who married into the family, mediocre and unextraordinary in every way. In a conversation with another male in-law, I overheard him say that my pretty cousin had “hit the wall.” I’d never heard this expression before and had no idea what it meant. As they continued discussing this observation, I asked the meaning of “hitting the wall.” Hesitant at fi...

Quantum leaps required. And available as necessary ... “No one can tell you why you're here." "We all have a choice in life, Charlie” “It’s okay. You can let go now.” “There is no now, here." “I’ll see you in another life, brother.” (Warning: You may find yourself lost in this if you aren’t familiar with Lost .) Yes, I admit it. Wholeheartedly: I watch Lost . I love Lost . Judge me if you will: I’m a doofus, a geek, a fool! But I don’t care. (Not the equivalent of a 21 st Century trekkie – you won’t find me wearing a Dharma Initiative jumpsuit - but close.) Eagerly, faithfully, from week to week, I followed the sprawling, messy, tangled, far-fetched, illogical, non-linear storylines of each of the exquisitely flawed passengers of Oceanic flight 815 and the “other” assorted friend/foe inhabitants/visitors of that achingly beautiful island as they jumped from time to time, place to place, crisis to crisis, relationship to relationship, choice to choice...