Shaken, Not Stirred

I didn’t feel a thing.

Just minutes after I entered the theater in Greenburgh at 1:49 pm for the free Tuesday movie, an earthquake measuring 5.8 on the Richter scale made its way up the Eastern Seaboard from Virginia passed Westchester on its way to Boston and beyond. No one in the theater twitched a muscle.

I didn’t know what hit me, or rather what I missed, until Ellie called a few minutes later. Then my sister-in-law Annette chimed in from Maryland to say they were all right. Then Dan called from Boston. Good thing I keep my phone on vibrate or I would have annoyed my fellow viewers, one of whom fell asleep and was snoring next to me (that’s what happens when the audience is mostly senior citizens and the movie, The Guard, has lots of heavy Irish accents).

I asked Ellie if the quake had damaged any of the exhibits at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. To her knowledge it hadn’t.

Amid first reports that some thought the earthquake was another terrorist attack, I couldn’t help but wonder if people thought back to another pristine day 10 years ago...


Service With a Smile: Southwest Airlines has a reputation for cheeky, funny customer service. Among its hall of fame pranks is hiding a flight steward in an overhead luggage bin for an unsuspecting passenger to discover.

Clearview Cinemas is on a customer service campaign. Before every feature, one of the staff greets seated patrons, advising if any assistance is required one merely has to seek out an associate.

Today’s staffer clearly has a future in true customer service. With refreshing honesty he admonished all, tongue firmly stuck in his cheek, not to bring any problems to his attention because he just doesn’t care.


I’m walking around naked. Now, before you get disgusted, or excited, let me assure you I’m not ambulating sans clothing. My nakedness is restricted to my ring fingers which are sadly unadorned for the first time in more than 28 years as I had to take off my wedding bands (that’s plural) because of a skin affliction.

For the first 10 years of our marriage I didn’t wear a wedding ring as the one Gilda and I picked out from my aunt and uncle’s jewelry store was too tight. Since it has a gold braid around it, my Aunt Vicki cautioned trying to stretch it might snap the braid. During one of my trips to Los Angeles 10 years into our marriage, I decided it was worth the gamble. I handed the ring over to Uncle Harry and told him of Aunt Vicki’s fears. He scoffed at the suggestion, stepped away for a few minutes and returned with the ring I have worn continuously day and night, in the shower, in the pool, while asleep or playing sports, for the last 28 years. Thirteen years ago, to commemorate our 25th anniversary, I bought a silver ring at the Camden Town open air market in London.

My hands feels naked. They look naked. I sure hope this skin condition clears up soon.


Follow the Link: The other day I wrote how difficult it is to edit your own copy. It’s unsettling when a computer does it for you, and I’m not talking about spellcheck.

Sunday night a one line note I was sending to a friend included the following: “see the attached file.” Only thing is, I had inserted a link to a Web site instead of attaching a file, a matter of no import to me, but to my computer it was a major transgression. As soon as I hit the Send button, up popped a window admonishing me I had not included an attachment! Did I want to send the email anyway?

Zounds! We live in a truly extraordinary, scary and infuriating age when machines have the capacity to challenge your every move.

I sent the note as written. Another victory for man vs. machine.


Speaking of attachments, I call again on the NY Yankees to sever their link to A.J. Burnett. This past weekend displayed in microcosm the reality facing the boys from the Bronx. Against the Minnesota Twins, a struggling ball club this year, Phil Hughes pitched a two-hitter, Ivan Nova pitched seven shutout innings and Burnett imploded after less than two innings, being debited for giving up seven earned runs! What’s he going to do against a team that hits well?

Don’t read anything into manager Joe Girardi’s strong defense of Burnett’s inept pitching and rude behavior when taken out of the game Saturday. Girardi did what any good executive is supposed to do. Publicly he stood by his man. Privately he must be seething.

Once Freddy Garcia returns from the disabled list and the Yankees no longer need a sixth starter, the only common sense solution is to remove Burnett from the pitching rotation and even give him his walking papers. Yes, it will cost them money, but keeping Burnett could jeopardize their chances of making the post-season. Burnett is a cancer on the team, depleting the relief corps in games he pitches and subsequent contests, plus he puts more pressure on everyone in the field and at bat to be perfect to make up for his imperfections.


Zipping Along: If it happens once it happens several times each day, almost every time I proffer a credit card. The clerk or the machine asks for my ZIP code. It’s a low-tech security control, as if someone who stole my card wouldn’t be able to discover my ZIP code. Some might tell you it’s a marketing tool for the retailer, but the truth is once your card is swiped your address and a whole lot more become bytes in the merchant’s data base.

In California, the Supreme Court earlier this year ruled asking for a Zip code is a violation of state consumer privacy statutes. Retailers who persist in asking for Zip codes could face civil penalties of up to $1,000 per request.

The restriction, for now, applies only in California, but the Golden State often is a bellwether for the rest of the nation.

On a Wing and a Prayer

The last few days have not provided a pleasurable ride for Southwest Airlines, what with two emergency landings as one flight last Friday aborted after part of a fuselage tore away and a second landed prematurely Monday after a burning electric smell permeated the main cabin. Tack on more airborne troubles Monday with United’s Flight 497 that also had smoke problems and a scary emergency landing.

All three incidents, thankfully, ended with no loss of life. But they did evoke memories of similar escapades during my business flying career.

Usually, I fall asleep on a plane even before takeoff. That’s what happened when Gilda and I were returning aboard United Airlines from one of my magazine's conferences in San Francisco 18 years ago. We were sitting near the rear. In my dream I smelled something burning. It didn’t jive with the other action in the dream so I woke up about 20 minutes into the flight. Gilda also detected the odor. We alerted the stewardess who informed the pilot.

While they assured everyone there was no danger, the cabin started filling up with acrid smoke. The pilot decided to turn back to San Francisco, but since he had a full load of fuel for the transcontinental run, he first had to release gasoline over the Pacific.

As we approached the landing, the stewardesses told everyone to assume the crash position, that once we came to a full stop we were to calmly walk to the emergency exits and slide down the evacuation chutes. Bent over with arms crossed shielding our heads, Gilda and I awkwardly held hands, thankful we were together. Nobody panicked. Young and old alike slid down the chutes with only one elderly woman slightly injuring her ankle (I’ll admit now I didn’t fully follow orders—I didn’t remove my shoes). Once safely inside the terminal, though, a gold-chained, muscled guy fainted. So much for macho appearances.

For our adventure, United gave everyone a free round-trip ticket to any domestic destination (more on how we used those tickets in a future blog).

Last Friday’s rupture of part of the fuselage of Southwest Flight 812 was a harrowing experience for the passengers. Our brush with a potentially similar condition was not as terrifying, thanks, no doubt, to Dan’s keen eye.

We were flying American Airlines from Dallas to Tokyo 19 years ago, I to interview executives from Ito-Yokado for our joint-venture Japanese publishing company, Gilda, Dan and Ellie to enjoy the hospitality of our hosts.

About an hour after leaving Dallas, Dan thought he saw part of the skin of the left wing flapping away. He asked the man sitting next to him, a Navy air technician, to take a look. He confirmed Dan’s discovery. He called a stewardess who called the relief pilot who flies along on trans-Pacific flights.

Though he too advised we’d be safe proceeding, he cautioned that the prudent thing to do was turn back to Dallas and transfer to another plane. It meant an eight hour delay, making our total travel time from New York to Tokyo a whopping 28 hours instead of the normal 18.

All in all, an inconvenience but surely not as dramatic or as traumatic as that experienced on Southwest Airlines Flight 812.