Frosty, the Snow Pumpkin?

There are some real benefits to living in the Rocky Mountains: clean air, sunny days most of the year, amazing views and a real sense of security, seeing all those huge earthy monoliths surrounding you...to me, it's heaven on earth.

Fall is my favorite time of the year -- the leaves of the aspen groves and mountain elms and maples are all ablaze with color and the hint of winter in the air with its crisp morning breezes greets me in the morning. Except for today...

Today, after an 83 degree high yesterday, I awakened to 34 degrees in the air, a brisk northern wind and this:

Is it any wonder that Chirstmas seems to get here earlier and earlier every year?

Hot cocoa, anyone?

TiVo Overload

It’s times like this that I’m grateful to have the technology that exists today. Could we really get on with our lives without cell phones, Blackberries, iPods, or DVR’s?

The Fall television season is upon us and I’m finding it completely difficult to keep up. In the old days, there was only 3 TV networks and so it wasn’t as tough catch the new shows that I wanted to see. But now…sheesh!!!

Cole and I have 2 TiVo boxes in our home. One can actually record two programs at the same time while watching a 3rd, and one is in our bedroom and I can download the shows from that box onto my laptop. So it’s like having 3 VCR’s in the house. But I’m finding that that isn’t enough.

How can I catch everything I want to see? My head is spinning and Aleve isn’t helping! I guess the only saving grace is that the only show on CBS that even remotely interests me is “Cane.” Otherwise, my attentions are focused on NBC, CBS, Fox, HGTV, Sci-Fi, Bravo and Logo, just to name a few.

And even with the ability to record on three separate TiVo tuners, I’m still running into recording conflicts. And to think that just a short 5 years ago, setting the clock on one’s VCR took a degree in Rocket Science to figure out.

Note to Excedrin and Tylenol: Can you please make a TiVo Overload strength?

Time for the Rinse Cycle!

What happened to keeping personal things personal? I don’t remember getting the memo that made it mandatory to expose every flaw, every idiosyncrasy, every single aspect of private information to anyone and everyone. Is our society so bored with their own lives (or for that matter, drowning so deep in their own problems) that it’s better to pay more attention to everything outside our own circle of reality?

Am I the only one who’s not just completely exhausted about hearing anything that has the slightest thing to do with Brittany, Paris, Lindsay, Brad, Angelina, Ben, Jennifer, Rosie, the Donald or anyone else who graces the pages of People, US Weekly, InTouch, the Star or any of the other rags that are raking in billions every week? When I’m working, you can’t imagine how many copies of these magazines are collected after every flight, most of which its original reader paid full cover price at the airport newsstands.

If it isn’t bad enough to be overexposed to all these idiots who are making a killing just being seen in public, or just misbehaving in public, now us common folk are starting to get into the act. Now we have YouTube, MySpace, TMZ and a host of others where the average Joe can become a headline. I suppose I am somewhat guilty just writing a blog to expose my inner feelings and thoughts. So I certainly don’t want to be accused of being hypocritical here. But for myself, even here, there are limitations to what I feel are appropriate to reveal. For others, though, there are no boundaries – it’s simply a natural, normal extension of what their audience expects.

I was the unfortunate victim of this new “normal” just the other day.

I had gone to Johnny Rockets for a late lunch. It was after 3 p.m. and there was only one other patron in the entire place. I love being in places like this when I’m feeling the need to just unwind, think deeply and just chill. It’s nice sometimes to be simply anonymous and enjoy a meal without all the droning and clamor of a completely full restaurant where you can’t even hear yourself speak to the person next to you.

I was in the final moments of my silent and relaxing meal when my server—a tall, thin twenty-something—approached me to ask if I needed anything more. I politely declined and he proceeded to set my tab on the table. There was a slight, uncomfortable pause as he stood there, watching me eat the last couple of bites of my hamburger. I looked up at him and then he asked me, “How are you doing today?”

“Actually, I'm doing well, thank you,” I replied, somewhat awkwardly.

“Well, I’ve just had the absolute worst day of my life,” he offered, unprompted.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope it gets better.” I said to him, hoping that this concluded this strange exchange. Sorry, no such luck.

“I don’t really know how it can,” he continued. “Last night, my wife and I had a fight and I decided to leave to get a cigar. I was in my sleep pants and sandals is all. I walked down to the 7-eleven store. When I got back, she had locked the door and I didn’t have my key…” (I’m starting to feel my skin crawl). “…and I was banging on the door and she wouldn’t let me in…” (Does anyone have any Pepcid A/C or Tums?) “…and so I decided to break the door down, and she screamed and decided to call the cops…” (Oh, look at the time…I really need to get going!) “…and they cuffed me and took me down to the station…” (Can anyone call my cell phone? A bill collector, perhaps? I’ll talk to a wrong number, even…anyone! PLEASE!!!) “…wanted to charge me with domestic abuse…do I look like a violent guy to you? Of course I’m not (no space there to actually answer the guy—not that I really wanted to at this point). I’ve been with is girl for more than…” (La, la, la, la, la…I’m not listening, but you keep talking…la, la, la, la, la…) “…and so now I have to come up with the rest of my bail money and she like doesn’t even care…”

At this point, I grabbed my wallet, handed him some cash to cover the ticket and a small tip (come on guys, I didn’t ASK to be entertained in this way…I can watch the soaps anytime!), excused myself from the table and made a beeline for the front door. As I’m getting through the door, I hear the obligatory “have a nice day” from this guy. Are you kidding me??!!

Now that this guy has done his dirty laundry all over my lunch, does anyone have a quarter for the rinse cycle? I REALLY need a shower! Blech!

Welcome to the Dark Side!

It was 1973. My father had just returned from his last tour of duty to Japan for the USMC. He had just been accepted into a new program that allowed enlisted men and women to take a short leave of absence from the Corps to attend a handful of colleges around the country to complete a 2-year associate's degree. Dad chose a small junior college in Pensacola, Florida and in the short space of six months, packed us all up and moved us from Vista, California to Quantico, Virginia (we had to wait here until the approval for his application was approved by Headquarters Marine Corps) to Pensacola.

Prior to his return home, my two sisters and I were pretty much running the show at home. Mom was working part-time as a cocktail waitress at the base NCO club in the late afternoons and early evenings, so she hired a local teenaged girl to watch over us while she was away 3-4 nights a week. I remember how my mother dressed for work: thigh-high white leather go-go boots, micro-mini skirts and a wig of blonde hair that went straight down to her ankles! (I remember borrowing that wig on a couple of occasions to dress in drag for Halloween).

Southern California in the early seventies was quite a time for a kid of 9 or 10 to grow up. Flower power, free love and psychedelic influences were in full swing. Vietnam was frustrating the hell out of Americans, the women's lib movement was getting more powerful and Roe v. Wade was all anyone could talk about other than the war.

In our house, music was heavily influenced my father's love for romantic classical symphonies and jazz trumpeters. His record collection included the likes of Stan Kenton, Bert Kaempfort and Jamal, with a few selections from Herb Alpert thrown in the mix. That was pretty much it -- until my mother decided to join the Columbia Record Club.

Suddenly, a new sound emerged from the old RCA stereo console. My sisters and I spent hours listening to the Supremes, the Carpenters, the Fifth Dimension and the Three Dog Night. My mother's favorite, Englebert Humperdink would come on the moment she came home from work to unwind. It's funny that the only Beatles music I ever heard then was actually sung by other singers.

On the days that we would go out to the beach, the lifeguards had popular songs from Blood, Sweat and Tears, Tony Orlando and Dawn, the Beach Boys and Bread playing over the loudspeaker systems while we spent hours building sand castles and running in and out of the tide. We were pretty much unaware of our world situation or current events. To say life was simple may sound like a cliché, but it totally fits.

As I got older, my musical tastes developed more broadly. I found myself drawn to R&B influences that began with the music my mother bought from the record club, mixed with my dad's love of jazz and classical. I was old enough to earn money from baby sitting to afford my own music. I started buying LP's of Earth, Wind & Fire, The Jackson 5, and Stevie Wonder. I also was drawn to the heavy, beat laden sounds of disco and soon was adding Donna Summer, the Bee Gees and ABBA to my collection. Music was becoming a huge part of my life and I was completely content with each new big hit that showed up on the pop charts.

The funny thing is, I never had an ear for what I would consider hard or acid rock. The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd were just not to my liking. Some of my friends in high school tried to get me to listen to groups like Rush and Yes with little or no success. Somehow I shied away from this music because I had equated it with the stoner movement and this was a huge disconnect for me, and I just never had an appreciation for it or the messages that they contained.

While I can't specifically remember when or if any adult ever actually told me this, somewhere I had these images in my head that if you listened to this music, you were being brainwashed into trying drugs and rebelling. I would hear the heavy guitar riffs and the screaming lyrics and it made my skin crawl. And for whatever reason, I had a tough time warming up to kids that listened to this music exclusively.

As a senior in high school, I was befriended by a group of guys that got together ever Friday and Saturday night to play a game known as "Dungeons and Dragons." This fantasy role playing experience was a real turn on for me, and while we played, the music that the guys listened too was not unlike the music I had avoided. While it made me uncomfortable at first, I really liked these guys and so to avoid any confrontations, I simply let them enjoy it.

As I began to analyze what it was that drew these guys to this music, I began in surmise that the lyrics and tunes helped them to lose themselves in the game. Uriah Heap, Jon Anderson and Todd Rundgren were commonly on the stereo console while we engaged in battles with imaginary dragons and evil magical enemies.

After graduation, we all drifted apart to attend college, travel or jump in with both feet into the world of work. The 80's gave birth to punk and grunge and it seemed that all music that sounded anything remotely similar to disco was shunned by the public and radio, in general. Rap music started replacing the R&B that I enjoyed and I found myself reverting to my earlier musical loves: Classical and Jazz. For me, current popular music had fractured and was simply dying.

From the late 80's through the late 90's, it seemed that any music produced had elements of rap, grunge or punk and I avoided it. A small change occurred when stylized groups began to be created by music producers who wanted a lighter, upbeat sound. The Spice Girls and the Backstreet Boys gave way to individual pop stars like Brittany, Justin and Christina.

What has amazed me, though, is how timeless some of the music that I avoided as a child has been. Here it is 2007 and the Rolling Stones are still performing while Pink Floyd, Yes, Van Halen and Rush have all done reunion tours to sellout audiences—which brings me to the point of this entire diatribe.

I have a confession to make.

I am 45 years old and yesterday, for the very first time in my life, I listed to a very interesting and classic album: Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd. I know that this may come as a real shocker to you all but I actually REALLY liked it! The haunting melodies and chilling lyrics are truly genius and I have actually listened to it several times now.

Obviously, the track "Money" is the commonly heard tune (but to be honest, I never knew that this song was Pink Floyd or that it came from "Dark Side"). What may strike some as amazing is one very interesting fact that I happened upon when I started to read up on this concept album: Since its release in 1973, "Dark Side of the Moon" has been on Billboard's Top 100 album charts every single week since then!

The reason behind my avoidance of listening to this album is pretty much as I have explained it: I thought it was 'drug music' and I didn't want to be connected to that in any way. Now granted, this music may actually have been produced under the influence (much of the music of that time period was!) but as I listen to it now, I can clearly hear the messages without caring how it was produced. And indeed, I can totally see why this album has endured. The music is brilliant and the performances are spot on.

I always find it interesting that we as human being can sometimes miss out on something good through mis-information or warped perceptions. But in the end, if we allow our minds to be opened to the possibility that those things may have suffered from a bad reputation or just false impression, we may actually discover something new and exciting or simply that that which we fear or avoid is simply innocuous and harmless.

Here's to learning how to open my mind to new experiences and discoveries that to everyone is yesterday's news!

The Unsung Heroes

MSNBC.com

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Flight attendants still unsung heroes - When it comes to safety, air crews are your first line of defense

By Charles Leocha

Travel columnist

Tripso.com

Updated: 4:55 p.m. MT Sept 10, 2007

The war on terror continues, and yet few remember that the first casualties were flight attendants. In the six years since 9/11, there have been many ceremonies and many remembrances for those who died in that day's tragic events. Police officers, firefighters and other first responders gather every year with political bigwigs on stages across America. Sadly, flight attendants are almost never included.

That's a shame. I've said so on every anniversary of the September attacks, and I say so again this year.

Airline flight attendants are unsung heroes in this country's "war on terrorism." Recent events demonstrate that this is true now more than ever. The efforts to attack us have not abated, but they have been thwarted by better intelligence and higher levels of security. For example, when terrorists came up with new ways to mix explosives with liquids last year, the Department of Homeland Security banned liquids aboard the nation's aircraft. Once again, flight attendants found themselves on the front line of a war whose battles are constantly shifting while ever exposing them to danger.

Though experts cannot predict when there will be another terrorist attack, they can all agree that one will come. New plans are certainly being tested to attack our transportation systems. The stress on our airline systems has increased and will only get worse. And yet flight attendants continue to report to work every day, ready to do what they can to keep us safe. I hope the traveling public does not take them for granted.

Every time a plane takes off, every time a traveler stands up and walks toward the cockpit, and every time a passenger ducks behind his seat to dig through carry-on luggage, flight attendants go on high alert.

Six years ago, immediately after the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, the media was filled with stories about "real heroes" — rescuers, police and firefighters who risked their lives to save workers in those buildings. Those brave emergency workers were racing up stairs into harm's way while the office workers were filing down the stairs away from danger as quickly as possible. The firefighters, EMTs and police deserve every accolade they receive.

Now, let's think about something. Firefighters and police officers are trained for danger. When they arrive at the scene of an incident, they can see the broad outlines of what they are facing. They are skilled in protecting us. They do it every day.

But what about flight attendants?

Flight attendants face potential danger every time they go to work, too. Where once their main purpose was to see to in-flight comforts and provide knowledgeable assistance in case of an emergency landing, their new job is much more nerve-racking. Worse, it is almost always taken for granted.

What once was an airborne world of giddy tourists and grumpy businessmen is now a war zone. Trouble — perhaps deadly trouble — could break out in the cabin at any time. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But perhaps someday.

New terrorist dangers are unknown. So unknown, in fact, that the Department of Homeland Security, the Federal Aviation Administration, and other government organizations still cannot predict where, when or how an attack will take place. While passengers grumble about the inconvenience of waiting in long security lines, taking off our shoes, putting liquids in checked baggage, and having our luggage and bodies probed, most of us have decided to fly anyway — at least to places that are important to us. We have that choice. Flight attendants don't. If they want to continue being paid, they have to go to work.

The same is true of pilots, of course. But pilots are now barricaded inside their cockpits. Some have been given stun guns and others have been trained to carry firearms. But what are flight attendants getting?

Not much. Before they lock themselves in the cockpit, captains now basically tell the flight attendants that they will have to fend for themselves. They don't have much choice — most everyone agrees that the cockpit door must stay locked.

Yes, some airlines now train flight attendants in the basics of self-defense: skills like coordinating with other flight attendants, maintaining distance, assuming a protective body position, and dealing with unruly passengers. Some airlines even offer advanced programs — on a voluntary basis — but the Transportation Security Administration (TSA) still hasn't designed a system for evaluating this training and, worse, flight attendants have a hard time getting time off to attend.

As for public recognition, there's been almost none. Instead, what flight attendants have seen since I first wrote this story six years ago is a continuing series of layoffs, downsizings and reductions in pay.

Are our memories so short?

Flight attendants were the most consistent source of information on 9/11 when, at the risk of their lives, they phoned airline operations personnel to let them know about the hijackings; they even provided seat numbers and descriptions of the hijackers. Flight attendants were most certainly involved with the in-cabin attack on the terrorists aboard United Airlines Flight 93, which crashed in the fields of Pennsylvania instead of into a building on Pennsylvania Avenue.

Later, in one of the few instances of terrorism thwarted in the act, a diminutive flight attendant physically prevented a fanatic from lighting a fuse to a shoe-bomb that would have downed American Airlines Flight 63 in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

So, let's get our priorities straight.

Baggage screeners earn between $25,000 and $38,000 a year. TSA supervisors earn $44,400 to $68,800 a year. Federal air marshals make between $36,000 and $84,000 a year. These workers receive all the standard government perks of medical care, vacations and insurance. Meanwhile, flight attendants, the airlines' real frontline troops, receive starting salaries of $18,000 a year, or less, and don't have a prayer of seeing $30,000 for at least three years. Vacation time in those years is meager, while time "on reserve" (waiting around in case another flight attendant is sick or gets stuck in traffic) seems to be endless.

To add insult to paltry pay, over the past three years many flight attendants have had their retirement programs and pensions stripped from them by their struggling airlines.

For years, we have heard the flight attendant mantra: "We are here for your safety." Now those words are truer than ever. And safety, today, means far more than helping with oxygen masks, securing the overhead compartments, checking seat belts and opening emergency doors.

Let's face it: Federal air marshals are not on most flights. While the plane is in the air, flight attendants are our first line of defense. They may be serving peanuts, pretzels and drinks, but they are constantly on watch and alert from the time they check IDs at the boarding gate until touchdown at the final destination.

Today's flight attendants face what amounts to nonstop battle stress from an unidentified, furtive and unpredictable enemy.

I, for one, thank them for their service. All of us who fly should thank them as well.

© 2007 MSNBC Interactive

URL: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/20644141/from/ET/

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