5 days of fire, so far...

Our house is up in a canyon. One canyon west of Topanga. We live in Ventura County, right next to the Los Angeles County line. Our house is just under 30 miles from the ocean. It’s about the same distance to downtown LA.

Up the canyon from us is the northern edge of the Santa Monica Mountains Preserve. The Preserve runs south and west to the Ocean. It goes around towns and small suburban LA suburbs, if you’ve been watching or listening to the news you’ll recognize some of the these names. West Hills, Calabasas, Agoura Hills, Westlake Village, Oak Park, Camarillo, Malibu and of course, Thousand Oaks. If I climb to the top of the Preserve I can see most of them. And since Thursday, they’ve all been on fire. We’re lucky, we are on the windward side of the fires.

The winds this time of the year blow in from the desert east of us. The winds are called Santa Anas. The blow warm and hard. They blow for days. Friday the Santa Ana wind was blowing between 25 to 30 miles an hour, with gusts to just under 50. Santa Ana winds are relentless, they last for days and weeks. Today, Saturday, the winds stopped, they dropped to a light breeze. The forecast says they’ll pick up and again Sunday and blow until Tuesday, maybe longer. Fire likes the Santa Ana wind. The drop in the wind is giving the firefighters and chance to regroup and begin to contain the fires. Fires that have been out of control from their start Thursday.

We’ve got our bags packed, important papers in a plastic box. Dog supplies for our German Shepherd. Should we pack our camping gear, food? It’s under discussion.

Well over 250,000 people are under evacuation orders. The hotels are full all-over Southern California, the freeways are bumper to bumper, where would we go? We have family in San Diego and Santa Cruz, friends in between.

We have Spectrum cable for television and internet it’s not working, hasn’t since Friday afternoon. We have T Mobile for our cell phones, they don’t work either. If we drive down the canyon we can get cell service. The cable company says it’s a fiber optic problem, T Mobile says they can’t get in to fix the cell tower for our area because it’s in a fire restricted area.

We’re getting our information from AM radio. KNX News Radio and KFI are doing a wonderful job.

KNX is all news, the news right now is all fire. The station has reporters everywhere and there are constant updates. KFI is a talk radio station. Like many talk stations they go paid programming and syndication on the weekends. They blew that all off because of the fire, their regular hosts are anchoring and KFI is all fire like KNX. Both stations are doing what radio has always been tasked to do, KFI and KNX are serving the community. They are really doing a great job. The programming is informative and it’s interesting. Both stations have partnered with local TV stations and essentially been able to double the coverage. Neither station has neglected to provide coverage of the tragic Camp Fire in northern California. Both carry news conferences live, they have meteorologists live and both have been really, really, good on traffic.

KFI and KNX are powerful reminders of what radio should be and can be. Congratulations to both stations.  

It’s mid-morning on Sunday. Right on cue the Santa Ana winds are back. We have our internet service back. We’re listening to KFI. They just carried a press conference. A few facts, 8,000 fire personnel are on duty. 700 LA and Ventura county deputies have been assigned to looter patrols. There has been very little looting, so who knows.

While watching all news television station KCAL 9, my wife said “Oh no!” It was a story on burned out home in Malibu, she knows the house well. She directed a photo shoot there when she was with an agency a few years ago.

The LA Rams train in Thousand Oaks, 75 players, coaches and other Ram employees live in TO. They had to evacuate. Several players have donated their game checks from Sunday for community relief efforts. Others are organizing an auction of memorabilia, like game jerseys, for the same cause.

This morning, Monday, I looked out my office window to the Northeast, there was smoke in the clear blue November sky. I was downwind from it. I went outside, I could smell the smoke and I heard helicopters. I went back to my desk and checked Ventura County Fire. Sure enough there was a fire on Rocky Peak, less than 5 miles as the crow flies. That was at 10:30. The fire burned up to the Freeway, the 118. Just after 11, the wind died, the helicopters water bombed the fire and killed it in its tracks. It took multiple aircraft and 50 fire crews to take care of it. The Freeway was closed for 3 hours in both directions from Topanga to the Yosemite exit.

It was tense, I walked two blocks to where I could get cell service and called my wife, told her the dog and I were okay and staying put. We are in a red flag area, that means, be alert for possible evacuation.

It’s windy again, gusts to 40mph, it’s cooler and cooler weather helps lessen the fire danger.

This is the 5^th day of fire, everybody is stressed. We haven’t had to move, I can’t imagine the stress level of people who are living out of their cars, staying in hotels, worrying about their pets and possessions, their homes. 

This is exhausting.

Seasonal labor...

"This reminds me of you" my frie4nd Taylor said and sent this link the other day...

A season for contemplation

I didn't read it right away. He poked me about it and I finally responded.

"Hey asshole, I just got to it, my fucking day has been busy, I had to box up all the god damn Halloween shit and haul it to the fucking garage, which is across the god damn street from this fucking house. Then I had to carry it up a fucking ladder to put it on the top shelves. I almost went into cardiac arrest, do you have a fucking clue how much ceramic jack o fucking lanterns weigh? Three of the mother fuckers, plus a shit load of other shit like a full size skeleton with light the fuck up eyes. 

Shit, I just looked up and realized the fucking 4 foot furry spider is still hanging on the god damn wall. Incidentally that bastard's eyes light up too!" 

Good, Clear thinking on "FEAR"...

My sister sent this,  written by her paper's Minnesota Farm columnist, Brent Olson.

Independently Speaking

Publication Date 11-1-18

Don’t be so afraid.

Seriously. It’s a little embarrassing, not to mention un-American. America is not a country founded by fear.

I’ll be the first to admit it’s a hard world, and there are a lot of bad things happening in a lot of places. But you know what? Being scared fixes none of it. A scared dog will bite a friend and a scared baby cries.

Scared of the immigrant caravan coming our way? Well, first of all, they’re still a thousand miles away and on foot, so we’ve got a little time. And even if there are 5,000 of them, that’s not so many. A few years ago, I leaned on a railing and looked at the border crossing south of San Diego. About 90,000 people cross the border there every day, and they’re pretty well controlled. Turning back a caravan of 5,000 people might not even make it into the day’s paperwork.

If you’re just opposed to new people coming into the country without the right papers, I’m with you.  We need a lot more immigrants to do the jobs Americans don’t seem to want, but they need to be properly documented so they pay into the system and are protected by the system just like anyone else.  And, that’s what’s happening. Twenty years ago, about 1.2 million people entered the country illegally each year. That number has been dropping every year and now it’s down to about 10% of that amount. To put that in perspective, my home town has a population of about 450 people. If we had our share of undocumented workers, that means one new person would move to town every year and a half. So, don’t be scared of immigrants. If you want to hire someone to milk cows or mop floors in a hospital, there’s a pretty good chance it’s going to be someone with an accent. It’s always been that way.

You can be as scared as you want, and it won’t change a thing. Let’s face it, if you live in the Western Hemisphere you’re the descendent of an immigrant, whether your ancestors strolled across the Bering Strait 10,000 years ago or got off the plane yesterday.

Perhaps we could take a moment and look at the reasons a person would be willing to walk a thousand miles carrying a baby. If our government is contributing to the problem, we should make it stop. That would help a lot, because, in the end, the only real solution to people fleeing their homes is that their homes are safe enough that they don’t need to leave.

“How about MS13?” you might say.

Well, yeah. Those are really bad people - brutal criminals who need to be arrested, prosecuted, and locked up for their crimes. And that’s what law enforcement is doing. It’s nothing new. In the 1840s, the Bowery Boys were a violent street gang in New York who hated the Irish and the Catholics. A few years later, the Irish and the Jews had their own gangs, after that the Poles and the Chinese had a run at being street criminals. The Italians were a little late to the game, but they do get credit for the whole Mafia thing. When I was in high school, people were worried about the Hell’s Angels. Now many of those Hells Angels who aren’t in jail have grey hair and prostate issues. There are factors as to who becomes a criminal that are far more important than skin color and religion. That’s just the truth, and letting someone convince you that you need to be terrified of…well, of anyone, is of no use at all.

I deeply, passionately disapprove of people who want to make me scared. They are like sleazy salesmen who want to sell you something you don’t need and are willing to say anything to get the job done.

That doesn’t mean I float through the world in a rose-colored glasses fog. We face real problems. For instance, for every dollar the U.S. Government spends, it borrows about a quarter. Do that with your credit card and you’ll lead a sweet life for a while.

But not forever. 

The scientists at NASA say that due to climate change, my area of the country is going to see more droughts, hotter temperatures, AND more floods. Right now, farm incomes are down, expenses are up, and that’s with really good weather. Farming has never been a relaxing profession; it’s not going to get easier.

You look around the world and some really bad people are in some really powerful positions of control.  Dealing with them is going to require friends, allies, persistence, and clear thinking.

These are some of the real problems I think about, and being scared won’t fix any of them.

There’s an election coming up. Please vote. I’d suggest you vote for candidates who tell the truth, who believe in science, and, you know, facts. People who are for something and not just against something. 

Especially don’t vote for hate or fear. It’s just un-American.

Copyright 2018 Brent Olson

Carrie and I buy a car...

Carrie Fisher and I are walking down the street, We're holding hands, we've been walking for a long time.

"Jesus, I'm tired of walking, we need to buy a car to get around." Carrie says. "Walking is good for us, but this is insanity."

"What do you want to get?"

"My Mom had a Thunderbird when I was a little girl, I loved that car."

"Maybe we can find one, keep walking."

In an hour or so, including a stop for coffee and a donut, we realize we're in North Hollywood. Strip Malls, body shops, recycling centers, manicure shops and tacky bars line the streets, finally we see a used car lot and damned if they don't have a white 55 Thunderbird up on a display lift. Carrie is so excited she wraps her arms around my neck and gives me a movie star kiss. Carrie is sweaty from all our walking, so am I, but it doesn't matter. A guy with a neck tattoo, sticks his head out of the window of his 4x4 Tacoma, honks his horn at us and yells "Take it to a fucking motel you assholes!" We were kissing in the crosswalk and he had the green. Carrie says, "Good idea." I nod my approval and we jaywalk to a drive up to the door motel called The Loveland and check in.

3 hours later, moony eyed, but refreshed we step onto "Nick the Greek's Only the Finest Pre-Owned Automobiles" lot. Out of nowhere Nick appears, he's short, wrinkled, he's wearing a polo shirt that's is at least 2 sizes too small. White chest hair is sticking out of the neck of the shirt. He has garlic breath because he just finished a lamb Gyro, his hand shake is greasy. Carrie is repulsed by his greasy shake, she sticks her hand into the open window of a customer's tan Camry and wipes her hand on the headrest. I maneuver around so I can put my hand on Nick's shoulder in a gesture of confidence and friendship. I wipe my hand on the shoulder of his maroon polo.

"We'd like to take a look at the 55 T-Bird."

Nick doesn't respond, he's checking out Carrie's boobs.

"Excuse me, I said we'd like to look at the T-Bird."

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" Nick says. His eyes still on Carrie's boobs.

"No." Carrie says.

"You look familiar to me I swear to god I know you."

"Not a chance,"

Nick shrugs and says, "Okay. Let me get it down off the lift. Hey, Alonzo, get that fucking Bird off the lift, we got a couple of hot ones, they want to look at it." An old Mexican guy in a worn, white stained mechanic's jumpsuit comes out of a two stall shop, The name tag on the suit says Alberto. Alonzo is wiping his hands on a greasy rag. He's wearing knee high black rubber boots. It took awhile, but he got the T-Bird on the ground. It won't start. He heads back to the shop for a jumper cart. Nick looks nervous.

"It's a shit box Carrie, let's go."

"No, no, it looks like the one my Mom used to have."

Nick turns to me, "She likes the car, you say her name is Carrie?"

"Connie, dammit." Carrie says. "My name is Connie, you fat Greek shit!"

Carrie likes to move around town incognito, can you blame her?

An hour later we drive off Nick's lot in the T-Bird. Carrie is driving. I notice we leave a faint trail of blue smoke every time she steps on the gas, same thing when she lets off. The valve train is noisy and it has slight rod knock. It pulls to the left when she hits the brakes. All that matters to me is Carrie is really happy.

"I'm so fucking happy honey, we have a car and we don't have to walk everywhere. LA sucks when you have to walk all the time."

"You hungry?"

"Starved." Carrie whips into In 'N Out. We order to go. We get two Animal style, we share fries and a large strawberry shake On the way out, Carrie drives over the curb, I hear a clunk.

"Stop the car baby, I need to see what that sound was." She pulls to the curb. I look at the car and get back in. I have to slam the door twice to get it to close.

"What happened?"

"A chunk of bondo fell off the right rear quarter panel. You know this car used to be red?"

"What?"

"Never mind, just drive."

"Let's show our new car to my Mom, she'll be so excited, she'll pee her pants."

"How would you know, she wears those new Depends, doesn't she?  Are you going to eat all  the fries or are you going to share them?"

Carrie is driving with her knee as we get on the 101, she hands me the shake and the fries. A napkin blows out of the car as she does, we get passed by an asshole driving a silver Audi in 3rd gear, the napkin is stuck in his wiper, he gives Carrie the finger, she flips him back. Carrie turns to me and says with a smile,"Don't you be a pig baby and eat them all." She turns on the radio, LA Woman by the Doors is on, Carrie turns it up, the right hand, aftermarket speaker goes to hell when she does, she starts banging on the dash.

"Get your hands back on the wheel, I'll feed you fries sweetheart and stay in your damn lane." The Doors sound like shit on one channel.

I feed Carrie fries and hold the strawberry shake so she can suck on the straw while she drives, we get off 101 at Desoto and take a right on Roscoe. We stop in front of an old two story apartment building, it's a fake Spanish with tiny decks in front of the sliding glass doors of each apartment. The decks are so small, two little chairs take up all the space and the wrought iron railings are rusty and peeling. The door buzzer doesn't work. Carrie suggests I toss the rest of the shake at her Mom's window to get her attention. My arm isn't as good as it used be, but I hit the slider dead center. The strawberry shake looks like modern art as it slides down the glass. Carrie's mom sticks her head out, looks around, she wearing a multi-colored, flowing caftan and has a scarf around her head, The music from her apartment is really loud.

"Carrie, what's that music your Mom is playing?"

"Some bullshit from the "The Unsinkable Molly Brown" last month it was the soundtrack from "Tammy",  God I hated that shit when I was a kid. Come to think about it, I still hate it!"

Debbie finally notices us standing on the sidewalk and says she'll buzz us in. We have to wait at the door until someone comes out so we can get in the building. We waited around 10 minutes until an old man with a shirt, tie, coat and no pants comes out."Carrie, remind your Mom the door buzzer doesn't work" I said as we went through the door. "At least the guy had fresh boxers on."

"I've been telling her that for months." We got in the elevator for the short trip to the 2nd floor. It doesn't take long, seems longer though because the elevator smells like cat pee. Carrie and I take a right out of the elevator, walk to the end of the hall. Carrie says, "Fuck! Mom's place is in the other direction!" We turn around and head back. One of the apartments has yellow police tape crisscrossed over the door.

"Is that where Durst lived?"

"Uh huh, Mom says he was one weird bastard."

We get to Carrie's mother's door, we both beat on it so Debbie can hear us over the music, Carrie kicks the door and hurts her foot, she's hopping around when Debbie opens the door and says, "Where the hell have you two kids been? I've been waiting forever."

More to come, maybe...

Jim Harper explains us and a lesson for you…

George got a nice note from Detroit’s Jim Harper:

“This is the most productive and potentially “golden” advice any morning jock could ever expect to receive. And it’s free! Then again…generous. Old Pros do that…never when asked, but when you least expect it and they sincerely want to help talent. I hope jox realize that Bob’s phone call script/outline should be stolen and produced with a killer-close…tomorrow! And George’s break-by-break then repeat-outline is a million dollar secret.”
Nice work, Gentlemen.

Thanks, Jim.

George and I were chatting this morning about something that’s always irritated the hell out of both us, especially about morning show talent.
The big sports news, the news really, is Baseball’s League Championship Series have started.  Dodgers-Brewers, Red Sox-Astros. The winners go to the World Series. It’s huge, even for people who don’t avidly follow baseball or listen to sports radio,

Here’s the deal, all over the country, radio people, who know zip about baseball, will begin pontificating on baseball. It happens every year. Don’t do it, you’ll sound like a moron.


I had an afternoon talk show host, a smart, interesting guy, great numbers. He knew nothing about sports and hated baseball. We carried baseball on the station, we did it for the cume, but that’s another story.. Anyway, our team ended up in the World Series. For the Series, we set up a remote broadcast studio in the parking lot right by the main gate of the ball park. We’d move the station to the ball park every afternoon prior to the home games. The talk show host pitched a bitch because he didn’t want to sound like an idiot on the air. The solution his producer and I came up with was simple, surround him with experts. We had an ancient, regional sales manager who had been a pitcher in AAA ball for the Phillies. He was so old, he played before MLB expansion! The guy knew baseball in and out. He was always fun to go to a game with, he carried a baseball with him and explained each pitch and the grip needed to throw it. We put him with the talk show host. We found baseball writers, TV guys (even Bob Costas dropped by) and retired ball players (Gary Carter) to join our guy for his shows prior to the games. Our guy was good, he knew when to shut up and he began asking the right questions. He got the “experts” to tell their stories. He was relaxed and comfortable with baseball during those shows. He did a great job doing something he initially didn’t want to do. There was a lot of laughing and good times on the radio, just guys talking about baseball. The callers asked good questioners and the experts gave them great answers.
When the teams moved on to play in the other teams home ball park. Our once reluctant talk show host couldn’t wait to get our sports guy on the phone to talk baseball.

The Series went 7 games, when our team won it, the happiest guy in the ball park was our talk show host, who a few weeks earlier hated baseball.

Jack Cole (RIP) was a pro.

And let that be a lesson for you.

BTW, We didn’t originate the games, but we carried them and made them our own. We won numerous awards for out sports production. Our production director was at the presentation ceremony in in New York and the committee was blown away that we weren’t the originating station for Marlin’s baseball.

It’s called “Theater of the Mind”.

Personal sidebar: My first date with my wife was the 7th Game of the World Series between the Marlins and Cleveland. The Cakes hasn’t been to a baseball game since!

• 
  

  • 
    

Funny how things happen, isn't it....

     Ray, George and I celebrating Geo's birthday a few years ago on the porch "Up in the Canyon"

It's October 3rd, my pal George's birthday. He's old like me. I've known George since the early 70's and we've celebrated a bunch of birthdays together, maybe too many. Not really, we're both glad we're still alive. This year's birthday is being celebrated in Tampa, Geo's baby daughter, college girl is throwing a party for him. I hope he can keep up with Cami and her friends. I know he'll do his best. Know Geo like I do, he'll fade.

In 1996, George and I were working together in the Fairbanks Corporate office in West Palm Beach. When our Boston stations were sold that spring, I was transferred to West Palm. I hated to leave Boston, but I needed to eat, so off I went. In short order, I was out of my relationship in Boston. 

In January of '97 I was at a charity event at a classy bar on Clematis Street in downtown West Palm. I let myself be picked up by a dazzling, British woman. In a few weeks we were a "thing". She swept me off my feet so to speak. In March, I took her to the Palm Beach Film Festival, Formal dress for the banquet, Very nice evening at the Breaker's Hotel, we had a great time. I pulled in her driveway at 1 in the morning, Sheila put her hand on my arm and said, "Love we have to take some time off." I asked "Why?" Sheila continued in her posh, Brit accent, "My husband is coming home for a few weeks and I can't let things get messy. We have an understanding between us, so you can see how this could create a problem don't you Robert? We can resume in when he leaves."

I was stunned, I was speechless, I didn't know what to say, I simply said, "Get the fuck out of my car!" 

I drove home and drank a half a fifth of Basil Hayden and went to bed. On Sunday morning my head was pounding. I took the dog for a walk, The dog and I drove to the Palm Beach News Stand and bought the papers. I swam in my little pool, by 10 that night by hangover was gone. I decided I was finished with women. I also decided I was pretty much done with everything except work. I stopped going out, I stayed home all the time. I went to work and went home for 7 months. George and our buddy Eric would come over on Saturday night, I'd cook, we'd get drunk, smoke cigars and watch "Cops" on TV.  I just stayed home in my little house on Rutland Blvd.

 

For months, I read a shitload of books, made excellent meals and played with Straka the Dog. I had enough money to finally pay off my divorce attorney, my back taxes and keep up with spousal support all at the same time. No sweat when all you do is shuttle from the office to home day after day. I even saved a buck or two.

7 went by, I finally agreed to go out for dinner on George's birthday. Eric, George and I met at an Italian place on Clematis, the food was good, so was the wine. We drove over to Palm Beach, hit a few spots. Eric didn't have a jacket on, at Au Bar, they made him slip into one of their "emergency" jackets. Eric, the spitting image of John Candy, was a 50 long and they tucked his fat ass into a 42 short and portly. It was a greasy, brown, nubby wool number. It looked outstanding with his Hawaiian shirt. Eric didn't care he reveled in it. A snotty Pam Beach type, said "Nice jacket." Eric, a Harvard drop out, said, in his deep baritone voice, using his best upper class Boston accent with a wide but insincere smile on his face, "Why don't you go fuck yourself,"

                                                       Eric Chaney, RIP. One of the best.

The three of us went to another club and as usual George faded from the scene around 10:30. Eric and I felt the urgent need to smoke a cigar. The Chesterfield Hotel's Leopard Lounge was just down the road, off we went. Eric in his huge, black, early 80's Fleetwood sedan. (he bought it from a funeral home) Eric loved his old Caddys and me in my 5 Series. 

The Leopard Lounge was empty, just a piano player, a tired looking woman server, a bartender and a guy with two women sitting at the bar. Eric and I sat down, we ordered from the bartender, lit our cigars, Eric asked me, "What do you think?" I said, "I think I just saw the best looking woman I've seen since I moved to Florida."

It was Jan. She had been to a birthday dinner for her friend Susie, they ended up at the Leopard Lounge too. Jan, Susie and the guy, neither of us can remember his name, joined Eric and me, we started to chat. The stars and the moon aligned, I gave Jan a ride home. We made a date, I got a peck on the check and the rest is history.

A few weeks later George starting calling her Cakes and that's how that got started. 

We were talking about Geo's birthday last night. I said "1997." Jan said "21 years", We both rolled our eyes.We always remember George's birthday! 

Writing Radio's Wrongs...a new blog

A new blog project.

https://writingradioswrongs.blog/

"sittin, drinkin, superficial thinkin"...

I'm the son of an alcoholic and the grandson of an alcoholic. Believe me, it was a shitty way to grow up. They both went to rehab, they both "slipped" from time to time after rehab. But, they both took charge of their lives and got much, much better.

Experiencing that and the turmoil it causes in a family, I do drink and have drank to excess over the years. I believe alcoholism is a disease and I don't have it. I've given myself every opportunity to succumb to the disease and haven't. I've worked with people and had friends who have. I've participated in interventions and driven people to rehab centers and some times it's worked and other times it hasn't.

I've been to the classes for Adult Children of Alcoholics, spent a week with my Mom during her rehab during "Family Week". Our family and others went to classes in the morning and participated in group therapy with our patients in the afternoon. I heard some incredible stories and heard a lot of bullshit too. One guy denied he was an alcoholic because he only had one drink a day, his wife said, "That's right, 16 ounces of Jack Daniels over ice."

I've experienced one "black out". I was in college, a woman I was dating told me she might, be pregnant, she wasn't sure, but...

A friend of my father owned a bar, I had just turned 21. It was the middle of the afternoon, I ordered a beer and told him what was going on. He said, "A man's problem calls for a man's drink and poured me a stiff whiskey and many more. I woke up the next morning on the floor by my bed. I had no recollection of how long I'd stayed at Kenny's bar or how I'd gotten home. I looked out the window down to the parking lot. My car was sitting there with the driver's door open. Luckily it didn't have a scratch on it . I didn't either. I did have a terrible hang over, but I made it to my summer job and suffered through the day.

The drinkers in my family drank to escape their demons, when they were sober the demons were still with them. Drinking doesn't ever make things better, it doesn't work that way.

Over the years, when I've had a problem to confront on a personal or professional level I don't drink. I asked a friend who is a practicing psychologist about this, over drinks, by the way. He said, "You're refusing to look for an escape from what ever is staring you in the face and that's a good thing."

I drink when I'm in a good mood, sure I've gotten belligerent and mouthy, but I'm like that when I'm sober.

I have the alcoholic genes, somehow they haven't connected for me like they did for Mom and Grandpa and I'm grateful for that

I'm speaking, not preaching, but when I watched Bret Kavanaugh act out during the hearing the other day, what I saw was behavior and an attitude that I'm all too familiar with It's called denial. I've seen it so many times in my life, I've experienced first hand.

When Senator Klobuchar asked the judge whether he'd ever blacked out?,

He shouted back at her, "Have you?" Senator Klobuchar is the daughter of an alcoholic, I doubt if she was surprised at his at his response. It was a classic denial technique from an alcoholic.

I remember sitting with my drunken Mom and her saying, "Well you drink too."

One of the AA classics is "Poor me, poor me, pour me another drink." Watch the replay, Kavanaugh hit that note and others. He ran the table with every one of the symptoms of alcoholism.

He's got the disease and by the look on his wife's face during his performance, she knows it all too well.

What I've learned...

I had my first girlfriend at 14, little Annie and I taught each other how to kiss. Her sister got pregnant at 16, I went to the wedding, a very sad affair, a 16 year old bride, a 17 year old groom, unhappy and distraught families. After the sad little church ceremony we all went out to eat. Halfway through the meal, Annie's dad, an Ai Force Colonel, a B 52 pilot, looked at me and said, "come on outside, I need a smoke". We stepped out of the restaurant, he lit his cigarette, took a long drag and told me, "If you ever do anything like this to my Ann, I will cut your dick off and make you eat it. Do you understand me?" I got it.

A year later I was 15 and Ann was in Turkey at an  AFB, with her Mom and Dad. I was a sophomore in high school. One night a friend of mine and I had a two six packs of beer and two of our female classmates in the car, we were riding around drinking beer. The girls got smashed on a beer or two apiece. We parked and started necking. One thing led to another and I had my hand in the girl's panties, something I'd never done before, I liked it and so did she. Then she said, "Don't make me a dirty girl." I stopped, I got her message.

The next year I had a regular, girlfriend, she was smart, pretty and we got along in everyway possible. We did everything together, we loved each other's company. We were pretty hot and heavy,. We had a long conversation about whether to "go all the way" at the time of the conversation we were naked in my car. We decided we would only go so far and stop. We ended up doing everything except the "act" itself. It worked out well for both of us.

In high school, there were a couple of situations, parties that got out of hand and I heard rumors about the kind of things that happened. I know one girl who had her reputation destroyed by bragging boys. I'm not sure of what happened, but she was the loser in the equation. Another big party, another reputation ruined. I was happy I had a girlfriend I could get naked with 5 times a week.

The common denominator? The girl paid the price never the guy.

A few years later, A college girl friend's sorority sister get hammered with the help of a senior boy, she ended up "pulling a train" at a house party. The result, the girl left school on Monday without a word. The guys laughed. Later the "train conductor" began dating another of my GF's sorority sisters, my GF warned her about him. She laughed it off. a few months later the guy beat the living shit out of her. Nothing happened until her brother, an offensive lineman for the Eagles, found out from their parents, When the season ended, he got in his car and drove straight to the campus and beat the guy within an inch of his life.

When I was 20, I checked into a hotel for the first time with a woman. I couldn't believe how experienced she was for 19. She told me she'd had an "uncomfortable" relationship with a teacher in his 30's for two years in high school. She felt it was her fault.

Years later I was dating a TV anchor, on our fourth or 5th date she told me about getting raped when she was 16. She hoped that I would understand why she wanted to take our relationship slow. She felt she needed to apologize for something she'd had no control over.

So yeah I think Bret Kavanaugh is a lying son of a bitch and he shouldn't ever be on the Supreme Court. He says he doesn't remember, or recall. Bullshit, I remember all of these things like they happened yesterday. I can still see Annie's dad and his blazing eyes, angry and sad at the same time telling me to behave myself with his daughter.

 I've been an asshole from time to time in my life. But, I have never forced myself on a woman or even had the thought of it pass my mind. My entire life, I've been repulsed by the way some men act towards women.

I'm fortunate that I learned my life lessons and remembered them. Some guys never do.

"Go Country?...

It’s perfect early fall weather today in Los Angeles, sunny and warm, the weather is all good from the desert to the mountains, valleys and the beaches and I ruined my day by listening to KKGO, “Go Country”. 

KKGO is the only country station in LA, should be a huge advantage considering more country music and concert tickets are sold in SoCal than anywhere else in the good old US of A. With that advantage they are hanging around in the mid two share range. Here’s what I heard:

First off, Christine Martindale has a super voice, good presence, could the powers that be please let her open the mic more than three times an hour, oh and don’t write gibberish for her to read when she does, Thanks.

Christine, here’s a tip, rewrite that stuff they want you to read, you’re too good for this. You should escape, but after listening to Go Country, I don’t have any idea how you could get a decent aircheck out of the place.

When I turned “Go Country” on I had an immediate problem, I tuned in at the beginning of a 9 unit stop set, the damn thing was interminable. Not only did it seem to go on forever, every one of the commercials had a different level, some loud, some inaudible. Come on, this is basic stuff, there's a kid working on a piss whistle somewhere in Arkansas who can do better work than this, you guys are in the god damned show business capital of the world for chrissakes. Do your job, have some pride.

Finally, when the stop set ground to a halt, I heard a beat of dead air then electronics, zap, whistle, sonic sounds and a filtered(?) voice…it’s loud and irritating, then into a soft intro song. An audio train wreck if I ever heard one. I think maybe I heard an honest mistake, people screw up right? I keep listening.

Man was I wrong! “Go Country” is madly in love with electronic sounds, filtered voices, especially if they are hard and loud and really compressed. The sweepers and produced liners are probably, at minimum, 25% louder than the music. Does anybody in the building ever listen to the station? 

Here I am enjoying some of today’s country, a song about  "drinkin"  or was it about a pickup? Probably both. Anyway, I’m enjoying the song, it dwindles out, a bit of dead air and you guys play something that slaps me across the face so hard, my ears are ringing. Why do you do that? Try this, let Christine say what the annoying filter guy says. I know she could sell the station better and do a smooth transition to the next low audio song in the set.

Here's an idea, you guys are right next to the 405, take the person who records your library over to the window, point at the Freeway and say, “Hit it!” Then find the kid in Arkansas who can do a better job of dubbing your music, he'll be so happy to be in LA he'll work himself to death for you!

With today’s digital equipment and music systems keeping a station on an even audio keel, levels shouldn’t be a problem, somehow on Go Country they are. What’s the old line in the tech world? Oh yeah, it’s “garbage in, garbage out” you’ve got that garbage thing down pat. Good job!

 I'm saying,“What in the hell is the matter with you?” out loud in the car with the windows open. I'm in heavy traffic on the 10. People think I'm nuts. It's your fault, "Go Country"!

I got so irritated by being tossed around by your audio, I can’t even comment on your music mix. Somehow everything on Go Country has been turned into an irritant, the only exception is poor Christine, it must be terrible for her to spend her days inside the torture chamber of “Go Country”. 

I hope she doesn’t start "Country Drinking" to ease her pain. Don’t do it Christine, it won’t end well.

Do you people have any idea of the opportunity you have?  Sam Elliot lives a few miles up the 405, turn north on the 101 and you’ll find him. Get down on your knees, beg him to do your liners. I'll write them for you as a charitable donation and take it off my taxes.

If and when you get that accomplished, set poor, underutilized Christine free. She is the best talent you have.

One more time, “What in the hell is the matter with you?” 

It's Over...

I spent almost 49 years in radio and most of the time I loved it, I loved the business, the people and I loved our listeners.

I've listened to the radio business slide into mediocrity, sure it still has listeners, plenty of them. There are fewer every year and the entry level listener, the kids, the teens aren't listening anymore, at all. Why should they, there is nothing there for them.

I read the broadcast media, blogs. What I read is excuses, people looking for "one neat trick" or an "amazing hack" to turn things around. What I read most often is from people in a defensive posture, muttering "but, but, but..."

I spent (wasted) a couple of hours last week listening to WLTW in New York, it's the number one rated station, it was terrible. The guy on the air is required to open the mic about 4 times an hour and he couldn't even sound like he was interested. It was hotter than the hubs of hell in New York last week and he never mentioned it. The only New York thing he talked about was a swarm of bees around a hot dog cart...he read it off the internet. I know he did, I checked. I could go on, but I won't.

Not only is afternoon drive terrible, the entire station is, I listened around the other dayparts the next day. WLTW is being threatened by classic hits WCBS FM, I noticed WLTW is now playing one LOUD song an hour, think that'll work on an AC? Maybe that's the "one neat trick"? Now the defense of WLTW by radio guys, "gee that's not fair, you only listened for a couple of hours." You know what? That's all you get, if somebody tunes you in for the first time and the station sounds bad like WLTW, That's the only chance you get with them, no excuses.

When I was a young Program Director in a Top Ten Market, I'd drive to the airport and pick up the Executive VP of the company, He'd get in my car and turn on the station, if the first break he heard was bad, I knew I'd be getting my ass handed to me for the next few days, morning, noon and night. Was he fair? Yes. He made me a better PD, a lot better. Our National PD, a close friend of mine, rode to work with the guy every day in the company's home market, He hated the ride,, they'd listen to a break on the AM and then the FM, then discuss, 5 days a week. Did it make him a better group PD, sure did.

Our station was new, an FM, a CHR FM. We built it backwards. We hired the best talent for 6-10pm and 10 to 2AM. Why? We were going for teens in the beginning and that's when they were available, thousands of them. The first goal was to beat our competitor in teens, strip them away and knock their numbers down. When that happened we added better talent to the rest of the day, PMD, then Midday and finally mornings. Our demos expanded, we won 18-34 and got into 3rd place 25-54. In 6 books we won in a very tough marketplace I doubled my income through rating bonuses. One of my jocks did some research a few years ago and discovered we were the 6th biggest FM in the US at the time and the only one not in the top 3 markets

I bought my first house during this time period. I'd bought a new house, I saved money by painting it and putting the yard myself. I decided to paint the house during my vacation. I listened to the station all day, everyday from dawn to dark. I listened standing on the painting scaffold, while mixing paint and I listened while having a cold beer on my deck. Know what I found out? I found out there were a lot of things I could do to make the station better, to make it grow. When I went back to work I started to fix things. I started to sit down with the airstaff after their shifts daily. I'd even come in at night to talk to them. I never saw my wife and kids for months. The station got better because the talent got better by working hard and getting individual attention. I couldn't always keep them, but I had a pipeline of contacts and could always replace them with someone as good, better or somebody with great potential. I lost a guy to LA, found another great one in San Diego. Lost another to Philly and replaced him with a great jock from Miami and so on.

So is it fair to judge a station by listening to one break or for "only a few hours", hell yes it is. The audience will give you one shot, you better be ready and make it count.

Thanks for listening and now get back in your defensive crouch and keep looking for that "one neat trick".

BTW, take a look at your websites, they suck.

A nice girl in prison...Orange is the New Black in real life...

Cakes and I have been binging on Orange is the New Black, I know we're late to the party, but what the hell.

Years ago, I met a woman, a bartender at a quiet little cocktail lounge, she was smart, quick witted and funny as hell. Tall blonde with a bit of a hard edge to her that was a little off setting. She made a good drink, always had a smile and broached no shit from anybody. I liked her and after awhile she liked me. We got to know each other and over time she told me her story. Her name is JW.

JW came from  a well to do family, she said she was the rebellious child, the middle child of three. She started drinking in the 9th grade and liked it, a lot. She and her friends drank everyday, some how they kept their grades up and never had a hint of trouble, "Shit, I was a better driver when I was drinking than I was sober" she said. She smoked some weed, "I didn't like how it made me feel,too laid back. Booze, vodka made me feel, aggressive, made me feel pretty and smart. By the time I was a senior in high school, I was a high functioning alcoholic and damned proud of it."

JW went off to college, a good one and was a Dean's List student, high functioning indeed. "I'd ace a test in the morning and be shitfaced by three in the afternoon. Life was good, know what I mean?"

When JW was a senior, she was living in an apartment with another hard drinking friend and the friend's boyfriend. "I didn't have a guy in my life, I was too busy studying and drinking everyday, I was looking forward to graduating, getting into law school and becoming a big time attorney, of course I was also thinking of all the cocktail parties and high end bars I could hang out in after work, I pictured myself as the hard working, hard partying, witty, sharp ass kicking lawyer."

Just before spring break of her senior year, she and her roomie were thinking about what they'd do on break, they decided an island in the Caribbean was just the ticket, A week in the sun, on the beach, tropical drinks. They had a pile of brochures, they picked St. Bart's. "I had about a grand in my checking account and a tapped out Visa my dad gave me, it wasn't enough money for a dream spring break in a place like St. Bart's"

Over a 5gth of Stoly they decided to solve their financial problem by robbing a bank. The roommate and the boyfriend were all in on the idea. "What we knew about robbing a bank, we'd learned from watching TV and movies, which was nothing, we didn't have a clue. But we got it done, walked in, the boyfriend flashed a hand gun, my roomie and I cleaned out the tellers and we split,, hopped into the boyfriend's Chevelle and we took off. Driving away we saw cop cars, lights flashing all going in the opposite direction. Three days later we were relaxing in a 5 star hotel in on the beach in St. Bart's. We didn't have records, we didn't know any criminals and the cops, even the FBI had any idea who had robbed the bank. Our break was two weeks, My roommate's boyfriend left after 4 days, they'd gotten into a fight, that and he was guilt ridden and scared as hell."

"The boyfriend went home, told his parents and they hauled his ass down to the FBI, the little shit rolled over on us. We had 27,000 dollars in cash left, My roommate and I split it, I took off for the Bahamas, she went home. I rented a little apartment and got a job mixing drinks in a beach front bar in Freeport. Of course my roommate confessed and in a month my face was on wanted pesters. I didn't give a shit, I was having fun selling drinks, getting tan nd having a hell of a good time. My family was losing their minds and that bothered me, but I stayed just drunk enough to not let it get to me."

"I was working one day, and a guy in a suit and wingtips showed up at the bar, ordered a coke, drank it and arrested me for bank robbery. After a nice airplane ride in handcuffs I was in jail, then in court and my dad hired an attorney who did a plea deal and got me a reduced sentenced, 3 to 5 years in the Federal Corrections Facility for Women in Concord, CA. After I'm processed, tested, poked and prodded I'm assigned to a cell. You have any idea who my cellmate turns out to be?"

"No idea."

"Squeaky Fromme from the Manson gang. I mean I'm a convicted bank robber, but Squeaky is a fucking murderer. Know what else? Squeaky had fans, they wrote to her all the time. God she was weird, we shared a cell for almost a year and I don't thinks she said more than 5 words to me in all that time. She was famous and I was just some shitty little bank robber, know what I mean?"

"Damn."

"Damn is right, I didn't sleep a wink for the first month or so, I kept thinking she was going to kill me in my sleep, I never wanted a nice vodka on ice more in my life. After awhile I just ignored her, she read her letters and dreamed about Charlie I guess and I worked in the laundry and took a couple of classes, I even taught a couple of the girls how to read and helped them with letters and shit. I'll tell you something, in prison, if you don't stay busy, you go nuts in short order."

JW got me another drink and continued, "You know who my neighbor across the hall was?"

"No idea."

"Sara Jane Moore."

"The woman who tried to assassinate President Ford?"

"The very same. She and Squeaky both tried to assassinate Ford, but everybody loved Sara Jane, nobody liked Lynette."

"Lynette?"

"That was Squeaky's name, Lynette. They both tried to kill President Ford and they didn't know each other."

"Why did everybody love her?"

"She was the ultimate jail house lawyer, she knew the rules better than the warden, she knew them better than Prison Administrators in Washington did and she held their feet to the fire"

'How so?"

"We were supposed to get a certain amount of vegetables a day, Sara Jane got a scale, weighed the portions and got us more, peas, corn, beans and shit. She got us more socks and underwear, she got us sweat suits, better medical care Sara Jane was our advocate, she made our lives better."

JW spent 36 months in prison, when I met her she was on parole, I asked her how could she work in bar when she was on parole. "I told my parole officer, it's the only fucking thing I know how to do and I can make a decent living at it and finish school at the same time. And watching assholes get hammered night after night keeps from drinking again."

I know JW graduated, shortly after graduation she disappeared, I'll bet she's made something of herself. Meeting people like JW has made my life more interesting and much richer in so many ways.

I'd like to sit down with JW again and find out how she's doing.

Boston Man Killed by Fiedler Obituary...

I spent 47 years in the radio business, most of it when radio was fun, the last 10 or so sucked, mainly because the bankers discovered how good the cash flow used to be.

Here's the reason radio was so fun, the people were creative and for the most part funny as hell.  Here's a couple of funny radio stories....

I had a guy on staff at WVBF in Boston. He was funny on the air and funny in the halls too. Women really liked him, so much so they would tolerate things coming out of his mouth that would get most guys slapped or kicked in the nuts.

One day we had a cold cut lunch at the station, free food was always a hit. In addition to all the meats, veggies and cheeses, there were about 5 different kinds of bread included baguettes.

After everyone had drifted back to their desks, the funny guy, grabbed one of the remaining baguettes, unzipped his pants and let the baguette hang out like it was his, ah you know what I mean.

He wandered down the hall and our National Sales Manager is coming from the other direction. He's grinning at her and she says with a smile, "Pretty nasty yeast infection, Tom."

In the summer of 1979, I was the Program Director of WHDH in Boston. Arthur Fiedler the world famous conductor of the Boston Pops was near death. Jim Sands, Ed Bell and I began to prepare an audio obituary in advance, we wrote it, Jim produced it, Donna Halper dug up interviews and music to add to the obit. We had it ready and all we would need to do is write the latest details and get it on the air. Arthur Fiedler was an institution in Boston and we worked our asses off on it. If I remember correctly, when it was all said and done we won a couple of awards for the production. 

We decided it was going to be an hour long, no commercials. We had 50 minutes completed in advance. It was really good. Sands carefully recorded the master on a 12 inch reel of tape, boxed it and put it on the bookcase in his office. Fiedler lingered for weeks.

On hot summer day, it was stuffy as hell in the station, Jim opened his window and used the obit to prop it up. We were on the 9th floor of the old new England Power Building at the time, just off Copley Square on Stuart Street. Sands somehow knocked the obit out of the window. Out it went, those old reels were made of metal, the tape was heavy too. The entire package weighed between 3 and 4 pounds. The obituary just missed a guy walking down Stuart, it bounced in the air, over a parked car and landed in the middle of the street. Sands ran out of his office, down the hall and into the elevator. He dodged cars and rescued the obit from the left hand lane of Stuart. When he came back to the studios, he said, "The fucking thing just missed the guy by inches! It would have killed him for chrissakes!"The reel was banged up pretty good. Sands straighted it and ran the tape onto another reel. It lived to make the air a few days later.

Eddie Bell, Jim Sands and I went over to the Oak Room at the Copley for a drink after work. We were sitting there and Bell, ever the newsman said, "Imagine the headline in the Globe, "Boston Man, killed by Fiedler Obituary".

My Predawn Hours Up in the canyon...

I wake up too damn early, pre-dawn these days, 3:30 maybe 4. This morning it was 3:10. I got up took a pee, drank some juice and back to bed. I tried to read. I fell asleep, woke up again when my Kindle hit me in the nose, I laid there for awhile and finally got up at 10 to 4. Been up since. What time do I go to bed, you ask? Around 10:30.

What do I do when I get up in the pre-dawn hours? I read, I drink coffee, I talk to Anze the Dog. 

This morning I read a long article about Elon Musk and Tesla. The Tesla S is a hell of a car, in Europe it outsold the big Mercedes S Class, the BMW 7 Series and the other big money Lux-O-Boats, the base price is right at 70k, most go out the door for over 100 grand. The Tesla S out sells those cars in California, too. It's a status car, big time. Ah, but there are problems. Biggest owner complaint? Squeaks and rattles. Electric cars are quiet, no engine or drive train noise making everything else seem louder and more annoying, tire and road noise is amplified or as one owner put it, "Unless I have the sound system one, the car drives me crazy." Another problem, everything is run off the screen on the dash, even the damn door locks. The biggest problem? there no parts in the pipe line, one Tesla S has been sitting at the dealer waiting for a replacement hood for 14 months...as former Ford and Chrysler CEO Bob Lutz said, "Musk is finding out building cars isn't easy." And Lutz is a guy who firmly believes electric cars are the future. We won't even begin the discussion of Tesla production problems assembling their  new models...

On a more personal note

We are in the 2nd week of no construction on our house, it's been nice not having workers tramping around every f'ing day, Monday through Friday since the 1st of March, that's 6 god damned months. So far they've finished a retaining wall on the hill behind the house, a hill so steep they couldn't use machinery to dig the foundation. The hand dug the thing, 70 feet long and 6 feet high and had to haul all the concrete block, re-rod and by back breaking human labor. It took 3 months and it looks like shit.

Speaking of shit, the 2nd major project was the replacement of the septic system. We now have 2 new tanks and a mound system, all built to the new standards, 1250 galloons of tanks, and automatic pump to move the effluviant lup hill to the mound which is 75 yards away. It's an engineering miracle.

Sadly the crews will be back at it after labor day, next up, new porch railings on both levels. Why? They are out of code by 6 inches. Our skylights have to be replaced, two of them, because they are plastic and that's a no-no. Then we get a new roof...the list goes on and on and on.

We've lived for almost 4 years and never closed on the house, because it's is a code violation nightmare, all caused by the guy who lived her since '68 and thought he could beat the system by never filing for a building permit for anything, then he tried to sell it to us and the shit (there's that word again) hit the fan and the county threw the book at him and then threw it again. 

As the old song says, "bustin' rocks in the hot sun" since I'm up and have been close to 5 hours I'd better get to work. It's going to be a long, hard pull to get it to match the other side of the front damned lawn!

That house at the beach looks better everyday! If it wasn't so early, I'd make myself a martini, maybe two.

Wet Dreams...

On a blustery weekend in mid September, I was on the boat alone, not alone, the German Shepherd was along for the ride. Cakes was flying somewhere, San Francisco I think.. We spent Friday night on the boat, On Saturday morning I left our mooring on the Salem side of Marblehead, I sailed east into the Atlantic. I left at dawn. The compass read 90 degrees, I stayed on that course for 12 hours. At 6 pm straight up, I turned around, set a course for 270 degrees and sailed back

Air Time is a quick boat, a Ron Holland design 9.2 meters (29 feet, 10 inches) she's beamy and at 7,000 lbs is relatively light. With her modified keel and rig she can carry a lot of sail. Air Time is a race boat, not a cruiser or a floating Clorox bottle like some boats. She has a nice tidy, practical interior, a galley and a head. 9.2Rs (the R stands for race) have been sailed in s few long distance races, most notable the Transpac, from California to Hawaii, just over 2500 miles. Air Time has won her class in the Marblehead to Halifax race and placed 2nd twice. I've toyed with doing the Newport Bermuda double-handed race in her. But I need more experience off shore and that's what this little excursion is about.

Together we averaged 5.8 knots over the 24 hours in winds ranging from 12 to 25 miles an hour. We covered 139 miles in 24 hours. The waves were 4-6 feet and well spaced. We had high scudding clouds overhead during the day, it cleared Saturday night.

The dog slept below most of the time, he'd spend some time in the cockpit with me with his nose in the wind, then head back to his spot in the cabin. He doesn't like to do his business on the boat, but he finally peed near the scuppers and I rinsed it off with a bucket of seawater. We were both hungry and had an early dinner. He had a bowl of dog food, I ate a can of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. It's funny, I don't like canned fruit and seldom eat it, but on the boat I always crave fruit cocktail. I had a can for desert. The dog got a cookie.

I listened to some Dylan, then some classical music on the CD player. The boat is steered (better than I can) by a Raynarine Tillerpilot. I read  George V. Higgins until the light failed just after 7. We're heading back now and we get a sunset on the ocean, rare where we live on the East Coast. The wind picks up a little from 12 to 15, I play with the strings. The boat speed jumps a 1/2 knot, the wind has shifted a bit so were on a beam reach. I listen to the weather on the VHF, it's supposed to stay like this through tomorrow. I'd like more wind.

 I'm not tired, but I should try to sleep. I need to be wide awake when we get closer to home, a north-south shipping lane runs about 12 miles off the coast, there not a lot of traffic, but it's there. We're sailing in the Stellwagen Bank, a Marine sanctuary, once we cross the bank fishing boats show up

I've got a radar reflector and I set the VHF on the hailing channel, took a look around, propped a cushion against the bulkhead and stretched out. I dozed off and on for and hour or so. I feel pretty good. I peed over the stern rail. Every time I do, I remember a Coastie saying, "most of the time when we fetch an offshore drowning victim's body, it's usually a guy with his fly open".

Check the GPS, everything is fine, on course. I adjust the sails, go below and get a jacket, it's cooling off. Back in the cockpit, I rub my dog's ears and smoke a cigar. At midnight, I made a pot of coffee in our French press, pour a cup and put the rest in the heavy duty construction worker style, stainless steel thermos jug. We even have a holder for the thermos in the companionway.

The sky is incredible out here at night, we're still far off shore, there's no light pollution. The gaps in the light cloud cover reveal a night sky most of us never see.

We sail on. With three hours to go, I'm getting sleepy, I pour another mug of coffee, I should make some fresh. I put the Rolling Stones' "Stripped" on the CD player and crank it up. I wash my face in the sink and go back to the cockpit.

I run numbers in my head, at this speed in this boat, we could sail to the Azores in 12 days, add another 10 days to that and we could be in Gibraltar and into the Med. Believe me I've thought about it.

I've been thinking about long distance sailing since I was 11 years old and read "Sailing Around the World, Alone" by Joshua Slocum for the first time. I've read all the solo sailing stories, Cichester, the first to do it with one stop, Webb Chiles, Robin Knox Johnson and more. I've had a discussion with Phil Weld of Manchester, the single handed Ostar race winner from England to New York City. Weld told me, "you need to learn to sail in all kinds of weather, when other boats don't go out, you go out." I read once that if you want to sail around Cape Horn you need to be comfortable sailing in 50 knots of wind for days".

When I was getting Air Time ready for this season, I met Dame Ellen MacArthur. At one time she held the non-stop around the world record of 71 days sailing an Open 50. How did I met her? I loaned her support crew a hose and my extension cords at the Alden Yard in Rhode Island. Her crew gave me a ride on the race boat, wow! Ellen MacArthur is maybe 5 foot 3 in heels.

I think about sailing around the world all the time.I don't talk about it, because when you do, people think you're nuts, even other sailors think you're nuts.

I can see the Marblehead Light, about 90 minutes to go.

At 6:20 Air Time is on her mooring. I crawled in the 1/4 berth and slept until 9, I cleaned the boat up, called the launch. The dog did his business in the parking lot, he was very relieved. After breakfast at Dunkin Donuts on Route 1A in Swampscott, we picked Cakes up at Logan at noon. I asked, "How was your trip?" "Bumpy all the way back from the west coast. How was your sail?" I smiled and told her, "It couldn't have been better."

Cakes was tired from her flight, I was tired from sailing for 24 homes, we home and took a long nap. I think we went out to dinner and a movie that night.

(A few years later I did get my chance to sail in 50 knot winds, but that's another story.)

.