Daytime Emmys - Code Blue, Code Blue

There was a time, back when I made real money, when I used to treat my wife to tickets to the Daytime Emmy Awards. It was a big deal - a night in the city, fancy dress, and the awards show at Radio City Music Hall, or the Theater at Madison Square Garden. The show was on television back then, and I'd actually find myself watching to see if I could catch a glimpse of her.

My, how the mighty have fallen. Clearly the demise of the soap opera has precipated the demise of the prestige of the Daytime Emmy Awards. Now, they have categories like best legal show. And, seriously, in the daytime drama category, isn't every remaining soap opera going to be nominated - there are only four aren't there?

But even worse than the dearth of categories and importance is the ceremony itself. It's on right now as I'm writing. It's on HLN. For those that may have missed the latest alphabet soup that is cable television, HLN is Headline News. Headline News!! Having the Daytime Emmy Awards on HLN is like the NHL broadcasting on local access channels (which probably is not far in their future if they don't settle their contract soon enough).

And the setting - it looks slightly larger than my neighbors sweet 16 party! It looks like there are about 11 tables. Unbelievable.

Much like the wasteland that has become daytime television, these Emmys are bound to be relegated to the wasteheap of lost TV programs. Which is too bad. It was once a nice night out.

What's on your "TODAY" list?

   I finally saw that movie "The Bucket List". You know, the movie with Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson about the two guys who are dying and make their list of all the things they want to do before they die. I guess a lot of people found that movie to be inspiring.
   Me - I found it to be upsetting. I guess what I found so upsetting is just how damned selfish a bucket list could be. I mean, it's all about you. And what you want.  As if there was nobody in the world that cared about you - or that you cared about.
   I also didn't like that it was all about "someday." When? Next week? Next month? The ever popular "before I die?" Well who the hell really knows when that's going to be. I mean, the roof could fall in on me right now (really - it's pouring like mad out there and this is a lot like the "house that Jack built")  and BAM!, that's it.
   And then, what do you leave behind with your bucket list - a list of unfulfilled dreams and your family, shaking their heads at your casket, saying "Gee, if only he had lived longer, he may have actually (fill in your dream here.)"
  Of course, the opposite is true too. You could live a long time - in which case you might actually achieve everything on your bucket list. Now what? Start over? Or end it all?
   Me - I'm against all of this. Instead I propose a "Today List." Not a "To-Do" List, which usually consists of bullshit chores you have to do - most of which you don't - but rather a "Today" list. All of the things you WILL do today - things like "Today I will kiss my daughter" or "Today I will read that book all afternoon" or "Today I will do nothing at all - and like it."
   A Today List of all the things you will do, or are grateful for, or will do for others not for the personal reward but rather for the simple reason that it feels good - or is the right thing to do - or just because.
    Rather than  a Bucket List item of "Someday Go to Paris" a Today List item of "I will eat at that neat French restaurant on Main Street". A Bucket List is a list of long-range targets - a Today list is right there for the taking. Not someday. Today.
    And, if the roof DOES fall in on your head, your family may still be standing there at the side of your casket, shaking their heads and missing you, but at least they won't be lamenting all that you didn't do. That is, unless your Today List said "fix the roof."

Davy Jones - Rest in Peace

At some point, as you get older, it gets redundant to say that a piece of your childhood has been lost. I mean, how long can things hold on. Cars wear out. Buildings crumble. Stadiums fall down. Icons pass.

But today, I truly did lose a piece of my childhood with the passing of former Monkee Davy Jones. I’m not the least bit ashamed to admit that, growing up, my two favorite groups were the Beatles and the Monkees. I mean, I practically invented Karoake standing on the back step “stage” of my old house in Queens, plastic guitar in hand, lip-synching to the “More of the Monkees” and “A Hard Day’s Night.” In fact, to this day, they are the only two albums from my childhood that I have actually had to replace due to simply wearing them out.

Granted, the Monkees started out as a blatant way to capitalize on the Beatles popularity, but given that we’re still talking about them and playing their records 45 years on should indicate that they were clearly more than just a made-for-TV spoof. The bottom line is that, in their time, the Monkees were a probably more novelty act than musical act, but in OUR time, they were a time capsule to all that we loved about growing up.

They were irreverent. They were handsome. They work cool clothes. And they had an absolutely bitchin’ car. They didn’t seem to work too hard, and when they did, they played rock and roll. Who wouldn’t want to be a Monkee.

And, hell, Davy got to kiss Marcia Brady. Not once, but twice (“how about the flipside?” he asked.). Davy and Marcia Brady – an image that is burned permanently into the core of my memory.

It seemed that most of the Monkees tunes that still stand out for me were “Davy” songs – “Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow”, “Valleri”, “Daydream Believer”. I don’t know why, but his voice somehow appealed to me (again, he was British as were the Beatles, so I probably made some sort of connection there.)

As the years went on, I guess, most of us never really thought about the Monkees. They were always there, like electricity. Somehow you never think about electricity until the lights go out. And today, one of the lights of my childhood has gone out.

Rest in peace, Davy. Thanks for being a big part of my childhood and for making the maracas a cool instrument to play.

Miss Wall Street? Only when I . . .

Inevitably when I meet somebody new and the conversation turns to our jobs, the question that is always asked when they find out my job history is “Do you miss Wall Street?” In actuality, I consider that to be a three-part question.

First part – do I miss the Wall Street money? The short answer is “yes – tremendously”. Why I went from a six-figure salary to that of a public school teacher is something that most people can’t understand. And, truthfully, there are days when I don’t understand it either. Especially on the days when the college tuition payments are due. Or the property tax bill. Or the dance school tuition.

Which leads to question number two – do I miss the Wall Street work? Truthfully, no. Absolutely not. By the time my Wall Street career wound to a close, it was like sitting up with a terminally ill patient just waiting for the final breath. I had pretty much been reduced to doing everyone else’s bullshit work while the company slowly dismantled the division. There were days when I felt like I was stealing my large salary. The work I do now is just so much more meaningful and satisfying. If only jobs like this paid like the job I left!

The final part of the question is – do I miss Wall Street, the place? Or more accurately, do I miss working in New York City. Undoubtedly, the answer is “yes.” I don’t miss commuting, which completely sucks. But I do miss the city. Which is why any time we have some time off, I make an excuse to head in.

Usually, I plan a meeting for my small, barely profitable company. But the reality is that I go in because I love the city and I can’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon than wandering alone throughout the streets and avenues.

I love the pace of the city – it never stops. Red lights are just mere pauses in the flow of people and traffic. Pedestrians weave in and out like the cars at a NASCAR race, with everyone hustling to get somewhere.

I love the sound of the city. The buses and trucks, the snippets of conversation in just about any language you can imagine, the construction sites and the tourist groups. The street vendors. It becomes a white noise that inspire me like no other.

Then there's the people. People from all over. People delivering packages. People selling food. Bicyclists trying to avoid getting killed by trucks. Some stranger trying to sell me a gold chain - "real gold. 14 carat" (and don't ask from where.) And the pretty girls - oh my. New York is like a walking, talking fashion show every day.

But what I love most about the city is the anonymity of it. Everywhere you look people surround you but almost everyone keeps to themselves. Walking down the street with my suit jacket on and my briefcase under my arm, I could be a stock broker heading to a client meeting, a doctor leaving the hospital, a teacher or Batman, for that matter. Nobody seems to notice or care. Right now, I find myself sitting in a public space beside Grand Central Terminal. I could be a lawyer working on a brief, or a reporter working on a story, or Ernest Hemingway. And not a soul has stopped by or even looked at me.

In Edison, no matter where I go, I am defined as somebody. Mr. Campione, the teacher. Coach Jerry, the baseball coach. The union rep. The dancer’s father. But in the city, I’m anybody. And nobody.

Do I miss Wall Street? Not really, but I do miss the city. The fast pace, gritty, grimy city. A city of millions of anonymous souls. That I miss . . .very much.

I'm Dreaming of a White. . .Halloween?!?

Ok, so I spent my October 30 clearing away the remains of what was once a very large, very vibrant pear tree. I remember when we had it planted - it was of modest size then and I actually believed that some day I might actually get pears from the tree.

The only thing I ended up getting from that tree was splinters and incredibly sore muscles after the tree literally collapsed after last night's snowstorm.

Yes, you read that right. Snowstorm. On October 29. Yes, October.

I returned from a very long ride home from Virginia only to find 1/4 of the tree leaning against my neighbors house, 1/4 resting on the fence and 1/4 of it covering my truck. Oh, the last 1/4. Right now it's still standing, but I anticipate that as another of Mother Nature's cruel jokes, it will probably blow down and crush the swimming pool. If it doesn't land on me first!

Now the tree falling down is a pain in the ass. And finding out that unless it caused any damage (which it didn't believe it or not) the insurance won't pay is a pain in the ass. And having to spend the entire day to only have removed 1/3 of the debris is a pain in the ass.

But the real pain in the ass is this damned global warming stuff!! My goodness - in the last year, all I've done is shovel snow and turn up the thermostat. I can't help but wonder if one dinosaur turned to the other and said "Oh, that ice. Don't worry about it. The earth is getting WARMER. Trust me." And bingo, no more dinosaurs.

While I think that Rick Perry is definitely NOT presidential timber, I think I am beginning to buy into his "global warming is bunk" argument. And unless a palm tree thrives where the pear tree once was, and I'm singing "White Christmas" in my bermuda shorts with a frozen tropical drink in my hand, I don't think I'm changing my mind.

The REAL Man Who Saved Cantor Fitzgerald

On the morning of September 11, 2001, no firm was more devastated by the attacks on the World Trade Center than bond brokers Cantor Fitzgerald. Nearly one-fourth of all those killed worked for Cantor. Howard Lutnick, the CEO of the firm, was spared as he was dropping off his son at the first day of kindergarten. His brother wasn’t so lucky.

But Cantor Fitzgerald lives on today, nearly 10 years after the attack. It survived, despite the devastating loss of life, because of the vision of one man - someone who clearly saw the future.

The New York Times has lauded Mr. Lutnick in a recent article (“The Survivor Who Saw the Future”, September 3) as someone who rebuilt and prospered, despite the incredible odds. And while I think he deserves all the credit he’s earned, the real reason Cantor survived, the real reason Mr. Lutnick has thrived financially, along with all of the Cantor employees, survivors, and families of survivors, was because of the vision of one man.

Not Howard Lutnick. No, the vision of Fred Varacchi. Fred was the executive who created the electronic trading platform ESpeed, which is credited with allowing Cantor to go on despite having lost almost all of its brokers. Fred Varacchi was the man who saw that trades could be handled electronically, 24 hours a day, with hardly any human intervention.

Fred Varacchi was at work on the 101st floor of the World Trade Center on September 11. Fred Varacchi didn’t make it out and his family - his wife and young children - never saw Fred again.

Fred Varacchi was a best friend to my brother, and a good friend to me and to my family. I remember Fred’s passion for fast cars, the way he would show off when he’d come by the house to pick up my brother. I remember Fred’s winning smile and his enthusiasm for almost everything.

I remember finding out that Fred was a wealthy man, having made great sums of money from his work in the financial sector. And yet, to meet Fred, was to meet someone who would never show off his wealth. He was a regular guy. Someone you could very easily spend hours chatting about football or cars with.

I saw Fred no too long before September 11, in the parking lot at a Jets game. He was as full of life as ever. Who could have known it would be the last time?

I remember Fred. I attended his memorial service, and I cried along with Howard Lutnick, at the memory of this good friend.

I just don’t want anyone to forget who the real man who saved Cantor Fitzgerald was. It wasn’t Howard Lutnick, no matter how nice a story that is. The man who saved Cantor was Fred Varacchi. A man whose contributions far outlived his time on earth.

Rest in peace, Fred.

Only the good (or intelligent) get canceled young

Once again, the ratings gods have taken an intelligent television show down for the count. TNT announced that, despite Emmy and Peabody awards, despite showing a sign of male bonding not often seen on network television, despite having a strong African-American character who is not portraying a cop, they were canceling Ray Romano's wonderful "Men of a Certain Age." What a shame to lose this show.

This show was one of the few to feature intelligent writing for men - middle aged men to be exact. A demographic that is, apparently, not big enough to warrant supporting the show (despite the flurry of ads for erectile dysfunction and men's hair color that seem to pour out of just about every corner of the TV universe these days). This was finally a show that men could look forward to on a weekly basis that had nothing to do with guns, cops, robbers, or any of the other more unseemly sides of everyday life in imaginary cities that just happen to look like New York.

So rather than quality television, we will probably have still another CSI spinoff to look forward to - what are we up to now, "CSI: Greenville, SC"? Or maybe another doctor show because God knows we haven't seen these same stories told over and over again.

Much like another show I've written about before - "October Road" - this was a show that stuck with you after the hour was over. It made you think, not cringe, like so much of today's television. In today's TV universe, if your show can't stand financially on its own, it's out the door. Unlike in years past when a show, especially a quality show, would be given time to actually survive. Surely TNT must be making enough money from other, less expensive, less intelligent shows to keep this one going.

I seem to remember George Clooney explaining, years ago, why he did "Oceans 11", "12" and "13". The reason, he explained, was that making those movies (and bringing in the untold millions of dollars that they did) allowed him to make movies that were a lot more intelligent (but less profitable), like "Good Night, and Good Luck" or "Up In the Air." Too bad TV executives don't buy into that logic.

Oh well, I guess this will free up more time for me to read. They are still publishing books, right?