Steve Jobs

Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson is an elegantly crafted story and one that will forever remain among my favorites.

Most of us have never met Steve Jobs face-to-face and yet I think we all feel we know him on a personal level having been seduced by his products at some point in our lives for one reason or another. My memories, while not of him, are of Apple, which may be as close to him as we could get anyway.

They begin when I took a computer class in high school with my best friend. The main reasons we took it were the teacher was likable and the hottest girl in school happened to be taking it too. The by-product of this hour long oasis was learning the features of the Macintosh which were intuitive and then utilizing them to compose documents such as "Why Michael Jordan Is the Greatest Athlete on Earth."

Fast forward to my first editorial job at Forbes magazine and my desire to purchase a laptop so I could write wherever inspiration struck. My colleagues in IT, who I knew from the softball team, convinced me to cancel my order for an IBM Thinkpad and buy a Mac Powerbook instead. I did so and they were high-fiving one another as if we won a game against The Wall Street Journal. My great memory of that machine was a road trip I took to Key West to see Hemingway's house and then writing "Notes on South Beach" in the airport waiting for my return flight and trying not to be too distracted by an amazing sun-kissed beauty in the seat nearby.

The machine died much too soon. As did the first iPod that I received as a gift from my wife, who was then my girlfriend. I remember taking the defective iPod to the Apple store in SoHo and fighting the masses to arrive at a table where a kid wearing a black "genius" t-shirt acknowledged the product's fault and then insisted I pay $35 for its replacement. I turned around and walked out and stayed far away from Apple products, promising to not give them another dollar. But there was no alternative to iTunes and on my honeymoon I was grateful that my wife brought hers so that I could listen to David Gray and Damien Rice songs while lying poolside sipping cocktails and fantasizing about what we would have for dinner in between swims and excursions along the beach.

When the iPhone was introduced, I patiently sat on the sideline as it was not available on the Verizon network. Its arrival in 2011 coincided with my birthday and after looking at every alternative, I decided to buy one. Everything Isaacson writes in his book is true. The elegant packaging, the ease of use, the instant set up, all made for a wonderful user experience.

The device is more durable than its predecessors; however, mine developed a software glitch and when I walked into the Apple store to complain, this time on Greenwich Ave, the staff replaced it in seconds at no expense or inconvenience to me.

When news of Steve Jobs death broke, I remember it was in the evening and I was painting the room that would become my son's nursery. I quickly grabbed my iPhone and quipped on twitter that I wonder if Saint Peter would confiscate Steve's iPhone at Heaven's Gate. Then I was sad at the loss of this iconic figure, much like the day Princess Diana died, for reasons I'm not sure I even understand.

As I thought about Steve Jobs, I was anxious to read his biography as well-timed as all of his product launches and I shuddered at the thought that he might figure out a way to communicate from beyond the grave. As impossible as it sounds, all of us aware of his genius probably giggle a little uncomfortably at the possibility.

It is clear that Walter Isaacson's biography is the manifesto for Jobs' legacy. Apple shares have resumed their steady ascent in the market as many of us understand that this company is our link to him and the wonder he inspired and that Tim Cook and Jony Ives embody its philosphy wholly. Of course the possibility that his son Reed may take the reigns one day is also intriguing, or perhaps it will be Eve and I can't wait to read those headlines.

Jobs had me scratching my head recently while I was waiting for a friend at Cipriani's in Grand Central Station. I was looking up at its starry ceiling and then across at the mobs of people congregating under the famous Apple logo and the echo from his earlier ad that "those who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who usually do" spun in my head.

Katy Perry, Anna Kournikova and Scarlett Johansson's Boobs, Oh My 2011

Good grief Charlie Frown another last minute post to sum up the year when really all anyone needs is a Hanger One martini, straight up with a twitter twist in a dimly lit bar with CNBC and Bloomberg hovering like the NFL on Sunday over a plate of wings.

Reports are that Katy Perry has kicked Russell Brand to the curb. Brand says they will remain Words-With-Friends unlike Kris Humphries who couldn't get Kim Kardashian to spell, not even a little bit according to her gossipy sisters.

Speaking of biggest losers, Anna Kournikova has reportedly left the show due to reports that she has been putting on weight, albeit in the alien form of Enrique's gestating mole. Hard to figure out who the biggest winner is here, Enrique on his yacht or this child who will speak and sing in all kinds of languages while it hunts for the Roddick-Decker spawn on the clay courts of Jupiter Island.

This year was biblical with its earthquakes and tsunamis, government meltdowns and the loss of tyrants and heroes or both in the case of Steve Jobs and yet like a SEAL-team bullet through Bin Laden's head, Scarlett Johansson's nude self-portrait ends up on desktops around the world as she blesses it saying she more than anyone else knows her best angles. Perhaps 2012 will usher in a year where the world's beauties continue to get caught with their pants down and Anthony Weiner and Brett Favre will pull their Wrangler jeans up. Who knows.

I for one am sorry to see 2011 go. My wife and I moved to a wonderful drafty, old house and welcomed our son into the world, God is gracious, while our dog guards his inventory of Milk-Bones and shakes the beach-sand from his fur.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind. Well put, Mr. Burns, well put.

Work's an Easy Place to Fall in Love

I sure as hell ain't no Justin Bieber, but I am fascinated that this "music video" was shot on an iPhone and published to YouTube in the time it takes to fry an egg, although my eggs tend to be more palatable.

The days of recording on a four-track and then mixing tapes to play in the car or wherever else you had a "captive" audience are shrinking in the rearview mirror.



Thanks to my son, Shane, for contributing his background vocals on this track.

PS - Happy Birthday, Mom!

The Interview That Launched Sarah Jessica Parker

Hasten back to 1987, a drizzly day in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan, a young group of intrepid reporters gather in the backroom of a long since forgotten restaurant to interview an up-and-coming actress whose name was not yet known.

I received the call a week before as my name had been picked from a hat along with three others from my seventh-grade class to conduct the celebrity interview for the "Kidsday" insert of the Sunday edition of Newsday, which we were chosen to put together. The subject, a fresh-faced kid named Sarah Jessica Parker, was known for her work on the TV series Square Pegs and was then part of an ensemble cast in the TV mini-series A Year in the Life. Of course, I had not seen either of these shows.

It was an hour before the interview. The team had gathered on the train speeding toward Manhattan with our parents and the "Kidsday" editor in tow. We diligently used this time to brainstorm what questions we could ask that would both entertain and inform our readers while not alienating our subject. Once we had them scripted, we debated over the order and arrived at the following:

1) How long does it take you to do your hair? What do you use? Is it naturally curly?

2) Are you dating?

3) On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate yourself?

4) What roles do you like to portray? Good or bad?

5) In your spare time, what do you enjoy doing? What hobbies?

6) After you complete a production, does the whole cast go out for a celebration?

7) Right now are you working on a new movie?

8) Do you follow your horoscope?

9) Was becoming an actor difficult?

10) Are you related to Fess Parker (TV's Daniel Boone)?

Upon arrival, we exited Penn Station with a sense of purpose and found the designated restaurant in a timely fashion; however, our interviewee had not.

We looked at each other nervously and stirred our straws around our water glasses. Our editor used the pay phone and was able to track down Sarah Jessica Parker at a different restaurant across town with the same name. Minor mix up, we were told she was then on her way.

I recall a sense of excitement when she came in the room. She was seated at the head of the table and I to her left. I remember the obligatory small talk and then taking a cue from our editor to begin. I immediately abandoned the script and got down to brass tacks ... "Are you dating?"

My colleague, Patricia, recalled my asking Sarah Jessica Parker for a date rather than who she was dating and her telling me diplomatically, "if I were only ten years older ..." Unfazed, I hammered away until she confessed that she was dating Robert Downey Jr. I followed up by asking her what she did with her money and our editor gasped, but the team perked up in their chairs and Sarah Jessica Parker smiled and said that she and Robert had just purchased an old house in L.A. Her money was spent fixing it up.

Over the next hour, she poured on the charm and I remember thinking to myself at the conclusion of our talk, nice girl, I hope she makes it.

Years later I would find the questionnaire I had abandoned, tucked away in a desk drawer with the inscription, "to david, it really was a treat speaking w/you -- my best to you -- love Sarah jessica parker."

Our starry paths would cross again four years later when she was filming Honeymoon in Vegas. Her trailer was parked on Hester Street beside P.S. 130 where I was working as a janitor. I did not have cause to see her then, but fate would save its best laugh for last. A decade after that I would gain free admission to a night club in Manhattan as the bouncer mistook me for Berger, Carrie Bradshaw's boyfriend on Sex and the City.

(Editor's note: Special thanks to Patricia Alcamo McCulloch for sharing her pictures and recollections of the event.)

Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2001

My lungs burn with the ashes of the desperate,
The last gasp stretches across the river and into Brooklyn,
From the roof, the triumphant towers' boastful predecessor,
Green on St. Patrick's Day, purple for Gay Pride,
Red, white and blue on the Fourth of July ... Now black,
The Empire State in mourning,
The wondrous skyline, majestic, awe inspiring,
Raped while I watched helplessly,
Now thousands of people all looking to help
Thousands of people who can no longer be helped,

New York, New York, the city so nice
They built the tallest building twice,
A master plan destroyed by a mastermind,
Newly fueled jets, United, American,
Strike the heart of money and American defense,
Allies of Israel, enemies of bin Laden and the Islamic zealot,

Thousands of refugees on the Manhattan Bridge,
I stopped and stared, the Mona Lisa lost her nose,
The masterpiece wrecked, the smoldering tragedy, unequivocal,
A ferocious bite taken from the Big Apple,
The restoration and mourning will loom larger than the structures,
A beleaguered mayor, a confident president, an undetermined
Enemy and the continuing threat of more media coverage,

To witness Babylon's fall to the sea,
To witness the long line at the blood bank,
To witness girls eating ice cream on Ave. A,
New York, New York, on a clear summer day,
September 11, a state of emergency,
The dream has not died bin Laden, your mark, the latest on this town,
But you underestimate me and those by my side.

And That's When the Strange Music Starts

I have had that line stuck in my head for days. It's from the book Hell's Angels written by Hunter S. Thompson.

"... and that's when the strange music starts, when you stretch your luck so far that the fear becomes exhilaration and vibrates along your arms."

I know what he means. I scratch my head and look around the apartment -- boxes packed with books, waiting to move, wife about to burst with baby, waiting to move, dog, restless legs, waiting to move, and me, finally, waiting to move and begin the next chapter from Brooklyn to Connecticut, leaving the shattered beer bottle glass strewn on the road for the tempered bowl like concoctions filled with keys and other men's wives.

Lavender shirts and whale belts. A miserable Mets franchise and a Giants team who seems to be no more than a whimsical flirt in the back of a high-school bus.

I had never read Hunter's suicide note. Was surprised to see it posted on wikipedia. It reads:

Football season is over. No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won't hurt.

And to think they blew his ashes out of a cannon.

I Wish Liz Cho Would Come Back to the 11pm Broadcast of Eyewitness News

In the wake of Oprah's departure from the weekday line-up, WABC-7 has slated Eyewitness News First @ 4pm and moved Liz Cho there from her traditional 11pm slot.

While I am a fan of her replacement, Sade Baderinwa, Liz Cho was the glue of the 11pm broadcast, holding it together through the promotion of Sam Champion and the retirement of Scott Clark. In deference to Sade, my wife was riding with her in the back of a WBAL sat-truck that went through a red-light back in 2000 and hit another car. My wife had to go to the hospital for a minor injury. Even with this history, I wish Liz Cho would come back.

She guested last week at 11pm and the broadcast just seemed brighter in every way. I hope when Dr. Oz finally takes over the 4pm slot, Liz will resume her evening post and thereby restore my enthusiasm to go to bed at reasonable time.