Books Read: The Emperor's Tomb, Steve Berry

The Emporer's Tomb
Steve Berry

China. The backdrop of this entertaining book provided new historical insights to the oldest and, in antiquity, the most advanced civilization on earth. Per usual for the vast majority of Steve Berry's books, our hero is Cotton Malone, formerly of the Magellan Billet - a special team of attorneys who also happened to be super spies. Great with guns, even better with his mind, he teams up with Cassiopeia Vitt, a wealthy friend who is no slouch herself as an 'operator' (synonymous with spy).

Berry has actually set up this novel with a short novella titled The Balkan Escape, in which Vitt escaped from a sticky situation she found herself deep within a formerly abandoned Thracian tomb (from the age of Alexander the Great) in which large uranium deposits were discovered.  Seemingly destined for inevitable death, a scientist named Lev Solokov risks his life to save her. She escapes, and in doing so, is forever indebted to Solokov's unnecessary assistance.

In Tomb, Vitt is trying to help locate Solokov's son, who was taken by PRC's Vice-Premier Karl Tang as leverage to flush Solokov out from his hiding place. Apparently, his expertise is critically needed for Tang to solidify his campaign to succeed the current head of the Chinese government (and communist party, by extension). He would like to send China back into the age where government controlled every facet of its populations' lives - by force as necessary.

While being tortured into revealing the location of a key object needed by Tang, Vitt references our hero Cotton Malone as being a fellow conspirator as a way for her to buy more time. Given their friendship, he gladly follows the clues down the rabbit hole.

While Tang attempts to consolidate power, his only competitor for the top spot in China is a man named Ni Yong, head of the country's anti-corruption unit, and a man that wants to move the country towards democracy. He's abroad trying to get more information on his rival in Belgium from a man named Pau Wen, long since having left his homeland.

Pau is a Eunuch, the master of a brotherhood of Eunuchs called the Ba. Here is where much actual historical information is referenced in this fictional novel. In the old dynasties, Eunuchs were created as a way to have servants for the emperors' households without having the average person access to who were in fact ungodlike individuals themselves. Over time, the Ba took control of the bureacracy, and became the only link to the outside world for the ruling class. They consipired and succeeded in controlling the succession and direction of how China was ruled.

Another interesting conflict related to the plot of the book was how the Chinese historically ruled its people.

Confucius emphasized the way of the former kings, encouraging the present to draw strength and wisdom from the pastt. He championed a highly ordered society, but the means of accomplishing that order was not by force, rather though compassiona and respect.  Legalism, on the other hand, believed that naked force and raw terror were the only legitimate bases for power. Absolute monarchy, centralized bureacracy, state domination over society, law as a pen tool, surveillance, informers, dissident persecution, and political coercion were its fundamental tools.

It should be noted that neither are democratic models of government; rather both philosophies desired a unified state, a powerful sovereign, and a population in absolute submission, but while Legalists knocked heads, Confusians taught respect - the willingness of the people.

In the end, after betrayals by former friends and suprising redemption by the same, the book ended with Ni Yong in control of the government, taking steps towards a more democratic state, while Malone and Vitt parted ways, their unspoken love still simmering just below the surface.

The long return home from Africa

Arriving at Johannesburg's international airport, I had seven hours to kill until my flight departed. First thing I did before leaving my hotel room was to count how much local currency I had left. I knew that there were only three choices - spend it, exchange it, or take it home with me. I honestly thought I'd exchange most of it, but it turns out that wasn't going to happen.

Upon arrival, I worked my way up to the long hall where all passengers check both themselves and their bags into their flights. For most international airports, no single airline has a dedicated and branded check-in/service desk area (the exception at JNB was South African Airways - the flag carrier of SA). Instead, all the monitors are dynamically assigned, allowing for capacity control as needed. For example, even though I didn't use Delta's desk (I checked in via kiosk since I had only carry on bags), I'm sure that since they only have a single flight daily, they probably only use 3 (one for elites and business class, natch) desks for a few hours. Air France and Lufthansa, on the other hand, both were running A380s to Europe that night. I'm guessing they used a boat load of desks given the passenger loads needing processing.




Towing the A380 Whale to the Gate




















There were likely 30-40 stations in all stretching down the long hall. Many working open flights were well known brands - British Airways, Swiss Air, KLM, Qantas. There were also a large number of regional international carriers I've never encountered with flights to Kenya, Zimbabwe, Rhodesia, Nigeria, etc. Only later did I discover that even Africa has its own low fare carriers (like Ryan Air in Europe), each with a noxious livery advertising the merits of the carrier - everything but the toll free number.

After heading through security...

Allow me to share one of my flying related compulsions. I hate getting buzzed when walking through the metal detector. Before entering the security line, I empty my pockets of any items that could possibly set off the alarm. My watch, keys wallet I put into a specific laptop bag pocket, coins I bag up and put into another. Gum and my Carmex I put in my bag as well. I always wear slipon shoes to save time after going through security. What I do keep in my pockets are any small non-metallic objects that I may otherwise lose. A tube of hand creme beyond the 3.5 allowed ounces, my little bottle of Purell, my pepcid I always carry for heartburn that comes regularly. I have my laptop out, my bag of toiletries ready to pull out. Once I hit the line, I'm ready. And I always take off my belt. That is very hit and miss, depending on the metal detector. Now, I've decided to take it off every time. 

Why do I do this? Why does the alarm of the metal detector make me anxious? I always think that I appear guilty of something when I set it off, triggering more anxiety related to this completely baseless belief.

So, I cleared security, immigration/customs was a breeze, and I then entered a long hall filled with 'duty free' shops. I use the term loosely because in many countries (SA being one of them, I'm guessing), it would be cheaper to buy, for example, a carton of cigarettes on the street and bring them in to the USA as the allowed duty free quantity of cigarettes. Duty free is mostly a big scam, depending on the location. In Hong Kong, for example, cigarette prices were actually pretty good. In Manzanillo, Mexico, it was half the price to buy cigs at the local bodega.  However, JNB featured the only duty free store offering Myer's Dark Jamaican rum. I have not found that in Europe or Asia. I'm not sure why it is so hard to find. For sure, scotch is king at duty free. Vodka, tequila and rum are available, but not in the variety seen with the whiskeys (which I can't stand).

After buying some souvenirs for the kids and wife, with the need to fit them in my already fully packed carry-on bag, I located my gate, then walked around some more, fully understanding that I will be sitting for 18+ hours on an airplane. I opted for not one, but two airport massages. These are the kind where one sits for the back and neck massage. I enjoyed it so much that I returned for a foot massage. There's nothing more sensual and pleasurable short of sexual activity.

I still had a few Rand leftover. I bought some snacks. They sold beef jerky complete with a toothpick! What a grand idea - that stuff just lodges itself in between the teeth (unfortunately, later on the plane I was using it to clean out an especially beef filled gap in my teeth when something snapped - it was a little chunk of tooth or crown, not much bigger than a peppercorn. I'm off to the dentist next week to figure out what happened).

After arriving at the gate early, I learned that the flight was so full, the glorious row 30 was already pre-assigned. Fortunately, I was happy with my fallback seat, 44B - emergency exit row action. Once onboard, with my carry on bags comfortably stored away, I loitered near my seat, happy to stretch my legs while I can. A few minutes later, a couple who were seated on opposites sides of row 44 asked if I'd swap my middle exit row seat for the exact one on the other side (44B for 44J). There was still enough room in the overhead compartments on the other aisle to move my stuff. I'm always happy to accommodate moves as long as I'm not asked to trade down seat quality. My wife and I have been on the other end of that request, and others have been kind enough to give up their seats.

However, I was asked again. Yes, a double swap. I actually improved my seat slightly by getting 44A (outboard seat). My legroom was a bit restricted due to the exit slide/raft protruding into the exit aisle from the door, but I was able to lean against the outboard hull (no window though) which is much better than being stuck between two fatties, indeed.

At that point, I had to leave my bags in the overheads on the starboard aisle. A small inconvenience, but again, karma works both ways.

At the published departure time, the captain came on the intercom and informed the passengers that due to a combination of high gross aircraft weight (note that this is a variable, not a constant), high elevation (more than a mile high) and a warm evening. The combination of the latter two resulted in air density that simply could not support the safe take off of our heavy 777. Dispatch (every airline has this function - they are responsible for, among other duties, making the calculations that will inform the amount of fuel needed for the flight given the forecast winds, distance, weight, etc.  The flight crew is given this data, and most likely runs through the math in order to validate the conclusions. The captain always has the final say in major decisions - fuel, weight, etc.).  Dispatch estimated an delay of 50 minutes, after which the ambient temperature will drop enough to 'thicken' the air for takeoff.

After 55 minutes, the captain came on the intercom and announced that while the conditions hadn't changed, our flight had 9000lbs of cargo (in addition to baggage and passengers).  The captain announced that the cargo would be offloaded, pulling the aircraft back into the performance envelope needed to depart.  I was a bit pissed because dispatch clearly was willing to risk missing passenger connections in Atlanta in order to book the high margin cargo revenue. Whether dispatch conceded the point, or the captain fought on behalf of his passengers, we were able to leave only 70 minutes late.

Now, I know that even by offloading the necessary cargo (I doubt all of it was taken away), the 777's engines will still need to pump out massive thrust in order to allow the airfoils to get enough lift in the 14,000 feet of available runway.  The airport had shifted to northerly departures, which will save some time enroute since the big turn towards the Atlantic will take less time.

As the 777 awaited permission to take off, I was wondering just how much of the runway we'd need.

There they go. Brakes held. 40% thrust. Seconds tick by. Thurst pushed past 80% close to maximum. The flight crew releases the brakes and the aircraft begins its roll out, and I'm immediately pressed back into my seat.  The acceleration continues for what seems like 30 seconds, but then the acceleration stopped and the plane seemed to be zooming down the runway at a constant speed. Why aren't we airborne? Looking out the window just behind and to my left, I see the terminal zoom by....and still no change. Finally, the wings bite deep enough into the thin air to leave the runway. But it's simply flying along the runway at only a few dozen feet off the ground. C'mon! Pull back!

Finally...finally! Up she goes, and ten seconds later the threshold passes out of view below me. Holy shit, we used 85-90% of the runway!

Three movies and seven hours of uninterrupted sleep later, we landed uneventlyfully in Atlanta an hour late, at 7:20am. My flight to Seattle was on-time, scheduled to depart at 8:20.  My first stroke of good fortune was a short line at immigration. Since our flight was an hour late, we missed the morning rush of flights arriving from Europe and the Middle East and hit a lull. My second stroke of luck was a quick interview with the immigration official. I figured that having been in South Africa for a day, with only hand luggage with me, the chances of being pulled aside for a longer interview seemed likely. Nope. I welcomed back to the USA with a smile.

The third 'Yes!' moment came as I strolled by the baggage claim, trotted through customs and made it through the TSA security check quickly and without a pat down.  I took a step back when I discovered my gate was in the A concourse (I was starting in the E concourse).

My final luck came when my gate was the first one in the concourse (not at the end of a long walk as usually seems to be the case), and boarding had just started!

Six hours later, I'm home and very tired. As a follow up, I needed a full three days to recover from the trip. My body was hammered. My ass was sore and chaffed from sitting for forty hours.

A week later, the miles posted and I hit my status, my objective completed.

Would I do this again? No way. Not unless I was in business or first class.

28 Hours in Johannesburg - Poker, Sleep, Work & Waiting

Delta flight 200 arrived almost an hour early at JNB, at 4:20pm. Looking out the window after the double ding which signaled our descent had passed below 10,000ft (Is that above sea level, or above ground level? If the latter, does the double ding ever happen when landing in La Paz, Bolivia?) I was surprised at how flat the Gateung province stretching below in every direction. I expected mountains of some type, but the area looked like the midwest.

After a really soft landing (much better than 737 landings), we spent the next ten minutes taxiing to the terminal. The wind was blowing strongly, as evidenced by the long grasses undulating, the bursts of breeze leapfrogging across the undeveloped areas of the airport.

My next worry was immigration. How closely would they look at my profile? Would I be asked my length of visit? Would immigration understand the concept of the mileage run if forced to describe it? Well, it turns out that I had nothing about which to worry. At the very least, I expected to pay for a tourist visa (the country's requirement is that two pages in one's passport are unstamped); however, the immigration official took a cursory look at my passport, stamped it, and allowed me to move on. Having no baggage checked, I and having been waved through customs, I found myself in a large arrivals hall.



International Arrivals Hall, JNB















With me were Christian & Patrice, who were waiting to be picked up by their friend. As they waited, they helped me find an ATM, and also convinced me to try out the Emperor's Casino which was just down the road from the airport, and which offered shuttle service from the airport. My original plan was to take a $40 cab (each way) to the MonteCasino Entertainment Complex. Emperor is basically the same concept, but closer.

After bidding this nice and helpful couple adieu, and made my way to the shuttle area. I ran into the crew of the Delta flight waiting for their transport, and chatted up a couple of the flight attendants. I explained why I had traveled to JNB for a day, and they thought I was nuts.

I was surprised that their layover was only 24 hours, especially since these flights are ultra-long hauls (14+ hours). However, perhaps since the FAs and flight deck crew get rest times (there's a tight spiral staircase leading up to a rest area at the very back of the 777), 24 hours is enough.  I believe that Singapore crews get 72 hours (at least that's what I recall a FA telling me after the ultra-long haul SIN>LAX flight).

While waiting for the shuttle, a small group of young and hip South Africans were also waiting. I chatted with one of the guys, and discovered that they're from Cape Town, up to Johannesburg for a hair show. Apparently they were hair stylists. They all encouraged me to hit Cape Town, the jewel on the sea, where orangatans roam and vinyards are more plentiful than in Napa. However, the casino is all I got time for (rather, all that I'm willing to risk, given that I need to try and get seat 30C/G on the way back, requiring me to get to the gate early enough).

Upon arrival, I walked into the Peermont Metcourt, one of several hotels located in the Emperor's Palace complex. The front desk clerk told me that she thought the hotel was fully booked, but upon finding a couple of guests who didn't guarantee their rooms with a credit card, sold me one of them. When I gave her my Alaska Airlines affinity Visa card, she assumed that I worked for the airline and gave me the industry rate of R700, around $100 at a 7:1 exchange rate. Given it was the last room, I expected to pay more. That was a nice surprise.

Heading to the first floor (in the USA, the lobby is the first floor, and our second floor is their first floor), I made my way to room 1201. It wasn't bad. Small, with two twins beds, each individually made, but placed flush to each other. I've seen this before, but usually the twins made a poor man's king bed. The room had a flat screen TV, and the bathroom was located in the same room. The room was more of a studio (a curtain allowed a modicum of privacy if traveling with another).

I took a photo of myself to post on facebook, looking absolutely terrible - the result of traveling 25 hours since my last shower - and my daughter pointed out that she thinks there's a ghost behind me. Indeed, some odd swirls did appear in the photo. Turning around, I was delighted to see a beautiful reproduction of a sketching as a wall mural.

Arriving at the room around 6pm, I didn't end up leaving for the casino until 9pm. First off, this is one occasion where I planned to use my room safe to hold everything of value. After fitting my camera, iPad, computer, money, lenses, phone, etc. I went to lock it - nothing. I called down to the front desk. Long story short, it took an hour for them to realize that it couldn't be fixed. I chanced it, and after hiding things in different parts of the room, I headed to the the casino.

I knew it was somewhere in the large building adjacent to the hotel, but wasn't sure where. After passing through another hotel, a hallway exhibit charting South Africa's path towards freedom for all and the end of apartheid, a conference hall area, I arrived at what was essentially a rip-off of Caesar's Palace Forum shopping area in Vegas. The ceiling was painted as blue sky with puffy clouds, just like Caesar's. However, the centerpieces of this mini-mall was a large statue of Michaelangelo's David dressed as a surfer dude.

Finally, I reached the entrance of the casino. How did I know? Metal detectors. "No guns allowed" said the sign. Of course, my mind wondered how violent things can get in South Africa. Would bandits attack a casino, going after all the money within? Nah. It only took me a few moments to find the poker tables. Seated immediately, I bought into a R10/R20 no-limit game with a stack of R700 to start. The game was Texas Hold'em, naturally.

Lasting a good seven hours at the table, and having hit quad Kings on my last hand of the night (seriously, I was under the gun, ready to pop out of the game just before the big blind hit me), the bonus for the quads brought my total losses (blech, and I had doubled up at one point) came to around R500, or about $70. Not bad for a night's entertainment. As planned, I got back to my room at 4am and spent the next hour winding down before taking an ambien and getting to sleep....

....only to awake to the sound of the phone ringing - my wake-up call set for 10am. Damn, only five hours sleep. I went down to the front desk and asked for a late checkout. I was quoted R100 for the extension to 1pm. I politely asked for a complimentary extension since my safe didn't work, leaving me somewhat anxiety ridden while out of my room (not too anxious...admittedly I played that up a bit) and also because the wired in-room broadband Internet was down at 4am, exactly when I wanted to do a little work while I was winding down for sleep. After several calls to technical support and the front desk, nothing could be done about it until the next day.

The front desk manager agreed to let me check out at 1pm, allowing me to catch up on work. I couldn't know until when I arrived stateside, but upon shutting down my computer and getting offline at 1pm, I would be off the grid for the next 27 hours (no wi-fi at the airport, nothing on the flight, and my phone - even in roam mode - did not pick up any network across which I could at least text my wife).

Upon check-out, I took a quick jaunt to the casino in case a game of poker was ongoing. I would have enjoyed passing a couple of hours playing some cards. My flight wasn't scheduled to depart until 8:20pm, leaving me 7 hours to kill. No action in the casino, so off to the airport I headed.

Long Hauls always seem to go by Quickly

The boarding procedure for International flights seem to have a much more structured and chaotic check-in process than your basic domestic flight. Unique to International flights, when the gate opens two hours in advance, the constant flow of people with passports of different colors and sizes flow into the waiting area. On this flight, many ethnicities were represented - which surprised me; I was expecting white and black people. But there were Asian, Indian, Portuguese, Nigerian, Dutch among others.

The very first passengers to the podium are those like me - angling for emergency exit or bulkhead row seats. The second wave of questions are mostly around confirmation that the passenger has arrived at the right gate. As more people arrive from connecting flights, the rush is on, and a line forms as families try to change seats to sit together, others want a move from aisle to window, while others simply want out of the middle seat (sorry, full flight).

The final push are men trying to get an upgrade into Business Elite. Maybe one of them will succeed, the others are sent back to whence they came.

Ten minutes until boarding, the gate lice come out in full force. Crowding the single double wide door that opens into a smokey glass walled anteroom, restless to make a move. Finally, after wheelchairs and small children w/wo strollers are called, business class is called to board. After I wipe away a small tear brought on by not following the mostly white, short and overweight passengers on board, I positions myself so that I'm not at the front, but will be one of the first on board.  Why is this important? Again, one of my fears. Unless I'm in business or domestic first, I like to put both my rollaway and laptop bag in the overhead bin. Early boarding ensures this.

After offloading my iPad, my headphones, liter bottle of water and hand cream (anything I'll need throughout the flight), I prepare my seat. Like a rubic's cube, I take all available comfort elements - airline pilow & blanket, lumbar support cushion, neck pillow - and arrange them to find the precise fit that best matches the contour of my body (flat ass, long legs and torso). Of course, every time I stand up, I need to rearrange since strategically placed comfort items fall out of place. As an anxiety ridden detail freak when it comes to flying, I always get lots of stares, and it drives my wife crazy.

Finally settled in 30G, one of the two best seat coach seats on the plane (I can see business class in the cabin just beyond the curtain, no lavatories around to stink up the area, and lots of legroom. Exit row 44 would be second best, but the crowding around the lavs may become tiresome. Given this row is reserved for assignment at the gate agent's discretion, set aside for the handicapped and infants, I don't know what to expect. Old ladies? Blind man? Parents with screaming infant?

In fact, a normal looking couple in their 30s took their seats next to me. They were clearly low maintenance people, stuck to Afrikaans in their conversation, and checked in on their kids before phones had to turn off. 

After the pushback from the gate, the 777 starts its engines one at a time. The low frequency vibration created by the massive turbojet engines increasing their RPMs makes me feel like I'm saddled on a rocket, it's so loud. Once both engines are at full idle, the silence of them is astounding.

After a short taxi, Delta 200 Heavy begins its take off roll.  I'm very accustomed to taking off in 737s, and pretty well can estimate when the plane hits V1 and subsequently rotates into flight. The fully fueled 777, on the other hand, takes about twice as long to leave terra firma. What gets me nervous is when it appears that accelleration has stopped, and the plane seems to be moving at a constant speed, and yet we're still not airborne. These international airport runways are around 10,000 feet long. I would love to know how much runway it ate up.

After an hour in the air, I struck up a conversation with the couple next to me. Coincidentally, they were traveling to Johannesburg for a single day like me. They were surprising a friend with an appearance at his birthday party. Their names were Christian and Patrice, have lived in Atlanta for 10 years and have a couple of young childen.  I'll see them tonight at the gate. However, they were flyng non-rev, and the flight looks really full, so they may not make it on board (edit - they didn't make the flight which departed overbooked).

I had a good seven hours of uninterrupted sleep, and believe it or not, watched no movies. I either worked or read. Fourteen hours later, we started our gradual descent, with the province of Gateung spreading out in every direction to the edges of the cloudless skies.



Busy with work...

To My All But Non-Existent Readership....

After having returned from my Africa trip, I'm buried in work. I still have to write about my experience of being 27 hours in South Africa, as well as the 90 minute delay in leaving JNB, the 16.5 hour flight back, the luck I needed to make my connection, and the 5 hour flight back before finally collapsing from exhaustion Monday night.

Stay tuned....

Book Review - The War for Late Night: When Leno Went Early and Television Went Crazy

The War for Late Night: When Leno Went Early and Television Went Crazy by Bill Carter documents an insider’s view of the most significant shake up in late night since Leno beat out Letterman for the coveted “The Tonight Show” chair. It’s a very long read (at least it seemed long). For folks who track television and media news in general, a look at the behind the scenes of dozens of conversations related to the drama that started in 2004 and ended with what I believe is the end of the post-golden era of late night. Or simply, the generational fault lines no longer could handle the friction of different demographic (younger), changing viewing behaviors (time-shifting), the explosion of alternatives (cable) and rapid technology changes in how media is consumed (Internet).

For the most part, I found parts of the book fascinating. Carter seems more aligned with the media fetishists, hyper focusing on too many similar variations on a theme; he lacks creating a story out of all his reporting and research. Granted, he structures the book around three primary conflicts.

First, Carter spends considerable effort in setting the background that leads up to the NBC train wreck of 2009/10. Providing extensive biographical information on Conan, he walks the readers through his career starting as a writer on the Simpsons, to his first awkward appearance on the Tonight Show after he was announced as the new host of Late Night following the Tonight show, and finally to the promise that NBC executive Jeff Zucker (fired when Comcast bought a controlling stake in NBC/Universal) made in promising him the Tonight Show chair. In five years. Trust us.

It’s this combination of naturally opposing and combustible personality types that lies at the root of the late night disaster. Basically, media management is a ruthless, numbers-focused, bottom-line-comes-before-everything group of suits, while talent is portrayed as the creative visionaries who, with the exception of Jay Leno, cared more about art than ratings at the end of the day. Of course, the sweet spot is where these two personality types and their base motivations find mutual agreement.

Five years later, Leno was forced out – even as he was consistently beating out Letterman in the ratings. To have kept Leno would have resulted in a $40mm payment to Conan – NBC ended up paying him and his staff that much in any case.

The second act followed the development and deal making associated with creating the Jay Leno show at 10pm. Carter describes how a lack of leadership, Leno’s overconfidence in transferring his magic to primetime, and one compromise too many led to a revolt from the affiliates (Leno was killing their local news ratings as a lead-in), criticism from both the media and competitors on its poor performance (Zucker always fell back on the argument that since the show was cheaper to make, a hit in ratings still resulted in a profitable show), and of course the hit to The Tonight Show. With only 30 minutes separating the two shows, the viewership dropped for both – who wants to watch two versions of the Tonight Show.

The final act went out of its way to counter the portrayal of Jay Leno as mastermind by portraying him as someone who decided to win at all costs. In his stand-up days, Leno was a comic’s comic. He was edgy and original. When he got the Tonight Show, he went down the middle. He worked harder than everyone else in the business, and he understood the importance of getting good ratings even if it meant sending the show further down the well of mediocrity.

In the end, NBC went with the sure bet, dumped Conan who took off with his payoff and a new show at TBS. Meanwhile, other late night shows aimed at the younger demos are splitting viewers every which way – Jon Stewart, Craig Ferguson, Jimmy Kimmel and Jimmy Fallon. They all understand the natural convergence of new media with old. They tweet, they post on Facebook, they have Internet followings as large as their live broadcast audiences.

This book is obviously the bookend to his first book chronicling the last major disruption in late night in the early 90s. I get the feeling that he sees this as his last deep dive into the (formerly) very profitable, (less every day) relevant, and (no one watches TV anymore) traditional institution of The Tonight Show. In fact, he includes direct quotes from Seinfeld who, when asked whether Conan should stay, but at the proposed midnight time slot following a half hour Leno show, he answered that he was ‘silly’ to leave. “The Tonight Show isn’t an institution; it’s a television show like any other. Ratings rule in the end.”

Coming from the man who appeared on Carson’s Tonight Show 20+ times, and became a multi-millionaire with a show about nothing, Bill Carter seems to be telling us that late night television, though always being time slot that can be profitable, will not endure for another 40 years of cultural dominance.

I recommend this book for anyone who loves to know how show business works behind the scenes.

Scare in Atlanta

I woke up at 4am, ahead of the alarm's set time of 4:15. I was off and running by 4:45. I love driving to the airport this early in the morning. There's no one on the freeways, and the cops are in the donut shops, so I take my 500+ HP sports sedan up to 90 mph, then while driving at 30 over the speed limit, I felt that I should take a photo to start off this post. Dumb camera phones always take forever to react after you depress the button. I guess I'm spoiled by my DLSR (which I brought with me). The shot is kind of blurry due to going 90mph while trying to taking it.



The Freeway, almost empty



<cue tangent>

I'm going to go off topic for a moment. If you have watched any documentary formatted television show where the subject matter has anything to do with the supernatural, UFOs, aliens, ghosts, etc., then you have heard the phrase “some suggest” uttered by the program’s narrator. For example:

Were the Great Pyramids built by aliens? Some suggest that the perfection of the engineering required is proof that ancient aliens once visited the earth.

It drives me nuts. I picture the actor hired for this job, reading through the script and thinking to himself – “Fuck, how people believe this garbage, for Christ sake. 30 times? Really? I have to read some suggest 30 fucking times? My paycheck better clear, and for fuck’s sake, I hope this shitty alien/UFO pilot gets picked up. Yeah. Steady work, steady paycheck. Maybe I’ll talk to my agent about setting up auditions for some of factual history docs. Some might believe that I’d have finally proven my value as a voice-over actor. Heh heh. Some suggest. What the fuck.”

As a matter of fact, I tune into those UFO shows hoping that one of them will offer real proof of alien visitation. Some of the shit they suggest happened has been proved impossible to execute. Take Archimedes' use of a copper mirror in Sicily to set the Romans' enemy ships on fire.

On Mythbusters (if you don’t know the show, then stop reading my blog), Adam and Jamie proved that this myth was busted. Following the scientific method (well, as closely as television will allow), they failed time and time again in both small and large scale experiments (they may have succeeded in small scale given the intensity of the sun’s rays doesn’t scale down).

Yet on the show Ancient Aliens, which started a two hour special and was picked up by the History Channel (shame!), one of the shady experts – always an author of some book or another on UFOs – falls just short of claiming the Archimedes episode as being factual history.

<whoa, come back to earth...end of tangent>

Where was I? Three hours until my flight to Johannesburg, two hours until the gate opens. I found out when checking in that the primo bulkhead row (having both legroom and AC power) is blocked for the gate agent. Set aside for families with babies (that bulkhead has the bassinets, I’m guessing) and the handicapped/disabled/elderly. I want to be the first one in line to claim one of those seats.

The flight from Seattle to Atlanta seemed long, but with the strong tailwinds, the flight arrived 45 minutes early. I didn’t care. I was deep into my book (future book review), and listening to my Cuban music. I got an emergency exit row, aisle seat, but was sitting next to a beefy fella who somewhat spilled out of his middle seat.

Yesterday, I picked up one of those neck pillows, shaped like a horseshoe, a long cylindrical item that is designed to provide lumbar support. Both of these manufactured by Bucky’s, using some kind of filler that ‘massages as you move’ (ok, I made up that last part). I also bought an eye mask for sleeping (well, the Ambien is for sleeping, the mask keeps the light out so I can sleep longer).

Although I’ve been given lots of these eye masks over the years – always included in business or first class amenity kits – this one has extra room behind the blinds so your eyelids don’t rub against the inside of the mask. You know, now that I look at it, the damn thing resembles push up bra. Bucky should market it as the ‘Eye Bra!’

The Bucky's "Eye Bra"

Now I'm waiting at the gate. Two hours to go. The second the agents showed up, I jumped from my seat (next to the podium) up to the desk, ready to try and get an bulkhead/exit row. I was politely told that the flight hadn't opened yet, and that they 'd open in 10 minutes. Impatient and anxious (remember that getting-everywhere-associated-with-flying anxiety I referenced in an earlier post?), I sat back down in my seat (6 feet away). Every person who approached the desk triggered more anxiety. This is my inner voice talking:

Oh god. What is that guy doing. Didn't he just see me get dissed. Christ, what if he decides to wait instead of coming back. Did I make a huge error. OMG. I just fucked myself out of the exit row seat if he asks for it.

He just asked if this was the right gate for the JNB flight.

I realized I was holding my breath.

Exhale. Stand up. Stand a respectful distance from the podium.

This was (is...I'm still sitting here as I write this) an excellent example of how to best behave when trying to ask a favor. I stood there patiently. I didn't make eye contact with the agents because they had made their intentions clear. However, anyone else approaching the desk would likely line up behind me.

I'm standing here. Isn't it obvious that I'm waiting in line. Why is that guy going to the desk?? Oh, he wanted to make sure this was the right gate.

Next, I found a way to make conversation. The (obvious) lead agent went to the back, while the (just as obvious) junior guy was trying to figure out why one of the two monitors was not working. Here's a great question to start a relationship with an agent:

"Do you generally work the same flight every day?"

It's that simple. It's an aviation analog to a pick-up line. We get a conversation going, I bring up my dad working for Delta for 35 years, etc. He then made the move. When the agent makes the first move, you're in good shape. "What do you need?" He asked, laughing. I asked about the blocked row 30, a bulkhead row with extra legroom. Unfortunately, the agents needed to wait to see how many wheelchairs and infants they had on board.

Back to my chair I go. The senior agent is now actively paging the handicapped, and is asking them if they want to sit up front (in my row 30). The old biddy agreed, and the agent then asked one of the most used phrases in the commercial flying military industrial complex (or whatever): "Would you like window or aisle?" (note the use of 'like' vs. 'prefer.' in most cases, the latter verb indicates that any selection will be treated as a request vs. a confirmed seat type).

The agent is behind the counter, trying to get this old lady to make a decision. Meanwhile, feeling that I've locked the customer/agent relationship, I fake whisper in a bit louder voice (remember, I'm six feet away), saying "offer her the window..the window...not aisle...window." That got her laughing.

Finally, she told her second agent to give me a seat in 30. Yes! I thought my troubles were over. A few moments later, a passport check was required of all non-South Africans. I'm second in line. I walk up to the junior guy, he checks my passport asking where they put my visa.

My blood chills.

"Excuse me?"

My heart rate has doubled.

"I thought you could get a tourist visa on arrival."

"No, you need it ahead of time."

A hole in the world is opening, about to swallow me. Within the lapse of 15 seconds, my mind raced through the repercussions of this mistake. I have to go home. I don't get my miles. I wasted the airfare. In a deeper part of my ego, even the thought that I had overlooked this requirement in my research had me doubting my "skillz" as a frequent flyer and traveler.

The senior pipes in, "No, no...no visa needed."

The hole closes. My blood thaws. My pulse normalizes.

"You scared the poor guy!"

I responded, and this is a quote verbatim:

"Oh my god...you scared the living SHIT out of me."

Ok. I can gather my stuff, upload this post, and go piss before I have to board.



Delta's 777-200LR



Off to Africa: WTFWIT????

OMG.

Four hours, forty-five minutes, followed by fifteen hours and twenty minutes.

In coach.

That's 75% of the time in a plain old aisle seat. In coach.

This will be a good test for me. The transatlantic outbound and return will represent two of the three longest flights I've flown (the third being DXB>ATL). For the past four years, whenever flying international, I've only taken left turns once through the aircraft door (the exception being Mexico flights, where I had to take a right, but always stopping somewhere in the first four rows).

Whenever I was required to fly abroad, I did whatever I needed to do to ensure I gained approval for business class. Early on at my company, traveling business class was in policy with overseas flights. Over the last two years, when the economy took its downturn (thanks a lot Wall Street!), policies changed. Only with VP approval, and only when an employee expects to travel four times a year overseas is 'access to the lounge' granted.

My wife and I have been on two overseas vacations - the Maldives, and Bali twice. Both trips we flew first class on a combination of Lufthansa (LH), Singapore Airlines (SQ) and Cathay Pacific (CX). There is no better experience in the air. Granted, others will argue the fine points of difference, but Christ - *any* international first class is a better flying experience than 99.9% of the global flying public has experienced!!

I scared of coach. Even more, I'm scared of missing out on an exit row seat. It's for this reason that I tend to get anxious if I've not arrived at the airport early enough. I'm worried that I'll get caught in some part of the 'home to air' cycle, that some unexpected variable will show its laughing face as I get caught in traffic, find that check-in kiosks are down, and I have no choice but to make my way to the worst place for an anxious person - a line.

Turrets - people around think I have Turrets. I can't blame them. I'm watching the water, waiting for it to boil.

"The line isn't moving, god damn it! Why does that fucking old lady at the front of the line keep asking shit questions."

I'm mumbling all this, so those around me can only hear "Goddammit! Fucking old lady! Shit!" To them, I'm everything that's wrong with flying, taking the civility out of it with my bad language.

"Hey lady! Nothing wrong with me. I have a flying anxiety disorder! Get the fuck out of my face!

To those with this disorder, the key is to lower the veil of how you really feel, take a few deep breaths, and put yourself into 'helpful customer' mode.

Agent: "Hello, sir...checking in?"

Me: (thinking...is she kidding?) Smiling, "A good morning to you! Wow, you guys are crazy busy this morning. How have you been holding up?

At this point, you need to create a pop rocks relationship with the agent. You need to engage and connect enough for her to look back at this very transaction as the one that got her going for the day.

Agent: "You wouldn't believe how patient everyone has been."

Me: "Not everyone...some guy back there in line was cussing up a storm."

Agent: "Yeah, well, we always hope the new guy gets those whack jobs."

Me: "So...I know there are no more exit rows available, but the plane looks pretty full...oversold? (she nods) If you need a volunteer...(pause)...I'm not your guy - big business meeting..my boss would kill me."

Agent: "If we do go overbooked, we'll get volunteers pretty readily..if not, we have to pull the last non-elite, non-VIP coach passenger to check in."

ME: "In the case that you need to upgrade one of your elites into first for operational reasons, would you mind saving one of their emptied emergency exit row seats for me?"

Agent: "Sure, sir...and let me know if you want to volunteer (voce basso) I'll give you the max in credits - $400"

Me: Thinking, there goes the pop rocks! "Thanks again, but missing my meeting would cost me 2x that in badwill."

15 Minutes Later

Agent: "Mr. B, please come to the podium"

Me: "No luck on those exit row seats? (always good to take the hit yourself so she doesn't feel guilty. Nothing she can do at this point, and you know she tried."

Agent: "Sir, I've been able to upgrade you to first class. Enjoy your flight!"

Me: You've been so helpful. I hope the rest of your day goes well!"

With my upgraded boarding pass in hand, even then I can't relax. At that point, I have "secure overhead space" anxiety, which is why I show up early. My elite status gets me on the planes earlier than the masses, and first class as well, but what if I can't find enough space? Will my carry-ons be fake gate checked or bona fide gate checked. The difference is around 25 minutes.

I can't believe I'm flying 20 hours in coach tomorrow.

What The Fuck Was I Thinking??

10:31. Bed time. Alarm set for 4:15am

Aspirin could save my life this weekend

An Aspirin a Day...

As I've mentioned a few times, I head to Johannesburg in South Africa in order to earn the Elite Qualifying Miles (EQM) I need to hit the highest elite status for Alaska Airlines - MVP Gold 75.  With two days to go, I've been preparing for the long journey. I've downloaded several movies to my iPad, I have a backlog of five books in my Kindle account (which I read using the iPad), I have a ton of powerpoint work to do in preparation for speaking engagements here in the Puget Sound area as well as Mumbai in January (more EQMs!) and Vegas in March.  Unfortunately, I've had to make a Sophie's Choice of sorts - AC power outlet or legroom? Delta's 777-200LR aircraft have AC power in coach, but only some of the seats in the first section (rows 30-39).  I choose legroom on both legs. Given the battery power of my laptop (pathetic), I'll have an 90 minutes at most of working time on the flights.  Update - I changed my mind given the amount of work I have. I willingly gave up seat 44J - a bulkhead seat, but one where the legroom is partially blocked by (I'm assuming) the exxit slide protusion. The seat I chose had no one in the middle nor the window, so I figured my odds are good for at least having the seat next to me empty.

m also still deciding how to spend my time in Johannesburg. Initially, I had planned to book a room at the Montecasino entertainment complex in Fourways (25km NE of the airport). It has a casino and poker (which I really enjoy playing) as well as nightclubs, restaurants, cinemas and even a comedy club. Then my friends suggested that I get out to one of the nearby game reserves if possible. Still working on my final plans. Stay tuned.

Back to aspirin.

A week after the rhinoplasty work I had done (and the day from hell that ensued), I had my second follow-up appointment with surgeon. He took out some stitches located on the underside of my nose, right between the nostrils (he makes an incision there, then somehow lifts the skin of the nose up, exposing the cartlidge underneath, which he then chiseled away at in order better shape the tip of my nose).

He told me to return the following week, and I casually mentioned my trip to Africa. He then cut me off and gave me some advice I will very much follow.

A Bad Case of DVT

He was concerned that sitting so long (not as much worry in business class where seats typically lie flat or nearly so) may increase the danger of developing Deep Vein Thrombosis,  a condition where a blod clot forms, which may in the worst cases, dislodge and travel to the lungs creating a pulmonary embolism. Not good. DVT is associated with long haul flights where the legs get little circulation sitting in a fixed position for so long.



Dr. R's advice? Walk around once per hour, drink lots of water, and start taking an aspirin a day. Older folks are often told to take a baby aspirin once per day to thin the blood and help reduce the chances of a heart attack or other problems caused by blocked arteries. In this case, it helps to prevent the creation of the clot in the leg, the DVT itself.


Since I've not yet heeded my doctor's advice, I'm headed to the nearest first aid kit to pop a couple ASAP.