My Conversation With A Queen Bee

I interviewed a pretty interesting subject yesterday. In my line of work, I usually find the most memorable subjects to be the worker bees -- those who do the grunt work to execute an idea. You know, not the head honcho of a pharmaceutical company, but the lowly researcher and scientist. I find I can relate to these worker bees, that I can tell a story from their perspective. After all, "grunt work" is my middle name. But, yesterday I interviewed a Queen Bee. 

The super-talented photographer Josh Ritchie and I met with Nancy Brinker yesterday at a suite facing the Atlantic Ocean on the 34th floor of the Westin Diplomat hotel. For those who don't know, Brinker is, simply put, a baller. She's the founder and CEO of the Susan G. Komen For the Cure, a former U.S. ambassador to Hungary, and one of TIME magazine's 100 most influential people in the world in 2008. She is to humanitarianism what LeBron James is to basketball.

To illustrate the gravity of interviewing Brinker, I told Josh that yesterday was the first time in about two years that I actually had to think about what I was going to wear to the interview. I meticulously laid out my clothes the night before (a belted light wool black shift dress), making sure this wasn't one of my usual stain-laden outfits.

Josh took this photo of Nancy yesterday, with her appropriately wearing the color pink, no obvious stains.

We talked about a lot of things. Her achievements, her goals and, most importantly, her fight for breast cancer research. She lost her sister, Susan G. Komen, to breast cancer 30 years ago. She talked, I listened. Surprisingly, when I talked, she listened. Classy, that's for sure. 

I told her I don't have a sister, only two brothers. But, I told her my best friend is like my sister, and I couldn't imagine losing her. Though my best friend isn't blood, she's pretty darn close to it. I then asked her what it was like losing a sister. In her words, "Along with losing my husband, it simply was the most traumatic event of my life." Her eyes paused. She squinted slightly. It was as if she needed a moment to visualize her next statement. After a half-second delay, Brinker continued, saying because her sister was so healthy, so kind, so lovely, the trauma of seeing her Suzy cut, burned and poisoned was devastating. And unfortunately a lasting memory for Brinker.

After my 20-minute interview session, and as Josh was snapping photos of her for our article, I began putting two and two together. I saw my interview subject for who she really was: an exalted woman celebrated for overcoming her trauma and applauded for her fight against it. I better understood how human Queen Bees are, how human this queen is. And, on second thought, maybe I could have shown up with a stain or two.

Hail the Queen

I sometimes forget how beautiful Fort Lauderdale is. Thanks goodness I have the Jungle Queen to jog my memory.

After 4+ years of living in the Venice of America, I've finally boarded the Jungle Queen yesterday. I was one of 417 guests on board, probably the second-most knowledgeable person of Fort Lauderdale on this boat (after Capt. Bill, that is). Though a South Florida resident, I've always wanted to take a tour of this caliber: one that's hokey, fun, gluttonous and very gluttonous. (Wait -- you didn't know the ride included an all-you-can-eat BBQ dinner? I didn't either until I boarded. The. Best. Surprise. Ever.)

So here are my top 5 reasons why I loved yesterday's ride on the Jungle Queen:

1. I didn't get seasick.

It's the first boat ride this year that I didn't get sick on. My guess is the calm New River had something to do with it.

2. We passed a rainbow.

I don't know why, but rainbows tend to make every trip a lil' better. And, it was no different this Jungle Queen ride.

3. I got to see the famous bell tower on Wayne Huizenga's property.

After getting reamed by my boss for never taking a ride on the water taxi and therefore never seeing the famed bell tower, I can now saw that I came and I conquered.

4. I got to see my friends Angela and Paul chow down on all-you-can-eat ribs, chicken and shrimp.

What makes this story even better is that Angela's a registered dietitian. Don't you love irony? 

P.S. Don't let these photos fool you -- Angela and Paul rarely used their utensils!

5. I got to chow down on all-you-can-eat ribs, chicken and shrimp.

The Bernie McCormick School of Journalism

Today our new associate editor asked me a simple question about our 73-year-old publisher: "What does Bernie do?"

My response? "After nearly five years working here, I'm still trying to figure out that answer."

I'm half-way kidding (which means I'm half-way serious). What our new editor wasn't aware of is that Bernie has carved his own role in this magazine that he bought nearly 40 years ago. To write down Bernie's job description would both humorous and very UN-time consuming. That's because while it looks like Bernie doesn't do much other than research how to bring a proper commuter train to downtown Fort Lauderdale, there's more to Bernie than it seems.

Beyond his role as a traditional publisher, Bernie has unofficially taken the role of Yoda to my Luke. He's taught me both life and professional lessons without once opening up a textbook or lesson plan. His lessons come rather situationly. Like, I don't need to start working on an article until it's due within 18 hours. That's lesson #1 in the Bernie McCormick School of Journalism.

Lesson #2? That writing articles about Tri-Rail is OK. Even more OK is writing articles about Tri-Rail 30 separate times in one year. And printing all 30 of them in our magazine.

But that's why we love the man. There's not too many people I know who don't feel the same way. As a younger editor, he makes me feel my ideas are just as strong a veteran's. He actually listens when I or any other young staff member talks. And for that, I cannot thank him enough.

Funny story to bring Bernie's personality full circle: After hearing of Bernie's fame in the local community, the other day a friend asked me what it was like working for Bernie McCormick. 

My response? 

"Bernie never makes me feel like I'm working for him; he makes me feel like I'm working with him." 

Why Baseball Is Not For Me

The MLB All-Star game took place on Tuesday. And I'm not sure I could have cared any less.

I want to like baseball. I really do. I want to actually enjoy conversations I have with my friends who are baseball fans. It'd be great to not have to wince every time a baseball topic comes up at the water cooler and I'm forced to draw from my memory banks what teams were competing in the last five World Series. I hate having to act like I care about Stephen Strasburg's hype. And, I want to do more than just politely be in awe when someone hits a .333 or better.

A recent Harris Poll announced the number of baseball fans has dipped. Again. Last year 41 percent of sports fans called themselves baseball fans. This year, only 36 percent aligned themselves to baseball. I wonder why.

The last full-length baseball game I remember watching on T.V. was nine years ago, during the World Series, when the Yankees took another title. And that was the last night I had an inkling to do so.

I consider myself a sports fan. I grew up watching and playing every game you can imagine. I was always the fifth man on my brothers' basketball pick-up team, always the defender when my older brother wanted to air it out and my other brother wanted to catch his passes. But whenever we played baseball, there was always something about it than never struck my fancy.

Perhaps it was the insane amount of time hitters get to between swings that bothers me. And between swings. And between more swings.

I've never understood why players were allowed so much time. Yeah, I get there's a cadence, a tempo, a feel each hitter wants to achieve before making the at bat. But, basketball players only get 10 seconds to shoot a free throw. In tennis, a player gets 20 seconds to serve to his or her opponent. If they surpass the allotted time -- get this, MLB -- there's a penalty. I think it's so funny to see a professional athlete fidget with his batting gloves for a good 30 seconds before even walking up to the plate. And then fidget with them again between swings. Dude, the gloves are on perfectly! Stop messing with them!

And just like the NBA, I certainly think the season is too long. Individual games become more and more and more insignificant. Players understandably get worn out. Injuries can happen. Players sit out games to avoid injuring themselves before the post-season. And the quality of play invariably dips. But, anything for the sponsors, right? Anything for potential sales and money opportunities, sure. If they could, I bet they'd extend the season another 20 games.

Perhaps if I lived in a city like Chicago, where Cub and Sox fans outnumber the leaves on their city's trees, I'd soak in all 162 games. But I don't. I live in South Florida, where fans are lacking, the appreciation of the sport waning. I've attended a handful of Marlin games, and truly have enjoyed the experience. I think the majority of the players are pretty cool guys, and I feel bad when there are more empty seats in the stands than at a St. Thomas Aquinas high school football game. It's the same thing with me -- what if no one read any of the magazines I help produce? I'd feel awful.

Don't get me wrong. I love supporting my local pro teams and businesses. But would I give up a Saturday night to watch the hometown heroes? I elect no.

But beyond anything else that irks me about baseball, it's the exact nature it that kills me. I've always played team sports, and I've really appreciated the direct affect one teammate has on another who has on another. In theory, baseball players can be on the field for an entire half inning and never get to touch the ball. How can this be called a "team" sport when not the entire team participates? Yeah, the pitcher's integral. So's the catcher. And, depending on the situation, certain members of the infield are, too. But if a ball's not hit beyond the clay, the outfielders are completely out of the play and really hold no importance. And, even if a ball's hit toward the outfield, not all three of those players are always involved.

This so-called team sport is really lacking for me. Sure, could I hit a 3-inch white ball that was being hurled at me at 90 mph? No. Do I give credit to folks who can do it? I guess. But, looking at baseball as whole, I can't be more perplexed at what makes it such an engaging sport. If anybody can clue me in, I promise to try and be as open-minded as possible. I'll give anything a chance, even baseball.

However, don't even get me started in pitch hitting and DH-ing...

The Heat Is On

Guess what. I have something in common with LeBron James. Besides having common denominators like shear athletic dominance on the basketball court and the ability to tomahawk jam on a 10-foot net, we hold another similar characteristic. Sure, he's 6'8'', black and possesses a body only Michelangelo could sculpt. Me, I'm 5'2.5'' (yes, that 0.5 inches makes all the difference!), Asian-American and just gained a hefty five pounds from my recent vacation. But if you get pass those minor physical traits, LeBreezy and I do share something -- a love of wanting to bring our best efforts to South Florida. We both moved from afar to try to revolutionize our respective industries here in South Florida. We took a chance, and I can respect LeBron for taking his.

Other than that, I'm a little indifferent about LeBron James these days. It could stem from my absolute jealousy of him being one year younger than me, devoid of a college degree, and still making tens of millions of dollars more than me over a span of six years. 

But in truth, I think it's more of my disappointment with his behavior over the past few weeks, over the circus that has become the NBA.

I don't hate that he's one of the best athletes to lace up Nike gear. I don't hate him for tagging along ESPN's Thursday night one-hour glass menagerie train that intro'ed the star's decision to play for the Heat. I don't even hate that his Twitter name is "KingJames" and at times he's been known to refer to himself in the third person as the "King." I don't hate him for leaving his former team to try out seemingly greener pastures.

I've always like LeBron. From witnessing his unselfish play on the courts, to viewing "More Than a Game" (the engaging documentary about his high school team), to celebrating that brilliant three-point shot against the Magic in the playoffs two years ago, I've always admired the guy. In the twilight of his high-profile career, LeBron seemingly stayed out of the media spotlight, something I imagine must be difficult.

But Friday night's public opening of the three Heat headliners was a bit much for me. From the head bobbing to the smug look, I felt all this was a little out of character for someone who has set such a high level for himself. Yeah, I get that's he's 25 years old and he's allowed to act 25. But for someone who has such a strong past of class and character, I was disappointed to see LeBron act, well, like a 25-year-old.

But back to the point of commonality between LeBron and me. I'm still working hard to make a dent in this media world, and I think I'm far from my goal. However, let's hope for all of South Florida -- and LeBron himself -- that he achieves his goal at a faster pace than my own. After all, he is the King.

Mea Culpa

To this day I still think the only reason the Chicago Bulls won the 1992 NBA Championship was because of one person - me. Forget about the talents of Michael Jordan. Or the strategy of Phil Jackson. Argue with me if you will, but the one reason the Bulls won their second championship was clearly and unequivocally because of

me.

Isn't it funny how sports fans think there's a direct correlation between the outcome of their sports team's games and the fans themselves. Some fans wear the exact same shirt every game day. Others have the same pre-game ritual or "lucky" seat. I know a guy who swears the Jets went on their winning run last season because he switched his beers from Heineken to Heineken Light. Call it superstition – or just some silly fan's desire to inject themselves into a game they have no role in – but some sports fans have this sixth sense that their own actions tend to directly impact a game.

Take, for example, me. The only plausible cause of the Bulls pulling out a victory against the Portland Trail Blazers in Game 6 was because I chose to lie down on my stomach atop my parents' bed instead of my traditional pose of lying on my back to watch the game on their tube TV. Yes, after 18 years I still feel deep down that I somehow contributed to Jordan sinking those six three pointers. Had I chosen to lie down another way, well, let's just say the beginning of an era may never have come to be.

But the point of this blog is not to talk about sporting events that occurred nearly two decades ago (man, I'm getting old...), but to talk about events of last week. Just as I feel I had a hand in a great NBA victory, I feel I am the direct reason why the USA soccer team loss its round-of-16 match in this year's World Cup. Yes, sadly, I take full blame.

On such a fantastic wave of victory after winning its final game of the group stage, Sam's Army entered last week's game against Ghana with solid chances of pulling out a W. But, I had to go and screw things up.

You see, every other game the USA team has played during this World Cup I had watched in the privacy of my home, office desk (during work hours) or hotel room (I was traveling at the latter end of the group stage and during the round of 16). While in different settings, the common denominator was watching the game in privacy or with an intimate crowd of two other people. Then, I stupidly decided to watch the USA-Ghana game at the bar with some friends. Who invited more friends. And that multiplied into dozens of friends. Just that small change of venue and crowd made all the difference. My bad!

In reality - not Nila's alternative universe - I don't think my actions or any other sports fans' are Steve Bartman-like with massive repercussions. Still, I think every fan wants to be a part of the game. I've never played an NBA game in my life, but that doesn't stop me from thinking I can somehow sway a game or two. That's what makes sports so exciting to me: You don't have to pick up a ball, step onto the field, or lace up your boots to feel like you're somehow a part of your team's roster. Somehow there's a jersey with your name on it anyways.