KBTV

Drug Abuse Leads to Michael Jackson's Untimely Death

2009-07-03T00:57:00.000-07:00

First they said cardiac arrest, now the medical community, friends and family alike say that long-term drug abuse is what led to Michael Jackson’s untimely death

With his drug abuse now public, fans on the street, family members and the media outlets alike are no longer speaking in hushed whispers about cardiac or respiratory arrest, but now rather that the iconic singer with a bizarre lifestyle was living in a deep and dark space addled by a drug cocktail of at least seven different prescription drugs. His death will most likely be shrouded in a swirl of massive controversy for the next three to six weeks when the autopsy report is expected. I spoke to Ira Levy, the Executive Director at Sunrise Detox, in Lake Worth, Florida. He had this to say: “I hate to say it … but Michael Jackson dying from an alleged drug overdose brings to the forefront of people’s consciousness and also, to the front page of newspapers how dangerous drug abuse actually is. Hopefully it will educate people and help them and their loved ones reach out for help. We have helped countless individuals and their families with drug abuse and alcoholism for years.”

The statistics are astounding. The latest results are sorely outdated, but in 2002 an estimated 22 million Americans suffered from substance dependence or abuse due to drugs, alcohol or both, according to latest results of the Household Survey released by the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration in the Department of Health and Human Services (HHS). There were 19.5 million Americans, 8.3 percent of the population ages 12 years or older, who currently use illicit drugs; 54 million who participated in binge drinking in the previous 30 days; and 15.9 million who were heavy drinkers. Today those statistics are estimated by the members of the National Institute on Drug Addiction (off the record) to have reached nearly 30 million Americans. “Drug Abuse” is that dirty little phrase that the United States government – particularly under the Bush Administration – that no one wanted to utter … don’t ask, don’t tell. But, when Michael Jackson’s alleged drug abuse, subsequently leading to his tragic death, hit the headlines, the government could no longer turn a blind eye and the non-profits finally gained some valuable ammunition to fight this deadly disease.

The legendary singer/songwriter/dancer extraordinaire was said to be healthy and was planning for a London tour - in fact one report even claimed that he would add some shows for his planned comeback to toss him atop the pop world again. But it begs the question: In light of his now widely publicized drug abuse, how could he even hope to achieve this kind of a comeback? A cocktail of up to 7 different types of prescription medications – ranging from Oxycontin to Demerol to Zoloft to Xanax -- would cripple a superstar in even the best of health. In March of this year, he was photographed pictured in pajamas in a wheelchair, his face hidden by a surgical mask. Did that appear to be a man set to embark on the most elaborate and grueling tour of his life or – more likely – of a man addled by drug a abuse and mental illness? He willingly took a cocktail of up to seven different prescription medications every day. He self-imposed a level of drug abuse that few survive, and he did it year after year, all the while his handlers selling stories to the tabloids that he was attending an Intensive Outpatient Program for two-hours a day. It was the tabloids at their worst – and there were literally no takers. That type of drug abuse – no one can hide – not even with Mr. Jackson’s wealth.

Ira Levy, of Sunrise Detox, emphasizes that one of the key components of a successful Intervention is the willingness of the client to cooperate with the treatment plan that has been laid out. Over my years of reporting, I have spoken many times to the Jackson family lawyer, Brian Oxman. In a recent interview with CNN, Mr. Oxman alluded to the involvement of drugs in Mr. Jackson’s death when he likened the pop star’s death to that of tragic star Anna Nicole Smith – also due to drug abuse.

He said to me today that “the Jackson family had been trying for months and months and months to take care of Michael Jackson.” And that his utter frustration and fear stemmed from “The non-family members who had surrounded him [Michael Jackson] and that had been enabling him, particularly his agents, tour managers and private doctor," alluding specifically to Dr. Conrad Murray.

It is always tragic when a man as talented as Michael Jackson, someone who touched so many hearts, dies in such an awfully sad and heartbreaking way. All we can do is pray that if you, yourself, or someone you know and love, is suffering from alcoholism and/or drug abuse, that you’ll pick up the phone and ask for help. There are many detox facilities and treatment centers out there just waiting for your call. Pick up that phone and safe someone’s life. Do it today.

Michael Jackson Death…or simply “Put to Sleep?”

2009-06-28T22:02:00.000-07:00

Michael Jackson will go down in the history books defining one of the greatest dichotomies: equal parts as the world’s greatest entertainer and on the flip side, one of the saddest, most grief-stricken, enigmatic figures to dominate the world on-and-off the stage for the better part of four decades. This one and only King of Pop was about to attempt one of the greatest comebacks of all time – 50 concerts starting July 13 at London’s famed 02 arena. Then his life was cut shockingly — or was it just mysteriously? — either way, it was cut short.

We now know that Jackson died at UCLA Medical Center after being stricken at his rented home in the posh Los Angeles neighborhood of Holmby Hills. Sources including his now tarnished “personal doctor,” Dr. Conrad Murray, have said he may have suffered respiratory arrest before eventually succumbing to cardiac arrest, a condition that can lead to death if not treated within five minutes.

"Cardiac arrest refers broadly to when your heart just no longer pumps blood," says Dr. Morgan Poncy, co-founder of Sunrise Detox in Lake Worth, Florida. Dr. Poncy completed his internship and residency at Jackson Memorial Hospital in Miami. While continuing his private practice he became licensed to administer Suboxone, a proven, highly successful, revolutionary opiate detoxification method. He has subsequently treated more than 3,000 patients using Suboxone, more than any other physician inside the United States. After reading this, I knew I’d found the right guy so I called him up, and begged him for a face-to-face. Despite him, his wife and four children being smack in the middle of a move, Dr. Poncy succumbed to my pleadings. I drove up to Jupiter, just north of Palm Beach, Florida for the interview. Dr. Poncy, himself, has never treated Michael Jackson directly, but basically because of his extensive knowledge of addiction, and detoxification I thought he’d have some cogent and perceptive thoughts on Mr. Jackson’s life, addiction and death. Also, because of Dr. Poncy’s extensive work with addicts, I was curious to hear about how Mr. Jackson’s wealth and power might have played a role in his active addiction while living and his subsequent death.

I was surprised to find Dr. Poncy to be this handsome, laidback, intelligent, “cool” kind of a guy — very unassuming and confident with out being like “Hey, I’m a doctor little girl, back off and let me tell you how it is.” It’s so funny because journalists are usually such arrogant pricks. We come off as these cross-grained, overly educated, verbally-on-crack, recalcitrant puffed-up-jerks. Most of us are alcoholics or Domestic Violence People, or worse. It’s ever-so ironic that we have these sweeping judgments of sources before we even meet them. When we can barely get out of bed in the morning. Sad. Anyway, Poncy was fascinating. Thank God.

We first began talking about Mr. Jackson’s alleged, daily “cocktail” of drugs, including, according to The London Sun, a mixture of opiates, benzodiazepines, and barbiturates such as Oxyxontin Vicodin, Dilaudid, Xanax, Zoloft, Demerol, Vistaril, Paxil, and Prilosec. Dr. Poncy’s take was two-fold: someone taking that mixture with an unknown dosage of pills on a daily basis is probably not just suffering from a pain condition, if even suffering from a pain condition at all. Instead they're probably self-medicating some kind of an underlying mood disorder. “Because Michael Jackson was said to also suffer from an eating disorder or some kind of self-image disorder…he may have even been suffering from bi-polar disorder…that’s when this all gets much, much more complicated. He will have gone through periods of time when he absolutely hated himself and hated the way he looked. This is when his addiction would spike and he would be ingesting even more and more medications in higher and higher dosages.” Dr. Poncy went on to explain that addicts with underlying mood disorders are often drawn to opiates because it gives them a “therapeutic window” where they feel a wave of calm. “The challenge with this type of so-called therapeutic window, of course,” says Poncy, “is that window becomes narrower and narrower and the appearance of the window because less and less frequent. Thereby the addict has to up the dosage and increase the frequency.”

I asked Dr. Poncy about the role of Mr. Jackson’s wealth and power.

“Ah. That’s where it gets very, very tricky. That’s where the ‘private doctor’ becomes the pawn or the so-called conduit — some even say ‘dealer’ — I want to be clear here … not all private doctors but a lot of them. It was a similar situation with the rapper Eminem. When a professional ballplayer, movie star, singer/songwriter … an icon of any form who can afford a private doctor, that wealthy icon essentially begins administering his own care. I believe the converse of a ‘private doctor,’ a respected doctor with a private practice, affiliated with a respectable hospital … if a client asks him for a hefty shot of Demerol at 10 o’clock in the morning with no guarantees of what that client has taken on his own accord earlier in the day … he’d be less inclined to administer that shot. That’s just the way it goes.”

Other physicians I spoke to — 100 percent without exception — agreed with Dr. Poncy’s theory on this and I spoke to 11 physicians, one a private doctor himself! (Which was a little odd, to be frank.)

There is no question that Mr. Jackson’s death brought a tragic end to a long, bizarre, sometimes farcical decline from his peak in the 1980s, when he was popular music’s premier all-around performer. He was a uniter of black and white music who shattered the race barrier on MTV, dominated the charts and dazzled even more on stage. His 1982 album “Thriller” — which included the blockbuster hits “Beat It,” “Billie Jean” and “Thriller” — is the best-selling album of all time, with an estimated 50 million copies sold worldwide.

Steven Spielberg told Entertainment Tonight over the weekend that “Michael Jackson’s talent, his wonderment and his mystery made him legend.” Justin Timberlake, one of today’s most popular music icons, who many say mimics many of The King of Pop’s moves, was quoted saying: “We have lost a genius and a true ambassador of not only Pop music, but of all music.” Quincy Jones, who produced “Thriller”capped the many quotes with: “Taken away from us so suddenly at such a young age, I just don’t have the words … He was the consummate entertainer and his contributions and legacy will be felt upon the world forever. I’ve lost my little brother today, and part of my soul has gone with him.”

Which brings up the question: Was it a tragic error, or an overdose? If it was indeed an overdose, was it accidental or by desire...subconscious or mercy-killing?

I asked Dr. Poncy if he were to headline this article what would the title be? He promptly replied: “Michael Jackson: Put To Sleep.” He further explained that when vets put down dogs or cats they essentially “overdose” the animals with a shot of opiates, barbiturates — or a combination of the two — and the dog will die comfortably in his sleep. I asked Dr. Poncy about Dr. Kevorkian — the man famed for assisting terminally ill patients commit suicide. Poncy explained that prescient to the Jackson case, if it were indeed the case, Kevorkian never “put his own patients ‘to sleep.' He simply set up the three IVs with the three tubes of ‘medications’ and allowed the ‘patient’ to press the one button that would trigger the drip causing a completely painless process of ‘putting the patient to sleep.’”

Perhaps Michael Jackson did not want to do the grueling, physically exhausting 50-show “final” concert tour. After all, he was recently photographed being pushed in a wheelchair by his eldest sun with his face covered by a surgical mask. He was rumored to, once again, be in failing health. It was clear he wanted to go out with a bang but we all construed from that … that he wanted to “go out” with a “professional” bang. Did he have something else in mind? The 1 million tickets to his last hurrah had sold out in 5 hours. The pressure was on. Did he want – subconsciously or not – another way to go?

My First Night in LA Hear Me Roar!

2008-03-09T09:34:00.001-07:00

It’s my first solo night in Los Angeles and I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself. You see my VP of Operations, Dave O’Hanlon, who accompanied me on my cross-country voyage caught a terrible cold on our way West, so he rightfully chose to stay in bed. I, however, decided to forage slightly north up Lincoln Boulevard toward Santa Monica’s Third Street Promenade for a quick look at the new Apple Store and a glimmer of hope for a movie at 5 o’clock.

I hate crowds so I chose “Michael Clayton.” This was my thinking: It’s a movie that has been out for more than a bit – and disappointed at the Academy Awards. Good sign, I thought. I was encouraged even more when the pony-tailed blond with creamy sky-blue-eye-shadow working the ticket counter told me with a smile: “Honey, the theater’s empty.”

Whatever.

I bought a ticket and hunkered down with my Sugar-Free Red Bull.

“Michael Clayton,” the movie, I loved it. The theater was horrible … freezing; I felt like I was trapped in the factory warehouse in “Rocky.” And the plot? The stratagem was maudlin and dull. I had seen it umpteen times before.

But Ahh! The performances! The performances! Clooney, Pollack, Wilkinson and Swinton. Suddenly, I realized how much this film benefited from its serendipitous casting. Switch out those four muses, and the energy and tension might have just evaporated. But it didn’t – not for me.

Tilda Swinton, whom I had not seen before was as cold and clinical as the picture needed her to be. In one pivotal scene, Swinton can be seen rehearsing the lies she will give in an interview to which Sidney Pollack needs her “step-up.” First-time director Tony Gilroy helps blur the line between fiction and fact by interspersing her practiced speech with the actual media cross-examination. It's one of those crisp interactions Gilroy uses throughout the film to wring deeper meaning out of what could have been a simple scene. Swinton won the 2008 “Best Supporting Actress” Academy Award for her performance. No surprise, there.

The plot itself centers around Arthur Edens (Tom Wilkinson,) a treasured friend of Clayton’s, a bipolar victim who has stopped taking his pills and now glows with reckless zeal and conviction. Edens is by far the most brilliant lawyer in the firm; he is the lead attorney in the $3 billion class-action suit filed against U/North -- the company that is being sued by salt-of-the-earth farmers because of a germ killer U/North used despite knowing it was hazardous to people's health. The issue … or “challenge” as Clayton espouses, is that the brilliant Edens simply cannot stay on his meds. If it were only that simple.

Let’s just say the story is about the lawsuit without really being about the lawsuit, if that makes sense. The picture, after all, isn't titled U/North, correct?

The bottom line is that the real tension in the film comes from Clayton’s zeal to go toe to toe with U/North's steely in-house chief counsel (Swinton) and his race against the clock to pull together the unraveling threads of a massive conglomerate's tapestry of lies.

"Clayton" is a resonant throwback with deep roots in the political thrillers of the 1970s: slick, smart and saturated in dramatic paranoia. A brainy pastiche of set-ups, pay-offs, company malfeasance and revenge in absorbing shades of grey.

Finally a film that doesn’t just make you think; it makes you feel.

Kate in LA: A New Adventure Begins

2008-03-09T09:33:00.000-07:00

I've got some big news. I'M MOVING! After launching my first show "Kate's take" just fourteen months ago up at the beach on Hillsboro Mile and yes after sweating bullets shooting outside in the soggy stifling Florida summer I decided last Fall to move the show inside to bring you the more sophisticated "WatercoolerDiaries". Well, after reporting umpteen health reports, boxing in the ring, fishing, cooking, skydiving and swimming with the dolphins, I decided to make my move. Yes I'm off to find my dreams on the West Coast – Los Angeles! Santa Monica to be exact. The new show? It's to be titled ... "KateInLA!" We plan to launch sometime this Spring. Please stay tuned for regular blog updates!

Skiing in Vail!

2008-02-22T22:47:00.001-08:00

Gas-pumping Robot

2008-02-12T21:28:00.000-08:00

Some of you may remember the good old days when there were still full-service gas stations, where a neatly dressed, smiling attendant would pump your gas for you with a smile. There are still a few places where this is still the case, like if you stop in a remote section of New Jersey, but for the most part self-service gas stations are the norm. Well, if you’re taking a trip to the Netherlands any time soon and stop to fill up your tank, you may encounter quite a different type of person filling up your tank – one made of metal with computer chips and lots of wires…yes, a robot.

A group of Dutch inventors recently unveiled a $111,100 car-fuelling robot. They claim it’s the first of its kind.

This high tech robot works by registering the car as it pulls up to the pump and matching it to a database of fuel cap designs and fuel types. A robotic arm fitted with multiple sensors then extends from a regular gas pump. It carefully opens the car’s flap, unscrews the fuel cap, grabs the fuel nozzle and sticks it inside the tank. It basically works much like a human arm would, and the inventors claim, it’s just as efficient.

The robot’s developer and owner of the gas station putting it to work, Nico van Staveren, says the got the idea for this invention when he was on a farm and saw a robotic arm milking a cow. He thought, “If a robot can do that then why can’t it fill a car tank.” He figured that drivers, and gas pumping attendants, shouldn’t have to get their hands dirty or smell the gas on their bodies.

Staveren hopes to introduce his robot, called the “Tankpitstop” to several Dutch stations by the end of the year.

The only limitation is that the robot can’t fill the tank of a car whose contours and dimensions aren’t recorded in its database. It if tries, it could scratch the car. The robot also doesn’t work on tanks that have locks on them.

Okay, so say these Dutch stations install this gas-pumping robot. Will anyone actually want to use it? One Dutchman filling his black Alfa Romeo near Staveren’s station said, “Why not? I guess I could keep my hands free and clean, but I’d hope they have good insurance.” He makes a good point!

The Beatles in Space!

2008-02-10T18:51:00.000-08:00

This week NASA sent a transmission of The Beatles 1968 song "Across the Universe" shooting into space towards residents of the Polaris star system. But those residents – if there are any – won't be getting the message for 431 years. So why'd they do it? To commemorate the 40 anniversary of the song's recording and NASA's 50th birthday.

NASA, with help from friends at Spain's space agency, beamed an MP3 of the four-minute song from a giant space antenna near Madrid where it began its long road to Polaris – also known as the North Star – which is about 2.5 quadrillion miles away. But before NASA could send The Beatles’ song into space they had to get permission.

Martin Lewis, a Low Angeles-based Beatles Historian, got the OK from former Beatle Paul McCartney, John Lennon's widow Yoko Ono and the two companies that own the rights to The Beatles' music. According to an Associate Press report, one of the companies, Apple Records, said that it was happy to approve the song for this transmission because it is "always looking for new markets."

The date of the “Beatles in space launch” had a few more significant dates attached to it. It also marked the 50th anniversary of Explorer 1, the first US satellite and the founding 45 years ago of the Deep Space Network, a system of antennas across the globe that transmits and receives signals from distant stars.

The event may, however, turn out to be simply an exercise in posterity, since there is a good chance The Beatles' music will never reach alien ears – assuming they even have any!

To pick up the signal NASA sent the citizens of Polaris would have to have an antenna and receiver. These alien listeners would also need the technology to decrypt the mp3 format. And all this, of course, hinges on there actually being anyone on Polaris.

Despite the obstacles, those involved are optimistic. The diligent Beatles' historian Mr. Lewis told The Guardian "We don't know if there's life out there, but I'd like to think the US government wouldn't be spending taxpayers' money of this if there was no hope.

Even if all those things I mentioned before do work out and there actually are extra terrestrial beings listening, we can’t expect a reply for a long, long, long time. Well exactly when you ask. In the words of NASA scientists.. not for a "long, long, long” time.

Polaris, aka the North Star, is situated at the end of the handle of the little dipper. As I said before about 2.5 quadrillion miles away. Traveling at light speed, the signal will take 431 years to reach the star and at least that long for a response to get back to us. So we're looking at about 862 years!!!

So what does former Beatle Paul McCartney, the last living member of the band, think about this whole project. He dashed off a short, handwritten letter to NASA before the launch saying: "Amazing! Well done, NASA! Send my love to the aliens. All the best, Paul."

Physicians for Peace

2008-02-08T23:30:00.000-08:00

People always ask me, how do you get your story ideas? I realize I cover a wide range of topics so it’s an appropriate question. The short answer is I am endlessly curious and I try to engage in life as much as I can. I’ll give you an example, an old friend of mine, a hugely talented entrepreneur named Court Coursey, invited me up to a dinner party in Palm Beach. Before dinner, a group of us walked down the street to a cocktail party where I had no idea what to expect. Low and behold a man stands up and begins to make a presentation. His name is Ron Sconyers and he’s the Chief Executive Officer of an organization called Physicians for Peace. I perched on the side of a chair in the living room and listened intently while various members of Physicians for Peace delivered short presentations. I thought what a terrific organization! And so here I am.

Physicians for Peace bills itself as an international humanitarian non-profit medical education organization.

So … what does that mean? When the CEO stood up he provided a parable "if you give a man a fish you can feed him for a day. If you teach a man how to fish? You can feed him for a lifetime." Basically they’re not just coming in and helping people. They are teaching them how to help themselves. This idea is what separates them from other similar non-profits like Doctors Without Boarders.

The MISSION STATEMENT at Physicians for Peace is to further the cause of world peace and international goodwill by providing quality medical education and care to those in need. To date, they’ve completed programs in 50 different countries. How it works is they’ll send in a team of medical volunteers who specialize in the areas of care the country needs most. These teams will stay from one to six weeks.

During that time they train local medical professionals and begin all sorts of medical programs, which the host countries sustain and replicate. They also, however, offer their expertise by treating the people, reshaping eye sockets, correcting urinary and genital defects, fitting prosthetic limbs, repairing burn scars and clef palates. They’ve even done open-heart surgery and performed a range of cancer therapies.

Physicians for Peace was legally founded in 1989 by internationally recognized humanitarian Dr. Charles E. Horton, Sr., on the principle that those who desire to heal owe allegiance to no one country, ethnicity or creed. And that’s where the “peace” mentioned in their name fits into the equation.

They have medical volunteers from diverse cultures and opposing sides of ethnic and international conflicts working side by side, fostering this idea of a community that transcends race or culture. A few examples: Physicians for Peace have united teams of doctors from Iran and Iraq, Turkey and Greece, the Philippines and Japan…and, yes, even Palestine and Israel.

What’s got these volunteers from places facing bitter divides and even violence working so well together? A dyer need. The developing world carries 90 percent of the global disease burden yet has only 10 percent of the medical resources, this according to the United Nations Foundation. And most of these diseases are curable…we’ve had the treatment since the 1950s.

I was hit by the reality of this need that night in Palm Beach when a doctor whose specialty is OBGYN. She stood up and told us that 1 in every 12 women die in child birth in Liberia. About 1 in every 6,000 women dies in childbirth here in the US. WOW, I thought. She went on to share her story of traveling to Liberia and teaching everything from midwifery to actual birthing procedures. But what struck me was the ending line of her presentation: “If you heal someone, you help one person. If you teach someone to heal, you help many." It was incredibly moving.

To learn more about Physicians for Peace check out their web site….www.physiciansforpeace.org/

Born Rich Baby!

2008-02-06T11:48:00.000-08:00

This is a bit of a segue, but today I wanted to talk about a website titled BornRich.org. I stumbled upon BornRich.org while perusing PC Magazine’s Top 100 Websites. They bill themselves as “BornRich is an Instablogs Network site. Its sole aim is to help you spend all your hard-earned money on the snootiest thingmagig around. Our people are working around the clock to find ways to empty your wallet and make you bankrupt.”

With the subprime fiasco? We need more forces to make people bankrupt? Well we’re not just talking about people, apparently we’re talking about BORNRICH … people

Here are some of the highlights that I found!

My favorite? The Sigzilla telephoto zoom lens, it’s one sexy beast! This uber-telescope/huge telephoto zoom lens, which involves a necessary Li-ion battery to provide power for focusing and zooming, is a MUST HAVE! Price tag? 25 grand!

NEXT UP!

The Indoor Shooting system … let’s you get trigger happy at home!

To make all your unfulfilled gun-wielding fantasies come true, check out the N Range Indoor Shooting System. Stick a picture of your boss/wife/mother-in-law’s head over the aim, and you’re good to go! The Standard version retails for $1,300 and the Executive version goes for $3,500. Makes a better mental health investment than a nosey shrink – any day!

Perhaps you don’t want to shoot your boss? The alternative to NOT going to jail, the Gorgeous Walk-In Humidor for true cigar connoisseurs.

Developed by the legendary Swiss humidor maestros Michel Perrenoud, S.A., the home humidor is perfect for a living room or smoking cellar installation. Though primarily conceptualized for hotels and cigar bars which feature separate smoking rooms, the home humidor gives you and your family the peace and quiet their separate lifestyles require. Needless to say you? You’ll have to dish out precisely $82,383 plus installation and international shipping. Cigar Rehab anyone?

Perhaps you’re interested in something more soothing and serene? The Silverfish Aquarium might just be the final frontier for watching your fish swim about… and the warmth and comfort that implicitly provides!

Have you given up on filling what your shrink calls the “hole in your soul” … well perhaps the $94,000 diamond-studded cell phone courtesy of Softbank and Tiffany is the answer to your loneliness and fear!

Following what THEY call contemporary trends, the Softbank Mobile, Japan, has announced a diamond-studded phone, finished jointly with renowned American jeweler Tiffany. The sparkling handset is jeweled with more than 400 diamonds totaling over 20 carats, which will be based on third-generation (3G) model and up for grabs for around $94,000. The hot luxury phone is a part of 15 new handsets lineup that will hit the market from February onwards. Oooohhh! Just in time for Valentine’s Day!

* * * * *

Next up … is your laptop … just not BLING enough? Check out the … Zeus enclose PCs in platinum, gold, diamond cases
Zeus Computers, Tokyo is out there with a line of luxury PCs enclosed in ornamented cases encrusted with precious metals and diamonds. It is not just an asset for celebs and well-off people, the hot luxury line of computers, including $760,000 pure platinum ‘Jupiter’ model and $570,000 solid gold ‘Mars’ model

I will close with a most outlandish choice … and I include it for a man who is near and dear to my heart! I present a giant triceratops skeleton … which will be auctioned off at Christie’s in Paris this spring.

It’s a giant triceratops skeleton and it is expected to sell for $736,000. This dinosaur has been immortalized in Spielberg’s Jurassic Park. A giant shark teeth and a sabre-toothed tiger skull will be also up for auction. The auction is scheduled for April 14. It’s the very first time in Christie’s history that such a dinosaur specimen goes up for public sale since a T-Rex called ‘Sue’ was sold in New York in October 1997.

The four-legged triceratops dates back between 65 and 67 million years, measures 7.5 meters (nearly 25-foot-long) in length and has a large bony frill and three horns. There are 150 items in total up for bids, including fossils, skeletons and minerals. A sabre-toothed tiger cranium is anticipated to fetch 45,000 Euros while a fossilized giant shark teeth from 23 to 5.3 million years ago is valued at 4,000 Euros. Other than that, a tyrannosaurus egg is expected to sell for between 20,000 and 25,000 Euros while an apatosaurus dinosaur tibia from the Jurassic Period has been valued at 30,000 Euros. What are you going to buy to impress your guests?

Go to www.bornrich.org to check it all out!

Rat out Your Neighbors Dot Com

2008-02-04T22:31:00.000-08:00

Today on our Entrepreneur of the Month segment we will be looking at an enterprising man who’s banked on an age-old practice: gossiping about your neighbors. His new web site Rottenneighbor.com has become an instant success across the nation with 1 million hits each day.

Basically, as creator Brant Walker put it – his is a site that allows potential homebuyers and renters to see just what kind of neighbors they’d be getting if they moved in. All you have to do is type an address into the search bar on the home page. The location is then patched through in a Google Earth map and voila!! You can read stuff that’s been posted about the people in your neighborhood. Anyone can post anonymous comments, video and pictures about their neighbors. These show up on the map as either a green house – for good comments – or a bright red house – for bad neighbors.

Walker, a 27-year-old businessman from San Diego, got the idea for Rottenneighbor.com after a bad neighbor experience of his own. He and his girlfriend moved into a new apartment, and they soon noticed a rotten smelling coming from their neighbor’s place. Had they known what their neighbors were like, the couple wouldn’t have moved in. That’s when he thought…hmmm, “there should be some sort of service to let you know about your neighbors.”

Funded by investors and supported by Google advertising, Rottennighbor.com is developing additional features such as a social network where people can create a profile for free, add friends and send messages…a la Myspace.

But the real draw is the comments, which are often brutally honest and just plain funny. Here are a few of my favorites… “These are the dirtiest and most ignorant people I have ever met. Their house looks like a landfill," reads a post about a home in Kissimmee, Florida.

Another anonymous poster from New York has this to say about his neighbor in a home just off Parke Avenue: “Super rich Billionaire on the block has two or more Escalades parked illegally at all times making it impossible to park.” And finally a poster in Los Angeles who complains, "These people are snoopers. They snoop into other peoples yards as they walk there dog.”

Despite some biting posts, Walker says the Web site is providing an important service by helping people choose a place to live. Some, however, aren’t convinced. Critics say the posts could affect home values and invade people’s privacy. But Walker points out that he is legally protected by the Communications Decency Act of 1996. He’s also set up a system for removing “offensive” posts or comments that violate the terms and conditions of the site.

Despite the skeptics, Walker’s Rottennighbor.com has 1 million hits a day with people from New York, Los Angeles and Chicago among its most active users. He says there is even a reality television show in the works, based on the problems posted on the site.

Walker says the web site’s popularity is no coincidence. Even with the obvious pitfalls, he is confident that it’s helping potential buyers and renters and creating better neighbors since they can be held accountable for their actions.

After researching this piece…I was curious about what people were saying in my neighborhood. Were my neighbors saying anything about me? I decided to plug in my address and find out.

So far there are no posts in my neighborhood yet. Maybe I’ll be the first to comment. Go to rottenneighbor.com to see what people are saying about your neighbors!

Death or Vaccinations?

2008-01-31T10:40:00.000-08:00

My managing editor, Rachael, travels out of the country a lot with her job. She went to a travel immunization company here in Boca Raton this week to get the shots she’d need to venture to some of the poorest countries on the globe – Ethiopia and Haiti.

Seven vaccinations, a whole lot of paperwork and two very sore arms later she called me with some striking news.

“You’ll never guess how many people don’t get shots that could save their lives!!!”

I suspected she was talking about the virtually non-existent immunization system in many developing countries whose people are, as a result, plagued by such preventable diseases as measles and typhoid. But, it turned out she was talking about the U.S.

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, up to 5,000 Americans die every year from a disease that can be prevented by vaccination. There are 17 diseases that can be prevented through vaccinations, and several of these…including three fairly new ones licensed since 2005, are recommended specifically for the adult years. But the CDC’s recent National Immunization Survey shows that very low percentages of adults are actually getting these shots that prevent deadly disease.
What’s strange is that routine immunization of children in the U.S. is the norm. The long list of vaccines most children get in their early years has saved thousands of lives and prevented millions of cases of disease. The same could be the case with adults. But as Dr. Anne Schuchat, director of the CDC’s National Center for Immunization and Respiratory Diseases, points out, “New data show there are not yet very many adults taking full advantage of the great advancements in prevention that have been made in the past few years.”

The CDC’s recent National Immunization Survey revealed some startling numbers. Only 2.1 percent of adults 18 to 64 are immunized against tetanus-diphtheria-whooping cough. Only 1.9 percent of people 60 and over got the vaccine to prevent shingles…, a disease of which there are more than 1 million new cases in the U.S each year. And vaccine coverage for the prevention of HPV, a three-series shot that prevents several kinds of cervical cancer among women 18 to 26, is about 10 percent. Even the highly publicized influenza and pneumococcal vaccination rates for older people are well below the 90 percent target rates.

Perhaps more jarring than these numbers are the results of another recent national survey done by the National Foundation of Infections Diseases. It showed most adults cannot name more than a couple of diseases in adults that can be prevented by a vaccine, only about 3 to 18 percent could do it. Also disturbing was that half of those surveyed said they are not concerned about whether they or another family member gets a vaccine-preventable disease. Respondents actually expressed the most concern about getting influenza. Doctors say this is because this is the vaccine-preventable disease people hear about the most.

So just what vaccines are adults supposed to get? The list is quite extensive: chickenpox, diphtheria, hepatitis A and B, human papillomavirus (the cervical cancer shot), influenza, measles, meningococcal disease, mumps, whooping cough, pneumococcal disease, rubella, shingles and tetanus.

It sounds like a lot but when you consider the alternative it’s hard to see why people don’t just get their shots. Combined, the infectious diseases I mentioned earlier kill MORE Americans annually than either breast cancer, HIV/AIDS or traffic accidents.

The Willpower Myth

2008-01-28T11:00:00.000-08:00

January has traditionally been heralded as the month of new beginnings – a time when hundreds of thousands of people set out to change their lives for the better. “I’ll lose 10 pounds…quit smoking…eat better…go to the gym”…They all start with good intentions but by mid February end up falling horribly short.

If this has ever happened to you, you’ve probably found yourself thinking…as everyone else does...“Gee, if only I had tried a little bit harder. If only I had a little stronger willpower I could have done it.” Well, it turns out that this kind of thinking is dead wrong. When researchers examine the actual mechanism of change – they find something much different.

This is the hypothesis set out by Alan Deutschman, the author of the book "Change or Die: The Three Keys to Change at Work and in Life" which hit bookshelves this month. Deutschman set out to get to the bottom of whatever it is that makes people and business realize a drastic change, even in the face of multiple failures. What he found is that people don’t use willpower to “unstuck” themselves from a vice. Instead it’s a relationship with a person or a group who shows them the way – an emotional relationship – one that inspires hope and belief.

Deutschman was convinced that something besides willpower had to be the catalyst for change after hearing some startling statistics from a doctor from Johns Hopkins University while at a conference. Nine out of 10 heart bypass patients fail to make the lifestyle changes necessary to save their lives!! Though the pain was so terrible they could barely walk, his patients couldn’t stop smoking or eating steaks and they didn’t start going to the gym. Instead they endured multiple bypass surgeries — which are painful and cost more than $100,000. For these people, the mantra “Change or Die” was quite literally the case and most chose the latter.

So, if people dying from clogged arteries can’t be motivated to change their life, where does that leave the rest of us? Deutschman asked that same thing when he stumbled across a doctor in San Francisco. Dean Ornish was turning those numbers on their heads. Ornish had his patients, many of them steak-eating CEO’s, sticking to a low-fat vegetarian diet and doing regular yoga and meditation. Even after they completed his one-year program most of his patients stuck with their dramatic lifestyle changes.

Deutschman found that the key to these changes wasn’t willpower – it was relating. The first of something he calls the “Three R's to Transformation.” When these CEOs had to attend support groups and classes twice a week, they were surrounded by other steak-eating, work-a-holic CEOs who had changed their diet and their life. When they saw their peers could do it, they too were able to make changes and stick with them.

The second R in Deutschman’s road to successful change is repeating. Once you’ve formed a relationship with a mentor or a group you need to acquire the skills necessary to change and keep practicing, repeating them until they feel natural.

The final component to Deutschman’s three-step plan for change is reframing. Basically, changing the way you think. For example, if you’re a work-a-holic, you won’t be able to relax more until you accept that not working 70 hours a week doesn’t make you lazy or unproductive and that it actually will help you work better.

So why does all this work? Well, as Deutschman put it, “So often we think that change is impossible, that people don’t change, that we can’t change. But you can’t argue with a living breathing person in front of you who has done it, and modeling yourself on them is the best way to do the same.”

Yoga for the Face

2008-01-13T21:05:00.000-08:00

For years yoga has been touted as a way to tone your body, calm your mind and improve your health. Now a handful of yogis from posh health clubs in places such as New York and Atlanta, claim it could take years off your face. Though doctors and some yoga instructors aren’t buying it, this new trend has swept up a lot of devotees.

At the front of this trend is Annelise Hagen … the Brooklyn-based yoga instructor behind “The Yoga Face." Her recently published book that explains her anti-aging regimen that promises to eliminate wrinkles and tone the muscles above the neck through – as described by the New York Post – a series of eye-popping, tongue-wagging, jaw-dropping moves.

Hagen, who’s taught yoga for more than 10 years and facial rejuvenation yoga for the last three, claims that if you start doing a few minutes of facial yoga a day, in six months you’ll have tighter, more refined skin. In a year’s time, you’ll look like you had a good face-lift. Want to sculpt and narrow your nose? Alternate breathing out of each nostril. Have crow's-feet? Open your eyes wide to smooth the lines. As pale as a glass of milk? A few downward dog poses can add color to the complexion while oxygenating the skin.

So how does this to-good-to-be-true aging solution and plastic surgery alternative work? Partly drawn from vocal training techniques used by actors, it combines facial exercises, body poses and breathing methods to detoxify the skin and lift the face naturally – without knives and needles. The aim is to tap into the 57 muscles in the face, neck and scalp and tone them.
Face yoga falls into a branch of yoga called Revita-Yoga…which basically combines yoga and facial exercises to combat wrinkles, frown lines and sagging. But like most exercises, it takes times to see the results of a face yoga workout. According to Hagen, about six classes and some homework will bring on serious results.

If this all sounds a little too good to be true – it may be because it isn’t. That’s according to doctors who specialize in skin or facial physiology. While they agree that it relaxes practitioners, they find it unlikely that it could rejuvenate the face. Some yoga gurus are skeptical, too. Rodney Yee, a well-known yoga instructor from East Hampton, New York, said ''We've not discovered the fountain of youth…Yoga will add radiance to your face and relax you, which will make you look younger, but to just focus on the face is too specific and sounds more like a marketing ploy.''

Despite the skepticism, hundreds of people are trying out the Three-Stooges-esq facial positions in hope of erasing frown lines and tightening their cheeks. Curious? Here are a few of the positions to try yourself.

For more information on Hagen’s book and face yoga check out her Web site…www.yogaface.net.

Technical Difficulties! What a Day!

2008-01-10T10:59:00.000-08:00

So...what a day! Whew! I spent all night trying to upload KBTV's next piece and no matter what I tried it didn't work. Technology is such a blessing...and a curse! Especially when it doesn't work. Sometimes I've learned that you have to just let go, so I'm writing this to tell everyone I'm letting go...at least for today. My KBTVonline staff tell me everything should be up and running by Saturday! So please be patient!

Bill Gates Gives Farewell Keynote Speech!

2008-01-07T10:12:00.000-08:00

Bill Gates delivered his last keynote at the Consumer Electronics Show on Sunday night as a full-time employee of what used to be the world's most influential technology company to date. I decided to attend, last minute.

Industry movers and shakers and journalists lined up for nearly two hours in advance to hear his message and listen with rapt attention. Gates wore a purple shirt and a lavender sweater. He delivered an impression that for me anyway is a very well worn path – a self-deprecating, likeable geek persona.

For me, it felt a little old – as I’ve been in this business for 15 years – but for others? Who knows? You see Gates steps down from day-to-day work at Microsoft later this year to concentrate on philanthropic work full-time.

Gates’ CES farewell address was 70 minutes – but he left nearly half of it to a subordinate to break the major news, a clear sign that the day when he and Microsoft were the same thing … well, it’s come to an end.

Robbie Bach, President of Microsoft's Entertainment and Devices division, announced some strategic new partnerships. For the hugely successful Xbox 360 gaming console, Bach announced TV programs from ABC Television and Disney Channel, along with movies from MGM's Legends collection of classic films, will join Xbox Live programs available for download directly from the console.

Gates himself broke the news that Microsoft's MSN Internet site will partner with NBC Univision in covering the Beijing Olympics next August, offering up to 20 simultaneous live video streams of events that can be watched on demand, over 3,000 hours of content in all. It will be the most prevalent use of broadband TV ever covering a major event. Hello. That’s news. Why didn’t they lead with that?

Just a quick note here on the whole Zune thing? A friend of mine who is a distribution guy tells me that there are TONS of Zunes on the market. Stay tuned!

Watch Out Perfectionists for New Year's Resolutions!

2008-01-01T06:40:00.000-08:00

So...have you prepared your list of New Year’s Resolutions? Would you actually like me to share with you the success rate for these resolutions of hope, sobriety, wealth and skinniness? It’s low – really low – according to the likes of Dr. Phil and Oprah. Less than 10%.

Hey we all want to take off those last 10 pounds, quit smoking, join a gym, and be better friends and lovers. Many of us put way too much pressure on ourselves – myself included. And this is good. We should hold ourselves to a high standard – right? Well, how high is TOO high?

Several recent studies stand as a warning against taking the platitudes of achievement too seriously. The new research focuses on a familiar type – yes, perfectionists – who tip over or blow a fuse when things don’t turn out just so.

According to The New York Times, the findings not only confirm that these perfectionist types are often at risk for mental distress — as Freud, Alder and others have predicted — but also suggest that perfectionism is a valuable lens through which to understand a variety of seemingly unrelated mental difficulties, from depression to compulsive behavior to addiction.

According to the experts cited in The Times, perfectionists can be divided into three types. I believe I fall into the first category; self-oriented strivers who struggle to live up to their high standards and appear to be at risk of self-critical depression. That would be me! Next are the perfectionists who are outwardly focused zealots expecting perfection from others. Often they ruin relationships – we all know those types. Finally there are those desperate to live up to an ideal they’re convinced others expect of them. These perfectionists have a notable risk factor for suicidal thinking and eating disorders.

Unlike people who are given psychiatric labels such as manic-depressive, bi-polar, borderline personality disorder, etc., perfectionists neither battle the stigma of a label nor consider themselves to be dysfunctional. Alice Provost, an employee assistance counselor at the University of California, Davis recently ran group therapy sessions for staff members struggling with perfectionist impulses. To her surprise she said that the people in the sessions were actually proud of it. Proud of their perfectionism!

Provost also emphasizes that American culture puts such a high gloss on being perfect – exhibited by how we love to intermittently revere and demonize celebrities such as Brittney Spears. We gleefully watch the Brittney of Diet Pepsi fame soar to the most popular songstress ever to having a social worker accompany her on supervised visits with her children and go in and out of rehab. This whip-saw voyeurism made more popular by snarky blogs such as Gawker and the rack of old-fashioned tabloids like the National Enquirer. It all turns the heat up on a culture – our culture, American culture – creating a world of perfectionism run amok.

Consider a recent study by psychologists at the Curtin University of Technology. The researchers asked 252 participants to fill out questionnaires rating their level of agreement with 16 statements like “I think of myself as either in control or out of control” and “I either get on very well with people or not at all.”

The more strongly participants in the study thought in this either-or fashion, the more likely they were to display the kind of extreme perfectionism that can lead to mental health distress. The conclusion being that falling short somehow suggests a kind of mediocrity that increasing permeates how they view nearly EVERYTHING in their lives.

This is why Provost warns that perfectionists often display symptoms of obsessive compulsive disorder, for instance, does your iPhone, blackberry and razor phone ALWAYS have to be fully charged? Mine do. Another risk for perfectionists? They simply cannot bear a messy desk. For me, it’s my whiteboard.

According to Provost it's nearly impossible to leave a job half-done, to do the next day. Some put in ludicrously long hours redoing tasks, chasing an ideal only they could see.

So … getting back to those New Year’s Resolutions, perhaps we should ask of ourselves the more internal or psychological or spiritual changes in ourselves in 2008. A list that begins with something as simple as spontaneity and living in the moment. Reaching out to someone less fortunate at least once a day. Making a conscious effort to not tell white lies. Taking personal responsibility and apologizing when we’re wrong. Being more authentic in our relationships or just simply living a more honest life. Yes, an authentic, transparent, AUTHENTIC life.

Christmas Miracles! Nicole's Story ...

2007-12-28T04:06:00.000-08:00

In my last blog I shared the story of Maggie Schoenfeld, a 9-year-old from Boynton Beach, Florida, who has an aggressive case of Leukemia. Though she has many long days before her as she prepares for a bone marrow transplant she’s not facing it alone. Hundreds of people from her hometown have come together to show their support. The local police station where her dad works has raised more than $30,000 for the family through fundraisers where they’ve shaved their heads, served food and even posed for a pinup calendar. Even complete strangers have been compelled to help Maggie, attending fundraisers and sending cards.

But today's story is about Nicole Bennet – another Christmas miracle. It all began at a recent fundraiser held for Maggie at Panera Bread. It was here that Nicole Bennet and her mother Brenda, who didn’t even know Maggie but came to show their support after they heard her story, got some help of their own.

Just three days after her 16th birthday, Nicole was in a terrible car accident. That was five years ago, but her mom Brenda always remembers it as they day her daughter died. After paramedics pulled Nicole from the wreckage of her little convertible they struggled to resuscitate her.

Two motorcycle cops brought Brenda to her daughter’s side at the hospital. She remembers the stitches that stretched up and down the left side of her daughter’s face. The accident had severely damaged Nicole’s brain. Doctors told her that she’d be a vegetable for the rest of her life if she even made it through the night. She made it.

Nicole spent four weeks in the hospital’s trauma unit. There was no expression on her face. No life. She suffered complete memory loss. She didn’t speak for six months. But her mother never stopped hoping…never stopped working with her to make her better.

Now five years later, Nicole, 21, is surpassing all of her doctors’ expectations and defying science as she continues to remember and improve. She’s been back to high school and she now works as Panera Bread – her first real paying job since the accident.

I asked Nicole’s Mom Brenda about the progress of her recovery. Is it leaps and bounds? Incremental?Baby steps? She told me the good news is that Nicole has yet to hit a plateau.

So is it coincidence or faith that Nicole went to Maggie’s fundraiser at Panera?

I’ve always believed that deep down everyone wants to do something to help someone else…to make an impact on the world that’s larger than themselves. I think that feeling kicks into overdrive during the holiday season as you hear dozens of stories about people reaching out to help those in need. Maybe that’s because, like the bright holiday lights that dot the nation this time of year symbolizing hope and life in the dead of winter, everyone wants to believe in miracles. When you have enough faith… the unexpected can happen.

Christmas Miracles! Maggie's Story ...

2007-12-25T20:50:00.000-08:00

I’ve always believed that deep down everyone wants to do something to help someone else to make an impact on the world that’s larger than themselves. I think that feeling kicks into overdrive during the holiday season as you hear dozens of stories about people reaching out to help those in need. Maybe that’s because, like the bright holiday lights that dot the nation this time of year symbolizing hope and life in the dead of winter, everyone wants to believe in miracles. When you have enough faith the unexpected can happen.

For Christmas week I'll be sharing the stories of two girls, 9-year-old Maggie Schoenfeld and a 21-year-old Nicole Bennet. Both are facing crushing personal circumstances, yet through it all, finding something that every looks for, especially this time of year: HOPE. These stories are about tears and triumph, pain and love, heartache and healing and most of all FAITH. Though these girls barely know each other, their stories are intertwined and they both begin – as all miracles do – with a haunting challenge.

Anyone who knows Maggie Schoenfeld will tell you that she’s a “feisty girl” with a personality to match her bright smile. When doctors told her parents that the 9-year-old had an aggressive case of leukemia their worlds turned upside down. What followed in the months after her diagnosis were long trips to Miami Children’s Hospital, dozens of chemotherapy treatments and hours of waiting and praying for Maggie to get better.

Tests revealed that Maggie had 440,000 white blood cells in her body, which, doctors said, is virtually unheard of. A normal count is between 5,000 and 10,000.

The prognosis was unclear and the treatment long but the family pulled together to take things day by day. Maggie’s next big challenge is a bone marrow transplant from her brother scheduled early next year. In their pain, however, the Schoenfelds have found overwhelming support as hundreds of their neighbors in Boynton Beach, many whom don’t even know the Schoenfelds, have rallied around Maggie. They’ve raised thousands of dollars, donated blood and been there to talk when the family needed it most.

Since Maggie was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia in September, the Boynton Beach Police Department has collected more than $30,000 for the family through fundraisers where they’ve shaved their heads, served food and even posed for a pinup calendar.

Employees at Bethesda Memorial Hospital in Boynton Beach, where Maggie's mother works as a neonatal nurse, have chipped in more than 400 vacation hours so she could be at her daughter's side.

The community has gotten involved, too. During a fundraiser a few weeks ago, Panera Bread in Boynton Beach donated half of its sales for the day to Maggie. About 2,000 people stopped by during the daylong event that featured music, baking classes, a car show and Maggie, who was well enough to make an appearance.

It was during this event at Panera Bread where 21-year-old Nicole Bennet and her mother Brenda met Maggie. The two decided to sign up for baking classes during the event that would help raise money for Maggie. They didn’t know it at the time, but their act of reaching out to help Maggie would in turn help Nicole, who suffered serious brain injuries after a car accident just days after her 16th birthday.

Maggie still has many long days ahead. After her bone marrow transplant she’ll have to fight the risk of infection or the slight chance that her body rejects her brother’s cells or that the cancer comes back, but she won’t be facing it alone. And for the family, the quiet shock has become a deafening roar of support.

To learn more about how to help Maggie…whether it’s sending her a card or attending a fundraiser…contact Stephanie Slater with the Boynton Beach Police Department…at 561-742-6191.

How to Help
Send donations to: Stephanie Slater, Boynton Beach Police Department, 100 E. Boynton Beach Blvd., Boynton Beach, FL 33435.

Make checks payable to Margaret Alyson Schoenfeld.

Write to Maggie: Go to carepages.com and click on "visit." Create an account, search "maggieschoenfeld" to pull up her page and leave a message.

The Big One!

2007-12-18T10:59:00.000-08:00

On Monday, I mentioned that I had quickly learned that there is at least one common denominator when it comes to avid fishermen "EVERYONE HAS A FISHING STORY." And when a gang of Anglers gets together each fish is bigger than the next.

I also mentioned that now, I, too, have a fishing story … and it’s called Beginner’s Luck.

OK. It all began just before 8 a.m. We pushed off the dock and headed down the intracoastal to the Hillsboro Inlet out to the ocean. All said – about two miles.

Before we pushed off I happened to ask Captain Eddie, Captain Mike’s partner if we were going to catch anything that day:

So, now we’re drifting, the sun is shining, the guys had set up the rods with goggle eyes and released the kites to keep the bait on the ocean’s surface – the anticipation began to build.

Because I had never fished before, I didn’t understand why the guys on the boat were so quiet and seemed so uptight. I thought fishing was supposed to be fun.

Then I noticed the intensity of Captain Mike’s gaze on the horizon, he, Steve, Captain Eddie and the rest were peering at the movement of the water in the distance looking for – what I realize now – would be the catch of the day.

Suddenly, Captain Mike hollered out: “Katie … your rod’s got some action.” I scampered to the bow of the boat and he handed me my rod. Indeed there was something biting my goggle eye on the other end. His direction was as follows: “Start reeling. When the fish is fighting hard – let him fight. When he stops fighting – start reeling. And so on."

Little did I know, I was in for the fight of my life. I am in pretty good shape so I was okay with the reeling part. It was where to put the butt of the rod that gave me trouble. I started to lose spots on my gut – ouch – that’s painful, finally I sat down and anchored the rod between my legs against the seat.

After about five minutes we saw the fish jumping out of the water into the air – about 50 yards off the boat. The guys started to whoop and cheer.

Then I saw him. My fish was 10 yards away leaping in and out of the water. Captain Mike put on his glove, leaned over the side of the boat, grabbed my fish by the nose and began to pull him out of the water. My fish was fighting hard. He wasn’t having it. Finally, he slipped back into the water and fought over to the other side of the boat where Captain Eddie snagged him and pulled him up on deck.

I couldn’t believe how big this sailfish was. I heard Steve yell "wow … six feet!" Then suddenly my sailfish was in my arms. A few seconds later his tail fanned out and smacked me right in the face!

I had never understood how grown men could sit around a table for hours taking turns talking about this one moment. Now I do.

Pulling Fish in Pompano Beach

2007-12-14T06:18:00.000-08:00

Ok this series, let’s just say it turned out vastly different than I even I expected.

It all began innocently – the location? A low-key diner in Hillsboro Beach Florida, where the cash register has no LED display and the waitresses still wear sensible shoes, and reeks of the now cult-classic hair spray – Final Net.

Two of my wonderful friends, Steve and Laura Kennedy were encouraging me once again – Steve would intermittently suggest – “Hey, Katie – we gotta get you on the boat.” That meant fishing, I had never fished before. And – I feel a little guilty now – but I’d always thought: YUK. Fishing. Too hot, too slow, too smelly – yep – too stinky.

Camera pans forward about five months. I don’t know, I’m standing on a rickety-drift-wood-barnacle-ensconced dock in Pompano Beach, Florida about a half mile from my house and I’m talking to Captain Mike. The Captain Mike. He owns and operates a charter boat called The Sweet Emily. He’s mid-thirties, blond, blue eyed, kind of freckly and fun. But more than anything – trustworthy.

The two of us? We didn’t even haggle. After 20 minutes of Captain Mike explaining to me, and me pretending that I understood … we settled on a price and a date: December 13, 2007. Thursday morning. I would arrive at 7 a.m. with my crew; we’d be pulling out by 7:30. Game on. Fishing on?

Art Basel Miami Beach: Where weird becomes normal!

2007-12-12T18:03:00.000-08:00

The sixth edition of Art Basel Miami Beach has ended. It is the largest, craziest art bazaar in the world -- five days and four nights of hundreds of galleries selling thousands of artists to an insatiable herd of 43,000 of the trendiest, “coolest” people on Earth! Many of them were swathed in black enveloping wraps with silk linings of funky loud purples, pinks and fuchsias!

It was big, it was bold and it was everywhere. Think Andy Warhol meets the space shuttle?
Art Basel Miami Beach, the largest contemporary art show in the world closed on Sunday with a record number of visitors from every continent plus 1,600.

We, here at KBTVonline, road tripped down to the Miami Convention Center on Saturday. But like many thousands of the other guests we were drawn to the surrounding cultural exhibitions and events – known as the satellite shows or the Sati Scene. But that’s a whole other story, or episode, so to speak. Check out my blog over the weekend to find out what we uncovered – off the beaten path.

All that said, at the Convention Center, celebrated artists and leading art-world personalities participated in programs. More than 100 museums from the US, Europe, Latin America, and Asia. The 200 galleries from 30 countries exhibited works by more than 2,000 artists.

Curiously I overheard an art dealer who had an interesting insight into desperate plight of the US dollar at the moment. She said she’s pricing all of her art work in Euros because she has “taken a bath” on the US dollar – currently trading at about $1.45 to the Euro.

At the Miami Beach Convention Center, where the proper show was installed meaning the works that had been shipped here from the city of Basel in Switzerland, everything was extremely uptight.

I can sum it up with a visual. One exhausted art dealer perched on the lap of a well-known gallery owner whom I know well but who asked not to be named. They were both perched on the hood of a silver bullet-proof Mercedes SUV … and this is what I heard: "He's got some big walls."

A guy called Earth Man was walking around the fair in a space suit breathing through a hose connected to a potted plant. There was a girl in a dress made of clothespins.

Speaking of, let me share our favorite pieces – or installations … or … ? A mobile of giant lava rocks by Robert Chambers for $30,000. A "400% cotton" hand-dyed T-shirt, titled "Pimp," by Dutch artist HuskMitNavn, for $60. Dammit … I missed it … are they selling on eBay? And finally there's Ralph Provisero's "Earthramp," two yards of pounded Everglades topsoil, and it's not even for sale. It will just . . . compost.

Don’t forget to watch are show tonight: “Art Basel Miami Beach." We’ll take you down to South Beach to the back courtyard of the Aqua Hotel on Collins Avenue where the real action was taking place – off campus. Just like at a university!

Can't Wake Up? Try a Puzzle!

2007-12-09T20:16:00.000-08:00

Over the past year, I have come to believe that Americans are obsessed with the whole process of WAKING UP. The method and style of alarm clock issue … well, let me start at the beginning.

Back in May of this year, I broadcast a story on an innovative but really annoying alarm clock called Clocky! If you didn’t see my piece – it’s a clock that looks like a giant dog bone – and when you hit the snooze button it jumps from your night-stand and rolls around your room, making funny/cute sounds along the way. It’s kind of like a skittish cat because you have to search for it all around the room in order to turn it off.

One of my viewers wrote that she bought it after watching the piece and after a week was set to either throw it out the window or put it up on eBay.

After a barrage of emails the following week – one of my gadget sources told me about the Glo Pillow. I reported this story in May … six moths later the Glo Pillow was named one of Time Magazine’s gadgets of the year! Anyway, the Glo Pillow provides the comforts of a regular pillow but also features a built-in soft LED light that gently awakens the oh-so-sensitive sleeper by slowly increasing its brightness over 40 minutes … mimicking a perfect sunrise in the Caribbean. Apparently using the light rather than sound to wake encourages the body to establish a healthy sleep rhythm and makes the day more productive and stress free. The pillow is charged by induction and is wireless, which allows it to move freely about the bed. The ethos of this gadget? Think gentle, soothing – calming.

Three adjectives that would not describe the gadget in my report today! Bim Bam Banana s Puzzle Alarm Clock wakes you up by firing four puzzle pieces up in the air and then honks incessantly until those four pieces are put back into place – on top of the clock. Yes, you must complete a jigsaw puzzle to deactivate the alarm. No cord to cut, since its battery operated.

After pondering to what great lengths people will go … to actually wake up and get out of bed? I decided to survey a group of friends enjoying dinner at a local Italian restaurant down here in Boca Raton called Mario’s and listen to what they had to say about what gets THEM out of bed. Watch Tuesday for the whole story and our man-on-the-street interviews.

I myself – I wake up to my blackberry which I put in my bed somewhere under the covers – so when it goes off – I have to kind of dig around and find it. It works for me, but then again I sleep alone.

If you’re interested in purchasing the Puzzle Alarm Clock, you’ll pay $52 for the privilege of waking up to that kind of chaos!

Unhappy? Self-Critical? Maybe You’re Just a Perfectionist

2007-12-05T20:55:00.000-08:00

I was searching the internet the other day and came across a fabulous article that goes a long with an upcoming KBTV episode. I'm copying the entire thing below because I just had to share it with my readers. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did!

Unhappy? Self-Critical? Maybe You’re Just a Perfectionist

By BENEDICT CAREY

Just about any sports movie, airport paperback or motivational tape delivers a few boilerplate rules for success. Believe in yourself. Don’t take no for an answer. Never quit. Don’t accept second best.

Above all, be true to yourself.

It’s hard to argue with those maxims. They seem self-evident — if not written into the Constitution, then at least part of the cultural water supply that irrigates everything from halftime speeches to corporate lectures to SAT coaching classes.

Yet several recent studies stand as a warning against taking the platitudes of achievement too seriously. The new research focuses on a familiar type, perfectionists, who panic or blow a fuse when things don’t turn out just so. The findings not only confirm that such purists are often at risk for mental distress — as Freud, Alfred Adler and countless exasperated parents have long predicted — but also suggest that perfectionism is a valuable lens through which to understand a variety of seemingly unrelated mental difficulties, from depression to compulsive behavior to addiction.

Some researchers divide perfectionists into three types, based on answers to standardized questionnaires: Self-oriented strivers who struggle to live up to their high standards and appear to be at risk of self-critical depression; outwardly focused zealots who expect perfection from others, often ruining relationships; and those desperate to live up to an ideal they’re convinced others expect of them, a risk factor for suicidal thinking and eating disorders.

“It’s natural for people to want to be perfect in a few things, say in their job — being a good editor or surgeon depends on not making mistakes,” said Gordon L. Flett, a psychology professor at York University and an author of many of the studies. “It’s when it generalizes to other areas of life, home life, appearance, hobbies, that you begin to see real problems.”

Unlike people given psychiatric labels, however, perfectionists neither battle stigma nor consider themselves to be somehow dysfunctional. On the contrary, said Alice Provost, an employee assistance counselor at the University of California, Davis, who recently ran group therapy for staff members struggling with perfectionist impulses. “They’re very proud of it,” she said. “And the culture highly values and reinforces their attitudes.”

Consider a recent study by psychologists at Curtin University of Technology in Australia, who found that the level of “all or nothing” thinking predicted how well perfectionists navigated their lives. The researchers had 252 participants fill out questionnaires rating their level of agreement with 16 statements like “I think of myself as either in control or out of control” and “I either get on very well with people or not at all.”

The more strongly participants in the study thought in this either-or fashion, the more likely they were to display the kind of extreme perfectionism that can lead to mental health problems.

In short, these are people who not only swallow many of the maxims for success but take them as absolutes. At some level they know that it’s possible to succeed after falling short (build on your mistakes: another boilerplate rule). The trouble is that falling short still reeks of mediocrity; for them, to say otherwise is to spin the result.

Never accept second best. Always be true to yourself.

The burden of perfectionist expectations is all too familiar to anyone who has struggled to kick a bad habit. Break down just once — have one smoke, one single drink — and at best it’s a “slip.” At worst it’s a relapse, and more often it’s a fall off the wagon: failure. And if you’ve already fallen, well, may as well pour yourself two or three more.

This is why experts have long debated the wisdom of insisting on abstinence as necessary in treating substance abuse. Most rehab clinics are based on this principle: Either you’re clean or you’re not; there’s no safe level of use. This approach has unquestionably worked for millions of addicts, but if the studies of perfectionists are any guide it has undermined the efforts of many others.

Ms. Provost said those in her program at U.C. Davis often displayed symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder — another risk for perfectionists. They couldn’t bear a messy desk. They found it nearly impossible to leave a job half-done, to do the next day. Some put in ludicrously long hours redoing tasks, chasing an ideal only they could see.

As an experiment, Ms. Provost had members of the group slack off on purpose, against their every instinct. “This was mostly in the context of work,” she said, “and they seem like small things, because what some of them considered failure was what most people would consider no big deal.”

Leave work on time. Don’t arrive early. Take all the breaks allowed. Leave the desk a mess. Allow yourself a set number of tries to finish a job; then turn in what you have.

“And then ask: Did you get punished? Did the university continue to function? Are you happier?” Ms. Provost said. “They were surprised that yes, everything continued to function, and the things they were so worried about weren’t that crucial.”

The British have a saying that encourages people to show their skills while mocking the universal fear of failure: Do your worst.

If you can’t tolerate your worst, at least once in a while, how true to yourself can you be?

Behind the Scences of the Production of "Maestros and Marauders in Marathon (Key!), Florida" Part 1

2007-12-04T06:30:00.000-08:00

Have you ever thought about how a script is written and what it looks like? Well here's your chance to take a sneak peak in to the production of an episode of the Watercooler Diaries!

[KATE ON CAM] Hi. I'm Kate Bohner for the "WatercoolerDiaries"on KBTVonline. Thanks for joining our Florida in Focus series as we peek in on a sprawling, sleepy, sea-faring town that marks the midpoint of the archipelago at Florida's southern tip known as The Keys.

Marathon ... it's a Mecca for laid-back vacationers seeking an authentic honky-tonk adventure filled with quaint motels as colorful as the fish that fill the ubiquitous waters surrounding the loosely knit chain of islands that make up this tropical paradise.

[KATE OFF CAM/ON VOICE OVER][BROLL AND KATE VO WITH MONTAGE OF KEY'S PICS PLUS A COOL MAP MADE BY KIRST] Our journey began at 6:30 a.m. when the KBTV team set off for the Florida Keys. No, we weren't hitting Key West [K GRAPHIC OF CRZY DRUNKEN REVELERS ON DATURA STREET] (KATE PAUSE)...We wanted something a little more relaxing, so we settled on a destination nestled in the middle keys.

As the Turnpike narrowed to a two-lane road at US1 the air got lighter, the light got brighter and the road-side marinas became to tempting not to get out and stretch our legs. Of course, with the ulterior motive of a photo op. [RUN PICS AT OUR FIRST STOP. BARRY SEE KBTVONLINE@GMAIL.COM FILE WITH SAME HEADINGTK].

[KATE STILL V/O] … Forty-five minutes latter we hit our destination...the Sea Dell Motel. Although the place was newly remodeled...with brand new refrigerators, microwaves and high speed wireless Internet access....the exterior harkened back to a simpler time...that of station wagons packed with children, dogs, inflatable rafts and soda pop-filled coolers.

[KIRST GRAPHIX OF OLD-TIME VACATIONERS AND PICS AND VIDEO OF THE SEA DELL]

My expectations for the stretch of road between Miami and Key West were pretty low. We're talking cheesy T-shirt shops, 10-foot plastic mermaids and rusted beer cans dotting the shoulder of US1. What we found, however, was an entirely different scene.

[KATE STAND UP ON SOMBRERO BEACH] Marathon, situated mainly on Vaca, Fat Deer and Grassy Keys, is a 10-mile-long island city at the midpoint of the Florida Keys island chain. Locals call their home "the heart of the Keys" for geographic reasons, but also to reflect the old-Keys lifestyle they enjoy among the spectacular fishing diving snorkeling and sailing. This quaint tropical key has spruced itself up with new parks, the impeccably maintained Sombrero Beach, and a newly renovated airport – the largest in the Keys! These improvements were made with careful thought toward maintaining the simple, sea-faring tradition that gives Marathon its character.

Fresh fish is the local fare and dozens of ramshackle marine-style restaurants pepper both coasts on either side of Route 1. A favorite local spot [RUN PHOTO OF FISHER GUYS AT BAR] is Keys Fisheries, Market and Marina. [PHOTO MONTAGE OF THE PLACE] Tucked away at the end of 35th street on the Gulf side, this little full-service fish market turns out to be more than just a grab-and-go joint. Instead, picnic tables topped with giant rolls of paper towels, old bay seasoning and hot sauce line the dock. There's a full bar, raised two stories above the place...giving you a panoramic view of the gulf. And the food...simple and spectacular...fresh filet of blackened grouper on a bun with homemade spicy tartar sauce....coconut-batter-fried shrimp with a mango salsa....and a tangy Caesar salad.

We decided to take in some of the local art we'd seen around town. And that's when we met Rocky Farris one of the 28 artists whose work is featured at the Bougainvillea House Art Gallery....this cooperative … which captured an almost ‘60s-ish feel … is owned and operated by the artists.

[BITE OF ROCKY SAYING SOMETHING NOT SNIPPY]

[KATE ON CAM] After the interview I walked out with one of Rocky’s photo-surrealist prints – one of 10 – featuring a blow fish morphing into a coconut. [RUN FAUX KATE WITH PAINTING PIC TK] Then Rachael...always the consummate producer...reminded us we had a plane to catch.

[BROLL OF PLANES AND THE AIRFIELD WITH KATE VO] We buzzed out to Marathon's private airport to meet the Sea Dell Motel owner, Harry Caplan, a former real estate developer, salesman and current pilot and self-described "commercial-handy-man."

After a few pre-flight checks and a refuel [PHOTO OF KATE PUMPING GAS] his INSERT PLANE NAME HERE was ready to go. [BROLL OF PLANE TAKE OFF] Soon Rachael and I were gazing at Marathon and the middle keys from thousands of feet up. The view was amazing. The different keys looked like emeralds dotting a sea of turquoise. [PICS TAKEN FROM PLANE]

Once our 20 minutes of perfect panoramic views had come to a somewhat screechy close (KATE DISPLAYS MOCK SURPRISE ON CAM), we headed back to the Sea Dell for a chat with Harry about how someone who helped develop $2 billion dollars in real-estate projects ended up owning a motel in a sleepy little place like Marathon.

[BITE FROM HARRY]

… [KATE COMES OUT OF THE BITE WITH A SMIRK … AND KATE ON CAM] … Harry Caplan? He was just a smidgeon of the “local culture.”

[KATE ON CAM] Tune in next time for the second installment of our trip to the middle keys. Watch as Kate…quite literally…rubs elbows with a couple of dolphins…both descendents of the dolphin TV icon Flipper. [MAYBE TEASE WITH A FEW SEC OF FOOTAGE FROM THE FLIP CAM OF K AND KRIS GETTING READY TO GO. Thanks for joining Part 1 of our Florida in Focus … "Maestros and Marauders in Marathon (Key!) … I’m Kate Bohner for the WatercoolerDiaries on KBTVonline.

And as a bonus we've included pictures!

No Fuss Meals

2007-11-30T22:00:00.000-08:00

Today we begin our Entrepreneur of the Month series. These two-part tales of inspired visionaries typically feature an individual. My initial intent was to profile a woman, Caryl Ginsburg Fantel, who has her finger on the pulse and solution for every mom and dad, woman-on-the-go or scattered bachelor seeking an easy, quick way to prepare fresh, hot home-cooked meals.

Perfect, I thought. I’ll air it during the insanity-filled holiday season when everyone is too busy to chop and shop and no one is eating right. Well, long story short, I found not just the woman but an extended family of entrepreneurs. Three generations to be exact all led by patriarch Art Ginsburg – better known as Mr. Food – the jolly kitchen sweetheart and nationally syndicated television host, popular food personality and cook book author. For decades now he has dispensed lessons on how to whip up New York pushcart onion sauce and perfect puff-topped fish fillets.

Ginsburg agreed to meet me the day after Thanksgiving at one of his stores here in Davie, Florida. What I found spectacular about him was his authenticity. Sure he hams it up a bit … continually sneaking into the conversation his signature phrase … “OOOOOHHHH IT’S SO GOOD!” But I believe the reason his business model works so well is that it is a reflection on who HE really is and in what he truly believes. It’s the simple concept of teaching people to prepare convenient meals that anybody can do.

And that ethos he describes so well about life translates into Ginsburg’s business model – it has worked every time. Over the past two-decades, Ginsburg Enterprises annual revenues which initially were derived from 90-second television cooking spots and cook book royalties has grown from about $830,000 to more than $15 million in 2006. His latest endeavor that began three years ago is a franchise concept called Mr. Food, No-Fuss Meals.

No-Fuss Meals is simply an extension of Ginsburg’s on air trademark: convenient meals that anyone can prepare. Customers assemble their own no-fuss meals at stores using pre-prepared ingredients guided by easy to follow printed directions. Intrigued?

Well, tune in on Tuesday for the second installment of our two-part Entrepreneur of the Month Series and join me for a little Reality KBTV, I'll be on location at the Mr. Food No Fuss Meals Franchise in Davie as I prepare 5 days of dinners.

See pictures!

“Tow-To-Go”

2007-11-27T21:02:00.000-08:00

This holiday season tow trucks throughout the southeast will be transporting a different type of cargo…merry-making revelers who think they are too drunk to drive. It’s all part of a program co-sponsored by AAA Auto Club South and beer maker Anheuser-Busch. One that’s kept thousand of drunk drivers off the roads during days like Cinco de Mayo and Halloween.

“Tow-To-Go” is a program run through AAA. Trucks contracted by the company respond to callers who have had too much to drink and take them and their cars home – free of charge. This service, which operates on holidays with high rates of drunken-driving accidents such as Super Bowl weekend and St. Patrick’s Day and from Thanksgiving through New Year’s Eve, is open to anyone. You don’t have to be a member. All you do is dial 1-800-AAA-HELP and the tow truck with pick you up. The whole thing is completely confidential.

The program will be celebrating its tenth anniversary next year. Since its inception in 1998, the program has helped keep nearly 7,000 potential drunken drivers off the roads, which the folks at AAA say is saving lives. Alcohol is a factor in almost half of all traffic fatalities, and each year about 16,000 people are killed in alcohol related crashes.

Joanna Newton, who heads up Public and Government Affairs at AAA, says the “Tow-to-go” program continues to grow. It now encompasses all of Florida as well as Atlanta and Savannah, Georgia; Nashville, Tennessee; and during the holiday season, Knoxville, Tennessee. Despite the success, she wants to remind drivers that this service is meant as a last resort. Before you start drinking come up with a plan to get home.

A final piece of interesting information I came across while doing this piece: People think that New Years Eve is the WORST day for drunk driving accidents, but I came to learn that it’s actually a distant second to Thanksgiving. AAA’s hypothesis is that since Thanksgiving is a family holiday people feel they need to drink more to have fun with their family!

Happy Thanksgiving!

2007-11-23T16:04:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

I decided to stay local and help out my friends Steve and Laura Kennedy with a buffet-style all-afternoon event at the Lion’s Club in Boca Raton, FL. I have enclosed some pictures for your perusal!

I hope it was a great day for everyone. I certainly have a lot to be thankful for!

Reading Minds

2007-11-21T11:21:00.000-08:00

Whether we know it or not … we all think we can read our boyfriend’s … girlfriend’s, our partner’s, spouses’ … minds. We’re all a bunch of street corner psychics – in our own minds. Maybe it’s just a moment … when we’re peering into our boss’ eyes … looking for a sign … hmm … am I really getting that raise? Or perhaps it’s a snap judgment … we watch our best girlfriend as she focuses in on the purple alligator handbag we just bought, does she like it…or is she just jealous?

The point is: we’re constantly drawing on our powers of observation, our database of experience, and the morass of scar tissue and hope we call emotion to help us decipher what the people around us are thinking and feeling. Dr. Daniel Siegel, a psychiatrist from UCLA and the author of The Mindful Brain puts it quite simply: “we’re creating a map of another person’s internal state.” The good news it’s healthy to not be so self-centered. The bad news is we’re not half as good at what is now popularly being termed as “Mindsight” … as we think we are!

In the most recent issue of Psychology Today, the cover story, brilliantly written by Annie Murphy Hall, explores this issue in great detail. Murphy Hall concludes that mind reading of this sort is a critical human skill … it’s the way we make sense of other people’s behavior and decide our next moves. Mindsight, also known as empathetic accuracy, allows us to cooperate and compete … to differentiate between manipulation or seduction. For instance, if someone finds our jokes hysterical or if he or she is humoring us and secretly wants us to shut up and go away. Apparently mind reading is the most important element of what sociologists and call social intelligence.

OK. Pause. This piece comes with a warning label, as I alluded to before, if we do this “mind reading” thing poorly … it can lead to disastrous consequences. Think about the patterns of behavior that characterize abusive husbands – these violent men attribute negative thoughts to their wives – and then lash out. Poor mind reading can lead to feeling lonely in a relationship – perhaps unnecessarily.

Mixing up the message happens a lot more than we think. According to William Ickes, a psychologist at the University of Texas at Arlington and the father of empathetic accuracy, we’re not very good at reading each other’s minds at all. Strangers (who are videotaped and later report their second-by-second thoughts and feelings as well as their assessments of their counterpart’s thoughts and feelings) read each other with an average accuracy rate of 20%. Close couples nudge up to 35%. And almost no one scores over 60%.

So what does it take to actually assess another person’s thoughts and feelings? Reading body language can reveal a person’s basic emotion. Facial expressions are also cues we use to know what others are thinking – despite the 3,000 different expressions we may deploy each day – it’s the fleeting micro expressions that betray most of our feelings. But surprisingly, at least to me anyway, it is the content of speech … yes the actual words that contribute most to our success at mind reading. Yep...it’s not all touchy feely stuff! Words matter!

Finally to dispel one of the oldest wives’ tales of mind reading … no pun intended … women are not better at it than men. In Dr. Ickes’ work, he emphasizes the difference in mind reading aptitude between men and women. And I quote “It’s not an ability thing … It’s a motivational thing.” Translation: We try. Men don’t.

See pictures from the interviews!

A Post from Joan of Arc

2007-11-18T21:05:00.001-08:00

Another Friday night in Boca Raton and I’m fried. What a week – we ran the skydiving series “13,500 Reasons to Scream” after which I fielded what felt like hundreds of calls from friends and family intermittently questioning and downright accusing me about whether or not I’d lost my mind.

“Katie, I don’t have 13,500 reasons to scream but I certainly have one … watching a video of my daughter jump out of an airplane on Youtube. Call me!” My mother sounded a little hysterical on my voice mail. I promised myself I’d try to call her back from the car.

There’s a magnificent sunset – the kind printed on old postcards from the ‘80s stacked at the front desk of bad motels in Tampa. Cars are darting in and out without the luxury of blinkers and the realization that the Snow Birds are here for “The Season” begins to sink in. Ok. Now I get it. I turn down Camino Real to swing left on 4th Street to hang another left into the parking lot of Joan of Arc, a giant church with a tall steeple on the right.

I walk upstairs to the second floor to see my sometimes co-conspirator, oft confidante, and forever most-cherished friend, Laura Kennedy; she’s shouting orders like a lieutenant in the Special Forces. Young men of all shapes and sizes are organizing chairs and tables into perfect rows.

What’s amazing is not that this pretty, petite, professional beauty of part-Cuban descent is barking orders in the middle of a church at 7 o’clock on a Friday night; what’s amazing is a bunch of guys who look like they stepped out of the “extras” line for Goodfellas or who are now regulars on “Miami Ink” were following her instructions unquestioningly. She’s amazing. She sees me and flashes me a big smile, her eyes dancing with laughter. I’ve always thought Laura looks a little like Liza Minnelli in her ‘70s idol-Studio 54 heyday combined with one of the icons worshipped by every little girl who grew up figure skating in my era … Dorothy Hamill.

I loop back into the Ladies Room. As I wash my hands, the woman in the mirror – a fraught and frail version of me – stares back…looking exhausted, angry and a little confused. I take a deep breath and walk in and grab a seat next to Laura. We kiss cheek to cheek.

Everyone in the room settles down and it gets very, very quiet. Then he begins to speak. Jake. He’s a light-haired, blue-eyed skinny kid from Baltimore...mid twenties … his diction is Gansta … his exterior screams White Suburbia. He’s deep – in a kind of Eminem type way. I love Eminem, by the way. Exteriors can be deceiving – I soon learn.

But tonight he wasn’t talking about exteriors. Actually, he was. He was talking about how his obsession with the outside – his outsides, your outsides, my outsides almost killed him. I’m sitting there at 7 p.m. on a Friday night because the same game almost killed me too.

Suddenly he begins to talk about his “Ex.” He had recently seen her downtown and he spent a minute or two recalling their painful breakup which ended with her shouting at him … in the middle of the road … at dawn … “Jake, why won’t you let me love you.”

That got my attention. He carried on for a moment and just as he began to lose me in a morass of anecdotes he suddenly stopped. Then he looked up and – almost poetically – blurted out: “Why would I continue to make someone a priority who considers me an option?”

Suddenly everyone else in the room just faded away and it was just me and him. Jake at the podium, and me, quietly sitting in one of the millions of chairs that litter Florida’s public schools. I was transfixed. Then it was over and everyone was hugging and back slapping and kissing and smiling.

I hopped up on one of the tables against the wall in the back of the room to take in the scene and catch my breath.

Why possibly make someone a priority who considers you an option?

I had never asked myself that before.

Jazz, Jasmine & Joyous

2007-11-16T05:57:00.000-08:00

(…continued from November 13th)

I arrived in Anguilla with the usual clichés mired in my brain of how vacations should look and feel in the Caribbean. Beautiful sunsets like rainbow sorbet, bright-white toothy smiles from men in white dressed in white linen with even whiter fluffy towels, steel calypso bands humming in the moonlight, and lazy naps nestled in hammocks with a dog-eared yellowing Michael Crichton thriller.

This, however, was not my experience on this particular visit to the Caribbean. No fault of Anguilla, mind you, nor the Anguillans. This beautiful 35 square-mile island (16 miles long by three miles wide) is the most northerly of the Leeward Islands. It’s a short 25-minute ferry ride from St. Marten and just to give you a rough idea of its size … the population totals just 12,300 residents.

As I mentioned on Tuesday, I traveled there to meet my Managing Editor, Rachael Joyner, who was covering the Tranquility Jazz Festival for Jazziz Magazine. I arrived a day late to find Rachael just coming back from a day on a boat tour with a bunch of other journalists. She looked perfectly rosy (sun kissed,) refreshed and enthusiastic about our adventure. So was I.

I think we were both relieved to quickly discover that this Eastern Caribbean island has been somewhat overlooked as a “hot” destination spot, historically anyway. One theory floated by the local cab driver who ferried me in from the airport was that it’s flat and tourists prefer the mountains of St. Marten – just nine short miles away. (I later learned that the sparse rainfall contributes to the “crêpe look” – as he described it – because all that grows are small trees and shrubs.)

Rachael has a knack for choosing shot locations for the KBTVonline “standups.” She chose our backyard – one of the most desirable beaches I’d ever seen … think untarnished and tranquil.
Also, I thought it was interesting that Anguilla is known as the wreck diving capital of the Caribbean. It advertises wrecks that were sunk intentionally to satisfy the curiosity of divers.

But what emerged for Rachael and me – first and foremost – were the people of Anguilla - the locals. They all seemed to possess an ethos of quiet confidence, a mixture of wisdom and humility, which permeates every encounter. From our chat, with a classically French trained chef, an Anguillan native, to Auntie Bee,

the weathered woman who sells handmaid jewelry on Shoal Beach, to our taxi driver/tour guide, who turned out to be a local politician. I felt blessed and relieved to not be so deeply steeped in the underlying resentment that I often feel when I travel in the Caribbean. The tension between the haves and the have-nots, those who serve and we who are served. Instead the experience felt collaborative – dignities in tact.

Jazz in Anguilla

2007-11-13T15:19:00.000-08:00

While road tripping up to Orlando for the “Halloween Horror Nights” piece, Rachael slipped that she had been asked to go to Anguilla to cover the Tranquility Jazz Festival for a magazine called Jazziz.

I looked left. She looked right. Screeeeeeech. We nearly rear ended a FedEx truck.

“Do you want to come?” She asked.

“I think so.” Hmmm. I began to ponder the mixture of Anguilla, Jazz, sun, sea, fun, and a factor that I’m sure most of us can understand … “Awayness.” Away from my life, away from my home office, away from my relationship, away from drama, just away. Away from it all.

Two weeks later I was on a flight to Anguilla and what ensued was … well … you’ll have to tune in to the KBTVonline blog in two days, November 15, for the whole story. But in the meantime these photos should suffice as a proper – in TV-speak – “tease."

… to be continued …

The Skydiving Dare!

2007-11-09T21:44:00.000-08:00

I’ve wracked my brain, but I simply cannot remember how it all started. There are, however, a few things I know unequivocally:

• Mondays for my staff and myself are … put quite simply … “screamers." By 8 o’clock Monday night, when we all convene at KBTV HQ (my townhouse on the beach) to nibble on pizza and plot to take over the content world on the Internet – we’re punchy. To say the least.

So, I don’t really remember but thinking back – I’m sure it was Jason – our illustrious Webmaster and Deputy Editor. He’s got a little bit of the devil in him, as you can see .

It went something like this. Suddenly Jason slapped a piece of pepperoni pizza (his favorite) onto a Chinette “paper” plate. “Kate,” he says demurely. “How about skydiving?”

“Fab!” I heard myself shriek.

Then this whole idea took on a life of its own. Apparently Jason had a friend at Sebastian Sky Dive named Amanda (I never met Amanda so I think Jason might have invented her … lending more credence to my theory that he was behind all of this :-D). My normal producer Barry was out for a week with a pulled lower back so we sent in the Polish Special Forces in the form of “Krzysztof”

to shoot the event. There was no way in hell I was going to jump out of an airplane that WASN’T on fire unless it was to be recorded in perpetuity.

Camera pans forward 13 days and Krzysztof and I are tearing North on I-95 to a world with fewer and fewer signs of civilization, Sebastian, FL. We ended up on a road called Airport West Drive (which looked like it was out of Clint Eastwood’s classic “Deliverance”) and pulled into a field with two planes and a barn serving as a hangar. After I signed and initialed no fewer than four pages of waivers, a spunky fellow with a crew cut was plastering goggles over my eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “It won’t hurt.”

What won’t hurt? The goggles? Hello! I wasn’t worried about the goggles. Try the LANDING.

Next thing I know I’m sitting on the lap of a South African blond Adonis named Warren …

Well, the pictures tell the rest! ... Be sure to tune in on Thursday November 15th for Part 1 of our two-part series and OF COURSE tune in to Part 2 for the actual jump that weekend (November 17t.h)

The Vietnam Veterans Memorial::A Photo Tour

2007-11-08T16:38:00.000-08:00

Last weekend I traveled up to Washington, D.C. to meet up with a friend for an 18-hour vacation from my technology-snafu-driven life. We woke up on Sunday to a crisp, clear, chilly, sunny – in all respects – a perfect fall day. Autumn is my favorite season – something about that “back to school” mentality – it’s always given me a feeling of unlimited potential and hope. My friend and I are avid, amateur photographers, so we decided to go on an impromptu walking tour of the mall.

Sometime just before noon, I found myself staring at three men in navy-blue uniforms standing in a tight-knit huddle in front of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, facing the 58,256 engraved names. The bright sun cast a glow above the National Mall and down onto the reflecting pool to the east. The polished black granite wall served as a reflector pool of its own – alternating shadow and illumination. Visitors wandered about with disposable cameras, bulky professional Nikons with zoom lenses and everything in between … evoking the sense of the transience and reflection that the memorial, since its 1982 groundbreaking, has sought to convey.

On November 13, the memorial turns 25. The criticism that dogged the project in its early days—its unconventional design, its black color, its lack of ornamentation—has given way to appreciation of its simple, emotional power. The twenty-fifth anniversary will be observed starting on November 6 with music and poetry. Over the next four days, the names of American soldiers who died in Vietnam will be read aloud. The first such reading took place in November 1982, a time when soldiers who had returned from the war were barely in their 30s. Veterans have embraced the wall in unexpected numbers, as has the general public. More than 3.6 million people visited last year, nearly triple the number of visitors to the White House and the Washington Monument combined.

I dug deep into the lobe in my brain that hopefully remembers a fraction of the American History I supposedly learned my junior year in high school. I somehow recalled that one of the stated goals of the Wall was to avoid commentary on the war itself, serving solely as a memorial to those who served.

In that spirit … I’ll simply leave you this morning with some photos I snapped as I wandered about with those who served, the Americans kneeling to honor the dead and patriots like me – folks hoping to learn a little bit more about gratitude and yearn a lot more for peace in Iraq.

Click here to see the pictures

The Best Way To Die

2007-11-05T07:46:00.000-08:00

For centuries people have tried to solve the mystery surrounding death. What’s it like? Where do you go? Do you really see a light at the end of the tunnel? There have been books, movies and plays on death, but the true mystery of passing from this life to the next can only be unraveled in the final seconds before the end. \

Well, thanks to some keen scientific advances and recounts of final moments from those who have lived through near-death experiences, scientists have been able to describe what it feels like to die.

Death comes in many forms, but it’s usually a lack of oxygen to the brain that delivers the coup de grace. When a person’s head is deprived of oxygen there’s a cessation of electrical activity in the brain — the modern definition of death. Science says you have about 10 seconds after oxygen stops coming to your brain before you pass out.

In reporting my latest piece for the “Watercooler Diaries,” I uncovered some of the grisly details surrounding five high-profile ways to die. As it turns out, losing your head may not be as painful as it sounds. Read on to see what I mean, but beware this stuff gets kind of creepy.

Drowning. There’s a certain dark romance to it. Many literary heroines — think Ophelia — have met their end slipping beneath the dark waves with layers of petticoats floating around their heads. But this demise is neither pretty nor painless, although it can be quick.

Just how fast depends on swimming ability and water temperature. However, two-thirds of drowning victims are good swimmers, which suggests that people can get into trouble quickly. First comes the “surface struggle.” The victims gasp for air then hold their breath as they bob beneath. Studies with New York lifeguards have found that this stage lasts just 20 to 60 seconds. Once they submerge, they hold their breath for as long as possible — about 30 to 90 seconds. After that, they inhale some water, splutter, cough and inhale more water. The water blocks the delicate gas exchange that goes on the lungs and also triggers the airway to seal shut. Then comes a tearing and burning sensation in the chest as water travels into the airway and finally the victim slips into a feeling of calmness and tranquility, basically the beginnings of loss of consciousness from oxygen deprivation. This eventually causes the heart to stop and brain death.

Bleeding to death. We’ve all seen it in the movies: soldiers gushing from a gunshot wound, a blood-drenched woman slipping away after a car crash. This kind of death can take minutes or hours depending on how bad the wound is. Called exsanguinations, bleeding to death has a range of feelings, according to survivor reports, which range from fear to relative calm. The average adult has 5 liters of blood. Anyone losing 1.5 liters feels weak, thirsty, anxious and breaths really fast. By 2 liters, they get dizzy, confused and eventually go unconscious.

Decapitation. It seems a bit gruesome, but it can actually be one of the quickest and least painful ways to die — as long as the executioner is skilled, the blade is sharp and the condemned sits still. The guillotine, adopted by the French government in 1792, was seen as a more humane way to die. But get this, scientists think that consciousness continues after the spinal chord is severed. One study on rats found that it takes about 7 seconds for the brain to consume the oxygen from the blood left in the head. Some macabre reports from post-revolutionary France cite movements of the eyes and mouth 15 to 30 seconds after the blade came down.

Death by fire. Long the fate of witches and heretics, this demise is truly torture. Hot smoke and flames singe eyebrows and hair and burn the throat and airways, leaving you gasping for breath. Meanwhile, the burns inflict immediate and intense pain by stimulating pain nerves in the skin. As the intensity increases some feeling is lost but not much. Most people in fires don’t actually die from burns. They die from inhaling toxic gases and a suffocating lack of oxygen.

Lethal injection. This end was designed in Oklahoma in 1977 as a humane alternative to the electric chair, but is it really painless? It’s a series of three drug injections. First comes the anaesthetic thiopental to speed away any feelings of pain, followed by a paralytic agent called pancuronium to stop breathing. And finally, potassium chloride in injected. This stops the heart almost instantly. Each drug is given in a lethal dose to ensure a speedy death. However, eyewitnesses have reported inmates convulsing, heaving and attempting to sit up during the procedure suggesting this drug cocktail is not always completely effective. Dr. Leonidas Koniaris at the University of Miami Miller School of Medicine suggests that awareness is a real possibility in a large number of executions. He says inmates could feel suffocation from paralyzed lungs and the searing, burning pain of a potassium chloride injection, but because of the paralytic a witness may never see the outward signs of pain.

Tune into the “Watercooler Diaries” on KBTVonline Tuesday for our piece, “How it Feels to Die.”

Costume World

2007-10-28T13:30:00.000-07:00

It started out quite innocently. I guess it was about a month ago when my staff and I were munching on organic pizza, brainstorming ideas for pieces, whining about our hours and slotting items on the KBTVonline Google Calendar when Jason suddenly blurted out: “What are we going to do Halloween?”

As if on queue, my staff replied in unison: “Halloween Horror Nights!” After much banter, innuendo, teasing and snickering I was told that Halloween Horror Nights happens for a solid month each year at Universal Studios up in Orlando.

“Who or what are you going to dress up as, Kate?” This was the question asked by my oh-so-practical yet imaginative and brilliant Managing Editor, Rachael. She’s always planning, plotting and, basically what I call, “bring it home.”

“Good point,” I replied.

In the days following, I decided on Miss Piggy — more specifically “Miss Piggy as TV broadcaster/Weather Girl.” Or “Weather Piglet.” Or rather “Weather Piglette.”

Then last Friday morning, realizing I had only 24 hours until departure time, I hit the Web. I Googled “Costumes Miami Fort Lauderdale Pompano Beach.” A listing popped up for “Costume World” in Deerfield Beach. It was pouring rain, but I grabbed by gigantic umbrella and headed out in search of Miss Piggy, Google Map in hand.

Immediately upon entering Costume World I am hit with that sensory overload that usually renders me paralyzed. As a quick fix to my catatonic state, I seek out the most flamboyant queen I can find on the floor. He’s dressed up like Mr. Darcy of “Pride & Prejudice” (yet singing show tunes in the corner in his best falsetto).

“Miss Piggy’s out,” he proclaims sadly with a pouting lower lip.

I’m crestfallen and confused by this news. I grab my cell phone to call my friend Laura Kennedy who seems to have a solution to just about any problem. Her phone rings straight into voice mail. I sink to the stool just outside the dressing room. Just as I’m losing hope Mr. Darcy saunters up behind me and utters with glee: “What about Little Bo Peep?”

Watercooler Diaries::The EPK

2007-10-26T00:55:00.000-07:00

One of the minions at one of the million subsidiaries of one of the Biggie Entertainment companies out in Burbank, California e-mailed me through the site asking for a “press kit.”

My first thought was: Not again! Ug, I thought. Oh no! It’s her again!

You see I’m being cyber stalked by this crazy woman who accuses me of everything from stealing The North Face white mid-weight, water-repellent rain gear to failing to adhere to varying definitions of corporate governance. I don’t even own any stock — let alone sit on any corporate boards or mull over issues surrounding fiduciary responsibility.

I e-mailed Miss Entertainment Company Agent back. I asked her if she could be more specific, pretending that I had lots and lots of press kits but I needed to know exactly what she had in mind.

It turned out it wasn’t Crazy Cyberstalker Obsessed Woman at all. A nice young gal called me back, yes, from an 818 area code. She sounded fer’eal.

I didn’t think I had a press kit. “Barry, do I have a press kit?” Barry swiveled around in his chair. “Why?” He mumbled.

I explained the whole situation and that I was certain it was indeed fer’real girl and not Cyber Girl. Barry shook his head. I didn’t have a press kit, he insisted.

Maybe, I thought, this was God’s way of telling me to put one together.

“Let’s do an EPK,” Barry said spinning back toward the window. He started swivel his mouse on the YouTube/Google-branded mouse pad. He looked particularly dwarfed by the Mac flat screens today.

He starts nibbling on the earpiece of his glasses.

“What’s an EPK?” I sounded like a brat today. Barry smiled that cameraman-I-live-to-torture-talent smirk. “Trust me.”

The next thing I know he’s rearranging The Studio (read living room), pushing around lights, plumping up the purple sofa, rearranging vases — all with the keen eye of a war-torn photographer. I head back upstairs and continue tapping away at my scripts. He then shouts for me to come downstairs. “Sit.”

“No way!” There was no way I was going to shoot with no makeup, no hair, no clothes — no way!

“Just sit.” Forty-five minutes later I had answered two distinct questions: “Who is Kate Bohner?” and “Why did you decide to do KBTV?” — both questions, four different times, from four unusual angles.

“Am I done?” I added in my best petulant tone. Barry grinned that Cheshire Cat smile. “Yep.”

Twelve hours later he tapped me on the shoulder. “Take a look at this,” he said.

Watercooler Diaries::Pink Ribbons and "LIVESTRONG" Bracelets

2007-10-22T21:58:00.000-07:00

Here in the U.S. pink ribbons and rubber "LIVESTRONG" bracelets are ubiquitous, dotting the American Landscape through the month of October — National Breast Cancer Awareness Month — as health care professionals, charitable organizations, corporations and regular folks mobilize for the cure.

With all this it’s very easy to forget that women in other parts of the world, where advocacy in general is in its infancy, breast cancer is still a shameful secret.

Every three minutes an Egyptian woman is informed that she has the illness and the misery from lack of treatment options has led to misinformation. In developing countries such as India, women with breast cancer may be forced to use separate forks and knives because of the widespread belief that the disease is contagious.

It made me very grateful to be a woman living in America when I saw the sea of pink shirts, a man on stilts clad in hot pink fur pants and a masseuse with pink Energizer Bunny ears on Saturday at the 12th Annual Miami/Fort Lauderdale Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure 5K at Bayfront Park.

A record 16,042 runners and walkers turned out for the occasion. It was the largest Race for the Cure event in Miami ever. More than 700 breast cancer survivors, carrying pink roses presented to them during the survivor ceremony, participated in the race.

This year the event raised more than $1 million for breast cancer research, education and detection. South Florida Ford Dealers had the largest team, with 1,800 participants. Thousands of people — in all different shapes and sizes — gathered on Biscayne Bay to demonstrate their support for the cause, celebrate the survivors and remember their loved ones.

As I walked along in the crowd a mother stopped me and asked if I could take a picture of her and her daughter. We got to talking, and she shared her story with me. She's a survivor. She brought her 10-year-old daughter to run with her. Just four weeks before the woman was having surgery — a hysterectomy — because she is a genetic carrier for breast cancer. She said it was important that her daughter was at the event so she could "see that there are others like her mommy." And that she's not alone.

That feeling of "togetherness" was the underlying theme of the race. It was almost like everyone — all the men, children, family members and friends — were saying, "You aren't alone. We are here with you!"

Many ran in honor of a mother or sister or aunt lost to breast cancer, with a little pink tag placed on their backs. A few runners even got tearful as they recounted good times spent with the lost loved one.

Check out these photos from the race!

Watercooler Diaires::The Photo Shoot

2007-10-19T13:50:00.000-07:00

Buzzzzz. My Blackberry is buzzing somewhere near my elbow. It’s 6 a.m. Today’s the day of my photo shoot, and I’m nervous. Video is one thing. I’m speaking. I’m imparting information. It’s journalism. Shooting print photos is entirely different. There is something slightly voyeur-esque about it all.

Now it’s a scramble. I have to be out of my house at 7:45 a.m. for hair and manicure/pedicure across the street at the salon and then at the studio in Fort Lauderdale by 10 a.m.

I arrived with a giant suitcase full of clothes. Christy, my makeup artist, had already arrived. We chatted while she did my makeup (see photos). She offered me a brown rice cake and concluded our make-up session with a pat on the arm and a wink: “You’ll be fine, Kate; this is old hat.”

Thank God my producer Barry came. He told me he was there to shoot video for the new “Watercooler Diaries” opening, but he might have been a “support system” in disguise sent by my staff.

Anyway, I survived, and I’ve got the photos to prove it! Don’t forget to check in at www.kbtvonline.com to view the updated site next month with new photos, video, archives, blogs and more!

WatercoolerDiaires::Startup Lessons

2007-10-16T11:39:00.000-07:00

Prioritizing is a bitch. And some people are better at it than others. I’m not at all sure where I fall on the spectrum, but I’ll suggest to you that I am someone who tries to do too much, stretches herself too thin and tries to simultaneously please too many people. This would place me below sea level on the prioritizing front, I’m sure.

I poured the proverbial bucket of cold water over my own head yesterday morning, beginning sometime around sunrise. I wish it had been the dousing we see on television — the mammoth immersion of ice-cold Gatorade dumped on NFL coaches at the end of a game ending in a come-from-behind victory. No, it was an entire day of frigid shock and horror, like a steady stream of melting snow that I dip my bandana into when I’m hiking at high altitudes. It didn’t stop until the FedEx deadline at 5 p.m.

It all started last week when I was asked by one of my media partners out in Los Angeles for 92 episodes of archived KBTVonline episodes. Simple enough, I thought. I’ll copy the shows onto a series of DVDs, organize them alphabetically by title and create a nice, neat, Corporate-esque packet — set to ship at deadline.

Not. What a nightmare.

Camera pans back nine months…
I’m chatting with one of my mentors on the West Coast who kindly (and helpfully!) suggests that I create a series of libraries. First, he said, I should catalogue all the KBTVonline episodes by name and slug the Quicktime files the same title as the actual shows which air on YouTube. Next, I was expected to create a tape library, cataloging all the raw footage that was used to actually cut the shows. THEN, I was strongly urged to create ANOTHER library of the actual shows themselves employing the following process: Save the files onto an external hard drive, and when that fills up unplug it put it in the back of the closet and hook up another external hard drive to save the next batch of shows until that got filled up and I unplugged it and put it in the back of the closet — and so on and so on.

Ug, I thought, He’s so dull! Why are engineers so boring?

Camera pan forward to Monday morning (yesterday.)…
I begin my mission. Let’s just say that by noon — covered in alternating layers of sweat, dust and carpet fuzz — boring engineerishness looked really good. I’ll spare you the minutiae, but let’s just say I combed through mountains DVDs, dead hard drives, individual computers, external hard drives all day long. In one case, I spent 45 minutes desperately searching for a show called “Bovine Bonding: The Raw Milk Debate.” Finally I located it on an external hard drive peeking out from under the bed in my guest room. The file name? “Cow Drama.” Next, I ransacked a DVD case for a show called “Spank me with Spanx!” I ended up finding it slugged under “KBTV.04.10.07.” The entire day morphed into this dark, evil and looming 5 p.m. FedEx deadline. I nearly passed out in the studio. Instead of asking for my signature on the credit card slip, the woman behind the counter in the brightly-colored baseball cap asked me if she should phone 911.

What was so important that I couldn’t make at least ONE library of my shows? What had I been doing for the past nine months? And then I came across this photo…

Watercooler Diaries::Grasshoppers and Tarantulas and Slugs, Oh My!

2007-10-15T09:56:00.000-07:00

One of the goals we had in mind when we launched our new show, Watercooler Diaries, was to give you the viewer more of the types of stories you requested in a format to which you responded. After literally hundreds of e-mails and comments after we ran our two-part boxing series “Out of the Office; into the Ring” my Web master Jason Parsely and I visited one of the more unique attractions in the area — Butterfly World!

It rests in Coconut Creek, about 30 miles north of Fort Lauderdale. Said to be the largest center of its kind on Earth, it’s home to thousands of butterflies, dozens of exotic plants and birds and a wonderful English rose garden. We saw butterflies emerge really from start to finish, beginning in the laboratory where they start in a cocoon and then to the Butterfly Emerging Area and ending in Wings of the World Secret Garden!

Some of the visitors are lucky enough to have the butterflies land on their head, hand or shoulder. I was there to try to snap some close-up photos and video that would, of course, be impossible to capture, say, in at friend’s back yard, but my other motivation was to enjoy yet another experience that folks seem to only be able to get in Florida.

As I mentioned, it all starts in the laboratory. From behind glass enclosures, wide-eyed visitors get to see the stages of metamorphosis from eggs to caterpillars to pupae to adult butterflies. Research also goes on in the lab, where experts have developed successful techniques for butterfly farming.

Then in the Adventure Aviary, Jason and I took in the amazing flowers and countless butterflies from five continents. We finally entered the Wings of the World Secret Garden. You have to have a quick eye to see the hummingbirds darting around at up to 45 MPH in this area — and an even faster camera to capture them on film or digitally. A few fun facts about the hummingbird: They are the smallest bird in the world; their favorite color is red; they visit 2,000 to 5,000 flowers a day to get their energy; for their size they have the largest heart and brain of ALL animals; and only a few of the species actually hum.

We had spent nearly two hours there, so I tried to scoot without going into the insect gallery. Then Jason grabbed me and said: “It is time to conquer your fears!” He insisted we enter what we later termed “The Bug Room,” which was packed with tourists. I first had to pretend I was prepared to eat a Lubber Grasshopper and I was expected to “bond” with a tarantula. And then finally I approached this nice young fellow with an Australian accent — he was apparently giving some kind of an informal tour — and asked him if I could touch that thing in his hand. I was so freaked out I can’t remember what it’s called! As it turns out, Jason was right. I felt a little bit better about the fact that despite the fact that I’m terrified of insects, I was able to conquer my fears and face the bugs — even touch whatever that was! Now, he wants me to develop a series for the Watercooler called The NEW NEW FEARFACTOR! Ug, not my kind of reality TV!

Check out the photos from our visit!

Watercooler Diaries::Sea Turtle Hunt — CSI style

2007-10-12T09:14:00.000-07:00

It’s 6:30 a.m. The sun is rising over A1A, and I’m speeding toward the Gumbo Limbo Nature Center in Boca Raton, the site of the city’s Sea Turtle Conservation and Research Program.

Camera/tripod in the trunk? Check. Extra battery in the Prada satchel? Check. Lavaliere mic in the glove compartment? Check. Six pack of Peach Fresca in the Playmate? Check? Oh no! Where’s the Playmate that I had carefully filled with ice at midnight? Harrumph … it’s in the garage waiting to be loaded onto its usual spot on the dog bed in the back of the Beamer. Bummer, I’d forgotten to load it in; damn the darkness in that garage (and outside at that time of the morning!). One thing about living in Florida, you’ve got to remember to hydrate. Constantly.

No worries, I thought. I was excited for my first sea turtle hatchling hunt. Rachael had set it up for 7 a.m., and I had forgotten to ask her exactly what we’d be doing. Also, she’d been stuck in civil court all day after getting the plume assignment of covering a cesarean gone wrong. Hence, her phone was shut off.

Luckily, I wore jeans and converse high-tops because as it turns out this was an early-morning tag along with a couple of marine conservations. They’re there to study the turtles’ nesting patterns along this 5-mile strip of Boca’s beautiful beaches. Yes, all this at sunrise.

We’re turning a two-parter for our newly-launched “Florida in Focus” series where — in this episode, anyway — we’re taking a closer look at one of the oldest inhabitants of the state’s coastlines. Down here they’re called “Florida’s Living Fossils,” and local officials estimate that Palm Beach and Broward Counties alone had 12,500 nests this season.

There are three varieties of turtles on Florida’s beaches — the loggerhead, the leatherback and the greens. The average turtle nest has anywhere from 80 to 140 eggs. These turtles may be hanging out on the beach, but they don’t have it easy! Between light pollution, people, raccoons, eroding beaches and poachers, these walking fossils have a lot to contend with. The leatherback and green turtles are endangered species. The loggerhead isn’t plentiful either — it’s classified as a “threatened” species. In fact, South Florida is one of only two places they are found in the world.

It was beautiful and educational and fascinating. Please check out our photos!

I only had one bad moment. I was on my hands and knees (see photo) digging up a nest when my index finger poked through a cracked shell. I suddenly smelled that unforgettable ghastly scent — that of a dead and decaying body. Except it wasn’t a dead body, a la the 11 o’clock Channel 10 News, it was a dead sea turtle embryo. I nearly puked. Then I stopped and did my mental imagery: I was on set doing a cameo in next week’s episode of CSI Miami.

Don’t forget to tune in on Nov. 7 for our two-part series: “Sea Turtle Hatchling Hunting!”

WatercoolerDiaries::“Breast Cancer Awareness”

2007-10-09T20:45:00.000-07:00

The part I love most about going on location to report a travel piece is all the other stories I uncover while am at it. As I mentioned in Monday’s blog, my Managing Editor, Rachael Joyner, and I hit St. Pete for the weekend in order to turn a two-part piece in advance of the Republican Presidential Debates to be hosted by CNN and YouTube in the peninsular town on Nov. 28 — which we, at KBTVonline, will be covering.

It was Wednesday (last Wednesday) and I hadn’t yet booked a hotel. I was tapping away at my Mac about how a professor at the University of Kansas was blaming the trappings of technology as the reason why roughly 25 percent of American adults are depressed. Instead of tapping away at our Macs and snuffling down Prozac or Zoloft, Dr. Ilardi was insisting we return to our caveman roots — get exercise, sleep more, socialize around the campfire (like they used to) — to prevent isolation and obsession over negative thoughts. Or something like that.

I was still sorting out the research when Rachael texted me. It read: “htl rm in st pete? salt h2o all over pants. eroding beach story. don’t’ forget htl room. we will need to sleep. st pete. this wkd.”

I later learned she was working a story about beach erosion in Boca – in a cream pair of pin-striped dress slacks – and scribbling a quote into her reporter’s notebook (she writes for the Sun-Sentinel) when a wave hit the not-yet-so-eroded beach and splashed her up to her mid-thigh.

At that point, the text message didn’t give me the entire story, but I did get the message — loud and clear. “Kate, get a hotel room in St. Pete for the weekend!”

“Ten-four!” I thought.

After surfing the Web, I phoned America’s Best Inns St. Petersburg. I spoke to a lovely woman — the proprietor — who gave me lots of good info about the town, so I booked a double room for one night. I texted Rache back: “Done. Amer bst inn St Pete… kinda b & b-ish.”

Rachael and I arrived at the Inn to find out we would be given a “double room” with one queen-sized bed because the rooms with two singles were promised to women who return every year for the Susan Komen Race for a Cure, a yearly event to raise money and awareness for breast cancer. About 14,000 runners and walkers gathered at Vinoy Park for the event. These photos hardly capture the excitement and color we saw.

The race was at 7 a.m. Rachael and I had just finished shooting a standup on the water at sunrise. We were pooped but jazzed. We headed downtown to Central Avenue for the race. I was so moved by the experience of watching all these people — in all different shapes, colors and sizes — advocates in their own right. And I hated the fact that I simply felt like a voyeur. I think it was when I saw a gentleman with a sign pinned to the back of his shirt that read, “I am running for YOUR mom,” that I decided to get involved.

We returned home Saturday afternoon, and by Tuesday I hit Google, clicked through to Susan G. Komen Race for a Cure site and formed a team — the KBTVonline team. We’re set to run/walk the 5K in Miami on Oct. 20. Click through to our team page and take a look!

Also, don’t forget to check into the “WatercoolerDiaires” for our two-part series: “Racing for a Cure” on Oct. 25 and 27.

2007-10-08T09:51:00.000-07:00

Rachael on a pier next to the Sunshine Skyway Bridge just after a sunset shoot

2007-10-08T09:40:00.000-07:00

Kate in front of Mahaffey Theater

Watercooler Diaries::Taking the Show on the Road!

2007-10-08T07:23:00.000-07:00

About a month ago, I contacted YouTube to inquire if my Managing Editor, Rachael Joyner, and I could attend the Republican Presidential Debates — co-sponsored by CNN and YouTube — set to take place on Nov. 28 at Mahaffey Theater in St. Petersburg, Fla. I subsequently e-chatted with an energetic, intelligent and witty YouTube exec, who shifted me to a lovely gal with a sunny nature. Next thing you know — bingo! — we were offered press credentials! (We’re huge YouTube fans here at KBTV!)

It was three days before launching our new show “Watercooler Diaries,” and I was beginning to walk into walls. No sleep — too much to do. No food — I was shooting a two-parter on boxing. (Rather, I was/would be seen boxing on camera.) I had decided I didn’t want to look like Miss Piggy in my pink boxing gloves ;-(

Ping! It was an e-mail from Rachael. She needed a quick fill-in-the-blank, which involved me deciding on a city in Florida to visit so we could tease our new periodic “Florida in Focus” segment. Rache had already written the descriptor: “‘Florida in Focus’ is a segment that looks at things you’d see only in Florida — whether it’s wacky laws, a midnight sea turtle hatchling hunt or a guide to 36-hours in Miami. Coming soon: 36-hours in [Kate please decide on city … I’m closing this section.] It was very Rachael, I thought, stern but in a gentle, suggesting kind of a way. I think she loathes management, but sadly for her she’s good at it. Well, at least managing me.

I slumped down at my computer, put my head in my hands and willed myself to stop thinking about the raw cookie dough. I was hungry! Didn’t anyone care! Then I thought about Miss Piggy and breathed deeply, picked up the phone and called her. She begrudgingly answered. She had to! We were on deadline … :). (She and I both detest talking on the telephone, which I guess is why we became reporters. Just kidding! :))

“St. Petersburg,” I said. “And no, not the one in Russia. The one on the West Coast! We’ll turn a 36-hours-in-St. Petersburg piece, a la The New York Times travel section!”

“Sounds great!” Rachael said. (Maybe she was just happy I’d finally filled the blank.) She added, “Why St. Pete?”

“We just got approved for press passes for the debates!” I continued to explain that we could do an “advance”-type piece on the debates and run it as a two-part series on Oct. 27 and 29, exactly one month prior to the debates! That way people would know where to stay, where to eat, places to go, and places to see.

We set off for St. Pete on Friday, Oct. 5 for our 36 hours of reportage. Soooo, don’t forget to check in with us in three weeks for the “Florida in Focus: St. Petersburg” two-part series and, OF COURSE, to read the behind-the-scenes story of the two of us spending 36-hours working at warp speed after having spent no more than two to three hours on a clip before. I’ve added some pictures to whet your appetite!

Watercooler Diaries::One-Trick-Pony Technologies

2007-10-06T01:28:00.000-07:00

Admit it. We’ve all been there. Wading through what seems like hundreds of commands just to set Tivo so you can watch Dr. Phil’s “Man Camp 2” when you get home from work. Or, the ultimate humiliation: Trying to figure out how to get your blinged-out phone – that can play music and scan the Web – to actually make a phone call or store a number.

There’s now a term for this too-many-feature-induced burn out. It’s called “feature creep.” It basically means that as gadgets become progressively more complicated with more with more “bonus” features, consumers grow increasingly more agitated and confused! But here’s the catch. It’s self-induced! Most people THINK they want more features, which is why they HAVE TO buy THAT camera – the one with aperture priority mode, detachable rotatable lenses, SCSI ports, the works, instead of just a plain old vanilla point-and-shoot automatic. It’s not until they get home and actually use the device that they realize what have I done?

In the age of the iPhone gadgets with dozens of features and instruction manuals the size of a small phone book are the norm. However, a new trend is hitting the technology world, a line of electronic devices that offer less — and as a result are leaving customers more satisfied.

Makers are starting to respond to these feature-fatigued masses with user-friendly devices. These “one-trick pony” technologies are designed to handle just one task.

Philips, the Dutch consumer-electronics giant, sells a line of digital photo frames that play a slide show the minute you pop in a memory card — a less complicated version of looking at pictures on your laptop.

Best Buy sells handheld TVs with no satellite, no cable, no DVR, CD players that play only CDs and AM/FM radios.

Even Apple jumped on the bandwagon with the iPod Shuffle. It’s so featureless the user can’t even shuffle through the playlists, yet it’s sold an estimated 30 million since its January 2005 Launch.

Perhaps one of the first to cater to the subscribers of this anti-feature trend is a company called GreatCall, creators of the Jitterbug, the “supersimple” cell phone that only makes phone calls. It has no camera, no MP3 player, no Internet browser, just buttons to dial the phone number and a search your phone book.

But have people hit the wall? I decided to hit Mizner Park in Boca Raton Florida to ask a few folks if enough was enough when it came to the features of their latest and greatest gadgets!

My cameraman Barry decided to cut some of their remarks into a “reel” so to speak, so imagine my surprise when he came back with this!

Watercooler Diaries::The Launch

2007-10-02T18:17:00.000-07:00

I had been teetering on a dock on the Intracoastal in three-digit-degree heat, being devoured by mosquitoes, sweating through pancake makeup, shouting over leaf blowers and skirmishing with squalls for six months. I was windblown, worn out and beginning to suffer what felt like early onset Alzheimer’s. I was so blown out that each day it was becoming more difficult to conjuring up one, single original thought. In the middle of a sentence — either spoken or in my head — I’d suddenly fire expletives at a chopper whirling overhead, eat a large hunk of my freshly sprayed hair or get splashed by a cigarette boat speeding by.

It was time to move inside.

Luckily for the staff (and in particularly my producer and cameraman, Barry), it seems everyone else thought it was time for us to move inside, too.

OK, Kate, I thought. It’s time to actually listen to feedback. My Webmaster, Jason, had gently mentioned to me at a staff meeting about a month before that he thought I might be a little “stubborn.” After processing the notion that this might indeed be the case, we all decided that I should start wearing a sign around my neck for our weekly staff meetings. It read: “STOP ME IF I’M BEING STUBBORN.”

Hence, our new show “The Watercooler Diaries” was born! And this is what we’re offering up to quench your thirst for content:

Instead of posting every day, we’ll be posting new episodes three times a week — Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. And on those off days you can get your KBTV fix with new blog posts.

Don’t fret over our new three-times-a-week schedule either. We’ll actually be bringing you more of the content you viewers requested, with on-camera interviews, on-location reports, and, yes, we’ll be hearing from people just like you with man-on-the-street interviews.

And the best part is you don’t have to go anywhere. We’re still at KBTVonline.com! But we’ve made a few improvements. Now when you visit us on the Web you can leave comments and subscribe to our weekly videos. That’s all on KBTVonline.com

We’ll also be launching several new segments. Here’s a sneak peek at a few.

Health Report: This periodic segment will feature new scientific breakthroughs, wacky research on health and the human psyche and news to help you keep a healthy mind and body. In our first episode, next Tuesday, find out why people can’t help but curse. Scientists say we’re hardwired to do it.

Entrepreneur of the Month: This segment is back and even better. Airing the first Tuesday of every month, it will feature new inventions and ideas that are changing lives and the innovative people making headlines for them. Check out our upcoming piece about David Poolay from the Momentum Project airing Nov. 1.

Florida in Focus: This segment looks at things you’d see only in Florida — whether it’s wacky laws, a midnight sea turtle hatchling hunt or a guide to 36-hours in Miami. Coming soon is 36-hours in St. Petersburg, the site of the Republican National Debates.

Reality KBTV: It’s reality TV only a whole lot better. Follow me as I go parasailing, skydiving, crocodile wrestling, basically all those things you always wanted to do but never had the nerve. In Thursday’s episode I’ll be heading out of the office and into the boxing ring.

Catch all this and more on “The Watercooler Diaries” on KBTVonline.com. We look forward to reading your comments, and don’t forget to subscribe!

KBTV::Fingerprinting: A Window into the Mind ... Part III

2007-08-17T19:14:00.000-07:00

SCRIPT: (August 16, 2007)

Today we begin our final installment of our three-part series “Fingerprints: A Window into the Mind.” Over the past two days, I’ve explored how scientists are using a technique called “brain fingerprinting” to literally read brain scans to see if potential suspects have specific, incriminating information about a crime – read if they’ve committed a crime. Today we’ll look at two researchers who are building on that technology to create the ultimate lie detector … one that looks inside the brain to unequivocally determine whether or not someone is lying.

BREAK

Author James Halperin wrote a 1996 science fiction novel called The Truth Machine, which describes how society would react to the creation of an infallible lie detector machine. His book is set in 2024, which to some may seem silly. But scientists are claiming that advances in brain scanning techniques … make certain that the creation of such a device … such as the one discussed in this piece … a reality in the next five to ten years.

BREAK

For decades now law enforcement and government agencies have used polygraph tests to determine whether or not someone is lying. The problem is that even today … the most sophisticated lie detector tests are not 100 percent accurate. In fact, many say they’re no better than just guessing if someone is lying or not – also, my source at the FBI tells me they’re just too easy to beat. Well, all this may soon be a moot point. According to J. Peter Rosenfeld, a professor of psychology at Northwestern University, the science of lie detection may be coming of age with brain scans that literally “see” if a person is lying.

BREAK

This week Dr. Daniel Langleben and Dr. Ruben Gur from the University of Pennsylvania released results of a study in which they used a functional MRI to detect whether people were lying. In their study, "Functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging (fMRI) of the Brain During Deception," they asked 18 participants to lie about the playing card they were held while being scanned inside an MRI machine.

BREAK

By measuring the level of blood flow to specific regions in the brain, the scientists two regions that quote activated … or lit up … when a person lied: the anterior cingulated cortex (located just behind the forehead) and the left premotor cortex (located near the ear). They believe these regions, which are used for attention and judgment, are “activated to suppress or inhibit the truth.” This is interesting stuff, they say, but more studies still need to be done.

BREAK

OK. Put on your seatbelt, here. The notion of scanning a person’s brain to determine whether or not they’re lying is complicated by the fact that the person has to KNOW he or she is lying … here you might want to refer back to my two-part series, recently broadcast called The Legacy of Lying. So we’re basically talking about two separate parts of the same issue … one, the person is simply a pathological liar, and he actually believes his own lies … the other is a bit more nuanced ... say an eyewitness to a crime scene … who really, honestly believes she saw what she thinks she saw … but is mistaken.

BREAK

As science fiction novelist James Halperin points out in his book The Truth Machine, there are many benefits of having an infallible lie detector machine … catching criminals, identifying terrorists, seeing if politicians are really telling the truth. But are these things worth the costs to our privacy ... such as one's sexual orientation, or unusual religious beliefs, or drug or sexual habits? I’ve always been told the most destructive and pernicious lie is the one someone tells you that he told in order to protect you. But, I want to know what you think … is there any lie that’s a good lie?

Please tell me your thoughts in the comments box below.

KBTV::Fingerprinting: A Window into the Mind ... Part II

2007-08-15T17:45:00.001-07:00

SCRIPT: (August 15, 2007)

I’m Kate Bohner for KBTVonline …thanks for joining! Today we begin Part II of our three-part series “Fingerprints: A Window into The Mind.” Yesterday I discussed new technology that enables scientists to identify someone’s gender, their eating and smoking habits … even illicit drug activity … simply by looking at the smudge left from a single fingerprint. Today I explore how scientists are taking that one step further with technology that literally reads people’s minds to help determine whether or not they’ve committed a crime!

BREAK

The technique is called brain fingerprinting. And … according to Dr. Lawrence Farwell, a psychiatrist who heads up the Human Brain Research Laboratory in Fairfield, Iowa, this technique can equally as important as, say, recovering fingerprints or DNA from a crime scene. By studying a particular type of brain scan, Dr. Farwell can discern whether or not certain information about a crime is stored inside a person’s memory. The obvious advantage to this instead of, say, gathering fingerprints or DNA at a crime scene … is that people’s brains are like video cameras … they record everything they see.

BREAK

So … how does brain fingerprinting really work? According to Dr, Farwell, a person is put through two sets of tests … one where words and images from a crime scene are flashed in front of his or her eyes … in the second part of the test … irrelevant words and pictures are shown. When person being studied recognizes specific bits of information certain electrical brain impulses are involuntarily elicited. Dr. Farwell calls these impulses “electroencephalographic responses” or MERMERS … that’s MERMERS. And this is the clincher. Let’s say certain details of a crime that have not been in the press … only the investigators and the perpetrator would know this particular bit information … a person cannot control when his or her brain emits an impulse … or the MERMER when it recognizes that particular detail. I love this part ... (KATE AD LIBS STORY ABOUT 18-INCH, SERRATED HUNTING KNIFE!)

BREAK

Dr. Farwell claims his tests have been 100 percent accurate. An example, he correctly identified 17 FBI agents out of 21 people tested. Dr. Farwell said he hopes to use the technology to detect possible terrorists. For example, he says, the technology could be used to screen frequent travelers from Afghanistan to see if they have or do not have specific information about how Osama bin Laden trains recruits at his terrorist camps.

BREAK

Tune in tomorrow for the final installment of our series “Fingerprints: A Window into the Mind” to learn how scientists, through brain fingerprinting and MRI scans, are creating the ultimate lie detector tests which … they say … will be used by everyone from law enforcement officials to homeland security agents … to EVEN ... cheating spouses!

KBTV::Fingerprinting: A Window into the Mind ... Part I

2007-08-15T17:40:00.000-07:00

SCRIPT: (August 13, 2007)

Good morning. Welcome to KBTVonline ... Thanks for joining! Today our saga on creepy, yet innovative technology continues as we begin a three-part series called "Fingerprints: A Window into the Mind." Scientists are experimenting with new research to create what they’re calling "brain fingerprints" – this is an amalgamation of fingerprint technology and mind mapping -- and its being used to discover the most personal information about people … what they eat, their sexual orientation … even to determine whether or not they’re lying! Today, in part one of the series, we’ll focus on some innovative research -- just out from a group of scientists in London -- that allows law enforcement officials to tell some of the most intimate details about a person, just from a fingerprint.

BREAK

Scientists at Imperial College of London have shown that fingerprints contain information that clues us in on a person’s day-to-day habits. Yes, these researchers say they can now identify a person’s key behavioral patterns – just by carefully studying their fingerprints. Just one, single drop of sweat can tell a person’s eating and smoking habits, as well as a person’s sex. In other words, they no longer need blood. The technology allows law enforcement officers to build the beginnings of profile … simply based on a single thumb print left … say … at a crime scene.

BREAK

So how does it all work? The professors at the Imperial of London say they identify the chemical pattern inside the fingerprint … that is where the crucial infomation lies. For example, the number of proteins present in the identifying fingerprint can show whether or not someone is a vegetarian. The same goes for smokers – your fingerprints leave thinly-veiled traces of nicotine. As reported by the journal of Analytical Chemistry, the collection of sweat, grease and other liquid left behind with a fingerprint is what allows the analysis to be done.

BREAK

Remember this way of studying fingerprints is brand new. Therefore, CSIs at crime scenes can no longer collect finger prints using the traditional … brushing of power … then lifting them with tape. This distorts the fragile, molecular chemical structure needed to study the print. Instead this collection technique seeks to preserve the entire print — with a gelatin-based, sticky strip of adhesive, a steady hand, and an almost obsessive attention to detail. Once the sample is collected, infra-red technology is used to scan the fingerprint, providing a breakdown of the chemicals present in the print left behind. The good news here is that fingerprints can still be collected from a wide variety of surfaces – from door handles, eye glasses, surfaces of cars and countertops … basically anything your hand touches.

BREAK

So you might be asking yourself why? What exactly are scientists attempting to track using this new technology? I asked my source at the FBI … what’s new here? First, he tells me, Crime Scene Investigations are not what you see on network television. They almost never have that kind of pristine evidence shown in CSI Miami. He tells me if a crime scene is not corrupted by the criminal itself – it is often old. With this new technology … law enforcement officials can determine how old the crime scene is, the sex of the person or people who were there, there basic eating and smoking habits … whether or not they ingested prescription or drugs and perhaps most importantly traces of gun power and biological or chemical weapons.

BREAK

The good news here is that the analysis can be done with equipment already in place at crime labs, so law enforcement agencies could have this technology in hand within the next year. Tune in tomorrow – Wednesday – to learn how scientists, through a technique called brain fingerprinting, are able to discern a person’s propensity for anti-social behavior … read are they prone to be a criminals? Or not. Also, don’t forget to tune in the following day … Thursday … for the conclusion of this original KBTVonline series … as we take a closer look at the ultimate lie detector test! I’m Kate Bohner … see you tomorrow.

KBTV::Back From Vacation .. Finally!

2007-08-14T10:12:00.000-07:00

It was midnight and I was exhausted. My house smelled like burnt freon from the air conditioner. Oh no. Not again.

I plop down on the couch and lift the lid of my computer to check my email.

"1 message pending ... "

It read:

Great great news!!!!!! Lying and obesity are both on the iPhone in
the youtube viewer!!!!! This means that the KBTV stories are in the
top 0.1% of all shows on youtube in terms of popularity!

Amazing ... Congratulations!!! I just searched for kate bohner and
they are there and work !!!!!

Wow! What a great way to come home ... an even better way to go back to work!

Suddently the burnt freon no longer mattered ;-)

Sent from my iPhone

KBTV::Kate's Vacation!

2007-08-01T20:40:00.000-07:00

Yes, it’s true. I am going on vacation. I will miss you all, but no one will have to miss their daily dose of KBTVonline! The content is in the capable hands of my web servant, Jason Parsley!

Bye, Bye!

KBTV::Are Love-Handles Contagious? Part II

2007-07-31T19:38:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the second installment in our two-part series: “Obesity: Is it Contagious?” … as we survey new, ground-breaking research … that explores a revolutionary idea … that obesity may not just be genetics, the quality of the food you eat, even whether or not you exercise … but a function of your social network … more precisely … WHO YOU HANG OUT WITH!

Researchers say they got the idea to start looking at how a person’s social environment affected weight gain after seeing all the headlines … in the newspapers, on television … that referred to America’s obesity problem as an “epidemic.” It got them wondering if obesity should be classified differently … instead of a condition … if it should be thought of more as a virus … something that could spread like the flu. This, they thought at the time, would explain the exponential explosion of the obesity statistics in this county.

Americans are getting fatter. In the last 25 years the number of obese people in the U.S. has DOUBLED. One-third of all American adults are overweight … and that number is expected to grow 40 percent in the next eight years. For years public health experts have called obesity an epidemic … proving that America’s weight problem is leading to even greater and more catastrophic health issues -- an increase in diabetes, heart disease and other chronic conditions.

Let’s take a closer look at a study funded by The National Institute of Aging … because the departure from the norm here … is that researchers did not look at obesity as the problem of the individual – genetics, quality of food, exercise, etc … they instead, looked at obesity as the problem of the collective … the “social network” so to speak. They studied a network of more than 12,000 people over a 32-year period to discover how obesity spread … through this network.

Using data from a decades-old Framingham Heart Study … which colleted information on health, diet, exercise, family ties and friendships of residents in Framingham, Massachusetts … They judged whether a person was obese measuring his or her body mass index … the ratio of a person’s height to weight. A person with a score of 30 is considered to be obese. The group also took a close look at other factors that influence weight … such as gender, socioeconomic status, location and smoking habits. Here’s the kicker … which makes this research … just published in the New England Journal of Medicine …. and I quote from experts here … “Revolutionary” … because they found that the influence of friends was AS POWERFUL as genetics in determining weight gain.

Yikes. When your parents told you be careful who you hang out with, they were most likely talking about cigarettes, alcohol, drugs and crime. Do you think they ever thought about obesity?

KBTV:: Are Love-Handles Contagious?

2007-07-30T19:36:00.000-07:00

I love to write about dieting in America. Americans are obsessed with their health and our infant mortality rate just hit 37th in the world. Just above Slovenia. We’re fanatical about being thin, and in the past 25 years the number of obese people in this country has DOUBLED.

Sometimes the information in the scripts is so fascinating that I just run the script — it says it all:

“Obesity: Is it Contagious?” … This ground-breaking – potentially landmark – research shows that weight gain may have just as much to do with who your friends are as what you eat and how much you exercise. Some researchers say this study…which is the first if its kind…will “revolutionize” the way people approach weight loss. I found the research so compelling … specifically, its broader societal themes and implications … that I divided it into a two-part series!

The study was conducted by scholars at Harvard and The University of California, San Diego … the findings … remarkable … that if you have a close friend who’s overweight, you’re three times more likely to become obese. And the impact is so strong that distance doesn’t matter — you could live next door to the fat friend … or that that individual could live half way around the world..

The research …which was recently published in the New England Journal of Medicine … was led by Dr. Nicholas A. Christakis of Harvard Medical School and James H. Fowler of UC San Diego. The two are the first to document the spread of obesity through a social network. They’ve found that obesity follows the same pattern as contagious viruses such as the flu and AIDS. But it isn’t obesity “germs” that are spreading…it’s a person’s perception of weight. Dr. Christakis explained it this way…a man goes home to spend Thanksgiving with his family. During the meal he notices that his brother has gained some weight, so he concludes that it’s OK to be heavier. You can see already … how the impact of the dynamic … could make the growth … so to speak … exponential.

The researchers began with the philosophy that a person’s norms are set by the people around them … their peers. Just as a person’s attitude towards race or country is determined largely by upbringing … family and friends affect the size of a person’s waistline. And here are the stats … put on your seatbelt. So … who … or which factor … has the biggest influence on a person’s weight? Mutual friends. If one person in a “social network” becomes obese, the chances of the others … in that same social network … succumbing to the same fate of becoming obese … jumps to 171 percent…among siblings … the risk was 40 percent … and between spouses it fell to 37 percent.

Tune in tomorrow for part two, of our ongoing series … “Obesity: Is it Contagious?” … to learn how you might be affected not just by friends … but friends of friends … according to a study funded by the National Institutes of Health … a person who becomes overweight increases the odds of obesity in the 100 people connected to him or her … though family or friendship.

To be continued …

KBTV::Barack Obama Got My Tongue!

2007-07-26T20:46:00.001-07:00

After taking a shower with the former South Carolina governor at the FBO in Charleston, I wasn’t quite sure how I could top that this evening, the evening of the Democratic Presidential Debates — vis-à-vis storytelling later on. Or blog writing, even.

But just when I thought I’d faint from stimuli overload, I heard a shout. “Barack is coming! Barack is here!”

A few of us in the Google/YouTube entourage were making our way up the stairs to have some processed cheese and warm diet coke with the candidates. Suddenly, I plastered my back against the wall on the side of the stairwell and sucked in my stomach. I had to make way for the throng of Barack aides, handlers and advance team members!

Then I saw the top of the dapper candidates perfectly coiffed head as he bobbed up the stairs. Obama turned, grabbed the rail in the stairway and kind of hoisted himself around the bend. Then, all of a sudden, he was perched right in front of me. He stuck out his beautifully manicured, café-au-lait hand. “Hello,” he boomed in his purring baritone. “Barack Obama.”

The cat got my tongue. I couldn’t speak. I’ve met Clinton and both Bushes in my journeys on years and years of campaign trails. But for some reason — in this hot, humid, sticky stairwell at The Citadel — I couldn’t utter one word.

I took a deep breath and nearly said, “Hi, I’m Kate Bohner!”

Don’t worry, I didn’t. I just shook his hand and pumped it furiously while my face remained paralyzed. He moved on easily, but not without a quick, charming wink!

He stepped up one stair and shook the hand of the gentleman to my left. “Congratulations, Senator.” My date then turned to me and said: “What happened honey?”

NOT to be continued. I’m not sure I can take much more of this :-D

KBTV::The YouTube Debate

2007-07-26T06:26:00.000-07:00

The plane had gotten hit by another plane, and we were going to have to take another plane in order to get from Savannah to Charleston in time for the debate. Okay, I thought. At least I’m alive. Move on. Next Chapter. Mentally tough, Kate, mentally tough. That has been my motto for weeks now — mentally tough.

3 p.m. Update: There was another plane available, and it would be ready to take us to Charleston in 15 minutes. It was a nineteen minute flight. The problem was I wasn’t going to have time to check into the hotel and shower and blow my hair dry and put on makeup before the debate. We had to be at The Citadel by 5:30 p.m., and the doors closed at 6 p.m.

“Do you think you could manage taking a shower at the FBO?” I looked at the man saying this to me and I thought ‘oh no, I hate looking ugly.’ It makes me feel insecure, and I present like a drowned rat.

But the Charleston, South Carolina FBO it was. Harrumph, I thought, mentally tough. I arrived and was whisked through a door marked “Pilots Lounge.” A nice lady with a nametag that read “Janet” with a thick Southern accent assured me that everything was going to be okay. She handed me a little bottle of Pert 2-in-1 Shampoo/Conditioner and another travel size container of BodySilk bath gel, a towel that looked like it had been washed a thousand times, a washcloth from the same era and she smiled, a big wide toothy smile. “Good luck,” she cooed.

“Thanks so much,” I said. I proceeded to turn on the water, strip down and scrub up with my makeshift bath products. I toweled off, put on my black pants, black and silver Tahari T-Shirt, slid on my silver Gucci mules and Voila! I was, at least, dressed … and clean. Clean-ish, anyway.

As I stood in the Pilot’s Lounge bathroom peering into the now fogged up mirror, I carefully concentrated on applying the black mascara to my eyelashes and the Dubonnet Red M.A.C. gloss to my lips.

Suddenly, the shower door to my right swung open (I had bathed in the shower to my left, apparently there were two), and a man with graying hair and ruddy cheeks wrapped only in a towel broke into a huge, warm, friendly Southern grin. My right hand hit the counter hard and the black mascara slid out of my hand into the sink.

“Why Hello Governor Hodges,” I heard myself say. “How are you?”

To be continued …

KBTV::Dispatches from Church

2007-07-24T18:52:00.000-07:00

It was hot and damp and loud and maddening traveling to church this evening. Simply the act of getting to Joan of Arc by 6:30 made me want to explode – shriek at diminutive, innocent children and shove aside the darkly, tanned octogenarians blocking MY WAY in their squeaky, archaic wheelchairs. By the time I found the collection plates in the Art Room on the second floor, I felt about as spiritual as my Switch Box in the garage with the two blown fuses – fallout from the bloody electrical storm on Wednesday night that blew up the LED screen on my thermostat and scrambled my Internet access. My mood was foul.

I flopped down in the second row to hopefully hear a message of hope – something, please God anything, to get me out of my head. I know enough by now to know that my head mimics a dreadfully dangerous neighborhood … and I therefore should never go in there alone. Which is why at times like this, I always invite God to come in with me.

I looked up and saw a man in his mid-sixties with kind blue eyes, grey hair, a slightly ruddy face, and I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t stop staring at him. I put my soda down, crossed my legs, crossed my arms, hunched over and waited for him to begin talking. (Isn’t this the body language everyone exhibits to welcome God into their hearts and “accept” a message of hope?) I laugh to myself, mocking myself, rather.

I tuned in some point near the very beginning of this man’s story … this man with the kind blue eyes who calls himself “Jack” … because he was in the middle of recounting an anecdote from when he was six years old – he had stolen his little brother’s bottle of periodontal anesthetic … downed it in three swigs … filled the bottle back up with water from the tap and carefully placed it back in it’s “proper place.” Later that evening Jack lay in bed listening to his little brother cry because the pain in the boy’s gums just wouldn’t go ease or ebb. Well, Jack thought, of course it wouldn’t, his mother was rubbing his little brother’s gums with water, not anesthetic. The anesthetic was in Jack’s six-year-old belly, making him stoned.

As I sat there … transfixed … I began to hear a message of deep spiritual love. He described lust, as a feeling made up entirely of power, control and manipulation … while love, on the other hand, only comes alive when you truly want something better for the other person, than for yourself.

He quoted Martin Luther King: “Everybody has the capacity for greatness because we all have the ability to serve.” And he talked about unconditional giving and forgiveness and having a handicapped child – or “challenged child” – by ending with the point that he feels it is we who are challenged … not his little girl. We are the ones who carry the burden of our resentments towards others day after day until we become toxic. His little girl begins each day with a clean slate. As we all should, too.

He spoke of his – former, mind you – “What’s in it for me?” filter … that admittedly, everyone suffers the defect of being selfish to a degree … but he, in his prior life, had PERFECTED the art of being selfish. Until 24 years ago … he said he didn’t know any other way to live. Information came to him in bits … then those nuggets of content got pressed through the filter which gave the information a rating based on the following: “What can I get from this person? How can I benefit from this situation? How much is it going to cost me?” It took a long time to change, he assured the 100 or so folks in the crowd. But today he lives a rewarding life and he adores his wife and he aims to serve and preserve a message of hope and faith and honesty and openness and willingness … and service. “I have no money to give; I therefore donate my time.”

After cleaning up the rooms and returning the collection baskets to the Art Room on the second floor, I snuck out the side door of the church and started heading for my car. I hit the remote on the key chain. Beep beep. The lights on the car flickered – and I picked up my pace, almost trotting at this point … then I heard a now familiar, sweet, low voice boom from behind me: “Where are you going young lady?” I swivel around on my heel to face the voice. It was Jack. Jack with the kind blue eyes and the gentle, courageous voice. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

We stop … completely still … and calibrate that wrinkle in time … when nothing happens … it’s as if the world stops with you.

“I don’t know, Jack.” I said slowly shaking my head back and forth, stepping forward, and reaching out my hand to shake his -- to formally introduce myself. “I don’t know – that’s the answer to both those questions.” I smile and shrug.

Jack stepped forward, swatted my hand away, and opened up his arms … I stepped up and he gave me a big bear hug. “You’re going to be okay, young lady.”

I grinned and giggled. “I know I’m going to be okay, Jack … I’m just a little scared about how I’m going to get there.”

We shared a conspiratorial chuckle. His kind blue eyes twinkle – as if he knows a secret that I don’t yet know but will someday find out. I jumped into my car and sped South down A1A. What a wonderful night, I thought. What a magnificent life. ;-)

KBTV::Neighbors, Romance & A Fried A/C Unit

2007-07-24T18:50:00.000-07:00

On Wednesdays I usually don’t have to wake up at dawn to shoot, so I often sleep in. Not so, this morning. I awoke at 5 a.m. with a start, in the heart of a nightmare. Apparently, someone I love passionately had left me for Hilary Clinton. Yuck.

I tumble out of bed and waddle into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I glance up at the mirror. Ugh, I look terrible. Hair in ponytail, I pad down the stairs to grab a chilled, peach Fresca from the fridge. It was then that I noticed it was a little stuffy and dank in the house. Hmmm. On the way back upstairs I realized lightning had hit something, and my townhouse had convulsed in a massive power surge. There I was in the middle of a beautiful 3,200 square-foot townhouse, virtually camping. No lights. No Internet. And — once again — no air-conditioning.

I made a courageous attempt to go back to sleep. No go. So I slipped on my navy suede Ugg clogs and clumped up to the roof, gazing out on a soon-to-be fabulous sunrise gently peeking up from the horizon. Got it. Now I remember. This is why I live down on Florida’s Gold Coast. Serene, beautiful, peaceful, quiet. No drama.

I amble out to the edge of my roof deck and rest my elbows on the concrete ledge. My thoughts turn to the sheer insanity I’m sure to leap into as the commercial contractors’ world opens its doors. I should call my guy at the A/C company. Vern and I should call him now. Do I even have a Service Contract with Perfect Cooling? God, I hope so. I lower my head and mutter a quick prayer. God understands “mutter-speak,” I hope.

I lean over the edge of the pale mustard, solid concrete barrier to catch a couple kissing goodbye. It’s the guy who lives at the end of the dead end street on the East side of my townhouse. His cottage is a pigsty and an eyesore. I finally felt compelled to call the Broward Sheriff’s Office so they’d give him a warning and get him to vacate his illegally parked, mobile dumpster.

I later apologized for being such a bitch, and he and I have since become friends. He’s hoping to get bought out by the developers, who are building the Parking Garage across the street, because, he tells me, he knows his house is a teardown and he wishes they’d get it over with already. He’s broke and ready to move. Then I remembered his girlfriend is a flight attendant for American Airlines. I’d never seen her around, so I thought he was making her up so I wouldn’t think he was gay. (I did think he was gay, by the way.) Well, I guess he’s not gay, the flight attendant is indeed real, and this –— perched below me now — must be her.

She is in an American Airlines Flight Attendant costume, with wild wet hair. She bursts out laughing at that very moment, and they fall into each other’s arms. The dawn is breaking and the orange and peach light begins to deepen as it creeps across the sky. He grabs her around the throat with his left arm into some kind of a chokehold and begins rubbing his balled-up fist in a twisting motion on top of her head. It’s called a “nuggie,” I think. She is giggling and gasping for air and trying to kick him in the shin. He finally let’s her go, and she feigns a slap across his face. He intercepts her open, swinging palm, turns it face down and gently kisses her knuckles.

I’ll miss you, she whispers, pushing out a pouting lower lip. I’ll miss you, too, he mouths. He then grabs her in a big bear hug, and they say goodbye over and over again. The goodbye takes on a honey-I’m-going-off-to-war type parting. Finally she breaks free, rolls her smart, black — but beat up — overnight bag and throws it in the back of her beige and green, two-toned Pinto and sputters off. He waves at her. He stands, mesmerized in her wake. His mint-green hospital scrubs, tied at the waste, begin to droop as he shifts about in worn thin flip-flops, no shirt.

My eyes begin to sting with fatigue, or tears maybe? I’m so worn out it’s hard to tell. But there I stand, transfixed, somehow lost as the fly-on-the-wall voyeur, drinking in the moment. My neighbor in the mint-green scrubs suddenly looks up — steps back in surprise that I’m up, that I’m watching — and he raises his hand to toss me a somewhat awkward wave. I wave back.

Hmmm. I’m lonely. That’s it. I just must be lonely. I pivot in my Ugg clogs and saunter back in through the glass door. Whew. It’s hot. I hit “Vern, Perfect Cooling” on my phone list.

Game on.

KBTV::Richochet Presents

2007-07-18T11:31:00.001-07:00

Ricochet presents. That’s what my brother used to call them — I think. Sometimes I attribute things to my brother that he never said. I’m not sure why I do this, but one thing I do know is that I only assign the really hip, cool, with-it stuff to him. My brother is very honest, anal, precise and wonderful, so I’m sure the fact that I do this would naturally piss him off. I’m going to have to put the “Don’t attribute things to Russ that he never said” in my “Things That Must Change” column. Harrumph.

I’ve spent my life nurturing a hero-worship thing for my older brother. But recently our relationship suddenly got a lot more real. It started happening this time last summer. I now think it must have been his everlasting dedication and loyalty to me with the sheer act of housing, feeding, driving and sitting with me a number of times over the course of the Fall of 2006 (and even into January of 2007) in the bowels of the Criminal Court House in Monmouth Country, N.J. — to painfully witness his little, baby sister nearly get sent to jail.

Back to Ricochet Presents. First, I’m going to list some RPs ; then you’ll guess the nature and/or purpose of the gift. Ready? Don’t peek.

Lingerie, stereo equipment, flat-screen televisions, a bottle of Jack Daniels, a membership to a health club, airplane tickets to see him when he’s stuck on a business trip, a Cuisinart, massage oil, a subscription to GQ.

You get the picture. They’re ricochet presents because when the guy gives the present to you, it comes right back at him — in a good way.

So, my boyfriend told me he had sent me a 50-inch flat screen television for Valentines Day — it arrived 67 days late — but that’s in another blog. Now I’m left with the Herculean task of actually mounting it on the wall.

And this is my experience today. Because of issues surrounding insurance, I have contracted with Magnolia, Best Buy’s installation vendor. I don’t know how much the television cost, but I will tell you exactly how much the mounting is going to set me back.

Panamax Power: $105.49. Harmony remote: $439.99. (I need the infrared eye because the cable box and the DVD player are hidden in an antique Indian throne of sorts.) RF extender: $131.99. Wall mount: $114.39. Installation: $500. Remote programming: $150. RF programming: $90.00. Denon DVD player: $179.99.

The grand total: $1,711.85.

He’s coming in this weekend, expecting to have it all mounted and working (hence the “ricochet” aspect to the gift).

What’s wrong with this picture?

Welcome to my world.

To Be Continued…

KBTV::The Heavenly Bed

2007-07-18T11:28:00.000-07:00

It all began this time last year. I had just obtained what I thought was a rock-solid signed letter of intent. It was nestled in my fax machine, detailing the specs for a writing job — a ghostwriting job, a very lucrative ghostwriting job — and I felt really rich. But don’t worry, it didn’t last long.

Anyway, I decided to go to City Furniture in Boca and see my friend Hal. After flopping on several beds in the showroom — bouncing up and down, celebrating my good tidings — then mimicking sleeping and lots and lots of smiling, I somehow settled on a $3,100 mattress.

What was I thinking?

I threw down my credit card, promptly maxing it out, and left with the promise that the heavenly mattress would be delivered the next day. It was. And two days after that, the negotiation on the book contract fell apart. The letter of intent became just another page at the bottom of my shredder, and now I was stuck with a mattress that cost more than my annual health insurance and a maxed-out Capital One card.

Little did I know that I was, yet again, at the forefront of a trend — the luxury mattress trend. The problem was here I was, night after night, sleeping on a mattress that more or less guaranteed a great night’s sleep, but I couldn’t sleep because of the anxiety over the maxed-out Capital One card.

Camera pan forward to last week. I open up the New York Times and there it was in the House and Home section — a whole article, a very good one I might add, on the new trend of the mega-mattress. My favorite part of the piece cites the craze over Ambien, the boomers’ last deep love, and the fact that it was derailed by a flurry of bad press about its potentially bizarre side effects, including sleep-eating and sleep-driving (a state that Representative Patrick J. Kennedy, Democrat of Rhode Island, may have experienced late one night in Washington last year).

Today, the Times writer cheerfully states: the mattress industry is cheerfully hurling itself into the breach, marketing mattresses to cure every ill, claiming even to put the brakes on time itself.

There not even called mattresses anymore. The Swedish company Hollandia turns out to be a maker of adjustable “sleeps systems,” priced from about $15,000 to $50,000, that look and feel like nothing so much as high-end hospital beds. With their German motors and 12 massage programs, they acknowledge that a body ruined by stress can be only soothed, not remade. Its marketers also claim its beds cure snoring.

Six years ago, barely 2 percent of the mattresses sold cost more than $2,000, according to the International Sleep Products Association, a trade group for the industry, which had $6.7 billion in sales last year. By 2006, about 5 percent of purchases had crossed the $2,000 line.

Let’s take a look at some of the top choices:

• Casa Poggesi has been offering the $24,000 Magniflex Gold for a month and a half. The company has sold 53 Gold mattresses to individuals in Russia and one to a hotel in Dubai. Its cost, he said, is largely a result of the fact that its cover is woven with 22-karat gold thread — apparently “gold is a natural antimicrobial,” as well as a barrier against dust mites and bedbugs. The Mag Gold also has a cashmere under layer.

• The Tempur-Pedic Grand Bed markets four layers, 14 inches, of high density “Tempur” material — then more and more layers of Tempur all encased in a high-resiliency base with a blended silk and an allergen-resistant cover.

• The Holandia Gravity Zero Ultra runs between $15,000 and $20,000. It’s the mattress described above with the 12 German motors and two ergonomic remote controls. The marketing department even managed to include an eco-friendly vibe. It’s topped off with an array of coconut fibers and an aloe vera-treated cover.

Now for the piece de resistance. The Hastens Vividus mattress offers up a “sleep system” described as an exquisite cake — a layer cake, to be exact —layers of oak, flax, cotton, steel coils and hand-teased horse hair. All this for a mere $59,750. And what really separates the Hastens Vividus from the rest (apart from the price)? Once a month you the customer will receive a phone call reminding you to “flip and massage” your precious mattress.

Ah! It doesn’t get any better than that!

KBTV::Science of Faith Shoot

2007-07-12T11:11:00.000-07:00

As Barry and I were walking out to the dock this morning, I thought about the e-mail I sent after we shot our first piece. And it read:

Hiya, how did you sleep? Did you have fun at dinner?

The Science of Faith pieces came out wonderfully! I wore a brand new, bright, red tank with these little mirror circles around the neck for Part 1 … and an orange diaphanous number for Part 2 … I don’t know what it is but I think RED – maybe for blood – when I think of Faith!

The pieces came out soooo beautiful! We’re still having some audio issues, but I’m busting Barry’s chops as I write!

Have a wonderful day. Only one more piece to go – the Weekend Edition … Liquid Trust!

Write soon and let me know what’s up!

Xo

I reach around my back and switch on my mic. Shoot, I have the baggy Yoga Pants on again, and the battery-laden box is pulling my pants down in the back. I hike up my pants, stare straight into the camera, and let it rip!

Good morning, I’m Kate Bohner for KBTVonline. Welcome to the second part of our two-part series “The Science of Faith” … today we’ll explore the research findings of Dr. Andrew Newberg … he is in the Department of Radiology at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania with secondary appointments in the Department of Psychiatry and the Department of Religious Studies.

BREAK

Dr. Newberg’s research focuses on the underlying mechanisms which govern our spiritual, social, and individual beliefs …He argues that we are biologically driven to find meaning and wholeness throughout our lives. In fact, as I mentioned yesterday, his research has begun to show that our brains have the capacity to create and maintain a system of beliefs which can take us far beyond our survival-oriented needs. These belief systems not only shape our morals and ethics, but they can be harnessed to heal our bodies and minds, enhance our intimate relationships, and deepen our spiritual connections with others.

BREAK

At the University of Pennsylvania, Dr. Andrew Newberg is looking for an explanation for what most regard as inexplicable. Newberg is determined to unravel the relationship between faith and science by studying what happens in the brain during the deepest moments of faith. He's recently published a study looking at the brain activity of eight Americans who speak in tongues.

BREAK

Study participants like Donna Morgan – a congregant from Freedom Valley Worship Center in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania – listened to gospel music during the first scan. ABC News aired a story that showed Ms. Morgan dancing around the waiting room with head phones humming happily to some of her favorite verses. She was then place in an MRI machine – the one that looks like a coffin – and her brain activity was measured. A few days later, Ms. Morgan was asked to complete the same activity while speaking in tongues. The results were dramatically different … and let’s just say she was thrilled with the results … which showed that the frontal lobe … the part of the brain right behind the forehead that's considered the brain's control center … it went quiet. This, she happily claims, SCIENTIFICALLY proves that it is not SHE who is speaking, but that of the Holy Spirit.

BREAK

Dr. Newberg has been studying how faith is mapped on the brain for quite some time. In earlier studies, he looked at what happens in the brains of Buddhist monks meditating and Franciscan nuns praying. The results were quite different from what happens in the brains of people speaking in tongues, whose brains, as I already emphasized, went quiet in the frontal lobe. Dr. Newberg has recently published a book called "Why We Believe What We Believe." This innate power of our beliefs to heal or injure, to foster happiness or disease, or generate societal friction or peace is the underlying theme of this book.

BREAK

When Dr. Newberg asked if he was skeptical about what he'd find when he decided to study the brain at the moment someone is speaking in tongues, Newberg said, "If … the question is, is this a real phenomenon? Is this really the voice of God speaking through them? That's a much more problematic question, I think, and something that I'm not sure if we have specifically answered just by doing our study." … but … think about it … throughout Dr. Newberg’s experiment … while Ms. Morgan lay still … speaking in tongues … in the MRI brain scan machine … her frontal lobe was completely quiet. So … who WAS doing the talking?

BREAK

Thanks for joining today for our two part series “The Science of Faith” … I’m Kate Bohner for KBTVonline … for more information … or two view Part 1 of the series … click over to KBTVonline.com … Have a day.

It’s 9:48 p.m. and I’m beat. Goodnight!

KBTV::Wow 5 a.m.!

2007-07-11T11:04:00.000-07:00

I sometimes ask myself if this is all sustainable – the sleep deprivation, the heat, the constant call for content, the phone calls, the humidity, the e-mails, appointments, and finally the Blackberry thumb – my painful right thumb.

I found myself shooting an e-mail to a friend at 5 a.m. this morning. It read:

Wow! 5 a.m.!!

I hope you got some sleep … I was thinking about you last night, and I was contemplating that question of how you can possibly garner any good, real sleep … and if the act of actually sleeping soundly was made more difficult by the fact that you are physically in different beds many nights of the week … I mean styles of beds, types of bedrooms, textures of covers, etc. Hmmm.

I feel pretty good and am excited about the shoot today. I haven’t been up on the roof, yet, but it’s supposed to be beautiful again today!

(OK, PUT ON YOUR SEATBELT)
On a somewhat reflective note, I believe that I see further evidence that this healthy eating/recurrent exercise/daily meditation/prayer/giving back/spiritual LIFE … that it works … because I manage to work these crazy hours – with no coffee, or caffeine of any kind – and be relatively even keeled and very, very happy and content . It’s interesting because when I was keeping the same types of hours at CNBC or CNN I was – quite literally – a VAT, a TROUGH, a BARREL of continual, never-ending complaints and gripes. I was just perennially dissatisfied. Just a thought …

That said, I know that MUCH OF THIS happiness, joy and contentment … I attribute to having a life where I don’t have to streak out of bed to the sound of a screeching alarm, dive into synthetic pantyhose, whip out of my apartment past my doorman, and go sit in an office, on a prestigious floor, in a company where there is no on I would ever possibly want to have dinner with ever again.

It might be 5 a.m., but the sun is rising, and the weather is warm and moist and I can simply slip on my big fuzzy pink slippers and pad across the hallway into my office and plop down at my computer and plot out a day where at least I’ll feel like at the end of it … that I’ve at least done something that I enjoy and that I believe in. I might be broke and exhausted, but I’m happy ;-)

Have a wonderful day! Love, Kate

Hmmmm. Because now it’s 9:40 p.m. and I’m asking myself: “Hey Kate, where did all that peace, serenity, calm and gratitude go?”

Then I sit down and read my script for tomorrow, and I remember – ah! It always comes in the morning. (Stay tuned for tomorrow’s shooting script.)

Obviously, to be continued!

KBTV::Jog Bra or Feminine By-product?

2007-07-10T22:32:00.000-07:00

As I explained yesterday, I live in a brand new townhouse that is smugly and snuggly equipped with state-of-the-art “low-flush” toilets. All of this hype is because I live in Florida, and we always seem to be hovering on the brink of some disastrous draught that is always expected to be worse than anything the weathermen have ever seen before.

I was told upfront, full disclosure, that no feminine by-products were to be flushed down the toilet … EVER. “You live in Florida now, girl,” said Ernie that NBA-star turned 4-Star Plumber (so he said). “You can’t flush it even if it says so on the outside of the box.”

Today my toilet is stopped up and it’s an emergency. Remember, “my friend” is coming in to town. I call 4-Star Plumbing – seeking the aide of my big pal Ernie.

“It’s an emergency,” I explain to Denise, his dispatcher, who has now become a friend and confidant.

“Ms. Bohner, I’ll send Ernie out there right now,” Denise seems exasperated and judgmental. “But it’s going to cost you double-time.” (As I explained in yesterday’s blog, I had to get this done because “my friend”/boyfriend was coming in to town to stay for 28 hours. Presumably, he would have to use the loo at least once during his tenure in the townhouse.)

Ding Dong!

Ah, Ernie! Whew. I don’t have to be at the airport for two hours. Terrific! Everything is going to work out just fine. I clunk down the stairs in my brand new olive green suede Ugg clogs. Clunk. Clunk.

“Hi Ernie!” I open the door and look straight up at the sky. Ernie beams down at me. He looks like the Seagram’s Building in Midtown Manhattan – a giant, black, plate glass skyscraper – but with a big inviting smile and bright white teeth.

“Girl, you’ve got to get your act together,” he says shaking his head, then hunching down and bowing his head – ducking, really – to enter the Townhouse. He walks right past me up the stairs and into the back, through the master bedroom and into the bath. I go back to my computer and keep tapping away.

Ten minutes later, Ernie emerges. “Ms. Bohner, I can definitely tell you that was no feminine product,” he says looking puzzled – not grossed out – perplexed. “It’s in the can.” He carefully places his tool box on the floor.

My curiosity is piqued by the expression on his face. I pop up from my computer and scoot straight back into the loo. There, in my Nicole Miller ceramic tile mauve-crème trash can lies a soiled … … not-white-anymore jog bra.

I look at Ernie, my jaw dropping. I’m speechless.

Finally Ernie musters up the courage to speak. “Ms. Bohner what chu been doin’ back here?”

And that IS a wrap!

To be continued …

KBTV::My 'Friend"

2007-07-09T22:24:00.000-07:00

I see a new and disturbing trend emerging in the vernacular of the dating arena, and I think it comes out of people’s incessant cravings for privacy. I continue to pick-up (no pun intended) on men now referring to girlfriends as “my friend.”

I first noticed it shortly after Paul Wolfowitz resigned as World Bank chief amid the furor over his handling of a bank pay package for his girlfriend. Wolfowitz courted controversy from the start because of his role in the Iraq war when he was deputy defense secretary. However, it was his role in arranging a hefty pay raise for Shaha Riza, his girlfriend (or “friend”) and bank employee, that forced his departure.

A friend of mine (no, a real friend, not a “my Friend” kind of a friend), told me that he had seen Wolfowitz at a cocktail party in Vienna and the man-with-apparently-nine-lives persisted in calling Ms. Riza “my friend.”

Well, last Friday “my friend” was arriving from out of town, and I was in a complete panic. The toilet in the master bedroom was stopped up, and I had no idea how it had gotten into that state. Well, I sort of might have known how it had gotten into that state, but I wasn’t sure.

You see I live in a brand new townhouse, and it’s equipped with these “low-flush” toilets because I live in Florida and we seem to live in this precarious state of perennial drought. I was told upfront, full disclosure, no feminine by-products were to be flushed down the toilet … EVER … even if the packaging said it was OK. Well, if you read this blog, you already know I keep horrific hours. Sometimes I shoot at dawn on three hours sleep. At dawn, I’m forgetful. Who isn’t? I thought I might have “slipped” – just once.

I call the plumber from Four Star Plumbing.

“It’s an emergency,” I explain to Denise, at the other end of the phone. “My friend is coming into town and I don’t want to be mortified and embarrassed with a stopped up toilet. Denise,” I plead. “I’ll pay anything! He absolutely cannot know I have a stopped up toilet.” Particularly, I think if he’d known how many days it had been stopped up. (I have two others, don’t worry.)

“Ms. Bohner I might be able to have someone out there today,” Denise tells me politely. “But it’s going to cost double-time.”

OUCH! “What’s that going to run me?” I’m squeaking like Tweety Bird.

“One-ninety-two,” Denise replies with that “unyielding” tone.

Double-time OUCH! “Shoot. I don’t know what to do!”

Denise exhales a huge sigh. “Ms. Bohner, why do you care if it’s just a friend? It’s not like it’s your boyfriend?”

But it is! And therein lies my frustration!

To be continued …

KBTV::Gaslight

2007-07-05T10:01:00.000-07:00

I’m please to say that I’ve just completed a two-part series about the vagaries of deceit. It’s called “The Legacy of Lying.”

Again, it’s sweltering outside, and for some ungodly reason I’ve decided to wear a sleeveless, black cashmere sweater. I can feel it. I’m beginning to shine.

I’m Kate Bohner for KBTVonline. Welcome to the second installment of our two-part series “The Legacy of Lying.” Yesterday I broadcast the results of brand new study that basically contradicts what sociologists had believed for quite some time … that babies are born “guiltless” … therefore, by definition, they cannot lie! Today we explore the larger and much more complex side of this story … why do people lie, anyway?

Over the past several months, there have been times when I think I’ve gone completely, stark, raving mad. I’ll have a conversation with someone about something that is seemingly innocuous. The facts derived from that conversation therefore become true – in my mind. I then proceed, operating within the confines of believing the facts that I now “know” to be true, only to be told something so entirely different that I begin to feel – not only that I’ve been lied to or that I’m just completely missing the point – but that I’ve begun to live in a entirely separate, parallel universe.

This is when the whole “Gaslight” reference emerged as a punctuation mark in my vocabulary. Conversations with my girlfriend Lori sounded something like this:

Lori: “Well, did you ask him?”
Me: “Of course!”
Lori: “Well, what did he say? Did he admit it?”
Me: “Gaslight.”
Lori: “Eek. I know … but, Kate, again?
Me: “Total Gaslight.”
Lori: “You poor thing.”

The “Gaslight” reference began about two months ago after being on the phone with my mother, begging her to commit me to an insane asylum and her responding: “No, I won’t have you committed. But, it does sound eerily like that film noir from the ‘40s, dear. With Ingrid Bergman. Gaslight.”

Indeed. The film's plot, faithfully adapted by its screenwriters, was about a diabolical, Victorian criminal husband (Charles Boyer playing against type) who systematically and methodically attempts to torment, menace and drive his bedeviled, fragile wife (Ingrid Bergman) mad. Its title was derived from the frequent dimming and flickering of the gaslights. The phrase "to gaslight" someone (to deliberately drive someone insane by psychologically manipulating their environment and tricking someone into believing that they are insane) was derived from the film. Hence, my frequent usage of the term today.

I jolt back into reality for a moment because Barry is beckoning me – hand signals and waving arms. It’s time for me to shoot the second to last paragraph. “Hit it, Kate!” he says.

I take a deep breath and robotically articulate my perfectly rehearsed “chunk:”

Finally, there’s the most harmful, destructive and injurious group of all – the compulsive liars. These are people who lie even when it might not benefit them at all. Paul Ekman, a psychiatry professor from the University of California, San Francisco, calls it “duping delight.” For compulsive liars, lying is like a drug. It gives them an adrenalin surge or 'kick' sensation. Part of the appeal for them is the feeling of being able to control the person they are lying to.

“And that’s a wrap,” Barry exhales.

Barry and I return to the townhouse to begin the editing. I plop down at my computer and write the following words:

“Gaslighting.” Derived from the epic film noir “Gaslight,” is the act of ruthlessly manipulating an individual, for nefarious reasons, into believing something other than the truth.

And that’s a wrap.

KBTV::Welcome to My World

2007-07-03T20:27:00.000-07:00

Bbbbbbzzzzzzzzzzzz. ZZZZzzzzzzzzzz. My left butt cheek is vibrating. . Bbbbbbzzzzz. ZZZZZzzzzzzzzzz.

What is that? My eyes fly open. It’s still dark. I grab my magenta Razor Phone off the bed stand. It’s 4:30 a.m. I reach under the covers and grab the offending, buzzing object from inside the side pocket of my University of Pennsylvania sweatpants and pull out my Blackberry.

Zzzzzzzzzz. I hit the track wheel and fall back into the pillow.
I fell asleep in my sweats? Yuck. That’s gross. How college. Even worse. How graduate school.

I look again. It’s still 4:30. Christy is coming to do my make up in 70 minutes.

* * * * *

“Barry, there’s no wind.” I’m standing outside an extraordinary house (more like a Miami-Vice-style mansion) in North Fort Lauderdale where my Creative Director, Andi Galpern, lives.

It used to be a nightclub built by a cocaine dealer, who, I think, is now in jail. Now Andi and her boyfriend Chris live upstairs where the bar was. A giant bar still rings the left side of the front room, with mirrors along the wall behind the bottles, bar stools and all.

Chris’ drum set is in the middle of the room. I stub my toe on the thing that holds the symbol. I think it’s a symbol. “Ouch!”

I’m worried about the stagnant air. Barry explains to me that Florida is a swamp, and there is no wind in swamps. It’s 103 degrees and I still have to shoot two pieces. Barry is really taking the brunt here today. I can go inside and cool off between paragraphs (so I don’t look too sweaty on camera). He has to stand by the camera and wait for my body temp to return to 98.6. After about 10 minutes, I reappear. Barry is drenched.

* * * * *

It’s nearly over; only one part “chunk” to go. (I shoot in chunks.)

Barry barks: “OK Kate, hit it!

I’m Kate Bohner for KBTVonline.
So what happened? This is where it gets really interesting … through the text messaging campaign the young activists were able to ignite public outrage into such a frenzy that it led to two enormous protests – both garnering national and international publicity. And this is what it looked … and sounded like. Loud warnings roared through the PA systems … bellowing out from loud speakers in the crowded streets. Police lined the side walks in riot gear. Despite all of this – the people were unyielding. About 8,000 to 10,000 people participated in both protests. As a result, the city government halted the plant’s construction, saying it “has listened to the opinions expressed and has decided, after careful deliberation, that the project must be re-evaluated.”

BREAK

OK viewer. Put on your seatbelt. This is where the irony becomes almost unbearable. Today, the Chinese government has chosen the following reason to condemn the proliferation of information through text messaging – not that it’s illegal – but “because it doesn’t serve the citizen well due to exaggeration and misinformation.”

BREAK

Apparently the activists who began the text message campaign did indeed exaggerate the inherent dangers of the soon-to-be-built chemical plant saying the paraxylene would “cause leukemia and deformed babies.” So what, say the activists? And … according to the young activists … since when does the Chinese Government care about misinformation?

Thanks for joining today … I’m Kate Bohner for KBTVonline … please leave any comments in the box provided or email us at www.KBTVonline.com … click contact … shoot us an email … we’ll be sure to get you back.

I found out later that one of the gardeners at Andi’s boyfriend’s parent’s estate asked:¿Siempre se habla con ella misma la mujer bonita con el tablero del clip?

The translation: “Does the pretty woman with the clip board always talk to herself?”

Welcome to my world.

To be continued …

KBTV::Awake Again

2007-07-03T20:22:00.000-07:00

It’s 2:10 a.m. and I have to rise and shine at 4:30 a.m. For some reason I feel the need to pad over to my computer to check my e-mail. Precisely two and a half months ago, I broadcast a gigantic story about why checking your e-mail in the middle of the night is only the right thing to do if you have neither a need nor a desire to fall back to sleep, ever – period.

(Let’s just say I’m fairly certain I did not shoot the following section and have Barry shout “One Take Kate!” I think it was more like “Eight Take Kate!”)

I’m Kate Bohner for KBTVonline … and this is specifically how [checking your e-mail in the middle of the night] disrupts your sleep. A person’s body activity is regulated by something called circadian rhythms, which run on a roughly 24-hour cycle. These rhythms are controlled mainly by our internal biological clock – called the suprachiasmatic nucleus. Since this clock sits in a part of the brain just above the point where the optic nerves cross, it can be disrupted by light.

As light, from say a computer monitor or TV screen, enters the photoreceptors of the eye it sends a signal that travels along the optic nerve to the biological clock (that suprachiasmatic nucleus).

From there the signal travels to the pineal gland. This part of the brain responds to light signals by switching off the production of melatonin, the hormone that makes you sleepy.

Well, I might as well surrender to that fact that now I’m in it. I’m sitting at my desk at 2 in the morning, and my pineal gland has put an arête! on melatonin production.

There is a note from Rachael, my Managing Editor of all KBTVonline content. Rachael Joyner is one of those rare birds. She’s just got it. I’ve been running in the journo-scribe game for 15 years now. I’ve studied with the best and the brightest at Columbia J-School; I’ve sat next to brilliant editors in the halls of Forbes, George, WSJ, Marie Claire – the list goes on and on. I know it when I see it, and I see it in Rache. To me, it’s simple. She’s going to be a star.

I had sent her some kind of a snippy note, I think, around 2 a.m., saying, “I had to be up in two hours!” She wrote back: “What are you doing up then???”

Smart Aleck.

Eh, she’s right though. Hmmm. That’s funny, Rachael’s often right. What was I doing up? A woman cannot live on two hours of sleep each night and Peach Fresca alone! Still, I’m the boss. I’m going to have to exact some form of revenge!

Aha! I’ll short-sheet her cubicle before the staff meeting tomorrow night! ;-)

KBTV::Broken Camera; Powerless Mic

2007-06-29T22:37:00.000-07:00

It all started last Friday when both cameras broke. It went something like this…

I dash out from the back room all dressed up in an olive green chemise, black Yoga pants and flip flops … big pink curlers still perched on top of my now head-ache plagued head. I whirl into the office to find Barry sitting in his usual chair slumped over the big camera. He’s swearing. Barry hardly ever swears.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“I can’t get the tape to feed. I can’t even get the thing to shut. What did you do?”

“Nothing!” For some reason, I start to laugh – guffaw even.

“Barry if you wanted the day off, all you had to do is call in sick. You didn’t have to break the camera.”

“Kate. I’m serious.” He’s serious. He’s not laughing. He’s not happy. “What happened? It was working when I left.”

I wrack my brain to try to remember what I could have done to break the camera. Anna (my housekeeper) hadn’t been at the house. I hadn’t even touched the camera.

“I don’t know, Bar. I don’t think I broke the camera. Let’s just shoot with the little one.”

Barry grabs the little cam, and I wire up for sound with the dreaded Bluetooth mic. We head out to our location overlooking the Intracoastal. I mic up for audio, Barry crouches, focuses the camera and … Wham!

Hello I’m Kate Bohner for KBTVonline … welcome to the third, and final episode of our three-part series MISSION TO MARS … ....Space experts have for years been saying we wouldn't have a man on Mars until at least 2050 ... well not if a group of researchers from the University of Washington have anything to do with it ... they plan to have a US astronaut planting an American flag on the red planet within the next five to ten years!

“I’m not getting any audio.” Barry sounds really frustrated. He throws his headphones on the grass. Maybe that’s why the camera is broken?

The batteries were out on the big, fat Bluetooth mic. I hate that mic. It’s enormous! It’s the size of a deck of cards. Barry runs back to the house to get new batteries. Ok. He’s back. I mic up; Barry says: “Hit it!”

Hello, I’m Kate Bohner for KBTVonline. On Monday, I broadcast part one … how the European Space Agency is seeking a dozen volunteers to take part in a “simulated Mars Trip” … now dubbed MARS500. Participants will spend 520 days in an isolation tank, so scientists can study – among other things – human behavior and the group dynamics of deep-space travel. Yesterday, I broadcast Part II … discussing the potentials pitfalls of a mixed-sex crew for lengthy, deep space travel … more specifically about the issue of astronauts having sex in space ... and the other ethical dilemmas facing NASA and the ESA.

Barry chuckles and gives me the thumbs up! “One Take Kate!”

To be continued …

KBTV::Speaking of Trauma

2007-06-27T23:35:00.000-07:00

I just got home from a busy but wonderful night. I ran out the door for my for my usual pick-up at the halfway house. Then I dropped the girls at St. Gregory’s, as per usual. Then I had to hustle down to The Trauma Clinic – a private facility associated with Lifeskills of Boca Raton, where I completed my year of trauma therapy.

Dr. Huttman, my former trauma therapist, asked me to speak to a night group of about 30 people. Speaking basically means just telling them my story, my experience, strength and hope and how I give back today, etc.

I spoke for about 45 minutes – and the time just flew. I don’t know how to explain it. I just was in some kind of a groove and whoa! Wow! The response was incredible. I must have had a some kind of an impact, as the Q & A went on until 10 p.m. (I started speaking around 7:30 p.m.)

When I walked in to the house just now, I caught my own image in the mirror. I stepped forward to take a closer look and saw all these black smudges on the right shoulder of my blouse. I now recognize that it was mascara that had run off the eyes of a woman who hugged me at the end of my talk. Her husband and two sons were killed last year down here in a boating accident. She came to the TC because, as she says, she’s got all the money in the world but before tonight had nothing to live for.

Another 19-year-old kid was there because he was told he had a terminal illness, was given two months to live and was then told they had made a mistake. He’s fine. He had had a rare bacterial infection. He’s going to live for as long as he was supposed to, but he just can’t quite get his life back on track.

It must be the language of the heart, which makes it so difficult to communicate now with writing. But there is that moment – I can’t really explain it – when I’m standing and speaking and staring out at an audience of dull, grey, sad, sagging eyes, and I say something. It doesn’t even have to be about my experience in downtown Manhattan on 9/11. It can be anything. It doesn’t really matter what part of my story it is. But immediately I see a light bulb go on, and the person makes eye contact. I see the brightness, the shine and the sparkle light up their eyes. I know what the light is – it’s hope.

I saw that tonight. And it made me feel that familiar grip in my chest like my heart protecting itself. It made me cry because of my own hope, but also because I know I touched that person tonight, and I might have actually helped save their life – like someone had touched me and helped save mine.

KBTV::Kate’s Trip to Mars!

2007-06-25T20:40:00.001-07:00

OK. I know it’s Monday – and Mondays are tough. But they’re a whole lot better when I really like the story I’m broadcasting. And this morning…let’s just say I was happy. I have always wanted to be an astronaut – and today, I thought, I can live a little vicariously!

Welcome to KBTVonline. I’m Kate Bohner. This morning … Let’s talk about OuterSpace! Astronauts have guestimated for years that the first trip to Mars would not likely happen until about 2040. But for a crew of six volunteers, a “Mars Trip” could come a whole lot sooner. The European Space Agency … known as the ESA … announced that it’s looking for six people to spend 17 months in an isolation tank as part of a “simulated Mars trip.” The aim of the 520-day simulation is to study human behavior and the group dynamics of deep-space travel.

The six crew members will live and work in a network of interlocked modules at a research institute in Moscow. The “space ship” is nearly 20,000 cubic feet long, about the size of nine truck containers. Once the volunteers are shut inside, their only contact with the outside world will be radio with a realistic time-delay of several minutes.

The volunteers will be put through a number of simulations – takeoff, a 250-day journey, excursions on the “Martian surface,” and a return flight home. The ESA has already received about 150 applicants (19 of which are women) for this Mars simulation that will start sometime in late 2008 or early 2009. And this is where it gets exciting. The results of this test will help ESA set criteria to choose astronauts for a real trip to space

Are you claustrophobic? Don’t apply! With the current technology it would take about nine months just to get to Mars. Then astronauts would spend three months on the surface, followed by the nine-month return trip. One problem? Food! Apparently, a two-year supply of food would take up way too much space in space (!), so … the astronauts will have to GROW their own food. Russian space officials have completed experiments breeding quail and growing wheat in “space-like” conditions, but they’ll have to come up with a lot more than that to survive.

Also there are some pretty serious health considerations … such as high levels of radiation exposure and atrophying muscles and bones. Because your muscles have to work much, much less in a weightless environment, they become weakened and begin to deteriorate … this is particularly worrisome because remember … your heart is a muscle, too!

Guess what ladies? History might just repeat itself. According to the BBC news, the Russians have said women probably won’t be allowed. Anatoly Grigoryev, Director of the Institute of Medical and Biological Problems for the Russian space program, said that a same-sex crew is likely to be more "serene" with a “lower probability of conflicts.”

But the real reason could actually be a little more complex. Tune in tomorrow to find out where the NASA folk come out on the issue of astronauts having sex in space … I’m Kate Bohner for KBTVonline. Thanks for joining!

Question: Will you tune in tomorrow?

KBTV::A Plan For More ‘Fun!’

2007-06-24T16:09:00.000-07:00

I’ve just returned from 22 hours of bliss.

A friend of mine tells me on Wednesday that he plans to buy a slice of an island, and did I want to accompany him over the weekend to check out his “plot?” I hungrily accept. I need a little joy in my life, I thought. I need some nourishment to feed my dreams. So off I went for only 22 hours, but it was well worth it. It gave me time think about my life.

After walking on the glistening white, sleek, soft sand and swimming in light green waters, I decided I need to re-prioritize my life. Evidence by the e-mail I wrote upon my return:

Dear Miss X and Mr. Y,

I write to tell you how lovely it was to meet you this weekend!

Miss X, you have such fervor for life! You certainly made me query the level of passion at which I attack my own life today – in a very positive way! You’re such a delight ;-)

And Mr, Y, it was a pleasure meeting you, as well. The entire experience – even though across a mere 22 hours – made me reflect and believe I should re-prioritize, placing healthy, good fun and relaxing higher on my list!

I wish you both the best of luck and hope to see you again. I expect to be in San Francisco in mid to late July meeting with {Dreaded Company}. Perhaps we can get together for a coffee while I’m out there, although the experience of working with that crowd often leaves me seeking something much, much stronger … like an IV of Xanax ;-(

Fly safe and perchance we’ll e-speak, soon!

Cheers,

Kate Bohner

Kate Russell Bohner
Creator/Anchor
www.kbtvonline.com
www.katebohnerproductions.com
Kate Bohner Productions, LLC

And this is how I plan to begin my week! I plan to focus on fun!

To be continued via “fun” progress reports …

KBTV::The Human Double Whopper - Part I

2007-06-21T21:27:00.000-07:00

I have super high arches. I used to have to get my feet taped every day during the field hockey and lacrosse seasons – for 12 years – because of my overly-arcing soles. You see that was way before Orthotics. Today kids just go to the podiatrist, stick their feet in white gooey stuff and – poof! – two weeks later a set of soft to semi-flexible to rigid footwear inserts arrive in the UPS. Voila! No more Heel Spurs, Fasciitis, Tendonitis, Metatarsalgia, or Bunions!

Today my left arch feels like it’s about to collapse. I’m limping through Newark Airport when I decide that I’ve just had it. The pain is too severe … … I surrender. At the security checkpoint, I remove my four-inch Christian LeBoutain taupe leather pumps and never put ‘em back on. Comfort: 1, Vanity: 0. I continue my long waddle to the gate undeterred by the awkward stares of the other harried travelers passing by.

I nearly miss the plane. After finally slipping through the mouth of the plane, I turn to scan coach class. Oh my God. It looks like a Third World country.

I begin to carefully slither up (or is it down?) the aisle. Waddle waddle. Shove bang. Waddle slide. Pad pad. I finally look up at the overhead compartments. Aha…25-C.

My eyes begin to adjust to the glare. My eyes fall on the contents of seat assignment 25-A – a ruddy-faced, mid-fifty-ish, bloated man drinking Jack Daniels and coke. Wait … we hadn’t taken off yet? My eyes slide left to seat 25-B – housing a chubby, fat, portly blond with immense pink lips, who – I later found out – spoke no English. Next to her, in 25-C (my assigned seat) was what appeared to be a little Catholic schoolgirl set to enter the first grade – uniform and all.

I begin to explain to her and her mother (I assume?) that we have the same seat. I show my boarding pass to Mama Blondie with the Big Pink Lips. She simply shakes her head and shrugs. My left foot is throbbing. I am not in the mood. A flight attendant senses my agitation and approaches us. He’s rattling off paragraph upon paragraph of Spanish to Mama Blondie, Catholic School Girl and me. I quickly explain that I don’t understand; I don’t speak Spanish.

I’m not sure what happened next – it all went down so quickly. But suddenly the flight attendant – who more and more appeared to morph into Blondie’s accomplice of sorts – grabbed their massive carry-on bag, threw it in the overhead, unbuckled Catholic School Girl’s seatbelt and instructed her in this loud rat-tat-tat Spanish to move over.

She stands up. Then Over-ly Effete Flight Attendant points at the seat and in a faux-friendly tone asks me to “take my seat and settle in.” In the meantime, Blondie has, quite literally, pulled Catholic School Girl down on to her lap, and they’re now both belted into 25-B. The bells begin to ring in the cabin; the pilot comes over the PA system instructing everyone to sit down. We’re preparing for takeoff.

There I sit speechless – catatonic. The folks around me start to sympathize with my plight – traveling for three hours in coach belted in next to roughly 400 lbs of human flesh. No way. Not today. I shout out “Yo! Mr. Steward … this,” I point to the Human Double Whopper seated in front of me, “it ain’t happening.”

To be continued …

KBTV::Very Sticky

2007-06-20T06:30:00.000-07:00

It’s 5 a.m. and I’m very, very sticky. The top sheet is stuck to my face, and I forgot to take off my make up again. There’s mascara all over my stuffed Panda Bear. My sliding glass door to the master bedroom balcony is cloudy with steam.

I hit the remote to turn on the Weather Channel. It’s already 82 degrees in downtown Fort Lauderdale. Storms expected in the afternoon.

Hmmm. Weird. It’s hotter in my house, I think.

I stumble out of bed over to the thermostat, and, yes, my air conditioner is not purring and humming as it should. It’s official; my AC is on the fritz. I slump down onto the floor like a damp dishrag.

Help. I have to shoot three, back-to-back pieces today in the real heat outside. Oh no. This could get really, really sweaty and sticky and smelly and…hello Rasta-hair!

I plop down at the computer to tweak my script.

I’m Kate Bohner for KBTVonline. Thanks for joining. Amid all the controversy last week swirling around President George Bush’s nomination of Dr. James W. Holsinger to become US Surgeon General … I was thinking back on how that position … surgeon general … was described to me by my father was I was a little kid. OK. Jimmy Carter was president … I’m dating myself … Carter had just tapped Dr. Julius Richmond to become the next surgeon general … I said … dad, what is that job? What’s he going to do? Well … My father said hey Kate … you know Dr. Thomas? My pediatrician … he’s our family physician. The surgeon general is the family physician but not just for us … but for the whole country. Ok. I understood that.

I call the service tech to get the scoop on the frozen air conditioner unit. Apparently, I don’t have something called a “service contract.” What’s that? I don’t have the patience to even listen to “Denise” on the other line. Dammit! Ha, I’ll take it out on Holsinger!

Today families come in all different shapes and sizes … I don’t know exactly who Dr. Holsinger represents … but I know who he doesn’t!! … Holsinger, as a lay leader at his church, has repeatedly demonstrated narrow-mindedness, prejudice – bordering on fanaticism – toward gays and lesbians.

Denise from Simple Air calls back. They’re going to send out a technician anyway – I’m still under warranty. Ok, that’s good. Now I’m in a better mood. Hmmm … Maybe I’ll be a little nicer to Dr. Holsinger. I’ll throw him a bone.

I must say, professionally, Dr. Holsinger is no slouch – he’s a cardiologist who served as administrator of the Kentucky state health system. In 1992, he was named undersecretary for health in the US Department of Veterans Affairs. But it is not his professional record that has raised the concern of several senators -- including Edward M. Kennedy, chairman of the Senate health committee that will hold confirmation hearings on Holsinger in the coming weeks.

Denise calls back. The tech from Simple Air won’t be at KBTVonline HQ until 3 p.m. Dammit! Now I’m pissed again! Screw Holsinger!

Honestly, I really don’t know where Bush FINDS these people. But … here goes! In 1991, Dr. Holsinger wrote a paper titled “The Pathophysiology of Male Homosexuality” … by even non-partisan accounts … this paper uses “at best” very questionable research to condemn homosexuality and portrays gay men as these petrie dishes of sexually transmitted disease. But listen to his methods of quote on quote research. For instance, Holsinger’s study purposefully excludes lesbians, a population with the lowest rates of STDs. It also uses percentages of gay men visiting an STD clinic to extrapolate STD rates for the entire population of gay men. This is akin to determining rates of obesity at a weight loss support group.

Barry arrives. “Did you break the air conditioner?”

“Why do you say that – immediately – like it’s my fault or something?” I whine and pout.

“I don’t know Kate … but let’s just say I feel sorry for the poor soul on the other side of that script …”

To be continued …

KBTV::Google and Its Je Ne Said Quoi

2007-06-19T17:31:00.000-07:00

I arrived from New York last night around 10 p.m. and am just now – ten hours later –trying to get back into the swing of things.

It’s really hot, and YouTube is kicking back my videos – again. Harrumph. The company is launching in France today, so my hope for the Parisians is that YouTube.fr will have that Je ne said quoi! and actually load every now and then.

What a whirlwind weekend! I flew to Philadelphia on Friday for a wedding on Saturday in Horse Country, PA (hence, why I have not written my blog!). My favorite cousin, Johnny, married a beautiful girl named Jen at their farm 28 miles from Boeing, where they are both engineers.

On Sunday I traveled to New York, and on Monday I walked over to the Meatpacking District in lower Chelsea to have lunch at the Google offices. What struck me first and struck me hard is that Google, perhaps the best-branded company in the world, has no sign out front. There are no logos on or near the building. In a world where Google has become increasingly omnipresent – not only Google, but now YouTube is a verb – this corporate satellite headquarters, that looked to me like a small city, was virtually incognito.

Until I walked inside. Then it’s all Google, all the time. All seemingly punctuated with the blue, yellow and red “prime” colorful beanbag chairs. The campus-like workspace is antithetical to the office culture of most New York businesses. It’s a vision of an office-quarters, to invent a moniker, that is an implicit utopia as conjured up by prosperous, infantile, free spirits in Silicon Valley, yet now transplanted to Manhattan.

There is the much-touted free food, and plenty of it, including a sushi bar and espresso stations. There are private phone booths for personal calls and showers and lockers for anyone running or biking to work. All of these Go-Google! perks have been described in great detail umpteen times in the press. So all of that came as no surprise (except the “free” part; I had forgotten that Google is a cash-free workplace; no wonder all new employees gain 15 pounds!).

At one point, I glanced outside a wall of floor-to-ceiling plate-glass windows to see what looked like a café on the water at a prestigious University somewhere on the coast of Connecticut. Employees donning sunglasses – not the students as I would have expected – munching on spa food and chatting amiably while pushing their windswept bangs into place, readying themselves for that next big slurp of chocolate frozen yogurt.

What really struck me was that it felt like no one ever leaves. The infamous Manhattan work vibe of ducking out of the office to network over lunch or an evening cocktail party wasn’t expressed in how people looked, what they wore and mostly in their laid back, I-don’t-have-anywhere-to-go attitudes.

I’m not saying that the employees appeared somehow forced or even encouraged not to break out – that there is some sinister “indentured servitude” mindset at work (no pun intended) – it just seemed that no one had that Manhattan-frenzied-I’ve-got-to-get-out-of-here-or-else-I’ll-lose-that-account pulse attitude.

Not only did I not once see anyone checking their watch or frantically glancing up at a clock (as a matter of fact, I didn’t even see a clock), no one seemed to have anywhere to go. It felt a little like a casino without toxicity. No sense of time, but also no sense of loss. Everyone – and I mean everyone – appeared to be very, very content. And for me, that felt a little weird.

To be continued …

KBTV::Brandy and Ballerinas - the Early Years Continued

2007-06-16T10:32:00.000-07:00

Last Friday, I wrote a little about my early years spent traveling around Europe with my family. It got a good response, so I decided to start a periodic series on my life as a child.

My brother Russ and I ran wild, scampering around town placing paper bags full of dog poop on neighbors’ stoops and setting them on fire. We constructed stone forts on the beach, hid Dad's slippers, and tied up the cook when she refused to give us snacks.

My poor sister: Christine – The Martyr. She was responsible for trying to control us. I'd often shout to her: "Get off the cross; we need the wood." Russ would crack up. We made her cry. We were such loving siblings. Despite our hideous behavior, Christine would dutifully read aloud from the Narnia Tales, C.S. Lewis, sometimes two to three hours a day – anything to get us to stay still.

Nothing worked.

In those 10 years between 6 and 17, I lived in more than 60 villages, towns, cities, islands – different country, different language, different alphabet, different kids.

Right, the kids. My brother and I discovered that the local kids didn't like us much. We wore brand new Levi's and red converse high-tops.

The Rich Americans.

We were different. It became too painful for us to hang around and wait to see if the kids liked us or not. That's when we decided we would categorically hate them first. We made a pact, a bond: The Don't Fuck With Us Bond. That pact solidified in Corfu when some punk made fun of my brother's haircut and I chased him down the street, whipping the Greek kid's back with a rubber hose. I arrived home with a black eye and a broken pinkie. It was then that the nanny began calling us the Evil Twins. The moniker stuck. We'd become urchins, darkly-tanned hellions roaming the countryside with no chance of becoming civilized.

Until that day, just after my seventh birthday.

I met a grand man called Colonel Stevenson. My world changed in what seemed like a kaleidoscope. He taught me about the impressionists and revolution, abstract expressionists and alcoholism, politics and taxes, methadone and Mozart. We'd walk the steps up the big cliff on the south side of town to his villa and play piano for hours. Mrs. Stevenson – his wife, whom he adored – taught me to take tea. I learned about watercress and clotted cream. For Christmas that year, she gave me a black watch kilt. I remember her elegant laugh, as she looked me over in my brother's hand-me-down blue jeans with flannel patches on the knees. She and The Colonel took it upon themselves to make me a lady. Despite my decent pedigree, there became a Pygmalion aspect to it all. I suddenly no longer wanted to be a pirate, like my brother, but, instead, the prima ballerina of the Royal Ballet.

It began one afternoon in July. It must have been 100 degrees out. My mother sent me to town to pick up a kilo of lemons. As I bargained furiously with a woman-in-mourning at the market, a friendly old man with a knobby cane stopped me and asked me why a little girl with such aristocratic cheekbones would speak such peasant Spanish. I stood still, absolutely stunned. Indignant.

He asked me if I was American.

I said yes.

He told me I was giving Americans a bad name.

I called him a plebeian, in English by the way.

He insisted we share a lemon soda at the cafe, to hash it out. I told him he had aristocratic cheekbones, too. So, what was he doing in a peasant, fishing town? He explained that villages like La Herradura were havens for the Brit Dodgers – a term he graciously defined: over sixty-fivers who spent exactly six months and one day out of England in order to avoid what he explained to be the unforgivably cruel and unfair British tax structure. More importantly, he explained, the climate improved his arthritis.

We became fast friends.

Everyday at noon, I'd slip on my red-patent-leather clogs and clunk down the stone steps from our villa, onto the beach and into town. The Colonel and I would meet at Cafe Pinata and sip expensive brandy. He taught me to play poker. And I was good.

At 9, I could whip his ass at five-card draw. We played for pesetas. He'd front me twenty, and rarely win them back.

The Colonel's wife would occasionally walk down the cliff and join us. I was told she was the best ballerina who ever lived. Sometimes The Colonel would ask her to prove it: she'd extend her arm straight out, horizontal to the floor, for more than ten minutes at a time. Stone still, not even a shudder, no shakes, at age 71. “She's still got the old touch," the Colonel would proudly pronounce. Once she brought me a photo of a bronze statue outside of the Ballet Conservatory in London. It looked like a bronzed Degas. The ballerina in the statue; it was her.

So the two of us – The Colonel and The Kid – everyday, like old comrades, would take over Cafe Pinata. The proprietor once commented that we looked like two soldiers, plotting to overthrow the government. We'd shout for more brandy and lemonades. We'd battle about cheating and laugh until we got cramps.

I started washing my face and wearing dresses. His arthritis slowly went away.

(To be continued … )

KBTV::The Rage-Over

2007-06-12T17:38:00.000-07:00

I spent all weekend being so pissed off at YouTube that I woke up Sunday morning with what felt like horrific hangover, which is impossible – because I don’t even drink. I guess it must have been a rage-over or something because what is usually a reasonably pleasant process – the act of getting out the door to go to church looking like an adult – became excruciatingly painful. Swallowing that precious pair of Advil gels felt Herculean. I was in a bad mood and the octogenarian motorists on I-95 were going to suffer.

Sixteen hours later, I finally climbed into bed – sometime around midnight – slated for a 4:30 a.m. wakeup call to hit my sunrise shoot. That night before, I remembered I had set my Blackberry, but I must have forgotten to set the “sleep timer” on my television. I surf around the TV guide and finally settle on Comedy Central. It’s a standup comedian from Philly, and he’s riffing about Yoga.

Snuggle snuggle. Punch punch pillow. Burrow, burrow beneath the down comforter. OK. I’m ready. Snore. I must have fallen asleep in minutes because I never heard what happened after the comedian from Philly had sex in the Ashram and got kicked out.

Dee dee dee dee dee dah dee dah dah.

Beethoven is once again wailing out of my Blackberry. It’s 4:30 a.m. I hear girls gigging and shrieking and wait…they sound drunk. They’re definitely partying. Somewhere in my townhouse – in my bedroom even – teenage girls on spring break with long blond hair and exposed breasts are making out and…what? Is that whipped cream? Yuck.

I throw on my glasses. What the hell is going on? It’s dark out. I focus in on my plasma 54-inch flat screen television that my boyfriend gave me for Valentine’s Day that arrived 67 days late – just in time for my Birthday. (I’m an Aries; do the math.) Comedy Central? Still? What was I watching?

Oh … Girls Gone Wild!

To be continued…

KBTV::Girls Gone Wild!

2007-06-11T16:57:00.000-07:00

It’s dark out. It’s freezing (forgot to turn down the AC again), and my hands are stiff and sore from my new keyboard. Ouch. Girls Gone Wild! pours out of my television. It’s 4:30 a.m., and I’ve simply got to get in the shower.

Mute? St. Anthony, St. Anthony… where is the remote? I look up at the 54-inch flat screen.

Why isn’t that guy in jail?

I’m shooting at sunrise. Barry will be walking in the door in 90 minutes, and I have to be OUT of hair and makeup, dressed, fed, alert, and I have yet to edit two scripts. Please Kate, you don’t have time this morning to take apart Girls Gone Wild! I fumble around with the remotes in an attempt to shut off the noise – more evidence that American culture has become an oxymoron – but instead I find myself slowly sitting back down onto the space-foam pillow top mattress.

Girls Gone Wild! It streams like an MTV music video cum late at night, infomercial, showing bleeped-out snippets of utterly plotless videos, composed entirely from footage of sorority-type teenage girls flashing their breasts, their booty and often much more.

The formula is simple: bring hand-held video cameras to hard-partying, sex-charged, notorious “Spring Break” locales and – by offering the wildly popular brand’s T-shirts, baseball caps and short shorts to clearly inebriated girls seeking a answer to issues of low-self esteem – assemble the ultimate Traveling Titty Bar.

I continue to sit, transfixed by this extreme example of the disintegration of American culture. It’s demoralizing, humiliating, insidious, persistent and enveloping. If you need hard evidence of how Britney Spears has changed the way teenage girls think (or don’t), take a look at the ubiquity of thongs. According to NPD Group, a market research firm, the tiny garment’s sales rose to $780 million in 2005, up from $570 in the same period in 2001.

Meet Joe Francis, the creative mind behind this depressing debauchery. Eight days ago, Francis was granted bail in a federal tax evasion case in Nevada, but he decided to remain in jail to avoid the possibility of being sent to Florida and arrested on another charge.

Francis, a sleazy yet handsome Benjamin Bratt look-alike, is now 34. He earns an estimated $29 million a year from the videos he personally choreographs. The charge in Florida sums it up nicely: “Using minors in sexual performances, conspiring to use minors in sexual performances and prostitution.”

Apparently, Francis did not behave so well during the resolution talks with one of his accusers. A federal judge ordered Francis to settle the case or go to jail and sentenced him to 35 days after lawyers for one of the women said he became abusive during settlement talks. Finally, Francis is also charged with misdemeanor sexual battery in Southern California for allegedly groping an 18-year-old woman at a birthday party in Hollywood.

It’s now nearly 5 a.m. Kate, c’mon on!

My internal voice, my conscience – the voice of the Protestant work ethic pounded into me by my father – tells me to get in the shower and go to work. This was not the time to dissect the evils in America today – the thinly-veiled pornography, the sexism, the glorification of alcohol and drugs, and why people like Joe Francis make $29 million dollars a year when the public school teachers in Florida woke up last month to read in the local newspapers that their bonuses had just been nixed from the 2008 State budget.

KBTV::Kate's Early Years in an Hour

2007-06-08T18:18:00.000-07:00

It’s Friday, “Cleanup Day.” This is the day I do all the crap that slips through the cracks amid the insanity of the Sunday-through-Thursday, rapid-fire schedule of reporting, writing, producing, hair and makeup, memorizing scripts, shooting, editing, e-mails, responses to viewer comments, boxing, food and sleep – in that order.

It’s raining today, on this humid, hot, dark, dank “Cleanup Day.” So, you see, the tendency is to laze and loll about in bed enveloped by the chilly air-conditioning. Hmmm. I have a nice little bag of chocolate truffles in the fridge, a six-pack of Peach Fresca and the four-DVD set of Spike Lee’s HBO documentary, “When the Levees Broke,” still nicely, nestled in the Amazon.com corrugated, brown cardboard packaging – waiting to be viewed.

No, no, no! I slip on my magenta fuzzy, terry-clothe robe, Ugg navy suede clogs and clump downstairs. Earl gray tea with lemon and sugar. OK. Clump, clump – back up the stairs to check my e-mails. (I’ve already looked at most of them from my Blackberry while still lying in bed – a brand new favorite pastime.)

Ping! Here’s comes another one (I love e-mail). It’s from a journalism student at Columbia University (my alma mater). Are we still on for our 1 o’clock interview today? She assures me, “we’ll stick to several seminal experiences in your childhood and how they impact the type, style and subject matter of your writing today.” Also, she adds, if I would “please focus on your education in the early years” and it won’t take more than an hour. My education and the early years…an hour? Try 25-to-life.

* * * * *

I've never known quite how to answer that ubiquitous question: Where are you from? I guess I could say I'm from Delaware – that's where I was born – but I didn't spend much time there as a kid because we traveled so much. Our first odyssey around Europe began when I was six. Dad moved the family to the continent for a few years while he finished a novel that was never published. Twenty-six rejections.

He had a passion for travel, fueled, in some part, by his contempt for American culture. Both he and my mother were English literature professors. My parents had developed a weird but admirable arrogance for the way Americans educate children. I remember the glee they shared when yanking us out of school – and lying to the government – to cart us off for years at a time. I guess you could say we were educated at home, well before it was cool to be home-educated.

My father took slides. He loved that ancient Nikon camera, invariably heckling us into posing for carousal upon carousal of slides. The documentary of sorts began when I was six, southern Spain, the Costa Del Sol. Our family moved to a little fishing village called La Herradura (the horseshoe).

I remember we arrived at our new home – a villa about to slide off a cliff – to find the cook, Encarna, had prepared American hamburgers. My older sister Christine, my brother Russ, and I were thrilled, my mother defeated. (She’s a foodie; she takes these things personally.) My father was – the usual – oblivious.

We were told that we wouldn't be attending the local school because Dad had seen the girls in the village. They didn't wear shoes. "The kids will turn into peasants," he told my mother.

I didn't even know what a peasant was. So as kids, we'd sit on the floor of the villa diagramming sentences and solving equations in yellowing workbooks. Until that day we realized our parents didn't check up on us anymore. The following morning, Russ and I packed our knapsacks – stuffed full of workbooks – snagged a pack of Mom's cigarettes, a couple of Cokes and sped up the cliff to an abandoned lighthouse. There we had the ceremonial burning. The workbooks went unmissed.

To be continued…

KBTV::The Meditation

2007-06-07T11:57:00.000-07:00

Suddenly an ear-piercing sound of shattering glass sears into my consciousness, waking me from a sound sleep. Holy shit. I sit up in bed. It’s pitch black out. What time is it? I grab my Blackberry off the bedside table. 4:37 a.m. Ouch. My arm hurts from holding the umbrella yesterday during my shoot in the rain.

I swing my legs out of bed, throw on a robe and pad over in the direction from where I thought the breakage had originated. I peer outside. It looks like it’s going to storm, again. I cautiously slide open the glass door to the balcony. There in the left corner of the terrace lay a puddle of water and oddly shaped, freshly-shattered glass, dried stems and mud-tipped thorns, surrounded by a heap of decaying yellow rose petals.

Oh, that’s right. I’d put the vase out yesterday while we were shooting because it had begun to smell like a dead body. Ug, I can’t deal with this right now. I carefully slide the door shut, strip down and climb back into bed. Well, I’m up now – I might as well stay up. I open the drawer to my bedside table and pull out one of my morning meditation books:

JUNE 7: “If we believe our relationship or jobs are finite situations, then it becomes easy to feel stressed if things don’t go the way we planned in the time frame that we expected. The promotion doesn’t come in time, and now our careful career plan is off track. And relationship problems become huge, dramatic monsters – a series of issues – that eat away every space minute.

But if we believe that we are living in an intimate time frame, stress begins to dissipate. If I don’t get the promotion this week, maybe it will come next month and who knows, I may not even want it by then. Some of those big, monstrous relationship issues just sort themselves out if they’re not constantly held under a magnifying glass. And the moments spent with our loved ones become more enjoyable because we’re not continually working on the relationship.

When we behave on a finite scale, we can get so wrapped up in the details of a few moments that we cannot free ourselves to enjoy the next moment. When we start living on an infinite plane, it is easier to relax and let the universe carry us down the river, bringing us to all the lessons and joy that we need.”

God, help me relax and know that if a situation doesn’t come to pass today, eventually it will work itself out. And I’ve got all the time I need

It’s a wonderful life, I thought. What an amazing way to begin the day.

To be continued …

KBTV::Rain. Again.

2007-06-07T07:40:00.000-07:00

My Blackberry is singing Für Elise again, reminding me that it is 5:30 a.m. Again. It’s another three episode, back-to-back shooting day today. Again.

I shuffle out of bed and switch from Beethoven on the Blackberry to Maroon 5 on the iPod Hi-Fi in my bathroom. I grope around and finally find the high-tech gadgetry that used to be called a shower knob. I turn to face the sink and stare directly into a rapidly fogging mirror. Ooops. Yuck. I had forgotten to take off my makeup last night. Again.

Whaaaa????? Suddenly the white-bread soul poppers known as Maroon 5 suspiciously begin to sound like … Madonna? Harrumph. I guess my iPod was in “shuffle” mode, too. Kate, you are not alone.

I step out of the shower and still hear the shower. I reach back into the glass stall to find the elusive Kohler stainless steel lever positioned at three o’clock – which is the “off” spot. That I know. I look out the window. Oh, now I get it. It’s seething rain.

* * * * *

It’s noon. Barry and I are at my old house up in Hillsboro Beach. It’s pouring here too, of course. Barry is downstairs surveying the courtyard. I am standing on the porch on the second floor. The place is a complete pigsty. At some point, I think, I’ve got to actually move out of here.

“Over there.” It’s Barry. He’s outside, underneath the porch with his arm raised, pointing east. “I’ll stand under the awning. You’ll stand under an umbrella.”

A few minutes later Barry is traipsing across the courtyard with the Sony Pro camera draped in a lime-green fraying towel – the three little legs of the tripod peaking out from underneath. Five minutes after that, I am darting under a series of loosely-connected awnings clutching a four-paneled (red, white, blue, yellow) oversized umbrella.

We finally got it together, and about an hour later – we’re midway through the shoot – I hear an earsplitting … deafening, in fact … snap-crack. I shriek and very comfortably morph into “high drama mode.”

“Baaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrryyyyyy!!!!!!! What was that?????”

Barry shrugs.

Oooooohhh, I hate that! I wish he’d say something. “Was it lighting????”

His eyes narrow into a mildly amused squint. He shrugs again.

“If I get electrocuted right now – standing here precisely in the middle of this stupid courtyard shooting this crazy videoblog – and I die a charred, horrible death, what will you tell them to write on my tombstone?”

Barry finally breaks into a wide grin. “She always wanted to go out on camera.”

To be continued…

KBTV::The 'Hot' Shoot

2007-06-06T15:31:00.000-07:00

I knew I was in trouble when Barry quietly suggested: “Kate, do you want to run downstairs and grab a towel?”

I was like, “A towel? You mean a paper towel?”

“No,” he replied. “A towel, towel.”

Oh no. Help!

At that very moment, I knew it. I looked like a big sweaty mess with Rasta-like, humid hair. I had a choice. If I went downstairs – I’m so OCD – I was certain I’d dart right in to “manic touch-up mode.” If I didn’t, I would just get stickier and frizzier.

Then I saw the drop of water hit my clipboard. It might have been a bead of sweat; it might have been a tear. At that point it was 109 degrees on the roof, and to me it just didn’t matter a whole heck of a lot which type of saline body byproduct had landed on my notes with a splat. It was time to go downstairs.

Twenty minutes later, I resurfaced on the roof – nice and coiffed and ready to shoot.

“It’s now about 120, kid.” This comment was not from Barry but from one of the three contractors – the roofer to be exact – who had apparently joined us on the roof to survey the water damage caused by the monsoon on Friday night.

“Kate, let’s go.” Barry was beginning to look like a damp wash clothe.

I took a deep breath and let it fly:

“Welcome to KBTVonline … Thanks for joining … today I’m broadcasting the first part of a two-part series exploring an idea that will turn the absolutely NO SUGAR diet mantra completely on its head. Think about all those different diet strategies and food plans over the years … the Zone Diet, the Atkins Diet, and even the South Beach Diet (just down the road) …HEY … I’m sure their spokespeople would argue this … but they all basically offer the same advice on how to get the perfect body: Less sugar, more protein! Then ta da…suddenly … you’re 30 pounds lighter!”

Barry sighed – deeply – looked up at the sky (read God) and barked: “And that’s a wrap!”

To be continued…

KBTV::Experiential Journalism

2007-06-05T05:17:00.001-07:00

I hate barbeques so much. I also despise “long-weekends” – particularly “Memorial Day,” “Labor Day,” and “The 4th of July.” Much to my irritation, these two annoying concepts often morph into one.

Yuk. BBQs. Sweaty, sweltering, forced socializing. Mushy-bacteria-ridden guacamole rotting in the sun, soggy chips in onion dip that looks like discharge from a dead man’s ear, Heineken Lite in cans that slurping bankers dotingly dub “Heinies,” shrieking children nearly splitting their heads open on concrete corners of in-ground pools, and always some poor soul – “the neighbor from across the street” – lounging in a tattered lawn chair in the shade by himself. Undoubtedly, he has just lost his job. For some reason, I always end up with the out-of-work neighbor making painfully obvious suggestions in an attempt to fit in – to blend. (“Have you checked out Monster.com?”)

Happily for the hostess, and much to my chagrin, this year was different. I found no one whom I could unleash my customary dose of Memorial-Day-Weekend-BBQ wrath. Instead, I found myself having a wonderful conversation with Ned the neighbor who told me in great detail how he’d been on his own now for nearly 27 years. Together we decided he might buy a computer in order to have pictures of his great-grandsons – who live in Detroit – sent to him over the e-mail. Just as I began to extol the benefits of AOL 9.0 for the elderly, I saw the golden retriever. He was hovering next to a picnic table. I focused my eyes to witness his long pink tongue slobber all over a freshly-grilled platter of Hebrew Nationals. That was it. I had to go.

I quickly extended my apologies, condolences and best wishes to Ned and headed for the gate. As I turned the corner of the house, I saw a beat-up yellow, tan and black striped pick-up truck. Upon closer inspection, the motor vehicle became an object d’art of sorts, a giant Bee Hive – “WillieTheBeeMan – Removal Services” – emblazoned in orange on the door.

“Are you Willy?” I asked an amused, refined African American man with a gigantic brown suede glove on his left arm, extending past his elbow.

“I am,” he replied. “And who are you?”

“Hi, I’m Kate.”

We immediately bonded over hating Barbeques. Finally I just came out with it. “I’m a video blogger and I was wondering if I could accompany you for one of your more dramatic Bee Removal House Calls?”

He shrugged. “I think I can get you a pretty nice-sized hive.”

I got his card, jumped in my new “pre-owned” BMW and zoomed off. I got it! The first story in what will be a multi-part series of what I’ll call the KBTV Experiential Episodes.

To be continued…

“

KBTV::Shooting, Shouting and Sleeping

2007-06-03T14:16:00.000-07:00

There I stood – teetering on a wrought-iron chair in my Ugg clogs, desperately attempting to secure my bubblegum-pink dress in place and shouting over the wind. I took a deep breath…and exhaled. Okay, Kate, here goes. I looked straight into the camera and began to bellow:

“CLICK AROUND THE KBTVONLINE SITE AND MEET THE KBTV TEAM…READ BIOS AND SEE PHOTOS OF OUR SEGMENTS PRODUCERS, VIDEOGRAPHER, EXECUTIVE PRODUCER AND CREATIVE DIRECTOR…YOU CAN ALSO VIEW SEVERAL OF THE SERIES WE’VE AIRED…ON SAY THE U.S. COAST GUARD AND, OF COURSE, THE PANDA PORN SAGA.”

Tying my hair back in the pony tail turned out to be a clever move. It felt like I was in the middle of a tornado, and apparently it looked like it, too. When Barry and I came downstairs to the office to look at the tape, let’s just say the outtakes are so unbelievably hysterical that we saved them on a DVD and hid them for another time.

I sank down in the squishy taupe linen chair in front of my 24-inch brand new Dell flat screen. I began to feel all that nervous (moving!) energy seep out of my pores and to contemplate the overwhelming sleep deprivation I had endured throughout the past week.

I shut my eyes and I simply…prayed. Not a typical fox-hole-type prayer when you’re telling God that you’ll never go 80 mph in a school zone again: “God, please coax the mean police officer into giving me a warning. Please?” It wasn’t that type, but the other kind, the simple sort – a prayer of just plain old gratitude. Thank you God for getting me through it all in one piece.

It’s Sunday today, and I’ve finally finished unpacking the last box. I think it’s time for me to rest.

KBTV::The Welcome Episode

2007-06-03T12:26:00.000-07:00

It was sometime around noon on Friday, and the weather was rainy and blustery and drizzling and just plain cruel out. Barry and I stood inside the townhouse – KBTV HQ –peering out through the glass door, wondering whether or not to make a go of it.

“I’ll stand on the chair?” I suggested with a sardonic smirk. Barry gave his all-too-familiar shrug. It’s not really a shrug, more of a definitive nod. I sprinted to the back to put on my armor while Barry hit the office to grab the equipment. We clamored up to the roof. I felt that feeling of illicit anticipation. The first hit from the roof, the first episode of KBTV to hit the new website KBTVonline.com. Now we were officially on to the next chapter in KBTV’s development.

I climbed up on the chair in my bubblegum pink dress, rose frosted lipstick and Ugg clogs.

“Welcome to the new KBTV. We’re moving up.” I look up at the thundering sky. “We’re headquartered in a three story town house two blocks off the beach, just north of Fort Lauderdale. You may be wondering just how far up? We’re shooting on the roof.” I scanned the peachy-taupe thrice painted concrete patio, turned back to the camera, smiled and proudly avowed: “In our brand new studio!”

Just as Barry peered out from behind the camera and gave me the thumbs up, a burst of wind whipped up from behind me, suddenly giving me Barbara Streissand’s fro in her breakout film with Kris Kristofferson “A Star is Born.” I struggled to find my way out of my now uber-tousled chestnut locks. “My, I’ll throw my hair back in a pony tail,” I yelled over the wind.

To be continued…

KBTV::The First Shoot

2007-06-01T19:33:00.001-07:00

Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up with a bursting bladder and, upon reflection, had clearly forgotten I was in my “new” home – the townhouse, KBTV Headquarters. Hmm. That’s right; I’d moved … yesterday.

Clearly believing I was in my old habitat, I popped out of bed and toddled over to what used to be the bathroom in my “old” house. Light switch “on.” Why was I standing in a walk-in closet? Oops. That’s right. I’m in the “new” house. Light switch “off.”

Now desperate, I pushed on, zigzagging through stacked packing boxes – at one point landing on a wire hairbrush – finally locating the “new” loo. After a quick pit stop, I forged back into the packing-box maze, winding my way back to where I thought the “new” bed was. Then I stumbled, fell and lay pinned between a mirror and a box of shoes. I closed my eyes and lay perfectly still. Suddenly, all was right with the world. I felt peace.

Two hours later, I awoke to my Blackberry singing Beethoven’s “Fur Elise,” wedged between my reflection and umpteen pairs of so-last-season Jimmy Choos. It was 5:30 a.m.

* * * * *

Four hours later, Barry and I are sitting in the office plotting our shooting schedule for the day. I pop downstairs to grab another Peach Fresca.

“Why are you limping?” he asks.

I elucidate my nighttime adventures to and from the loo, detailing “old” loo and “new” loo issues/confusion. Barry nods his head sympathetically, slumps down a little in his chair and swivels around to face KBTV’s up-to-the-minute 30-inch flat screen attached to a MacBookPro. He leans forward, squints at the desktop icons, and grabs the mouse.

“Why didn’t you just turn on the light?”

* * * * *

We’ve decided to shoot the “Neuticals” piece on the intracoastal up by the “old” house. We walk down to the water. Barry sets up the camera on the tripod and disappears behind the lens. I tip-toe down the hill toward a dock about to collapse due to yet-to-be-fixed-Hurricane-Wilma damage. I gingerly step over the school bus yellow “caution” tape with “DO NOT STEP ON DOCK” printed in big, black, block letters. The wooden planks creak. I think it adds charm and ambience; Barry thinks it’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.

Ok. Ready. Deep breathe. Big smile. Barry gives me the hand signal:

I’m Kate Bohner for KBTV. Neuticles – EVERYONE IS TALKING ABOUT IT – testicular implants for dogs that look and feel like the real thing – CAHUNAS … but … in all seriousness … canine experts are touting the wonderful psychological boost dog’s self-esteem by replacing what was lost after being neutered. One dog enthusiast told The New York Daily News that she and husband decided to give the gift of neuticals to their 8-year old bull mastiff. (Barry please insert picture)

His name is Truman. Isn’t he cute?
Neuticles were introduced in 1995 by an inventor from Missouri named Glenn Miller. Though it took several years for veterinarians to accept the product, Miller claims more than 230,000 pets in 49 countries have been “Neuticled” at 17,000 clinics. The procedure is performed mostly on dogs, but owners have had it done for cats, bulls, horses, monkeys — even an elephant.

CUT!

And NO (!), I don’t rattle off large parts of scripts in one take. Can we just say that there was a time – very early on – when Barry called me “One Take Kate.” Although, that was when we hadn’t written copy that went further than: “Hello, I’m Kate Bohner for KBTV … Thanks for joining …”

At that point, Barry was still just fiddling with the lighting.

To be continued …

KBTV::The Move

2007-06-01T19:30:00.000-07:00

Larry, Harry, Sandy and Russell. I was introduced to my movers one by one, as they sleepily lumbered through the front door. They wore bright blue “PRS Moving and Storage” golf shirts and spoke perfect English. Larry was missing two teeth, Harry was a school teacher (off for the summer), Sandy doesn’t eat red meat and Russell is the boss. I immediately set to bonding with Russell by telling him that his first is my middle name. “It’s Kate RUSSEL Bohner,” I explained breaking into a big toothy smile while sticking my hand out.

“Your parents put Russell as your middle name and you’re a girl?” Russell muttered in the middle of a revealing yawn – large pink tonsils and what looked like wisdom teeth still in tact.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Kinda weird, huh?” I place my unshaken hand back in the pocket of my hot pink hospital scrubs.

“Whatever,” he continued pulling out his paperwork. “You a nurse?”

“No,” I said with my best please-like-me beam. “I’m a videoblogger.”

“Huh. Sign here.”

Okay, apparently the game was on – real time – and I was ready to rumble. The next 10 hours were a blur – shouting to anyone who would answer, sucking down Mountain Dews, stomping up and down stairs, munching on Twizzlers, sweatin’ like a jailbird on the chain gang, and all the decisions…decisions, decisions, decisions.

Okay, leave it in garage. No, put it out to go to the other house. Nope, that piece goes to the Kennedys in Boca. Yep, that’s the second delivery. Neither, that’s the entertainment center. The one downstairs. Uh-huh, the printer goes North, I mean South. Yes, the new house…with the computer stuff. Yep, the stuff in the boxes marked “Fragile” (God, I hope so)!

Anyway, you get the picture.

Sometime in the middle of the day, we started talking about lunch. I think it was right after the bed broke. Apparently the movers who had driven my Ralph Lauren bed for 24 hours straight up from New York in an 18-wheeler had broken it first. My movers today – the gentlemen in the blue shirts – apparently just allowed it to fall apart, again, but they explained to me that they didn’t really break it – like break it for the first time. That was already broken, which is why “it came apart like a stack of toothpicks.” You know what? I believe them. The bed was in the guest room. No one had ever slept in the guest room. The one time my mom and Lynn visited, I slept on the couch downstairs in front of the TV.

Anyway, it was time to order lunch. I pull out a menu for Bru’s room, the burger joint just down the road. Sandy looks hesitant – fearful, almost nervous. I ask him what’s wrong? Had he had a bad experience at Bru’s before?

“No ma’am. I was just hoping you could get me seafood or something. You see, I don’t eat red meat.”

I don’t know why I thought that being a mover and being a vegetarian were two mutually exclusive things, but I guess I did.

I sank down on the chair next to the counter and immediately burst into tears. About 20 minutes later, I was up front in the cab of the truck with Sandy and Russell lumbering down to The Whale’s Rib – a crab shack just on the line between Palm Beach and Broward county.

To be continued…

KBTV::Waiting To Move

2007-06-01T19:29:00.000-07:00

It’s 7:55 a.m. and I’m waiting for the movers. It’s raining. I over-nuked my oatmeal and it’s mushy, and I’m flat out of dried apricots.

The movers called … they’re almost at A-1-A … do they turn left or right? Right.

Yes, the KBTVonline Headquarters has officially relocated to a townhouse just north of Fort Lauderdale. We’ll now be two blocks from the beach and two blocks from the Intracoastal. Also, and this is where it gets exciting, we’ll be shooting from the 1,000 square-foot roof.

To be continued…

KBTV::The Shooter

2007-06-01T19:24:00.000-07:00

Today, I had accepted my mission. I would find a shooter – more than a videographer, a cameraman with an eye, a field producer who understands audio, an editing wiz – and, an adult. That was important. We needed an adult.

I opened up my browser, and Google.com popped up. I entered various iterations of “producer,” “cameraman,” “videographer,” “cinematographer,” and “South Florida,” “Boca Raton,” “Palm Beach” and “Fort Lauderdale.”

My “search” results began to stream onto the screen of my laptop. AAAAaaaaggghhhh. I yelped and slunk down in my perfectly-ergonomically-tilted chair. What appeared before my watering eyes was a vast variety of wedding ceremony and reception ads for shooters, editors, producers – even “full-service Wedding production houses.” There were so many euphemisms! ... e.g. “bridal video clips,” “ceremony montages,” “still-frame nuptial albums.” The wedding web postings kept appearing faster and more furious with each click.

My God clearly has a sense of humor, I hissed. You see I had moved, in part, to exit one of the sickest and most destructive relationships ever (well, sometimes it was fun.) He told me marry me or we’re done. I couldn’t pull the trigger, which led me to seek Plan B – “B” for Boca Raton.

Anyway, six months after I disappeared from New York to flee the insanity and seek peace and serenity in The Tropics, my friend who is a scribe at the Wall Street Journal, told me there were two popular, persistent rumors circulating the Manhattan cocktail party circuit about me. One, that I had run off to marry an extremely wealthy Saudi Prince (oil money), and I was now living in Dubai. Two, that I had run off to marry an extremely wealthy Saudi Prince who had decided NOT to marry me but to instead hold me captive somewhere in the hills of Afghanistan. Little did they know I would soon be videoblogging on Florida’s Gold Coast. Hmm. That would certainly shut them up.

I’m not exactly sure how it all happened. I think I remember calling a man named Steve Apple, who got me to a man named Barry Adler of Impact Media, Inc. by emailing barry@impactmediainc.com. After I e-mailed him, I checked out his site:

Impactmedia is a full service production facility that specializes in solutions for your advertising, marketing and communications needs. We have formed a collaboration of the finest talent available in the industry, which enables us to offer limitless creativity and the opportunity to build integrated solutions that maximize our client’s marketing investment to the fullest. Our goal is to establish long term and mutually beneficial relationships with our clients. Our success is measured by the strength of our relationship and the ability to succeed together.

“Solutions” … that was the word I seized on Barry’s company’s description – Solutions. It all sounded very impressive, perhaps a little too impressive. For the first time, I felt intimidated. Before I had felt fear – that was different. I sat down to work out my strategy. Should I pretend to know what I’m doing? Hmm. He might see through that. Should I throw myself on his good mercy? No, that would be unprofessional. Okay, I thought, I’ll play it by ear. We agree to meet at my house at 9 a.m. on Tuesday.

Tuesday morning arrives and I’m feeling marvelous – confident, ready to go. Enter Barry Adler looking very “camerman” – sensible moccasins, faded blue jeans and a pressed-ish, blue flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up. He was late-forties-ish, slightly graying cropped hair, friendly smile, with an air of being just a little bit bored by it all. Perfect!

We shot a couple of pieces and they turned out extremely well. Not because of me. I was a complete wreck. Barry, he was terrific. The only thing I did right that day was I kept going – no matter what – take after take after take. Let’s just say they used to call me “One Take Kate” at CNBC – perhaps I was a little rusty. Hmm.

That said, Barry and I seemed to get each other and after a few days shooting, I realized that I had struck gold, yet again. Barry is smart, creative, technically terrific, and he’s been around for two decades – nothing rattles him.

Barry agreed to work twice a week (although I usually eek another day out of him.) We turn six KBTV episodes a week – soup to nuts. He has since become the bolt of the KBTV team. My batty great-aunt used to say: “Katie, every nut needs its bolt!” Except in the case of TEAM KBTV, the nuts certainly outweigh the bolts.

To be continued...

KBTV::The Staff

2007-05-27T12:59:00.000-07:00

It had become painfully apparent that I needed a staff. Perhaps because I had been born out of “traditional media” and the whole idea of working alone was completely foreign, or maybe it was pretty simple: I was simply no longer 25 years old. One thing was clear, for KBTV to be successful, I knew I needed to hire a team – and I needed it now.

Shoot. I’d forgotten the once romantic ideal of the start-up shoestring budget! Wait, that fact had seemed so romantic at the time! Now, it was a reality. I called my mom. She always knows what to do.

“Kate, just head over to one of the local colleges, and go see someone in the education department. Tell them you need some interns,” my mother spent her entire career in academia, retiring as the Dean of the Parallel Program at the University of Delaware.

“Just show them your resume. They’re not picky.”

She sounded convinced. I, however, was not. But I was motivated by how empty and depleted I felt -- not only for ideas, expertise, and energy, but for camaraderie. I was lonely. I had moved to Florida on a dime, and I knew no one.

Braced with the inspiration that fine journalism is inherently collaborative, I set out one morning in January – clutching an armful of fliers – and headed over to the Boca Raton campus of Florida Atlantic University. It was that scene at the end of the cult 70s film “Logan’s Run” – a ghost town after the apocalypse. Classes had not yet come back into session after the Holiday break.

Out of desperation, I stopped a professor who turned out to teach in the Theater Department. He pointed me in the direction of the Communications Department to go see Susan Reilly, head of the School of Multimedia Journalism. I was lucky, I was later told, that she happened to be in. I climbed up to the second floor, rounded the corner and stepped into her office. There, in a neat pile on her desk, was my resume, a pile of clips I’d authored and my book, “Trump: The Art of the Comeback.”

“You’re Kate Bohner!” She eeked out in a little shriek – stringy, long graying hair flying behind her as she stood up. “I was just about to call you!”

Sometime in September, at the behest of my mother, I had sent this woman, Reilly, my CV, clips and book seeking a position as an adjunct professor.

This morning she seemed pleasantly surprised to see me. She offered me a seat and we talked for more than an hour. I left her office with the promise of a summer position, teaching a class called “The Evolution of Journalism,” which would be a joint appointment with the Business School. I also walked out fortified with two names: Rachael Joyner and Jason Parsley. Both, she assured me, were the absolute stars of FAU. According to Reilly, the two graduating seniors had transformed the school newspaper from a ho-hum sheet to a multimedia “experience.” She called and left messages for them from her office before I left. By the time I’d arrived home they’d both called me back.

The following day, they were perched on my couch. Seven days after that, we were eating pizza on the floor of my town house in our first “Staff Meeting.” Rachael and Jason would be KBTV Segment Producers, and I, the anchor and Creator. Four weeks later I met their friend and colleague at the University Press, Andi Galpern, and after seeing her amazing work signed her up as Creative Director.

God works in mysterious ways. Looking back on that time when we first began – and we were all getting know each other’s strengths weaknesses and idiosyncrasies, I am very grateful. I feel like I’ve got the greatest staff in the world.

Yet there was still something missing. Writers…check. Creative director…check. Talent/anchor…check. Hmmm, what else was missing from this video blog equation?

Yes, of course, someone to actually shoot KBTV. I knew it, and so did everyone else. We needed a pro – someone who could shoot, edit, field produce, drop graphics and deal with weird perfectionism. But what pro would be crazy enough to jump on a video blog put out on YouTube by a staff of college students and former TV personality turned Trump book author?

I went to the only place you can when you have no idea where to find what you’re looking for…the web.

To be continued …

KBTV::The Equipment

2007-05-26T07:38:00.000-07:00

Looking back, for reasons I now cannot fathom, I must have felt I'd actually (successfully!) completed the project -- simply by sending out the proposal. Like ... Whew! That whole KBTV video blogging deal was super fun! Now what?

Of course that wasn't true, and nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. To tell you the response was overwhelmingly positive would sound like I’m bragging -- or trying to impress. I’m not. It's embarrasing, in fact. You see, hmm ... I'm not sure how to put this ... I come from the world of what everyone now calls “traditional media": Four-hour editorial meetings -- once a week, endless five-part series that run, say, on Tuesdays, 35-inch newspapers columns, giant sluggy, glossy magazines, and the daily churn and burn of netowork television. During my tenure as a correspondent at CNBC, I think we might have even still used generators when shooting on location.

Even today, the old world of publishing creeps along in a quiet, polite crawl. An example my agent likes to use is the avalanche of communication needed just to schedule a lunch -- not even eat it -- to just "put it on the calendar." After weeks of trying to get a particular editor or publisher on the telephone, an agent will suggest that he or she send an e-mail with possible dates when the two can meet for lunch, sometime in the next few weeks -- instead of simply picking a date, at that moment, on the telephone.

At the time, I didn't equate "someone loving the proposal" to me actually having to go to work.

Hence, the pain and fear that emanated to my temples upon receiving the e-mail below:

Here’s a simple thing to get started: a new macintosh + a lapel microphone + HD mini camera on a tripod…capture the image and sound in a quicktime movie. This movie can simply be uploaded onto a video site like YouTube. The iMovie tools that come with a Mac allow you to add a soundtrack of some type. Voila...you are done. The movie can also be put on your website etc.

There are many more sophisticated tools you can use (for example, Finalcut Pro is the movie editing suite) and there are a lot of tools on YouTube for more customization; etc. It's worth doing a simple experiment to try this (i.e. a one-minute movie of be beach or the town).

Streaming live video is much more complicated and not really necessary; if you want to do it you need a dedicated server and lots of bandwidth to do it right…

Ten days later, equipment started arriving at my home (everyday!) in Deerfield Beach, Florida. And it kept coming: an HDR-HC3 HDV 1080i, a VMC-30VC High Grade Handycam® Component Video Cable ACC-FP71, a Camcorder Starter Kit, a NP-FP90 InfoLithium® P Series Rechargeable Battery Pack, a AC-VQP10 InfoLithium® P Series AC Adaptor and Dual Battery Charger, a VCL-HG0730X 30mm 0.7X High Grade Wide Angle Conversion Lens, a HVL-HL1 3 Watt Video Light and a VCT-1500L Tripod.

The DHL delivery guy (Jose) went from being a complete stranger to the "Man in a Uniform" walking into my house unannounced, plunking down a package and requesting a diet coke. Jose and I became fast friends -- one of the few I had in Florida.

By Dec. 18, three weeks after I had sent out the proposal, I was standing on an oh-so-WINDY beach wearing a lavender wrap-around, miniskirt paried with a purple Diane Von Fustenburg top, spurting out content about God knows what -- written only moments before. After some rough edits using iMovie...Voila!...I unvieled the first episode of KBTV to a mixture of mixed, solicited reviews. The following day, I decided to uptick the quality of the content. I migrated from local crime to a slightly controversial book by a Harvard-educated psychiatrist that had ruffled the feathers of some of Manhattan's intelligentsia. Oh, and I wore black.

Over the next few weeks, the reviews got better, although one annoying mentor of sorts kept using the word "progress." I hate that word. I hate that concept! What is progress anyway?

It wasn't for another few weeks, when I found myself being shot by an ESPN intern behind a rustic mildewy church, that I comnpletely hit the wall.

To be continued ...

KBTV::The Proposal

2007-05-24T17:58:00.000-07:00

There are moments, say at 4 a.m. and the KBTV episode du jour is uploading to YouTube at a 14 kbps dribble, I half close my eyes and I dig deep in what always feels like a last-ditch attempt to feel the passion I felt on that gloomy Sunday after reading the fateful e-mail in italics below. The elation! The glee! The hunger for a new adventure! I search for the passion but usually end up eeking out a little whimper. I look at the clock and wonder: How did this all happen? I mean, really happen? Why in God's name did I pursue it after that initial high faded, which it inevitably does?

The Proposal. That's right...I had decided to write a proposal.

Six days later, I e-mailed what turned out to be a four-page outline of what I -- at the time -- imagined would be "The KBTV Concept."

Hence ...

The Proposal

"People worry that newspapers are going out of business. So what? It's the content that's important. No one gives a s**t about the delivery mechanism. Think about mail. You had the pony express, truck delivery, airmail, email. You don't care how it gets to you. I read more now than I ever did, but I get it off my PC. I don't need to go down to the end of the driveway and pick up the newspaper. It's the content that's most important." – Bill Watkins, Chief Executive, Seagate Technology, for CNN.com.

This mercurial, salty mouthed Texan CEO nailed it. The cliché “content is king” has never been more spot on than today. No one needs statistics to know that more and more people are looking to the ‘net when it comes to getting their news, listening to music, watching movies, and networking with friends and family. We live in a world where people download Avril Lavigne’s “Keeping Hold On” song and video off iTunes while checking in on their old college roommate on MySpace before snagging the day’s headlines off the Drudge Report.

The days of the sluggish, bureaucratic media outfits serving up stale information and redundant analysis are giving way to the nimble and quick, constantly evolving blogosphere. In a world where information is organized and available at your fingertips, the thought of sifting through a newspaper or waiting for the 11 o’clock news seems ludicrous. Today independently produced and distributed blogs like Daily Kos and Gawker have a viewership that rivals traditional papers such as The Boston Globe and The New York Post.

Concept:

“Kate’s Take” on KBTV is a three-minute daily videoblog based and shot in South Florida’s Gold Coast. Beginning January 15, 2007, we will cover a wide range of information from top news stories to quirky pop culture, finance and style. We will release each new clip at 1 pm ET, Monday through Friday.

“Kate’s Take” will differ from a regular TV program dramatically. Instead of costing millions of dollars to produce, KBTV is created with a video camera, laptop, one light and a stick mike. And because KBTV is distributed online, all around the world and on demand, it has a much larger potential audience than any TV broadcast. We spend $0 on promotion, relying entirely on word-of-mouth and close to nothing on distribution because bandwidth costs and space are so inexpensive. Consumers today want selection on their own terms. We live in a world of instant messaging and iPods, a world where TIVO has become a verb. With network news, a random producer sits in the control room of some studio deciding what does and does not air. But on the Internet, viewers choose what he or she wishes to watch, and therein lies the power shift. On the Web, we watch what we want to watch!

Distribution:

KBTV will utilize YouTube! as its primary means of distributing content. YouTube! has taken the ‘net by storm over the past year, accounting for 60 percent of all videos watched online. According to Nielsen NetRatings, YouTube! has roughly 20 million unique users per month.

Premium content will be available via KBTVOnline.com, free of charge. At KBTVOnline.com, users will be able to access the complete KBTV archive in addition to scripts, written articles, links, and merchandise.

We also hope to distribute KBTV video content via iTunes podcast service. Users will be able to automatically download our content daily and store copies of it along with their favorite music, television shows, and movies.

The 1 PM Hit Rationale:

“Kate’s Take” on KBTV will launch each weekday at 1 PM to avoid the morning “information bottleneck” and take advantage of the midday lull.

People typically tap into their PCs at home in the morning where they’re hit with the ton of emails that came in overnight:

Spam, horoscopes, weather, (any fluff stuff you sign up for)
Trading Information (research reports, market updates, news alerts)
Personal emails (from night-owl friends, picture attachments, etc.).
They delete the unwanteds, mark ones to be read later, and fire back only what is necessary.

Some folks read the newspaper, watch the Today Show or CNBC while rushing against the clock to get out the door.

Where ever they end up they spend the next few hours digging out, dousing fires and plotting strategies for the day. Then they eat lunch – either out or at their desks.

“Kate’s Take” will hit at 1PM to entertain and inform people during that all-to-familiar lull between 1PM and 3PM. And as the afternoon creeps by, KBTV will capture the word-of-mouth buzz from friends and colleagues making plans for the evening.

Competitive Analysis:

Old-time media bastions are crumbling and giving way to a new construction of consumer-driven content. Technology like YouTube! not only allows but encourages individuals to “broadcast yourself” for the first time. The content that is being independently produced and distributed is as diverse as the people who access it. On any given day, anyone can pull up YouTube! and catch the latest installment of “Chad Vader,” or check in on the latest update from the aspiring actress/staff accountant featured in “Lucy in the City.”

Case in point: Rocketboom attracts an audience of 300,000 every day. CNBC’s highly touted “Kudlow & Company,” on the other hand, draws an average of just 265,000 daily viewers.

As people trend away from the rigid structure of the old media establishments and begin to gravitate toward user-produced content, the issues of quality and reliability become more apparent. For the trend we’ve witnessed over the past two years to continue to grow with staying power, a new class of “independent professional content providers” has to emerge, hence “Kate’s Take” on KBTV.

Talent: Kate Bohner

In 1988, after graduating from the University of Pennsylvania, where she co-captained the women’s lacrosse team, Ms. Bohner took an analyst position at the international investment bank Lazard Frères & Co. in the Mergers and Acquisitions Group. For the next two years, she worked as a Junior Associate in both the New York and the London office.

Leaving banking in 1992 to pursue a writing career, Ms. Bohner was awarded the Reader’s Digest Literary Foundation Fellowship to study journalism at Columbia University. Upon graduation in 1993, she joined Forbes Magazine as a fact checker. After writing for the Small Business, Investigative, Healthcare and other sections, Ms. Bohner was promoted and asked to reinvent the column “The Informer,” rising to Associate Editor. She has also written for other various publications including Harper’s Bazaar, Marie Claire, and George Magazine.

In 1996, Ms. Bohner was contracted to co-author Trump: The Art of The Comeback, with Donald J. Trump. In 1997, the book hit #3 on the New York Times Bestseller List and #1 on the Wall Street Journal Best Seller List. The first run sold more than 500,000 copies.

In 1997, Ms. Bohner became a correspondent for CNBC, launching “Business Center” with Maria Bartiromo and Tyler Mathison. She went on to write, produce and broadcast “Kate Bohner’s Power File” on CNBC’s “Power Lunch.” In 1998, Jack Reilly, the former executive producer at CNBC, joined Ms. Bohner and other NBC veterans in founding a startup, Internet news service, JAGfn, providing online content similar to that found on CNBC.

In 2000, Ms. Bohner joined E*TRADE as the Managing Editor of Digital Financial Media, anchoring the radio show E*TRADE on Air, WNEW 102.7 FM, as well as serving as the “face” of the brand change to E*TRADE Financial.

In 2002, Ms. Bohner returned to her roots in banking and joined, as partner, The Fort Hill Group, a New York-based investment banking, capital advisory and venture capital firm. While at Fort Hill, Ms. Bohner and her partner John R. Lakian formed and funded a medical device company, Living Independently Group, Inc. (www.livingindependently.com). Currently Ms. Bohner she continues her responsibilities as a non-operating, tri-founder.

Today Ms. Bohner is the President of Kate Bohner Productions, LLC (www.katebohnerproductions.com), a multi-media consulting firm based in Boca Raton, Florida.

I hit send and went out for a 6-mile run.

To be continued …

KBTV::The Paramount

2007-05-23T12:24:00.000-07:00

“Kate’s Take on KBTV”:: DAY 1_May 22, 2007

I was speaking on the phone the other day to my literary agent in New York, and I could hear that weird, familiar pant – heh heh heh heh – on the other end of the line. I can’t explain it. It’s an Agent thing. A peculiar combination of: “I’m reading my email-sipping Diet Coke-signaling my assistant-adjusting my headset-frantically thumbing a manuscript … and pretending that I’m interested in what you’re saying.” That kind of a pant. He was trying, you see, to convince me to go back to writing.

“People ask me about you all the time,” he muttered. Heh heh heh. “Come baaaaack!” You see, I’d made a bit of a name for myself co-authoring Donald Trump’s book, “Trump: The Art of the Comeback.”

My SuperAgent’s tone was unmistakable. Video blogging in South Florida? “What does that mean anyway?” Heh heh heh. Total, he reiterated over and over again, total waste of my time. “Have you lost your mind?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered by way of graciously ending the call. “I either lost it, or I got it back. We’ll see.” I hit the end button on my cell, and slumped back into the squishy peach chair on my balcony overlooking the sea.

How had it all happened? Six months ago, I thought I’d live the life of an artiste – barefoot, sun-kissed, stroking a big black Labrador, perched under a palm tree, outlining the next chapter of my new project – an ambitious tome detailing the a ruthless Titan of Industry’s creation of wealth, a memoir…that he didn’t have time to write…but wanted to say he had anyway.

My mind drifts back. How did I up in Florida in the first place?

It was an icy evening in mid December. My Holiday red and gold lame Versace gown hung like a smock on my rail thin frame. The firm’s Christmas party, again. What a chore. Another year, I thought, I’m just not sure if I can do this. I break into a Hollywood smile and push through the revolving doors of Doubles, in the basement of the Sherry Netherland in the Pierre Hotel on 60th and Fifth Avenue, the last bona fide private club in Manhattan. The sea of faces slowly came into focus. Ah, Walter, our corporate counsel. There’s Mitch, the comptroller, and conceivably the only person at the firm whom I liked anymore. Certainly the only colleague whom I’d eat lunch with. Then I saw them, the two aging, unctuous, haughty board members. I loathed them only slightly less than their wives. Be charming, Kate, please. It’s only one evening. You can do it. “Hello!” I waved pleasurably and ambled across to their table. “Can I get you all a glass of champagne?”

It was 2005, the firm’s Christmas party. As the horns in the swing band whined, the aging dined, and the corporate glitterati wined, I become what felt like the omniscient narrator of my own story. I watched myself from above mingling in the crowd, nibbling on hors d’oeuvres, smiling politely and making pleasantries. Then suddenly, the crescendo of the horn section became a near screech, the room started to spin -- around and around like a ride in an amusement park -- until I found myself standing in the middle of the dance floor bewildered and faint. I looked up and thought: There is no one in this entire room that I ever want to break bread with – let alone speak to – ever again. I picked up my sequined bag, slipped my mink stole over my shoulders, walked out, and raised my hand signaling for a cab. As I marched past my doorman at 141 East 56th Street, I turned around and simply said: “Julio, I’m done.” Three weeks later, I’d moved to Florida.

It took me five months and two writing projects to figure out that I was achingly bored. My real problem was that I kept fibbing about it – and I’m not terribly effective at masking tedium, which gets me into heaps of trouble at cocktail parties. I was bored and anyone who met me knew it. Although if anyone dared suggest it to me, I would retort with a weary combination of indignant half-truths, and withering excuses, which gave the air of “Thou doth protest too much!”

That’s when I got the e-mail:

Kate.. basically I think there is an opportunity for a new voice/personality on the Internet; each technology creates at least one.

Charlie Rose and Larry King in their 60’s; a new set of such personalities are developing now. The idea of KBTV would be to produce 3 minute segments on a set of subjects that you really care a lot about, upload them to Youtube and its competitors, and use the viral nature of the web to develop a new audience. The data says that such audiences prefer short, humor, quirky and are very personality driven.. in your case the content plus you should really work in this medium! The shows could be produced on a balcony with the ocean behind you (with some front lighting) and you could do all of it yourself to start with and see what works. All you would need is a camera + Macintosh and a light/microphone… and the uploads would refer to your website for more info/more depth..

I was intrigued. What an opportunity, I thought! I’ll become a video blogger in South Florida. Hmmm. That’s different. Sounds exciting! And on a shoe-string budget. How romantic! I immediately sent out a much copied (and subsequently forwarded) e-mail announcing my new career opportunity!

The only push back I remember getting was from an old friend at The Wall Street Journal.

“Kate … Whhhat? Videoblogging on YouTube at your age?”

To be continued …