Am I Supporting Dirty Energy Investments?

I'm putting my money where my mouth is this week. Due to a short respite from lead-footing around the North East on assignments, I finally have time to focus on the financial crisis everyone is worrying about.

Of the many companies and banks in foreclosure, why haven't either of my mega-banks, Citi and M&T suffered? Not that I want them to because that would affect my bottom line, but who are these banks, Citi and M&T, anyway?

I've had credit with both long before I knew better than to question a company of it's ethics and environmental practices. Long before becoming an advocate of TreeHugger, dailygreen, Wecansolveit, and RAN. Long before I understood the fundamental differences in fossil fuels and alternative energy.

Citi Bank came calling when I was a irresponsible sophomore in college. An application for an adult-size Visa card landed in my lap right next to the application for a SUNY student loan. It was a Eureka! moment; one of those saving graces.

Not even I trusted my teenage-self, sinking ever so slowly into school debt, with an additional $5,000 to toy with, but Citibank did. I didn't abuse my new authority status but I sure made it known to family and friends that I was a bonafide card-carrying adult of the new mature world.

When the interest rate kicked in on my buying habits, my adult bubble burst.

Now, 20 years later, it's not the interest rate that concerns me but the risky business of coal and climate. As I've been reading.. the company makes large-scale investments in coal-fired power plants even though coal is the single biggest cause of global warming. And despite Citi having $2.2 trillion in assets they justify their dirty investments by contributing less than 1% to alternative energy like wind, solar and hydrogen.

Not to mention the egregious amounts of PAC (political action committee) donations that Citi gives to influence both Republicans and Democrats; it all makes my head spin! So, be-gone Citi bank (and possibly M&T if I discover the same), my revolving credit line has done you well but I'm shopping for smarter alternatives.

Providence, Rhode Island; Art Overdose

Circling through Providence, Rhode Island this weekend was a wet but wonderful adventure. The hurricane rain soaked my socks and chilled my lens but it didn't dampen my spirits, especially seeing a friends' Alma Mater.

The Rhode Island School of Design (pronounced riz-dee) is just a bridge span away from downtown Providence. When I saw the balloons and party tent I had to cross and explore the campus. The school was celebrating the opening of a new hyper modern building called the Chace Center.

Part auditorium and part museum space, the Chase Center is packed to the rafters with whimsical works, ancient collections and Old Master drawings and prints. Nicolas Poussin, Claude Monet, Vincent Van Gogh, Paul Cézanne and Pablo Picasso, they're all here. I jumped inside to stay dry but a museum of this size is deserving of more time than a brief respite from the rain.

If your really in mood for art overdose, visit Providence the 3rd Thursday of every month (April-November) for "Gallery Night." Live music, refreshments, art buses, celebrity guides and exhibits that stay open way past bedtime.

Hobnob with the artists and maybe buy a small token of appreciation (if you can afford it) then share a crepe from a yummy little joint called La Creperie. There's limited seating but the nutella, banana and raspberry dessert can be inhaled standing up, based on experience.

A huge festival awaits you in October called “The Stroll." It's a twice a year event, where you can stroll Federal Hill and sample cuisine from 33 restaurants, including some of the best Italian restaurants in the United States, that goes for L.A. and New York. Tickets are $20 and sell out quickly so contact the Providence-Warwick Convention and Visitor's Bureau for more information. Bring an umbrella!

MacArthur Genius Awards

Living in scholarly blue states means being surrounded by people who are creative, imaginative and driven to make important contributions to our future.

A few blocks from my house lives stem-cell biologist Sally Temple of Slingerlands. A few miles from my hotel (I'm in Providence, R.I., tonight) lives anthropologist Stephen Houston of Brown University. Of the 25 people in the U.S. that the MacArthur Fellowship awards with $500,000 "genius awards", both of them, Temple and Houston, just happen to be part of my assignment radar this month.

Temple works for the New York Neural Stem Cell Institute at SUNY Albany. She's demonstrated breakthroughs in treating Parkinson's disease, Alzheimer's and spinal cord injury. Houston has worked in excavation sites throughout Mexico studying ancient Mayan texts and hieroglyphics to help write about the political and social systems in Mesoamerica.

MacArthur fellowships have been awarded to 781 people since their inauguration in 1981. Candidates do not apply for the fellowships but rather are nominated by fellow scholars and artists and then chosen by a 12-member selection committee.

Fate Intervenes in Rhode Island

I can't believe it! A fabulous friend I was hoping to meet while working in Switzerland this week just happened to fly to Rhode Island today and call me. Shortly after I was relieved from the Switzerland gig, I scored 4 new assignments in R.I. What are the odds the 2 of us would still meet? Slim to none, so I thought.

She's from France and I'm from Albany, NY, but today we gathered for a yummy seafood dinner at a restaurant called the Harbor Inn in West Warwick, RI. I guess, sometimes fate intervenes and destiny is just meant to happen.

Colleen is the owner of several gorgeous luxury chalets in Chamonix, France. I visited back in April for a weekend of spring skiing and a travel write-up for the TU. Her cozy wooden retreats and spacious chalets, like Chalet Valhalla, the digs I stayed in, are meticulous, homey and offer quick strolls to historical Chamonix.

If you've always wanted to visit France's oldest ski resort and boogey down sugar white powder, Colleen's many idyllic farmhouses, apartments and chalets offer a staff that will pamper you with impeccable cuisine and invaluable advice on how to survive pistes.

Swill Season this Octoberfest

Oh drats, Switzerland is still in a holding pattern. The political Gods really are punishing me this time. I might be stuck watching the debates this Friday after all.

And, rather than the Alps I might resort to the Adirondacks this week. The two don't come anywhere close to compare but in a world of freelance videography you have to be flexible enough to bounce back from disappointment and last minute changes and make due with wherever the assignments take you.

Still, it pays to brush up on my German because last week, while in Boston, the German Travel and Tourism board was in town to entice several travel writers to Berlin, Frankfurt and Baden-Baden for the holidays. What's old is new again by focusing on the romance and beauty of castles, parks and gardens.

Mutti was raised on the outskirts of Stuttgart so naturally I'd bring her along as my translator. Perhaps I'll even write a dramatic piece on how she escaped the Russian front while in Prussia during WWII. She was just a baby but her brothers and sisters, who still live in German, remember the entire ordeal.

There are less and less who can recall their impressionable childhoods as vividly as Onkel (Uncle) Horst and Tante (Aunt) Henni - especially during the swill season of October-fest! Here's hoping that I can still get back to the Motherland before the end of the year.

Election Fatigue, Need Some Swiss Democracy

I had to work a wedding the other day. 11 pretty bridesmaids with pretty hair, pretty make-up and pretty thoughts. Young people marrying for love. How simple and convenient, I thought. Lucky for them that they have no genuine interest in carbon footprints, deregulation, offshore drilling, national debt and foreign affairs.

Because the older you get the more complicated it becomes. Political views and convictions clash with others ideology, outlook and personality all the time. Sydney Pollack's 1973 classic movie, "The Way We Were" with Barbara Streisand and Robert Redford demonstrates that best. Today, I feel like Kkkkkatie.

I'm reaching the height of election fatigue so it's off to scale greater heights in the Swiss Alps of Europe. A documentary needs my attention in the dramatic landscapes and quaint country settings of Switzerland so, twist my arm, I'm on my way.

Vibrant cities, chalets and inns, alpine lakes and the glow of the Alps at sunset, it's time to escape the cruelty of the Obama-McCain campaigns.

Until October 4th, I'll be filming in a country with one of the highest per capita incomes in the world, low unemployment rates and a low budget deficit. A democracy that thrives on cheese, chocolate and long-term monetary security. A country that speaks 4 languages, is a strong supporter of working unions and lives a eco-logical lifestyle.

I won't be "worried" or "frightened" by the Swiss Socialist Party because they are but 1 of 4 major coalition parties that help the country.

I won't be "angry" over the concept of neutrality because the country still takes part in international peacekeeping missions.

And, I won't be "threatened" by a regulated health care system because high taxes means less despicable pharmaceutical profits for shareholders making money off of people's sicknesses.

Come with me to a country that we have far less to be afraid of than you've been told this election season.

Slippery Pete Welcomes Me Home

A snake I've named "Slippery Pete" loves to hide in the two Arborvitae trees in front of my house. Here, Slippery Pete basks in the autumn sunshine. Arborvitae trees have scale-like leaves that are soft to touch and need little or no pruning so they make for a great home for a harmless grass snake.

Still, Slippery Pete gave me quite the scare the other day. Seeing a snake squirming on pavement or next to the tomato plants is one thing but coming face-to-face with one atop tree branches equal to my height is not for the faint of heart.

Rather than run from it, I grabbed my camera and watched it squirm it's way through the Arborvitae's limbs and out of sight. It used to live under the Nine Bark bushes on the island to the left of my house but I guess it prefers to stay closer to the warmth of the concrete steps as temperatures fall.

Because of all the rain we've had this summer as well as my seasoning it with miracle grow, the grass in my front lawn is taller than my mailbox right now. That happens when I'm away on assignments.

Tomorrow I'll drag the beat-up Troy-built out of the side shed and begin the 2-hour chore. I won't be as careful not to disturb a patch of rotting vegetation where the compost heap is because Slippery Pete has taken up new residence. I think I know now why I haven't see Tommy the Toad next to the Wigela much.

Little Red Schoolhouse

I have yet to meet a town around Boston that I didn't like. This week I've been shooting in Haverhill, Tewksbury, Chelmsford, Lowell, Methuen, Andover, Lawrence, Georgetown, Newburyport, Rowley, and Peabody, MA as well as Salem, Nashua and Portsmouth, New Hampshire.

When my built-in compass took a turn into the rolling marsh lands of Byfield, MA, I found myself on hallowed ground. Founded in 1763 is the oldest boarding school in America called "The Governor's Academy." A generation of busy students with neon backpacks and fancy new i-pods were pouring out of their parent's shiny cars as I steered my way around campus.

A little red schoolhouse caught my attention upon entering the New England gem. It's the original schoolhouse restored every year with a fresh paint job and polish for the bell. Beyond that is the Headmaster's Mansion House where dinners are hosted for the students, modern dorms, a performing art center and an intellectual library.

I attended a public school with memories of bullies, break-ups and beer parties every weekend. There was no college counseling, the faculty were stodgy and cruel and the building was dreary and typical. At that time, I believed boarding schools were punishment for misfits and troublemakers.

"The Governor's Academy" looks anything but miserable. The students walk hand-in-hand smiling from ear-to-ear, happy to to be back with teachers, faculty and friends they know and love. And, based on some of my friends, who were privileged enough to attend boarding schools, they were also offered plenty of AP options, smaller class sizes and the opportunity to study in foreign countries for a term.

Sniffing for Sales

I'm not usually one for perfume or natural oils because of my allergies and adverse reactions. But upon traveling through the quaint fishing village of Newburyport in Northern Boston today, I discovered a remedy for that at The Fragrance Bar: Scents without alcohol.

It's always the high alcohol content that triggers sneezing as well as shortens the shelf life of a perfume. Some of those acclaimed fragrances also cost a fortune. But, the Nantucket Oils boutique, with it's hundreds of glass mixing bottles and aromatherapy supplies, sells 1000 alcohol-free versions of brand-name potions. I was bound to find my flavor of choice for well under what department stores charge.

It wasn't Chanel No. 5 or Lovely by Sarah Jessina Parker or Clinique's Happy but a fragrance by Japanese fashion designer Hanae Mori that I scored for only $45. A mix of vanilla, praline, almonds and flowers, this poison smells better than dark chocolate melting on a icecream sundae, if that's possible.

Geo-Greenism vs. Drill Baby Drill

It sure would be tragic if the next time I took a photo of a fisherman on the Atlantic there appeared a major refinery floating in the distance.

"Green is the new red, white and blue," says three-time Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and foreign affairs columnist for The New York Times, Thomas Friedman. "We're on the eve of an energy technology revolution," he writes.

Friedman has been stumping across media outlets like Letterman, NPR, CNN and PBS this week talking about his latest book, "Hot, Flat and Crowded." I've been a loyal reader of his for years so it was no surprise that I polished up half the book today.

The chapters on Scandinavian and Asian countries leading the innovation on energy efficiency was most compelling.

Years ago, the Denmark government put a huge tax on gasoline and CO2 tax on electric bills. They used incentives to boost the economy by investing in companies that support wind, solar and ethanol energy. The net result was an unemployment rate of only 1.6% in Denmark with a leading company employing thousands that make 1 out of every 3 wind turbines for the global market today.

The irony is some of these brilliant technologies were originally invented, researched and subsidized by American companies. But when Reagan pulled the plug on subsidies for these new energy technologies in the 1980's those companies and their brilliant ideas went under. Rather, corporate leaders in Denmark seized the opportunity to support their vision and turned their inventions into mega success.

Today, Denmark is thriving without the need for big oil or having to finance terrorist countries.

Like Freidman says, "If visions are without resources, it's hallucination." He goes on to say "If Global Warming is a hoax than it's the greatest hoax ever perpetrated on the American people. It could make us prepared, respected, competitive and entrepreneurial."

The Immortality of Cities

The sport of "Basket Ball" was invented in 1891 by a man named James Naismith at a YMCA in western Massachusetts. This I learned while visiting the Basketball Hall of Fame today for an assignment in Springfield, Massachusetts.

I'm afraid that's the only fact I can recite though from my brief visit to the new $45 million museum along the banks of the Connecticut river. I stayed too busy videotaping the campus at the Western New England School of Law, a fabulous green space called Forest Park and several Elizabethan style homes.

The outskirts of Springfield appear vibrant and strong but the rest of downtown is sadly in need of a financial shot in the arm. Dozens of city blocks and shop windows are vacant with homeless derelicts sleeping on street corners and pavement crumbling from neglect. The water fountains in the park are empty, graffiti defaces historic brick walls and scores of poor people live in subsidized apartments. The library, banks and post office are still open but where are all the people?

It's a situation I see far too often traveling, like in Binghampton, Syracuse and Rochester, New York, the East Side of St. Louis, MO and now Springfield, Massachusetts.

What to do with America's dying downtowns? Revitalization, reconstruction, urban renewal, these are successful alternatives from keeping any Main street from turning into a dust bowl. If a town can capitalize on their historic buildings, improve safety, clean up the garbage and increase parking, much like Albany, NY has done the past 10 years, I see no reason why retail and commercial property owners can't return.

Every city has a unique heritage and though I know very little about Springfield outside of observation it definitely looks like it's worth saving.

Riding the Tides in Long Island

The results of Tropical Storm Hannah brought an unusually High Surf Advisory to Long Island last weekend. Dozens of expert surfers found the wave conditions the best they have seen in years. Estimated to be 7 to 10 feet high, veterans like this guy took to the swells like a fish out of water.

Wetsuits helped avoid cold temps and jellyfish. It was too breezy to lay in the sand so Mutti, sis and me watched fishermen reel in dinner, kids build sand castles and boarders ride the tides. Sand erosion was minimal and we saw little or no damage done to any of the parks.

After a sunset walk along the boardwalk at Sunken Meadow State Park we treated ourselves to a sit-down feast inside "Prime". It's on the outskirts of Huntington on the north shore in a harbor with beautiful views of sunsets.

Prime opened in June and truly is beyond description. A women walking her dogs suggested we splurge for the evening and that we wouldn't regret it. She was right. For the first time ever I left my car with a valet attendant.

The restaurant reeks of $16 million worth of expensive renovations including a clear mahogany pergola, a 18-foot antique grain cabinet, stone tiles, Adirondack furniture, a gas fire pit and a top-rated Manhattan city chef tossing dishes in a state-of-the-art kitchen. I ungraciously gobbled through the finest prepared sushi order I've ever had. I couldn't help it, everything was far too yummy to slow down. Mutti and sis did the same with their surf and turf entrees.

Naked Fossils on Fire Island

Dozens of primitive horseshoe crabs can be found along Long Island's north and south shores but be careful of the jellyfish. Since the beginning of August, hordes of jellyfish have stung dozens of unsuspecting swimmers and boarders. Their presence is due, in part, to unusually warm ocean temperatures caused by global warming.

Fire Island with Mutti and sis in tow couldn't have been nicer this weekend. With miles of boardwalk, dozens of white sandy dunes, the call of seagulls and an 1857 lighthouse to explore, we found plenty to keep us from getting burned.

But then, while combing for seashells and sand dollars, we stumbled innocently into, or what we thought was, a nudist colony.

"Check out those jellyfish" I snickered to Mutti as a bare-breasted woman waded in the ocean in front of us.

Sis and I giggled thinking that she was probably just an average European traveler not privy to the customs of conservatism in the U.S. But then we discovered that her lack of modesty was no phenomenon. This was not unusual behavior but rather a designated area of Fire Island carved out for nude bathers.

Hundreds of brown bodies littered the white milky sands, most of them standing about talking to one another, others playing badminton or frisby. Old white-haired men stood erect (no pun intended) baking their butts off in the full monty while a few younger women kept their distance on towels and lawn chairs. No surprise, the number of men outnumbered women by 2-to-1.

Being German, sis and I were 'exposed' to European customs many moons ago but in this puritan country of ours, seeing bodies in the buff, comes as a shock to any system. And unfortunately, the many naked participants in New York do not follow any of the standards set by the self-respecting nudists on the Mediterranean.

Grandpa and Grandma have no business being on the beach, wrinkling up like a prune and neither does Uncle Vito, who has a beer gut so big it casts a shadow more useful than my umbrella. Rather than join the eye candy, Mutti, me and sis looked away in disgust.



Nakedness is clearly NOT for everyone, especially tattoo-laden veterans swilling beer and puffing cancer sticks. They and several other 'comedy of errors' were clearly there to google and goggle at the girls but local police patrols stay vigilant for inappropriate behavior.

Still, it's hard to imagine anyone under 50 years wanting to save their skin from tan lines by dressing down in front of the elderly. Age before beauty seems to be the mantra here and if it weren't for the jellyfish I bet all of them would be swimming in the ocean. That's another reason we really need to remedy global warming asap!

A Place of Pride Once Again

Wow! The leaves are changing color faster than McCain can say pro-life, oil-drilling and tax breaks for the rich right now. That's fast. But 'change' happens and that's never a bad thing, especially in New York.

I visited the largest mausoleum in North America on Thursday. It overlooks the Hudson River from Riverside Park and is the final resting place of one of the greatest American Civil War Generals and Presidents, Ulysses S. Grant.

Inside this fortress of granite and marble are two gigantic twin sarcophagus where he and his wife are entombed. The crypt is decorated with busts depicting Grant's most esteemed lieutenants during the Civil War, painted murals and a room with preserved battle flags.

Grant's tomb wasn't always so polished and safe. It fell to vandalism and neglect in the 80's and 90's and it wasn't until 1997 when funds were finally found to remedy the cause. This included the cleaning of graffiti, repairing the roof, replacing the granite plaza and ridding the area of prostitution, homelessness and drug and alcohol use.


Today it's once again a place of honor and remembrance for our 18th president of the United States, a man who spent over two years traveling the world with his wife. No President should be without that.

Laughing Gargoyles

These gargoyles are certainly not the grotesque or menacing creatures that perch atop other NYC landmark buildings. I happened to find them peeking down at me during a stroll with City Slicker on Riverside today.

Gargoyles add a medieval but modern touch to many Gothic luxury apartment buildings on the Upper West side. These were found on 110th street. They look more like cartoon characters from a twisted adult Disney flick.

A few of them are carved with pointy noses, high cheekbones and thick eyebrows. They carry expressions of mischief and mockery. Others appear completely harmless almost goofy and good-natured enough to pass for a real person.

None of these stone-carved pediments are disfigured or discolored in any way which leads me to think they are new. If any of my readers know anything more about these distractions, write to let me know.

Pigtails and Chicken Coops

While at the Syracuse Fairgrounds the other day, I caught this cute little girl in pink and her older sister milking goats. She tried her best to help but her tiny fingers couldn't quite handle the skill. Still, she reminded me of the few barnyard animals I had at her age.

Rather than milking cows or goats, we chased our pigs, ate the chicken, ran from the angry rooster and rode our sheep. It was The Seventies: the Cold War, an Oil Crisis and the beginning of Earth Day. Whose Dad in St. Lawrence County didn't experiment with self-sufficiency and agrarian life? Our garden was bigger than a baseball field.

The social dynamics were completely different too - hard work was expected, cooked vegetables were eaten and spankings tolerated. The average salary was $7,564 a year and a loaf of Wonder was just 24 cents a bag.

My sister and I knew nothing about hot pants and mini-skirts but Grandma knitted us red shawls to go with our polyester bellbottoms and noisy brown clogs. We carried matching yellow Tupperware lunch boxes with compact thermoses, Oscar Mayer bologna sandwiches, rosy red apples and sugar-laden Ho-Ho's for dessert. Nobody we knew were allergic to nuts, dairy or shellfish.