everybody reads raymond

Tim O'Reilly asks the question of measured fame through piracy in his article on OpenP2P.com Read Story: OpenP2P.com: Piracy is Progressive Taxation, and Other Thoughts on the Evolution of Online Distribution [Dec. 11, 2002] As a book publisher his comparisons to the music & film industry are an easy leap, to be sure. But the lessons he offers and the suggestion of where we can expect to be in the future are worth a look-see.

Lesson 1: Obscurity is a far greater threat to authors and creative artists than piracy.
Lesson 2: Piracy is progressive taxation.
Lesson 3: Customers want to do the right thing, if they can.
Lesson 4: Shoplifting is a bigger threat than piracy.
Lesson 5: File sharing networks don't threaten book, music, or film publishing. They threaten existing publishers.
Lesson 6: "Free" is eventually replaced by a higher-quality paid service.
Lesson 7: There's more than one way to do it.

What struck me in particular (as someone engaged in my current venture of UJB) was Mr. O'Reilly's comment that, "Lowering the barriers to entry in distribution, and the continuous availability of the entire catalog rather than just the most popular works, is good for artists, since it gives them a chance to build their own reputation and visibility, working with entrepreneurs of the new medium who will be the publishers and distributors of tomorrow."

...and "To truly supplant the existing music distribution system, any replacement must develop its own mechanisms for marketing and recommendation of new music."

To those working with me on UJB, shouldn't we engage this opportunity to become a source of new & unexplored music artists - those trapped by obscurity? Can we become the publisher? And wouldn't this fit perfectly into my UJB Home vision?

From CFO | The Investor Imperative

The investor relations manager’s job is to create an informed market, explain strategy and performance, correct overzealous expectations, and communicate frequently with investors to ensure the company’s value is adequately captured by the market.

It has been a long and tough month for me this July (as it was June and April and May).  My horoscope said this would be the best and most rewarding time period I have experienced in 10 years.  No shit, star lady!  Work has been all consuming and I have enjoyed maybe 1 to 2 hours a day of down time when I have eat and watch a little TV.  After that, I'm back on the phone again or tending to pilled up paperwork until well after midnight.  Then its back to the grind again from 9AM to 6 or 7PM the next day, then its food and back to work again.  I'm exhausted - making wheelbarrows full of cash, but exhausted.  A client said to me today, "Sounds like you need a vacation,..maybe a Miami weekend again."  He's right, but all I would do while soaking in the pool would be thinking about the 27 things I had to complete for 9 different people on Monday morning.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm happy.  Way happy!  I just know that in the back of my head there are 3 or 4 wonderful projects that I have been waiting a lifetime to do - projects that I can finally do - and I don't have time to breath, let alone contemplate when I can do them.  What's funny is that I took this route in my career so that I could focus on my "special" projects - deals that I loved and were near and dear to my heart.  Only problem is that they don't pay the bills.  So I have to take on other people's dreams to make the money to pay for my deals that represent my dreams.  It would be kind of like the guy who wanted to be a writer and took a post at a local paper so that he could spend his weekends writing the novel in him, who then discovers that the local paper is the only source of news within 50 miles of the alien mother-ship landing.  The novel idea is now buried under a dozen exclusive interview requests with Dan Rather (or the like), ten-thousand marriage proposals from whack-job wannabe crop circle farmers and a 200 page legal demand notice for information by the US government on the status of national security.  As a committed representative of my clients, I am obligated to attend to all of these (not quite) similar matters.  But I long to do my deals - a.k.a, write my novel.  But who has time?

BTW - the above novel analogy can be broken down as such:

The dozen exclusive interview requests with Dan Rather (or the like) = IR/PR groups all wanting a piece of what I'm doing, and wanting me to pay for it too.

The ten-thousand marriage proposals from whack-job wannabe crop circle farmers = the hundreds of shareholders or wannabe players that ring me incessantly to talk about my "plan" for the stock.  In this group I also include all the idiots that have no clue what they are talking about, but could be vary dangerous if you let them run amuck.  These "running-with-scissors" people come from all three groups and require the most attention.

The 200 page legal demand notice for information by the US government on the status of national security = all the damn paperwork that I have on 10 or so deals that need to be filed with either the state of record, the attorney or record, the NASD, the transfer agent, CUSIP, or the SEC but haven't been because I can't make the phone stop ringing.

Not mentioned above are the clients:  They are all beautiful people with wonderful dreams and goals.  I mean that!  If they were not, they wouldn't be my clients.  I wouldn't work with them otherwise.  Who has time?  Not me.

Further note:  The star lady says that August is gonna suck, but that September & October especially are going to be my time to shine and command the universe as it relates to business.  I hope she includes an assistant.

I'll be setting up a new site at a new domain (when I have the time). It'll be called BidWhacker.com - dedicated to outing nefarious, bid whacking IR guys and their lying, sleazy friends.

First, allow me to define a BidWhacker: someone who sells shares by “hitting” the bid price of a stock. For NYSE, NASDAQ-NMS and AMEX companies, this is a fine and customary practice that represents business as usual. In anything else, and especially in small-cap deals, its just plain stupid, as it’s a quick way to ensure you get less money than you could and the stock price goes down. Sure its immediate gratification, but it usually involves selling large blocks that took several trades to acquire. Why buy 2,000 shares at a clip in a small-cap stock, accumulating 20,000 shares in a security that’s trading higher (or lower) when you ensure a declining value (or continued decline) by selling all 20,000 shares all at once – at the bid!? Your sale will undoubtedly whack a bid, meaning fill it and it goes away, leaving the next highest bid, but lower in price in its place.

In case anyone got lost in the above explanation (and I am sure there are a few IR guys out there who would be lost), let me remind everyone that a bid is not some random, computer generated number that market makers collectively agree upon and the beginning of each trading day and then update throughout the day based on volume and the ratio of buyers to sellers. No! Surprise, it is not that. A bid represents an unfilled order of a real person willing to buy a certain amount of that particular stock at a specified price, no higher. A cheapskate, if you will. Just as an ask represents an unfilled order of a real person willing to sell (offer) a certain amount of that particular stock at a specified price, no lower.

Back to the cheapskate. When you sell to his bid, the cheapskate buys up to the total number of shares that he agreed to purchase at that price – no higher and no more. If the number of shares you’re selling – at the bid – exceeds the order placed by the cheapskate, his order is filled and he goes away, leaving the next guy down on the totem pole. Point in fact: the next guy down was cheaper than the cheapskate, so how much stock do you think he’s going to buy from you? Probably not much as he knows that you’re a stupid BidWhacker, so he’ll only buy a little from you and go down in price and willingness to buy. Thus begins the slide in price. A perfectly fine trading day ruined all because you wanted instant gratification. Dumb BidWhacker.

Now let me tell you how you are losing money too. Assume a stock trading $1 by $1.10 that usually trades 250,000 shares a day. Not great, but there’s liquidity for the smart trader. Further assume that you own 25,000 – forget about the price you paid for it or if your Uncle Bob gave it to you as a birthday gift. The fact is that it’s worth $25,000 - $27,500. An important point to pick up on here is that it also represents 10% of the average trading volume in this security.

OK, so the Market’s open and you want a new car – time to sell. What do you do? If you’re a retched BidWhacker, you place a market order to sell all 25K. If you’re a sly, thoughtful or simple BidWhacker, you’ll place several market orders to sell 5K at a time. If you’re a fancy or dandy BidWhacker, you might even place limit orders to sell at $1, no less. Here’s the problem with all of those situations: the stock will go down! And I’m not talking about more sellers than buyers. It would go down if you were the ONLY seller and everyone else bought stock that day. The stock would still go down. Stupid BidWhacker! Remember the cheapskate? Well he’s only going to bid for 5,000 at a time. Don’t scratch your tiny-brained head on this one, BidWhacker. Just trust me. You see, Mr. Cheapskate didn’t get to where he is in life (has more money than you’ll ever know) by being dumb and buying everything you want to sell him at YOUR price. He’ll buy it at HIS price.

So lets suppose you didn’t listen to any of this and acted like the ignorant BidWhacker you’ve always been. If Mr. Cheapskate bought 5,000 shares from you on each trade and ONLY drops $0.05 each time, you will have sold all 25,000 shares from a starting point of $1 down to $0.80, filing that order and making it go away too. If you were the ONLY seller that day, the stock would close at $0.75 bid – down 25%. And believe me, you won’t be the only seller, so you can kiss that $22,500 that you think you might get. But even if you thought you could, why leave $5,000 on the table for Mr. Cheapskate to pick up? You left 18% behind – assuming you were the ONLY seller. Even you can understand that, right? Pathetic BidWhacker.

So how do you do it? How do you avoid the snickering in the locker room and ridicule from all your buddies who all own much more stock than you? How do you avoid Uncle Bob telling the cops about your little herb garden? USE A LIMIT ORDER ABOVE THE BID YOU DUMB TWIT. The counter part to Mr. Cheapskate is his brother, also Mr. Cheapskate, who is willing to SELL STOCK at a specified price, no lower. Join him! He sells stock every day. In the situation I described above he sells 125,000 shares at $1.10 every day of the week. If you join him, you’ll get $27,500 for your efforts. For the simple minded BidWhackers out there it looks like this: SELL 25,000 LIMIT $1.10. That’s not that hard, now is it? You might even try: SELL 25,000 LIMIT $1.08 if you’re in a hurry. You’ll be undercutting the brother of Mr. Cheapskate and will draw quick attention to the fact that you want out but don’t want to hurt anybody’s position. They will react quickly – trust me. And the added bonus is that you won’t wreck it for all your friends who also own the stock, because it might even trade higher. Fucking BidWhacker!

Now go and repent. Think about what you have done. Amend your ways. BidWhacker!

*****

Side Note: The above being said, allow me to dispel another notion. Ther is no such thing as more buyers/sellers than sellers/buyers. Pick whichever one you want. Its crap, and impossible. In each transaction, there is a buyer and a seller. Period. If buyers and sellers are unmatched in price from one day to the next, that’s when you see price increase or decline. (Or there's an idiot BidWhacker in the deal.) But there will always be an even number of buys to sells. Otherwise you have bought from someone who doesn’t exist or sold to thin air. Think about it.

Its reminds me of the bit where boys, on average, lose their virginity at age 15 and girls at age 17. Think about it. What does that mean? It means that 17-year-old girls are sleeping with 15-year-old boys. They can’t do it by themselves, can they? Or, they are lying! There must be a match – in sex and in trading stocks.

You've got to be kidding me: all praise Apple for their marketing skills. I'm heading to NY in a week and chose the Dream Hotel because their rooms come with pre-loaded iPods. Now I read in MacRumors that Forbes confirmed the rumor last week. The Forbes article is quoted:

Sources close to the group say the U2 edition of the popular digital music player will come preloaded with the band's new album, How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb, along with portions of the Irish supergroup's 25-year catalogue. The iPods will be black and will be made available the same week as the band's 11th studio album...

As someone who's working with several growing companies in this arena, I hope that iTunes leaves a little bit of market-share for my guys to capture. But as a Mac user and peecee detractor, “Go Apple!” Further, as a U2 fan, I played Vertigo (Single Version) from the album “Vertigo” by U2 while contemplating the sexy new addition to the iPod product line.

I've been wondering, "Now what?"

A few years back, I thought about moving to Europe for a stint.  Why not?  There was nothing holding me back.  And the idea that I could do what I do from Europe made for a good idea.  Being a big fish in a little pond is what I do in terms of business.  Applying that to a foreign market has appeal.  I could offer a very specialized service to my clients, old and new.

Again, I'm thinking about that idea.  Why not?  I could sell the house and make a move.  OK, I do have an office and employees, but there is no reason to assume it could not continue as normal - just me being "a man on the street" in Europe.  Plus, George and I have been talking about him taking the helm, allowing me to focus on trading.  It could work.

While considering this I played: Sin Of the City from the album "Duran Duran" by Duran Duran

The stars are a very strange, indeed.  If you ask, they'll answer, sometimes louder than you imagined.

There might be something to this Europe thing after all.  Humm....

Swiss Portal & Swissworld.org are great general starting points.  Then there's SECO Standort about setting up you business to do business in Switzerland.

Played: Rack Em Up from the album "Lie To Me" by Jonny Lang

Hey guys, just in case you missed the memo, "Its my time."  To my family, friends, loved ones (past & present), co-workers and vendors:  I will be taking a short break in December that will run through the first part of January.  I need it and I want it.  I may not deserve it, but I'm taking it.  See you when I return.  Hugs and kisses.

~ yours truly:  raymond

While thinking of my holiday I played: Give Me Novacaine / She's a Rebel from the album "American Idiot" by Green Day.

Some well known European fund manager and financial advisor suggested that gold would jump from $550 an ounce to $3,000 in a few years and indeed it broke through the $550 celling today and moved about 2% higher on the news.  Wow!, maybe.

But it makes me think of the true "herd mentality", to which I have become dependent - in some fashion or another.  Every day I see some IR crew crow their "next great pick" and its usually followed by a spike in price and volume.  I often wonder how they achieved the first pick, because the second, third and the last are all driven by the herd - and not the knowledge or foresight of the picker.  The very fact that they have a following is what makes them successful "pickers".  It is the following that causes the success.  To a certain point, they could say that peanut butter would be in short supply tomorrow and indeed it would as their following would buy cases of it to insure they could sell it to those in need when the price was right.  Cart/Horse theory.

Given that, I wonder how often any of these soothsayers are wrong.  And why?  Is there a point when the herd says, "Hey Buddy!  You're going the wrong way."?

Ha! I just solved a major technology hurdled while being handcuffed by corrupt and "broken" hardware. The issue: I needed to solve the static vs. dynamic IP requirements of hosting a database that will be accessed by remote clients while maintaining security within the network and I needed to give the host machine wireless access to the rest of the network. The problems: I had one of two ISPs down for the count, I had a machine on the network whose wireless connectivity was gone (faulty card?), I had another machine who had lost all connectivity and I had somehow managed to confuse the wireless router into a brick of uselessness. To add to the discomfort: I have a colleague coming into town in two days, my roof is being demolished tomorrow in preparation for the new one, I have a very important lunch meeting tomorrow, and I will be getting on a plane next week for a month away - depending upon the fact that the database is up and running.

The simple solution would have been for me to plug the wireless router into the working modem, plug the "master" machine into that and call it a day. But this would have killed the concept of a static IP, which would have killed the idea of a remotely accessed database. Next I thought of using the "master" machine as the bridge and placing the router after it in the chain (which is ultimately what I did) but it isn't as easily done as said.

The first problem I had was that I couldn't tell or diagnose if the router was working at all. I had asked it to reconfigure so many times in various setups and connections that I am sure it was suffering from an identity crisis. The second problem with testing it (as a wireless solution) was that both of the machines at my disposal that used wireless connectivity were not working - the first because its just fucked and needs to go back to the repair shop, and the second because it suffered the identity crisis measures that I put the router through earlier. I had asked it to perform various bridging functions in the pursuit of a solution - none of which worked

As any scientist will tell you, you need a control sample - something that you know to be true - something to compare and test against - something that works. I had nothing of the sort and still needed a solution. And I needed it quick as my office was starting to look like a dumping site for rejected cables, wire, and computer parts - which sucked as I had just finished having my office decorated last week.

I'll spare you the technical details - way above your brain power anyway <evil laugh>. But the solution rested in me overriding DHCP and NAT - fuckers! Anyway, I feel so jazzed about it, I had to tell someone. However, nobody is here to bow before greatness but me. So, I am tooting my own horn.

While feeling big and powerful, I played Tribal King - Façon sex - via WiFi broadcast to remote speakers and felt great about it. And since I felt like it, I added a photo that has nothing to do with this story. Its Sybille and me at Dani's birthday party - which included making my house look like a cheap bordello. Cheers!

I've been back in Switzerland for a little over a week but I thought it would be nice to share the looks of our (Navarco's) temporary offices that doubles (or begins, really) as George's apartment in the Wollishofen section of Zürich - on the left (west) side of the Lake of Zürich. Since my return - my 6th trip to Zürich in a year - the city has started to grow cold again and the leaves are changing in preparation for winter. However, the country hasn't gotten the weather report totally down yet. Today, we had a lunch meeting downtown with a couple of fund managers and I arrived wearing a polo shit, sweater, a suit jacket and an overcoat (rain-style).

After lunch, George and I wondered downtown in search of a Nespresso store so he could buy some coffee. Within 15 minutes I was stripping on the streets - down to the polo, as I was roasting away in all my layers. But the day was beautiful and we were happy - the city was happy - everyone was out, enjoying the day. But we worked (as we have a company to build in a new land).

At 8PM, I headed home. And I was happy to have all my layers, as it was briskly cold. But it was a good day, and I had warm food waiting for me at the other end. Above are the shots from the “office” windows. On the right you can see (if you look closely) the swiss pride at work.

While correcting this entry for use with Categories, Tags and Keywords, I played:Your Blue Room from the album “The Complete U2 - Original Soundtracks 1” by Passengers.

Enjoyed it so much, we did it twice...

Its Thursday in late October and I'm in Zürich airport waiting for a “late-arrival” flight to London City airport for a quick meeting with a new client.  European flights are always late.  Its the mountains and the unpredictable weather that come with them - rain, fog, wind, or some combination.  Considering that, I'm always impressed that Europe manages to maintain a rather consistent flow of regular, day-to-day business travelers with international itineraries.  The suits come and go like the “bridge and tunnel” crews back home.  They arrive with newspapers and coffee - a trench-coat draped over a briefcase and a cellphone blinking away in a trusty pocket.  They're ready to tackle the day's business and anxious to return home later that evening for a hot meal with the family.  And then its back again the next day.  It must be an exhausting lifestyle.  But to them - the road warriors - its just a job.  Its business.  Its normal.

I watch them and wonder how they do it.  What are their family lives like?  Do they have two (or three) sets of friends?  Do they have drinking buddies in one city where they often find themselves on a Thursday afternoon?  And do they have golfing buddies in the next city that requires a weekender?  I cannot relate but I understand the schedule.  I am part of them but an outsider as I work for my own business and make my own schedule.  Poor bastards, I think.  Then I look up at the display and notice that the flight is delayed another 10 minutes.  Time for another quick coffee.  Some join me.  Others continue to chat away on their cellphones.

Two days ago I was on a day-trip to Frankfurt.  That plane was late on arrival too.  So we were delayed for departure and destined to be late on arrival - which we did twice.  The reason this time was the strong winds blowing over Germany - very strong winds as it turned out.

Once we got off the ground, the flight over was rather mundane although a bit longer than normal as we were battling headwinds.  But the closer we got to our destination, the bumpier it got.  I've been in planes all my life, having grown up with an Uncle as a pilot.  So I'm used to turbulence.  Its just blankets of wind.  And I understand the science of flight and the fact that a landing is nothing more complicated than a controlled stall a few inches above the runway.  I actually enjoy watching the process if I am near a window seat and can see the wings and the various configurations they assume.  I like to listen to the landing gear being deployed and feeling the drag they produce - to hear the flaps being extended as the pilot slows the plane for landing.  Its cool stuff.  My fellow business travelers seem to understand this stuff too and nobody is overly concerned by the occasional bounce or jostle.  Its was just a particularly windy day in Frankfurt.  I'm glad I brought my overcoat.

About 15 minutes out from our re-scheduled and expected arrival, and after several harsh bumps of wind tossed the plane this way or that, the pilot turned the seat belt sign on.  The seat belt sign is the universal indicator that all drinks are to be tossed, that all trays are to be latched back into place, that all seat backs are to be in upright position, that all luggage should be stowed underneath and - more important - that the bathrooms are off limits for the duration of the flight.

If you're an experienced traveler or fly one particular route often (as I do between Miami and Zürich) you can start the anticipate the timing of this event.  There is usually an audible “ping” to inform the cabin crew to start gathering up the service items.  I use this “ping” as the notice to head to the bathroom before landing - if I need to.  I can't count the number of times that I am just leaving the lavatory when the announcement comes over the speakers that the captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign in preparation for landing.  I happily return to my seat and grin at my understanding of air travel.  Sick, but true.

On this flight, there was no such opportunity.  There was no “ping”.  The pilot went straight for the seat belt sign - early.  I hate pilots like that.  You hit a few pockets of air, the plane bounces a little bit, and the trigger happy guy up front thinks that the passengers are going to start bouncing out of their assigned seats.  So he presses the “button”.

But within minutes, I realized he was right.

Before the crew had chance to gather up all of the service items the plane started bouncing hard.  We all fastened our seat belts and grinned a little, as if it were the beginning of a county-fair ride.

Part II

The winds were strong - really strong.  The gusts were unpredictable and powerful.  We were being battered around like a butterfly near a highway.  I watched out the window and noticed that we were approaching at a good 20 degrees or more off angle.  It was all the pilot could do to keep us airborne and on glide to the runway.  Every few seconds a mighty gust would send our mid-sized jet of 100-150 passengers off to the left or right, or scarier - down.  Without warning we would drop what felt like hundreds of feet in a blink.  Everyone was quite nervous and no one made a sound.  Unfortunately, we couldn't see the crew's faces to gage our excitement level.  They had all returned to the safety of their shoulder-strapped, ejector-looking seats.  All we could do was look out the window at the bouncing landscape.

[...seat belt, tighter...]

Some showed their nerves - looking a little pale - perhaps thinking of a loved one, or something they forgot to do, or something they wished they had done before this point.  Others, like me, didn't show our fear.  Instead we focused on the newspaper wrenched in our hands - rereading the same sentence over and over, “wood-borne bacteria kills thousands, threatens millions”.  We would then casually sneak a glance out the window and scoff at the 50-foot seas with disinterest.

[...seat belt a little bit tighter...]

It was as if we - the seasoned travelers - were saying to our worrisome comrades that, “all was fine; this is normal; happens every day; this guy's a pro; he's got a family to go home to; no worries.”

I thought of the story my Uncle once told me about commercial airliners.  He said that today's modern airplanes require two things to make them fly: a pilot and a dog.  The pilot's job is to feed the dog.  The dog's job is to bite the pilot if he touches anything.

[...bam! - plane drops another 100 feet in a flash - plane reacts - engines roar...]

My stomach was in my throat - knuckles white around the newspaper, “bacteria kills thousands, threatens millions of trees in western America's forests”.  Oh, trees!

[...whoosh! - plane knocked sideways - seats shake violently...]

Crap!  What the hell did I need to fly to Frankfurt for anyway?  Wouldn't a fax or phone call have worked just as well?  “Steady on there, buddy,” I secretly told the pilot.

[...wham! - another gust - buildings on right side of plane disappear - too much ground visible on left...]

“Come on, man.  You can do it.”

[...seat belt a little tighter still - engines roar - plane levels...]

You could feel the power of the plane as it fought the wind.  Lower and lower we went - the ground steadily moving toward us - layer upon layer of wind testing our ability to stay afloat.  Each layer was a bit different in strength and direction.  I thought of a Mother's Day lasagna my sister and I once made when we were too young to cook.

[...bam! - plane drops another 100 feet in a flash...]

“Come on, man.  Feed the dog.”

Quickly we were down toward the runway - way too quickly.  The wheels were out - full flaps - still 20 degrees off angle but we were hovering above ground.  We were the height of the tallest of the airport buildings to our right.

“Steady on buddy.  That's it.”

The ground was getting closer and closer.  “That's it.  Feed the dog.  Just feed the dog.  You can do it.  Keep her straight.  Steady on.”

[...whoosh! - plane shakes - seats rattle...]

I remember the on-flight safety video of the crash-position and gradually start leaning forward, ever so slightly so as to not alert the already frightened passengers next to me.  Do I put my feet in front on beneath me, I wonder?  I opt for under.

[...seat belt, tighter, cutting off blood flow...]

“Steady on, buddy.  That's it.  Keep her going.”

[...a gust of wind...]

I think about how if we slide off the runway and catch fire, where do you exit?  I check for exits - closest one is forward and to the left.

“We're a little sideways, buddy...straighten her out.  That's it.  We're with you.  You can do it.”

[...one wheel makes contact...]

“That's it!  You can do it.  Just feed the dog.”

[...engines roar - plane bounces - second wheel - another gust...]

“We're drifting sideway, man.  Straighten her OUT!”

[...another gust - Dammit! - don't these seat belts get any tighter? - plane slides - wings rock...]

“COME ON, man!  Wings, FLAT!  Nose, FORWARD!  I want OFF this plane!”

[...BOOM! - a massive gust smacks us sideway and from underneath - one wheel again - buildings slanting downward and we're running out of room...]

“LAND THIS FUCKING PLANE, BUDDY!!!”

[...WHOOSH! - ENGINES SCREAM - NOSE UP, WAY UP...]

“Oh, fuck...we're done...”

And then you could feel it - the air below us again - no more contact with the ground.  It was moving away from us.  We were airborne again.  Higher and higher.  We had aborted.

Part III

“Great job, man!  I would not have enjoyed the fiery mess we would have surely become at the end of that runway.  Terrific job.  Well done.  Smart move.”

“Now what?,” I realized.

“What's your plan, buddy?”

“We're up here again.  I'm glad I'm not sitting in a burning mess trying to remember the exit procedures or how I would contact anyone to tell them I was alright - if I had managed to escape without my coat containing my phone, my passport and my insulin.  I'm wondering, just what is the plan now?”

“How about we just head back to nice, safe, beautiful Zürich?”

“I like it there.  Its happy there.  I like the people, the food, the wine.  Its clean.”

“So far I don't care too much for this windy, nasty, German city.”

“We touched down once.  That counts.  I don't really need another stamp in my passport.”

“Let's go home, buddy.  How 'bout it?”

The passengers grew restless but relieved.  We were climbing higher and higher - away from the dangerous ground.  But we were still in a plane that had to land somewhere to let us off.

Finally the electric-sounding voice of the pilot came overhead.  It started in German but I knew what he was saying, “Crap, that was a close one!  Thought we were goners for sure.  Anyone for sunny, Spain?  I know a great little place by the sea - been thinking about retirement anyway.  By the way, are there any military on board who could call in a refueling tanker as we're gonna need to top off?”

Then came the English version, “Ladies and gentlemen, our apologies.  There was a strong gust of wind on approach and we've decided to come around for another pass.  Thank you for your patience.”

Jeepers!  This guy is good - quick and to the point - telling us: “We were all going to die.  We didn't.  Let's try that again.  You've got places to go as do I.  So, let's do this thing.  Won't be but a sec.”

Eight hours and one meeting later, I flew back home to beautiful Zürich without a second thought.  I slept on the plane.

End

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