Home Sickness Tour 2006

I spent this weekend on a quick trip through New England. I had gone first to attend the Region 15 Summit in Saybrook, New Hampshire. This is the annual gathering of Starfleet chapters in the area. Since our Fleet admiral had just given birth I was invited as a member of the Executive Committee. I will admit going on someone else’s dime is fun!

Jet Blue is now my preferred airline. Leather seats, lots of legroom and the little TV’s for every seat make the trip easy, comfortable and quick. I found it interesting how a few months make a difference. On my last trip to Birmingham I was concerned about Homeland Security and terrorists; this flight was proof that I've been watching "Lost" too much. As I watched each person taking their seat on this flight I kept imagining how they all might fit into the plan of surviving on a deserted island, the different alliances that would sprout up

On the flight up there the pangs of homesickness began as we flew over Manhattan. I could easily pick out some of my favorite landmarks and just to see the city after almost 8 years was thrill enough. It got worse as we got closer to Boston. I craned my neck to try to see Warwick but was happy enough to get a bird’s eye view of Providence.

The summit was great. I met a bunch of great people, all of which seem to share the same sense of humor as most of my friends. I made some good new friends on this trip. It was the usual sort of gathering, although there was not the usual level of alcohol intake as most of my sci-fi weekends. That did not, however, take away from how much fun I had.

Sunday was the busiest day. The summit wrapped up around noon, I was dropped off at South Station in Boston for a bus ride to Providence. Two of nieces picked me up to head to a retirement party for the friend of mine who has been director of Camp Aldersgate; the summer camp where I used to be a counselor. This was a last minuet change but since I was so close I just had to be there for Jeffrey. He had no idea that either I or my niece Cheryl, who flew in from Las Vegas, were going to be there. The shocked look on his face when he spotted us was worth the extra cost of changing my flight at the last minuet.

Being in camp again was very emotional. I had spent 10 years as a counselor. My first wedding reception was held in the Great Hall. It was my refuge during various rough times in my life. After I got the chance to talk with Jeffrey and his family I walked down to the edge of the lake and took it all in. Memories were everywhere; good and bad and I savored each one. While I didn't have time to walk as far into the camp as I wanted I did go through the Retreat Center itself. Each room held ghosts of my past. I touched walls, chairs and bunks. Each one connecting me with different part of my life. Each moment as vivid and as real as if they happened that day.

My memory failed me though moments later. As I walked through the crowd back in the Great Hall a young man in his twenties walked up to me with a big smile and said, "Hi, Jack! How are you?!" He could see I had no clue who he was. "I was one of your campers years ago." I could hear my arteries hardening. He did say that his best summer at camp was the year I was his counselor. That sentiment added to everything I was feeling being there.

I went back to my sister's after that while I waited for my friend Maria to pick me up to bring me back to Boston for the night. Before we left I asked Maria to indulge me with a ride around the city. We tried getting Narragansett beer but got to the liquor store minutes after it closed. 'Gansett has only recently been returned to being brewed after a twenty year absence. Not the best beer in the world, but I had to have some. Maybe next trip. I took a photo of the Sci-Fi Channel's "Ghost Hunters" headquarters which is a store front right next door to Warwick City Hall. Then we drove through Oakland Beach. My cousin Mark pointed out years ago the genetically designed reaction to anyone who was brought up in that neighborhood. "You're never really home until you drive through the beach," he would always say; and it's true.

It was a good thing that Maria was driving or I would have been arrested for trespassing. We drove by my old house. The adrenalin rush of going by there was the mixed with nausea and anger as I saw the neglect of the current owner. In the front of MY house were four neatly trimmed hedges; now two of them can only be described as TREES reaching well past the second story. If I had been driving I probably would have stopped, jumped the fence (another abomination added by the person my mother sold the house to) and trimmed them with my own teeth! And still, 16 years after my mother sold the house, there is the monogram letter "E" on the front storm door. And my father thought I was lazy!

All through this trip I took in every inch of my surroundings; comparing how things had changed and how much had remained the same. One odd reaction I had felt similar to returning to your elementary school when you're an adult; it all looks the same but somehow smaller.

My friends Bismo, Maria and Howard all got together at Stone's Public House for a night of food, beer and blues. What a cool place. It is always good being with these old friends, but I didn’t realize just how old we were until I noticed that Howard and Bill were trading health stories back and forth. Illness, aches, pains, surgeries, tests and doctors visits were being traded back and forth faster than a Joyner sister tennis ball. I raised my glass and toasted, "We are now officially old farts!"

You've heard of karma, right?

The next morning, a mere four hours before my flight was scheduled to return me to Florida, I was in Bill bathroom when I turned and pulled a muscle in my back. So, here I am; wet, naked and bent over in pain. The universe has a perverse sense of humor.

With the help of many ibuprofen and a cane I was able to limp my way from Bill’s to the car and through Logan airport to my plane. Not entirely comfortable, but I was able to get around. Was this another sign that I should really be in New England? Was my body telling me not to go back to Florida?

No, my body was telling me that I was, in fact, an old fart.

Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.

These words came to mind as I was reading two stories important to Science Fiction fans over the past few days.

The good news in the first story is the Rick Berman, the Anti-Christ of Trek fandom, is stepping apparently stepping aside from creative control of the franchise he has run into the ground for JJ Abrhams of "Alias", Lost" and "Mission Impossible III". While the details of where he is taking the franchise are unclear the initial stories leave me a little unsettled.

He is, supposedly, reviving the "Starfleet Academy" story. This will follow Kirk, Spock and other original series characters during their plebeian days in San Francisco. This idea sucked 15 years ago when Harve Bennet proposed it and it still sucks today. The original characters didn't even know each other at the academy and to out them together would screw with established history. There are so many other directions the show could go and this seems like the least original concept out there.

Also, "Lost" has faltered in its second season so my trust in him as a producer is a little shaken. J. Michael Straznisky (Babylon 5) has shown interest and I'm sure he could revitalize Trek the same way Ron Moore has turned "Battlestar Galactica" into one of the nest dramas on TV.

And speaking of BSG; there is a story that the Sci-Fi Channel is developing a spin off series called "Caprica". It will be set more than 50 years prior to the events of BSG when humankind's Twelve Colonies are at peace and on the verge of a technological breakthrough: the first Cylon.

Hasn't Ron Moore learned from Trek what happens when you go to the well one to many times? Wouldn't it make better sense to work on the one fantastic project and devote all the writing and producing resources to keep BSG at the high level it has set for itself instead of stretching the concept thinner and thinner? Give us one really good show to watch instead of two or three mediocre ones?

Oh, but wait....what was that good news in all this?

BERMAN IS GONE!!!!

Maybe it ain't all bad after all.

Apparently all of the bees in Florida congregate in the wooded area just west of where I live. I found this out today as I headed out for my walkabout to get mail and a few extras. This area is adjacent to the dunes along side the rail road tracks I daily walk to meet my ride to work.

My usual trail was blocked by trees fallen either by storms or impending development. As I walked along a different path I started hearing a heavy whine. This grew and grew. At first I thought it might be traffic off in the distance as it sounded similar to the sound of tires on heavy asphalt. It grew louder and seemed to come from overhead sounding like one of those lawnmower engines that power the small ultra-light flying machines that are common around here. As I looked up to spot the gas powered parachute I found the bees.

Some were close to the size of ping pong balls and cast clear and distinct shadows on the soft sand below. I didn't stop to count them but the word swarm quickly came to mind. As I have mentioned before, I have a strong primal fear of stinging insects so the deep seated caveman in me took over and I fled.

"Don't bother them and they won't bother you!"

"Don't bother them and they won't bother you!"

I repeated this mantra over and over as I double timed it towards the nearest signs of civilization. There were times I did not complete the sentence in its entirety as the buzzing of a divebombing bee caused my heart to stop momentarily. I swear the little bastards could smell the fear on me. Just like the cats who can spot an asthmatic a mile off and just have to come up and nuzzle up close and climb all over you so you can breath in the allergens these sadistic anthropods probably got together afterwards in the hive, sucked back some honey and high-fiving each other saying, "Man, we really made that fat bastard run!"

Given that it was near 90 degrees today, the path I was on was steep at times on a mix of soft sand and dirt and the abnormal amount of fear induced adrenalin in my blood; I got my workout today.

A piece of my childhood fell into Narragansett Bay today.



At 10:45AM the "old" Jamestown Bridge was demolished with a volley of explosives which dropped the center span of the bridge into the waters below. With it went childhood memories, teenage paranoia and a practical joke at the hands of the master, my father.

For those of you not from Rhode Island, the Jamestown Bridge spanned the distance from North Kingstown to Jamestown across Narragansett Bay. From Oakland Beach, where I grew up, you could clearly see the bridge silhouetted against the southern sky. At night the bridge was lined with a string of brilliant white lights.

This is where my father twisted my young brain.

My Auntie Anna and Uncle Eddy lived in Saunderstown, just south of the bridge. From their yard you could also clearly see the bridge. One day, probably before I even turned 9, I asked my father how the lights got on the bridge.

"Your Uncle Eddy put them there," he smiled.

To my young mind it seemed to make sense. He lived right near the bridge; that must be because he worked on the bridge. I took some pride in the fact that my Uncle Eddy had made something so beautiful. I beamed with the fact that thousands of other people could see the work someone in my family had made.

Kids that age don't really think much about what adults do. What my father told me seemed like gospel and I kept that thought in my mind as I got older. As I learned more about people and the things they do I rationalized that my Uncle Eddy must be some sort of electrical engineer. That seemed like the job a person would have to have to oversee the lighting of such a mammoth structure. Simple logic.

This is where the beauty of my father's partical joke blossomed.

My Uncle Eddy died when I was in my mid-twenties. I miss him greatly to this day. The day of his wake I picked up the newspaper to read his obituary. It listed his parents, wife, children, military history and his life long career as a butcher.

BUTCHER?!

That couldn't be right! My father told me he put the lights on the Jamestown Bridge. I even went to my mother to confirm what I was reading. The paper HAD TO be wrong.

"No," my mother told me, "That was just your father screwing with your head." Then she laughed.

When I started driving the Jamestown Bridge planted the seeds for a fear of heights. At the very top of its span was a steel grate which was open to the ocean below. As your drove over the top your tires whined loudly. The wheel swayed slightly back and forth as the tires jogged back and forth across the checkerboard grating. You could look straight down and see the churning cold water hundreds of feet below. It was a government built house of horrors.

You would try to drive as fast as you could to get across the grating. That only made the swaying of your front end worse. Just 26 feet wide, it had only two lanes and no breakdown lane, the swaying made it look as if you were going to be swung over into oncoming traffic. The whining of the tires on the grating only served to make your blood pressure go higher and higher adding a horror movie-like soundtrack to the commuting terror.

When you would hit the solid pavement again you could start breathing again and the blood would drain from your head. I loved going to Newport but I hated going over the Jamestown Bridge.

Even if my Uncle Eddy had put the lights on it.

I have GOT TO put money aside to purchase the original Star Trek episodes on DVD. The cable network G$ has recently begun airing these episodes on a regular basis. Their nightly installments are served up with a whole "interactive" theme which is generally annoying. Add to that I have noticed some inaccuracies on their streaming of background information on each episode. The worst part is that the image gets shrunk down to accommodate this "Star Trek 2.0" theme. Yeech.

However, Saturdays they shine! They are siring all 79 episodes in order and uncut. Because of this the episodes run between an hour and six to an hour and eight minutes. My TiVo cuts them off either during the closing credits of midway through the opening teaser.

I can't remember the last time I was able to watch these episodes in this pristine a format; and in clear digital. I had forgotten how good these episodes were and really how far the last few incarnations has strayed from what I fell in love with thirty some odd years ago.

I pause it to look at the details; the geek in me loves the details. I am amazed at how, right out of the gate in the first new episodes, the relationships between the characters is so well defined. Each episode makes me want to go to Hollywood and kick Rick Berman in the nards for what he has let happen to this franchise.

They all look so young. James T. Kirk is not the same person we see as Denny Crane. The body is different. Kirk has a chiseled aqueline nose while Denny could be in a Ted Kennedy look alike contest.

Even my pal, George; who looks the least affected by time, has let distinguished grey creep in.

I know my next few months of Saturdays will be spent with some of my oldest TV friends and it's going to be a blast!

I almost got a dog the other day. The park manager and a few other tenants were hanging around outside as I paced back and forth doing my laundry. Most people here are a friendly bunch. We all look out for each other and have a smile and a wave as we pass each other. Except for the manager and two other residents, though, I can’t say that I really “know” any of the other people who call Sunny Acres Mobile Home Park “home”.

As I passed by lugging another load of clothes I heard the tiny nipping bark and the clatter of tiny doggie claws scraping across the driveway. Heading my way with an apparent attack planned for my bag of dirty clothes was what looked like the head of a floor mop. White and beige fur about the size of a loaf of bread flopping around little legs with jet black eyes poking out from underneath. His attack stopped suddenly as his instinct gave way to rolling on his back and waiting for me to rub him belly.

How cute!

One of the residents said, “Take him home of you want him!”

I thought about it. Oh, how I thought about it. I considered my asthma. I considered my picky landlord. I considered the amount of time I was usually away from the house and the time I could dedicate to taking care of a dog.

While I took my time considering one of the other resident stepped up and took him in.

Ah, well; probably for the best. I still hadn’t decided whether I was going to call him Muffett or Chewie.

Here is a look at the right of way along which I walk to meet my ride to work every morning. You can see the most interesting things sometimes. For the most part every rock, twig and piece of loose garbage is in exactly the same spot as the day, week or year before. Suddenly the other morning there was something new and got me wondering.

About halfway down the length of the right of way I walk I found a loveseat. Shaded by undergrowth, facing the tracks, it sat looking like very retro with its faded goldenrod upholstery and no cushions.

Why was it there? How had it gotten there? Was it simply discarded as trash? Was this someone who, like me, didn’t have a vehicle so it was easier to drop it here than to bring it to the dump? Did one person move it? Did a bunch of people move it? Was it actually easier to drag it to the middle of nowhere, over railroad tracks and dirt than simply to the curbside for waste removal? Was I looking at some homeless person’s living room? Was this some inventive yet horny teenager trying for some secluded and comfortable makeout spot? In my day we went to watch the submarine races but this was perfect for the amorous pubescent without a car.

Could it be some trainspotter’s idea of a comfort station? To sit and relax as rains sped by in the cool shade. Maybe railroad workers improvised a break room in the middle of nowhere away from the boss’ prying eyes.

Where had it been before here? What type of home had it been in? Was there actually a time and place this material was stylish?!

Just something to ponder walking along the right of way.

I found one Bush apointee I like! Check out this story from the Boston Herald on Justice Scalia.

I am in heaven! A friend just informed me that a Sonic is coming to my area. Just 5 miles from my house. If you’ve read this blog with any regularity you’ll know of my obsession.

To give a quick thumbnail; I discovered Sonic in the 70’s during a visit to my sister’s in Houston and fell in love. Their burgers are fantastic and the whole 50’s drive-in/carhops on skates motif is cool and unique. Since they were only a Southern franchise they remained a fond memory for years.

On a roadtrip through Alabama I re-discovered them. Well, to accurately describe it; I almost drove off the road as I drove past. Since then I have become the textbook definition of fanatic. On any roadtrip I will scout out the location of the nearest franchise to my route. I have collected all sorts of merchandise, promotional items and clothing available on eBay and directly through begging at restaurants and gifts from friends. If I had the cash, I would invest in the company, as they are the fastest growing franchise in the country. My local group of friends has a standing lotto agreement; if one of us wins we build a Sonic and hire each other to run it.

Well, now Shangri-La is coming to my zip code!

When I have a car I have to almost assault myself to go out walking. When I don’t have a car and am forced to walk I am amazed at how much I love walking and assault myself for not going out walking when I do have a car. I guess it comes down to the whole motivation thing and how we have become so used to the convenience.

I had to return the borrowed car to my friend, Patrick, and until the van is resurrected I have enlisted carpooling help of two coworkers who live nearby. My regular morning driver would have to go out of her way to pick me up in the morning so I decided to force myself into exercise by setting up a meeting place near her house.

Each morning I get up a half-hour early and walk my favorite route along the right of way on the train tracks. It quiet, secluded and an easy ten minuet walk. I listen to the “Bob and Tom Show” (with only one ear bud in so I can listen for trains – safety first), contemplate the universe and basically give my brain a change to wake up and catch up with the rest of my body.

The weird thing is that when I had my own transportation, I had sleeping problems; I would either end up watching TV or getting on the PC and stay up until 1 or 2 AM. Now, I drop into bed anywhere between 11:30 and midnight, forsaking Letterman, and wake fully rested and ready to move at 6:30. I don’t feel the need to nap during the day and nowhere near the fatigue I used to feel.

Amazing what motivation will do to you.

Somewhere around twenty years ago I was going to the Apponaug Hobby Shop with my good friend Jay. The Apponaug Hobby Shop is (or was, I'm not sure if it's still standing) a small hobby shop which sat in the middle of "downtown" Warwick, RI right next to city hall. As the city grew and changed over thirty years, this little building remained the same.

Sprouting up around this squat little 1920's style cracker box building were modern gas stations, hardware stores and national chain drug stores gleaming with chrome and glass. I doubt if three coats of paint changed on the clapboard walls and Victorian trim in the 34 years I lived in Warwick.

This one particular trip with Jay is etched on my memory. I had intentions of getting supplies and equipment to hone my model building and painting skills. I loved building model kits. For years I simply slathered on glue and slammed kit pieces together. I might do a passing paint job to help make the kit look more like the original but it always ended up being the minimal amount of work possible. The reason for my wanting to get better. Legacy.

As I explained to Jay, "I'm not into sports. I'm not athletic. I don't fish. What do I have that I'm going to be able to do with a child and connect with him or her? I want to have something I can sit down, explain the finer points, talk about some history, show how to do something, teach them how to do something from start to finish. This is all I got. If I'm going to teach my child something fun I want to make sure I'm good at it."

I bought a model kit of the Enterprise from "The Next Generation", glue, paints, air brush, masking supplies and detailing brushes. I was going to make a detailed and professional a paint job which would rival a shooting model of the ship.

After six months the kit was retired to a closet with half of the saucer section completed and not a single piece glued together.

Fouteen years ago, my son was born. Just tonight, on our drive back from picking him up for our weekend together, we connected in an unexpected and wonderful way.

I introduced my son to Beatles music.

He talked to me about wanting to learn to play guitar. That led to a mention of Linkin Park appearing on the Grammys with Paul McCartney. When he was younger he would always roll his eyes when ever I played Beatles music. Now that one of his favorites names them as a major influence suddenly his father 's taste in music isn't that questionable.

We talked for almost and hour talking about Beatles history and influence during the 60's and then I played a few cuts from John Lennon's "Plastic Ono Band". He listened intently and commented on how the popular music he listened to sounded like it could be directly traced to what I was playing for him.

Yes!!!!

It was the connection I had always hoped for. Sure we go to conventions all the time. We watch movies together. We like some of the same TV shows. But this came completely out of left field and it was something he found in life that was interesting that has potential to really influence his life. And it all flowed so naturally and was a real exchange of ideas. He listened intently and soaked in all I had to tell him.

I think I'll have to go to my storage space and throw out that old unfinished Enterprise model; I don;t think I'll be needing it any more.

I am now a paid actor......WITH AN AGENT!!!!!!

A few weeks ago I sent a copy of "Runners" to an agent in the Orlando area. I simply went to the AFTRA (TV and Radio actors union) and found a talent agent listing. I waited and waited. I called and called.

"We got it but we haven't gotten to watch it yet. We'll get back to you."

"I haven't heard back from our boss yet."

"We'll get back to you."

At least I felt like a real actor getting rejection so early in the process.

Then I cam home last night to a message waiting on my answering machine. My poor machine; I must have played the message back to back almost 80 times.

"We all love your work and we believe YOU SHOULD BE WORKING FOR DISNEY. When sometime comes up we'll contact with no hesitation."

I don't think my feet have touched the ground yet.

I do realize this is simply an agent making contact. I know some of the realities of the business and am not pinning my homes on one phone call. But, you have to admit...

IT WAS A DAMNED GOOD FIRST PHONE CALL!!!!!!!!

I have since talked with my contact there and things do seem very hopeful.

My trip to Birmingham was for the annual Region 2 Summit. This is a working weekend when we get together for different panel discussions, awards dinner and a lot of fun time together with friends from all across the south. OK, most of it is for the fun part. I almost was not able to attend and at the last minuet I was given the trip as a gift from a very good friend.

The last time I went to one of these in Birmingham I drove with a friend of mine. The ride was relaxing and it was nice to see the rural pasts of the south as we drove for almost 13 hours to get there. It certainly was a nice change for the trip to only take 5 hours from the minuet I walked out my door to when I walked in the hotel room.

It was the usual gathering of friends and is always a good time. My chapter won an award for its website. My only disappointments were that Johnny was not able to go with me and that I did not get up early Sunday morning to go to church at the 17th Street Baptist Church. I had visited the Civil Rights Institute and have been looking forward to showing it to John and experiencing my first Southern Baptist church service. If I was going to go to one I at least wanted to do so at such a historical landmark as the 17th Street Church. Well, maybe next time.

Of course the reason I didn’t make it to church Sunday morning was because of the drinking I had done the night before. As usual with these weekends, when I don’t have my son around I am free to imbibe as much as I want. I call my son my “Designated Driver”. My friend, Wade, was mixmaster for the evening and after a while of mixing some wonderful drinks simply began playing “chemistry set”, handing me concoction after concoction of whatever looked good together in the glass. By then, of course, my tastebuds didn’t really notice what I was taking in anyway.

I gave the people in the room a bit of a scare when I finally realized just how intoxicated I was and that I had met my limit. I simply and quietly got up and went back to my room. After a few minuets the rest of the people in the party room noticed and wondered where I had gone. They began looking around expecting to find me like Belushi, passed out in a hallway somewhere. I got that same look of astonishment the next morning that I always seem to get, “Jack! You’re upright!”

Yes! It was a good weekend!

This weekend I flew to and from Birmingham, Alabama. I’ll get into the reasons for the trip in another post. I found myself suffering from two profound moments of paranoia.

The first was when I landed in Birmingham and waited at the baggage claim carousel for my luggage to appear. When I left Orlando Southwest’s system of checking luggage seemed odd and confusing. After getting my boarding pass from an automated system I was told to bring my baggage to the x-ray machine on my way to the gate. Ahead of me were two massive machine in two different locations and the attendant at the check in area was hoping back and forth between four different kiosks at once and did not give the clearest direction which of these was the one where I supposed to leave my belongings. I was perplexed why I was suddenly turned into a baggage handler when there was a perfectly good conveyor belt sitting directly behind the check in area.

As I stood in Birmingham, 480 miles from where I last saw my clothing the fear creeped in that I had put the bags at the wrong machine. I had this image of one bag in Tahiti and another in Nome. I knew, by looking at my Southwest napkin with the little map showing all the destinations they flew, that was impossible. The other image crystal clear in my mind was a trail of my clothing and belongings trailing behind the ripped and torn remnants of my duffel bag.

With each bag that slipped through the vinyl curtain I could feel the anxiety increasing. Each squeal and bump of the serpentine conveyor belt hammered the images of lost and destroyed luggage deeper and deeper into my brain. Although it was crisp and cool in the airport I could feel flop sweat dropping down my back.

The sight of my luggage appearing safe and intact quickly turned my mood fright to righteous indignation aimed directly at myself. “You idiot,” I yelled silently at myself, “I knew it would be safe all along!”

The other moment of paranoia came on my return trip and proves just how pervasive the messages we are fed about terrorism are. As I waited by the security checkpoint I smiled at the young parents and their infant child in front of me. At first I didn’t think twice about the child seat covered by a homemade quilt. The line moved along, the family ahead of me moved up but the car seat remained untouched.

Ever thoughtful, L leaned forward and tapped the father on the shoulder, “You left your car seat over there,” I whispered.

“That ain’t mine,” he said trying to keep his baby quiet.

My eyes bulged as they turned to look again at the car seat. I was sure the blanket with cute little kitties and elephants was swaddling C-4. As my heart pounded louder and louder it proved the soundtrack for the Joel Schumacher fueled images of explosions and death. And here I was inches away from the next Ground Zero.

I HAD TO act. I HAD TO do my part. I quickly leaned over to the Homeland Security person at the security checkpoint and whispered to him so as not to cause a panic. In my most serious but controlled voice of authority said, “No one seems to be with that car seat.”

With the look of a teenage checkout person at the 10-item express lane just as you lay down your 13th item he responded, “Sir see that man over there; it’s his. I know all about it. Please get back in line.”

“You idiot,” I yelled silently at myself, “I knew it would be safe all along!”

If you are not a fan of “24” this posting will mean little to you.

If you are not a fan of “24”….what the hell is your problem?

The logical side of my mind tells me the story line is getting more and more ridiculous......but the rest of me is enjoying the heck out of it! The tension has not let up for one second this season.

The way they ended Monday night's episode was classic; right in mid sentence! Sean Astin's rant as he was walked away was cliché Captain Queeg stuff, but great!

This president makes Nixon look better than Washington. They even threw in a glaring Nixon reference with him and his chief of staff kneeling to pray (Nixon made Kissinger do exactly the same thing, almost word for word). I was cheering for this guys downfall by the end of the episode. "You are SO SCREWED!" "IMPEACHMENT!" It's a wonder my neighbors didn't call complaining about the noise.

I know that the president's limo can take more of a beating in real life than it did last night but again it was so well played it was too much fun to care about the logic.

Peter Weller....WOW!

Manny Coto is Da Man!

Another show you SHOULD be watching is “Two and a Half Men”. This stars Johnathan Cryer and Charlie Sheen. I have not consistantly laughed out loud during a sitcom in a long time. And they push the envelope of acceptable humor is this post-“Janet Jackson Superbowl” era; which makes me enjoy it more and more.

Even better than the performances and the writing is the creator and Executive Producer, Chuck Lorre. Someday I have got to meet this guy. He has been producer on such shows as “Rosanne”, “Grace Under Fire” and “Dharma and Greg”. At the end of each show there is what is called a “vanity card”. It is a slide that flashes on the screen very quickly and looks like some kind of legal disclaimer. Upon further review while the playback is paused you will find it is filled with some very funny writing.

This is a collection of all of his vanity cards for all seasons of “Dharma and Greg” and “Two and a Half Men”. Enjoy.

http://www.chucklorre.com/

If it weren’t for bad luck….

I recently had been trying to move into the training department where I work. I had a meeting a week and a half ago with the head of that department about the possibilities. She made it clear that they would love to have me and that there was one position, which could easily be mine. This position had been open for more than three months and none had shown the slightest interest in it. With the future possibility of becoming an orientation trainer and finally getting off the phones I quickly filled in the transfer paperwork and patiently waited for the cogs of corporate machinery move me through the process of interview and selection.

Three days later the finance department decided the job was not justified for current business needs and eliminated it.

Our CFO is now off my Christmas card list!

While not in the running for the Darwin Award, I did make my son scared by his genetic heritage this past weekend. My friend, Patrick, has lent me his car while my van remains in a coma. Last Thursday night I drove home from across town, a trip of about 10 miles, with no particular problem. The next morning I got in the car to head to work, turned the key…….and the car didn’t start.

Apparently cars come to me to die!

I called my neighborhood mechanic but he was unavailable until Saturday. I let the depression wash over me and decided to take the day off from work. While he was nervous about the news, my friend Patrick seemed to take this latest chapter in stride.

My mechanic showed up just after lunch on Saturday and immediately went about tinkering with the engine to diagnose the problem. A persistent noise from the back of the car and the engine not turning over narrowed the search to the fuel pump. Always trying to save me a dollar or two, my mechanic crawled under the car and started hitting the pump with a hammer hoping to dislodge any blockage.

“Hey!” he bellowed, “this tank sounds awfully HOLLOW!”

My mind replayed the ride home the night before. It was the day before payday, so I had no money to fill the gas tank. The needle sat at 1/8th of a tank; a safe cushion as I had previously run the tank on almost fumes with an accompanying “idiot light”. My ride home the night before had been devoid of any fuel problems.

“Rock the car and let me hear how much gas is in there!”

I leaned on the bumper and rocked the car up and down a few times until he slid out from underneath, rose to his feet and gave me a look as if he were talking to a 5 year old, “Humor me and let’s go get a couple of dollar worth of gas.”

Sure enough, we returned, emptied the gas can, turned the key and heard the car jump to life. My self-esteem sank as the engine grew louder. At least it had saved me a major repair and only cost me a 12 pack of Michelob.

When I told my son, he just sighed and said, “Dad!” with a mix on astonishment and terror that he was in the same gene pool as his Mensa reject of a father.

Well, I got the van moving today. OK, so it took fibe guys pusjing it from behind, but IT WAS MOVING!

The guy who manages the park where I live hooked me up with a neighbor who works on cars on the side thinkning he could get it up and running quickly. We were still al running under the assum[tion it was a fuel filter problem. Four hours and $30 later the van was still an inter pile in the driveway.

The next step I try before simply letting the van roll down the hill into the river is back to the salvage yard who worked on in back in December. He seemed to think the problem was connected to the fuel injection system. It's worth a shot and since I got to him through a connection where it will cost me close to nothing to have him do the work, it can't hurt.

Everything I know about the mechanics of the internal combustion engine have been from all the times over the years that I have had a car break down. If I could turn it all into preactical kmnowledge I'd be ASE Certified by now!

Yes, I know I still owe some big time, heart wrenching blog about what has been going on with work and in Starfleet. Both of them have basically blown over so that will wait until either the muse hits me or either frustrates me again.

Instead, how about the two words which have turned “24” completely around this season….Manny Coto. Manny is the Executive Producer who turned “Star Trek: Enterprise” from a pathetic and pale clone of the original franchise and added strong story lines and a respect for the original. Manny has now joined the production staff of “24” and made the same drastic change in the tempo, intensity and overall feel of the show.

They are already gone through 6 hours of the “day” and have not lost the pacing or heightened tension. There have been the occasional stretches of logic and both Chloe and Edgar need to be slapped several times about the head and shoulders just because they are annoying…but you forgive most of them because each episode, so far, has been fantastic.

I had almost given up on the show as it seemed to be the same old thing over and over taking bigger and bigger leaps of logic and believability. Then came Manny. Now the show keeps me on the edge of my seat the entire hour. I have every confidence he will be as good for “24” as he did for “Enterprise”.

As I’ve said it’s been a busy few weeks; let’s hit the good stuff first.

Last weekend was the 20th Anniversary of the Challenger accident. No, that’s NOT the good stuff. The good part about it was the 2nd Annual Fleet Day at Kennedy Space Center. This is the second year that members of Starfleet International have gone as a group to Kennedy to honor the memories of all the fallen astronauts. This year coincided with the 20th anniversary and was even bigger than last year’s outing.

32 members of Fleet ended up showing for the major part of the weekend on Saturday. All dressed in either Star Trek costumes/uniforms, chapter t-shirts or Fleet paraphernalia we made an impressive looking group. Most were from around Florida with some traveling from Alabama, Kentucky and (he just happened to be in Florida at the same time) California. Once gathered together, we made our way to the Memorial Mirror for the official ceremony. This was a long drawn out parade of speakers ranging from the boring politicians and NASA bureaucrats to members of the Scobee family. Dick Scobee’s widow seemed to go on the longest; she seemed to wrap up three or four different times and then just kept going and going and going. Still, a very impressive and occasionally inspiring ceremony.

Starfleet became an unofficial part of the ceremony completely by accident. Kennedy Space Center was handing out individual flowers for visitors to leave at the Mirror. We brought a beautiful wreath for our own little ceremony after the official event was finished. The area directly in front of the mirror was blocked off for the ceremony so we placed the wreath off to one side to wait. As the ceremony dragged on some people decided not to stay. With gentle reverence, one by one, people started leaving flowers at the foot of our wreath apparently thinking that was part of the memorial. Within minuets there were hundreds of flowers blanketing the base of our wreath. TV crews filmed it and photos were taken by local media and Reuters. If only they knew.

For the remainder of the day everyone scattered on their own for the most part. Since I had taken the bus tour last year I mostly hung around the Visitors’ Center going through the different pavilions there. At the end of the day we had a group dinner at a local Friendly’s. Arrangements had been made for a group rate at a local hotel which held over about a third of the group to the next day.

On Sunday we visited the Astronaut Hall of Fame. A very impressive museum for anyone interested in the space program. The highlight for me was the g-force centrifuge. This was a smaller version of the one used to train astronauts. It spins you to simulate up to 4-g’s; not too bad actually.

A farewell lunch at a local buffet restaurant capped off the weekend. All in all; quite a success. Plans are already in the early stages for next year, which will be the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 1 fire. I am hoping for a repeat of this year’s success, if not something a little bigger.

Since I was the person who planned the event I was presented with a gift at the end in honor of my efforts. I was given a pin from the planets series sold in the gift shop. They had chosen the one planet which most reminded them of me…..URANUS.

It’s so good to have friends!

This has been one of my longest dry spells in posting and it's been a busy couple of weeks. The problems at work I never got to last time, more shake-ups at work, more car trouble and a visit to Kennedy Space Center. I will recap some of this over the weekend. The topic which brings me to the keyboard is one of the recurring topics on here; death.

I just talked with my son who informed me that his uncle, my ex's brother-in-law, suddenly died two days ago from an epileptic seizure. He was just 30 years old, married less than a year and a new father. Needless to say, it was something of a shock to the family there. This would be his first wake and funeral if he decides to go.

His mother and I talked for a while about this and do seem to be in agreement on how to handle this. We are going to leave the decision up to him to attend or not. His first reaction is not to go. We are both leaving it up to him but still gently nudging in favor of actually attending. It is something he is going to have to deal with sooner or later and better to do so with someone not quite as close as other people on his life.

I can still clearly remember the first person in a casket I saw. My Uncle Kenny died when I was 10 years old. He and I were very close as I went to his house every day after school. He was loving and funny. More than thirty years later I can still remember his smile and large, gentle hands.

My father arranged to bring me into the funeral home when no one else was there. We sat in the car for a few minutes before I could actually get out and move towards the building. I had wanted to go and see him. I don't know what my parents said to prepare me but I was ready.

The warm scented air inside, heavy with the scent of flowers, almost pushed me back as the door to the funeral home opened. My father led me in with a hand on my shoulder. At first, all I saw was the casket. With little hesitation, we walked closer.

There he was. A favorite uncle who would always greet me loudly and happily lying silent and motionless. While it was unreal to me I can recall that I was most surprised that it was not scary. The serene setting of the paneled walls and draperies with a collection of beautiful flowers on either side of the casket made a very relaxing atmosphere. I looked directly at his face studying every detail. I asked my father some questions which he answered in quiet, hushed tones. Even though we were the only ones there we still had to whisper.

I just looked at him. I didn't say a prayer. I didn't break down crying. Nothing horrible or emotionally disturbing happened to scar me for life. I was sad that my uncle was gone. I don't know if there was any of the ever popular "closure" in saying goodbye. He was my Uncle Kenny and I had to see him one last time. Maybe because it was him that it wasn't a scary or traumatic experience; there was never anything scary about Uncle Kenny.

Like anyone, I can still do without attending wakes, but they are a part of life. Just as my father was there to see me through my first experience, I hope I can be there for my son.

Runners is finally available on the net! Check it out!

This is so cool. I have had a copy of it available for a few days and have watched it over and over again. I'm so happy to finally be able to share it. Sean Wang, the creator of the original comic, is shopping this film around as a pitch for a series.

Keep your fingers crossed.

First off, I know it's been a while since I posted. I've been working on a post which goes into some detail, but it's on my computer at work so that'll have to wait. Suffice to say, it's been an interesting couple of weeks.

The reason I was so moved to write today is that I got hit with a big dose of missing my father today. My friend, Bruce, is in town for the weekend and he invited me to go fishing with him. My father tried taking me fishing once when I was little and I am sure it rated as one of the most disappointing moments of his life.

We lived just a stone's throw from the Warwick Cove, which is an inlet of Narragansett Bay in Rhode Island. Like many in New England, the ocean was a part of your life. I was either 5 or 6 the first and last time my father took me fishing and it is a memory which is etched clearly in my mind.

You first have to understand where my father was in his life. He was in his late 30's when I was born and he had already raised a family of three girls. I am what I like to call "the missed trip to the drug store". Finally, he had a son! While my sisters did lots of things with my father it was still different having a son. Then, I came along. I developed asthma at age two and any possible inclinations I might have had to boosting the testosterone level dropped considerably. Because of my health I did not get involved in sports and spent much of my youth house bound if not in and out of the hospital.

That, however, did not deter my father as we headed down to a dock at the end of the street one summer day. I can still clearly see every move we made. Father and son walking side my side carrying reels and tackle in some Norman Rockwell painting. We got to the end of the pier and I watched carefully as he baited my hook and showed me how to cast. He threw his line in and we waited for the fish to bite.

"Is this all we do?" I asked after only about 45 seconds.

My father sighed heavily as he added fishing to the list of things his only son was not interested in. Baseball, football, card games, car racing and now fishing. He informed me that it did take some time and you had to be patient. When one of our lines did hook something it got even worse.

I don't know what kind of fish it was, all I remember was a large grey flopping and writhing scaled and slimy creature was dropped on the deck at my feet. My father wanted me to help him take the hook out of its mouth. I don't know if the look of horror on his face was due to how loud I screamed or the fact of that scream was the final nail in the coffin of my being the ideal son he had envisioned.

My final memory of that day was the long walk back to our house. I was aware enough to know I had let my father down and I apologized all the way back. He kept telling me it was OK and maybe we would try some other time.

We never did.

I realize now I was only a child at the time and did not understand the concept of male bonding. That the majority of the enjoyment in fishing is just being there doing nothing. Of having the time to just sit and talk with the other person or to simply enjoy their company. And I certainly was too young to know the significance beer can play in the enjoyment of a fishing afternoon.

I'm sure my father is happy that I finally do get it and in some romanticized notion he was there with me on the pier tonight. I didn't catch a single fish. I spent time with a good friend; we talked business, family, friends and bullshit. We also just sat there and spent time with each other.

I think I'll buy some tackle for my son and I.

A whooping nasty cold has kept me away from the PC since last Wednesday. I missed work Thursday, Friday and any chance of making up hours on Saturday. Yesterday was the first time I started feeling human again. Well....close enough, anyway.

I went back to work today wishing I still had time off available. Sometime this week I should be interviewing for a promotion at work. I have been on the phones for two years and I desperately need a break. Recently I had a dream in which I got fired. It was one of those really detailed and realistic dreams you wake up from and have to first decide if it were a dream or not. Not a great way to start the day.

All is getting back to normal even if my respiratory system is still a little messed up. I am enjoying the soothing affects of Nyquil. Those same soothing affects which can be made smoother with a bourbon chaser. Yummy!

It's amazing how the universe works! My good friend of almost 30 years, Harry, found this joke on the internet. He swears he found it just as it is with the names and age listed exatly as you are about to read them. If you have known me long enough, you'll laugh at this as much as I did.

Sitting in the bar Harry asked his 42-year-old friend John,

"How come you aren't married?"

John: "I haven't found the right woman yet."

Harry: "So what are you looking for?"

John: "Oh she's got to be real pretty, a good cook and house keeper, she's got to know how to handle money, have a nice and pleasant personality and money, she's got to have money, and a nice big house wouldn't hurt either."

Harry: "A woman like that would be crazy to marry YOU!"

John: "Oh, it's okay, if she is crazy."

Just random thought today.

I really don't want to go back to work tomorrow.

Dick Clark really should have retired after that stroke last year. His performance was like all those uncomfortable visits to my grandmother in the nursing home. To add to the embarrassment was the way everyone else on the show was kissing up to him and acting as if noting were wrong. We should have been allowed to hold onto that "ageless" Dick Clark image.

"I am 100% sure that the wiretapping was the right thing to do."
George W. Bush 2005
"It's not illegal if the president does it"
Richard Nixon David Frost interview 1977

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm something sounds familiar there!

2005 looks as if it could have been called the Year of the Breakdown. As I re-read my blog, time after time there were mentions of how one van was dying and the newer one never wanted to cooperate. Here's to a better vehicle in 2006.

There are things to look forward to in the coming year.

The door continues to open wider for a possible voice acting career; I should be meeting with my friends at the DAVE School in the next few weeks to talk over plans for the next couple of projects.

At the same time, I will be interviewing for a promotion at work as well; hopefully an increase in pay will go along with that.

My relationship with my son continues to develop and strengthen. I am only hoping we can overcome all these glitches in transportation to make our visits more regular than they have been in the past few months. Tonight was fun, as we worked together over the phone on some homework he had on "Romeo and Juliet". Bonding moment #2,454.

Romance? Well, there is something possible brewing at work which I have even hesitated on mentioning here for fear of jinxing things. I'll know more when I go back on Tuesday. As usual, the majority of the problem is be building up the cajones to say something. More on that as it develops.

I am entering my second year as Chief of Operations for Starfleet International. While I may have been slacking over the holidays, I do seem to have been well received by most of the membership and Chapter Presidents around the globe. I will be headed to conventions in Birmingham, Philadelphia and our annual trip to Shore Leave, which, this year, will be a family reunion of sorts.

All in all, I am very optimistic over 2006. We'll see how many times the devil farts in my face along the way in the next 364 days.

As I type this I am waiting for the last hours of 2005 to tick away. When New Years Rolls around I think we all tend to stop and take stock of the previous 365 and see how we did. I'll do that over the next few days as I re-read this years' blog entries to refresh my memory.

Right now the trailer seems emptier and more silent now that Johnny has gone back to his mother. After having him around 24/7 the leaving him behind seems harder to do.

He enjoyed both the original and musical versions of "The Producers" preferring the original. So much so he quoted from it while we were playing a video game. I love it when he does that! When he references something to where there's a deep rooted connection to me and it has made such an impression on him that he uses it off handedly.

Today we really didn't do much of anything. But then again, that's what most of our week was. Movies, games, DVD's, TV and just hanging out. Male bonding was the theme of the week and I believe it was successful for that alone.

Been having a fantastic vacation with my son. Started off yesterday watching the original "King Kong" before going to see the Peter Jackson version. It's no "Lord of the Rings" but it was good. It could have been shaved down by about 20 minutes easily and still been just as good. Does this man not know how to do a two hour movie any more?

Today "The Producers" came in the mail and he loved it. Tomorrow we go see the latest version of that in the theater. OK, I would have rather seen the stage production, but this will be close enough. I've been trying to get him to sit and was some classic flicks, either "Double Indemnity" or "His Gal Friday", but no luck yet. Heck, we still haven't gone through our annual Christmas tradition, "Christmas Vacation", so Fred Mac Murray may just have to wait.

We also did some male bonding while simply walking through the mall. It is still a time honored tradition for teenagers and I figured it would get us out of the house and away from the TV for a while. It was just good time spent together.

I took a little time away from him today to go see an orthopedic doctor. About a month ago I started having these odd pains in my right shoulder. It felt sometimes as if the bones in my shoulder were actually "catching" or grating against one another. This only happened a few times but it then developed into a constant dull pain; more of an annoyance than anything, but I wanted to get I checked out early. Dr. Phillips was a very genial and open man. They took x-rays and he explained all kinds of things about the joints involved and what might be the problem. The x-rays didn't show anything so we are waiting a while to see how thing develop over the next month before doing an MRI; which could show things not visible in the x-rays.

The one thing that did show in the x-ray which gave me a moment's pause was when Dr. Phillips spotted the noticeable beginnings of arthritis in my shoulder. There is a small, but noticeable, enlargement of the collar bone. This is very common and, according to Dr. Phillips, nothing to lose sleep over. Still, I was really hoping not to hear the word arthritis for a few more years.

My sisters are going to love this!

All is right with the world. My son is here! And, oh, what an adventure getting him here.

First plan was, I was going to borrow a friend's car to go get him yesterday. That was fine until her car broke down Christmas Eve. Still, no biggie. Wore case scenario was I could go all the way down to get him via Tri-rail and the bus hopefully further proving my point that the commute would be no problem. Plans for this kept getting put off until this morning.

I got up bright and early and headed out on the 40 minuet ride to the train station. True to form Cameron, the van by name, started sputtering just as I pulled off the interstate. No problem I figured as it would have almost 6 hours to sit and relax.

Yeah, right!

Between being almost late for the train, the automated teller not working, not being able to get through to my son's house, having to get a friend back at work to call his house since I was completely unable to dial there directly, we did finally meet up. We filled the bus ride back with small talk and all kinds of catch up.

When we returned to West Palm Beach the van started right up. Phew! No problem, I thought. Until we headed out on the main road. With dozens and dozens of rush hour commuters behind me my van sputtered along at 20 miles and hour. I had placed a AAA call for a tow but was finally able to coax the van into keeping a good speed.

And just so you don't keep shaking your head at my "every car has a personality" theory. As the van was happily going along at the speed limit and not a single sputter or fart I decided to tell Johnny the story of my naming the van Cameron. (See 11/05/05 entry) Just as I finished the story, for no apparent reason, the van almost stalled in the middle of traffic.

"OK," my son said very sternly, "No more making fun of the van!"

With that the van sparked back to life and sped right back up to pace with the rest of traffic.

It's the night before Christmas and something has just dawned on me. After hearing the Christmas song "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Tear" for the past 43 years there's something in the lyrics which totally perplexes me.

there'll be scary ghost stories and
tales of the glories of Christmases
long, long ago.


SCARY GHOST STORIES?! What kind of Christmas did Andy Williams have? With the single exception of "A Christmas Carol" I can not remember a single Christmas Ghost Story. When you think of the holiday season sitting around the campfire telling stories of the guy with the hook attacking young couples at Lover's Lane is not an image which springs to mind. Telling the story of the Three Wise Men did not involve holding a flashlight at your chin for dramatic effect.

Well, I hope you Christmas is completely devoid of ghosts, goblins and serial killers.

Today brought on of the best surprises I've had in a long while. As I sat at my desk a young man came up and said "Hello, remember me?" I looked at him and searched for something familiar. Thanks to my being in the company training video, I get people coming up to me all the time and I have no idea who they are.

"You might remember my mom, Darby". You could have knocked me over with a feather.

When I first moved down here I worked at a telemarketing boiler room which sold alarm systems and Darby was one of the first friends I made here. You can never explain how or why people click but we did. I spent hours with her and her family. I saw her through an ugly divorce. We spent hours on the phone together after I moved from that job to another but we remained friends. She has three children with whom I also bonded. The young man standing in front of me was her middle boy, Ben.

I took Ben out for his first time behind the wheel of a car. He had grown into a handsome young man, now 21. It had been 8 years since the last time I saw any of them.

Oh, what happened, you ask?

I had just lost my radio job in Vero Beach and with it a shared apartment with the boss' son. I had no money, no job and no place to live. Darby offered to take me in until I could get on my feet. It took me a month to find a job and then proceeded to try to save to move out on my own. Given I was just starting on a job, money was still tight. Money became an issue between us and she finally gave me an ultimatum. It was almost 8 years ago exactly that I moved from her place to a dive of a residence motel. I never heard anything more from Darby and I've been convinced that her anger hadn't subsided over the years. I tried once to get a note to her through a mutual friend but never heard back on it.

As Ben and I caught up on some of the basics he asked if I ever had thought about them. Every day on my way to work I would pass by the street which lead to the house she opened to me. As I passed by there I would always wonder where she was. As far as I knew, she was working in an insurance office. Each time I passed one anywhere in the area I would look through the window for her. If you've been reading this blog with any regularity you'll know how I like to try to hold onto friendships. This estrangement tore at me on a regular basis.

Now I have a chance to rekindle that friendship and I am overjoyed. I hugged Ben and gave him my phone number. He told Darby had tried to find me once but I had moved from that residence motel. Hearing that made me feel a little better.

I think I just got one of my favorite presents already this year.

As I type this there is a small group of folks gathered in a theater in Orlando watching the finished version of "Runners".

Excuse me while I go kick my van!

The van still isn't running perfectly. I haven't gotten back in touch with the guy who did the repairs mostly because the thought of continuing to try to fix it simply depresses the hell out of me.

The van problems and money situation mean that I am bowing out of the premiere of "Runners" in Orlando tomorrow. The project should be posted online soon and I'll out a link up on here as soon as I can.

The highlight to this week has got to be my Santa calls. I have done almost a dozen calls and each one seems to get better and better.

Just tonight I had a wallop of a double header; a brother and sister team which both posed challenges.

The 9 year old boy was beginning to doubt. He has been hearing things in school and although he has recently watched "The Polar Express" is having some major problems believing in Santa. He is trying to hold on though. His grandmother, who arranged the call, told me about how he recently heard a sleigh bell and wondered if it might be Santa; in a reference to the movie. When I told him that what he heard was Santa he let out a rather loud gasp. If Santa was supplying this information unsolicited, it must really be him on the phone.

His younger sister also made for a great call. She is bilingual, being raised in a house which speaks Spanish as well as English. Her grandmother has been telling her that Santa's' elves, or el duendas, have been coming by each night to make sure she goes to bed on time. When I brought them up she squealed with delight that I, or rather Santa, knew all about them.

I also called a 4 year old who could not get over the fact that Santa knew the names of her pet cat and dog. She wanted to get some new pets for Christmas. Since they were not already on the list supplied by her Mom I told her that Stormy and Chad Lee were probably enough pets for her right now.

I had a 5 year old boy singing "Santa Claus" is coming to town and promises of milk and cookie from almost every one of the children I spoke with. Hearing the excitement in their voices is astounding. It brings me back to my childhood. I can clearly remember my astonishment at waking up Christmas morning to find the avalanche of toys Santa had brought while I was sleeping. I held on to my belief for a long time. There are these very embarrassing photos of my with the bearded guy at the old Ann & Hope Department store through what I can tell was well into double digit ages.

I receive the nicest thank you emails from the parents and I always respond telling them that "I was happy to be a part of something which will be a Christmas memory for both of you". For as clearly as I can, at this moment with crystal vision, recall the look and feel of every package I opened on a December 25th somewhere in the early 70's that these kids will always remember that one Christmas Santa took time out of his busy North Pole schedule to call them. While I can still remember the smell of that tree in my living room where my mother's rocking chair usually stood these kids will be able to tell you what presents Santa promised and delivered on one Christmas.

As if Tuesday wasn't enough!

My friend Jim, who had sold me the van, seemed to have come up with a fantastic resolution to all my problems. Well, it started that way. He has a friend at a junk yard who offered to replace the catylitic converter and radiator at almost no cost. Great words to hear two weeks before Christmas.

I was there bright and early to drop off the van and 7AM and had made arrangememnts with work for some time off. This is where we being to hit that whole “Best laid plans” area. It ended up by 11:30, with enough time for Jim to get to where he had to be for the day and when I was supposed to be back at work and the van still wasn’t ready. I decide to leave them to their work and I’d return to mine. The only bright side to the day was that the local bus service was running free for the holidays. I was saving a dollar!

Wait for it. You’ll soon see why this was a high point to the day.

I got back to work and waiting until 3PM to check on the progress. The guy there said he had discovered it was not the converter but the fuel pump. This was a part which had to be ordered. That, of course put it outside of the “almost no cost” department. That wasn’t, by itself, all bad. Then I called the bank’s automatic teller line to double check my balance and it told me I was overdrawn by over $500.

Hmmmm, let’s look at that calendar again! 12 days left!!!!!

What had happened was my other account had been overdrawn and they grabbed the money from my main account. On top of that they continued to let me use the one active account including getting cash out of it that very morning to cover the auto repairs. Wouldn’t it have made a little more sense to cut me off when it was already overdrawn instead of allowing me to dig myself in deeper? When I check it it the daybefore when I was planning these expenses, the money was there. And now…..BAM!

I’m weighing my options and how I can recover from this on time for Christmas. It will be a lean Christmas but I am trying to get through it without having to crawl to one of my sisters from some help. It’s been years since I had to do that and my pride is working very hard to keep me from groveling.

I finally picked the van up tonight and it is running better. I am going to take it on a test run over some distance and see what happens. Of course, I’ll keep it within the 90 mile AAA radius.

Just in case.

It always comes in three’s

I brought my van into my friendly neighborhood garage for a diagnostic of it’s continuing problem. I didn’t hear from my mechanic through lunchtime and I held out hope he was working hard to find me the cheapest way out of my trouble as possible.

Tim, my mechanic is great. I was first hooked up with him about 6 years ago after being ripped off and over charged by almost every garage in every zip code within driving distance. For the longest time he would even take payments from me on repairs. His business grew too big to continue that practice he actually hated doing that to me because I was the only person who actually paid him on a regular basis. He has always been truthful and kept my budget in mind with every repair.

After know him for so many years I could tell in his voice, when he finally did call, that it was not going to be good news. The engine hesitation was being caused by a clogged catalytic converter. Basically, the converter was choking the air from the engine. It was sorta like I was having Axel Foley pulling the “banana in the tailpipe” trick on me every time I got in the van.

Price tag for the repair…..around $300.

He was also nice enough to also add he had spotted a small leak in the radiator, which would mean replacement of the entire radiator.

Price tag for the repair…..around $250.

Two months ago I had the water pump replaced.

Price tag for the repair…..around $220.

All this for a car which was sold to me for $500.

The van was put back together and I was advised how to baby it through the next few weeks until I could save up the money for the repairs. I figured I had to spend money on Christmas before I could pay for the repairs.

Then came the second moment on the day.

I stopped at the supermarket for some shopping and checked some collected Lotto tickets gathering dust in my wallet. They have this scanning device next to the Lotto machine where you can check your tickets without bothering the clerk. Great time saver but more often than not it announces, in bright red lettering for all to see, “NO WINNER. TRY AGAIN LOSER.” OK, so it doesn’t say “LOSER” but it might as well.

I passed each ticket through….NO WINNER… NO WINNER… NO WINNER…

“WINNER. PLEASE SEE ATTENDANT”

That couldn’t be right. I tried again and it confirmed I had a match of some kind on that ticket. My eyes widened. It wasn’t the big Lotto ticket so I could start planning my vacation home on the Riveria. It was, however, one of the games which, if the pot were big enough, would take care of my current money problems. I nervously handed the ticket to the clerk and waited for the results as I tallied bills in my head.

“You won a free ticket!” she said as if I was not set for life.

“Yeah, thanks,” I said shoving the ticket in my wallet walking back to my van dripping green fluid in the parking lot.

Moment number three awaited me at home.

As I put away my groceries I noticed a house fly buzz by my head. No big deal I thought, as I had noticed one or two over the weekend. I’ll grab a newspaper and hunt him down later. I emptied another bag and was dive bombed again. This time I tracked the little intruder back into the living room where I now saw a scene from “The Amityville Horror”. These flies I had spotted a few days ago had invited in some friends and were now numbering over a dozen.

As I stood there staring in utter shock at this third blow with my frozen skillet heat-and-serve dinner thawing in my hand, the flies starting circling my head and I swear I could hear them laughing and mocking me.

Not my best day.

Let me rant about the San Francisco Police “party” videotape. If you haven’t been following he story, a video recently surfaced which was made by members of the SFPD supposedly for a party. In it were scenes rampant with racism and the objectification of women. People are all up in arms. The mayor is screaming for an investigation and the chief is looking into charges.

Give me a break!

This is a simple example of gallows humor. These are people who, day in and day out, deal with the all the problems in society the rest of us would like to forget even exists. These police offices put their lives on the line on a regular basis. They are in the midst of the worst mankind can be and are fighting to keep all that at bay. They see things that would make a regular person spend the rest of their lives in a padded room.

To keep themselves from ending up in that same padded room they have to vent. Thus comes gallows humor. I do it in my job; I can make some of the most hateful of senior citizen jokes after dealing with a problem customer. Does that mean I hate the elderly? No. My mother worked in the Special Education Department of Rhode Island College and would regularly come home with the nastiest and funniest joke about any number of mental and physical defects. Did that mean she had any less compassion for them? No. The same goes for these police officers.

Nurses probably have some wonderful jokes about their patients. These are the same patients whose butts they have to wipe. Don’t you think they deserve to balance work like that with a little levity? The person on the other end of the phone at your credit card company probably has a whole battery of jokes about you after you hang up the phone. They just listened to you rant and rave about how you know you sent in your payment before the deadline but they still responded courteously and professionally. Don’t you think they deserve to balance work like that with a little levity?

When I worked in the police department I did the same thing. When I worked in radio I made fun of the listeners with other jocks. When I worked for the local newspaper I made fun of the readers. Every profession is fertile ground for satire. It in no way diminishes those who do the work; it just makes the tedium or nastiness of the job easier to deal with.

One of the clips which is getting the most exposure is a SFPD officer running over a homeless person with their police cruiser. I’m sorry; it’s funny. Get over it.

25 years ago. Not only is it amazing to stop and think that it was 25 years ago today that we lost John Lennon. It's amazing that it seems like yesterday.

Like many, I can remember exactly where I was when I got the news. We had our Christmas party for the campus radio station at Rhode Island College. It was held in the lounge in the Communications Department and at one point during the evening I had gone back to the studio to get more records to play. As I went through our library I pulled out "Double Fantasy". While I am a big Lennon fan, it just didn't seem the right kind of music for a party so I slipped it back. This was just around 10PM as John was returning to the Dakota.

I left the party soon after that and was at home watching Benny Hill when they interrupted the show with the news. I didn't leave the TV for hours after that. I was still watching when they made the announcement of his death and I continues to watch as the news turned into retrospectives. I can still feel the cold wind blowing down W72nd Street in Manhattan the day of the prayer vigil. I can still hear the complete silence that fell on the city. All crystal clear images as if they were this morning.

What would the last 25 years had been like if John had lived? Would there have finally been a reunion? What would Live Aid be like with him there? Would there have been as many tell all books from those surrounding the Beatles? And most importantly, what would the music had been like?

I now work with people who only know John Lennon as a name in a history book or a CD in their parent's music collection. My son knows his music because his father insists on taking a break from the thumping repetition of rap and wondering why his father still has a poster of this long haired Englishman hanging in his living room.

One of the reporters doing their retrospective this morning seemed to say it best. John was only human and he had his flaws. But he took his position in life and his talent to raise himself above what he was and to hold up a mirror to the rest of us urging to raise ourselves up as well. Can you ask any more of a person than that?

Here is a look at my cubicle at work all decorated for Christmas with 300 flashing lights.

Even Wilford and my trash can got the holiday touch.

On the right side you can see SpongeBob and yours truly.

A total of 28 Santas crowd my desk.

And the competition.

Saturday was our company Christm....Oops! Sorry. In the world of corporate America there is no Christmas.

Saturday our company had their Holiday Party and I got a heaping helping of karma. This year's theme was "Fire and Ice". We were gathered under large tents set up in our parking lot. I give the catering company a lot of credit; the moment you walk inside the tents you have no idea you are surrounded by asphalt. There were stilt walkers and fire eaters greeting you as you walked in and then food, booze and music all over the place. A very good evening.

I spent a majority of the evening with my friends Tracy and Patrick camped out near the martini bar. These appletinis were poured down huge carved ice slides into your waiting glass. There were delicious and as the evening went on seemed to be made stronger and stronger. Since I was driving, I gave up early. Tracy and Patrick had other plans.

The evening included making drunken laps around the restaurant trying to "walk it off", one of them leaving a lovely puddle of dinner on the table, stopping every 500 yards driving them home...well, you get the idea.

I now understand why everyone else around me has such fun telling storied about me the morning after. All in all, it was a good party. The remainder of the weekend was uneventful. Back to work and back to the grind.

So, it’s been a while. What’s new with you? Between work and being sick I’ve barely had time to even know what day it is. I hate it when it gets like that.

I work all day, including some overtime, and when I get home I am exhausted. I do some of the online stuff I have to (and even with that I’m behind a little), watch my Tivo’d General Hospital episode, have dinner and usually fall asleep in my recliner. I haven’t even talked with my son since just before Thanksgiving.

I have just finished decorating my cubicle at work. I’ll bring in my camera and take a photo, which I’ll post in a few days. I’ll get to decorating my trailer soon. It’s just that I spend more time here than I do at home so it seems natural to decorate here more than at home. I have a collection of 27 Santa figures and 300 flashing lights. The outside wall of my cubicle is wrapped in a Santa themed wrapping paper. Can you see the motif I’m going for here?

I have completely given up on the new series “Invasion”. It was, since the beginning, a poor rip-off of the classic “Invasion of the Body Snatchers”, but this week they “jumped the shark”. There is a sheriff deputy character who, up until this week’s episode, had lost an arm in the war. He is taken by the evil pods in the water and he returns with a new arm. That was bad enough, his boss, the apparent leader of the pod people, takes him into the everglades and hands him a chainsaw to chop off the new arm. The explanation the sheriff gives is that someone with a brand new arm is going to attract unwanted attention. I laughed out loud.

For you Star Trek geeks, I am dancing with joy over the news that Brannon Braga’s new show “Threshold” has been cancelled. A few weeks ago he sever ties with Paramount/Trek and now that his own project had bitten the dust we can hope for the day the Berman (the Anti-Christ of Trek) will be gone soon as well. If you’re a fan you’ll understand.

I am gearing up to do my Santa calls again this year. However, this year I am charging $5 per call. I didn’t set things up on the internet to do it for the general public but I should still make a few extra dollars with all the kids though work. It is such fun to hear the excitement in the kids’ voices. I’ll be reporting on those as the call s start rolling next week.

Well, there it is. A little rambling and pointless, I know; but that is how the last few weeks have been. Hopefully the holidays will start ramping up things for me to write about with a little more meat to them.

These off years of Thanksgiving are always the odd ones. John is spending the weekend with him mother. We only have two "official" ones where are mandated to be together. I have been pondering recently how things are going to change when he turns 18. So much of our time together is on a schedule and because it is "supposed to" be our weekends together. Families that have not gone through divorce never have to worry about that; you just always and simply spent time with your family. I am a little nervous as to whether or not it is going to make a difference to him when there is no longer a piece of paper saying when we have to be together.

Yes, I miss him. Can you tell?

I spent the day at friends and ate more than I should have and definitely more that my bypass stomach should have allowed me to. Before heading over to dinner I saw "Zathura". Not to bad.

Today was the rough one. My friend Rosa had her father pass away on Monday and today was the funeral. I ended up as a pall bearer. I was honored to be asked. I've been adopted by her family as a "little brother" so it seemed almost natural.

I had flashback to the two other times I've been a pall bearer. The first time, at age 17 for my friend Tony and then for my Uncle Eddie. Even prepared for it, being a pall bearer has to be the most nerve wracking thing for a person to do. Any insecurities about your ability to do the job nags at you the entire time.

"Don't let me hand slip! Don't let me hand slip! Don't let me hand slip!"

That's all you think the entire time. Then you are either straining from the weight or feeling guilty because it seems a if everyone else is carrying the load and all you're doing is holding on and looking like a token pall bearer but not really doing the job.

And each time I have been a pall bearer I have stepped on the back of the foot of the guy in front of me. Not enough to give his a flat foot but enough to make my blood preassure spike and a curtain of flop sweat drop down my back.

My funeral is going to be very different than most. There will be music, laughter and an open bar. As I was sitting in the dour and depressing funeral home I had the thought of checking to see if my old home town would allow a service right out on the beach near where I grew up. At the very least, the funeral procession will drive through Oakland Beach en rout to the cemetery as a final farewell. I also see being lowered into the ground to the strains of Norman Greenbaum's "Spirit in the Sky".

No reason why it should be depressing. Celebrate the life, not mourn it. Well, I've got time to worry about the details.

When I die and they lay me to rest
Gonna go to the place that's the best
When they lay me down to die
Goin' up to the spirit in the sky

Goin' up to the spirit in the sky - spirit in the sky
That's where I'm gonna go when I die - when I die
When I die and they lay me to rest
I'm gonna go to the place that's the best

Instead of being a part of making movies this weekend, I went to see a few of them.

To distract myself from the fact I wasn't in Orlando Saturday, I did a double feature. I started with "Walk the Line". The performances by both Phoenix and Witherspoon were exceptional but it was no "Ray" or "Coal Miner's Daughter". There was nothing in the story to raise it above more than a simple biopic which could have been a Movie of the Week. I won't be surprised to see Phoenix getting at least an Oscar nomination out of it.

"Chicken Little" was just plain disturbing. This film was aimed directly at young children yet delivers an storyline scarier than anything in today's horror movies. "Little" lives alone with his father. It is implied that the mother has passed away. After a piece of the sky falls on him Little's father has to deal with the public humiliation and does all he can to sweep it under the carpet and pretend it never happened. When it happens again the father stands in front of the entire town and denies his son. He bows and scrapes to public opinion against his only son. What could be more terrifying for a child? Well, then there's the whole "War of the Worlds" story line built to explain why the sky is falling. If I wanted to see that I would have waited for the Tom Cruise DVD. Oh, wait! THAT'S an ADULT movie. Children under 10 should be steered away from this movie. Technically, it was well done. The CGI was a blend of the full blown "Toy Story" style while keeping the flavor of a 2-D animated film. The absence of Pixar from Disney is blaring in this film.

With each proceeding "Harry Potter" film it become increasingly evident that you HAVE TO be a fan of the books to really enjoy the series. When I walked out of "Azkhaban" I turned to a friend and asked, "Is that it?" During this film I was lost and bored almost all the way through and I feel it's only going to get worse with each installment.

Don't get me wrong; it was made well. The effects were fantastic. The acting was great. These kids keep getting better with each installment. There was humor which worked when it was supposed to and the whole subtext about teens dealing with the opposite sex for the first time was poignant. But over all it was scenes of great adventure interspersed between long boring exposition.

At least, there's still "King Kong" and "The Producers" to look forward to.

I just wimped out on something which seems like such a natural and I'm trying to justify it as a "career decision". Saturday morning there is an open casting call for extras to be in the next two "Pirates of the Caribbean" movies. It would be two months of shooting in the Bahamas. I learned about it two days ago and have spent the past 48 hours mulling over all of the implications of the possibility of getting called to work as an extra.

To many people it seemed like a no-brainer. I look like a pirate. Acting is what I want to do. Two months of getting paid to work on a movie in the Bahamas. DUH! I had my eight year career on my job to consider. I had my relationship with my son to consider. I had potential voice work to consider. My brain really hurt.

Then it seemed as if the cards were being stacked against me by mere circumstance. All rental cars in town were taken. My only way of getting to Orlando and back was limited to Greyhound. That would mean trying to come up with something to do wandering the streets of Orlando overnight. Not a good plan.

I finally decided not to go because of the voice work. There are at least two projects which are probably going to start off in the next month or two. If I were in the Bahamas I wouldn't be available for them and the voice work is where I really want my future to be.

When these two movies come out you probably won't want to be in the same theater with me "That could have been me!" "I could have done that!" It won't be pretty. Hopefully, I'll be able to say all those things while as a gainfully employed voice actor.

Johnny Depp will just have to meet me some other way!

I am so glad Elvis died young.

Last night there was a tribute to Johnny Cash on television. It featured a slew of country and pop stars in a concert of Cash's music with clips from the upcoming movie, "Walk the Line"; which I am dying to see. It was hosted by Joachaim Pheonix and Reese Witherspoon. OK, so it was a blatant plug for the movie, but the talent on the show was pretty cool. U2 performed and Kris Kristofferson performed "Sunday Morning Comin' Down" with the Foo Fighters. The act I was excited about seeing was a duet of Kid Rock and Jerry Lee Lewis.

Then I saw The Killer.

I thought I was looking at Jimmy Doohan again circa the last year of his life. While Lewis' playing was still there, he looked as if they had just rolled him out of the home for his weekend ride. He sat there, mostly immobile, with a strained and raspy voice. His eyes had that glossed over old-guy look to them. When you're used to seeing the stage explode with energy its hard to see him slumped over the keyboard straining to hit each note.

His hands still knew they way over the ivories. The music pounded as hard as ever. It was just very painful to watch. Then it dawned on me that he and Elvis were around the same age and I tried to imagine him if he were alive today.

Would he be playing the big rooms and still rocking like Jagger? Would he be retired and look a lot like Bruce Campbell in "Bubba Ho-tep"? Or would he have his own theater sandwiched between Yakoff Schmirnoff and Bobby Vinton in Branson? He may have been bloated and dazed most of the time near the end, but when he hit the stage he was still the King. "Better to burn out, than to fade away..." There does seem to be something to that.

Change really sucks!

As you may have read before on this blog, I do not deal well with change. For someone who has gone through massive change in the past 11 years that can really make for some tough times. A whole family of good friends just announced that they are making plan on moving by June.

“Just announced” is not really how to describe how they let the news out. Nagasaki was slightly more subtle. As sort of a side note to discussions last night during our chapter meeting about planning for next years’ Shore Leave, they off-handedly said, “We might not be here for that”. My friend Jim and I made exactly the same stunned “Whoa!” as the conversation quickly changed topic.

What is so fracking special about Tennessee? What is the special pull that is now dragging a second group of close friends away? I know they have their reasons and they all make perfect sense. But damn it, I love these people.

Hector has been open and friendly since the day we met. If I had to choose one word to describe Hector, it would be friendly. He will bend over backwards to help a friend and stand by a friendship with fierce loyalty. He has opened his home and heart to our club and made us all a part of his family.

Robert is amazing. If you were never told there were developmental issues with this young man I don’t think you’d ever know. He is the smartest and most intelligent kid his age I know other than my own son. He has amazed me on more than one occasion with his intellect. That’s not just brain power or school smarts I’m talking about but the way he thinks and how he approaches things.

When I first met Savannah she would barely make eye contact and now shares barbs and jokes with me like a pro. Her joy for life is unbounded. I’ve watched her grow into a fine young woman and I envy whatever guy she will marry. OK, I fear for him as well, but that’s his problem.

And then there’s Danette. Most of you who read this have never met her and she’s very hard to describe. We share the same twisted sense of humor. We have common experiences. We are months apart in age. I look upon her as the sister I should have had. My “real” sisters are years older than I am and we have vastly different points of view. We get each other. Danette would have been the sister I would have grown up with and shared secrets with. She would have been the sister I tortured at home and protected from other kids at school. As I write this it dawns on me that she has filled the void left by my sister Elaine who I haven’t talked with in almost 20 years. And now that void is going to be opened again.

And that sucks.

Yes, I’ve said that before about change and distant friends. I still see and talk with friends from back home on a regular basis and that is always good. My pal, Gary, moved away a few months ago but we still talk on a regular basis and it’s always as if we had just met for a movie the day before. But it’s not the same as having that person within walking distance. Crystal clear telephone lines, instant messaging, emails and once a year convention get togethers just don’t equal having those people right there in your life.

I have about six months to prepare to my friends moving. I hope for the best for them. I know we will continue to stay in touch and our friendships will remain as strong as they are now.

But it still sucks.

Another successful weekend at a convention. Or at least what I can remember of it!

There is promise of more voice work which might lead to bigger and better things and....there was this girl. But, more on that later.

We bolted up to Orlando the moment I got out of work Friday night. Thanks to the generosity of friends I was able to keep the weekend's expenses to a low by crashing in their room and borrowing an ID badge the few times I actually had to go into a function room. The usual crowd of friends were there which always makes the major reason I attend these things.

My friend Lee Stringer was there and we had the opportunity to talk shop. He is moving to Orlando to work at the DAVE school. While there, in addition to the student work he will have time to do some personal projects for which wants to use my voice. These "projects" are potential pitches for TV shows. The adrenaline rush I got as we talked was fantastic. There's supposed to be some actor's superstition about not talking about a part before you get it...FUCK THAT! I am so excited about the potential that seems laid out before me that I just want to scream!

While we were talking he made reference to me as "the talent". I told him that if I ever refer to myself as "the talent" that he has my express permission to hit me upside the head. There's a bit in the movie "Goundhog Day" where Bill Murray's character refers to himself like that in the most pompous way. I would never want to get like that. Now I have a failsafe!

Saturday night was, as always, the night for drunken debauchery and this weekend was no exception. Without John there as my "designated driver" I was free to get an inebriated as possible and I excelled. There were moments from the evening and complete conversations I had reported to me the next morning of which I have absolutely no memory. We had a ball!

The best part of this was dancing with a pretty young lady named Daphne. We had met earlier in the day playing a card game called Dalmuti. When I saw her at the dance the inhibition evaporating effects of the alcohol I had consumed allowed to go right up and ask her to dance.

I barely left the dance floor after that.

Well, let me correct that. I did leave the dance floor a few times, but I had to be told about those the next morning.

When I was sober and coherent the next morning Daphne and I exchanged email addresses and spent a few more hours playing Dalmuti. I am not blowing this episode out of proportion other than it was two people who met and spent come good time together. I will email her and hope that I will hear from her again. Maybe it an introduction that could someday grow to something else but for right now it's just two people who met and share an interest.

I'll bet you're all taking bets to see how long that self imposed restriction lasts!

As far as the stars at this show; while they weren't the reason I went I did end up see almost all of them at one moment or another. Jolene Blaylock, Ethan Phillips, Robert Beltran, Anthony Montgomery and all shared a passing hello. And then there was Linda Park. She is the ONLY reason I stayed with "Enterprise" all the way to the last episode. This girl is gorgeous! A friend was ill and not able to stand in line for her autograph and by pure luck I ended up being the one to take her place to get Linda's for her. My heart melted when after signing the photo those beautiful and wide eyes of her met mine. I said "Thank You", hoping it did not come out like babbling and drooling of some kind. I think I was successful.

I missed my son some something terrible this weekend and I'll probably post about those feelings tomorrow after I get a chance to talk with him. Right now I am still fighting the terrible fatigue that always follows a weekend like this.

And the suckage continues.

Any plans to spend the weekend with my son have gone down the toilet. Plans were to go to a convention in Orlando. The details of getting him back and forth might have been a little tight but I was really hoping to have him join us. When I called to try to iron things out he informed me that he had plans on going to a pro football game with his aunt, uncle and other family members.

There is so much about this whole situation I want to talk over with him, but the aggravating thing is that I do not want to do so over the phone. He is old enough now where we can talk on a more mature level about the emotions involved in all of this and how this is more than just a weekend away for him. Maybe next weekend.

My only consolation is the major amount of alcohol which awaits me in Orlando. While not the best excuse in the world, it will take my mind off everything for a while.

The repairs on the van ended up topping off at $270 dollars. Thank God for pay day advances.

The other day I went up to the young lady at work and started the conversation by telling her we had an anniversary coming up. She got a strange look on her face as she tried to figure out what I meant.

"Well, it's been almost two months since I first asked you to dinner and we still haven't gone out!"

She laughed, she smiled.....but she failed to come up with a possible date.

Her birthday is coming up this weekend and my "sponsor" and a few other women I've talked with are all suggesting I play the hard to get angle right now. That I not get her a gift or even a card. I can be as desperate all I want in private but in no way should I let it show. I am at least looking forward to finding out exactly how old she is.

I know I am going to have a good time this weekend. Through the generosity of friends I won't have to pay for the hotel or to get into the show. There will be piles of free food and I haven't paid a dime for drinks at these things for the past year so I'm sure portions of the weekend will be missing from my memory once Monday morning comes. I'll try to keep notes and possibly an embarrassing photo or two.

This past weekend sucked and the suck-age has continued into this week.

The only good note so far is that my back is almost back to normal. Remember, this is "almost". I still have twinges of pain and spasm from time to time and all the damned darvocets are gone!!! I can at least move around and get my place back into to order for the first time since the hurricane.

And I had plenty of time to clean over the weekend because my van busted a hose from the radiator to the water pump and didn't move all weekend. To add insult to injury, I did get a ride into work this morning leaving my keys and AAA card in the van waiting for the tow truck to arrive. The park manager was more than willing to meet the tow truck when it arrived; so it seemed like a great plan. However, AAA didn't see it that way. Which means I have to try scheduling getting the van over to the garage and getting a ride to work all at the same time.

Oh, and did I mention a bit over $100 for the repair?!!!!

Add to that the continued problem with the fuel injection, I have come up with a name for my car. Cameron. This is in honor of the Alan Ruck character from "Ferris Beuller's Day Off". He is Ferris' good friend who sits in the car debating with himself whether or not to give in to Ferris and go to his house. Much in the same way Cameron hesitates so does this van when the fuel injection doesn't work right.

"I'll go. I'll go. I'll go. No."

That's exactly how the van sputters. You can almost hear the engine saying those exact words. I'm just hoping, much in the same way the character of Cameron comes to find himself by the end of the movie that Cameron the van will soon be firing on all cylinders.

But first, we get this radiator hose problem out of the way.

A better life through chemicals! While my back is still bothering me, I did go to the doctor on Monday where he filled me up with muscle relaxants, anti-inflamatories and pain killers. I am still walking around slowly and hunched over. That should continue to get better over the next few days.

What really sucks about the whole thing is that I missed out on going to work in costume. All the money for a costume had to go to the office visit and medication. That means that next year will be even better. I finally have found a resource for doing a costume for the office I have always wanted to do. I'll keep you guessing until then.

The other disappointment is that tonight George Takei is performing with a symphony orchestra near Orlando. I so wanted to go not only to see him perform but to surprise him with my weight loss. He had I talk a couple of times during the year but it has been almost five years since I saw him face to face.

There has been a lot made in the media aver his "coming out" as a homosexual. Big whoop! To me, a person's preferences matter little to the kind of a person he is and George is one of the best I have ever met. While the stigma attached with being openly gay has diminished over the years, I still applaud him for going public. There are probably still, even in these "enlightened" times, those who feel they have to hide who they are. I hope George's example will prove that the days of fear are over.