Here is my new ride. It ain't pimped out. It ain't no Bluesmobile or Shuttlecraft....BUT IT RUNS!!!!!!!!!



A 1989 Pontiac Bonneville. I'm told "her" name is Bessie but now that "she's" my car we'll have to see if the personality develops.

On drinving the car for the first time I did honor a long time tradition I follow with all my cars....I threw the cigarette lighter out the window.

If you don't get the reference, watch the first ten minuets of "The Blues Brothers".

He looks so good.

He was such a nice guy.

I didn't even know he was sick.

These are all of the usual things you hear at a funeral. You can begin practicing saying all of these things about me because I am, apparently, dead.

I called my answering machine today to check messages when I got the following:

"I am calling in reference to the estate of the LATE JOHN EATON......."

Needless to say, I was taken aback by the news. I was immediately reminded of the MASH episode when Hawkeye is mistaken for dead. My situation , however, is nothing as drastic. This is simply a ploy by a bill collector to get me to call. I am supposed to become all upset and worried calling the number left on my machine to correct the error. The conversation would the go:

"Well, if you're not dead, Mr. Eaton, you can send us the money you owe us."

Needless to say, I have not called them back. However, I am planning a quite lavish wake. What the hell, I might as well enjoy this one.

Proof of how important genetics is, a recent phone conversation between my son and me.

John; Hello.

Jack: Hi, how are you?

John: OK.

Jack: Guess what.

John: What?

Jack: I beat ya'!

John: What the heck are you talking about, Dad?

Jack: I got a girlfriend before you did!

Silence for two seconds

John: Bite me!

Most parents would be upset and offended of their child spoke back to them in such a manner. Not me....this was yet another fine moment in Eaton Family History!

It is now official.

I have a girlfriend.

Things have continued to go well over the past few weeks with Stephany. However, through all of it I was haunted by a slight sense of insecurity. There were what I interpreted as mixed messages and occasional moments where I felt that she was going out of her way to make things difficult for us to be together. But through all of it she continued to send positive feedback to me on how things were going and would say things which made it feel more and more that we were in a relationship. I finally decided that the cards had to be laid on the table. Many of our conversations because there were things I wanted to say to her but did not feel right without some declaration of what kind of a relationship we actually had.

The evening started out with plans for dinner. As usual, these plans were interrupted and changed at the last moment due to family concerns. I fought my insecurities I'd been battling for the past few weeks but this time won them over as we did finally end up with time alone.

Under a starlit night we walked down a fishing pier and talked. Well, I did the talking. I stuttered and stammered through what I had been practicing for days. I had even brought notes and even had to refer to them from time to time. I wondered if it was cute and endearing or pathetic. Well, when I finally got to the bottom line it seemed as if I had steered away from pathetic as Stephany agreed with what I was saying. She said she also felt things had been going well with us.

Then silence. There seemed to be words I was still looking to hear. I decided to go with cute and endearing again.

"So...?" I asked as I leaned against her shoulder and in a bad impression of Goofy said, "Can I be yer boyfriend?"

She laughed first and said, "Yes."

SHE SAID YES!!!!!!!!!

If I could freeze that moment and hold it I would. My heart seemed to stop. The world seemed to halt its rotation. All there was in the universe at that moment were Stephany and me on that pier.

I have been accused by many for falling into relationships fast so I am not going to admit to that in this case or give into any far flung hopes for this relationship now that it is official. All I will admit to is what I promised Stephany; to be something I might not have been in the past, a better partner. To make her happy and to make her proud. We'll take it one step at a time.

These first steps do feel pretty good so far.

Most of the day today I must seem to be distracted to anyone who sees me. That is because I have a little movie playing in my head which is replaying the date Stephany and I went on last night. It was the first time we were on a date by ourselves. We've spent countless hours on the phone and did get out last weekend, but this was just us.

Perfect.

We went to a restaurant down by the waterfront. We were seating on the covered deck where we could see the lights of the causeway reflecting on the intercoastal waterway. It might not sound postcard perfect but the setting, the sounds of the water and the light ocean breeze added to the whole affect.

The place was crowded and a steel drum band kept played outside. Of course, I didn't notice it much as all I could see in the entire restaurant was her. I don't know if I was trying to be cute or just stupid with anxiety, but I used a reference to an earlier conversation as a way of asking to hold her hand. When her hand touched mine the size of the universe seemed to get even smaller. She commented on how soft me hand was. I kept the conversation going even though I was still in shock that I was the person sitting there holding her hand.

After dinner we took a walk on the beach holding hands. Nothing else I could think of felt so right. We talked and laughed the whole time I was burning every second of the evening into my brain. The way the breeze lifted her hair and how the moonlight shaded her face.

After being driven off by sand fleas we came back to my place for a little while. I showed her some old photos of me and some of Johnny's baby pictures. You may roll your eyes at this but after she left I called her and talked to her while she drove back to her apartment. She has a slight anxiety problem with driving at night. Well, that and it allows me to be the geeky boyfriend spending more countless hours on the phone with her. We have NEVER had one of those "You hang up first" moments so it's not as bad as you might first think.

I still find it amazing that I'm even in this position. Every once in a while during the evening I would look around to make sure Ashton Kutcher was just about to come around a corner telling me I'd been Punk'd. I had to keep making reality checks to be sure I wasn't imagining things.

So far, no Ashton; but I've stopped watching "That 70's Show" just in case.

OK, let's get some of the humor out of the way; here is a sampling of some of the better jokes which have gone around about Stephany and me.

My friend, Patrick, left the following note on my desk:
I just wanted to let you know that an Amber Alert had been issued for your department.

I was on the phone with my friend Sandy who, after laughing at the situation got very serious and began offering some honest encouragement....well, at first anyway, she put a new spin on an old joke:
"Jack, It is nice that you have a young girl like her that is interested. We all want you to be happy. I hope this works out for you....I just hope you don;t forget where you put her."

Even I have gotten into the act pointing out that being in a relationship with me should be nothing new for Stephany because her last job was at an Assisted Living Home.

The best, by far, was my "good friend" Lisa. I started telling her how Steph and I had met and that we had met at work and she was always smiling at me. I told her that since it had been a long time that I had been dating I had to remember that smiling was a good sign. To which she answered, "Yeah, but at this age you can't tell is she's really smiling or if it's just gas!"

That's what friends are for!

Welcome to Year 44!

Today was my birthday and it had got to be one of my best yet. Yes, there have been good ones in the past. There have been some I probably wished I didn't even exist of them pale to today because of one person.

Stephany.

Stephany and I have been seeing each other and talking for two weeks now. Our relationship has yet to be defined as "boyfriend/girlfriend" but is directly on track to being such. She is beautiful, smart, funny and has a smile that makes me weak in the knees.

I had seen her around the office and asked questions of mutual friends. She was always friendly; saying "Hello" and smiling. I finally got up the nerve to say something and gave her my number. Two hours later SHE CALLED ME. This I took as a good sign. We were then on the phone for almost three hours. Again, something I took as a good sign.

The past two weeks have been filled with countless hours on the phone, lunch and break time together at work and emails back and forth during the day. However, we have yet to have a date with it being just the two of us. She has some family concerns and a roommate problem which have either landed us with a third wheel or completely unable to time things just right.

That has been aggravating at times but those times have been balanced with some of the most open and honest conversations I have ever had. In a recent conversation I innocently asked if there was any question she wanted to ask me; anything she wanted to know about me. It took her a day to come up with just how to word what she wanted to say but when she did I could have done backflips. SHE asked ME where I saw things headed between us. All I was expecting was a question about something in my life she wanted to know and she hits me with the one question I have been asking myself for days.

I have been waiting to post anything about her until I knew things were on the right track. Oh, yeah....the other reason I haven't posted.....fear. I know some of you, my friends, so well that I knew there would be an onslaught of jokes. Why?

Stephany is 24 years old.

Almost from the moment I handed her my number I have been hearing the jokes from those who know. Most have been very funny and I have made as few as well. Steph laughs at them as well. Between us, the age difference makes no difference at all. And I love a good joke and encourage some of them. I also figure; hell, joke all you want....I'M DATING A 24 YEAR OLD!!!!!!

Even my son could not resist getting in on the abuse. We had lunch together over the weekend. After she had left I asked John what he thought. He said he thought she was pretty and fun to be around. Then he stopped and raised his eyebrows at me and said, "But gee, Dad....how old is she?" I asked again, "C'mon, do we make a good looking couple or does it look like visiting day at the home?" He never answered but laughed with a big grin on his face.

Today I had the second portion of my interview process trying to transfer to the corporate training department where I work. Last week I had the actual interview. At the close of that interview I was given a video tape with the instructions to make a 30 minuet presentation, or class, on the topic of the tape.

For the most part it went pretty well. Any mistakes or missteps I felt I had made along the way went off like fireworks in my head; I felt like a deer in the headlights each time the "screwed up" alarm went off in my head. I did my best to keep the ball in the air and kept the lecture going. I am sure the mistakes were exaggerated in my mind and some of them may have gone completely unnoticed my those in the "class".

I did come away with one positive impression of the presentation upon which I am pinning my hopes. Right at the end of the class there was an actual discussion,debate and sharing of ideas on the major concept I was putting forward. It had turned from a mock lecture to an actual classroom for a moment. They had actually heard what I was saying and I was getting my point across.

There are some others interviewing for the position and I might not know for a while. In some ways this waiting is the more nerve wracking part of the process.

As if my episode with the fuel gauge wasn't enough....

Part of the delay in getting my van fixed, while tied to the repairs themsevles with finances, is simply getting the van to the salvage yard who is supposed to work on getting it running again. This place is about 15 miles north of here. I am using this place thanks to a connection with a police officer friend of mine; I get to use his "Blue Discount".

Since my AAA had expired in February I was stuck in trying to find an alternate method of towing. At the times when my budget allowed for both a two and the repairs, I first tried "borrowing" a AAA from a friend. However; all of hers were used up. I got one offer to tow the van for $50. Seeing this as expensive, I planned on getting a car carrier from U-Haul; my only hurdle with that was finding someone with a ball joint hitch.

Just when I was about to ask a neighbor I started doing the math. In the last year I burned through all four of my AAA tows. For $25 more than I was offered to actually tow the van I could have the peace of mind of renewing my own AAA membership. Seemed a rational conclusion, I thought.

So, this morning I called AAA to renew. This confused the representative on the other end of the phone, "Sir, you have auto-pay. Your membership doesn't expire until February 2007. Your membership hasn't lapsed."

DUHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I thanked her and turned to tell my co-worker who had been giving me numerous rides to work over the past few months and offered to let her use my own gun if she wanted to shoot me.

Tomorrow the van heads to the mechanic.

I am going to the pharmacy to get some Ginko Biloba.

Just some ramblings about TV.......

It sucks the "Commander in Chief" was pulled off the TV schedule. OK, it was no "West Wing" but it was really getting good. Speaking of "West Wing", the episode dealing with Leo McGarry's funeral was a bit of a let down. I was anticipating this being Martin Sheen's Emmy consideration episode. It was quite something to see him carrying the casket but I was waiting for something of a tribute episode and the funeral turned out being the secondary storyline. The finale should be a kicker!

I only watched "What About Brian" because JJ Abrhams' name was attached. It turned out being pretty good; OK, something of a "thirtysomething" update but still good. But I am perplexed how they can have a season finale after only little more than a half dozen episodes!

It was disappointing the "Thief" didn't end up hooking viewers. By the time they pulled off the heist at the end I had turned into a regular viewer but, according to ratings, more than half of the audience that watched the pilot dropped off on the 2nd episode. They missed a pretty decent show.

I also read where "Over There" also suffered in the ratings and may not return. Too bad...good show.

"The Unit" is getting better and better. While I miss Dennis Haysbert on "24" this is a perfect show for him.

Why doesn't Paramount take all it's Trek and put it on one channel? Start an all Trek channel! There is plenty of episodic programming. Then add in the movies; maybe even feature some of the good internet stuff being produced. Maybe some original programming, interview shows....

Oh, wait! That's what the Sci-Fi channel used to be!

As I sat in the movie theatre yesterday watching "Mission Impossible III" I first thought I was hearing sound bleeding in from the theatre next door. It continued for five minutes or so with a voice somehow muffled and indistinguishable.

It continued for more than fifteen minutes and seemed somehow closer to me, but still completely unintelligible. Then I looked over to the end of the row where I sat. There was a woman with two little children. (Don't even get me started about the kids!) She was talking on her cell phone and this little chat of hers was closing in on twenty minutes. That she was talking wasn't bad enough but it was in Creole. That is not a racist comment, simply that the conversation itself was distracting but being in another language made it more of a distraction.

I finally had enough. Just like I will return food to the kitchen of a restaurant I also have no patience for ignorant people in the movie theatre. "Is the movie interrupting your phone call?" I asked.

"No," she said and went right back to talking on the phone.

I stood in shock that this simple confrontation didn't result in an immediate apology and shutting down of her phone. "You are distracting all these people around you."

Silence.

I headed for the lobby and one of the duly deputized teenagers wearing the crisp and snappy Regal Theatres uniform. Of course, by the time we returned, she had turned the phone off and was sitting there thoroughly entranced in the movie. As I sat back in my seat I could see the usher speaking with her. I don't know what was said but did see him make another round walking by her later in the movie.

The loudmouth never did confront me after the movie but two people came up to me an congratulated me for doing what I had done. I didn't have the heart to tell them that I had been thrown out of a Jerry Lewis Movie Theatre thirty years ago for throwing candy at Godzilla.

Hmmmm...did my last post mention something about becoming an old fart?!

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!