My baby is 15 years old today.

I called him first thing this morning to wish him a happy birthday and I would swear that his voice is deeper than it was two days ago when I talked with him last. I know it's just my imagination playing tricks on me but just the idea that he is 15 years old does that to me.

I have not been staying at my place the past few nights. When I got home from taking John back to his mother's Sunday night there was a message from very sick friend. My friend ended up so sick that I left works Monday to help out. My friend is a smoker and on top of already having bronchitis has just developed asthma and was in the throws of the very first asthma attack ever. I have been able to calm my friend and teach some relaxation and breathing tricks to help get through. My friend also has some anxiety issues which feed into the stress of the asthma attack and only make things worse.

Oh? My friend. You can shake you head like everyone else around here.....

Stephany.

I have to get back to her place as I have been taking the "night shift" taking care of her through the night and giving other family and friends a break.





OK, stop shaking your head.


I will go more into detail on this and how I am coping when things have died down and I have a chance to really digest how I am feeling.


Stop shaking your head at me!!!!

Apparently, you should not blog when you're on cold medication. Thanks to Lisa for reminding me of the down side to this past weekend at Shore Leave; the redecorating at the Marriott Hunt Valley Inn. I don't know what kind of drugs the management was on when they decided to redecorate but they must have been very illegal and very cheap because the result was worse than some of the hairpeices Burt Reynolds wore during the 90's.

The Hunt Valley Inn was originally designed to resemble a hunting lodge. The McCormick family had it built to serve as a hotel to serve the business needs of the family-run spice company which was headquartered nearby. It is sprawling and spacious with dark and warm color schemes, exposed rafters and loaded with inviting spaces. The lobby welcomed you as if you were walking into someone's home. The lounge between there and the restaurant looked like a living room.

Now these areas, in an apparent attempt to look like every other hotel in the world, looks as if they hired a mad movie set designer and told them to create an airport lounge. The lobby is awash in bright indirect lighting and centerpieced with what looks like a bank teller counter. The comfortable and cozy furniture of the lounge is now replaced with a highbacked set of demented art deco style semi-circular couches which have turned a communal gathering place into four "cells" from which you have to stretch and strain to see the rest of the room.

And then there's the bar....

The Paddock Bar is gone. This was also once in keeping with the open inviting feel of the rest of the hotel with comfortable chairs and delicate lighting but has now been replaced with ten-ton metal high backs and Christmas tree lighting. Atop the bar itself are these two....I guess art pieces, which look sea anemone. Also gone are the themed art pieces which kept with the hunting lodge theme of the hotel. Since the theme is gone, so is the name. The Paddock Bar is now the Cinn Bar. I've looked....CINN is nowhere in the dictionary. It's hip...it's trendy...it sucks!

I understand that after some time redecoration does have to happen. Things wear out, paint fades and styles change. For 20-some odd years I have been coming to this hotel for Shore Leave and part of the draw has been the hotel. While most hotels look like every other hotel on the planet the Hunt Valley Inn was unique. Now it looks like Joe's Hotel. It looks like they hired a mentally challenged Feng Shui consultant because this designer Feng-ed up all over the place.

All of the elements they were trying to add to the hotel have been crammed into the space and physical architecture of the building itself. It all stands out too much and does not blend in at all with its surroundings. The Christmas tree lights are fit in between the exposed rafters. The sea grass grown from old style brick planters and small uncomfortable furniture tries to fill large rooms.

The worst example of what was wrong with the redesign has got to be the carpets. Some of the original remains but in certain areas and, like other elements of the redesign, crammed into small panels in high traffic areas are designs of bright gaudy and conflicting color schemes. It looks as it the designed took a handful of fluorescent colored crayons and simply started scribbling. One design is an odd set of circles done in reds, yellows, greens and oranges. I think one of the reasons I came home sick from this year's convention was due to an allergic reaction to the carpets!

It wasn't just me either. The redesign was universally panned the entire weekend. It was mentioned by the stars and got mentions during the masquerade and the Sunday night entertainment. It is probably tilting against windmills to expect that the Marriott company would really listen to the complaints and change things back but I hope those who said they were going to complain do and that some reaction is heard from management. All I want them to know is that they have made a serious mistake and forever ruined what was once a unique and beautiful hotel.

This is the first chance I have had to post about my annual trip to Shore Leave because I came home with an unplanned souvenir; a cold. It started Monday morning as we were leaving with a scratchy throat and has yet to give up residence with a runny nose and clogged chest. I would have rather had the t-shirt.

Other than that it was a wonderful weekend. Wrapped around the usual fun of Shore Leave was the 20th Anniversary Reunion of the USS McAuliffe. If you haven't seen references to the McA in my posts then you haven't been reading closely enough. These are friends of mine for, well....the past 20 years and a gathering was planned at this years con. Shore Leave was always a major road trip for everyone in the Boston area, so it seemed the logical place for a get together.

This year it was only my friend, Cheryl, my son and I traveling from Florida and this year we opted to fly. It did make for a easier trip although I did miss the stop at South of the Border. There is always next year.

Friday morning had us rested and ready for a day of sightseeing in Washington, DC. We headed first to Arlington Cemetery. Neither John nor Cheryl had ever been there so I enjoyed sharing it with them. Being there with my son was we approached the Kennedy gravesite brought back memories of a similar trip with my father. He really enjoyed watching the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns.

After leaving there we tried in vain to locate the "Exorcist Stairs" in Georgetown. Not an easy thing in the one part of DC with which I am not that familiar. It did give the both of them a chance to see parts of the city they had not seen.

The highlight of the day was finally making it to John Eaton Elementary School in Cleveland Park. For the past three years I have been trying to get there and it was certainly worth the wait. Seeing the pictures on the internet was one ting but to actually pull up in front of a large brick building with my own name in bronze on the front....I laughed out loud.

We first took some photos outside and then entered the hallowed halls. Maria, the Business Manager was all smiles as we walked in. She quickly introduced our tour guides, 10 year old Grecia and 8 year old Amanda. These two girls took us through almost every single room and closet in the building. They politely answered all of our questions about the school and told us which rooms were theirs and where things went in each room and shortcuts from one part of the school to the other. They were adorable. They had a problem getting their minds wrapped around the concept that both my son and I had the same names. Still, they were impressed enough that we had the same name as their school. We posed for more pictures and then were presented with books on the school and t-shirts. John got the really cool one with a picture of the school on it. Mine just says, "Eaton"; as if I have problems remembering my own last name.

Not only was the Boston crowd there but my old pal Lisa was there. She travels each year with a groups of her friends from upstate New York. She is one of my dearest friends. Which is why I let her believe I was not attending this year. Actually, at one point I almost wasn't until a friend came to my rescue. Still, in time honored Shore Leave tradition this trick is regularly pulled on someone. This was Lisa's turn.

As always, the convention itself is secondary to spending the weekend with friends. However, guests this year included a number of actors from "Stargate" and my favorite from "Farscape, Gigi Hedgley. From the "old school" crowd, which I always enjoy seeing, were William Schallert and Kent McCord. My father would have loved the fact that I got to meet Kent McCord. Adam-12 was one of the shows we always watched together. Adam-12 is also a childhood favorite of John's stepfather and we had a little bit of fun with that. John has a cell phone with a camera built in which we used to take a photo of the two of them together. We then emailed it to his stepfather's cell phone while he was out on patrol.

The first three nights were filled with parties and drinking. In the past I have held this at bay when John has been along but he's a year older now, was asleep for most of it and I did have a broken heart to sanitize with the alcohol. Not that I've gotten as intoxicated as I have in the past but there was that one embarrassing moment when a friend of mine reminded me of part of the evening I couldn't recall....with John standing right there to hear the whole story.

Ahhh, chalk up another childhood memory added!!!!

All in all a great weekend as always and we begin the countdown to next year. I have posted photos from the trip here.

Well, I'm single again.

I don't even know where to start on how this whole thing unraveled except to say that Stephany had a whole bushelful of issues going on that made a relationship next to impossible. I tried holding on as long as I could and eventually she is the one who pulled the plug.

But we'll get to that in a moment.

The major issue is her family. There is the oddest of family dynamic going on in which control of the family is exerted by her grandparents. She seems terrified of upsetting her grandparents over topics such as her smoking, length of her hair and people she dates. Now the family is preparing to move out of Florida and Stephany is compelled to go with them. She can't fathom being apart from them so much so that she would sacrifice a relationship, with me or anyone, in order to stay with her family. Michael Corleone wasn't as obsessed with his family as she is. She has no sense of her own self worth or self identity. It's sad really and I have told her as much.

Then, there was the way she ended things. Saturday night we were on he phone late. As we talked. I could hear the clacking of the keys on her PC. No problem, I multi-task all the time. When we finally hung up I walked the 7 steps from the phone to the computer and there was an email waiting for me.

Hey what's up? well not to much here just chillin and talking to you on the phone- anyway I know you have been wondering what's going on between us- well I have been thinking about it and I need to find myself- I'm not ready to be with anyone right now- like I told you in the beginning I am known to hurt people and that's the last thing i wanted to do to you.

The immense noise made by my heart being ripped out was deafening. I tried calling her but, of course, she didn't pick up the phone. The next day we exchanged a few emails and did eventually talk on the phone. I still tried to reason with her. It wasn't until I talked to her face to face at work on Monday when I could see in her eyes that her mind, as screwed up as it was, had been made up.

I have been through the remorse, hurt, and anger. Right now it is sadness. Not only for the potential I saw in the relationship but for the outlook she has on life. For someone that young to be closing herself off to life is really sad. The worst part is that she doesn't see it. It was only 9 weeks out of my life and it was good while it lasted. We learn from each person we meet in life and boy did I get an education in this one.

The biggest lesson I learned is that I have got some wonderful friends around me. They let me walk the tightrope I was on and when the time was right told me I was about to fall. They offered a safety net. They also were good enough to shake the tightrope at times to let me know just how dangerous a situation I was in. They let me make an ass out of myself and let me run with my emotions as far as I wanted. And now that's it's over they are patient and understanding as I put myself back together again.

Thanks Tracy and Patrick.

Onward and upward. There's rumor there are possibly two or three other women at work who might actually be interested!

Wow! All of a sudden...I'm a player!

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!

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.