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!