I am in charge of CareBear this morning while her parents pack up to move. I took her for a walk in her stroller. She was wearing her famous blue shades and it scared a dog. Then she fell asleep and she's still napping right here next to me.:)

Where she lives right now is only a nine minute walk from my house, but the place got too small for the incredible amount of paraphenalia that has been bestowed upon her during her first 13 months of life (22 months in Ari land :D ).

The new place is a 12 minute walk. :cry: I hope I can still be a part of her life. ;)

I get very few eschatological questions sent to my TV.com PM inbox and I don't think any of them have come from a high school rising-sophomore before. But a couple of days ago jenny-fer PM'd me about my thoughts on the Mayan calander and on premonitions. Not the sort of thing 15 year-olds think much or often about, I'm guessing, and jenny- may get kicked-upstairs out of The Babies because of it .;)

I admitted to jenny- in my reply that I knew nothing about the Mayan calendar and she teased me with the tidbit that it ends on December 21, 2012. So, I Googled and Wiki-ed and now I know a tad bit more. If you really want to get into the subject, Wiki "Mayan Calendar". Basically, the prediction that time will end on 12/21/2012 is in the long tradition of the eschatological nature of non-asian religiosity. Eschatology is the theological pondering of the end of time. Judaism, Christianity, Islam and, apparently the meso-American tradtions all have an eschatologic component. The Revelation to John is probably the most widely known example of eschatological writing in the Western tradition.

Revelation and the major Judaic writings do not name a date for the end of time. The end comes at the confluence of events - mostly couched in dense metaphor and symbolism. Of course, some sects have tried to identify a specific date and so far, they've all been wrong. I'm pretty sure the Mayan calendar will be wrong, too. The date is based on astronomical observations about the progression of Earth through the Milkey Way and the designation of a distant feature in our galaxy as sacred. Supposedly Earth reaches that spot on the winter soltice in the year we call 2012. In reality it doesn't, so right there, there is a problem. Your odds are better on the PowerBall than on nailing the date of The End of Time. And those are crappy odds, indeed.:shock:

So, jenny-ferr, here is my thought: I'm leaving the end of time issue to the power of my Christian God. That's part of what my faith is about.

As for premonitions (the vague sense that some specific thing is happening or about to happen), doesn't everyone have them? I think it is a normal part of subconcious brain function, kind of like dreaming. I'll bet that if everyone wrote down all their premonitions and then verrified them, we'd all be wrong most of the time. But, of course, we only remember the ones that came true. I don't think it's a paranormal phenomenon.

Thank you, jenny-ferr, for an interesting question.:) Tomorrow, although it may drag into Saturday because it's a very hard question for me, swim's inquiry about why I am here. Not the big existential "WHY am I here?", but the "why is a 59.5 y/o guy having such a good time on the GG forum?"

Well, we said good-bye to the Magic Kingdom yesterday. Never actually went to any of the attractions. It's no fun alone. I walked around the place a lot, though.

On foot you can actually see things like loading dock and water treatment facilities that you don't see from the road or from the attractions. That is planned, of course. But it makes the place sterile in a way for me. Infrastructure is part of a community. It needn't be ugly but hiding it detatches one from reality. And WDW is certainly unreal. Too clean, too nice. There are whole books on why that is and how they accomplish it.

That said, when the CareBear gets to be 7 or 8, I'm taking her there so I can go on the rides. I especially love roller coasters.

Speaking of which. God or Delta was not happy about my blog on flying through Tropical Storm Barry on Saturday. Yesterday, after a three hour hold in Atlanta, they let us take off for home. We speant an extra 20-30 minutes bobbing and weaving around one cummulo-nimbus formation after another. And then we decended through the most wicked hail storm you can imagine. If anyone had not been wearing a seat belt, they would have smashed their head on the ceiling four or five times. At one point, I swear, the plane rotated 45 degrees on it's vertical axis and back.

Flying into a tropical weather system is bouncy and shakey but really not life-threatening. Flying low in a squall line presents the deadly risk of wind-shear, sudden violent changes in wind direction that can smash a plane flat to the ground from several thousand feet up. A yesterday I was genuinely terrified.

We did need the rain, though.

Today I discovered the bread had gone moldy and that, in my absence, the CareBear has been allowed to develop an attitude.

But first, follow-up. Last night on the FUN thread I thought Ari and Sawyer had fallen in love with each other, but having re-read the posts, I think they each fell in love with themselves. Icky, nonetheless. Also, swim got busted by the thought police. Something no one could have foreseen.

Now, on to today's ickiness. The weather was great this morning; it was sunny,there was a nice breeze and the humidity had abated. Nice

. (That's our hotel) So, I decided to spend the morning at the pool. Sadly, entomology happened. Some black bug or other decided that it was mating day. And the way these bugs mate (Bopit is at the beach so I can say this) is that the male and female attach their posterior abdomens together some how and then try to fly around. They have their heads pointed in opposite direction and since on of them (the female I'm sure) is 10 times bigger than the other, the aerodynamics don't work and the pair just flops about aimlessly. Like on to your head and face and book... And there are tens of thousands of those pairs out there today. Icky, icky, icky. And I don't even want to think about what happens to that poor little male at the end of this nasty mating dance. Ewww. I'll bet if Uncle Walt were still with us, he would never let this happen. So, I only spent an hour and a half at the pool.

Next, I took the shuttle bus over to the "World Largest Disney Store" to find some stuff for Caroline. Bugs all over the bus shelter. (Sorry, no bug pix.). It is a huge store. But, I had walked in the door of the Princess room. The horror, the horror. That room has more square footage than my house. True. And it's full of princess crap.

Worse, it's full of parents buying princess crap for their daughters. Icky. "Yes, my daughter, you should identify yourself as someone who must always be dependent on a rich and hansome man. And your existence must be defined by your role as a pawn in a politico-ecomonic chess game. You have no other value as a person and you have no say in your future." What is the matter with these people!?! Out of concern for my increasing nausea, I will not even begin to describe the "Bibity-Bobbity Beauty Boutique".

So staggering from the shock and blinded by the glitter, I made my way to the information desk and said "I'm looking for a gift for my year-old granddaughter that doesn't have anything to do with princesses." And the nice lady gave me an "Oh, you poor deluded man" look and said, "The infant room is right over there, but I'm not sure how much luck you'll have about the no-princess." As it turns out only half the girl stuff was contaminated and I got the CareBear some cute things.

I also saw something rayc might want to wear to her summer job.

If you want one, rayc, I'll send it to you care/of the shop.

First, brief follow-up. Thanks to those of you who comisserated with me about my pinched nerve. And thaks to all of you who didn't but refrained from saying so. I am doing a good bit better. I have only had to take the pill twice in the last 18 hours. Here is a picture of the blasted thing compared to a dime.

Boy, and let me say, wasn't it a special treat that we got to fly right through Tropical Storm Barry on our way to Orlando this morning. Rationally, I can grasp that flimsier planes than a 767 fly into actual hurricanes on a regular basis without coming to grief. Still when the plane is shaking and bouncing like (to quote Paris) "a fat stripper", and the captain not only bings the seat belt sign but tells the flight attendents to sit down and stay there...well the good old brain stem reflexes tend to kick in.

On the ATL/MCO (that's Orlando's airport code) leg I was sitiing where I could see the labels on the metal catering carts. They said DL401 ATL/MCO 1of2, ...2of2...4of2. I thought, whoa, "somebody over in the comissary is trying to compete in the Blackberry_Girl league of exestential irony." But when I took a closer look, a 1 had been hidden by the f. It was really 1of12. So, B_Girl, still in a league of your own.

The storm had passed by after lunch and the sun is out now. But it is still wicked windy and we had a tornado watch. It has expired and now it's just a wind advisory.

I took a long walk and a short ride on the EPCOT water taxi. Maybe I'll actually go to EPCOT depending on the weather. It's supposed to be sunny but 91 and humid so I may just by the pool and read. I promise not to do too many rants on this place. It is clean and cheery. But it is also a neat-and-body-type-appropriate clothing optional zone.

My grandaughter has hot pink Crocs and hot pink Chuck's

rayc says hers are cooler than Caroline's. rayc hates babies.

I toss toddlers as a pastime and I garden. I thought it was just my shoulder acting up like it did last year about this time. I eventually had to have an injection to settle it down but we were going to be away for a week. No garden to tend, no toddlers to toss. Take naproxen, give it a rest, see if it wouldn't just ease off on its own.

It wouldn't.

Last night was the first time in three weeks that I have slept eight straight hours. The first two of those weeks the pain kept me awake or woke me up. This past week I was up until the 1AM pill kicked in. I didn't need a pill at 1AM today. But I needed the 5AM and the 9AM.

What I am feeling is a combination of a constant "arm-is-asleep" sensation and being hit on my left shoulder by a baseball bat every few minutes. This is an improvement from a week ago in that the bat used to be a 16 pound sledge and the "tigers-chewing-arm-off" sensation no longer occurs with every cough, sneeze and swallow.

I do not know what this punishment is for - there are myriad possibilities. But, it is being visited upon me by way of an impingment of the cervical spine nerve root at C5/6 by a herniated vertebral disc. In the vernacular, a pinched nerve in my neck. In the vulgar, a F^$^#ing pinched nerve in my neck.

The initial treatment for this gem of a condition is steroids for a week and hydrocodone for the sheer joy of it. Steroids help by reducing the irritation caused by the pressure caused by the swelling caused by the inflamation induced in nerve root by the disc. Hydrocodone helps by making one feel so crappy that one forgets about the pain.

Hydrocodone is an opiate of the poppy. I have never done well with any by-product of the genus Papaver. I can't even get P. orientalis to grow in my garden. And it's a wildflower! For starters, opiates slow time. In the long-run perhaps I won't age as fast but in real time everything seems to move slowly and last forever. It is a very disorienting perception. I am uncoordinated anyway, opiates compound that in me. I think I have had to re-type every word in this entry at least once because I hit the wrong key or multiple keys. Opiates eliminate every ounce of motivation and every gram of joy. Why anyone would take this stuff "recreationally" totally escapes my understanding.

The worst thing that opiates do to me is that they make me stupider. For instance, I currently believe that somebody might be interested in reading this piece and that it is marginally entertaining beyond its Schadenfreude-inducing potential. I've posted some fairly cryptic stuff lately and sent not a few PMs that have seemed to me to be possesed of crystalline truth only to receive the response, "Huh?" And rightfully so.

And then, after two more weeks of this crap, it's a coin-flip on whether I'll need surgery.

For an experience far more interesting than being narcotized, Wiki on "Miltown" (one "L").

"Sarcasm" is perceived by a lot of people to be mean and/or rude. But, the use of sharp irony has a long literary history going back to ancient Greece. I think sustained used of sarcasm in litterature by women starts with Jane Austen. So that's where this reading list starts.

It is no coincidence that the four authors I have chosen are mentioned very early on in the GG series. ASP knows the Sarcastic Girls' canon. She wrote for Rosanne and invented the wonderfully sarcastic Lorelai, afterall.

Here goes:

Emma - more accessable than P&P. The plot is very simple, it's the snarky social commentary that's important. Not near as mean as P&P.

Pride and Predjuice - The gentle Regency prose hides some very dark jibes at what Austen's own family was possibly like. And most of the social mores of the time, too

Angels on Toast - My favorite Dawn Powell book

The Happy Island - Dawn Powell's New York novels are wicked funny. Her "masterpiece" is said to be Turn Magic Wheel but Island is peopled by characters who had never been in a novel up to that point, much less a novel by a woman. Powell's childhood in Ohio was Dickensian to an extreme and her Ohio novels reflect that. If you want gloomy sarcasm, read Dance Night. Her biography by Tim Page is so sad I had to quit.

The Portable Dorothy Parker - The Narcoleptics holy writ. I like the poems and reviews better than the short stories. The book was published in 1944 and has never been out of print; the only book on this list that it's true for. The introduction by Brendan Gill may be all that you want to know about her ultimately unfulfilled life, but if you want more, "What Fresh Hell is This?" by Marion Meade is the best Parker biogrraphy.

This Side of Paradice

Tender is the Night - "Not written by a woman", you say? After you read them, read "Sometimes Madness is Wisdom" by Kendall Taylor. The title is a quote from Zelda's journal while she was hospitalized. Short version: almost all of the female dialog in both books was written by Zelda. And plot suggestions, too. Scott stole them from her journal. It gets worse. I won't spoil.

There is also a book that links, Powell, Parker and the Fitzgeralds with many of the other greats of mid-20th centuary arts and letters. "Everybody Was So Young" by Amanda Vaill is the story of Gerald and Sara Murphy, two beautiful extremely rich kids who married young, moved to France and, over the next twenty years, nurtured, sheltered and encouraged an extrodinary list of people including Cole Porter, Stravinski, Diaglhilev, Hemmingway, our three authors and many others. They also invented summer on the Riviera. Really. Gerald was a Yale man of course.

If you want modern sarcasm, Lauren Weisberger's books have it, but I'm limiting my list to actual literature. Have a good summer.

Unto the Breach was the best episode of season 7 so far.  It had the good ol' time rapid dialog, a boat load of current and historic culture references.  There were references to past episodes, Kirk did weird, Emily was shamelessly social-climbing.  And it had intentional humor, for a change.  Logan even kept true to form by being a jerk to Rory.

This is what frustrates . If they me can do a show like this now, why haven't they been able to for the rest of the season?  I hope the finale is as good.  Enjoy it.  I have a plane to catch.

I think we're past denial and anger and into bargaining. The threads have been dead today. Except the games. Especially the role playing games. I don't go there (I'm not good at them beyond all the playing I do to get through the day), I just watch the number of new posts. Actually, the game thread traffic went up almost as soon as the CW/WB press release came out last Thursday. Perhaps there is some sort of magical thinking going on. "If we all work to move the characters and plot forward, the real show will get energy from that and come back". Hey, it worked for Tinker-bell.

For those of you who have a real seven year investment in GG, I know it's hard to let go. I am, probably, one of two GG fans who had an 11 year investment in M.A.S.H. and grieved at its demise. But, I came late to GG.

From Christmas Day 2006 to January 20, 2007, I watched every episode from 1.1 to 6.22, twice. Except 2.3 (Red Light). I still haven't been able to bring myself to watch that one. I started season 7 "live" at 7.12 (To Whom..) and I saw a few of the 7.1 to 7.11 episodes during the hiatus.

After having watched all the 1-6 seasons so close together, the awfulness of season 7 was a shock to me. 13 was maudlin and contrived. Episodes 14 and 15 were just awful. "Will You" (7.16) was great. 17 and 18 were rotten. 19 was wonderful. 20 was spotty.

Lauren has said at TV Guide, in Newsweek and on Ellen, today, that ending was the best choice. Given the post-ASP incompetence of the writing, I have to agree with her. My hope is that like me, all of you (the two who actually read this) can skip depression and go straight to acceptance.

As Bogie said to Ingrid, "We will always have Paris". (The character, not the city.:lol: )