The Pitter-Patter of Little Feet

I posted this on Facebook this morning. I think it makes an appropriate blog, so I publish it as posted:

Dear Friends,

When gays and lesbians started coming out in the 60s, with enough numbers to gain a political voice, they were referred to as the gay community. Many within this community felt the phrase did not accurately describe or reflect the diversity of its constituents.

For a long time, the gays and lesbians in the movement did not want to include bisexuals. They considered bisexuals to be fence-sitters, and dabblers.

During the 80s, after much internal wrangling, the community coined the initials GLB for gays, lesbians, and bisexuals. By the 90s, the T for transgenders was added, and the ladies given first position, and we now recognize the community as LGBT.

In recent years, more letters have been added, as our understanding of human sexuality and behavior has evolved.

Even though I was living a hetero lifestyle, it was no secret to my family and friends that I have always been a B. When my wife (of over twenty years now) and I got married, we discussed it at length, and I was a consenting adult when I said "I Do." The judge did not say, forsake half of all others.

Do I have regrets? Sure, who doesn't? But I would not have missed my life with my wife for all the world. We have a beautiful, late 1800s home, a house full of holiday collectibles, and three amazing grandchildren, who love their grandpa with the cats.

But since I became paralyzed ten years ago (my God, has it been that long already?), I've had my hands full of time for quiet reflection. I took up my pen again, after a long absence due to working and raising a family.

I started on Facebook as a way to keep from going crazy. It was fun to connect with old friends. I began posting some of my political thoughts, but was told that FB was not the place for that, that people only wanted to see pictures of their kids and cute kittens.

Then Facebook itself was driving me crazy. I started my blog. I was able to unleash my considerable creativity and writing skills. I edited a book for a friend from my writing class which went on to become an Amazon new women's author best-seller. I published a massive two-volume compendium of my work.

My blog has received over 20,000 page views from almost every country on the planet, and I have recently been notified by FB that my friends have liked my posts 23,000 times. I think that's pretty good considering I have 93 friends, and not 2093, as I've seen on other people's FB home pages.

Let's get back to the LGBT thing. Obviously I fell somewhere in that spectrum, and I was comfortable with my being a (non-practicing) B.

But recent news stories have made it imperative that I speak out openly. A few days ago, I wrote about a seventeen-year-old transgender who was attacked by a group of three men, and one womam, who CASTRATED her with a knife, GOUGED OUT HER EYES, and murdered her). "There but for the grace of God go I," I thought.

I was comfortable with my B designation because it was SAFE! I could live a "normal" hetero life before the world, and still be a little flirty. But again, it comes as no surprise to my family and close friends, especially my beloved sister, that I am actually a T.

If I was 20 today and not 60, I think I would transition.

The signs were always there. As a child, I would rather play with my sisters' toys than go out and play baseball. When I was nine, and my baby sister was born, my nurturing instincts surfaced, and I would get up before my mom to change her diaper.

My interests have always been things like cooking and decorating - not that men cannot and do not excel in such activities.

As an adult I loved to shop. I could spend hours in a grocery store, and I loved taking my wife clothes shopping. At least I could pick out clothes for HER. And she had to physically drag me out of fabric shops.

My heart still goes pitter-patter when I receive my copy of Martha Stewart Living each month - especially the October, November, and December issues.

All that being said, it is my intention to become more radical in my approach. I intend to push Facebook to the limit. I will not hold back on my blogs. In fact, I intend to become more active in Antifa, which merely stands for anti-fascist.

Why isn't everyone in the TWO-THIRDS of our populace who oppose Drumpf and everything he stands for, anti-fascist? Do you want to live in Hitler's Germany? Are you fucking crazy!?

We are being killed. After Heather Heyer was murdered in Charlottesville, one of the nazi organizers (and no, I will not capitalize the word nazi) bragged that we lost one, and they didn't, so it was a WIN for their side.

Drumpf is trying to get Antifa designated as a TERRORIST group, just like ISIS. I believe Antifa is already designated as such in New Jersey. The point is, if the current regime succeeds in this attempt, and the men in black appear on my doorstep, the first thing they're going to do is open my computer and look at my Facebook friends list.

I intend to be a lean, mean fighting machine. If you do not want to read my political, sexual, or personal posts, I suggest you unfriend me. If you are uncomfortable about my openness, unfriend me. If you do not want to support me, unfriend me. If you're afraid of becoming embroiled in my affairs, unfriend me.

My son tells me to regard my friends list, as a contact list, like a phone book. That's not good enough. There's about twenty or twenty-five people who regularly read and like my posts. Quite frankly, the rest can go take a flying fuck. It would make not one iota of difference to my life.

Let's talk about my life. I have nothing to fear, and nothing to lose. I am already imprisoned in a broken body, and my time is limited. I live with debilitating pain, that some of the most powerful opiod pain relievers known to medicine cannot alleviate. The pain is 24/7, and I will feel it until the moment of my death. What can they do to me?

I guess my final point here is that I have no idea if I will even have a Facebook account after posting this. So if you go to my Home Page, and it's not there, you'll know why.

In case I don't see you again, my email address is holidayman58@yahoo.com.

Thank you, and if appropriate, good-bye.

The Blood of the Innocent

I charge Donald J. Trump, the so-called president of the United States with treason, crimes against humanity, and complicity in murder.

Earlier this month, four people, including one woman, were charged with first degree murder, and a host of other crimes, among which was tampering with a corpse.

The seventeen-year-old victim, was transgender and knew her assailants.

According to the police, the accused attacked her with a knife, stabbing her repeatedly. They CASTRATED her with the KNIFE, and GOUGED OUT HER EYES!

Their fun over, the accused attempted to burn the body, then stuffed the remains in a trash bag, and hid it in a chicken coup.

Then, of course, they bragged about it on social media.

Obviously, the perpetrators have issues, and my greatest wish is that they have a long and happy sex life in prison.

But I can't help asking if this would have happened without the perception from the president that you can kill a fag without consequence.

Trump has committed treason against this country and the two-thirds of the American citizens who oppose him.

I watch and read a lot of foreign news sources, and this country does not stand well in the eyes of the world (except Germany which is once again becoming a Nazi state - and that worked out so well during the Third Reich).

Trump's rhetoric promotes genocide - against liberals, women, African-Americans, Hispanics, Muslims, Jews, and the LGBTXYZ community. Hate crimes are sweeping the nation. Violence has claimed the life of one young woman in Charlottesville, and another in Missouri.

Trump is complicit in both of these murders, and others, by incitement to kill. His lack of all compassion and humanity is unparalleled since George Washington first took the oath.

His pardoning of political allies is sending a clear message that these acts are acceptable, condoned, and pardonable.

The perpetrators are all over eighteen, and the knife-wielder is twenty-four. These were not kids out on a lark. Murder-one presupposes that the act was premeditated. They made a plan, and executed it, the emphasis on the word executed.

History will not bear Trump out, and his supporters deserve no less than those who were tried at Nuremberg.

http://abcnews.go.com/US/wireStory/questions-remain-death-transgender-teen-missouri-50119577

Ally Steinfeld ( 2000 - 2017)

Suicide By Accommodating Cop

You know, I'm getting really pissed off. I can post some stupid pun or joke on Facebook, and a dozen or more people respond, but I post about a student being killed by campus security, and only one good friend takes the trouble to click on Like.

Additional information has surfaced, that police responded to a 911 call about a person with a knife, and possibly a gun. That call was made BY the deceased student themself. And the only weapon found at the scene (and the student's residence) was a small blade that was part of a utility knife.

Last night, on the Atlanta campus, a small vigil was held. After the vigil ended, and the students went home, another protest formed, this one ending by the storming of a police station, and setting a patrol car on fire.

Police aren't saying whether the protesters were students or outsiders, namely Antifa (who I support), but I have my suspicions.

This was suicide by cop, and another under-trained, overzealous, asshole was only too happy to oblige.

Yes, HAPPY! Trigger-happy.

Did you know that killing stimulates the same pleasure centers of the brain as sex and drugs? Well, it does.

People like to kill people. That's no big secret or surprise. What a rush it must be to end another person's life. The power. Especially when you have immunity from the law.

Killing without consequence - sweet!

I have the right to be on Facebook, until they can find a reason to kick me off (and believe me, they've tried before).

I have IMPLORED the people on my contact list to UNFRIEND me, if they don't want to see or comment on my posts. I'd rather have ten loyal friends than ninety-three Friends, who aren't.

I know everyone's busy. You all have your own lives. That's fine, so do I. But I know one family who will have to take time out of their busy schedules to attend their child's funeral.

Not Happy

You know, I have been so focused on politics, that I forgot this crap was still going on (just look at St. Louis).

This story is tragic on many levels. Not because he was twenty-one years old, not because he was a 4th year engineering student at a time when America desperately needs engineering students, not because he was an LGBTXYZ activist, but because it once again points out the basic problem with law enforcement.

This happened on a college campus, and the cop that pulled the trigger (whose name is being withheld), was technically a campus cop, but these were more people authorized to carry guns, and kill at their discretion.

This was a MEDICAL situation, not a CRIMINAL one. The deceased had not committed a crime, and can be clearly heard yelling, "Shoot me!" He was brandishing a knife, not a gun. Was he possibly dangerous? Of course! But he was surrounded by multiple campus police officers, all with guns drawn.

Where were the stun guns? Where were the old-school, "Hill Street Blues" take-downs? The shot was center mass, not a leg or shoulder wound.

When will these potential murderers, that society puts on the street, be COMPELLED to pass rigorous de-escalation training. This was a promising life cut short, for no truly good reason.

Well, he did say, "Shoot me." I hope everyone's happy.

http://www.cnn.com/2017/09/17/us/georgia-tech-student-killed/index.html

It's So Hard To Get Good Curry In The States

I went the first forty years of my life without health insurance, figuring a) I was young and invincible, and b) if I got hurt, it would either be in a car or on someone's property, and insurance would cover it.

Carl and I have been friends, buddies, and comrades-in-arms for fifty years. Carl has a rare intellect, and a keen wit. I have delighted in our jousting at wordplay. He keeps me on my toes, and he keeps me honest (with my readers, and with myself).

For the last few weeks, first on Facebook, then by phone, he told me this story as it unfolded. I told him I felt a blog coming on, and asked if he would write up a few notes that I could refer to.

Instead, he sent me what I consider to be a finished piece. As I read it, and reread it, I realized there was nothing I could (or should) improve upon. The text was straightfoward, eloquent, and cut right to the heart of the matter.

So here it is, straight from the horse's mouth. (Although, if Carl is the front end of the horse, what does that make me?)

My experience with purchasing health insurance began over 30 years ago while I was a union carpenter living in California and raising a family. The benefits of belonging to a union were fantastic - particularly in being able to provide myself, my wife, and two young children affordable healthcare. My union membership included health, vision, and dental care for my family. I believe my cost was about a dollar an hour deducted from my pay as my share of cost, or roughly $175.00/month. This went on through the 1980s into the early/mid 90s when "an unfortunate set of circumstances" caused me to lose my job for several years.

Late in 1997, I became self-employed, and no longer enjoyed the benefits of negotiated contracts on behalf of a large group of people. My good health, and the enormous jump in healthcare cost for an individual, caused me to redefine my priorities. I was now divorced, and my children had healthcare through their mother's employer, so I went without. In July of 1999, I woke in the middle of the night with excruciating pain in my abdomen, and stumbled to a neighbor's house to ask for a ride to the hospital. My neighbor Chuck took me immediately.

After the customary forms were filled out, and no proof of insurance was produced, they treated me anyway, as I was in obvious distress. Within two hours of entering the hospital, I was in surgery - getting my appendix removed. It was ready to burst, and had they not operated, I would likely have died.

Then came the bills. Admitting doctor, ultrasound, anesthesiologists, surgeon, IV drip, meds, antibiotics, an overnight stay in a hospital bed, you name it, I was billed. I actually recovered quite quickly, and within 2 weeks was working again. I paid what I could, when I could, and did my best to whittle down $15,000.00 worth of obligation. I was not making a lot of money at that time, and toward the end of December that year I actually filed my taxes around the 30th. I had claimed a little over $12,000.00 income, as I had a very slow year trying to get a business up and running.

The next day, New Year's Eve 1999, I got a call from the hospital that had treated me. The man on the phone identified himself as a member of the hospital finance department, and asked me how much money I had earned that year. When I told him around $12K he asked if I could prove it, and I said, yes, I had a copy of my tax filing that I had just done the previous day. He told me the hospital would forgive the remainder of my bill if I could produce a copy of my tax form before close of business that day. My response was, "I'll be there in 20 minutes." I was. The bill was completely forgiven.

I went the next 16 years without healthcare, and aside from the occasional couple of stitches here and there, I was as healthy as a horse. Until about a year ago. I had paid the penalty in my tax bill for not having insurance for the first two years of Obamacare. Toward the end of 2016 I decided to enroll. I knew I had played the odds long enough, and it was time to get a complete physical which I had not had for at least 20 years.

I was referred to a doctor, by a client I had done some work for, who was an emergency room trauma doctor, and I made an appointment to be poked, prodded, spindled, and mutilated. The first thing he did was order blood work for an array of things, including Hepatitis C. When the results of the physical came back, he gave me the news. My liver enzymes were going off the charts, and I had a Hep C viral load in my blood. The virus that I knew I had been exposed to decades earlier was no longer dormant. He referred me to a gastroenterologist for further testing.

The new doc ordered additional blood tests, and while he was examining me, I told him I had done research into Hep C, and was aware there is now a cure for it. He agreed, and said there was a treatment that was over 99% effective in eradicating the virus. I also told him I was aware that the cost of the drug was $1000.00 per pill, taken once a day, for 90 days.

I had no idea if or how much of my insurance would cover that, but I had discovered that a drug manufacturing company called Gilead had a production facility in India where the drug was available for $10.00 per pill. $900.00 dollars vs. $90,000.00 here. He laughed and said, "I guess we're paying for drug development for the rest of the world." To which I replied, "Why? Because we can 'afford' it?" The doc asked me to wait until the results of the additional testing were available, and that I was a very good candidate for approval because of liver inflammation and scarring. I told him he was the doctor.

One week later, I got a call from a specialty pharmacy telling me that the doctor had asked them to submit an application for approval of the treatment, and that my insurance company had given the approval. I asked how much my share of the cost would be, and was told that all but $1700.00 was covered, but that Gilead had a copay program that covered all but $5.00/month up to 22% of the total cost of the treatment. My life was saved for the cost of 3 months copay. Pretty good deal for 15 bucks!

I'm not a religious man, but thank GOD I signed up for the ACA, and that part of that included not being rejected for a pre-existing condition, which this most certainly was. I've been carrying around this virus for at least 25 years, and if insurance laws were not changed, I would have been denied. I suppose I really would have had to try to find a way to go to India for this treatment had the Affordable Care Act not been passed.

Of course, I am overjoyed at the way this turned out, but I was hoping Carl might come home with a cute, little, Indian wife. That was a really good cook.

Three Rings - No Waiting

Several people have recently asked me how I decide what to write about. I have three major tests that each piece must pass.

1. Do I have a dog in that pony show?

There's an old saying, "I don't have a dog in the fight," which pretty much means, "It ain't none of my business." The roots of this phrase are difficult to pin down. Some experts contend that the idiom comes from 16th century Europe, where dog fighting was a popular form of entertainment. The phrase is similar to, "I don't have a cock in the pit," cockfighting being another common sport of the day.

Other scholars purport that the phrase is much more recent, coming from a 1994 Congressional hearing, where the respondent, a Texas businessman, said, "We have a saying in Texas that I don't have a dog in that hunt, which I don't. I don't have a bias in this one way or the other."

There's another old saying, "a dog and pony show," which goes back to the post-Civil War years. Small, travelling circuses often featured dogs trained to do tricks with horses, such as jumping on the horses’ backs while both were running. One example was “Professor Gentry’s Equine and Canine Paradox,” in this case, the Professor being a teenager named Henry Gentry.

Now the phrase refers to any over-staged performance, or event designed to sway or convince opinion for political or commercial ends. To me, the phrase has come to represent the 24/7 news cycle, and the circus this world has become.

What I’m asking myself is, do I personally have anything to add to the conversation, that’s not being said by a hundred-million other talking heads, reporters, and bloggers?

2. Is the topic timely or timeless?

A few years ago, for no particular reason, I happened to watch the movie musical Oliver! one afternoon, on Turner Classic Movies. I am not a fan of musicals, but who can resist the story of the innocent waif swept up into the chaos of mid-nineteenth century London. As the movie ended, I had to admit, I had never read the book by Charles Dickens. A quick trip to the library remedied that. I so thoroughly enjoyed the original, I wrote a comparative study between the movie and the book (sjdgoingonrecord.blogspot.com/2014/04/twisting-in-wind.html). I consider this to be timeless.

Certainly, my holiday themes, memoirs, and recipes fall into this category.

On the other hand, many of my humor pieces, and most of my blogs are timely. They relate to current events that are not yet on the radar, or analyses of those that are.

Here’s an example. On a Friday evening, as a category 5 hurricane slammed into southeast Texas, the president pardoned former sheriff Joseph Arpaio. I, along with many others, was outraged that Trump would so demean one of the most cherished principles of the office. The presidential pardon is a refuse of last resort in cases where justice has utterly failed, not a get out of jail free card for his buddies.

I wanted to shout out about this fucktard Joe Arpaio, the self-proclaimed “America’s toughest sheriff.” As assholes go, Arpaio is a serious one. I wanted to list his crimes in letters ten feet tall.

I wanted to point out the so-called Tent City he had built next to a garbage dump, which Arpaio called a “concentration camp” in a speech to political supporters at his local Italian-American club. The open-air tents have been recorded at 145 degrees Fahrenheit during the day in the dry Arizona heat. Inmates complained that their shoes were melting.

These tents are surrounded by concrete walls topped with concertina wire. (A concertina is a free-reed musical instrument, like a small accordion, used in classical music, the traditional music of Ireland, and polkas. Concertina wire consists of large coils which can be expanded like a concertina. Also known as razor wire, its one function is to shred human flesh. At this, it does a remarkably thorough job.)

I wanted to speak out about this asshat who boasted that he could feed prisoners on 13 cents per day. “It costs more to feed the dogs than it does the inmates,” he quipped.

I wanted to tell people about the throwback, black-and-gray striped uniforms he made the inmates wear (think Jimmy Cagney in Each Dawn I Die), and the female and juvenile CHAIN GANGS he instituted.

That the vast majority of incarcerated were awaiting trial, and not convicted of any crime.

About the politically motivated investigations against his opponents. A former inmate, who agreed to be interviewed anonymously for a New Yorker article said, “Arpaio does retaliation.”

In Arpaio’s theater of the absurd, outspoken citizens also take their chances. Last December, remarks critical of Arpaio were offered during the public-comment period at a board of supervisors meeting, and four members of the audience were arrested and charged with disorderly conduct - for clapping.

About his 9-person media-relations unit.

About an anti-prostitution sweep conducted by the sheriff’s office, that backfired when some members of his volunteer posse got naked, on video, with the prostitutes they were supposedly there to arrest.

About the complaint filed against the sheriff’s office alleging that Arpaio and his staff forced women to sleep in their own menstrual blood, assaulted pregnant women, and ignored accusations of rape.

That even his choice in what he allowed the inmates to watch on the communal televisions was calculated to dehumanize them. The three channels available were C-span, the Food Network to rub salt (which was banned) in an open wound, and the Weather Channel. When a British reporter asked, why the Weather Channel, Arpaio replied, “So these morons will know how hot it’s going to be while they are working on my chain gangs.”

That his practices were criticized by the United States Department of Justice, Amnesty International, the American Civil Liberties Union; the Arizona Ecumenical Council; the American Jewish Committee; and the Arizona chapter of the Anti-Defamation League. The National Commission on Correctional Health Care withdrew the health accreditation of Maricopa County’s jails for failing to meet its standards.

That Federal Judge Neil V. Wake ruled in 2008, and again in 2010, that the county jails violated the constitutional rights of inmates in medical and other care-related issues. A lawsuit brought by the ACLU alleged that "Arpaio routinely abused pre-trial detainees at Maricopa County Jail by feeding them moldy bread, rotten fruit and other contaminated food, housing them in cells so hot as to endanger their health, denying them care for serious medical and mental health needs, and keeping them packed as tightly as sardines in holding cells for days at a time during intake."

That, as reported in the New Yorker, a federal investigation found that deputies had used stun guns on prisoners strapped in “restraint chairs.” The family of one man who died after being forced into the restraint chair was awarded more than six-million dollars in federal court. The family of another man killed in the restraint chair got $8.25 million in a pre-trial settlement.

That this deal was reached after the discovery of a surveillance video that showed fourteen guards beating, shocking, and suffocating the prisoner; and after the sheriff’s office was accused of discarding evidence, including the crushed larynx of the deceased. (In fact, many of the officers involved were promoted.)

That the threat of terrorists entering the U.S. through Mexico is a very real concern, but this is not Arpaio’s (or Trump’s) focus.

That this is where terrorists come from. That Sheriff Joe (and his pardoner) do more to radicalize these people than any deep web recruiting site.

That Arpaio's office (read: the taxpayers of Arizona) has paid out more than $146 million in fees, settlements, and court awards due to misconduct and violations ordered by the sheriff.

That in July of 2017, Arpaio was convicted of criminal contempt of court, for repeatedly thumbing his nose in the judge’s face by ignoring the court’s orders (a crime which carried a maximum sentence of six months – far shorter than the length of stay of most of his victims). It was this conviction that the president pardoned.

Trump's callousness knows no bounds. In his own words, he said he had timed the pardon to gain maximum television views during Hurricane Harvey coverage. "In the middle of a hurricane, even though it was a Friday evening, I assumed the ratings would be far higher than they were normally."

I wanted to relate the immediate and overwhelming condemnation of the president’s action.

That the ACLU tweeted: “By pardoning Joe Arpaio, Donald Trump has sent another disturbing signal to an emboldened white nationalist movement that this White House supports racism and bigotry.”

That community organizer Maria Castro said, “The people who actually deserve this pardon are the people who were in Tent City and who had to endure the 120-degree summer heat and who were victims of [Arpaio’s] rage.”

That Harvard law professor Noah Feldman wrote that such a pardon is “an assault on the federal judiciary, the constitution and the rule of law itself.”

That Greg Stanton, the Mayor of Phoenix, Arizona, urged that Arpaio not be granted a pardon because it would make it "clear that [the president's] true intent is to inflame emotions and further divide our nation." He further called the pardon a “slap in the face to the people of Maricopa County, especially the Latino community.”

Meanwhile, Republican congressman Paul Gosar said, the pardon “reflects the very reason we voted President Trump into the Oval Office, to uphold the rule of law.”

To date, the Sheriff has disavowed all wrongdoing, and has never apologized to victims or their families.

I wanted impeachment proceedings to begin at once for the evil thing that occupied the White House.

I wanted turmoil. I wanted violence. I wanted bloodshed in the streets.

But then I thought, okay, yah, I’m a citizen, I’m incensed at what happened, but I don’t have a dog in this pony show; and by the time I researched this vengeful, criminal scumbag, it was already yesterday’s news.

3. Is it worth every utensil in the drawer?

In 1993, a woman named Christine Miserandino, strove to find a way to explain to her best friend what it was like to live with a chronic illness. They were in a restaurant, and she seized on the idea of comparing the amount of effort it took her to get through the day, to holding a cluster of spoons in your hand, and taking away one spoon for every step it takes a person with a chronic illness to function.

Miserandino lives with lupus, a chronic autoimmune disease which causes the immune system to attack the body’s healthy cells. Transverse Myelitis, from which I suffer, is also an autoimmune disease. Miserandino wrote an article about the experience, which quickly became the go-to metaphor for chronic illness.

Miserando wrote, “I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many "spoons" people waste every day? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted spoons and I chose to spend this time with you.”

I'm not a news bureau. I don't have reporters to investigate stories. I don't have an intern to do research. I don't have a graphics person to supply art. I don't have an editor to make sure I don't sound like an idiot. I'm one, old, crippled guy in Somonauk, Illinois, trying to stay sane in an insane universe.

Writing is a physically, mentally, and emotionally taxing activity for me. I have a limited amount of spoons per day, and I chose to spend them with you.

“The Spoon Theory,” by Christine Miserandino:

https://butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/

Showered With Love

Great birthday! Apple pancakes for breakfast, homemade chili for dinner, and Steve's Easy Cheesecake* for dessert. All prepared by my loving wife Shellie, and son Nikolaus. I can't believe Shellie fit 59 birthday candles on my slice.

The highlight of the day was a haircut, shave, and shower. It may not seem like much to you, but it uses up all my physical ability for the day. Be that as it may, thank you all for the well wishes. Wonderful seeing everyone's names and giving me the chance to think of you.

I also enjoyed The Orville, Seth MacFarlane's tribute to a certain space-themed TV franchise. It featured all the humor underlying the originals. I will tune in again.

My one regret is that I didn't get the one thing I really wanted for my birthday - "The Expendables" trilogy on Blu-ray.

*Steve's Easy Cheesecake recipe:
http://sjdgoingonrecord.blogspot.com/2015/02/spread-little-love-today.html