Forgive me, dear readers. It has been five months since my last blogumn. There has been much speculation as to where I have been, and I will simply say NONE OF IT is true (unless you assumed I am right where you left me, in which case, yes it’s all true). I was approached to write a Fierce Anticipation this week, and despite a sinus infection of biblical proportions (did they have matzo ball soup in biblical times?), I bring it to you. I rise from the NyQuil ashes like a mythical phoenix with a stuffy beak. So kick of your shoes, throw on some Foghat, and pour yourself a mojito/margarita/Arnold Palmer/water(?). This Fierce Anticipation is all about summer time, and the living is nerdy. Fiercely Anticipating  Previously, I spoke about how here in South Florida, our changing of the seasons is about as noticeable as a mouse fart (read: not very). The one season we do notice quite well is Summer. You can best notice summer ANY TIME YOU WALK OUTSIDE when you are hit with one of two things: 1) a crushingly severe heat and humidity like being wrapped in a blanket that is both on fire and damp at the same time, or 2) a thunderstorm that rivals The Tempest, which we affectionately call “3 pm.” Despite it being hotter than the devil’s taint, summer in South Florida is something I do, oddly, enjoy. Now, I say “oddly” because, genetically speaking, I am well insulated (hairy and chubby) which does not bode well for the tropical, near equatorial summers of South Florida. I’d be bet suited for a colder, more Northern climate. Like a viking, or a bear. My summers, however, are amazing for me for several reasons (if you’ll indulge me...

Happy New Year and Welcome back! Before we begin, remember: this may be the FIRST entry of the LAST year of Fierce Anticipation, before the vengeful feathered-snake god Quetzalcoatl flies from on high, scorching the earth and summoning Cthulhu and the other ancient ones to wreak their unspeakable horrors unto mankind, until the skies become as black as satin cloth, and the Black Eyed Peas reign supreme… or, you know, not that.  Fiercely Anticipating Believe it or not, I am very much anticipating my new years resolutions. Ah yes, New Years Resolutions: the self-imposed, yet societally-enforced, tradition of setting unrealistic goals for oneself, and simultaneously setting yourself up for defeat. You inevitably reach the crushing realization that you, as always, SUCK at keeping resolutions. Each year, we make lofty goals to “lose 50 lbs (and keep it off!)” or “quit smoking, for real this time” or “stop buying from that convenience store down the street that I am confident is guilty of human trafficking, but is the only one on this side of town that carries Schwepp’s ginger ale.” We make these goals, and then we give up. We give up because we set the bar way to high. For the last several years, I have kept my goals realistic; open and ambiguous. When asked what my resolutions were, I’d say “This year, I will settle the score” or “show them all.” This usually resulted in the other person smiling politely, as I rubbed my hands together maniacally, magically dimming the lights around me while organ music crescendos. This year, I do have some actual goals; goals I am really Fiercely Anticipating because I genuinely will enjoy getting them done. And if you give a crap, here they are listed below (if not, I’ll...

A review 65 million years in the making In 1993, upon entering third grade (yes I just dated myself, big time), I was a dinosaur fanatic. All kids go through that dino-phase, but ultimately grow out of it. Not me. Spielberg and Chrichton instilled a morbid fascination of dinosaurs within me that summer, between the movie and novel versions of Jurassic Park. To this day, it is still one of my favorite films, and I have retained the bulk of my dino-knowledge. I could tell you which dinosaur was from what era, but not who competed in the last six Superbowls (I just tried this and embarrassed myself). So when I heard Spielberg was bringing Terra Nova to television, the inner nerd in me was very guarded, but excited (please note, my inner nerd looks exactly like my outter nerd). This Seems Familiar… Take the utopian image of children’s novels Dinotopia, sprinkle in some Lost in Space Robinson family, and filter it through the post-Lost television era. Brief Synopsis The year is 2149 and the planet is overrun with pollution and is a barren wasteland. Go figure. The government (I guess) has decided to send pilgrimages back in time to fix the planet… it’s actually never explained why they are going back other than the cryptic promise of the show: “The key to Earth’s survival lies 65 million years in the past.” Time out. By 2149, we have perfected time travel, but we can’t clean up our mess? That would be like if my cleaning lady had a degree in quantum mechanics but just can’t seem to get a handle on those streaky windows! Sorry, I promised my mom I wouldn’t talk about her in my writing. Save it for group. Alright, so we...