A bit of sad news: my grandfather, Steward Bernd, died last week. He was 91. He had been unwell for several years. Poor circulation led him to lose a leg in the 90's. The other leg was lost in June. Needless to say, his quality of life for the better part of a decade was not great.

While in the hospital for the second amputation, doctors discovered that he had a 8.5cm embolism on his aorta. I've been told that these embolisms typically rupture at 4cm. Given his general condition and advanced age, it was decided that nothing could be done for him other than to send him home to rest comfortably in the care of my uncles and grandmother.

During the funeral, he was honored for his service in World War II. He described it to me some months ago as filing a lot of index cards in London while trying not to get hit by falling V-1 rocket bombs. The Army sent a sergeant (Grade E-7 for aficionados) to perform a final tribute. He presented my grandmother with the flag that had been draped on his casket "on behalf of the President of the United States and a grateful nation".

It's hard to be sad for Poppy. Like I said, he had lived to a very advanced age and was not in great shape. He led a pretty good and, I might add, blameless life. He had it all: a good upbringing, a long marriage with many children, nice house in the suburbs, loyal dog, member of the Kiwanis, the whole bit. You could do a lot worse than having been Steward Bernd. I think that's why the reception afterward had such a light feel — celebrating a life well lived.

I decided to jettison some of the flotsam and jetsam of my on-line life by de-friending a bunch of boys who proved to be users and/or losers. So long, suckers! "No second chances. I'm that sort of a man."

I got an iPhone. So far it has met, and even exceed, my expectations. The sound quality is excellent for calls, as well as music and videos. The screen is great, and the keyboard is good once you get accustomed to typing on glass. I feel it is truly a device that I will carry everywhere religiously. I only wish it had an AIM client -- a feature that is probably in the works for some future release.

You may recall how I've bitched and moaned lately about how my Xbox was slowly dying of Ring of Light disease, and on the even of Halo 3, too. It turns out that there is an ingenious, though temporary, fix that has put me back in the fight. It's called the Towel Trick. You wrap your dying Xbox 360 in a towel or blanket, turn it on, and leave it for 20 minutes. Come back, turn it off, unwrap it, turn it back on, and it will possibly work. As stupid as all that sounds, it did work! (The heat trapped in the console causes the solder on the connections to flow slightly, repairing broken connections.) I'm told that this reprieve will last anywhere from three days to two weeks --plenty of time to finish the fight with the Covenant and the Flood.

So I'm on this El train with Sebastian. We're seated behind a couple of male Muslims wearing these ridiculous bright purple clothes. We're talking about boys and having a good time -- nothing crazy, but no doubt that people could here us. As is often the case with the sanctimonious, one of the two Muslims decides to say something as he's getting off the train. "You need to think about your life," he said. "You need to think about your clothes!" Sebastian retorted, laughing. To which I added, "You look like the Grimace." A totally lolsome time was had by all, except the abashed Muslim with the terrible fashion sense.

Things were very desperate at the conclusion of the previous episode, and they start even worse in the season finale episode. It begins with a computer read-out screen -- presumable on an alien spaceship -- giving a warning that Sol 3 was now off limits, and its natives facing extinction. This is all due to The Master and his mysterious henchmen, the "Toclafane". Six billion of the sphere-shaped Toclafane machines fell to Earth one day and The Master took over the world.

A year later, with half the human race dead and the survivors reduced to slavery, there is only one hope left.

Her name is Martha Jones.

There's very little more I can say without this becoming utterly spoilerific, so I will stick to generalizations.

In all, the plot was very intense and gripping. My fears about the origins of the Toclafane were realized, and I literally recoiled in horror at them, for they have traded too much to stay alive. (More on this after its US broadcast.) One of the themes that recurs throughout Doctor Who is summed up in the phrase, "Everything has its time, and everything ends," and we see in the Toclafane one of the possible consequences of fighting against an inevitable end.

Martha really comes into her own here, even more so than in "Human Nature / The Family of Blood", as the freedom-fighting heroine who saves the world. It's her that makes possible the moving moment when the remnants of humanity, united, empower The Doctor to stop The Master.

With history restored to its proper course, we learn a startling revelation about Jack, which probably means that we've seen the last of him in Doctor Who. Thank goodness for Torchwood, though! And Martha makes her farewell as the strong young woman we've always known her to be.

Yes, Freema Agyeman is leaving the series as a full-time cast member -- for now. She will appear in several episodes of Torchwood, and will also rejoin Doctor Who in the middle of the next season. But the Doctor will soon have a new companion in the TARDIS.

My nit picks: I felt the music was rather overblown in places. No mention of Martha's brother, Leo. Jack's farewell is awkward, though his revelation is startling enough to excuse that.

All in all, a satisfying conclusion to another season of Doctor Who.

Doctor Who airs on SciFi with the beginning of its third season this Friday, July 6, at 8pm EST.

It returns to BBC One with the special episode "The Voyage of the Damned" at Christmas.

The next episode in this season-ending triptych picks up from "Utopia" without missing a beat. The tension builds as The Doctor, Martha, and Captain Jack realize that they've returned to 21st century Britain (probably in 2008 or 2009), and "Harold Saxon" -- aka The Master -- has just been elected Prime Minister. For Martha, the danger represented by The Master becomes deeply personal when he has his security forces round up her mother, father, and sister. (Her brother, Leo, avoids capture by being out of London on a holiday and is warned to stay away by Martha.)

This is, undoubtedly, the best of Russell T Davies' writing on the series. Clearly he's either improved or he's devoted more time to polishing these scripts, because he's proved himself capable of turning out real clunkers ("Aliens of London" leaps instantly to mind). Perhaps, I might wryly surmise, Paul Cornell and Stephen Moffat are offering him pointers.

Several themes that are prominent in the revival of Doctor Who recur here. First, and foremost, is that The Doctor's actions have consequences. In "World War III", The Doctor tells Rose that Harriet Jones will be a three-term PM and usher in Britain's Golden Age. Yet, only a few months (chronologically) after Harriett Jones's rise to power, the Doctor succeeds in having her removed from office in a fit of pique over the shooting down of the Sycorax space ship ("The Christmas Invasion"). The Doctor radically altered history, and in removing the once-popular Harriett Jones from office he paved the way to allow "Harold Saxon" to take control of the British government.

Gallifrey, The Doctor's home planet, returns as a topic of conversation and is visualized in the new series for the first time. The thread of discussing Gallifrey began in "The Runaway Bride" and continued in "Gridlock". We are treated to a lush CGI pan over the mountainous terrain of the home world of the Time Lords and the massive, domed Citadel that was their home. We see a couple of nameless Time Lords, as well, wearing the same costumes pioneered in the classic series. ("The Deadly Assassin", "The Five Doctors", etc.)

The most fascinating character is, of course, The Master. He's regenerated and entrenched in Earthly power. He starts his first Cabinet session by murdering the Cabinet. He takes a perverse glee in murder, more so than his previous incarnations. His reincarnation is satisfactorily if briefly explained as being a component of the Time Lord offense in the Time War against the Daleks.

And all the time, awake, asleep, in thought, in action, he hears them. The drums. The sound of drums, drumming in his head. Calling him to war. Calling him to murder. Calling him to unspeakable evil. [i]dum-dum-dum-dum, dum-dum-dum-dum, dum-dum-dum-dum...[/i]

This episode has a sincere fault: there's not nearly enough of Captain Jack, who serves more as an enabler rather than an actual character in this part of the story. I hope that this will be rectified in the next, and final, episode.

Next week: The Doctor contends for the fate of the Earth as The Master orders the murder of the entire human race. Which of them will be "The Last of the Time Lords"?

When I wrote about "42", a thought struck me. The current series (what Americans call a season) of Doctor Who has been good. Good, but not great. In truth, I feel we have been spoiled by the excellent writing of the previous two series. Mind you, they both had their rough spots. But the drama, humor, pathos, and sheer excitement of the Rose Tyler era had become muted in episodes one through seven in the 2007 series.

That is no longer the case.

Now that the character of Martha Jones has been firmly established, as is her relationship with the Doctor, as well as the Daleks dealt with for another season, the series kicked into high gear with the two part story "Human Nature" and "The Family of Blood". An adaptation of Paul Cornell's original Doctor Who novel with the same title as the former, the story tells how the Doctor uses a machine inside the TARDIS to hide from the Family. The Family are a group of four aliens who are hunting the Doctor, hoping to steal his remaining regenerations so that they can become immortal.

To aid in the disguise, the TARDIS not only makes the Doctor biologically human, but overwrites his personality with a "cover personailty". He assumes the guise of a boarding school teacher in Britain of 1913 -- the last summer of peace before the Great War.

Everything that the Doctor is has been transcribed magically into a device that looks like an ordinary pocket watch, save for the elaborate circular Gallifreyan glyphs on its face. When opened, the Doctor will return. But "Dr. John Smith", the Doctor's alter ego, is starting to develop a life of his own, much to Martha's chagrin (she assuming the role of "Dr. Smith's" maid so that she can keep an eye on him and the watch). She becomes quite upset when the Doctor falls in love with the school nurse and not with her.

Science fiction is often at its best when it asks uncomfortable questions. For example: if the Doctor returns, isn't that the same as "murdering" John Smith? John Smith certainly thinks so, and David Tennant's performance in the dual role is very moving and well-played.

The next story, "Blink", come from lauded Doctor Who scribe Steven Moffatt. The author of "The Empty Child", "The Doctor Dances", and "The Girl in the Fireplace" takes a turn at this year's so-called "Doctor Lite" episode. This innovative format is the child of necessity. To both have a slightly less hectic schedule for the principal actors, and to fit the Christmas episode into the 13-episode series budget, there is an episode in every series that includes only a few minutes of the Doctor and his companion. Last year's "Doctor Lite" episode, "Love & Monsters", proved to be a fan favorite with its humorous look at fandom. This year's story, though, takes a serious turn that is reminiscent of the most recent crop of horror movies from Japan. The end result, in Mr Moffatt's hands, was an episode that thrills and chills viewers, and will have them hopping out of their seats at its clever surprises.

This week's story was "Utopia". It was the long-awaited "beginning of the end" of this series -- not that we necessarily with to say goodbye to the Doctor for another year, but because of what was known to be coming. First, Captain Jack Harkness has returned to the TARDIS, and John Barrowman proves to be as delightful and sexy in the role of the immortal, sexually insatiable adventurer as ever. Once he and the Doctor catch up (even though it's clear the Doctor had hoped to avoid Jack), the scene is set on a barren planet in the year 100 Trillion -- the end of the universe, with the last survivors of humanity clinging to life and holding out hope of a last haven in space called Utopia. Their compound is beset by the animalistic Futurekind, who bear a passing resemblance to Serenity's Reavers. The humans have built a huge space ship to carry them to Utopia, but their greatest scientist, Professor Yana (played by the ever-excellent Sir Derek Jacobi of I, Claudius fame) has been unable to get the launch system to work with the tools and materials at his disposal. Thankfully, the Doctor is able to set things to rights in short order.

The space ship plot is, in truth, the smallest part of this episode that never stops to breathe for even a second. It's not too long into the episode that Martha discovers that Professor Yana has a pocket watch just like the Doctor's, too. Martha tries to tell the Doctor, but he refuses to believe it. When he does finally come around, he's been so pre-occupied with getting the space ship off of the ground that he's too late to keep Yana from opening the watch. When he does, the kindly and brilliant Yana is replaced with the most insidious and evil of all the Doctor's many enemies: the renegade Time Lord who is the enemy of all life, The Master.

Holmes had Moriarty. Bond had Blofeld. But a more accurate analogy: the Archangel Michael had Lucifer. Such is the extent and depth of the Master's evil.

The Professor's lab assistant is alarmed when this change overtakes the Professor she knew. The Master, back in force, tries to kill her with an electrical cable. He doesn't quite finish the job right, though, and she shoots him before expiring. The Master makes his way into the Doctor's TARDIS and locks the door behind him and even turns the dead bolt which the TARDIS's key cannot open, as the Doctor tries furiously to get in. As a Time Lord, The Master does not die from his wound. Instead he regenerates into a new, younger form, portrayed by actor John Simm. He cheerfully bids the Doctor enjoy the end of the Universe while he dematerializes in the stolen TARDIS. The Doctor stands, helplessly watching, while Captain Jack and Martha try to hold back a rampaging mob of Futurekind.

And so concludes the antepenultimate portion of the new Doctor Who's first-ever three-part story. The story continues next week with "The Sound of Drums", and concludes on June 30 with what is sure to be the absolutely spectacular "The Last of the Time Lords".

Unanswered Questions:

- What happened to The Master's TARDIS? He must have had one at some point, because he would have used its Chameleon Arch to become human.
- When did The Master become human: before or after the Time War in which the rest of his race (except the Doctor) perished?
- What did The Master do during the Time War, if anything?
- Did the Face of Boe know that Professor Yana was The Master, specifically, or just a random Time Lord? (Yana, by the way, proves to be an acronym for the Face of Boe's secret: "You are not alone".)
- Much emphasis in the story was laid on the Doctor's severed hand that Captain Jack carries with him ("The Christmas Invasion") and on a flashback of Rose from "The Parting of the Ways" where she absorbs the Time Vortex to become a superbeing. How are these events related to the rest of the story?
- How will the Doctor, Martha, and Captain Jack find out where The Master has gone? (We already know, of course, because it's pretty clear from the previous stories that The Master assumes the guise of politician Harold Saxon and becomes Prime Minister of Great Britain.)
- I don't expect these questions to be answered at all, but: in the classic series, the Doctor noted that The Master had used up all twelve of his regenerations and had resorted to stealing bodies to survive. When did he come by a new Time Lord body? How did he escape from the heart of the Doctor's TARDIS, as seen in the 1996 television movie that was The Master's last appearance on screen?
- Not a question, but nifty. Just like John Smith's watch which, when held by Tim Latimer, when Professor Yana holds his watch he hears the voice of the personality inside. You can plainly hear the voices of two of the actors who played The Master in the classic series. It features a speech given by Roger Delgado, and the evil chuckle of Anthony Ainley.

Cinderella Arrives at the Ball

Saturday, June 2, was the official Gay Day at the Magic Kingdom, the premier theme park at the Walt Disney World Resort in Orlando, Florida. I, it is true, have a near and dear place in my heart for Disneyland, the original Magic Kingdom in sunny Anaheim, California. Disneyland was, of course, Uncle Walt's Baby — the first and original Magic Kingdom that he devoted the last 15 years of his life to. He walked its streets and tinkered with the engines of its vehicles, often in plain view of guests who failed to recognize the grease monkey working on the antique cars that still run up and down its Main Street, USA. But Orlando's Magic Kingdom, which Walt didn't live to see, bears his stamp, and provides a more than acceptable — and indeed, delightful — substitute for its West Coast cousin.

The day was curtained thickly with grey, threatening clouds; and indeed the morning brought on-and-off rain. The rain was well and gone by 1pm, however, replaced by an overcast sky and a breeze. The customary heat and humidity of a Central Florida late Spring had vanished, leaving only this refreshing and cool atmosphere to enjoy the park in. Having risen late, I arrived at the park at a little after 11am, long after the opening of the park. Main Street seemed curiously deserted, no doubt because of the then-iffy weather. As I headed toward Cinderella Castle, a family came walking toward me very quickly and past. As they went by, I overheard the middle-aged mother of the family huff, "Why do those people have to all come at once?", clearly in reference to the red-shirted homo-, bi-, and other flavors of -sexuals who had come to the park en masse.

Before I continue on in my description of the many wonderful and magical moments that made up this very fine day, let us pause for a moment to consider the above statement repeated here: "Why do those people have to all come at once?" This statement betrays the lady's prejudices quite clearly with only the most cursory of examinations. Anyone who is a member of any minority dreads those two words, "those people", no matter what manner of minority you are: of color, creed, religion, sexual orientation... what have you. It says, very succinctly, that you are a variety of person that has less value than other, more "acceptable" (in the speaker's opinion) people. Secondly, the right of homo-and-whatever sexuals to gather is dismissed. What the lady fails to understand is that typically, people such as myself and the thousands of others who attended the event are not always able to express ourselves freely in public — a romantic peck on the cheek can bring about an angry glare or even an a disgusted remark. I, often perceived as "straight-acting", have been fortunate to rarely be the target of discriminatory or inflammatory comments, but I have been in the company of people whose orientation is far more obvious, and to hear my friend be called a "faggot" in the street or on the subway simply for walking by or sitting down is a frustrating and anger-inducing experience -- experiences I've had as recently as the last week. It is often glibly said that discrimination against gay people is the last acceptable prejudice; when a 10-year-old boy yells "faggot" after you while walking home from the grocery store, the full implication of the phrase becomes more obvious. Who taught that young man to dislike and despise a whole class of people in that way? Who or what set that hate into his heart? It becomes achingly clear that the struggle for tolerance and equal rights for non-straight people is hardly yet won.

Aside from that minor unpleasantness, I found the other people in the parks -- both straight and gay -- to be courteous, friendly, polite, and well-behaved. As the day wore on and the park saw more people arrive as the weather improved, families of the traditional and non-traditional varieties mingled, talked, laughed, and shared moments. They watched the 3:00pm parade together; and they ooh'd and aah'd and cheered at the right places at the mischievous goings-on at Captain Jack Sparrow's pirate training camp by the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, which features an exquisite character actor as the wobbly buccaneer. If there was off-color or sophomoric humor, in spoken word or on t-shirts, from a small minority of the gay people in attendance, I can guarantee as an observer over the last several days it was no more than I've seen many of the young straight men and women I've seen in ride queues engage in. Good taste, I've discovered to my annoyance, is a rare commodity everywhere and everyplace.

I had traveled to Orlando on my own. Why, you may ask? First of all, as a rather pricey birthday gift to myself on this anniversary of my 29th birthday. But I also know that by and by, gay people tend to be a rather friendly lot, and I knew that if I was receptive and reactive that I would meet new people and make new friends. And that's exactly what I did within half an hour of arriving at the Magic Kingdom. I stood in the queue for Buzz Lightyear's Space Ranger Spin, a fascinating and very fun combined ride and game in one attraction. I heard the party behind me discussing it and decided to share with them a tip I'd read: "Hey, if you hold down your trigger, you'll get a higher score," I said. The party: a gay couple, a young straight lady, and her mother, took my advice to heart, and we chatted as we approached the boarding area. We went through the ride and compared scores afterward. I lost track of the group after the ride, but I knew that I would be able to make more friends and have more magical experiences as I went through the day. I was aided, in part, by a pinback button I wore; an official Happy Birthday button with my name on it, procured from Town Hall. (Disney's theme parks distribute this and other buttons commemorating special occasions at the guest services offices; they include Happy Birthday, First Visit, Anniversary, and Just Married; I may be missing one or two.) My name was written by the Town Hall cast member on the button, so everywhere I went, Cast Members and park guests would say, "Happy Birthday, Chris!" as I went by. One Cast Member went a step further; she offered me my choice of seating on "Pirates of the Caribbean". (Up front, of course!)

As time went by, and I found myself between attractions, I indulged in some food cravings that I could let myself indulge in heartily as I've done such a great job on my fitness regimen in recent months. The exquisite smoked turkey legs available in Frontierland are not only delicious; they're also very filling and zero carb! I also had not one, but two Mickey-shaped ice cream bars of premium vanilla ice cream covered in a thick layer of frozen milk chocolate; they were divine.

I was just heading back to go on PotC for the second time that day when I ran into my friends from Buzz Lightyear again. There was a more formal introduction this time around; the young lady was also called Chris; her mother was Carol Ann. Their friends, the gay couple who took an instance liking to me, were Robert and Jere (pronounced like "Jerry"). There was a good deal of fawning over me by this couple due to my youthful good looks; indeed, when they asked me my age and I told them to guess, the answer they returned was "22". Were they ever surprised to learn the truth! It did not in any way lessen their ardor. In the company of these fine people, though, we had a great time riding PotC, Space Mountain, the Tea Cups, and even the Indy Speedway (which is otherwise the lamest ride ever if you're older than 12). As the sun began to set we went about securing a spot from which to watch both the nighttime parade and the fireworks. Carol Ann, an older lady, needed an electric chair vehicle (ECV) to get around in, so we were able to secure a spot for folks in ECVs and wheelchairs at the great cenral plaza directly in front of Cinderella's Castle. As we waited for the entertainment to begin, we made the acquaintance of a young and very attractive gay couple; they had met only a few months before at Epcot. One was a local, the other from Spain, and the young Spaniard, Robert, and the young American, Drew, had fallen in love almost at once. Robert had just moved to the United States so they could be together. The elder Robert and Jere provided the young couple with sage advice on relationships, the key feature of which was to know when to say "Yes, Dear".

The SpectroMagic Parade, the successor to the long-running Main Street Electrical Parade, is a sight to behold. It features numerous complex and beautiful floats bedecked in hundreds of thousands of lights, many of which change color, thanks to fiber optics and other technologies. Floats that come down the street bedecked in white lights undergo an instant metamorphosis, exploding in dazzling rainbow colors. Mechanical and living characters are deployed throughout. Several of the Disney Princesses appear, as well as an enormous animated figure of the evil demon from the concluding act of Fantasia, the evil Chernobog.

I am not, as many will attest, sentimental by inclination, and dislike sappiness. But something quite magical happened as the parade went by, something which had an unexpected impact upon me that may be difficult to communicate. Cinderella went by in her pumpkin carriage shaped float, waving to all the people. She suddenly seemed to take notice of me, which I suppose was rather easy since I was right up front. She must have been my Happy Birthday button, because she looked directly at my, mouthed words that were clearly "Happy Birthday", and blew me a kiss.

I'm a full grown man. I can't be mistaken for a child, not even in the semi-darkness that the parade moves in. I had known, intellectually, that Disney theme park characters, including "face characters" that don't wear a mask, interact with adults as well as children. But to be suddenly noticed by this beautiful young woman, playing the role of a fairy tale princess, and to have her recognize my special occasion, was emotionally overwhelming and would on its own have been the perfect cap to a very special day. She didn't have to do it, but she did. That is what they call "Disney Magic".

The parade concluded, and the young couple went off to enjoy one last ride on Space Mountain. Or own merry band broke up after the fireworks. I returned to my hotel, arriving at about 11:30pm, and resolved to enjoy the evening's officially-sponsored pool side party. I met some new friends there that I had made the previous night, a group of students from MIT: Manny, Adlai, and Steven. I had squeezed myself into the PotC-inspired "I <3 Pirates" baby doll tee that I had bought at Disneyland in November; I had actually shrunk in size to a point where I could wear it and look great, which no doubt got me noticed. I came to realize that I was actually intimidatingly good-looking to the men in attendance, which for me is a new experience.

As we danced I made the acquaintance of several more attractive, hip, young people who thought I was in my early 20's. Among them was a devastatingly handsome man named James, who came to the party dressed in the garb of a male belly dancer. Indeed, belly dancing is one of his hobbies, and for some minutes we talked about it, about what he did for a living, and so on and so forth. I told him he was really cute, and he was -- with a really great body, a nice face, and floppy brown hair.

Fast forward two hours later, and we were exchanging phone numbers.

Without a doubt, my Gay Days Saturday was absolutely magical. I had a great time, filled with memorable moments; I met great new people, and make a wonderful new friend who I hope to see more of in the future. I would have to say that, as far as vacations go, this was an 11 on a scale of 1 to 10, and I will have to seriously consider attending in 2008.

It's been a while, hasn't it? I've been terribly busy, I really have. The end of the semester seized upon me like a pack of hounds upon a bloody fox. I came through with a pair of B+'s to my credit, though. I was, as you might expect, rather pleased. My current school work is interesting. After three days I had to abort a "philosophy" class that was in truth an ambush by statistics, as incredible as it may sound, and without prior warning I was expected to know about mathematical concepts that I had never heard of -- or, if I had, they have been lost to me in the 15 or so years since I've had formal education in math. With little time to spare I fled to the refuge of the history of Ancient Greece, which I expect to do well in.

The hastening approach of the Back-To-School Sale also weighs heavily upon me, as my vacation also looms. But as I had planned, the preparations for the Sale (my end of it in any case) are nearly complete, and will be complete today. I will be able to go away tomorrow with a clear conscience and with the satisfaction of having performed a job well done.

The Tudors is a pleasant diversion, even if its historical accuracy is only slightly better than, say, 300 and its armies of Persian mutants.

More evidence that some people will believe anything, even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. It makes little difference, it seems, that noble thinkers have worked long and hard to reconcile Darwin and Genesis, permitting that ancient text to live with dignity in an interpreted semi-retirement.

Is it me, or do we live in an increasingly intolerant world? Not only do I have to worry about Islamofascists wanting to blow me up for being, like, Western and all, but assholes like this don't want me to enjoy Splash Mountain. A quick review of this page will show it to be little more than a non-sensical rant, but it appeals to a certain variety of steely-eyed fanatic the way that dogs beg for (so TV tells me) the taste of real bacon.

Everyone is guilty of intolerance on some level or other, in our personal choices and habits. I admit to not being overly fond of proselytizers, no matter who they're shilling for. I also can't say I'm fond of closet bigots, like the person who posted this. I wonder if her 'friend' (ed: I'm making "air quotes" with my fingers here) knows that "coloreds" will be in attendance, as well. The many replies that add up to "relax and get a grip" are, however, encouraging.

And then, in the words of the immortal Penn Jillette, there's this asshole. Being, as they say, on the 'wrong side of 30', I run into age discrimination within "The Family" quite a bit. Ironic, as in person I usually pass for being between 24 to 28, according to my informal and unscientific survey of people born after the Carter Administration.

If I sound bitter, be advised that I'm not -- but I am frustrated. I feel, for example, that people who are dating invest too much into the "type" they're looking for so as to exclude all possibilities. I, myself, have never invested much stock into type: so long as you're reasonably fit and intelligent, nothing else really matters. It would be true to say that I've dated persons of every shade of the human rainbow, from the most pallid to the darkest brown, and of many creeds. I feel myself a better person for the experience, being opened up to new opportunities for learning and understanding than I would otherwise have been able to enjoy.

This, perhaps, is the source of my frustration with young gay men like the one referenced above: if you do, Dalek-like, prefer only the company of your own kind, how will you ever experience the full richness of life? In truth, you cannot, and you will end up all the poorer for it.

Truth be told, I ended up being a bit disappointed in this year's Dalek outing. By the opening of its second part, "Evolution", it was already clear what trajectory the story was on. There would indeed be no evolution, and a slippery Dalek would escape once more to fight another day. All in all, an uninspired story with a lavish production.

Not unlike this week's offering, "The Lazarus Experiment", which is so predictable in a sort of paint-by-numbers kind of way. It wouldn't be difficult to imagine this kind of story being aired during the 60's and 70's hey day of mad scientist stories on Doctor Who. The only redeeming qualities are a good performance by writer/performer Mark Gatiss (author of Series One's "The Unquiet Dead"), some fun with the Joneses, and the menacing presence (off-camera) of Mr. Saxon. Harold Saxon is the Doctor's nemesis for the year, and unless you've been living under a rock, he's clearly __________ returned to wreak more mischief.

He's fire and ice and rage. He's like the night and the storm and the heart of the sun.

That about sums the evil that is __________ up quite nicely.

The trailer that was shown at the end of "The Lazarus Experiment" offers a promising glimpse of the rest of the series. Following the sure to be dreadful Eurovision song contest, Doctor Who returns on the 19th with "42", and then the eagerly anticipated two-parter that begins with "Human Nature".