Though not for long: summer has finally arrived and the glorious madness it brings with it, has begun.

The answers I have sought on behalf of my love have not yet arrived. Medical science is maddening in its limitations, but we are in a better place nonetheless.

There is a ray of beautiful hope in our lives and so it is time to move forward. I will update you if necessary, friends, but for now, here is my much-delayed Man of Steel review, originally begun several days ago.

My mind remains under siege, and so my review has been structured thusly.

What can I say? The Hook will always find a way…

1)  This is not your grandfather’s Krypton.  Not by a long shot. This time around we’re treated to a lush alien landscape teeming with dragons and dinosaurs. “This is Krypton?” was my daughter’s first question and that about sums it up. Personally, I don’t think the departure will bother too many hardcore fans. I’m sure their anger arrived later on….

2)  This is not your father’s Jor-El.  When you bring Russel Crowe to the party, you give him something worthwhile to do, you let him flex his Gladiator muscles. In other words, you make his Jor-El a warrior as well as an academic. And so Kal-El’s daddy gets a few licks in before Krypton goes boom. 

Even after his world is space dust and kryptonite, Jor-El finds a way to bedevil main baddie General Zod – as a hologram with attitude and control over Kryptonian technology. Crowe even gets to share a scene with Amy Adam’s Lois Lane. (More on her later.)

3)  Kevin Costner gives Jonathon Kent a whole new mindset.  And it works. The single most powerful aspect of the early Man of Steel trailers? A single word uttered by Jonathon Kent.

The elder Kent is admonishing his son for risking the safety of his secret by saving classmates on a sinking school bus. “What was I supposed to do, let them drown?” a clearly-conflicted Clark asks.

Jonathon’s one word answer of “Maybe.” is a major much-needed shot in the arm to the franchise and it firmly establishes the kind of man Costner wishes to present to the audience. This Jonathon Kent is fully aware of just what his adopted son’s presence will mean to the world and he wants to keep his little boy shielded for as long as he can. Costner’s best performance in years by far.

4)  Henry Cavill should be proud of his performance.  What else can I say? personally, I preferred the disheveled  wandering Clark Kent in search of his identity to the polished, confident Superman, but that’s just me. The connections to Christ were a bit heavy-handed, but overall, Cavill was a great casting choice.

Of course, my daughter and I agree that after ten seasons of cutting his acting teeth on television’s Smallville, Tom Welling deserved a shot at the title, but you can’t have everything, can you?

5)  A stellar supporting cast makes all the difference.  Laurence Fishburne. Christopher Meloni. Diane Lane. Perfection.

6)  Forget everything you know about Superman.  Never mind the changes I’ve already highlighted, this film turns the established “Big Red S” mythology on its head, loads it into a rocket and sends it to the stars.

In its place is a Superman for a new generation. However, my daughter is a fangirl representative of that generation and she was not impressed with “Superman: 2013 Version”, to say the least.

“This is Superman?” was all she could say.

Personally, I enjoyed this new look and feel, but I’m an open-minded fan and not a hardcore purist.

7)  Amy Adams is a terrific actress, but…  She’s no Margot Kidder. Or Erica Durance, for that matter.

Adams is spunky as all get-up, but Lois isn’t spunky. Lois is a tomboy with a great rack. Lois is a scrapper. Lois is the girl you take to the strip club – and then home.

I just wan’t buying Amy Adams as Lois Lane. Not for a second. My daughter felt the same and she’s usually supportive of any and all female characters, especially in a superhero flick, but this Lois failed her litmus test.

8)  Man of Steel is the superhero version of LOST.  

The ABC drama was heavy on flashbacks and this latest outing of everyone’s favorite Kryptonian is no different. My daughter didn’t care for this plot device and many reviewers agree with her. I had no problem with the plot’s time travel aspect, but again, I’m open-minded and flexible.

9)  This film makes the Transformers series look like a Bible documentary.  Honestly, in all my years of watching superhero films I have never seen so much destruction.

• Smallville’s downtown core – which, let’s face it, is the entire town for that matter – gets pulverized.
• Entire blocks of Metropolis are devastated.
• Even the Kent farm takes a beating. 
• To top it all off, it only took three Kryptonians to cause all this mayhem!

This flick is an insurance adjuster’s nightmare committed to celluloid.

10)  Man of Steel may not be Iron Man, but it worked for me.  Was this film a slam dunk? Not quite, but I loved it nonetheless. And no, not just because it provided me with a much-needed break from my troubles and worries and it gave me a chance to bond with my daughter over the discussion that followed. She hated it. I didn’t. You can imagine how the ride home went.

I loved this film because it represents the beauty of an artist’s vision. This was a Superman movie for a new generation of viewers huddled together in the dark, waiting for a hero to appear and take them on a journey.

And he did. 

They may not be universal in their critiques of the final destination, but it’s the journey that counts. Man of Steel presented a flawed Superman, one who is willing to question his place in the world of vulnerable mortals and even violate his moral code if necessary.

No, this isn’t your grandfather’s Superman, kids, but that’s all right.

You need your own heroes anyway.

ONE MORE THING BEFORE YOU GO…

Because I love you all, here is Miss Four Eye’s review of this film.

CLICK HERE TO BE ENLIGHTENED AND AMUSED!

In one sentence intervals.

I hope that’s all right.

The winter has burned off – finally; let the anything-but-lazy days of summer begin.

Corporate drones, gathered for a golf tournament/bender have filled the hotel’s nooks and crannies… and bars, of course.

The raw, undiluted power of cheap cologne has burned my nasal passages beyond recognition.

On any other day, my mind would be racing with possibilities; posts would flow like Canadian maple syrup.

But this is no ordinary day.

And I’m not me any longer.

In my place, a shell, a clone, a doppelganger,  is wearing my uniform and living my lives, both as The Hook and Robert.

He means well, but his creative engine isn’t fully charged, his delivery is slow and he lacks the words to full assuage his wife’s fears.

But he’s still swinging, and in a world such as ours, where you have to battle for every inch, that says a lot.

He assisted a guest today, a techno-mage of the highest order, who traveled with the tools of his trade; fifty plastic shells capable of transferring one’s consciousness across the world wide web in an instant.

“I want to give you something… for the effort.” he declared as he reached into the pocket of his faded jeans.

A condom fell upon the dirty concrete of the valet deck with all the weight of a moon.

My doppelganger’s response was given quickly and without hesitation.

“I don’t know what you had in mind, sir,” he retorted, “But I prefer cash. In fact, I insist upon it.”

Maybe this guy’s not so far removed from the real deal after all.

I think I’ll let him take the reins for a while longer.

I have other tasks that require my attention.

My daughter and I have a date to see the first and greatest hero of them all grace the silver screen once more.

The advance reviews haven’t been kind, but I can’t wait to see Man of Steel – especially with my child.

When I was a mere boy, still soaked behind the ears, my grandmother plopped me on a bus and took me to the Pen Centre Cinemas in St. Catharines to see Superman The Movie.

A visitor from another world herself, I can only imagine what she made of Clark Kent’s odyssey from farm boy to big city reporter to hero.

But she sat there nonetheless, watching as her grandson remained transfixed from the first frame to the last.

It has always been and will remain one of my most treasured childhood memories.

And tonight the circle will continue.

Be well, friends.

The silver screen, my duaghter and the Last Son of Krypton beckon.

Today, my neighbor moved into his new home, a decision that was made for him, for good or ill, I cannot say.

We watched his daughter load a small suitcase into her car and set out for a new horizon, a new frontier.

Sometime between 5 – 5:15 p.m., he wandered away from the home.

We were returning home at 6:30 p.m. when we spotted the police car.

We burned the next hour driving around one of our city’s busiest tourist areas, frantically searching for a lost friend and neighbor. All around us, people mingled in the evening sun; laughter could be heard amongst the din of traffic and music erupted from cafes and restaurants.

But somewhere a man wandered. For him, the world no longer made sense.

After sixty minutes engaged in what appeared to be a futile effort, we returned home. As we pulled in the driveway, another neighbor approached.

“He’s been found. He’s having coffee at the home right now.”

A simple, yet welcome pronouncement, and one that didn’t signal the end of this tale.

Circumstances have revealed a deeper truth; our friend and neighbor appears to be truly lost.

That’s all I have for now, friends. Words still escape me. I’ll leave you with one last thought.

In the years to come, when our minds succumb to the ravages of age and begin to give up the ghost, I pray each of us has a guardian angel to ensure our future is, above all else, a safe one.

First is the intro of the music  and the slight anticipatory sway of my body.

First is the blank page and the eager word choice.

Suddenly, there is an intense looseness of my movements to the beat, and the feeling of fluidity sets in.

Suddenly, there is a spark of clear thought, and all distractions are mute.

I’m in synch with the sounds. Every pirouette, every move. All with explosive grace and erratic control.

READ MORE HERE…

This is a sad day on our street, our little corner of the world.

A man who has lived in the same house for over fifty years is being prepped for a move to a senior’s home.

Can you imagine spending fifty years in one place? This man raised a family in that house. He watched a child grow up. He  lost a spouse. He saw friends come and go, but eventually he began to lose one vital part of himself after another, until all that remained was unrecognizable, even to himself.

Soon he will leave forever and one day he will wake up and nothing will be the same again.

Ever.

I have no words of my own right now. Their absence vexes me, but my mind and body are needed elsewhere at the moment and so I leave you with Becca’s words.

Trust me, her efforts are worthy of your time. They’ve given me much to ponder. I hope you feel the same.

My brain is exploring a million possibilities simultaneously, everyone one of which sucks, by the way.

I feel like a man gripping a cursed monkey’s paw; my first wish was granted, but there may be a price….

A gigantic question mark is the first thing one sees when examining my wife’s current medical file and the only solution that will yield definitive answers may prove too  much for her sensitivities. Asking an individual who is terrified of needles to submit to a medical procedure involving a needle seemingly designed to take down a charging rhino is a tall order, but nevertheless, such a procedure is in my wife’s future. That’s assuming she follows the path medical science has laid out for her, that is.

In the meantime, I find myself in a quiet lobby awaiting the call to begin picking up bags for yet another bus. It is a seemingly ordinary day, except it isn’t. I appear to be the same man I’ve always been, except I’m not.

My focus lies elsewhere and so I must step back for a few days and divert my attention to someone who has earned my love, respect and devotion.

We’ll talk soon, folks. (I’ll be around sporadically; you never know when The Hook is coming to get you!)

In the meantime, here’s a brief post I had originally written for young Becca Cord for use on  her site, but seeing as how she’s busy sharing her cross-country adventures on 25ToFly, I’ll share it here.

WHERE SHOULD THE 25ToFly WORLD TOUR STOP NEXT?

I’ve been a fan of Becca for some time and so when I read of her recent travel woes I knew I had to spring into action.

Unfortunately, my spring has sprung lately (Seriously, Becca is the traveler and yet, I’m the one with terminal jet-lag.), however, I’m going to give it the old Canadian college try.

Personally, I think the lovely Miss Cord should travel more (Stop sobbing, Becca, you’re embarrassing yourself.), and truly explore all this wild and wonderful mudball of a planet has to offer.

Here are but a few destinations I think our host should grace with her distinctive presence.

1)  Merry Ole England: Long johns first appeared in England in the 17th century, and so what better location to kick-off a 25ToFly World Tour? I’m certain Becca could reduce those guards with the funny hats to drooling idiots. And let’s not forget, there’s still an unattached prince out there…

She’d be running that place in a week, give or take.

2)  Greece. Becca is a cat person. (Punish yourself soundly if you didn’t know that, and we’ll wait for you. All done? Good, don’t let it happen again.)

Moving on…

The oldest archaeological evidence for domesticated cats was found on the Greek island of Cyprus, where several animal species including cats were introduced by 7500 BC. And so a trip here would be a return to the Motherland, so to speak.

Incidentally, when I said “cat person”, I didn’t mean an actual feline/human hybrid, but rather a lover of cats… but not an actual lover of cats… I’m going to move ahead now, before my meds fully fade from my system…

3)  Beverly Hills: Kim Kardashian lives here. She desperately needs her ass kicked and I can’t do it. I’m willing to wait for Miss K to deliver her soon-to-be traumatized demon spawn, but then I’ll personally purchase the ticket for Becca and send her off to battle.

Admit it, even the pacifists among you surely wouldn’t object to seeing Becca and Kim rolling around – I’m going to stop typing before I wind up divorced….

4)  Vegas, baby!: Picture this: Becca, Miss Four Eyes, Jen from Jen and Tonic and Emily from The Waiting. In Sin City. With animals. And alcohol. And questionable pharmaceuticals.

Forget the Wolf Pack. Screw those chicks from Bridesmaids. I want to see this misadventure.

5)  Niagara Falls: Do I really need to explain? This town needs an enema!

And finally…

6) San Diego Comic Con: This is the BIG ONE; the mother of all cons, and I’d kill to see Becca’s reaction to all the fanboy madness unfolding in front of her. It would be like dropping a bag of cats in the middle of a dog show. 

I’m going to wrap it up, but the possibilities are endless; I’d like to revisit this concept and place Becca in alternate/fictional realities. Imagine “Fifty Shades of Ginger” or Wedding Crasher with Becca and Tracy Fulks. Pretty mind-boggling, right?

All right, I’m going to stop typing now…

ONLY 48 HOURS (GIVE OR TAKE) REMAIN, KIDS!

ONE MORE THING, FOLKS…

Here is the link to my latest NiagaraHub column, focusing, strangely enough, on Comic Con. Imagine that?

CLICK HERE!

Chelsea, here, Happy Monday, humans!

(It’s funny because you two-legged freaks hate this day because you drink and party too hard during the week. Weirdos.)

Here are a  link and a reblog to keep you occupied as you curse that demon alcohol and the day you were born.

Oh, and don’t bother swearing off the drink or making any deals with God to get you though the day; I tried to strike a bargain with The Big Guy, but cats are still roaming the Earth, so trust me, he’s too tough to deal with…

First off, The Hook’s latest column form NiagaraHub:

A Wake-up Call, From The Most Unlikely of Sources

It is an unseasonably, unbearably cold morning in Niagara and as I sit at my bell desk in an increasingly cold lobby, my mind wandered to distant, much warmer locales.

A bellman’s days are a blur of passing vehicles, sliding doors, ringing phones, ridiculous amounts of fast food consumed at an even faster pace, and an inordinate amount of unusual situations that really aren’t all that unusual in this business.

Most hotels go through employees faster than Lindsay Lohan goes through lawyers. And cars, for that matter.

The general tone and pace of the hotel biz wears you down, to say the least. I certainly feel the pressure at times.

And then I was reminded of just how fortunate I am to be right here, right now.

READ MORE HERE:

And now, a reblog from that cat lovin’, long john wearin’, plane ridin’ blogger, Becca:

She Likes The D

D as in Detroit of course.

I’m on a boat plane.

I could write a long post detailing every little thing I did while in the Detroit area. I could brag about my sweet Red Wings shirt Adam got me hooked up with, or cringe at all of the cereal Adam eats, but you would probably only get half way through reading before your Monday distracted you. So, instead I am going to give you an action packed and easy reading list of all the enchanted and bewildering things I experienced on my trip. You know, the highlights.

I also developed a game for you AND included ANOTHER video. Hold on to your desk. Here we go!

1. I sat by a gentleman named Dallas on my flight to Dallas. Coincidence? I think not.

2. “Helen” cut me off after my third Jack Daniel’s on my second flight. Apparently I was “done.”

3. Adam told me I smelled like a hobo when I got off of the plane, but then I used my hair to mesmerize him. Funny how hobo changes very quickly into fairy princess with one good hair flip.

4. I learned, reluctantly, that turning left on red is a apparently a thing in Michigan. Supposedly. Maybe.

5. It’s a lot easier to take pictures of people sleeping on planes than one would think:

READ MORE HERE, HUMANS!

That’s all for now, my tailless friends. See you soon…

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MYTH:  Beyond familial, social or employment bonds, each of these individuals has no real connection to the other.

FACT:  We are all connected. We simply don’t see it – most of the time.

I’ve met sinners, saints, lovers, loners, thieves, cops, politicians, activists, killers, saviors, hookers, nuns, hookers dressed as nuns, Catholic school girls, hookers dressed as Catholic school girls, cougars, spinsters, loving husbands, cheating dogs, loyal wives, cheating bitches, teachers, students, captains of industry, corporate drones, celebrities, nobodys, and the French. 

MYTH:  The preceding list covers every classification of soul I’ve encountered in my travels.

FACT:  The Hook is running on empty – as evidenced by this post.

MYTH:   The Hook wrote a book that instructed readers to lie, cheat and steal their way across the North American hospitality landscape.

FACT:  The Hook wrote a book chronicling his adventures in Hotel Land, but he was not the author of that other book written by a hotel employee, so please refrain from punching him in the face.

Intrigued? Allow me to explain by using both a myth and a fact.

FACT:  Bellmen make small talk while serving guests. Such pleasantries are not only an integral part of the hospitality industry, they are vital when “greasing the wheels” of a guest’s wallet, as they say.

MYTH:  Every guest reacts positively to chit-chat.

While escorting a white, golden-aged guest and his far-too young, ebony “companion” (Seriously, this chick just hatched. She probably left diapers behind as he was starting to wear them!), to his car, I was sucked into a vortex of stupidity.

“The housekeeper told us you were that guy who wrote a book on hotels. Is that true?” the gentleman inquired, a devilish look in his bloodshot eyes. The elevator suddenly felt very small…

I contemplated my response for a moment; my spidey sense was setting my nerves ablaze. (Incidentally, I would have loved to have seen just how that conversation began: “Here are some extra towels, sir, by the way did you know your bellman wrote a book?”)

But I digress. (I do that.)

I charged on, oblivious to the fate that awaited me.

“Well, I did write a book about my adventures, or rather, my misadventures as a bellman…”

He then reached out with one arm and attempted to punch me in the face with the other.

I kid you not. He actually tried to punch me in the face, but I moved far enough away to avoid his golden-aged fury.

My heart raced. My blood boiled. The air in the elevator thinned as all parties gasped and took stock of the situation. My brain was already assessing the situation and had devised a possible explanation for this seemingly-unprovoked attack, but the rest of my body was shaking like Charlie Sheen after being doused with holy water. 

Once things calmed down, I managed to separate fact from fiction and things became clear.

Turns out my new “friend” owned a chain of inns. As an industrious CEO, he kept track of stories concerning our shared industry and one story in particular caught his interest, and made his blood boil. Namely, 20/20′s exposé of the hotel biz. That story featured an author who not only wrote of his experiences in the hotel business, he shared “all the dirty, little secrets and tips hotel owners don’t want you to know.”

Turns out this author was right, months after the story ran this gentleman was still hopping mad, to the point of violence.

“I thought you were that (fill in the blanks with the filthiest language you can muster and you’ll be halfway there!), who wrote that damn book, buddy! Ever since that damn story ran, I’ve had people stealing robes, lying about eating from the mini-bars and pulling all kinds of shit!”

“That guy makes him pretty mad sometimes!” his pet chimed in. “You wouldn’t believe what I have to do to calm him down sometimes!”

(Actually sweet-cheeks, I know exactly what you have to do to calm him down.)

Despite her unintentional humor, the Nubian princess still hadn’t fully diffused the situation and so I let the gentleman believe we had a common enemy.

“Actually, sir,” I began, after gaining as much distance as the enclosed space would allow, of course “I’ve read the book in question and I’ve seen the 20/20 report and I understand your anger. I self-published my book and while it certainly hasn’t done well, I take pride in the fact that it doesn’t paint our industry as a meat grinder that chews up and spits out an employee’s soul. I bitch as much as the next guy, but I love my job and I would never encourage people to lie, cheat and steal while on vacation.”

He took stock of my statement. I think she was singing show tunes in her head; I swear I heard music.

My guest had one final statement in the form of a question: “All that guy does is bite the hand that feeds him. You don’t do that, do you?” 

Even if I did, I sure as hell wasn’t about to reveal that information and risk another attempted throttling.

“No, sir! I don’t write about the inner workings of the hotel.”

He sighed, his bought-and paid-for-girlfriend giggled, and I got off the elevator as fast as I could. I then looked back and let the other shoe drop.

“I write about the guests I encounter.”

“Oh!” his girlfriend blurted out, her artificial-and eternally-perky bosom jiggling all the while, “I guess we’ve given you plenty to write about, haven’t we?”

“Absolutely, miss!” was my two-word, cutting answer. 

I have to admit, I have a long way to go, but it feels good to be back.

MORE GOOD NEWS EVERYONE!

Here is a brand-spanking new post from a dear friend of ours. Take it away, Susie!

The Boob Report III – Post-op

That’s all for now, folks. Once again, thank you for being the best friends a man could ask for. My family will never forget your kindness and positive vibes.

LESS THAN 7 SLEEPS UNTIL NIAGARA FALLS COMIC CON 2013!

The battle may not be over – the price of peace is eternal vigilance – but so far the battlefield is calm and empty. We’re going to take it six months at a time, but so far so good.

My wife is an extremely private person and so I’ve had to walk a fine line – and I’m happy to do so – in terms of sharing our struggles with the perils of being mortal.

(Don’t tell her I said so, but there may be some merit to being a vampire beyond the great hair and the brooding that seems to attract females by the legions.)

Thank you to everyone for your positive wishes and virtual hugs.

The challenge now is making sure life gets back to normal – or at least what passes for normal in our lives. Let’s face it, the concept of normalcy is a myth we tell ourselves in order to sleep at night; there’s no such thing. But lately, we’ve been through the wringer emotionally and that takes its toll on a person’s physical form.

We both miss sleep. Among other things.

As for my life, I haven’t really been able to focus on writing and I have a pretty formidable literary mountain to scale in terms of my second book. I can answer comments and visit my favorite blogs with the best of them, but in terms of firing up my creative engine, I’m still stuck on the sidelines.

But to be honest, those things are irrelevant when weighed against my wife’s well-being. 

Still, my world keeps on spinning, regardless of whether or not I choose to chronicle its movements.

Case in point: I approached a vehicle yesterday afternoon and was confronted with a truly fearsome sight, one that sent chills racing through my man parts. My eyes began to melt as  I watched two elephantine forms melded together at the lips, each half struggling against the laws of nature, desperate to devour the other.

Forgive me, friends, but watching two obese people kiss is not healthy for a man’s libido. 

These folks were in their mid-fifties, married and still very much in animal love with each other, but man, did they damage my psyche. Time stood still – or maybe that was just me – but finally, they relented, and detached with an audible “pop”.

“Sorry, bud, we get carried away sometimes!” he bellowed, acknowledging my presence as his mate adjusted her tight-fitting clothes.

(I don’t know who he was trying to kid; there was no way these two could ever be carried away by anything less than tornado-force winds.)

As he spoke, a piece of gum repeatedly prairie dogged its way from his mouth, inspiring my retort.

“No problem, sir, I’m just glad you still have your gum!”

I don’t know why I said it exactly, but it worked; his colossal, sweaty form rumbled with laughter and his wife joined in.

I have to admit, I was relieved at the return of my bellman mojo.

AND NOW, A MOMENT OF SOLIDARITY FOR ONE OF OUR OWN…

Susie Lindau is one of my favorite bloggers, no scratch that, Susie Lindau is one of my favorite people in the world and she needs our good wishes, love and support right now.  But I’m going to let someone else do the explaining in a manner that far outshines my own.

Take it away, Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge…

Susie’s strongest Wild Ride

99 blogs on WordPress today

I have reversed that decision.

It is seven a.m. on a quiet Sunday morning that will soon be anything but.

In a short while, the hordes shall awaken from their alcohol-induced slumber and begin to crawl closer, ever closer to my station. Mistress Fate never fails to amaze/disappoint me with her offerings, and my faith in her never wavers. I know whatever is coming will be both dark and terrible and enlightening and joyful.

But I am ill-prepared for the coming onslaught, to say the least.

Sleep eludes me.

Peace of mind is not to be had.

My form aches with the many signs of mortal weakness.

There is little I can say without invading another’s privacy, but suffice to say, someone who has made my life worth living is being threatened by one of the most powerful forces in all of creation: the unknown.

We cannot fight the unknown, for it has no form.

We cannot understand the unknown or begin to fathom its motivations, for it has no tells to study.

The unknown cannot be tracked or hunted. We cannot face it head-on for we never know when it will strike or in what form. We cannot defend against it or truly prepare ourselves for its onslaught. All we can do is wait in quiet horror.

Tomorrow I will accompany the love of my life to a cold, sterile lab where she will be studied like an object rather than a warm, loving human being with hopes, dreams and plans for the future. I will hold her hand, smile brightly and tell her everything will be all right. I will do this because in my heart, I truly know that she will endure.

She has to.

I could ramble on about how she makes me feel whenever my mind fills with thoughts of her quiet grace, her angelic smile that fills my soul with peace whenever I gaze upon it. I could bring you to tears with tales of each of the moments her love has saved me from my own despair. I could even tell you of her endless moments of unassuming heroism – believe it or not, tending a man’s home and raising his child while he works is the greatest act of heroism one can display, in my humble opinion – but I won’t.

I simply want, no, I need to tell you what I feel at this moment. In the digital age some people seem to consider bearing their souls a badge of honor. Lost, damaged souls like Amanda Bynes take to Twitter and disclose their sexual fantasies. Others use their blogs to share their struggles with clinical depression or substance abuse. Angelina Jolie shares news of her double mastectomy and the world calls her a hero for inspiring women to step forward and take control of their medical destiny.

I don’t know about any of that. Personally, I suspect Jolie’s admission is motivated as much by the desire of her PR team to draw positive attention as it is by her genuine desire to help others. In the eyes of the world she is no longer the woman who made out with her brother or stole Brad Pitt away from poor Jennifer Aniston. No, she is a hero whose reputation cannot be tarnished by any of her numerous mortal failings.

For my own part, I am writing these words to free them from my consciousness, as they have been rattling about in there for two of the longest weeks of my life. I have discussed my feelings with friends and of course, my wife, but in the case of the latter, I’ve had to remain a pillar of strength, unwavering in my devotion to a single thought: There is nothing to worry about.

The truth is this: all my love and support means nothing when my wife closes her eyes to sleep at night. Ultimately, she will be alone when she steps into that lab. This is her fight, her trial to endure.

Even now, my fingers waver as the mouse hovers over the “Publish” box. I can only hope she understands the therapeutic nature of writing, the healing that comes from sharing one’s pain.  These words are the result of a selfish man who merely wants to ease his own suffering and so they must end with the thought that has haunted me for some time and will continue to do so until I know for certain my instincts have been correct all along.

I cannot lose my wife.

CLICK HERE TO BE ENLIGHTENED!

In keeping with this theme, you’ll find a travel guide written for those individuals who keep Big Boy corporations humming, or as I call them, corporate drones. This “masterpiece” appears on the NiagaraHub site, but I’ve included a handy, dandy link.

Aren’t I the best?

CLICK HERE TO BE ENLIGHTENED AGAIN!

That’s all for now, folks. Enjoy your New Comic Book Day and we’ll talk soon.