Christopher

At forty one, I am twice divorced and have no intention of subjecting myself to another marriage. Apparently I just don't pick the right people or I'm not very good at it, and the separation proves so painful that I don't want to risk it again. I have exactly two friends, but they both have tails and limited vocabularies based on the word "meow". I don't get out much anymore and I am usually unable to socialize, so I'm not usually in the company of other people. My life is filled with regret and hurt, and to be honest I wish I could kill every last remnant of physical desire that remains. I wish I could also kill my wandering imagination, for it fills me with false hopes of moving to Montana and meeting new people who might actually care about me. Hope is a dangerous thing, and in my thoughts I find myself wanting to meet a pretty lady to spend time with. I ponder whether this is a good thing or not. If I think this way too often, do I set my expectations too high? And what would a lady, any lady, see in an ugly and wretched train wreck like me? Are my desires just the pathetic longings of a failed and damaged man, or should I hope for a better tomorrow?

Now that Season Six has wrapped up, it's time to kick back, relax, and talk about our favorite super spy show and its non-stop hilarity. At least until next season starts up...

I'll start with my answer. Of the main cast, my favorites are Pam, Krieger, and Ray. Pam is the one who has me shooting whatever I drink out my nose, as she has no filter between her mind and her mouth. Plus, being a car guy, I have to dig the chick who drifts an RX2. Krieger is just plain twisted, and I never know what weird fetish he will engage in next. And he digs Rush and vans, combining them into crazy monstrosities. And Ray? He's a cyborg, a Frankenstein of sorts, and he's gay. Plus the only person who seems to get injured worse is Brett.

Occasionally, the secondary characters crack me up too. I talk to myself, so of course I have to like Barry (and his sidekick Other Barry), while I couldn't hold it when Sterling would mouth off at Slater, who of course would go nuts. Slater really cracked me up, as he is both drawn like and has the same name as his voice actor. I'd love to see Tiffy make a return appearance (even if it is with Cecil Tunt) just because I love Kristen Schaal's voice and Tiffy is drawn in her likeness.

So... who makes your list?

I'm curious what other people would do as far as adding/subtracting tracks from the schedule, and my own thoughts will be in the last paragraph (in case you don't want my opinions to mess with yours).

As it stands now in 2014, NASCAR's Cup series has five 1 1/2 mile tracks in the Chase alone, and the entire season is, in my opinion, over-saturated with the mile-and-a-halfers. I definitely think that Iowa Speedway, a 7/8 mile track semi-based on Richmond, should be added immediately to rectify the relative lack of short tracks, but I also think two road courses should be added as well, with one in the final ten races. That being said, with Sonoma covering the west coast and Watkins Glen the northeast, I would add Canadian Tire Motorsports Park (formerly Mosport) and Road Atlanta as soon as possible. There are a good number of Canadians who enjoy NASCAR, and adding a date near Toronto would tap into a new market. Given that the Nationwide race in French-speaking Montreal always drew a crowd, a race in untapped Toronto could be huge. As for Road Atlanta, with the oval down to one race a season (criminal in itself), the market could support a second race, particularly if the track is different from the speedway and the other road courses are far away. I'd take a date from Pocono for sure (two races in six or seven weeks is too much) and one from Kansas too. What are your thoughts? Bring back dates to Darlington and Rockingham too?

I'm curious, because as a left-hander, my left hand gets stained with ink when I write English, which uses the left to right Latin alphabet. I've often wondered how Arabic writers cope with this, as most people are right-handed and Arabic is written from right to left. Finally, is left-handedness even acceptable in Arabic cultures? I figure that someone ought to know this.

I have suffered from bipolar disorder for almost thirty years, and I feel that I need to be in a long-term treatment program if I am ever to resolve the longstanding problems I experience. I take my medications religiously, because I both function better when I take them and I have very minimal side effects. I don't use my bipolar as an excuse for obnoxious behavior, and when I make mistakes I take responsibility for them. Right now I am reasonably stable, for me anyway, but I know that the problems I keep hidden will resurface soon enough, and when they do, I want to be able to properly handle them.

I have looked into several facilities, and am always asked if I drink or abuse drugs. Several facilities have told me that because I don't have a substance abuse problem, they are unwilling or unable to help me. What the hell? Every drunkard and every junkie I've ever known CHOSE to start drinking or start using drugs. I understand that most of them are good people who need help too, but I can't understand why they can get help they need, while I am left unable to get any assistance for a medical illness I never chose to bear.

It's nighttime, and once again I am in a foul mood. I sit at my keyboard, alone, in a darkened room. Nothing really ever changes, and nothing I do matters at all. I'm getting old, and it bothers me. Between the grey hairs and the lines, the face in the mirror doesn't look like me anymore.

I talked to the cashier in the store the other day, the redhead with the freckles and the tattoos. Funny how I've seen her for two years, and I only now realize how attractive she really is. Never noticed how nicely the dark liner frames her bright, pale eyes, the way her face lights up when she smiles, how the glimpse of the hidden inkwork under her sleeves makes my scarred heart skip a beat. I want to tell her, to let her know. It will never work. She is at least ten years younger than me, and every bit as beautiful as I am revolting. When I talk to her, I joke,and she thinks I'm funny. She has no idea how the humor conceals the inner tempest that ravages my every waking moments.

Sometimes when I feel this way, I put on something uplifting, something soothing, but not tonight. Tonight, I want to listen to that most depressing of music, the artists and songs that dash the hopes and dreams of a misspent youth, that leave a gaping void in their wake that only the pain and despair of a broken spirit can fill. Right now Neil Young is doing the trick, but I need more. Any Classical, Rock, or Metal album that will satisfy my fix is welcome.

I admit it... I hate my name. I've hated it for as long as I can remember. It's not that my parents gave me an obnoxious celebrity name, or that it's girly or anything... I just can't stand the name. My name is Christopher Stephen, and I've gone by Chris my entire life.

There are a few problems I have with my name. First and foremost is that I despise being called Chris. I never liked the way it sounded with my last name, and I particularly hated it in school as there were at least two other boys named Chris in every class I had and at least one girl named Chris about half the time as well. Of course teachers and classmates never called me Christopher, even when I asked, so I was stuck with this stupid name I never liked. It didn't help that when I got older, I fell in love with a woman named Crissy, which was what I was called by some of the kids I didn't get along with. Although she thought it was funny that we had essentially the same name, I cringed whenever we met new people.

It gets worse. I don't mind my middle name as much, but I can't use it, as Stephen is my uncle's name (I was named after him). I tried to get my family to call me by my middle name and was repeatedly scorned and told that I was being stupid. My (now ex) father-in-law is a Steven as well, and even though my daughter knows him as Pepe, the name he called his own grandfather, the name Stephen just doesn't feel like my own. And finally, the most damning indictment of my name comes out of my personal beliefs. Christopher Stephen, translated from their Greek roots, mean "Follower of Christ, the Crowned One", which is about the most ironic name anyone could give to someone who became an Atheist. Given my antipathy toward the Christian faith, I just love it when someone gets smart and reminds me what my name actually means.

I'm 40 years old now, and in the last year, I've made a lot of changes to try and make whatever remains of my life as good as I can. Problem is, I still hate my god*mn name. All of it. The best thing I can think of is to change it to something that doesn't make me furious. My mom wanted to name me Kyle, and I've recently thought about using her maiden name as my last name in order to abandon the last name I share with my father, with whom I have a fairly antagonistic relationship. I have no idea what I would pick for a middle name (I am primarily English in ancestry, so I would want to have a name that ties back to England somehow). So, if you were me, what would you do?

I would either teach mine to say:

"Help! He went and turned me into a parrot!"

or

"If you shiv him, I'll tell you where he keeps the money."

I have to admit, I haven't seen any of the First Doctor episodes all the way through yet, but I thought David Bradley did an excellent job portraying William Hartnell. I thoroughly enjoyed his performance, and thought the sympathetic portrayal was very, very well done. To be honest, I was surprised that "An Adventure In Space And Time" turned into a wistful and rather sad movie by the end, one which left me a bit misty. I was most surprised by how good it really was.

So, what were your thoughts?

My all time favorite Doctor is Number Four, Tom Baker, The Scarfed One. Like many Americans who started watching the show in the Eighties, Tom Baker was the first Doctor I saw. I always looked forward to the PBS broadcasts, and was absolutely floored to meet a girl in my school who loved the show too. Only when I met her did I learn that there were six other actors (at the time) who played the same character. And it was from her that I learned the Truth: You never forget your first Doctor.

Now that I'm older, and have seen most of the incarnations, Tom is still my favorite. The eccentric behavior that he personified so well, and the sheer number of expressions that went with it all still resonate through the years. And that voice! That sonorous baritone, so deep and resonant, could always be counted on to give me chills. Even today, during the retrospective of his time on the show, that voice is as clear and strong as ever. I know it is cliché, but Tom Baker will always be My Doctor.

I have two cats. They never make unreasonable demands of me. They are not always either in my face or sulking in their bedrooms, but quietly come around when they want to be rubbed, or sometimes just to share the room. They don't ask me stupid questions, and they don't lie. They are two of the best friends I've ever had. I've genuinely come to prefer them over almost every other person in my life. I just wanted to know if anyone else out there felt the same way.

I live in Florida, not Montreal! Last time I checked, Florida was still part of the USA. I was born in North Carolina, and I sound like Dale Earnhardt Jr. when I talk. Yahoo! Canada keeps censoring stuff, and it's making me mad. Get me out of Polite-ville and back to the good ol' decadent USA!

Apparently Plymouths aren't welcome anymore, so I will post the question here in Chrysler and hope no one gets offended.

I watched "Christine" for the umpteenth time last night, and as usual, found myself rooting for the car. And like every other time, she gets squished at the end. Makes me wonder, would you have the nerve to drive one of those cars, a red and white 1958 Plymouth Fury hardtop, around town, risking stupid comments or worse from ignorant and malevolent young people, or would you keep her in the garage, only to come out at special times, like Halloween?

Personally, I'd drive that car 'till the wheels fell off. After all, she regenerates back to new. Sure, she alters your personality and twists your soul, but man, that is a CAR!

Every time I see that Mercedes CLA commercial with William Dafoe as the Devil, I can't stop laughing. It got me thinking, however, that since I'm probably going to Hell anyway, what Mercedes (or other car) would I sell my soul for? I'd have to think about this one, as any slob can sell their soul for a 1955 300SL Gullwing. What would YOU get?