In an unusual mid-week excursion, we saw the latest Die Hard movie last night. If you liked the first movie and you can suspend your disbelief that a human being can survive falling from great heights or from moving vehicles at high velocity with some random cuts and scrapes, there is a good chance that you will enjoy the movie. What brings the movie to mind, however, is the catalyst of the plot that because all of the infrastructure and financial systems of the country are computerized, these systems can be infiltrated and crashed, bringing life as we know it to a halt. In light of that premise, and my misadventures with United last week, I had to pass on this artful film clip that, as The Professor noted, is tailor-made for aviation and data geeks (like me!).
I can't help thinking that a computerized voice will come on at the end to say, "would you like to play a game?"
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Batteries Not Included ... Or Needed
As seems to have become normal during the summer months around here, we had a blackout this morning that lasted nearly an hour. Michael, who is on a brief vacation before he starts kindergarten in a week, was flummoxed. For a few minutes, he pretended to play Lego Star Wars (Playstation game) with his own sound effects. Playing a videogame in one's head only can only go on so long, however. (On the plus side, I'm pretty sure he won.)
The enterprising imagination of a child soon prevailed, as he came up with a novel idea. He told Cheryl, "You can read to me. Books don't have a light." And so they did, reading through several Dr. Seuss books until the lights came back on.
The enterprising imagination of a child soon prevailed, as he came up with a novel idea. He told Cheryl, "You can read to me. Books don't have a light." And so they did, reading through several Dr. Seuss books until the lights came back on.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Look, Up In The Sky!
Astrophysics must be a mathematician’s dream. With no environmental factors to distort the outcomes, the behavior of celestial bodies can be predicted with absolute precision based solely on principles of physics, which is, at its core, little more than the application of mathematics to the movement of energy and objects in the real world. Although the equations necessary to, say, determine the timing, velocity and vectors necessary to cause an Earth-launched rocket to intersect with the path of a comet are frighteningly complex, once solved, such events can be predicted with astonishing precision.
I took advantage of these principles last week, and managed to snag a view of both the International Space Station and the Space Shuttle Atlantis. Thanks to this simple but effective website, I determined that the ISS would travel over our area at an angle high enough to the horizon to be visible above the nearby mountains and rooftops. Those NASA propeller-heads know their stuff. At precisely the time indicated, in exactly the location predicted, a bright spot of light flew across the sky from the northwest. (If you are ever inclined to look for the ISS, watch for a dot in the sky that is about the same size and brightness as Venus at its most prominent, moving at about the speed of a low-flying aircraft. Take the time; it’s quick and easy to do.)
Following the same path, about two minutes behind, was a slightly smaller light, the Atlantis. The Shuttle had undocked from the ISS two days before, and would land in California the next day. (No, we did not drive out to see it, but we turned on the television to watch the landing about two seconds before the wheels touched down.) As both man-made satellites tracked overhead, they each faded into red and then disappeared as they flew out of the sunlight that had already disappeared for us, 200 miles below, about an hour earlier. For a space geek like me, it was a brief but thoroughly enjoyable moment of connection, knowing that there were people in those little blobs of light streaking over us.
I took advantage of these principles last week, and managed to snag a view of both the International Space Station and the Space Shuttle Atlantis. Thanks to this simple but effective website, I determined that the ISS would travel over our area at an angle high enough to the horizon to be visible above the nearby mountains and rooftops. Those NASA propeller-heads know their stuff. At precisely the time indicated, in exactly the location predicted, a bright spot of light flew across the sky from the northwest. (If you are ever inclined to look for the ISS, watch for a dot in the sky that is about the same size and brightness as Venus at its most prominent, moving at about the speed of a low-flying aircraft. Take the time; it’s quick and easy to do.)
Following the same path, about two minutes behind, was a slightly smaller light, the Atlantis. The Shuttle had undocked from the ISS two days before, and would land in California the next day. (No, we did not drive out to see it, but we turned on the television to watch the landing about two seconds before the wheels touched down.) As both man-made satellites tracked overhead, they each faded into red and then disappeared as they flew out of the sunlight that had already disappeared for us, 200 miles below, about an hour earlier. For a space geek like me, it was a brief but thoroughly enjoyable moment of connection, knowing that there were people in those little blobs of light streaking over us.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
And I Thought Arguing Before the Court of Appeal Would Be the Most Significant Event of My Day
I spent yesterday in San Francisco, participating in oral argument before California’s First District Court of Appeal. Actually, I was done by 10:15 a.m., but I still spent yesterday in San Francisco. That’s the second part of the story.
General civil litigation of the sort I do on a daily basis is a little like being on the roster of a mid-level major league baseball team. I’m like the backup shortstop: I can play any position in the infield, and I can hit a little, but it’s my defense (i.e. research and writing skills) that has kept me in the bigs. Being summoned to argue before the Court of Appeal is like suddenly being asked to start in centerfield and bat third in a nationally televised game.
[For comparison purposes, arguing before the California Supreme Court would be the equivalent of starting in left field and batting cleanup at Yankee Stadium. Arguing before the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals is like being the starting pitcher in a playoff game. Appearing before the U.S. Supreme Court is like being handed the ball in the seventh game of the World Series with one out in the ninth, up by a run, two runners on, and the home crowd screaming at afterburner decibel levels. So, comparatively speaking, no pressure.]
I lost sleep for days ahead of the event. I reviewed every brief and every case cited in every brief. I lugged all of it with me to a hotel the night before the hearing, setting myself up at the desk in my room just the way the commercials show it. Even the room service waiter commented on the long night I appeared to have ahead of me.
I arrived at the Court an hour early. The Court of Appeal and the California Supreme Court share a courtroom, so it is appropriately grand. The ceiling is about three stories up, and the justices appear to sit on a bench about halfway that high. After listening to nearly an hour of dense questioning in a water quality and regulation case, our case was up. Without any pause, the chief judge of the three judge panel deftly summarized the argument our opponent, the appellant, was trying to make. The panel then engaged my opposing counsel in questioning for about ten minutes, and appeared to have had enough.
My turn. Having observed the lawyers who had appeared before me, I found the button to electrically raise the lectern to an appropriate height without being coached to do so by the justices. Act like you’ve been here before -- smooth. I then introduced myself as counsel for the appellant, which caused one of the justices to immediately scramble through the paperwork and interrupt me before I was through my first sentence to confirm that I was actually counsel for the respondent. Ah, nicely done. Rookie.
I spoke for about five minutes to bring clarity back to the proceedings. Each of the justices nodded in agreement (I think) to what I was saying. I finished up and they looked at me with benign expressions and no words, so I sat down. After a brief follow up from my opponent, the panel dismissed us, and we were done. I have to like our chances to prevail, because I was not subjected to any questioning.
It was all exciting, but even a little anticlimactic in the end. However, I would much rather be in our position, where the Court seems well-inclined to our position, rather than the other side. I’ll take an easy appearance over a hard one any day. Actually, I think the Court used our little case like a sorbet at a fancy meal: something that is simple and goes down easily in between more complicated cases.
So I headed back to the hotel and thence to the airport in the hope of finding a flight back home earlier than the 4 p.m. flight on which I was booked. I missed the morning flight, but there was a noon-ish flight that I could get to … but it had been cancelled for “computer failure.” Huh?
My flight had not yet appeared on the departure screens, so I did not even know what gate to go to. I picked an empty gate at random that had people working behind the counter and asked about getting on an earlier flight. I was put on standby for a 2:15 flight. Not much better, but a little. However, I was about 14th in line, so my chances of making the already-full flight were pretty slim. Then, while I was moseying around, Cheryl called to inform me that United had had some sort of catastrophic computer failure earlier in the day that had affected all of its flights. Uh oh. Well, I do love to be part of a CNN story.
After lunch, I noticed that my flight’s departure time had slipped to almost 5 pm. I wandered back to the flight on which I was on standby to watch it board, nearly an hour late itself. No luck for me. I passed the departure boards again … and my flight was listed as cancelled, for “computer failure.” Wait, what?
I went to the nearest agent to confirm that my flight had been killed. After conferring with her computer, she said, “oh yes, that one’s been cancelled.” Okay, well, what do I do now? Is there a later flight I can catch? “Oh, okay, let me see.” She signed me up for a flight that left at 8:50 p.m. Um, is there anything between then and now (about 3 p.m.)? She managed to put me on standby for a 7:40 p.m. flight. I ultimately found a seat on that airplane. It was even a good one: window, near the front, in one of the expanded legroom rows.
Thankfully, SFO is a pretty reasonable airport in which to spend some time. There are some good restaurants, a good bookstore, reasonable views of the airfield, and an interesting art/culture installation covering the history of audio-visual equipment from an Edison cylinder machine up through iPods. Still, I and several hundred other increasingly disheveled travelers spent many more hours in that place than we had intended, and I had to lug heavy bags laden with case file materials. Just my luck; I rarely travel on business, and the one day I do this quarter, I manage to hit the day and airline that said airline has a historic computer meltdown. As it turns out, 24 flights had been cancelled. Of those, two were SFO to Burbank, both flights that directly affected me.
After effectively finishing my working day at 10:15 in the morning, I finally pulled into the driveway eleven ours later. If there was ever a day when a membership to the Red Carpet Club would have been worth the money, yesterday was that day.
General civil litigation of the sort I do on a daily basis is a little like being on the roster of a mid-level major league baseball team. I’m like the backup shortstop: I can play any position in the infield, and I can hit a little, but it’s my defense (i.e. research and writing skills) that has kept me in the bigs. Being summoned to argue before the Court of Appeal is like suddenly being asked to start in centerfield and bat third in a nationally televised game.
[For comparison purposes, arguing before the California Supreme Court would be the equivalent of starting in left field and batting cleanup at Yankee Stadium. Arguing before the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals is like being the starting pitcher in a playoff game. Appearing before the U.S. Supreme Court is like being handed the ball in the seventh game of the World Series with one out in the ninth, up by a run, two runners on, and the home crowd screaming at afterburner decibel levels. So, comparatively speaking, no pressure.]
I lost sleep for days ahead of the event. I reviewed every brief and every case cited in every brief. I lugged all of it with me to a hotel the night before the hearing, setting myself up at the desk in my room just the way the commercials show it. Even the room service waiter commented on the long night I appeared to have ahead of me.
I arrived at the Court an hour early. The Court of Appeal and the California Supreme Court share a courtroom, so it is appropriately grand. The ceiling is about three stories up, and the justices appear to sit on a bench about halfway that high. After listening to nearly an hour of dense questioning in a water quality and regulation case, our case was up. Without any pause, the chief judge of the three judge panel deftly summarized the argument our opponent, the appellant, was trying to make. The panel then engaged my opposing counsel in questioning for about ten minutes, and appeared to have had enough.
My turn. Having observed the lawyers who had appeared before me, I found the button to electrically raise the lectern to an appropriate height without being coached to do so by the justices. Act like you’ve been here before -- smooth. I then introduced myself as counsel for the appellant, which caused one of the justices to immediately scramble through the paperwork and interrupt me before I was through my first sentence to confirm that I was actually counsel for the respondent. Ah, nicely done. Rookie.
I spoke for about five minutes to bring clarity back to the proceedings. Each of the justices nodded in agreement (I think) to what I was saying. I finished up and they looked at me with benign expressions and no words, so I sat down. After a brief follow up from my opponent, the panel dismissed us, and we were done. I have to like our chances to prevail, because I was not subjected to any questioning.
It was all exciting, but even a little anticlimactic in the end. However, I would much rather be in our position, where the Court seems well-inclined to our position, rather than the other side. I’ll take an easy appearance over a hard one any day. Actually, I think the Court used our little case like a sorbet at a fancy meal: something that is simple and goes down easily in between more complicated cases.
So I headed back to the hotel and thence to the airport in the hope of finding a flight back home earlier than the 4 p.m. flight on which I was booked. I missed the morning flight, but there was a noon-ish flight that I could get to … but it had been cancelled for “computer failure.” Huh?
My flight had not yet appeared on the departure screens, so I did not even know what gate to go to. I picked an empty gate at random that had people working behind the counter and asked about getting on an earlier flight. I was put on standby for a 2:15 flight. Not much better, but a little. However, I was about 14th in line, so my chances of making the already-full flight were pretty slim. Then, while I was moseying around, Cheryl called to inform me that United had had some sort of catastrophic computer failure earlier in the day that had affected all of its flights. Uh oh. Well, I do love to be part of a CNN story.
After lunch, I noticed that my flight’s departure time had slipped to almost 5 pm. I wandered back to the flight on which I was on standby to watch it board, nearly an hour late itself. No luck for me. I passed the departure boards again … and my flight was listed as cancelled, for “computer failure.” Wait, what?
I went to the nearest agent to confirm that my flight had been killed. After conferring with her computer, she said, “oh yes, that one’s been cancelled.” Okay, well, what do I do now? Is there a later flight I can catch? “Oh, okay, let me see.” She signed me up for a flight that left at 8:50 p.m. Um, is there anything between then and now (about 3 p.m.)? She managed to put me on standby for a 7:40 p.m. flight. I ultimately found a seat on that airplane. It was even a good one: window, near the front, in one of the expanded legroom rows.
Thankfully, SFO is a pretty reasonable airport in which to spend some time. There are some good restaurants, a good bookstore, reasonable views of the airfield, and an interesting art/culture installation covering the history of audio-visual equipment from an Edison cylinder machine up through iPods. Still, I and several hundred other increasingly disheveled travelers spent many more hours in that place than we had intended, and I had to lug heavy bags laden with case file materials. Just my luck; I rarely travel on business, and the one day I do this quarter, I manage to hit the day and airline that said airline has a historic computer meltdown. As it turns out, 24 flights had been cancelled. Of those, two were SFO to Burbank, both flights that directly affected me.
After effectively finishing my working day at 10:15 in the morning, I finally pulled into the driveway eleven ours later. If there was ever a day when a membership to the Red Carpet Club would have been worth the money, yesterday was that day.
Friday, June 15, 2007
A Linguistic Pet Peeve
Sportscasters are often in search of phrases that convey a sense of testosterone flung about with abandon. Somewhere along the way, someone thought it would be a good idea to appropriate a Spanish idiom that described hand to hand combat. Unfortunately, it appears that nobody who uses that particular phrase ever took high school Spanish.
Sportscasters of the US, please. It's mano a mano. Hand-to-hand.
Not "mano y mano." Hand-and-hand.
The former is suitable for the squared circle. The latter is suitable for a lovely walk in the park, which is, I suspect, not quite the image they are looking for. Just a hunch.
Sportscasters of the US, please. It's mano a mano. Hand-to-hand.
Not "mano y mano." Hand-and-hand.
The former is suitable for the squared circle. The latter is suitable for a lovely walk in the park, which is, I suspect, not quite the image they are looking for. Just a hunch.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Well, Portland and LA Are Both on I-5
A clever artist once gave us "A Parochial New Yorker's View of the World":
Perhaps the view from Ohio is similar. Or, perhaps, the expected first pick in the upcoming NBA draft is simply a product of a short lifetime spent more inside a gym than a classroom. Greg Oden, the hyped Ohio State freshman who is expected to be taken by the Portland TrailBlazers with the number one pick in this summer's draft, recently expressed his excitement about moving out to the Pacific Northwest:
So I must ask my Oregon-based family: why don't I see you more often?
Perhaps the view from Ohio is similar. Or, perhaps, the expected first pick in the upcoming NBA draft is simply a product of a short lifetime spent more inside a gym than a classroom. Greg Oden, the hyped Ohio State freshman who is expected to be taken by the Portland TrailBlazers with the number one pick in this summer's draft, recently expressed his excitement about moving out to the Pacific Northwest:
"It's going to be different," he said. "I know it rains a lot. I know it's close to L.A. and I love that. I want to go to L.A. and go to the beach."
So I must ask my Oregon-based family: why don't I see you more often?
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Bahamas 2007, Day 4
Welcome back. We now resume our story, in the second full day at sea...
Following our departure from Nassau under cover of darkness, dawn found us dropping anchor at Disney's own Castaway Cay (pronounced "key," by the way). At its heart, this small island is little different than most others in the Bahamian archepelogo: no elevation to speak of, scrubby underbrush, white coral-based sand and soil. It even has a lovely natural lagoon:
Ah, but this island has been Touched by a Mouse, mon. So the lagoon is also home to Captain Jack Sparrow's ship:
Once ashore, the Disneyfication of the island becomes apparent. The winding path from the ship to the main activity area is wide and smooth, lined with well-tended flora and carefully weathered posts and ropes to keep guests in their place.
Castaway Cay has two basic elements: the lagoon, and the adult beach. The lagoon and the surrounding beach themselves are subdivided into several components. The seaward portion is reserved for boating activities. The main family beach, with conveniently located snack and sand toy shops, takes up the majority of the lagoon. A teens-only area is tucked away where the beach bends around at the end of the lagoon, affording previously glum teenagers, who presumably had spent the preceding weeks moaning in agony at the thought that their parents would drag them on a Disney cruise, the quite unDisneylike opportunity to cavort with each other in dangerous ways. The middle portion of the lagoon, away from the beaches, is set aside as the designated snorkel area, delimited by ropes and buoys. The camp areas for the childrens' activities are also in the general area of the lagoon, and offer games, scavenger hunts and other simple activities that bear a light sheen of education about them.
The adults, having unceremoniously dumped their children at the gates of the play areas blinking in confusion, can beat a hasty retreat away from the lagoon and down the ruins of an old airstrip to the adult beach. This beach, stretching away from the beachside bar (again, how unDisneylike!) in a gentle arc hundreds of yard long, is lightly populated, and adorned only with lounge chairs and umbrellas.
Ahhh.
We spent our late morning enjoying the water and the sun, then headed back to the family beach to collect the kids and give them some solid playtime in the lagoon. That, of course, was also the plan of most of our 2800 fellow passengers, but the beach and lagoon handled all the activity well.
The shallow, still waters offer a perfect, safe place for kids to play. I spent my time snorkeling for more than an hour. Disney placed a number of shelters on the floor of the lagoon for the fish, but on the whole, the snorkeling cannot compare to a natural reef. The fish were fun to follow, but there was none of the coral, anemone or plant life that dazzled us last year when we snorkeled at an open reef. Still, it was great fun to putter around in the water. I eventually swam to all of the borders of the snorkel area. I earned a righteous sunburn, which made me feel ill that evening. The day of fun in the sun, though, was worth it.
We finished our evening with another show (a revue of Disney characters in the guise of an awards show) and proper cruise pictures:
We were left with some extra time before dinner to enjoy the sunset.
Later that night, fireworks were launched over the ship to accompany the raucous (but family friendly!) party held at the middle pool deck. We all slept well that night.
Following our departure from Nassau under cover of darkness, dawn found us dropping anchor at Disney's own Castaway Cay (pronounced "key," by the way). At its heart, this small island is little different than most others in the Bahamian archepelogo: no elevation to speak of, scrubby underbrush, white coral-based sand and soil. It even has a lovely natural lagoon:
Ah, but this island has been Touched by a Mouse, mon. So the lagoon is also home to Captain Jack Sparrow's ship:
Once ashore, the Disneyfication of the island becomes apparent. The winding path from the ship to the main activity area is wide and smooth, lined with well-tended flora and carefully weathered posts and ropes to keep guests in their place.
Castaway Cay has two basic elements: the lagoon, and the adult beach. The lagoon and the surrounding beach themselves are subdivided into several components. The seaward portion is reserved for boating activities. The main family beach, with conveniently located snack and sand toy shops, takes up the majority of the lagoon. A teens-only area is tucked away where the beach bends around at the end of the lagoon, affording previously glum teenagers, who presumably had spent the preceding weeks moaning in agony at the thought that their parents would drag them on a Disney cruise, the quite unDisneylike opportunity to cavort with each other in dangerous ways. The middle portion of the lagoon, away from the beaches, is set aside as the designated snorkel area, delimited by ropes and buoys. The camp areas for the childrens' activities are also in the general area of the lagoon, and offer games, scavenger hunts and other simple activities that bear a light sheen of education about them.
The adults, having unceremoniously dumped their children at the gates of the play areas blinking in confusion, can beat a hasty retreat away from the lagoon and down the ruins of an old airstrip to the adult beach. This beach, stretching away from the beachside bar (again, how unDisneylike!) in a gentle arc hundreds of yard long, is lightly populated, and adorned only with lounge chairs and umbrellas.
Ahhh.
We spent our late morning enjoying the water and the sun, then headed back to the family beach to collect the kids and give them some solid playtime in the lagoon. That, of course, was also the plan of most of our 2800 fellow passengers, but the beach and lagoon handled all the activity well.
The shallow, still waters offer a perfect, safe place for kids to play. I spent my time snorkeling for more than an hour. Disney placed a number of shelters on the floor of the lagoon for the fish, but on the whole, the snorkeling cannot compare to a natural reef. The fish were fun to follow, but there was none of the coral, anemone or plant life that dazzled us last year when we snorkeled at an open reef. Still, it was great fun to putter around in the water. I eventually swam to all of the borders of the snorkel area. I earned a righteous sunburn, which made me feel ill that evening. The day of fun in the sun, though, was worth it.
We finished our evening with another show (a revue of Disney characters in the guise of an awards show) and proper cruise pictures:
We were left with some extra time before dinner to enjoy the sunset.
Later that night, fireworks were launched over the ship to accompany the raucous (but family friendly!) party held at the middle pool deck. We all slept well that night.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Finally, Living in LA Pays Off
Last night, thanks to the generosity of an acquaintance, we attended a special performance of "George Gershwin Alone." This one-man play provided the opportunity to spend an evening with Gershwin, embodied by actor/pianist Hershey Felder, as he explained his life and his work. It was a fascinating, engaging performance. The play is a mixture of biography, music theory master class and concert performance. Mr. Felder's vocal talents do not keep pace with his work at the keyboard, but that is hardly a criticism of his singing, as his musicianship on the piano is dazzling. The play closed with a stirring solo piano rendition of "Rhapsody in Blue" which brought the audience leaping to its feet at the end.
The occasion for this fine perfomance was a benefit for the local ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease) support and advocacy association. One of my car buddies is the president and CEO of the organization, and he offered free tickets to those of us car folks that wanted to go. A few of us took him up on his offer, and got the chance to rub shoulders with the famous (Michael Crichton, Brad Garrett) and nearly-famous. (Actually, rubbing shoulders with Crichton and Garrett requires a stepstool -- both of those guys are seriously tall.) We were offered a chance to walk down the red carpet, which came complete with TV cameras and other photographers, but we were content to slip in the side entrance to the Geffen Playhouse. As we nibbled on hors d'oeurves and perused the silent auction items (which, in addition to the usual spa-treatments-in-Malibu and cooking-lessons-with-Wolfgang-Puck items included a flag from last year's Open Championship signed by Tiger Woods), the vibe of the entire event was happy and relaxed. The event doubled as a birthday party for one of the organization's key people, an ALS sufferer but, by all accounts, also a tireless lobbyist. The evening concluded with a sing-along of Gershwin tunes led by Mr. Felder and a rendition of Happy Birthday sung by the entire house to the guest of honor.
All told, it was a very special evening of great music and storytelling, and a rare opportunity for us 'burb dwellers to get a peek at the life of rich and famous Westsiders. If you want to see a little bit of what it was like, watch Entertainment Tonight this week (their feature will probably air tonight, but I'm not certain of that).
The occasion for this fine perfomance was a benefit for the local ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease) support and advocacy association. One of my car buddies is the president and CEO of the organization, and he offered free tickets to those of us car folks that wanted to go. A few of us took him up on his offer, and got the chance to rub shoulders with the famous (Michael Crichton, Brad Garrett) and nearly-famous. (Actually, rubbing shoulders with Crichton and Garrett requires a stepstool -- both of those guys are seriously tall.) We were offered a chance to walk down the red carpet, which came complete with TV cameras and other photographers, but we were content to slip in the side entrance to the Geffen Playhouse. As we nibbled on hors d'oeurves and perused the silent auction items (which, in addition to the usual spa-treatments-in-Malibu and cooking-lessons-with-Wolfgang-Puck items included a flag from last year's Open Championship signed by Tiger Woods), the vibe of the entire event was happy and relaxed. The event doubled as a birthday party for one of the organization's key people, an ALS sufferer but, by all accounts, also a tireless lobbyist. The evening concluded with a sing-along of Gershwin tunes led by Mr. Felder and a rendition of Happy Birthday sung by the entire house to the guest of honor.
All told, it was a very special evening of great music and storytelling, and a rare opportunity for us 'burb dwellers to get a peek at the life of rich and famous Westsiders. If you want to see a little bit of what it was like, watch Entertainment Tonight this week (their feature will probably air tonight, but I'm not certain of that).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)