A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

I thought she was awesome in A Fish Called Wanda

What I think a lot of folks in the McCain camp failed to grasp is that disgruntled Hillary supporters aren't angry that a woman wasn't nominated. They're angry Hillary wasn't nominated. A grandstanding tactic like naming a pro-life, socially conservative female who just happens to be an ex-beauty pageant contestant isn't going to make Democratic women who were on the fence suddenly perk up and punch the 'McCain-Palin' chad in November.

I wonder is Whitman or Hutchinson even wanted the job, frankly.

And while the rug would appear to have been pulled out from under McCain's "lack of experience" strategem, the good people of this country have demonstrated they're perfectly amenable to electing a smirking fratboy to the highest office in the land - twice - as long as he mouths the right platitudes. I'm not saying there aren't serious questions about Palin's preparedness for the Presidency, but let's just say the qualifications bar hasn't been set that high for the last eight years.

DNC done a job on me

Overall, I must say I was pretty impressed with the speakers at the Democratic National Convention. The headliners, that is...several of the "support acts" were flop-sweating worse than I was when I tried to make a toast at Peenman's wedding (the wine was corked, I swear). But Michelle Obama was solid and appealing, the Clin-Tons almost made me believe they weren't seething with molten rage, and Biden sounded pretty presidential his damn self.

And his dazzling choppers don't hurt. You could navigate a frigate by those fuckers.

Tonight was the Main Event, though, and while I'd prepared no end of japes to be hurled ("I hope he talks about 'change,'" I mentioned to The Wife over the phone), I have to admit that Barack Obama gives good oration. Sure, he promised the moon (and the moon's firstborn), but that was one of those speeches that really sets you on your ass. Were I of less cynical bent, I'd say it was the kind of speech that changes people's minds, that reaches past the black morass of their expansive disappointments and gives a breath of life to the diminishing spark of - dare I say - hope...buried deep within.

In short, it's the kind of speech that gets men killed.

As shitty as my worldview has become, I still find myself grasping for evidence that I'm mistaken. In spite of the fact that we sat by passively as one election was stolen from us and couldn't be lulled out of our American Idol induced stupor to see what we were voting for in the second (not that the black hole of charisma on the other ticket helped), there's still a shrinking and evidently stupid part of my brain that wants to believe My Fellow Americans[TM] might actually stop equating professed love for Jesus with sound policy and vote with their forebrains instead of their medullas oblongata. Just this one time.

Then I remember I've seen Klan rallies...in the last 20 years, and that a man was dragged to his death, not 150 miles from here, for no other reason than he was the "wrong" color. I see slope-browed crewcuts like Craig Smith from WND talking about the horrors of Obama as the first "hip-hop President," which is as close to "You're not seriously going to vote a jig into the Oval Office are you?" as he'll allow himself to say.

Besides, the only hip hop artists I'm aware of Obama liking are Kanye and will.i.am, which is the equivalent of me saying what a big metal fan I am and then naming Nickelback and Warrant as my two favorite bands.

Are we capable of electing a black President? I was only half joking about the "getting killed" thing before, and 220 years of white male rule show we haven't gotten there yet. I'd like to believe we can hack it now: 45 years after "I have a dream" and especially when the opposition is propping up a doddering toady like McCain. But I'll believe it when I see it.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, good speech.

Once more into the Preach

Oh...darn.

Fans won't be seeing an adaptation of Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon's Preacher on HBO.

Mark Steven Johnson, who wrote the pilot and was set to serve as an executive producer, tells Comics Continuum that the new head of the cable network thought the series "was just too dark and too violent and too controversial."

"It was a very faithful adaptation of the first few books, nearly word for word," says Johnson, who directed Daredevil and Ghost Rider. "They offered me the chance to redevelop it but I refused. I've learned my lesson on that front and I won't do it again. So I'm afraid it's dead at HBO."

Plans for the one-hour TV series, announced in November 2006, were welcome news for fans who had been disappointed when a previous attempt to adapt Preacher as a feature film was abandoned.

"Too dark and too violent and too controversial." I'm sure that's what the suits at HBO told Johnson to his face while muttering when he left the room, "We're going to put a long-running miniseries in the hands of the guy who directed two of the worst comic adaptations since that Captain America movie where Steve Rogers drove a Good Times van? Let's make a vampire show instead."

I greeted news of a Preacher miniseries with an emphatic "meh." The comic series had its moments, but Ennis' best work has been on Hellblazer (which Hollywood already screwed up) and The Punisher (which Hollywood is in the process of screwing up...again). HBO - Generation Kill aside - may be staring at a serious lack of original drama, but they're apparently not willing to hand their future to the guy who tried to turn Daredevil into Diet Batman (though in his defense, Ghost Rider was a losing proposition from the start).

And now, for no reason, here's a pic of Cap's van from the 1979 TV show. Note the inconspicuous way the Captain America cycle is sitting on the back of the goddamn vehicle. Way to preserve that secret identity, Rogers.

And were loners driving vans less creepy 30 years ago?

Another childhood mystery solved

The Wife is out of town, and She Who Shall Not Be Named has fallen victim to that plague of the Vonder Haar family called strep throat. She goes to bed pretty easily thanks to Mr. Motrin, so I've been enjoying rare unfettered access to the TV which, for some reason, I utilized by watching the laughable 1976 sci-fi "classic," At the Earth's Core.

For those mercifully unfamiliar, ATEC stars Doug McClure (you may know him from such films as Warlords of Atlantis and Satan's Triangle) and Peter Cushing as adventurers who discover the subterranean world of Pellucidar, inhabited by telepathic flying reptiles called Mahar, giant bipedal rhino-beasts, fire-breathing lizards, and cave folk. I saw it in the theater during its initial release with my dad, who vetoed the other genre offering, Godzilla vs. Megalon, because we were boycotting Japanese goods thanks to their whaling practices (seriously). I only had hazy memories of the movie, but luckily I'd off-handedly recorded it many months ago. Falling victim to the lack of higher brain function caused by tending a sick child for several days, I decided to watch it.

It's pretty bad, even by pre-Star Wars special effects standards. Guys in Suits play the Mahar and rhino dudes, McClure is as tumescent as ever, and the whole thing looks like it was shot on one of the Tom Baker era Doctor Who sets. Surely Dad must have regretted his choice of films?

Yeah. Did I mention the cave folk? And the fact that "Princess Dia" was played by none other than English pin-up queen Caroline Munro?

Your motives are clear to me now, old man. Though I...can't say I disapprove.

Fun fact: Munro played the buttoned-up reporter Adam Ant successfully "liberates" in the "Goody Two Shoes" video.

In other words, Moe could've refused to re-insert the crayon into Homer's brain because he wasn't a snake-handler

"That's right, I'm an HHS Secretary."

The Bush administration proposed stronger job protections Thursday for doctors and other health care workers who refuse to participate in abortions because of religious or moral objections.

Health and Human Services Secretary Michael Leavitt said health care professionals should not face retaliation from employers or from medical societies because they object to abortion.

"Freedom of conscience is not to be surrendered upon issuance of a medical degree," Leavitt said. "This nation was built on a foundation of free speech. The first principle of free speech is protected conscience."

The rule, which applies to institutions receiving government money, would require as many as 584,000 employers ranging from major hospitals to doctors' offices and nursing homes to certify in writing that they are complying with several federal laws that protect the conscience rights of health care workers. Violations could lead to a loss of government funding and legal action to recoup federal money already paid.

Can anyone pursuing a career as a doctor or pharmacist please do the rest of a favor? If you're going to be one of these people whose religious convictions are so strong that they will cause these horrible crises of conscience, please consider another line or work.

Like, say, professional chainsaw juggler.

The 36-page rule seeks to set up a system for enforcing conscience protections in three separate federal laws, the earliest of which dates to the 1970s. In some cases, the laws aim to protect both providers who refuse to take part in abortions and those who do.

The regulation is written to apply to a broad swath of the health care work force, not doctors alone. Accordingly, an employee whose task it is to clean the instruments used in a particular procedure would be covered. Also covered would be volunteers and trainees.

The underlying laws deal mainly with abortion and sterilization, but both the laws and the language of the rule seem to recognize that objections on conscience grounds could involve other types of services.

I used up my repository of oh-so-clever assholery in my other entry on this subject, so I'll just say I sincerely hope this blows up in these fuckers' faces. I hope a Muslim doctor at Bethesda refuses to treat Cheney's cirrhosis. I hope a Catholic pharmacist refuses to provide Viagra to any man married to a woman past child-rearing age. I hope a black surgeon refuses to perform life-saving surgery on Trent Lott.

More than that, I want it to be January right now so these psychos will be out of office for good.

Luved ya, Blue

Back in '98 or thereabouts, I stopped at a Texaco station on Richmond Drive, about a mile west of the Loop (in Houston, for those of you who haven't been following along). I don't remember what prompted me to stop in the first place, but the station was changing owners and the soon-to-be vacating manager had a box of now-defunct Houston Oilers glassware he was selling on the cheap, something like $2.50 for rocks and $3 for highballs. Being an inadequately-compensated consultant at the time, I could only justify buying two of each. Here's the rocks glass:

Skip about ten years. She Who Shall Not Be Named is very proud of helping tidy up after dinner by taking her plate/bowl to the kitchen and dumping it in the sink. Trouble is, we put a new sink in (well, HWRNMNBSOL did while I sort of helped) which is about six inches deeper than the old one. You don't have to be an expert in material dynamics to know what a large plate can do to a glass. So now I'm down to the above pictured rocks selection.

The only thing left to conclude is that all the women in my life are out to get me. First was The Wife "accidentally" breaking every coffee cup ever given to me by an ex-girlfriend (and I don't consider mugs to be in the same ballpark as, say, clothes or nude pictures when it comes to Stuff You Should Throw Out When the Relationship Ends), now my own kid is gunning for my nostalgia drinkware.

I better try to find those nude pictures.

More like "Incontinental"...am I right?

Back from Virginia. Took some gnarly pictures that will end any lingering dispute about my post-graduate education. Unfortunately, they were on a digital disposable camera (which will encourage any lingering debate about my photography skills) so you'll have wait until I pick up the photos from Walgreen's.

The stay itself was just dandy. Close proximity to Chicago-style pizza, several bars, and a decent gym meant I returned home only slightly wider than when I left. Unfortunately the trip was bookended once again by shitty flights on Continental, the airline that is rapidly becoming the Dr. Zin to my Benton Quest.

In a nutshell, my flight from Intercontinental to Dulles on Saturday was delayed nearly three hours by rain. I know they "can't do anything about the weather," as they're so fond of reminding us, but maybe instead of dropping a few zillion dollars for a new terminal that's two miles walking distance from the parking garage, you could buy some planes that can take off in winds over 15 MPH. Just a thought.

Then I arrive in Dulles, only to find that my bag didn't. This would be more than a mild irritant if I wasn't one of those idiots who always fails to pack toiletries or extra clothes in their carry-on. I really had no one to blame but myself for that, so I resolved to stink it out until the next day, when my bag would be delivered to the hotel, and drove my swanky rent-a-PT Cruiser to Annapolis to hand out with the Seadogs family. Killing a bottle of Bushmills once there didn't hurt.

Fast forward to yesterday, where - upon arriving at Dulles - I'm informed the Houston flight has been delayed another two hours. And since I always assume I'm getting the high, hard one from Continental anytime I fly with them, my reaction to the desk agent telling me the news was merely a raised eyebrow* while muttering, "What a shock."

Since I had a few hours to kill, I wandered the B Terminal at IAD. Who knew our nation had it's own store? And so emphatic:

Fuck yeah.

Got in a little after 11 PM last night. Just in time to elbow The Wife in her sleep before she flew out this morning at 6:30 for Cleveland. Her flight left on time, but then, she's flying Southwest.

Oh, and Mom: I know you like those Eddie Bauer luggage tag/locks. Unfortunately, so does the TSA. This is the second one they've cut off a bag of ours.

* This is a lie; I can't actually raise only one eyebrow.

"And all around them, the bestiality of the night rises on tenebrous wings."

I have a question. Don't worry, it's multiple choice:

1. For a straight, adult male, the act of going alone to a screening of Mamma Mia is

(a) gay
(b) creepy
(c) an untenable combination of (a) and (b)

I put this dilemma to The Wife, and she responded it was a little bit (a), but not really creepy. I replied that to really earn a (c) I'd have to go see that Jonas Brothers movie, and that ain't in the cards.

And Brosnan sings, doesn't he? Maybe I'll just go see The Dark Knight again.

Cleaning out my pockets

And I found this note I scrawled to myself Monday night, evidently three or more pints in:

So if NY repeats as Super Bowl champs, David Carr gets a ring? Fuck that noise.

There was some other stuff too, mostly about chicks drinking beer with straws and how great it was that bars in VA still let you smoke, but most of that was forgotten in light of the Cheese Incident.

"Beanie, you remember Cheese?"

"Oh yeah, Cheeeese."

I almost made it to sleep at a reasonable hour last night, having spent a couple hours drinking beer and trying to decide whether Eli Manning or Brady Quinn best personifies irritable bowel syndrome. Then I returned to my hotel room to find this:

Let's back up. I'm in scenic Reston, VA for work. My original hotel room was right by the elevators, which isn't usually a big deal as I relish creating booby traps for potential burglars, but these particular elevators were exceedingly LOUD. I've slept through hurricanes before, but every time some yahoo stumbled back from the Tap Room, it roused me from my slumber. So the next afternoon, I requested a different room, and the gracious desk person found one for me that was well out of earshot. I thanked her, and that was that.

Upon returning to my (new) room and seeing the above, I did what any reasonable person would and called the front desk to complain about this unordered food which I better not be charged for, damn your eyes. I was informed by the same front desk person that this was simply her attempt to make amends for "inconveniencing" me. Now, if there had been two glasses, I'd be gloating about my Bond, James Bond-like smooveness, but apparently this particular Eastern European damsel wasn't looking for an American husband.

Anyway, I'm not usually one to scoff at free cheese, but I had a baleful vision of trying to make it through my training class the next morning with a GI tract full of Yuengling and expired curd and elected to skip the dairy portion.

The wine, on the other hand...

"Hello Balls" - 8/18/08

With apologies to Faron Young...

Rather than bore you every time I have a post up on Hair Balls, I figured I'd just maintain a listing of all of them, that way I only have to bore you once a week or so. Trust me, it's better this way.

Most recent entries are listed first.

Texas Horror Movies: The Top Five (8/18/2008)
Houston Sports Movies: The Top Five (8/14/2008)
Chuck Norris Reaches Out And Touches: The Top Five (8/11/2008)
It's Freaking Hot - So Watch Some Cold Movies (8/7/2008)
Movies For Your Hurricane Party Tonight (8/4/2008)
A Wish List for Austin's Movie Memorabilia Sale (7/31/2008)
Hollywood Destroys Houston: The Top Five (7/30/2008)
Houston as a Movie Stand-In: The Top Five (7/22/2008)

Ignore this post

I'm Technorati-fying my blog, so here...

Technorati Profile

There, that was fun.

For Your Review - August 15-17, 2008

Oh, it was a banner fuckin' week at the old Bender family:

Tropic Thunder ***1/2 - Hollywood wants to remind us how adept it is at poking fun at itself, with decidedly mixed results. Robert Downey, Jr. is hilarious, however.

Star Wars: The Clone Wars *1/2 - I remain convinced that the only form of entertainment available to George Lucas is turning Star Wars fans into apoplectic heaps of bitter nerd. He's gotten pretty good at it.

Funny, I don't remember a lot of parental guidance when visiting Grandmom

Excerpt from my e-mail invite to the advance screening of Star Wars: The Clone Wars:

YOU MUST PRESENT THIS E-MAIL AND PHOTO I.D. AT THE DOOR FOR ADMITTANCE
 
ADMIT TWO
RATED PG for "sci-fi action throughout, brief language, and 
momentary smoking"

The 'brief language' escapes me, but I'm sure it was Obi-Wan saying "Blast!" or some such. No, it's the "momentary smoking" we have to worry about. The Wife and I have discussed this, and we both agreed that the seeing our relatives smoke when we were kids was sort of the opposite of cool. Women shouldn't sound like Harvey Fierstein.

And in the movie, the only character who smokes is Jabba's creepy uncle. I can imagine the post-movie conversations:

"Mommy, why is smoke coming out of Ziro the Hutt's nose?"
"Because he's FLAMING."

Yes, Ziro is a big gay Hutt. Here's a pic:

"Hellooooo Sith lord."

My review will be up tomorrow, meanwhile I want it known that I'm the first person to use the expression "Padawana Montana."

I'll bet he has fanfic that would put Erik Blevins to shame

Nothing says "unpopular Wikipedia entry" like virtually unedited blocks of text. Case in point, the write-up for Mack Bolan:

Mack was put on trial for his extra-judicial activities in book # 91, "The Trial." As well as being in two nuclear explosions, Mack has been knifed numerous times and shot several times in various parts of his body, most recently in his left shoulder. He has been in numerous grenade explosions and several warehouse roofs have come down on his head. He speaks English, Spanish, Russian, and passable German, and can understand countless others. Mack has been in love only once, with April Rose. He holds current lover, Barbara Price, at an arm's length out of fear that she will be killed. No one has ever claimed that Mack does not like women. He prefers the gutsy type who are not apt to run for cover when shot at.

A list of almost 70 authors who've written Bolan-related books follows. I think I have an idea for my next project.

"He literally tore his head off."

Since 1980, I've occasionally allowed my gruff exterior to be cracked like a crab claw by the Olympics. Once you get beyond the political whoremongering of the IOC, the bloated "up close and personal" crapola about every U.S. athlete, and Gary Hall, Jr., there are always some cool moments to look back upon: Mary Lou Retton (*sigh*), Joan Benoit, Carl Lewis, Greg Louganis, Michael Johnson, Derek Redmond, Ali. And that's just the Summer Games.

2008, of course, is the Season of the Phelps. Personally, I know my Olympic experience would be greatly lessened without constant interviews with the guy's family and frankly disturbing close-up footage of his feet. I mean, he's only won a measly three gold medals so far. Though I must admit, watching the Americans beat the French in the 400m freestyle relay was one of those embarrassing "jump up and cheer" moments, after which you look around to make sure the neighbors didn't see you through the window. But fuck, they started it.

Personally, I'm waiting for the Dana Dara Torres events, as she's the only female swimmer I can ogle without feeling like a creepy old man.

Last night, I was hoping we might get a similar moment of jingoistic gloating with men's gymnastics. Alas, it was not to be, even as watching Jonathan Horton and Alexander Artemev, I allowed myself the fleeting possibility they might be able to topple the Chinese. Yeah. I grant that the Chinese were the better team last night, but having the Games every four years serves another purpose: it allows me to forget how annoying sports that rely on judges for their outcome really are.

And these announcers...does anyone else watch the Games on Telemundo just so they won't understand what's being said?

In other news, only two weeks until football season.

"Hello balls"

With apologies to Faron Young...

Rather than bore you every time I have a post up on Hair Balls, I figured I'd just maintain a listing of all of them, that way I only have to bore you once a week or so. Trust me, it's better this way.

Most recent entries are listed first.

Chuck Norris Reaches Out And Touches: The Top Five (8/11/2008)
It's Freaking Hot - So Watch Some Cold Movies (8/7/2008)
Movies For Your Hurricane Party Tonight (8/4/2008)
A Wish List for Austin's Movie Memorabilia Sale (7/31/2008)
Hollywood Destroys Houston: The Top Five (7/30/2008)
Houston as a Movie Stand-In: The Top Five (7/22/2008)

Call me when they get to gunpowder

As The Wife said about an hour into last night's opening ceremonies, "Can we just surrender now and get it over with?"

It's amazing what a dictatorship with no compunction about displacing its own citizenry and pouring $40 billion in profits gained from exploitation and mercenary trade practices can accomplish, and the kickoff to the XXIX Olympiad was a fine example of the kind of spectacle autocracies are capable of.

A 500 foot LED screen in the floor...a scrim running the circumference of the stadium with movies playing on it...a cast of - literally - tens of thousands (and apparently every non-aborted female) to act out China's history (yet curiously no references to Mao)...you can't deny it was impressive. Mind-numbing, really. The stadium even has a fan whose sole purpose is to blow the flags with appropriate...majesticness.

Other random thoughts...

+ "And Bob, the children are smiling because they were told their parents would be executed if they didn't."
+ I like how the Marshall Islands uniform looks like my usual work clothes.
+ "Chinese Taipei." Nice.
+ Good shot of Mr. and Mrs. President checking their watches.
+ Man, some of those Jamaicans/Romanians/Bulgarians are pretty hot.
+ Yao Ming should've put that kid on his shoulders.
+ Jacques Rogge is one dynamic speaker.
+ Are people still serious about trying to get Houston to host this? You could fill the Sea of Japan with all the sweat being excreted in the "Bird's Nest." And it's only 85 degrees there.
+ Yeah, they're never going to top that lighting ceremony unless a squadron of naked women actually set a guy on fire and catapult him into the cauldron.

Somewhere in London, the members of the 2012 planning committee are soiling their collective knickers. Congrats China, you ceremony really appealed to the German in me.

Random airing of grievances

I know Festivus is still a ways off, so bear with me while I blow off some steam.

1. The Pointedly Oblivious: People in online forums responding to topics concerning celebrities/TV shows by saying "Who?" or "Never heard of him/her/it." Unless you just returned from a 12-year float down the Zambezi, you're lying. And if you're not lying, you have Google. I know we all wish we didn't know who Kim Kardashian was, but signing on merely to demonstrate how iconoclastic you are in your ignorance of pop culture only cements your douchebaggery.

2. "Mancation:" Why in the name of Lee Marvin is it suddenly suspect for dudes to hang out for a weekend? In fact, why are people so eager to dub the simple act of getting together for a few beers a "man date." Does my long-standing friendship with Seadogs count as a "bromance?"

We only kissed once.

3. Gambit: Seriously, he throws cards people. Add an old lady who knits radioactive tea cosies and an alien badminton player and you'd have the lamest superhero team since Power Pack.

I only bring #3 up because of the number of people shrieking in appreciation at his appearance in this footage from the new X-Men Origins: Wolverine trailer from ComicCon.

Blob was part of the Weapon X program?

EDIT: I knew they'd pull it. For the time being, it's available here.

For Your Review - August 6, 2008

Been pretty spartan with the reviews lately. All I've got this week is Pineapple Express (***). Like all pot humor, half of the jokes aren't as funny as Rogen and company seem to think.

Evil Ed

There's a tropical storm in the Gulf, and we in the Houston area know what that means: buy lots of gas; descend like locusts upon your local supermarket/Home Depot/Wal-Mart for water/batteries/candles/shotgun shells; move the pets into the attic; and prepare for widespread looting, vandalism, and cannnibalism.

Edouard will apparently make landfall tomorrow morning as a strong tropical storm or a minimal Category 1 hurricane. Unlike the case of the Rita debacle, I don't think many area residents apart from those on the coast are going to be bugging out. Here are some links for those who, like me, go into Obsessive Storm Tracker mode every time this shit starts up:

Eric Berger's SciGuy blog
Dr. Jeff Masters' WunderBlog
KPRC's hurricane page - I tend to loathe the local news and their usual panic-mode histrionics, but Frank Billingsley is consistently levelheaded. And he has great hair.
My own "hurricane porn" blog entry - Which, in an abject failure of self-promotion, I failed to repost this year

I'd suggest a hurricane party, but I probably have to be at work Wednesday.

"Hey, did you go to Hollywood Upstairs Medical School too?"

Funny story.

There's this family: mom, dad, daughter. Everything's hunky dory during the first couple years. Daughter looks normal until shortly before her second birthday, when she - for lack of a better word - "crashes:" loss of language, attention problems...the light in her eyes goes out.

So what do the parents do? Everything they can think of: tests (MRI, EEG, chromosome work-ups) and visits to the pediatric neurologist seem to confirm what everyone's been telling them: she's autistic. Going by the advice of the neurologist, the parents start her on applied behavior analysis and speech therapy. The prognosis is uncertain, but they're willing to do whatever it takes to help her.

And yet, all during this time the parents - specifically the mother - question the diagnosis. The daughter just doesn't look like the other kids at her school. Her comprehension comes in and out when it should be consistently absent. Same with language. They mention this to the second neurologist (long story), and he tells them no further tests are necessary. And why should they doubt him? He's one of the best in the world in his field.

The one person who doesn't brush them off is the daughter's pediatrician, who has consistently been the only person to give them honest/thoughtful feedback. She recommends yet another neurologist, who actually turns out to be in a different field, but through this doctor they get to the fourth neurologist, who schedules another EEG. The results come in, and they're similar to the results of the one the daughter had done two years earlier. Only this time, the "abnormalities" that the previous doctor found "benign" are anything but. The parents are told the daughter has a neurological disorder called Landau-Kleffner Syndrome, which affects the parts of the brain governing speech and comprehension. More importantly, many of its symptoms mimic autism.

This comes as a bit of a surprise to the parents, especially when they're told it can be treated with anticonvulsants. The doctor is unwilling to give a definite prognosis because, well, he's a doctor, but there are indications that some of the daughter's problems with attention and learning can be overcome. Even better, seizures generally stop around puberty. She'll still need speech therapy, and will require a ton of work to get her even close to her peers in terms of development, but there's a chance. And that's more than they thought she had six months ago.

Good news, right? Everyone the parents have told seem to think so. And so it is, but maybe the parents can be forgiven for wondering why it took two years and - literally - a hundred thousand dollars to come to a correct diagnosis? Why the leaders in pediatric neurology and childhood development at UTMB and Texas Children's were so eager to dump their daughter in the "autism" bucket and wash their hands of her? And what happens to kids whose parents expect the "experts" to always have their child's best interests in mind?

Never mind, I think I know the answer. Now that I think about it, this story isn't all that funny after all.