Today at noon the lovely Mrs. Blogs, otherwise known as She Who is From Venus, is whisking me away to parts unknown for an overnight stay somewhere, I believe, north of the equator.

Works for me.

This has the potential to fulfill at least four of the top ten fantasies I've held since age thirteen. Although our excursion is unlikely to address #7, playing center field for the SF Giants, I'll report on the results, however coyly, upon my return.

My loyal readers, The Three of You, have a right to know.

Now that I've made a mysterious reappearance from that Black Hole of Nothingness Beyond the Abyss, The Three of You are probably wondering "What's up with the four month Rosemary Woods-size gap in the GP Blogs writing schedule?"

It's a fair question that deserves an honest answer.

Although I'm not at liberty to divulge the full extent of my involvement, I have received clearance to share that my absence from this forum has been in direct correlation to the following items:

1. A roll of duct tape.

2. Previously unreleased encryptions of Beatles recordings played sideways which reveal, "Paul is darn near the only one of us left alive."

3. One case of WD-40.

4. A second roll of duct tape.

5. A letter from Col. Oliver North; that letter being "J."

6. Detailed instructions on how to starve a cold and feed a fever.

7. One half-used jar of Vaseline.

8. Detailed instructions on how to feed a cold and starve a fever. Just in case.

9. A seven and a half minute phone conversation with Karl Rove. 'nuff said.

10. A poison-filled hollow "tooth" which at this writing remains intact but has become absessed.

I'll let The Three of You piece this together. My lips are zipped. Homeland Security and all.

I'd tell you more.

But then I'd have to kill you.

Fifty years ago on July 15, 1955 "the happiest place on earth" opened its doors. This was a momentous occasion for our culture I think we can all agree. Approximately nine hours before Uncle Walt cut the ribbon an equally historic, though less sensational, event occurred at 1:15 AM when Dorothy O'Connor of Sacramento gave birth to her first child, a son by the name of Michael Francis. Ever since it's been an E-ticket ride all the way. (Older readers--and you know who you are--will glean that reference right away.)

So, if you think of it, hoist a tall glass of your favorite beverage tonight in honor of that little red-haired freckle-faced boy and his younger brother, Disneyland.