So Cindy Sheehan has given up her fight against the war due to her perfectly understandable emotional, physical and financial exhaustion. She also cited the lack of the Democrats ability to do anything about bringing the war to an end. Well, they haven't accomplished much of anything else either and I predicted this was what would happen the day they took the house. I have always felt sympathy for Sheehans loss. I can't imagine the pain of losing a child, but railing against the government, no matter which party holds the majority, to do anything about it is an exercise in futility. The promises made to clean up government and do something about the right's "culture of corruption" by the democrats in their campaigns have yet to be fulfilled. Oh, there are little concessions here and there to give the ragers on the left food for blogging, but nothing of real substance has come from the new kids on the block. It's so easy to make promises when you know exactly what people want to hear(and not just in politics) and you can actually get them to believe you if you use the right words and tone of voice, but keeping those promises is a much harder thing to do especially if you never intended to keep them in the first place. Most of the new guys had no real intention of doing anything but getting elected so they could start sucking the teat of the government perk sow, and those who did want change were quicly herded into the appropriate holding pens until they could be brought around. Some are still there, I suppose. You can cite vetos and threats all you like, but the fact is, especially where the war is concerned, that nothing was going to change and it wont change in 2008 either.

Cindy Sheehan has finally come to understand this the hard way. Most of those disillusioned by the campaign promises have lost nothing but their faith in those they elected to bring about changes, Sheehan lost considerably more on her trip to the reality of the political machine. It is a machine that has little consideration for the voice of the one, and most cases, the voice of the many. It's really not the fault of the politicians themselves, the fault lies with the American people who continue to tolerate this behavior. We have become a society of haters and ragers rather than one of movers and shakers. Ending the war on terror(that's right! People are dying in places other than Iraq) would not end teh war in Washington, and as long as that war continues to be fought with such passion, nothing will really get done there by either side. We have become so used to vilifying those with whom we disagree that those we elect figure that as long as they just keep doing the same thing we wont notice when they don't do what we elected them to do. As long as there is hate and discontent, the pork barrels can continue to be filled to overflowing.

The "Culture of Corruption" doesn't lie with one party or the other. It's not a thing exclusive to Washington or politicians at state and local levels. The blame for this issue lies with the American people, and until we ALL start checking ourselves, until we ALL start exploring our motives before voting and untill we ALL start reining in those we elected and take them to task at every turn, nothing will change. Cindy Sheehan is still pissed and fired off a 1,200 word letter of hatefilled venom as she exited the public eye. She may understand the futility of her fight, but she has yet to understand the futilty of hate. It is a wasted emotion and until those who would continue to use it to motivate a voting base or dispute an issue learn that, it will continue to be the driving force in politics and will ensure that nothing ever really gets done.

As I raise my daughters I don't think much about anything but trying to take care of them right now. I am not a wealthy man so there will be no dowery or trust fund to see to their financial needs in perpetuity. I have nothing of any real value to leave them so a will is not as big as issue as buying groceries or clothes. I have a small fund for the little ones to help with college or to get them on their feet when they marry, but it won't amount to much and I was WAY too broke to do anything of the sort for my oldest, which brings me to the point of this post.

My daughter, Cassandra, was about sixteen when she announced that she would be leaving the day she turned eighteen to take the world by storm and get everything she always wanted by the time she was twenty-one and do it without the bothersome harrassment of her parents and never have to worry about anything I had to say again. Things like, "Get your ass to school", "Stop hanging out with those losers", and "As long as you live here you do as I say". She would have no kids, no husband, no nothing to slow her down or interfere with her progress. I think most parents have heard that speech, and many of us pitched it to our own parents! Well..It took quite a lot of repair work to fix the door jambs which had clawmarks from her holding on and me trying to get her out on her eighteenth birthday. I eventually became exhuasted trying to get her out so I relented and let her stay. I am, of course, being facetious. While every parent looks forward to, in some measure, their children spreading their wings there is a certain apprehension that goes with it and I was no exception.

Just before Cassie's twenty second birthday, she told me she was moving to Las Vegas. It was there that she would explore her independence and find her way in the world. I was sure this was a bad idea and I said so. I thought she should take baby steps, maybe move across town with a buddy first, so I could rush to her assistance should it become necessary, but no, Vegas it would be. VEGAS> It's three hundred miles away! How could I go give her ywenty bucks just because I could, or a hug when she was lonely? It was outrageous.

As the time came for her to make the move I manned up and made my support available along with my warnings and misgivings, but she was not to be swayed. With all her employment experience in retail and all the opportunities in that field in Vegas, it would be a good move giving her the chance to prove to everyone, and most importantly to herself, that she could do this. So, in October of 2004 I renred a U Haul, loaded her stuff anf we were off to the next phase of her life.

She proved herself correct that employment wasn't a problem there and was never without a paycheck. Before long she began to speak of Bakersfield as if it were a place she had once visited. She had become a pure Vegasite. I visited as often as possible, enjoying the trips and taking pride in her newfound freedoms and independence. I turned her old room into an office and music room and all appeared well and good.

Last year she called and informed me that she had met the love of her life, Joe, and that I should expect my first blood grandchild around Christmas. Her new beau was on his way back to Iraq and they would give themselves some time to make sure they wanted to marry while he was deployed and that we would meet him in about a year when he came home. Well, life has a way of speeding things up, and sometimes the jump isn' pretty. His return to the states was hastened by an encounter with an IED. He was gravely injured and was sent to Walter Reed. I had yet to even speak to the man who held my daughters heart and Cassie was devestated. She couldn't even go see him, but once he was able to use a phone they cultivated their relationship in that manner. Plans were made to be married, but it was still sketchy due to his condition. As any parent would, I began to wonder if she really knew this man. Was she sure this was what she wanted. Questions parents ask even when they HAVE met the guy! I admit I was skeptical.

One evening as I sat at the puter diddling around with whatever, I got a phone call. It was Joe. I had never spoke with this man and wondered what was the matter. Nothing, as it turned out. He had called to profess his love for my daughter and ask for her hand in marriage! He would not consider it without my blessing. I was flabbergasted! We talked for some time and he answered many of my questionsand put to rest many of my fears.

I called Cassie and told her about it and how much I appreciated it. We talked about dates and times for wedding plans, but with his condition still up in the air(he had lost his hearing, badly damaged his eye, arm and leg, all on the right side)it was uncertain when anything would happen so we just held out and hoped for the best.

One thing that was sure was the impending date of my grandsons birth(see my blog "On Aidan"..Jan 07). As the time neared and we knew her labor would be induced it was easy for us to make it for the event. Joe was supposed to have been better and on leave for it too, but that didn't happen. Cassie was crushed and we felt for her. Had he been there, the wedding would have taken place if it had to happen in the hospital bed!

A couple of times after that Joe was supposed to come home on leave, but something always seemed to come up. They were going to fix his eye, they weren't, it was nuts! Between his varying condition depending on which doctor was attending that day we were beginning to wonder if it would ever happen. In the meantime Cassie and Aidan had moved back home(see blog "Fate's Whims"..Jan-07)and now I got to be there when she would learn of another delayed arrival. It was hard for me to have to see her so hurt and the old fatherly skepticism began to creep back into my head. Was he for real? Was he jerking my baby around? There will come a day when Joe and Cassie have these same feelings for one reason or another, so I'll wait till then for them to forgive me!

Then one day it actually happened! We received word that he had his leave orders and would be here on May 7th at noon, well..if nothing fell through again. Cassie was a mess, which made me a mess(shhh..dont tell her)but it looked like the myth would finally become a reality and my little girl's dreams would finally be fulfilled.

Now don't get me wrong, I LOVE Vegas weddings! Not much fluff and plenty of gambling and partying, but had Cassie asked for an extravaganza, I would have mortgaged the house to make it happen. All she wanted to do was marry her man before the Army could screw things up again, so off we went to Vegas. I have had people ask me why Cassie would want to do the Vegas thing. Well, when you have watched your child agonize over not being able to even touch the man she loves. When she cries in frustration over more and more delays after months of hits and misses. When all she talks about is just making sure they get it done so they can go on with their lives; when you, as a parent, go in the other room so she can't see you upset over her predicament. When you start to question something you don't understand just because your child is hurting in a way you will most likely never understand..well, then come ask that question of me. Situations like that tend to put your priorities in order. Perhaps they will come home and have a wing-ding wedding or a big reception when there is time, but for now, they have what they want and that is each other. Frilly dresses and a hundred guests won't make you any happier once the party is over. I don't know if it feels any different to walk your daughter down the aisle and give her away at a huge wedding. I was just as teary, the lump in my throat and the swelling in my chest no smaller in front of only some family and a few friends than in front of a hundred people. It felt just as good to me, the aisle was just shorter.

Anyway..I had been dealing with some serious health issues for a few weeks when the time came to make the trip to Vegas. My doctor wanted to admit me to the hospital the day we were to leave for Vegas. I politely declined his advice and loaded up for the trip. I had a bottle of vicodin and a driver. I wasn't staying behind because I didn't feel good.

Cassie is now the larger part of Joe's life and he is the most important man in her life instead of me. That is a big pill to swallow since I raised her, but untimately went down smoothly and made me feel fine and proud. Joe is a fine young man, dedicated to his family and the defense of our great country. As my apprehensions surrounding him vanished at our first handshake, my apprehensions of their lives together vanished as i handed her over to him.

Their lives will be difficult as he goes back to the military lifestyle he chose as a creer many years ago and that my daughter accepted as a way of life, but their head over heels love affair with each other will sustain them as they move forward and come to understand life as a married couple.

For now, Cassie and Aidan will stay with me as the military decides just what to do with Joe as he has been wounded in action three times but still wants a military career. I will take advantage of the short time I have left as Dad and Grampa with them here and I will appreciate what I will, soon enough, no longer have with her.

So, on the giving away, it was a bittersweet experience I will always remember, cherish and look back on with the mixed feelings parents will always have about setting a child free..even if she did it when she was twenty four!

I sit here at my desk still aching from the pain of another bout with kidney stones. Not pleasant, but at least I am home. I spent three days in the hospital with this crap and THAT sucked. While I sat in that Godforsaken place I got to thinking about how much I really hate hospitals. It doesnt matter if I am a patient or a visitor, they suck. As a patient they are messy, smelly, noisy, uncomfortable places with horrible food. As a visitor they stink because there is no easy way to go see someone or extricate yourself from a visit. What do you say to someone in a hospital? How ya feelin? If they were feeling alright they wouldnt be there in the first place. Then there are the get well soon cliches and stupid old jokes about whatever ailment the person has..It's supposed to make them feel better, but as an experienced patient..I really don't care if you leave, or for that matter, even come see me. I'll see you when I get out or I'll call you. Then after the requisite time spent hem hawing around at a sick friend/family members bedside comes the uneasy exit strategy. You know..when you are at that crossroads of wanting to leave and feeling guilty about it. The looking at your watch and a couple of well placed "Well..I need to get going" excuses.

I had three days to think about my current ailment and all the ailments in the past that have put me in those dreaded buildings. I have not been kind to my body over the years and I have payed dearly in pain and lost time. I have left the hospitals with casts, stitches, bandages and crutches. I have gone to them on foot, in my own car, with friends and family driving me and twice in an ambulance. Today I still pay the price for my past owies with stiff, sore joints, lumps and knots that will never go away, but at least chicks dig scars and I have plenty of those. So, with all this in mind I figured I'd share my hospital adventures which add up to about nine weeks all told, not including the twenty eight days I spent at Charter Hospitals Chemical Depenency unit in 1990.

I was in the hospital as an infant with pyloricstenosis, an infantile disorder that required surgery for wich I still have a hefty scar on my belly, but I don't count that one as I remember nothing of it, so I'll begin with the trip to Mercy Hospital in Bakersfield on May 17th, 1975 where I was treated for my first broken femur. I was 15 and crashed in the Great Escape Gran Prix up in Tehachapi, totaled my step-dads Yamaha 360 and didnt do my left leg any good either. After a trip to the Tehachapi Hospital to stabilize me and get jacked up with morphine I went to Mercy where I began my six week stint. I remember being high as a kite on the way down and really not caring about much until I noticed the doctor in the ER chucking up a long thin bit in a cordless drill. I was a little curious and was about to say something when the doc nodded at one of the nurses, who held my shoulders and another held my hips. The doctor proceeded to drill that long thin bit horizontally right through my shin. To this day I dont know if it really hurt or if it was just the shock of watching that bit poke through the other side of my leg. It didnt even bleed! Then the doc went down and grabbed my foot and started pulling my leg down. The lower part of the femur had slid up near my hip in the accident and they had to set it, which they did as my stomach did flip flops when I felt the sucking and heard the gurgling of the bone moving. THAT hurt! Once they had everything where they wanted it theu put a clamp on the bit and attached the weights and pulleys for my traction assembly that held me prisoner for the next six weeks.

I was in pediatrics on the fifth floor of the "old wing" along Truxtun Ave and had a window bed. I had a little old multi band am/fm radio on a shelf by the window that I could reach from my bed. One day my friend, Robert, and a couple of other buddies came to see me. When they left, Robert put the radio where I couldn't reach it, cranked the volume all the way up and they all ran off. They were long gone by the time the nurses got to my room to see what was going on. The nurses were not impressed. Another day an orderly came in, shut the blinds and closed my door. He didn't say a word and I didn't even ask what was going on. I heard some commotion in the street and looked down and saw a fire truck. I could hear people in the hallway and see shadows moving down behind the curtains. I put the call light on but nobody came for a very long time. When they finally did come open the doors and blinds again I was informed there had been a fire in the kitchen. I was told I was never in danger and closing the doors was to keep me from becoming alarmed. hmmmm...Nice strategy!

One day they pushed my bed out onto the patio overlooking the Sant Fe yard. It was cool and one of my favorite LVNs came and hung out with me for about an hour. Her name was Nancy, she was 26, and to this day I think she had a crush on me. Who could blame her! Then there was Jill..A blonde haired, blue eyed beauty from North High who was a Candystriper. They volunteered their time to go talk to patients and help out with menial tasks with the nurses. She and I became sweethearts and her Mom used to bring her up to see me. When I got out of the hospital and would stay at my Dads here in town, she would come see me there too. Then I found out she had a boyfriend because he called me in tears one day. It seems we all had a common friend and she spilled the beans. I never heard from her again...I always wondered what became of her. I had become used to hospital food but family still brought me outside food and goodies. I got so used to watching what I wanted on TV that going home was not a good prospect. My stepdad would be in control of the 11 channels we had at home! We also found out the cokes, ice creams and other incidentals were not covered by Tims insuarance. I had run up quite a tab that he had to pay. He made tough about it, but I really don't think he cared. He never even said anything about me thrashing his bike in the wreck. My term at Mercy ended on June 28th as Mom loaded me in the back of the car in my spanking new body cast and hauled me home to Tehachapi. That was an adventure in itself, but that is another story.

On April 16th 1976 I entered the Golden Bear Hare n Hound. A pointo to point desert race out near Campsite "C" by California City. That even ended with me alongside the trail for about three hours holding my badly broken ankle up. I knew it was broken and pulled my boot off immediately and felt the bones pulling apart as I did. It didn't really hurt, but it creeped me out! When the sweep crew came along it was led by a friend from Mojave named Les Ishman and tagging along was the off road legend, Malcom Smith. Malcom had some tylenol and Les had some gatorade. The first time I had used either product. Behind them came a sweep truck. They loaded my bike up, layed me in teh back next to it with my lower leg taped to a couple of stakes and told me to bang on the window if it got too rough. It did; quickly! I beat the window but they never stopped. They were taking it easy but it was very rough terrain and I was bouncing around the back of teh truck banging my leg around. It was killing me. When we stopped I asked if they didn'y hear me. They said "Yeah, we did, but it wasn't gonna get easier so we just kept going. We met mt parents out in the desert in our van and they took me and teh bike to Tehachapi and then to Bakersfield where I underwent surgerey to have my ankle screwed back together. Same hospital, same doctor, same room..I was there for six days.

I remember waking up as they wheeled me back into the room from surgery and as they put me back in the bed I said "Be careful, I have a broken ankle". I was still blasted from the anesthesia and pain meds. The orderlies just looked at me like I was an idiot. When I woke up the next morning my ankle had swollen inside teh cast and it was very painful. There was a big bloody spot on the cast where it had seeped through. I couldnt believe how badly it hurt.

One of the nurses that had been there the year before and hated motorcycles was still there. She was a straight up bitch. The second day I was there I asked for something for the pain and she actually told me that since I was stupid enough to still be rididng bikes I deserved to hurt like that, maybe I'd learn something. When I told Mom about it later that day, she was not impressed with the nurse's attitude and told her so. My doctor was informed of teh incident. I don't know what was said, but she never bugged me again.

I went in on Sunday and went home the following Saturday. One good thing was that I was mobile with crutches so there would be no more shennanigans by by my old buddies and if the place caught on fire I could get out!

For the next twenty four years my visists to hospitals were ERs and out patient surgeries. Some of that stuff included: Two blown out knees, a broken hand, two broken feet(at the same time!), three trips for broken ribs, throat surgery, Carpal Tunnel surgery, and a few I cant recall right now.

Then came May 30th, 2000. The JB Memorial Gran Prix at L.A. County Raceway in Palmdale. I hit the big double there like I had a hundred times before, but as soon as I left the face of the jump, I knew I wasn't going to make it. All I remember is pushing the bike out in front of me so I wouldn't smash my head on the handlebars. When I came to a few minutes later I was nursing my second broken femur. I had also suffered a concussion and a slightly separated shoulder.

I was admitted to Antelope Valley Hospital where I lay in the ER for eight hours for the surgery to insert a rod into my right femur. I wasn't supposed to have anything, not even water, but my wife and family were letting me suck on wet washrags they were supposed to be wiping sweat and dirt from my face with. They were a God send! After about three hours in there I was still on the backboard and it was killing me. I asked why I had to be on it and they said they were afraid it would hurt if they tried to get it out from under me. I was incredulous! I told them I F*%^ing hurt already, just do it! So they did. They were right. It hurt like a bitch, but after that shock of pain wore off I did feel more comfortable. It seemed like everytime I would doze off from the pain meds, I'd wake up and another family member would be there. It's nice to have backup!

I think the surgeon who did me there may have been related to the old batte axe nurse at Mercy because he started lecturing me about the stupidity of riding bikes. This time I was 40 years old and not in the mood to put up with some arrogant doctors crap. I told him to spare me the lecture, keep his narrowminded opinions to himself and just do his job. As a sidenote, when I told my own orthopedist here in town about it when I went under his care, he said he loved dirtbikers because they payed for his last few Mercedez'.

It was during this stay that I experienced my first panic attack. I didn't know what it was so I didn't know what to ask for, I just suffered in silence that whole week. My leg had bled internally very badly, the doctor said it was the worst he'd ever seen. I was really very badly injured, much worse than the first time when I was fifteen. My leg was one solid bruise from hip to heel and I was nauseated for a couple of days from my bump on the head.

They had me on a morphine drip and after the second day my wife noticed I was scratching all the time and insisted I was having a reaction to the morphine. I felt fine and told her not jack with my juice, but she was insistent that they change my pain medication. I had just done my regulated bump from the maching when the nurse came in with a demerol injection. I watched her stab it into the IV tube and withing a few seconds I was on one of the finest highs I had ever experienced, and I have experienced quite a few! They said I turned plae, broke into a sweat and my eyes rolled back into my head. They thought I had OD'd..All I remember is saying to myself, "YEAH!..I can do this"!

I survived the day and still itched so they just left me on the morphine. I figure I was just dirty. I had, after all, been in an off road racing accident a few days before and had yet to be cleaned. They got me up on the third day and had me on crutches and out in the hall and trying to go to the bathroom by myself. It sucked and I was a long way from home and wanted to get out of there. I went in on Monday Morning and went home on Friday morning.

I spent an uncomfortable summer recuperating and went back to work in mid September, still on my cane. My boss just needed the help. My leg got to a certain point in healin and just would get better and on January 2nd, 2001 I went back into Mercy hospital to have the rod in my femur removed and replace with a larger diameter one. I went in at five a.m. and did my pre op stuff, got the good stuff that relaxes your muscles before a surgery and went under the knife again.

I was only there fpr two days and the only memorable story from that trip was the evening of the surgery. I wasn't supposed to eat anything solid, but being the know it all and hard head that I am, I told them "I know my body, I'm OK..Just give me some real food" So they did. About 10 minutes after that I started feeling really nauseated. One my friends, the late Burt Ulmer, came to see me and just as he walked into my room I tossed my solid food in the banana shaped pan made for such occurrences, He looked at me and said, "Hey dude, I didn't realize you felt that way about me" . We had a laugh and I learned a lesson. When the people who do this stuff everyday tell you something, they probably know what they are talking about..Humor them!

My next excursion in the world of sick-a-toriums was in Marcj of 2006. My neck had been giving me troublr for years and it could no longer be ignored. I needed to have three discs fused and was admitted to Kern Medical Center, where my doctor assured me I would have a private room for the night I was going to have to stay there. I went into the pre op room and was informed I was diabetic, then taken in and KOed for teh surgery. The instant I woke up I knew I was fixed. The pain was gone. What was to come would make me wonder if it was worth it. The private room was a fantasy and I was taken to a four bed room in the neurological recovery and care unit. I was in a room with a comatose guy whos snores alone should have rattled him back to the world, another guy who babbled the whoile night and another guy who had about thirty family members, including small kids, running in and out of the room. The nuyrses would come in and tell them only two at a time, but alas, they didn't seem to speak or understand english and nothing was ever done. I got no sleep that nite. I was also told I had to eat a diabetic mels, but it was just beef broth and lime jello(sugar free)so I had my nephew sneak me in a Subway sanwich which I would hide under the covers when a nurse would draw near. I still dont know why I hid it, what were they gonna do? Throw me out?

And the brings me to last Wednesday when I was finally able to peel myself off my bathroom floor long enough to drive to the ER. I used to have a wife to do that stuff, but we are now separated, which is another story, and I am on my own now. I sat in ER from 11 am till I got a room at around 10pm and stayed there till Friday afternoon. It was, for the most part, an uneventful stay and the staff were magnificent, but it was still a hospital and I still hated it and I was glad to get home.

So there you have it. Hospitals suck and sometimes situations there suck, but there is still humor to be found in just about every situation and place, even when it sucks. So next time you have to be in one, look for the funny stuff. Make fun of your room mate or some of the nurses, flirt with them, do something, but don't just sit there and be sick!

As a man not given to hero worship, infatuation or celebrity fixation I don't do a lot of ga-ga stuff where the hoi-polloi are concerned, but I have made a few exceptions over the years and Dr. Stephen Hawking is one of them. As one of the most brilliant minds in history he has captured the imagination of a new generation of scientists and physicists just as Albert Einstein did before him. Unlike his noted predecessors however, Hawking is an extrovert. Cocky, outspoken, witty and personable. He has a great sense of humor and has even lended his voice to a couple of episodes of the Simpsons, which is a mandatory stop on the road to cultural superstardom. He has a knack for explaining theoretical physics in a way that most goofballs like me can understand and that makes it interesting to anyone intersted in listening and learning.

His book "A Brief History Of Time" is one of the works that turned me, an avowed math hater, into curiously fascinated student of science even though I had been out of school for many years when I read it. My love for astronomy made me pick up the book and things I wondered about have made more sense now that I have read this and other pieces by Dr. Hawking.

For those who don't know about him, he suffers form ALS, or Lou Gehrig's disease and is unable to talk or move any but a few facial and finger muscles. He uses a computer program called Equalizer that uses inputs from eye movement(hand and muscle movements can also be selected) to select words on a menu and create sentences which can then be played or saved for later use in voice or print. It was adapted to his wheelchair and he is able to "speak" about 15 words a minute. His only complaint is that it gives him an American accent! Despite all of this he holds the Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge University; the same chair held by Isaac Newton in 1663.

Well, Dr. Hawking got a shot at breaking the restraints of his whhelchair and his condition, at least briefly, last week when we was taken up in a jet that performs parabolic arc flights which simulate zero G environments for short periods to anyone interested and able to afford it. Dr. Hawking is a huge supporter of space exploration and believes it is the only chance that humanity has to survive indefinitley as a species, so it was no surprise when I read that he had taken the time to try this and that he had been so well accomodated.

I hope Dr. Hawking enjoyed his flight as much as I enjoyed hearing about his having done it. There are those, I am certain, who will decry, for whatever silly reason, that his ideas about the future are unrealistic and that research should be aimed at whatever pet peeve they may have instead of flights of fancy like this. Well..to any and all who harbor that opinion I say NUTS! God Bless Dr. Hawking and those who see to his care and aid. He so richly deserved the chance to break the bonds of his disiablity. What a feeling it must have been to float and tumble in the air with no worries about anything but having fun and living, at least, a part of his dream.

For more information on Dr. Hawking go to www.hawking.org.uk

Information on parabolic flights for everyone..www.zerogravity.com