No real entry this week, folks. Getting ready to go on a trip with my wife and daughter to London and Paris! I can feel the tears of pity well in your eyes for me. We need to get away, I can tell you that. It's been a long time. If any of you are in England, I will be at the Memorabilia Event at the Birmingham NEC on Sunday the 29th of March. And then on April 11, I'm doing "An Evening With" in London (see www.wolfevents.com). Come by if you can!

Thanks to all of you out there who offered your birthday wishes over the weekend. It was very kind and I really appreciate it. I am now at the age when birthdays occur approximately every 19 days. Years have become long weekends. I remember so clearly when my sister was old enough that it was deemed safe for me to go out in a rowboat as long as she accompanied me. She was 14.

When I was 22 and a senior in college I briefly dated a 26-year-old. She seemed so much older and more worldly than me (she was). Now I'm shocked when 26-year-olds are weaned and can walk and talk all by themselves. Soon it will be me who needs assistance with the walking and talking. More the walking than the talking.

First, some housekeeping. My plan, such as it is, is to try to post a blog every other week. It's going to work better than trying, and failing, to do it every week. Last night was Volume 4, ep 15. Next blog would after ep 17. You get it.

I recently ran into some people who told me how much they enjoy the blog. That's great. Sometimes I'm not sure if anyone out there is reading it. If you are and if you have a comment or question, please post it. I will try to answer your questions and address your comments.

Before I get to the episodes, let's talk about the Super Bowl for a moment.

Sorry about missing the last two weeks. It's because... oh, hell. It's gonna happen. You understand.

Monday night's episode was 311, "The Eclipse, part 2," wherein Sylar and HRG beat each other senseless. The scene culminates in a nasty collision of box cutter and jugular -- which, as any parent can tell you, is just not safe. This is the scene I wrote about several weeks (months?) ago in which Zach Quinto and I engage in fisticuffs for eight hours. Having not seen the episode yet, I don't know how long the sequence lasts, but I can tell you that however long it is, lots of it remains on the cutting room floor. (This expression, like so many others, is a charming anachronism. Heroes isn't assembled on film. Although shot on 35 millimeter film, it is edited digitally.)

I've got a cold. Thanks, Hayden. I worked with her all last week and she was sneezing all over the place. I have a sneaking suspicion, however, that the virus was transferred by way of burrito. She manhandled the darn thing before giving it to me. That was Monday, before I realized that she was polluted. Moments later, the sniffling and sneezing began. I've never seen a human being blow her nose so many times in one week. Let's hope I don't break her record.

So, I'm home today. Tomorrow we start episode 17. It's a huge one for me, along the lines of "Company Man," which was also episode 17, or "Cautionary Tales." This episode is entitled "Cold Wars." All three are two word titles beginning with C's. Coincidence? Yeah, probably.

Sorry for missing last week. There will be times that I just can't get around to writing the blog. I hope y'all understand. Here then is a partial list of excuses:

On top of work, there's my movie. We're in the midst of putting all the financing in place, an exercise that seemingly has no end and always needs attention. Then there's the construction. The entire front of our house is torn up. Also, my daughter has either soccer or a basketball game, it seems, every day of the week. To miss a game is a capital offense, punishable by death. Not that I would want to miss one. She's the leading scorer on her soccer team. They're in second place out of 22 teams, so it's a fun ride this season. Friday night, I worked until 5 am, got to sleep around 6, then got up at 8 so I wouldn't miss her game at 9. I know what you're thinking: Nobel Prize for parenting. That's certainly what I was thinking at 8 am. My daughter was somewhat less impressed.