Cloverfield

Cloverfield

A few brief thoughts on Cloverfield.

I've said before, on the pages of this blog, that I LOVES me some disaster movies. A sloppy, messy kind of love that generally leaves everybody involved and witness to it a little embarassed and angry that as a race, this is only as far as we've come.

Generally speaking, if you put in the trailer advertising your movie a shot of a major landmark being destroyed and another shot of a mass of people running from the carnage? I'm there, dude. The movie doesn't even have to be about the disaster. You could insert three seconds worth of footage of a satellite destroying the Space Needle, and you'd have me sitting front row center of Sleepless in Seattle.

So, when the trailer for Cloverfield came on before Transformers last summer, you can guess just how much I was drooling when the head of the Statue of Liberty came rolling down the street.

Well, I've had opportunity to see the flick, and I've got a thought or twelve. I warn you that spoilers may follow, for the seven of you still reading my little blahg:

1.) I like the movie. Muchly. Mostly because it's the disaster movie I've been waiting for all my life. It's the one where all the important characters die. I think the only thing that could have topped it would be to finish the flick with a shot of the Cloverfield Monster punching its way to the center of the planet, and having the Earth explode as a result. I have no real defense as to enjoying the fact that everybody dies...a mere explanation that some days, I fall into that George Carlin line of thinking, where humanity's on a boat ride down the spiral of a flushing toilet. As luck would have it, today was one of those days. So, no Hollywood "the good guys make it" ending. I heart that.

2.) The whole device of Hud carrying a camera around for the whole thing would have gotten tiresome in a hurry, were I traipsing through Manhattan while Gamorra tears my city apart. I think the second we holed up on the Subway platform, just after I'd had to tell my Mom that my brother had died? I'd have made Hud eat the camera.

3.) Other than that, I didn't mind the whole Guy with the Camera device. It worked for me.

4.) I didn't have any motion sickness problems, except for the point where Hud does get his. The remains of his corpse and the camera fall to the earth, and the camera searches for something to auto-focus upon. That bothered my brain. Had to shut my eyes. Other than that, I had no motion-sickness or anything....


5.) Her name is Lizzy Caplan, she plays Marlena, and Dang. She's purty. Had to go to IMDB to figure out where I'd seen here...and I realized that it was Tru Calling (my thing for Eliza Dushku made me watch that one). She was also in Mean Girls...and I must have seen her in Freaks and Geeks, though it's been three or four years since I've watched that show. I don't remember her. There's a point, though, just after she's been bitten by one of the dog-sized shrimp/spiders, that she smiles at the camera after Hud's made a joke. She's got the best smile to come down the pike in a while. I can't think of one better....

6.) I don't know NYC geography. So I don't have much of an issue with traveling from one end of Manhattan to the other--that's close enough to kosher for me that I didn't give it a thought. My issue is with our band of heroes having to walk up 59 flights of steps to get to the roof of Beth's building, and then down (one would assume) something close to 20 (and possibly more) flights to get to the 39th floor that her apartment's on...then, they get her, and have to go up 20 flights, and down 59 again? So, up and down 79 flights of steps, grand total? Possible, I guess. But I think that my heart, filled with southern-fried goodness as it is, would explode on the down trip.

7.) We hit both a building collapsing like 9/11 and a bridge collapsing like last summer's Minneapolis tragedy. Any other particular disasters from the past few years get a mimic job?

8.) Maybe there's a post to this, maybe not. I'm not really dancing on the graves of any of the characters. I just get tired of Hollywood movies where some average joe rises up above it all in the name of love. Yeah, it's a great thing, but love won't save you from carpet bombings or a 30-story tall monster.

That said, the romantic in me did dig the whole "I love you" at the end. I think back to those two tragedies listed above, and think about how many of those people died without getting to say that to that one person who they most cared about. Maybe a little Hollywood. But I was glad that it was there. As an aside: of all things tragic for 9/11, the one thing that still tears me up to this day, is hearing a recording of somebody who called a loved one to tell them goodbye, and that they loved them.....

9.) Okay, so Rob goes into the electronic store to get a new phone battery, right? Two things bothered me here. One: The battery came pre-charged? I've always had to charge them. Is this something you New Yorkers have been holding out on us? And two: How the heck did he get it out of that plastic packaging that quickly? Did adrenaline allow him to break through? For me, nothing short of a lightsaber will let me into that packing quickly....

10.) I think of this as the T-Rex question. Remember in Jurassic Park, when the T-Rex gets eyeball to eyeball with the kids in the Jeep? Or when it roars? At what point do you go gaga and ruin a piece of laundry? Same thing applies for Cloverfield, with an added twist. At what point do you cut and run? Me? I'm probably hiding under a desk from the minute debris starts raining down on the rooftop. And if I was brave enough to wander out onto the street to see the Statue of Liberty's head come flying at me, I'm not standing around long enough to take pictures. My ass is the cloud of dust on the horizon heading for the Brooklyn Bridge...

11.) I know there's a couple New York area natives who pop in, from time to time. I wonder about their thoughts. What would they think, looking across the river from Jersey, to see a monster tear-assing through Manhattan? What thoughts from Sheepshead Bay?

12.) There will be debate as to whether it's actually a disaster movie. To me? Giant monster emerging from the sea, dropping people-exploding shrimp/spiders, tearing your city apart? Disaster.

13.) This one might be my favorite, then. Granted, this is my kneejerk reaction. Sometimes, my opinions change over time. But in the short term, me likey.

Administrative Note

Administrative Note

I teased a continuation/telling of my Jeopardy testing experiences. And believe it or not, I did actually write something. But I'm rather pleased with myself at how it turned out...pleased enough that it may be something I submit for actual publication, so I'm gonna hold off, put it on a shelf for a couple days, and come back and do a re-write. I'll post it then.

Jeopardy...

Jeopardy...

Here in a few minutes, your old pal Tommy takes the Jeopardy online test. Maybe later tonight, there's a post talking about trying out for this crazy little game show, and the ends of the country I've traveled to.

At least this way, I can test for Jeopardy in my underpants.

Which is really kinda creepy, since I'm currently blogging from my folks' house.

They fed me pizza.

Update: Well, the test just took me a few minutes. There were 50 questions. Of those, I figure I knew between 35-40 for sure. There were another 8-10 that I made educated guesses on. There were four or five that I took a shot at (I suck at questions on Art and Architecture...)

And I blanked complete on 1 question.

The answer was The Namesake.

My brain kept saying "Harold and Kumar Go to India...."

I couldn't type that in quickly enough. I wish I could, if only to give some intern reading answers a laugh.

Anyway, good performance on that test isn't a guarantee of an audition. They pick at random anybody who pools over a certain amount, I believe, and who's picked a certain locale for the next step in the audition process. My first choice was Savannah, GA....

Anyway. Later tonight, I'll tell of a couple trips to take the Jeopardy test. One of which nearly resulted in the death of yours, truly.

Honest to God.

Twenty Two Years Ago....

Twenty-Two Years Ago....

The Challenger exploded 22 years ago. We were out of school. It was a snow day. My sister and I were staying with the lady who kept her, while my parents worked. Just one of those moments where I'll always remember where I was...

Dear WWE

Dear WWE

Hello World Wrestling Entertainment. I hope you're well. Did you have a good Christmas?

I just wanted to drop a line, mostly in reference to your Royal Rumble pay per view.

I don't want to bitch.

But I wasn't a big fan of Hulk Hogan the first time around.

This John Cena/Superman bit? It was tiresome two years ago.

It's just about insulting, now. Yeah, it was a surprise when he came out to participate in the match. But when he did, it was a foregone conclusion as to the winner of the Rumble would be.

Gonna re-think my whole decision to try to attend Wrestlemania 24 this year. I have to wonder if a main event between my two least favorite wrestlers in the company is really worth it.

Especially when you were teasing Cena/Triple H....

And while I'm on the subject of the Rumble? What's the deal with The Miz or Bob Holly or Snitsky getting double digit minutes in the Rumble, but Shelton Benjamin, who gets espoused by announcers, wrestlers and fans as A Favorite to Watch gets 45 seconds?

Also? Why is it so much to ask to have Ric Flair A.) Not Curtain Jerk, and B.) Actually win a match in a convincing fashion, using the skills that still make him a better worker than half the rsoter, instead of making every match a win from what seems to be something akin to dumb luck?

That one there's especially insulting, when it seems like Randy Orton gets a clean win in every match.

Still, it wasn't all bad.

I thought the Jericho/JBL feud is going nicely.

I'm digging Edge's run as Champ over on Smackdown. Easily the best heel in the WWE since Kurt Angle's 2000/2001 heel run. And while I bitch about clean finishes, the Edge/Misterio ending actually matches the character perfectly.

And the Piper/Snuka thing in the rumble? Despite the fact that they suddenly seemed very, very old (especially Snuka...), I dug that. Very much.

Anyway. This wasn't your best effort, WWE, and this is after four or five years of not giving your best effort. Kinda makes me wonder, sometimes, if the good does outweigh the bad....

Have a good day, WWE.

Big Stupid Tommy

Dreams....

Dreams

Had a weird dream, just before I woke up this morning. Don't remember all the specifics, but for some reason, I'm at the apartment I lived in during college. I'm cleaning up boxes of books, when I find a grenade in one of the boxes I'm digging through.

I pick it up, and the next thing I know, I'm at my folks' house. Somebody loses the pin out of the grenade, so I take it, run outside, and throw it into the field behind the house. To get cover from the explosion, I hide behind a tree.

Actually, that's not right...I hide behind a sapling. So, if you can imagine, my big ass is trying to hide behind a tree roughly 6 inches in diameter.

Nothing explodes, so I emerge from my hiding place.

I look down at my feet, and the grenade is there!!!

I pick it up, and throw it again. As it's arching through the sky, I realize that what I've been throwing this whole time isn't a grenade, but a fire extinguisher.

It does not explode.

And that's when I wake up.

Thanks, and y'all have a good day.

Farts

Farts


Baby Scared of Fart - Watch more free videos

I just like this one, is all.

Maybe it's the beer talking...

Maybe it's the beer talking...

Now, there were beers tonight. A couple. Somebody else paid, which is cool and a half.

But.

All these spiders? They gotta go.

I know they think they have rights.

Arachnids?

No Rights for Arachnids.

And this is how we stumble upon The Greastest Band Name of All Fuckin' Time.

I wonder if the makers of Sam Adams Cherry Wheat knew what he was doing when he invented that particular nectar of the gods?

I bet he did.

Those guys are geniuses.

I close this somewhat inebriated blog entry by saying that I will fight every last one of you people, and I will win at least half the fights.

Maybe less, considering just how long it took me to correct the word "The."

Maybe I won't win the fights. But, by God, you'll know I've been there.....

Tragedies....

Tragedies...

Yesterday, I left my phone at the house when I went to work. Now, being a feller who never much wanted a cell phone in the first place, it was maybe a touch ironic that I spent much of the day missing the phone.

In the first place, it's what I use in place of wearing a wristwatch. I don't guess you realize just how much you look at your timepiece until it's not there. I guess it's the mobile equivalent of flipping on the same light switch 900 times when the power's out. If I had to put an estimate on just how many times I brushed my hand down to my hip, only to find my trusty six-shooter and nothing more, I think the number would reach easily into the thousands.

In the second place, I was trying to coordinate the meeting of people so that we might make the trek to Chattanooga to watch the Monty Python movie, chronicled in the hallowed pages of this blog this very morning. Not having the phone, and not remembering anybody but Shyam's phone number (and then, only barely), made it hard to get in touch with people, short of dialing information.

Just so my brother-in-law knows, I tried standing on the sidewalk of my workplace, screaming his name in the general direction of Chattanooga at various points during the day. But I guess the wind just wasn't right.

Anyway, I went straight from work to the movie and didn't get back home until 10 or 10:30. I found my phone on the coffee table, and looked through the number of calls that I'd missed. The ones that made me smirk a little were the calls from work, which meant somebody tried to call me from work, while I was there.

But among the phone calls were from my friend Chris. We'd made plans to catch a movie one night this week, and those plans haven't yet come to fruition. I figure that's why he called (though he left no voicemail...).

There was one text message, though: "Not answering because you're crying about Heath Ledger?"

I texted back "I generally cry about Heath Ledger, but I left my phone at the house, that's why no answer...."

And then I sat down in front of the interweb to find out that the Joker to be had been found dead.

I don't have any thoughts of real weight to share. I thought he was a competent actor. He never annoyed me in any of his roles. I was somewhat excited about what I'd seen about his Joker in the Dark Knight movie. But really, the news of his death hit me with about he same impact as being told that we're expecting a partly cloudy, moderately warm day a week from Tuesday. Interesting, I guess. But of little import to me.

Which is why the news was irksome today. The news, and the interweb. Because you couldn't fling a handful of cat litter without hitting 7 stories about the death of the movie star.

Now, I don't claim to be a news junkie or nothing. But ain't there other stuff loads more important out there? Or do we just have too many news channels, but a populace not quite grown-up enough to deal with the stuff that's truly important in life?

Eh.

Tragedy? Who knows. I guess it's all subjective. Sure, it's a shame the guy died. It's a shame that there's a kid somewhere who's going to grow up without a Dad. That truly does suck eggs. But is it worth the media onslaught? My gut says nope. Seems like it's a private matter, ultimately, that's doing more harm than good when you publicize it to the degree we have. Especially when the media onslaught seems to be somewhat contrived....

I guess it's all in the eyes of a beholder. My personal definition of tragedy? There is no Royal Rumble ever held in which all 30 participants are still living. Or maybe the tragedy is the fact that I got 2 hours of sleep a couple nights ago, and in my battle against insomnia, I researched that little tidbit.

Craziness, huh?

Maybe on more than a couple levels.

Ah well. Gonna wander towards the sleep. Y'all have a good night.

In which Tuesday was full of shit....

In which Tuesday was full of shit...

This state of being full of shit? Tiresome, guys. Tiresome.

Actually, Tuesday weren't so bad, except for one little thing.

The Bijou theater down in Chattanooga's been taking a couple nights a week to go retro, show some older flicks on their big screen. They did Goonies and Back to the Future back in November, before I realized that they were doing so. Goonies is one of those flicks my sister and I watched almost every day one summer that school was out. I still know that one by heart.

During the Christmas season, they did Home Alone, Christmas Vacation and A Christmas Story, the last of those I was lucky enough to go see.

Last week, it was Ghostbusters, which is one of my favorite movies. I've never seen it on the big screen. Still haven't. Couldn't get out of work quickly enough. Tuesday's a rough day, since we're changing for the new ad. Add to that the fact I was setting up Valentine's Day junk, too, and it didn't have me getting out until after the movie had started.

This week, though....

I don't think you can be a proper geek in this world without being able to quote Monty Python and the Holy Grail to some degree. My personal forte is Dennis's "Mandate from the Masses" speech....



That one.

Anyway, wandered down with Shyam to go see Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

I was looking forward to heading to Mellow Mushroom before the movie. I'd decided that a calzone was what would hit the spot for dinner, and that would be the only thing. Alongside, I was wanting a nice cold pint of Dead Guy Ale.

Here's the "full of shit" part of the day. I rode with Shyam. She parks in the parking lot directly across from the Mushroom. My heart sinks. The sign and lights within are turned off.

"I may be about to be pissed off," I told Shyam.

After paying for parking, we find a note on the door that tells us the Mushroom was closed for the evening so that their employees could all attend their restaurant's winter party.

Son of a bitch. Ain't that some crap?

It wasn't all bad. We hit Big River instead. They brew their own stuff, and a burger and their I.P.A. (bitter as my soul, at that point) did the trick. Plus, Shyam was able to get a Hummus and Goat Cheese salad to soothe her vegetarian palate.

The movie? Very good on the big screen. I sometimes balk at going to see a movie in a large crowd, anymore, seeing as how nobody knows how not to talk during a movie or turn their cellphone off. This one was different, though. Everybody actually seemed to be there to see the movie. What an idea!

I can't remember the last time I actually sat to watch Holy Grail. I know I lved in Murfreesboro at the time, so it was at least 3 1/2 years ago.

But, it was one of those we'd end up watching every month or so in high school and college. It's one of those I know just about all the words to. There were several times I found myself mouthing the words to the flick. A few times, I heard people around me doing dialog, or singing to "the Knights of the Round Table."

One of those rare occasions that seeing the flick with a large group actually enhanced the experience.

So, not so full of shit today.

Stop Being Full of Shit

Stop Being Full of Shit

Yep. Upon further review, I still think you are all full of shit.

Some of you simply have a higher shit capacity than others.

In lieu of content, I bring you this picture of a giraffe trying to get it on with a donkey.



Is this what they mean when they say "get some ass?"

I wouldn't have thought so before, but I do now.

Meh....

Meh....

Today's Word is Meh....

Today, I tend to think you all are full of shit.

Perhaps I will write a song about it.

A wonderful song. That will win many fans.

And allow me to buy the one thing my heart has long desired.

Now, a poll. To help me decide.

What one thing would complete Tommy's Life?
	Batmobile
	Batplane
	Batarang
	A Really Boss Bat Tractor
	Bat Tennis Ball Cannon
	Bat Bat
	Bat Wrestling Ring
	Bat Maura Tierney
	Stately Wayne Manor
	With six you get egg roll.
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Music, and whatnot

Music, and whatnot

Steven just called to let me know that Alison Krauss and Robert Plant will be in concert up in Knoxville in late April. Their album was one of my favorites of the past while. I think I'll end up at the show. Never seen Allison in concert. She's a favorite....

Snow

Snow

Well, had a whole big post planned, where I'd get to document the piles and piles of snow we've had in the past couple of days, down in my little corner of East Tennessee. Gonna take pictures, gonna document the winter wonderland that would have emerged.

But, there was none.

I was still gonna take pictures. All the gray and brown. But caption it like I was thrown headlong into that aforementioned winter wonderland. But then I got to watching television and reading, and, well, I'm a lay zee mofo sometimes.

Maybe I'm weird. I'd like a little snow.

That might make me especially weird, since most of you know I work in the grocery business. And, in most places, and in this place especially, the mere whisper of the word will send the world scurrying to the grocery store to buy the milk and the bread (and the Little Debbies and the Cokes and the Cigarettes...). We like to make the joke that Jimmy Joe Cottonbottom's not bought a gallon of milk nor drank a glass of the stuff since before the turn of the millennium, but upon the grumbling of the word by the guys on Channel 3, he's gotta speed over to the Stop n' Shop to buy two gallons.

Maybe milk wards off snow. That's a thought....

In March of 1993, we had a blizzard in this neck of the woods. Now, a couple of you northern folks may scoff, but by most definitions, I think you could pretty easily call 18-22 inches of snow, blowing drifts five feet high up here on the hill a blizzard. Now, I said you northern folks may scoff, but it was a rough one to dig out of, for the local authorities. I was 16, and living up on the cabin on the hill--we were without power for a week up there. Never lost telephone service, so that was cool. I remember Mom whiling away some of the time, at least, talking to relatives in other necks of the U.S.

Me? I spent a decent part of that week seeing just how big a hole I could melt in the snow, in a corner of the woods near my house, by peeing there. It was an odd game, but nobody else was allowed to take a whiz there. Only me. I apparently get territorial. It was a good sized hole, before it was said and done.

It was a couple days before we could get out and about--my folks have a quarter-mile long driveway, and it took that long for Dad and me to cut a path through the three dozen trees that had fallen across the driveway. We were able to get out, go to the grocery store. There, we were able to obtain the bread and the milk that we were out of at the house, that we hadn't been able to procure before the snow (the volume of which was a huge surprise).

Anyway, I said all that to say this: Even if it snows and ices, we're gonna be open at the grocery store. And the dairies and warehouses will be running. If there's interruption, it's gonna be slight. Definitely not so much that you'll die without the milk or the bread.

I also said all that to say this: Maybe the milk keeps the snow away. Because, in the 15 years or so since, I can count on one hand the number of really good snows (or ice events, as the news likes to call them) since. Maybe the friction of the tires on the road as people are running back and forth to the grocery creates enough heat to warm the temperature enough to keep snow from falling...

Anyway. We've had two snow scares in the past week, neither of which amounted to much. Today's amounted nothing. Wednesday's was about an inch, which mostly melted in the night as it turned to rain. Granted, Wednesday's event could have been rough, if it had been four or five degrees cooler (it stayed around 32 and 33 the whole night). Sleet and and freezing rain are less desirable than snow...at least with snow, y'all won't be picking my big ass out of the Hiwassee River after I've skidded across black ice to run into it.

So. No snow. Yet. I hear tell that there's a front that's stalled somewhere west of here, but the local weather guys are just calling for flurries and cold.

Which is maybe a shame. Because aside from the lemming rush for bread and milk, I really dig snow. Covers up a little bit of the winter gray and brown, which becomes so prevalent round these parts.

Timing

Timing

It's all about timing, I reckon.

How is that I've lived within 3 miles from my place of work, give or take, for pretty much the past 10 years, no matter where I lived or where I worked, and NEVER ONCE HAD TO WORRY ABOUT ICE AND SNOW?

But within two weeks of my beginning a 27 mile commute every day, we get ice, snow and scattered damnations twice?!?!??

I tend to blame Gunny Walker. And also the media's coverage of/adulation for Britney Spears' waterslide ride into insanity. But mostly Gunny Walker.

Buster

Buster

Erica's got Charlie Chaplin going tonight.

I'll answer with a little Buster Keaton.



I love the log toss at the end...it's a long video, but I think it's worth it...

Worst Celebrity Roommate

Worst Celebrity Roommate

Today, I wonder who the worst celebrity roommate would be.

Would it be Robin Williams, for all the constantly-on, in-your-face trying to entertain you? Plus, he'd steal your jokes.

Would it be Paris Hilton, for all the dumbness and the parties?

Or Tom Cruise, for all the Scientology?

At the end of the day, I gotta think that the worst celebrity to have as a roommate would be Wesley Snipes. Because I tend to think that he believes that he can do all that shit he does on the movies. And I don't want to have to constantly deal with Wesley throwing me into far-eastern submission holds.

Honorable mention would probably go to Vince Vaughn. I think he seems like he'd be a pretty cool guy to hang around with. But I don't think he'd do his share of the cleaning, and that guy looks like he could stink the hell out of a bathroom. And that's my job.

Don't want the competition.

Front Page...

Front Page...

While I'm on the subject of searches, I've gotten about a dozen search hits this morning on "Braves Fanfest Complaints."

Looking at the event itself, my main complaint was the access to the players being so limited and arbitrary. Realizing you gotta rein in the autograph hounds, there's a big enough space in the World Congress Center to set a couple areas aside for a John Smoltz or a Brian McCann or a Tommy Glavine to do signings. And you absolutely have the ability to close off a line, if you set those signings off to their own place.

At the end of the day, I don't know how tempted I'll be to go back to a Fanfest, even though I wasn't as bummed as some. $15 is a touch more money than I want to drop to just come away with a sample copy of Baseball America and a bumper sticker autographed by the third base coach....

News that Does my heart good....

News that Does my heart good...

When you google "biggest stupid in the world?"

Guess who's blog is #1?

Yeah. We're doing something right in this neck of the woods.

In Which Tommy Meets a Real Life Baseball Dude

In Which Tommy Meets a Real Life Baseball Dude

Well, your old pal Tommy and his buddy Steven decided to take advantage of a Saturday off to wander down into the wilds of Georgia to attend a baseball convention in the dead of winter.

The Atlanta Braves held their Braves Fan Fest (or whatever the hell) at the World Congress Center, this past weekend. There were to be games and prizes and rides. At least, that's what I gathered. There were also to be opportunities for autographs. And oh, what opportunities there were.

The trip began with yours, truly, oversleeping a few minutes. I closed the night before, and despite the alarm going off at 7:15, I managed to lounge around for an extra 15 minutes. After a couple quick e-mails, met up with Steven, and we jetted down to Atlanta.

Jetted, that is, until you hit the ubiquitous road construction that seems to hover 20 miles north of Atlanta. It's odd what you remember sometimes...the first thing that popped into my head as we sat in traffic somewhere around exit 269 was that on a day the previous baseball season when I'd found the opportunity to head to a ballgame at Turner Field, that I'd texted the girl I was trying to go out with about how I always seemed to get caught in traffic when I went to Atlanta. Thought about texting her for shits and giggles, but figured I'd really get neither out of the action.

We parked at Turner Field. There's something weird about a Major League baseball stadium during the offseason. Or any time there's not baseball being played. It's like an empty church.

There's also the novelty of being able to drive around at will. 99% of the time I've ever driven around Turner Field, it's not without 23,000 stops and starts due to the fact that there are 40,000 other people trying to get either to or from the stadium at the same time. So, the novelty of going 50 towards the stadium was not lost on me.

There was a shuttle ride. To the World Congress Center, which was hosting both the Braves fan fest and a big honkin' boat show.

And then there's wandering around the convention.

Now, I'm a veteran of comic conventions galore. I'm used to wandering a crowded room filled with oddly-dressed folks, carrying goods to and fro in order to secure a signature.

There were slight differences: Steven correctly pointed out that the crowd was much better groomed than your average Comic Convention crowd. Better smelling, better dressed. Better manners, on the whole. Can't think of any particular time that I was looking at anything around the building, and had some greasy-faced, 400 pound Buffy the Vampire fan step in front of me to get a better look at the Xena sword in the plastic case.....

There's not a lot to report about the convention floor. Wandered it for a couple of hours. Thought about buying a game used Antonio Alfonseca cap, mostly due to my fascination with his having six fingers--the thought of owning the cap was pleasing in a P.T. Barnum kind of way. I abstained, however. I ended up not buying much of anything, outside of an overpriced piece of pizza.

Well, after wandering the floor for a while, Steven and I decided to get in an autograph line.

Now, I'm not one who goes nuts over autographs, right? Not normally. On a scale of 1 to 10, on how excited I'd get over some dude drawing on my junk? About a 4. Maybe a 5, if it was Ryne Sandberg. And definitely not if I'm being asked to pay extra.

But Steven and I had exhausted pretty much everything there might have been to do on the floor. There were a couple autograph areas set up, and there were signs everywhere that autograph sessions were "treasure hunt" style. What that meant, essentially, was that none of the Braves players or alumni would be announced, as to when they'd be signing autographs.

The gamble was this: You had a line. You stand in it, for as long as it takes to traverse the length of the World Congress Center floor, and whomever is sitting at the table when you reach the front of the line? That's whose autograph you get?

We joked with each other: What happens if you get to the front of the aisle, and it's Rufino Linares? Or Oddibe McDowell? Or Third Base Coach Brian Snitker?

Ahem.

There is a moral here.

It is: God LOVES Irony.

Steven and I stood in line. Mostly shooting the bull. Catching up. Since he started a family, and since he and I both work like botards, we don't hang out like we once did. I don't want this whole post to come off as a complaint. Because truth be told, it was cool to hang out with my best friend for a few hours.

Even if it was to stand in line for 3 hours, to find out that we'd be getting an autograph from Charlie Leibrandt.

Or so it looked.

We prayed. Please...Please...don't let us stand in line to have Charlie "Losing Pitcher" Leibrandt sign our baseballs.

God Answered.

At 4 PM, the changing of the guard took place. Leibrandt left. And a gentleman I did not recognize sat down.

"Shit," we said. "Who is it?"

Within moments, it became apparent.

Wouldn't it be funny, we had said, if we got up to the front of the line, to have Rufino Linares, or Oddibe McDowell sign our baseballs?


Or Third Base Base Coach Brian Snitker?

Heh.

Judging from the reactions of the other fans, and the line that had stretched from one end of the World Congress Center to the other which disappeared, Steven and I weren't the only ones who felt that way....

Perhaps the funniest part was watching people find other things than what they'd originally intended to get signed. Steven and I had taken baseballs. Other people had baseball cards, team sets. Sad fact is, there aren't many ballcards with base coaches featured. And really? I somehow felt like it'd be a waste of a perfectly clean baseball, too. I (and a lot of other people) ended up getting Braves bumper stickers signed.

It wasn't long after that Steven and I had to wander North back toward Tennessee. Steven took himself a free sample of Full Throttle energy drink, which he took one sip of, and left in a garbage can....

A stop at Starbucks for a cup of a coffee, and a spine-rattling (literally) tram ride back to the parking lot, and we were off.

I laughed, saying that the wait in line and the ultimate prize of an autograph from a third-rate third base coach was something of a metaphor for a few events in my life over the past couple of years....big, big buildup where I get my hopes up, and a big old pile of goose turds as my reward.

But today, I'm a touch more philosophic.

They say that to a hammer, everything looks like a nail. I worry about how much I work. Sometimes, I really don't take the time to appreciate the actual time spent...

What's the saying? Life's a journey?

Maybe it's time to do a little more journeying.

And we'll just chalk up the whole "Brian Snitker" autograph thing as a lesson to file away for another day.

Y'all have a good day, alright?

Tease

Tease

Do you know who this man is?

The Dude Abides

The Dude Abides....

Some days, you get the bear.

Some days, the bear gets you.

Communication is a funny thing, ain't it?

Sometimes, I think it's my strongest skill.

Others, I think it's my weakest.

In matters both work and personal, lately, I've forgotten that it's a two way street.

And I apologize for that. And I want to take a second more to do so to anybody I've confused, obstructed or downright annoyed with my lack of communication. More specifically, with my lack of observation. If you are among those, please accept these words as I mean them. It is not that don't want to hear or see, it is that I do not always catch it the first time.

I will also say this: I call it Big Stupid Tommy. It's not just an eye-catching blog name.

I call it that, because sometimes, I just need a little clue.

Communication. Help a brother out. Because sometimes, I just don't get it.

Until then, the dude abides....

Stuff that I wonder

Stuff that I wonder

Okay, so a guy goes to a brothel, and finds his wife working there.

Awkward, for sure.

I wonder, tonight, just how that conversation went down.

Do you think the guy tried to convince himself, for a minute, that the woman he saw wasn't his wife.

Naw....that can't be her....

Notes on a Wednesday

Notes on a Wednesday

I'm hella-tired.

Hella.

Also? A touch pukey.

Without the actual puke. Which is good, I guess. Except, there's no satisfactory ending. You know, after you've heaved and hurled? There's no "Whew...it's over...."

The secret, I guess? No food in the stomach.

In his rest time, Tommy's written a little bit. He's watched the movie Balls of Fury, which he liked, in spite of himself. It really makes him wish The State would finally come out on DVD.

It also makes him want to play Ping Pong.

I don't talk much trash on this blog. Mostly it's a shrine to my confusion at how the world works. But there is one thing I am ultimately confident about:

I would whip your ass at ping pong.

Whip. Your. Ass.

Seriously. Bad.

You'd have to call in to work the next day.

They'd write songs about it.

Of all the beatings you'd ever taken in your life, you'd look back on that one moment in your life as "defining."

Horribly.

Heh heh heh.

Weather....

Weather...

Working down south of my home, now. Getting used to the drive. It's a nice time. A quiet time. I tend to think this blog is the closest glimpse people get to see of what goes on inside my brain on a daily basis. The words and images you see here on this blog? A close representation of what goes on up in my noggin. The only difference? The words you see printed on the screen before you are scattershot into my brain, shouted in a voice that alternates between Eddie Murphy as Donkey in the Shrek movies, and Robin Leach screaming at the top of his lungs.

Anyway. My drive home tonight was relatively uneventful, except for when I made my way down the exit ramp toward Athens.

Damn, it's dark, I thought.

It took a second, actually, before that struck me as terribly odd.

The Athens interstate exit's a lot like any you find here in the states, nowadays. There are any number of businesses with lighted signs that illuminate the night, no matter how dark. But, I get to the end of the ramp, and there's no Waffle House, no Burger King sign. No Shell station, no Kangaroo.

What's more, there's no traffic lights. There's just the one, coming back in from the interstate. And there were no other cars, save an APD car with its spotlight trained on the power poles, looking for a dropped wire, I would reckon.

The wind was hellacious.

I like that word. I've made the challenge before, but I'm making it again: Find a way to use the word "hellacious" in your every day conversation today.

Anyway. Hellacious wind. At one point, it gets so strong that it rips open my toolbox in the bed of my truck. I've never had that happen before. Suddenly, my truck had batwings.

The darkness stretched for about a mile. The silhouettes of the Applebees and the Wendy's and the Raceway gas station made the lights conspicuous by their absence....never noticed how god-blasting bright those things are. Until they're not there.

Well, I say all that, to say this. Somebody's big ass has to pull himself out of bed 5 hours from now, to head back to work. If you've ever wondered why I call the site Big Stupid Tommy, I'm thinking we're round about hitting that bugger on the head, with that little snippet of personal info, right there.

Anyway. This has been a successful post, if only because I was successful in spelling "conspicuous" on the second try...no small feat, given my current state of sleep deprivation....

Chapter 2800: A Recipe for Madness

Chapter 2800: a Recipe for Madness

Teresa had this quizzable who-zee-whatsit to put up on my blogamathing:

The Recipe For Big Stupid Tommy

3 parts Pizzazz 2 parts Vitality 1 part Grace Splash of Craftiness Sip slowly on the beach

What's the Recipe for Your Personality?

I would like to take a minute to vehemently disagree with the results of the internet quiz. As much as I would like this thing to define my life, I take exception.

I give you now the true recipe for a Big Stupid Tommy:

1 Jar Peanut Butter (Crunchy)
1 Baconator Sandwich
1 Box Corn Starch
1 16 oz. bag Butterscotch Chips
1 Can Diet Dr. Pepper
6 Bottles Sam Adams Cherry Wheat
1 Bottle of Wild Turkey
Tequila. All of it.

Mix in a wheelbarrow.

Enjoy.

Administrative

Administrative

Just a couple notes, stuff I've added.

I've written about it once or twice, but I took a second to add The Blogging Gal to the sidebar. How Tish finds the words and time to blog two blogs of her own, and contribute to a third? I'll never know. But she does excellent work on Blogging Gal, which is filled with tips and tricks for those who enjoy the hobby. I liked this post on the importance of feeds. As a person who needs to be a little better organized, I took that one to heart. I love Google Reader. I recommend you give it a look, both Tish's article and Google's reader.

Also, I've been laughing at The Angry Pharmacist. Tish gave me that link, too. I've not taken the three seconds it takes to add a link. Go give him a look. I dug this one, on the trepidation of looking forward...

A Brief Commentary on the Movies

A Brief Commentary on the Movies

I don't know that I'll ever see the movie "One Missed Call." I dig horror flicks, but most of what I've seen over the past few years have just left me feeling sorry that I've wasted my time. There are rare exceptions, and those exceptions are why I keep trying, I reckon.

The previews don't look all that promising, to be honest.

And even if the movie was Fantabulous, I'm not sure that it could top the utter and abject creepiness that is the poster for the movie.


That poster makes me want to scream until my voicebox pops out of my head, and pulls the poster down from the wall just to keep my throat from exploding.

Interior Dialogue

Interior Dialogue

Hey Tommy!

....

Tommy...

....

TOMMY!

What? I'm watching football....

When's the last time you did a serious blog post?

What?

You heard me. When's the last time you went out of your way to write a blog post?

I dunno. I did one this afternoon.

No, did an internet quiz, and you commented something like 8 words to go along with it. That's not writing a post.

I'm tired

Tired's ass.

....What does that phrase mean?

What phrase?

Tired's Ass

I dunno what it really means. It's something that my Dad.....Hold on there, Asshole. You won't trick me.

You are a clever one

Quit it. It means that it's a bullshit excuse, and you've been pulling that particular card out and playing it a little too readily, my friend. So. Tired's. Ass.

Tired's Ass, huh?

Tired's Ass.

Well, what should I blog about?

You're the Evil Genius. You're the one that's been blogging for half a decade. You can't pull a blog topic out of that pile of oatmeal you call a brain? You've had enough practice, by now, surely.

Mmm. One would think, I guess.

[here, you should insert a stubborn, three minute silence]

Alright. Fuck. What do you think about the Presidential Primary season?

Do the words "Circle Jerk" many anything to you?

Mmmm. So, I take it you're not political.

Oh, I'm political enough, I guess. I've got my hot button issues. Free speech. The excess taxation of liquor. The amount we spend in the country on "The Drug War" vs. what we spend on education. The amount of pull the religious right seems to have nowadays. The fact that the squeaky wheel gets the grease in this country, and we've got just enough media coverage in this world to make the lunatic fringe the point men on just about any politically driven attack....

Why don't you blog about that kind of stuff?

I like fart jokes

Really.

Yeah, I do. I tend to think I convert just about the same number of people with my absolutely no political talk as all the political bloggers do. At least this way, I can preach to a choir I actually like.

....so, who are you voting for?

I'm undecided, by this point. There are a couple candidates that strike my fancy, one on each side of the party line. One has a chance in his party, but I have to say that I feel like he's talking change, but would just be the same kind of horse, just with a slightly different color, were he to get to the finish line first. The other? He can't even get the mouthpiece for the Republican agenda in this country to let him speak on their channel.

So, you're a Ron Paul fan?

I'm interested that he's not preaching politics as usual. I don't agree with everything he's saying, but he appeals most to that Libertarian streak in me.

So, by Libertarian, you mean....

Got a real problem being told what to do and what to think, and being made to pay through the nose for the privelege.

Could be worse.

I reckon....

You could be vacationing amongst man-eating tigers.

What are you talking about? You were there on my last vacation. You're merely a separate, competing voice in what is essentially my interior monologue. You were there....

I like to think "competing, and dominant...."

Well, you were there on my last vacation. When I had to fight off all those bears. Man-eating bears. With my pro wrestling skills. You know. When we went camping? And they tried to steal my Little Debbie Honey Buns.

Bears do like Honey Buns.

Well we know that now...

Some things you have to learn the hard way.

If you mean by hard way: sharp, pointy, with a tendency to throw big dudes around like they were Raggedy Ann dolls...

Yeah. I'll be straight up with you. That did suck. Why did you decide to wear that coat?

You mean the one made out of Little Debbie Honey Buns?

That's the one.

Comfort, mostly. That, and I figured the wildlife would figure that a guy wearing a coat made out of pastries would be a pretty sweet guy.

Too sweet to eat?

Heh. You said you're the competing and dominant voice. That one sounds like your fault, chief.

You raise a good point.

Well, you can think "competing and dominant" all you like, just so long as you take responsibility for spilling Coke Zero all over the coffee table just now.

Excuse me, sir, I believe those were your big clumsy feet that hit the glass, just after you exclaimed "I wonder what's happening on wrestling right now," and shifted to get the remote control.

It was a Diva Pillow Fight Battle Royal.

Your opinion on that?

The Divas of today are much prettier than the divas of my youth. Children are much luckier nowadays. All I had was Sweet Sapphire

And Missy Hyatt.

Yeah. We did have Missy Hyatt. I wanted to marry her, back in the day.

Really?

No, probably not. She was blonde with big boobs. At 15, that's all you needed, I think. But marriage? I tend to think with her travel schedule, that'd leave me at home with the kids. And working as much as I do, I'm just not comfortable with leaving little Tommys and Missys in the hands of a babysitter.

You really do have too much time to think, don't you?

Or not enough. I never can tell. It's possible that I'm getting a little loopy.

Getting there, huh?

Well, getting back to it. The train don't leave the station for long....

I really don't think I'm any kind of genius

I really don't think I'm any kind of genius...



Trying to write today. With some success. Taking a break. Watching a few American Gladiators clips on NBC.com--I'm a little disappointed with it, but then, we're not talking high art....

Anyway. Saw the quiz over at Erica's.

Y'all have a good one.

American Gladiators

American Gladiators

While watching the Jaguars/Steelers playoff game tonight, I couldn't help but notice the proliferation of commercials for tomorrow night's return of American Gladiators.

There is something that troubles me with these ads.

It is not that Hulk Hogan is co-hosting the bash.

It is not that I have not yet heard one generically named Gladiator introduce him or herself, yet.

It is not the exile of one Dan "Nitro" Clark from the proceedings.

It is that I have not yet seen the fabled Tennis Ball Cannon in any of the previews.

Now, there were a few things that caught my eye with the Original American Gladiators.

If and when I reach "made of money" status, I would like to set up my own arena with "Atlasphere" balls, to run around and crash into people with.

I like the idea of "The Wall," and I think such an event is much how we should decide upon our elected officials, in this country. You can't tell me that it wouldn't be hilarious to see Rudy Guiliani or Hillary Clinton yanked from Presidental Contention by a musclebound freak in spandex.

But more than any other, the game "Assault" has continued to intrigue me. In the game, for you should be be unacquainted, a contestant was made to attack a Gladiator with various "Weapons," all the while the Gladiator being attacked is shooting at them with a high-powered tennis ball cannon.

Now, given the amount of time I spend talking about "Stegosaurs are Ninjas," and finding clever ways to work the word "Vulva" into conversations, you might guess that I've taken tennis ball or seven off the old gourd at various points in my life.

But never from a high-powered cannon. Yes, they've been both hand, racquet and dog propelled, but never once have I been shot with a tennis ball cannon.

I tend to think that should that happen, I would truly be a man among men.

Also, I would mount such a contraption to my truck. The only problem is, I have not fully devised away for me to fire the weapon and drive at the same time, without losing some of the thrill of the recoil, as a tennis ball hurdles toward its victim.

Yeah. I would like a tennis ball cannon. Such a thing would be very amusing to me.

So, in closing. When you're thinking of gifts to buy your pal Tommy?

Think either Trash Bags full of cash, or Tennis Ball Cannon.

The former would afford me the capability to procure the latter.

Amen.

How to Market a Movie to Tommy

How to Market a Movie to Tommy...

I quote myself. As I am infinitely quotable. I wrote this in my positive review of Day After Tomorrow.

I've said it before. If you need me to go see your movie, there are two shots you need to put in your trailer: 1.) Some famous landmark getting swept away, smashed by a comet or being climbed by a giant monster, and 2.) A bunch of people running away from it.



Have you ever heard a 6'4" dude go insane with excitement?

When I first saw the trailer for Cloverfield, back when we only knew it as, well, Cloverfield, I nearly crapped my pants.

Explosions? Check.
The head of the Statue of Liberty bouncing down the street? Check.
People running? Check.

You know, this movie could be 1 hour, 41 minutes of the Republican candidates for President comparing personal practical religious philosophies, and I don't think it would matter, if it just started with the explosion, and ended with a monster knocking down a few buildings in New York. I'd still go see it.

I think most movies would be made better by having a monster tear-assing down the street, knocking buildings over.

Man, Rampage was a good game. That's neither here nor there. But Rampage really was a good video game. Maybe one of the best.

Anyway. Will I be there when Cloverfield comes out?

You damn betcha. Because I am the world's easiest person to advertise to.

Ice?!?!!?!??!?!

Ice?!?!?!?!?!?!

One of the opportunities I spoke of in a post day or two ago is that I've agreed to a transfer to a store in a town just south of where I live. It's tough moving away from the folks I've worked with these past 3 years, and I'm gonna miss them. But this is a good opportunity for me--a chance for a change of scenery.

Problem is, it eats up an extra hour a day or so of my life in drive time. Not such a big deal, I guess, as there's probably 18 or 19 billion people in the world with worse commute times.

But, it does involve waking earlier.

So, though I know it rarely works, I try to go to bed earlier. The alarm's set for 5:15. That'll give me time to shower, eat a sandwich, goof off on the internet for a few minutes and head to work.

But as I'm lying, restless, in my bed last night, with the radio on for white noise, I start hearing traffic alerts.

At 11:15, on New Year's Day?

Ice. Everywhere.

They'd called for flurries.

Now there's ice.

Great.

Wish my luck, people. If you see my truck skidded off into the woods somewhere, just bring me one of those dogs with the bourbon. I tend to think that would be the best cure for the cold....