Big Stupid Tommy

Bypass

2012-01-13T21:07:00.003-05:00

My Dad had bypass surgery today. He came through with flying colors. The surgeon was pleased with the relative ease of the procedure, which finished without too many surprises and without major complications. My Dad will fight another day.

Scary, stressful day. I'd been told over and over just what to expect when we finally did see him after surgery. Nothing prepares you for having to see your Dad intubated, with all manner of drip drains and wires coming out of him.

Nothing prepares you to see him in that discomfort.

I won't get up too much on the soapbox, except to say: lay off all the shit you eat, exercise a bit more, and if you smoke, please stop. And I say that as Offender #1.

Nothing prepares you.

Time to get my own house in order there, too.

Still. He is alive. And I am thankful beyond my capacity for words to express it.

Stressful, but not a bad day. I remember why I like do my family. I remember that I do work with good people who do care a lot. And I remember that, by little more than dumb luck, I have surrounded myself with a tremendous group of friends.

And I get to keep my Dad around for a while longer.

Stories that hit close to home

2012-01-12T12:36:00.003-05:00

This. I have friends in Chattanooga and friends in Knoxville that are in my thoughts today.

Tough day. Good people, all.

Twenty Twelve: the Resolution Edition.

2012-01-01T11:37:00.003-05:00

Hello, and welcome to 2012.

I think this is the year that I finally feel comfortable calling it "Twenty-____." I've tried hard for the past couple of years, but I think I've finally gotten this century broken in, where I can just slip January first, Twenty-Twelve in without feeling like it's a pair of pants that's a bit binding around the family jewels.

And I hate pants like that.

Resolutions? Giving it some thought.

Dunno how many people are popping by here that don't already follow on The Twitter or The Facebook, but my Dad's had some tests run this week, and the results have led to his being scheduled for bypass surgery this Wednesday.

His condition being a result of heredity combined with life choices, it's kinda made me open my fat little eyes a little bit. That's the genesis of the first resolution:

1.) Cut back on the fatty foods and eat better. I can't say I'll stop eating shit, being that I work all the goddamn time, and being trapped at a grocery store sometimes 11 hours at a time, you have to go with what's quick and ready (I know that's a conundrum...but I work at a store that doesn't go with a great deal of prepared food, as opposed to your Publix of the world...). But, I can eat more vegetables, and stop less at Hardee's for a bacon, egg and cheese biscuit. I can make smarter choices than I have been. It's a resolution most of us make, at some point or another. I know I've made it before. But truth be told, this week scared me a little.

2.) Get out and walk/bike/exercise some more. Another casualty of the work week, in 2011. Just gotta make the time, even if I'm pulling a 65-70 hour work week. Once upon a time, about 5 years ago, I'd managed to lose a lot of weight. I don't know a number exactly, but it was a degree of nearly 2 shirt sizes. Just eating right, and walking daily. So, back to that.

3.) Write more. Work bullshit again. Setting a personal quota. Even if it's nonsense that I'm posting on the blog.

4.) Work less. I joked with somebody last night about it. Truth is, January through May, and then again from October to December, it was a lot of 65-70 hour work weeks, and a lot of 6- and 7-day work weeks. And truth be told, I'm not sure how much credit it's bought me. I'm ready to promote. And there were changes in-company. Final tally is I made less in 2011 than I've made any of the previous 6 years. Which is discouraging. So, I'm not intending this as a declaration that at the end of 45 hours (which is the mandated work week), I drop it. I take more pride in my work than that. So, what I'm talking about here is working more efficiently, and having less tunnel vision. Realizing that my life outside of the store is more important than the one in it. I work to live, not live to work.

If the above words come back to haunt me, so be it. Call me naive, if you will. Any time I start up, some jackass starts up with the "be happy you have a job" speech. What ever. I am grateful for a job. But it's a two-way street. I'm tired of working this hard and having so little to show for it, and having to rob Peter of his time to pay the Paul of my job.

5. Stop using shaky metaphors like the one mentioned one sentence prior.

6. Read more. I read more in 2011 than in the previous few years, which was gratifying. Again, October through December was just 4 books. Again. Time.

7. Show everybody, once again, why I am the True Human Suplex Machine

8. Start putting the Whoopass in the can again, using my own special secret ingredients (hint: Cardamom, and Jujitsu).

9. No More Oboes.

Chapter MMMDIV: In which Fractions Am Hard!

2011-12-17T21:48:00.004-05:00

I don't talk much about work. Because you don't care, and I'm not supposed to.

Still. Here is an installment of Boring Tales from Retail:

We missed the sign on a display, this week. A price changed on Little Debbie snack cakes. Christmas Cake Little Debbies went down in price some 17 cents, going from 3/$5 down to 2/$3. The display still had the old price. A customer pointed this out. It was our mistake. I apologized for our negligence.

"I still want the sale price."

"You're getting it," I said. "You're actually getting a better price."

The look I received in reply might have been the same if I'd said roofing shingles taste like butterscotch.

We did the math. It was a pleasant conversation. By its end, I thought that I had been successful in helping her navigate the Tempestuous Sea of Ciphering Fractions.

I later learned that after doing the math for them, it was considered Tricksie, I suppose. The customer still wanted the 3/$5 price, when they got to the register.

The cashier gave it to them.

The customer is always right.

"I know a good deal when I see one."

Any media types out there? I'd kinda like to do the Contact thing. Beam messages out into space, only in the hopes that some badass Independence Day style spaceships come destroy a few cities, as opposed to the philosophic conundrum posed by the aliens in Contact.

BLOOEY!!!!!

I, for one, welcome our new alien overlords.

Moment zen....

2011-12-16T19:41:00.004-05:00

Eh. Shit happens. Then you scream at Wheel of Fortune contestants like they stole something from you. And you move on.

The Listens, this day, 11 December 2011

2011-12-11T11:29:00.003-05:00

Woke up this morning, and I wrote! May keep writing while football is on mute. And, football will most definitely be on mute, as Joe Buck is calling the Titans game.....

"The Bitch Song" Henry Phillips

"Lord, Search my Heart" The Blind Boys of Alabama

"Upstarts and Broken Hearts" Dropkick Murphys

"Heading for the Light" Traveling Wilburys

(A fun song....actually need to take this one out of the writing mix, because I stopped to listen instead of writing)

"Starlight" Muse

"Radio Song" R.E.M. (With KRS-One)

"What a Crying Shame" The Mavericks

"CC Rider" Old Crow Medicine Show

"Somebody More Like You" Nickel Creek

"TNT" AC/DC

"Trucks, Tractors and Trains" The Dirt Daubers

"Rainbow Connection" Willie Nelson

"A Matter of Time" Shooter Jennings

"Hey Tonight" Creedence Clearwater Revival

"Set Down, Rest Awhile" The Blind Boys of Alabama

"Just Couldn't Tie Me Down" The Black Keys

"Levelland" Robert Earl Keen

"I Walk the Line (Revisited)" Rodney Crowell

"Dance Tonight" Paul McCartney (Don't you fucking judge me!)

"A Face Like Billy Joel" Da Vinci's Notebook

"The Foggy Dew" The Young Dubliners

Chapter MMMDI: How to Lose Your Small Business Its Customers

2011-12-05T19:18:00.002-05:00

A couple weeks ago, my friend Shyam and I wandered north to Knoxville to eat some Indian food and catch a movie. I recommend the Malai Kofta from Sitar, though I think it's likely a Hindi phrase meaning Musical Tour of the Digestive Tract.

I also recommend the flick 50/50, despite my longstanding grudge against Seth Rogen. Why a grudge against Seth Rogen? I dunno. Maybe it's because of his stupid laugh. Or maybe it's his lucking into fantastic roles with little to no discernible acting ability. Or maybe it's the self deprecating humor and curly hair, which touch a little too closely to home.

Still, 50/50 is a fine flick, and I recommend it. It's one that I'll watch again down the road.

Anyway, on our trip back, we detoured through Madisonville. We took the route I used to take home from work when I was working up near Tellico Village. As we were passing a store front, I think I was telling a story, and stopped. I though I'd passed a Wine and Spirits Store. In Madisonville.

Huh. Couldna been.

Sure enough, though, we passed another, and another.

Found out via the interweb that Monroe County passed liquor by the package. Not only did Madisonville have it, but so did Sweetwater, a small town some 10 miles north of here.

I had a rare, rare day off today. Not to make too much of a disgression, but the workload's been difficult even for a holiday, and poor communication between myself and another store led to me having to make a trip I didn't need to take yesterday. So, over a 60 hour period from Friday to Sunday, I worked something like 38 hours. So, my today was spent in part cleaning my shithole of a house, and then wandering out into the world before Cabin Fever overtook me completely.

My travels (which included a stop at the Oasis Men Call Buddy's Barbecue for some Pig Nachos), took me up toward Sweetwater.

I decided to stop into one of the new liquor stores in Sweetwater, mostly to look around, but perhaps to pick up something medicinal.

I'm a beer guy, mostly. Beer Snob is a better way to put it. But, I'm not above a bottle of whiskey or vodka, from time to time. I thought maybe I could find something for a snort, while there. But, the main thing I was loking for was something from the higher gravity side of the beer family. The selection at the first store was slight. There's a sad obsession with Mike's Harder Lemonade at these type spots in this neck of the woods, and this place had them in spades, but beyond that, there wasn't much to choose from.

Thinking I was just going to grab something else, I decided to ask the guy walking around the store if they were planning on expanding that line.

"No," he said, disinterested, not even looking me in the eye.

"Oh," I said. "You've got a couple."

"Yep," he said.

"You're not going to get more?"

"Nope."

Clearly, we'd developed a good working relationship, what with his never having once stopped what he was doing to look me in the eye. So, I decided that I was going to describe what I'm looking for. Specifically, they'd have a customer in me if they'd put Dogfish Head 90-minute in as a regular item.

"We're not going to carry a lot of that stuff."

"OK." I told him I hoped they changed their minds, because I drive to Knoxville or Chattanooga to pick the stuff up, and would grab it from their store if they carried it.

It was only then that he looked at me. And said "I don't think we're going to carry it."

I wish I could say there was a long discussion. There wasn't. This man wasn't wanting my business. For whatever reason.

Wandered up the road a way, and found another of the establishments that had opened. This one (Wine & Spirits 660 New Highway 68) was a more enjoyable outlet. Had a nice conversation about beer, in general, with both gentlemen working inside. Smart guys who knew their beer. Hoping their knowledge of product extended to the wares on a certain side of their store, I then asked for a recommendation for a bottle of wine to give as a Christmas gift, for I am Vino Ignoramus.

So.

I'm up on my soap box. I guess the point is? Don't be a dick.

I work customer service. And I'll grant you, it's tough, sometimes.

I also grant you this: The Customer is Not Always Right. There's an agreement there, between customer and client. The customer occasionally asks the impractical, and downright impossible. Sometimes, that truth has to be distributed.

However, if you're in a small businss, opening your doors relatively recently? Treat your customers better. I don't need my ass kissed. I would like to be shown respect, and not be treated like a dumb asshole.

Even if that is what I am.

And if that's the case, your competitor got this dumb asshole's money.

Anyway, two addenda to this post.

1.) The two businesses in question are strikingly similar in name. It's why I didn't mention the problem business until now. I'm just not that strong a communicator. I had an issue with my service experience at Highway 68 Wine and Spirit. I won't go so far as to say they're a bad store, but based on my experience, I probably won't shop there again soon. I had a very good experience at Wine and Spirits 68, and while it won't be an every week thing, they'll get a little more of my business if I head back that way. I was pleased.

2.) A Twitter conversation with the helpful folks at Dogfish Head has brought me the information that Dogfish isn't distributing in Tennessee for the time being. They pulled out simply because their core service areas weren't receiving adequate service, and they were at maximum brewing capacity. Which is a fair answer. (Plus, if I really, really, really need some 90 minute IPA, I can still head down to Beverage World in Ft. Oglethorpe, Georgia...still a favorite haunt....)

So. That's been the day. Woot.

Number Nine....Number Nine....Number Nine....

2011-11-13T20:15:00.001-05:00

Nine years ago, on a post dated incorrectly 2001, I started this blogamathing with a brag about fixing the toilet. I dated it incorrectly because I was just testing out Blogger and wasn't expecting anybody to read it. I was new to blogging, which my friend Bill had explained to me was a way of sending blatherings out onto the World Wide Web using a series of 1's and 0's arranged in a particular pattern. I was intrigued, since I had previously only thought those 1's and 0's were designed to convey nude pictures from one set of nerds to another set of nerds.

And in this post (coincidentally, post Number 3500), I would like to say:

Nine years later, I think I need to cut to the chase.: My toilet fixing skills are the highest they can be without my being a paid professional. Honestly. You need your shitter fixed, and you ain't got the cash? Call me. My amateur plumbing skills are matched in this world only by Vladimir Putin and Liza Minelli. And good luck getting either to come to your house for promise of little more than that weakass chili you always serve.

Seriously. Just because you put mushrooms in your chili doesn't mean it's good.

Mushrooms do not necessarily equal good food.

I know that I just blew your mind. Rocked your world, with your preconceptions regarding the goodness of food when you include mushrooms in it.

And while I'm on the subject. I respect my vegetarian friends. But hot dogs made out of mushrooms? Stop. Just eat a real hot dog. There's not much real meat in there. It's mostly hooves.

Hooves are like fingernails.

When you're eating a hot dog, it's like eating fingernails.

Delicious fingernails wrapped in sausage casing. Which, at one time, was animal intestine.

Also, there are lips, ears and buttholes in your hot dogs.

The ratio of those things are what makes each hot dog unique. No two hot dogs are alike. They're like snowflakes, fingerprints and Cubs Third Basemen.

What?

I dunno.

I fix you shitter.

I'm gonna put that on a business card.

Tommy Acuff

I fix you shitter.

And I'm gonna put a phone number. But not mine. I'm gonna put this phone number:

(423) 745-1121

Call it. It's the local time and temperature for my home town. Whenever you're wondering if my ass is hot (it is not) or cold (it also is not), you can call that number.

Any time I need to fill out one of those surveys to get a free water bottle or car flag, that's the number I put down. If I get to write my own name? I write: Manuel Dingdong.

Because I'm NINE.

Eh?

Eh.

Anyway. If you've been reading this shit for nine years...you really need to get a teacher or somebody to help you. I mean, how long is this post? 16 short paragraphs? You need a tutor, you remedial sumbitch. Are you from Meigs County? And if it did take you nine years to read this, what's life looking like in 2020? Have they cured the Heartbreak of Psoriasis yet?

Well. This is the most I've posted in 2 weeks.

If there is one theme to this blog, lo after these NINE years, it is that I work too much.

That last line wasn't meant necessarily to be funny. Because it's not. It is the Abe Vigoda Face of Mortality staring back at me, wondering what kind of music I'm listening to on my MP3 player. (Hint: The Monkees).

Seriously, though. Thanks for reading. I've met a tremendously good bunch of folks via this blogamathing, and I hope to meet more, one day or another.

Have a good day, and remember:

I fix you shitter.

Tommy's Warthog Problem

2011-10-26T11:03:00.004-04:00

It's the same old story. I've been fighting warthogs like a son of a bitch lately.

Every time I turn around, there's a warthog rooting through the kitchen cabinets, looking for potato chips, or drinking out of the commode. I sat down on the couch the other day, and sat on something. I pulled the cushions out of the couch, and I will be damned if there wasn't a warthog underneath the cushions. I looked it it. It looked at me. "Get out of the couch!" I yelled, and I will admit to finding humor in seeing its legs grab for purchase as it attempted to run.

I don't know what to do with all these warthogs.

Things I've tried to get rid of these boogers:

1.) Mandatory betting on Dancing with the Stars. I was thinking their general dislike of game shows would cause them to leave. They hate that hour block of Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy almost as they hate the twice-weekly de-lousings. I figured the financial stake would simply be the icing on the cake. These warthogs don't have a damn cent. They NEVER throw in for the pizza. However, they've invested quite a bit of themselves on the show. I think they're rooting for Nancy Grace. They poke and stab me with their tusks, now, when I try to change the channel.

2.) Hitting them with a baseball bat. They do not like this. And before you feel sorry for them, I had to get 83 stitches the other day after enacting this strategy. I brought the bat. They went for the balls. That's all I'm saying.

3.) Taking a cheese grater to their warts. They do not like this. Stabbing. Biting. One of them shit on my pillow.

4.) Using a glass with a bit of molasses, and a funnel. It works like a charm for fruit gnats. Not so well with warthogs.

5.) Revoking Graham Cracker Privileges: Recently, I rediscovered the small joys that are Graham Crackers and Peanut Butter. I eat it, and I say "I'm gonna eat this Every Day Of MY LIFE!" And then, I usually forget to buy more graham crackers. Well, recently, my store ran them Buy One Get One free, and in a rare display of obsessive compulsive behavior on my part, I bought roughly 80 boxes. I enjoy them. The warthogs enjoy them. But, not as much as I thought. When I announced that Graham Cracker Privileges were Hereby Revoked, they reacted with indifference. I am actually waiting this one out, but we are on Day 11, and I don't see their resolve cracking.

6.) Shooting at them with a gun. They don't like it, and get stabby. Also, the neighbors and the Athens Police Department seem to have some manner of problem. This is why I consider myself a Libertarian. Don't push my beliefs on you, don't push them on me. Unless you have any better ideas on how to deal with a house filled with warthogs. None of the Police even acted like they could see the warthogs.

7.) Turning one against the other, using fake Facebook and Twitter accounts. Doesn't seem like many of them can read. However, I am friends with Christie Brinkley, now on Facebook. I figured her time with Billy Joel should eventually lead to some insight in dealing with my problem.

8.) Trying to scare them with zombies. May work with my friends Shyam and Eric, but they actually seemed to enjoy watching the Walking Dead. In fact, the first episode with that scene in the RV? Scared the shit out of me, but they all found that kind of funny.

9.) Farting Candy. Actually, we all thought this was pretty funny, and had a good laugh for a couple of hours.

10.) Spraying them with a spray bottle filled with bleach. Not a good idea. Stabby. Plus, I've ruined the couch, chair and carpet.

11.) Warthog traps. Like mousetraps. I need help setting this. I broke my left arm when it went off, when I was rooting around behind the refrigerator, you know, like you do.

12.) Dismantling the moonshine still. This was a mistake. They're simply buying from another source, and I'm now out of a stream of income. (They don't pay in money, but rather in these beautiful afghans. I don't know if they make them, or trade for them some other way. I've sold a couple on Ebay for 40 bucks. I've got a couple others I'm willing to trade. Perhaps in trade for knowledge of how to get rid of these bastards).

Poutine

2011-09-16T00:11:00.002-04:00

I'm not saying I would. I'm just saying that it's not out of the question. I'm mentioning that I can name the WWE Champions as easily as I can the U.S. Presidents, or my Home Address. My priorities have never really been where everybody else tends to think they should be.

Again, I'm not saying that I would.

I am also not saying that I would not.

I would very much like there to be a Poutine Truck, which cooks and serves Poutine, here in my home town of Athens, Tennessee.

For such, I might be willing to trade a testicle.

I'm not saying I would. I'm not saying I wouldn't.

I'm saying that it's in the realm of conversation.

Because A.) I like Poutine, and haven't had real Poutine for nigh on more than a decade now. And B.) I have two working testicles, and would be willing to trade one of them to have a truck that cooks and serves Poutine. As I see it, I've not begat progeny at this point, and would be willing to trade some of the potential for said progeny for a truck that vends fried potatoes covered in gravy and cheese curd.

There is a lot of thinking that has gone into this, and I'll spare you the goriest of details. Suffice it to say, I'd never have to ground a Poutine truck for stealing another kid's lunch money, and I'll never have to bail it out of jail for selling pot on school grounds. That's because you can't send a Poutine Truck to school in this state.

I've checked.

So.

There is a point of negotiation, mostly involving the removal of said testicle. The hows, and more importantly, the how painfuls. Don't dig the pain when it comes to the family jewel(s). Would like to negotiate anesthetic (general...local just ain't gonna cut it), as well as the relative sterility of instruments used to extract.

I will not accept any contract that involves the use of a Freddy Krueger glove, or any device featured in the Hellraiser or Saw movies.

Also: No Bear Traps. All points are negotiable, except this one.

You may use my testicle for any purpose. It is yours to do with as you please. Although, please note, that if progeny is created using the extracted bits, I would like you to consider the name "Otis." Because there aren't enough people named Otis.

Now, I can hear a few of you saying: "Why not make you're own?"

1.) I work hard, and like being served food. 2.) Mind your own business.

3.) Shut up.

So. Let's make a deal. Holler at me, Canada! We have much to discuss.

The Listens, this day, 13 September 2011

2011-09-13T10:37:00.003-04:00

The listens this morning, as I wrote:

"Big Escape"/Pearly Gate Music

"Everybody Wants You"/Puddle of Mudd (Dunno why I like their cover album Re:(Disc)overed so much, but it's a fun listen)

"Viva La Vida"/Coldplay

"Get Outta My Way"/The Dirt Daubers

"Speed of Darkness"/Flogging Molly

"The River of Dreams"/Billy Joel

"Psychomania"/The Damned

"I Sit Down When I Pee"/Tim and Eric (Yeah...you shouldn't download and add to the writing mix after beers).

"Haircut"/The Waifs

"The Present State of Grace"/Flogging Molly

"Black Water"/Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes

"Who'll Stop the Rain"/Creedence Clearwater Revival

"Red Tide"/Neko Case (Fun song....I listened to it three times...)

"(Don't Go Back to) Rockville"/R.E.M.

"The First Time I Saw Waylon"/Roger Alan Wade

"I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For"/U2

A couple of notes:

I highly recommend The Dirt Daubers, both in their eponymous effort, and even more for "Wake Up, Sinners," which officially hits streets today. Fun stuff from JD Wilkes and company. They played at Muddy Roots back over Labor Day weekend. The Joys of Working Retail made it impossible to head up that way....would definitely like to catch them live, some time when time and budget allow....

I'm also having a surprising amount of fun with the Puddle of Mudd cover record. Dunno exactly why. It's just a good listen....

A Lie, in which I Alienate the Nation of New Zealand

2011-09-01T22:47:00.000-04:00

I don't know if I've ever told you people this, but I once served as America's Ambassador to New Zealand. This was in 1992. The exact circumstances of my appointment are still something of a mystery, but I can tell you that it had something to do with the Twins and Braves playing each other in the World Series in 1991, having each gone from worst to first in the same year, and the fact that the grudge my father holds against Lonnie Smith is as powerful as a Locomotive.

A Locomotive That Can Travel Through Time!

But that's neither now nor then.

This happened during my fourth week in New Zealand, on the same day that I finally conceded defeat in my lengthy debate, and admitted that Christchurch wasn't the capital city of that beautiful green pay-toilet of a country. (That Maori Gentleman and I still hold the Southern Hemisphere Record for the longest continual "Yes it is/No it isn't" debate, by the way.)

I stood on the corner, out of breath, still crying from all the rage, and wondered what, exactly, my next move would be.

I asked aloud: "Where in the hell does one get a Gatorade in this country? Have they invented Fierce Melon Gatorade yet? It's 1992!" The wind blew in reply, deafening me with all its windiness. I raised my baseball mitt to shield my eyes from the coarse, gritty volcanic ash that blows in the wind of New Zealand like God's Cancer Causing Dandruff.

I gave thought to stepping into the brothel behind me to take refuge from what I was afraid was the second pyroclastic flow to inundate the town of Christchurch since my arrival. Little known fact about New Zealand: There is no building built before 2003 standing, due to the numerous volcanic eruptions.

Littler known fact: "Dancing on their Graves" is the National Dance of New Zealand. It is impossible to take three steps in any direction in any urban area of New Zealand without stepping on the grave of another New Zealander, because each new shanty-town of a city is built on top of the ruins of the last. Indeed, as soon as the ground is cool enough to support a shack made of old TV boxes and aluminum foil, suddenly it's a thriving metropolis again!

Why aluminum foil? To block the sun's rays. There is a giant hole in the Ozone layer directly over New Zealand. The Devil put it there, because he wants people out of New Zealand, so he can have it for himself. That is perhaps The Littlest Known Fact in All the World. One person knows it: Me. And now you. And given the number of people who'll read this, that means probably still just me.

Oh yeah! I was standing there, shielding my eyes, thinking of stepping into the brothel for the shelter (Yeah! The Shelter! That's the ticket!), when I felt something roll against my leg.

I looked down, and it looked like a dried plant had rolled up against me.

"Oh Good!" I said. "I get out of my rowboat in this Godforsaken country, lose an argument to a scary tattooed man and have 3 pounds of volcanic ash turning to pumice in my lungs, and now I get hit with a Tumbleweed? That. Is. It."

And I pulled my shotgun out of the holster I had for it on my back, and went to blow that damned weed away! I cocked the gun. I placed my finger across the twin triggers. And then I noticed that the Tumbleweed was looking at me.

"Are you going to shoot me?"

"I don't know. I've never run across a Talking Tumbleweed before."

"I'm not a Tumbleweed."

"A Talking Tumbleweed?"

"No," he said. "I'm not a Tumbleweed of any sort."

"Are you sure?" I said, raising my gun to the ready again.

"Jesus!" he swore. "I'm a Kiwi Bird! I'm not a fucking Tumbleweed."

We stood, regarding each other for some time. Many minutes.

"Kiwi Bird? Like the shoe polish?"

"Yes," he said. He added: "Would you put the gun down?"

My arm was getting tired, but I wasn't about to give him that sort of advantage. Such are the perils of International Diplomacy.

"Tell me why I shouldn't shoot you."

"Well, for starters, I'm not a Tumbleweed."

"Go on."

"And for second, I can take you to Wellington."

I was thrown for a loop.

"Who's Wellington?" I asked, looking over the sight of my gun.

"Wellington is the capital of New Zealand. Not Christchurch. Remember?"

It dawned on me what he was trying to tell me.

"The argument!"

"The argument," he agreed. "Would you put the gun down?"

"You can take me to Wellington?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Now, if you'd like. As soon as you lower the gun."

After another minute's consideration, I lowered the gun. "My arm kinda hurts," I told him. "What's your name?"

"Willie Keeler."

"Really?"

"Aye."

"Alright, then. Take me to Wellington."

And off we went. Hand in hand, Willie Keeler and I left the town of Christchurch. There was a brief skirmish where Willie and I had to fight our way through the Hammerheads, that I would tell you about, except that I don't write fight scenes much to my satisfaction. Suffice it to say, we would have met our makers, were it not for the quick intervention of Willie Keeler's Friends, also Kiwi Birds, I would later learn.

"I'm glad you guys are here," I said. "Willie Keeler and I were goners for sure!"

"Goners?" Willie Keeler said. "I've never heard that word used outside of a book."

"Oh."

Willie Keeler explained to his friends that I was America's new Ambassador to New Zealand, and that I was on my way to Wellington.

"Let's take him then!"

And the Kiwi Birds did something, that 19 years later, I still don't know how to explain. I'll try though: With a squawk, they flew together, and became a Tractor!

A Really Boss Tractor.

And off we went. Slowly. I can't talk too badly about my Kiwi friends. It was a slow trip, but I cant think of any of my friends, before, or since, that could merge to form a tractor! Come the fuck on!

So, anyway, we trekked across New Zealand, me riding my Kiwi Tractor, them telling me stories of their fight for independence, their cause of justice and their recipes for Strawberry filled confections and drinks. I mostly talked to them about the show Perfect Strangers.

"Did you know Louie Anderson was originally set to play Balki's American cousin? And that he was replaced with Mark Linn-Baker after screening the first pilot for network executives? I wonder if it was because Louie Anderson was too fat?"

"There's a certain irony," came the voice of one of the more sardonic members of the gestalt tractor made of kiwi birds, "in you wondering if anybody was too fat."

"Hey! This is my story! You don't make fat jokes at my expense if I'm telling the story!"

"Sorry."

So, anyway. after several days, came to the northern coast of the South Island and looked across the water to Wellington.

I stood there for several minutes.

"How do I get over there?"

"We thought you would fly there."

"I can't fly," I said.

And the Kiwi Birds looked at each other, in dismay. And I've never seen a more disheartening event in all my life. Watching three Kiwi, distraught and dismayed.

"Can't you fly?" I asked Willie Keeler.

"No," he said, a tear rolling down his Kiwi Bird Cheek.

And I pulled out my shotgun, and shot Willie Keeler's friends. I then grabbed the gun by its barrel and bonked Willie Keeler on the head with the butt of the gun.

BONK!

"See?" I said. "You ain't no kind of bird. You're a Talking Tumbleweed."

And then, there was a great Earthquake!

I dropped my gun into the New Zealand Sea, and fell! I was sure I was falling into the sea! But I grabbed hold of something flapping in the wind! A sheet, of some sort!

It took a minute for the realization to set in. The Earthquake had loosened the soil, and revealed a laundry that had been covered by a previous volcanic eruption. And I had grabbed a sheet that had somehow survived the tumult. I hung by it, over the Great Blue and Scary New Zealand Sea!

Willie Keeler stood over me. He held a green bottle in his hand.

"Your loss," he said, as he turned the label so I could see it, "Is My Gain!!!!!"

And he hit me with that Bottle of Gain Detergent (also, one would imagine, unearthed by the Earthquake). And he hit me again. Again, and again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

He raised up his detergent, for one final shot. "From Hell's Heart," he sneered.

"I stab at thee!" I said, surprising him with both my katana, and my razor sharp wit!

Willie Keeler fell, impaled upon my katana blade, into the Roiling, Turbulent Great Dangerous and Smelly New Zealand Sea. Dead.

I never did make it to Wellington. I was expelled from New Zealand. Seems the Kiwi Bird is somehow special to them. At first, I was flummoxed by that. But then, they do turn into a really cool tractor. I think that's awesome, and if there's one thing I regret about ending Kiwi Willie Keeler's 44 Gain Hitting Streak, it is that I don't have a souvenir from my trip of me riding my Really Boss Tractor made out of Kiwi Birds.

But I'm not allowed back. And even if I were, I'm pretty sure that the Kiwi wouldn't let me ride their Gestalt Tractor. If there's one thing I know about flightless birds in general, it's that they're assholes.

All the pity. Because Tractors Rock!

Book Meme!

2011-08-20T22:35:00.002-04:00

Hey lookit. Book meme. Seen here.

To follow the NPR (US National Public Radio) meme, copy this list, putting in Bold those you have read.

1. The Lord Of The Rings Trilogy, by J.R.R. Tolkien (In the interest of full disclosure, I didn't read them until Peter Jackson's movies were coming out)
2. The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy, by Douglas Adams (It's probably about time to re-read).
3. Ender’s Game, by Orson Scott Card
4. The Dune Chronicles, by Frank Herbert
5. A Song Of Ice And Fire Series, by George R. R. Martin
6. 1984, by George Orwell
7. Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury (Should be required reading...everywhere...)
8. The Foundation Trilogy, by Isaac Asimov
9. Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley
10. American Gods, by Neil Gaiman
11. The Princess Bride, by William Goldman
12. The Wheel Of Time Series, by Robert Jordan (Up to the third book. Within a day of my finishing it, Robert Jordan passed away. Already disillusioned that while I liked how he wrote, nothing much was happening, I hopped off that 1000 page a book train)
13. Animal Farm, by George Orwell
14. Neuromancer, by William Gibson (I hated Neuromancer, but I think it may have been because Gibson's book actually scared me...)
15. Watchmen, by Alan Moore
16. I, Robot, by Isaac Asimov
17. Stranger In A Strange Land, by Robert Heinlein
18. The Kingkiller Chronicles, by Patrick Rothfuss
19. Slaughterhouse-Five, by Kurt Vonnegut
20. Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley
21. Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?, by Philip K. Dick
22. The Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Atwood
23. The Dark Tower Series, by Stephen King (Personal favorite, yo. Sacred cow.)
24. 2001: A Space Odyssey, by Arthur C. Clarke
25. The Stand, by Stephen King
26. Snow Crash, by Neal Stephenson
27. The Martian Chronicles, by Ray Bradbury
28. Cat’s Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut
29. The Sandman Series, by Neil Gaiman
30. A Clockwork Orange, by Anthony Burgess (I own the book, but have never sat to read it.)
31. Starship Troopers, by Robert Heinlein (Probably my favorite Heinlein book).
32. Watership Down, by Richard Adams (If you haven't read this book, quit your job, and go read it, you shithead).
33. Dragonflight, by Anne McCaffrey
34. The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress, by Robert Heinlein
35. A Canticle For Leibowitz, by Walter M. Miller (I've started this one, but never finished--more because of the tiny, tiny type in the paperback copy I had than the content of the book, which I was enjoying)
36. The Time Machine, by H.G. Wells
37. 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, by Jules Verne
38. Flowers For Algernon, by Daniel Keys (An oddly beautiful book).
39. The War Of The Worlds, by H.G. Wells
40. The Chronicles Of Amber, by Roger Zelazny
41. The Belgariad, by David Eddings
42. The Mists Of Avalon, by Marion Zimmer Bradley
43. The Mistborn Series, by Brandon Sanderson
44. Ringworld, by Larry Niven
45. The Left Hand Of Darkness, by Ursula K. LeGuin
46. The Silmarillion, by J.R.R. Tolkien (I didn't finish this one, but read all that I wanted to. Honestly, reading the phone book is slightly more interesting).
47. The Once And Future King, by T.H. White
48. Neverwhere, by Neil Gaiman
49. Childhood’s End, by Arthur C. Clarke
50. Contact, by Carl Sagan
51. The Hyperion Cantos, by Dan Simmons (I started, but read all that I care to. A pity, maybe, because everybody raves about the first couple of Hyperion books. Given my lack of success with Dan Simmons in general, I think it's a writer thing...)
52. Stardust, by Neil Gaiman
53. Cryptonomicon, by Neal Stephenson
54. World War Z, by Max Brooks
55. The Last Unicorn, by Peter S. Beagle
56. The Forever War, by Joe Haldeman
57. Small Gods, by Terry Pratchett
58. The Chronicles Of Thomas Covenant, The Unbeliever, by Stephen R. Donaldson
59. The Vorkosigan Saga, by Lois McMaster Bujold
60. Going Postal, by Terry Pratchett
61. The Mote In God’s Eye, by Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle
62. The Sword Of Truth, by Terry Goodkind
63. The Road, by Cormac McCarthy Simply the scariest book I've ever read.
64. Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, by Susanna Clarke
65. I Am Legend, by Richard Matheson
66. The Riftwar Saga, by Raymond E. Feist
67. The Shannara Trilogy, by Terry Brooks
68. The Conan The Barbarian Series, by R.E. Howard
69. The Farseer Trilogy, by Robin Hobb
70. The Time Traveler’s Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger
71. The Way Of Kings, by Brandon Sanderson
72. A Journey To The Center Of The Earth, by Jules Verne
73. The Legend Of Drizzt Series, by R.A. Salvatore
74. Old Man’s War, by John Scalzi
75. The Diamond Age, by Neil Stephenson
76. Rendezvous With Rama, by Arthur C. Clarke
77. The Kushiel’s Legacy Series, by Jacqueline Carey
78. The Dispossessed, by Ursula K. LeGuin
79. Something Wicked This Way Comes, by Ray Bradbury
80. Wicked, by Gregory Maguire (Wicked, as far as I'm concerned, is the exception to the rule of Gregory Maguire. The Rule being: Gregory Maguire is a bad writer. Wicked is a decent book. Anything else he's published, is not.)
81. The Malazan Book Of The Fallen Series, by Steven Erikson
82. The Eyre Affair, by Jasper Fforde
83. The Culture Series, by Iain M. Banks
84. The Crystal Cave, by Mary Stewart
85. Anathem, by Neal Stephenson
86. The Codex Alera Series, by Jim Butcher
87. The Book Of The New Sun, by Gene Wolfe
88. The Thrawn Trilogy, by Timothy Zahn (Fun books, actually, and of all those Star Wars books I have read and owned, these were the only ones I deemed necessary to hold on to, incase I decided to read again).
89. The Outlander Series, by Diana Gabaldan
90. The Elric Saga, by Michael Moorcock
91. The Illustrated Man, by Ray Bradbury
92. Sunshine, by Robin McKinley
93. A Fire Upon The Deep, by Vernor Vinge
94. The Caves Of Steel, by Isaac Asimov
95. The Mars Trilogy, by Kim Stanley Robinson
96. Lucifer’s Hammer, by Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle
97. Doomsday Book, by Connie Willis (Connie Willis does not get enough applause for her work, this book least of all).
98. Perdido Street Station, by China Mieville
99. The Xanth Series, by Piers Anthony
100. The Space Trilogy, by C.S. Lewis

Dad

2011-08-17T11:42:00.002-04:00

My Dad's birthday is today. He is still in deepest absolute denial that his favorite restaurant (Reedy's, in Englewood) is closed. Despite that it has been gone for 2 decades now, he is resolute in the belief that we will spend his 59th birthday there tonight. Or, he'll bring a "Whoopin' the Size of Three Dom Deluise."

So. There's that.

I wrote this a few years back:

Do you have one defining image of a person? That when you think of them, the first thing that pops to mind is that defining event? It's an event that can be astounding or mundane...regardless, it strikes a tone so deep in your psyche, it transcends all logical thought, so that all your opinions, beliefs and values regarding that person use that as the starting point?

I was nine. It was 1986, and I'd just lost my very last baby tooth. The little bugger had started loosening a few days earlier, and had popped out during a viewing of Head of the Class. I was in a state I could only describe as ebullient...a level of joy I had never reached prior nor have I reached since.

I was still reeling from the satisfaction of essentially having a small bone pop out of my head, when I changed the channel to Night Court.

My dad taught nights. At least, that's what I believed, and still believe to a point to this day. At the time, he was teaching computer courses at the town just below ours, at the small college one could find there. I know he taught these classes, because I still have people in around my small town coming to me and saying "Your Dad taught me how to use Fortran."

To which I reply: "Fortran? Quit making up words, Aunt Charlotte, and make me a sandwich..."

Anyway, back to the point.

I settled in for a half-hour of sheer hilarity with the comic stylings of Judge Harold T. Stone. It was a fun episode, though I feel like it's important to note that this was while Selma Diamond was still part of the cast, and before John Astin started making his appearances as Buddy. I'll grant you that it was indeed a creative valley in the show's storied run, but I'll submit to you that no better use of a nine-year-old's time could I come up with, even to this day, than to learn about the ins and outs of the legal system in nightfall New York City, and to do so with a laugh.

As an aside, I still have a thing for Markie Post.

But anyway, the episode was nearing the end of the second act, when a commotion arose in the courtroom.

I was watching intently. "This is all quite odd," I said to no one in particular, though my mother was hosting her weekly McMinn County Lady's Mixed Martial Arts Cotillion right behind the sofa.

In the courtroom, just after Harry had rendered a verdict (Court costs and time served), a ruckus arose. The camera pans back, a little uncertain, I believe. And a rather large, hairy man starts throwing hookers, extras and bums aside. And by throwing, I mean picking up and heaving like logs of firewood through a pickup truck window.

The camera panned back for a second to Dan Fielding, who in a rare display of valour grabbed Christine Sullivan and pulled her off screen to safety.

The large man, whose voice became dreadfully clear to me, continued his rampage to the front of the courtroom. The bailiffs came running in, guns drawn. It was the first time I'd ever seen weapons displayed in the courtroom.

Shots were fired, and it was at that moment that the beast stopped his rampage long enough for the cameras to get a focus on his face.

For reasons known only to himself, my Dad was rampaging through the courtroom on that Sitcom.

The bullets didn't stop him. They slowed him down, though. Long enough, I think, to consider just how angry he was going to be.

With a sweep of one mighty arm, he smashed Selma Diamond against the defense table. She was on the next week, so he didn't kill her, thankfully.

In the next motion, he picked up a nameless bailiff (the one with red hair) and threw him against Judge Stone's bench.

He took one step, and found himself face to face with all 6 feet, five inches of Richard Moll's Bull Shannon.

The air was electric. These two behemoths, nose to nose. Each bringing hell with them in their hip pockets, each holding the power of Valhalla in their hands.

The fight was epic. It lasted seven minutes, and each blow was like an frog punch from God. Lights flickered, streets ruptured, and the Hoover Dam burst (though that was later revealed to be the result of a drunken Buddy Hackett playing with the controls...still, it was coincidental and dramatic).

At the end of seven minutes, with dust and smoke filling the courtroom, the broken remains of the prosecution table underneath his dying body, Bull Shannon said to my father "I yield!....I yield sir!...."

My father, holding a filing cabinet in one hand, let it drop with a muffled bang.

"It is finished. We now know."

And he looked at the camera.

"We all know."

And with nothing more said, he left the courtroom, and Night Court went to commercial.

My mother sent me to bed after that. She was too busy applying a triangle choke to have seen what just happened, and she didn't believe me. The next morning, while eating a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, I asked my father "Were you on TV last night, beating up Bull Shannon?"

My Dad looked at me as if I had tentacles growing out of my nostrils.

"No, I was teaching."

"Oh."

I wandered to school that day, and indeed many days after that, confused and questioning. I knew what I'd seen. Was it merely a creation of my own mind?

Several weeks later, during my Dad's summer break, we were sitting down, watching Night Court. Nothing much was said, until the third act. Harry Stone had just issued some edict or another, too which Bull Shannon replied "ooo...kay." I heard my dad utter a small, gravelly laugh.

And I heard him say "pussy."

He got up to leave, and he reached into his pocket, and pulled something shiny out of it. He tossed it to me, and went into the kitchen.

I still have it to this day.

It is a New York Court Officer's badge, with the name Shannon emblazoned across the nameplate....

A thought from Harlan Ellison

2011-08-04T07:46:00.002-04:00

Picking through an old notebook, I found this quote from Harlan Ellison. It's apropos of nothing but I like it, and it bears repeating (I've posted it before I think. I just can't remember when...).

You can sympathize, accordingly, with my upset at the major networks' fear & trembling as regards what they show the little no-neck monsters every Saturday ay-em. Last season, there was such a hue and cry raised by paranoid parents (who can't cop to being responsible for their kids' traumas, so have to blame it on everything from Hong Kong Flu to masturbation, with comic books and TV getting a big blast) that kiddie-shows--notably the animateds--were warping their urchins' minds, that radical changes were proposed in Saturday morning programming....

Refuting...the running-scared set is no problem. Arrayed in the Wertham philosophy that TV (and comic book) violence cause children to use meat cleavers on their mummies are hundreds of psychologists and psychiatrists who contend that filmed horror and terror are good for kids, that they offer a purgative, a release for adolescent tensions and hostilities.

On a personal level, I can vouch for the accuracy of that theory. Every guy who I know who grooved behind horror movies and comic books when he was a tot is today a productive, beautiful person, with imagination and a sense of wonder. The few I know who were only allowed to read Albert Payson Terhune and see movies were the virtues of God and Dogs were extolled are square, hidebound, bigoted, short-sighted schlepps who sport SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL COSSACK bumper stickers.
--Harlan Ellison, in the December 28, 1968, edition of The Glass Teat.

The Lost Master

2011-08-02T13:45:00.002-04:00

Late last week, I wandered into th annual effort to help fund the Public Library, in which old and donated books are sold to help throw a little more money towards the E.G. Fisher Library, here in town. It's a pretty well done effort, and it's something I can remember hitting for bag upon bag of science fiction, mystery and Garfield books as far back as sixth grade....

Wandered in, and walked up and down the tables. Found a few things, despite having stacks and stacks of books at the house I haven't read yet.

To my credit, I only bought ~~a couple~~ four books that I haven't read. An Andrew Vachss book (Safe House), The Plague Dogs, by Richard Adams (because books about dogs having adventures are just right up my alley), a book about Early Irish Myths (a Penguin Classic, printed in that classic typeface they use that frustrates my eyes somehow), and Linda Greenlaw's book about swordfishing (because I watched The Perfect Storm again the other night, and just happened to remember her name when I happened across her book The Hungry Ocean).

I also found three or four books I'll hold on to to give away. Another copy of Confederacy of Dunces, which is one of my five or ten favorite books--it's one I tend to give away once a year or so. I also found another copy of Still Life with Woodpecker, which is a good one to share. I also found a nice copy of Run with the Horsemen by Ferrol Sams.

Anybody want a conversational, whimsical Southern book to read? One of my aunts introduced me to Ferrol Sams maybe ten years ago, now. Gifted writer out of Georgia. A doctor who wrote in his spare time. Run with the Horsemen, while not an out and out comedy, made me laugh out loud as much as any other book I've read in my life. I like introducing people to Ferrol Sams.

There was one other thing I found.

This little blogging hobby brought me a couple of things I'd not have expected, nor guessed. 9 years ago (and we're fast approaching the NINTH ANNIVERSARY of this blogamathing) I'd never heard of Robert Service. I thank Eric for introducing me. Lyrical, fun stuff. I'm no expert in things poetic, but I am a fan of words fitting together in a way that pleases me...and Service does that from time to time.

I picked up a collection of his Poetry. Printed in 1966. Had a nice old book smell that I dig very much. I've picked through, and found a couple that I like. The one I dug this morning:

THE LOST MASTER

"And when I come to die" he said
"Ye shall not lay me out in state
Nor leave your laurels at my head,
Nor cause your men of speech orate;
No monument your gift shall be,
No column in the Hall of Fame;
But just this line ye grave for me:

'He played the game.'"

So when his glorious task was done
It was not of his fame we thought;
It was not of his battles won
But of the pride with which he fought;
But of his zest, his ringing laugh,
His trenchant scorn of praise or blame:
And so we graved his epitaph,

"He played the game."

And so we, too, in humbler ways
Went forth to fight the fight anew,
And heeding neither blame nor praise,
We held the course he set us true.
And we too, find the fighting sweet;
And we, too, fight for fighting's sake;
And though we go down in defeat,
And though our stormy hearts may break,
We will not do our Master shame:
We'll play the game, please God

We'll play the game.

On Absent Friends...

2011-07-25T20:51:00.004-04:00

Thinking about a friend I haven't seen, lately. It's life. You grow up. You work. People float away. Yeah. Just kinda wondering. We called him Pooh, on account of his being so laid back. If that guy was anymore laid back, he'd be asleep. Pooh was a good guy. A good friend. Would do anything in the world you asked.

Loyal. That guy was the most loyal man I've ever known. Even after T got run up on that meth charge, he stuck by the guy.

Still, we grew apart. He was hard to rile. Hard to motivate. Messy. Can I say that? Just messy. You couldn't even call where he lived a Hole in the Wall. More like a Hole in the Ground. Not real bright. Always wore this bright red t-shirt. Never wore pants. Or underwear. Ever. That got to be bothersome.

Still. That son of a bitch loved honey more than anybody I ever knew. I wonder what ever happened to him.

In which I return to blogging to recount a dream

2011-07-05T18:45:00.002-04:00

Yeah. It might be a dying hobby, folks. Or maybe it took a break. I dunno.

So, I've changed job locations. Still with the same company. A turn of events occurred late in May that saw me move back down to Cleveland, Tennessee for employment. It was a move toward the better, at least in terms of the rest of my life. I enjoyed working with the folks up in Loudon, and the experience of working in a new store with that demanding of a clientele I'll always value.

However, it put a lot of strain on the rest of my life. It cut down on the amount of time I was able to spend with friends and family. I can already tell a difference in my stress level, after 3 weeks at my new store, if only because I'm able to head out to see my sister and brother-in-law, or head out to grab a beer or play trivia with folks, without having to plan it out several days in advance.

That said, one big difference is when we have to set our stores for new ads. Because of the timing of the thing, I've already found it easier to change the store out in an overnight shift on Tuesday. I've found that this overnight shift gives me an extra morning to write (wrote 2400 words this morning), and a little time to go do something in the daytime hours.

Today? I went to see Transformers 3. It was exactly what I needed it to be: 2.5 hours of living machines beating the shit out of one another. In fact, I'd have enjoyed the thing a lot more had they simply done away with the Shia LeBouf/Sam Witwicky storyline, and streamlined the booger into 1.5 hours of Cybertronian Whoopass.

But anyway. Part of the Tuesday routine does involve my big ass taking a nap. Usually a couple or three hours, it's enough to get me through the night.

Today's nap was the subject of an odd, storylike dream.

Very simply, my sister and brother-in-law had moved to the coast. My brain said it was somewhere along the Gulf Coast, but looked exactly like what I remember the area of Murrell's Inlet and Pawley's Island, South Carolina, looking like. (I write that, and it strikes me that I haven't been that way in nearly 8 years....)

Anyway, they were needing to move back. And I'd gone down there to help them move. In the dream, I'd been left alone at their house, and the only way I had to get transportation was a riding lawnmower, which I rode from the house through a gas station to get to the post office. And let me clarify that by saying, I rode the lawn mower through the store part of the gas station. Up the aisle that sold candy bars.

Also, it seems that my sister had managed to capture a demon (or perhaps The Devil himself) and had him trapped in a bookcase at her house. (Kinda like an episode of Twilight Zone we watched this weekend, during SyFy's marathon). The demon was a shapeshifter, and at various times took the form of a man, a cat and a rat. And he was trapped on the book case by two empty drinking glasses. Yeah, I don't understand that part. I just remember if you took the drinking glasses down, he could get out.

In the course of the dream, the glasses fall. Don't remember how. My mind trying to fill in the blanks likes the idea that I bump it with the lawnmower.

I have to catch the demon again (this is where he morphs into a rat). I catch him, and put him back on the bookcase, putting the drinking glasses back in place.

So, I got that going for me.

Anyway. Hoping to post a little more. 1 post in all of June. That's a heck of a swoon, for the old blogamathing. We'll see how this thing goes....

Favorite Movie Scenes...

2011-06-07T11:07:00.003-04:00

Just thinking about a few of my favorite movie scenes. There's no logic to it. A lot of them make me laugh, or smile. A lot of them just capture me every time I see it, and often times, I'm not sure of the reason....

Mostly for the scene in the bathroom, as Pee-Wee gets ready for his day. He decides that an important part of his ritual that day is to put tape on his face. That moment, when Pee-Wee rips the tape off his face, and screams in pain, is one of my favorite moments in all of movies. It's why I include it here. Couldn't find a shorter version. Still, the wake up scene as a whole is great. I'm 34, and I still wish I had a Rube Goldberg device that would make me breakfast. I also wish there was still Mr. T Cereal.

This scene always gets me amped up. Maybe its the Pisces in me, but one of the bits I love about Apollo 13 is how it emphasizes the effort of the NASA team, and doesn't single out anybody as The Hero. I like this scene because it gets a lot of the players into the view of the camera, if only for a half-second.

This scene's on one of the Apollo 13 soundtracks, and sometimes, I'll listen to it on my way to work....

I tend to think most movies would be made better by the Hanson brothers. The over-the-shoulder look the ref gives them is perfect. Just a great flick, full of moments like that.

In my imagination, I can tear stuff up like Jonathan Winters in It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. This is human cartoonery at its very best. Favorite line, halfway through the brawl/demolition, he announces "You guys are gettin' out of line..."

Let's be honest. The Muppet Movie Empire went completely to shit after Great Muppet Caper. I'm hopeful for this year's Jason Segel effort, but not optimistic.

We root for Fozzy, right?

Yes. We root for Fozzy.

I love James Earl Jones in Field of Dreams. Terrence Mann is a man who once believed in Magic, had it taken away, and now has others looking for the Magic coming to him. He thinks Ray Kinsella is another one, looking for answers. I dig their story in the flick...because his journey with Ray will ultimately have him finding Magic again...

One of the best takes in all of history, when Mortimer realizes there's a body in the Window Seat.

Call it, Friend-O

The Listens, this day, 29 May 2011

2011-05-29T22:04:00.002-04:00

Just some stuff I listened to while I put fingers to keyboard:

"I'll Be Seeing You" The Blanks
"I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" U2
"Sam Hall" Johnny Cash
"Goodbye" Drive-By Truckers
"Baby Grand" Billy Joel
"Someone Keeps Moving My Chair" They Might Be Giants
"Bonita and Bill Butler" Alison Krauss and Union Station
"Dear Prudence" The Beatles
"Where Were You Last Night?" Travelling Wilburys
"God Bless Alabama" Shooter Jennings & Hierophant
"Will You Think of Me?" Roger Alan Wade
"Talking Again" Henry Phillips
"We're a Happy Family" The Ramones
"We Belong" Pat Benatar (Sometimes putting earworms on your MP3 player ain't that bright an idea...this one will be here for the next week...)
"The Illuminated" Shooter Jennings & Hierophant
"Fearless" Ozzy Osbourne
"Summer in Siam" The Pogues
"Thinking About You" John Mellencamp
"Sugar Baby" Legendary Shack Shakers
"Pleasant Valley Sunday" The Monkees (I can sing this louder and better than all of you, by the way)
"Big Time in the Jungle" Old Crow Medicine Show
"Superchief" The Asylum Street Spankers
"La Bamba" Ritchie Valens
"Annan Water" The Decemberists

Armageddon Saturday

2011-05-22T09:35:00.002-04:00

I don't spend a lot of time demeaning somebody else's beliefs. It's not my personality, and I while I enjoy being right as much as any of this generation, I don't seem to draw the pleasure out of proving anybody wrong that a lot of people do*. I just tend to disagree, but go on about my business, mumbling quietly to myself about all the idiocy in the world.

And there is much. Don't get me wrong on that count. You can't sling a handful of gravel without hitting three or four ridiculous ideas, especially in this neck of the woods. But most of them don't hurt people, and most of them are well-intentioned, so again, I just go on about my way. Especially since the local municipality has many opinions about my slinging gravel, largely toward the negative on that action.

All said, I tend to watch things with bemusement. It's how I do a lot of things. I'm a tremendous people-watcher. Don't know if I've ever mentioned that. Give me a good vantage point, and I can people watch and enjoy more than just about any sporting or entertainment venue.

And it was largely with bemusement that I watched May 21 approach, given Harold Camping's prediction of Rapture, with the End Times following immediately after. Don't know why this particular ominous announcement seemed to catch as much media attention (ahem, aside from the millions of dollars spent for self-promotion in terms of broadcast and roadside billboards, etc.) But the world picked this ball up and ran with it, and by the end of the week, you couldn't turn on the teevee without hearing even the guys on SportCenter mentioning it.

Most of it was tongue-in-cheek and I was not immune. I am nothing if not infinitely snarky.

But there was one aspect of this whole thing that really bothered me.

The money expenditure.

Money's been something on my mind a little bit for the past several weeks and months. There have been some expenditures that you have to make in the course of life, and there have been a lot of hours worked. It's one of those things...I say "working like a botard" a lot around these parts, but I think I've worked more from February to May than any other 3 month period in my life. The amount of money you pull in on salary really doesn't compare to the hours put in, especially with the price of gas going up, and having to spend money on life's little inconveniences.

I say all that to say this: while the numbers fluctuate depending on who reports them, I'm hearing a bottom line of at least 8 digits spent to advertise Camping's Idiocy, be it broadcast, print or roadside media, and that number could stretch into the 100's of millions of dollars.

I'm not a religious guy. I'll say that. There was a time in my life, but this isn't it. And a lot of this is why: too much Gloom and Doom...not enough using of resources to actually do some good in this world. How much of the money spent on billboards could have helped Tornado Cleanup efforts? Flood relief? Japanese Earthquake relief?

Look, I'm all for you spending your money however you see fit. Even the disaster movie fan in me has no use for the gloom and doom prophecy. My point, and I do have one, is this: If you have this disposable income, and it's just burning holes in your pockets, why not give it to a truly good cause out there. Red Cross? Cancer Research? Literacy Programs? Humane Society? Sending Tommy on a vacation that doesn't involve somebody saying "Staycation, huh?"

So anyway. If you're one of these people who lost your life savings sending it to a person I regarded as a Dementia patient from the moment I saw him? No sympathy over here, chief. I hope, this morning, you feel like the world's biggest idiot.

Not the way I normally feel about things, but that's where we are, this May 22. And since we are here, I thought I'd write about it.

Anyway, I hope the rest of you have a tremendous rest of the weekend.

*There are people I enjoy proving wrong with a passion, but mostly the revolve around the Designated Hitter rule....

A Statement from the Publisher of Big Stupid Tommy Concerning the Death of Randy "Macho Man" Savage

2011-05-20T19:48:00.001-04:00

Good evening.

Many of you have inquired as to the well-being of the staff here at Big Stupid Tommy on this difficult day, following the death of Randy “Macho Man” Savage. Suffice it to say we are coping as well as we can. Staff was given the rest of the day off, and at this time, we are unsure as to when we will convene again.

On a personal level, as Editor, Publisher and Proprietor, I can say that I’m still feeling a great deal of shock over the events of this day. There are not words to describe the importance of Randy Savage in my life. He played very much a paternal role equaled in life only by my own father. I’m sure the following days and weeks will be difficult, as I learn to navigate the River of Life without one of the glowing beacon of The Madness to guide me.

Thank you for your thoughts and wishes, on this day. Even in the wake of this tragedy beyond reckoning, it is gratifying to know that there are so many of you who care about my well-being. Thank you for your thoughts, concerns and all the Slim Jims.

In closing, I ask for privacy from the members of the press during this heartbreaking and difficult time. As a mother, my concern is for the children. I ask for compassion, respect and privacy as my children and I work to rebuild our lives. I will have no further comment. Thank you.

Big Stupid Tommy

Conversations with my Sister

2011-05-17T22:31:00.002-04:00

More in the continuing conversation between my sister and me, usually via text or Blackberry messenger:

My sister chaperoned her school's class trip to Washington, DC, last week. On the trip back:

Tommy: So, are you guys driving back tonight?

April: Yep. And the kids are mad that the boys and girls can't sit together?

April: Dunno why I put a ? At the end of that.

Tommy: I was wondering.

Tommy: Man. I bet a lot of them wanted to do The Sex, too.

Tommy: You Teachers are assholes.

Tommy: Ass. Holes.

April: No. Chicken. None of us wanted to explain the doing of The Sex to the mommas.

Tommy: Why would you be doing The Sex to the mommas?

_____

Her school year is fixing to end:

April: I am ready for school to be over.

Tommy: OK. How long do you have left?

April: 3 days with kids, and then a few work days.

Tommy: That's not bad.

April. No. But the 8th graders have reached the goofy point and are attaching my clothespins to their hair, ears, nostrils and lips.

Tommy: Oh. So it's like teaching me.

April: Yep.

April: I just had to tell one kid to keep the clothespins on his face. They don't belong on his nipples.

_______

In which we're all afraid I'm going to end up a crazy old hermit:

April: The Chattanooga Library has Literary Speed Dating.

Tommy: What's that?

April: I don't know, but I think you get to meet people who like books.

Tommy: That's cool.

April: I thought so. Want me to look into it?

Tommy: You're married. Don't you think Jeff would be angry?

April: I don't think he would mind if my Book Buddy cleaned the house.

April: Actually, Jeff just told me he'd better mow the yard.

Tommy: He doesn't want you chasing him with a lawnmower.

April: Who? Jeff, or my Book Buddy?

Tommy: Both. Nobody wants you chasing them with a lawnmower. You crazy.

April: In my mind, the narrative voice of this message was Cleveland Brown.

Tommy: Mine too.

Thoughts from the Ass End of the Night, volume XXXVII, subsection B

2011-05-11T04:34:00.002-04:00

I'm not sure what this crap where I dream about work is, but I'm over it.

What follows is a brief and incomplete list of things I would rather dream about than work:

Sex
Baseball
Having my own lightsaber
Driving my Truck in the Indianapolis 500
Flying
Being Bulletproof
Being Best Friends with Robert De Niro
Fist Fighting a Bear, and Winning.
Having the power to Declare "Topless Tuesdays."
Having my own little Hobbit House.
Having a gun that shoots Jell-O
A Mummy
Being World Famous for my Mad Etch-a-Sketch Drawing Skills
Pizza
Riding in a Taxi driven by Randy "Macho Man" Savage
Going to a church where everybody talks like Randy "Macho Man" Savage
Riding a Rhinoceros into war
The letter T
Going on Jeopardy and having all the categories be about my life.
Being called out of the stands to pinch hit at a Cubs game
Living next door to pinch-hitter extraordinaire Thad Bosley
Being in Philadelphia in 1776, and being taller than most, if not all, the delegates to the Continental Congress
Getting to slam doors in the face of Sting. (The Singer, aka Gordon Sumner. Not the Wrestler, aka Steve Borden).
Having a camera that actually does steal souls
Hiking on a trail in the mountains, and meeting my grandmothers
Going to Ireland
Going to Ireland, and finding that it is like a nation made up entirely of Etowah, Tennessee.
Pimp Slapping Howie Mandel
Having the power to Destroy American Idol with my mind.
Befriending an Extraterrestrial visitor to our world, who has the power to set things afire with but a touch
Arguing that The Letter B is actually a number, and that I should be allowed to wear it for the Tennessee Titans
Building a working time machine out of panty hose and a hammer.
Finding that I can run the government from my desk in the kitchen.
Boobs
That I am on the downside of Flowers for Algernon
Knowing a talking horse that tells the filthiest jokes you ever heard
Mickey Mantle comes back from the grave and beats the shit out of alcoholics where ever he finds them.
Driving a Train
Driving a Transfer Truck through a field of Popcorn, which pops whenever I drive my truck through it.
Knowing a guy that eats vinyl siding
Being able to clap and have Ernest Borgnine appear
The true story behind Wonder Bread

All of these are preferable to dreaming about work.

A few things that I would not like to dream about, but are probably about the same as dreaming about work:

That dream where there is a Q-Bert standup arcade machine in my house that only works when you pee into it.
That dream where I'm driving from Atlanta to my home, and aliens attack dropping "Spider-Bombs" from their heliothingamajigs
That dream where there's a big pay-per-view where Dolly Parton and Whitney Houston are going to fight it out over the song "I Will Always Love You." Only because they want me to take sides
Snakes
Wasps
A weird cotton candy cloud that is raining death upon the city
Any variation on the dream where the brakes on my truck stop working, or suddenly the forward gears and reverse work their opposite way.
That dream where I've skipped a class the entire semester, and it's time to turn in a paper, or go to the final.

Dreams that are unacceptable, and I actually prefer dreaming about work:

The dream where I'm asking somebody out, and they laugh
Funeral dreams, for my parents or close friends
Al Roker, coming to my house because he wants to rub on my booty

2011

2011-05-08T22:20:00.005-04:00

Looked up, earlier today. Realized that we were 8 days into the 5th month of 2011.

It's not been fun. Not to mince words. It's not been horrible. It's just been a lot of work. A ridiculous lot of work.

We were short a manager, for one reason or another, a goodly part of the year. And since then, there've been projects that have kept me or a body or two from my staff wandering East Tennessee.

It's been a shitload of 6 day weeks, and an even bigger wheelbarrow full of 12 hour days.

Add to that a 45 minute commute.

I know I'm whining.

I'm just worn out.

Between work, and helping to clean up a friend's tornado damage last weekend, I feel like I've been going nonstop for 3 weeks. (I feel that way, because I have).

Taking a couple days break. Wandered out to celebrate Mother's Day today with Mom, Dad and the Sister, who's 17 days or so shy of a year's anniversary of being a Mom herself.

2011's not been my favorite. Could be worse. I get that. I just don't necessarily dig devoting 60 to 70 hours a week to it, every week.

Leaves very little time for me to go be my normally awesome self.

Very little time.

Things are looking up, though. Getting past the project this week.

And your old pal Tommy bid on a promotion!

And, if nothing else, there's a vacation here in a couple of weeks....

The Drive Home...

2011-04-24T17:46:00.002-04:00

Long week, in Botardland. Store resets and Holiday weeks ended up meaning a few 13 hour days for yours, truly. I've been working so much, I've been forgetting what my Glass Menagerie looks like.

Interest tidbit when wandering home last night, after the first leg of what is known as "the Turn & Burn," a shift where you close the one night, only to return to open the next morning.

I'm a sleep sissy. Can I say that? There was a time I could go on three or four hours sleep. But that time isn't now. I need 5.5 to be functional, at all, and 7 to be "sociable" and "functional." The math becomes difficult, toward that end following leaving the store late because of heavy shopper traffic, having to stop for gas, and the events that follow...bearing in mind the sole purpose of getting home means that the absolute most sleep I'll get, even if I fall asleep as soon as I lock the front door, would be right at 5.5 hours....

Heavy shopper day. I'll talk briefly about that. Folks, I know that Easter falls on a different Sunday every year. There is a formula, that we've been using for nearly 1800 years, though, which has it falling on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the Spring equinox. Now, I realize that's difficult to fathom, owing to that most of us spend our time glued to some manner of electrical teat, anymore, and wouldn't know the moon if it came to our front door and asked us, for the last time, to turn the Professional Wrestling Down! But it still shouldn't come as much of surprise what with all our calendar devices that we have a way to keep track of holidays. Point is, there is no need to run into the grocery store at 8:42PM the night before, in a panic, looking to buy hams, egg coloring kits, a keg of MGD and a box of Lucky Charms, because you've put it off to the last minute.

There is definitely no need to yell at your friendly grocery store manager when said grocery store has sold through its supply of hams. But we'll let that particular sleeping dog lie....

Anyway. Crazy night. People running into the store to get egg dye at 9:40. Maybe it's that I don't have kids. But to me, part of the fun was dying and decorating the eggs. I guess some houses buy the egg dye and color the eggs so the kids would be surprised. And if I can hazard an opinion: those people are nothing but trash. But, that's just me.

Point of this particular passage is that we wandered away from the store a little later than I'd have wanted, owing to that we had to pick everything up. After a length of time in Customer Service, I'm convinced that there is a fair number of people who go to the grocery store with the sole purpose in mind of moving shit around. No shopping. Just picking up a can of Asparagus, and putting it down next to the panty hose.

OK. Next part of the story? Pretty boring. Had to stop for gas. Was nearly on E. I work in the middle of nowhere. Was able to trade three jugs of shine for half a tankful of gas and a stone axe (which I will call a Tommyhawk) from the local trader Indians.

I ride up Highway 411 to and from work. And as I'm wandering toward the metropolis of Englewood, Tennessee, I see tail-lights lighting up near the City Limit (an ambitious term, a fact to which those of you who've wandered through and dined in Englewood, Tennessee, can attest). I get to the end of the line, and after several minutes of sitting there, I decide to cut through the country to get home.

Again. Sleep sissy. Tommy needum all the beauty sleep he can get.

So, I put two wheels in the grass, and ride up the median, to a spot where I can turn around. In doing so, I think I see something large lying across three or four lanes of traffic near Baker's Place.

A brief word about Baker's Place...I think it's a Square Dancing pavilion. It's a large, square building, festooned on all sides with old tin signs and farming implements. I would not want to hide in there during a tornado. They advertise music and dancing on Friday and Saturdays, and on the rare nights that I have seen people entering and exiting the place (again, when I'm driving home from work--indeed, if I'm not at work, I'm most likely driving to of from it), I have surmised the average age of a Baker's Place patron to be roughly 96.

I bet it's a real damn good hootenanny.

Did I spell that right?

Rolling.

Digressing.

Something large across a lot of lanes. I may be mistaken about that. It was a brief glance up the road. Lots of blue lights, and red lights. And what looked like something long across the road, long enough to cover at least three lanes of the five-lane highway. Horse Trailer? Transfer truck? This blogamathing post?

I wander back to a road I knew. Or thought I did. I knew that I could wander along its length to get to a road that connected back to 411 farther up the line, past the wreck.

Or, so I thought.

I wander up its length, and come quickly to a fork. I use my logic, thinking that I should take the fork that takes me in the direction I want to ultimately travel.

Well. I take that road, and travel under a train trestle. And the road quickly devolves from pavement to tarchip. And from tarchip to gravel. And about the time that it devolves further into two dirt lanes with grown up grass in the middle, I announce to the beautiful night "I don't think this is right."

Well, I'm committed. At least until I find someplace I can execute one of my patented three-point turns.

That place? Spooky graveyard.

I'm not even really one that gets messed up with graveyards.

But, quiet night, dirt road eaten up by trees on all sides. Old headstones. Those I could see were older...not the big, smooth block granite headstones that you see in people recently deceased. These were the old homes of the old dead. Weather worn. Very plain. At least what I could see in that brief moment I beheld the scene. I say that to say that things take on a different look at night. I'm afraid that if I went back in daylight, I would find a beautifully well kept, relatively new cemetary, with gleaming headstones and fresh flower displays, and a Merry-Go-Round that the kids can ride when visiting the corpse of grandma.

But I couldn't see that. I looked only briefly. Because before long, a Pirate Ghost attacked!

Actually, all I could selfishly think was about how badly I wanted to be home in my warm, comfortable, bed.

Also, I think I was thinking about going to the bathroom. Because, if you've known me any amount of time at all, you know that there is no time that I'm not, at some level, thinking about going to the bathroom.

Anyway, I executed my beautiful three-point turn, halfway expecting to turn back and find some manner of ghoul standing in my headlights. Perhaps to disembowel me. Or drag me to hell. Or just remark upon the relative beauty of my mouth.

And I drove back to where I turned wrong, and found my way back to the Old Federal Road, and eventually back to the house.

Where I slept for all of 3 hours. Mostly because I was having nightmares about overturned horse trailers, cemetaries, and Pirate Ghosts who think I have a Pretty Mouth. And if there's one thing I hate, it's Spectral Mouth Rape.

Easter wasn't great, in that regard. I was muchly a zombie. A co-worker relieved me. I made it home, thinking briefly of visiting the graveyard again, just to see it in the daylight. Instead, I went home, went to the bathroom and took a 45 minute nap.

I feel like a new man.

And that man's name, is "Black Superman" Tony Atlas.

On writing angry...

2011-04-15T21:15:00.002-04:00

Yeah. Working like a botard, and chewing on a few things.

Don't write angry letters.

Wise man once taught me that.

I think it was Obi-Wan Kenobi, but I was never any damn good at history.

Suffice it to say, I had to delete some shit about the problem of having too many chiefs, not enough Indians....

A Brief Post About the Dangers of Spring

2011-04-04T22:35:00.003-04:00

I don't know if I've ever told you people this, but Wasps love me.

The insect, I mean. The horrible, angry, stinging insect. Not the Protestants. As it stands, White people, to this point in my life, are very much divided.

But the stinging bug is very fond of yours, truly.

As I was walking, out and about, I found myself descended upon by one of those wonderful, H.R. Giger looking bastards, who must have decided he liked my t-shirt that has a chicken saying "Moo" on it. Because despite all my attempts at evasion, the bugger kept flying close to take a look.

Well, I walked, and we had a windy moment. I should mention that. March came in like a Lion, pissed on everything and decided to stick around for April, too. Windy sumbitch today. I'm a big fellow, but a couple of times, I felt myself fairly well shoved by the movement of air from areas of one pressure to a lower concentration of air pressure. Such is the way of things.

To that point, we'd had a fair stretch of an hour or two, where the wind wasn't blowing as hard.

And all it once, it started up. I looked up. I did so much as a fool would do. My mouth was open. There are many trees in bloom. Dogwoods, and Redbuds. I assume it was the petal of the latter that went into my mouth, because upon removal, it had a bright pink tinge to it, and the there are many in the area.

Yep. Looked up. Open mouth. Flower petal.

However, that was not my first instinct.

Anybody nearby would have gotten to see a half-second's worth of panic.

I was sure as anything in this life that my waspery friend had just flown into my mouth.

Now, the intelligent among you will no doubt mention that there is a tremendous textural difference between the petal of a redbud bloom, and a wasp.

To that, I can say only: You're right.

Also: Shut up!

Anyway. That was the day.

The Listens, this day, 21 March 2011

2011-03-21T21:15:00.003-04:00

Today wasn't my favorite. Nothing big (except for the hole that ripped in the ass of my pants). Last night's insomnia was part of it. Couple of bigger things kinda been eating at your old pal. Anyway. Took a walk to see if I could get rid of a little bit of pissed off. These were the listens:

1. Stomp and Holler Hayes Carll
2. Broken Hymns Dropkick Murphys (Probably my favorite off the new album)
3. Wipeout The Fat Boys and The Beach Boys (HAHAAAAAHAAHAHHAAA)
4. Don't Forget About Me John Mellencamp
5. Superman R.E.M.
6. Blue Moon The Marcels
7. The Boxer Me First and the Gimme Gimme's
8. Ebo Walker The Dillards

It was kind of a short walk. But, I was able to walk off some of the pissed off.

Thoughts from the Ass End of the Night, volume 393

2011-03-21T04:34:00.002-04:00

An insomnia post?

There are two things that brought on this bout of insomnia, I'd say.

First, I've had the past four days off. And, if there's one time I can pretty much count on not being able to sleep, it's the night before returning to work, after a handful of days off.

Second? I mentioned, mostly in passing and not at all to brag, that I haven't had an insomnia night in quite a while.

Toward the first? I've had the past few days off. There were a couple of changes at work, as it concerned bonus structure and personal days in the year 2011. And while it's just now hitting me that Christmas expenditures need to start being budgeted Now, I guess I can handle a few extra personal days.

These past four days, taken off to take care of a couple personal errands, but mostly to watch a few games of basketball, were the first four such days off I've had in my time with the company. (I was under the mistaken impression that I'd gotten a four-day weekend for my cousin Michelle's wedding a couple of springs back, but turns out that was just a 3 day-job...also rare, but not worth writing home about.) Suffice it to say, I've been working ridiculously the past few months, and somehow, I've missed out on watching the first two rounds of the NCAA tournament for pretty much 4 years running, for one reason or another. Actually very glad I took the days off to catch a few basketball games.

Speaking of which, my bracket was destroyed Saturday night. I'd gone to see a movie, and grab a bite with a friend. Saw a highlight, during dinner, that Pittsburgh had fallen. Twice in two years, Butler single-handedly destroyed my bracket. Only difference is, this year, they did it in one fell swoop...last year's annihilation was bit by bit.

Surprised to see the Big East fall apart. Saw that while I did actually sleep tonight, Notre Dame lost as well. I'm as surprised as anybody. I drank that Kool-Aid. I had 3 Big East Teams in the Final Four. Of those three, only Connecticut is still alive, and they had to beat a Big East team to make it to the Sweet 16 themselves.

And I suppose it's as good a time as any to talk about what the bummer that was the end of Tennessee's men's season. Rough year. Troublesome to see as talented a bunch of ballplayers as we've seen in Knoxville basically quit. Very troublesome. On th year? Bruce Pearl revealed himself to be a cheat. In talking with my brother-in-law, I mentioned that I go back and forth. I don't want a cheat as a head coach. At the same time, I don't want to go back to it being a "good season" if Tennessee makes it to the NIT. Spoiled by a small taste of success, I'd say. Six years making it to the tournament will do that to a man. Is it worth it to keep him around? I dunno. Funny how I seem to sneer at Bonds, Sosa and McGwire, yet I waffle on Pearl.

Well. It's 4:53. Going to start getting ready for the job. Y'all take it easy. This has been an Insomnia post....

2011 books...

2011-03-20T11:58:00.002-04:00

Just a brief listing of books read, to this point, in 2011:

The Last Boy: Mickey Mantle and the End of America's Childhood....Jane Leavy
I'm Dreaming of a Black Christmas...Lewis Black
Zombie Spaceship Wasteland...Patton Oswalt
The Pleasure of My Company....Steve Martin
A Tale of Two Cities...Charles Dickens
American Creation: Triumphs and Tragedies in the Founding of the Republic...Joseph Ellis
True Grit....Charles Portis
Full Dark, No Stars....Stephen King
First Family: Abigail and John Adams....Joseph J. Ellis
Requiem for a Paper Bag...Davy Rothbart, ed.
Alexander Hamilton....Ron Chernow
Dark Jenny.....Alex Bledsoe
Bloodshot....Cherie Priest

Just a couple of notes: Making a conscious effort to read more. Mostly it involves less television, and less surfing around the internet looking at that video of the monkey smelling his finger after picking his ass.

Don't get me wrong. I'm still looking at that video of the monkey picking his ass. I'm just not devoting the 16-20 hours a week to doing it.

Truth be told, I think I've worked more in the past 12 months than at any other point in my life. And that's saying something, if you're one of the sevens of people who've been reading this blogamathing since 2002. You seven know just what Tommy's Chronic Botardism is.

The one thing that has changed some in 2011 over previous years. I left XM back in November. I don't want to get off on a rant, but East Tennessee radio, but for a few bright spots, is pretty rough. Like I said, a few bright spots, but for the most part, I started filling the 45 minute (or so) commute with books on CD, which I've either traded for, or downloaded. I'm tending toward the nonfiction with those, simply because I'm apt to get wrapped up in a story, and I'm afraid I'll find myself two counties into Georgia on 411 before I realized I missed my turn onto Highway 39 way back in McMinn County....

Anyway. That's the books consumed, to this point in 2011. I recommend both Joseph Ellis's books...his writing style flows well. I enjoyed both American Sphinx and His Excellency, biographies of Thomas Jefferson and George Washington respectively, in the past. Both these books were quite enjoyable.

I also want to recommend Stephen King's Full Dark, No Stars, which I call his best book probably since Bag of Bones. The shorter story form has always been his best style, and these stories are very, very strong. It probably doesn't hurt that they are concerned largely with retribution, as a running theme. It's a favorite theme of mine, as a story element, so I dug Full Dark, No Stars. Like I said, probably his strongest since Bag of Bones....

Also? My buddy Alex has his newest, Dark Jenny, coming out later this month. After a false start back in the winter, I took Friday. Read the whole thing in a sitting. It's a fun read, and I recommend it!

In which Tommy casts the Dark Tower series....

2011-03-14T21:33:00.003-04:00

With word on the street flying that Javier Bardem is the choice to play Roland in Ron Howard's gigantor Dark Tower series, I'd just like to offer a bit of my own fantasy casting for the series. In fact, these are the faces I saw in my head, when I read the books:

Roland of Gilead: Bubba Smith
Eddie Dean: Steve Guttenberg
Susannah Dean: Leslie Easterbrook
Jake Chambers: Emmanuel Lewis
Oy of Mid World: Bobcat Goldthwait

Walter O'Dim/Marten/Flagg: Michael Winslow

Father Callahan: Gallagher

Alice: Amy Madigan
Brown: Sam Elliott
Zoltan: Jack Black

Young Roland: Bubba Smith, mustache shaved
Cuthbert Allgood: Brad Garrett
Alain Johns: Randy Travis
Cort: Randy "Macho Man" Savage
Stephen Deschain: Alan Alda
The Demon in the Speaking Circle: Martin Lawrence, in Big Mama gear

Enrico Balazar: Robert Davi
Jack Andolini: Jet Li
Jack Mort: Carrot Top

Shardik: George Wendt
Aunt Talitha: Phyllis Diller
Tick Tock: Kenan Thompson
Blaine the Monorail: Voiced by Larry David

Susan Delgado: Marion Ramsey
Cordelia Delgado: Terry Jones, in drag
Rhea of the Coos: Margaret Cho
Eldred Jonas: Sarah Silverman
Roy DePape: Tom Hanks
Clay Reynolds: Peter Scolari
Sheemie: Matthew McConaughey

Who plays the townspeople of Calla Bryn Sturgis are inconsequential to me, but I want all the Roont children played by Shaquille O'Neal.

Mia: Roseanne Barr
Ted Braughtigan: Anthony Hopkins
Dinky Earnshaw: Lou Ferrigno
Mordred Deschain: Louis Gossett, Jr.
Dandelo: Cedric the Entertainer
Patrick Danville: Tom Welling

A brief note to the Lunatic Fringe

2011-03-03T23:00:00.001-05:00

My buddy Mike threw this video up tonight. And by that, I mean he posted this video on Facebook. If Mike could throw up video pixels? I'd pay to watch that. Mike Toole: The Man Who Vomits Video. He's a good guy, who blogs stuff, from time to time. Check it out.

This? Not much fun to watch, especially if you're like me, and this Culture of the Loudest Shouter we live in bores and tires you.

You know, I was going to try to be funny, but outside of a crappy joke about how easy it is to find a megaphone? I got nothing.

We've got too much free time, in this country, especially for the lunatic fringe.

For a lot of us, but especially the lunatic fringe.

I say that, addressing the lunatic fringe. The great majority of this country is basically cool folks, who even if they disagree with what somebody does, they don't intrude into somebody else's business.

But to the Lunatic Fringe, I sit in wonder. Mostly because I don't have the time, much less the inclination, to go out to a street corner, and yell about somebody else having a meeting.

And if you are spending your time doing that?

Fuck you. And give me some of your spare time.

I'm not talking about your religions. I do not care.

I'm not talking about your politics. I do not care.

Instead of yelling at each other, how about going to do something constructive?

Feed a hungry person.

Clothe someone without.

Build a house.

Read a book.

Teach a kid to read that book.

If you're standing out on a street corner, yelling at another group of people to Get Out of My Country, you're the worst kind of asshole.

And me? I'm not doing enough of those things listed above. Not by a long shot.

But at least I'm not screaming at people out in public.

If I could go back in time, I would destroy megaphones, the media and the internet for making the Lunatic Fringe seem like it has a louder voice than it actually does.

Tired and cranky, I remain yours,

Tommy

Mo'Nique: The Re Run

2011-02-27T10:09:00.001-05:00

I wrote this. It all happened. Except the good parts, and most of the bad parts. The stuff about Leslie Easterbrook is all true!

There would be much fanfare with Mo'Nique's entrance. She's nominated for an Oscar, for God's sake, and with a little bit of a grudge, I admit she did a bang-up job in a part that should have been mine. It is during her entrance that I and my date, Leslie Easterbrook, make our way to our seats with minimal fanfare. Leslie stops to give an autograph to Steve Guttenberg, who strangely enough drove our limo, and there is a brief moment when I think the night will be a bust, as she and Kim Cattrall lock eyes. This part of our relationship is difficult, and I am unspeakably tired of running lines from Star Trek VI with Leslie. "It is the way of the world," I say, "and at least you beat out Bubba Smith for those Rob Zombie movies."

I would be dressed to the sixes, or maybe the sevens. This is because dressing me to the nines would be on par with sending men to Mars. It is something we can do in theory, but given the current state of the economy and our genius administration, the billions upon billions of dollars it would take wouldn't be deemed a priority. As it is, I am dressed only slightly better than a pile of dirty laundry. And when the men at the doors of the theater tell me that I am allowed to take neither the machete or the brass knucks in, I almost call off the thing right there. Still, I'll never get this opportunity again. I accidentally slice through my cumberbund and suspenders removing the machete from the sheath I'm hiding beneath the tails of the only key lime green tuxedo they had at Haystacks Calhoun's House of Horse Blankets and Clothes for the Colossally Big and Amazing Tall.

"Do you want to leave?" Leslie asks, as I'm frantically trying to engineer a method of holding my pants up. Having my pants fall down during the actual Academy Awards Ceremony would be the biggest social gaffe of my life, barring perhaps that minor incident when I confused Julia Roberts with Tim Conway in all those Dorf movies. It is why I no longer get to dine with Carol Burnett.

"No," I say, as I spy my momentary salvation.

"Distract them," I say to Leslie. "Action Code DD."

And Leslie pulls the front of her dress down and flashes them. This is not Action Code DD, but it works like a charm. I grab the velvet rope nearest to me, and remove it from its pedestal. I clip one end of the rope to the front of my pants, and loop the rope over my left shoulder, clipping the back of the rope to the back of my pants. I do a quick check, and realize that I am perhaps more comfortable now in this suit of clothing than I have been in any outfit in my entire life.

Until I lock eyes with Helen Mirren. We are wearing the exact same outfit, down to our Dharma Initiative t-shirts.

We are allowed to enter the theater, and I note that my machete has been placed next to a billy club and a beautifully crafted Katana. Since Judah Friedlander isn't here tonight, I'm sure that Mo'Nique has been adequately disarmed, as well.

The snack bar is closed for Oscar Night. If you learn nothing else from me today, it is that if you want Reese's Pieces to snack on during the actual ceremony, and you didn't bring any with you, you're shit out of luck. Leslie finds a can of vienna sausages, rifling through a coat she thinks is Peter Jackson's. We snack on those during the opening musical number, and through the jokes of Alec Baldwin and Steve Martin, none of which I find terribly funny because they're aimed at people who like Reese's Pieces and Vienna Sausages.

There are awards. I can't remember who wins what. Somewhere after the opening number, everything in my field of vision goes red. At first, I'm thinking that I've rubbed vienna sausage juice into my eyes, and the salt solution is irritating them. It is only after I borrow a handkerchief from Kathy Bates (is there any point in my life that the woman hasn't come through for me? Barring her complete and abject failure to kill James Caan? She's always been devoted, so I've let that one slide.)

We reach roughly the two hour mark of the night, and Steve Martin goes on some spiel about how, as a poor black child, he loved the movies of Richard Farnsworth, and I'm not sure how we segue into the Best Actress in a Supporting Role category, but we do. Sometimes, it is best not to ask questions.

It is at this point that Leslie gets up from her seat. Our eyes meet, recognizing that this may be the last time we see each other. There is nothing that words can say. She honks my nose. I do a minature version of the Truffle Shuffle. She nods, and the scroll of destiny begins to unroll, as she moves toward the back of the theater. She announces, "I am famished. I want a Baconator, and I have to leave."

"Save me a seat!" I say.

As I return to my seat, I catch one person's eye. Louis Gossett, Jr. looks at me from his seat, eight rows in front of me, imploring. Imploring what, though? It's not like I'm some kind of mind reader. I give Louis the bird, wishing I did indeed have some manner of telepathy, so that I could tell him to fuck off and mind his own ever-loving business. Louis seems to get the message, though. He flips me a return bird, and turns around just in time. He is sitting right behind Vera Farmiga, and the cameras have just panned to her, as she has likewise been nominated. I did not see Up in the Air, nor will I ever. My grudge against George Clooney and indeed all the cast members of The Facts of Life is as well documented as my issue with Mo'Nique.

Clancy Brown, in a decidedly odd choice to present the award, finishes naming off the nominees for Best Actress in a Supporting Role. He opens the envelope by tearing it open with his teeth. "The winner is....Mo'Nique!"

There is clapping. I see a monitor flash to Mo'Nique, who is crying.

And I leap into action.

There is no formal name for the fighting style I use. I've had very little formal training. I have watched Professional Wrestling my entire life, and I watched the movie Best of the Best late last night, in hopes that the ghost of Chris Penn is with me, as I exact Vengeful Justice on Hollywood.

Roberto Benigni was very much my inspiration for the first step in my attack. I leap up, as Mo'Nique is stepping toward the stage, and I begin running across the backs of the seats, toward the stage.

I am sitting in row 23, which given my fandom of Ryne Sandberg, I'd taken as a good omen. However, by the time I reach row 11, I start to realize that most of Hollywood is made up of bastards who won't get the hell out of the way when you're trying to attack a Best Supporting Actress. I think Reese Witherspoon grabbed my foot somewhere around Row 10, and I think I tripped on Kevin Costner's ego somewhere around row 8. It is there that I fall, and find myself in the lap of Javier Bardem.

Now, I'm a badass, but I'm no fool. Javier Bardem is just not a motherfucker to be trifled with, and falling into his lap will do nothing to endear him to me. I should mention here that it was not my fall that upset him. However, in my flailings about to correct myself, I think I spilled the grape Slush Puppy he was drinking. Luckily, none ruined any designer dresses. Unfortunately, Javier really likes his slush puppies. He punches me in the neck.

I roll into the aisle, just toward the left of the stage.

Javier screaming "Pendejo" in the middle of Mo'Nique's acceptance speech is enough to silence the room. Heads turn. I stand up.

"Oh Hell No!" Mo'Nique says from the stage.

"You know why I'm here, lady!"

"Let's do this..."

Mo'Nique turns the Oscar statuette upside down, and leaps from the stage.

Surprise was my biggest ally, and that fucking Slush Puppy was my undoing. Looking to counteract the Oscary bludgeon, I take off my right shoe. I'm glad I decided to go with the slip-on dress shoes instead of the velcro strap sandals I'd wanted to wear.

Mo'Nique lands, and takes two wild swings with her trophy.

I'm quick, for my size, and I dodge those two swings, and clock the "comedienne" across the bridge of her nose.

"You son of a bitch," she says blinking a tear from her eye. "You ruined my makeup..."

She then bashes the Oscar across the back of the seat of Morgan Freeman. The base of the statuette breaks off, leaving in her hand a sharpened tool of my demise.

I take the velvet rope I'd taken from the front of the theater off my pants, and start swinging it over my head.

"What the fuck?" she says, ridiculing my makeshift weapon."

And the brass buckle of the rope catches her in the temple as I swing at her head.

Surprise washes across her face. I've gotten two licks in, but done no real damage. In fact, even as I know this is my worst enemy, I know the damage she's capable of, and that I've succeeded only in pissing her off three times over, if you count my interrupting her speech.

She regains her senses, and turns the point of her Oscar shiv to the base of her hand. I've begun swinging the rope again. I launch it at her, hoping the heavy brass end on the rope will catch her between the eyes. She catches it deftly, and in what is frankly an amazing feat of strength, uses herself as a fulcrum. The strength and sudden nature of the attack catch my by surprise. I find myself flying through the air, over the head of the Mo'Nique and the audience.

I land on the stage steps, on my back. The wind rushes from my lungs, and I find myself staring into the smiling face of Jack Nicholson. "I loved Witches of Eastwick" I mutter, as a large form comes into focus, upside-down in my field of vision. Mo'Nique has launched herself through the air, Oscar Statuette dagger-point down, at my chest.

I don't know how I roll out of the way, accept that the fires of vengeance run strong in my family. But rolling out of the way is all the energy I have in that moment. I know that I'm mostly likely living the last moments of my life, sliding down into the aisle, gasping for breath that will not fill my lungs for all my trying.

I have silently said a prayer to Dusty Rhodes, thanking him for the opportunity, when something launches itself out of the crowd. I think it is Leslie, perhaps abandoning her plans for a Frosty, to save me. But now, it is Sean Penn!

Goaded only by the spirit of his dead brother, he jumps out of the crowd, and slams Mo'Nique's head into the steps. "Drop her like a toilet seat," he says, and wanders off, looking for a peace that he will never find until he realizes that his strongest and most true performance was Jeff Spicoli.

After a few tense moments, I finally draw a deep breath. Mo'Nique regains her senses at right about the same time. We stand up, and trade several haymaker punches. I gain the upper hand, briefly, when I block one of her punches, and poke her in the eye.

My dominance is short, as I choose to headbutt the Best Supporting Actress.

In a word, it was a mistake.

Mo'Nique always carries a frying pan.

If you learn nothing else, short of the fact that they don't sell snacks at the Academy Awards, is that Mo'Nique always carries a cast iron frying pan.

And that's how this particular encounter ends. I headbutt the frying pan, instead of of Mo'Nique. I stagger in surprise, and come enough to my senses to see Mo'Nique wind up, and clock me upside my head. I am semi-conscious as I am dragged out of the Academy Awards. Mo'Nique didn't kill me, but my efforts were for naught.

I spend the night in Los Angeles County jail. Leslie bails me out the next morning. She and Bubba Smith met up, and after his shift at Wendy's, they tore Pasadena to shreds, she tells me.

At least she had a good night....

Big Stupid Tommy's Oscar Picks

2011-02-26T12:45:00.004-05:00

An actual post? Bullshit.

I've been on vacation this past week. Just took it easy. Did my writing in the mornings, and wandered out during the days. We got some tremendous weather for the last week of February, and I took the opportunity to go wandering up in the mountains a couple days, and out to a couple movies.

Just thinking about tomorrow's Academy Awards. Despite the busy schedule, I was lucky enough to see quite a few movies this year, and have my own frame of reference for a goodly number of the flicks in questions....

Just a few thoughts on the Oscars....who I think will win, followed by who I think should win...

Best Picture

The Nominees: Black Swan, The Fighter, Inception, The Kids are All Right, The King's Speech, 127 Hours, Social Network, Toy Story 3, True Grit, Winter's Bone

I have seen 9 of the 10 nominees, believe it or not. I haven't gotten around to seeing 127 Hours, yet, though I want to.

Shoulda Been Nominated: The Town. Let Me In (Best horror movie in a long time, more effective in that regard than its basis, Let the Right One In). Let Me in is my second favorite movie of the year.

Who Will Win: If it's a race between King's Speech and Social Network, as everyone seems to say it is, then King's Speech will win. I don't consider it the superior of the 2...in fact, outside of Colin Firth's performance (which oddly reminded me of Jeff Bridges in Star Man, believe it or not), it just didn't do a whole lot for me--and that's with everybody rushing to have Geoffrey's Rush's babies. I think it'll win though, especially over Social Network (which I enjoyed, though it's not one I'll be watching over and over again, even with the Touch of Sorkin). It just seems more the type of flick that gets votes when it comes to Oscar Night.

Who Should Win: It's a good list of nominees. Inception is strong, and was better on a second viewing. I could go on and on about True Grit, which is making a habit for the Coens for introducing me to authors I really like (first McCarthy, and now Portis). But I'm evangelical when it comes to Winter's Bone: It's just a tremendous flick, from top to bottom. Grotesque without it being the whole intent to shock. Southern without The Setting in The South being the primary focus. And an improvement on the book, which was very good, but lacked a lot of the atmosphere that the movie had. Great performances from Jennifer Lawrence and John Hawkes, who's slithered his way onto my list of favorite actors...

Best Actor

The Nominees: Javier Bardem (Biutiful), Jeff Bridges (True Grit), Jesse Eisenberg (Social Network), Colin Firth (The King's Speech), James Franco (127 Hours)

I haven't seen Biutiful or 127 Hours.

Shoulda Been Nominated: Kodi Smit-McPhee (Let Me In). I liked him better than I did Eisenberg in anything I've ever seen Eisenberg in, ever. And you know, Buried snuck in under my radar, and I actually dug Ryan Reynolds in it. That deserves some props, for making me actually say that statement out for the public to see.

Who Will Win: Colin Firth. He is tremendous in the movie, I cannot deny that. At the end of the day, it's his ballgame, and he runs with it.

Who Should Win: Probably Firth. As much as I enjoyed Jeff Bridges grunting his way through True Grit (and I did enjoy it--if anybody could better personify the line "Men will live like Billy Goats..." I'd like to see them try), Firth probably gives the stronger performance between the two.

Best Actress

The Nominees: Annette Bening (The Kids are All Right), Nicole Kidman (Rabbit Hole), Jennifer Lawrence (Winter's Bone), Natalie Portman (Black Swan), Michelle Williams (Blue Valentine)

I haven't seen Rabbit Hole or Blue Valentine.

Shoulda Been Nominated: Haylee Steinfeld should be in this category. I get the whole bit where she'll be more competitive in the Supporting Actress category...but it's her flick. She'd rule this one. Also: Chloe Moretz, in Let Me In.

Who Will Win: Natalie Portman.

Who Should Win: I'd have no qualms if Natalie Portman wins. I'd probably even celebrate--horror's like comedy. It gets no respect (hence the absence of Let Me In among the Best Picture nominees--it falls in right behind Winter's Bone among my favorite movies of last year, though I digress...). And like it or not, Black Swan is a highly-styled, pretty effective effort in psychological horror. And Natalie Portman carries it, in that respect.

That said, I'll be rooting for Jennifer Lawrence, who carries her own effort, in a movie pretty horrific in its own right.

Best Supporting Actor

The Nominees: Christian Bale (The Fighter), John Hawkes (Winter's Bone), Jeremy Renner (The Town), Mark Ruffalo (The Kids are All Right), Geoffrey Rush (The King's Speech)

Wow. I've actually seen all those movies. And, it's as good a place as any to say that The Town is a Hell of a Flick, and as much as any movie that came out this year, it has the quality where, in 2017, if I'm flipping through my television channels (or whatever equivalent comes thundering down the road), and I run across The Town, I'll be as apt to stop to watch it, as anything that's come out this year. And Jeremy Renner, who manages to eat scene as effectively (and quietly) as Christian Bale does in The Fighter, by wallowing around.

Shoulda Been Nominated: You know, I'm gonna come out of left field. The Last Exorcism was an adequately creepy movie that holds the distinction for Coming off the Rails in More Spectacular Fashion than any movie I've ever seen. That ending is so different in tone to the rest of the flick, that it just screams "Studio Re-Write." But anyway, I think some love needs to go out to Caleb Landry Jones, who plays, well, a guy named Caleb, who's the brother of the girl being investigated for possession. He proves that creepy can come effectively in the form of an isolated, insular redneck teen as easily as it can The Devil.

Who Will Win: Geoffrey Rush. Which is a pity. He's a talented man, who's done great things. I just don't feel that his performance in the King's Speech is one of them.

Who Should Win: You know, I'm gonna go Christian Bale, though I hold his performance, John Hawkes's and Jeremy Renner's performance in equal regard. When they're on the screen, they each determine the flow of that scene. However, Christian as Dicky Eklund is just so much friggin' fun to watch. Plus...the scene when they're letting Dicky show his documentary in jail. The flood of emotions that run through him (not just on his face--there is emotional energy running through every part of Dicky Eklund, from his eyes to his feet to his finger tips) is awesome to watch.

I'd like to say this here...I liked The Fighter, very much. Christian Bale is tremendous, as is Melissa Leo, and Amy Adams gives the best performance of her career since Junebug. But damn. Mark Wahlberg is as bad as I've seen him. He put up the worst performance of his career in M. Night's The Happening, and he stomped his way through The Other Guys, essentially parodying himself (I think). He mumbles his way through, with brief bursts of shrill screaming. To be fair, my impression of Micky Ward was always a mumbling goof. So, maybe he hit the nail on the head. Still, I kept watching the movie, and wishing that instead of Wahlberg, there was somebody like a Matt Damon, or even a Jeremy Renner in that role.

Best Supporting Actress

The Nominees: Amy Adams (The Fighter), Helena Bonham Carter (The King's Speech), Melissa Leo (The Fighter), Haylee Steinfeld (True Grit), Jackie Weaver (Animal Kingdom)

I have not seen Animal Kingdom.

Shoulda Been Nominated: Julianne Moore, in The Kids are All Right. If Ruffalo's nominated, so should she. Also: Dale Dickey, who's as menacing as they come in Winter's Bone....plus, it took me 3/4 of that movie to realize that I'd previously seen her as the hooker in My Name is Earl and in Breaking Bad. Also: Mila Kunis, from Black Swan.

Actually....I understand the craziness of the nominating process, but Steinfeld belongs in the Lead Actress category. I'd have picked her performance in Grit over Portman....

Who Will Win: I'm gonna shy off of my King's Speech Defeatism, and say that Haylee Steinfeld, who held her own against three great actors, and one who might be good, but who might have simply hit the role of a lifetime with No Country for Old Men. (Somewhere, Barry Pepper is reading my blogamathing, and wiping his brow, and saying "Thank you" to the sky...). Actually, she doesn't just hold her own. She determines the direction of every scene, which is something a product of how the story itself is told, but never once during that movie did I say "eh..."

Who Should Win: Steinfeld. Period. Adams and Leo were both great. I haven't seen Animal Kingdom. I liked Helena Bonham Carter's performance, but I don't even consider it one of the 10 best of 2010, let alone the top 5. (If Steinfeld doesn't win, she will....)

Best Director

The Nominees: Darren Aronofsky (Black Swan), The Coens (True Grit), David Fincher (Social Network), Tom Hooper (The King's Speech), David O. Russell (The Fighter)

I have seen all of these!!!1!!!

Shoulda Been Nominated: Debra Granik, for Winter's Bone, and by all means, Christopher Nolan for Inception.

Who Will Win: Tom Hooper, The King's Speech

Who Should Win: Among these? It's a coin flip between Aronofsky and The Coens. I'd vote Granik over each of those, and would put Chris Nolan on par with them.

Road Runner 3D: Coyote Falls

2011-02-23T22:34:00.000-05:00

I am blogging a cartoon. It is a cartoon I enjoyed. I hope you enjoy it.

XXXIV

2011-02-20T10:16:00.003-05:00

34 years ago, today, my mother, in the midst of a laughing fit brought on by an episode of Maude, spasmed one particularly hardy guffaw at the wry and dry comic stylings of one Bea Arthur, and I popped into the world! It was 4:30, and a Sunday.

This is testament to the power of Bea Arthur and the writings of Maude.

My mother had been laughing since the airing of the previous episode, many, many days before.

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life Sing-Along

2011-02-09T16:40:00.000-05:00

Yeah. I been busy. Botard. Blah Blah Blah....

25 Years

2011-01-28T11:40:00.000-05:00

Quotable....

2011-01-26T15:51:00.003-05:00

Them: "It's January, right?"

Me: "Yep."

Them: "Then why the damn hell am I still working 13 hour days like it's Christmas?"

A telephone conversation between me, and another manager.

Eh. It's the same old story. Working like a botard. 12 hours days, plus a 40 minute commute each way. It's not leaving much time for anything else. I'm writing in what spare time I can grab. Which is small. Especially considering the amount of time I put into my Pro Wrestling Scrapbooks.

Beard Re-Run

2011-01-21T10:04:00.003-05:00

I still keep some manner of facial hair. I've got the "Evil Spock" going right now though I've tinkered with going clean shaven. I'm turning 34 in a few weeks, and I've got gray hairs all through my beard. What is that happy crappy all about? And I'm not nearly as smooth as Walt "Clyde" Frazier. I'm afraid if I used that Just for Men junk, I'd end up somehow dying my entire face with the beard dye and I get accused of a month-long publicity stunt that comes in extremely poor taste.

Anyway, this was written five years ago, and much of what I say still stands true. Many of the people I see 3-6 times a week in my job? Wouldn't immediately recognize me if I were to shave my beard.

Beard

Last October, I was on vacation. My buddy Steven and I wandered up to New York to see baseball's Hall of Fame, and just, you know, not work for a few days.

Well, I decided that something I didn't want to do if I wasn't working, was shave.

Shaving's a hassle, in my book, and possibly dangerous to me. I'm not coordinated, and I can't think of much that I do more dangerous that wake up, and while still groggy, scrape a razor sharp pieces of metal across my face. I'm lucky I haven't sliced off my nose.

So, while on vacation, I did not shave.

When I returned from vacation, I also did not shave.

Being male, I grew hair on my face and (in an instance not unlike when Pinocchio realizes that he's a real boy) I realized that I had a beard.

So. No shaving. I do groom the thing. I try to trim it, and I manage to pick most of the food that falls from my mouth out of it.

I think I look fairly dapper.

I may be wrong. I probably just look like a guy who hates shaving.

Either way. I think I'm cool with it.

Anyway. There is a fringe benefit I've found.

People who know me solely by appearance (i.e., customers) don't know me. In the past three months, people that I have seen shop in my store on a weekly basis will have to ask a question or get some other sort of assistance (more often than not, it's some short person needing help getting something from a shelf), and after the transaction is complete, they'll say "Are you new here?"

"No," I'll say. I'll explain how long I've been there, and that maybe I've been working night shifts, or something along those lines.

But these are people I see on a weekly basis, and they don't recognize me.

It's the beard, I think. That, and the fact that I've let my hair grow out a bit more than I have in the past few years. Usually, I'll stick with a buzzcut, or something fairly close to it. But I've let my white man's afro grow out a little bit, too.

So, I have longer hair and a beard than a lot of people who have previously seen me remember.

This has convinced me that I could probably embark on a crime spree. I'll shave my beard, shave my head afterward, and nobody would know that it would be me perpetrating the misdeeds. Because they wouldn't be able to recognize me.

"The guy who robbed us had a beard. And an afro. That guy had no beard, and no afro. Completely different guy."

Nobody would ever know. Except me and my sevens of readers.

You guys wouldn't rat me out, would you?

There are a couple of lawyers who read this. Would the "No Beard/Different Guy" defense stand up in court?

What if I could prove that with a beard, I am in fact a complete different person than I am without?

I ask only because I've really been wanting to knock over the Hardee's I pass on my way to work. Out of spite, mostly. And I don't think I'd steal money. Just steak biscuits.

What if I said I'd give the steak biscuits to the poor?

Except for the couple that I'd eat.

Poor people shouldn't eat my steak biscuits.

Anyway. Just something to think about.

The Listens, this day, 16 January 2011

2011-01-16T00:29:00.002-05:00

Came home. Wrote for a while. It's harder to write after a shift at work. It feels mechanical, and forced. But, somebody said something at work that got me to thinking.

Anyway, here's what I listened to:

"When the Lights Go Out" The Black Keys
"Here I Go Again" Roger Alan Wade
"Nobody Told Me" John Lennon
"Hoboes Are My Heroes" the Legendary Shack Shakers
"Working for the Lord" The Blind Boys of Alabama
"Coming Down the Road" John Mellencamp
"the Facts of Life" The Blanks
"Lucky Ball & Chain" They Might Be Giants
"Cecilia" Simon & Garfunkel
"Time" Ozzy Osbourne
"Carries On" Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros
"I Feel Alright" The Damned
"We're a Happy Ramily" The Ramones
"Never Gonna Stop" Rob Zombie
"Delia's Gone" Johnny Cash
"Don't Think Twice, It's Alright" (Live) The Waifs
"Love at First Sight" John Mellencamp
"Debbie Gibson is Pregnant with my Two-Headed Love Child" Mojo Nixon
"La Bamba" Richie Valens
"Scatter the Mud" Eileen Ivers
"Whoomp! There It Is" Tag Team (Don't download when you've been drinking, folks).

More Random Thoughts....

2011-01-15T11:48:00.003-05:00

Well, it's been a snowy week in my neck of the woods. Between 8 and 10 inches of the snowy stuff fell late Sunday night. There may be locales that can take that kind of snow without blinking too hard, but southeast Tennessee is not one of them. We've wandered through a week with roads snowy, then icey. Schools, and most non-essential fuctions, were cancelled in most districts the whole week. Yours, truly, spent the bulk of it at the grocery store.

I was off Sunday night, so I got to see the situation fall. I spent the evening watching episodes of Battlestar: Galactica and watching my Twitter's feed and Facebook friends. I watched as friends south and west of here started seeing snow. Mississippi was first, then Alabama started mentioning it. Huntsville & Atlanta both noted, with Chattanooga & Nashville mentioning it soon after.

My brother-in-law mentioned that he though it'd be funny if we didn't get anything. I mentioned that it was already heading our way. Within minutes, he noted that it was snowing, and hard. Not long after, he mentioned he had 3 inches out in the yard.

I'd say it was about 1 in the ay em that snow started falling in Athens. Give or take. I'd wandered out to the truck to find a CD, and to see if it was snowing. It started snowing light flakes while I was out there.

Since I didn't have to be up in the morning, I went in, found my boots and took a small walk in the night to take a few pictures. Just a note: To know how hard the snow was coming, it took me ten, maybe fifteen minutes to get dressed, find my gloves and camera, and by the time I got out there, it had already snowed an inch, or so.

One last note: Indulge a snowtard. We don't get a lot of this stuff in this neck of the woods. I can't remember the last time we had a snow that lasted 5 days, like this one....

The flash reflected the falling show. In some places, there was enough light to take a decent picture....the snow adds a nice ghostly quality in some of them. This is the foot bridge to Veteran's Park.

Same bridge, no flash

The Veteran's Memorial, at 1:15 or so in the snow.

Random Thoughts, this cold Sunday morning....

2011-01-09T09:45:00.002-05:00

Hello, and welcome to a very chilly Sunday morning in this neck of the woods. Just a few random thoughts and updates in the life of your pal, Big Stupid Tommy, none of which are long enough to warrant a post of their very own.

____

It's my first two-day period off without obligations in a row since early November. Sometimes these droughts come, but this one was a little tough to swallow. The holiday season came and went during that time, and I got a bit burnt out on the whole process (the whole process being work, holiday obligations and everything involved with the 3 holidays that fall from late November through December....)

So, the next couple of days are quiet days. Going to catch up on a few chores around the house, unless I want A&E knocking on the door asking if they can film my hoarding intervention.

____

Wandered out to another Knoxville Ice Bears game last night. It's one advantage to working closer to Knoxville. At least it's not out of the question to get up to a game, at a decent time. (Though yesterday's adventure in trying to leave my store, with people hollering questions despite my having my coat and hat on? Trying, and perfectly indicative of why I need a couple of days off. We're a grocery store, not an Emergency Room.)

The Ice Bears won, 4-2 in a game I'd call a bit chippy. Can anybody say Game Misconduct? Just hope that the SPHL refs aren't moonlighting cops. If you get mugged, they might just kick you to help the mugger out....

____

New Year's Resolution: Beer a Week

One New Year's Resolution for 2011 involved trying a new beer a week. Week one brought a bottle of Old Fezziwig Ale from a Sam Adams holiday sampler. Not bad, but not good either. Smells great, looks good. A little spicy, but it's got a caramel-y/nutmeg-y thing going on that just wasn't my cup of tea. It's a little too sweet as beers go, for my taste. Drinkable, but I'm not going out of my way for it again.

____

New Year's Resolution: Restaurant a Month

Another New Year's Resolution was to shake up where I'm eating, and try a few new places. The easily achievable goal of 1 new (to me) eatery a month. Got January in early, as my friend Shyam and I wandered north to Knoxville on a snowy evening. We caught Irish Times in Turkey Creek, which sets up as nice an Irish Pub atmosphere as you can in a strip mall bounded by Hobby Town USA and a Karate school on either side. The Guinness was tasty, as were the bangers and mash, though at the end of the day, the pricing's a bit much for what is little more than bar food.

_____

Also took in The Fighter, which was strong, with good performances from Melissa Leo (especially), Amy Adams and Christian Bale. Poor Marky Mark seemed a little overwhelmed at times when it involved emoting somewhere beyond dull apprehension. That said, I'm not sure the real Micky Ward would be able to emote well beyond dull anything.

Sibling Rivalry: The Continuing Back to the Future Debate

2011-01-02T12:15:00.004-05:00

My sister and I have been carrying on a civil Messenger debate on the physics and ramifications of Time Travel in the Back to the Future movies for quite some time. In a war like this, there are no winners.

April: The jennifer in Back to the Future is a different actress from the Jennifer in the later movies.

Tommy: Yep. The one from the first one's Mom was dying of cancer. She couldn't shoot the second two movies, so the second actress (she's the chick from Adventures in Babysitting) took the role. [editor's note: Yeah, I know it's Elizabeth Shue, but there was beer and my brain kept saying Elizabeth Banks, and I knew only that Elizabeth Banks was wrong].

April: I now realize the fault in timelines for Back to the future. The Second one really shouldn't have happened, as the new 80's Biff was a doormat...so the 2015 they travel to would've been rewritten regardless of what Doc saw.

Tommy: You might be right. I've had a few, but I can currently find no flaw to that thinking.

Minutes later....Tommy: Wait...Doc doesn't travel to 2015 until after Marty has returned from 1955.

April: Ooh. Good point.

Tommy: It's a good thought though. Using my argument, Doc's very presence in 1985 when he says "where we're going, we don't need roads" altered the timeline. The future he left might not be the same when he returns.

April: True.

Tommy: Biff saw him travel back in time. Said "What the hell is goin' on here?"

April: That's my thoughts on it, and in fact, by taking Marty and Jennifer, he's changed it already. Really, all he had to do was give Marty a warning, as the future is constantly changing.

Tommy: I agree.

April: We are two relatively intelligent people, and we could be discussing China's influence on our econpomy, or comparing their rising middle class to our shrinking one. Yet we are discussing 1.21 jigawatts.

Tommy: You spelled economy wrong.

New Year's Resolutions

2011-01-02T11:54:00.002-05:00

Just a few New Year's Resolutions. Trying to make it fun this year. I don't generally make them, and when I do, like most of us, I don't keep them. Outside of my 2001 resolution to stop handling snakes for religious reasons, last year's "No Fast Food" lasted about three months (tough to keep for my work schedule, but I did eat less fast food last year than in previous years--still working to keep it to a minimum).

Anyway, there are a couple involving discipline:

1.) Make time to write. I don't know why this involves as much discipline, considering there's not much that makes me feel more like I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing when I'm writing well. But, laziness is a tempting beast. I did a good job of setting up a routine from July through October or so. I wrote more sporadically in November and December, due to my work scheduling turning asshole for the holidays. I'm making an hour a day to put words on paper, right now.

2.) Make time to read actual books. I've read less in the past couple of years than just about any time in my life. I'm spending too much time goofing off on the computer. That last sentence isn't necessarily the goal, but I figure it's been the big time-consumer, for what would previously have been used reading. I don't have a number goal in mind as a finish line, necessarily. That said, to completely contradict my previous sentence, I'd like to read 50 books this year.

3.) I want to find a new restaurant to try every month. This is brought on by a couple of things. First, I enjoy finding new places, but time being what it is, I wander toward the familiar. Wanna try to wander away from that in 2011. Once a month.

4.) This might be the most ambitious one: I want to try a new beer a week in 2011. Just something that popped into my head at work yesterday. I try new beers pretty regularly. Don't do it at a pace of 1 a week though....

Top 10 Flicks of 2010

2010-12-30T08:35:00.004-05:00

Because I like lists, and despite my work schedule (which turned hellish, in mid-July), I managed to catcha goodly number of movies this year. It runs about half & half theater to home-viewing.

Thinking back, there are a couple of days, one in March, one in October, where I had no other obligations, and declared "Movie Day!" Spent those days helping the local economies by catching as many flicks as I could in the theater. Done largely with the help of matinee pricing and a trip each day to the Two Dollah Theatah, and laying off the $9 bag of popcorn, it really wasn't as expensive a day out as I might have thought.

That said, I did manage to drop an Alexander Hamilton on Black Swan last night, and nearly that much for True Grit two nights before. I find that there is a proportional desire to see a movie perform given how much I pay to see it. Conversely, it is easier to be disappointed given that same amount. Funny how the difference of $4 will do that to a man.

Anyway, looking back at 2010, these are what I consider the top 10 flicks. I say this with a qualifying statement: I have not found time to see a few flicks I might have wanted to. These include The Social Network, The King's Speech, The Fighter, and 127 Hours. I'll see them eventually.

1. Winter's Bone

I'm a tremendously big fan of this movie. It's a bleak, bleak flick. And it's Southern without mocking. Though it's not a difficult thing to do, even Indie flicks seem to have a little trouble with that one.

2. Let Me In

One of the best creepy flicks to come down the pike in a long, long time. Very pretty movie, too. And, as good as it is, it's not as good as its basis, Let the Right One In...

3. True Grit

I liked this one even more than I'd have thought. I found myself confronted with my dislike of movies/shows where the children are more of an adult than the adults. But, in the end, my love of movies of retribution washed that little bit away....

4. Toy Story 3

Stupid cartoon movies that make me cry.

5. Jackass 3

I went back and forth on this one, but finally decided that this was pretty much the only movie to make me absolutely horse laugh in the middle of a movie theater. Two favorite moments: Steve-O's horrified anticipation of being hit in the nuts, and the idea of taking a tuba into a pen with a pissed off Ram....

6. The Town

Watch out. Ben Affleck might end up being one of the best directors of his generation. This was a tremendous flick, and the dialog was probably some of my favorite any movie I've seen this year.

"I need your help. I can't tell you what it is, you can never ask me about it later, and we're gonna hurt some people."

The reply: "Whose car we takin'?"

7. The Expendables.

You know, I realized that it's a good movie when I stopped thinking of it as an All-Star Jam with Sylvester Stallone, Jet Li, Jason Statham & company. This movie did everything it was supposed to do. I know it's not breaking any new ground, but I probably had as much fun at this flick as any movie in 2010.

8. Inception

For all the talk before this flick came out, it just seems like it fell off the Radar. I dug it a lot. It's a well put together flick...

9. Buried

This one was a surprise. Shyam and I went to try to catch a showing of Warrior's Way (which looks very pretty), and couldn't get to an early enough showing. We opted for Buried, at the Two Dollah Theatah, despite of a tremendous dislike of Ryan Reynolds. Still, the flick sets an odd table for itself, but finishes nicely.

10. Black Swan

I'm still thinking on this one--it was just 12 hours ago that I saw it. It could move up the list. Aronofsky's past couple of flicks especially seem to deal in the dangers of the things that drive us. Barbary Hershey's mother character was one of the most dislikeable characters in all of movies this year (and I say that in as much a complimentary way as possible). All in all, it's a well-made horror flick...

Professor Farnsworth's Movie Quiz

2010-12-26T19:55:00.005-05:00

Via Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule....

1) Best Movie of 2010

Bearing in mind it's on my agenda this week to see both True Grit and Black Swan, the best movie for my money was Winter's Bone, which was bleak, Southern without being mocking, and inspirational without pandering. Movies (and the world) needs more people like Ree Dolly. (BTW, John Hawkes probably slithered his way to becoming my favorite character actor, in this little flick)

2) Second-favorite Roman Polanski Movie

Rosemary's Baby, though outside of this and Chinatown, I've never really dug his movies.

3) Jason Statham or Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson

I'm gonna say Jason Statham, even though I've never really cared for him. I'll tell you why: Because he's never needed to wander too far from the action genre. The Rock's wandered near Eddie Murphy territory, where he makes far too many inoffensive movies designed to make children laugh. These have their place, mind you, and I'd never fault an actor for looking to grow. But I can't call The Tooth Fairy growth, and all I really look for in The Rock is a bad who can whoop ass like I wish I could. I'll reserve some judgment until Faster wanders its way to Netflix. He actually looks like a badass in that one...

4) Favorite movie that could be classified as a genre hybrid

First thing that pops to mind is Ghostbusters, simply for being the big budget comedy-sci-fi masterpiece that it is.

5) How important is foreknowledge of a film’s production history? Should it factor into one’s reaction to a film?

I'd say little to none. It's rare that I consider any knowledge of a flick's path to the screen need-to-know. In fact, I'd say I'd rather not know, if only to preserve all the surprise. Still, there have been instances where knowing the drama that preceded a flick have made me want to see the movie more. I'd never actually seen Easy Rider before reading some of the drama surrounding Dennis Hopper and its making....

6) William Powell & Myrna Loy or Cary Grant & Irene Dunne

Cary Grant's and Irene Dunne's comic timing together was so much better.

7) Best Actor of 2010

Going with my first instinct, I liked Kodi Smit-McPhee in Let Me In.

8) Most important lesson learned from the past decade of watching movies

Fourteen dollars is a little much to watch soulless movies through plastic glasses that give me a headache.

9) Last movie seen (DVD/Blu-ray/theater)

At home, I watched Toy Story 3, which was truly excellent, and one of the best movies of the year. I don't know how those folks at Pixar keep making tremendous movies. It almost makes me wish I'd seen it in 3-D

At the theater, an excursion to the 2-Dollar-Theatah saw us seeing Buried, which is actually not a bad flick. I'd count it as one of my favorites of this year.

11) Best under-the-radar movie almost no one else has had the chance to see

I'm telling everybody I know to see Winter's Bone, if that counts as Under the Radar.

12) Sheree North or Angie Dickinson

Angie Dickinson.

13) Favorite nakedly autobiographical movie

Clerks.

14) Movie which best evokes a specific real-life place

You know, I realized that the reason I like Bull Durham so much is that it makes me want to go to a baseball game....

15) Best Director of 2010

Debra Granik, for Winter's Bone. (Bearing in mind again, True Grit and Black Swan are this week, and I've not seen Social Network...)

16) Second-favorite Farrelly Brothers Movie

Me, Myself & Irene. That split-pee scene gets me every time. "Why am I peeing like I've been up all night have sex?" That, and the "Spartacus lookin' Motherfucker line."

17) Favorite holiday movie

Planes, Trains and Automobiles. Most tragically, I've lost my DVD copy. I think I lent it out at my old jobplace, and forgot to retrieve it from the body I loaned it to. I missed my annual Thanksgiving viewing this year. It will make next year's all the sweeter, I think.

18) Best Actress of 2010

Jennifer Lawrence, in Winter's Bone. (Go fucking see this movie, peoples...)

19) Joe Don Baker or Bo Svenson

Joe Don Baker. I admit that I had to look up Bo Svenson, and I can truly say that I appreciate this question very much.

20) Of those notable figures in the world of the movies who died in 2010, name the one you’ll miss the most

The film geek in me wants to say Dennis Hopper, but the more honest answer would be Gary Coleman.

But: You Guys! Holy Shit! Merlin Olsen died this year?

21) Think of a movie with a notable musical score and describe what it might feel like without that accompaniment.

Richard Donner's first Superman movie is a long, long flick on par with Star Trek: the Motion Picture for geekish slobber shots. John Williams score kinda greases that slide quite a bit.

22) Best Screenplay of 2010

I'm kinda gonna wander off the Winter's Bone track and say Toy Story 3

23) Movie You Feel Most Evangelistic About Right Now

Winter's Bone? What's this? Five answers?

24) Worst/funniest movie accent ever

It may seem like an odd answer, but Burt Reynolds makes me smile any time he talks in Striptease. It's a smarmy southern that's just slathered on. It's kinda the point. And well done.

25) Best Cinematography of 2010

Inception was very, very pretty.

26) Olivia Wilde or Gemma Arterton

Gemma Arterton

27) Name the three best movies you saw for the first time in 2010 (Thanks, Larry!)

Winter's Bone, Let Me In, and Let the Right One In, which isn't a 2010 flick, but I saw for the first time this year. As good as Let Me In is, Let the Right One In is a beautiful flick. I also wrote down the Joan Rivers documentary, before thinking about the question.

28) Best romantic movie couple of 2010

I have no answer.

29) Favorite shock/surprise ending

Well shit. How can I say without it being a spoiler? I've come to enjoy the end to Frank Darabont's version of The Mist, partly because it diverged so much from the story, and partly because it has such a nice "Go Screw" vibe to it.

I also kinda like Drag Me to Hell's....

30) Best cinematic reason to have stayed home and read a book in 2010

Tim Burton, once whimsical and fun, now makes formulaic "Chosen One" flicks with no soul.

31) Movies in 2011 could make me much happier if they’d only _______________

~~Show More Titty~~ Get past this 3-D fad, and move on to the next thing I'll be tired of.

A Christmas Re-Run

2010-12-24T21:33:00.002-05:00

Good Evening. Just wanted to drop by the blogamathing and wish you and yours a Merry Christmas. I've just spent December working like a Botard. And though I've come to expect this of December, it was not without surprises. This year's fun included customers taking offense to our having "Happy Kwanzaa" printed on our ads. The words "War on Christmas" were uttered by one customer in particular. I'll just say that from my end, what you percieve as a "War on Christmas," I percieve as a persecution complex with a heavy side of racism.

Anyway. Just wanted to tell you folks Merry Christmas, and reprint this:

It's 9:30 on Christmas Eve, and right now, NORAD's Santa Claus radar has the jolly old elf somewhere over South America...

I'm going to bed soon. I think I'm going to drink some of the spiked egg nog, and chase it with a Benadryl or two. I don't want that fat man to catch me anywhere near awake.

See, I caught Santa one year. I used my mental powers, and my ninja training. I set a trap for him. You know the saying...build a better Santa trap and the world will beat your ass to the door. Or something like that.

The trap? It was fly (I learned that word on TV). It was diesel-powered, and it ran on 1.21 gigawatts of electrosol, or something. I can't explain it well, because I'm inept in my ability to explain things technical. Suffice it to say this: think of a cross between one of those glue-based mouse traps, a helicopter, and Eskimo Ingenuity, and you're almost there.

Santa fell into my trap. At 12:14 on Christmas morning, in 1992. Santa has a weakness for Swiss Cake Rolls. I caught him. He was screaming in some language I didn't know. Considering the jaunty sneer and the swaggering swivel of his hips, I assumed that it was Elvish

I could only wonder at my achievement. How many millions of people had tried and failed to catch St. Nicholas? I stared at the man in red, and could barely begin to think of the acclaim, the public adoration.

Sadly, I could barely begin to think of the money. The Knoxville Zoo told me they'd pay me $20 if I could deliver the jolly old elf. I know that, because I called and asked how much a jolly old elf would bring me...they answered with a snort (which, at the time I took for excitement, but realize now was something more mocking) "twenty dollars."

But I was counting my chickens before they hatched (which, coincidentally, was plan B, to put Santa under a heat lamp and see what emerges). I managed to hold St. Nick for all of 28 minutes. He's a wily old elf. He knows how to think his way around a corner (or outside the box, as it were). In the future, I'll know that Santa's got a helluva bunch of good stuff in his Batman-style utility belt. I think it was the acid that freed him, though I'll never be sure. I was momentarily knocked silly by one one of his deadly accurate Santarangs.

I gained my senses enough to try once again to subdue St. Nick. I've watched my share of pro wrestling in my life (and probably your share, too). But don't let anybody fool you. Thousands of hours spent studying the career of Bret "the Hitman" Hart is no match for Santa's rolling snowball Kung Fu. And let me say, Santa Claus knows his way around a choke hold.

When he was done beating me senseless, he tied me to the hearth with the stockings, which hadn't been hung by the chimney with enough care for Santa. I was left for Commissioner Gordon and the rest of the Gotham City police to find in the morning.

Most damning? Santa has connections. He told me, as he laid a finger inside his nose (Clement Moore had that one wrong), but before up the chimney he arose: "Young Thomas: because of you transgression against me, you will never be able to enter the Kingdom of Heaven!" That, in a word, sucks.

I've done my best in the decade since to atone. I've twice made a pilgrimage to the North Pole to offer thanks for my life, and to do whatever Santa wants me to do, so as to make up. (FYI: The North Pole thing is bunk, a story made up to throw off Santa's enemies....Santa's workshop is actually in Iceland, inside a volcano, where he and his elves and reindeer are protected by Magma Monsters and Lava Loons.)

I feel like I'm making progress. I am cautiously optimistic that, over time, he'll forgive me. I hope, anyway. The problem is that an immortal elf like Santa shouldn't have any problems holding a grudge for a long, long time.

But mostly, he tells me in no uncertain terms to go away, and to leave him be.

So, I'm doing all I can to make him happy, in that respect. Which means I'll have been asleep for several hours by the time Santa makes his pass by my house.....

And let me pass a word of warning on to you, as well: You'd do well to do the same. Don't do anything to draw his wrath. As if eternal damnation of the soul to Alabama (it's where Hell is, just south of Tuscaloosa) isn't enough, he's got heat vision and no problem with using it to burn off and instantly cauterize fingers. Also, I've got a permanent crick in my neck and an intense aversion to pointy hats that I'll carry with me forever, for my troubles.

You do the same, and you too, can have a Very Merry Christmas.

Brief thoughts on a minor league hockey game....

2010-12-19T08:37:00.003-05:00

Wandered up to Knoxville to take in an Ice Bears game last evening. It's one of those things I've wanted to do for a couple of years, but just never made the time to do so.

In a short word, I dug it. Nice venue. Pretty intimate. Nice crowd, announced at 4200 and change, on a cancer-awareness night billed as "Guaranteed Fight Night." There weren't many empty seats in the Knoxville last night, as they beat Louisiana 3-2 in overtime. And yes, there were fight. All the better.

Plus? I'd gone to roughly 400 baseball games (Major, Minor and College) in my life before I got even close a foul ball, when I finally caught one off knuckleballer Jared Fernandez at relatively lovely Greer Stadium in Nashville.

I dig hockey, but I've been to probably a dozen games, and this was my first minor league game. During warmups, a puck pinged off the goal, and flew into the stands. I got a hand out, and it nicked my middle finger before falling at the feet of the child in front of me. Dammit.

Anyway, good time. Gonna have to head up again. Already thinking birthday trip for February, with a couple other trips in between. Dig it....

Alias

2010-12-18T08:33:00.004-05:00

This morning brings this small tidbit that they're developing a TV series based on the Marvel comic series Alias.

I've been off reading monthly comics for a while now. Can't say how long, for sure. Three or four years. I completely left somewhere around the same time as the Batman R.I.P. storyline. Even at that time, I'd been experiencing severely diminishing returns on what I'd been reading. For a year or two prior to that, I'd been whittling down what I was reading. I think when I left, I had 3 books that I was picking up on a monthly basis: Batman and Detective Comics, which I'd been reading since the fourth grade, and The Walking Dead, which had only recently (at the time) been brought to my attention.

The cost had something to do with it. The cost of a monthly comic was creeping up into the 2 or 3 dollar range for your average Batman or Walking Dead title. It just wasn't worth that for something I was reading once, or maybe twice, and taking five minutes to do so. There was a time when I was spending 60 bucks a month, pretty easily, on what was essentially the literature I'd reserved for bathroom breaks. There got to be an ecomonomic wall. 15 bucks a week for something I was spending 15 minutes a week on just didn't seem economically sound.

On top of that, it was contributing to the stack of long boxes I currently keep in the second bedroom closet. That stack, which represents 20 years of fandom, I currently think of as a half-ton of fire hazard.

So, long story short, I stopped reading. Just wasn't getting much out of it. There was good stuff, but I just wasn't interested anymore. If there was something particularly good, I could find the trade paperback or hardback collection on Amazon or at the brick and mortar bookstore for cheaper than it would have costed for me to buy it in serial for anyway.

I say all that to say this: Alias was one of the last books I read regularly that I remember with real fondness. The writer of the linked article hit the nail on the head. The first 15-18 issues are truly fun stuff. Excellent writing. Interesting premise. Used the Marvel mythology as a means of telling the story, and not the story itself.

The last several issues did not do that, in retrospect. The tone in the final issues was so different that it made me pretty sure that Brian Michael Bendis wrote those first several issues in one spurt, in one creative session, where an idea or feeling or sense of mission were all fresh in his head. The last issues were so drastically different in feel that it made me think they may have been well after those first story arcs. Jessica Jones wasn't nearly as interesting as a character, and there were far too many superhero characters showing up in the story. It was almost a Brave and the Bold type of deal. Who's Jessica Jones teaming up with this month?

Anyway. A TV series might be good. It's something I'd pay attention to.

Failed Pop Tarts

2010-12-15T21:30:00.003-05:00

Mustard and Onion
Frosted Trout
Stuffed Pepper
Ham and Muenster
Hubba Bubba and Walnuts
Birthday Guacamole
Cinnamon Asparagus
Dill Pickle and Sour Cream
Cantaloupe
Pepperoni Lovers
Pepperoni's Lover
El Pollo Diablo
General Tso's Chicken
Curried Goat
Curried Goat with Marshmallows
Tripe and Taters
A-1 Steak Sauce
Jagermeister
Sweet and Salty Salmon
Extreme Gefilte Fish
Marlboro Light
Marlboro Light Menthol

7-Year Re-Run

2010-12-14T08:29:00.002-05:00

I've had this booger up 8 years and 1 month. Which means I have 8 years and 1 month worth of stuff I can repost, if I want to be a lazy and/or overworked son of a gun.

7 years ago. I was likely still reeling from the bullshit surrounding the Cubs losing that playoff series to the Marlins. I don't know if I've ever adequately thanked Dusty Baker for that, by the way. I'd just started working for current employer, after an autumn unencumbered by employment. In 2003, I was 27, and I had more hair than I do now.

And, I posted this:

Return of the King

I asked yesterday what all the hubbub about this Return of the King movie is....I hadn't heard anything about it....

I looked over on the Internet Movie Database.

I have no interest in any movie that calls itself Return of the King, yet has no mention of Richard Petty in its credits. I mean, I just assumed Return of the King meant a story about The King coming back to drive #43 one more time. Perhaps to fight vampires.

Seems like false advertising to me.

Short. Sweet. To the point.

I hope, like me, you had a good laugh.

I hope, unlike me, you didn't pee yourself in the process.

At least, I hope that's pee.

Better Than Favre

2010-12-13T18:11:00.005-05:00

I work an average of 265 days a year.

I have not missed a shift in at least 7 years.

Doing the math, that's 1855 consecutive. Give or take. When Brett Favre does what he does, for 11 hours a day, 265 days a year? Gimme a call.

Anybody else wanna tell Mr. Favre to go screw, with his 290-something game streak ending today?

Maybe I'm just a grouchy asshole this evening, who works a bit too much, but I'm a little worn out with professional athletes, of late.

That's not to say I don't like sports. Lord knows I do. But we spend too much time with this jazz, and we pay these people entirely too much. And we treat something like news that absolutely is not. I go to work every day. EVERY day. I don't get a medal. Don't want one. Don't need one.

Look, I'm cognizant that it doesn't happen often that I get chased around my job by 300 pound men in football pads, and I might come to work a little less regularly were that the case. At least at my current pay grade. But tonight, there's something that bugs me about somebody playing a game for a living, making more in a year to do it than me, my immediate family and any 10 of my closest friends will make in the next 4 years combined, making the news because he shows up to do that every day.

I dunno. I get this way during every baseball off season, more than anything. Hearing numbers thrown out like 19 million a year kinda gets in my craw.

I get over it on Sundays, and when TeeVee deems it cool enough to show me a Predators game, I guess.

But still, to see my Twitter feed BLOW UP because Brett Favre won't be playing for the first time since Satan planted dinosaur bones to fool us? Yeah. Forget that. If only because you go to work, especially if you get to work a dream job like NFL Quarterback. You just go to work.

If people wanted to pay me WHAT I MAKE NOW to play any game, be it football, baseball, bowling or stickfighting, I'd be game, and I'd likely do it with a sprained shoulder, lacerated chin, cancer of the lips and cirrhosis of the liver.

But only if I got to have an offseason.

Yeah, and offseason would be really cool.

Even a hockey offseason.

The Listens, this day, 28 November, 2010

2010-11-28T14:30:00.002-05:00

I managed to write about 2000 words today, in between monstrous cups of coffee. And by monstrous, I mean both huge, and terrifying by what they're doing to my innards. The waterslide is open, folks!

Anyway, here's what I listened to this morning while putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard):

The whole of Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros eponymous album, which I dig, actually....followed by:

"Nothin' But a Driver" The Bottle Rockets
"Thanks for the Night" The Damned
"Worker's Song" Dropkick Murphys
"He Got No Heart" Elizabeth Cook
"The Fight" Henry Phillips
"Lodi" Creedence Clearwater Revival
"Absent Elements" Finger Eleven
"Mister Garfield" Johnny Cash
"Every Sperm is Sacred" from Monty Python's Meaning of Life
"When the Radio Goes Dead" Shooter Jennings & Hierophant
"Honey Pie" The Beatles
"Kick Drum Heart" The Avett Brothers
"I Wanna Be Sedated" The Ramones
"Rich Woman" Robert Plant & Alison Krauss
"Scotch and Chocolate" Nickel Creek
"Problem Child" AC/DC
"Can't Get There from Here" REM

Chapter MMMCDXXXVI: In which my sister and I discuss movies.

2010-11-24T21:47:00.003-05:00

A brief conversation between my sister and me, via messenger:

April: What's the old aunt's name that the Griswolds strap to the top of the car in Vacation?

Tommy: Edna.

April: Ok. Thanks. What's her dog's name?

Tommy: Don't know for sure. Bucky?

Tommy: Dinky? (Editors Note: It is indeed Dinky)

April: How is it that we are some intelligent poeple in an intelligent family, and this is what we discuss?

Tommy: Because youre political and religious views tend to polarize the family. It is generally best to discuss movies, or sit in silence, when you are in the room, I find.

Tommy: Also, you tend to hit.

April: True.

The Big Stupid Tommy Update....

2010-11-23T21:51:00.002-05:00

Just wanted to make a couple of quick notes regarding my life as it's stood over the past few days.

First, bowel movements following a dinner at Sitar are generally ranked among my favorites of the year. Last night's lamb korma was no different. A definite Top 5er.

The meal was very good, too.

Execution Meal

2010-11-16T21:52:00.004-05:00

Were I to be executed, and had my choice of final meal, what would I choose for my ultimate repast?

I've been thinking about this one pretty hard, the past couple of days. Mostly because I work customer service, and it is the holiday season.

For years and years, the main course in my final meal was barbecued chicken.

Because I love barbecued chicken.

More than 2 members of my immediate family.

I'll let them figure that one out. Keep in mind Christmas is five weeks away.

But I digress.

Barbecued chicken is excellent. Done well. Nice, juicy chicken. Lightly sauced, though with plenty of a nice spicy, sauce on the side.

From time to time, I've waffled.

A nice ribeye, medium rare, with with cracked pepper and a giant plate of steak fries? That wouldn't be a bad way to go out.

Or how about a giant bacon cheeseburger? Sweet Potato fries? Big glass of Coke?

Awwww....yeah....

Well, I admit to myself that these are all fine, fine requests for a final sit-down.

But, I would like to point out the last several minutes of grunting consumption at Casa de Big Stupid Tommy. I would like to remember the quiet pleasure out of the simplest of meals.

I'm not saying that those other things wouldn't be tremendous.

But there is a part of me that would be satisfied, were I to be executed, by a giant bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Holy Frijoles.

Good stuff.

I don't buy sugary cereals much. Because I'll eat them. And I'd prefer to reach the pinnacle of Biggest Stupid Tommy by some manner other than overconsumption of breakfast cereal.

But the bakers on the front of the Cinnamon Toast Crunch Box hollered at me as I went to leave my store today.

"Hey!" they said.

I stopped, trying to figure if the voice was talking to me, or if it was simply the voice in my head, which doesn't speak up except contradict almost any opinion I voice.

"Hey," they said again. "Buy us."

I realized that the box of cereal was talking to me.

"Why? You aren't good for me."

"Well look at you, Jim Fuckin' Fix. Run your health-conscious ass along, then. We'll just mind our ever-loving business."

I'm rarely cussed by breakfast cereal. It is even rarer that I take it. "I will not take shit from ANY cereal, least of all the one with a guy who looks like he's the Vice President of the Pop'n Fresh Fan Club!!!!!"

So, yeah, I kicked the shit out of that aisle-stack of breakfast cereal. The beating was epic. Somewhere between the one Thunderlips gives Rocky at the beginning of Rocky III, and the one Israel delivered to the Arab world in June of 1967.

Then, as with all things involving me being violent, there were many people looking, shaking their heads.

"I tripped on this aisle-stack of Cinnamon Toast Crunch while examining the sugar content." I said, to nobody in particular, doing my best to maintain my composure. This was difficult because I was crying (I cry when I get very, very angry. I'm like the anti-Hulk). Also, I'd torn my pants at the knee, ass and crotch.

I realized then that I had one box of cereal still in my hand, where I'd been about to spike it football style.

I put it into my basket. It's important to save face with co-workers and customers.

So, I bought my cereal. I drove home. And I was watching the Predators completely take a dump on the ice against Toronto, and I heard the cereal calling my name again. From my kitchen.

Anyway, to make a long story even longer, I did not beat the shit out my cereal again. I poured a bowl of the cereal, I put milk on top of it, and I selected a clean appropriately sized spoon from the drawer (second from the right, just to the right of the sink). And while watching hockey, I ate my bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

If Jim Fix had eaten Cinnamon Toast Crunch, he'd have died from a joy-induced heart attack, rather than a jog-induced one. What a difference a letter makes. Just ask Virginia.

So, as things stand right now, I'm giving a whole hell of a lot of thought to having Cinnamon Toast Crunch at my final meal.

Because it is a fine shit-talking cereal.

The finest shit-talking cereal.

I should write advertising copy.

Sweet Yellow Cornbread

2010-11-15T10:17:00.002-05:00

A repost. A lie that I put up a few years back:

A Lie, this Tuesday Night:

Back in the late nineties, I spent a few years knocking around the boxing circuit.

My nickname was "Sweet Yellow Cornbread."

Sweet, because I was lovable, because I was a student of the sweet science, and also because I could punch hella hard with my fists. I was hell with my fists. I never got the whole "sweet" = "Badass" but, you know, I just went with it. I put more than a few men down for the count with my fists. I was a student of the game, but mostly I was a puncher.

And I was called Cornbread because I was white. Let's face it. There aren't a lot of white fighters, nowadays. It was what identified me to fans, more often than not. So, that's where you get "bread." I gotta lot of "Wonderbreads" and "Whitebreads" and "Cracker" and "Blue-Eyed Devil" as I came up through the ranks. But I was known behind the scenes for cracking a lot of stupid, corny jokes. Hence: Cornbread.

And I was called Yellow because I was cowardly. I spent much of the fight running from my opponent. Screaming. Hands in the air.

It was very much my strategy to see if I could wear my opponent down by having him run himself stupid chasing me.

It's tougher than you think. You try screaming and running around your room for three minutes straight, and see if you aren't worn out.

Then try it with a mouthguard, being chased by a 248 pound man who's trying to punch you to death.

However, my plans worked on more than one occasion, believe it or not.

I had a record of 16-1 up until my last fight. That one loss? I lost on purpose. All I'll say is that I got hit in the gut one good time, and I felt a turtle head poke out. I wasn't sure what had happened back there, but I decided to take a ten count, just to keep from crapping my pants live on pay per view.

Yeah. Good record. I retired after I was beaten into a coma by Vitaly Klitschko, in our bout in 1999.

It's why everything smells like vanilla to me.

Random Thoughts, at 12:30 in the morning...

2010-11-15T00:30:00.004-05:00

Just a few random thoughts, as I try to get back into the groove of writing things on my blogamathing.

I had what you might call a difficult customer service experience yesterday, which isn't the point of this particular paragraph, merely the lead-in. In short, a customer made a mistake, insisted that I correct her mistake, made another mistake after I corrected the first one, and reacted condescendingly after I corrected her on her second mistake. Essentially, she noted the corrected mistake with the phrase: "Good Boy."

Good Boy?

Good Boy.

I noted to my friend Rachel that it was with the same tone that you would use for your dog, when he has appropriately avoided shitting on the living room rug.

To wit, her response: "The positive reinforcement wouldn't be necessary if you'd stop shitting where you're not supposed to."

My response? "Where I'm supposed to shit" is a subjective thing.

Still. If I can teach you people anything at all, it is this: The respect with which you treat somebody in a customer service position is the truest indicator of the type of person you are at heart.

And, after some 15 years or so, off and on, in the customer service industry, I can assure you that there is a boatload of shitheads just in my neck of the woods alone. I'm not even breaching the major metropolises of the world.

-----

It is "White Trash Sits out on the Porch at Midnight Night," by the way. I know this because both sets of white trash neighbors are sitting out on the porch at midnight. The one set is fairly lit, judging by the attempts at humor. The other set is simply finding a pleasant place to smoke, I would suppose.

Anyway, I would humbly like to submit my apologies for not buying you a card, or perhaps a Citronella Candle. What about one of those shakeable pocket hand warmers? I used to love those things. It's getting a little chilly in this neck of the woods.

I say "a little chilly," and I'm sure you poor souls reading this blogamathing up in the wilds of Calgary, Alberta, Canada (and thank you, faithful reader, for showing up at least 5 times a week), are laughing at my referring to my 39 degrees as "a little chilly." But still, 39 degrees, to me, doesn't really denote the best weather to sit out on the porch and comment on the ways and passings of the world.

----

I am a horrible blogger, inasmuch as a week ago, I got together over at the home of Straight White Guy, along with several other Online Journalists in a yearly debacle of inanity known as Hysterics at Eric's. A fine time was had by all, and I'd like to to publicly thank Eric for hosting the event....

----

I would like to revise my previous review of the movie Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, which I'd remembered not liking very much. It seemed like too much was packed into the movie, or rather, too much had to be left off to get the movie to fit into a 2 or a 2 and a half hour span.

What I missed was the interplay between Harry and Snape. In truth, Snape gets roughly 4 minutes of screen time, and the final declaration of "I am the Half-Blood Prince" seems to come pretty much out of nowhere.

In the space of a couple weeks, I've re-viewed the previous five movies, and watched the sixth over the past couple of mornings. In that particular context, I can buy the lack of screen time given to Snape, despite his being my favorite character. By this point, we know who he is, and how nasty he can be, especially as it concerns Harry.

Half-Blood Prince is one I haven't re-read since it first came into print. I may be confusing books. Is it Half-Blood Prince where we learn that Snape was in love with Harry's mother, when they were in school?

Whoa.

Sorry. Just dipped a bit too deep into the Wizarding World Geekery.

My apologies.

----

I hate it when people spell "Whoa" as "Woah."

It's irrational, I guess. I'd say "Woah" is an acceptable spelling.

In most quarters.

Not this one, though.

So watch it.

Just saying.

Recommendation: Mike Toole

2010-11-14T00:41:00.001-05:00

Go read Mike's Blog. He's working over in China right now.

And I thought my commute sucked.

Eight

2010-11-13T10:14:00.005-05:00

Not a lot's been going on these parts the past few months. I've had other writing projects, and a shitload of work. But, I'm still here, from time to time, posting inanities and being all that goes into being Tommy. For seven years, I've been keeping this booger going. It's been a trip, and I've gotten to meet a few of you nice folks around these United States.

Thanks for reading. I'm still around. Finding spare time, as I say, is a rare beast. Especially since we wander toward the Giant Grateful Feast in November...

I just think it's wonder I've been doing this blogamathing this long, and had absolutely nothing to say....

Angels....

2010-11-09T20:41:00.001-05:00

This damnable song has been in my head all shit-blasted day!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Conversations....and how people get nicknames....

2010-11-07T18:57:00.003-05:00

In lieu of actual content, as I'm feeling tired, and actually under the weather a bit, I'll simply be posting a transcription of a conversation, over Blackberry Messenger, with my sister.

A word of context: Duke is their dog. And: We have had an argument about the specifics of how time travel works, specifically as it pertains to the movie series Back to the Future.

April: Duke just pooted.
Tommy: Ok, thanks.
April: You are Welcome!
April: Do you have to work today?
Tommy: No.
April: So, the space time continuum theories don't work. Marty is able to warn Doc about getting shot.

Tommy: No. He's created a different time line. It's two different docs.
Tommy: The Doc that gets warned lives in a different time line than the one Marty left.

April: Your reasoning is flawed.

Tommy: Your reasoning is stupid.

April: You're Stupid.

Tommy: No, you're stupid. I'm flawed. Deeply flawed.

April: I'm not stupid, you're stupid. Have you seen Lonestar State of Mind?

Tommy: No.

April: Or, it could just be Lonestar State with Joshua Jackson.

Tommy. Still, no.

April: It's super funny. You should.

Tommy: OK.
Tommy: Does it have time travel that you will argue with me about?

April: No, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't watch it.
April: You off any this week?

Tommy: No.

April: When does the time change again?

Tommy: The time changed last night.

April: No, whne does it spring forward again? The date, I mean? Don't say in the spring.

Tommy: I think it's the end of March.

April: What does the little d or a mean on the checkmark next to our comments? Delivered and answered?

Tommy: D means Delivered. An r means received/read

April: Mine has an a, not an r.

Tommy: I've never seen that.

April: So, yours looks like an r?

Tommy: It looks that way because it is an R.

April: Do you know how much that statement both angered and amused me? You made me chuckle and want to srive [sic] to Athens to prove you wrong at the same time.

Tommy: I would like you to Drive up here so I can teach you the alphabet.

April: I know the alphabet. I two languages.

Tommy: You know it in one language. In this one, you know the rlphrbet in this one, apparently.

April. I'm telling you on my phone, it's an A!!!!

Tommy: Ok, Rpail.

Welcome to November

2010-11-01T12:33:00.002-04:00

Welcome to November, you buttholes. You have your Christmas decorations up yet? At the Big Stupid Tommy house, we never take them down. It gets to November, and we call ourselves AHEAD OF THE CURVE.

Heh.

Wrote this morning.

This is what my ears listened to:

"Everything I Ever Wanted to Do..." Legendary Shack Shakers
"Mr. Richards" R.E.M.
"You've Got My Mind Messed Up" James Carr
"Jump in the Line" Da Vinci's Notebook
"Big Butter Jesus" Heywood Banks
"Curse of a Fallen Soul" Dropkick Murphys
"Fall on Me" R.E.M.
"Cars & Guns" Roger Alan Wade
"God Bless Alabama" Shooter Jennings & Hierophant
"Red Hill Mining Town" U2
"When the Spell is Broken" Bonnie Raitt and the Blind Boys of Alabama
"The World I Know" Collective Soul

Um. Did the 1997 me decide to program my media player today?

"Oogie Boogie's Song" Rodrigo y Gabriella

Sometime in the last couple of years (time's funny, out here), they did a compilation record with various artists covering songs from Nightmare before Christmas. Not a bad little listen....I dig on this one, and Marilyn Manson's "This is Halloween."

"What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" R.E.M.
"The Sick Bed of Cuchulainn" The Pogues
"Is Anyone Home?" Alice Cooper
"Highway to Hell" AC/DC
"God Only Knows" Petra Haden
"Jealous of the Moon" Nickel Creek
"Choctaw Bingo" Ray Wylie Hubbard

Nice cover.

"Kill the Headlights" Nicole Atkins

Thoughts from the Ass End of the Night, Mocktober 2010

2010-10-21T05:05:00.004-04:00

It's been a little while since I've blathered online during a bout of insomnia. Reading on the subject has lead to other pursuits, when the wake-up-demon visits around 3:15 in the morning: cleaning, mostly, though folding laundry seems to have found home in that timeslot, as well. Does it help? Some, but not any substantial, quantitative amount. Not anymore than coming in to the living room and dumping brain blatherings out for all you to see.

At least when I get up to do this, it gets some of the thoughts out of my brain, where they can take form on their own, and not bounce around my skull like a roomful of toddlers hyped up on oreos, cherry Flavor Aid and a spoonful of meth.

What's new?

I'm on vacation this week, which is pleasing, and why this little bout of insomnia isn't bothering me much. If I want to sleep until noon, I will. I got up to take a whiz and suddenly I'm lying there in bed, staring at the wall. Not thinking about much, really. Just awake.

Not going far on this vacation. Lack of funds, or more appropriately, funds being needed elsewhere, prevented an extended wandering across the nation. Which I think is the big thing that kept me awake.

2010 was supposed to be a big travel year. I was going to wander toward the north, during the summer, to see baseball games in Philadelphia, Pittsburgh and Cleveland, as well as a trip out west to see the Los Angeles/Anaheim area. But, finances fell where they did. I am lucky that I was able to accomplish one of my three baseball trips this year, to get to meet Troy, Matt and Rob out in Corn Country. With that, I get to mark Iowa off of the list of states I'd never been to.

Still. Disappointing, because I do like to travel. But, sometimes you gotta do the big boy thing and pay for tires or schooling or any of life's other various and sundry expenses.

It's made me change how I do a few things. Budgeting a little more. Brownbagging it a little. Cutting out little purchases that don't do me much good in the long run. All good things, I suppose. In the end, it's toward having a little more pocket cash to wander somewhere in the world, especially since the employer seems bent on puckering up tighter than a snare drum when it comes to money.

So, it's a Staycation. Which sucks on the one level. But it's let me get some writing done, and finish a couple projects I'd been wanting to do for a while. The house was re-arranged on Wednesday. No small feat, given the number of books I still own. And this is after a major cull within the last month. Funny part is, in this time of re-evaluating expenses, given the amount of trade credit I wander around with (found $27.68 more, hidden on a bookshelf), ~~I don't think I've paid actual money for a book this year. I just keep trading.~~ I think I've paid actual money for one book this year, Cherie Priest's Dreadnought, but other than that, I've been relying on trade credit.

I've been catching movies. RED was fun. Jackass 3-D is what it is supposed to be, though I can't think of anything that's made me laugh more than watching Ryan Dunn and Steve-O assaulted by a ram, as they try to play a tuba and trumpet, respectively, to calm it. Let Me In is one of the best movies I've seen this year. Creepy. And I finally caught the Expendables at the $2.00 theater, and I liked it a lot, too.

And, while I have this forum, can I just say this: Fellows? Lock the stall door when you're in it, in the men's room. I don't really care if you're standing up to piss, or if you're sitting to shit. Either way, it's not that hard to lock the stall door. I'm a little tired of you barn-raised motherfuckers thinking the public toilet is your prison cell, where you splay your wares for all to see. Lock the stall door. Damn.

Well, I think I've blathered enough. You pigeons have a good day, and we'll catch you on the flip side.

Thoughts from the Ass End of the Night, Mocktober 2010

2010-10-21T05:05:00.003-04:00

Chapter MMMCDXXII: In which he performs two civic duties

2010-10-20T10:25:00.002-04:00

Today, before most of you have eaten lunch, I performed two civic duties.

I voted in the Gubernatorial election, among others. I won't tell you who I voted for, though for the first time in at least a decade and maybe since 1996, I voted for one of the two major candidates in a Gubernatorial election. I don't do this to indicate or disindicate my political leanings one way or the other. I do this mainly because I enjoy writing and saying the word Gubernatorial.

I did vote for a former schoolmate for school board, and the father of a friend for City Council.

The other civic duty? I bought tires.

Civic duty?

Well, at least this way, if I kill you, it won't be because I've skidded into you at a crosswalk because I'm riding around on tires worn down to the steel belts.

In which I listen to music while I write inanities

2010-10-19T10:59:00.002-04:00

What I listened to while I wrote this morning:

1. "Bat Out of Hell" Meat Loaf
2. "Should I Be Concerned?" Alison Moorer
3. "The Lords of Salem" Rob Zombie
4. "Sheena is a Punk Rocker" The Ramones
5. "Rattled" The Travelling Wilburys
6. "If I Should From From Grace with God" The Pogues
7. "Help Me, Rhonda" Beach Boys
8. "Party's Over" Nicole Atkins
9. "San Jose" (Live) The Mavericks
10. "Incomplete and Insecure" The Avett Brothers
11. "The Roommate from Hell" Henry Phillips
12. "Funny How Time Slips Away" Willie Nelson
13. "Bastards on Parade" Dropkick Murphys
14. "Just Dropped In (To See What Condition my Condition Was In" The First Edition
15. "Poor Jack" Plain White T's
16. "The Downeaster 'Alexa'" Billy Joel
17. "Our House" Madness
18. "I'm Beginning to Forget" Elizabeth Cook
19. "Anything Goes" Guns N' Roses

A Post about Books

2010-10-16T10:50:00.003-04:00

Because I am relishing the fact that, this morning, I have nothing better to do:

Via Sheila's fine site.

1. Favorite childhood book?

A lot come to mind, but probably the best answer is The Wizard of Oz I was six or seven when I read the book, and I remember thinking how much cooler (and scarier) than the movie the book was. Other favorites: The Owlstone Crown, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and The Incredible Journey.

2. What are you reading right now?

Bleak House, by Charles Dickens and I'm picking through Harlan Ellison stories in The Essential Ellison.

3. What books do you have on request at the library?

None.

4. Bad book habit?

Probably buying or trading for them when I have a stack Tommy-high at home to read, already.

5. What do you currently have checked out at the library?

None.

6. Do you have an e-reader?

I got a Kindle for Christmas a couple years back. It's come in pretty handy, actually, for anything out there in the public domain, which I get for free. Was able to get the whole slew of Baum's Oz books and Robert Howard's Conan books. In the past couple of months, I've read 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, War of the Worlds and I re-read A Tale of Two Cities. It's good for bedtime reading, I've found. No pages to have to turn.

That's not to say I don't dig books. I still have tons and tons of books, and still travel with a book on me at any given time...

7. Do you prefer to read one book at a time, or several at once?

For most of my life, it's been a couple or three going at any given time. The past two or three years, as leisure time has gotten away from me, that's gone to one at a time. It's only been since last summer that I've gotten back into the 2 or 3 at a time phase.

8. Have your reading habits changed since starting a blog?

Not in terms of how much I read. There have been a lot of great things recommended by other bloggers...

9. Least favorite book you read this year?

I read a couple that disappointed me, though I hesitate to call them bad. Stephen King's Under the Dome was another in a line of disappointments. It's been a little while that he's published something that I've enjoyed, and said "I'd recommend it and/or read it again, one day." The last Dark Tower books, maybe? Maybe even since Bag of Bones. Under the Dome was just entirely overlong (a complaint on King books I've argued with for years, though in this case, one entirely justified).

Other than that? George Carlin's Memoir Last Words wasn't bad. It just didn't have any energy to it, and any revelation or insight into the man was slight.

10. Favorite book you’ve read this year?

The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet, by Reif Larsen.

Interesting how I found this one. I'll wander around a bookstore, especially an Indie bookstore, to see if they carry anything by a couple authors. It's a small judgment, but I like to see their stuff on shelves. Joe Lansdale is one of them. A couple places I'd gone, I'd seen Larsen's book in the same areas. With a hefty $35 or so pricetag, I had to find this one online for cheap. It's the most fun I've had with a read in recent memory. Smart, and whimsical.

11. How often do you read out of your comfort zone?

From time to time, and I try to make myself. Time is short, though.

12. What is your reading comfort zone?

See, that's the thing I realized...I can read almost anything. I tend to stick with fiction, because I like a good story. But I can get into almost anything.

13. Can you read on the bus?

Yep. I can read just about anywhere.

14. Favorite place to read?

Strangely, on a plane. Seems like that environment's conducive to not only quick and attentive reading, but I tend to absorb everything I read. Can't say way. I fly, on average once every two years. Maybe I should fly more.

15. What is your policy on book lending?

Kinda iffy. There are people I trust, that I will lend books to. A small cadre of people.

I do have several books, though, that I will pick up extras of, especially if I find them cheap. I keep those books to give to folks I think will enjoy them.

16. Do you ever dog-ear books?

No. That's book psychosis #2, right behind breaking the spine of a book.

I tend to use any and everything as a bookmark, and when I'm done with a book, I tend to leave that bookmark in the back of the book. Which is maybe a quaint habit, until you're looking for that month's insurance statement or electric bill. Thank heavens for online billpay.

17. Do you ever write in the margins of your books?

Sometimes. It used to annoy me when somebody did that, and I suppose it still would if they did it to excess. But, I do, from time to time, now. Especially if the writer can turn an especially good phrase. I've become a heck of an underliner.

18. Not even with text books?

It kinda pisses me off that the assumption is "No."

19. What is your favorite language to read in?

English. I kinda suck at the others. I could get by reading Spanish, but it would take me forever.

20. What makes you love a book?

Stealing Sheila's answer: All kinds of things. Good writing, interesting characters, an ability to show me a world I’ve never seen before, or never even thought about before.

21. What will inspire you to recommend a book?

A lot of the above. If it's a writer I think deserves more attention (like Joe Lansdale, Ekaterina Sedia or Cherie Priest), I'll give those books away to somebody who professes a like for their genre. There are occasions where a book helped get me through a time in life. It's rare, but I've recommended a book to a person in a similar situation.

22. Favorite genre?

I run the gamut.

23. Genre you rarely read (but wish you did?)

I wish there were more science writers who wrote more accessibly. Maybe that's not the right word, because I'm capable of understanding quite a bit. I just wish it didn't feel like I was reading a textbook, or stereo instructions, when I was reading up. I wish that there were more Stephen Jay Goulds in the world.

24. Favorite biography?

A few: Al Stump's Ty Cobb biography should be required reading in the sports world. Mick Foley's autobiographical/memoir-ish books are all very, very good, but his first, Have a Nice Day, is probably the best book about wrestling ever written (and there have been a handful of strong ones, actually), but Foley is personable and very conversational in his writing style. And Joseph Ellis's American Sphinx is a really cool read on Thomas Jefferson.

25. Have you ever read a self-help book?

Does Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance count as self-help? If not, probably not.

26. Favorite cookbook?

Don't have one.

27. Most inspirational book you’ve read this year (fiction or nonfiction)?

Was going to say I don't know if I've read anything inspirational, except that Reif Larsen's T.S. Spivet book made me want to write something cool.

28. Favorite reading snack?

I don't eat much when reading. I'll usually have a bottle of water or other similar drink there.

29. Name a case in which hype ruined your reading experience.

There have been a couple of times...usually with a book that EVERYBODY'S reading or read, that I just end up not being able to get behind. It helps to have trusted people you can rely on, when it comes to these things.

30. How often do you agree with critics about a book?

Every time. Without fail. I just want to get in line.

31. How do you feel about giving bad/negative reviews??

Not horrible, so long as criticism is constructive.

32. If you could read in a foreign language, which language would you chose?

Japanese, I think. Russian is also a good answer.

33. Most intimidating book you’ve ever read?

I dunno. Underworld, maybe? Which was a pretty book, with the first 60 pages or so being up there with the best stuff written last century. At the end of the day, the book itself isn't good.

34. Most intimidating book you’re too nervous to begin?

Nervous isn't the right word. I do end up worrying about time (he said, realizing he's been writing on this stupid meme for an hour or so).

35. Favorite poet?

Don't know. I always liked Langston Hughes, in school. Mostly for A Dream Deferred. But Eric kinda knocked me over into the camp of Robert Service.

36. How many books do you usually have checked out of the library at any given time?

None. I don't use the Public Library. I tend to keep books.

37. How often have you returned book to the library unread?

Thinking of it, it's been at least 10 years since I've borrowed a library book.

38. Favorite fictional character?

I run across this question a lot, and my answer probably changes every time. I think today, my answer's Joe Christmas, from Light in August. High on the list? Porter Osborne from Ferrol Sams semi-autobiographical books, Huckleberry Finn, Roland Deshcain the Gunslinger, and Woodpecker (with apologies to Mr. Wrangle).

39. Favorite fictional villain?

The Joker. Comic, book, cartoon, movie, whathaveyou. Runners up: Injun Joe, Manley Pointer, Pennywise, Anton Chigurh, Joe Christmas (again), Severus Snape (who wasn't ultimately the villain, and who had become my favorite character in the Potter books from maybe Sorcerer's Stone, but definitely by Prisoner of Azkaban).

40. Books I’m most likely to bring on vacation?

Whatever's next in line.

41. The longest I’ve gone without reading.

2007 was a bad year. Personally. Professionally. I can look back and say there was probably a pretty good depression in that one. I went pretty much from February to October without reading much of anything.

42. Name a book that you could/would not finish.

I really dug Neal Stephenson's Snow Crash. So, when I heard about The Baroque Cycle, I figured it would be right up my alley. I won't say that Quicksilver, the first book of that series, kicked my butt. I decided 200 pages in that it just didn't seem worth the trouble.

43. What distracts you easily when you’re reading?

Children. I cannot read with children yelling, for some reason.

44. Favorite film adaptation of a novel?

Mystic River is a tremendous adaptation of Dennis Lehane's novel, and actually does a surprising thing for Dave Boyle that the book could not, for me: It makes him a sympathetic character who is lost, and not just a victim.

45. Most disappointing film adaptation?

In my life? Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, which I think was required viewing if you went to school in my generation. When I finally got around to reading Dahl's original work, you realize how far short the movie comes. Later, when you learn of the Quaker Oats edicts and simply the technology of the time, how cool it is what they actually did accomplish. Not completely faithful in spirit or execution, but not bad, either.

46. The most money I’ve ever spent in the bookstore at one time?

Probably $150.

47. How often do you skim a book before reading it?

There is no method to the madness.

48. What would cause you to stop reading a book half-way through?

Again, stealing Sheila's answer: Lack of interest. Bad writing. The feeling that the writer thinks I am some sort of moron.

Further: the feeling that life is short, and the payout will not be worth the expenditure of time.

49. Do you like to keep your books organized?

Yeah, there is a Tommy Decimal system. It's maybe the only thing in my life that is truly organized.

50. Do you prefer to keep books or give them away once you’ve read them?

Keep. I cull to donate or trade maybe every six months.

51. Are there any books you’ve been avoiding?

No.

52. Name a book that made you angry.

I had to read a Janet Dailey romance novel for a Pop Culture class, and it got flung across a room a few times. Then, for being crap. As did William Gibson's Neuromancer. Then, for being overrated crap.

Also, when they killed Frank and Joe's girlfriends in the new Hardy Boys adventures. That was bullshit.

53. A book you didn’t expect to like but did?

A book specifically? I don't know. I was completely put off of Cormac McCarthy by All the Pretty Horses, which I'd had to read in college. After No Country for Old Men came out in theaters, I picked up that, and The Road, which had been recommended by many people. McCarthy became a favorite. I even went back to Pretty Horses, which I still don't dig, but I read it again with a more open mind, and have come to appreciate, all the same.

54. A book that you expected to like but didn’t?

Aside from my Stephen King dislike, which might be verging on a decade, I remember looking very strongly forward to Michael Chabon's Summerland. It may be the only thing by Chabon I just don't dig. Another is Joe Lansdale's Lost Echoes, which is the only book by Mr. Lansdale I've put down halfway through.

55. Favorite guilt-free, pleasure reading?

I don't have any guilt. But I do tend to shy away from discussing a lot of pro wrestling biographies and autobiographies in mixed company....

Pregnant Pause...

2010-10-12T20:55:00.002-04:00

I actually dig an uncomfortable, awkward silence among people. I don't know why. There just seems to be so much more energy in the air, with a particularly singular emotion shared by all (or most, at least). It's something I've only come to realize about myself over the last couple of years. Maybe it makes me a freak. I tend to think it falls in line with the Pisces part of me that likes harmony among people.

I think my recent favorite Moment of Awkward Silence was during a show store preparation earlier this year. We were discussing how to arrange displays, and one person in our group made a wisecrack that could have been construed both racist and sexist, and then proceeded to laugh about it. I think it was mostly his being overly-tired: we were all running 16 hour workdays, and he was getting tickled. Meanwhile, we all managed to busy ourselves with something else for a few seconds until he composed himself. I turned away so as not to laugh. Not because the crack was particularly funny, but because I enjoyed the moment of quiet shock we were all sharing.

Anyway, I was the unintended cause of a moment of awkward silence.

We are preparing another Show Store. This time, for the holidays. This one isn't nearly as stressful, since the showstore is in my home town, and we actually have sufficient hands to prepare the beast.

Late in the day, I made the acquaintance of a customer. It was an older lady, though I can't put the age any closer to the bullseye than 45-75. She was short. And she was mentally handicapped.

And very personable.

We talked for a minute, after she said Hi to me. I did not catch her name, but she will be having pizza for supper tonight. We also agreed that it rained quite a bit today.

At this point, a couple of co-workers wandered up, and my new friend commented "I like your hair!"

I keep my hair fairly closely cropped. I do this for a couple of reasons. It's easier to take care of, on mornings when I have to get up at 4:55. And, my genes have made it so that I am balding somewhat, a fact that I share a tentative peace with, that is, until I catch a security camera shot of the top of my head, or I start liking somebody enough to ask them out. And? I am naturally curly-headed. So, if I let my hair grow out, I am afraid it leaves my coiffure somewhere in the neighborhood of Larry Fine, though not quite in the Bozo the Clown range....

Anyway.

"I like your hair."

"Well," I answered, smiling, "I like yours, too!"

Then came the pause.

Did I mention that my friend's hair was as closely cropped as mine, if not more closely? We were Brother and Sister in Buzzcut.

I want to say that, because it was the only thing running through my mind at that moment. Her face fell for a moment, and I started to think of any way how I could explain making a mentally handicapped lady cry in the middle of the grocery store.

The pregnant pause gave birth after an eternal moment's gestation. Luckily, after careful consideration, my new friend found my comment uproariously funny.

Oof.

Just oof.

We all get a turn in the chute, and today was mine...

Nantucket....

2010-10-11T22:13:00.000-04:00

I wrote this piece of art a couple of years ago. Somehow, I felt it bore repeating:

Tommy's Lamentation

Should the pig have a bark?
He was Kicked off the ark.
Noah? he said no way.

Old Noah? Too Hasty.
A Watchdog so tasty?
Man! I grieve for that day.

Two Ducks, two Mooses
Two Rats, two Gooses
Surely, Noah could play...

The man was mistaken.
I mourn barking bacon.
Will God fix this? I pray!

The Yankees

2010-10-10T08:38:00.003-04:00

Got out of work last night in time to listen to the eighth and ninth inning of the Twins/Yankees game. And I was hit with a disturbing realization, just as the last out was made. This all comes on the same day as Tony Gwynn's revelation that he's fighting cancer. And I cannot put aside the notion that the two events are connected.

And looking back over history, there are a few startling parallels:

October 1996: Lance Armstrong is diagnosed with Stage 3 cancer. The Yankees win their first World Series of the decade.

May 1998: Phil Hartman is found dead at his home, just as the Yankees are beginning a steamroll toward a 114 win season.

October 2000: Rodney Anoa'i (aka Yokozuna) dies during a tour of England. It is believed by some that the arachnaphobic wrestling champion died of a heart attack, after finding a spider in his hotel room. This can be neither confirmed nor denied by this reporter, though I can tell you this: The third ring of Hell is inhabited by spider, snakes and the New York Yankees. (The third ring of Hell is called on play-by-play by John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman).

Just something to chew on, this Sunday morning...

Thursday

2010-10-07T23:57:00.003-04:00

About a year ago, I wrote a Guinness-y piece on the Cubs season in 2009.

Well, tonight's drink of choice is Stone IPA, and thought I thought about writing a bit on the Cubs' season in 2010, I can count on 2 hands the number of games I actually saw in 2010. Maybe 1, but it's been 15 years since my last math class.

Here's the bit of shit that's been wandering around my mind, given the Cubs' 32-17 finish to the season. (Gimme a break if I'm remembering numbers wrong. There've been a goodly number of Stone IPA).

Why do a set of millionaires play one way for one guy, but another, much better way, for another guy? Can I just ask that? It's all baseball. It's not like Mike Fucking Quade taught these guys how to throw, hit or otherwise field a baseball durin their fiscal year.

I make much, much less than a million dollars a year. Is that impolite to point out. Well, if it is, you need to find a new value system. I am the Johnny Cash Ninja around these parts. So, how much less?

Metric assload.

I would have to work 30 years to get withing cockpunching distance of a million dollars. Alfonso "I sometimes hit in clutch" Soriano makes more than I do in 2 plate appearances. Two. Two Goddamn plate appearances. That's bullshit! I haven't even gotten to Thanksgiving yet!!!!!!!!!

But I digress.

The Stone IPA Thoughts on the Chicago Cubs?

This has been a depressing year to be a Cubs fan. And I've been doing this shit since 1984. I know I'm not a longtimer, but I'm not a newbie. I've got a couple rings on my decade bandana. I got a little room to bitch.

Strangely, there's little inclination.

2010's been a trying year, on a personal level. You know, beyond baseball.

The gasp is audible all through your home.

There have been minor amounts of Real Life Shit to deal with. Work mostly, but there's been moments of pause. As for baseball? Honestly? I've paid as little attention to the boys in blue in 2010 as I have in any year since Leon Durham rolled a grounder through his knees. Part of that's been by choice. You don't end up anywhere but the Loony Bin by screaming at your computer screen because of box scores.

I made the statement on the Twitter: I have never looked more toward the end of a baseball season.

And that's God's honest truth.

Honestly, I woke up today, on November 7, with a couple teams in the playoffs who honestly excite my dumb ass (Reds, Rangers, with a nod of indie-respect toward the Twins). And for the first time in my life, I said "It's Hockey Season!"

And let me just say this, you Slime Kings of Etowah: I dig Hockey. Somehow, over last season, it really caught my eye. I've always dug it, at least since the Predators made their merry way toward Nashville. Something popped in my brain last season. Dunno what (blood vessel, likely). Baseball's always gonna be #1 in my big, dumb heart. But, Football suddenly has a challenger in this guy's attention span. (Especially since we insist on starting Vince Young, my fellow Tennesseeans--if you're looking for Magic, you might as well start calling the Lakers, because in Tennessee, we spell Bust with a V and a Y).

So. I was happy to see hockey season here.

Beisbol? Cubs? Keep Quade? Bring Sandberg up?

Who knows?

I just put fucking cranberry sauce on a shelf.

Cran. Berry. Sauce.

I'll just be watching the hockey.

Ritz Crackers

2010-10-01T22:04:00.003-04:00

Holy Crap.

Have you tried these things?

Ritz Crackers are slamming!!!! (I heard that word in a movie I was watching the other night. I was half-asleep, and it starred either Jackie Chan or Robert Davi, and there was a black guy in in, but not the one you're thinking of.)

I bought a box of Ritz Crackers the other day. Must be new.

These things are fucking good.

You know what they remind me of?

The end of World War II, and that scene in New York where they're celebrating V-E Day, and there are those people jumping up and down in their funny 40's outfits, all happy and shit. That's what these crackers remind me of.

Happiness. At the end of a major war. In funny clothes.

They ought to let me write copy for advertising.

Ritz Crackers! They are as good as the End of the Second World War!

They're really good.

You should try them with peanut butter.

Because you don't listen enough to what I say.

Do what I say.

And remember. No matter what you do, you'll always be graded on the weakest 5% somebody can find. And if they can't find anything to be critical of, they'll make some shit up. Because they haven't found the Ritz Cracker Pathway to Happiness (as good as dropping a bomb on Nagasaki!) So, they have to shit on what you do. It's their way.

Who's to say what's right and wrong?

Me!

I am!

And Who am I?

Big Stupid Tommy. Ritz Cracker Maven, and Bloggert Extraordinaire.

I am pleased that I spelled Extraordinaire correctly.

Easily pleased.

Thattaboy.

You Can't Win a Pissing Contest with a Skunk...

2010-09-26T17:13:00.007-04:00

I don't watch NASCAR anymore. My fascination was a phase that I wandered through several years back, when I supervised a crew at Goodwill. It was a fascination that grew something out of minor necessity: If I was going to communicate with a couple of the guys who worked for me at all, I'd have to have at least a nodding acquaintance with the the National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing.

See, Goodwill employed a lot of disabled and "disadvantaged" folks. There is part of me that is Republican enough to think that the only disadvantage a lot of these folks had was a laziness that seemed ingrained. Hereditary Laziness. Mitochondrial Laziness. That, or these were people that didn't have the first idea how to associate with people in any manner. At all.

But they all loved NASCAR. That's what I found out, eventually. I'd always mocked it, to be honest. Like most, I didn't understand the appeal of watching anything that involved cars going around in a circle for four hours (though I myself have watched clothes drying in a dryer as a form of meditation for years...). I mocked, and I loved the shit out of reading a headline in a local paper that somebody had blamed losing a race on Dick Trickle. I blame many of my life's woes on Dick Trickle, to this day.

Being in that position, though, with the people who were damn near religious with their NASCAR, I started paying attention. I started learning names, and and car numbers. I learned tracks. Restrictor Plate races were revered among those I worked with, and they featured spectacular crashes, but were often long and tremendously boring to me--I tended to lean toward short track races like Bristol, which was still cool in the eyes of many I worked with. I shared their belief that road tracks were ridiculous, though i figured I'd appreciate them more if there were more than 2 on the schedule.

Toward Bristol racing, I still enjoy the matter-of-factness with which these people would use the phrase "rubbing is racing." I am 33, and I cannot write that phrase without a smirk that comes straight out of sixth grade crossing my face.

I learned why it was right on the verge of blasphemy to mention anybody's name in the same breath as Earnhardt. And what it meant when somebody was coming into the Pit for a trackbar adjustment.

All so that I could have at least one common frame of reference when I'd work with some of them.

And truth be told, I started liking it.

I worked a lot of Sundays, and here's something that surprised me, and still surprises. NASCAR on the radio has a shitload of energy to it. They constantly switch announcers, because we're dealing with mile, or 2-mile, or 2.5 mile ovals, so announcers are strategically placed around the track. No one announcer, as a result, is given too much time to lapse into anything but describing the action. (I listened to a CBS football announcer during today's Titans' game, by comparison, spend 2 minutes talking about the time his wife threw her keys onto the roof of their house. No fucking joke.) And the announcers are always loud! I don't know if it's training, or simply conditions of having to talk over high-horsepower stock cars. I suspect it's a combination of the two.

But that's a minor digression.

Over a couple year period, I started to learn names, personalities. At the time, everybody hated Rusty Wallace. HATED Rusty Wallace. No joke. In 2000, if Hitler, Stalin and Rusty Wallace were in a room with you, and you had a pistol with two bullets, you'd shoot Rusty twice. (I put that year there, because since September 2001, I'd say they'd probably shoot Osama bin Laden twice, but then beat Rusty Wallace to death with the empty gun).

As an aside, and I think I've probably written it here before: Do you know why they call him Rusty? Because you can't say Shitty Wallace on Sunday Afternoon TV.

Toward those personalities? Even some six or seven years after the fact, I will swear to the fact that Kevin Harvick is a turd in a fireproof racing suit. I have no recollection of the genesis of this idea, but it's there, sure as shooting, in my head. It's as strong a belief as any I have, up to knowing my middle name or that the sky is blue.

It's been a while since I've followed regularly. More than half a decade. So, there are some names, that if I should happen across the NASCAR section of the interweb, I don't recognize well enough to assign a personality. But, when I read this story this afternoon, in which the team of Richard Childress Racing took issue with Denny Hamlin's comments, it gave me a moment's pause, for my aforementioned dislike of the despicable Kevin Harvick.

Utlimately, I've decided I don't have a dog in the hunt to judge one way or the other. I doubt I could name half the drivers in a field, right now, and I'm just not up to date enough on the soap opera to take a side in the issue.

I guess I'm going to finish by disputing the phrase "you can't win a pissing contest with a skunk," as states Richard Childress.

I put it to you that you probably can win a pissing contest with a skunk, as unpleasant as that could be. Honestly. How big could a skunk's bladder be? It's an animal not much bigger than a breadbox, with a bladder proportional to its size. Me? I can hold as many as four tall Yuenglings in my bladder with ease, as of last night. Before breaking the seal, mind you. After that, I have the bladder of a skunk.

I posit this. Prior to breaking the seal, under the right conditions, you can win a pissing contest with a skunk.

It's the part where he starts spraying his skunkenly foulness at you, and you find yourself in that particular stinkfight woefully under- or unarmed, depending on just how big a cabbage fan you are.

I hesitate to call that a fart fight, but only because I know not everybody will find that phrase as funny as I do.

Hi. Ate us. No?

2010-09-20T13:35:00.003-04:00

Your old pal Tommy's been doing some shit. Writing. Working. Trying to have a life that doesn't involve a grocery store or sitting in front of a computer. With minor success, I suppose.

Is it weird to say I've kinda been wandering through an introspective phase, as well? Even more than the usual navel-gazing. And for a guy who's not exactly the most outgoing cuss in the world, it might be indistinguishable from a normal walkabout day. It's been for longer than normal, this slight funk. And I'll say that. A slight funk about it. Tell George Clinton I said No.

2010's gotten to be one where I'm ill at ease with where I am in this crazy world. Truth be told, I've had a couple things thrown in to sharper relief, lately. About how much I work. About how much I'm actually getting out of that work. About how little I seem to get out, period. About what it is I've accomplished. About how weird it is that family is starting family.

Dunno. Just kinda thinking about a few things. I'm still around. Got a nice e-mail today wondering. So, thanks. I'm fine. Slight funk, maybe. Not out of it, by any stretch of the imagination. Doing a lot of writing, a lot of work. Holler if you want to grab a beer.

I have no good way to close this minor epistle, so I'll share my favorite Ethiopian joke, which was told to me by a real-life Ethiopian:

What do you call an Ethiopian taking a shit?

A Showoff.

G'day.

Labor Day Movie Quiz

2010-09-04T10:42:00.003-04:00

Brain Break. Film Quiz via Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule.

1) Classic film you most want to experience that has so far eluded you.

So is this a flick that I want to see? Or am I wanting to get sucked into a tornado to be deposited into the Land of Oz?

We live in a world where if I want to see something, I can usually see it within a day or two, given those fine folks at Netflix, and sometimes instantly.

Now, I would love to have some fine folk in this neck of the woods decide to show Seven Samurai on the big screen, or perhaps Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid....

2) Greatest Criterion DVD/Blu-ray release ever

I really dig the big Brazil collection I used up all my trade credit on at McKay's.

Though, when they went half-price back in August, I picked up Robinson Crusoe on Mars, and got to watch it on a decent television. I dug it a lot....

3) The Big Sleep or The Maltese Falcon?

Maltese Falcon.

4) Jason Bateman or Paul Rudd?

Basing it solely on film work, I'll say Paul Rudd. He just seems to have a better presence on the big screen.

If you count in Arrested Development?

Or the prestige that is The Hogan Family?

5) Best mother/child (male or female) movie star combo

The only one that's popping to mind is Judy Garland and Liza Minelli. Though, I think I'll call them best at imbibing intoxicants....

6) Who are the Robert Mitchums and Ida Lupinos among working movie actors? Do modern parallels to such masculine and no-nonsense feminine stars even exist? If not, why not?

There are possible parallels, but I just don't know if we have roles like that anymore. I guess the question that comes to the front of my mind is: Has society (and movies by extension) changed so that the Mitchum ideal of Manliness is shoved to the fringe? For Robert Mitchum, the guy that came to mind as the embodiment of the ideal and spirit (and possible sheer craziness), if not the starring or even supporting roles, is Danny Trejo. Two others that popped into my head were Daniel Craig and Eric Bana, though both lapse something into pretty-boy status. This one made me think.

Is the guy who embodies that so outside the norm nowadays? Or is it my perception?

For the Ida Lupino? I dunno. The two names that popped into my head as tonal compatriots, if not parallel embodiments were Chloe Sevigny or Michelle Rodriguez. Again, similar problems. Or, maybe I'm just not watching those type flicks.

7) Favorite Preston Sturges movie

I've actually only seen a couple. My film geek pants ain't long enough.

8) Odette Yustman or Mary Elizabeth Winstead?

Odette Yustman. Mainly as apology for thinking she's Megan Fox in every role she's in, and saying "Wow, maybe Megan Fox can act."

9) Is there a movie that if you found out a partner or love interest loved (or didn't love) would qualify as a Relationship Deal Breaker?

No, though there'd be a serious conversation if she was OK with Greedo shooting first, or the guns being taken out of E.T.

10) Favorite DVD commentary

Kevin Smith's and Scott Mosier's commentary on a special edition of Road House is comic gold.

And, the Strange Brew fan in me like's the Rutt & Tuke's commentary on Brother Bear.

For actual film making? Beyond the fartsy, I like Joe Dante's commentary on Gremlins, and Weird Al's commentary on UHF, just for the nuts and bolts of putting their movies together....
Foll

11) Movies most recently seen on DVD, Blu-ray and theatrically

I just watched Away We Go this morning, and I'll be honest...it didn't hold my attention. Can't say why. I might be on Jon Krasinski burnout.

And Friday, I went to see The Expendables. Problem is, I reversed times in my head from what I'd read, so I arrived 50 minutes early. The theater I went to is in Bumfuck, and it was too hot to sit outside and read, so I ended up going to see The Last Exorcism instead.

The first 70 minutes are actually not a bad movie, and does a fair enough, though not great, job making you wonder whether there really is a case of demonic possession going on in rural Louisiana. The last 12 minutes, the movie goes flying off the rails in a fashion I have a hard time relating. You know, it's the coolest thing in the world when a movie throws a curveball that I don't see coming, but this one blindsided me with a Wrecking Ball of Craziness the likes of which you rarely see.

12) Dirk Bogarde or Alan Bates?

I'll take the physical challenge.

13) Favorite DVD extra

First thing that pops to mind is the black & white version of The Mist...

14) Brian De Palma’s Scarface— yes or no?

No, and just stop. I've never been so worn out on a crappy movie getting so much attention outside of Rocky Horror Picture Show.

15) Best comic moment from a horror film that is not a horror comedy (Young Frankenstein, Love At First Bite, et al.)

I may think of a better answer later, as I don't think Cabin Fever is a horror. Rather, it is the best black comedy to wander down the pike in a few decades. Still, the nonsensical "Pancakes/Karate Demo" is beautiful.

16) Jane Birkin or Edwige Fenech?

Edwige Fenech. And I'm proud to say so.

17) Favorite Wong Kar-wai movie

I do not have one.

18) Best horrific moment from a comedy that is not a horror comedy

OK. Robin Williams' son dying while masturbating actually turned me around on Bobcat Goldthwait's World's Greatest Dad. It's a tremendous bleak, black comedy, and I wish Bobcat would make more movies. It may not be the greatest, but it's what popped to mind.

19) From 2010, a specific example of what movies are doing right…

I just want to point to Winter's Bone, for making being poor from the south (Missouri is still the south, right?) integral to the story, without making it a story about being poor from the south. For making it neither comic nor tragic in and of itself. Just making it what it is.

20) Ryan Reynolds or Chris Evans?

Can I say neither? Do I have to choose? This is truly the lesser of two evils. I choose Chris Evans, though I warn that the Captain America movie looks like it just keeps getting worse and worse....

21) Speculate about the future of online film writing. What’s next?

Eh?

22) Roger Livesey or David Farrar?

Bah.

23) Best father/child (male or female) movie star combo

How about old Donald and Kiefer Sutherland? I almost with Ron Howard acted more, so I could say Ron & Bryce Dallas...

24) Favorite Freddie Francis movie (as Director)

They Came From Beyond Space.

25) Bringing Up Baby or The Awful Truth?

The Awful Truth.

26) Tina Fey or Kristen Wiig?

Tina Fey, by a country mile. And I don't mean that as a slap at Kristen Wiig, who I do find funny, if overexposed. Tina Fey is a comic genius, and one of the funniest people on the planet.

27) Name a stylistically important director and the best film that would have never been made without his/her influence.

Kurosawa...Hidden Fortress...Star Wars.

28) Movie you’d most enjoy seeing remade and transplanted to a different culture (i.e. Yimou Zhang’s A Woman, a Gun and a Noodle Shop.)

The recent Micmacs is excellent, and I'd be loathe to ask anybody to remake it. But for some reason, I kept thinking of Tim Burton's Big Fish, and of Jody Hill's Eastbound and Down/Foot Fist Way, and how well the Micmacs would fit in a southern, small-town setting with Flannery O'Connor-type inhabitants, my previous comments about Winter's Bone notwithstanding....

29) Link to a picture/frame grab of a movie image that for you best illustrates bliss. Elaborate.

Can't find a decent one, but the moment Willie Hayes slides across home, and Harry Doyle goes insane "The Indians win it! The Indians Win it! Oh My God! The Indians Win it!"

As a guy who's never had his team win it all, in any sport, ever, I can relate very, very easily.

30) With a tip of that hat to Glenn Kenny, think of a just-slightly-inadequate alternate title for a famous movie. (Examples from GK: Fan Fiction; Boudu Relieved From Cramping; The Mild Imprecation of the Cat People)

All I got this morning:

Ralphie Gets a Gun: a Story Honoring the Birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ

*********************************************

Sunday Night....

2010-08-22T21:12:00.005-04:00

Just did another crazy stretch. Such is life in the retail industry, especially when one of the other managers goes on vacation. Life becomes: Sleep, Work, Hamburger. Not much else. The Man from the Cheese aisle asked if I was making adequate time to move the bowels.

In a word, no.

But that's neither here nor there.

8 days out of nine. Right at 100 hours, or so.

Masochistic much? Dumb as a damn backpack full of Ebola virus.

Your old pal Tommy's tired.

In lieu of witty comments, I would like you to listen to this cover of Seven Nation Army, as performed by the Oak Ridge Boys.

It makes me smile.

(Heh heh heh).

Just in case you haven't had your fill, here's Elvira. If you made a movie of my life from age 5 to 8, this song would be on it, right up there with Born in the USA and the theme to Dukes of Hazzard. And because I am half insane with work, sleep deprivation and Sweetwater 420, some guy's animated trucks singing the song, and I found myself laughing myself shitting silly about it:

What else?

Lou Piniella retired today.

I was sorry to have it happen the way it did, but I think my friend Rob said something that's resonated with me today. The 2008 Cubs were the best Cubs team of my life, and indeed, maybe of the lives of a great many Cubs fans. And to have them get thrashed in the first round of the playoffs by the Dodgers that year...it ripped a lot of people's hearts out. I've said before that it's really affected me. Sad to say, it's affected me for a couple of years, now.

Did it affect Lou?

I know it's easy to say that Sweet Lou's made a handful of million dollars in the past couple of years, but I'd have to say it'd be hard not to be affected after swaggering your way through a baseball season, only to have it shut down that hard. Now, overcoming, I think that's what I'm paying $8 for a beer for. But, that's just me.

And, I grant you, I still have anxiety dreams any time I go to ask somebody out, so I get that, completely.

At the end of the day, I'll say this: I'm sorry that Lou's going out on this note. He's been one of those Baseball Guys who's been in the game pretty much since my personal fandom started in 1983 or 1984. I wish he got to call his shot and leave on his own terms.

That said, do I think he'd be making this decision if the Cubs were in contention?

Absofuckinglutely not.

_____

Um. I've gotten sucked into the show Ice Road Truckers.

I don't know why.

Well, I do know why.

There are animations which portray people being hurt in horrible fashion.

I dig that kind of macabre shit.

Also, I think the blonde driver is kinda hot.

And I like shows where people curse a lot.

Fuck. Fuckity Fuck.

And I like when people pronounce about "aboot."

That shit's hilarious.

Exhaustion Induced Lysdexia

2010-08-13T21:17:00.002-04:00

I went to this video from Fark, because I thought the headline said "a tool to unclog your brain."

http://www.maniacworld.com/tool-to-unclog-your-drain.html

I am very tired, and I am going to bed. Good night, John Boy.

Brain Break

2010-08-12T08:43:00.004-04:00

Wrote for an hour and a half. A couple thousand words, which poured out easily. Then, I got a leg cramp. Going to get up, take a shower. Gotta go get the oil changed, get new tags and go fight crime under my vigilante name: Rufus Q. Throatpunch. Also, I will buy bananas and water. It's like 392 degrees. I saw an e-mail from the local TV station with the subject "Heat Advisory" and read it as "Hell Advisory." Almost works.

I will write more this afternoon.

Here's a little bit of what I listened to while I wrote:

"Intergalactic" Beastie Boys
"Mo Ghile Gear (Our Hero)" The Chieftains with Sting
"Tragedy" The Bee Gees (Oof...this one might be in my head for days, now...)
"Margaret in Captivity" The Decembrists
"No Roads Here" Corb Lund (I just love this song....)

"La Bamba" Los Lobos
"Up Above my Head--I hear Music in the Air" Randy Travis & the Blind Boys of Alabama
"Glory Glory Hallelujah" The Rev. Peyton's Big Damn Band
"You're the One" The Vogues
"What Am I Doing Hangin' Round?" The Monkees

"Ruby Soho" Rancid
"Godzilla" Blue Oyster Cult
"The Boxer" Me First and the Gimme Gimmes
"Modern Man" The Arcade Fire
"Finnegan's Wake" Malarkey Brothers
"I Don't Want Anybody New" The Smart Brothers
"I'm Going for Myself" James Carr
"Dump Road Yodel" Th' Legendary Shack Shakers
"Can't Find My Keys" Mojo Nixon

Welcome to the Flip Side...

2010-08-12T00:44:00.004-04:00

When last I left you, I spoke of a stretch where I would work some 33-35 hours in a 52 hour stretch. The actual number was 37 hours in that same stretch. If you had that in your pool, I would like to have a discussion with you about the possibility that you are affecting reality with your wishes. You may be 1/3 god, you Mesopotamian shithead, and I'd like you to stop making it so that I miss Wipeout when it's on my television.

Seriously. People bouncing off giant rotating arms and giant red rubber balls makes me happy.

So. Ridiculously. Happy. No purer joy have ever I known.

None. No.

So, my big ass came home, damn near exhausted. I napped for 22 minutes.

We wandered out for Trivia. We led much of the game, but lost when an argument over whether Dana Carvey was older than Drew Carey went the wrong direction. Morally, I feel I was correct. Drew Carey is a much older soul than Dana Carvey. However, chronologically, Dana Carvey was born three years before Drew Carey.

Or so the media would have you believe.

And then, in what I've called my favorite moment in weeks: I had to go to the Wal (hyphen) Mart for sundries. Entering the store, around 11:30 or so, I passed a man who was leaving the store, a spring in his step. In one hand, a 12-pack of Charmin toilet paper, the blue variety. In one fluid motion, he tossed the package up in the air, where it turned a couple of flips, and caught it, and tucked it under his other arm.

Spiffy.

Surely, Broadway is missing a star.

If all our lives depended on it, I would never be so slick.

Were I to try such a move, it would probably end with my having to explain to the insurance agents how I blew out both knees, an elbow And had to have 2 rolls of toilet paper pulled out of my poopchute.

Anyway. That guy would get a gold star, if I had them to give out.

Which I do not.

More the pity.

Monday Random....

2010-08-09T09:34:00.003-04:00

Just a couple random thoughts, as I wander through the morning, and look headlong at a 52 hour schedule where I'm gonna be working 33-35 hours of that stretch....

I've been writing, lately. That's important. I have a project. But, there's something more. Call it a fear of a career of working 60 hours a week, where there's not much time for much else. Call it a fear of not being able to take days off when I need them for the next 30 years. My lazy ass has been deluding myself about being a writer for the past dozen or more years. So, I've been setting a couple hours a day to write. And considering there are days where 2 hours, after work, commuting, and need to get at least five hours of sleep make anything else scarce.

I don't know if writing will be a way out of that situation, where my time doesn't feel like my time at all, but at the very least, I can take some solace in the process. When I'm writing, and it's going well, and especially when I have a finished product, there's a sense that I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing. The trick, I think, is to find somebody to pay me for my drivel. (The first person who says something about "monetizing the blog" gets punched in the throat, though. That's a rant for another day....)

I don't mean to turn it into a rant about work. Suffice it to say, time's short, and I'm a little tired of bullshitting myself about being a writer, being afraid of failure and all that shit. I may not be around the old blogamathing, as much, is all I'm saying. I'll still be around. It's just a thing where my other writing has to take priority.

But anyway, with a nod to Elisson and Sheila's road trip, here's what I listened to this morning, while I wrote:

1. "The Weary Kind (Theme from Crazy Heart)" Ryan Bingham
2. "Kyle's Mom is a Bitch" Eric Cartman
3. "Every Little Thing About You" The Mavericks
4. "The Boxer" Simon and Garfunkel
5. "Feb 14" Drive-By Truckers
6. "Worker's Song" Dropkick Murphys
7. "Good Times" Finger Eleven
8. "Maybe Tonight" Nicole Atkins
9. "The Man in Me" Rodney Crowell
10. "Paradise City" Guns & Roses
11. "Yes to Booty" Elizabeth Cook
12. "Stand by Me" John Lennon
13. "Startin' to Hate Country" the Asylum Street Spankers
14. "Heading for the Light" The Travelling Wilburys
15. "Hey Mr. Postman" Henry Phillips
16. "El Camino" Elizabeth Cook
17. "Lucky Ball & Chain" They Might Be Giants
18. "Love at First Feel" AC/DC
19. "Here Comes the Rain" The Mavericks

My Nephew...

2010-08-01T15:18:00.004-04:00

That's my nephew. He's a good boy.

He doesn't know any tricks, unless it's pulling his own hair (which puts him pretty much ahead of the curve--we Acuffs specialize in pulling our own hair out).

He tires of my antics pretty easily, and he either didn't get, or didn't approve of, my jokes about the Space Shuttle Challenger.

But he's pretty cool. He weathered the family discussion about the way the space-time continuum works in the Back to the Future movies well enough, and without getting himself involved in the fisticuffs. He even threw up a little, while he was here.

Consider yourself: at home....
Consider yourself: part of the family....

Your Weekly Big Stupid Tommy Update....

2010-08-01T12:33:00.003-04:00

Remember folks, it's not the heat, it's the stupidity.

Your old pal Tommy's wandered through another workaday week. After taking a poll of every dog I know, we may not necessarily be in the Dog Days of the Summer just yet, but judging from the smell after my folks' dog Max farting when I asked, it's close enough for government work.

As for Tommy? He's still speaking in the third person, when the mood strikes him, and he's settling into a routine in a new store. It's a good store, and he's not unhappy to be there. It's 10-15 minutes longer a drive, and it's having to be there earlier than he's accustomed, so there've been more than his share of 4:55 and 5:05 mornings. It's not a huge adjustment from the 5:20 he's used to waking, but it's a vital 15-25 minutes. As we all know, Tommy cannot afford to miss any beauty sleep, whatsoever.

An omen I am submitting for your consideration: There are apparently blackberry bushes somewhere nearby the store I am working near Loudon. And the birds apparently love both eating blackberries and using my truck for target practice. One particular drive home was made interesting by the five purple, seedy splotches on my windshield, which smeared rather than cleared when one of the now customary summer thundershowers rolled through during my drive home. I don't know if it seemed odd to see a man stopped at an Exxon station washing his windows with squeegee provided during a summer downpour. I just know it was what it was.

Anyway, I've found myself wandering through an all-too-rare weekend off. Caught a baseball game up in Kodak last night, in which the Cubs' Double A charges threw a whooping on the West Tennessee Diamond Jaxx. I just want the world to know that Robinson Chirinos has no place on the North Side, what with his patience at the plate and his ability to hit for different results based on the situation. That's just good fundamental baseball, and we all know the Cubs have no use for that.

And the Cubs? I don't know if I mentioned it hear, but if there was no official concession speech when the Cubs did not fire Lou Piniella when he announced his retirement, it was pretty much a white flag. That 17 run beatdown by the Rockies the other night passed irksome, almost to the point of amusement.

I'm sorry to see Ted Lilly go, inasmuch as I liked that he was a gamer, who seemed to get more out of his B-grade ability with his A-grade smarts. I was dubious when he came aboard as a Cub, but I grew to dig the dude. I didn't want to hang on to him forever, though, and I wish him well on a quest for a Championship.

(And there are not words for how happy I was to see TOOTBLAN Theriot, who got less out his B-grade ability using his D-grade smarts, go out to the west coast....)

I'm guardedly optimistic for the future. I'm retarded that way. It's called Big Stupid Tommy I like what I'm seeing out of Castro & Colvin, to this point, and having seen both Iowa and Tennessee this year, there's a gamer or two wandering around both Triple and Double A....

Also? I still root for Kerry Wood. But it was made difficult when he wandered into the pinstripes this weekend.

Anyway. Doing the family thing today. As I settle into a routine, maybe we'll see more Stupidity on the blogamathing...

Sick Request of the Week....

2010-07-25T21:25:00.002-04:00

So, I'm wandering around Ye Olde Facebooke, and the local news channel is talking about a pair of motorcycle accidents in Chattanooga. They requested, under the link, "This marks the second fatal motorcycle accident this weekend. If you were driving by and took pictures, send them to pix@wrcbtv.com."

Um. Do people drive by accidents and take pictures?

I guess they wouldn't ask if people didn't.

Plus, it kinda deflects the creepiness of the people who do take pictures, and then send them to the news stations unrequested.

Me? I'm a pansy. I don't get much out of accident scenes. I don't do the shielding of my eyes, but I don't look. It's not that I'm squeamish. It's just doesn't seem like there'd be much there for me.

But then, if you looked at the pictures on my phone, it's mostly my parents' dogs and creepy pictures of mascots at baseball games. So, who am I to judge?

Dear Universe,

2010-07-21T21:15:00.002-04:00

Dear Universe,

Hi. How are you? I'm fine.

Except for this shit where three times in the last two weeks, I've had to drive through a blinding rainstorm while I'm driving right toward a sunset.

That shit ceased being funny almost immediately.

Signed,

Big Stupid Tommy

Movement...

2010-07-18T09:07:00.004-04:00

As a rule, I don't talk about work. Literally. There's a policy. I've kicked and kicked and kicked around what I wanted to say here.

But, I don't think I'm out of bounds to say that I'll be starting a new store tomorrow. It wasn't my desire, and it's been something I've had to chew on for a handful of days. It had actually been my express desire not to move to this particular direction.

Long story made short, I live in Athens, but the bulk of my outside-of-work life is in the direction of Chattanooga. It was coming to the point where I was looking for places in that area to move.

I'll be working not very far from Knoxville, starting Monday. Grand total, it's about 60 miles in the other direction from the old workplace. It's a little farther drive (not much more than 5 miles more, all told). But, it puts me an hour and more from Cleveland, and an hour and a half from Chattanooga. It'll be an adjustment. There will be less hopping down to dinner with friends or family in Chattaboogie after working an 11 hour day, that's for sure.

I don't know if I'm out of bounds by saying it's been a frustrating process.

But, there it is. I'm frustrated. Information seemed hard to grab, this week. And that's frustrating. And should it come down to my getting in trouble for saying that out loud, then so be it.

And yeah, I get that some folks have ridiculous commutes, longer than this. It's not the commute that's bothering me. At all.

But, it's a new opportunity, and a change in scenery. Possibly a chance to move forward. Who knows? Let's just see if I can go up here and try not to work like a botard...

Ugly, Awkward Kitchens....

2010-07-16T22:10:00.004-04:00

My sister has herself an ugly, awkward kitchen.

She wants you to look at it.

If enough people agree, then she gets to have it remodeled.

http://worstkitchen.diynetwork.com/Collections.asp?id=4249

I think that if she gets it remodeled, she should leave the intercom system.

In fact, I would use some of that money to have it upgraded.

Perhaps you could have it wired to speak to other people's houses.

Maybe the White House.

President Obama would be eating his yogurt and banana, and my sister would say into her new $30,000 intercom system "I think today, we should bomb Belgium. Coriander be damned, wheat beers are bullshit."

Or maybe Mickey Rourke's house. I tend to think introducing a random voice into Mickey Rourke's world, telling him to alphabetize all the raisins in the world....well, that might be par for the course.

But you get my drift.

Anyway, watch the video. I've always wondered about the two sliding doors, myself.

Rate it 5.

My sister gets a new kitchen.

And she won't beat me senseless with that wall sconce.

Is that how you spell wall sconce?

It's how I spell it.

Chapter MMMCCCXCVIII: In which he reflects on the vacation that was....

2010-07-14T19:14:00.002-04:00

Well, after a few days away from ye olde salte mines, I get to wander back to the land of the worker bees tomorrow.

It's been a restful few days. I mentioned in a mobile post Sunday that I'd wandered to Iowa, but I neglected to mention that I hung out with some tremendous people, whose words have served to entertain and enlighten since I began reading other blogamathings. It's odd to put a face with a name I've read (and chatted with) for nearly seven years, but it's something that this shy kid from East Tennessee was pleased to have done.

Rob, who blogged for a while at Uncouth Sloth, and who still writes for Goat Riders, from time to time, is one of the first writers of Cubs blogs I started reading on any kind of regular basis. Rob's view of the Cubs was very similar to my own, and he and I began an off-and-on correspondence about the team that's lasted as long as any online friendship I've made. It was truly a pleasure to get to hang out with the man.

Troy, whose work I read originally at Gooseneck, and who blogs over at the Bigfoot Diaries, is a helluva guy whose blogs I've continually pointed out as closest in tone what I try to do here. Troy's also a Cubs fan, whose views on football and hockey are also of tremendous interest to me, and in whose relative backyard we wandered, as we got together in Des Moines, Iowa.

And Matt, who blogged for a time at Hawspipe, is another guy I've talked with in the past. It was very cool to get meet Matt, as well.

There had originally been plans to try to make it up to the Philadelphia area, and the Cleveland area, to meet bloggers up there, as well. Financing was one thing, and timing was another. I still want to get up that way to meet those fine folks, and catch a baseball game or two with them, as well.

A few other notes from the vacation:

I arrived mid-Friday afternoon. After parking, I wandered around downtown, and saw the lights for Principal Park off in the distance. One of my favorite bits about minor league baseball is how it fits into a community so much more easily than does Major League, anymore. The Iowa Cubs were part of that laidback atmosphere. I recommend the town on that basis alone.
The I-Cubs were 2-1 in the 3 games I attended. They split the surprise (for us) double header Friday, and won Saturday.
If you find yourself in Des Moines for a weekend, I highly recommend the Court Avenue Brewery, where we managed to find ourselves three times over the weekend (once, in part, because one drawback to the town was kitchens rolled up their sidewalks earlier than I'm used to). Try the Honest Lawyer IPA....
If I had a free afternoon, I think I could have a helluva time at El Bait Shop. Dozens of beers on tap, and many, many more bottled. We wandered in here after the Saturday night Iowa Cubs game (where Jeff Samardzija did all he could to hand the visiting New Orleans Zephyrs the game they'd been leading 4-0). We arrived roughly 10 minutes after the closing of the kitchen, which was disappointing. I coulda stayed in there for hours.
But, we were starving, which was something of a theme. Johnny's Hall of Fame similarly closed the kitchen on us Friday, which led us to finding a hot dog/gyro stand. I told that man he was my boy, because he had bratwurst. And truer words, I may never have spoken. Unlike the other eateries in question, he did not have a website, of which I am aware.
Rob has his thoughts on the weekend here, and Troy has his here. Pleasure to meet both gentlemen.
I drove through several major cities in my travels, though none stressed me out nearly as much as driving through my old Nashville haunts, oddly enough. A sudden, blinding rainstorm had much to do with that....
Speaking of blinding rainstorms, as my driving wound down for the night Thursday, I found myself staring directly at the sun as a heavy rain fell....Difficult driving....
Not much done on the home front since my return. I just wanted to take it easy. I got the odd urge to watch episodes I-III of Star Wars, mainly because I don't think I've seen them since episode III came out. Verdict, after not having seen for probably 5 years...I don't hate episode I, though Jar Jar, Midichlorians and Jake Lloyd are all insulting. Episode II is the real trash of the three first episodes. Episode III? Watchable. I kinda dig it, actually.
Wandered to Chattanooga today, where I took advantage of the 50% sale on Criterion movies at Barnes & Noble (Wages of Fear, and Rashomon). Also took in Predators, which I liked.

Anyway, I return to work tomorrow. There are changes coming at the workplace. Don't know how permanent they are, but we'll find out soon enough....

Iowa Blogging

2010-07-11T08:55:00.002-04:00

Just a brief post from the great state of Iowa...

Wandered out this way to meet up with some people I've been reading for years, and who've likewise been reading my stuff for a while.

It was originally supposed to be part of a bigger trip, which included stops in Philadelphia and Cleveland, but the fact that I cannot get across the country on my looks alone meant a pared down version for summer 2010. A drive to Iowa (surprisingly pleasant and traffic free) also gave a bit of time for some much needed identity-finding.

I like my job. But it can turn you into The Hammer if you let it, inasmuch as everything starts to look like a nail, even the stuff you do to unwind. It's unfortunate, and it's something I'd take suggestions on. Apparently running for 10 or 11 hours a day makes it hard to turn the "running" portion of your day off.

I say that to say this: I was oddly stressed before the trip, though even now I doubt I could place a finger on precisely why. I love a good road trip as much as the next Hope and Crosby.

The closest I can get is the time expenditure. I was wishing I'd gone ahead and flown.

But now, I'm digging the drive, and the eventual drive home. Like I said, time to think. Decompress. Get back in touch with the stuff I actually dig about myself: namely my charm and my ability to name United States Heavyweight Champions like nobody's business....

Of Penicillin and Silly Putty.

2010-07-07T14:17:00.002-04:00

This is how they discovered penicillin. And also Silly Putty.

Neither was the intended result of the efforts. Be it a specimin dish left untended for a night, or the chance combination of boric acid and a silicone oil. Both came into the world, unexpected.

It is much the same today.

Wandering into Target the other day, I picked up a bag of Key Lime Pie flavored trail mix. Pecans, graham cracker pieces and key-lime yogurt covered almonds, with pieces of white chocolate.

It's been bugger-all hot down here, lately. A brief respite of high 80's to low 90's for the weekend of the Fourth was sandwiched between runs of high 90's and triple digits. I'd eaten a handful of the trail mix mixture, and then left it in the hot truck when I went into watch a movie (The A-Team).

I returned to the truck after the movie (which I imagine is a portrayal of the world if everybody was a douchenozzle fratboy, though that's not a condemnation of the flick, which I liked once I got past that), I found my trail mix melted. When I got home, I took it inside to the relative cool of my counter, where I promptly forgot it.

This morning, I found an errant Target bag on the counter, looked in, and found my trail mix, now solidified into one mass.

The result?

Best snack ever.

Not the way I'd intended to enjoy it, but definitely among the best of outcomes, nonetheless.

Gracias, you big asshole star that's looking to damage my skin and brains with your ultra-violet radiation and your intense heat, for the best snack I've run across in ages.

Remiss....

2010-07-01T23:15:00.002-04:00

Two of my favorite reads, I would like to note, have new digs. I have neglected, until now, to note them in the side bar.

Leann wandered over here: Look! A Baby Wolf!

And Elisson went and got Lost on the Cheese Aisle....

You would do well to remember these...fine folks, both....

A brief lie.

2010-06-29T10:28:00.006-04:00

I've never mentioned this to you fine folks, but I have the ability to turn sound into a concussive form of light energy. Call it what you will: super power, mutant ability, foible that makes trips to the bathroom a roller coast ride every single fucking time--I've simply accepted it as my cross to bear.

Bear. Now that's an interesting turn of phrase. I was walking through my little town the other day, and I happened across a dumpster behind one of Athens' finer eateries (Arby's), and saw what I thought was my Dad rooting through the contents of that restaurant's detritus.

"Dad!" I said. "Get out of the dumpster!"

He ignored me.

"Dad!" I called again, hoping that I wouldn't be heard over the drive-thru call box. The last thing I wanted was the Arby's Ninjas to come vaulting from who-knows-where, fighting me and my Dad with their daggers and throwing stars, and perhaps carving us up to use as Beef n' Cheddars.

But still, I got no response. My father is well known for his love of rooting around in dumpsters.

I walked over to the big green box, and pulled what I thought was my Dad by his short, stubby tail, wishing all that while that he'd learn once and for all to put on a damn pair of pants when he's going to town. I wanted only to get his attention. Mom has lots and lots of fine foods for him to eat, few of which will give him intestinal parasites. I yanked the short stubby tail, to get him to quit rattling the foundations of our growing family by eating out of restaurant dumpsters.

I guess my skills as a storyteller fail me, because I'm guessing you've figured at this point that it wasn't my Dad digging around in the trashbin behind Arby's, and it wasn't my Dad whose tail I pulled to roust him from his revelry in a half-eaten Big Montana.

Nor was it actor Anthony Anderson, whom I've likewise stopped from scavenging through dumpsters around my town and had to fight on two separate occasions. It is a little known fact that Anthony Anderson holds the first and only Doctorate in Dumpster Diving. (I am awaiting the rubber match in our series, sir. I wait patiently at the landfill).

No, it was bear.

A bear, eating out of the dumpster behind Arby's.

A big, black, bear with sharp teeth, a bad attitude, and breath that smelled like two pieces of shit had fought to the death, and he'd eaten them both.

I've never fought a bear. The opening scenes to the third volume of Stephen King's Dark Tower series have put me ready for that sort of thing, or so I thought. I pulled my six-shooter from my side, and started to aim for his radar dish.

And I realized: this bear has no radar dish twirling on his head..

I wish there were more to tell.

No radar dish? Plan A thrown asunder, I found myself lacking a Plan B.

So, I crapped in my pants. Audibly.

I didn't mention that bit about my ability to turn sound into a concussive light blast just for shits and giggles, though this story involves both.

The sound of my crapping in my pants was loud enough to create a light blast, which managed to blast the bear into hamburger.

It did not make for good sandwiches. This, I am sorry to report.

I have no good way to close this narrative, except to apologize to the family of that bear, whom it turns out was actually Mike Ditka.

Exophagy

2010-06-27T13:42:00.004-04:00

On this particular Sunday, there was a sudden call: "Hey, want to get something to eat this morning?"

To which I replied "Oh hells, yes!!!!"

With four exclamation marks. Just like that.

Plans, dashed on the rocks on my drive, though. Sick kids.

You people with kids. I just dunno, sometimes.

Honestly. We survived millions of years. Won't they survive the sniffles long enough for me to get my biscuit and gravy on?

It's all good, though. Thankfully, those people at Hardee's know what the hell they're doing when it comes to all things biscuity.

So, I say all that to say all this: any trip to Knoxville is incomplete without a wandering through McKay's.

Did you know that?

I found a Legendary Shack Shakers CD. They're kinda new to me, but I dig 'em.

I also found a cheap copy of Germs, Guns & Steel, which is a book that has that sudden sychronicity of a new word in my life. It's been around a while, but suddenly everybody I know is reading it, or wanting to read it.

I say that it's like a new word. You know when you hear a new word. Let's say that new word is exophagy, which the internet describes as the practice, among cannibals, of not eating your own relatives (because you have to have boundaries).

Now, exophagy has always been a word (I mean, since we made words, I guess). But I learned it only recently, and I would be willing to be that the majority of you have just learned it, too.

Now watch! I bet suddenly, that word will pop up into the lexicon 300 times over the next week.

Now, did it just pop up? Or have you simply not noticed?

In this case, back to the point, I'm going to guess that I simply did not notice Germs, Guns and Steel. Which is fortunate for the book, since the folks who award the Pulitzer Prize very rarely ask me what I think.

Which is more the pity.

Anyway. Watching a little baseball. Braves and Tigers. I'm having a bit of a personal crisis with the Cubs, whose biggest claim to fame lately is a smackfight between a psycho I once thought of as my favorite pitcher in baseball, and a beloved teddy bear whose leadership philosophy seems to be speak softly, and carry a small stick.

I don't want to be one of those guys who screams get to get rid of management, but damn. I see a lazy team that doesn't seem to care that they lose, and is completely unable to adjust in any meaningful way.

The Cubs have had a handful of private meetings lately. The solution that's popping out on the media from the team? "Maybe Lou could hang the lineup earlier."

Really?

You're making more in one season playing a game, badly, than I'll make in my entire career of doing my job for 55 hours a week? And it pisses you off that you don't know when you'll be stepping up to the plate, or who you'll be batting behind?

I once again offer my services to any team in Major League Baseball. I will play for the league minimum (roughly 10 times my annual salary), and I will NEVER BITCH.

And I bitch a lot. Bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch.

But pay me more to work 8 months a year, fly me all over the world and play a game?

Yeah. Hang the lineup whenthehellever. Do not care. I'm getting paid.

Anyway.

I'd like to Cubs to look into the whole practice of exophagy. I still think this is a team with as much talent as anybody in the National League Central. Seems that they are too busy chewing on each other, though....

Notes from a Hill in the Woods....

2010-06-21T12:53:00.003-04:00

Just a few things that are on my mind, on the Summer Solstice....

I'm still looking for the milepost in this country we crossed, where lack of interest in an event equals disdain, and starting to doubt that there was one. It's something stashed deep in our DNA, somewhere in the same place where we choose Coke or Pepsi, Democrat or Republican, or to fight or flee.

I say that, to say this: My lack of interest in the World Cup is not that I do not understand, or do not like, necessarily, though when I express ignorance or lack of excitement, the response is largely disdainful. It's kinda like when somebody tells me a joke, or cracks wise, and I don't laugh, and the teller feels like they need to explain the humor in it....

Look, it's not my thing. It seems like it would be enough fun to be at in person...it's always cool to feel the energy of a crowd in that capacity. But, in general, it's just not my thing, and especially not on teevee (and especially not in a period of time where my free time's squashed to the time I wake up to the time I walk to my truck). There aren't a lot of reasons that I can or care to put a finger on, but then, there aren't a lot of reasons I don't like to eat okra, either. It's just a matter of taste.

If you dig it, cool. Aside from a poke at friends over watching somebody run seven miles to watch a game end a tie, there's not much bad I can say about the game. Multiple billion people can't be wrong. If it's your thing, then it's your thing. More power to you. I wish you well, and I hope you remember the sentiment the next time I say I'm going to watch baseball, or pro wrestling, or hockey, or Lost, or Head of the Class re-runs, or that series of commercials for Restasis with the redhead girl with the creepy eyes that I just can't seem to Not watch when it come on.

-----

Worked a hella-bunch last week. Such is life, working like a botard. Occasionally, I ponder a change in the blog name, and Working Like a Botard is something of a theme in my life...it's perpetually a candidate should I become too annoyed that people push too far with the belief that a blog name requests that I have everything explained to me, to the point of vomiting.

Anyway, I worked a lot last week, due to a co-worker's vacation. Unfortunately, it came on a week that I'd kinda earmarked and planned out. Chattanooga's Riverbend festival was last week. It's not a huge thing, but a couple acts had made their way to Chattaboogie, and I kinda wanted to go see. I've had an odd crush on Sheryl Crow for a few years now, and Allison Krauss was playing one Saturday night, and Charlie Daniels playing the closing night. Work and proximity to Chattanooga being what they are, I couldn't make it down for those shows, but I did head out with my friend Rachel to see George Clinton and Parliament-Funkadelic Thursday, thus filling in a box on a minor musical bucket list for yours, truly.

Got to see a local band, The Nim Nims, too. Good group. A bit heavy, southern enough and alty-enough without my having to think too hard about deciphering the lyrics. Right in my wheelhouse, actually....

Wandered to Mellow Mushroom for a beer pre-show. Was muchly chagrined to find that Rogue's Dead Guy Ale was no longer on tap. I haven't researched the phenomenon, but I'm thinking the economy's something to blame. You can't find a six-pack of the junk around here for less than $10 or $11, anymore. The barkeep said it's a distribution issue that's keeping them from stocking it on tap.

I did find it in bottles of Dead Guy at Hair of the Dog. Rachel & I wandered that way between the Nim Nims and P-Funk for a sandwich and a beer. I did a load of laundry this morning, and found the Dead Guy Ale label I pulled off the humidity induced sweaty bottle in the pocket of the shirt I wore that night....

As for the George Clinton show itself? Definitely worth the time and effort. It's not a show so much as a spectacle, and I can dig that very much. Rachel & I figured that much of Parliament-Funkadelic has managed to pickle themselves in drugs and alcohol. Though hearing George Clinton get up and down out of a recliner has to be a lot like throwing four sets of bagpipes down a garbage chute. He won't pass away so much as dry up like a raisin, and we will be able to reconstitute him in the future.

------

Cubs?

Shit. What are we? 70 games in? (69...a-her-her...). 31-38 this morning. Nobody in the Central is dominant. I wouldn't surprise me if the winner of the division ends up with 87-90 wins. Could it be the Cubs?

Not with this feast or damn famine group. Seems like they have a 12-run game once in a blue moon, and then struggle to score 12 runs combined over the next six games. The starting pitching is less consistent than it was early in the year, especially with Randy Wells shitting on the field more and more. And lately, I've seen tee-ball teams that field more fundamentally.

Let me go back to say this about Randy Wells: I don't know if he's tipping pitches or not, but if I had to bet, I'd say there's something to the argument. Still, I haven't had opportunity to see but a start or two this year, and even then, if I was the type who could decipher the tendencies of a major league pitcher, I'd like to think I wouldn't be putting 60 hours in retail management a week.

Is it weird to say that Wells reminds me of Tommy Glavine? Maybe it's all the junk he throws, and how the first inning seems to be a problem but (until recently) he found a way through it after he settles down. Glavine found a way through it to finish up with what will be a Hall of Fame career.

I dunno. At this point, I'm just curious to see if the Oakland start last week was an aberration.

That, or that 1.28 WHIP in 2009, up a quarter in 2010....

----

Wrasslin'? I honestly haven't watched much more than an episode or two of Monday Night Raw since Wrestlemania. Not having cable has most to do with that, but even when there's the opportunity, I haven't been keeping up. Nothing terribly interesting going on any of the three shows.

Still, when the NXT guys attacked John Cena a couple weeks ago, it made me pay attention. Hearing that much the same happened last night makes me curious if it'll be a story worth paying attention to. Given how pretty much every major story for a decade's not finished well (except maybe for Bret hitting Vince with a chair for 10 minutes at Wrestlemania, but I'm in the clear minority there), I'm pessimistic.

Still, I'm dogsitting, so I'll take advantage of a satellite connection to watch some Raw tonight.....

Quotable Craigyferg

2010-06-17T09:32:00.004-04:00

From Craig Ferguson's monologue. I liked it enough to have to write a few lines down....

"Now I know the President was trying to take the long view, but talking about solar energy in the middle of the oil spill...it's like watching your house being engulfed by flames and saying 'we really should change the curtains.'"

"At this point, it's not even an oil spill anymore. Spill is an accident that can be cleaned up. Calling this a spill is like calling World War II a tiff. It's not a spill, it's a fucking disaster, is what it is..."

"A few weeks ago [BP Chairman Tony] Heyward said, 'the environmental impact of the spill is likely to be very, very modest.' If by modest, you mean it's only destroyed one of the Solar System's eight planets, then yes, it's modest."

"Now listen, I'm not naive about large faceless corporations who destroy everything that's beautiful, I work here at CBS...but, BP even by the standards of Big Oil is evil. Listen, since 2007 the Government has fined BP 760 times for safety violoations. Exxon was only fined once. If Big Oil is a happy family, then BP is the creepy uncle nobody invites for Christmas. Let me put it another way. If the oil companies are a family, and that family is The Simpsons, then BP would be O.J. Simpson."

Lastly, and probably most importantly:

"Sometimes only a cuss word will do."

Thought from the Ass End of the Night, Second Stanza

2010-06-17T01:36:00.003-04:00

Hey, what's up?

Just a couple of small thoughts from Thursday morning, at 1:37 in the morning.

First: If you ever, ever get the idea that it would be a good (verging on great) idea to put pork chops on your head, and let gila monsters eat it for money (cash) on a Japanese game show, I need you to quickly figure just how much dandruff you have, and just how much the gila monster will treat it like the greatest treat out of Willie Wonka's Chocolate Factory.

Never agree to appear on a Japanese Game Show. Chris Farley tried to tell us. But you wouldn't listen,

You just wouldn't listen.

Even your voicemail.

What did I learn tonight? Coriander comes from Cilantro.

Always remember.

You're all buttholes.

8 Days?!?!?!?!

2010-06-14T20:04:00.002-04:00

It ain't that there ain't things to say.

It's that there ain't time to say them.

Work's been a booger. Again. Such is life.

Or is it?

Random thoughts, anecdotes?

I wandered out to my Aunt Charlotte's house Friday last. I haven't gotten to see much of the extended family in the last little while. Wandered out to their new home in Sweetwater. Got to eat one of the finer meals I've had in the past while, discussing books with my Aunt Annette. Most notable? I got to see my cousin Tim, who I don't believe I've seen in 13 years. Maybe not much more than one of those My How Time Flies moments.

He's joined the hordes of you folks with kids.

As has my sister. Got to go see my nephew again late last week. It's still a novelty for me to hold a baby. Thomas is the fourth baby I've held, in my life. Most of that's because I learned a long time ago that the most dangerous place in the universe is the empty space between a group of women and a newborn baby. I've learned to leave that particular No Man's Land (maybe the most literal of terms, at this point) to the womenfolk. But, enough folks in decent enough proximal kinship to me have started having kids that it's happened a few times (though the first time was accounted on the pages of this here blogamathing...funny that I can count stretches in my life as pre-blogamathing and post-blogamathing).

Anyway, we've established that tomorrow, at 2:50, or so, my nephew will be 500 hours old.

That should warrant some manner of party.

But seeing as how he doesn't do much more than try to raise his head, a little, cry and shit, he probably won't need me to break out the keg or the funnel cake machine any time soon.

I called my sister today, to see how the tiny man was doing. "Gassy," came her reply. She was holding him as we spoke, and was going to put him down on his belly, because he seemed to fart better that way.

Just like his daddy.

------

Not much else on my mind.

Watching the Cubs and their three-quarters decent pitching and their less-than-anemic offense is feeling a bit like a fool's errand, to be honest. And while the eternal optimist (I have been doing this for 27 seasons, now) wants to take heart in the stat that they had this same record in 2007 at this point in the season, and won the division. Still, the realist in my heart (I have been doing this for 27 seasons, after all) is frustrated with what a fool's errand it feels like, sometimes.

I dunno. It's a long season. And nobody else in the Central is dominant. I still need things to curse about in September.

It's like finding money....

2010-06-06T12:15:00.004-04:00

A couple evenings ago, I wandered out to my folks' house. I'd gotten off a whole six minutes early for work, and hadn't come over to say hello to them in more than a while. I got out to the house as they were making a pizza to bake.

We ate pizza, talked about our weeks, made plans to take over the world. You know: suppertime conversation.

Later in the evening, I happened to look down at their pug, Maximus. He'd finished eating his own supper, and had gone outside for his evening constitutional. Returning to his bed, he found a treat. Apparently, Dad had been sharing the pepperoni with the dogs. Max, whose eyes are bad and whose memory is worse, had missed and forgotten the treat.

As Max was preparing his bedding, he found the errant pepperoni.

I tend to think it was the canine equivalent of finding a dollar in a pair of pants, or an old coat.

Max spent the next couple of minutes smelling his bed. Likely, it was simply the residual scent of the snack meat. I like to think that inside his doggie-imagination, his bed had sprouted meat, and he was wishing that it would do it again.