Saturday, May 31, 2008

Bravo Sierra?

Bravo Sierra?

Granted, I have just a nodding acquaintance with MMA...I'm not going to say that the Kimbo Slice fight tonight was complete bullshit. I'm just going to say that Slice got a few more seconds of non-response in the second round than would a few other, lesser known fighters....

Helps to be the focus of a minor media machine and the biggest star of promotion trying to make its name with its first prime time network show on the same night a title fight ended most unsatisfactorily. Just sayin'.

That cauliflower ear was fugly, though. I'da punched at it too. Out of fear.

Thursday, May 29, 2008



Harvey Korman has passed away.

Dude was classic.

This one's a good one...

I like this one, too.

Conway and Korman. One of the great duos. Don't know if they get the credit they deserve.

Later Edit: Wanted to post more, but youtube searches went wonky for me.

Bill hit the nail on the head. Harvey may never have been better than in Blazing Saddles....

Wednesday, May 28, 2008



Wandering through Fark as I watch the Cubs...saw the headline that a Pittsburgh area sports personality was removed from the air for commenting that Ted Kennedy should live long enough to be assassinated...

Sometimes my personal tendency toward schadenfreude surprises me. "I hope it's Mark Madden," I said...


See, Madden was a wrestling guy, too. Still is, I guess, though I don't wander the dirt sheets like I once did. Even had a spot in the WCW announce crew for a while (a spot that led to Ernest "The Cat" Miller's finest moment, when he stopped Nitro for a very important announcement: 'Mark Madden...I hate your fat ass....'). My dislike for the guy stems mostly from the same place my dislike for Sean Salisbury, Chris Berman or Stephen A. Smith.

The guy's an obnoxious, ignorant prick who has his place largely because the person who yells the loudest in this world is believed to have the most passion.

Yours truly, believes that if Madden has a passion for anything, it's yelling, and not sports.

(My own status as a big fat guy keeps me from saying he's got a passion for Pan Pizzas.)

(Damn, Pan Pizzas are good).

Dear ESPN....

Dear ESPN...

Look...I work like 439 hours a week. WGN shows something like 3 1/2 Cubs games anymore. When the Cubbies show upon on national TeeVee on a night I have off, I like to watch.

Even if it's on your sludgy little sports conglomerate.

It's not that I don't care about Manny Ramirez's 500th home run.

But, with all the bells and whistles we have at our disposal, many of which you've utilzed tonight....can we not get some kind of dual picture going, where I can at least track the Cubs as they wander late into the night in extras with the Dodgers?

Pissing and moaning because my world ain't perfect,


Today's Funny

Today's Funny

"Real Life" is getting in the way of quality blog time, here lately. Real content is forthcoming. At least, as real a quality as it ever gets around here. Fair to middlin' know.

Anyway. Go here. Laugh.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

I needed this....

I needed this....

Not a bad day, truth be told. Just a lot of junk going on. I dug the hell out of this. Don't watch it at work, you big dopes, unless you work someplace cool.

Friday, May 23, 2008

Friday Random 10

Friday Random 10

Who schedules a meeting the Friday before Memorial Day?

I've heard Stalin did it. Bloody Commie.

Anyway, I walked tonight. Trying to work off some of the irritation.

Elisson does a pretty regular bit over on his site. A small thing, but it's one of those blogamathings that I check out every week...just a random listing of what he's listening to. So, without ado, the random 10 that graced my earbuds as I wandered around this evening:

1.) For Boston Dropkick Murphys
2.) The Battle of New Orleans Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
3.) London Calling The Clash
4.) Nothin's Gonna Stand In Our Way Spectre General
5.) Radio Ga Ga Queen
6.) Living Well is the Best Revenge R.E.M.
7.) Runaway Del Shannon
8.) Someone Should Tell Her The Mavericks
9.) Space Monkey Patti Smith Group
10.) Radio Song R.E.M.

Thursday, May 22, 2008



Dear George,

Stop. Just stop.

And leave Steven alone. You're a bad influence on him.

Warmest Regards,


Flem Snopes and the Irony of Southern Justice

Flem Snopes and the Irony of Southern Justice

'twere a quiet day in Yoknapatawpha...

Your old pal Tommy's tireder than shit. Closed the store Tuesday night. Wandered in at 7:15 Wednesday morning. All in hopes of eating calzone, drinking a beer and seeing Shooter Jennings in concert.

Maybe not the best way to start a middle of the night post, since he did get to do all those things. But not before Wearing his ass out for 11 hours. Again.

And the irritating part? He feels like he spent most of it stopping and starting...ultimately accomplishing 20 minutes of work in 11 hours.

You know, if I'd spent any part of it sitting on my ass, there'd be an explanation for all that was left undone. But I spent it running like a madman.

Spending a little time trying to figure out if there is a scheduling problem, or if I just need to admit to myself that I'm a slowass sumbitch who needs to pick the pace up a touch.

Anyway. Saw Shooter Jennings tonight. Rockin....Loud. Haven't come home with my ears ringing in a little while. So, got that going for me. Shooter's been a favorite act for a while. Good to see him live...he ran a couple hours on his set, give or take.

If you have the opportunity...I recommend it.

Also, my sister used my shirt to cough into...the wet, tuberculitic cough more of a man whose spent 20 years sleeping out in the wilderness than a 27 year old woman.

Damn that was funny.

Maybe you had to be there.

Monday, May 19, 2008



Doing some rearranging. Wanting to get back into the habit of writing, once again. Making myself a more quiet workspace...i.e., one where all the shiny playpretties in my life won't distract me.

Doing so requires some rearrangement. Bookshelves, desks...they move.

Why do I have so many books?

Jesus. I feel a minimalist phase coming on....

In which I want to assassinate ESPN

In which I want to assassinate ESPN

Dear ESPN,

I do not watch baseball to watch announcers Steve "Horrible Failure of a GM" Phillips or Orel "alright pitcher, horrible announcer" Hershiser. I watch it a.) because I like the game of baseball, and b.) I care particularly about the Chicago Cubs, and would like to take advantage of an evening off to actually see a game in its entirety (possibly my first such game since I was on vacation a friggin' month ago).

I have been a baseball fan for 26 years now.

As galling as that number is, I say that to say this: This technical discussion about how tightly to hold a baseball in the bottom of the fifth inning of the Cubs/Astros game is neither enlightening nor interesting.

Please cater to the fans who actually care about the progress of the game, and quit pandering to the short-attention-span theater that the media has created, yet feels the need to pander to.

Baseball's done fine for 130 years without you working to make it more interesting.

Also, I do not like the punny title of Orel Hershiser's segment here: "The Orel Report."

I hate puns.

It's not all bad, though. Thank you for not having Joe Morgan broadcast this game. I would rather have syphilis rubbed into my eyes, ears and mucus membranes than listen to that big stupid bag of ignorant ego call the game.

Joe Morgan and Puns are right around the same level of "despicable" in my book.

So, kudos on that, having no Joe Morgan on my TeeVee.

Anyway, thank you ESPN. I will leave some Little Debbies and milk by the chimney, and some carrots for your reindeer.


Addendum: Jerry notes that I should just hit the mute button. It's a well intended jab at your big stupid pal, but it won't work. ESPN, instead of showing actual game, opts to focus their cameras on Thorne, Phillip and Hershiser until something of import happens. Unfortunately, the producers of ESPN move a little slower than the speed of Life. We saw at least one out and maybe two on a replay, because Hershiser was too busy pontificating on the fine points of how little leaguers shouldn't be throwing breaking pitches that early in their development....

Saturday, May 17, 2008



Does it do anything for you if I tell you that I've liked everything M. Night Shyamalan has done?

Moviewise, anyway.

Even the Village?

Even the Village.

Deeply flawed, yes. A lot of his work. But I likey nonetheless.

You like deeply flawed stuff, too.

Have you taken a good long look at your family?

Yeah. You feel me.

Anyway, I dig the optimism.

Can you say that about your family?

I thought not.

Anyway. Here's a link to a very violent, red banded trailer for The Happening.

Yeah. I'll be there.

Even despite the couple of early reviews that call it an amazing shitpile.

I've liked amazing shitpiles before.

Somehow, we keep coming back to the subject of your family.

There is no stopping me.

Friday, May 16, 2008

Haw Haw Haw

Haw Haw Haw

more cat pictures

Gracias to Newscoma, who graciously gave the menfolks this as an option instead of reading about menopause....

Personal Minor Psychoses

Personal Minor Psychoses

I point to Emily's Friday Fuckoff thread as my bit of inspiration for my blogamathing tonight. In today's edition, commentor Julie issues the following fuckoff:

People who leave 5 car lengths in front of them in heavy traffic can FOAD.
OK, if everyone's going 70, it would'nt hurt to use the "3-second rule". But if everyone is going THIRTY on the freeway at (big hint here) RUSH HOUR, the 3-second rule does NOT apply, buddy! If you leave that much space between you and the car in front of you, Everyone And His Brother (Except ME) will zooooom to get in front of you. Why not ME? Because I'm stuck BEHIND YOU, you idiot, and No One In Their Right Mind is going to let me into the next lane so I can zooom by you too!
So do us all a favor and keep a REASONABLE distance, OK, Mister I'm Too Stupid For My Prius?

I'll say first...yeah, that's one of life's moments. Seeing how close to the precipice of madness rush hour traffic will get you...especially when you seem to get behind the bastard too stupid or cowardly to deal with driving in this modern world. I'll admit to a Dr. Jeckyl/Mr. Hyde transformation in Atlanta the last time I went, smartly right in the middle of afternoon rush. The catalyst was finding myself behind a BMW who couldn't bring themselves to go even the speed limit. The rest of the vehicular world is whirring by, a blur of modern mechanical marvels. In the space of 30 seconds, I'm frothing at the mouth and cussing the smartass on the radio station who decides to to play "I Can't Drive 55..."

You're driving a fine automobile, that can surely keep with the ebb and flow of traffic. Please follow the pace of traffic. My sanity is hanging by bubblegum and baling wire...

So, yeah. I agree.

Brings to mind two minor psychoses of mine, with a corollary to a third:

1.) I'm a little ill-at-ease with the number of people who can't seem to get a handle on how to properly enter traffic on the interstate. That on-ramp? That's a long, straight stretch of road generally, and it's intended that you use that stretch to get up somewhere near the speed of traffic on the interstate. Now, I grant you, maybe you won't get all the way there, but if you're withing spitting distance, we're going to give you the benefit of the doubt. Once you're on the interstate, it's much easier to get up to 70 or so when you're already doing 60, instead of 35....

Keep that in mind as we're both cursing each other on the interstate. I get it. You're cussing me for suddenly being on your ass coming up the on-ramp. I'm cussing you for jogging your car onto the interstate highway system.

General Eisenhower would be so ashamed.

2.) This is perhaps more closely related to the complaint listed above....

Ever get in line behind somebody who won't move forward with the progress of the line? I realize that this is me at my most George Costanza, but I was in the bank the other day. There was one teller open, and the line was four people deep. I was person number four in line.

Person number three, a gentleman wearing protective glasses and the uniform of a person working on an assembly line, is there to deposit a paycheck.

Person number one in line finishes his business. Person number two steps forward to the teller window to begin theirs.

Person number three, he of the coveralls and protective glasses, does not move forward.

I found this out after beginning my step forward, and having to pull a Kramer to keep from knocking into the guy.

Sir, did you fight for that square of tiles you're standing on in the war? Is there a reason you have not stepped forward? Can I go around?

I'm not asking you to be up inside the asshole of the person in front of you, indeed, that's a psychosis of an entirely different species. I'm all about the 18 inch personal space boundary. Not asking you to violate hers or mine. I'm just asking you to step forward as well. You know. Give us some indication that you've joined us in the forward progress of humanity?

Or, at least, turn around and give a word. Maybe a thumb and a whisper "Customer Number Two Smells Like She Shit In Her Pants, So I'm Going To Stand Right Here So As Not To Have The Smell Rub Off On Me." I like to think you'd finish that statement with a wink, and a snap of the fingers that turns into a point.

Just sayin....

2a). This is a corollary to the previous complaint. Ever get in line at the checkout behind a person at the grocery or department store, at a place where items are placed on a conveyor belt? And that person, instead of placing their goods on the empty conveyor belt, is holding their goods on the end of the belt, so that their goods will not go forward?

Generally, these folks are waiting for the person in front of them to finish their transaction. And I assume that the person holding their goods is afraid that their purchases (Little Debbies, Sparkplugs and 80 pounds of puppy chow) will not mix with the order in front of them.

The premise is fine as frog hair with me. But I want to explain technology to them...that there is an electronic eye the front of the belt that will cause the belt to stop when it breaches the eye's field of vision. And even in today's world, most checkers can figure out where one order stops, and another starts. Especially if the gap between them is roughly the same space as that given the Iditarod.

This is a minor complaint. But this is something that befuddles me at the checkout line, especially since the Weekly World News stopped publishing, and I have nothing to occupy my mind while buying my Little Debbies, sparkplugs and 80 pounds of puppy chow....

General Eisenhower would be so ashamed.

In which there is slight embarrassment....

In which there is slight embarassment...

I made a reference to this song the other day. The person to whom I made the reference (aged some 19 years on this Earth), had no idea what I was talking about.

I searched it out on the interweb this evening.


Sometimes, I hate working with teenagers.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Dead Body Stew...

Dead Body Stew....

That little witticism above is the best I can accomplish tonight. Worked something like 24 out of 32 hours. Ready for a muchly deserved couple of days off. My brain, which isn't much more in the makeup department than oatmeal and fish oil anyway, is pretty much fried.

I found this story over on Fark (which I love better than pancakes). In it, we are told of an avenue of body disposition, which involves dissolving a body in a lye solution, inside what is essentially a pressure cooker. When all is said and done, the remains slurp down a drain.

Is it dignified enough? That's the question at hand, I think. I may not be the best to answer that--I had a 10 minute conversation on Crop Dusting (the act...dare I say art...of farting in the midst of a crowd and walking away) I have to say that it gave me pause.

Burial is traditional enough. There's something kinda Viking about cremation. There's even something oddly noble, in a latter-day kind of way about donating your body to science. But as much as I think of it as an empty vessel after you die, there's still something rather unsatisfying about having your final remains turned into a bubbling goop to be flushed down the commode.

Which begs this question: In this day and age, where we are ramrodded with info about prescription medications showing up in trace amounts in our water supplies, is this something you want to contend with as well? It's one thing to get a free ticket on the emotional roller coaster via 20 years of flushed Prozac with your nice cold glass of tap water. It's another to wander headlong into the world of casual cannibalism by drinking little bits of somebody's Aunt Edna, which were dissolved in a lye solution a couple weeks before.

Outside of that, there is a valid point to the whole David Cross train of thought...I'll be dead. At the end of the day, tear my head off and use it for a bong, if you so desire. I do not care what you do with my body.

Well, that's not actually true. If I had my druthers, I'd prefer to be stuffed, mounted and bronzed, and left to scowl angrily at passing motorists as they enter into the town of Athens, Tennessee, perhaps heading southbound on Highway 11.

But, failing that, melt me down. Perhaps my remains could be useful in some other manner. Fertilizer? Fuel, perhaps. Maybe the remains could be mixed with wax, and a kickass Lava Lamp could be made from me?

Yeah. That might be cool.

And while I'm not too keen on the crockpot treatment after I die, I realize that there are probably civil ordinances against my bronzed remains being used as a tourist deterrant. I guess there's a happy medium out there somewhere. We're zeroing in....

Monday, May 12, 2008



It's not much, but I've gotten 11 search hits eminating from France this morning, all specifically searching "Big Stupid Tommy." And while I work constantly under the belief that I am right on the verge of international superstardom, I gotta wonder why the blip of an upswing in readership from the south of France.

My current working theory is that something I wrote hit a chord, and now my blog's being passed around like a note, some kind of underground movement in some school in France.

I gotta think it's my stance on Stegosaurs.

Will this episode end with my being abducted to France, to lead them to victory over some manner of deviltry (have they surrendered to cheese yet?). It will be very much a movie in the vein of Galaxy Quest.

And that movie will star Jonah Hill. If he can grow a beard.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Storm Meme...

Storm Meme...

It's a stormy night down in this part of East TN. Lightning that blinds. Thunder that deafens. Quarter-sized hail that makes your friendly neighborhood Tommy run screaming like a little girl for safety....

Kinda wired. After that insomnia shit, ended up sleeping around 12 hours today....

To see if I can get myself less awake...

A meme, seen at Sheila's...


I have two scars on my left knee. One came when I was seven, and nearly crashed my bike into the basketball goal. No head trauma, but a scar that's lasted 24 years yet.

The second came from my trying to fault my hefty ass over a barbed-wire fence. I nearly made it...nearly...


The movie posters for Clerks 2, Walk the Line, the Day the Earth Stood Still and UHF.

3. DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME YOU WERE BORN? 4:30 in the afternoon. T'were a Sunday.


I'd like the power to stop going on and off. Since 9:45, it's gone off three times.


That feeling you got when you were in grade school, and you woke up and it was Saturday. There's something like that when I wake up and I'm on vacation...but somehow, it's not the same...


It is a letter. Sent to me in college by one of my best friends, through campus mail. It was one of the kindest things anybody ever said to me, what she said in there. I knew that at the time. There was more in there, that I did not catch at the time. Or did not allow myself to believe. I keep in as a reminder that there is often much more being said between the lines. I keep it as a reminder not to judge too quickly, and most of all, to think before I speak.


8. DO YOU GET SCARED IN THE DAY? Um...what? Is Al Roker heading my way? If he is, you better tell me.

9. WHAT’S YOUR WORST FEAR? I've got a weird betrayal concern...


11. WHAT ABOUT EYE COLOR? I like dark eyes.


13. FAVORITE PIZZA TOPPING? Italian Sausage.

14. IF YOU COULD EAT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE? I'd like a calzone with sweet Italian Sausage, olives, onions and enough cheese to constipate the Kentucky Derby.


16. HAVE YOU EVER EATEN A GOLDFISH? No, but not by choice.


I'd say life was pretty meaningful. Up to this point.


19. FAVORITE CLOTHING BRAND? Being a gentleman of large and lofty proportions, I kinda dig the St. John's Bay stuff. They do big and tall stuff that doesn't leave you looking like a total fucktard. I can handle that on my own.



Um...this question confuses me.


23. YOUR WEAKNESSES? I'm gonna say "Cleavage."

24. MET ANYONE FAMOUS? I've had a few brushes with greatness.

a.) Alex Trebek chided me, while I was trying out for Jeopardy's Teen Tournament, for asking "Do you make fun of the really dorky contestants?" (His answer "No, I would never...")
b.) I shared an elevator with two-sport semistar Brian Jordan.
c.) My favorite: Got to have a five or ten minute conversation about writing with Harlan Ellison. He coulda told me to fuck off, and I half expected him to. But he didn't, and it's one of my favorite life moments...

25. FIRST JOB? Spy for the Yakuza.

Or Bagger at a grocery. Don't remember which came first.

26. EVER DONE A PRANK CALL? Today, even.


28. WHAT WERE YOU DOING BEFORE YOU FILLED THIS OUT? Laughing at what Sheila listed as her weakness.


30. WHAT DO YOU GET COMPLIMENTED ABOUT MOST? I've had roughly 3.1 million people say I'm a super nice guy. Which is cool, except for that whole Leo Durocher thing that sticks out in my mind whenever I feel like a good-natured doormat....


32. HOW MANY KIDS DO YOU WANT? What, permanently? Or will they leave after mowing my yard and cleaning the house?

33. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? My first name is my father's, and my middle name is his father's....


I typed the words "little tits" and laughed at my singular wit. But the honest answer is an inability to laugh combined with a tendency to look down on somebody who does laugh easily....

35. WHAT IS ONE THING YOU MISS ABOUT GRADE SCHOOL? That Saturdays off thing was pretty sweet, but I'm going to steal Sheila's answer, and say recess.


It's called Sebulex. It's for flaky skinned motherfuckers.

37. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? As opposed to what?

38. ANY BAD HABITS? I eat like shit. I can't seem to pick up my laundry. I procrastinate. But my most horrible personality trait is my motherfucking inability to put the remote freaking control down where it's supposed to go.

Why is it on the tank behind the toilet?


Not really. There are moments. Always are, I guess. But not for the most part.

40. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? I'm an alright guy...except that part where I gotta be right all the time...


42. HOW DO YOU RELEASE ANGER? I've found that the very worst way is to hold everything in until you explode at the worst possible moment, alienating friends, co-workers and potential job opportunities. However, I have not yet come up with another alternative.

Actually, if something's eating at me, I'll walk it off.

43. WHAT’S YOUR MAIN GOAL IN LIFE? I would like to make Voltron a reality.

44. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE TOY AS A CHILD? Today, I guess I'll say a baseball and a bat.

45. HOW MANY NUMBERS ARE IN YOUR CELL PHONE? I'd say 50 or so. My cell's my only phone.


The only Barney that truly matters is Barney Fife.

47. MASHED POTATOES OR MACARONI AND CHEESE? Macaroni and Cheese. Beeyotch.

48. DO YOU HAVE ALL YOUR FINGERS AND TOES? Is this something I need to check regularly?



50. PLANS FOR TONIGHT? Sleep soon.

51. WHAT’S THE FASTEST YOU’VE EVER GONE IN A CAR? 135. My cousin Andy was driving.

52. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO? Snakes on a Plane is on HBO. We haven't quite gotten to Samuel L. Jackson yelling, just yet.

53. LAST THING YOU DRANK? My last Rogue Dead Guy....


Neither. I'm a fairly conservative fellow, I reckon, but am a bigger advocate of everybody staying off of everybody else's back, whether it be social or fiscal. Neither party's been real good at that, in my lifetime, anyways.......


I'm good most days. My low moments tend to be embarassing ones. A better answer might be what I put down for #6.


I just started The Terror by Dan Simmons, and I'm blowing through the Shawn Michaels autobiography (call it a guilty pleasure...)

Thursday, May 08, 2008

Here's a Link For You

Here's a Link For You

I posted this link four years ago. And while it's amazing I've stayed with this stupid little hobby for this long, I'll say that the link's still good. That's a victory in and of itself. And it's just as captivating in these hardened, cynical years as it was in those pastoral days of 2004.

Thoughts from the Ass End of the Night: Another Insomnia Post

Thoughts from the Ass End of the Night: Another Insomnia Post

Been a while since I've found myself staring at a computer screen at 4 in the morning. Been sleeping alright. One of those things you end up taking for granted.

I'm an occasional insomniac. I'm the type that'll wake up in the middle of the night, and not be able to go back to sleep. I've read and heard that it's related to anxiety, and given my free-floating hostility post from last night, I'd be hard pressed to disagree.

Irritation is related to anxiety, right?

But, my intent here is not to rehash what has been amply hashed. It's simply a way to occupy my mind.

Like I said, it's not a regular thing, this insomnia of mine. It comes and goes. Here lately, I've been sleeping alright. Actually, I don't believe I've done an insomnia post in 2008, and considering we're a third of the way through the year, I'll take that as a moral victory.

I say taking sleep for granted. It's a weird thing. It's been about a year since I've had a serious bout of insomnia. My most serious bout. About this time last year, a lot of shit was piling up on me. Work was more than rough. I was having personal issues with women, with friends. I wasn't writing. Had a few minor problems, but they were mounting up.

The insomnia started in February, of last year. A couple or three nights a week, I'd wake up three or four hours after settling in for the night, and be completely unable to fall to sleep. The crazy thing was this: Instead of my mind wandering over the issues I was dealing with in real life, I found myself dwelling on inconsequential episode of Lost, or later in the spring, the Cubs' miserable start last season.

By March, it was happening more than a couple or three times a week. By the middle of March, I was pretty much operating on 3 hours of sleep a night at least five nights a week. What's the saying? Denial isn't just a river in northwestern Alabama? As miserable as I was, with life, the universe and everything, adding to it was the fact that I wasn't sleeping. I was operating most of last spring an over-tired, over-stressed zombie.

I dunno. The insomnia thing is weird. After a point, I began to accept it. There's your normal frustration, where you wake up at 3:09 and know that the alarm is going to go off in two hours, fifty-one minutes. But after six or eight weeks of it, I'd wake up, vaguely wonder if I was going to fall back to sleep, and end up lying there for three hours. And just take it as a point of fact. By April, I was getting more than six hours of sleep just once a week.

That was part of the problem, looking back. The lying there, waiting to go back to sleep. My normal M.O., if I've got an insomnia night, is to try to sleep for about a half-hour. But if it isn't coming, I find something to occupy my stomach, and occupy my mind.

The stomach thing? Something light. Maybe a piece of toast, and a glass of milk. One of those microwave cups of Tomato Soup...something I've come to swear by, by the way. I guess the theory is twofold. One, if the stomach's growling, then you KNOW I'm not going to sleep. And B.) if I have something on my stomach, my body will send a little blood that way to deal with digestion, and take it away from my brain, which seems to want to work overtime fretting about the Chicago Cubs....

The mind? Well, I'll make an inane little blog post, or I'll read.....tonight was about a hundred pages of the Shawn Michaels autobiography I found at the Goodwill store the other day...

And of course, writing an overlong epistle on lack of sleep.

I've digressed a little....

Last spring, I'd toss and turn, remove or add pieces of clothing. Mostly, I'd lie there stewing in my own juices, not helping myself by any stretch of the imagination.

That stretch lasted between three and four months, but there's no defining stop and start point. It ended as quietly as it started. I started sleeping six and seven hours again more nights a week, until I was sleeping normally most nights a week.

Looking back at that time, I wish I'd had the presence of mind to actually go to look for a little help. See my doctor. Maybe found a way to sort out the various stresses I was going through at the time.

But as much as I am taking my sleep for granted now, I was just taking the insomnia as a course of nature then. And maybe it was. But looking back, it wasn't a good time in my life. I was probably sorting through a depression of sorts, and I'd have made it easier on myself even if I'd gotten some kind of sleep medication....

I promised myself to pay a little more attention in the future. Not seeking help was dumb, in retrospect. I was stressed already--working 60-70 hours a week. I had personal issues that weren't sorting themselves out. The stress was making me lose sleep. And losing sleep was causing even more stress. It was an odd spiral, and it's not one I want to repeat.

I say, thankfully, that problems since then have been few and far between. This is the first incident I can remember in a while. There are irritations in life, but they're not nearly as bad as last spring. Once in a while, that's an aberration, rather than the fact.

However, if I'm writing anymore insomnia posts in the next while, somebody send a van by Casa de Big Stupid Tommy to drive me to the Nut Hut for a little while, okey dokey?

Because I like Indians.

Anyway, since I had to get up at 5:30, and I figured I'd probably feel worse if I fell asleep for 45 minutes, I got up. Wrote this post. Problem is, since I've unpacked my troubles on you, all seven of you, I feel a little sleepy.

Well, I think I can live on coffee for one day. And I'm off Friday, so I can sleep the day away, if'n I have to....

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

Dorktivity: Best of this decade?

Best of this decade?

This was a topic of discussion today, and I'd like to hear a few more comments from my sevens of readers.

If you had to make a top 5 or a top 10 list for Best movies of the current decade, what would be there?

For arguments sake, let's say anything from 2000 to the present day. Gives you 8 and a half years to play with.

My top 10 (keeping in mind I'll probably think of something, or get reminded of something later, and have to add it in....):

1. No Country For Old Men
2. Pan's Labyrinth
3. Fellowship of the Ring
4. Memento
5. Amelie
6. Kill Bill
7. The Departed
8. The Incredibles
9. Batman Begins
10. Unbreakable

A few comments: No Country for Old Men has crept its way toward the top of my favorite movies.

Pan's Labyrinth is just a great, creepy, beautiful movie.

My list seems to be populated by superhero movies.

Amelie just makes me feel like life's okay.

I counted both Kill Bill's as one movie, since I tend to re-watch them both in one sitting.

Unbreakable? There's just a theme there that I really dig.

Return of the King and Two Towers are both high up on my list, but just missed the cut in my little dorktivity.

Curious as to your thoughts, muchachos and muchachas...

A little Free Floating Hostility

A Little Free Floating Hostility

More than anything, I guess it's to vent my spleen. There's not gonna be a lot of structure to this post...just got a trillion and a quarter things pissing me off (and it's a couple days yet to go before Fuck Off Friday....)....just trying to get a couple out of my head before they give me cancer of the somewhere really painful....
  • Getting written up at work. I won't go into too many details, because it's boring as hell. But it pisses me off. Pissed at myself, because I know better. Pissed at the job, because what I got written up for is what I think of as "The Minor Cause of The Week Made Major," and I feel like I happened to be on the slot on the roulette wheel that landed in the wrong place at the wrong time.
  • I work with children. Have I mentioned that? Not literally. That would almost be more gratifying, because children occasionally make advances in ability and character. No...I work with a lot of spiteful people in positions that don't do a lot for them spiritually or intellectually. And instead of using that free mental time toward something constructive, they instead project their own frustrations onto those they work with. It's like some latter-day form of vampirism.
  • This gasoline shit is wearing me out. Finding somebody to lay this blame on, is wearing me out. Comes down to I'm either gonna have to move, or find cheaper transportation if it goes too much higher. Fuck those gas people for actually making me utter the words "$3.35 for gas? Damn that's a great price!" If I wanted to sound like a retard, I'd wear a nametag that says "Hi, I'm Sean Salisbury."
  • The guy who flipped me the bird for no reason I could ascertain at the stoplight near 25th street the other day. It was a 3-second, sustained bird with a nod from the bird-flipper for emphasis. Sorry. I'm not so great at sign language. Perhaps if you could help a brother out. Maybe a sign: "You nearly ran me into that ravine while you were picking your nose, talking on the phone and singing along with the Dropkick Murphys."
  • Myself, for not thinking quickly enough to respond to said bird with anything more than gawping surprise. And while it crossed my mind that the man in the Nissan Maxima might have been my "End-of-my-Life guy," where I do retaliate with a bird of my own and he finishes me with a shotgun with the word "Vengeance" carved into the barrel with a dog's tooth, I can't even say that I was even that progressive in my thoughts. Mostly, I was just surprised.
  • Dropkick Murphys, for making such a fine rockin' record that I may have damaged my hearing. It's been a while since I've had to listen to a something that has to be listened to so loudly.
  • My mailman. You know, I realize that popular culture has largely passed me by, and that most of the issues of Rolling Stone that come to my house sit on the back of the commode for a couple weeks until I throw them into the recycle bin. But still. Why can't my mailman (or Femail Man, if that's the case) fold the magazine vertically, along the cover, instead of horizontally, thusly breaking the spine of the magazine. Like I said, I don't generally look through the magazine more than once, but that shit just kinda irritates me.
  • Myself, again, for getting too many magazines. Honestly. How often do I shit? Do I really need this much reading material?
  • Sports Illustrated. For being such a useless bastard of a magazine. I don't like Sports Illustrated. Doesn't do much for me. I think this is the sports magazine made for 60-year-old men. I don't even read it while I'm shitting.
  • The Sporting News. Much more readable, but equally as useless. Considering that I have an interweb connection. Also, what's this shit where you subscribe for 3.4 cents an issue, but once the introductory rate's up, you pay $8.44 plus a nonvital organ for each issue? Fuck that. You useless, outdated periodical.
  • Myself, for sleeping.

Saturday, May 03, 2008



Seems we have some manner of horse race going on today up at Churchill Downs. It is a continuing disappointment that not one of the multi-millionaire horse trainers who read this blogamathing have named a horse after it.

How thrilling would it be to hear that they're coming down the back stretch, and Big Stupid Tommy is leading the most important horse race of the year?

Because the purpose of this page is to help, though, rather than hinder and criticize, I would now like to take the time to suggest a few other horse names for all you big shots to use, when training the next Kentucky Derby Champion...

1. Farting Weasel
2. Farting Bear
3. Farting Hippo
4. Hippo Lips
5. Eternal Craphead
6. Malo Bano
7. Pickled Evil
8. Drunken POTUS
9. Call Me Turdus
10. Gladiator Smith
11. Google Boobs
12. Chili Stains
13. Drink the KoolAid
14. Joe Morgan's Ego
15. Melanie Hutsell's Revenge
16. Multi Tasking Clown
17. The Ubiquitous Gunny
18. Farting Gunny
19. Fatal Purple Nurple
20. Scattered Damnations
21. Stegosaurus Bad
22. Zombie Horsey
23. Grimlock's Tiny Arms
24. Queer Ass Cowboy Hat
25. Grichel Says Larry
26. Sean Salibury
27. Clubbering Takes Four
28. Santa Has The Clap
29. Blubber Tree
30. He's Dead Jim
31. Sampley Diarrhea
32. Tiny Anorexia
33. Chicken Kenny

Friday, May 02, 2008

Important Link

Important Link

Having a little computer trouble? I blame the Communists. Anyway, I found a really helpful app over here, and I strongly urge each and every one of you to take a look..



There are no words for how much I love John Goodman in The Big Lebowski. It is very possibly my favorite performance by any actor in any movie ever.



My pickup truck went over 100,000 miles on the old odometer last night. I tried to get a picture as it happened, but it didn't come out. For the happened on Interstate 75, heading north somewhere before mile marker 23, after my buddy Chris and I left a showing of Iron Man.

I'd kinda like it if somebody put up some manner of roadside plaque. How does one petition the state of Tennessee?

Whose house do I burn to the ground when the State of Tennessee refuses?

Thursday, May 01, 2008

You got your chocolate in my peanut butter....

You got your chocolate in my peanut butter....

In nature, coloration plays an important role. It can be used to entice, to warn...sometimes at the same time.

Today, I saw a very pretty girl come into the store. And she was wearing a cap with the Batman logo. "That's cool," I said to nobody in particular. I like Batman. I like baseball caps. I have thought more than once that the sole thing separating me from eternaml happiness? Batman baseball cap.

I was ruminating on that very thought, when the girl came back into view. I got a closer look. And I saw that she also had a Batman shirt on.

Batman Shirt. Begorrah. I would also like a Batman shirt.

And then I saw the Batman belt. Actually, a belt buckle. Big yellow old fashioned Batman logo.

And batman kneepads.

As if the belt weren't enough. I shit you not. Kneepads. Kinda like what skaters wear. Kneepads. With the Batman logo on it.


Did I mention that the girl was attractive?

Maybe not enough to set the world on fire, but she was cute. Enough so that the part of me that notices such things would notice.

But the Batman thing threw me.

Enough that I'm writing a post next to midnight about it.

I wish I was kidding.

See, I like pretty girls.

And I like Batman.

But mixing the two was a horribly disconcerting, dizzying experience.

The first metaphor I came up with was: I like cheeseburgers, and I like peanut butter...but I don't mix the two.

Kind of like mixing a fine Scotch with Strawberry Nesquik. Both enjoyable in their own way. But together, it tends to really screw up the senses.

I dunno. It seemed like an odd fashion statement to make, to me.

But then, the last fashion statement I made was "Does this smell clean enough to wear?" So I don't have a lot of room to talk.

Anyway. This was an extended blog post, the gist of which was: "Dear Online Nerd Diary, Today I saw a hot chick bedecked with Batman clothes. It confuzled me. Amen."