Archive for February, 2010

Some Days…

Posted in Uncategorized on February 28, 2010 by tom
  • Some days, it just doesn't pay to get out of bed. 
  • First off, I had a weird dream that Clint Eastwood died.  That would suck! I like Clint Eastwood.

  • As if it weren't bad enough dreaming the unthinkable, it was cold and gray again this afternoon when I awoke. 
  • A couple of things I should point out.  First off, when I say "this afternoon when I awoke," I hope you realize that I am not a slacker. 
  • Okay, let me amend that: I AM a slacker, whenever I can be. Slacker rhymes with "Cracker," after all.
  • I work till 0330, and since I get to drive my friend Jenn home, I don't get home till nearly 5 am. 
  • So, I'm not really being a slacker at all by sleeping till 3PM
  • Second, by "cold," I mean "record cold for West Central Florida," not Triton cold.
  • Triton's low tonight should be about -391 degrees Fahrenheit
  • Tampa's low tonight should be about 39 degrees Fahrenheit
  • This is 430 degrees, or roughly the temperature of the filling of those old-fashioned fried apple pies McDonald's used to sell, back in the days before that pesky "nutrition" crap.
  • This is roughly what Triton would have looked like this afternoon:


  • In the background, you see Triton's planet, the cold, methane-venting Neptune.  In the foreground, Neptune's maria and evidence of cryovolcanic flooding.
  • This is an actual photo from Tampa this afternoon:


  • In the background, you see the Pollo Tropicale restaurant at Waters and the Veteran's Expressway.  In the foreground, you see a six foot tall chicken, decked out in maroon guyabera, knee pants, sunglasses, and a gaucho hat.  (No word on whether this chicken vents methane.  I know Jenn does, and I certainly do, but the chicken? Yikes. (shudders at the thought))
  • In short, the chicken looked like somebody who would have popped a cap in Clint Eastwood in Fistful of Dollars.
  • Does Clint Eastwood vent methane?
  • If he damn well wants to! 
  • Anyway, at THIS point, I should have turned to Jenn and said, "Jenn? My squashy friend and partner in workplace mischief? We should just go someplace, eat the big-ass containers of fried chicken parts we have, drink our beverages, vent methane into the atmosphere, and huddle against the impending apocalypse."
  • Some days, it'd just be safer to stay in bed.
  • Jenn and I frighten people.  Things like this happen to us.  I swear.  We don't seek out the madness.  It just finds us.
  • It's probably some kind of gravitational thing.
  • Anyway, it's almost over, then it's my three-day weekend.  Sad that the first day of my weekend usually entails being curled up in a fetal position, heavily medicated, and uttering things like "GERBERGERBERGERBERGERBER–TURTLE!"
  • Dinner with Doll-Baby on Monday, but tomorrow? Just decompressing.
  • And hoping like hell I don't have dreams involving a six-foot tall gaucho chicken taking out Clint Eastwood.
  • Happy weekend, y'all.

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Happy Weekend!

Posted in Uncategorized on February 27, 2010 by tom

To quote Steve Miller, "Time keeps on slippin' slippin' slippin' into the future."

It's just going reallllllly reallllly slowly tonight.  Gah.

Anyway.  My friend Jenn just started a vox.  If you'd like to add her, click HERE.  She's a hoot, and hopefully I shall be writing more because she'll nag me. 

Thank God, it's almost time to go zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz


Happy weekend, everyone.

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Ohai: better late than never

Posted in Uncategorized on February 26, 2010 by tom

Hi.  Thanks for being my Vox neighbor.  Over the past couple years, I've written anecdotally about my illness a couple years ago, how I almost died, and how in retrospect, some of the horrible stuff that happened to me is really pretty funny. 

I've been threatening to write more, to expand those posts.  To that end, I've set up another Vox just for stuff pertaining to Dr Fournier and me.  Maybe I'll expand it to include rehab and recovery–who knows?

That group is all Neighborhood Only.  If you'd like to be included in said neighborhood, please go here, and shoot me an add me as a neighbor type message.  I haven't written anything new as of yet, but you can read the whole sordid story from soup to nuts.  HAHAHAHA! Get it? Nuts?


I reckon I'm still a bit sick.  😉

If you're in my hood on this vox, you'll be welcomed over there as well.  Between the two of these things, I hope to write more in the coming months.

Have a great weekend!



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Stoopid Radio: Wednesday Night Mental Chex Mix

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on February 25, 2010 by tom


  • Radio roulette is a dangerous game for music geeks like me.  Sometimes, I'll just hear three songs in a row that have a common thread, theme, or leitmotif, and it will be awesome. 
  • Yesterday, it crushed me a little: "I Miss You," by Klymaxx; "Are You Lonesome Tonight," by Elvis; "My Eyes Adored You," by Frankie Valli.  In my newly Punkinless condition, those three were kind of scab-off-rippers.
  • There are certain songs I've heard that made an immediate impression, where I knew it was a special song at a special time, and it would forever be linked to me that way.
  • One of them was "The Breakup Song (They Don't Write 'Em Like That Anymore)," by the Greg Kihn Band.  The first time I heard that one, I was 14 or 15, and I'd never even had a real girlfriend.
  • For clarity's sake, I should note that I didn't have a roomful of artificial girlfriends either.
  • Anyway, that song had some beautiful images, and I could see a guy sitting in a dark bar, alone at a table, a glass of whiskey in his hand, a Marlboro smoldering in a full ashtray, staring down at his hands, setting the glass down on the warm wet condensation circle.  Just gut-churning, throat tightening, eye-watering, whiskey-burping, soul-rending pain.
  • Ouch.
  • Another one was "Angel of Harlem," by U2.  As a cosmic joke, the Universe mandated that 3 of my 5 final exams my final semester of college would be on the same day.  So I had Film Theory & Criticism at 730 AM, German 3 at 10 AM, then my final final (sic) was Contemporary Literature, at 8 PM.  I was pretty fried by the time my German exam was over.  I meandered back to my apartment and fell asleep.  My alarm was set for 730.  The clock-radio kicked on just as "Angel of Harlem" started.  The chord progression and general r&b vibe of the song made me realize I'd survive my final two hours of higher education juuuuuuuuuuuuuust fine.
  • I don't know why, but that confident, positive progression did keep going through my exam.  I walked out of the FSU Law School Annex, felt the cold air of freedom on my smiling face, and threw my notebook up on the roof.
  • Another music geek moment.  I forget what grade I was in, but I know it was high school.  I heard Journey's "Open Arms" at the same time I saw this really cute girl named Allyson.  I knew I'd always think of her when I heard that song.  God bless her, I have too.
  • I wonder what she's doing tonight. 
  • Some times, I wonder what the hell I'm doing tonight.
  • After one of those early heartbreaks, I found myself home alone–my parents and brother out of town.  I put on Derek & The Domino's Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs, strapped on my Yamaha SG-2000, cranked the Fender Twin to eleven, and I wailed along with Mssrs Clapton, Allman, Radle, Whitlock, and Gordon.  It was purifying, scourgifying, maybe.  "Why Does Love Got to Be So Sad?" "Bell Bottom Blues;" "Have You Ever Loved a Woman?" Just loud, screaming, humbucker-fueled catharsis.
  • I loved that guitar.  That particular girl, not so much in retrospect.  That guitar? That amp? Those 17 year-old fingers? Very much so. 
  • It's unfortunate that people don't listen to the radio anymore.  If you play iPod roulette, it's not the same, since you're the one who programs it.  In my little moment of radio-directed sadness, it was from three songs I've never owned. I don't even own an iPod.  I have some music saved on my computer, but it's not the same.  Even though I know how music rotations work, and testing and packeting, ad nauseam, it's still kinda cool when everything aligns and there's that one set that makes such sense. 
  • One jock I used to work with–Cynthia Clarc–and I had a little game we played with our music.  We'd see if song titles made sentences or interesting phrases when read together.  They had to be in a row, of course–no cheating–but we had fun.  (examples: "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" "I Go Crazy." Or, "Here Comes My Girl" "Walkin' On Sunshine."  Or, "Every Breath You Take" "After Midnight" "Makes Me Wanna Holler") 
  • On my lunch break a couple Saturdays ago, my partner-in-mischief, Jenn, and I went out to buy caffeinated beverages and lottery tickets. The radio played Guns & Roses' classic "I Used to Love Her (But I Had to Kill Her)." So there we were, just barrelling along in my pickemup truck, blasting GnR, the Florida Cracker and the Georgia Redneck singing along at ridiculous volume.
  • On my lunch break tonight, I went out for coffee.  That same song came on.  I still sang along, just like I did on my sad songs trilogy earlier this week.  I realized that I still love her, I'd never kill her, and "Every Breath You Take" was the #1 song the day she was born.  And apparently, as Doctor John sagely observed, "I was in the right place, but it musta been the wrong time."   Right girl, wrong time.  Sad, but okay–still friends, and who knows?
  • Stupid damn radio. 
  • Then again, thank God Rickie Lee Jones tests for shit, or I could've heard "When I reach across galaxies, I will miss your company."
  • Have a great week.

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