Archive for October, 2013

A What from a Long-Ago When

Posted in Uncategorized on October 17, 2013 by tom

My father, bless him, was cleaning files out of an an old computer (“my father was de-filing an old computer” sounds perverted and gross), and he found a file called “Tom’s Writings.”

In those “Tom’s Writings” days–long before I began my real blogging career at Vox–basically I’d get completely munted and write an e-mail which I’d send to a large number of people. I was sorta-blogging, but not quite. There was no home port, like Vox or WordPress, and no permanent record. I wrote a bunch of stuff that I have no copies of.  Nothing. Nada. Some of those things were brilliant; most were shite. That’s how it worked with my email list back then. If you deleted the email, it was gone. If you forwarded it?

Some of them were forwarded around the world, especially following 9/11, and I received positive and negative replies from people in countries I’d never heard of. I acted like I wasn’t happy about people forwarding my emails, but you know damned well I did. “Can you believe Edie forwarded that email to her friend in Ireland? What was she thinking??”

Today, I have people I love all over the world, people who are even living in a world that is not their own. I know that one of the most beautiful songs ever was written and sung in Tagalog, and I followed Cori and Ryan on their incredible seven-month interplanetary honeymoon. (I don’t think I mentioned that I really hurt my back, and was given really good, enjoyable meds (which have been gone for over a week…blech))

Ironically, the benefit of this email my dad found is that you can see how I wrote when I drank. Out of all these kabillion posts I’ve written on WP or Vox, I’ve had a 0.0 blood alcohol level. I can’t say that my brain was always chemical free. When I wrote  from my hospital bed, I was connected to a Dilaudid pump, and there were a few times since where I’ve been on one pain med or another, and who, among my long time friends, can forget my occasional NyQuil posts (okay, maybe I got up to a .000001 BAC from the NyQuil)? Plus, sweet Jesus, I’m on a lot of psych meds now, and even writing this stupid paragraph has damn about drained everything out of me. So, herewith, is a sample of what your narrator was doing back around the turn of the millennium. I take credit for all the good parts–and I was one of the correct
“The New Millenium begins at a second past midnight on 01/01/01” people)–and blame Larry effin King for everything wrong. 😉 Happy Thursday: 

 

Subj:      Happy New Year from the Tom Zone

Date:      1/1/00 11:18:08 PM Eastern Standard Time

From:     tsanche1@123456789.com (Tom Sanchez)

To:          tomzone@987654321.com (tom sanchez)

 

I’ve spent much of my New Millennium’s Eve driving around the Tampa Bay

Area,

listening to “The Larry King Show Millennium Special,” featuring interviews

from King’s radio show on Mutual.  As it happens, I used to run “The Larry

King Show” at a tiny Mutual affiliate in Sarasota, WKXY.  On radio, Larry

King was a great interviewer, and the guest list on this special read like a

who’s who of the Twentieth Century: Sinatra, Henny Youngman, Jonathan

Winters, John Erlichman, Presidents Carter, Bush, and Clinton.  The list

goes on.

 

Larry King missed one of the greats.

 

In this week’s National “Enquirer,” there’s an article about Grover

Washington, Jr, entitled “Jazz Great’s Amazing Legacy of Love.”  The theme

of the article is that Grover–who passed away two weeks ago–was one of the

nicest people ever to walk the earth, and that he was about to celebrate his

33rd wedding anniversary.

 

Happily, I had the opportunity to hang-out with Grover one Sunday afternoon.

He was, indeed, the nicest guy on earth: gracious, kind, modest, funny.  Not

only is Grover’s “Winelight” my all-time favorite jazz album, he turned out

to be every bit the cool guy I’d hoped he’d be.

 

Hearing all of Larry King’s interviews, combined with losing Grover, led me

to think about my career in radio.  I’ve had the opportunity to interview

some pretty incredible people along my ride.  Maybe you recognize some of

the names: The Beach Boys, Dion, Little Richard, Garry Shandling, Richard

Jeni, Al Stewart, Len Dawson, Joe Theisman, Newt Gingrich’s mom, Peter

Noone, Bobby “The Tenor in the Righteous Brothers” Hatfield, Tommy James of

the Shondells, and zillions of Smooth Jazz artists.  I’ve spent three hours

producing a show with Dick Clark, and I’ve served Paula Zahn lasagna (which

she SORELY needed!).  I even asked Art Garfunkel about NAFTA, during an

hour-long interview that was only supposed to last five minutes.

 

Thinking about all those opportunities made me realize how fortunate and

blessed I’ve been to have this career.  It also made me realize how sad a

year this was for our industry in this market.  I’ve seen some very good

friends lose their jobs, just in the name of “the bottom line.”  Big

corporations have eaten these poor folks alive.

 

I thank God CBS picked up my station, for we’ve suffered no losses.

 

That said, I’d like to grant you one blessing for the New Millennium! I

understand that it’s not my place to confer blessings, but I think God would

allow me this one, for I shall try and live by it: Anything bad that

happened to you last millennium?

 

Let go of it! It was last millennium!

 

For example, if your cholesterol is too high? Don’t beat yourself up for all

the country-fried steak you’ve eaten in your life, for they were in the last

millennium! THIS millennium, eat more wisely.

 

If you’ve suffered through bad relationships? LET THEM GO! Those pains

occurred in the last millennium! THIS millennium, work harder on your

relationships so that they may prove to be relatively painless.

 

If you messed around and never accomplished your dreams? Relax! That failure

was last millennium!! THIS millennium, work to achieve them!

 

If you were aloof and distant, and you didn’t spend enough time with your

friends and relatives? Abandon any guilt you might feel, for you have a

phone here, today, in THIS millennium! USE IT!

 

If you have gotten out of shape? Don’t sit around worrying about it.  Go out

and take a walk, here through THIS millennium!

 

It was cool to hear all those Larry King interviews on New Millennium Eve,

for it showed how many things we’ve endured.  But what’s more important is

that we are all here NOW! And it’s a new millennium!

 

Everything that has gone wrong in your life, my friend, was last millennium!

LET THEM ALL GO! And may we all work to improve our lives THIS millennium!

It’s a fresh start; let’s take advantage of it.

 

ts

Kelly’s House

Posted in Uncategorized on October 14, 2013 by tom

Since Kelly  is on assignment for a few days, I took this opportunity to sneak into her house  (Well, Wind did, since he looks like James Bond and all), and we took this picture of her home office. Sorry, Kel, but I had to share it. Besos.

Kellys houseHappy Monday.

From the Beginning…

Posted in Chronicles of chrazy (sic) on October 14, 2013 by tom

I have really let this blog go over the past six months or more. I’ve been reading like a mutha, and I’ve posted 147 book and film reviews over on the other blog  but here on the general mind romp blog, nada. I’m sorry about that. It’s sort of funny, because even though it’s been roughly five months since I’ve written here, I’m still getting hits. Teh permanent Interwebs are amazing, I guess. We never die, because our posts keep on getting hits.

There’s a great topic: we never die, because people still think about us.

Maybe I’ll write that someday.

I am going to attempt to write more starting in the near future. My book reading goal for 2013 is 150 books. I’m currently reading #147. I think I’ll be cutting back on the reading, and work more on writing. Kelly and I have an idea for a YA novel-from-hell, and I think I’m ready to start at least trying to write that. Yes, my brain is still majorly fucked-up after 16 months, and I never know what my chemicals will do. I can go from somewhat happy to massive rage spikes in the turn of a second. I’m imbalanced, and it off-pisses me greatly. I mean, how many drug regimens can one person go through without stasis? Answer: I’ll tell you if we ever find it.

Anyway, what I wanted to do was share my very first blog post ever. It was on the blog I didn’t know I still had, over at Blogspot . I may copy all my posts into that. I just don’t know. Social media is weird, and I’ve been dicking around with it the past week. We’ll see what happens when and if it happens.

Herewith, my very first blog post, from almost six years ago. It starts out rough, but smooths out a little by the end. I will never equal Lent in Casablanca’s Annie the Soapmaker’s Ingrid Bergman beatdown–that’s my favorite of all the ones I wrote, and (perhaps inappropriately) it makes me laugh aloud, probably because I know Annie, and she’d so totally talk to Ingrid Bergman that way, as well as drinking and smoking with Rick (fuck, this is a long parenthetical)–but I was trying to learn how to write sober again.

Without further apologetic disclaimers, and hoping I’d use this blog more-frequently anon…:

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Nice turns of phrase

 

My friend Ali said she wasn’t sure whether she was premenstrual or had cancer. I doubt she really wanted either, but I’m sure PMS would be her selection.

Uncle Pete had a hangover one time, and said he felt like a sack of smashed assholes. Of all the hangover descriptions I’ve heard, that one seems most fitting. I remember college, those days before I got used to being hungover. That was it: the morning after, I felt like somebody had broken into wherever it was that I passed out, filled my skull with heavy sharp industrial parts, eviscerated me, replaced my organs with a bunch of assholes, then smashed them with a ballbat. Amazing how I never awoke during this period. Amazing, too, how I didn’t get hangovers when I didn’t drink.

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, “In the real dark night of the soul, it’s always three o’clock in the morning.”

On many mornings after dark nights of the soul, I’ve felt like a sack of smashed assholes, although I’m unsure whether Uncle Pete ever read Fitzgerald.

T.S. Elliot: “I have heard the mermaids singing each to each; I do not think that they will sing for me.”

I have heard my neighbors screaming each to each; I really hope that they don’t scream at me.

Ever since Chynna died across the hall, I pay a bit more attention to screams. She was depressed and she told her boyfriend on the phone that she was sick of living. She hung up, turned her ringer off, removed the hidden key over her door, then od’d on heroin. Her boyfriend came over and pounded on the door, screaming her name. I didn’t hear him. I was having my own true dark night of the soul. I, too, was sick of life. I drank a bunch of whiskey, smoked myself hoarse, and blasted something loud and guitar-intensive through my headphones. Dark night of the soul or not, it was 3 o’clock in the morning. If I hadn’t had my headphones on, maybe I’d have heard the boyfriend screaming. Maybe I would’ve done something heroic and life-saving, like crash through her door and resuscitate her.

Probably, I’d have done nothing. Probably, I’d have put my headphones on and played something guitar-intensive really loud to drown out the screaming.

For awhile, I was afraid she’d haunt me. I wasn’t really worried that she’d go all poltergeist on me–I’d always gotten along with her quite nicely. Nonetheless, she did die really young across the hall from me, so maybe her soul would get trapped here in Building 33, destined only to walk up and down the concrete steps, watch the rather boring antics we the still-living perpetrated, and swat the ghosts of the mosquitoes and cone-nosed assassin bugs that also died.

That was like five years ago. Chynna was a 20 year-old club kid who worked at some chain fern-bar type restaurant. I’m supposedly well educated, well-read, intelligent, ad nauseam, but she knows the answers to the biggest questions there are: immortality, God, who wrote the book of love, etc.

Chris the Shrink calls suicide, “A permanent solution to a temporary problem.” He’s pretty sharp, in that shrink sort of way.

Whatever Chynna’s problems were in this world, they ended there, on the beige carpet of her living room. Along with those problems (PMS or cancer, eg) went all the opportunities for happiness. All the orgasms and cheesecake and giggles and hugs and sunsets and Thanksgiving Night leftover turkey sandwiches and meteor showers and hand-holding and hearing your favorite song on the radio while driving.

Maybe in the next world, the clock hands finally moved off of 3 o’clock in the morning. Maybe the mermaids sang for Chynna. Maybe, too, they’ll one day sing for me.

–30–

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