Effin' Sweet

Welcome to Your Life, There's No Turning Back...

Friday, July 29, 2005

New Jersey... How I Love Thee...


The World According to Sabbath: "Ya know, lads... I do believe I can taste colors. Blimey!" Young unknowns from Birmingham, England, "Black Sabbath," debuted in the States this past week at "Ozzfest" in New Jersey. I see a lot of potential for these plucky young men.

As the guitarist for Killswitch Engage so poetically put it, "New Jersey, How I love thee... Jersey is kinda like an old hooker: sorta dirty, has a weird smell... but you always come back for more!"

This past Tuesday, I experienced the unbridled onslaught that is Ozzfest. This was my first Ozzfest ever, and I do believe, I may have caught one of the greatest concert experiences of my life. How could withering heat, sleep deprivation, and a headlining band with a combined age of over 200 add up to such a claim? Read on, gentle reader...

I was to be picked up Tuesday morning around 7:30 AM by Ron, a coworker of Louie and elder of the metal tribe. Since I'm essentially a vampire these days, I pretty much procrastinated and farted around until I reached the point the night before when I realized there was no way I could go to sleep in time to wake up for a 7:30 pickup. So I figured, in the infinite wisdom one possesses at 4:30 in the morning, that I should just round the horn, take one for the team, forego slumber, and stay up and wait for my ride. And I did just that, I jogged, showered, had a meal, shaved my stubble into a most fearsome design, and at 6:30 donned my hetfield, urban camo pants, and combat boots, and then... just... layed down... on my bed... I think I'll just rest here... read a comic book... close my eyes for just a second, pillow so soft...

TOM!

...guh, wuzzat...?

ARE YOU EXPECTING SOMEONE NAMED, "RON"?

...buh, me want sleepy...

TOM! WAKE UP! RON'S HERE!

It was 7:20, and Ron was early. And at that point, friends... I knew I had an uphill battle to climb. Gamely though, I jumped in Ron's mustang and we headed off to Astoria to meet up with Louie and his buddy Mike (an awesome guy by the way... Louie, too.)


Basement Duets: Tom and Louie sing the Best of Chaka Khan. Available at your local Walgreens and Rockbottom for 17 cents.

Oh Louie, my dear friend from Queens. He rocks for so many reasons, but I'm trying to keep this concise. So suffice it to say that one of the justifications for his rock-ness was that he got me a ticket to Ozzfest. One of these days I'll get around to penning a paean to the Giddy Greek Guitar God of Greater Astoria, but not today. Not today.

The big selling points for going to this year's Ozzfest, for me, were three acts that were billed to perform: Rob Zombie, who I've been a rabid fan of since '94; Iron Maiden, whose performance prowess and cacaphonous catalog of music is reknowned far and wide; and finally and most chiefly, Black Sabbath, the god fathers of metal, themselves. I've missed out on their reunions for the last 6 years, and I was damned if I'd miss it again this year. Of course, this is Black Sabbath, so I guess I'd be damned, even if I did go. Them being the Heralds of Satan, and all.

And oh man... I did not miss out.

Ain't that right, Ozzy?


"Your feckin' right, man."

Thanks for backin' me up, Ozz-man. When we first arrived, we made an earnest attempt to tailgate... we really did. True, it was 12:30 in the afternoon, and the conditions of the parking area for the PNC Arts Center could adequately be compared to the surface of Planet Mercury. It was so effin' hot. I made it through half of a positively gargantuan sandwich I bought back in Astoria, and a couple of Coors Lite. I was still on my second wind, but I could feel some weariness creeping into my old bones... so I tried to stay focused.

Ron was so cool to talk to. 53 years old and still rockin' out. He had a lot of great stories about all the shows he's been to. He was telling us all about seeing The Doors, Queen, Ozzy, and The Who. But he was still as giddy as we were over the prospect of catching the legendary foursome from Birmingham kicking our ever-luvin yankee asses all over the New Jersey countryside. We were so positively stoked.

We finally decided to bag the faltering tailgating venture and head into the grounds. After slathering on about 8 gallons of SPF 3 Billion sunscreen, I joined them at the outskirts of the second stage of Ozzfest, where some of the smaller bands performed a series of 45-minute sets. Mastodon and As I Lay Dying really surprised me, and I made sure to keep poking Louie in the arm, reminding him about all the songs he's going to have to burn for me. I was fairly impressed with those bands, but it was Killswitch Engage that really made me a believer. I'm definitely excited to see what they have in store for the future.

Breathing in the happy vapors common to all rock concerts... (can't quite place the smell... it's not exactly tobacco... but it puts you in a very mellow mood indeed!) I positioned myself about 10 feet in front of the stage, awaiting Rob Zombie to arrive. I had never been on the floor for Zombie. So I was excited to experience Zombie up close. The floor was pretty brutal, and I was quickly reminded why I don't go onto the floor too often, as cretinous crowd surfers crashed over and through the audience members at the front of the stage. I found my thoughts slowly and irrevocably moving towards murder...

A little sidenote, here: I absolutely loathe crowd surfers. I find the act incredibly inconsiderate, rude, and selfish. Not only are they inconveniencing other audience members by expecting them to pick up and carry their filthy, sweaty body, but they're physically endangering others by landing on unsuspecting people's backs, heads, necks, and faces, either with their appendages or their frickin' heavy-ass boots. When I was seeing Metallica at Woodstock '99, I was wearing my glasses (long story). I was five feet in front James Hetfield... and having the time of my life... when SLAM!! a dumb-ass teenager with giganto boots lands squarely on the back of my neck, sending my glasses flying into the darkened abyss of stamping feet and churning bodies of the crowd. After frantically and vainly trying to find them amid the tumult of the mosh pit... I ended up experiencing the rest of Woodstock '99 half-blind. All because of a god-damned crowd surfer.

And now, I take it upon myself, as a personal vendetta, to assault any crowd surfer that comes my way to the best of my ability. In the past, I've torn off sneakers and hats, and thrown them out into the crowd, I've sidestepped crowd surfers and allowed them to fall headfirst to the ground, and basically do everything in my power to sour their rude and self-centered experience of crowd surfing.

Well, Rob Zombie's set was no different. I quite satisfactorally punched one guy squarely in the nuts, and performed a DDT on another moronic sap that had the misfortune to come my way. This dufus had it coming, as he kicked me in the face as he was coming by. I managed to get my right arm over his midsection, and then dropped all 230 of my pounds toward the ground.

That was a very satisfying thud, indeed.

Maybe you think I'm vicious. Maybe you think I've taken this too far. Perhaps. But please refrain from judgement until you've had some sweaty, drunken, former-high school-football player land on your head while you're trying to sing along to one of your favorite bands that you paid good, hard-earned money to go see.

Be that as it may... I was thoroughly exhausted by the end of Zombie's set. So was Rob. He had some great lines:

"Man, it's hot. You know what I see? A lot of pale white guys that are getting a really bad sunburn. Hey you, buddy! You, in all black. How often do you go to the beach? I'm guessing 'never.' What the hell are you doing out in the sun? And you! Count Chocula! How often do you go to the beach? I think I'm going to petition to have Ozzfest in December. What do you guys think?"


"Hiss!"

Easy, Oz... I think Rob was just joking.

But it was freakin' hot, and Mike and I trudged tiredly over to the water (sweet, sweet water) stand to buy some ice-cold bevvies and rehydrate. I was definitely feeling the lack of sleep, now... and I just wanted to sleep. But Louie and company had already headed out to the main stage to see In Flames. Mike and I could barely walk straight, but we made our way over to the other side of the grounds, and wandered around until we finally rendezvoused with the rest the crew. By this time Zakk Wylde's Black Label Society was performing (awesomely, from what I heard, by the way), but I decided I might rest my eyes for a little bit. We found an open space on the hillside surrounding the main stage and I took a little half hour nap. Only a dehydrated guy who had just wandered out of a mosh pit on no sleep could nap during a heavy metal set... no matter how hard that sounds. I had my third wind by Mudvayne, and I sat up to watch them finish their set.


"Is the hat a bit much, do you think? I think it looks rather splendid!"

Ozzy, I don't think you need a Fosse dance routine for "Fairies Wear Boots." Just my opinion, but I think you should just stick with what works...


"Keep yer bloody comments to yourself, ya feckin' wanker! Me fist in yer face, ya prat!"

Sorry, Mr. Osbourne. I didn't mean to offend.

Anyway, after Mudvayne, came Iron Maiden.

What can I say?

Iron Maiden absolutely slayed. I didn't know all that much about Maiden, besides a familiarity with a handful of songs, but I came away with a newfound appreciation for those guys that night. Bruce Dickinson, the singer, bounded up and down and all over the stage, capering about like a little, foul-mouthed British monkey. He definitely knows how to work the audience, and we all ate it up and begged for more. There was a great deal of showmanship, and a positely aural onslaught of kick-ass tunes. So moved by the experience, Louie and I did an impromptu dance performance for "Run to the Hills." That song is so effin' great! The finale featured a man in a giant zombie costume on stilts. As "Eddie," Iron Maiden's undead mascot, he lumbered across the stage, red eyes blazing, tousling with one of the guitarists (they have three!) who was swinging his guitar like a mace. It ended with me wanting more.


"Ozzy! Take off grandma's blouse before she sees you in it! And is that... her rouge you're wearing?! I mean, it accentuates your cheeks, but... "

Black Sabbath's performance, was nothing short of sublime. I haven't experienced the same ecstatic concert exhiliration since I had seen Metallica for the first time in '97.

The night had finally fallen. The crowds had blanketed the surrounding hillside, everyone on their feet. Suddenly, Ozzy's voice screams over the PA, "Let's go crazy! Let me hear you!"

Exploding in cheering, the bass lines to "N.I.B." come thudding across the crowd.

"OH YEAH!"

The moment that truly encapsulated the night was "War Pigs." My meager words cannot convey what it was like to be standing amongst over 15,000 people, assembled throughout the ampitheatre on a hilltop, reciting together, "Generals gathered in their masses.....!"

"OH LORD, YEAH!"

In ecstatic abandon, I listened intently, as Black Sabbath went through their set, playing such classics as "Dirty Women," "Electric Funeral," and "Iron Man" in which Tony Iommi basically melted my face with his blistering solos. That man is a virtuoso.

They finished with "Paranoid" and then returned for an encore with "Children of the Grave."

And it was everything I thought it'd be.

And if I never see another concert in my life... I'll never have a regret.

Thank you, Ozzy. Thank you, Tony. Thank you, Geezer. And thank you, Charlie.

I'm looking forward to doing it again.


Why this woman has hung out with me for the last six years, I'll never know. But I am the luckiest shlub in the world for it! I love you, Ally!

Today was Ally's and my six year anniversary as a couple. I don't want to embarrass her, but I just want to say how blessed and enriched my life has been these last years, entirely by virtue of her gentle and loving presence in it. You are the miracle in my life. Happy Anniversary, Darlin'!

Things I find Cool #3: Old gents who still wear a suit whenever they leave the house. Most younger people don't have that kind of class anymore.

Feedback Question of the Day:
"After seeing Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath tear the roof off that sucker, I got to thinking. There are so many things that make the British cool. Aside from all the great musical contributions limeys have made over the years, what else makes the English cool?"

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

What Gives?


Casting an heroic stance, Tom looks out from the tree upon the surrounding landscape, wondering if anyone notices his blog.

Boo-frickety-hoo, no one left a comment on my last blog entry.

I write this stuff, and put up with all this bull, and come out on this site... to rock you're effin' socks off. And all I ask in return is so precious little... All I'm asking you to do...

(if anyone knows who I'm quoting here (sort of) will know that the end of the quote involves a "Cleveland Steamer," and I don't think any of us are ready for that step in our e-relationship, do you?)

So, I sit and ponder, as I am sniffly and sore-headed. Not really because of the zero comments logged from my last entry, but rather, because I have a head cold. Karma, it is a beyotch. I did a bad thing on Friday, calling in sick... so, ironically and quite fittingly, I actually got sick on Sunday... and now it's Tuesday night, and I can't call in sick anymore, because I've issued my letter of resignation from St. Francis. And all my sick time is..."poof." (And for all the English teachers out there, I hereby apologize for the previous run-on sentence. I could say I'm trying to channel James Joyce, here. But I'd just be lying.)

August 11th is my last day in the ER. Hoo-friggin-ray. It's about time. I'll discuss that further another time. But now, I need to continue to ask the question:

"Why were there no replies to my blog???"


Answer 1: People are getting tired of my nonsense. "No, I really don't want to know why you find coffee mugs, 'amazing.' Seriously. Go away."

Is that it? Are the jokes getting tiresome... a little worn? Is my life not that interesting, and my pithy little insights nothing to write home about? Not... that I'd expect you to write home about it. Gramps doesn't sit over the cracker-barrel, chewin' a bit of straw, wondering when word of Tom's hysterical observations on his car's brake problems arrives via Postman Ned. Really. And there's nothing actually funny about my car's brake problems.


Answer 2: Effin' Sweet puts you into a flight of uncontrollable rage. Which would make commenting quite impossible. Here, James Behan takes a Louisville Slugger to his buddy's laptop after seeing Tom's "7 Reasons Why My Toenails Blow My Mind!" article. Only 2 reasons were barely convincing...

It could happen.

Do you experience "black outs" after visiting this site? Have you been permanently barred from the computer lab at school? Are you often compared to Russell Crowe, for all the wrong reasons? Sounds like you have a problem. The next party you come to, might just be an intervention. Instead of a coke party, or a high-society art heist. Come back to us, friend. We miss you.


Answer 3: Everybody'd Just Rather Hang Out with Hut. "Oh Lord, What Am I Gonna Do With All These Ladies?" Sam, Maryelle, Maryann, Jenny, Kristen, Michelle, someone's ex, and even Ally are powerless against the irresistable allure of He... Who is 'Hut.'"

Heck. I'd rather hang out with Hut than read my crap. Just look at that guy! Women want him. Men want to be him. And small animals like to nestle on his cap during the winter.


Answer 4: We're Just Here to Jam... Man. Cousin Sean lets the music do his blogging. Yeah.

Keep on Truckin'. What else can I say?


Answer 5: We're Just Here to... Ummm.... yeah. "Whoa... Sam... these chips are DELICIOUS! You know what I'm talking about? My mind is BLOWN..."

Hey guys, this blog is legal in Amsterdam, too, ya know! I guess... eating potato chips in a VW van while... giggling a lot... for three hours... is, a-hem, better than commenting on my lovingly crafted blog. ::sniff sniff:: "Is someone burning rope in here?"


Answer 6: I'm just a flamin' weirdo.

I think we have a winner, here...


What if God was one of us? And what if He played guitar? And quoted Monty Python a lot? That totally would rule, y'know?

Sam Haines, AKA "Big Honky Jesus." This guy is great, and it sucks that he's not in the NYC area anymore. Sam and I enjoyed a great year at SJU together, before he turned his back on a scholarship and headed off to pursue his musical dreams. You just gotta respect that dedication. Sam and I actually got to speak this past week. Which was awesome. He's roving upstate New York, makin' melodies with his new band, "Push Dawn," along with causing all sorts of mischief. Which doesn't surprise me in the least. He may be coming to the big SummerSlam 2005: Barbecue Reunion and Softball Deathmatch with his posse in tow. It's not definite yet, but a man can still dream , right? By the by, the RSVP tally is in the environs of 25. Which is pretty dang effin' sweet.


"Good One, Maverick." Jim Grant and his flight squadron are the consummate badasses on the deck of aircraft carrier USS Buttkicker. And just for your info, the baddest NFO mother-plucker of the bunch is in the bottom row, third rockstar from the right.

Good ol' Jimmy Grant is now safely out of Iraq and the Persian Gulf and is finally heading home. We're all proud of you, buddy. Now, I know you've had a rough couple of months, Jimbo, flying missions in the Middle East, but let me tell you about my some REAL headaches. Have you heard about my car's brake problems...?

Feedback Question of the Day:
"How do you think your friends and others see you? What kind of person do you imagine they think you are? How close is that to the real you?"

Thursday, July 14, 2005

What Have I Gotten Myself Into?


"See Indy? Real solid! Strong wood! Real - Aaaaaa!" Earlier this summer, Tom makes his first tentative steps back into hiking at nearby Storm King Mountain.

Why does a man climb a mountain?

Because it's there?

Or more likely, because he's trying to prove something to himself.

What... have I gotten myself into? In less than five weeks, I'll be returning to Mount Washington, the tallest mountain in the contigual 48 United States. All 6,288 feet of it. Now, I know this isn't such a big deal to some people out there... but as far as I'm concerned, this is about as extreme as I'm willing to sport it. The last time I tackled Mount Washington, I was 19, weighed 190 lbs, and typically ran 5 miles daily. Right now, I'm nowhere near that sort of physical shape.

So if this doesn't give me the incentive to get into better shape, I don't know what will. Aside from the incentive of living a healthier, more fulfilling life, and being able to see my feet without the aid of corset and a funhouse mirror. Those incentives are fine and dandy, but what I really need to get my butt out of Micky D's and on the treadmill is the prospect of having a coronary somewhere on the misty slopes of the Presidential Range in New Hampshire. Heck. Maybe this'll scare me straight.

I've invited others to join me in my quest to walk to the top of a gigantic pile of dirt and rock, and surprisingly, someone actually said he'd join me! Imagine that! Yep, Pimpdaddy Darius will be my partner in this last-ditch bit of weekend warring. Plus, we'll get to burn things in the campfire. Fire is cool. And I'll finally have the satisfaction of seeing my physics textbook, medical school rejections, and MCAT practice materials go up in flames. So effin' sweet. Maybe we'll just ditch all the hiking and play with fire all day instead!


In June of 1998, Tom "Doesn't this bandana make me look butch?" Crimmins and Wayne "My headband totally has a rival gang color to Tom's bandana, but it's all good, aight?" Barone successfully reached the summit of Mount Washington. But their sleeves were never found again...

So, these next five weeks will be big for me. I'm going to have to make it my absolute mission to work myself up to five miles again by the time we head off to New Hampshire. Plus, I have to decide which t-shirt I'm going to cut the sleeves off of. Decisions, decisions...

This time, though I'm going to be a lot more prepared, as far as accomodations go. Last time, Wayne and I had no tent, so we had the bright idea to make one. Simple, we thought, we'll just take about 20 yards of clear tarp and a bunch of rope, and we'll make a handy-dandy lean-to. Right. No problem. We're two Chaminade graduates, how hard could that be?

Let it be said that what followed was one of the most miserable nights of sleep I've ever suffered through. And I've taken an overnight train through France! The really obnoxious part of France, too! Imagine trying to get comfortable trying to sleep in the puddle of a slip'n'slide that's been draped over jagged rocks while mosquitos organize a buffet on your entire upper torso. Not fun. Not fun at all.

The next night, after we had returned from Mount Washington, we were so fed up with our crappy-ass lean-to that we both slept in the Foxy Lady. The front seats reclined real nice and was satisfyingly nature-free inside. Yay Artificial!

So, by now, a little older, a little wiser, a little whinier, I now own a tent and air mattress, so the Pimpmaster and myself will have a more comfortable stay. I'm not ruling out the Foxy Lady for night two, because who knows what that campsite has in store? But believe me, I'll be most happy to blog about it when we get back!

So, until then, I'll be training.

Will Tom and Pimpo-maximus make it to the summit? Will Tom suffer an aneurysm? Find out... on August 15th!


A big shout out back to Deutchland! This guy's name is Chris Woznitza, and he commented on my blog! Rock-on, Chris! Ja!

I felt pretty freakin' excited that I got a comment from a complete stranger from another completely different country. Chris, if you're reading this, I want you to know that I checked out your blogs, and... well, I didn't understand any of them, as I do not speak German, but all the pictures feature you holding a beer, so you're all right in my book!

See, this is why the American youth is getting creamed by his and her European and Asian counterparts: they can read our blogs... but we can't read theirs! Mr. President, forget about the wealth-gap, or the debt-gap, or the missle-gap, or even Baby Gap... we need to fix this blog-gap...ASAP! Our country's welfare may hang in the balance.

Of course, from time-to-time, I happen to see my 18-year-old sister's instant messages and what-not... and it may as well be typed in a foreign language. The elementary school teacher in me recoils at such flagrant disregard for even basic syntax, grammar, and sentence structure. Seriously! OMG! BKA!

But, getting back to the point: Chris, thanks for the kind words, and take care of your bad Teutonic self over in Germania! Cheers! And by the way, Stephen King is my favorite author, too! Him, Nelson DeMille, and Clive Cussler, anyway.

Random Music Musing: The new Nine Inch Nails album is really growing on me... Trent is one song away from fulfilling my Rule of Three (3 good singles = me going out to buy the album). Even though I'm trying not to buy cd's anymore, I may just make an exception.

Another Random Music Musing: I'm finding it really hard to dislike the White Stripes anymore. Blue Orchid is such a great song... and Jack White's new facial hair makes him look a bit like Ben Posner... which just makes me like him even more.

Feedback Question of the Day:
"Have you ever put a serious challenge or task in front of you that you'd have to overcome? A project, task, or expression? How'd it work out?"

Monday, July 11, 2005

FANTASTIC!


A figure of speech goes horribly awry... (or insert your own "tie the knot" joke, here) But seriously, Jenna's still alive. She's just resting, kids... now go watch some TV...

Leave it to Tom to start things off with a horrible pun.

And leave it to Tom to start his long-overdue coverage of the Jenna and Jason wedding at 3:30 in the wee hours. (That's midget time)

But seriously, what can really be said about the wedding weekend... the "Matrimonapalooza" as I so awfully dubbed it? It was beautiful. It went completely according-to-plan, and best of all, Renaldo, Jenna's pirate ex-boyfriend did not try to steal her from the altar at the last second, while the priest asked "If anyone present objects to this union, speak now or forever hold their peace." Well, actually, that would have been pretty cool to see Jay clock some pencil-mustache-wearing poof in tights right there in front of all the in-laws...

But, y'know... they didn't even say that whole "object" thing at all... so we seriously gotta bring that back for mine...

...and I should probably choreograph a sword fight for my wedding, too!

I started things off with a frantic waking, thinking I was an hour late, only to find out minutes later in the car (I showered and changed pretty dang quickly) that I was an hour ahead. Turns out, I had accidentally set my clock radio an hour early... so my frantic early-morning preparation was not necessary... but funny in hindsight...

Somehow, I hadn't screwed up yet. Amazing.

When I arrived at the Herlihy's, I expected something out of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, though the twins are neither fat nor Greek... and it wasn't my wedding, it was Jenna's... but I digress. No, I walked into their front room, bag of bagels in hand, to find Jenna and Ally casually sitting while a makeup dude and hairdresser gal calmly went about their business of beautifying. No frantic rushing around... no tears, no death threats...

...was I in the wrong house?

There is a wedding going on, right?

Of course, the Herlihys' penchant for organization and planning made for a very relaxing morning prep. Mr. Herlihy, who had merely gone to bed after the post-wedding rehearsal festivities, a mere five hours earlier, was quite calmly finishing breakfast on the back deck when I got there... and most likely had already gotten in 30 laps at the pool, 2 rounds of doubles tennis, and a half hour at the driving range beforehand that morning. Man, what is his secret?!

Once I had arrived, I was sort of rendered useless, as I had already fulfilled my major mission of the day, which, of course, was to get my tardy tuchus to their house on time. So, I tried to make myself useful by playing den mother and greeting each of the bridesmaids as they arrived... ohh-ing and ahh-ing at their newly done-up hairdos and makeup...

To make up for all this poofiness, I'm probably going to have to go hunting for a month...

...with my bare hands.

The rest of the day, though, was simply perfect. The weather held up it's side of the bargain, as I had previously sacrificed twelve virgin doves in fealty. I tell you, those Aztecs really knew their stuff!

But essentially, the wedding was a gorgeous affair. Good people, good weather, good music... just wonderful. If I have to make any sort of complaint, it's that the bridal party sort of misses out on the cocktail hour... which is arguably the best time of the day for gorging on lots of delicious food and completely abusing the free bar.

Ironically, the only alcohol I had that day was the champagne toast. The rest was soda and water. The reason for this was due to dancing. I've realized over the last couple of years, that the less I drink, the "better" I dance. Not that I'm actually good in any sort of technical sense... but rather, I have more control over myself while sober, and I have more fun on the dance floor in general. Thus, no alcohol.

This teetotalling also scored an unexpected dividend: less drinking = less peeing. And thus, no more awkward stare-downs with those creepy bathroom attendants.

God, I hate those guys.

As it was a day wedding, everything wrapped up at 6 PM, and we hit the road up to Tarrytown for the after-party. The feeling was a bit more subdued, as everyone was clearly exhausted from all the fun and excitement, but we all sort of basked in the afterglow of the beautiful day on the open-air bar at a riverside restaurant... and we also basked in the glow of the lights from the police boats on the Hudson, as there was apparently a jumper on the nearby Tappan Zee bridge... (true story!)

Ally and I were woken fairly early the next day (doesn't anyone but me like to sleep late?!) Because we were in the guest room / computer room of the apartment, everyone was barging in to look at all the newly downloaded digital pics from the day before. It was clear from the sheer volume of pictures, that not a single moment was missed, as there were no less than 6 cameras going off at any time... (I seriously think they could put together a fairly serviceable movie of their wedding using all the pictures in a sort of flipbook dealie) Honestly, every nanosecond of Jenna's walk up the aisle was captured on film. No exaggeration.

We eventually headed up to Peekskill for the annual Gutierrez Pig Roast. And I say it, brother... never have I tasted such a delectable pig. It was sort of endearing to have tiny 70-year-old Cuban ladies circling around the pig roast pit like a herd of salivating, Spanish-speaking coyotes... "Muy Delicioso!"

My only miss-step of the whole affair probably came when I had the brilliant idea to buy a box of cigars for the pig roast on the prior Thursday. Ever hear the phrase, "Don't bring sand to the beach?" Well... don't bring American-purchased cigars to a CUBAN PIG ROAST. What was I thinking?! They went over like a Pizza Hut in Brooklyn.

In my defense, it's not like I bought a bundle of Philly blunts... I bought a box of cigars rated 89 by Cigar Afficionado Magazine ... and by the price alone... they better well be good cigars! So, the one brightside is that we'll have plenty of cigars for the barbecue-softball game in August. Woo-hoo!

But all-in-all, the beauty and happiness of the weekend is only fitting, considering the couple it was all in honor for. Those two deserve all the best... Congratulations, Jenna and Jay.

...and enjoy Hawaii... you lucky so-and-so's!


Fantastic Four: The Movie Review

I'd be remiss if I failed to share with you my thoughts on the Fantastic Four movie. This, the latest from the unceasing Marvel movie mill.

Let's get one thing straight, right from the bat: I thought it was great!

Of course, I went into the theater wanting to like it, and for the most part, I was satisfied. I've realized in the last couple of years, that a comic book fan can watch a comic book movie with one of two attitudes: a) Get every last detail absolutely accurate or I'll pick it apart with my finely-honed nerdly disdain, or b) Capture the essence of the story and characters and I'll have an open mind with your artistic license. (A) Attitudes usually write snarky little dismissals on their websites, while (B) Attitudes typically come out of the movies happy.

The joy I derive from these comic book movies is purely from watching beloved characters I've grown up with take on flesh and blood, and to experience them in a whole new way. For the most part, I haven't been disappointed too much, lately. They all take part in the spectrum of good to not-so-good, from X-Men 2 all the way to Elektra (which, in truth, I haven't seen yet). And not to digress too much, I think much of the ire for Daredevil and Elektra are for the most part due to their A-list-type stars. Daredevil really wasn't all that bad, but Ben Affleck just seems to have some quality about him makes people want to hit him...

That being said, it was a delight to see the story of the Fantastic Four come to life. What sets the FF apart is their interaction with each other. And, to that degree, the movie nails perfectly. Chiklis and Evans were perfect for the roles and completely brought to life the Torch-Thing squabbling right from the comic book pages.

Similarly, Alba and Gruffudd do right by their characters as well. I mean, we must be honest... the characters of Sue Storm and Reed Richards aren't quite as fun as Johnny Storm or Ben Grimm, but they have their virtues... and certainly their qualities are crucial to rounding out the foursome. Alba plays Sue as the long-suffering, strong-minded woman trying to get Reed to notice her (there's a great scene in the beginning where just about EVERYBODY notices her... except Reed), and Ioan plays up the superintelligent and virtuous, yet emotionally dense Mr. Fantastic.

So, essentially, the best part of the movie is the middle part, as they are all coping with, and exploring their newfound powers.

What unfortunately knocks down the movie from "perfect," in my book, is the awkward inclusion of Dr. Doom. Doom is, in my opinion, the best villain in the Marvel Universe. The character is so full of himself, so egocentric, so ruthless... you can't help but sort of like him. His whole speaking of himself in the third person is strangely endearing...

"None but Doom shall ride the merry-go-round today! Begone, brat ... SO SAYS DOOM!"

"Doom demands rainbow sprinkles on his vanilla ice cream!... SO DECLARES DOOM!"

Disappointingly, Dr. Doom is sort of thrown in at the end for a 10-minute fight climax that is full of exciting potential, but never quite gets going. However, I must say that seeing the FF work together (even if it was really for only about 5 minutes) was thrilling! It was almost a throw-away sight gag when Mr. Fantastic contorts himself into a water funnel to freeze Dr. Doom.


The real crime would be if he never got the movie treatment!

I feel a bit defensive about this film, because I think people expected it to be something different and are judging it unfairly. But then again, as I said in a previous post: art is always subjective... and you can't be convinced to like or not like something.

The movie did a great job introducing the major characters and setting the stage for further adventures. I would love to see a sequel involving the Negative Zone, or the Inhumans, or the time machine to Rama-Tut's Egypt... or, most importantly, "The Coming of Galactus!" Could you imagine The Watcher, Silver Surfer, and Galactus on the big screen?

Don't write off the FF yet, people... the best is yet to come! 'Nuff Said!


This is just wrong... but I've been sitting on this image long enough... May the Lord Have Mercy... and don't cross the streams!

That's it for a while... I'll hit you back with another story when something interesting happens... or some weird thought pops in my head... or I've eaten too much fiber...

Things I Find Cool #2: Old timey guys from New York who wax poetic about baseball from the '40's and '50's... I just saw the HBO documentary, "The Shot Heard Round the World," and it was a blast listening to these 60-plus-year-olds telling their boyhood stories of the cross-town rivalries and why they all hated the Yankees... even Joe Torre!"

Feedback Question of the Day:
"Ever have a particular movie or show that you were especially defensive about, because most people didn't like it? Like I am about Roadhouse?"

Friday, July 08, 2005

This is Where I Procrastinate


At this point, Tom should be more concerned about avoiding the little lady and the orphans in the intersection instead of posing for a silly photo with his sis...

Yeah... what the heck am I writing about?

I have no idea... that's the magic of alcohol.

In case you may be confused, I'll be quite obvious here, I'm a bit drunk.

Now, I'm not pissed off, or on the flip side, happy-go-lucky, right now. Instead, I'm in that midling spectrum of inebriation called "not giving a crap."

I had one heck of a night in the ER.

So I decided to self-medicate.

Boy oh boy... the people just wouldn't stop coming... it was an avalanche. I'm just glad I'm home, now. Yeesh.

Now, I know I promised an update about Jenna's wedding. But that simply wasn't meant to be. I assure you, you'll have the update by Sunday... but until then, I'll just keep enjoying the beer surplus from past parties. And thank you, Domino's.

Tom's tappin' the rockies!

Feedback Question of the Day:
"Ever have a rough day and you just want a drink to forget about it? Share you're frustrated drunk story... if one exists... or just share a time you thought, "Man, I could go for a drink," and then proceed to fantasize about drinking but never actually get around to doing it."

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Good Looks Never Go Out of Style!


Christina Aguilera's inevitable run-in with the fashion police: "Look at me! Buy Shoes! This ad is for 'Shoes'! This isn't about hip-huggers or sexy cop outfits... I'm selling shoes!" Is it me, or does Christina bear an uncanny resemblance to...?


Is this Christina's inspiration? And unlike Ms. Aguilera, this should not be used as a floatation device!


Of course, Lil' Kim, here, is quite obviously giving homage to the timeless toy. Ironically, it's made from almost the same amount of plastic as she is!

Am I lazy?

Well, I'm more strapped for time than anything else. I know I told in my last entry that I'd divulge all the wacky details from this past weekend's Matrimonapalooza, three days of nuptial nuttiness. However, I know an account that'll do true justice to such a weekend would require a bit of time, so you'll have to wait until tomorrow. Of course, being strapped for time still meant I could troll through Google looking for images of "love doll." That was fun, let me tell you!

In its stead, is a little comparison study that's been percolating in the ol' cerebrum for the last couple of months. Over at thrice-despised and beloved Roosevelt Field mall, I've happened upon Christina Aguilera's ad for Sketchers shoes. It's pretty memorable, fellas, depicting Cop Christina "busting" non-Cop Christina, who's leaning over a car and looking all surprised. The undertones are quite ironically obvious (Oh right, it's about "shoes"!). Subtlety, we hardly knew ye...

But non-Cop Aguilera's appearance always bugged me, because she seemed to be mimicking the appearance of the old plastic, blow-up love dolls that you'd see staring at you in novelty shops or behind those beaded curtains in sketchy stores in Manhattan and what-not. (Not that I've ever been there... but I've heard of them.) Thus, I provide this, a comparison study.

I always meant to put it up in the blog... nothing more. Judge for yourselves. Maybe the resemblance is just my imagination.

Note from Tom: What originally followed in this blog entry was a lengthy diatribe about Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears. Read later, it made me sound like an editorial in some midwest town's newspaper about them new-fangled halter tops them hussies in New York are wearing are putting the devil's thoughts in the young Christian men of this here fine upstandin' town of Podunk.

So, I did away with it. And while I still find Christina and Britney particularly noxious, I'm not gonna waste your time ranting about it.

Tomorrow: Matrimonapalooza: The Conclusion!

Feedback Question of the Day:
"If you could do away with one celebrity, who would it be? Why? And, if you're particularly creative, how would you do the deed? Note: politicians don't count"

Monday, July 04, 2005

Happy Fourth of July!


The Spirit of America, by Steranko. I hope everyone had a great Fourth of July!

Friday, July 01, 2005

Matrimonapalooza '05


Jenna shows Achmed how they shake it in Douglaston, as Jocelyn looks on.


Synchronized Simian Stripper Sensations, Brendan and Mike make Jay's bachelor party truly unforgetable.


Lifelong Sisters and Friends: Kat, Cynthia, Ally, Susanna, and Andrea gather with Jenna to celebrate her Bridal Shower.


We're Still Standin: Mike, Chris, and Jay celebrate the conquest of yet another Tarrytown-area bar, at the end of a night-long bachelor party, pub-crawlin' rampage!

I'll have to make this short, as I need to go to bed (Matrimonapalooza waits for no man... and I have to be up pretty dang early.)

I'm heading into a pretty wild weekend, with a wedding tomorrow morning, followed by a reception and a later after-party up in Tarrytown. And Sunday will be the annual pig-roast up in Peekeskill. And then, of course, my liver will most likely by pressing charges... but by then it'll be too late, and I'll be nursing one mother of a hangover on Monday, July 4th... at work.

...and there was much rejoicing...

"Yay!"

Tonight started off the festivities quite appropriately, with a wedding rehearsal (although the dance routines need A LOT of work... and the orchestra conductor arrived late... AGAIN!) But the show must go on, right? Yes, well, afterwards was the requisite wedding rehearsal dinner at nearby Giordino's, a most excellent Italian eatery... where I dined on some cheese-less pizza (antipasto?! Is that like "anti-Christ?" I don't know, except the antipasto was sacralicious!) I followed this with a delectable chicken carapaciopa-wa-dingdong-walla-walla washington? I don't know either...(I'm such a gringo) All I do know is that it was sort of a lazy man's chicken parm... with no cheese. And, of course, to show my liver what was coming it's way, I took liberal advantage of the free beer refills. Coors Lite... Hallowed Be Thy Name!

I might still be a little tipsy as I write this... but at least I'm not angry and bitter and this isn't New Year's Eve. Yeah, now I'm a happy drunk, and I intend to continue as such until Monday, when I'll most likely be a sulky, cranky, light-sensitive, hung-over slug... at work. All I have to say is, Thank God it'll be a holiday.

Then I'll most likely sleep it off Monday night, and spend Tuesday recuperating and writing a follow-up blog entry about the entire, wedded weekend.

Because, I know that you'll all be waiting on the edge of your computer desk seats, anxiously wondering what I'm doing in my free time.

Not a little deluded, am I?

Yeah... but definitely still a bit drunk.

Seeya soon!

Things I Find Cool, #1: Black people who speak with british accents. Ever see the Tanqueray commercial? Or the movie, Snatch? You know what I'm talking 'bout, Willis!

Feedback Question of the Day:
"What's the most fun thing you've done at a wedding or formal reception?"