National Hosiery Obsession

For those of you that know me personally, in the non-blog-world (Real World? Wow, I hesitate to use that moniker), you know that for the last few years I have going to the health club/gym and working out either at lunch time or mornings during the work week. Turns out, that this has been a real positive change in my life and I actually have become quite addicted to my workout. Never expected that, when I think about it. Mind you, this doesn’t necessarily mean I am any less of a fat-ass or significantly healthier, but the possibility is there at the very least. I do feel better overall when I work out…I guess that is all that matters.

So, being addicted to my new quasi-athletic hobby, as well as the prospect of having “big guns” and wearing tight T-Shirts for the Ladies— I sought out a Health Club near my office so I could continue my daily routine of self-abuse (a.k.a exercise) upon my move to the UK.

I found it, right on the far side of the Car Park from the office. Good location, nice staff, good equipment, free newspaper, all-in-all quite good. Fitness First. That is why I was so surprised when I noticed all the bits of black…crud…clumps…all over the floor of the men’s locker room and shower area. I couldn’t imagine what it was, perhaps mold or some sort of bizarre English fungus? Then I finally figured it out, only after I noticed on my own feet!! My gods, it’s on me…get it off!

It is lint. Yes. Lint.

The people in this country are so obsessed with BLACK SOCKS or, more accurately are so ANTI-WHITE-SOCK that the locker room is constantly covered in the lint sloughing off the feet of hundreds of black-stockinged-males. Some of them even wear dark coloured athletic socks to work out. They simply can not deal with white socks. I have no idea why.

I am an outsider here, I admit it. But, to constantly wear dark socks just seems too strange. Some will even go so far as to wear dark colours with white trainers. (Trainers = “athletic shoes” for those of you not from this small island.) It doesn’t get much goofier than that.

Next, I started to notice the black lint EVERYWHERE …in the shoe store, on the carpet at the office, drifts of it along the rails of my pub, even in my own house…next to my bed…little tumbleweeds of black sock lint. Aaaiiieee!!

I am starting a campaign. I am slowly going to introduce people here to white socks. Athletic socks, at first…but then over time, show them that they can be quite “tasteful” with converse all-star high tops (which are oddly very popular here), or very comfy on a cold winter night

The Brits don’t change too easily, though. I expect limited success. I will keep you posted.

--tomb

PS: for you long-time readers of my blog…I have an answer to the question that may have been plaguing some of you since the very birth of the blog.

It was a feather.

How it got there? I can only guess it came from my pillow. Likely, it would have been there all day too, if I had not looked in the mirror and noticed that my lower eyelashes seemed weirdly white. It didn’t hurt. Dug it out with a kleenex.

--t

Aye, a Pox be on Ye!

Before my kids were allowed in school back in the states, the school district asked if they had ever had the chicken pox. Since they had not, the school said, “Get them vaccinated.” So we did. The Doctor, who was a really nice guy, checked to see if the parents needed it too. Well—Mommy had them as a child, so did not need it…Daddy on the other hand, had never had them.

“BUT, no!” I said rather stupidly, now that I look at it in hindsight. “I will not need the vaccine! I must be immune! I must have some mysterious powers against it! I have been exposed many times as a child and as adult. Never got’em. My own parents took me to play with friends who had open sores. Never got’em. I was dating a girl in high school who had them at the time. Never got‘em. Goodness-me, if I get that vaccine, I may actually be putting myself at risk for something else! Away with you and your quackery! Be gone, and practice your craft upon another. “

So, of course, last week I got‘em. I had the chicken pox.

I was out of work for the week, quarantined from the office because I had the chicken pox. Whoa…back up, there…It was not really the mini-holiday that you might think it to be.

First, as I have mentioned previously, I actually work hard here. So being out of the office, unplanned, caused some issues. I made all possible attempts to work from home, using all the facilities that modern technology and 21st century living could provide. However, mobile phones and wireless networked laptop in my bedroom can only take one so far productivity-wise.

Second, I couldn’t really leave the house because I looked like a leper. Really. It’s not like I could pop down to the coffee shop, or bakery, etc. I had many spots my face and neck and was quite monstrous. Plus there was that “ethical voice” inside my head (OK, it was Viki) saying, “No, you can’t go to Starbucks, you’ll infect others, blah, blah, blah…”

Third, when one hears about chicken pox symptoms, calamine lotion, itching misery, etc. come immediately to mind. But none of that happened. Sure, I had lots of spots, that did indeed “scab-over” which was oh-so-very attractive. But, never itched, never scratched, was never uncomfortable…what they don’t tell you is: you get really, really sleepy. I was tired all the time. The first 2 days of my confinement, I slept something like 18 hours a day. Again, to some of you this may sound inviting even restful. To that I say, “Try it.” It gets annoying after awhile.

Fourth, the daytime is quite awful for watching anything on the TV, especially here in the UK. At any given moment I had my choice of shows about:

• buying a home
• selling a home
• fixing up a home to pawn off on someone else
• decorating a home
• gardening around the home
• cooking at home
• composting at home
• redecorating your soon-to-be-former-best-friend’s home while they redecorate your home
• finding junk to sell in your home
• buying other people’s junk for your home
• And...Star Trek. (All forms of Star Trek are on here several times during the day--OS, NG, DS9, Voyager, and even Enterprise.)

I should have taken the vaccine.

--tomb

Pub Culture. Something to Cherish.

It’s not a bar, or a club. Those exist here, true…but I am a talking about “the Pub”. The English Public House Tradition is one not to be taken lightly or for granted, even though it is quite easy to do so. After all, they’re fun, relaxing places to go have a drink and enjoy a bit of life.

Find one you feel comfortable in. I can’t define the process any further than that, except to say, when you have found your “local”, you will just feel it. I have such a place down the road from my house here. As an American living in the UK, I tried several of the local places before I felt at home. Down the road from me are FOUR pubs. All within stumbling distance from home. I did have some choice in the matter. I can now be found on a regular basis at Ye Olde Green Dragon. It is a clubhouse/Masonic Lodge/ locker room/and political forum all rolled into one 187-year-old building.

There are a variety of resources on the net about Pubs and pub-psychology and pub-culture. Try some of these:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Public_house

http://www.pubs.com/pub_history.cfm


http://www.sirc.org/publik/pub.html



But what I wanted to share with you was the importance of the pint and inspiration to converse that comes with sitting in the pub. The pint is the fundamental unit of the pub, but more importantly it is the vehicle of communication and bonding amongst the pub-goers. Ordering a pint is the start of talk with the barman. Discussing the attributes of various offerings on the draught can lead down endless roads of debate. The exact size of EVERY PINT SOLD is the subject of British Law. It is that important. NO foam, No fizziness. That is against the rules. Treat yourself to a pint of hand-pumped English Bitter. It will come to you filled completely to the top. It is incumbent upon you to take the first sip without spilling. Drippage is bad-form, old boy. If imbibed properly, the foam will appear actually as you drink down your pint. In fact, if done just right, you will see a seductive lace-garter of delicate ale-foam drift gently down the empty upper half of your glass…only to come to rest on the satin pillow-top of the remaining liquid.

Now I am thirsty.


Sitting in the pub, you can silently reflect on life if you like. But after about 10 minutes of that, somebody is going to talk you. It is a place of conversation. It happens spontaneously more so here, than anywhere else possible in British society. These are reserved people, mate. The tube is silent, the parks are quiet, the shopping malls civilized. But, on any given evening the pub is bursting with noise.

One other interesting fact I will leave you with…one that inspired me to write this entry in the first place. Pubs allow children in, if they are accompanied, don’t sit at the bar and behave themselves. I have taken my four-year-old son to the pub for a little “Daddy and Max” time. Max had never seen a pub before, but when he got inside, he sat right down, had a coke, some chips, and watched football with me. He was quiet and happy.

Then he turned to me and said, “Dad, people talk to each other here.” I said, “Yes, that’s one of the reasons they come here.”

Max asked, “Are you supposed to talk about important stuff when you come here?”

“You could. Some do.” I said.

“OK. Because this reminds me I have something important to tell you Dad.”

I am intrigued at this. “Sure go, ahead. What is it?”

Max thought for a moment and elaborated. “I saw on TV that putting butter on your food is bad and it makes you die. I saw you put butter on your toast yesterday, and I think you shouldn’t do that because you will die. Why would you do that if you die from it?”

“Did Mommy put you up to this?”

“No, I just wanted to tell you because you took me to the pub and this is where we talk.”

That day, I think Max became a bit more British than American. Partly because of his stance on dairy saturated fats, but mostly because he found his pub too.

(I still put butter on my toast, but not so much.)

--tomb

Mea Culpa. (Like you didn't know THAT was coming.)

Well, gentle readers…when last I submitted something minor for your approval, it came almost immediately after a previous submission. A mere four days had passed and BAM! –Two entries from Tommy. A veritable ROLL I was on, indeed. However, I then let a month slip by. Rested upon my figurative and literal laurels, I did. As a result of August’s blogging, I even received some wonderful contact from distant cousins of mine (on my mother’s father’s side of the family down in Tennessee, for those of you keeping score) that I have yet to respond to. I feel irresponsible and rude. Apologies are forthcoming, this I swear.

What to say that would explain my lapse?

Quite frankly, I work much harder here than I ever have before. Period, full-stop, end of sentence… I use to have quite a bit of F—ing around time of my own creation back in the states. The job was easy, I was good at it, and I was comfy--Perhaps too comfy. Here, the work is great, I love the job, but I am facing a great challenge. One that I will succeed at, mind you. I am quite good at what I do, but…my available time is no longer what it used to be.

(When I think of all the time I used to have back in Chicago to read the internet news and catch up with personal matters in the late afternoons and early evenings. Oh, the salad-days, my friends, salad-days indeed!)

I have had some great things happen here, with the ol’ career…but it sucks up vast amounts of my time and energy reserves. I give most of what’s left to Viki and the kids, who deserve it after being dragged around the world with me. (By the way, the family seems to be taking quite well to the UK. Viki has been out with other “Mums” four times this week. My kids have joined the local drama school and trampoline clubs, and have been to a variety of birthday parties since school has started. Don’t feel TOO bad for them. They are doing fine!)

Oh, and we went to Paris, as can be seen below. So that took up a bunch of time too.

I do (as usual) want to thank everyone who has been writing to me publicly and privately encouraging me to get back to work on the blog. I had no idea there were so many of you. (Even after the LAST time I took a big giant break from the blog.)

Successes at work have allowed me a certain rhythm. With that rhythm comes a bit more time to dedicate to my written pursuits.

Two entries this weekend, gang. It’s a promise I can make because I already have the second one written.

--tomb

No really, it's a street. Honestly.

I think the best advice I can give to anyone who is planning to visit the the towns and urban areas of the UK or even the rest of Europe in general is, "Go ahead. Be brave. Try walking through that hidden passage or tiny street that you run across. You know you want to. There's probably something fairly interesting back there."

In the last few months, I have been to London, Manchester, Munich, Dusseldorf, Amsterdam, and, Maastricht. Each of these cities has its own unique qualities and personalities, true. But they share a similar time-scale and historical footprint in the world. Basically, they're old. I have found old cities just tend to build on top of themselves creating a layered record of architecture and structures the deeper you go into them. We all know that these places existed before there were cars,buses or trains. This means the streets and layout of these cities were once scaled only to horse- or foot-traffic.

The cool part is: many of these old narrow streets, lanes, and passageways have remained in place and the city grew around them. Plus--because they were essentially forgotten by the planners and barons of the world, they have also tended to remain pretty much as they were for hundreds of years. However, the local residents and those-in-the-know still use them. You can simply pass though some as a short cut, or find yourself standing in front of a tiny pub or almost forgotten book-seller or rare collectibles dealer. I myself found a shop at the end of a 6-foot wide passageway near the east end of London that sells only shoes for dolls. Nothing else. Weird. (And it was open. I did not go in. I did not need doll's shoes.)

But, you have to be willing to give it a try. There is a tendency for many of us not to go down dark alleys. There's strong precedent for this, to be sure. Use your head, and you will be fine. Duh--a dark alley is NOT a quaint or historically significant passageway. Skip it. The ones to look for have small light sources of their own, or have some access to the daylight from above. Many have an inviting sign posted (just not too obviously) or show some indication of local foot traffic. Look for it.

You will not get lost. There is another thing I have learned about these old cities: If it's not a dead-end, then the path invariably leads to a main street, public gathering place, or source of transport. Period. End of story. Why? Because people tend to create roads that lead to somewhere eventually. Usually this is a convenient place that we want to go to often, which is why the path is there in the first place.

You won't suddenly find yourself in the middle of nowhere.

But you may suddenly find yourself looking at something rarely seen by the casual visitor: Like a pub built around a cherry tree stump that Queen Elizabeth danced around in the 1500's that is guarded by a 200-year-old stuffed cat, which is only accessible by entering a 32inch wide gate that blocks an alley-way that is too narrow for anything but single file walkers.

This place really does exist. I leave it to you to find it. The beer was good.
--tomb

So, How Does Once a Month Grab Ya?

Like the phases of the moon, or other things that occur every 28 days, its time again for my blog. (I am really, really, really sorry it's been this long.) Yes, my last blog update was July 4th. Well, as they say here in the UK, “It’s holidays time, mate. Nothing gets done, but at least the motorways are clear.”

For your entertainment and vindication, as well as my further vilification, I present here a short list of people who have admonished me publicly and privately for not updating my blog often enough:

• My Parents
• My Wife
• My Daughter (Fortunately my son does not care.)
• Brad (within his own blog!)
• Posters on my blog site.
• Listeners to our (now once-a-month) bi-weekly radio show
  http://www.radiotiki.com/ for those of you who didn’t know.
• Friends and neighbours back in the States

So—I do have the need and intention of update more often. But some things have gotten in the way since last I wrote:

• Spent a week in Scotland
• Spent a week in the Netherlands
• England was flooded (yes, the whole country. But we’re fine.)
• Harry Potter Movie
• Harry Potter Book
• The White Sox are in last place whilst the Cubs are in first

As you can tell it has been a fairly apocalyptic month, all things considered. Therefore I offer this nugget of an entry plus a photo, plus a promise of and entry next week too. (Probably Scotland or Potter related.)

Smoochies to you all.

--tomb

On the 4th of July, I had 3 meetings and did paperwork. You?

Yes, it is the 4th of July everywhere. Intellectually, I completely understood and thought I was prepared for the fact that nobody else in the world gives a damn about that day but us. Most Americans, even, don't really care. It's just our God-given right to that day off dedicated to eating outside and high explosives. I like that. Most Americans like that.

However, I was completely unprepared for how weird it was going to be today. I am not a big patriot by any means, but it is so strange to be here in the UK while everyone is celebrating back in the states. I get messages from friends who are cooking out today. We are going to be watching a webcast later this evening of our old neighborood's BBQ. It's on the news, etc. It's all just weird.

So, my family and I--we will celebrate. We are going to invite our new British neighbors over for Dogs and Burgers and make them enjoy this day dammit! AND I am going to spend the evening listening to the White Sox game on MLB.com!

But--I'll have to wait until Guy Fawkes day (Nov. 5th) for the fireworks to go on sale here!

Enjoy the day. Be Patriotic, but not the nationalistic/jingoistic/Fox news/Karl Rove version of it! (That's part of the reason I left in the first place!)

--tomb

They got me, Dammit!

Even after I swore I would not fall into the British Television trap that I see so many actual English people fall into—they got me. Oh yes, the magnificent bastards, I have read their book—and still, they got me.

You see, unlike American TV shows—which go on and on and on and on, year after year until it “jumps the shark” and begins its death throes (which could still take 3 seasons)—British television, as an industry sees itself like a cross between a drug dealer and B.F. Skinner.

“Here’s a neat show. Do you like it? Wow, everyone likes it! It’s hit. We are proud to bring it to you. Oh, yes it is wonderful. Now it’s off. Yes, it had its six-episode series. It’s done. Oh, I know it seems like you are in the middle of a storyline, but that is how the writers intended it! Yes, create your own conclusion. Did you know ‘Big Brother’ is back for the summer…”

I have seen this happen in the past. I swore I would not get into any domestically produced shows here because I knew…oh, I knew that this would happen.

Yet, in my earliest days here, on a quiet Sunday evening, I was offered this:

http://www.itv.com/page.asp?partid=7789

And it was filled with actors I like (Stephen Fry, Hermione from “Cold Feet”) set in Norfolk (charming countryside) and it wasn’t CSI, ER, or Law&Order. It was wonderful.

Now, it’s gone. 6 episodes. Done. Maybe there will be series 2. Maybe not.

I am going back to listening to the radio, and watching a few American series that won’t die anytime soon, but probably should.

--tomb

Born Identity...

So, I am trying to figure out just what exactly is the reputation of America. Or rather—what is it that people think when they encounter an American?

I have had some strange experiences in this regard. I think primarily it is because people are finding an American in their midst but not in the usual tourist-y places. They are finding an American in the grocery store, in the cinema, at the mall, or small pubs in small towns where foreigners don’t often travel.

Case in point. I was in Sainsbury’s, which is a large super market player like Albertsons/Jewel. In line at the register, the girl there asked if I needed help bagging my groceries. I replied, “No thanks, I got it.”

A woman behind me then taps me on the shoulder asking, “Excuse me, but are you an American?” Bracing myself for whatever could come next, I said yes. She said, “hey that’s really cool,” which was totally not what I was expecting. I said, “Really? Thanks, we don’t get much of that.” By this time I had bagged my stuff and she was waiting with her things, so there wasn’t much follow-up.

Another incident involved several drunken youths at a local pub. Whilst the event did something to bolster my ego, it is still perplexing. I went to have a couple of beers with a friend of mine. In the UK, the young studs like to go out en masse to the pubs, get fairly hammered, and then try to go out to clubs to meet women. So if you go out during the early-drinking-stage, you are likely to see one of these groups. I did. They were all drinking Bud, which I find ironic. Anyway, one of them drops a Bud on the floor. My friend says, “It’s a shame to see beer go to waste like that, even if it’s Bud.” I agreed, we chuckled and continued drinking our pints.

Well…one the boys comes over to me and says “Do you think we’re cheap, mate?”
I say, “what?”
“My friend says you think we’re cheap, because we drink Bud.”
“Nope.”
“Well, I think you did.”

At this point the reader should observe two things. First, my friend, who is English, is the only one of us they heard speak. Second, my replies have all been one word, hard to distinguish my origins. Here’s what happened next.

I stood up and said, “Well, I’m not sure what you heard, man. But we weren’t talking to you. Perhaps your friend shouldn’t listen in on other people. He misunderstood us, and now it’s causing a problem.”

The front boy says, “Wait. Are you from America?”
“Yeah.”


Pause.
“Listen, our friend is kind of drunk. Don’t worry about what he says. We were going anyway. Cheers.”

I am stunned by this. If I did not have a friend there with me to witness it all, I would have thought I imagined it. I have no idea why they left, or why my being an American had anything to do with it. But, somehow it did. Did they think I had a gun? Apparently we all do in the States, we are all gangsters and cowboys.

What must they all think of us?
--tomb

News, and Where's Waldo?

Well, just quick update now to be followed in the next day or so by the Tom-ish-ness that everyone has come to expect from the blahhgh.

I have Broadband access in my home now.

There are a few of you out there who know that this mean better things may be just around the corner. Soon. Testing to commence.

Also: In addition to odd things that I have found in my eye (which I have promised, and not yet revealed), and why blogging is like golf (which I may never divulge--make your own assumptions), I will now also preview a future topic called: Is the demand for "Two Guys, a Girl, and a Pizza Place" that great???

I am also including a pic this time. Tommy in UK. See if you can find me in this photo:

The stupidest things are different.

First off, thanks to all for the nice replies to my last post. I don't know how you may be alerted to when someone responds to your response, but I did try answer some of the questions.


Now for my thought dropping of the day: Look at you keyboard. Go ahead. Find the '@' symbol. You see where yours is? Above the '2'.

MINE is NOW where the " used to be. And my " is now above the '2'

WTF? Do you know how many emails I have tried to send this week that looked like this:

tomb"radiotiki.com

WHY? there is no good reason for the keyboards to be different. I actually expected other problems. Like the '£' would have to go somewhere. BUT they kept the '$' right where it normally goes. (for those morbidly curious, the '#' has been displaced.)

I can't type now. Fuck.

Also, they gave me a checkbook at my new bank. (HSBC) I am currently too embarassed to ask anyone how to make out a check, because it doesn't look like any I have EVER seen. I guess I will be late on my bills as I have to go the library to figure this one out.

--tomb

Telecom Woes...

So, I have moved to the UK. I am in a very empty house, with a mattress, a comfy chair, a battery operated radio, and a nice TV. The TV is odd since it is a 40-inch LCD HD ready, etc. etc...yet it has a set of rabbit-ears sticking out of it.
It's like the Jetsons meet the Flintstones.

I don't yet have Cable/Sat.

Anyway, you may have noticed in my above list I DID NOT SAY "computer" or "laptop" at all. That is because, they are essentially useless in my new home. (save for games, watching DVDs, doing work, blah, blah.)

I don't yet have Cable/Sat. --which means no Broadband/HighSpeed/DSL.

So here is the deal in the UK:
1)you have to have a BT line to get Sky Satellite.
2)it takes Sky about 10 days to come out to see you and put up a dish.
3)You have to be an established Sky customer in order to add-on Broadband.
4)It takes 10 days after that to get your modem delivered. (You have to use theirs.)

So, no BB, no Internet, spotty blogging, and for those of you waiting on it: no opportunity--right now--to re-establish Radiotiki. It will be a few more weeks, kids.

Sorry. I will Blog as I can from the office or Library.

Until I get umbilical back to the world...Smoochies.
--tomb

As promised...

Remember way back when I started the blahhhgggg? A month and a half ago? Seems like only a couple of weeks to me, though. Time really flies.

In my second post I jotted down some idea of things I intended to share but was in danger of forgetting. Well, it didn't help. I forgot. But now I have re-visited the list in question. Let's give bullet #1 a go, shall we?

The Joys and Dangers of Not Stirring One's Coffee. (also applies to tea.)

I have this idea in my head that several really good, robust cups of coffee are a great meal replacement when I forget to eat breakfast or have worked through lunch. I do not claim this is correct or even healthy, but--when I am getting a bit peckish at the office, sometimes a hot beverage with the right amount of sweet & foam makes the hungry go away.

So, I have been imbibing a markedly increased amount of coffee and tea as of late. This also means I have been adding sweetener and cream-like-non-dairy-product to my beverages too. But in this age of Al-Gore-can-win-an-Oscar-for-scaring-the-shit-out-of-us, I have concluded that it is extremely wasteful to use the seemingly endless pile of little plastic straws, logo-stirrers, and little wooden sticks. I decided to not stir the coffee at all. Just hope that a little "swishing around" will do the trick.

It works. I feel much better about acting-locally, thinking-globally and I still get my coffee. In theory, I am happy. However, occasionally the mix isn't right or I didn't slosh it around enough. When this happens then my last few sips, the dregs if you will, are a coffee/syrup-y/creamer-sludge nightmare.

Yet I still drink it.

I feel good doing my part for Gaia, but I risk getting the diabetes from the un-stirred detritus in the bottom of my cup.

Was this worth the wait? Nah, not for me either. :)
--tomb

Ohhh...the places you'll go!

OK, ok, ok... yes, it's been 24 days since I last updated. But my dear droogies, if you recall the post immediately below this one (read it now if you need a refresher), nearly every possible moment of those 24 days has been occupied with weddings, travel, packing, etc.

Babies, I am tired. However, many many thanks are in order: I got a suprisingly high number of private emails and responses to the blog checking on me, reminding me that I have not posted, folks going though withdrawl, etc. Really it was touching as well as effective. I am back. I will continue to post when I can before the big move, and then...likely ALOT more often after the move.

So what's been going on? I was in NYC, then I did the wedding, then I went to Amsterdam/Dusseldorf/Maastricht for St. Patrick's day, spent a day at the British Consulate getting my visa, all the while sort and packing my accoutrement for the crossing.

During the entire time I kept a running list of weird things just for the amusement of the blog and its few readers...

1. The folks at the British Consulate seemed very happy to see an actual Chicagoan applying for an entrance visa for their country. During my day there, it seemed to be an endless stream of people from other countries, who happened to be in Chi-town, but looking to enter the UK. I have no idea why or how this came to be, but there I was, seemingly the only American in the room. Anyway...when my turn with the clerk came up, I got a nice conversation, recommendations for sights/food/recreation/etc. Everyone else just a got a stamp and paid a fee.
2. While I was in New York, I went to the bar that I usually frequent when I have to work in Manhattan. O'Reilly's on 31st and 6th. I was enjoying a Jamesons and some wings (yes, I was in my own personal heaven) when I suddenly realized I had been hearing nothing but Celine Dion songs on the sound system. It had been at least 4 songs, 2 of which had been in french. Odd, no? So I inquired of my waitress, since usually this particular bar pipes in XM radio and it is tuned to "Lucy", channel 54. She said, "yeah, this happens about once a week. Sometimes we have to tell that guy that the jukebox is broken." To which I asked, "which guy?" She pointed out a 6'5" , +350lb. giant black dude in a leather coat sitting at the bar. Alone. The server said he would play Celine songs all night if they let him. Chew on that one for a while.
3. Speaking of XM--it may be possible that I can enjoy it while in the UK. More on that experiment later.
4. I spent an evening at a Bowling alley/Laser Tag arena/4 Star Steak House in the Netherlands. I salute the entrepreneurial spirit that decided to combine those things all under one roof. You know what? It was crowded. Forget about getting to the salad bar.
5. St. Patrick's day in Maastricht NL is not the festivus that it is here in the states. Oh, I did go to the Irish pub in town and had a lovely dinner, but IE nationals had just lost in Rugby and the mood in the bar was FAR from festive.
6. You can never go wrong with the "30+ Party in D'heimel" Look here, in the fotos section and you will find a picture of yours truly dancing his ass off! (I'm the one in the Jameson's shirt.)
7. Upon my return from the UK, I will go into the Wedding business. Period. Getting married? I will do it for you. It was a blast and everyone was very enthusiastic about my homemade-not-too-churchy wedding service.

So, let me end this for now with the promise that I will get to it more often, now that I have a smidge more time.

--tomb

Irony Corner

I 've decided to start drinking more often, because I have been having too much to drink lately.

Strange, no?

The past two weekends I have had opportunity to "go out" on Saturday night and essentially had no limits. Last weekend I was at the RJR launch party. Corporate event, big dance club in Chicago, open access. Then yesterday, I went out with the neighbors which was also very cool. Went to three different bars, and I mean different in every sense of the word: one Japanese sake bar, one local headbangers/cowboys bar (not kidding on that descriptor) and one suburban dance club. That night also had limitless access to drinks since everyone is in the process of saying good-bye to us before our big move to the UK.

In addition to this, my next four weekends are similarly booked: I am performing a wedding on Saturday (with accompanying rehearsal dinner Friday), then the next weekend I am going to a St. Patrick's day party in the Netherlands, (yes, I know how weird that sounds) the weekend after that I am in Amsterdam, the weekend after that--my friends in Chicago are throwing a good-bye party for us.

SO--there is the potential for much too much drinking over the next month.

The last two Sundays, I have been not so much hungover as overly exhausted and bloaty, or in other words, miserable for a good chunk of the day. It doesn't help that the Saturday nights have included beer and shots and champagne, etc. within several hours of each other. See, I have not been a big beer drinker for the last 3 years, having it usually two nights a month when we'd do the show, and then only Guinness. Adding so much bad beer back into my system and then mixing it around with other stuff, has proven...detrimental.

It used to be that I would have a martini or a bit of Jamesons after work a couple times a week. Very nice, warms up the soul, lets one properly process the day, good for settling in with a book or whatever is on TV. However, because my weekends have been and will continue to be feasts of Bacchus, I have been eliminating my good drinks during the week, the higher quality things that I actually enjoy for the taste, only to replace them with high volumes of things that I don't normally drink.


I miss my martini's and feel like I am cheating on her with beer. Nasty dirty sex beer. Sure its fun that night, but the next day--It's like I got crabs...and pregnant...and I showed up on Maury only to find out that beer's not my baby's daddy, it's Jaeger Shots!

Therefore I have come up with a solution: Drink more of what I like during the week. Then, drink only that on the upcoming heavy weekends as well. No more multiple types of beer. No shots unless its something I am already drinking. If I start with wine, I stick with wine. Same for beer. Sipping two Jamesons will go just as far a five beers. That's it.


Drink more to drink less. It's a way of life, people. Embrace it.

--tomb

Sick Day

Some of you might be thinking, "Oh nice, tomb...you start this blog and then you pull a Brad and not update it."

Yes, I intended to update this weekend on a couple of things: Remember the coffee post? Stuff I found in my eye? No, I haven't forgotten. Also, I spent Saturday night and part of Sunday morning with executives from RJ Reynolds, including the CEO. Who, by the way, is completely in my kink box--50ish, newly divorced woman, CEO, made $XX millions of dollars last year, not afraid of the drinky, and thinks Tommy is funny. Yes!

So, I had some stuff to say...but, being out until 5:30 am, consuming a larger than recommended amount of vodka and champagne (not together, mind you), and then shovelling snow for two hours on Sunday without being wise enough to wear a hat...I got sick. Not just a little sick. ALOT sick. I hate this. It is like the flu bug was infected with a cold and then invaded my body.

However, I am not puking (using the Shakespearean spelling), which is a good thing. I am also soliciting Soup Recipes. Chicken, tomato, potato, as long there are not big chunks of anything in it. Send them to me here or to my email box.

I will get to the more interesting stuff after I convalesce.

--tomb

Tom's BEEF

So, those of you who remember me from The Great RadioTiki Experiment will recall that on occasion, I had a few things to get off my chest. Well, now I have a portal and no editors! (See Jeff)

Two big beefs for you today.

1.) The illinois state lottery.

2.)Blogspot.com (oooooh, the host of this site, oooooh)

Item #1: Damn you lottery! I have other things to spend that $20 bucks on... Stop having a bing giant prize and making me play, even though I have a nigh-zero chance of winning. Yes, the mega-millions jackpot is now up to $180 million. So, of course my brain says, "sure, you have almost no chance of winning, but if you don't play--you have no chance at all." Oh no! I gotta play. So why $20? Well, I did a quick-pick like 6 years ago and won $150 on it first try, so I decided to stay with those numbers. It was 4 $5 tickets and I copied them on to one of those reader-sheets and keep it in my own "I-am-78-years-old-and-I-play-my-grandkids-birthdays-in-the-lottery-everyday" proctective plastic envelope. So, when I go... when I play... only when its over $100 million... then I just hand the guy my envelope. Slick, huh? Oh, did you say sad? So now its "Up there" and its been there for two weeks. So I play.

Somebody win, so I can go back to ignoring the lottery.

Item#2: Now, I am not exactly sure who to be mad at here--maybe even myself for my own stupidity. BUT! Since I have registered for and created this blog, my spam has increased 100-fold. I am not exaggerating. I just dumped it 15 minutes ago...hang on, I'll check again now...5 more. (two of the "she will love you more than any other guy" that I now get 25 times a day) It is all addressed in ways like "tikitomb" or a variant--a name I have never used before this blog. Now, I did use my long standing email address for my profile because of its connection to my aforementioned radioshow, and I expected some spam. However, this is bordering on the stupid. Wait, it's been another 3 minutes, I'll check again...yep, there's one more "RX from Canada".

Thanks, Blogspot (or Google, cause you are the owners) thanks for screwing me. I really hope I don't dump something important.

--tomb

Most Embarssing Google Search (today, at least)

Google. Images. "Spears Bald".
Choose your poison after that. This is what I chose:

Its...just, well...I just had to know. OK?

This is like watching a supernova. Eventually, her inner core will collapse in on itself from the sheer density of her own self-absorbtion. Then she will truly be star. Unless the unsuing nuclear chain reaction disintegrates 12 city blocks of L.A.

Can't wait for the book her kids will have ghost-written.

--tomb

Why am I addicted to this?

It's on for two hours in prime time on Wednesdays, and numerous times during the week. My kids like it too. Is it science masking itself as fun? Or is it simply fun, with a facade of science?

My answer may lie in the fact that occasionally, when actual scientific info needs to be presented, a stylized video-drop is show that says "warning, science content."

Sigh.

But still I can't stop watching it. I am thinking of suggesting a few of my own myth ideas: Carpet-induced static charge causing a fire for example. Of course I am saving all of my good ideas for "Dirty Jobs." (Airline Fuel Bladder Cleaning--look it up. Its heinous.)

--tomb

Not everyone likes theatre nerds, apparently.

It has happened again. A show that I find to be intelligent and well written is dying in the ratings. Subsequently, tonight I am sure we will all be saying Goodbye to:

In their infinite wisdom, NBC has decided to replace it on the schedule with the "Black Donnelly's". Oh yes--witty banter, backstage shennanigans, a rare glimpse in to the world of Live-scripted-sketch comedy is to be replaced by yet another ridiculous crime drama. This time it a Sopranos-wanna-be except with Irish hoods. Huzzah.

"Studio 60" hasn't officially been cancelled, and NBC has ordered 22 episodes.

But there is no scheduled date of return. Good Bye, Studio 60.

--tomb

Easy like...

...Sunday Morning. Did you think I was going to say, "...like a prom-date"? Well I didn't, but I thought that when I wrote it. My blog, my stream of consciousness. That's the way it works, right?

Again, I have much that I have decided to immortalize in this space, but again--I have decided to put that off for bit and tell you about my morning. Why? Why not? A word of advice I received regarding "L'arte du blog" said short bursts, nigh meaningless, are better than nothing.

I was a bit melancholy last night...I did the final edits of the show, posted it, sent the podcast and stream feeds, and updated the title blurb on the site...all for what could be the last time. So I was a little sad.

But I slept in today, which I never get to do. Then, I was presented with french toast made out of french bread, and the best coffee that has ever come out of our crappy black & decker brewer. There was NPR on the kitchen radio as I ate my breakfast and watched the coyotes run around on the frozen pond. The winter has made our local predators frisky and playful as they scour our greenspace for mice and rabbits. It really is picturesque and wonderful to watch--if you are not a bunny. Finally, a very peaceful morning was concluded with reading Neil Gaiman's 10 year old one-off comic "One Life", sent to me by a long-time listener, Mikester. (Thanks!)

So the quiet introspection of the morning healed the bit of sorrow from the night before.

Thought I'd share.

--tomb

Previews, signs, and portents

Since I have started the blog I am already starting to fall into the trap of other bloggers/journal-keepers. I have bunches of ideas and things that I intend to put in the blog, but: Only when I am not anywhere near my computer. Then the idea is gone when I actually get there. This happens when I try to keep a journal too.

So, in an effort to stem the tide I offer this post. Essentially a preview of things that I intend to write about. This will also serve as a reminder to myself.

In the next few days look for the following:

• The joys and danger of NOT stirring one's coffee or tea.
• Why blogging is like golf.
• Odd foreign objects that I have found in my eye.

There, I 've committed to these entries. It's done. I can't go back. All you can do is tell me which one you'd want to hear about first.

--tomb

Ex Terminus, Infit

Just because it seemed like a good idea, I have begun my blog. Brad has one. I can do it too.

I haven't yet decided if I like that word, "blog". I know it is very popular and is, in fact, the acceptable industry descriptor for this...thing... However, I find it to be a bit too dismissive a term for a respectable undertaking such as this. Afterall, it is quite a commitment keeping track of one's thoughts, feelings, moods, ideas, crackpot theories, and managing an ever-changing list of one's favorite/current media choices all on a daily or quasi-daily basis. Why slap it which a simple, near-guttaral sound, like "blog"? Blog. Bleah. Blahg. It just sounds awful. Go ahead, put it in the context of how you might use the word in normal conversation:

"Go to my blahg."
"Read my blahg. "
"I put it on the blahg."
"Did you see my blahg?"
"I've got to update my blahhhhhggg."

I mean, this is a great thing, this ever growing community of online-journaleurs. There are budding writers the world over that are now just coming into their own via their...blog... connecting, however lightly or indirectly, with other souls in the world. Each with a chance to add to the process, expand his thinking, spread her manifesto, challenge a preconception! Why couple it to the sound of a bowel obstruction? "Blog."

"What's the problem, Doctor?"
"Well, you'll have to have surgery. We need to remove a blog from your duodenum."
"oh."

For now, however, I am left with the term. It is what it is, and in order to make myself referentially understood, I will call it "blog". But, I am ever-vigilant, and will be giving it some thought. The right term will come to me. Then my campaign will begin. Don't bother to console me or give me false hope with terms like "web-journal", or "e-diary", or anything like that. "Blog" has captured the market because it's one-syllable, and its fun for the kids to say. The word I am looking for will have similar characteristics, but be a bit more respectful of the endeavor it describes.

All that being said: Welcome to my blog. I hope you like it. This inaugural post is titled "From the end, comes the beginnning." It is a nod in no small part to my years as one of the hosts of the Great RadioTiki Experiment. Our show was based in a home-studio and if you are so inclined you may check out the archives. You can even check out one of our fan-supported sites called the RadioTiki Wikipedia. The show's funny, subjective to your sense of humor, of course. BUT! It has one of the best, most loyal listening audiences on the net today. I have no idea if their numbers are large relative to other shows, but there are thousands of them, and they have been just fantastic and supportive since we announced the upcoming "big change." The show soon will take on a different form as I move myself and my family from the Chicago area over to the UK. This will involve some time away from the mics as I get settled in my new country, and we figure out if its possible to continue doing the show. Why not do a blog? I am about to embark on an international adventure, dammit. Surely, some record of it must be kept.

"What if no one reads it?" Indeed, what if? Do you know how many millions of these things are written and not read? Who am I to suggest that mine is any better? It's not. I do this for posterity first, sanity second, entertainment third. Plus it will be a great place to point my friends and family so that they may keep up to date with my invasion of Britain.

Now that my ego is slightly in check...I say slightly because this thing is by definition ego-driven, it could not exist without it... anyway, with ego in check, I will close this initial post by explaining what this blog will likely not be:

1) A link fest. Rarely, if I find something that really moves me, I'll try to mention it. Otherwise, I don't go in for long lists of "cool sites". It diminishes the impact of the few that I actually do want to share. Face it, how many of you go to the third or fourth link on someones lengthy list? How about even the 2nd item?

2)A photo gallery. I am bad about this. I have hundreds of digital photos that I have taken over the years, and none are accessible to me and my family. I doubt if I will get the inspiration to put many in here. I could be wrong, but for now--don't look for bunches of pics from me.

3)Purposeful, actual insight into my soul. You may find this if you look for it, but...I will not be trying hard to be deep or meaningful. Just me. I find that the dark, brooding, morose, overly poetic journals get on my nerves. I may complain, you may get a taste of my politics, but mostly just my observations. Ok--Occasionally a post about what I ate tonight.

Thanks for coming by, and thanks for making to the end of this first post. Comment if you like, I have no clue what the etiquette dictates for things like this.

--tomb