Could this be the greatest movie of all time?

Ladies and gentlemen, I'd heard about this but hadn't seen any footage until this trailer. This is a real movie. I shouldn't have to say that, but I'll repeat it for good measure: this is a *real* movie.






Please, Jeebus, don't let it suck. And please let it actually play in a theater near me.



IMDB link: My Name Is Bruce

The ORBIT ARCHIVE is now open!

I'm very happy to announce that the Orbit Archive is now open!

There's still some fine-tuning to do, of course, and if I get new material, I'll keep posting it. As of right now, though, there are 10 performances available to listen to on the web and download for personal use.

Thanks to Paul Buckley for the giving me the official green light on this project!

Stairways to Heaven

I got a semi-frenzied call from my brother this past Friday night. The first thing out of his mouth:

"Hey Jim, get a pen and some paper - write this down!"

Uh, OK. At least I could tell everyone was fine. He doesn't call too often (our conversations normally result in me calling my mom and his happening to be at home and answering the phone), so when the number came up on my cell phone I was a little surprised and a little worried that someone was sick or worse.

"You have to find a copy of this. Rodrigo and Gabriela. You'll probably find it as Rodrigo y Gabriela."

He proceeded to tell me about who they were, how he found out about them, and how he actually found their CD at BestBuy, so I looked them up on YouTube and found a couple of videos.

I downloaded the album on eMusic, and while I'm maybe not as crazed about it as my brother (enough to call someone out of the blue just to recommend it, that is), I'm very, very impressed nonetheless. The album I downloaded is mostly full of original material, but they very impressively cover "Stairway to Heaven" and Metallica's "Orion".

Long story short, they're heavy metal fans from Mexico City who up and moved to Dublin, Ireland, though they spoke no English. They started performing on the streets, and ... well, let's just say it's unfair that Fall Out Boy is famous and I'd never heard of Rodrigo y Gabriela isn't.

Not yet, anyway.

After I got off the phone with my brother, Nicole heard music playing and asked what I was watching. I explained, and she said "Oh, yeah - they're really good. They used to play them on the radio all the time in Portland."

Really? It was a further confirmation that I am so out of touch with everything, music-wise. I enjoy listening to Sirius, as it's commercial-free, but sometimes I wonder if they're as adventurous as I'd like them to be, because I'd never heard of them. Anyway.

Here's a clip of their version of "Stairway to Heaven", which I post only because it reminded me of the next clip I'm posting, which is also "Stairway to Heaven". If you watch the two of them, you'll understand.

After watching this clip, I remembered a performance I'd seen many years ago on PBS. I remembered it so well because the guy played two different guitars at the same time - one with each hand. Rhythm guitar with the left, and lead with the right - it's all fingertapping, and it's enough to make me wonder if he's human or not. Thank goodness for YouTube - I found it immediately.

So please check this out, too: Stanley Jordan. (If you're impatient, skip to about 2:50 into the performance). I don't know how old this performance actually is, but judging by the shoulder pads he's got under that jacket of his, it's clearly been a while.

An embarrassment of riches

With about seven minutes left in the second quarter of last night's OUTSTANDING game 6 performance by the Celtics, two things happened:

1. James Posey hit a three-pointer from the corner, doubling the Celtics' lead from 3 to 6 points. This was the equivalent of an infected monkey breaking out of the lab. After that, it was just a bloodbath - a slaughter of epic proportions. It couldn't be stopped. Not by Kobe, not by Jack Nicholson, not by the National Guard, not by Big John Studd and King Kong Bundy. You could only sit back and watch the mayhem break loose.

2. My dog - possibly sensing the imminent disaster for Lakers fans (the same way animals are said to sense earthquakes before they occur), or possibly sensing that the moon was full (or looked it, to my amateur astronomer eyes) - started freaking out and demanded to go for a walk. If there was ever a chance that he would have stood on his hind legs, tapped me on the shoulder, and spoke in English to tell me he needed to go out NOW, this would have been the time.

I grabbed my kinda-broken Sirius Stiletto unit with hopes of listening to the game while I walked him, but it was all for naught. The battery pack wouldn't fasten to the unit securely, so it kept "resetting" (which takes about 90 seconds at a time).

And when it DID plug in correctly, I didn't get great reception (under the trees, blocked by buildings).

And when I DID get reception, only the left ear got sound - the right side of the stereo reception doesn't work.

The thing works like a charm when it's plugged into its dock, but try to walk around with it and it's a disaster. I have to get a new one, eventually.

To top it all off, crazy dog - who couldn't wait to get outside and run to every bush he could find - would, upon arrive to said bushes, take his sweet time and smell them all for what seemed like an eternity. I know that you're supposed to take time to stop and smell the roses, but not during what could be the concluding game of a championship series. Clearly, when we adopted Joey, we should have been told that he didn't understand the protocol of professional sports. It might have been a dealbreaker.

So anyway, when I left, the C's had a nine point lead. When I got back, halftime was ending and they were up by 23. Thank goodness for DVRs.

Random thoughts on the game:

It's been pointed out before, but judge for yourself - do a Google image search for "Sam Cassell". Your first page of results will show references to a generic alien, to E.T., and to Gollum. The dude's kinda weird looking. (Not that it matters, of course. I'm not going to win any beauty contests either.) Conversely, Ray Allen has the most perfectly shaped head I think I've ever seen. (When your team is up by 30+ points, you tend to notice unusual things.)

I dug David Stern and Stuart Scott getting booed by the Garden crowd at the end of the game. It just seems right. (Though in fairness, Scott's not a bad guy - his style is just grating, I suppose.) I can only imagine how loud it would have been if Stephen A. Smith had been introduced during the ceremony. It would have been the same sound you'd hear if Rush Limbaugh was asked to speak in front of the crowd in Denver the night Barack Obama (the next President of the United States, by the way) is officially nominated as the Democrats' candidate. (Again, I know it's just an issue of style and personal preference, but the guy's just unwatchable.)

I can't prove it, because I didn't post it two weeks ago, though I should have. But I swear to you - Nicole is my witness - I told her before the series started that the Celtics would specifically win the first two, the middle game in LA, and game 6. I *do* have written proof that I said C's in 6, however.

I knew it would never happen, but I thought it would have been great to have whoever plays the music over the PA at the Garden play Pavement's "Cut Your Hair" whenever Gasol or Vujacic was about to take free throws.

In the bigger picture, when we're all old, sitting in our rocking chairs and telling stories to our grandkids, THESE are the years we'll be talking about.

It's hard to have a proper perspective when you're still knee deep in everything. It's foolish to assume and anticipate anything in sport, championships especially, but at this point, it's almost equally foolish to assume that the ride is over, too.

The veterans, like Garnett, Pierce, Beckett, Ramirez, Brady and Moss still have plenty of good years left. The "kids", like Rondo, Big Baby Davis, Ellsbury, Lester, Masterson, et al. haven't even gotten started yet.

And whether Bill Belichick is wholly on the up-and-up or not, and whether Terry Francona makes bad decisions with his pitching staff sometimes or not, and whether Doc Rivers' success is a result of his own skills or simply of having "the Big Three", the reality is that they all have players who believe in them and are willing to play as hard as they can and do what they are told.

And believe me, I understand why people don't like Belichick - but the bottom line - the absolutely undeniable fact of the matter - is that his style of coaching completely changed the collective attitude of the Boston Sports Community (if not the National one, too).

Since 2001, the emphasis has been TEAM, TEAM, TEAM. And yes, this market can financially support filling rosters with players of this caliber, but getting those players to set aside their desire for individual statistics in return for championships is a remarkable feat.

I wonder if Deion Branch would go back in time and change things if he could. I wonder if Johnny Damon and Pedro would. I wonder if Asante Samuel will.

But anyway, none of that matters. As a fan, these are the good old days.

And I'm enjoying every single one of them.

A Very Brief History of Time (specifically, the last ten years or so)

A bunch of old college friends have resurfaced in my life lately, which is beyond fantastic. More specifically, I suppose I should say that I've resurfaced. From the looks of things, quite a few of them have kept in touch through the years, and I'm the one who disappeared.

With a lot of these people, it's been (at least) a decade since our last conversations. I suppose I should offer up a quick recap of my life since we all went our separate ways. Here's the nickel tour:

After graduation in '96, I lived in Allston for a couple of years with three roommates. Eventually one went to flight school, one went to grad school, and I moved to Central Square in Cambridge with Dave Ethredge. After two years or so, Dave decided that he was ready for an adventure teaching English in Japan, so he moved out and I got a new roommate, who by coincidence also happened to be a BU graduate, and who also ended up being a terrific match for me. (I have no idea where she is now, but if Folanyah (Fulgham) Bradley eventually looks herself up on Google and finds this link, send me an e-mail!)

In the fall of 2000, the alleged "election" of George W. Bush ... on second thought, nope. I don't want to ruin what should be a fun journal entry. Sorry about that. (OBAMA '08!)


In October 2001, being a giant nerd paid off. Remember how I kept pressing people to watch the Evil Dead movies? Remember how much I told people that Bruce Campbell was a great actor, and that people who didn't know who he was were missing out? Well, in support of his autobiography (If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of a B-Movie Actor), my man Bruce appeared at a book signing in Harvard Square. For once in my life, my timing was perfect, as I got in line next to this cute girl named Nicole, who I befriended and eventually married. Go figure. This kind of thing usually happens in books and movies, I think, but it actually happened in real life. To me. And if it can happen to me, it can happen to anyone.

It was also at about this point that I became really good friends with a bunch of guys who also happened to be my favorite band, an indie out of Boston who deserved to be a lot more famous and successful than they were - The Sheila Divine. I'm now the webmaster for their unofficial official website, The Sheila Divine Archive. They've since disbanded, but I'm trying to keep the flame alive, at least a little bit.

In the fall of 2003, Nicole got a job in Portland, Oregon. I followed.

In the fall of 2004, the Red Sox won the World Series. This was an extremely important time in my life and, in fact, the lives of all true Americans.

While in Portland, my good friend Bryan got me a part-time free-lance gig writing portions of THQ's "Smackdown vs. Raw 2008" video game. The coolest job I ever had, and the highlight of my otherwise unremarkable, underwhelming professional life. Not that I had bad jobs by a longshot, but I'm guessing compared to what most of you have done in the last ten years ... I just doubt it's very exciting. My time (and money) at BU clearly were not well spent. But I digress.

Nicole and I were married at the Worcester Art Museum in central Massachusetts on September 23, 2006. We have no children.

In the fall of 2007, Nicole got a great position as a product developer/food scientist with Kraft foods ... in Morristown, New Jersey. Me? Currently I'm mooching off of Nicole's good nature, playing a lot of Halo 3, searching for a job that pays well and won't bore me to tears.

I'm used to living in the city. Boston, Portland. Everything within walking distance, tons of amazing things to do on a whim. No offense is intended to Morristown, of course, but it's the 'burbs. I'm not used to life in the suburbs, where you need a car to do pretty much anything.

The point being, I really miss Portland. For that matter, I still miss Boston (just not the cost of living there).

On the plus side, we adopted a seven-year-old half-Husky/half-something-else named Joey from a rescue shelter. He's such a really gentle and loving guy, and we're so happy to share our apartment with him.

Nicole and I look forward to moving back to the Pacific Northwest eventually, a few years down the line. That's the plan as of right now, at least, but certainly that's subject to change.

Then, in the last couple of weeks, I joined Facebook and here we are again, reconnecting after what's been far, far too long. I've missed you guys. I hope life's been kind to you, and I look forward to hearing about what you've been up to all this time, if you care to share.

Seven to list seven

You know, I was thinking of a couple different ideas for my next blog entry, because I haven't written anything in a while. And since it's so freakin' hot outside, I was going to sit down and do it now.

I could write about old stuff (Atlantic City, Baseball Hall of Fame, the film festival) - all of which I'll get to (eventually). I could write about the Red Sox and Celtics. I could write more about politics (and bore people, because I think the political breakdown of my friends is roughly a ration of 1:everyone else, in conservative:liberal terms).

But Bryan saved me the trouble with the following:

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre,
whether they have words, or even if they're not any good, but they must
be songs you're really enjoying now, shaping your spring. Post these
instructions in your blog along with your 7 songs. Then tag 7 other
people to see what they're listening to.

The seven people I'd love to hear lists from include:
1. Bill
2. Alan
3. J.D.
4. Shilo
5. James
6. Ryan
7. Dorian

So in no particular order, I offer these:

1. "Medicine" by Orbit:

Knowing I was going to miss the latest Orbit reunion show this past weekend in Boston, I started listening to the Orbit catalog over the past few weeks. And I realize that for those who know Orbit well, this song is the "easiest" one to pick - it was a moderate hit in the early '90s and landed them on Lollapalooza. However, it's so ridiculously catchy and upbeat, and it's got that great 90's production that I miss so much - a great, buzzing wall of sound, with a bouncy bassline and those awesome fuzzy guitars.

More than the song itself, I think, are the memories that come back when I hear Orbit (this song particularly). Jeff Robbins standing atop Paul Buckley's drum set. Bill, Dan, and Al presumably at arm's length away. The Sheila Divine up next. Long nights out watching bands with my friends.

This song is like "Star Wars", in a way. Ask me at any given time on any given day what my favorite movies are, and "Star Wars" will always be one of them. Ask me about songs that are getting me through the days, and "Medicine" always seems to be on the list.

2. "The Perfect Crime" by Faith No More:

Thanks, iTunes! I had this song on an old cassette of the soundtrack to "Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey", and though it resurfaced on FNM's "This Is It (Best of)" disc, I wasn't going to buy it, because I had all the albums otherwise. Buying the single was a great decision.

If I remember correctly, "The Perfect Crime" was FNM's first studio production with Mike Patton part of the writing process ("The Real Thing" was recorded instrumentally before Patton joined the band, and he wrote his own vocals after the fact).

It was also the first step from moving away from the awful "funk metal" label they were burdened with, instead inching toward a more progressive, less "radio-friendly" sound. The lyrics are incredibly anti-social, while the song itself sounds remarkably upbeat. Quite an accomplishment.

BONUS:
I found this on YouTube while searching for a video for the song.

3. "Tattooed Millionaire" by Bruce Dickinson:

(I can't embed this one for some reason, but here it is at YouTube)

My brother - I don't give him enough credit sometimes. I still think a lot of the music he listens to is a little too "out there" for my own tastes, but he does have a proven record of liking stuff way before I do and making me regret not jumping on board earlier. He is a lifelong Iron Maiden fan. It took me a long, long time to "get it", I guess. I only really started to appreciate them a couple of years ago, in the early 2000's. He was listening to them a lot back in High School, in the late 80s/very early 90s.

Anyway, Bruce Dickinson put out a bunch of very different sounding solo records when Maiden was on a bit of a hiatus. I remembered his cover of Mott the Hoople's "All the Young Dudes", but had completely forgotten about the title track to this album. I stumbled upon a discography of Bruce's when I was looking up information about his previous (pre-Maiden) band, Samson, it rang a bell. "Tattooed Millionaire" ... hmm, I thought I remembered something about it, but wasn't sure. So I downloaded the song.

Yup. Love it! Pure pop-metal, completely un-Maiden. But that voice, and that ridiculous melody! Who could resist it?

Also, and I don't know if this is true or not, but Wikipedia mentions it, so it must be true (uh, yeah): "Tattooed Millionaire" is allegedly about the Mötley Crüe bassist,
Nikki Sixx, after he was found having an affair with Bruce Dickinson's
wife.

If the song is, indeed, a "fuck you" of sorts to Nikki Sixx, then the song is even better, because Motley Crue sucks and needs to be destroyed.

4. "Walk, Don't Run" by the Ventures:

Again, I have to kind of thank my brother, in a roundabout way. He introduced me to bands like Man or Astroman? and Los Straightjackets the better part of 12-13 years ago, I guess it would be. These bands are essentially updates of the surf-music genre. Usually when I start listening to something, I'll work my way backwards if I find enough reason. When you work backwards in the world of twangy surf guitars, you will run into a giant mountain of awesomeness called the Ventures. Everyone's heard of the Ventures (and Dick Dale, etc.), sure, but does anyone our age actually buy their records anymore?

I know that Nicole's father is a big fan, too. I'm sure that he wouldn't find much interest in most of the music I listen to, but at least we have this.

And I guarantee that you know this song, even if you don't recognize the title.

5. "The Step and the Walk" by The Duke Spirit:

I heard this one of Sirius' "Left of Center" station. Nicole says they play it all the time, but it's new to me. I'm sure all the hipster kids have already moved on to something else and I'm late to the party, but that's fine by me. I swear I recognize the melody from something else, but I can't place my finger on it. It's sort of equal parts late 60s pop/soul, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, and The Sounds. I'm probably talking out of my ass, but that's what I get out of it. I don't know. I dig the song, so I guess it doesn't matter.

6. "Agaetis Byrjun" by Sigur Ros

I have absolutely no idea what the words are, what it means, or anything else. I just find it hauntingly beautiful.

Several months ago, I heard an "acoustic" version (similar to the one above) on Sirius radio (the Chill station) and had no idea where it came from. And wouldn't you know, wrapped up under the Christmas tree last December was a gift from Nicole, Sigur Ros' two disc "Hvarf Heim" album. And there it was.

It still sends chills down my spine, and the emotion transcends the language (until I find out that it's about a lawnmower running over a Smurf or something).

7. "Babe, I'm on Fire" by Nick Cave and Bad Seeds:

I can only promise you I'm not trying to gain indie points by listing this. A couple of years ago I ripped a couple of Nick Cave CDs from a friend, and a few months ago I put a couple of them on my iPod because I needed something new to listen to.

So one day I'm out walking the dog and what comes on? "Babe, I'm on Fire". It kicked my ass. In fact, I think I'm still sore. I had no idea it was going to be so long, and not once did I get sick of it.

Again, I'm totally late to the party on Nick Cave. He's another guy I've known about for years, but never got around to actually checking out. I beg forgiveness from anyone and everyone who'll accept it from me. The dude's unreal.

And if I ever find a place that makes the mistake of putting this on their Karaoke playlist, I'm going to clear the room. It's going to be awesome.

I love Bill Moyers

Yeah, it's politics, so this won't be of interest to those who aren't familiar with the players.

Over on Crooks and Liars, there's a post called "Fox News Producer Ambushes Bill Moyers; Gets Taste of His Own Medicine", and I urge you to check it out.

In a nutshell, douchebag Bill O'Reilly sends one of his goons out to get an "ambush interview" with Bill Moyers. Moyers, in video game parlance, absolutely pwns the guy ... but it gets even better, because once Moyers is done with him, other reporters start to tail this clown, ambushing him with his own techniques. And he doesn't like it.

It's wonderful.

Pie charts

more graph humor and song chart memes


more graph humor and song chart memes


more graph humor and song chart memes


more graph humor and song chart memes

Doggie baths and back pain; or, I should just give up now and call it a day.

Hey! New music! (If you're reading this on sonicplague.com, that is.)

First of all, this wonderful dog of ours.

He started to get a little funky smelling, so we decided to give him a bath this weekend. The plan was about as well executed as it could have been. When we get head out of town, we bring Joey to a kennel where there's an option for them to wash him for us. It didn't go well the first time, apparently, so we figured he might handle it better if we do it ourselves, because he trusts us and he'd be comfortable (or "comfortable", at least) at home.

The first step was to give him his Clomacalm after I took him out for his walk (at 5:30 a.m., more on that below), a dog medication he's been prescribed to deal with his separation anxiety. Basically, it's a tranquilizer, and it really sucks the energy out of him. We filled the tub with warm water, put the leash on him so he couldn't get too far if he escaped our control, and literally dragged him to the bathroom. It's was like how animals know an earthquake is going to hit before it actually does and they freak out. Joey seemed to know something was up, and he fought it every inch of the way.

So I grabbed him and picked him up the way I did a couple of weeks ago (read the "There Will Be Blood" post), and gently lowered him into the water, keeping a firm grasp on his collar with my left hand. Let's just say he didn't like it. I followed, climbing into the tub wearing just my boxers. It was quite the scene - very funny, and worthy of being committed to photos (except that nobody - including me - wants to see me in such a state of undress. I'm did a favor for everyone by not taking any, trust me. Our camera is broken anyway, thank goodness, but that's another story.)

Once he realized his fate, he was actually pretty cool about his predicament, and he calmed down enough for us to lather him up with mango-scented doggie shampoo and rinse him off. In all, it took us about 10 minutes to clean him up. Toweling him off ... not so successful. He didn't like it and had had enough by that point, so he shook himself off twice in the bathroom, giving the walls a nice spatter of dog hair and water, and we took the leash and collar off and just let him go. He went into our bedroom, found a corner, and curled up into a wet little ball for a couple of hours.

Two problems:
1. A wet dog, even if he's just been shampooed, still smells like a wet dog. Now, he was making sure our carpet smelled like wet dog, too.

2. Curled up the way he was, only one side of him was going to get the air he needed to dry off, resulting several hours later in some sort of Two-Face wet/dry dog, depending on the side you touched. (Speaking of, have you seen the pictures online of Aaron Eckhart as Harvey Dent/Two-Face in "The Dark Knight"? AWESOME. If it's real, that is. Big-time spoiler there, if so, so beware.)

Also, ten minutes to wash him ... an hour to clean up. Given that the floor was dirty and gritty, and the walls were all wet, we figured we'd clean the bathroom and get it over with. Scrubbing Bubbles, SoftScrub, the whole deal.

This was my Saturday morning. It's a glamorous life, I know.

I love Joey to death, really I do, but he has returned to his old habit of waking up at 5 a.m. wanting to go out. Long story short, we decided not to let him sleep on his own in the living room because he got nosey in the trash (and kitchen sink, pulling out whatever he could grab, including a knife one time) in the dark of night while we slept with our bedroom door closed and would start whining outside our door when the sun started to come up, so we put his bed in our bedroom, where he seems to sleep soundly and can't be destructive. He'd sleep - or at least let us sleep - until the alarm clock went off at about 6:00; Nicole would jump in the shower, and I'd throw on my sweatpants and take him for his morning walk (still too early for my lazy ass, for the record - if he could wait until 7:30, that would be fantastic).

The last week or two, though ... I don't know if it's the warm weather or what, but he's been waking up earlier and earlier, and he's shot out of a cannon. He starts his dancing around as soon as he sees me grab my shoes, and by the time I'm at the door with the leash in my hand he's ready to run headfirst through the wall to get outside.

I walk him in a loop around the neighborhood, I'd assume probably 3/4 of a mile long. On this route, he sniffs around so many trees and bushes and, for whatever reason, insists on stopping to pee a little bit on at least 12-15 of them per trip, rather than just unloading on one and getting it over with. The point being, I'm out the door at 5:30 in the morning, poorly rested, and Joey takes twice as long as he should need to to do his business, walking around on the morning-dew wet lawns. When we get back to the apartment, he's got his blood flowing and is ready to play (or go for another walk), but I'm exhausted and my shoes are soaking wet.

Usually, Nicole heads off to work shortly thereafter, and I fall asleep for another hour or two on the couch listening to Howard Stern streaming through the computer after checking the previous day's Fantasy Baseball stats.

And I wonder why my back hurts and how I pulled my hamstring (I think).

I don't think I mentioned my back pain here on the blog yet. Another indignity of becoming an old man. Not only am I losing any sense of coolness (if I ever had any to begin with), I'm failing physically now, too. I used to have long hair (but nature's ruined that for me), I didn't used to know what "too loud" was (my ears have found out what "sensitive" means), I have to wear glasses now to combat eye fatigue, I used to have my finger on the pulse of pop culture (when I see the magazines at the checkout counter at the supermarket, I don't know who most of the people on the covers are - though, frankly, I'm a little proud of myself for this), and I used to be able to stay up until all hours (well ... OK, I can still do that one, but it's because I'm up playing Halo 3, not out at shows watching headliners take the stage after midnight).

On January 13, 2008 (I remember it well, because it was the day the Chargers upset the Colts in the playoffs), while at the supermarket with Nicole, I experienced what - to me - was extreme lower back pain, like someone jabbing a light saber into my spine.

At the supermarket. Just standing there.

When we got home, I could barely walk up the stairs to the apartment. For weeks, I had to take daily soaking baths to "loosen up". I had to re-learn how to sleep (on my side with a pillow between my knees) because I was used to sleeping pretty much face-down on my pillow. If I sneezed, the resulting physical shake/kickback would send my lower back into fits.

At my last job, I worked with a lot of medical records and had to read a lot of reports, some of which dealt with back pain. I know from those that pain is rated on a scale of 1-10, and that reporting of that pain is subjective. If I had to rate my own pain, I'd say it was at least an 8, and I couldn't shake it for a few weeks.

I took Doan's back pills and tried ice treatment and Icy/Hot ointment, but of course I refused to go see a doctor, though I realize in retrospect I should have and certainly will if it ever happens again. That or I jump off a building. One or the other.

My back is better now and slightly aches only occasionally, but I think I somehow pulled a hamstring two weeks ago, too.

Me: "I have a pain in my butt."
Nicole: "You have a pain in your butt?"
Me: "Well, not in my butt, like in my butt. Not the gross way."
Nicole: "What are you talking about?"
Me: "It's like my butt muscle on the left side. It feels like it runs down almost to my behind my knee."

So I looked "hamstring" up on Wikipedia (good enough for me) and decided that's what it was.

Anyway, I'm falling apart and I'm tired again. That's the point. It's Monday morning at 9 a.m., I've already been up for almost four hours, and I've told two shitty stories about my dog and my back pain.

I'm so far behind on the blog. I have to write about trips to Atlantic City and the Baseball Hall of Fame, and make note about my recent introduction to the world of Facebook. So maybe there'll be more later today, after I take a nap.

Back pain and naps.

Like I said, it's a glamorous life.

Facebook update

Mere hours in and ...

Holy crap. Ho. Lee. Crap.

I've got some serious e-mail to get started on.

Andy, Andy, Andy ... where have you been, old man? My sophomore year roommate at BU. Crazy.

I owe Jess big time for keeping up with everyone much better than I ever did; her hard work is paying off unexpectedly ... for ME!

Now on Facebook.

... and then there were four.

I'm on Friendster (which I hardly ever use - maybe once every two months, if I remember to check), MySpace (which I check daily), LinkedIn, and now, per recommendation of others, I'm over on Facebook, too.

http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=559728276

That said, I hope that's it. I can't (won't?) keep up with (too many) others. :)

Anyway, there you go.

Celtics uniforms

A quick thought while I sit watching the Celtics beat up on the Pistons in Game 5:

Though I'm sure the NBA would be reluctant at first (the possibility of increased revenue / merchandise sales can be a powerful factor), I think the names on all of the Celtics uniforms should have " O' " preceding players' last names.

Instead of Pierce, Allen, Garnett, and Rondo, the jerseys would acknowledge the team's "gimmick" and say O'Pierce, O'Allen, O'Garnett, O'Rondo, and so on.

You can't tell me that replicas and t-shirts wouldn't bring in an assload of cash, especially in the Boston area.

This would be huge, I'm telling you.

Edit: When I wrote this, they were beating up on the Pistons. I'm glad they just held on at the end. Phew!

Remember when ... ?

Thanks to Ryan for finding this:

What happened? Oh yeah ... this guy.

Linkage

A couple of things I bookmarked for whatever reason the past couple of days.

• The Black Oven - "Immaculate confections succumbed to northern darkness."

This looks like a blog in its early stages; delicious death-metal flavored pastries via our Nordic overlords. Seriously.

• Dethklok Busts - via GameArtisans.org

I wish I knew how to do this stuff. I don't know what I'd do with that kind of knowledge, of course, but still ... bragging rights count for something, right?

• Grand Theft Auto 4 / New York City comparison shots

I haven't picked up the game (yet), but this is pretty impressive even if you're not a gamer. Liberty City landmarks vs. their real-life inspirations. Cool stuff.

• Manny Being Manny

You've seen this, right? Under the video display, click on "Ramirez's amazing catch - Watch" for a larger display.


This is why Manny's worth every single penny he's paid. Watch the fan in the stands after the catch. Awesome. Wait for the replay, too, for a better view.

• RetroSabotage

Classic video games, not quite the way you remember them. Give them time, especially the Pac Man ones, for the twist. What if the ghost realizes he's a ghost, for instance? Can you play Tetris on two boards at the same time? What if you try to CONTAIN a breakout instead of tearing down the walls?

That wasn't so bad after all.

My shame - and believe me, I'm not proud of this whatsoever - is that before my appointment today, I hadn't been to a dentist in ... gosh, honestly, I don't even know how long. At least 10 years, I'd say, though it's entirely possible (probable) that it's been even longer than that.

My last job in PDX didn't offer dental insurance, and though I'm sure I could have gotten an appointment under Nicole's coverage, I never did. About two weeks ago, though, I happened to catch a new angle of the back of my lower teeth, and I was horrified by the tartar buildup. Nicole was kind enough to get some recommendations from her co-workers and set up appointments for both of us.

I arrived at the office with some paperwork and my insurance card, but I had to admit to them that the information I could present would be very limited at best. No, I'm not on any medications, and no, I haven't had any reactions to any medications in the past (primarily because I haven't taken any, primarily because I haven't seen a doctor in at least that long, either). And did I have the name and address of my last dentist? HA!

So they pretty much started from square one and did some x-rays and used some kind of water pressure hose thingy to loosen the tartar, and then they scraped the fronts and backs of my teeth to remove what had been loosened up. Debridement, they called it.

Don't read the next paragraph.

What came out of my mouth when I rinsed was a bloody rust-colored mix of various chunks and particles. It was sort of like when you turn your keyboard over and shake it, and all sorts of stuff you never thought could be trapped in there falls out. I think I saw a whole chicken wing and three popcorn kernels. It was gross.

But, I have to say, my mouth mostly feels better for the effort. I'm not used to holding my jaw open like that, of course, so I'm sore, but my teeth definitely feel cleaner, though the sensation on my tongue when I feel the back of my lower teeth is a strange one. I can feel where there's still some build-up and where scraping was successful. And I still have a sort of a bloody aftertaste lingering in my mouth, which is just fantastic. But considering how long it had been, the news wasn't nearly as bad as I had been preparing myself for.

The bottom line is that I have to go back in two weeks, but my gums are healthy and I don't have any serious issues. They might have to do "a small filling", whatever that means, but they said they wouldn't have to do "a deep cleaning" (of the teeth below the gums). They're also going to "polish" my teeth (I have no idea what that entails), and we're going to talk about what needs to be done with my wisdom teeth, which never really came in the right way. They're not painful - yet - but I was told that the way they came in could pose problems later on in life, and it might be best to have them removed. They're going to have the rest of my x-rays developed by then, too.

I just hope everything is covered by a couple of co-payments, because I know how quickly dental costs can add up. The money saved on the cleaning and maintenance side of things will be used, quite possibly, on orthodontic work.

My receding hairline never bothered me as much as my crooked teeth, so I'm probably going to do something about it.
Invisilign, perhaps.

In other health news, I'm tired and feeling bloated, my nose is stuffed, and I have a sore throat. Good times, especially right in front of a long weekend that will include a roadtrip to Cooperstown.

I hope to NyQuil the hell out of this thing and nip it in the bud. WIsh me well.

No-No!

Just Say No
Lester Adds Historic Chapter
Inning-By-Inning Breakdown

I love you, Keith Olbermann

Part I

Part II

I asked William H. Macy a question

Edit: The movie name was "The Deal", not "The Plan".
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just for the record, I realize the photos below might not match up with the specific text that they're supposed to. The formatting I used when composing this blog seems to get messy, photo-wise, given that the borders/margins are different in the editor than here on sonicplague.com or the blogspot site. Gotta work on that.

I still owe what will be another longish entry about the New York Film Critics movie series we've been attending for the past seven Wednesdays, but in the short term, a quick note about last night's events.

The film shown was "The Deal", starring William Macy and the carved remains of what used to be Meg Ryan. It's an indie, though a pretty big budget one, by the looks of it. Long story short, Macy's a suicidal filmmaker who sweet talks his way into making a $100 million film starring LL Cool J, an action hero who has recently turned to Judaism. Sure, why not.

Anyway, I'll give details of the actual film later on (it's probably not worth seeing). The special guest for the evening, though, was Mr. Macy himself, which was very exciting. He's a real deal movie star, and I've always appreciated his work, even if he himself is better than the majority of the movies he's in.

After the film, Peter Travers (the Rolling Stone film critic) opened the Q&A up to the audience and I was the first to raise my hand for a question. Thus, I was the first to get the microphone. I stood up and said (this is almost verbatim, because - believe me - I rehearsed it in my head several times before asking it aloud):

"First of all, I'd like to thank Mr. Macy for being here with us tonight."

(Appropriate audience applause. To this point, I'm KILLING!)

"Your performance in 'Fargo' is one of my personal all-time favorites, but what I really appreciate about your work is that you tend to take unusual roles, or roles that might be as obvious as others. That's why I got excited to see, when I looked on IMDB.com, and I hope this is true, that you're attached to appear in 'House of Re-Animator'. Is this true, and, if so, how did you get involved with it?"

That's right. Mr. Big-Shot movie star comes to New Jersey and what's he hit with in the very first question - his wife, a star of "Desperate Housewives"? His Academy Award nomination? The movie we just saw?

Nope. A question about a film that's not even being shot yet. The fourth sequel in a series based on an H.P. Lovecraft story about zombified re-animated corpses.

I think I threw him off a little bit. If you knew the audience at this film series - mostly older (Nicole and I are probably 20-30 years younger than 90% of the attendees), mostly affluent - you'd know that the question was even funnier, because NOBODY there knows what the "Re-Animator" is. And if they saw it, they'd be horrified.

Mr. Macy laughed and started talking a bit about his long-time friendship with director Stuart Gordon, who asked him if he'd be interested in playing the President of the United States (who dies and is brought back to life).

Peter Travers stepped in and sort of re-directed the question to something about David Mamet, trying to bring the audience back into things, but Mr. Macy was a trooper and told a couple of anecdotes, and then pretty much just re-iterated, to conclude my question, that he was doing it because he was friends with the director.

It wasn't a great answer, but then again, it wasn't exactly a great question, either.

But how often do you get to ask an Oscar nominee a question about being in a zombie movie?

I kick ass.

And so does William H. Macy, a genuinely cool guy.

There Will Be Blood

(Edit: upon re-reading this entry, I realize that I switch verb tenses a couple of times. Usually this makes me crazy, but I'm too lazy to fix it right now.)

Once again, a recap of something that happened a few days back. May 10, 2007.

Perhaps a bit of back history would be worthwhile:

1. Joey is incredible around other people - he couldn't be friendlier, and he's remarkably gentle. He doesn't jump up, he doesn't open his mouth (he's not ven a licker of faces/hands), and he doesn't get overly excited.

Around other dogs, though, he can get a little skittish; his first six years are pretty much a mystery, but we think there may have been competition for food or attention with other dogs, as he gets defensive and a bit growly around them. We're slowly trying to get him used to being around other animals (the eight Friday nights' worth of training classes with other dogs helped), but when we're out walking around the neighborhood, there are LOTS of other dogs, and we tend to keep him a safe distance from them most of the time, just to be safe.

2. His walks, because I'm a sucker who can't keep him on a tight leash, tend to be long and meandering.

3. On this particular Saturday, it had rained heavily all day. Dirt patches became mud puddles, and the grass was slippery.

OK. So Joey and I headed out for our last walk of the day at about 9:45 p.m.

Our usual walking route is a loop around our neighborhood. We had gotten to the side of the loop opposite our apartment, about halfway through the walk, when Joey started sniffing around a bush. Up a short hill, maybe 20 yards from where he was taking in the smells, a door opened to one of the apartments. I don't know the people who live there, but I knew they had a large sized dog, because every time we pass by, that dog barks from the window. In fact, the dog is so aggressive with his barking that the pull-down screen in the window has a giant tear in it where the dog looks out. It's as if someone cut out a silhouette of the dog's head in the blind.

The point being, even though they've never "met", that dog definitely knows who Joey is. And barks at him all the time. I can't tell if it's friendly or not.

What I didn't know was that there was another dog in that apartment, too.

The door to the apartment opens, and a woman heads out and walks to another apartment a few doors down - apparently there was a gathering of some sort taking place. As the door is open, some dude (holding the door open) starts chatting to the woman who's walking to the other apartment, and another woman, perhaps not realizing that Joey and I are slowly moving past their place at the bottom of the hill, has the two dogs' leashes in her hand, preparing to take them out for a walk.

The barking dog, realizing Joey is right there at the bottom of the hill, bolts out the door. The woman, who is perhaps not paying as much attention as she should have been, has him on one of those leashes that feeds out a distance of strap and that can be "locked" to prevent the dog from wandering too far. But she didn't have it locked, because as I see the dog bolting, I can hear the leash unwinding, almost like the line coming off the reel on a fishing pole.

Seeing Barky the Large Sized Dog run, the smaller dog also gets excited and starts to take off. In the corner of my eye, I see her trying to get control of either dog, but she seemed more concerned with the smaller one, allowing the larger one to "take control".

I turned my attention to Joey, who was blissfully unaware of anything going on. There was a bush to be sniffed, darn it. And bushes don't just sniff themselves. At this point, my back is to the doorway, and I'm trying to shorten my leash so I can guide the sometimes-skittish Joey away from the scene.

The next thing I know, the barking dog is inches from Joey's face, and they're about to get nose to nose. I don't want Joey to lunge out or start growling, so I pick him up about three feet off the ground like he's a package. A hairy, soggy, 45-lb. package. I'm used to this, as sometimes carrying him is the only way I can get him to go to his bed. My right arm is over his rear half, with my hand on his belly near his hind legs, and my left arm is cradling him underneath his neck and through his front legs. It sounds uncomfortable, but he doesn't seem to mind, and he's well supported.

By my feet, I see that one of the other dogs' leashes has wrapped around my feet and ankles, and, while still holding Joey - and with my back to the apartment, I start "marching" in place to untangle myself.

Finally, I free myself from the tangle, and Joey is, for the moment, safe from the other dog, because the guy who was at the door has come to take command of its leash.

Note again that it had been raining heavily, and that everything was soaking wet and slick.

Still holding Joey, I turn around and see ...

The woman who had the leashes in her hand at the top of the hill ... at the bottom of the hill. On her hands and knees. Picking herself up off the ground. With a rip in the knee of her pants.

And blood all over her face. Not just a little blood, either. Andrew W.K. blood.

The large dog had bolted with enough force to pull her down the hill, where she had apparently landed face-first, though I didn't see it myself.

The guy asks her if she's OK, and, holding her nose, she replies "I think it's busted."

I start apologizing profusely, and, through her fingers, I could hear her tell me it wasn't my fault, that we didn't do anything wrong (which was, I realize, absolutely true - Joey was just sniffing around a bush and was not confrontational at all). "These fucking dogs!" she tells the guy. "These fucking dogs!"

The fact that the dog bolted because of us, and now this woman had (at best) a bloody nose (I really hope she didn't chip her teeth or something worse) made me feel horrible. Not to mention it was a Saturday night, and maybe they had just concluded a fun evening, or had to trade what was about to be a night out with friends for a trip to the hospital.

I asked if there was anything I could do, and again the response was "it's OK - it's not your fault". I figured I'd just get the hell out of there, rather than make things worse somehow.

Joey, not much worse for wear, knew something had happened because of all the excitement in the air, but when I put him down and started to walk away what did he do?

That's right. He started sniffing the bush again.

He's a weird dog sometimes.

(OK, maybe not quite Andrew W.K. blood - but close. Seriously.)

Chiller Theater convention, 5/3/08

OK, so going back a week and a half ...

Nicole and I were excited to go to the Chiller Theater convention at the Parsippany Hilton hotel. If you go back a while in the blog archive (it shouldn't take long, given my lack of updates), you'll find the story of how we discovered the convention - by landing smack-dab in the middle of it by accident, the first night we spent as official residents of New Jersey. They apparently have conventions every six months or so (the next one is in October), so I was practically counting down the days in anticipation of being able to attend as a paying visitor.

I ordered advance tickets, given that they were a couple of bucks less than they would have been at the door, and I didn't want to have to wait in a line anyway. I figured with tickets in hand, we'd get there early-ish and blow through in maybe two hours. I couldn't have been further from reality with that assumption.

Just to be safe, I took out what I thought would be way too much money to need, but since one never knows what variety of awesome might happen upon us at an event like this, better safe than sorry. As it turns out, this was a good idea.

We walked through the main entrance of the hotel, only to find that the ticket-for-wristband exchange was through the building, at the rear entrance. Past the main signing area. Past two of the three wings of the hotel's first floor also being used for the convention. Past literally THOUSANDS of people milling about.

We got our wristbands, though, and didn't have to wait in the predictably growing day-of-show purchasers. Then we headed back in, thinking we'd jump into the line for the main signing area because, according to the convention program, that's were Mick Foley and Daniel Baldwin (our respective reasons for attending the convention in the first place) were supposed to be signing. A big guy in a too-tight shirt (one of MANY we saw that day, by the way) was waving people toward the wall, explaining that fire marshals were in the building monitoring how many people were in particular areas, and that if any area got too overcrowded, the marshals would shut down the show, evacuate the place, and let people in a bit at a time. With so many people there, and with the possibility of nerd/misfit anarchy running rampant, I have to commend the staff for the thankless job they actually did. But, as a result, the line we thought was going to lead us to Messrs. Foley and Baldwin actually stretched much further than we though, as we inadvertently tried to bisect the line by jumping in it at the wrong point. Nobody took exception, though, because everyone who just arrived at the convention did the same thing.

So we didn't know what to do, or where to start.

Seeing a sign pointing to one of the other first floor wings with guests, we headed down to see Jason Mewes (Jay), Marilyn Ghigliotti (Veronica, Dante's Girlfriend), and Brian O'Halloran (Dante) from "Clerks".

First of all, where was Jeff Anderson? I want Randall, dammit!

Anyway, as opposed to the main signing area, there was virtually nobody in their room when we went in - which makes it really awkward when you look at what the "stars" are charging for autographs and pictures and then decide you're going to pass. I mean, seriously. I'll talk more about the whole fee issue later in the post, but the point here is this: No offense to Marilyn Ghigliotti, who I'm sure is a lovely person, but for anyone who doesn't wipe their ass with twenty dollar bills, is her signature worth $20? $20? And then, if you wanted a photo with her, it was another $20 or $25. I don't remember.

I liked "Clerks". A lot. But spending just south of $50 for a picture and autograph of someone who's known for no other movies and kind of just looks like someone's aunt or neighbor seemed a bit steep. So I passed.

Jay Mewes was charging essentially the same prices. Sorry Noah - I passed. I hope the Mick Foley autograph will partially make up for it ... I just couldn't pull the trigger on this one. Mewes, for the record, had short cropped hair and was starting to sound a little bit like Steve-O. Apparently he's clean these days, and hope it's true, but he didn't seem very "Jay" like - which, frankly, was probably a relief. I wouldn't want to pass on an autograph and have him follow me rubbing his nipples and trying to show me his testicles.

That said, I'm sure he's also a nice guy - I saw a kid with a "Jay" action figure (I think the company that makes the Clerks line calls them "inaction figures", actually) signed. Predictably, the personalized inscription said "Snootchie Bootchie!" What an awful catchphrase.



Maybe next time, Jay ... when I have more disposable income. Not that
paying for all of the other autographs was justifiable either, I
realize, but I suppose you have to pick your battles.

However, Brian O'Halloran. Worth it. $20 got an autograph AND a photo, so I had him sign my "Clerks" soundtrack CD cover, which had been previously signed by Kevin Smith in the mid-90s when he did a Q&A screening of "Mallrats" in Harvard Square at the Brattle Theater. He's a bigger guy than I thought he'd be, somehow, and he was wearing a shirt he apparently stole from Triple H's locker.

Anyway, good guy. I said thanks, and snuck out of the room before Marilyn and Jay could wonder where their money was.

In the next rooms, we came across a bunch of McFarlane toys and a guy whittling away on something new; presumably he works for the company and was peddling his wares. He had some fun Simpsons stuff, some Halo stuff, all sorts of crazy crap I didn't recognize ... but as neat as it was, it's stuff I have no use for personally. I already have so many crazy knick-knacks and weird little toys that this stuff was out of my realm of interest.

Then we came across a couple of graphic artists who had some really
cool stuff. Given that certain brothers of ours might somehow come
across this post at some point, I will not give too many details for
fear of possibly spoiling Christmas. Needless to say, I truly hope
they are not disappointed, because I think what we got them kicks major
ass.

We bought these at the end of our day, after doing a cash
inventory and having a discussion of the merits of possible purchases.

One of the items Nicole bought was for ourselves, though. Rob Granito is an artist who has worked with Warner Brothers studios in the past, and he was selling a painting of Batman villain Scarecrow (it's 20x14, maybe? I'm terrible at estimating sizes). Nicole asked, "out of curiosity, how much is the painting", to which he replied "It's not my usual style, so it's only $100" (the others were in the $300 range, and many had "SOLD" signs on them). To which she replied, "we'll take it!".

The painting to the right now finds itself hanging in our kitchen, menacing anyone who would dare eat a bowl of cereal at the table. (For some reason, the photo came out with a pinkish hue - I'll try to post a better one later.)

We then headed into a second wing of the convention, still not ready to commit to the long line for the main signing area. We had no idea who we'd find when we turned any given corner.

Entering the first room down the hall in this wing, we were greeted - immediately at our right, at the first table in the room - by former wrestler Virgil (better known as a flunky to "The Million Dollar Man" Ted DiBiase. In fact, the banner above him had both of their names on it, leading me to believe that they both do the wrestling convention circuit together with some regularity. If DiBiase had been there, it might have been worth it, but Virgil alone ... well, not quite. My $20 was better spent on another wrestler, below. You'll understand why in a moment.).

Anyway, Virgil's a big dude. Bigger than I thought. He had a table full of photos from various stages in his career, including a glossy "n.W.o." one (no pictures of wrestlers, just the logo) pre-signed by Buff Bagwell and Scott Norton. Given that it isn't 1998, these didn't seem to be selling so well. I'd heard things about Virgil being kind of dickish to fans, but he seemed to be enjoying himself (and when we left the room, he had a little kid in a headlock while taking a picture, so more power to him. The kid had it coming.)

Also in this room were people I'd never heard of (Monique Dupree? Cynthia Gibb?), as well as Cindy Morgan ("Lacey Underall" from "Caddyshack"), Staci Keenan, who used to be on "My Two Dads" (imaginary conversation between the two of us: "So, was working with Paul Reiser as horrible as I imagine it was?" "Oh, much worse. Horribly unfunny. I can't believe I was on that show with that hack."), and William B. Davis from "The X-Files". He looks just as intimidating in real life as he does in the show. He seemed like a nice enough guy, though, judging by how he interacted with the fans at his table (though, once again, I didn't pony up personally).

The next room continued in the tradition of "I can't believe these people are all in the same room at the same time". There were some people I'd never heard of, of course, but Richard Kiel was there. Nicole and I met Mr. Kiel in Las Vegas a couple of years ago (that's where this photo was taken). You may remember him as "Jaws" from the James Bond movies. I can't speak highly enough about how genuinely wonderful he is with his fans. Just a true gentleman in every sense of the word, and if you ever have a chance to meet him, there's no way you'll think anything other than that of him.

Lou Ferrigno was in there, too. He's still all muscle. I can't believe that I'm technically the same species as he is. I almost plunked down for him ... of all my "maybe I should have" moments, in retrospect, he's number one on the list. Maybe next time.


Superstar Billy Graham - the guy who had his "look" stolen by Hulk Hogan, Jesse Ventura, Scott Steiner, among many others - was there, and he looked pretty good despite his frail physical conditions (Hip replacement, repercussions of steroids, etc.). There were a couple of b-movie (c-movie?) actresses (I recognized Tiffany Shepis from several Troma productions, for instance).


But then, in the corner of the room, in a somewhat awkward moment given that I was at the convention with my own beautiful wife - TNA Knockout Gail Kim.

Now, Nicole is a wrestling fan (in passing, at least) because I've essentially forced her to be, but even she knows that Gail Kim being released by WWE was a big mistake because the woman busts her ass in the ring and is a great performer. A statement I obviously agree with.

But man, oh man ... talk about easy on the eyes. Whooaah, baby. So even though I knew I was essentially wasting my money, I got a signature and a Polaroid with her because ... well. Damn. She's actually kind of tiny, and she's got big fake boobs, and she was wearing a glorified nighty of some sort. At least, that's the way I'm going to remember it.

Sitting next to her was Christy Hemme, whom I also almost got a picture with. Her hair's gonna fall out from all of the dying, and she wanted $40 for an autographed Playboy magazine.

The two of them were working with one guy - some sort of handler, I suppose - and they both had the same style of sign/cost sheet, so it would seem the two work together on the convention circuit regularly.

That said, a quick sidebar: Searching for information about other similar conventions (and no matter how much I swear to you I wasn't looking for this site in particular, there's no way you're going to believe me), I came across this link, which indicates that Hemme and Kim, at the Steel City Con in 2007, "[offered] a Private After Hours Bikini Photo Opportunity to a limited number of Show attendees."

Uh, yeah. I don't know what to say about that, other than that scene must have been rather awkward and potentially life-changing.

Moving on.

At this point, Nora Greenwald (aka "Molly Holly" in WWE) was also supposed to be there, but was nowhere to be found.

Knowing that the lines weren't going to get shorter as the day wore on, we finally hopped in line for the main autograph lobby. Fortunately for us, we were right behind a completely dysfunctional family that seems destined to hear the phrase "police action" more than a few times in the next few years. I don't know how we manage to end up next to these sorts of people every time, but we do. Mother to son, it went pretty much like this: "You tell him that if he doesn't get back in line now, I'm not saving his space and he'll have to go to the end!" "YOU TELL HIM!" "I swear, you'll never go to one of these again!" "SHUT UP! I'M TRYING TO SEE WHAT'S GOING ON!" And on it went. For, oh ... let's say an hour. Because they waited. And we waited. Right behind them. Good times.

Here's the scene: as we're in line, to our left was a food stand selling hot dogs, sodas, pop corn ... all sorts of junk food that was perfect for this kind of sugar-craving crowd. On the right, people passing back and forth from the main lobby area to the other wings of the convention. It was super-busy. And because Nicole and I looked like regular human beings (I specifically wore a red shirt, guessing - correctly - that the majority of the people there would be wearing black t-shirts), most people asked if they could cut through in front of us to get to wherever it was they wanted to go. It was as if I was wearing one of those bright orange "Crossing Guard" straps.

So after a while, it got annoying. Until Mick Foley walked right past us. He was huge ("a bear in a mansuit", Nicole said). They say TV puts 10 pounds on you, but I don't know where it puts them on him. He hasn't missed too many meals since his retirement, I'd say. Just walking to get some food, he drew a crowd. I felt bad, because he was just trying to get something to eat and couldn't get a moment to himself to save his life. To be honest, the first thing I thought was "NOOO! We're going to be in in a moment!" I was afraid he'd be gone a while, and we'd have to wait in the lobby area for him to come back after waiting for so long in the line just to meet him in the first place. Fortunately - so it seemed - he returned in relatively short order.

Then, a couple of minutes later, a couple of security guards decided to part the line where we were too, to let another guest pass through right past us: Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. She looks exactly the same as she did the first time I saw her on TV. Granted, she's always been pancaked in makeup, which I'm sure helps, but wow ... she looked great. She's still got her, uh, memorable features on display. She's allegedly 57, according to IMDB. Good for her.

So as we're about 20 people away from getting in, Mick Foley passes by again and informs everyone that "they're moving me to another room." NOOOO!

All that waiting, and now we had to go do it again? Dammit.

But we were at the front of the line, and we wanted to meet Daniel Baldwin anyway, so we waited it out.

Mickey Dolenz of the Monkees was there, but I had pretty much no interest. His daughter, Ami, who apparently is an actress of some sort, had her own table but nobody interested in buying her autograph. Good thing dad's famous.

Barry Bostwick was there, as was Joe Pantoliano. Armin Shimerman (of "Buffy" and one of the Star Trek shows) was there. Alan Ruck ("Cameron" from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off") was there. Avery Brooks ("Hawk" from "Spencer for Hire") was there, but there was a sign saying that "Mr. Brooks will not pose for photographs". Frank Stallone. 'Nuff said.

We headed over to the tables on the far wall; there was Brigitte Nielsen, looking kinda scary but less so than I expected. To their left, Daniel and Stephen Baldwin. Stephen had more people lined up to see him, and he seemed kind of goofy, but we finally got to Detective Beau Felton himself, Daniel, and he didn't disappoint. I think Nicole and I were about the only people there who wanted to meet him because he was on the amazing "Homicide: Life on the Street" rather than "Celebrity Rehab." Nicole took the lead and told him how much we loved the show, and he spent five or ten minutes with us talking about how much he enjoyed it, and how he was trying to get a role on Homicide writer Paul Attanasio's new show, "Courtroom K". He was a truly gracious man, very pleasant to speak to. I hope he conquers whatever personal problems he has, because I'd love to see him do something else interesting.


We continued down the line to see what else was going on. Katey Sagal was there, but she wanted $25/$20 for autographs and photos with her. Nope. $25 for an autograph is harsh enough sometimes, but if you're into meeting someone and admire someone's body of work, I understand the lure. I fell victim to it several times, actually.

But to charge that much just to take a picture with someone? That seems so wrong. I just don't dig that scene. Maybe if the money was going to charity or something, but ... I don't know. Katey Sagal?

And to her left, The Bionic Woman, Lindsay Wagner. Eh. I took a pass just because I wasn't terribly interested.

So we left to find Mick Foley again. We thought we'd try the room that the other wrestlers were in and hit paydirt immediately. His table was sort of blocked off by someone else's line, so we scooted right up as soon as I saw an opening. Rather than saying something completely stupid, I went with "Nice to meet you" and "Thanks!" and went on my way. I got my first-edition copy of "Have a Nice Day!" signed, picked up an autographed Cactus Jack photo for Noah, and had Nicole take this awesome photo for me:

Looking over to his right, I saw that Nora Greenwald had arrived, so I went to her table as well. She looks really skinny these days, barely recognizable as the former "Molly Holly". She was very pleasant as well. But she signed her name as "Molly", which is weird, because that's not even her real name.

I don't know.

Anyway, we finally left about 5 hours after we got there, having spent more time and money than we expected, and despite the unusual crowd and the long lines, it's kind of nice to know that October's just a few months away.

I can't wait to see who they line up for the next one!