Thomas' Journal

2:28pm: Had a lovely evening Saturday with one of the girls I work with at Barnes & Noble. Her name is Amanda, but we call her Pip, because we have too many Amandas and also because it's goddamn adorable. I took her to play a round of miniature golf at a charming little wooded place near Gainesville. Neither of us had played in years, so it took us a while to get our game on, but that didn't stop the banter from flying fast and free. I ended up kicking her ass, eighty to eighty-one, on a par-fifty course.

One disappointment: Because the game didn't last long, and because I had trouble finding the place, we spent the bulk of our time in the car. But we had good music* and charming conversation, so it wasn't a total loss. I had to give her props on two separate occasions, once when she used the word "shan't" in context, and again when she knew off the top of her head the year in which Disney's Aladdin was released.

I'll tell you something, guys, I really like this girl. And I know if there's one thing I'm good at it's convincing myself that girls like me more than they actually do, but I think this could be something. I guess we'll see, but I know I will definitely be taking her out again.

Seriously no lie she is pretty amazing.


*(The Mountain Goats' Tallahassee going out, Neko Case's Fox Confessor Brings the Flood coming back.)

5:46pm: This morning, instead of going to work, I bought some groceries, filed my taxes, and then sat outside in the glorious sunshine for about an hour, reading a book and eating a leisurely lunch. Then I went to work.

Except for the part where they're not going to pay me, I wouldn't mind having a half day's suspension more often.

1:58pm: All right, for those of you who don't know, I have of late been dating a girl who shall be referred to herein as Hot Liz, as a means of differentiating her from Sister Liz, who is not the same person. (I cannot stress this enough, guys: I am not dating my sister.)

Anyway, Hot Liz is a fan of the Hannibal Lecter novels by Thomas Harris, as well as their various film versions. So as Valentine's Day approached, I knew there was only one course of action for me.

This is the card I'm giving her:




And while she's recovering from that, out comes the bear:




Because honestly what girl wouldn't love that.

7:54am:

12:48pm: I am pleased to announce the official launch of The Bort of Three Carls, a webcomic illustrated by the exceedingly talented Matt Bohr and written by myself! If you are a fan of ousted monarchs and maritime misadventures, then buddy do we have a comic for you.

Take a look! It'll be a lot of fun I think!

4:33pm: So on Wednesday, two of the astronauts on the Discovery did a spacewalk to test a new material for repairing the heat shield. They took five spatulas out with them to smooth the putty-like substance into place, and at one point one of the spatulas became detached from its tether and drifted away. Cameras later detected it floating off into open space, where it will orbit the earth indefinitely.

And in a very real way, it makes me happy to know that when I look up into the sky, that spatula might be looking down.

2:19pm: In other news, I just realized I have a guest comic up at Wondermark today. Malki ! has been running guest strips for the past two and half weeks on account of he is currently honeymooning, and there have been some pretty big names involved, so I'm pretty flattered that he asked me for a contribution. Even though I know he was probably just getting desperate.

Anyway, take a look at it maybe. It's one of those things that you might not appreciate as much if you've never seen the comic, but I think it is still amusing on its own. Besides, if you are not reading Wondermark, then you are missing out and being foolish and you really ought to do something about that.

11:56am: Guys, I'm sorry to do this, but I was just reading a short story by David Drake and I encountered a line so unpleasant that I have to share it with you, so I won't be the only one traumatized:

"Wally looked at Howard and tried to force a grin. His expression would've been more appropriate for somebody being raped by a Christmas tree."

Actually, this will probably be even worse for the non-Americans among you, for whom the name "Wally" will inevitably conjure up the image of a skinny, bespectacled young man in a red-and-white-striped shirt and a bobble hat.

4:11pm: Costume-Within-a-Costume Party
I have had either the best or the craziest idea in the history of party-theme ideas, but the important thing is that I have had it and I would like to see it realized. And since I have a birthday coming up at the end of July, now is the time to get you all thinking about this.

Try to follow me, now: Take a famous person, past or present, real or fictional. Imagine that person dressing up as someone else. And then you dress up in such a way as to convey both the costume and the "real person" underneath.

There are a few ways you can go, when selecting your combination. You could choose something with an obvious connection, like Ron Jeremy dressed as Sonic the Hedgehog. Or you could choose something with an obvious disjoint, like Johnny Cash as Liberace. But what I like most are the ones that you can't really say why they work, but still for some reason they just feel right—like Luciano Pavarotti as Mighty Mouse.

Eric and I have been brainstorming these for a couple of weeks now, and here are some of the best of what we've come up with. Of course, I'm not saying you should necessarily choose anything from this list, but it might provide you with some inspiration.

• William Howard Taft as Fat Albert
  
  
• Alex Trebek as Rasputin
  
  
• Teddy Roosevelt as Gilligan
  
  
• Bill Cosby as Bill Clinton
  
  
• Quentin Tarrentino as Batman
  
  
• Bob Dylan as Abraham Lincoln
  
  
• Angela Lansbury as Chuck Norris
  
  
• Steven Wright as Albert Einstein
  
  
• The Rock as the Tick
  
  
• Crispin Glover as Superman
  
  
• Chewbacca as Mork
  
  
• Elton John as Bilbo Baggins
  
  
• Woody Allen as Travis Bickle
  
  
• Chubby Checker as Zorro
  
  
• Peter Lorre as the Easter Bunny
  
  
• Henry Kissinger as Groucho Marx
  
  
• Vanna White as Nancy Reagan
  
  
• Cary Grant as Alfred E. Neuman
  
  
• Jackie Chan as Malcolm X
  
  
• Steven Tyler as Julia Roberts
  
  
• Björk as Joan of Arc
  
  
• Andy Rooney as Mad Max

Or if you wanted to get together with a group and be officially the coolest people ever, you could be the Beatles as the cast of The Wizard of Oz: John Lennon as the Scarecrow, Paul McCartney as the Tin Woodsman, George Harrison as the Cowardly Lion, and Ringo Starr as Dorothy.

Or you could be the gang from Saved by the Bell, dressed as the various heads of the Axis and Allied powers during World War II: Zack Morris as Emperor Hirohito, A.C. Slater as Benito Mussolini, Screech Powers as Adolf Hitler, Jessie Spano as Winston Churchill, Kelly Kapowski as Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and Lisa Turtle as Joseph Stalin. That would make you pretty awesome in my book as well.

As I'm sure you can tell, I've been thinking about this a lot. I am really excited about this idea and I want it to happen because it would be legendary. Please tell me some of you would be on board for this insanity.

Also, I am pretty much counting on the mad talent coming out of GTA to help me make this as great as it can be, but I think Tracy is the only one from that bunch who will actually be reading this. Tracy, do you think you could help me spead the word about this? Like I said, my birthday is the very end of July, but the party could wait a month or so for people to come back from wherever it is they go over the summer.

I want this to happen so much, guys.

9:10am: I know that some of you reading this are always in the market for great music you haven't already heard, so I wanted to let you know about a mix CD I received recently from Erin-what-calls-herself-madnesshamster. The whole thing is simply outstanding, and it's all from people who maybe you aren't familiar with because they are in Australia and you aren't.

(Obviously this doesn't apply to the handful of you who are, in fact, in Australia, but rather to the bulk of you who are not so fortunate.)

At any rate, every song on the following list has been certified by me as officially turbo, and you are urged to check them out posthaste.


It's 5 - Architecture in Helsinki
On This Side - Clare Bowditch
This Is How It Goes - Missy Higgins
Thrill Is Gone - Bernard Fanning
Zebra - John Butler Trio
Something Borrowed, Something Blue - Ben Lee
Blow Up the Pokies - The Whitlams
Gonna Take Some Time - Jimmy and Mahalia Barnes
From the Sea - Eskimo Joe
O Yeah - End of Fashion
Are You Gonna Be My Girl - Jet
Chemical Heart - Grinspoon
Waiting for the Sun - Powderfinger
The Girl of My Dreams - Machine Gun Fellatio
Opportunity - Pete Murray
Release - george
Overkill - Colin Hay
Flame Trees - Sarah Blasko
Timber and Wood - Xavier Rudd


Just so you know how strongly I feel about this mix, here is a comment I made in response to it that will no doubt have you wondering how I am not a professional music reviewer: "Basically, if this song were a person, I would be making out with it. Although there are quite a few songs on here that I feel that way about. If this CD were a room full of people, they probably would think I was some sort of shameless manslut because I would be making out with so many of them."

Seriously, Rolling Stone. How have you not already hired me?


By the way, my dad was six-five, even though that doesn't feel nearly tall enough to me. But my mom says that's what he always put down as his official height. Maybe he was just too self-conscious to write "twelve feet"?

3:26pm: For some reason I've been thinking a lot about my father lately, probably because I've reached something approximating adulthood and so I feel like maybe if he were still around we could come to understand one another as human beings, rather than just as father and son, and it saddens me to know that I'll never have that chance. But one thing I've realized is that I'm not entirely sure just how tall he really was. When I try to describe him to people, I want to say he was twelve feet tall, because that's how big he feels in my memory.

I should probably just ask my mother, but I'm the slightest bit embarrassed to admit that I don't know.

9:39am:

12:43pm: So I started work on a mystery story last night, and one thing I always-without-fail agonize over at the top of a new story is character names. And in this particular case, it was crucial—had to have a good name for my detective. Had to. I'm thinking, and I'm thinking, and then I get the idea, "Hey! I'm going to be having some fun with the conventions of the genre here, so maybe I should give him a name that plays on that of a famous literary detective!" Although I don't really mean that, even as I'm thinking it, because I remember the last time I named a detective, back in sixth grade, and I do not want another Sheerluck Gomes. But I run with the idea anyway, just to see where it takes me. The first private eye that comes to mind is the great Sam Spade. So: How can I play on the name "Sam Spade"? Well, maybe use one of the other playing-card suits as a surname... And then choose a first name that starts with the same letter...

And SHIT. Because for the next twenty minutes the only name I could think of was Dustin Diamond, and that's not going to do anybody any good.

Anyway, if anyone asks why I named the guy Jesse Spanner, I'm probably just going to lie.

5:04pm: Submitted for your approval as Thoroughly Random Event of the Week:

On Monday, Brad went to McDonald's for a Big Mac. Even though the Big Mac does not traditionally come with a toy, the guy gave him one anyway. This toy is a rubber "bendy" figure which, I have determined, is intended to represent Medoro, the vaguely-cat-like, teddy-bear-carrying fellow who drives the Blue Fairy's carriage in Roberto Benigni's Pinocchio--a film that was released during the 2002 holiday season, massacred by the critics, and promptly forgotten by most everyone else in the world.

Except, apparently, McDonald's.

4:43am: Sometimes it's hard to come up with a name that perfectly captures an individual.

Take the staggeringly obtuse fellow we observed in the Huddle House this evening. He imposed his presence upon the three girls in the booth beside us, starting things off with a brazen "What's your name? Are you single?" (The response: "Yeah. But, uh, I have a boyfriend.") After a number of ill-advised conversational forays, during which he remained oblivious to their unreceptiveness, he invited them to his twenty-third birthday party... roughly three months away. Although it's possible that he was only inviting one of the girls, and that he was only inviting her because she's adorable, and has gorgeous blue eyes.

Afterwards, we were left with the tricky question of what to call him. We had to call him something, so we could talk about what an idiot he is. A number of possibilities presented themselves: Johnny-John Crash-and-Burn, for instance, or Johnny-John Not-a-Pushover. I even briefly considered breaking from the traditional nickname structure and just calling him Gangly. But in the end, only one name would suffice.

Johnny-John Two-Oh-Ten.

4:41pm: So I was struck by a searingly brilliant idea last night. I'm going to write a movie entitled Rocky Road House.

"There's a new bouncer cracking skulls alongside Dalton down at the Double Deuce... and his name is Rocky Balboa."

I'm sure I can get Swayze and Stallone to sign on, because let's face it--it's not like either of those boys is exactly pressed for time these days. And with that unstoppable double-shot of talent, with these two accomplished thespians both reprising their best-loved roles, well, I smell "Oscar" all over this baby.


And one of these days I'm going to write Tequila Mockingbird. As soon as I figure out what it's about.

7:49pm: Got some more comic-based zaniness for ya.

Our Man Oswald in: Sweet-Talker

Hope you like it.

6:47pm: Hey, lookit here. I came up with a new comic last night, and I'd like to know what you think of it. Yes, that's right. You. You, personally. I value your opinion.

(Well, maybe not really, but I can fake it and you'll never know the difference.)

Anyway, take a gander at it here: Our Man Oswald in: Rough Day

My apologies for the accompanying onslaught of pop-ups.

7:26pm: Bernard Baruch is O.K. wherever he goes, even in the best families.
Bill Pullman has a great line about looking for things in the movie Zero Effect. "When you go looking for something specific," he says, "your chances of finding it are very bad, because of all the things in the world, you're only looking for one of them. When you go looking for anything at all, your chances of finding it are very good, because of all the things in the world, you're sure to find one of them."

I've found this to be quite true, especially within the context of the North Georgia College and State University library. I'll try looking for particular books--one of the Dortmunder novels by Donald E. Westlake, say, or anything by Alfred Bester--and I'll come up empty-handed. So instead, I generally wander the shelves aimlessly until a title grabs my attention, at which point I'll read over the first two pages and see if I've been hooked.

And that's how I came to spend the bulk of this afternoon devouring That Grail Song, Sam, One More Time, by George V. Packard.

The cover describes this as "a short and zany novel," and it's right on both counts. Some books will make you smile, some books will make you chuckle, but this one had me laughing out loud more often than is probably healthy within the span of a hundred and fifteen pages. The plot finds our narrator, George, joining his friend Tom on a wild journey to Poughkeepsie, in an attempt to bust Tom's girl Sally out of the prison-like Oliver Cromwell College of Art and Riding. In one of my favorite lines, George explains why Sally is the sort of girl you would go to all this trouble over: "She'll be walking down the street with you and just out of nowhere turn and say, 'You want to know what the most subtle thing in the world is?' and you'll say sure, and she'll say, 'It's the b in subtle,' and she'll just keep walking down the street."

This is the sort of book I've been wanting to write for years, but have never been able to figure out how. And maybe--I'm hopin'--it will kick my ass out of this slump I've been in, so I can finally write something worth something again. It's been a while.

What makes me sad, though, is that George V. Packard apparently never wrote another book. As soon as I finished That Grail Song, I scoured the Internet for anything else he might have done, and it doesn't look like there's a damn thing. Which might be somehow related to the fact that this book was published in 1969, and this particular copy hadn't been checked out since 1971.

So this is it. This is all there is. I'm just happy I found it--even though I wasn't looking for it.

4:51pm: So I realized something today.

I've been wearing glasses for about a week now, something I hadn't done since my freshman year of high school. This, of course, means that most of the people I see on a day-to-day basis had never seen me wearing a pair of glasses before. And yet--and here's the part that troubles me deeply--they all had no trouble recognizing me.

Yes. Believe it or not, it's the sad truth. Despite the fact that I was obviously wearing glasses, not one single person mistook me for my mild-mannered alter-ego.

What is this world coming to?

10:00am: Some Quick Shots of Journaly Goodness
I'm working at the Movie Gallery now--I've been there just over a month. People in Dahlonega are apparently much more easy-going about late fees than people in Cumming. I'm still adjusting to that. I'll tell a customer he owes forty-some dollars, and immediately start looking around for a concrete bunker I can dive into before the level-five nuclear explosion takes place, remembering the man who yelled that it was "fucking bullshit" when I told him he had a five-dollar charge. "That's fine," the customer will say. "Really?" I ask. "You're not upset?" Shrug. "I brought it back late."

It just boggles my mind.

I have a new house. My new house has no front door. It also has no Biff, and I miss the underpants-beret-wearin' son-of-a-whore already.

I had my first class of the semester this morning. Beginning Spanish. I couldn't stop myself from automatically translating everything the professor taught us into Esperanto. That probably isn't a good thing.

I think I might have to buy yet another shirt for T-Shirt Hell. They just put out a new one that says, "Rape is no laughing matter... unless you're raping a clown." And that's just pure comedy gold.

All right, that's enough of that. I'm out, my Nubians.

6:14pm: Hear Ye, Hear Ye...
Let it be hereby known that, at some as-yet-undefined point in the near future, those masters of marksmanship known to the world as Joseph "Wanna Play Doctor?" Bryson and Biff "the Slappy Killer" Biffington will put their respective skills to the test in a winner-take-all gun-battle to the death. Or maybe not to the death, as the two will no doubt be standing side by side, facing in the same direction, and aiming at some form of non-human target, rather than at one another. But still, it will be a contest the magnitude of which the world has never before seen. Two men will enter; one will walk out. And then the other will walk out, too, but bearing the weight of shame on his shoulders, or something like that.

Anyway, it should be pretty cool.

5:38am: Because when you say "touchy-feely," I think "Helen Keller."
Well, if you weren't at Samantha's graduation shindig, I must say, friend, you missed out. A wild time was had by all--obscure proverbs were completed, apples were compared to other apples, crippled masters were observed and admired, and rumor has it that legendary Latino advertising mascot Twinkie el Cabrito actually made a brief appearance.

You should've been there, man.

6:21am: Even though I just washed them yesterday, my sheets are already filthy again. And no, it isn't for the reason you're thinking of, you horribly rude person.

I just tracked mud all over them, that's all.

5:06am: A Life Lesson That Seems As If It Should Have Been Self-Evident, But Which Apparently Was Not
Five in the morning is a bad time to discover that you didn't actually start the dryer after putting in that load of whites that includes your bedsheets some four hours earlier. Assuming, that is, that you wanted to make use of said bedsheets any time soon to, oh, say, sleep on them. Or anything crazy like that.