Author: King Tom

Time Is Not Of The Essence, It Is The Essence

If Lost fans were fans of any other show, by this point in the season, we’d be whining about how the show isn’t going anywhere, coming up with nicknames for new characters we hate and would be frustrated with the will-they-won’t-they nature of the show’s relationships.

But we don’t have to do that. Instead, we wait and pine for the network to throw us some scraps or hints of the upcoming season.

And here it is. The Lost Season 5 promo (thanks Dark UFO) (you may not want to watch if you’re not all caught up):

 

 
(and if you’re unsure about the title of the blog post, it comes from an official Lost video premiered over the summer, available here)

King Tom

They Say I Need Some Rogaine To Put In My Hair

Earlier this year, I didn’t think that there could ever be a better album cover than the then-released artwork for Weezer’s sixth album.  At the time, I said:

It’s far better for all future albums, CDs, tapes and eight-tracks to be released in brown paper wrapping than to try and compete with Weezer portraying the Village People.

For the most part, I still believe that. But (Weezer lead singer) Rivers Cuomo’s upcoming solo demo album (second in a series of what we at the kingdom hope is hundreds) has an equally great cover:

Two awesome album covers in one year. Not to mention a bunch of new songs.  Weezer fans are a lucky bunch.

King Tom2 Comments

The Mets Fan

October 13, 1998
Yankees 9, Indians 5 (ALCS Game 6) 

My senior year of college I roomed with a friend, who shall go by the name of Frank Liscapital.  Frank, because his first name was Frank.  Liscapital wasn’t his real last name, but he was memorialized in our college yearbook because the word “Liscapital” was added via hyphen to his last name because of his insistence that the ‘L’ in his last name was capitalized.

Frank Liscapital was a good guy, with one failing- he was a Mets fan, and just as much an obnixous Mets fan as I was an obnixous Yankees fan.  While the Mets didn’t have much to be excited about in the ’98 season, he was a huge Mike Piazza fan, and we had constant debates over who would have the better career from that point forward, Piazza, or Yankee flash-in-the-pan Shane Spencer.   I can admit it today, but Frank won that debate.  He repeatedly told me that summer and fall that it was “only a matter of time” before the Yankees’ historic season ended.  And in the ALCS, he was close to right.

The Yankees won game one against the Cleveland Indians, but lost games two (at home) and three (in Cleveland), and for a few days, Yankees fans were nervous.  It looked like for the second straight year, the Yankees would fall in the postseason to the Tribe, a team in the midst of a great run of its own.  The Yankees won games four and five in Cleveland, sending it back to the Bronx for the possible clincher on a Tuesday night.

My father called me at school that afternoon to tell me he had tickets (through the Sunday plan) and my stepmother wouldn’t let my brother go to a baseball game on a school night, playoffs or not.  I first called my friend Jon, but he had prior commitments.  I figured that Mets fan or not, Liscapital might enjoy the game, so I asked him and he said he would meet my father and I in the parking lot when his shift at the radio station was over.  

Liscapital and I hopped in the car, and we went with my father to the stadium.  My father and I were decked out in Yankees apparel.  But Liscapital presented a problem.  He was wearing a jacket over a t-shirt.  The jacket was buttoned up all the way, but one versed in such things could clearly tell that the t-shirt was a Mets t-shirt (a Piazza name-and-number shirt).  We didn’t expect it to be much of a problem.  Until we got to the stadium, and a few fans heckled Frank for the half-inch of Mets logo that peeked out from the top of his jacket.

Frank had never been to the stadium, so I showed him around.  We were on the field level, when he started waving to someone down on the field.  He told me that one of the walkie-talkie guys on the field was a coach of some sort at his high school and had talked of working for the Yankees in his free time.  I think I said something like “well, if you know him, you should have called so he could have gotten us on the field.”  Frank laughed it off and we quickly found our seats.

The crowd was crazy that night.  A few of the Cleveland players had made disparaging comments about the Yankees and the Bronx while the series was in Cleveland a few nights earlier, and the Yankees fans weren’t about to let them forget it.  Instead of hanging hand-drawn K’s after a strikeout, fans in the upper deck hung pictures of hand drawn UZIs.  As Indian (and future Yankee) David Justice stepped to the plate, the stadium erupted in chants of “Hal-le-Ber-ry,” his recent ex-wife.

And that pretty much set the tone for the whole night.  Despite giving up five runs in five innings, David Cone pitched a solid game, striking out eight and leaving the game with the Yankees holding a 6-5 lead.  While the crowd was nervous, the Yankees scored three in the bottom of the sixth to give them some insurance.  The Yankees held on until the ninth, when Mariano Rivera sealed up a 9-6 win that sent the Yankees to the World Series.  Dad, Frank and I hung around the stadium, me hoping that I’d get a chance to go to one of the World Series games (I would, but that’s another entry) and Frank probably hoping that his Mets shirt would go unnoticed.

As we left the stadium, we bumped into that guy Frank knew, who actually was some bigwig with stadium security.  The guy told us something to the effect of “Frank, it’s great to see you! You should have given me a call–I could have let you and your friends down on the field before the game.”

Thanks Frank.

King Tom1 Comment

Ringo's Got Your Letter; You've Got His Song

Unless you’re the gas, electic or cable company, Beatle Ringo Starr won’t be reading or answering your mail.

As he posted in a recent video on his Web site:

“Nothing will be signed after the 20th of October. If that is the date on the envelope, it’s gonna be tossed…I’m warning you with peace and love I have too much to do. So no more fan mail, thank you, thank you, and no objects to be signed. Nothing. Anyway, peace and love, peace and love.” 

Every story I’ve seen about this gives the impression this is a bad thing because Ringo answering Marge Simpson’s letter inspired her to paint again.  But what everyone is forgetting is that twenty years earlier, as shown in the rockumentary Help!, Ringo faced multiple assassination attempts because he wore a ring he received through the mail.

In his defense, Ringo was one of the Beatles and still tours and records music, so in addition to hand cramps, he’s probably very busy.  If he had this attitude back in the ’60s, he would not have had crazies trying to paint him red and assassinate him.

On a personal level, I think letter writing can be a good thing.  In my youth, I was somewhat lazy when it came to letter writing (which may have translated into being lazy about blog writing as an adult).  Case in point- when I was about 10, I met MAD Magazine publisher William Gaines while at dinner with my mother and ex-stepfather.  Gaines was a friend of theirs and talked to me throughout dinner. As he was leaving, he told me if I wrote him a letter, he’d give me a free lifetime subscription to MAD.  For some reason, I didn’t do it.  Years later, while reading a book about Gaines and MAD, I found out that he read every letter that came into MAD and was known for giving away subscriptions like they were candy.  Stupidest thing I never did.

But if Ringo doesn’t want to answer any more letters, comment on paintings, or wear rings, more power to him. Peace and love Ringo. Peace and love. (Gear, Fab.)

King Tom

When I Was Your Age…

Back in fourteen-ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue, and yada yada yada, The Civee and I had the day off.

When I used to work in news, I hated Columbus Day (along with Veterans’ Day and a few others) because banks, government and the post offices were closed, but we had to work.  Most of the times, except for the occasional local celebration, there was nothing else at all going on.  And the one source of an easy news story (the government) wasn’t working, making us dig even harder for something to cover.

Now that I’m on the other side of the equation, I have the day off again.  Growing up, Columbus Day was always the first day off in the school year, and back when I was in school, it was one of the few things in the fall that I looked forward to.  

But things have changed for kids these days.  The Civee and I were out riding our bikes today, and we passed an elementary school, and the kids were getting out of school. On Columbus Day!  

At first I was outraged that kids would have school today. But then, I started thinking…when The Civee and I have kids, it would be nice if there were a day or two when they have school and she and I have the day off.  The kids would already have the whole summer off–so what’s a day or two here and there for mom and dad?  I actually think it’s a great idea–parents need days off apart from their kids.  Adults need days off that kids don’t have.  Do whatever you want with it, just realize that you have the day to yourself, while kids all over are stuck in school.

If it works out this way when our kids are in school, knowing me, I’d rub it in their face.  The little brats deserve it.

King Tom

They Don't Write 'Em Like That Anymore

Back in the day before music was purchased online or on small shiny plastic discs, One of the first audio tapes, most people got their music in the form of large wax/vinyl discs or on cassette tapes. The first tape I could ever call my own (because no one else in my family wanted anything to do with it) was “Weird Al” Yankovic in 3-D.

I would play the tape over and over again on my small tape player/recorder, ensuring that “in 3-D” was not to be the last Yankovic recording I’d own. I still listen to Weird Al today (his songs come up frequently in my every-MP3-on-my-computer playlist), although I’m not as familiar with his recent few albums.

It wasn’t until reading a recent Wired article the other day though, that I realized Al has been making music for 25 years. From what I’ve heard of his recent stuff, it’s good, but I’d rather listen to King of Suede than White and Nerdy. Sure, the newer stuff is still funny, but the material it’s based on isn’t as good musically as the material from the 80s. I don’t care about the flavor of the week rap song of two years ago, but 80s pop (no matter how cheesy) will always reign supreme.  Part of that could also be because of the diversity of what’s out there to be parodied.  Or, as Al puts it:

“Back in the ’80s, ‘Purple Rain’ would be number one for half a year,” Yankovic says. “You still have Top 40 radio now, but it’s 40 different stations. There aren’t many hits that everybody knows, and there aren’t many real superstars. That makes it more difficult for me.”

The article’s overall hook is that Al is the forefather of YouTube parodies, of which there are many (I’m still barely caught up), which is kind of interesting considering the guy who made his living using other people’s material has given inspiration to a whole new generation of artistic rip-off artists (I mean that with respect).

It is nice to see Al get his due (and to see that I’m not the only one who considers UHF to be a stroke of genius).  Even though he’s been out there for 25 years, he’s still touring and pumping out albums.  Maybe I’ll try listening to the next one with unbiased ears.

King Tom

The Convert

May 11, 1997
Yankees 3, Royals 2 

One of my best friends in college was a guy named Jon, who was a teammate on the speech team.  Jon was a year younger than me and hailed from the state of Wisconsin.  As much as a Yankee fan as I was/am, Jon is a cheesehead (with the foam wedge to boot).

On the night the Yankees won the ‘96 World Series, the team was at an away tournamet in Long Island.  The team was staying in a seedy hotel in Hempstead (underneath the Fukudaya Sushi bar) and we gathered in one of our rooms to watch game six.  Everyone cheered on the Yankees victory–that is everyone except Jon.

Fast-forward seven months to May 11 ’97.  The defending World Champion Yankees were scheduled to host Kansas City and also hold ‘Ring Day’ ceremonies on a windy Sunday afternoon. My father had tickets as part of the Sunday plan, but for some reason which has been lost to time, neither King Classic nor Pete could attend.  My father offered me our four tickets, and after asking Jon, he, myself and a girl named Gail took the train into the city and then the subway to the stadium.

Like me, Gail was a Yankee fan and had been to the stadium many times before.  But this was Jon’s first time. We got to the stadium an hour or so before the ring ceremony was scheduled to begin and walked around some, showing Jon around. As we walked around, maybe it was because of the sales job that Gail and I did, or maybe because it was because it was Yankee Stadium, but Jon started to develop an appreciation for the team.

We took our seats and watched video after video of the ’96 team, followed by the ring ceremony.  As fun as that was, the game was even better.  The offensive highlight was Bernie Williams hitting a solo shot in the third, helping the Yankees cement their 3-2 victory.  David Wells posted eight-plus strong innings and Mariano Rivera, who was in his first full season as Yankees closer walked one and struck out one to end the game.  As the game progressed, Jon got more and more into cheering for the Yankees- a big change from his demeanor that night seven months prior. 

As we walked back to the subway, the three of us all got a chance to bang on Freddy’s pan.  We headed back to school, two of us longtime Yankees fans with another notch under our belts, and the third, a (at first) reluctant convert to Yankees fandom.

King Tom3 Comments

Number Nine

Since 2000, I’ve been to nine Weezer concerts.  Yesterday evening, The Civee (who is not a Weezer fan) and I attended my latest, which took place in the Palace at Auburn Hills located pretty damn far away from Detroit.

Even though I’m not one of the cool kids anymore (and it’s debatable as to if I ever was), we had floor tickets and enjoyed the show from the crowd.  To say it was an interesting Weezer show would not be giving the concert justice.  

The music was great.  And the band did more songs than I’d ever see them do before.  But the band seemed more alive this time.  Up to and including my fifth Weezer show in December 2001, lead singer/guitarist Rivers Cuomo would stand in one place while capably performing the guitar and vocals.  Since then, his presence has grown by leaps and bounds, as I mentioned during my last show:

Lead singer/guitarist Rivers Cuomo was like a human dynamo. He was way more chatty than ever before…didn’t mind letting others take the spotlight, letting every member of the band front at least one song. During El Scorcho, Rivers gave up lead guitar duties and actually walked/danced/staggered around the stage while singing.

The amount of action going on on the stage made 2005 Rivers look like he did during my very first show.  Not only did Rivers sing and play guitar, he ran around the stage, danced, chatted up his band-mates, clapped, and delivered some blistering solos while jumping on a trampoline. There was a lot of life to the show, and that was a good thing.

Opening acts Tokyo Police Club and Angels and Airwaves were more than capable of starting the evening.  I hadn’t heard any of the output of either band, but I enjoyed the sets (even if TPC sounded repetitive and A&A (or AVA as their shirts read) was a bit too dramatic).  But when Weezer came to the stage in white matching overalls (which they later shed in favor of matching red tracksuits), it was time to rock.

The setlist spanned their career, and each member got to take a few turns singing lead on a song.  I do have two complaints about the setlist: It was virtually identical to the previous few shows and with the exception of a group-efforted My Name is Jonas and Brian-fronted Susanne, the older songs were strictly singles.  I would have liked to have heard something along the lines of Don’t Let Go, No One Else or Getchoo.  But I guess when you try and cram six-plus albums worth of songs into one show, not everyone is going to get what they want.

My only other slight complaint is the trading-off of lead vocalists.  It’s fine for Pat to sing his song “Automatic” or to turn in a cover of “(What’s the Story) Morning Glory?” But it’s still weird hearing Brian singing El Scorcho.

Six of the show’s songs were off the newest album, which were all strong performances.  They actually pulled off a live version of The Greatest Man That Ever Lived, and I have to say I was pleased to hear them play Dreamin’ (with recorded bird noises) in a live setting.

Other highlights of the show included about 30 fans (including Scott’s dad) joining them onstage in Hootenanny form for Island in the Sun and Beverly Hills.  This was enjoyable, but about 25 of those fans had guitars–it would have been more interesting had there been a second tuba or some other instruments rather than 25 guitars.

The band closed the night with a Rivers-fronted cover of Sliver and Buddy Holly.  The band sounded tight throughout the show, but really shined (probably because Rivers wasn’t distracted by the trampoline) with these two songs.  

I’m glad Weezer is still tight musically, and isn’t afraid of trying new things.  I’m also happy The Civee appeared to have a good time.  The band has grown a lot in the few years I’ve been seeing them live, and I’m looking forward to the next tour–I just hope it’s closer than Detroit.*

*I’m sure the city isn’t crazy about me, but I can’t stand Detroit.  Driving to/through the city is a nightmare.  If you’re not getting lost, you’re stuck in traffic or almost hit by some gigantic SUV going 95.

King Tom

Tenure? Rickey's Got 16, 17 Years

August 24, 1988
Yankees 7, A’s 6

Growing up, I spent many a summer week enrolled in different YMCA camps in New York (Camp Pouch, Staten Island) and New Jersey (the Metuchen Y).  A few times each summer, the camp would organize a field trip to a Yankees game.  Our parents would pay for a cheap ticket to a day game, and the camp would bus us to the stadium with the counselors trying to watch over a group of kids in the stands.  Pretty much every time, the seats were way up in the upper deck, in fair territory.  (What a difference 20 years makes–today it seems impossible that there would be that many cheap tickets available to a Yankees game, even if it were a daytime game in the middle of the week).

We weren’t overly rambunctious- most of us would follow the games and cheer for the Yankees.  Our favorite [collective] player would be whichever Yankee would acknowledge us.  When we were seated in the left field stands, we’d scream Rickey Henderson‘s name until he waved.  The other times we went, when we were in right field, we’d try shouting at Dave Winfield. Needless to say, Rickey had much more fans just because he had a better track record of acknowledging the kids.

Anyway, this particular game, on August 24 1988, was during the last week of camp.  Our bus was somewhat late leaving the camp- and our driver actually hopped the median right before the George Washington Bridge to get us to the stadium in time.  Before the long trek up to our seats, our counselors took us to the gift shop.  I used what little money I had on me to buy an ’88 Yankees yearbook.  A friend (whose name has long since escaped my memory) used his to buy a portable radio pre-tuned to the AM station which had the Yankees broadcast rights (this minor purchase will come into play later on).

So us camp kids spent the game screaming for Dave Winfield and going unacknowledged. The game was slow, and Oakland scored the first three runs of the game before the Yankees scored on a Claudell Washington groundout (with Rickey scoring the run after stealing second).  The A’s scored another run and the score remained at 4-1 until the eighth.  

After what looked like a comeback started by two singles, Don Slaught hit a sacrifice tie to bring in one run, but the rally was soon killed.  When the eighth ended, the counselors decided it was time to head home. We filed out of the stadium–my group was the first to arrive at the buses right outside, but we had to wait for a few other groups.  

As we left, the Yankees gave up two runs in the top of the ninth, meaning the score was 6-2 going into the Yankees’ last frame.  

We stood outside the bus, getting updates from my friend who had the foresight to buy that little radio.  Suddenly, the fans smart enough to stay were cheering–a Ken Phelps home run tied up the game and Rickey singled in the winning run. Yet most of the kids of the YMCA Camp Pouch were waiting outside the stadium.  It was a good thing there was only one day of camp left that year, because the counselors who made the decision to leave early made the list.  

Even though this one should probably go under the ‘When I Wasn’t There’ category, it was still a fun game.  And I was there for eight innings of it.

Remedy used to work as a vendor at the Stadium- and every now and then he’d get me a shirt or a cap. One of my favorites was a Henderson t-shirt (Interlocking NY on front, name and number on the back)- and I’d get made fun of whenever I wore it to school. Of course, growing up in New York in the mid 80s, I was one of maybe four kids in my school who was a Yankee fan.  I’m just glad YMCA management didn’t send us to Shea.

*The titular line of this entry comes from one of the many great Rickey stories, some of which are available here.

King Tom

That's No Pill, It's a Space Station

Last week, when I was sick, I was trying just about anything I could (short of going to the doctor) to get better. Last year sometime, King Classic told me whenever he was sick, he loaded up on the vitamin C.  Since not much else was working, I decided to take his advice.

We were all out of vitamin C tablets at home, so when the Civee and I went to Whole Foods to get some dinner, I went searching.  There were a few bottles that sold for around $20, which claimed their tablets packed between 100% and 200% of the daily reccomended amount of the vitamin.  Not bad, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to pay $20 for a bunch of vitamins.  On the bottom shelf I spotted a larger-than-the-rest bottle selling for only $7 from 365 (the Whole Foods house brand).  I turned it over to check the dose and was blown away…each tablet packed in a whopping 833% of the reccomended daily value of vitamin C.

After wondering whether that was legal, or even safe, I decided to go for it. As surprising as the 833% was, I was in for an even bigger surprise when I got home.  I opened up the bottle, took out the layers of cotton packed therein, got a nice whiff of something resembling orange, and dropped one of the pills into my hand, and found out these pills are supersized.  The pills are absolutely huge (As you can see by the image, one pill is the size of a stack of six dimes).  It’s a good thing the label says ‘chewable’ because I would not have known what to do with these pills otherwise.  And I have to admit, the taste isn’t that bad.  

Anyway, I am feeling better this week–part of which I’m attributing to the ginormous vitamin C pills.  Will I keep taking them? Probably.  The bottle has 100 pills, so for the next three months, I can feel secure in the fact that I’m in no danger whatsoever of getting scurvy.

King Tom