tone L.O.C.

Just came up with the title. Phone. Dial tone. Library of Congress. L.O.C. = Tone L.O.C. Now I don’t feel so bad wasting time on this. But yeah, trying to reach out (yet again) to the Library of Congress for help tracking down an old National Enquirer article (which is going to be part of a great TWER story) and after some back and forth via the automated web form and random LinkedIn stalking (premium has its perks, people), decided to go through the front door again. Which I was sure actually didn’t open. And it doesn’t. Three options, dead end, “Please call…” the exact same number I just called. But still, it sounded so fancy. Straight out of All The President’s Men—even the “from a rotary phone…” option. When’s the last time you heard that?



Oh wow, it’s my hundredth post.

giving thanks to God and google on a brain stretch saturday morning


thanks guys. looks like a fun group. 


GOOGLE DOCS IS REALLY GREAT. Typed that with cap locks on but I’m not changing it. Here’s the thing, a lot about Google bothers me. But they make an incredible product. I mean they are doing it. Photos. Docs. God is slipping code to Google, shortcuts to unlocking our creative potential and stuff and that’s really the meat of the matter — God can use people who bother you. God can use anything. I’m not going to cringe at the color of my blood because it happens to match a Bama jersey. Let not the devil claim for bad what God has said was good. I mean, I guess you could even say that about the devil. Like about how you have to have a bad guy for it to be a good story. Sadie thought bedtime thoughts about that stuff when she was, like, seven.

I’m not going to let the Madonna now ruin the Madonna then, the one I thought about and think about. I’m not going to let morons ruin their TV characters for me, especially the ones on Mike Judge shows because MJ’s cool. I’ll just pray they give up the moron game. I’m fine with not buying certain things, though. That’s easy. Well, except Diet Coke. Hope nothing happens with Diet Coke. I digress. Point is, Google is really helping me. They deserve all the kudos they get. Same with Wikipedia. I just donated. I donated 20 dollars to Wikipedia. I may even buy a shirt. Think of how much you use Wikipedia. Lord, I’d even donate to Google and Google owns money. Does Bing have cool things? (Maybe I should check them out, too. Play both sides. But I’d feel doing that to Google. Seriously, they’ve really impressed me lately.)

Same with Amazon. Man, apparently the guy owns the Washington Post and WaPo sucks like the rest but still. Makes a great product. Or service or whatever. For crying out loud — Prime? Video? Two freaking days? It’s amazing. What hath God wrought level stuff. The other day I bought local. And they only reason was because I did the sneaky barcode check and it was cheaper, for once. And I happened to be driving by. And I wanted it instantly. Even though I could have waited. That’s it. That’s the only reason. Adapt, man.

In other news, loving the radio show these days. I mean I always have but it’s just really fun and I’ve been waking up in full appreciation. Rich has always said it’s like acting. And it’s not like I haven’t known that, but it really is. We play these parts and it’s fun. And I get to express myself in ways I can’t anywhere else. I mean, I’m trying, but nothing comes close to ol’ Jer Bear. Cue the Toto…

Got some deals cooking. God is faithful. He really is. I mean, it’s not like He has to be faithful, I’m just saying God has a plan for your life. Or at least my life. I’m assuming your life too. It’s hard to not think that you’re special, a special kind of special. And I’ll never be able to shake it entirely. And maybe that’s fine because we’re all special, and I do definitely believe that. I don’t know, I’m just saying God has a plan and it’s hard to know exactly what it is sometimes but when it starts to happen then you know.

Possibly related, I’m embracing the way I am. The way I operate. I’m all about disciplined writing and stuff, and that’s great for dudes who live upstairs downstairs lives with wives they never talk about, for bachelor hobos (no offense to anyone, promise), for trust fund hipsters with lofts or whatever. But I’m locked into a chaotic, unfathomably complex ecosystem and I can only do what I can do. There is no routine. Every day is a musical chair life scramble for time. And like right now, everyone is out of the house and my brain just needs to stretch and hey I got to let it stretch. Got to read that Kerouac thing, got to plan that new book, got to plan that other new book, got to start that new Twitter account and then delete it. Just Go. Just Do It. “So you’re saying yes to everything?” Jennie asked. And hey, you know how I answered.

But yeah, starting a couple of websites. Possibly writing for a couple of websites. God knows how many books I’m working on. And more on this later, but OMG I was asked–by what I can technically call Auburn University and be honest about it though technically it was the archives, but still, that’s Auburn—to give a lecture on DEAN CATER ALL CAPS. When it rains it pours. And that’s God.

conrad, michelle, ben

I actually paid money for this. An old NBC publicity slide. eBay. I hooked the negative scanner back up yesterday. This was first in line. It wasn’t much, but still don’t tell Jennie. I just get these impulses to collect Matlock stuff a couple of times a year and sometimes, when I have a little PayPal pocket money, I just give in. Goes way back. I have an autographed photo from Nancy Stafford I sent away for in 8th grade. Meant as much as the Elle Macpherson.

I always feel dumb at some point. But it’s 2016 and you’re supposed to embrace yourself. No Matlock shaming.


I’d put this at 1990 probably, maybe ’91. I’ll figure it out at some point. Can probably pinpoint the episode. I’m pretty sure I remember that shirt. It may be that tennis episode where Michelle tells a guy he’s a suspect because despite what he says he can’t be that good of a guy because he has an illegitimate kid. In 1990, if you fathered a kid out of wedlock, you could just as easily have murdered someone. It was wild to hear that. Things have changed. Things have changed a lot.


Exhibit B. Didn’t buy that for the Muppets.


Thank the Lord that was a lie.

OK, so I decided I’d just go ahead and figure it out, but YouTube has apparently purged the full Matlock episodes that got me through a couple of months a couple of years back so I can’t be for sure, but I’d bet five bucks on it. Speaking of five bucks, I just put down a bid on a Seasons 1-4 DVD. See what I mean? It’s back! But hey, I wrote a blog post. That is technically constructive. So I think it’s OK. And the girls are watching good TV with me and that’d be something. They’d have to close their eyes every now and then. Not much. And I’m turning to TV a bit to feel OK about life, or as a reward I guess. Down time. Gotta stay sane. And Matlock is comforting. Matlock is great.



e.t. phone sweet home alabama, obladi oblada


Sometime you use exclamations ironically for a joke or something. Ditto keeping them off ironically. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. This stuff is obvious.

The point is that I told Travis “this the craziest thing ever.” (This was on Twitter.) But I didn’t put an exclamation point on it.  It wasn’t a conscious thing. It was instinct. Period. I don’t care if if he was in town shooting a movie or not. I know that stuff happens. I know people take selfies with Mel Gibson or Vince Vaughan or something in their local Marriott elevators sometimes. But randomly running into (and partying with) the kid from E.T. on the streets of downtown Mobile, Ala. and it being a real enough moment for Instagram to capture is, on some psychological level—one of my favorite levels—the craziest thing ever with just a matter of fact period, by which I mean definitely near the top of the list of things you tell your friends are the craziest thing ever. Again, it’s subtle. And it’d obviously be a whole different thing if it happened to me. But I don’t party or go anywhere, so it wouldn’t. Now that I think about it, I think the fact that it’s Travis factors in heavily to the feeling. (I’m exploring all this to feel productive on a Friday afternoon turned 4:30 Saturday morning, but it’s not just some writing exercise or something. It’d be a good one. And juices are flowing. But trust that I am working with live tissue here.)

I don’t think I would feel as “craziest ever” about him hanging out and putting his arm around and taking selfies with somebody from the Brat Pack or something. Or even The Goonies. Or Fred Savage or somebody like that. Maybe Punky Brewster, but for other reasons. I won’t link to them. I don’t want people knowing I’ve Googled that a time or two. But if it was Punky Brewster I’d probably be down there with him right now, bosom buddies, packing my memory card to the brim. That’s just the way I was raised.

But Elliot from E.T.? I mean think about that. That’s like Madonna (back when she was Madonna) or Michael Jackson or something. Bob Dylan maybe. He was the star of what everyone once considered, like, The Movie. I mean, didn’t they? Isn’t it on Every List Ever or something? Near the top?  I swear I always remember VH1 type things bowing down to it. Like cinema was basically broken into B.C. / E.T. It was like the Seinfeld of 1980s movies. It wasn’t, like, my favorite ever, but it as up there and even as a kid it seemed really important. Watched it a few months back with the kids. (Or maybe that was Stranger Things. BOOM! But that’s the point I guess, so boom on me.) It’s good. It’s ahead of its time. Everyone’s perfect in it. And Elliot [I don’t want to write his real name in case he has Google alerts for himself and feels betrayed by Travis sharing photos with folks. I mean, he posed for them but you know how some people are.] was perfect in it, right? Wasn’t he supposed to be like some prodigy or something? Well I just typed in his name and this popped up. It was the first video, actually, and it’s a video of him crying real tears on cue (I could have nailed that thing. Crying was so easy for us brilliant child actors in the 80s) and getting the gig in three minutes. So I’m going to say yes, Jeremy Henderson, your impression was right on the money.

And the fact that he had kind of hung it up, at least seemingly, at least for the most part, before the apple juice had even been washed from the collectible glasses added to the Elliot mystique (true, I just bought Cloak and Dagger but I didn’t even realize that was him until I watched the trailer a few weeks back. That movie used to freak me out for some reason. Even saying the name of it scared me. More on that later I’m sure).

Drew Barrymore went on to do things. Other people from E.T. went on to do things. No one I can think of, but I’m sure they did in their own way. We all need insurance agents. Photography businesses aren’t going to run themselves. People do things. Decisions are made.

But in my mind it was like Elliot was the JD Salinger of child stars or something. Like he did and ascended into a hidden cultural heaven where not even The Oscars can find you. That’s how much he totally nailed this role. I mean totally. It’s fantastic. He’s in a scene with one of the most quotable movie quotes ever. Maybe if Travis had been hanging out with Macaulay Culkin. Maybe that would be a similar feeling. Maybe even more. But Kevin’s got that weird, depressing menace about him, especially now (no offense).

The randomness of hanging out with someone so Big Once Upon a Time, yet so seemingly obscure (even though apparently he isn’t—and neither was Minnie Driver, she got a movie or TV gig or something right after I posted that—and like I said was apparently in town filming a movie)… I don’t know, it’d be like him giving a ride to some old woman at a gas station and it being Betty Page. It’d be like him accidentally taking Lisa Bonet’s clothes out of the dryer (can you even imagine?) and laughing about it as they split the vending machine’s last Mellow Yellow. (That’d be a hard accident to prove. Maybe Kadeem Hardison’s.) It’d be like being the only one to realize that second shift librarian is Sloan from Ferris Bueller or something and y’all spending all night talking life and love in the kid’s room bean bags.

They’re these huge portraits hanging in the halls of your mind. Only it turns out that people grow up and drink beer and grow stubble. Everyone keeps inhaling and exhaling. And hanging out with normal dudes.

That sinks in more every year. It’s pretty easy for me to call up random celebrities and just own it. (It’s kind of neat because I think it impresses people and makes them think I’m fascinating.) This afternoon I called a former Solid Gold dancer and convinced her I that was a good person (hoping to turn that into something). But these days I could even call Hillary Clinton, like right now, and go toe-to-toe with with her. What I’m saying is that she would be the one nervous talking to me after it was over. Of course I might accidentally commit suicide or die in a boat accident or fall victim to a botched robbery a couple of days later. But that wouldn’t change the fact that her decrepit heart would be beating faster than mine by the end of things. Trump would be harder, but only because he wouldn’t care anything about how whoever this guy is felt, and good for him. Hillary would pretend to care and be nice. That’s on her. I’d exploit it without thinking.

Anyway, the point is that Travis was texting and taking pictures with Elliot from ET in freaking Downtown Mobile of all places, on a weeknight, and now after reading this–and I apologize for that period vs. exclamation mark stuff, not sure where that was going–it doesn’t seem weird at all. Life just keeps happening. We all eat pizza. #OneLove.

Follow Travis here. I’m sure it’ll happen again. Plus he writes great reviews.

lungfish opening for joan jett makes perfect sense

I was forced to instantly go back to college and type crazy thanks to “Truth Cult” by Lungfish and I got so excited by Lungfish I had to go on eBay and see if there was a “Win a date with Lungfish” auction or something. And I found this instead. And at first you’re like… but then at second you–the college you, the college me I mean, the sophomore college me I mean–is like, yes, this makes so much sense. I was dubbing Joan Jett and Lungfish records on tape my sophomore year, maybe on the same day. And hey, I honestly didn’t even listen to that much music. So I’m not sure this is a coincidence. Whatever it is, I mean, it’s cool, just enjoy it. I’m sure it was great.

lungfish joan jett

Maybe it should have been the other way around though. Yes definitely.

post-loss blues

Just corrected someone at on where the rivalry stands (James 1:16 at the beginning of the tweet) and dude retweeted it, so that made it a little better. Making a difference.

Sitting here with Sadie and Jennie and they’re doing Minecraft. It’s crazy. Bonding over Minecraft. I should have known. And I’m sitting here trying to start a new blog for every word in the English language. I’m also DJing. Magnetic Fields, who Sadie thinks should have named themselves Dark Oak. Magnetic Fields is pretty magical as far as names go but Dark Oak is powerful, too. Now it’s bed time. Fun stops. C’est la vie.

(written after the Georgia loss, published Monday. I didn’t even post it. Not that I was devastated or anything. Just titling it that because that a trope type thing, right?)

celebrity photos

I used to write celebrities all of the time in middle school (addresses magically acquired via proto message board things in the pre-net’al world of Prodigy). Early middle school. Early 90s. Well maybe ’91-92 and stuff. Mostly women. Mostly supermodels. More on that later, God willing. Every now and them one would write back with a personal note, and THAT was a special week of summer. I’ve had the Julie Newmar one on the wall for a while (probably use it in conversations once every other year or so). “Purr…fect.” Pretty hot. (I AM purr…fect.)

julie newmar photo

Found the Park Overall one a while back. Took a picture of it. Just found the picture of it. I’m sure she said that to all the young weirdos. (You know, thinking about it, thinking about who Park Overall was in 1991 or so, I was probably the only young weirdo. Well, maybe not. America’s a big place. But I hardly ever even watched Empty Nest. Mostly just when I was down at Grandmama’s in Auburn chilling with popcorn in the night glow of family.) But still—made me feel special. Still does. The kind of thing Maria Von Brainpickings would do a post on when it was discovered in some university archive’s Jeremy Henderson collection.

park overall picture copy

By the way, I know that sounds lame and fratty or church rap whatever, but that “totally slammin’ house party” was totally slammin’, it was a punk show (in high school! Exhaust was there, and some anti-Nazi band, which were things). They were just trying to be cute.

Back to computer filing.

toomer’s oates

Screenshot 2014-10-20 14.16.47

I feel like every time I try to explain to Sadie what I do, this pathetic stuff her Dad does, so she can have something to tell the kids on the playground or whatever — I feel like every time I try, or I do, every time I have a good excuse to, it’s a moment. She has a pretty good idea already, has for a while. But I still try to give specific concrete examples every whenever I can. Now that I think about it, it’s probably more to make myself feel good.

One time, I took her to Chappy’s for breakfast, six or so months ago I guess, and it was right after I had done this post that had gotten a lot of attention, and we heard some elderly-ish ladies two booths behind say “I saw that on The War Eagle Reader this morning.” Or maybe it was “yesterday.” Either way, our ears instantly caught it and Sadie smiled and I smiled and it was like, man, that’s when you know you’ve made it. Not when Yahoo or USA Today or someone steals your stuff or you’re mentioned on ESPN—when old ladies drinking coffee at the only thing we really have that passes as a diner in town anymore say the name of your website by name without having, or at least feeling the need to explain to other old ladies what it is. (The OA-News. The Wall Street Journal. The War Eagle Reader.) I took a picture of Sadie with them in the background. And that was a moment. (She had been with me while I was doing the groundwork for the post, i.e. doubling back on our way home and taking a picture of a sign which we’ve done a million times—I think that kind of hit it home.)

Screenshot 2014-10-20 14.15.58Screenshot 2014-10-20 14.15.44

Anyway, the other day we went to the art museum (actually some really cool stuff up in there right now, I’m impressed) and it hit me this would be the first time I’d get to see that photo of John Oates in a War Damn Eagle shirt. Which is hanging in a freaking art museum, Auburn’s art museum, because of me. That’s just the way it is. Plain, simple, Wikpedia. Thing is there because a year ago I read the email and bolted out of bed and went into my office and sat down and banged out a post. And tweeted it. And put it on Facebook. This is what I do. Behold the power, I told Sadie. I tried setting the stage and giving her the context of the zillions of random cultural reference points. She got it. It wasn’t as great as the Chappy’s moment, but it was still a moment. It’s stupid, but I tell myself it’s OK to be proud every now and then. She’s proud of me. It’s OK to take a selfie. (I invented selfies.)

Screenshot 2014-10-20 14.16.13


Today is my 35th birthday, which means I’m 35, which almost has an more ominous ring or sense of tragic desperation or whatever to it then I imagine even 40 would have (at least until I’m 40). Because once you’re 40 it’s too late, but 35 drops this huge, heavy burden of five more years in your lap—five more years to make it (IT) before things REALLY start getting real. But I’m thankful I’m still here and I hope to post more.