The Colonel T Show

The inspiration starts at 1:24. You can thank me later.

Missed Part I? Click here.

Rise of the Silver Surfer (abandoned 7/16/2007)

My review of the second Fantastic Four theatrical release. Like the movie, my review was only half completed.

Fantastic Four: Rise of the Surfer is a movie that defies criticism.

It is so blatantly riddled with plot holes, contrivances, and missed opportunities that everyone working on the movie must have realized it, but no one bothered to do anything about it.

Some examples, off the top of my head. Spoilers ahoy:

Plot Hole: The Thing weighs over 500 pounds. There’s no way any commercial airline lets him on a plane. Also, the FF’s financial problems are long behind them (see the revamped Baxter Building and Sue’s engagement ring) and surely they could arrange private transportation available. Why not break out the Fantastic-Car?

Plot Hole: The Fantastic Four break out of the military bunker by having Johnny ask the guard to bring him some DVD’s. The guard says “Sure!” and walks away, leaving the foursome unguarded. A foursome with a member who can turn invisible.

Plot Hole: Sue catches Victor Von Doom (Dr. Doom) working on a secret device when he’s supposed to be helping Reed solve the Silver Surfer problem. Victor hides the device under a blanket in plain sight of Sue. Instead of asking Victor what he’s doing, or demanding to see the device, or warning the rest of the team, or attacking Victor right then and there, Sue tells Victor to “get back to work” and walks away.

Missed Opportunity: The Thames River in London is completely drained and a 200 meter deep hole is left in its place. There’s no fallout or reaction and it’s never mentioned again.

Missed Opportunity: The entire planet Earth is 60 seconds away from total annihilation and there’s no reaction from anybody outside of the principal cast. Not even a “President tells the world ‘God help us all’” scene.

Missed Opportunity: Every scene plays out exactly as you’d expect. Reed gets his groove on with some ladies at his bachelor party. Of course, Sue walks in at that exact moment and gets all snippy. Of course. [I STOPPED HERE]

My Daughters are People-Like (abandoned 6/29/2007)

This one’s going to be disappointing, as this sentence is longer than the actual post:

Pictures of the ladies, straight-up yo: [I STOPPED HERE]

Top Ten NES Games Ever (abandoned 6/19/2006)

The article I linked to in the original post is gone — and I can’t recall the identities of the top two games. If I had to guess: Super Mario Bros. 3 and The Legend of Zelda.

Gamespot recently posted their list of the ten best Nintendo Entertainment System games ever. I received my NES over 20 years ago — the original 1985 Deluxe Edition, complete with ROB the Video Robot, the Zapper Light Gun, Duck Hunt, and Gyromite. That’s right — I had to buy Super Mario Bros. separately. In the store. Off the rack. As news of the Wii and its “Virtual Console” arrives, here are my impressions of Gamespot’s Top Ten:

10) Ninja Gaiden

I think I watched that opening cutscene ten billion times. I used to proclaim “It looks real! It looks real!” And of course, I was crazy. Best known for its extraordinary difficulty, finishing this was one of the great accomplishments of my life.

9) Duck Hunt

It certainly wouldn’t be on my top ten list, but it’s certainly a classic. My friends would often ask “Can you shoot the dog?” to which I often lied “Yeah, but it only happens once in a while. I totally saw it before you got here.”

8 ) Metroid

I was a Kid Icarus man, myself. The original Metroid is virtually unplayable today, but the GBA remake (Metroid Zero Mission) is a spectacular homage and is a must play for anyone who dug the original.

7) Mega Man 2

Almost certainly, this would be in my top three, very likely number one. The Mega Man 2 theme song is finest piece of game music ever written. I have trained my wife to sing it on command. Call her RIGHT NOW and she will sing it for you.

6) Mike Tyson’s Punch Out

I couldn’t beat Tyson in 1987, but when I was a freshman in college in 1992, between dates with cheerleaders I found the inner will and skill to take down ol’ ear biter.

5) Contra

The single greatest co-op game ever. I belong to the “beat it without losing a life club.” And for those of you who joined me on the battlefield, I say to you the following: “LET’S…HIT…THE…JUICES!”

4) Final Fantasy

The game that kicked off my (long since gone) obsession with Japanese role-playing games. My brother had Phantasy Star, and I had this. Final Fantasy’s visuals didn’t compare. For such a significant game, this game has aged terribly, and I certainly wouldn’t put it in my top ten now.

3) Super Mario Bros.

You’d be shocked — SHOCKED — by how many gamers, including myself, have never beaten this game. I eventually beat the SNES remake, but I could never crack good ol’ 8-4. As for its inclusion on the list, yeah, it’s pretty much the most important game ever, so it prolly ought to make it.

2) [I STOPPED HERE]

I can not stress enough the glory of my new blogging software, WordPress. Every passing hour, I discover a new and wonderful feature. Some of these, like the Sidebar Widgets I’ll soon be implementing, simplify complex formatting to an absurd level. Other features are more subtle, such as “Drafts,” which stores half-completed or unpublished entries.

Apparently I had seven unfinished posts stored in Movable Type, dating all the way back to October 2006. Movable Type hid these from me like a snotty child. But WordPress, sweet WordPress, has a shiny “Drafts” button, which allowed me to quickly identify and reclaim these abandoned entries.

I have no intention of completing them, but I thought it might be fun to post them “as-is”; unedited, unfunny, and unfinished. I’ll post four today and three tomorrow, each with the title, abandonment date, and a brief introductory remark. Think of it as… The Colonel T Show that might have been. (I’m a loser.)

I’ve Got Your Rapid Reward Right Here (abandoned 10/26/2006)

This is the fabled “Southwest Airlines” story — if I recall correctly, I was too drained by the experience to complete the post. This is as far as I got:

First, a shout-out to my wife’s family, several members of which revealed to me in Kansas City that they read “The Colonel T Show” on a regular basis. I had no idea, and I’m honored! Thanks for a fantastic wedding and reception last weekend.

Speaking of my readership, I don’t know if any Southwest Airlines employees frequent this blog, but if you do, I’ve got a little message for you:

You, and your airline, are dead to me. Dead like George C. Scott. Dead like Audrey Hepburn. Dead like Ulysses S. Freaking Grant.

Before I tell you the tale (to amuse your captain) let me give you a little background. I’ve despised Southwest Airlines for years now, ever since I flew them regularly for my last job. Instead of a having an assigned seat, Southwest gives you a boarding pass marked with an “A”, “B”, or “C”. The “A” group boards before the “B” group which boards before the “C” group. Once on board, you sit wherever you want. Obviously, the “C” group is usually stuck with the dreaded middle seat. So not only do you have to arrive at the airport early anyway to get through the new security procedures, but you have to arrive EXTRA early to get an “A” card. As a nearly 6′5″ guy for whom aisle seats are critical, it adds an additional layer of stress to my travel plans. To be fair, online registration as alleviated much of that stress, but I still find the whole process insulting…to have to line up like cattle just to get a good seat.

And if you’re traveling in a group, well heck, you’ve got to arrive even earlier, because Southwest’s procedures make it that much harder to get seats together.

But before we get to the flights themselves, let’s take a minute to reflect on the wizardry of the TSA – Terminal Security Assistants – who are responsible for ensuring your safety by confiscating your hand creme and toothpaste. At Chicago Midway, they’ve added a “pre-security” area where you can turn in questionable liquids and gels. We were smart and brought powdered formula, intending to buy bottled water once we made it through security. Elizabeth somehow forgot to remove the diaper creme and a $20 bottle of hand lotion and she had to give them up. Did you sleep more soundly last Friday night? Now you know why.

Based on our research, we were led to believe that baby food (squash, peas, carrots, etc.) was exempt from the the gels/liquid rule as long as they were in the original packaging and that those packages weren’t egregiously large. We asked the “pre-security” wizard (let’s call her Betty) to confirm this for us. Her response was “Errrrr” and “Hey Gary, is this stuff okay?” Gary looked at her as if he’d never seen baby food before. Apparently we were the first parents that had come through security in two months. That’s the kind of fortune Elizabeth and I are renowned for.

After a few more minutes of Errrrrs and Ummmms, Betty let us through to the tune of a confidence inspiring “You should be okay, go ahead.”

Well, we weren’t okay.

At the main security gate, after a stressful ten minute gauntlet where we had to disassemble our stroller and car seats with one hand (Elizabeth and I had each had a baby in one arm, so this was staggeringly challenging), the security attendant (let’s call this one Clara) told me she had to unpack the entire contents of my backpack because the x-ray scan revealed potentially hazardous substances (AKA baby squash, peas, and carrots). So she unpacked everything, and asked me why I didn’t get this checked at “pre-security”. I told her I had, but that Betty said I was cool. Clara said Betty should have marked my boarding pass with the [I STOPPED HERE]

NOW I remember why I stopped writing this. What you just read represented 3% of the total story. It was shaping up to be a small book. A small, really boring book.

Execution on Demand (abandoned 12/30/2006)

If memory serves, this was going to be a pseudo-serious post about the Youtube’ing of Saddam Hussein’s execution. The pressure of writing something intellectual was too much for me, and I gave up before the end of the first paragraph.

In 1994, NBC aired a television movie called Witness to the Execution, which told a cautionary tale about a television network hoping to draw big ratings by airing the first live execution of a death row criminal. I don’t remember much about the movie itself (as generally happens with any Tim Daly project I watch) but I do remember the debates we had in my college media classes. At the time, in that Jerry Springer world, the idea of a televised execution was not quite science fiction [I STOPPED HERE]

Will Shatner Play Kirk Again? (abandoned 1/10/2007)

Turns out the answer to that question is “no.” This post speculates on that fantastic possibility…so fantastic that I quit writing halfway through.

According to this interview at IGN, it’s a distinct possibility. And it looks like Leonard Nimoy may reprise Spock as well.

The details are pretty sparse and incredibly vague, but it seems J.J. Abrams wants to incorporate my heroes into Star Trek 11, which is probably the best way to regain the trust and allegiance of fans who (like me) have become disenchanted with the franchise.

Will the actors participate? Shatner will star in anything, so that’s not anything we have to worry about. Nimoy, on the other hand, is officially retired from acting, and remember he bowed out of “Star Trek Generations” because his role wasn’t substantive.

If the rumors are true and the film is indeed about “young Kirk and Spock” the most obvious use of Shatner and Nimoy would be in some sort of framing device…the two friends sitting in rocking chairs, sipping on Romulan ale, talking about the good old days. I’d be pretty disappointed with that though…and there are all sorts of continuity issues — the biggest one being that Kirk [I STOPPED HERE.]

The Places We’ve Lived (abandoned 3/30/2007)

I’d still like to finish this someday — a travelogue of the seven places Elizabeth have lived in our eleven years of marriage. Years from now, I think it’ll be a lovely document for our children to completely ignore.

I have lived in more places than you.

Perhaps not geographically, but in terms of raw number of physical structures, I, along with my lovely ladyfriend, have you beat. Since we were married in November of 1997, we’ve moved seven times, with move number eight coming up at the end of the month.

Let’s take a trip down memory lane and revisit these old apartments and homes, probably more for my benefit than yours.

Residence 1: An Apartment in Canal Fulton, OH.
Also Known As: Sinville, Fleatown. [I STOPPED HERE]

Tomorrow: Part II — The final three abandoned posts.

In which the author presents grainy, untouched photographs of New York City with uninspired captions.

Click here if you missed Part I.

New York, New York. It isn’t everything they say, but it’s a heck of a lot of fun to explore and photograph. It’s such a different city than Chicago. Where Chicago is flat, New York has hills. Where Chicago dies down after midnight, New York’s just getting started. Where Chicago has an amazing skyline, New York has five amazing skylines.

I’d been there once before, for about 12 hours, and during that first trip I had time to see Times Square, Central Park, the Late Show’s Ed Sullivan Theater, and the Empire State Building. This time, I had three days, time enough to see so much more, and yet still not enough time to see everything. (I’ll hit the baseball stadiums next time around.)

I’d now like to share with you a selection of photographs from my now-not-so-recent trip. These were taken with my BlackBerry Curve (come get me, muggers!), which has a crummy 2.0 megapixel camera. I forgot my 7.0 megapixel camera at home. In the interest of full disclosure, I work in technology, and I have no idea what a megapixel is.

First up, we have an interior shot of the limousine we hired to transport us from LaGuardia to the hotel. Before you get all “Oooh, the Colonel takes limos” wait! Just wait. A moderately reputable-looking guy intercepted us on the way to the cab stand and offered to drive us to the hotel for $70. We “talked him down” to $65. For the next three days, we patted ourselves on the back, applauding our bartering skills.

Our egos came crashing down to earth on the last day, when we took a cab back to the airport…for $26.

(The identity of my traveling companion has been hidden to protect his identity…my fans are rabid and tend to kidnap my friends and family.)

We stayed at the Gild Hall because its website has a theme song. Newly renovated, the Gild Hall features a 36″ HDTV in every room, with a personalized message to make you feel at home:

Is that impressive? Sure. But that’s nothing compared to this free-standing toilet paper dispenser. Technology from the distant future, today!

Could I have spent the entire three days in the hotel room? Sure. It was a wonderland of mystery and imagination. But New York City waits for no man, not even me. So we pulled ourselves away from the Gild Hall and ventured out into The Big Apple. First on our tourist’s to-do list, the prop statue from (spoiler warning!) the climax of the original Planet of the Apes movie. Somehow the city managed to acquire it from Roddy McDowall’s estate, and they erected it on the Isle of Ellis:

Let’s fast forward to our first night in the city. Times Square, AKA Dick Clark Central! At the beginning of May, nearly every surface was covered with ads for the new Indiana Jones picture, which if you haven’t heard, is entitled “Indiana Jones and the Shia Labeouf Swingin’ Monkey Bonanza.”

Times Square boasts the single coolest Toys R Us — really, the coolest toy store period — I’ve ever seen. Part of its appeal are the bleeding edge toy displays. From end to end, the store is packed with product on the pulse of current pop culture. I mean seriously, what is hotter right now than, um, well:

All my other night pictures are blurry and non-descript so let’s move on to the next day, which brought us to Sheen! Douglas! WALL STREET!

My excitement for Sheen! Douglas! Wall Street! died quickly when I was suddenly confronted with a sobering reality. As we passed the New York Stock Exchange, I saw something terrifying. It was like a sledge hammer to the back of the skull. What could possibly have such an effect on me? In a single moment, I realized that the only thing standing between a functioning economy and the total, utter collapse of the entire American financial system is this guy:

As a celebrity, it worries me that people think I’m not a “regular guy”. I put my shoes on my feet, just like you do. I eat food. I love rainbows. I know I take comfort in seeing celebrities doing “real people” things. For example, I saw Donald Trump having Direct TV installed:

Finally, we have Ground Zero. I wasn’t sure what to expect. For some reason I was anticipating a Vietnam Memorial vibe, something quiet and mournful. In retrospect, that was silly, because it’s the largest construction project in the country. The entire area is blocked off by fences and security guards, and the surrounding streets are crowded with noisy pedestrians. There is nothing respectful or reflective about it. In fact, it’s kind of appalling — there’s a “Ground Zero Tours” shop, where you can purchase guided tours of the site, and purchase Ground Zero swag, like mugs and t-shirts. Sick. Go America!

Here’s one of my body parts, clenched in anger:

…and a shot I managed to sneak of the construction site, after distracting a guard with a candy cane:

My New York City adventures were glorious, but by the end of three days, I was really (REALLY) missing my babies. Back in Chicago, they were chillin’ outside with some cool drinks and nature. Here’s Ms. Madeline Rose:

And Ms. Molly Marie…

And the ladies shopping for blinds or a sink or aluminum siding or something at Lowe’s…

At the end of the day, I love traveling, but I love my ladies infinitely more. Awwwwwwwwwwww. Sickening.

And THAT concludes The New York Trip.

Here’s the short version, because Lost is recording and I’m dying to watch it: Earlier today I decided to abandon Movable Type as my blogging software and transfer everything over to WordPress. Movable Type 4 is hideously complicated, and modifying even the slightest formatting (for example, the font size) was stressful and traumatic.

WordPress is, how do I put this, so much more logical and user-friendly that I’m genuinely angry with myself for not looking into it sooner. The server-side installation took 10 minutes, max. The transfer of the old posts took, no joke, 10 seconds.

There’s much more formatting to be done, but now instead of dreading the work, I’m really looking forward to it.

Off to Lost. I hope it’s as awesome as WordPress. I bet Ben Linus invented WordPress.

…but we’re not there yet. Stop panicking!

It’s reconstruction time! Again!

I’ll let you know when it looks the way it’s supposed to look.

I owe you Part 2 of The New York Trip, but I have a quick story to share first. Actually, it’s not a story, so much as a transcript — a transcript of the one of the greatest conversations I’ve ever had.

Elizabeth and I went suit shopping last night. I was being fitted for a jacket, and Elizabeth was consulting, when a middle-aged, bearded salesman named Steve approached us. He eyeballed me, and suggested I try a 48 extra long in charcoal gray. I slipped on the jacket and Steve examined the fit carefully.

The following legendary conversation ensued:

STEVE: How does it feel?

ME: It seems about right.

STEVE (checking the lapels): Hmm. Do you work out?

ME (lying): Umm, occasionally.

STEVE: You have large pectorals. They are stretching out the top of the jacket.

It took every ounce of restraint and control to keep myself from leaping into the air, clicking my heels, and squealing with glee. Truly this was the greatest compliment anyone has ever paid me. I yearned to hug Steve, but I didn’t want to risk crushing him under the weight of my large pectorals. Instead, I’m looking into adopting him.

In the meantime, I’m working on getting Molly and Maddy to say, at random, “My Daddy has large pectorals.” So far, they can get as far as “Daddy.”

My large pectorals, which will soon be starting a blog of their own, will keep you posted the girls’ progress.

(In which I skip to the end of the story and rant about Laguardia’s Terminal D, American Airlines, and Tanya, the customer service clerk who cares neither for customers, nor clerking.)

I was in New York to obtain certification in ITILv3, an international standard framework for deploying and operating IT service organizations. This amounted to a three-day class at The Learning Center in New York City, and culminated in a 40-question multiple choice exam. Ironically, the computers were malfunctioning and we had to mark our answers on paper. That’s right! Broken computers at the IT place – I love it! Now a week later, I still don’t know how I scored; our answers were sealed and shipped to the UK, where ITIL is headquartered. I suggested to the instructor that we just grade each other’s papers, but he was born without a sense of humor and simply looked upon me with pity.

Outside of class, set free in the city, we had an outstanding time. And I’ll get to those stories, but first, I want to talk about the only negative part of the trip — the flight home. Returning home to Chicago was a death gauntlet of gargantuan proportion. I’ve split the trauma into five incidents. Let’s dive deep into Incidentville, shall we?

Incident 1: The Three-and-a-Half Hour Delay

Our 9:00 pm EST flight eventually took off at 12:29 am, 60 seconds before the flight staff would have been federally regulated to shut down for the evening. Apparently if a pilot flies longer than 15 hours in one day, they are prone to “pilot error” and “crashing into stuff”.

Incident 2: Terminal D? Mexican-less!

We arrived at Laguardia two hours early specifically so that we could sit in a Mexican restaurant, inhale chips, and drink Margaritas. One catch: THERE ARE NO RESTAURANTS IN TERMINAL D. Only bars and newsstands. So we sat in one of the bars and watched as an elderly deaf Latino (possibly Asian) man made a “bar salad” for me. He handled the lettuce with his bare, elderly, Latino (possibly Asian) hands. Just imagine what those hands have touched in their 103 years on this planet.

Incident 3: Galaga costs 50 cents. FIFTY CENTS.

Laguardia is filled with Ms Pac-man and Galaga arcade machines. (No, I don’t know why) Both games were released in the early ’80’s, and I can play both at home for free. But in Terminal D? 50 cents a game. These are arguably two of the most perfect video games ever, so I did play a bit to help pass the interminable wait, but it sickened me, man. I come from the “quarter-a-play” era and anything more is just not right.

Incident 4: I’m 6′5″. Want to put your seat back? ASK.

I hate four things in this world. First, the boy who lives at 36 Division Street in Hudson, OH who vandalized my Mustang with a screwdriver in 2002. Second, Matt Lauer. Third, obnoxious fliers who sit in front of me and recline their seat, crushing my knees. Is it so difficult TURN AROUND AND ASK ME IF I MIND? CAN YOU NOT FEEL MY KNEES PRESSING AGAINST THE SMALL OF YOUR BACK? CAN YOU NOT HEAR MY CRIES OF AGONY?

So rude. So heinously, obnoxiously rude.

(By the way, the fourth thing I hate? Man’s inhumanity to man.)

Incident 5: The airline lost my bag.

2:30 AM CST Chicago O’Hare baggage claim. My companion’s bag rolled off the conveyor, but mine was nowhere to be seen. Beaten and defeated, but more than anything, desparate to brush my teeth (the toothbrush was in my bag) I approached the customer service counter, where a disinterested and husky young woman named “Tanya” started this conversation, which I present here in its entirety:

TANYA: Name.

TIM: Here’s my luggage tag.

TANYA: … (her fingers move lazily over the keyboard)

TIM: Is my bag showing up in the computer?

TANYA: Name three items in the bag.

TIM: Ummm…dirty clothes. Brown shoes. More dirty clothes.

TANYA: Write your address here. (She hands me a scrap — a scrap! — of blank paper. Not a form) If no one calls in 24 hours, call us. (For the first time, she looks directly at me, suddenly becoming absurdly friendly.) OK! You’re all set!

“OK! You’re all set?!?!?” No, not exactly, I wasn’t. Not in any way. How could she possibly say that? Unfortunately, I was too tired to debate further with this vapid waste of a name tag. We drove home, and I was in bed by 4:30 am.

The next day, a rusted out van pulled up to my house, and from it emerged a toothless old vagabond. He struggled to pull my bag up to the front door. I was still bitter, so of course I didn’t help him. He had me sign a receipt, and then he turned and hobbled back to the van, departing without a word.

My soiled garments were intact, and finally, I could brush my teeth.

Next Time: Part II of the The New York Trip, featuring blurry photographs with hilarious captions.

Still recovering, folks, from the New York trip. I hope to have the first of several stories posted sometime tomorrow. In the meantime, please enjoy this charming clip of actor Bruce Boxleitner and wife Melissa Gilbert guesting on Howie Mandel’s short-lived 1998 talk show. The first time I watched it, I dislocated both my shoulders cheering uncontrollably.