Today I pondered the following things:
16mm or Digital Video? DV will be much easier on my wallet and my mental health, but 16 may look better if(WHEN!!!) I get theatrical distribution. I'm conflicted.
Two women. Two fine specemins of female kind. Two incredible ladies. Both currently unavailable. Why do I gravitate towards these women? I'll tell you this much: it's not because they're taken. That's generally adversive. I'm conflicted.
The Woozle (yes, the Woozle is NOT one of the two aformentioned females). I don't know what to do about her. I'm leaning towards calling, as I have as much chance of getting anywhere with the taken women as I do of getting menstrual cramps tomorrow morning. But is it worth calling? I'm not sure she's interested anymore (or if she really was ever). I'm conflicted.
Godiva Hot Cocoa. Really, really good stuff. I'm not joking.
Phew, made it through with no mention of Mai Lai. Oops.
I'll be back on Humpday with another update. Maybe I'll call the Woozle. Maybe I won't. Maybe, I'll get lucky and either the ceiling will collapse or me or one of the two relationships keeping me from the aformentioned women will collapse.
I'm conflicted.
Hasta lumbago.

All right, here's the official story. I know you don't want my opinion, but My Big Fat Greek Wedding felt like a Big Fat Waste of Time. There I sat, on my Big Fat Ass, looking at my Big Fat Watch, praying for the Big Fat 84 Minute Mark.
Okay, so I'm a little bitter. It wasn't that bad. I guess I just expected more from a picture that is earning it's writer over ten mil in profit sharing. My goal is to now beat that with my third film.
I don't understand women.
Took it easy today, so I can kick some ass next week on my big TWO days of class before three off.
I hope the Mai Lai days are tapering off. If not, I throw myself at the mercy of the psychological world again. Should be a BLAST!!!! Or not. I'm thinking not.
Two of my SBD buddies come down this weekend to tour the site of the state conference. Assuming we get this Mofo off the ground, which would make an ass out of you and me. Sure, I have some faith. Some.
I really don't understand women.
Hasta lumbago

I'm a Gin & Tonic, discover your ALcoHoLiC personality!

Yeah, that seems to be the new Quiz craze. I was shooting for martini, because I'm best when I'm extra dry.
Okay, that sounded really, really bad.
Not much reason to write tonight, but felt the need. Mai Lai days just keep on coming. If I don't get my ass out of bed tomorrow morning and not have the desire to lob grenades at a village, I don't know what I'll do.
On a better note, College Bowl started tonight. It's one of the few things in life that I'm really good at. I spend all this time putting worthless rediculous knowledge in my head when I should be trying to figure out how to get chicks.
All right, before the Women's International Conspiracy Against Tom (WICAT) adds more fuel to their propaganda compaign, I want to qualify that last statement. By calling women "chicks" I mean no harm nor do I wish to demean them. I just like the word. And Lord only knows what you evil beings with no penes call us.
Okay, now they really hate me.
In any event, the new prospect is involved in this College Bowl deal. Should be interesting, to say the least.
I really, really have to screen the Manchurian Candidate tonight. If I don't, I'm in trouble. So, I'm off to get rid of all these people messaging me, and then watch Sinatra try to act. Hasta Lumbago

Never expected to journal this much, oh, ever. But recently I've had a lot to say.
For starters, the Mai Lai days haven't stopped. My Mai Lai week is growing into a week and a half. If I knew how to cut these things off, I would, but it seems like I have no means of doing so. Help me, please.
Second, that Psychopathology project I mentioned before, well, it netted me an A. Dr. Clements, the coolest professor I have, told me that she loved it. I didn't really think it was that good, but I guess me, Miss Weeks and Mr. Varella did a damn fine job. Check it out here.
Now, for the really good stuff. I may have found someone to take the Woozle's place in my eyes (assuming I continue to get the runaround).
I don't have a cute, endearing, esoteric name for her yet. I'm working on that. The best ones come up spontaneously, ala Woozle.
Now, I just need to muster up the courage (said in Sean Connery accent). Yes, the courage to proceed in the quest for the holy grail of female humans.
Okay, enough of that. Truth be told, I don't know where the quest is supposed to end. Shit, I'll be happy just to be able to sit down and have coffee with this one (although she doesn't do well with the caffine sometimes), and see where it goes from there.
That's enough. I'll avoid rambling tonight. I'll save that for later in the week, when I begin tearing semi-mullet shaped hair out once again.
Hasta Lumbago

Apologies for the title.
Rainy weekend in the Port City. I hate the rain. I'm beginning to understand what made guys like Stone Gossard, Chris Cornell and Layne Staley hate their lives and love heroin. The bleeding rain.
A rainy weekend was the worst way to end a Mai Lai week. You know what I mean. I used to just have Mai Lai days, where I would wake up and want to slaughter innocents. Very bad days, so to speak.
I had seven in a row. A Mai Lai week.
But I feel all right. I did steal all that from Frank Castle (a.k.a. The Punisher) because I do have that on my mind. But the week is over, and I can move on.
To another week.
Hopefully Mai Lai-free.
On a brighter note, the weekend I just had was somewhat better. Got paid, blew some cash, had some beers. Beer makes everything better.
Wow, that is the most alcoholic thing I've ever said.
Anyhoo, I finally got to see Punch Drunk Love. It's bizarre, because it's realistic. And there was some fantastic functional framing.
Ah, film aliteration.
Counteracting this experience was the fact that my phone didn't ring much this weekend. When it did, my ear was not then filled with the beautiful voice of the Woozle. I think I'm being squeezed out, but that could just be my insecurites talking.
I didn't call.
If she wanted to talk to me, she'd have called me like she said she would, right?
I'm going to find me some Thin Lizzy music per Henry Rollins' suggestion. Women just may be as evil as I think they are.
With a few notable suggestions. You ladies all know who you are, and I thank you all for being there.
Hmm, more coherent ramblings this time. I'm surprised.
Well, I return to the 4077th tonight to see those wacky surgeons and nurses again. I get to see The Chamber of Secrets on Monday. I'm pumped. I'm a mark for this kind of stuff, I don't know why.
I'm also watching North by Northwest, the Manchurian Candidate and Gone With the Wind. Three classics. Can't wait.
Next week is already shaping up to be better. Maybe I'll find love too.
I probably shouldn't push it.
Or maybe I should . . .

Like the title suggests, yeah, this seemed like the time for this. Haven't really journaled in a while. I could talk about everything that's happened since then, the good stuff, the bad shit, but I don't think I want to.
I want to talk about how I feel right now.
Only trouble is, I'm not sure how I feel.
Okay, I know I feel confused. And I'm not sure why. I just do.
I turn 22 in one month. One measly month. A new issue of GamePro will come my way. Four new Strong Bad emails will be viewed. I'll see a couple flicks.
And them I'm 22.
I'm sure a lot of you will read this and think "What the hell is this kid bitching about?" Well, i'm thinking the same thing right now.
I don't know what my story is. Wish I did.
I see the Woozle this weekend. I hope to hear from her tomorrow. If I don't, I'm calling Saturday. Bold, aren't ?
Possibly.
I could ramble a little more, as that's why I really started using this dohickie. But I think I've said enough for one night. No need to confuse myself any further.
Enjoy it kiddies. Have a good night all.

No, I'm doing going insane. I'm taking a psychopathology course here at good old UNCW and it's crazy go nuts project time. In the process, I found this great editorial on how Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT) has been shunned by professionals, yet the beneficial effects are incredible: 80-90% response rate as a first-line treatment. Wow. Here's the link:
http://jama.ama-assn.org/issues/v285n10/ffull/jed10007.html
I'll throw up a link to my group's PowerPoint Presentation as soon as our professor uploads it. It's going to be a report of two physiological treatments for major depressive disorder: ECT and Excercise. Exercise is especially effective in senior adults. Our presentation is going to rock. But enough rambling about that. Look for a real entry later on tonight, during my mad scramble to write the greatest state residence hall organization website on the planet (while stealing Penny Arcade's style ;) ), or whenever I get around to it.

All right, what more can I say? I've been having a lousy past few weeks. But here I sit, buzzed to the gills, with images of the woozle in my mind. Who's the woozle? Read on the find out.
Flashback, December of 1999. A female, the library at my school, a study group for my film class. I'm staring at her. Suddenly, a wheel turns in my head -click- and I realize that I'm really into this chick. The chase was on.
A few weeks later, I write one of my high school English teachers about her. Borrowing a Jeff Dunham line, I refer to her as a woozle. No idea why, but I did. Thus, she was the woozle form now on.
We get set up to go to the movies, but it never went to pass. Rain (neither of us had cars, so it was all walking to the theatre), job hunting, mixers and the Super Bowl prevented us from being together.
Then, I got depressed, and a major case of junior high syndrome. I'd duck her in the dining hall. How sad was I?
Then, I screw up the courage again to talk to her. We go to lunch at the end of the semester. Things are great.
Then, I don't see her for a year. All I get to do is say hello.
Last semester though, I meet up with her again. After a CSC practicum (ala lab test, that is), I see her. I get her number even. WOO HOO!!
I can't call that number for some reason. But lo and behold, I meet her again this semester on the way to (drum roll please) a film class. I give her my number, and we're on the road to happiness.
We play phone tag all this past week. I line myself up to go to see Jackass with a friend of mine. He knows her. He mentions that he's going to the flick with me, and she lights up (his account of the event). We go to the movie, and then roll downtown to help her celebrate her 21st birthday.
Sure, I barely got to see her, and I mainly just sat around drinking with my friend, but I haven't hugged a woman that much, oh, ever. And I got a few goodnight kisses. All signs point to "Tom has a chance with this one."
My buddy says she's looking for a stable guy. I'm stable. I like being stable. I can't wait to call her this week and finally get to take her to the movies.
An evening nearly three years in the making. All my inadequacies and fears were forgotten for those few hours downtown. It doesn't get much better for this tool rambling on than it does right now.
Okay, I really have rambled enough. I'm going to rest off this beer buzz before bed. What a great freaking night though!!!