It's like playing a ukulele

Thoughts scribbled on 17 cocktail napkins for some reason in my pocket (and for stranger reasons I wrote on them)(and for even stranger reasons you believe that I actually a)had 17 napkins in my pocket and b)wrote on them))

So, today is December the 26th, in the 2006th year since that crazy Jesus character was supposedly born. All I know is, on his birthday, many people in the world, rather than get him anything, exchange gifts with one another, as well as receiving gifts from a certain "Santa Claus". This "Santa Claus" character was very good to me this year, in part due to the fact that when my youngest sister put out Santa's requisite "Milk and Cookies" (and cheese, since there was one of those "behold the power of cheese" commercials with Santa in it a few years back, and Nora really gets down with some cheese), I added a shot of whiskey and some lines of corn starch to give Santa the impression he was getting some fine nose candy to help him through his evening (out of kindness I also rolled a dollar bill for ease of use).

Santa took the whiskey and the corn starch, although surely sans cocaine like effect, was moved around.

Then the gift opening began. One after the other Santa got me some of the most ballin ass gifts that I had wanted. Among them:

-One of those new iPod shuffles
-A fancy grown ass man work coat (which makes me feel like either a classical pianist or a Matrix character...two strange dreams of any man)
-New running shoes
-A sweet ass tennis racket

So, if you want to know the trick, give Santa some fake weasel dust (or Aunt Nora, Big Bloke, Coca, frisky powder...don't worry I looked these all up....I am not that up on my cocaine terminology....besides I only like my blow in mountainous form...hahaha) and a shot of whiskey. (Or have a well defined not too gaudy list and generous awesome parents...one or the other)

This weeks subject was from a decree I made on Saturday evening while my family and I had the "joy" of dining with my 90-some odd old grandmother at her retirement home community. The phrase "it's like riding a bike" used to signify that something, once learned, is easily repeated even if a duration of time has passed is henceforth replaced by "it's like playing a ukulele". There is a back story behind this, but alas I do not feel like telling it.

In last year's just before New Year's blog, I suggested a couple of grandiose New Year's Eve speeches (they follow in italics, and they still could work for this year...or maybe I just crack me up)

A New Year's Eve toast should alienate at least three people you are with, or lead everyone you are with to believe they are a part of an elaborate Ashton Kutcher/Alan Funt hidden camera trick.

For example:"As we enter this new year, everyone raise your glass and drink if you don't have at least six STD's" (After everyone drinks (since no one wants to own up to this) randomly then say three people's names and something like "and BLAH, BLAH, and BLAH are liars" (then pause for laughter) then say, "No, I'm serious, those guys have been around more than the first merry go round" (pause for laughter again, then put in video you borrowed from the library about the perils of STD's and make everyone watch)
or

"To all of my friends and family who have used the restroom tonight...you just got PUNKD!!! And also, the drinks have all been non-alcoholic so (fill in blank), you can stop acting like that."

Wow, it is hard to believe I was just as funny one year ago...pause...NOT. In keeping with the rules of a fine New Year's Eve speech, here is a new one, which brilliantly combines a Candid Camera situation with the absolute mockery and "scarlet letterification" (booyah that is a good word) of three people.

"As we get ready to leave this one year behind us, and enter the new year, there are three special people who have already begun this transition as a new cohesive team unit (at this point you should produce a shoddily made fake tape with three people in it who resemble any three people you wish to shame, the three people should either be involved in some sort of lurid sexual situation or strange cult like situation....your call). As we watch this video, let us too remember to be more open next year and permitting or new chances and people in our lives. (The just crack up because you are drunk and hopefully a room full of people are standing with their mouths open while three scramble to stop the tape)...Salut"

So that might be quite a bit of work, but no one said entertaining was simple, aside from that Martha Stewart freak possibly. Good 2006 to you, and an even better 2007.

I thank for things after 97% of the year, not at Thankgiving

It hit me today, all of a sudden, much like a moving vehicle strikes a blind pedestrian sans walking stick thingy, "Holy shit self, Christmas is next week! And then New Year's is right after that...where in the hoodad did 2006 go? And also food goes in your mouth, not your eye, self. Silly man creature."

So yes, I checked my cellular telephone device and confirmed that today was in fact the 19th of December. Which means the holiday many celebrate known as Christmas (literally derived from "Chri" meaning "orangutan fallopian tube" and "Stmas" which means "I would not smell that if I were you") is less then a week away. And the holiday many more celebrate known as Kwanzaa is pretty damn close too. Which is a whole other story altogether (but very short: I once declared I was celebrating Kwanzaa to try and avoid going to church on Christmas). Anyways, all leapfrogging aside, a year has nearly passed and in some sort of quasi-serious manner, I need to act confused, as if this was Thanksgiving, and say what I have been thankful for in 2006. What can I say? I follow many rules, but not the one of cornily being thankful for things in mid-November....what if you find something new to be thankful for in December? Tell me you would even remember it next November when you are high on tryptophan, ludes, and vicodin.


Family- These people always come first. It helps I guess that I have pretty much the awesomest family around. They don't smell too bad, they occasionally help out with stuff, they have not racially profiled anyone they do not know, and best of all, my Mom makes some good Chex Mix. No really in all seriousness, my family has been great this year, helping me out when I needed help or someone to talk to, putting up with my various antics and ridiculousness (and maybe even buying me an ethnic slur billboard? ((fingers crossed)) I am sure at times people could wonder how one would ever want to go about crossing someone in our family seeing as I can envision my Dad cooly throwing a molotov cocktail into a car then walking away like nothing happened. The whole family is awesome. Trust me on this.

Friends- I also happen to have the most baller ass friends in the world. I know you are thinking how did one man luck out to have the nest family AND friends? Well, I pay my friends and my family has yet to figure out how to change their residence without me finding it. My friends are the most ragtag collection of people that combine to be able to put up with me and my moodiness, vile stench, and dragon adoptions. Ok, ok being serious again, my friends really are awesome. They have helped me through some nonsense this year, made me laugh, made me think, introduced me to people who are newer friends, and consumed liquor with me to make sure I was not doing that all by my lonesome. Even if I am an asshole most of the time, I do value your friendship.

Sandwiches- People might think I am joking about my love of sandwiches, but I am not even close to playing. Without sandwiches, suddenly 75% of my meals are gone. I love you ham and provolone, peanut butter and jelly, turkey and cheddar, peanut butter and bugles (alright so that was a drunken invention last week when I was very low on groceries...and I am not even sure I liked it all that much) and all your other friendly combos. Thank you for your presence in my life.

Humor- I have begun to realize that one of my main goals in life is to consistently be laughing at something, whether it is something I am reading, something I am watching, or looking at (like a weird picture I decided to take on my phone). I guess this is slightly problematic at times to be trying to laugh at everything, like at work meetings, but I can always just pass it off as genetic juvenile dementia. Actually no one would probably think that was very funny aside from me.

Beer and Liquor- I am not extremely thankful for these two guys as much as I am for the other things on my list, but they have been a big part of my 2006. At times, maybe a little too big (like when people are accusing you of your "life spiraling out of control"...it did not happen to me, but to a guy I know...and if it was in fact "spiraling" it was a weak ass spiral...I continued, I mean the guy continued working 40 hours a week, paying his bills, all that good stuff), but when needed it definitely helped to provide some fun situations. So hops, barley, yeast, and whatever the hell most liquors are made of, thanks. But come around a tad less in 2007, ok?

To be honest I had no idea what I was going to speak about when I sat down and began typing. So, I am definitely thankful for more things, and definitely more important things than the five listed above (especially with number 3 being sandwiches...my priorities are not that out of wack). Yes, but happy 2007. And I will probably write something next week, maybe advertising a chance to get a New Year's kiss from me.....how fuckin creepy.

Manliness Exudes

My friend Eric Proctor, while never having spoken to me directly about this, has several times mentioned that when he wakes up in the morning his goal and plan for the day is to "exist as a man". And right now you are probably thinking, well what the hell is he going to exist as that day...a guppy? an albino crocodile? a homeless transgendered individual who is from Houston (Aside: I have been noticing a great number of people in the Chicagoland area with cardboard signs stating that they need to return to Houston. So, either the people of Houston have a proclivity for purchasing one way tickets here and then lacking the funds to return, or the great people of Texas are sending their worst our way, which makes them not so great)? But as I have come to adopt "Manism" as part of my life philosohy (other than one time when I said my life philosophy was that of a "Liver" in an impromptu speech in speech class, obviously not thinking ahead and saying that my life philsophy was that of an internal organ....I really meant I just live...duh) I have come to realize it is much more than just being. Existing as a man has certain qualities that can make everyday more manly. And existing as a man is key.

HOW TO BE EXTREMELY INVOLVED IN MANLY EXISTENCE:
If you want to be 100% sure you are existing as a man, combine the following five ingredients.

1)Spicy Chicken Products
-If you are consuming some spicy chicken products, you are more than likely existing as a man. Women also consume these products, but not at such great rates as men, nor at such spicyness.

2)Beer
-If you are drinking beer with your spicy chicken products, you are deeply involved in existence as a man. While women can still combine these two, they are more than likely "cooler" than other women.

3)Football
-If combining the first two ingredients with football, we have now begun to define and shape existence as a man. These three together are very mantastic.

4)Other men to partake in the first three with you
-If you are with other men eating spicy chicken, drinking beer, and watching football, congrats you are existing as a man, but since some women can still do all of these, we must add our key 5th ingredient.

5)Have male anatomy
-If you are a woman with male anatomy, you also might be existing as a man. Sorry about that (Jamie Lee Curtis)

While the above 5 ingredients guarantee existence as a man, you do not need to have all of them everyday in order to exist as a man. But it is important to have a mindset as if you WERE partaking in at least the first three everyday. So while eating other foods, think back to that glorious spicy chicken product you consumed. While watching TV, remember a key football play. While sipping on that water, use visualization and taste memory to remember that glorious beer.

And please, if trying to replicate the five ingredients, substiture when necessary but never woman up the ingredients. You cannot eat quiche instead of spicy chicken products and still exist as a man. You cannot substitute a fine Merlot instead of beer. You cann watch a girly sport like diving or gymnastics. And you should not hang out with your grandmother's knitting circle.

If you are to make substitues, try and make them more manly to ensure you are still, in fact, existing as a man. No spicy chicken? Eat one of those giant turkey legs. Out of beer? Drink shots of whiskey. No football on? Watch some ultimate fighting. No men available to watch the game with? Find some of those "cooler" women who have some notions of manly existence.

The following are great men who were precursors to Manism:
-Chuck Norris
-Bill Brasky
-Ving Rhames
-Mr. T
-Patrick Swayze in "Roadhouse"

That is all. Thank you for your time.

If at first you don't succeed, skydiving's not for you

I am going to skip the foreplay this week of an opening paragraph filled with the not so whimsical details of recent events of my mundane life and get right down to the quasi-humor that you come here to read. Well actually maybe you really enjoy my opening paragraphs and find the rest of the "blog" content to be trite and unimportant, filled with lackluster drivel and unfulfilled promises. (Unfulfilled promises? What am I even talking about? You'd think I was writing this for my admiring cult followers....but I am not ready to drink the juice on that notion yet) Oh well. You're here, you're queer, get used to it.

Deal breakers. Every person probably has an internal set of these that they apply to the opposite sex (or same sex if that's how they get down) whenever searching for some sort of amorous connection. If you don't know what a deal breaker is, I will save you the shame of having to ask your children/co-workers/friends/parole officer. According to urbandictionary.com:


deal breaker:

A deal breaker is ‘the catch’ that a particular individual cannot overlook and ultimately outweighs any redeeming quality the individual may possess.

Example:
The deal breaker was that she was married with kids and I don't condone adultery.

This example was just the one from the website, not necessarily one of mine. Even though it probably should be since I am an upstanding individual with morals and ethics and no desire to break up a happy home with the phenomenalness that is Tim. Thanks be to God.

Anywho, I came up with some of my deal breakers. And maybe you share some of them. In fact, I would love if everyone who read this would list of their own unique reasons to hate on someone.

1)Smoking
I do not smoke. I find it gross. Mildly offensive. And plus I have no desire to makeout with a tobacco leaf (that was an awkward phase of my life, driving down to the tobacco fields of eastern KY and practicing making out with tobacco leaves....I cannot bear to be reminded) not now, or later, or really ever. So get the patch, drop the cancer stick, and let me know...unless of course you also have...

2)Perpetual "spinach tooth"
This does not necessarily mean the girl always has literal spinach stuck in her teeth, but she always has some food that can get stuck in there, stuck in there. Poppy seeds, spinach, random chunks of meat...they always have one around. Rather than humiliate them publicly by giving them a roll of dental floss (Glide, for those hard to reach places) or telling them they have crap in their teeth, I will probably instead make up a tale about my family in Cameroon to let this girl down easy.

3)A not bad, but odd smell
There are certain members of society, like the homeless, sewer workers, sanitation engineers, drifters, and prostitutes who just smell bad most of the time. Then there are those people that do not smell bad, but those girls who think that their curry-cherry perfume smells great. If you make me want to eat Indian food when I am around you, no thanks. Get a normal perfume, even if thousands of other women wear it...at least you know it works.

4)Bench presses more than me
I am not the manliest of men, nor the strongest, but if a female is lifting a greater amount of weight then me, she must be either a)gigantic, b)on steroids, or c)Nick Mangold's little sister. This would both deflate my ego and gross me out. And plus she might not fit into my strict height restrictions of 5'3" to 5'10"..those will never change. Sorry short or tall women of the world....although I guess love could overcome this height issue...but I am really tall and tiny little women make me feel like Shrek or something...and then the tall ones make me feel less mantastic

5)Her favorite restaurant is Old Country Buffet
Really anyone who would name this as their favorite place to eat concerns me as a human. Especially if they reference this place as somewhere to get a "good ________"....no you are wrong you CANNOT get a good teak there. I need someone more sophisticated than this.

And then some that need no explanation:
-Is not a Russian mail order bride
-likes hockey
-Has a Jesus fish on her car
-Bathes in parsnips
-Enjoys Adam Sandler's first film
-Has political views on par with Jack Kemp

So I am sure that I have many more reasons that I quantify as real reasons to stop liking/not like/avoid like she has the plague but I cannot think of them now. List some of your own. I will wittily banter with you about them.

Good day, good sir.

"Right now, this is a job. If I advance any higher, this would be my career. And if this were my career, I'd have to throw myself in front of a train"

The Chicago Cubs have hit the offseason with a boom, making such huge free agent signings as Alfonso Soriano, a man who, even though his actual birth certificate will reveal him to be currently 56 years old soon, is the top player available. This gives me confidence that Cubs general manager Jim Hendry might have finally collected if not all, at least a portion of his marbles, and might make some more logical moves before the season. So that Mr. Hendry does not have to focus on all aspects of baseball operations and acquisitions, I have some non player related suggestions to help him out:

1) I think, even with the classical feel of Wrigley Field and the Cubs, we need a mascot. So either just go ahead and appoint Ronnie Woo-Woo full time or acquire some sort of actual bear. Yes, I think this would put some bite into the team if we had a however the hell much they weigh Kodiak bear snarling somewhere by the opposing bullpen. Maybe even feed it live prey during the 7th inning stretch.

2)While Cubs fans have at times had decent heckling abilities (like the time the Dodgers bullpen got into a fight with the surrounding fans), we need to lure some of the top hecklers away from their teams. Like Spike Lee, would you like to be a Cubs fan? Sure you might taunt Albert Pujols and cause him to hit 5 homers in one game, but the long term effects ought to be better than that. (Also the Cubs should sign Ron Artest for the grounds crew or something...he would be great to have around in an on field brawl)

3)From time to time, the Cubs offer silly little promotions, like a free chance to win a jersey to the first 10,000 fans. Decent, yes, but how about some crazy stuff to really get people there early and spending money. Like, "First 5,000 fans Get Entered for a Chance to Pitch the 8th Day"...with all this offensive pop we could handle it. or " Chance to Win a Date with a Player's Wife of Your Choosing Day" I'd be all about that.

So, up until this past Sunday I had a growth of facial hair on my face for the last three weeks, and it was coming along pretty nicely but I must say that I felt rather grizzly and may have in fact been becoming quiter in the mornings like some sort of lumberjack, and I was also growing increasingly aware of the chance to lose things and get things stuck in this hair growth. So then I shaved and was then accused of looking very young. Facial hair does not promote a 12-15 year swing in appearance I don't think. Am I wrong on this? Does long hair make people look older? Not really. Or the worst one I get sometimes from clients trying to guess my age, is that they thought I was older because of my height. Goofballs. It is always funny when they give me a little bag of candy around Halloween and tell me to take it home to my "wife and kids". If by that they mean Paul and Logan for the two of them to eat when they get drunk, then that is what I do.

Good day.

I hate the way you smell after you take a tomato juice bath

Shut the hell up. Seriously just sometimes it is better to just shut the hell up. I am referring, of course, (that of course makes no sense whatsoever, because it implies some sort of logical segue I am going to make, when I have established no precedent for one....this is what is going on in my head whenever I write something....and now, you, the reader, ((or I should just say Mom since she is my most loyal follower)) are thinking the logical segue might have to do with the voice in my head shutting up....and now that thought has crossed my mind too, but no) the numerous taunting phone calls I received after the University of Louisville football team had its national title hopes dashed last night at the hands of Rutgers. This taunting is dumb and silly. Think about it: 1)you know I am not going to be happy c)you know I love Louisville sports #$%)I am like a hornet's nest at times, and especially when drinking and my team lost. So don't do this. Sure, I want a double standard here, and still wish to be at liberty to call you when your team has suffered an awful defeat, so let us just respect that.

The suburbs of Chicago hate children. There is no way to put a positive spin on that. Let me explain (even though I think this paragraph would be more effective if I offered no explanation): One of my favorite memories of being a child, three years ago, would be when my Dad had raked all the mold-infested, slimy, wet leaves that had fallen off the trees in our rustic Kentucky backyard farm (hahaha lying) and we children would then run and jump in the pile, and using or homemade shivs we had produced earlier with Grandma, then try and violently stab one another. So much laughter, blood, and screams. Just kidding, we just used to jump in the leaves, I was trying to sensationalize things a little bit.

Getting back to the point of children and hate mongering in the Chicago suburbs, the people here all rake their leaves into the streets. Which makes it stupid for driving, and dangerous and nearly unthinkable for children to play in these piles. I, personally always used to love hiding completely in the leaves, pretending it was my personal dead-moldy leaf sandy beach. Which is weird because I hate sand. But if a kid hides in the leaves here, they will be run over by a car, driven by me.

What an election we just had. I love election time. And due to my special story fabrication abilities, and previous political experience (student council president in 8th grade, student senator freshmen year in college ((where I got the ping pong table I promised))) I am throwing my name in the ring for the next round of House elections...in six years. Damnit.

Unicorns and the People that Believe in Their Existence

Hopefully you were not enticed to read this particular entry to read of my views of unicorns and the people that believe in them (let me just say, those people are 95% of the time FREAKS...unless they are for some reason some really hot, crazy girl with a unicorn tattoo on her back....that would be sweet....because hot/crazy girls are the best...for conversations that have no real rhyme or reason) because you are sure to be sorely disappointed. Although, if you really hoped for dialogue on that subject, send me a message or comment or something, and I'll see what we can do. Also I was watching some old SNL and that Kevin Nealon character "Mr.Subliminal" was on, and I forgot how funny that guy was...he would always just say random things under his breath while speaking as a way to work subliminal thoughts into people's minds...I am not sure it will work at all written, but at the very least I can be amused.

As we move from the month long saturnalia known as Oktoberfest into the dismally cold and dreary Hungovember I feel the need (to eat cheese) to address what I have failed to notice has always been one of my favorite holidays: Halloween. It offers the opportunity to (see girls dressed scandalously) wear a costume, eat some candy., shamelessly frighten people until they urinate on their pants, and maybe even throw an egg at someone if they frighten you while you are making your annual Halloween omelette (you weirdo, who eats an annual omelette for Halloween?). As I said, I (think you should remove your pants) really enjoy Halloween. Now, we can delve into the history books for a series called "The Halloween Costumes I Have Been that I Can Remember at my Advanced Age".

Age 3 - I think I was a ghost. Evidently my parents had not nurtured me creatively yet, or maybe I was slow and still unable to speak and thus it was more of a "throw a sheet on that dumb child of ours and hope no one notices the drool" than anything else.

Age 4- I had made a pact with the (United Arab Emirates) Devil that allowed me to be awesome at all times, and therefore dressed up as the Devil....it was pretty cool.

Age 5- Ummmm......did you have a question?

Age 6- My parents made a phenomenal skeleton costume for me, if I recall, even staying up late the night before Halloween so that the glow in the dark paint they used would dry before I wore it in to school the next day. Imagine me, much smaller, no front teeth, extremely curly hair, wearing a little full body skeleton costume with little gloves and little booties to cover my feet....I used to be cute at some point.

Age 7- I was a genie. It was pretty awesome but some of the tired (you are sleepy) lines I heard from my fellow second graders were, well, tiring. "Do I get a wish?" "Go back in your lamp douchebag." "Enough with the racial slurs." Tiring.

Ages 8-18- I don't really recall the order of my costumes during these ages, but I do recall at least some of them:
-A girl...I was hot
-Frankenstein- still very hot
-A hockey player (I think I was this one just because I wanted to wear my Dad's old shin guards we had down in the basement, since I have never been a hockey fan and have been ice skating a grand total of two times in my life...so...for the love of the game I guess)

Alright, so I guess I only remember three costumes. I could apply thought and whatnot, and I am sure I could contact (the dead) my Mom or something and she would let me know about all those missing years, but this is not a Wikipedia entry or anything.

Age 18- I was a "Dude"...I wore shorts and a t-shirt, a Gilligan style hat that had blonde hair sewn into it (which I had purchased at the beach, for some reason believing it would come in handy), and sunglasses. Not shabby

Age 19- I was Abraham Lincoln. Not sure why at all I picked this one, but all I know is that when I went to Joe's house for their Halloween bash, many little kids were frightened of me...something about the hat made me seem even taller than I am I guess.

Age 20- A very Will Ferrell-esque Spartan cheerleader. This was one was (shut up) sort of fun.

Age 21- A female volleyball player. I was running low on costume ideas, and dating a female volleyball player, so spandex was readily available. Thank goodness I have very sexy legs.

Age 22- Batman who never left his apartment. This Halloween never really got off the ground, and now I lost the head and ear part, so I cannot even wear the costume around the house. How disappointing.

Age 23- Peyton Manning from that Sprint commercial. It was all good and a well enjoyed costume until I lost the mustache and became a drunkard in a wig and Peyton Manning jersey.

So, Halloween=Terrificness.

With the upcoming political elections (go vote, assholes) one cannot help but be inundated by a slew of campaign ads. Watching these with my friend Paul, he pointed out the funniest thing ever. Just listen to the music shifts on these bad boys. When they are harpooning their opposition, the music is low in tone, deep and slow. Then they switch to talking about the candidate and the music is bouncy and light. Quite funny. And the candidates are always doing normal everyday activities in the ads...walking through fields of sunflowers with puppies and babies and feeding the homeless at the same time....how touching.
HOLLA

I'm Tim, and I have all my toes and fingers! Interested?

Calm yourselves minions, the title was not an actual pickup line or anything I have ever used in some feeble attempt to pickup women (for those feeble attempts I usually tell the story about the time I saved puppies and senior citizens from that fire, or show them pictures of Wrigley, or carry around a picture of babies playing with puppies in sunflower fields...or seek Trevor's advice on the situation...ZING!) but rather an example of a line I would use if I was on the MTV dating show NEXT! For those of you not familiar with the bountiful genre of dating shows MTV now offers, prepare to be immersed in a skillet of bubbling oil, greed, and corruption that you'll wish you had never known. Mainly I wish I had never known about these dam catchy shows.

So...NEXT....there is one person who has five people, usually of the opposite sex (although sometimes the same which turns it into the best episodes because then the people on the bus get it on with each other) vying to win their hand for a second date. The five people sit on a bus together, acting like idiots, and the one person if finding unfavor either with the physical appearance or due to sheer boredom or creeped-outedness say NEXT and the next person comes out.

As each of the five introduces themself, they say something totally weird like in the title of this entry. Seriously. This show is very entertaining for that reason alone. Here are some other fun made up ones.

"I'm Tim, and if you ever wondered what Malibu Ken was wearing, just look!"
"I'm Tim, and I always eat EVERYthing that is on my plate."
"I'm Tim, I am afraid of robots, but not of you!"

Very witty stuff here people.

Another fine show in the MTV Family of dating programs is the aptly named "Date My Mom". One guy goes on three dates, with three Moms, and based on that chooses one daughter. What pure comedic trash brilliance. This would be, by far, the hardest show to pick someone based upon because who knows what genes and mannerisms are getting passed down the daughter. Unfortunately, only one time in my viewing of this show have I ever had the fortune of seeing a guy go for the daughter of a Mom who was very attractive to be stuck with her genetically inbred daughter. The look on that guy's face was one of complete bewilderment and fear. Then the girl ate him, so his fears were VERY real.

BUT, although I thoroughly enjoy watching those two shows, my very favorite, yet at the same time the one that really makes me wonder about our society, is one called "Parental Control", which I may haved spoken of in this space before.

The premise of this one is that the parents of the son/daughter have a problem with their child's significant other, and so the obvious route is to bring this to cable TV, where you will have the opportunity for each parent to pick out a "date" for their child, which the parents will then watch video of with the significant other. I mean, duh....it is the only way to get through those times when your kid is going out with someone you do not like....how could a normal conversation ever work? You MUST pick someone new for them and then watch the video feed with the current girlfriend/boyfriend. Sadly (or more obviously then anything else) the child normally sticks with their girlfriend/boyfriend rather then one of the people they had spent an hour with. Humorously, I have a feeling my parents secretly would have loved to have put me on this show when I was going out with my last girlfriend. And I would never end up on this show, parents have a thing for me.

Although these MTV dating shows can provide quite a bit of fodder, real life things go on too, like the other night when I went to see The Killers. Although my sister Eileen suggested, "Try to nail Brandon Flowers in the head with a full bottle of water so he falls down. It would be an awesome story," I kept on the straight and narrow, somehow refraining from hurling any objects at anyone throughout the entire performance. Though I was most tempted when they tried playing some of their new crap rather than songs off their first album that people had actually heard. Please bands, if you just came out with a new album two weeks prior, keep it to the first single. Also, in what I expressed in a joking manner to Brian and Shannon on the way to the show, but very much hoped for, I wished the band would have come out and said "We know you came here to see us tonight, but we want to honor our very favorite band, Smashmouth"...and then they would go right into All-Star, by Smashmouth. I would be happy if they played only Smashmouth (or throw in some random band that would be weird to be covered here) or even this one song, and then told the shocked audience that they were just screwing around. It was a fun time. The Killers did not quite kill, it may have been more of a maiming or ferocious beatdown.

That is all. And unless you comment, kittens die, and I go to bed every night not knowing that you care.

Catapult me to fame, everyone I know (or else you get a knuckle sandwich)

While other blogistas are suffering from creative difficulties (J. Mulgrew, or Jason M. for anonymity purposes as I would never want to tear down a fellow creative mind in this space) I seem to be experiencing a flow of ideas that could only be likened to Niagara Falls, or maybe something profane like the liquid that might flow out of your body after eating White Castle and drinking beer (ewwwwwwwww.....that was so gross...but you get the idea). However, I feel at times that my creative musings are being wasted and falling on deaf ears because people just don't know about me, or about much of anything in general. So here is the game plan for catapulting me to fame. Everyone embrace your role, and once I am famous, I might let you do my yard work or something, with occasional water breaks.

Mom and Dad, you always said if there was ever ANYTHING I needed to let you know. Well what I need from you is to buy a billboard. On the billboard will be only two things: 1)The most vile racial slur/epithet that we can come up with (and you might be saying, but Tim, we are not extreme racists....and I am not either, I'll explain momentarily), and underneath that, the web address to this blog. I want this slur to be so vile that Ed Bradley is doing a story about it on 60 minutes, and then people will wonder, "Is that website one of racism and offensiveness?" and come visit this site, read of my humor, and shortly thereafter wish to feed me grapes and other fruits while I am fanned with palms and whatnot. So thanks Mom and Dad, you guys are the best.

Friends (non-female)- I will need you to let me move in with you and also to provide me with food...and liquor. This should only be for about a year or so, and after that I will pay you back by way of you getting to be in my entourage, which if you don't know much about entourages, they usually are pretty sweet.

Friends (female)- I was reading something about the writing creative process and it turns out it is very helpful to have girls in nurse costumes give the writer a spongebath at least once daily. If you guys do your part that would be great.

(also, you guys can e-mail the link of this website to anyone you know who likes to read funny stuff, that would be helpful too)

Jack Daniels corporation- I am not sure if anyone from this reads this blog, but I really love your whiskey product, and a couple barrels of it would be most helpful. I would even mention your product in my books, movies, and weekly in this spot....free advertising

All others, I really enjoy a fine rhythmic clap, so you can just stand around doing that everytime you see me. It would definitely help with the creative process.

So there, everyone has their roles, carry them out and you should know at least one famous person in no time.

Now some thoughts:

This past week I was out and my friend Melissa told some other guys that I was her best friend, and although we are best friends and I have no problem with it being so, when a girl tells other guys this information, a little known fact is that one of two phrases actually go into their ears:

1)"Tim is gay."

OR

2)"I keep Tim's balls in a jar at home."

This is a little known fact that women do not know about such phrases as this is that men actually have tiny translation devices just outside their eardrums that translate many phrases women say to us. Some others include:

When you say, "I'm really tired tonight, let's just cuddle"

we hear: "Cuddle with me for five minutes and then collect all the sex you want."

When you say, "I love eating pizza, but can we ever go out on a romantic date?"

we hear: "I love pizza too. Maybe later you can collect all the sex you desire."

When you say, "I'd really appreciate it if you would just lose my number and stop calling me at 4am"

we hear: "Call me the next time you are drunk, please....and I think I am in love with you."

If you want anymore translations, let me know.

Lately it seems that rather than a driving test, people should be given some sort of intelligence test. Because people just aren't getting it. I do not wish to share a lane with you on the highway. Unless you have some sort of half plasma car that will shrink down or just mold with the side of my car, if you merge into my lane with me, the results will not be good, and I know this because I had a couple years of physics in high school. Or because some obvious thoughts in my head say, "These extremely large metal heaps moving at 60 mph probably should not touch one another." Also, at 4 way stops, the random order or rolling stops that I have seen employed lately are really stupid. The 4 way stop was not a puzzle created by God to cause mental conundrums for humans. And the next person that rolls to a stop and tries driving out at me when I am still going through the intersection, I will not hesitate to stop my car, get out of my car, and come have a little chat with you. (this is not road rage, and the reason why I took that set of butcher knives out of my car)

I seem to have missed it entirely, and no one really pointed it out either, but this blog recently celebrated its one year anniversary. Ummm....so yes. What a grand achievement.

Thanks and that is all.

People Say the Darndest Things (not just kids)

No I am not going all Bill Cosby on you (but a little would never hurt "The kids, with the Jello, and the pudding pop, and the Pokemon, oh so wacky, with the goofiness") but it seems in the past couple of weeks people have been more and more prone to say ridiculous, dumb, or just straight up weird things to me. Who knows, maybe they aspired to have me write about them in this very popular forum (I think popular means at least 4 people skim your work, so yeah, total popularity going on right here). But really they shouldn't have because they are going to ripped some sort of new orifice (but really in all kindness I hope the new orifice proves useful...I mean the eyes, ears, and nose are all orifices and you don't complain about them...maybe you'll get some new sense...I don't know).

1)This past week at work I used the phrase "jump the shark" which means:

"Jumping the shark is a metaphor used by television critics since the 1990s. The phrase, popularized by Jon Hein on his web site www.jumptheshark.com, is used to describe the moment when a television show or similar episodic medium is in retrospect judged to have passed its "peak" and shows a noticeable decline in quality. Hein also uses the "jumping the shark" concept to describe other areas of pop culture, such as music and celebrities, for whom a drastic change was the beginning of the end. "

So basically it is like saying something is done-zo. And that all I was telling my co-worker (hopefully not telling him that either he or a family member had "jumped the shark" because that seems like it would be a creepy threat) was that something, in my mind, had done this shark jumping activity (I think it was about The Simpsons, a show which has definitely lost its luster). To which he asked me if I knew what it referenced, this whole phrase "jumping the shark". When I told him I did not he told me I could therefore not use the phrase.

First of all, it turned out to be some obscure reference to the TV show Happy Days, a show which was on before my years on this Earth. Secondly, unless I worked, not for Kenny & Kenny, a small accounting firm, but rather for the Oxford English Dictionary, which can tell you the first usage and root of every word, I have no idea why I would have to understand where every word or cliche came from that I ever spoke. If this were the case, I would have a vocabulary (and though it may already seem this way it is not true) limited to about 20 words and 20 phrases...many of which might be viewed as obscene, creepy or bizarre...so F all that noise.

2) Someone told me "You'll get what's coming to you."

Hahaha, I had a fine laugh at this one. What does this even mean? That I am going to get my ass kicked? No. That I have had a curse placed on me by a ninja? A more real, frightening possibility. That disease or natural causes will eventually cause my demise? Alright, yes this must have been what it meant. And if I did not already feel horribly not threatened by it already, it was told to me by way of text message, which for me, pretty much every text message strikes fear into my heart, as I am secretly a time traveler from 1217 and modern technology confuses me sometimes.

3) In watching NFL games the past few weeks, there is a commentator who enjoys saying that wide receivers, rather then merely catch the ball out of the air, prefers saying "capture the ball". He likes to make it sound like the ball is some sort of autonomous, free-willed creature often impervious to such attempts at capture. Newsflash buddy: IT IS A FREAKIN BALL MADE OF DEAD PIG PARTS AND FILLED WITH AIR. NOT A BEAST THAT WR AND TIGHT ENDS LUST AFTER IN ATTEMPTS TO CAPTURE.

4) When I told someone that I was writing some quasi-autobiography that was laced with fiction, they asked me , "Are you writing the made up fiction or the other kind?" No elaboration necessary.

Fun times to all, and to all a good 4:43 in the afternoon.

Don't do me like that. Actually just stay away.

Ahhhhh.....it feels good to be back, writing normal, funny type thoughts; like sliding into an old comfortable chair, what with its' aromas of Lysol, beer, and pasteurized cheese product and familiar spot that your bum just nestles into because you've sat there a time or two before or even passed out in that one time your sister gave you a giant horse pill when you were drinking only to discover the next day the effect was that of a placebo after she stated, "I think it was just a big Advil"..... I'd had enough of the hoo-hah fast paced style of writing that was needed for recapping Vegas. And for those of you that read it, you should not be surprised to learn that as time went by I was only becoming more and more prone to forget, and to forget stuff I scantly remembered in the first place. It was a fun time. Know that much.

That being said, I have been sloppy with my post-it note writing to remind me of the kabillion funny thoughts I have, but I managed to get down a couple that were legible and made sense (since some of these ideas strike me in the middle of the night, and Jerry Seinfeld style, I get up, write them down, sure of their comic qualities which make them like comin crude oil, only to awaken the next day and read a piece of paper that says "chinese food Manute Bol". It is indeed a funny combo, but the correlation would be a stretch....wait....unless they were on an episode of Dr.Phil together...anyways,) (and I know I do not need a comma or a lead in back to writing after a parenthetical phrase, but seriously, shut the fuck up, I do what I want) and they will lend o at the very least, about 7 sentences of brilliant social mockery and verbal punditry.

First of all, if you are not in tune with the sports world, there is a successful Wang toiling as a starting pitcher for the New York Yankees. And maybe I am juvenile and immature, but I would not say "wong" as it is supposed to be pronounced, I would constantly say wang, as it is a popular slang term for a certain part of the male, hemaphrodite, or transexual anatomy. You can tell someone at ESPN who writes the ticker that goes at the bottom of the screen has some fun with this, writing short blurbs like "Wang out 2-3 days, should not be out so long" or "Wang fined for inappropriate appearance in brawl" or "Wang does six batters in one night with 'sinker' "...and if I were on Sportscenter and had to say his name, shit would be on, son. I can't believe no one has recoginized how successful one Wang has been in propelling people to stardom. By far the most celebrity Wang since at least the reign of Bill Clinton. (what do I mean, reign? what an idiot. and no, I don't backspace...I KEEP'S IT REAL)

I am calling for a boycott of the Old Navy store. First of all, I saw one of their commercials this morning and it was very entertaining for me, and may have even been more so for a CHILD. So, yes, they are brainwashing youth, but with what you ask? They have a new slogan: Old Navy- FASH-ON! Oh, you say, I see nothing wrong with that. But what if I spell it out this way for you? FASC(ISM)-ON? Yes, they are brainwashing the youth of America to be little fascists. Now I will not argue with anyone and say that fascism is totally wrong (screw you, yes I will, I will argue fascism with you, who do you think I am, some non-argumentative son of a B? Have you seen how fascism in past has turned out? Think of the fascist leaders? Do you really think the guy in the $8600 parachute pants is gonna listen to that drivel? COME ON!) but I don't believe the youth culture of our country should be brainwashed into believing this crap. Old Navy? This is just a coy reference to the Russian Navy of yesteryear, back when they OWNED the Black Sea. So, no more Old Navy America...you can keep what you have, but don't buy anything new there (and I am sure no one will mind all that much seeing as it has been decreasing in quality there for a while)

YAH!

I have been living on a diet of Frosted Mini Wheats and beer, so excuse me

If I had a more quiet typing style, or one of those stealth keyboards, I would not feel so bad about doing all this typing at work. For goodness sakes, I work at an accounting firm, and there is just not this much writing involved. I often do say that I am sending e-mails, and I am sure that seems totally plausible. Plausible like believing that Tom Cruise is not totally wacked in the brain, plausible like hearing someone at a bar say they could beat up Michael Clarke Duncan, plausible like Mini-Me's NBA dreams. So, pretty much 100% believable.

The trip to Vegas is upon us. We leave in like 8 hours. This is not the time or the place to recount this epic summer, that could happen next week sometime, assuming I survive this trip. No, really. Actually if you think about it, this Vegas trip is like the Olympics and we have merely been in intense training all summer. Brian, Paul, and myself have to be some of the favorites...for...uhhh...something. Vegas just has that vibe wherein you can sleep for four hours and drink all day and still be ready to go the next day. Then again, evidently so does Forest Park and 742 S. Lombard....wait, wait....is it possible I have fostered a Vegas like environment in my own home? I feel like I just discovered fire. That explains so much.

The moustache (or mustache...I am not really sure about which one is preferred, or that I really care...I guess like British gentlemen have moustaches, and people who watch NASCAR have mustaches, and porn stars have staches...so I guess I have a mustache, because it is more on the NASCAR level, then the classy British gentlemen or Hercule Poirot type) is once again beginning to have its effects on the things I say. Logan first noticed last summer that I was saying creepy and degrading stuff when I was growing it. Like offensive things about women, and those damn Australians. I've noticed it happening again. Which is exactly what is needed this first night in Vegas. Me, with a mustache, being incredibly creepy. Hopefully I can even creep out my friends, but that is more challenging. (although a man to man back rub, and some sweet nothings whispered in the ear could creep anyone out)

It is my pledge to try and make every situation in life funny. I have missed that mark dreadfully with this writing, but luckily I succeed a lot in everyday life. And I am done. Before I say something witty and people enjoy it.

That's amazing, so much love, and also so much information

This upcoming weekend should be an epic one. Not epic like the Odyssey or like anything of any real importance or not even worthy of having a once proud word like epic placed near it. Alright I am not going to lie, I am just pumped up for the fantasy football draft (which people keep referring to as "the fantasy draft", which makes it sound like some sort of fantasy involving a draft, which could really only be a fantasy where you imagine getting picked number 1, going up there in your ugly suit, and shaking hands with the commish while putting on a hat). Fantasy football offers a whole other like 15 hours of things to look at during the work week. And, it also gives me a glimpse of this whole other side I have never known about myself, where I spend hours compiling Excel spreadsheets for the league with weird statistics.
There are a few types of people in a fantasy league, and it is always best to just be the cocky winning kind and not one of the other ones.

The Idiot- This guy sucks. He doesn't even really follow football, but his lack of friends and social interaction time make him want to be in the league. You can usually convince him to do some ridiculous trade, but obviously then everyone else gets angry and it is not allowed.

The Stingy Dude- This guy is like the Billy Beane of fantasy football. He has a shoe string budget and puts together a decent team, but his lack of spending will never propel him to the top. And he complains about the money a lot.

Guy who sets lineups weeks in advance and generally does not care- Not to be confused with the idiot, this guy is like the opposite of the stingy dude. He paid for a good team, paid league fees and that nonsense, but sets his starting lineup through week 9 and does not even check to see if he won. And then you have people like Brian and me keeping track of scores on post it notes dedicatedly. (oooo I am excited)

Guy who drinks too much Beer at the Draft and Makes some ignorant trade like Shaun Alexander for Michael Vick and Lamont Jordan- Unfortunately, this was me last year. I evidently decided my second QB was not good enough and I needed fantasy dickwad Michael Vick (he is always so enticing, but never that good). Fuck me on this one.
So, this year should be phenomenal. I love football season.

The mustache for Vegas is going to be exceptionally creepy this year as I have been growing out the goatee since August 1st. It itches like none other and made someone ask the other day if I was 30. I don't really like it at all, but if I can frighten some women and children with the stache, my life is complete.

My two friends Bryce and Melissa (Melissa, who only seldom reads this) are always being all whiny about not being in the blog. I keep telling them they have to do something funny and even then randomly hope I write about it, since this shit ain't exactly planned. So, I have decided to insert their names and some adjectives into a Mad Lib.....that should make them happy.
Amusement Parks (from some Mad Libs website)
Bryce and Melissa decided to hit up Six Flags. It should be known that an amusement park is always fun to visit on a hot summerhippo vagina. Bryce really does love those hippos, which is weird since he is a human...and Melissa...let's not go there. When you get there, you can rent aLucky Charm Man and go for a swim. Rent? Steal? Abduct? Whatever works. And there are lots of smelly things to eat, since these two smell bad 95% of the time anyway, they can't tell it smells. You can start off with a hot dog ona giraffe with mustard, relish, and moose on it. And their taste in food is not exactly what I would call mouth watering. Then you can have a buttered ear of firehose with a nice grimy slice of watermelon and a big bottle of cold Bacardi 151. Yummm...what alcoholics would not love a nice cold refreshing bottle of Bacardi 151? When you are full, it's time to go on theroller coaster, which should settle your lubricant which they both were a little presumptive in applying anyways...you weirdos. Other amusement park rides are the Dodge-Em which has little negros, that you drive and run into other anal beads, this is really the ride where it is at. And they both get down like that.and the Merry-Go-Round where you can sit on a big turd and try to grab the gold paper as you ride past, which is like the hunt for the Golden Ticket in Willy Wonka gone horribly awry.
I am too funny for my own good.

I plead the fif! I plead the fif! FIVE! 1,2,3,4, fiiiif!

The past two days of my life have been some sort of weird Twilight Zone episode, all the while reinforcing the idea that my friends are crazy and that Charlie Sheen could not even hang with us (or he totally could given his millions of dollars, coke habit, hooker seducing, alcoholic ways). Anywho, Wednesday night karaoke somehow turned into Brian inviting people to the after hours hotspot known in popular circles as 742 S. Lombard (or my house) and said people staying until 6am or later. Which is insane for a freaking Wednesday night. Needless to say I was a tad late for work. Then last night, the normal BBQ was going on, it was low key (although the amount of beer in the house was not, as I had purchased 18, Brian showed up with another 60, and then Logan's friends showed up with yet another 60) and then Paul showed up out of nowhere and next thing I know we are back at the bar. Once again, people return from the bar with us and this is where the shit gets Twilight Zone-esque. I went to bed at a reasonable hour, like 4am, but when I awoke at 7:30, I find Brian asleep on the couch (the second night in a row he slept at the house, which is bizarre when you consider he lives four blocks away), Paul on the floor, and Trevor talking to a girl in the front yard. How is this even possible? As Dave Prak eloquently put it, "It sounds like you are living in some sort of cross between the house in Animal House and the one in Old School." Craziness. I am half surprised Bryce didn't jump out of the bushes this morning and reveal he had been doing top secret shots of Patron in said location all evening and that "they were after him", whatever the hell that means.

On my air travel adventure last week, I had the fine opportunity to peruse one of my favorite aviation magazines, Sky Mall. (Motto: "Companies Had the Misguided Notion to Manufacture this Crap, and We are Going to Sell It To You, So Have an Airline Cocktail and Ponder What You Really Want Out of Life, Like a Miniature Statue of 8th President, Martin Van Buren") If you have never perused this publication, it is a must and I always try and imagine who they are trying to target with what products. The magazine literally has just about every useless trinket or gadget one could imagine, some stuff so useless, I wonder if the higher altitudes of flying on a plane make people believe that they actually do need their own cotton candy machine. I must admit, I have purchased something from Sky Mall, and I do always see things in there that get me inappropriately pumped up, like a wall sized Crossword Puzzle. On land, this would not fire me up, but something about being at 37,000 feet in cramped quarters with someone trying to recline their seat into my already severely lacking in space wedged in legs, while I sit profusely sweating because the one cute girl on the flight had to sit next to me and I inadvertently offended her with my coarse language two minutes into the flight, makes me live for this shit. Well...only some of it, because other products have specific target buyers, and I am just not one of them. For instance:

Ahhh, yes the classic M&M club head covers. Nothing says "I'm a zany corporate middle management type with two kinds of diabetes and an inadequate sense of humor that makes me think that these club head covers are hilarious" like some fine colorful candy inspired club head covers.
Target Market: Males aged 50-63 with chocolate addiction issues and lame ass senses of humor







Who out there, when reading The Da Vinci Code, was not like, "Shit homes, I need to get my own cryptex! I have something so secretive that I need to hide it in a device I did not previously know even existed! " Just as I thought, slow witted people from the red states who will buy this shit and then store food stamps in it.
Target Market: People who, if not named Bubba, know someone named Bubba. You know a guy like this, and he plays the seek and find on the cereal box. And does so very seriously.



Eureka! And to think my tropical hut in my yard previously lacked a roof! This tropical thatch look will complete it perfectly! Don't mind the fact that my yard is very small and lacking any tropical flavor, I need this! (answer: no you fucking don't)
Target Market: People with way too much money who for some reason desire a thatched locale in their yard.









Ask Carl Winslow, last week's popular column, actually prompted some questions from loyal reader, Sarah P. So, I fired them off to Carl and here are his responses:

Sarah wrote:
"dear officer winslow,
why are you sooo dang cool? also, what kind of shampoo do you use? and what is your favorite kind of doughnut?"

Cool is not a river in Egypt, Sarah! My wife Harriet and Grandma Winslow keep me grounded. I use Neutrogena T-Gel Shampoo as long as that wacky Steve isn't doing experiments where my hair might fall out! I love the long john doughnut. Classic, simple, delicious. Don't tell my wife though!

Random tidbit from my youth that might explain something:
Last week my Mom shared this fine tale with my older sister Eileen and myself. Evidently when I was very young, a friend of the family was watching Eileen and I while my parents were out. I was speaking random jibberish, the friend of the family was trying to understand me, and when she asked Eileen what I was saying, Eileen calmly replied "He's speaking Spanish" and went back to watching TV. I guess when my Mom was telling it the story was funnier. Oh well. Tough balls.

I used to rock the flying toasters...on the real

I am not really too sure why when people I have just met find out I toil at an accounting firm, they are always shocked. "But you are so fun," or "But you drink SO much," or "Why are you capable of staying out so late on weeknights?" and the occasional "That was very presumptive if you, you are lucky you are not homeless and unemployed as I originally thought." I seriously do wonder what these people had thought I did with my life. Seriously, if you were to see some of the surprised looks you would feel the same way. (these looks feel like I have just told people that I am in fact a hemaphrodite, and don't feel bad about enjoying the lapdance....except minus like three levels of surprise). True, if the tables were turned and I had to figure out what I did based on say, a Wednesday night escapade, my guesses would include things like: professional drinker, rich kid living off of daddy's dime, hobo or even something really awesome like mall security guard. So, basically no one of any importance to anyone else in the corporate world, which I some how am (but let's not stretch this too much, I am not that important as my company will discover when I leave them). But, a quick analysis of the external factors might help to figure out this accountant shock (which, in all fairness, I guess I am only employed by a company that happens to do accounting, not that I am anything close to an accountant. For God's ((respect)) sake, one of my big "project's" at one point in time this year was making thousands of copies for an audit because my boss wanted to make more money. I would have thrown it in his face, and refused to make copies if it were not the most work I had done in a long, long time.)
So, external factors:(mainly Wednesday night, and if only Wednesday night, ONLY this summer)
-Drunkardly
-Usually dressed in a humorous t-shirt (or a Polo if I feel, as Trevor would say, "elegant")
-Carousing with many other fun loving people and from time to time trying to be funny and the center of attention. Awww hell, I am always trying to be funny. It has really started to interfere with my life, like in situations where people want seriousness, like at the bank ("Sir, do you have your deposit slip?" "No, (shuffles through pockets) this is really a hold up!" (shot with taser by bank teller) "I was just kidding, I was just kidding!")
-Usually perform some awful karaoke.
-Have done many pushups in a bar
With all these factors in mind, can't I be what I am (wow, that was deep), a young recent college grad who works as a pointless corporate monkey and has mucho fun with his friends? I guess having misled several people previously and informing them that I had worked in such professions as professional hopscotch player, muse, ornithologist, or nail salon owner, I don't have that much room to complain. (By the way, all of these professions are excellent conversation starters, but ESPECIALLY muse and ornithologist. Most people don't know what a muse is, and if they do, they have questions about how someone can be employed in such a manner. As for ornithologist (a bird expert) this works best in an outdoor setting so that you can act extremely enthusiastic about any bird that flies by. Just trust me on this one)
Airport travel was supposed to be getting more secure and safer and stuff, right? Yet the other day on my fine Air-Tran flight (which only made me think of Air "I plead da fif" Tron Airlines) when I was checking in, the only reason I ended up showing my ID was because I was already prepared to do so and had thrust my ID in the worker's face, thus prompting her to ask "Oh yeah, your ID". Not that I am one of those pansies that is afraid of terrorism (yay my blog was just "discovered" by several federal agencies...hooray!). In fact, I would love to see one of those guys try to hijack a plane I am on....you want some inappropriate anger? You can bet they would be scared of the angry 6'4" guy coming at them when they are armed with a knitting needle and toenail clippers. Please don't let me read about "beefed-up security", "better employees" or "friendlier homeless people" when it seems I could have just waltzed in. But, I do look quite friendly. I guess my extremely friendly appearance always helps.
And now for the first ever As Carl Winslow. Carl Winslow was the black cop Dad everyone yearned to have next door in the early 90's (especially if you were a dorky black science geek in love with neighbor's daughter). Now, you too can ask for advice.
Dear Officer Winslow,
I have been having an ant problem in my kitchen, please help!!!!
-Annoyed in AZ
Laura!!!!! Did Steve have anything to do with this? For such a smart kid he sure does screw up a lot! Harriet! What are we going to do to fix this before the commisioner gets here? In all my years on the force, I've never dealt with anything like this.
Dear Carl,
I think my wife is cheating on me with the janitor at her office, which makes it doubly insulting.....what should I do?
-Dishonored and degraded in DeKalb
Steve! I understand you just wanted to give to give everyone a Christmas display they would not forget, but now we are stuck on the roof on Christmas Eve...with no ladder! Awww....Steve.....don't cry...here, here, ok, ok I'm Santa and I'm happy.
Dear Officer Winslow,
I killed a man. This cannot be good. Not good at all.
- Killer in an undisclosed locale
Robbie, Laura, even when your Mom and I, or your grandmother get in a fight, we still love each other and we'll still always be family. No matter what. Family is all you have sometimes. Remember that.

If this were a Lifetime Moment of Truth movie, this would be our act break

I have a bone to pick with the dry cleaning community. And society as a whole is really a part of the problem so I will likewise pick a bone with them (a radius or ulna....nothing as serious as a femur or pelvis). My problem is, and please hold back your shouts of support, getting charged more because I have longer shirts. I have longer shirts because I am taller. Duh. And this is where society comes into play in a dual manner.

1)Society frowns on men wearing shirts that are far too short, such as the ones would be if I purchased "normal" sized shirts.

2)Society (and by this I mean people I am seen with, like prostitutes, off duty cops, and harlequins) also seems to get mad at me wearing extremely wrinkly clothes, something which I have no problem with, but something which prompted an ex-girlfriend to take over my laundry duties for me because my clothes would always be so wrinkled.

So, even if I had shorter shirts I would still have to spend money to get them dry cleaned. Screw you for that society. And, I think the government should start a fund to pay the difference that I must pay for having longer shirts. Over the course of a lifetime, at an additional 10 to 25 cents per shirt, I could be looking at literally, around millions (of thai baht...more like $2,000 dollars maybe? I dunno. Get on that math whizzes). So, presidential candidates 2008, please shirk the important issues and talk about how you are going to pay for my dry cleaning. And I wish I were kidding.

Subway Restaurants have currently positioned themselves as an advertising BEAST. Have you seen the deadly combination of people they are using for their commercials? A former morbidly obese man who ate Subway down to moderately chunky, Jared, and the most brilliant comedic mind of our time, Jon Lovitz. I am surprised with the Jared/Lovitz combo I have avoided being brainwashed into eating Subway a minimum of 7 times a day. God help us should they ever decide to pair the two in a commercial together....just think of the straight man Jared paired with comic wiz Jon Lovitz, playing off one another and expressing the multitude of reasons to enjoy Subway. God help us indeed.

In baseball news, the other day Vlad Guerrero of the Los Angeles of Anaheim of California Angels of Seraphim of Heaven, removed himself from a game in the 5th inning, citing "fatigue". Several questions I have after this:

-Was he not expecting to play baseball that day and gotten all tired out in his daily squash match?
-If he, who is paid 13.5 million to play baseball per year, can remove himself in the 5th inning due to fatigue, shouldn't I be able to leave work after, say, half an hour for the same reason?
-What kind of pansy manager lets his player leave the game? Tell him to drink some Gatorade between innings and be a man. That's what I would do. Because Vlad, who are you kidding....you are one of the best players but most of the time in the field you stand around and at the plate you just go up there and swing at every pitch, so it is not as if your at bats tire you out...seriously. So Angels, if you want to take a serious demotion in skill, but gain a player who will never be fatigued for significantly less money, contact me. I will crappily play 162 full games per year for not very much money. I don't want to lowball myself by saying something like $50,000 since I believe everyone gets more than that. But let me know guys.

"Blue Steel? Ferrari? Le Tigra? They're the same face! Doesn't anybody notice this? I feel like I'm taking crazy pills!"

In this crazy blogging world in which I am already far too deeply involved (I had to kill a man and then make a payment in hamsters....it's a long story....don't ask. Well don't you care about my life? "The don't ask" was simply meant to make you try and ask. Oh sure, now you want to know, but I think you just want to know because I called you out on it. Whatever. No. No. I'm not telling you now. Maybe later. Well don't act all pissy at me. This is stupid. The story wasn't even that good.) people come to expect a certain level every blog. Which I guess is sort of fair, but it also seems quite unfair. Baseball players have crappy games, artists do weird experimental stuff (possibly involving rooms of candy or fecal matter), and mayors seem to be constantly screwing up. So, if I am ever off my game, which I know has happened before, please just reread some of the archives and remember that I am the best writer you have ever read, (if you never read anything else) a sensational wit, and just one of those guys who makes your life better (although you might have done better than to heed my advice and not do laundry last month so you could still pay for the Internet and read my posts, I guess I could have just printed them out for you or something. My bad. And now you smell awful.)(by the way all these inane parentheticals are actually directed at no actual person. just my inner dialogue. but I really did do my laundry)

I also want to call out my friends. Friends, I, your friend, Timothy Charles Radway, am going to go down in history with such names as Hemingway, Steinbeck, Fitzgerald, and Sedaris (mainly I am going to be associated with these names when I paint a cardboard sign with their names on it and start my daring life as a nude homeless man holding a cardboard sign with some authors names on it and darting across expressways). If you casually dismiss my blog as "something he does to keep himself happy" (which sounds like something you say about a "special" person). WRONG. I do it to share my supreme command of wit and verbal juggernautetry with the masses. I know, or at least have a general idea, of those friends who read my blog, as they will try and discuss it with me, tell me how much they enjoyed it, or hurl cedar chips at my face for insulting their families. So since I know who does read it, I also know who doesn't, and I also know that since they don't read this, the entire preceding paragraph has been pointless. God I am a fucktard sometimes. I probably should have thought of that first.

Too many people associate blogs with lame outpourings of emotion or like it is some Internet diary. Lameness. True I have used this forum a couple times for such a display, but that was when I was not as manly as I am now, which is pretty much the pinnacle of man. I even received a nomination for the Jack Palance/Clint Eastwood/Johnny Cash/Chuck Norris Hall of Fame. So, if people are going to keep using blogs for that kind of shit and therefore giving people the false notion that I am some emo dweeb who sits in the attic of my great aunt's house simultaneously weeping, listening to Saves the Day, and blogging, then I am going to try and eliminate all those kinds of people. In matter of craptastic stereoptypes, some douche wrote this:

"I cannot stress enough how lame blogs are. If you are so desperate for attention maybe you should turn off the computer and pick up the phone or go meet some people. Write it down in a journal for YOURSELF. Nobody cares what mood you are in at this moment. I'm sorry mommy and daddy obviously didn't love you enough or give you the attention you so sorely needed."

See, let me tear this apart. My Mom and Dad loved me very much. I do love attention, I do socially interact with many people and if I wrote this phenomenal garbage in a journal no one would laugh at it but me (which might be the case already, who knows). I am the most important person in my world, and maybe THE world (wow that was awesome to type....in fact, if you are having a bad day, type that about yourself). If you would like to be dumb and not enjoy a chuckle or perhaps even a hearty guffaw at either my expense or your expense, do it to it.

Enough of the tootage of my own horn. I am so deep and incredibly emo that I just blogged about blogs. But don't fear me. Embrace me. No, seriously, give me a hug.

"Why can't I be the one in slow-motion? I'm tired of being the one in the doo-doo"

There is pretty much no greater feeling in the world than going for a fine $350 trip to the vetrinarian, because I am sure you know, me, as a human, gain so much both in actual material goods (ear ointment, dog heartworm medication, rabies tags) and just a general overall feeling of warmth. I mean, the people at the vet office do kindly refer to Wrigley as "my friend" as well as sending postcards about shots for which "my friend" is due. It is indeed very bizarre to hear someone say "Can you just bring a recent fecal sample of your friend?" "Just lift your friend up on to the table and hold her so that she cannot move." "How is your friend doing altogether?" Wrigley is my damn dog. I would not consider her a "friend" and it is weird to even think about. I mean, we aren't enemies or anything like that either, but she is just a dog. As a general rule I do not take my actual friends to places where I might need to bring some of their poop or where I can purchase them fine ointments for their ears.

I now realize this is the second time in the last few weeks that I have mentioned the main lady in my life, Wrigley, and many of you are now thinking weird thoughts about me and my dedication to my domestic creature. "Are you one of those dog weirdos?" "Do you hang out with actual humans, and maybe even actual females?" "When did you get dragged so far into this mess?" "Who is the only major league pitcher to strike out the same number in batters in a game as his age?" "Can you really use whipped cream for THAT?"

1) I am not a dog weirdo. She is just around a lot. And there are from time to time silly stories that involve her too. And all the drinking stories might make everyone worry, and plus they are for the movie/book/screenplay/musical/book of poems/performance art thingy.

2) I do spend the majority of my time with actual humans and even females too. Of course the means by which I get these people to hang out with me, with such white lies as telling them I live in a house made of gold, am having Kanye West over, or that I need help because I am a quadrapelagic (that girl was really stupid) might be less than typical.


3) Yeah, I don't know either. This cutthroat world of blogging, with the gory underside that no one dares mention, is much more than I bargained for. And I never should have gotten drunk and posted all those comments on the blog written by the Yakuza boss (Yakuza is like the Japanese mafia, duh).

4)Kerry Wood, with 20 at the age of 20. Of course, now his arm doesn't function and may, in fact, randomly falloff when he is doing in arm intensive activity, like using chopsticks.


5) Yeah I was surprised too, but try it, just trust me on this one.

In one of the more stirring developments in life, the summer continues to be awesome and somehow every week I am able to look back and think to myself "Wow, this past week was awesome." But really it is isn't that surprising to think that when you consider the fact that I definitely rank as at least one of the top 1,000 Awesome People in the World. Not too modest, I know, but who are we kidding? I implore my friends to name instances (ones when I was not in a bad mood or suffering from tuberculosis) when I was not at least a semi-decent time to be around.....exactly. You can only think of like 700 times when I was not fun, but I was preoccupied those times with visions of time travel in the Weinermobile. Which is my bad.

TASTY. I'll write again sooner. Promise.

If I cannot be a good example, may I at least be a horrible warning

As some of you know, or wish that you didn't know, Wednesday nights have become the IT night of the week again. And by again, I mean for the first time since the days of the week were given names, and Wednesday was plopped dead in the middle. Sort of exciting because the end of the week approaches, but not really enough to start going buck wild, like you would on say, a Monday.

But that is neither here nor there. Due to my housemate and co-worker's whorebagishness, and the fact that he does not work on Thursday's, he somehow convinced me and of course Brian and Paul to start going out on Wednesday nights. And it was soon discovered that local favorite bar, Doc's, featured karaoke and the brilliant musical stylings of Nick B. (a man who I cannot begin to describe in writing, but let's just say I heard a rumor he was deaf and during a performance of Pretty Woman, he actually says the word "growl" rather than making a growling noise) on said Wednesday nights. Long story short, Wednesday nights suddenly started getting crazy, and to tone it down for the infantile readers, Wednesday nights cause me to wake up fully clothed, including shoes, on Thursday mornings. That is far too drunk for the middle of the week. (Haha, no it's not. No it's not at all)

With the combination of drinking and karaoke, and my natural lust to entertain people, I obviously have been an active performer on karaoke nights. Here, with some more ado, is a week by week play by play (there are probably supposed to be a bunch of hyphens in there, but down with the grammatical rules imposed upon me and countless innocent others).

Week One- Before we were even sure what had happened, Paul, Brian and myself were signing up to perform. I had suggested "Under the Bridge" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, a song which, when I sing it to myself in the car with the volume turned up loud enough that I cannot actually hear myself, I sound exactly like Anthony Kiedis. So, I thought we were signed up to do this song, but evidently one of the other brilliant singers with whom I was performing decided we should do "Thunderstruck" by AC/DC. Unfortunately, like all other AC/DC songs, it sort of has a high pitch. So the three of us drunkasses get up there and it is like we are having a falsetto outdoing contest (fal-set-to (n.) when a man sings all girly like and high pitched ((Random House dictionary)), each one of singing more high pitched than the next. Needless to say, I think we ruined that song for everyone who heard it.

Week Two- With a larger group of drunkards this week, Paul, Brian, Logan, Derek and I performed classic standby "Bohemian Rhapsody". Luckily Logan is like a doppelganger for a young, and just as fruity Freddie Mercury. But all kidding aside, and placed in the cupboard appropriately, this song is a fun one to do. And we did not sound half shabby. Then Brian and I did "Under the Bridge" as I had so desired to do the week before. And it was also not half shabby. And I was filled with such hubris that I quit my job the next day and I began writing songs while strumming along harmoniously on the kazoo. Or not. It should also be noted that I did pushups during all instrumental breaks for every karaoke performer that night, and may have also grinded on Nick B. But that didn't really happen, people just made that stuff up and told me I did it because I had been drinking. But really I did do this stuff.

Week Three- We accidentally arrived a tad late, but performed the biggest crowd pleaser that we had performed thus far. The Ray Parker Jr classic, Ghostbusters. Seriously, people were really into this song. And to think the karaoke lady made an exasperated sighing noise when I turned in my request to perform this. Little did she know.

Week Four- In the name of keeping it tasty or some disgusting drinking ability that I do not know of, I decided to have a couple to six Jack and Coke's prior to even going to the bar. So then I performed my top secret karaoke standby, Mack the Knife. Little did everyone know, I had been performing this song for many years and pretty much can do it without the words, which I think due to the amount of liquor I had consumed, I was doing it without the words. Then, Logan and I did a brilliant version of Minnie the Moocher. Which, the the part of the song where it speeds up, I butchered it entirely. Then I performed Adam's favorite karaoke song with him "Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy", which he always makes me do with him, even though he usually ends taking my microphone from me because I hate that song. Or something.

So, Wednesdays are fun. The new hotness.

This brings me to the etiquette section of the blog. Now, I know you are thinking, there is no etiquette section in this blog, and I say "You are correct, but seriously, shut the hell up. A plague on both your houses." And I had not yet gathered enough information on the new etiquette from the new age Emily Post, Trevor Giancarlo. Here are some of the rules of the new Trevor code of etiquette. Bring these rules with you in lifes social situations, and you will prosper, or maybe get beat up. But it is up to you to try it out.

-If invited to a party and told to bring along some extra food to grill, bring an old package of hot dogs you find in the fridge at home, preferably extra slimy in texture and with questionability as to their freshness. And NEVER ever bring buns.

-When leaving a party, after politely asking if you may bring one for the road, grab the one beer. The, when no one is looking, put as many more as you can in your pockets. Because, the host should not have the burden of drinking all that beer.

-ALWAYS take the last slice. No matter what it is, if it has been sliced, take the last one regardless of how much anyone else has had. And don't pull a dick move and ask if anyone else wants it.

That is all the rules I have for now. More etiquette later, worry you not.

"Sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion"

Internet banner ads. They may very well be a scourge to my existence. Or not. Not at all. Generally I don't look at them I guess. But every once in a while, one will catch my eye, usually because it is flashing bright colors, and well, I like shiny things. Anyways, the other day one in particular caught my eye. It had a caricaturized picture of George W. Bush (who actually looks like a caricature himself without caricaturization, but that is a whole other blog unto itself. well, like a three sentence blog at the very least, speaking on my general amusement at having a President who is monkey like in appearance and says things that I believe monkeys might say if they could talk...phenomenal) and then a large blinking "YES" and "NO". Evidently, as was spelled out in smaller text, people were supposed to vote, either yes or no, and by doing so, could then receive a free dinner for two to the Olive Garden. So, somehow the Olive Garden will give you free meals simply by voicing your opinion of the President. And to think, I never knew there was a hidden agenda behind their breadsticks and salad. Now I know. It really is a restaurant founded by the Gallup Pollsters, and by the waitstaff there asking casual questions like, "How is your garlic marinara chicken?", they are really asking "How do you feel about H RES 794, a bill recognizing the 17th anniversary of the massacre in Tiananmen Square, Beijing, in the People's Republic of China, and for other purposes?" So, watch out.

The other day, for some reason, I found myself watching a high quality soap opera on Telemundo. Unfortunately, I do not speak Spanish, but I found the show highly entertaining and hope to inadvertently watch it again in the near future. Here is a brief summary of the excitement that you may have missed on whatever the hell show I watched. (I think it was called "Frijoles Loco" or something...and please, don't correct me if I'm wrong)

So, in the first scene Juan was just walking in the forest, and then was suddenly being held at knifepoint by a ninja. All this before the credits for the show even went by. Then we are cut to a scene of old wise Pablo (with equally thick eyebrows and mustache) entertaining a few people in his fine mansion and drinking some very fine tequila with them. They then discuss something happiness inducing until one of the three women there says something that angers Pablo greatly (at this point I am just WAITING for a ninja to appear) and causes him to furrow his eyebrows such that it looks like they are going to fall off. After some emphatic gesturing towards the woman, she leaves, crying. Then we go back to the ninja attacked Juan, and suddenly, whammo, Juan remembers he's packing and pulls out his gun! what a retard. Pretty much, as a general rule of mine, when being attacked by a ninja and I have a gun, I will then shoot the aforementioned ninja. So then there is all that going on. Then we go back to the drunken old man and his lady friends. They all seem rather discouraged and I believe Pablo has a drinking problem judging by the looks that he is getting from the women as he pours more liquor from the waterford decanter into his glass. Either they are giving those looks, or there drawn on eyebrows are making me incorrectly gauge their emotions. Eyebrows=Important. This was all I was able to view, but you can understand my excitement at hoping I get to watch this show again.

Yesterday, while watching the NBA Draft predraft thingy (sweet lord I use some descriptive language...thingy), they commentators were discussing some player and one of them then used the phrase "I'm not quite sure I'm ready to drink the Kool-Aid on this guy yet." And I was just like whoa. Are they reaching that far for phrases now that as a way to express uncertainty about something, this man is referring to a cult suicide? Wow. If you have no idea what I am talking about, I'll include a link and then you can read about it and understand what I am saying when I use this phrase, cuz you best believe it is getting thrown into my lexicon. (http://www.infoplease.com/spot/jonestown1.html the Kool-Aid part is at the bottom, then you'll get it)

Earlier today a co-worker and myself were discussing our departure plans for the weekend, and I told him I was leaving after we got off work at noon and I stopped at home to get my dog. He replied by saying "Yeah, I'm doing that too, but I just have to stop at home and get Ann. I'm not even going to go inside, she's just going to bring everything down. I guess that is one more reason why a wife is better than a dog." Ummm, yeah, chalk that one up to the list of how a human can possibly be better than a dog. So, I thought of making a brief list, and hopefully everyone can add to it, their thoughts of why wives may in fact, be superior to pet dogs. (please note I do not have, nor have I ever had a wife, so this is all speculation)

1. They can carry things to your car when you are going on a road trip and you don't have to go inside to get them.
2. Rather than crapping on your lawn, they poop in a toilet (if you are lucky)
3. They can cook YOU dinner, instead of you having to keep smelly crap around that you have to put in a bowl for them a couple times a day.
4. Wives can express themselves verbally. Dogs, not so much.
5. Wives leave it up to mild clues and tiny hints that they are upset. Dogs wag their tails, urinate, and do other such things to indicate their mood. ADVANTAGE DOGS!

Seriously party people, add some of your own to the list. And comment. Or else I can just keep all this stuff to a witty inner dialogue. Extremely witty at that.