Friday, April 28, 2006

You have more video games than a teenaged Asian kid

Last week, when I was celebrating with an intimate (no there was no orgy) group of friends Wrigley's the dog's first birthday (and do not laugh at this it was also just a chance to party on a Friday night, and there was enough beer left to have a fine Earth Day celebration the next evening), I began thinking about all the pets I have had in my life. They have ranged in size, playfulness, color, species and many other things, but all have one common thread prevails throughout. My Dad seems to play with fate and cause my pet's demises. Not all of them, mind you, but more than enough to be concerned. Concerned enough that I should probably think about getting some sort of no hassle restraining order on Animal Planet court. My Dad tends to be a very gentle human, constantly hugging people (especially men), tapping people on the arm while telling a joke, or "fixing" something that was previously broken by jamming things where they don't actually fit (it must be the Radway school of fixing shit, because I do the same thing too). So, here is a brief revisionist history (to include my Dad playing a role in all of my pets untimely demise).

Max "Hammy" Radway- brown and black dwarf hamster, acquired for my 9th birthday: This hamster was awesome. He loved his wheel and he used to run on it late at night and annoy the hell out of me. He was actually a very normal hamster I guess. Then all of a sudden he started having green poop and died. I think my Dad secretly had been feeding him Scott's Lawn Care or something, but animal CSI was busy that weekend. After he died, he spent a few quality weeks at a "spa" also known as wrapped in aluminum foil in the freezer. He was then given a proper burial somewhere in the backyard.

Monica-red and white hamster, acquired around age 11: This hamster, named after my favorite female tennis player, Monica Seles, was one boring fat woman hamster. She seldom used the wheel and all she ever wanted to do was eat. Which leads to her demise from morbid hamster obesity at a very young age. Which only leads to certain conjectures as to what she and Dad were doing when they were hanging out. Also, I believe this is the hamster that got trapped behind the toilet in one of those hamster balls when my Dad was home by himself with her.

King Tut-box turtle, acquired around age 12: King Tut was the awesomest turtle the world has ever known. Aside from the whole potentially getting salmonella from him thing, he was everything I never knew a turtle could be. Pretty fast, and a zest for life that you saw in his tiny, beady eyes and his neck lurched out to grab some more of his favorite food, cantolope. Then winter came, and unbeknownst to me, turtles hibernate. So we placed him near a heating vent to keep him warm. My Dad was evidently monitoring the situation, and decided after a few days of not seeing the boy king turtle move, that he would throw him away. Not bury him or anything like that, but basically just pick him and put him in the garbage. I am sure King Tut lives on to this day as a king of some landfill somewhere.

Patches-black and white rabbit, acquired around age 14: Patches was an awesome rabbit. She liked to run around as rabbits are prone to do, while also enjoying a fine nap in the backyard. Unfortunately, her favorite pasttimes involved being out of her cage, and out in the backyard with my Dad as he putzed around. One day, he left her out too long, and we went to the yard to find a rabbit unable to move. She was evidently attacked by some sort of bird of prey and had kicked out so hard she had snapped her spinal cord in half. After a week of some magical Tahitian potion and having to squeeze her bladder to make her pee, she had to be put to sleep. I don't really blame my Dad for this one as he really, really liked Patches.

Wrigley-tricolor beagle, acquired at age 22: She lives on! One time last summer when I was at home for a weekend, Dad did try and allow her to run away, but disaster was averted. We'll have to see how this one plays out.

In certain recent situations it has come to my attention that the majority of people who know me, or whom I am acquainted with, seem to think I am a tad loco, short tempered or hot headed. And I guess I am a bit. But I am definitely not that guy you have to watch and wonder when the next blow up will happen, well except for sometimes. Alright, but it is weird to be out in a social situation and for everyone expecting you to get crazy. Those are the times when I am least likely to get crazy. It is when you think I am fine that I will really get crazy.

Yesterday as I was speaking to my Mom about my new tattoo, I had a random thought. What if tattoos appeared on the person's mother as they received it? Would about half as many tats exist in the world? Of course, I told her that she would probably have no idea about this one as its positioning between my shoulder blades would not lend itself to being viewed that often, since when do you really look at your back unless you are roiding and looking for bacne or if you are very hairy and want to see if it is time for another wax job?

So, I proud to say, I got two applications filled out for my disciple positions. There are still ten remaining, and people are straight up clamoring for these positions. Alright maybe not clamoring, but it may have at least crossed someone's mind somewhere.

Before we finish up, here are some words from pseudo-decent human Jason Mulgrew for all of you who have been going through break ups. Like a cold beer on a hot day, so hot that you pour it on your head instead of drinking it, they really hit the spot:

"For the record, I don’t understand why people break up and then continue to talk to/spend time with their ex’s. This causes infinitely more problems than it is worth (as evinced by Jim’s situation) and is an invitation to emotional retardation (as it inhibits subsequent relationships) and further heartbreak (do you really want to watch someone you were once in love with eat Thai food from across the table and not be able to reach out and touch them? You really think that’s a good idea?). Rare is the relationship that ends because one of those involved no longer has any feelings for the other. Lingering feelings are inherent in break ups. To keep the ex in your life is to foster these lingering feelings at your own demise. When you remove the ex from your life, you remove this and other problems. Break ups are just that, a "break." A break up is not a demotion, whereby one goes from "love of my life" to "friend." That’s just not how it works. And if you act like it does, you are entering a world of pain"

Keep it tasty.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Keep It Tasty

I would like to take this opportunity to encourage everyone to use my newly coined phrase "Keep It Tasty". I am not sure what this means at all, but I think it can mean whatever you want it to mean and can be used in any number of conversational situations:

1)As a goodbye...."See ya" "Yeah, keep it tasty"
2)As a request when eating at a restaurant or having someone prepare food for you... "How do you want it?" "Keep it tasty"
3)As a line for hitting on women....said with emphasis on "Ta" in Tasty....."Keep it TAsty"
4)When trying to break up a verbal or physical confrontation "Come on guys, let's keep it tasty"

So, everyone start saying it. Then you'll know who started the trend. Myself and my 4 blog readers.

As Easter was celebrated this past weekend, I decided (Please note, God(s), that this is meant in no way to be offensive or mocking, but rather I am saying something cool about you, so please, just chill) that I, like Jesus, would also like to have disciples. Everyone I have spoken to on this matter says, "Well, perform some miracles, nut job." (which by the way, I am surprised no one has picked up on a possible nickname for me of "Nut Job")...but I really don't think miracles are all that necessary. I just think people should want to follow me around, who knows, maybe throw a little denial and betrayal in there, and basically we can keep it tasty all the livelong day. Having disciples would mean things like not having to do laundry, probably grocery shop, or even walk as an independant human being (I would get a rikshaw). So basically it would be sweet. If you are interested please fill out the application below:

Name____________________________
Past Disciple Experience____________________________
Are you good at laundry_______________________________
Do you like to drink______________________________
Can you keep it tasty______________________________
Denial or betrayal experience____________________________ (this will not come about when I am being tried for being a Messiah or anything, but rather you will deny you know me when a girl you are macking on at the bar who has always liked me asks if you are one of my friends before you guys make out.....and this is the the betrayal too)
Favorite color of human________________________ (please answer using only colors in 8 Crayon Box)
Least favorite Central American country_____________________
Ideas on tastiest endangered species___________________________
Do you have skills with a crossbow?____________________________
Crunk or drunk?__________________________________

I have been applying myself rather dedicatedly lately to working out, both lifting and running in an effort to....hmmmm...I guess in an effort to have some sort of counter effect on my liquor consumption, and to look good for unwitting women I have yet to meet. Anyways, I have been working out with Brian who is a straight up workout nazi. (Nazi not in the sense that he wears little brown suits with a swastika and a tiny mustache, but rather that he has this shirt that says "I am a workout nazi" that he couples with his brown pants, swastika, and tiny mustache)...but it is great to have someone and sometimes two people (Adam comes too) to workout with, I forgot that it could be fun and not just something that your ultra crazy psychotic mind made you do for fear that the ham sandwich you ate was going to make you fat. Alas, I have said too much.

Last Friday night, Trevor came over, there was drinking and Trevor evidently tried to throw pepper at someone as well as tried to proclaim Logan as the new Ike Turner. Brian also showed up, wasted, mooned everyone in the room and then passed out in a chair, where Logan drew on him. Logan, drunk as he was, was also belligerently trying to find out "What the fuck the count was" and "what inning it was" until I lost it and had to tell him that there was no baseball on anywhere and that sportscenter was on with men discussing the NFL draft. So, that was last Friday, and this Friday can only get crazier. After all, it is a birthday party for a one year old dog.

Saturday Brian and I watched UFC pay-per-view. There were some good fights, but the official drink sponsor of the summer of Tim (whiskey sours) did not enable me to remember all too well. Then we went to some party in Wicker Park, got more drunk (in fact, we were drinking Patron right out of the bottle, and rather than have a sip, I was chugging for about five seconds) and I fell asleep in a chair in front of a live band. This may have angered them.

Alas to the non family member female readership of this blog, here are my qualities for either you to admire, or for you to admire and send unwitting females to me:
I am not funny looking (too much).
I can wiggle my ears.
I know all the President's in order.
I have my own room (and it has a TV).
I am employed.
I have a dog.
I workout.
I have hair clippers if you want to cut your hair really short.
I once did a Yahoo! crossword puzzle with only seven or eight mistakes.
I can probably pick you up. And maybe even carry you around.
I know stuff about plants, but not like in a weird way or anything.
I have a cell phone.
And a watch. But the timer doesn't work on it.
My bed is very comfortable.

That is all. So, disciples, fill out the applications, Ladies feel free to ask if I might have other qualities, or you can just list them.


Friday, April 14, 2006

"Time to taste the fruits and let the juices drip down my chin."

Ok children, can anyone name today's quote? It is none other than a personal hero of mine, George Costanza. There is an episode of Seinfeld entitled "The Summer of George" which captivates and entertains the mind while also providing a shit ton of humor. George had recently been laid off from the Yankees and had a three month severance package. I was recently dropped like I was hot and while I received no severance package, I did get to realize that life is definitely good. Thus, as I mentioned last week, this is The Summer of Tim. It does not mean I am going to try and change who I am or anything, since I pretty much like that guy already (and many people seem to think I am, at the very lest, awesome as well), but it is more about doing things for me and having fun and doing whatever the hell I want. As I somehow was able to wisely conjure up, "The important people don't go anywhere." *I am adding this as I am in the fifth paragraph of this bullshit log, and I have a warning, this week, not too funny as of yet...very informative, but short on humor*

So far The Summer of Tim has been excellent. Although I have not purchased a recliner with a built in fridge yet (like George), I have done some other crazy stuff. Let me recount a few tales:

On Tuesday morning, while sitting at a client's office, I saw that there were still tickets available for the Cubs game day. So I rapidly telephoned Brian and he was able to get off work for the afternoon and able to reconvince me to make up a lie for work (nut complications....it was perfect...they will never doubt a man having ball pain especially when the man is me and I had random surgery a couple months back....by the way I am not deformed in any way and everything still works great...there is just a cool scar is all...trust me....uhhh...that was weird for me too, but hey, being open is great). So I did, and we ended up buying some tickets on the street for $30 (total) in section 211. It was a crapass game, but the beer (all five of them) were quite delicious and fun was lingering in the air. Then we went to the Cubby Bear where we continued consuming beers at a breakneck pace...which in retrospect was an awful idea. Then everything gets sort of cloudy for the both of us, but we know we went to some other bars or something and then randomly I was by myself on the steps of some apartment building drinking Mad Dog 20/20 with a homeless man. Once again a slight breakdown in the thought making process, and as I told Harry (this was the man's name) when he said "Do you really want to get drunker?" , "I am pretty sure I am already there". Luckily for the sake of my ass, Brian randomly wandered up and began drinking with us. Very weird, I know as I typically do not drink with homeless people or randomly wander off by myself and do so. What ensued was me trying to take the train home, and I am pretty sure all I did was get on trains and pass out, as I missed the transfer to the blue line at least three or four times, and then woke up on the Blue Line at the Forest Park stop. All in all, it took me over three hours to get from Wrigleyville to Oak Park. Wow. It pretty much rocked. Except for the homeless man experience which is like licking a toilet covered in cheap wine. And while very humorous, I pray I never do it again (at least not for the next 23 years, once every 23 is okay).

I guess this is all part of my continuing internship experience with Brian. I first gained the internship when I was a sophomore and Brian was a senior and we pretty much hung out all the time. At some point I became his "intern" wherein I would have to learn things about life, drinking, women, and occasionally fart on command. It was not very good paying, but the lessons have been great. Including every time something seemingly bad happens with me and a girl, Brian has the perfect 1980's Tom Cruise film to watch. The time I got cheated on, it was Risky Business (just say What the fuck). The more recent situation, it was Cocktail (Most things in life, good and bad, just kind of happen). Internships are great.

You may be asking several things right now: "Why is this so not funny this week? What are the songs of the summer of Tim? How do you feel about marshmallow filling? If you were a plant, what would you be?"

1)Humor will come grasshopper. I am funny enough for like seven people most of the time. So deal with it. I am sure Christi, if reading this, would giggle the entire time. (Alright, so that is not really a good barometer of humor since Christi sees her toes and laughs, but hey, what do you want?)

2) There are several songs of The Summer of Tim:

-"Juicebox" by The Strokes. Ever since I went to see this band I cannot stop listening to all of their music. They rock. But especially this song, I have been listening to at the very least 25 times a day. Really, really loud. It is definitely the anthem.

-"I Want You So Hard" by the Eagles of Death Metal. It rocks, Enough said.

-"Pimp Juice" by Nelly anyone that knows me knows that this has been my song for a while now. Jen even made me a sign that said "Pimp Juice Central". Boo-yah

3)Marshmallow filling is definitely overrated and overused. Sometimes it is way too chewy and needs to be a little less chewy, almost like marsmallow creme.

4)Picea pungens. A Colorado Blue Spruce for you not Latin inclined out there. I would be a globe on a standard and nver get bagworms.

Last night I went out with Trevor and myspace acquaintance Victor (who I only met for the first time). Good times were had by all, even though Vic's friend Joe was really wasted and continually was asking me: if I went to school, where I went to school, and what I studied. After a while, as I am prone to do anyways, I just started fucking with him: "Uhh yeah, I went to UConn, played on a national championship team, studied rocket scientry and pigeon migration...now I am just finishing up a rapid three months Phd program at U. of Chicago...it's a yawn"....we drank these weird new Budweiser can/bottles. It was the weirdest thing ever. I hate them,yet feel compelled to love them at the same time.

That is all for now. So, be glad if you are apart of my summer. It is about fun, saying what needs to be said, being open, and letting people basically know what is up. I'm a grown ass man.

Sunday, April 09, 2006

I can make that a combo for you for only a dollar more

Let me begin by saying, I abhor Daylight Savings Time. I know one of the man-myths (inappropriately revered, fat womanizer) of American History (Benjamin Franklin) had some shit to do with this *although if you do any real research he wrote humorously on the subject as such a brilliant (overweight) man would do*. This random time change is stupid because, first of all, people are then for days on end referring to "old time". If we are going to change it, shut the fuck up about "old time". It is a new time and even if you stayed up until 7 old time, it is 8 new time. So shut it. It is not some marvel of the human body to adjust your waking and sleeping by one hour. Secondly, springing forward an hour in the spring is dumb. Who cares if it is more daylight? The real reason people stay outside in the spring and summer months is because the weather is nicer. There could be some strange adjustments made in the fall and winter to make days seem longer, but no one would be outdoors enjoying the daylight because it just ain't that fun to be out in the sunlight of an 8 degree day. My sister Eileen commented on this, saying, "Don't you look forward to sitting out in the waning hours of the day under an umbrella drinking a drink?" First of all, I like drinking and may even consider it a new passion to be the world's top drinker, and part deux, I don't care if it is light out or not. Thirdly, there is not thirdly, but American Idol has jumped my personal shark. I also need to start putting random incorrect words in quotes to make people "uncomfortable".

I went to see The Strokes (and kickass opening band The Eagles of Death Metal) on Friday night with my sister Kay. It was real badass throw down sort of music. We even acted like homeless people and I showed proper tutelage to Kay by making an epci sized Jack and Coke in a 2 liter bottle which we brought on the train with us. We kept it homeless on the real. Damn I am gangster.

Well, as many of you recent events have transpired which have changed my life. I am speaking of course about my botox injections. No really I am playing, after a good two year run with the same lady, I have appropriately been redesignated away from that position and will be in search of a new one. So if anyone wants to give me any interviews, that is fine, as this is The Summer of Tim. Fun will follow me, wearing the appropriate party gear (beer dispensing hat, assless chaps, noisemakers) and I will show Fun how it is done. Because Fun has rolled with me on occasion recently, but he forgot what it was really like to sink his meaty, bearlike claws into, well, himself. And God saw it. And it was good. (Props God, respect ((uhh basically, I am trying not to be struck down for again using Your name in the blog)) and I'll make you some veggie dip like you enjoy). Ready to Rock and Roll? I am going to buy a drum set and make some of the most arrythmic white man noises ever. People will love me and I will join the great interchangeable band.

ONE