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.