"Unless they just like....scissor or something"

Happy April 12th to all. Actually, while not unhappy, April 12th leaves a whole lot to be desired. Here are my problems with it:

1)It is a Thursday. A Thursday at work in which I have nothing to do. I am thinking of making up some fake phone interview I have to do at home, you know, for the land line. When really I would go eat Combos and play video games for a couple hours.

2)Now playing the role of weather in Chicago, it is my distinct pleasure to give you.....CARRIE! 70's one week, snow yesterday! HOORAY!

3)While April 12 th is nearing that all important tax day of April 15th, I still have one Saturday morning that I have the distinct privilege of coming to work. (all this after my boss gave me the infamous "bagel and e-mail check speech" over a year ago. Evidently, for team solidarity ((what are we communists?)), even if I have no work, because others ARE busy, I need to come in, eat a bagel, and check my e-mail. Sounds easy? Well, I still have to wake up in the morning, which means no drinking 3,500 beers and eating Good n' Plenty at 4:30 in the morning while watching infomercials) I will be glad when that crap is done.

4)Google is celebrating April 12th with an alteration of their Google logo to commemerate a Russki going into space on this dat ein 1961 (Yuri Gagarin). Fuck you Google. Alter your logo to celebrate Chuck Norris being alive that day instead (by covering it in whiskey, hot sauce, and blood while being scissor kicked).

On Saturday, May 26, 2007, Brian Munoz and I will for some odd reason be having a UFC fight in my backyard. I think I may have suggested this at some point and thought Brian was serious in his agreement, which he soon came to be. So, this will actually happen on that date. I think. There have been some dreams lately which worry me, what with the impending fight and all, as well as my propensity for hospital visits year after year.

In one recurring dream, I have a deep cut through my right eyebrow. This dream I have had no less then 8 times. Just the way I like my subconscious mind to work before I battle my friend.

In another dream that has popped up a couple times, I have a Looney Tune-esque bruise on my forehead. It looks as if an Acme anvil has been dropped on my face, and a giant lump, or as some might call it, a "horn" has formed in its place.

So Brian, watch the face. It's my moneymaker. Break some ribs or something.

Another issue with this fight is that I am more about my image as a fighter then actually having any clue as to how to pummel someone into some sort of submission. But, my created image is pretty fuckin sweet.

Here is a brief summary of me, as a UFC fighter:

Name: Tim "The Walking Myth" Radway

Pre-Fight Prep: Instead of punching someone's hands in a room pre-fight, my training room will be filled with smoke.

Entrance Song: "Bring Your Whole Crew" by DMX (quick lyric sample: "I got blood on my hands and there's no remorse I got blood on my dick cuz I fucked a corpse I'm a nasty nigga when u pass me nigga look me in my eyes Tell me to my fuckin face that u ready to die ") a simply frightening song. I only hope I can refrain from smiling pre-fight.

I will also bring a body bag with me to the ring. That's pretty much all I've got. Assuming one of these can somehow be acquired by a member of the general public.

In this spot previously I have used my special ability to degrade things, as well as watch TV, to tear apart several advertisements that I thought were really stupid and not worthy of viewing. Well, advertising world, stop shaking in your proverbial boots (I always wanted to say proverbial boots....they aren't really proverbial at all), I will now kindly laud a couple of the spots I have seen recently, and really enjoy.

1) Geico Caveman Ads: Brilliant....I really enjoy these ads and have been trying to convince people ever since their inception that we need to dress up as these Cavemen for Halloween, or some other occasion, like a Tuesday night out on the town. (Sorry Geico, I switched away from your insurance.)

2) Hot Pockets Chinese Man Ads: I have only seen a couple of these, but the one that really sticks with me, I will now describe with the writing skills of a 7 year old: A teenage boy and a girl are on a couch in a basement "making out" (not star wars making out ((my sister Nora described this as "Hands going boldly where no hands have gone before))) when suddenly this Asian dude (an old Asian dude with a sweet ass Fu Manchu) pops up from behind the couch and says "You not hungry for girl, you hungry for Hot Pocket". Cut to boy on couch, he is now eating a hot pocket, while the girl sits disgustedly, thinking of becoming a lesbian.

Creepy Story from Sports World About Athlete I Used to Hold in High Regard (and still do pretty much, but after the story I have to act like I hold him in less high regard, even though I don't):

I will not include the entire article, just the creepy excerpt from it. May I also note that the passage was mentioned in such a blase fashion, as if it was not totally weird.

"Maddux? For a guy with a CPA's demeanor, he has a sense of humor that a 12-year-old would envy. Maddux is a master of strategically timed nose picking, sidling up to an unsuspecting rookie in the shower and urinating on the kid's leg, and inventing just the right nickname for a teammate with big ears, a prominent schnozz or some other pronounced physical qualities. "

Yes, Greg Maddux pees on people, evidently as some sort of hazing to the youngsters. He also might have a desire to get punched. Greg Maddux or no, I do not want anyone peeing on my leg.

Someone has recently been leaving comments on my blog. First of all, thank you. I love reading comments and actual feedback about what I have written, rather then just imagining my own feedback. But, allow me to post the most recent comment:

"I hope you keep this blog when you get famous. It is the highlight of my week if that tells you anything! Keep on being awesome and inform us of the jewish religion so we can use that to get out of work! "

Several comments from me:
-I hope I keep this blog when I get famous too. That would be sweet of me, like an old grandmother who still makes cookies for her grandkids even though she is a certain "Mrs.Field".

-I am so glad I could be the highlight of someone's week. The highlight of my week is usually when I keep myself upright after a near slip and fall. Well, I guess that is more like "18 highlights", but who's counting?

-Alright, as far as informing you of the Jewish religion....how do I say this....I'm not really what you would consider Jewish, more of a "raised Roman Catholic agnostic person". Any information I give to you so that you might get off work, based on Judaism, will have to be found on Wikipedia or invented in my head. So, here's this one...ummm...say next Thursday is the Jewish holiday celebrating...ummm....the dinosaurs. And you have to fast or something.

But in all reality, all comments are inappropriately loved, to the point of restraining order.

My friend Melissa has recently started doing the "Atkins Diet" in an effort to drive herself crazy and protest against bread or something. I have always thought the Atkins diet was one of the more ridiculous ones out there, and logically I have my reasons:

1)I love bread. I once had a civil ceremony wedding myself to a warm whole wheat loaf. I got a big insurance policy on it, and subsequently ate it. The fraud charges are still being litigated.

2)Even a majority of fruits and vegetables, due to their crab content, are eliminated in this diet. That makes a whole lot of sense. Instead of these on the side, you can eat chicken with a side of steak, or steak with a side of chicken. Either way, si delicioso!

3) I know there are lots of unnecessary carbs out there, like when I eat a giant pixie stick for dinner, but carbs are also the building block of energy. So, aren't you always going to be tired?

4)With all the extra protein in the diet, women usually end up with bigger arms then me. I do not like that.

5) It is far too easy to taunt someone on this diet by doing things like stopping by their desk at work chewing on a crusty French baguette, ever so casually.

6)Dr.Atkins was actually a cartoonist his entire life before a legal battle against the Wonderbread company (he thought their logo was infringing on a character he had drawn) made him stop eating bread, and he then lost a lot of weight. What he fails to mention is that he became a double amputee at the time (an iguana farm accident) and well, legs weigh a lot....

I feel like I have been a tad verbose. Oh well. Read and enjoy. And leave some comments. Really. I need feedback or else I can keep writing things that offend you (unknowingly). I'd much rather KNOW I was writing offensive things.

"What's your name?" "TIM! WOOOO!"

Before I lose you to boredom or mental fatigue, and before I begin a profanity laced, comedic tirade on the current affairs of my life, I wish to respond to a question I have been hearing more and more often as I tell people about my plans for the near future:

"Aren't you afraid you are going to fail?"

To this I say: If I continue my current life trajectory, am I not failing right now? Am I best utilizing the qualities and skills that I possess currently? No. Not even close. I am much more frightened (of cats sucking ou tmy breath while I sleep, scary movies, being trapped in a vat of maple syrup or some other equally viscous substance, being 85 and smelling of cat feces...etc.) of staying where I am and looking back at my life in 10-20 years and saying, "Ummm....what the hell have I been doing?" I am therefore looking at the future as being full of great opportunities...after all, as "they" (the liberal media) say about life, "no one makes it out alive." And another thing about this whole "failure" issue, I am a cocky bastard, so no, I really do not see this whole idea of not achieving some level of success as a possibility.

Alright. Bitchasses. I believe at certain times of hunger and lament, I would probably maim or murder for some Q-Doba chicken nachos....like, not right now, since I just ate lunch recently, but maybe later. Because they are the epitome of all things good in this world. Although it might be far wiser to pay $6 for them. The jury is still out on this one.

I have recently been reading another Dan Brown novel, Deception Point. He is one of the most overhyped authors around. People mistake his books for being good and well written when all it really seems to be is excitement and hype thinly veiled in mystery. Do most great novels include 100+ chapters? And even if they did, do corny hook lines need to be used to get you hyped up to continue reading? (But little did she know, it would be her last breath of air for the time being) It's literary crack is all. (Of course I have been trying to read it really quickly...crack is addictive, even the literary variety). I could write 650 one sentence blogs in a week and string you along through each one with lines of captivation....but after the rocket landed, few knew if life would ever be the same.

Last weekend a few of us men were sitting around on a lazy Saturday evening and began watching the film Coyote Ugly, but as this did not seem near manly enough for us, I thought we should imagine every character in the film being played by either Chuck Norris (He is this manly: "Chuck Norris owns the greatest Poker Face of all-time. It helped him win the 1983 World Series of Poker despite him holding just a Joker, a Get out of Jail Free Monopoly card, a 2 of clubs, 7 of spades and a green #4 card from the game Uno.") or by Patrick Swayze, but only the Patrick Swayze from the film Roadhouse. Once imagining this film, it turned into a classic. The two best scenes were:

A love scene (which with these two characters was actually them playing bloody knuckles and high fiving intermittently) where a cardboard cutout of Patrick Swayze was visibile (this director brilliantly using pop culture references, natch).

A scene where they were attending a wedding, and Patrick Swayze was on Chuck Norris' shoulders on the dance floor.

Is it an odd or inappropriate response to someone when they ask about future plans for an evening or weekend to say," Ummm....probably just be awesome." I don't think it is. That is why I say it a lot.

As the spring weather mushes along and tries to be consistenly warmer, the men of the world receive a new gift: women once again caring for their legs and wearing skirts in public. I mean this in the least creepy way possible, but after months and months of everyone of both sexes wearing jeans, it is nice to see women once again using their womanly legs to attract men. Sure, even us men with nice (chicken) legs can start wearing shorts, but, and while I am not 100% sure of this, women are not sitting around excited to see men's legs once again.

Well, I must get back to work, and by back to work I mean following the last two innings of this Cubs game that by some odd circumstances they will win, thus keeping my 162 win prediction for the regular season intact. Please leave some feedback, comments, or your favorite curse word. All is appreciated.

I want to google you....in the worst way

Sounds dirty, doesn't it? I am merely talking about doing an internet search for someone. Although if you say this title phrase with a big country swang it sounds just wrong...also if you replace the word google with "emulate" it sounds bad too (but once again, that just means to act like, or imitate)

This past Tuesday marked the anniversary of me being taken out of my Mom's womb. I turned 24. What an exciting age, thus far marked by arthritic joints, a furthered enjoyment of Matlock reruns, and a lust for food that does not require too much chewing.

Early in the day, probably due in large part to no one at work knowing it was my birthday, (and I, of course did not want a pity happy birthday) I felt sort of humdrum about the day, not all excited and upbeat like one might usually feel on their "special day". Even once I went home, I felt tired and not really all that enthused about going out for some casual brews that evening. But, some people came out, and it was actually a pretty fun night. How odd. Of course I had to have a double of Geritol the next morning to make up for it all.

Fellow "bloggart" (it is a new term that will be sweeping the nation used to describe us people who write this crap ((but not the ones who write about how they feel mocked by society and all that garbage))) (and even when I call him a bloggart, I use that term loosely because he really churns out some crap from time to time) Victor P. sometimes writes a somewhat witty "Dear Vic" column, in which he makes up short letters to him from acquaintances and attempts to either wittily respond to them, or to string together coherent statements, sometimes it is tough to tell. So, I was thinking, "Self, you should do that sometime".


Dear Tim,

I sometimes read your blog and weep at its true beauty, eloquent prose, and sheer superiority to anything I have written, (although I was proud of that post it note I left at that girls house one time in the morning "tootles, I think I love you") so just a quick question; what can I do to aspire to be sort of like you?

-Vic

Victor, first of all, don't force out so much drivel. I mean look at this direct excerpt:

"Presently, I continue to be dogged with allegations in regards to the strength of my integrity. Not by enemies, former lovers, or barn animals, but by good friends."

Barn animals can't talk, replace this with Vietnamese massage parlor workers....it flows a lot better. See?

Secondly, if writing a blog every third day is really what you need to offer self-therapy because someone has called out your abilities as a man (whether it be drinking, with the ladies, playing sports, eating something with pepper on it, etc.), go invest in a trapper keeper and some looseleaf and write it down there. That way I don't have to login to myspace, see the "New Blog Subscription Post" message, and then have to read about how Trevor called you out.

HOLLA

Dear Tim,

I am a woman of what I consider to be many talents. I am good at artistic endeavors, good with people, and have even been through all that college mumbo-jumbo. What next?

-Sarah P.

Dear Sarah,

Anything you want is what is next. You definitely should not be waiting on people at a country club where the best tips you get are those regarding ideas for new employ from those you serve. Do it to it. Also, stop obsessing about your path to sainthood. I don't think that time you put air in your bike tire will really be viewed as one of your miracles.

HOLLA

Dear Tim,

As one of your housemates and close friends, I sometimes marvel at the way you can drink so much, touch the ceiling without jumping, throw out witty comments with ease, and yet still manage to have time to be a genuinely cool and good smelling man. Just out of curiosity, what's the secret?

-Paul

Dear Paul,

1)I can drink just as much as you can. Don't be so modest.
2)I am tall and that is what causes me to be able to touch the ceiling. Don't worry, I have yet to turn it into anything other than an ability to reach things high on shelves.
3)The wit might be more forced out of a desire to hear laughter. And like a good psychic, you readily forget the stuff I say that is not funny at all (like with psychics saying a bunch of incorrect crap)
4)I shower regularly and make sure to always wear a dash or two of Polo Black cologne.

HOLLA

Dear Tim,

I often come to you with ideas for sports teams that I think seem realistic, and you continue to guide me in the correct direction. What should I do to fix this? Also, can you avoid using big words in the response, they make my brain itch.

-Mike

Dear Mike,

Do a little research into the subject matter before you come to me with a preposterous idea like: "What the Bulls should really do is build a time machine and pick up that Wilt Chamberlain guy...I heard he was good....or something?" Wilt Chamberlain is dead and John Paxson's time machine building skills are way overrated. That is what I would tell you, or in more verbose form for some brain itching, do not so readily push yourself into a flurry of mental quandaries based solely on the impetus to make a verbalization.

HOLLA

Dear Tim,

Sometimes you offer me advice so logical, it almost does not make sense. And of course, I seldom listen to you. When will I learn?

-Melissa

Dear Melissa,

You won't. That's what makes it so fun to look back in the past and laugh about stuff I have told you. Well, I always get a good laugh out of it at least. I am sure some of the stuff is not really making you have a hearty chuckle.

HOLLA

Dear Tim,

As my only brother, and next closest sibling in age, I sometimes wonder why I too cannot start writing a blog that entertains, informs, and generally improves the general consciousness of society, especially since I am the one with the English degree. Help?

-Eileen

Dear Eileen,

This is just like when we were ages 4 and 5 and sent to the grocery store across the street by our (looking back, seemingly nonchalant and irresponsible) Mom (who sends little kids to the grocery store...I mean, I know there were two of us, but we combined were 9 years old....and I know some 9 year olds who aren't allowed out of the driveway) to buy something which we could never seem to locate. Who always had to ask where it was? Me. And who was always trembling with fear if they had to talk to someone to ask where something was? You. Stop trembling with fear, and start asking where the stuff is.

HOLLA

Dear Tim,

Although I do not ever readily admit this, I think you might be some sort of evolutionary advancement of the human race; while not really good at anything, you are like some sort of otherworldy Renaissance man. Aside from stopping any of the following: pedophilia, beastiality, bulimia, rage, how can I become a better human?

-Trevor

Dear Trevor,

Uhhh....you should probably stop all those. Thanks for the admiring words...I might testify on your behalf in whatever trial is bound to occur? Does that work?

HOLLA

I never needed anybody, that won't change now

Hola amigos. I know it has been a while since I rapped at you, but judging from some of the garbled text messages I sent over the course of last Wednesday through Saturday/early Sunday, I am not sure how many people would have continued reading past two or three lines of: "hjdguus jhs sjah aihd" (literally translated to: I believe the socioeconomic problems of subsaharan Africa are based in part on the fact that those nations are still pissed off about their portrayal in the classic films, The Gods Must Be Crazy and The Gods Must Be Crazy II) So, my jibberish translates to a desire to talk partially academically and partially nonsensically. That's what I figure at least.

Here's a brief recap of the days of last week:

Wednesday: Our normal league basketball game followed by Brian, Paul, and me going to our team sponsor, Redmond's, for some beers, followed by our intelligent decision to drink more beer at Doc's. And by intelligent, I mean we must have extremely low IQ's.

Thursday: Bryce calls me, volunteers to pick me up and bring me down to Lincoln Park. Melissa and Sarah meet us out, fun drinking times ensue, complete with Bryce buying many "bombs" as I assured him I needed them to stay awake. By this night I had splotchy red Native American skin like when Logan drinks. How grand. One street brawl later, I end up getting a cab home at 3:30am.

Friday: I somehow make it to work for one my less productive days in a long time. I made no effort to do any work, and my days efforts consisted of bothering Logan, finding a too large QuickBooks polo shirt and wearing it over my other shirt, and complaining to Logan about the softness of my desk (how am I ever supposed to nap?). That evening we go to see the movie 300 as I somehow explain to people it will not be a night of drinking, what with me having work Saturday morning and all. That makes no sense whatsoever, but it is accepted. I fall asleep during part of the beginning of 300 (the boring talking part).

Saturday: I dutifully go to work from 8-12. Go home, go for a run, shower, and then as I had earlier discussed with Paul, we go to Doc's, at around 1:30. Brian,Adam and Kimmie meet us there, then eventually Dave, Trevor and even Mike show up. Needless to say, somehow by 4:00 I am filling out the tip portion of my $160 tab and we are ordering more shots.

On the way home, Paul and I decide we are each going to somehow acquire $60 in singles and when we go out that evening we will "make it rain". We were decidedly too excited about this, and kept laughing and high fiving. For those of you not familiar with making it rain, here is a brief definition:

"When Having a large some Money at one time or various times. And Then going over and throwing it at a hater or a bitch. The money will then fall from above them as if it was raining. This is mainly down to a person you dont like to show how more balla or fresh you are then them . Which will make fun of them . Mainly done in front of others to show off making the crowd laugh " -urbandictionary.com

However it seemed that the all day drinking and then continued drinking into the evening made us to forget to actually go through with the raining (I think). It also caused me some confusion the next day when I had cash in my pocket.

Needless to say the whole evening, as I remember it, was full of drinking, smiling, and being merry. (except for the fighting that went down at the house before we left. but even that I think involved drinking, smiling, and some sort of merriment)

One of the more fun activities I enjoyed on Friday at work was my attempt at becoming a "spammer". What follows are the e-mails I sent to Logan, at his work e-mail account, but in not so spammy fashion, I sent them from my work e-mail account. So I guess they were the worst spam ever.

Spam 1: Subject: Please Take My Kingdom's Millions!


"Hello sir,
I am the son of a deposed African king. Currently the government is trying to take our money, but if you provide me with your bank information, so that your account can hold my money, there will be millions in it for you!

Tim Radway
Kenny & Kenny, P.C.
(708)386-0600"


(Note how I even left my work e-mail signature. I would be a top spammer in no time)

Spam 2: Subject: 3 INCHES


"GROW AN ADDITIONAL 3 INCHES. VIAGRA. NATURAL GROWTH PRODUCTS. SUPPLEMENTS.

Tim Radway
Kenny & Kenny, P.C.
(708)386-0600 "


Spam 3: Subject: AWESOME REPLICAS. ROLEX. GAP.


"AWESOME REPLICAS. ROLEX. GAP.

Tim Radway
Kenny & Kenny, P.C.
(708)386-0600 "


So, basically I would match all those automated programs that send out spam in both speed and content. Or not.

As I believe I have already let many people know, I have decided that I will be leaving the Chicagoland area in the beginning of June for the sunny West Coast. I will be finding a part time job somewhere in the LA area, and then spending more time on this "writing" crap and probably trying to join some improv groups as well as meet lots of new people. Hopefully I will catch a studio exec in some sort of murder/affair combo, and blackmail them into casting me in roles of no importance in many low budget crappy films, thus leading people to recognize me, but have no idea from where for many years to come. I know it is quite a stretch to think that any of this could happen, but why not? I think the people in my life would much prefer I tried this out now then say, when I am 38 and married with two kids and decide I want to chase some crazy whim. So, on Monday June 4th, I will be packing up the car and driving upwards of 50 mph towards California, on pace to arrive by mid-August. Ha. Happy St.Paddy's Day.

The world's first analyst/therapist.....an analrapist

Due to illness last week, I did not post anything (and if a tree falls in the forest and kills the entire cast of Dynasty, who cares? I know, I know). And by illness, yes I do mean actual illness...congestion, sore throat, coughing, sneezing....all bad stuff. It turns out that I actually had strep throat and a sinus infection. Which makes me raise this question to my immune system: Is my apathy towards my job really a reason for you to not fight off infection and illness? Seriously now, whities (that is how I affectionately refer to my white blood cells) and lymphies (lymph nodes) I know you guys better than this, and you are skilled at staving off actual illness. So the next time I take a sick day from work, or two, as was the case last week, just let it be because I am choosing to do so because work is stupid, not so I actually can lay around all day feeling like dookie. Really guys, step it up a notch.

Of course right now is the time of year referred to in the accounting world (not be confused with other cool worlds like the Underworld, The World According to Garp, or one of the best, Sake World....world is a really weird word too) as "tax season". Henceforth known to me as "Time of Year where my co-workers run around like chickens with their heads cut off, I have to show up for work on Saturdays, and my job function does not change at all since I am not an accountant, nor do I do taxes". So work is even more fun right now, as these socially inept people respond inappropriately to stress by being mean to me and giving me actual work tasks. And when Logan and I showed up at 9 the day after the Super Bowl, we got a speech that included words like "swamped" and "on time" and "lots of work"...I think, I just sort of zoned out for most of it though.

I currently have a watch on which the battery died several months ago. The time the watch is currently displaying, and will continue to do so until I get a new battery, is 3:40. I have been making a very aware attempt for the last few weeks to throw on the watch around 3:40 everyday, just in case anyone should ask me what time it is. No one ever does, sadly, and the watch remains generally useless.

As promised when I last wrote, I would respond to any questions put forth by the general readership in a mailbag Q and A style section this week. Luckily my readership is either: a)illetirate b)as apathetic as my immune system is to my work apathy situation c)developed mentally disabled d)lacking any curiosity in to how I would wittily respond to your questions. So, I was able to pull one question from one person, and the other I will make up, this week. If I request questions for next week will my request simply fall on deaf ears (or blind eyes I guess, since I am not talking to anyone) again? Really guys, step it up a notch.

Q) (Bryce, Chicago, IL) Tim, do they still really only want you for your pimp juice...or is it something more?

A) First of all, let us turn to philosopher/rapper Nelly for a definition of what exactly pimp juice is:

Nelly defined pimp juice as:

"Now your pimp juice is anything/attract the opposite sex/It could be money, fame, or straight intellect/It don't MATTER!/ Bitches got the pimp juice too/Come to think about it dirty, they got more than we do/They got mo'...juice in they talk,/ got mo' juice in they walk/They got mo'...juice in they pants, OOH GODDAMN!/I tell you man it's a cryin shame.... /how people use, the juice in vain/ - you hear me mayne (man)/Pimp juice is color blind/You find it work on all color, creeds, and kinds/From ages 50 right down to 9

And after reading that I am still not really sure what it is aside from something used to woo the opposite sex, and evidently women have more of it. However, Nelly also expresses a sentiment in the song that he has a problem with women only desiring him due to this pimp-y type juice. I used to display a similar sign in my dorm room, and I do feel they still do desire me only due to this juice, but if you cut to the core of it, it is the only reason for desirous actions in the first place, since it is anything that attracts the opposite sex, and my flaws do not have the same effect.

Q)Who would win in a fight, a velociraptor, or Carl Winslow?

A)The velociraptor, while fear inducing, would be no match for the moral, and armed Carl Winslow. This is not really even that hard of a question.

CAUTION: EXPLICIT LYRICS

Unfortunately, whenever I come with an idea for a sure-to-be Number One, cross-generational, romantic ballad pop hit, I can never keep the idea to myself, even if for a few days, and therefore many of you already know about this future hit. (okay so this is my first time ever coming up with an idea for such a song, but I can blame the "establishment" since the closest I have ever been to a music legend is when I drive on that stretch of I-65 iutside Indianaplois dedicated to Kenneth "Babyface" Edmonds. More exposure= Me being a songwriting guru by the age of 9, even maybe me being the sole male member of TLC)

So far all I have for this song is a title, and even more romantically, I came up with it on Valentine's Day. I envision this ballad to have a nice slow bass line, a romantic chorus, and a soulful delivery like what Usher might provide. So, the name of this song, you ask?

"I Want to Do You in the Butt, P.S. I Love You"

Tell me that one's not selling. It will become the top hit played as first dances at a wedding, the last song at 7th grade mixers, and the first song played by desperate 38 year old virginal men bringing a hooker home for the first time.

If you want to help me out with this, whether it be penning the lyrics, coming up with a melody, or getting it to Usher without having a restraining order placed on me, PLEASE let me know.

I have recently discovered something that I hate and that actually disgusts me, and I am not really sure why as I generally try to be open-minded and not judge others all that harshly (except when they are really dumb. just stop being so dumb. or bad at driving. please improve your driving). With all due respect, I hate watching old people eat. It reminds me of watching my former pet turtle, King Tut, try and gum all his food down. They no longer either have sharp teeth or teeth at all, and just rip off pieces of their food and deliberately chew it. And when you couple this with the fact that some of them smell like cat excrement, I am not really sure what their place is in public venues where others might be eating/drinking/trying to not be disgusted. All apologies old folk. But grandma, if I sit next to you when we are eating a meal, you will know why. (Luckily the g-unit does not read this. And last time I ate with her, I really did sit next to her).

The other day I was speaking with my Mom on the phone, and she had recently let me know that possibly our whole family will be here over Easter weekend, and will be preparing dinner at my house. I asked when Easter was and answered myself by saying "40 days from next Wednesday?" I continued by joking around and saying that I referred to all things in biblical time (where everything happens in 40's, 7's, or 3's...it seems). This is when I came up with the best haughty religious time frame reference that can be used to express never. Let me explain:

From my Catholic grade school experiences and Catholic upbringing (who am I kidding? it has only to do with my schooling and not my upbringing that I know this) I learned some Biblical facts, and one of them was that Methuselah was one of the oldest men in recorded history, reaching an age of 969. So, if you ever want to say that something will never occur, just state that it will occur in a "Methuselan lifetime". Don't want to hang out with someone ever again? Tell them you will see them in a Methuselan lifetime. You think you will quit your job before you finish that big project for the boss, let him know it will be done in a Methuselan lifetime.

Someone, I am not sure whom, left a comment on my last blog requesting an entire section devoted to the anti-gloriness of bosses, and since comments have become few and far between, I am more than willing to oblige with this bit of meter:

Ode to a Craptastic Boss

You suck at giving orders
and make me wish to break at Borders

Your every forwarded e-mail "joke" causes
In my laughter, mucho pauses

Your team building exercises, crap
What would help far more, a nap

You took all the credit for that work
You are a real jerk

8:15 is not that late
Especially for someone of my wage rate

Your criticism sucks
I really couldn't give two fucks

Worst of all you smell,
And you shop at sweater hell

But thanks for the paycheck.


Finally, if it is at all possible, for the next "blog", I would like it to be a mailbag of sorts. Ask me questions, either posted as comments, or sent to my e-mail (tradway@hotmail.com), and I will answer any and all. AMEN HOLLA.

The details of my life are rather inconsequential. But funny at times.

The past couple of months could best be described as sluggish. Nothing has been bad, nothing all that great, nothing too exciting, not all that mundane either. Even with the fun times and people I know, life has returned to a grand schedule. Work 8 hours a day, work out, go home, sit around. Do it again. And now that I work on Saturday mornings, unless I am feeling quite adventurous, Friday nights turn into just another night as well. Luckily this whole work on Saturday thing only lasts through mid-April and this job only lasts as long as I deem necessary before I do whatever it is I feel I want to do. And that, my friends, is quite exciting. And do not be surprised when I do something radical, as Radways, due to our name with the word Rad in it, have been linked since about 1990, with the rise of the "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" and "Bill and Ted", to all things radical.

My cell phone, like so many others, is one equipped with picture taking abilities. However, it seperates itself from others (I think) due to the fact that if you hold a button down on the side while the phone is closed, you engage the camera and by pressing the button again, you take pictures. Since I am not snooty about my phone and do not have one of those middle-aged-men-look-at-my-cell-phone-clips/"leather cases", I just carry my phone in my pocket. Which has led to one of the best photo galleries, one that would make Matthew Brady and Ansel Adams wish to be better men, a gallery I would display at a museum exhibit (only at the Hirshorn in DC probably) entitled "Photos of my Pockets". The pure abscence of light, shape, and figures would please the existentialist community at large, as well as such sure-to-be purchasers like Stevie Wonder, and ummm...other bilnd people (I googled "famous blind people" and I think many were dead and others I had not heard of....and I am the king of Googling. I'll Google anything, at any time, and as long as I am not semi retarded that day, will get some results). For once I feel my inadequate writing style can capture the essence of these pictures: They are tiny, completely black squares, completely ensconced in darkness. Brilliance.

I think Shakira's popularity is tied directly to the fact that she sounds like Miss Piggy. And while no one ever really liked Miss Piggy, she is tied to the youth of whatever the hell they are calling our generation. So someone needs to launch a career sounding like all the muppets.


Saga of Xyience
If anyone recalls, during the Summer of Tim, there was one drunken evening (I believe it was the night of the dreaded nine and nine (nine beers, nine hot dogs, nine inning baseball game. it is difficult and disgusting) when watching some UFC (Ultimate Fighting), I drunkenly ordered a bunch of nutritional supplement that is one of the main sponsors of UFC, a company called Xyience. I bought a recovery product called NOX CG3, it turns out all it does is help your muscles recover faster after a workout. Anyways, I keep this stuff at work, and if I remember, I mix some of this white powder with water and drink it before I go workout. So today I was mixing some up, and some of the white powder remained on my desk. My boss then asked me about this white powder, as if I was doing lines off my desk. I calmly explained that it was a nutritional supplement but he was not so easily convinced. So, I showed him the container, mixed some with water (at which point it turns red) and he seemed slightly convinced.

A few things:
1)He knows how much I get paid, and how much rent I pay (since we rent our house from him). Where would the money for a blow habit come from?
2)If I did have such a habit, would I keep it in a desk at work? Retard.

That is all. Hallelujah holla back.

There’s nothing on my horizon except everything. Everything is on my horizon.

The other day I went to the local dining establishment of Portillo's, a local chain that pretty much offers nothing that would not be enjoyable to eat on the menu, and stuff Midwesterners love- hot dogs, beef sandwiches, Italian sausage- all of it prepared in the least healthy manner, but, the main this is that when you order your food, the person taking the order speaks it into a microphone, to evidently no one in particular. And, to describe certain foods prepared in certain manners or without certain ingredients, there seems to be a secret language used. Not totally unlike the fashion used at its Southern cousin, health food option The Waffle House. If you were to listen to the people yell out orders, the ordinary person might, even if given all the ingredients, make some bizarre dishes. If one were "to dirty up" a hot dog, you or I might drop it on the ground, not knowing the customer did not want a filthy hot dog, but instead, chili.

This whole secret language ordering thing got me to thinking how I would like to open a chain of restaurants and develop a nearly indecipherable language which would be used to communicate orders. A language so secretive, humorous, and skilled that even the Navajo would have a tough time with it. Here are just some idea examples for secret language:

"Give me a stinky wallaby, coat it in ny quill cherry and play lacrosse with it" -This would be some sort of fish sandwich with ketchup and diced onions

"Tango for two, Ken Griffey Jr. hamstring injury it, and throw some Rob Van Winkle on top"- two brownies, taken out of the over a little early with some vanilla ice cream on top.

Alright, so I guess it would be far easier to come up with a menu first, then the language, but I cannot imagine this place failing. And imagine the pride that would come with working there and learning the language? Wow.

Brian is currently working on coming up with the events for the Manlympics. A number of men will compete, and will evidently be placed on a scale ranging from 1 (Men who cry a lot) to 10 (Chuck Norris). I am quite excited about this and the smack talk going on already has been crazy. Just the other day Brian called me a "Level 3 Man", while he is evidently a Level 8. Soon after this we were driving near my house and the giant manmade sledding hill. I offered up "How funny would it be if I went up there by the people sledding, rolled down the hill, and came back like nothing had happened?" Brian then challenged my manhood, saying I lacked the testicular fortitude to do as such, and that I was also a "pussy". Luckily (or rather very unfortunately for me, I react to these words like when Marty McFly in Back to the Future got called yellow. I will do pretty much anything. Like sophomore year in college when I shaved all the hair off my body because Joe told me I did not have the balls to do it. ) when someone says something like that to me, it always makes me partake in the "challenge". So, I walked up the giant hill, where there were people sledding with their children, turned to them and said, "I'm going to roll," laid down, and rolled down the hill. And yes, there is video of this event. (if you have a phone that plays videos I can forward to you what I have). Brian also said I gained three levels on man for this event. How I got to Level 3 in the first place I do not really know. Hopefully these Manlympics occur soon enough and we can really gauge some manliness.

That's all for now. Back to storming around the office frustrated. For no reason other than looking busy. You heard it here first.

I often tell people my celebrity look-alike is John Goodman

And when I tell people my celebrity look-alike is John Goodman, I get a number of varied reactions: "Really? I just don't see it." or (Laughter)...."Really?" or "You are not getting out of this Vietnamese Prison Camp that easily Mr. Goodman...err..Mr. Radway....wait, wait can you just act out that one scene from Raising Arizona where you just got climbed out of all that mud? Yeah, I guess you do look like him." Telling people you look like John Goodman is also a good way to avoid saying something ridiculous, like a funny looking girl saying that she has "gotten Carmen Electra once or twice." No, no you haven't, unless it was from some man at a bar planning to take you home that night, after he had consumed approximately 7,359 beers. Or the weird looking guy saying something like, "I occasionally get Matt Damon." No buddy, you look more like Screech. I do wish I would get the occasional Patrick Swayze comparison, mainly his character from Roadhouse, or even someone very manly like Chuck Norris. But, John Goodman will have to do.

I know I have been venturing into the area of sports a lot lately, but, what can I say, I watch a lot of sports. This past weekend I was fortunate enough to watch the Super Bowl earning victories of both the Chicago Bears and the Indianapolis Colts. I like the Colts, which is a real problem seeing that I live in Chicago and everyone here loves the Bears. But, I am not talking about that. I just hope the Super Bowl is a good game and people can get good and sloppy without promulgating hatred of one another, nor do I hope to make my '07 ER Trip so early this year (although last year was 02/06/06...fingers crossed it is later this year...and don't worry I budgeted funds for it this year. No more saying that it was unexpected) due to being on the wrong end of an angry mob beatdown.

Rather I wish to discuss one change I would love to see made with the red challenge flags NFL coaches throw on the field when they wish to challenge a play. Too often the coaches are indecisive and then many seem to possess the arm of a 7 year old girl (and not one of those seven year old girls that has her hair cut like a boys and plays with the boys Little League team, rather a seven year old girl that still views gift requests like ponies or a fairy godmother as realistic requests) and the flag falls meekly on the sideline and then there is hoopla about whether or not they did in fact throw the flag before the next play. One easy two pronged solution is that: 1)Instead of a pansy flag, there is a challenge javelin. Yes the javelin thing from the Olympics that looks like a spear. and 2)There is a designated thrower of this challenge javelin. I know it sounds unsafe, and more than likely is, but just think how much more excitement this adds to the game and could add to the broadcast of the game if you had fear that a player was going to be maimed or killed as a result of a challenge...wow. Please NFL, do what you can.

Today as I got my once a week coffee fix (it makes me shake and jittery and rapid when I have this coffee...to demonstrate I am currently typing about 945 words a minute, and unfortunately backspacing just as quickly since I really suck at typing) I noted some sort of "Roastmaster's Blend" which was described as having "Pear and almond undertones, and the slight aftertaste of white pepper." Gross. I am glad I do not possess these ultra sensitive tastebuds where I can taste all sorts of weird shit when I drink something as innocuous as coffee. Seriously, thank God. I am glad I do not bite into some chicken and think "Blackberry undertones, and a hint of OFF bugspray...how exquisite...and the aftertaste of the smell of a cedar closet. Wow."

A few months back I mentioned how someone had used the phrase "I am not ready to drink the Kool-Aid on this guy quite yet," which is a reference to a cult led by Jim Jones where everyone drank some sort of cyanide laced Kool Aid, and obviously died. Now the phrase is everywhere, and strangely appearing most prolifically in sports related columns like this comment made by Baltimore Ravens offensive coordinator Rick Neuheisel in an espn.com column:

"I had Vince Young as my top guy last year but I also wrote down that you have to drink the Kool-Aid. You can't put him in a [Matt] Leinart or [Jay] Cutler offense. You can't say that he's going to be the same. If you design the offense around him, I think you're going to have a freak. I think that's going to bear out. "

How weird is that? I have not heard any other weird references basically referring to "needing to commit to killing yourself with a large cult group" lately. Are there even any other possibilities? "You have to be willing to sentence him to death by crucifixion"? "I'm not ready to get involved with a shootout at my Branch Davidian complex with the FBI with this guy"? (David Koresh). Weirdness.

HOLLA

Do not mess with us, you'll totally get shot with a gun

Go to this link, and watch this clip. While some that I have steered this direction already have maligned its humor, I am in the opposite camp. By a lot. Blizzard Man is, in fact, my new hero:

http://www.pistolwimp.com/media/54518/

This past week there was nearly some breach in the universe, when Paul and I almost collided with ourselves from the future. And by breach, I mean awesome-party-fun-time. Let me explain. This past Saturday evening we were driving to the Naperville area to meet at a friend's house, and when we arrived, I noticed no more than ten feet away a car that bore a near exact (read: it was nothing like it at all, except for the same model) resemblance to Paul's car that we were driving in. I immediately panicked and turned to Paul and said, "Oh no, what if future us are already here?" All I can imagine is that if we ran into future us, many high fives would be exchanged and then when we went out to the bar we would get rowdy. Since we would all be trying to push ourselves to push, well, ourselves to better levels...and more high fiving, and self adoration would occur.

And now, I know what you are thinking, "What kind of ridiculous ideas are tossed around amongst you and your friends?" Well, this kind of idea, obviously. Just to inform you, our future selves stayed one step ahead of us the whole night (thank goodness) and continued the chicanery into the next morning, at which point they coated every car parked outdoors in ice just so we would have a tough time opening our doors.

This past weekend in watching many football games as well as many sporting events, I have a couple of problems with the aonnouncing that occurs, and many of these are similar gripes that nearly every sports fan shares.

1)"Al Michaels Syndrome"

Renowned sportscaster Al Michaels is the man I believe we can place the blame on for the recent trend of injured athletes being "out with a body part". For instance, let us say that Kobe Bryant has a torn ACL. To Al Michaelfy it you would say "out with a knee". If Tiger Woods has a strained neck- "Tiger Woods is out with a neck". And all too recently every sportscaster everywhere is saying this crap. Personally if I an injury, say a broken finger, I say "I have a broken finger", and not merely "I have a finger". The only thing we can hope for is an injury to an intimate area of anatomy that would make this form of injury announcing seem so obviously flawed...like if a female athlete should sadly develop some sort of uterus condition, would Michaels go so far as to say she was "out with a uterus"?

2)Sportscasters acting like some sort of confused nine year old.

When I was nine, I went through a "What if" phase of my life. Every situation or anything I saw was not immune to these awful questions. At its worst, I was at the Space Museum in Huntsville, Alabama and every rocket we would walk past I would ask, "What if this rocket ignited right now when we stood by it?" Well obviously, dumb Tim, we would all be burned to a fine crisp.

And this is the same thing sportscasters are doing. Instead of talking about the actual action on the field, they are "making up" an additional 5-10 interceptions a game, an additional made 7-10 free throws a game, and what if-ing the whole f-ing game. Well here's the thing sports guys- they did not intercept the ball or make those free throws, or make whatever key play you suggested they might have made....deal with it.

I had a talk with the big bossman yesterday and all he asked of me was to stick around until April-ish. So I feel like I sort have been released from an oppression of some sort, even though I know, oppression features no paycheck or benefits and lacks this high speed internet access and little work demand. So, something will become of me soon, no longer wasting away waiting for something grand to happen to me. Even crazy ideas are not so crazy now. "If you do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always got". HOLLA

This is a fantasy. Vehicles cannot drive on buildings.

All too much lately the auto industry has been spewing visual crap in my direction. Their commercials are getting more and more ridiculous, and not in the sense that would make me want to run out and purchase their automobile. Prior to the past six months, there was a certain formula for a car commercial; someone driving the car very fast and making rapid turns (and throw down at the bottom in tiny print "Professional Driver on a Closed Course") only to reveal at the end of the ad that it was merely a middle class Mom on her way home from the grocery store. For some reason recently, the auto industry has decided that this was not selling enough cars (as a side rant, people generally feel a NEED for cars, and will do their own research into what they want and like. never would someone see an auto dealer and say something like, "What, Ford makes cars? Why did they not advertise so I might have known this before I purchased my Kia?") and every company hired a team of peyote and meth fueled think tanks to invent new advertisements that would better market the product. Let me highlight a few of my least favorite:

1)Some sort of large new Ford vehicle is driving around on the side of buildings. That is from where the title this week was derived, and I must admit, the first time I read, "This is a fantasy. Vehicles cannot drive on buildings." I had to have a little chuckle. But, I was not in anyway compelled to remember the name of this car nor to run out and trade in my car for this one. Now, on the other hand had they actually made a car with side of the building driving abilities...now we are talking.

2)There is yet another large vehicle, maybe made by Nissan? Anyways it is dropped off a crane, is so tough and heavy that it falls all the way through the center of the Earth, which is evidently inhabited by some sort of strange race I think was last seen on the Fraggles, and the vehicle ends up in China. Thanks Nissan, but after Lexington Road in Louisville caved in a few years ago, I don't want a vehicle that could fall all the way through the Earth.

3)Kia has an ad out where some of their "salesmen" are singing that "So Long, Farewell" song from the Sound of Music. Logically they are singing bye to cars and not bidding farewell to the Austrian and Nazi dinner guests at their home. This is a ridiculous concept and as several of my friends have mentioned, "If I walked into an auto dealer and they were standing around singing like that...I would be out like a fat kid in dodgeball." There is some valid truthiness to that statement.

4)Some other large Nissan vehicle, driving to the beginning of the song Ironman through some abandoned warehouse filled with odd piles of dirt. The text on the screen then reads something like "In the old days a man would break his leg"....."And only be out for one play" I am calling your bluff Nissan..maybe in the old days men would not have pansy injuries like turf toe or pulled hamstrings...but broken legs will sideline anyone.

Social networking website myspace, through some sponsership from some film, now allows users to post up to 300 pictures. The day anyone I know has this many pictures on their page is the day I am done with myspace. I said it, and I will do it.

So, my motto sort of thing for 2007 is something like "Don't just talk about it, be about it." You know, don't just talk about doing stuff, do stuff. You want to go skydiving? Pick up the phone and schedule it. You want to go buy something you've had your eye on? Go buy it. Do stuff. Make shit happen. I know it is not a big deal, but I had been talking about buying a couple new rugs for the casa, so the other day, I just went and did it. No more talk. Just action. So I have also decided to make some stuff happen with my life. In some sort of order here are the plans for 2007:

1)After January, look for a new job, if the new job kicks it hardcore, the law school thing can sit back a bit...who knows maybe even at night with tuition reimbursement from the company?

2) Study for the LSAT, take the LSAT in June. Apply to a few law schools in the Chicago area, as well as the University of Louisville. If I suck too much to get good scholarships to schools up here, I will move home to reestablish residency and go to law school there (unless my parents charge as much rent as I pay here, which would make my idea of living at home for less moot). I am leery of this idea because I would basically become a stranger to my Chicago friends. Even if they say I wouldn't. Ask Dave Prak about how this works.

So that is the plan. If anything I am trying to make something happen. Even though I get the idea that being a lawyer even would not be the best cutout for me. I need to be a homeless predicter of the future at a bus stop or something. My wit would be best used then. If anything the crazy path I am setting out on now will make my E! True Hollywood Story very intriguing..."Tim after working at an accounting firm for three years, set out and obtained a law degree...it was not until after that when he became one of the biggest stars...and saddest tales that SNL has ever seen....on tonight's E! True Hollywood Story"

I finally was able to get my iPod shuffle up and fully functional and after a couple weeks of usage, although it may be early and rather presumptive...I am in love with this device. It holds mucho songs, charges by way of my computer, the sound quality is great, and even though while running I could still hear the music, I have been convinced at least three times that the tiny device had been lost. Good work iPod.

And now, an excerpt from that book I have been working on (which I am going to finish in 2007 even if it means my untimely death)

"This is when all the chicanery of having two children very close in age to one another finally began to show itself. We used to play tricks on our parents, elaborate schemes boiled up with the help of the neighborhood homeless and the local fireworks distributors. Ahhhh…. those were the days. Our parents, being new at the whole parenting thing, were unsure how to punish us, and were so lax, we would often commit petty misdemeanors and receive as punishment something as light as not receiving every gift we wanted for Arbor Day (yes my family was really big on Arbor Day. We would gather around the chainsaw in the living room ((I meant extremely Anti Arbor Day…we fuckin hate trees, son)) and hand out our gifts that were brought by Ashy, the forest burning not well put out cigarette mascot of ours…you always had a long list of stuff you wanted and most of the time would get it, unless of course, you were being punished) which would always seem like a big deal at the time, and we would throw our fits and proclaim that we “loved trees” and “the Earth”…only to cause our parents to warn us that Ashy would hear us and never bring gifts again. And of course we were not idiots, we would logically cry until our parents rescinded their comments and showered us with more gifts and affection."

HOLLA

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