"Great Mint Taste" (Check)

Sometimes I wonder about these brilliant large corporations and their packaging genius. Logically, I have an example. (Although it would be funnier if I wrote a blog with a bunch of broad open-ended statements that offered no explanation, citations, or anything related to the thought.) I was looking at a tube of Colgate toothpaste and there was a checkbox on the back next to the extremely fucking excited words "GREAT MINT TASTE!", and the box was checked. Why a checkbox? Would they want to admit the mint taste was less then stellar and leave this box unchecked? I just do not understand this one.

Some other examples of packaging I do not understand:

1)The current "no trans fat" rage. I don't even know what the fuck a trans fat is. But I know when I see it on things like potato chips and wheels of cheese, and see it on a KFC commercial, I do not suddenly think "Wow, self, this food must be fuckin HEALTHY now. This will be all I eat. That and toothpaste, but as long as the mint box is checked."

2) Unrelated foods with recipes on them for something else. The other day I bought a loaf of bread, obviously for the bread purposes (sandwiches, toast, sexual deviancy, etc.) but did not even realize until I got home that I also had grilling recipes for various types of chicken, and an APPLE PIE RECIPE!!! Did either of these mention use of the bread? Of course not. The kind bread benefactors just wanted to make sure I enjoy chicken and apple pie.

3)Laundry detergents talking about their "BOLD NEW MOUNTAIN FRESH AROMA!" What the fuck does that mean? Am I going to smell like I live at the timber line in the Rockies? Or will my shit just smell clean? Brawny paper towel man or not homeless? As long as my clean clothes do not smell somewhere in between Pine-Sol and death that works for me.

So in this last week of homelessness, I have been living with new friends Zed (yeah, that's right...the letter Z in French....a pretty badass name if you ask me. I personally think while his endeavors into the philosophical world are to be admired, he could totally be a spy...or a ninja or something) and Meredith in their Venice bungalow. It is a sweet little place, complete with a tiny little garden area, some rooms and whatnot, and canadian people across the way. Unfortunately, they are moving out and already promised the place to someone else, but if not it would have been the nest home search ever to just move in here....hell, they are even selling the moajority of their furniture. But the fact that I have been staying here just totally holds the power of networking in perfect place. Follow this diagram if you might:

TIM--->DEREK (roommate at 742 met on craigslist)--->ELIOT(Derek's friend)----->ZED+MEREDITH(Eliot's Homes)---->JESSICA (new roommate, friend of Meredith)

So, just by creepily finding a roommate for 742 on craigslist, I fell into my new housing situation, made some friends and learned how to make chicken from a loaf of bread.

On the movie/TV/haiku writing front, I am pregnant with ideas. But unlike writing this crap, I am not really sure that you just sit down for a few minutes let your mind vomit onto the screen, don't edit, spell check, or do anything else and let it be done. You have to follow a story, develop characters, avoid actual vomit on the computer (from all the drinking you do to be creative), and steer clear of ethnic slurs for an entire script. Tough burdens, right? I will let you in on my first attempt at a movie script:

THE AWAKENING

(camera pans out ((is that where it like pulls out?)) on two ((or three? would three be better?)) skeletons fighting over a bucket of chicken and a slim jim)

That was it. Then I tired of the creative process. Or I was not writing a movie about skeletons fighting over chicken or slim jims. I don't foresee myself getting into the horror genre, seeing as every scary movie (including spoofs Scary Movie 1,2, and 3) that I have seen in the last 24 years has made me pee in my pants. Once I just had to go to the bathroom more than I knew at the time, but the other times I had urine frightened out of me. I guess I will just have to stick to what I know when I am writing: sportscenter cliches, the movie Blue Streak, and slang terms for sex acts. (Blue Streak II totally needs to be written. I know the greatest film ever needs a sequel)

BYAH!

Sometimes, you just need some cheese

Last week, I had just finished a rough Saturday of...well...okay it was not so rough, I had just laid on the beach all day. But, I decided I needed to deviate from my homeless diet of PB&J and I stopped at a local Santa Monica eatery called Norm's. Norm's motto, you might ask: "We are just like Denny's, but called Norm's. Fuck You". (If I own a company, I will also include curse words and other vulgarities in the motto) So I glanced at the voluminous menu (four pages of delicious and gastrointestinal problems waiting to happen) and my decisions of what to order may have caused the waitress who took my order to believe that I knew some secret about cheese, possibly even it's abilities to increase one's life expectancy. Because I knew all along when I went in that I was really feeling a grilled cheese, so I ordered one of those. Then I saw one of my faves on the menu, Mozzarella Cheese Sticks, so I ordered some of those. Let me just say, it may have been a tad much on the cheese front. But hey, sometimes you just need some cheese. And no, I was not successful in eating all the food, much to the happiness of the homeless man sitting uncomfortably close to my left.

As I write this, I have continued my apartment search. After another disappointing turndown from a place with roommates already there, I decided I had tired of the Bachelor type selection, and could no longer wait to see if I had been given a rose that week, plus unlike the other potential roommates, I will not "give it up" just to get a room (and by "it" I mean $200 extra dollars) It took too long, it is far too difficult to meet people for seven minute periods at a time and come across as not a tad overbearing in an effort to convey your personality while at the same time seeming chill, and not to mention everyone seems to want to take two weeks to pick someone. Which, much to my chagrin, the overbearingness seems to be a problem for me when I try and show my personality right off the bat. What can I say? (probably less ethnic slurs...Tim...you idiot) So, no more rose ceremonies for me. I have set out on a search for an ideal one bedroom, which even at a greater cost, will be far better then dealing with this not-so-scrumtrilecent roommate situation.

After my two fun (stress-filled, annoying, stupid, lame, wack, silly, more ridiculous than France in a war) weeks of unemployment, I returned to the work force this week. I am working at a business management firm in Brentwood. Business management evidently means that I pay bills for people, and do pretty much anything else they want me to do. The girl I am training with whose job I will be taking (her name is Gila, and I asked her if it was like that monster, and I believe this perturbed her) has really been doing all the work, but I am getting a hang of things and occasionally being helpful. I am just waiting for the extremely bizzare client phone calls beyond activating DirecTV boxes, like when I will be asked to remove a dead body, kill someone, or walk a dog. I would only do two of those for work, because I think walking a dog is like a whole seperate job and totally not in the job description.

I just finished reading the book I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell by self proclaimed dickhead Tucker Max. I had heard of this book as he had been on the NY Times best seller list a couple years back and the other day (after I had gone to a sports bar by myself, for, of all reasons, to watch golf, and gotten pretty drunk) picked it up at Borders during my drunken mid Sunday (I also got a Sublime CD, a Bill Cosby CD, a Newsweek about societies in America and a book on screenplay writing) and proceeded to read it. First of all, this guy has one of the worst writing styles I have ever read, which I fault mainly on the fact that he is educated in the matters of law. Secondly, he thinks he is the most ridiculous person to ever live, and while I appreciate his tales and may have even given a tip of my cap to some, I refuse to do anything to the ground he has walked on. Thirdly, all the quotes from days and nights of extreme drunkenness are stupid, even if he did have a tape recorder. Sure, from time to time there might be a particular quote recalled from a drinking night ("Do it to it."), but entire conversations? I am lucky if I even remember speaking and generally have to piece my night together by looking at random texts I sent. So basically, this Tucker Max guy somehow caught on, but I am nonplussed. Nonplussed.

Until next time.

I’m Looking The Most Jewish I Have Ever Looked

So, one week is on the books of this “Cal-eye-forn-eye-a” grand experiment. And unlike when I last wrote about how I had a “job”, I now actually have a job. Like, a real one, where you show up for 40 hours a week and are appropriately compensated for doing so. Not one where you show up on occasion, work for a smelly lady who makes shitty, healthy, cookies (oxymoron anyone?) and then are promptly terminated for not looking at an entertainment center. But, I am still watching myself, like a angry vigilante watches over whomever he might be busy vigilante-izing, to assure I avoid being a total flake, which was thankfully pointed out for me by a smelly organic cookie woman (why does roughly 78% of my life sound fictional? Is character development really just a matter of getting these people on paper accurately?).

Some observations thus far:

z) According to two separate receptionists, I must be Jewish. I can only assume that they were Jewish themselves and inquiring to make sure they were keeping it in the faith. Because aside from the cheerios which are now beginning to abundantly sprout atop my head, I don’t think I have any other typical stereotypical Jewish appearance or mannerisms (normal sized nose, I did nothing stingy, I gratuitously ate pork products in their presence while mixing dairy and meat, etc.)(I’m just playing friends). I had to let them down softly and inform them that I was in fact part of a cult that worships the Kool-Aid man.

7) Some of these L.A. people are fruity as they come. There is no way around it. They are like a freshly stocked produce department at Whole Foods.
LMCXVIII) Having the beach nearby is about as awesome as finding two rare albino pandas getting it on your backyard, you know, since they are all endangered and never want to make babies, and the albino thing would make them even rarer. Which means cash money. Don’t mind the fact that they are bears, just get them some more bamboo, scented candles, and get the fuck out of the way, you inglorious prick.

11011100) Wearing the t-shirt I am currently wearing, which features a picture of Christopher Walken atop skull and crossbones and says “Fear the Walken”, may in fact be the best single way to meet people. I went down to the promenade in Santa Monica this evening and no less 15 people commented on either my shirt, Christopher Walken himself, some combo thereof, or the political consequences of having a lady president. It only could have been better if the Walken man himself would have seen me. Now that would have been a tale. Because I do not really fear him, so much as think he is awesome.

405) The 405 freeway should be eradicated, or merely recognized for what it is, which is the world’s first North/South parking lot. Also, people make fun of you for calling those roads of fast travel “expressways”. They also make fun of you for not doing yoga, getting massages, or eating organically. Then I in turn make fun of them for some general fact about their appearance (like their hunchback..alright so I have yet to ever get made fun of by someone with a hunchback, but if I do…look out hunchbacky), or their deaf cousin. When they say they don’t have a deaf cousin, I usually resort to a tale about myself and the person’s Mother. That’ll show them to make fun of me.

iii) Everyone here seems to be in the “business”. That is why I eagerly avoid mention of the fact that I have up to seven times made people laugh before, and once even achieved this with something I wrote, or that I have plans of aiming for a second or third time while I am out here. That way the only business I get caught up in is when I accidentally realize I am a major kingpin in a prostitution ring, when the whole time I thought I was just setting people up and due to the success of the relationships people were then paying me money.

AAA) People in Los Angeles are evidently quite into living beyond their means. A movie is $10.75 (so if you are a lady and I take you to a movie and pay for you, you are doing okay for yourself. Actually, that holds true anywhere, but here movies are evidently gold. Which makes very little sense, as it is not like they have to ship them anywhere), single bedroom apartments on the Westside are crazy expensive, everyone loves shopping at Whole Foods, and I went up to someone to ask them a question the other day, and they automatically (and correctly I guess) assumed I was homeless and gave me $5. So, naturally I did not ask them anything.

Well, Now I am Just Homeless

So, as one the luckier people around, I did fall into a part time accounting job in my first full day in the Los Angeles area. At least someone called it luck, I call it more or less that four years of accounting firm experience that looks extremely desirable to someone looking for a semi mentally disabled bookkeeper. I can definitely play that role, and with great ease I might add.

But yesterday was not all (umm…flowers and candy? I cannot think of two things to pair here…) escargot and garlic butter…ewww…ummm Fun Dip and candy stick…(eureka!). After finding out about my employ, I began more intensely looking for a place to live. At first I had this glossy eyed dream of getting my own place, but then I realized “Hey! That costs a lot of money, you dirty hobo!”. Soon after I began looking on craigslist for people looking for roommates…so I found a guy, and with the chiding of my new found friends I made at Starbucks, I was encouraged to contact this man since he lived in an excellent neighborhood. I did so, and within an hour I was over at his place.
As I walked in I immediately knew that this was not the “BEDROOM AVAILABLE IN AWESOME TWO LEVEL APARTMENT WITH GREAT AMENITIES!!!”. It was a crappy little place with dirty carpet, odd furniture and fixtures, and an odd 35 year old man from Wisconsin who looked and acted far too much like a creepy Gary Busey (yes…a creepy one…not even normal Gary Busey). This guy had shifty eyes, no sense of humor, his 1985 Nordic Track (my kind natured ribbing about it being 2007 nearly drove him to kill me), and the ability to probably have killed me without anyone knowing where I was. At the end of my “tour” (awkward glances around the rooms, me looking for places to escape) he said he just had three questions to ask me before I left.
GB: So, you don’t smoke right?
TCR: Nope, I don’t.
GB: It’s fine if you do (motions at ceiling for no reason), you just have to do it outside. Question two, do you do drugs?
TCR: Again, that’s a…
GB: (interrupts) I mean if you want to smoke dope and come back here, that’s fine, just don’t do it on my property…well, my landlord’s property. Thirdly…no gay hot sex anywhere on the premises
TCR: (picking up jaw off floor) Really I don’t plan on having gay hot sex anywhere
GB: (extending hand for handshake) Well, I think you are looking like a prime candidate (for what???)
TCR: (shifting nervously, eyeing door) Ummm…thanks. (Things I should have said: I think I might give up this dream and move home. I was thinking about suicide too…so umm yeah, talk to you never)

After that I was not entirely sure I wanted to live with anyone, but by the end of the night I had checked out an awesome place in Brentwood with some cool guys who lived there…they have many people to choose from…I just hope I stuck out enough in their minds with my witty banter/racial slurs/magic tricks/ omelette making.

So, my job is a QuickBooks job I do out of someone’s house. And as if L.A. people were not centrally driven toward the fruity mean in the first place, this woman’s business is making organic cookies and selling them to fru fru stores like Whole Foods…she had awful body odor and a desire to pay me $18/hour for 20 hours a week and thought I was great…and hilarious…which is always a start. If I can meet everyone here, maybe the same impact will be felt throughout. Actually though I am pretty sure that most of the time she did not realize my humor was actually mocking her, but whatever works.
This weekend the main goals are finding a place to leave and showing off my muscle less, pale body down at the beach. The real daytime drama everyone has been waiting for. Also everyone here keeps calling me a writer, but until that is what I get paid to do I would just like to get called a “liver” (not like the organ…I do far less filtering) or “survivor” (not like the TV show, I am way more awesome). Don’t paint me with your brushes.

Oh man Oh man

To ruin all excitement, yes, I have arrived in Los Angeles. “The City of Angels”, “Where the Angels Used to Play Before they Moved Nowhere but Somehow became ‘of Anaheim’”, “The Place Where that Rodney King Shit Went Down”. As the Tupac song title said, “To Love and Die in LA”, well I aspire to do pretty much 100% living, and 0% dying, but even the best laid plans fail from time to time I guess. More on this LA shizzle in a bit.

-There was a city I encountered by way of road sign on my recent journey, I believe in Nebraska, called “Waukee”. I half thought I should stop there and let the city council know of their new tourist program and slogan (all the while charging them some grand, grand fee, either money or a large number of hamsters). “Come to Waukee…less Mila, more Waukee”. Alright, so that sucks. Give me a break. The only human to human contact I have had the last few days have been with people at gas stations, Subways, and hotel desk front counters. Had I bounced this idea off an actual person I knew, they would have told me how stupid I sounded for sure. Enough of your lip.
- I heard the Stevie Wonder song, “Isn’t She Lovely?” Ummm, Stevie, you are blind. Should the song not have been “Is She Lovely???” The lyrics could have been appropriately changed to “Is she lovely? Because I think she’s wonderful.” If he wanted to keep it with “Isn’t she lovely”, he should have lyrically worked into the song how long he spent feeling her face, and how compared to the countless others he had felt, she was definitely lovely.

Here are the grades for all the states I drove through:
Illinois(D) - I was basically familiar with the area I drove through in Illinois, but the weather was AWFUL. The rain was so bad at one point that I could see barely five or so feet in front of my car. And the terrain is fairly boring.
Iowa (C+)- Yet another state which offers very little to look at in terms of terrain, BUT as I mentioned previously, there were about seven cute girls at my gas station stop in Des Moines, which must count for something. Also, slight kudos to Iowa for offering wireless internet…but at rest stops. We all know what goes on at rest stops, or the stereotype…and it is something besides bathroom breaks (at least according to There’s Something About Mary). Had I been further from home and thinking someone needed to contact me by way of the internet, I for sure would have tried to access this internet from my car.
Nebraska (C-)- Someone in Nebraska should start a hooker farm alongside the road or something. It would be a welcome sight after looking at all that corn and livestock, not to even mention the putrid odor. The one redeeming quality was the surprisingly cool downtown Lincoln, which moved around crazier then that Bacardi mojito commercial. Luckily for me, I am not cool, and sat in my hotel room watching TV and fiddling around online. Plus I remembered all that unemployed stuff. Every dollar I spend is a dollar less that I have. No, no, no…I guess that is how it always is, what I meant is that the money supply is not going back up yet.
Colorado (A-)- Wow. Now I understand why my parents moved to this state for a little while to make a couple awesome children (me and my big sissuh). Actually, no I am not sure they ever really explained what they were doing out there…I might have to ask. But after all the flat terrain of Iowa and Nebraska, Colorado was definitely like whoa. The Rockies were crazy, the driving was actually interesting- large mountainous, curvy climbs followed by down grades of up to 7% where truck drivers would freak out because they were all of a sudden going way too fast…then I would glance at my speed and realize I was going way too fast as well.
Utah (D-)- The scenery is nice, but there is nothing here. Is this really where God wanted the Mormons to settle, Joseph Smith? Well then maybe you should have actually settled it.
California (C-) – It was all windy and shit and boring until I hit LA (no, I am not bored of writing about driving, why would that seem like a boring topic. Silly.)

My first night here come and gone, it was okay. Naturally I felt a little anxious seeing as I had actually arrived and had very little clue as to where to go or who to turn to, but then I remembered it was 2007 and Eileen was able to come through with some internet aid and Paul’s friend who he knows out here, I was able to find an okay hotel in a safe neighborhood. Now I sit in a Starbucks in Culver City, CA, right across the street from Sony Pictures Studios, basking in the mid 70’s sunlight, looking at the people walking by, applying for jobs and looking for potential places to live (dumpsters, old refrigerator boxes, clown cars). If anything I am the homeless person around here with some of the nicest possessions.

Homeless and Unemployed

Strangely my google search of "homeless and unemployed college graduates" returned very few results, BUT I am going to go out on a limb and say that from this time last week, when I had a job and a roof over my head, to my current status of having no job and no home, I have jumped into a very small percentile. A bracket so small, it is like the empty set.

This past weekend was my last in Chicago for a while, and while it was a great time, the end was so bittersweet. Although I know it is not the actual "end", since I am not going on a Kevorkionic journey, but rather moving away. It did not really hit me until I was saying goodbye to all my close friends how sad it makes me to leave them...it would really have been much kinder of all of them to simply come with me. No big deal for anyone, right?

As today was the first day of this cross country drive, I got to drive through some exciting places...Iowa "We've Got Corn....eh, Fuck You" and Nebraska "We're Boring so You Don't Have to Be". Some of the highlights of my Iowa drive:

- I accidentally listened to a Christian Rock station for like 20 minutes
-I got a full tank of gas for $34
- The gas stations were mainly called "Kum and Go" (what would be a dirty joke with that as the punchline? answer at the end)
- Des Moines, Iowa is full of cute girls, stopping at convenience stores to peruse Starburst

The only place I stopped in Iowa was to get gas at the Kum and Go in Des Moines. Here I experienced the ugly underbelly of Des Moines- a fairly plain looking man going around from garbage can to garbage can collecting cans. Someone even walked over to him and offered him cans from their car. I avoided eye contact with him and gave him my full can of Red Bull to avoid confrontation, since I knew he would want the valuable aluminum.

On the road I passed many of those trucks marked "Oversized Load" or "Wide Load". 90% of these have these tiny houses on them- just as long as a semi truck and a tad wider. I really do not understand who is moving these houses around. Do people really think, "Our house is so nice, we better throw it on a truck and move it wherever we live next? There definitely will not be any fine rectangular , one story homes the next place we live." I understand I am a huge idiot and this is not the real reason these fine "mansion like" homes are on the move, but do not let me know the real reason (at least not publicly, just fire me an e-mail at tradway@hotmail.com)

I am currently sitting in my ballin ass 11th floor room in dowtown Lincoln, Nebraska enjoying the internet access, fine view, and thinking about finding some food to eat soon. When I arrived here, a positive, hopeful about the future traveler, I thought about wandering to grab a beer at one of the nearby "hotspots" (Read: a bar that may or may not have over three types of beer and A LOT of corn based products), now I am unsure about this plan. I just remembered I am homeless and unemployed and therefore public is awkward, I have to ask for change, wear tattered clothes, smell odd (since I have yet to shower form my day in the car, I actually have this one handled), and dig through garbage cans for food.

Answer (to dirty joke punchlined above): What do you call it when a man goes to a woman's house for sex and then leaves directly afterwards?

Talk to you again soon, home slices.

Satan Laughing Spreads His Wings

Everyone loves a little Ozzy Osbourne. Except radical fundamentalist Christians, people who inexplicably listen to only country music, people who do not speak English, animal rights groups, people who have been pooed or peed on by the Ozzman himself (unless they are into that), people who earn their livelihood working for another death metal/rock artist, and people who are not fans of Satan or cursing. Like I said, everyone.

The reason I bring this up is that if a man who has bitten the head off a dove, has a nickname like "The Prince of Darkness", has been to rehab umpteen times, and speaks in a incomprehendable voice, can become popular by way of MTV reality programming, I only imagine what such an opportunity could do for myself and my friends.

-None of us have been to rehab (yet)
-None of us have eaten any living creatures (I did swallow a tiny plastic ninja once)
-None of us have Satanic nicknames
-Aside from the occasional drunken slurred speech, we speak audibly and clearly.

Our antics are most certainly reality TV worthy, and I could assure MTV execs would only become better if being entertaining and having fun were our sole foci. For instance, I will mention some of the things that happened last Saturday to Paul and me:

-Went to a party where we knew no one
-Got into a pushup contest in front of the Cubby Bear with a man who played semi-pro basketball in Turkey, thus infuriating him
-Were asked later at the party "if we knew, like, everyone" (the power of nicknames, high fives, and good communication skills with strangers)
-Got kicked out of Taco Bell

All of these things happened sans camera crew, and without the additional push of being paid to be entertaining. Make it happen MTV.

The other day I happened to be on a channel that was showing the weather forecast for this upcoming weekend and as they showed angry, menacing dark clouds with jagged yellow lightning bolts coming out of them, I was immediately filled with distaste for this prediction and changed the channel, acting as if changing the channel would, in fact, affect the outcome of the weather this weekend.

I only wish that this were possible. Imagine the effects: Your favorite team loses a game? Change the channel before the highlight clip is over. The result is bound to be different. So, everyone can thank me for the sunny beauty we are sure to see this weekend.

The other day when I was riding downtown, I was sitting next to a particularly chatty child who was talking to his Mom about his evident prowess in well, everything. The child had to be no more than four years old, and sometimes I wish that word and number understanding, even for adults, would never surpass the logic of a four year old child. Allow me to explain:

-At one point he turned to his Mom, sighing, and said, "We have been riding this train for ten thousand billion minutes. I can run like 700 times faster than this train."

Thus proving that the fictional number of "ten thousand billion" is probably less than "700".

I magine being at work and your boss asks you how long you have been there already that day and you could respond "eight hundred trillion fafillion days"...there's no way he is then not sending you home early.

Another helpful facet of this would be that my accounting job would be totally moot. Jibberish numbers=Very little reason to try and analyze said numbers. Especially when guesstimation and approximation came into play.

Kids are funny, and one could be on our reality show.

Blah Blah Blah....

Some reasons why you should not:

1) Be a sportswriter/caster and give in to using the same stupid cliches as everyone else.
For example, the phrase "drink the kool-aid" that is being used in sports that has been mentioned in this space many times for its sheer oddity/stupidity/general all around weirdness, I have discovered a new phrase that baseball writers have been using to describe pitchers..."bulldogs", as in, "I love Roy Oswalt, he is a real bulldog on the mound."

Let's see what wikipedia says about bulldogs:

"The temperament of the English Bulldog is generally docile, friendly and gregarious..."

"The bulldog is a relatively small but stocky breed, with a compact body and short, sturdy limbs. Its shape results in a waddle-like gait..."

So, what exactly are they saying about these pitchers? Why not just call them "poodles on the mound"?

So, why should you not stick to using these phrases if you are in sports?

a) You begin to sound just like every other idiot using the same phrase. If something like comparing basketball players to classic ballet acts became popular, would everyone do it?
b) At the very least, find a fierce dog to compare your MLB pitchers to, say, a rottweiler. Also find a non cult related non mass suicide to indicate uncertainty about a players future.
c)You just sound dumb. Seriously, I get mad when I read these silly analogies.

2) Tell your Chicago area friends who are Cubs fans you are going to a Sox game/Sit in the same sun exposure within four days:

a)In Chicago people seem to think that the Cubs and Sox are bitter rivals. Funny, because I always thought that the Cubs rivals were the Cardinals and the Sox had their own rivals in the...ummm...someone. The Cubs and Sox began playing 6 (out of 162) games a year 11 years ago...that is not a rivalry. If someone were to call you up and offer the following options:

"Stay at work, indoors, and sober" OR "Sit outside in beautiful weather, drinking beer, watching sports" what is the choice 100% of the time?

My slightly dumb friend Mike said going to a Sox game as a Cubs fan would be akin to a Bears fan cheering for the Packers...once again...they are actual rivals who hate each other and are in the same division.

b)Bryce has recently aquired centerfield season tix for the Sox and due to the exposure it gets during day games, the left side of my neck and face look as if I have been in a tropical locale. So you should try and vary this kind of stuff up to end up with far less of an odd look.

3) Tell people you are moving away: (I mean obviously you should tell people about this, but I have some reasons why not too)

a) People will invariably question your sanity when you tell them of your lack of future planning. Having your sanity questioned gets a little lame after a while.

b) People will invariably then whine about you leaving. While touching, I have to continually explain I am not dying, merely moving away for a little while. I am not going to abandon you like your Dad did when you were three.

c) Everyone then wants to hang out with you a lot more. Not like you have been around for the last six years and had nothing to do plenty of times.

4) Ever eat a burrito place where the name translates to "Good Day Burritos":

a)The next day will not be a good day....for your digestive system.

Dear Ed

For this week's reading pleasure (and by pleasure I mean, you might not want to read this unless you are in some way mentally altered, whether by drug, drink, or eating a bunch of frozen hot dogs the past few minutes) I am writing a letter to a family "friend", Ed K, or E. Kithcart (for anonymity purposes) six months from now. Let me give you some Ed 411.

Ed is a man I have known my entire life by virtue of the fact that my Mom has been friends with Ed's wife since they were in grade school. These two women forged a strong bond in their youth by way of various underage illegal activities (drinking, driving, drinking and driving, petty theft, vargrancy, extortion...etc.) and remain friends to this day. Where Ed was found, or in what backwards society he was raised, I really have no answer.

The reason I wish to write Ed this letter, at an imagined six months in the future, is that he is one of the more loathsome people you might get stuck to having a conversation with at a party-ever.

At this past weekends Derby party, he asked me about my upcoming move to LA, then when bidding me farewell, threw out in his gravelly, hick voice "See ya Tim, watch our for them homos."

I heard of another conversation where someone was speaking of having done some sort of acting work in the Louisville area of Shelbyville, and all Ed had to add was, "Do you speak Mexican? Ain't nothin but Mexicans out there."

So this and many other reasons are the reasons for this letter (plus it will be balls out funny...and one other time when I was like 9 we went to their house for dinner, and he made stupid trick hamburgers that actually had cheese, onions, and mushrooms in the middle of them...I hate you for that Ed).


11-10-07

Dear Ed,

How have things been going? Things have been going okay for me out here in L.A., although I wish I would have heeded your warning about the homos out here...they are more numerous than all those goddamn beaners in Shelbyville (don't they know no one understands them???), and more than a couple of times, I have been heterosexually chatting to a lady only for her to try and introduce me to her "male friends". Don't worry, I knew they were homos and not just friendly men. Thanks for your warning again.

That's another thing about L.A., all these people going around speaking Mexican. What did George Washington talk? NOT MEXICAN!!!

Luckily as a hetero male, I have achieved some level of success out here (you might say with all these homos out here, I was guaranteed success...just like a new burrito stand would be in Shelbyville!) and hope to continue this line of success.

That being said, what do you think of Indians (dot or feather, I am open to discussion)?

I am glad to find a like minded individual with whom I can share this open rapport.

Tim

PS: What do you call a little Mexican?

A paragraph, because he's not quite an essay!


Well, hopefully that lends some idea of Ed to the world. My Uncle Chris actually declared that the winner of the May 26th UFC battle between Brian and I gets to beat up Ed next year. Even though, beyond beating up, I have dreams of a locked in a room together convo between Proctor and Ed....a man can dream.

WORD UP

"You just said I live a squishy, soft, Nerf life"

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, I spent a great deal of time at the airport last Friday. And I had the "honor" of watching people, and then making casual asinine observations about them and trying to use whatever ability it is that is used to let them know what I am thinking. (Also, yes, work has been a little slow. Who cares? Everyone is the beneficiary the way I see it.)

Here are some of the highlights of my airport waiting experience:

1)Woman, who generally looked bitchy, wearing a black sweatshirt with the simple scrawl on it reading "vegan.". Ok, thanks for letting me know about that you angry, meatless, poultryless woman. If I had should happen to run into some tofu oddly shaped into meat form (think McRib), I'll be sure to toss it your direction. And previously I had thought Vegans were friendly people. And also, I should have asked her where she got her sweatshirt so I could have gotten my "omnivore." sweatshirt. Did you ever notice how people react when they are told that someone is a vegetarian or vegan? Why don't those of us that readily enjoy eating some dead cow get such a reaction? Where is this land? Awww shit, it might be L.A.

2)A man sitting next to me pulled out his laptop, plunked on his glasses, and I was almost sure he was going to be reading something. Instead what does he do? Throws Waterboy in the DVD player and starts laughing away. Don't mistake me, I think Waterboy is a good movie, but I do not think I have ever watched it on purpose with the exception of the very first time I ever saw it. I just would never (first of all, never put on glasses to watch a movie) pull out Waterboy as my DVD of choice to pass time.

3)An old man sitting near me, during the seven hours of waiting, ate not one, but TWO double quarter pounder with cheese meals pre-flight. I said several prayer like incantations (curse words) and luckily this man was not seated anywhere near me in flight. Because I have noticed old people have no regard, or very little, for holding in any explosions of flatulence. And, like babies, it makes them coo and giggle a little bit, but more because it smells like death then due to the fact that they feel relieved.

4)Our gate was directly next to the "Fox Sports Zone". Normally, had I had further money then the meager amount on my person, I would have been there having fun and not at all concerned about time. Instead I sat at the gate. When I walked past the bar at 10:30 am, it was empty. When I walked past at noon, there was a full fledged euro dance party going on. It was pure lunacy. Unfortunately I did not wear my trendy club clothes (all velvet, all the time) to hang out at this bar in the airport. I am such an idiot.

In an earlier e-mail conversation with my friend Mike, he mentioned how his eight month pregnant boss had said some comment about how the doctor had told her to spread her legs, and he had (not so) wittily then thrown out, "Isn't that what got you in this mess in the first place?" So, without further ado, I bring you the Top 5 things to say to a very pregnant woman (if you want to get slapped, or should she be armed, shot)

5) "Maybe if you drink during pregnancy, the baby will actually have a chin, unlike you."

4) "While you're up, wanna grab me something to drink? And maybe move your fatass out of the way of the TV?"

3) "So do you think the baby will represent all of the 60 pounds you have put on? That would be a huge baby."

2) Print out the "babies are stupid" article here. Hand it to her.

http://www.physics.mcgill.ca/~arobic/funny/babies.html

1) "How many episodes of Maury do you think it will take to find the father?"

Thank you, thank you very much. By the way, I noticed my commenter has stopped commenting. Please come back.

Globetrotting Family Time

After past bouts in the recent years of going extended periods without seeing any members of my immediate family, recently there has been a spike in the amount of times I see all sorts of members of my family, and in all sorts of different locales. Let me explain.

My sister Kay, is the one I see the most, mainly due to the fact that she goes to my alma mater one suburb away.

Then for Easter my whole family was in town, including my sister Eileen, in from New York.

This past weekend, I went to visit Eileen in NY, so past streaks of nearly 8 months without seeing her, had now been reduced to mere weeks.

My Dad is coming to pick up Kay from school and bring her home for the summer on Tuesday.

Then, this weekend we will all reconvene in Louisville for the Derby.

So, this past weekend in NY, it was so weird to bid farewell to my sister and throw out a casual, "See you next week". But it is cool.

So, New York. Originally I was supposed to leave on Thursday afternoon. This flight got cancelled due to weather, (who can really blame the airline for that?) and I was rescheduled for a 9:25 flight the next morning. So logically I went out and got really sloppy on Thursday night- after all- I was on "vacation". (So does that mean every weekend I am on vacation? Or do I have to take a Friday off? Does that mean if I take a Friday off, I am on vacation and can do exorbitant activities? Because this weekend I got a lot of "Oh come on, you're on vacation, live in excess. Eat these 15 pounds of steak and drink entire cases of beer in one sitting, etc.")

I arrived at the airport at 7:45 the next morning only to see that my flight had already been delayed until 11. No big deal, or so I thought. I went and grabbed a fine chair by the gate and tried to get comfy, but due to the sandpaper/cat tongue quality of my mouth, I had to go fetch some water. It was at this point, my first monetary transaction since the night prior, and the first point when I had to be dismayed by the fact that I had apparently removed my debit and credit card from my wallet. I know you are thinking right now, "Tim, you are a first class retard, how could you do such a thing?" or "Tim, you classless son of a bitch." or "I wonder what the special is at Panda Express today?"

Well, I do this from time to time. The three items that potentially will not be in my wallet are all those that I might just stick in my pocket, and therefore leave laying about, or in said pocket are of critical importance: debit card, credit card, identification. Of all weekends to lose purchasing power, this was not the one. Luckily, for some odd reason, as I never have paper money, I had around $90 on me. I knew this was not enough for a rip roaring fun weekend, but at the very least I was not to be completely destitute. (and luckily I was going to see my sister, who was very kind in not once calling me "classless", a "retard" or some other vicious combo of words when she was pulling out money to pay for me. Little does she know, or I guess she knows completely, I will be seeing her this upcoming weekend, and hopefully making her go someplace where I will buy her an excess of something, determined by our location. A bar: too much to drink; a restaurant: a gluttonous amount of food; a toy store: a bunch of jigsaw puzzles; an orphan black market: like three of those Korean babies and a little Russian one....you get the idea)

So, several hours later and nearly every time passing tactic employed (reading Hemingway, phone conversations, acerbic mental diatribes at airport employees, annoying texts to friends, sleeping uncomfortably, telling those around me I was alright if they needed to eat me to survive, etc.) we finally left the ground in Chicago at around 3:30. Effin A. So, I lost basically a whole day in NY, which stunk.

Here is a summary of the trip:

-Subway
-Shower
-Dinner with my sister and her friends
-Bar (mocked for being "not party animal" when tired)
-Sleep
-Shower
-Lunch
-Brewery tour (mocked brewery for being "not party animal"...seriously, no free samples were offered)
-Grindhouse (two zombied thumbs up)
-Walk
-Dinner at my aunt's
-Red Hook with sister and cousin Kosiya (this was the most frightening and exciting seeming place to go since they both kept saying that it was "lawless". Unfortunately Eileen's fave bar, a bar festooned with taxidermied animals, was oddly packed with people and therefore she was "visibly shaken" about it not being a typical time at this bar)
-Different bar (mocked for being "not party animal" when tired)
-Sleep
-Brunch
-Home

It was a very quick trip, but still a semi relaxing weekend and a very fun time. It was great to hang out with family members and to talk about all sorts of weird and funny stories. And I am sure next weekend will provide more of the same. Craziness.

Pippity poppity, give me the zoppity

Some complaints from last week from me and others:

-That last week's blog was too long. I forgot we live in a world of instant gratification. Next time my musings are that long, I will offer a summary at the beginning, something like:

*Slur
*Not funny pun
*Slur
*Attempt at wit
*Mocking of the deceased
*Slur
*FIN

-After reading my writings, Brian now thinks I want him to break my rib. I said "ribs or something". Just make me give up by choking me to death or something.

-Another complaint I got: "Tim, you use too many inappropriate punctuation marks." Sorry, Grammar Guru, I don't care. I just type it out and then post it. No complex revision processes or expensive editors employed in these parts. I don't even use that spell check mofo.

I recently came across a piece of paper where I had written down another SNL character idea. His name initially, was "Extrapolation Man", but due to the audience of SNL these days (people who got drunk to early in the day and have awakened to watch SNL, stoners, and Logan) a better name might be "Gross Overexaggeration Man". Anywho, the principle idea of this character is that he extrapolates things way too far. Along me to illustrate:

1)He could be on an airplane. Sensing the ever increasing altitude during takeoff, our hero attempts to calm everyone down from their impending doom because he thinks, based on very little data, that the plane will go up forever and is not equipped for space travel.

2) He could see his wife baking a loaf of bread and while she is letting it rise, he could see how much the bread had risen inonly 20 short minutes and attempt to evacuate the city since he believes it will soon be decimated by this bread.

3)He could see some really large young kid and think that by the time the kid is 30 he will be 38 feet tall and weigh 650 pounds and try and have him put to sleep.

Really, in any situation where something is a factor of time, this guy could make gross overassumptions of the situation. Try to make some up, it is actually slightly amusing.

So, tax season is over yet again. And in one of the more bizarre work circumstances of my life, I was sent home from work on Monday. Yes, almost like a third grader is sent home. I came into work on Monday despite not feeling very well (I had felt badly all weekend, and my Mom will be proud to read I made the wise decision to still go out and have fun on Saturday night. It's what she would have done), figuring that I could rough it out on such a big day for the others at work. However, my coughing was evidently too much and at 10:30, I had the following conversation:

D: "Tim, do you have anything pressing you are working on right now?"
Tim: "No, what is it that you need me to do?" (trying to be helpful)
D:"I need you to get out of here. Go home, now."
Tim: "Ummm...ok? Can do."

Then on Tuesday, when I called in the morning, I was asked if I was still coughing, which I was, and was again commanded to not show my face. Even today I have coughed a few times, although trying to keep it more quiet, and the same boss told me "maybe you should seek medical attention." No, I think I am just a tad congested now, but thanks.

KONICHIWA BITCHES

"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.