jimtews.com

Learning From Horses

While we were on vacation, my girlfriend and I visited Assateague Island, which is a national park in Maryland/Virginia. If you're not familiar with it, it's known for its wild ponies. You can visit the park and see these wild ponies all over the island, it's a very cool experience.

At one point we got pretty close to a small group of ponies, probably about twenty or thirty yards away. As we watched the horses graze, we noticed that one of the ponies had something hanging from its midsection. The family standing next to us noticed it too and I heard their little boy say "Mommy, look! That horse is having a baby, I see the baby-horse's leg!"

From where we were standing, it looked as though the boy was right. It looked like what was dangling from the horse was actually the leg of a newborn foal. I thought to myself "How amazing is this? We're witnessing one of the most beautiful acts of nature, birth."

We all walked a little closer. That's when I realized that what we were seeing wasn't a mare giving birth, but rather a stallion who had an erection.

That's kind of like a metaphor for life.

When you're young you assume that everything beautiful and innocent. But as you grow older, you realize that life doesn't work that way.

Sometimes what you thought was beautiful and innocent is just a big, purple horse-boner.

Posted by Jim Tews at 08:10 AM | Permalink

"It was because of their zone defense" - I will repeat that phrase over and over again this week anytime someone brings up the college super bowl game between the Univeristy of Florida and Ohio State. The observation that Ohio's "zone defense" wasn't working against Florida isn't even my own. It's something I heard my girlfriend's dad say last night during the game. I figured he must be right on, since all the other guys in the room agreed, and even seemed impressed with his perception. So I adopted that phrase as the one I would use in conversation for the days following the big game, as I do with every major sports event. It's how I survive as a near-queer in a world the world of male sports fans.

I'm originally from Allentown, PA so growing up "my teams" were always Philadelphia teams. Every Christmas I would get at least one or two pieces of Philly sports paraphernalia from a family member who didn't know the sad truth. Even when I played sports, and I played them all, I didn't know what the hell I was doing. Baseball was the only sport I was even remotely good at and had any interest in, but I always felt like a fraud. When I was twelve my dad took me to meet Darren Daulton at a local sporting goods store. When I walked up to him, I handed him a ball to sign and said "You led the league in RBIs in 1992." That was something I had heard someone else say a few weeks prior.

I will always back Philly teams, just because it's all I know. I hope the eagles win it all this year. I think they will do just fine, especially with Jeff Garcia playing the position of quarterback. I really have to say I think "Garcia is running this version of the west coast offense to near perfection." If you were around my house over the holidays, you would've heard me make that statement every time someone brought up the Eagles. I even said it on Christmas day, when I was watching the Philly - Dallas game with my dad and uncles. Everyone agreed with me and they seemed impressed with my observation. It even sparked a heated debate over who was a better player, McNabb or Garcia. I would've joined in, but I was out of ammo. When the game was over and the Eagles had won, I said "So now we go on to the super bowl?" The room went silent. I laughed, then everyone else laughed. I think only my aunt knew the truth, that I wasn't joking. I really thought that this win would put us in the big game. I walked back out to the kitchen where I comfortably joined the discussion my aunts were having; who's more likable, Rachel Ray or Kelly Ripa.

I like sports, I like watching a good game on TV, or even going to the stadium to see one in person. But it's all a wasted effort, I might as well be staring at a fish tank. The sad part is, I really wish I knew about sports. I have a lot of respect for athletes, and I can appreciate the nuances of the game. I just don't get it. I could watch ESPN until my corneas dried up and I'd walk away remembering nothing but the funny commercials. I know I'm not the only one. I know there are others like me out there. They're putting on there home team jersey's and going to the games. They're hanging out in sports bars and watching the games on TV. But they're hiding a terrible, terrible secret. They know nothing about sports. They're just watching the game and following cues. Cheering when all the other guys wearing the same color as them are cheering and just waiting for someone like me to start the wave.

Posted by Jim Tews at 05:07 PM | Permalink

Thanks to everyone who left comments on my page and sent me messages with wonderful birthday wishes! I'm sure the downslope of this spike in myspace action will leave me feeling unloved and unappreciated. I'm so fragile.

For my birthday, I decided to buy myself some new sneakers. I was looking for something comfortable, I usually wear thin-soled shoes like Chuck Taylor's, but I needed something with more support. Because I'm twenty-five now. Podiatric health, if left unchecked, can make your golden years very uncomfortable.

I tried on a pair of fancy New Balance running sneakers and I was instantly sure of which shoes I would buy. These were the most comfortable pair of sneakers I've ever walked in, but there was a downside: they were all reflictive and colorful so they wouldn't match any of my clothes. But I said "Screw it." I don't care if they don't match, they're comfortable. You know who else buys comfortable sneakers that don't match anything? Old men.

These are comfortable shoes, but I look like I'm sixty. I look like I just started exercising to lower my cholesterol. I look like a mall-walker. Maybe we could do a few laps around the galleria. We'll work our way up to taking the stairs, let's use the escalators for now. Why isn't bath and body works open? It's nine o'clock. Meet me at the food court, let's grab a mcmuffin.

Posted by Jim Tews at 05:13 AM | Permalink

This year, I was lucky enough to be selected to be part of the Boston International Comedy and Movie Festival. The festival is based around a week-long competition and several gala events, as well as showcases spread throughout the week. Each comic starts in a preliminary round with eleven other comics, from each of the eight prelims, two comics are selected to move on to two semi-final rounds. Four comics from each each semi-final advance to the finals, which are held in a massive theater near The Emerson University campus. The finalists are fighting for $10,000 in cash prizes. Sounds like a busy week of intense, comedic competition, doesn't it? Well, it's not very busy at all if you don't make it past your preliminary round. And when your preliminary round is on Monday, it gives you the whole rest of the week to stain your itchy hotel pillow with tears. I could've sat around and sulked, but that's not me. There was lots of great comics to hang with and lots of industry people to meet. So that's what I did. I hung out. I'm really good at hanging out.

If you ever want to feel unattractive and undereducated, spend a few days in Boston. Boston is definitely near the deep end of the geographic gene pool. Even the fat people are beautiful. I saw quite a few fat Bostonians, because I spent lots of time at Dunkin' Donuts. I try to avoid that kind of stuff because I gain weight like I'm expecting, but my choices were limited. Dunkin' Donuts has a custard-filled, chocolate-covered choke-hold on the fast food economy in this town, and it's not pretty. Even the homeless people shake Dunkin' Donuts cups when they ask you for change, and I'm sure if they were using the money for food, they'd buy donuts. They wouldn't have much of a choice.

I got in on Sunday night. My prelim round was on Monday and I figured I'd get there a day early so I wasn't all fried from the travel. My friend and fellow comic Ryan Hamilton got reservations for a place called the "Milner", a discount hotel that was right in the theater district. I got to the hotel and walked into the lobby to check in. My first impression of the place wasn't too bad. It just looked like an old building that had been renovated over and over. When I walked into my room I caught a thick whiff of cheap air freshener that was covering something worse. I definitely smelled something fowl underneath the generic flower stink. Scents trigger memories and this scent made me remember that I make almost no money in comedy, and that's why I'm staying here.

This was definitely one of the more creepy hotel rooms I've stayed at. It was haunted or something, I'm convinced. Flickering lights and all that. The hotel was definitely really old, and it could've done well for itself if it went with the classic "victorian" look, but it seems at one point, it decided to step into the 1980's. Had I been visiting Boston for an Amway convention in 1985, I'm sure I would've been delighted. However, it's 2006 and the flower print bed spread and sea foam colored walls were making my eyes twitch. The room was really small. It was the size of my apartment, but it held two beds and a bathroom sink. The bathroom sink and vanity mirror was actually outside the bathroom. It was right next to Ryan's bed. That's only convenient if you like to pee in the sink. The windows faced a brick wall and an alley and hallway was really narrow too. When I stood in it, both shoulders touched the walls. Now, I do have awesomely wide, powerful shoulders, but come on.

On Sunday night, I went to the Comedy Connection in Faneuil Hall to watch the first two preliminary rounds. My friend and fellow Cleveland comic, Rob O'Reilly, was in the second prelim of the night. I watched the show to support, but unfortunately Rob didn't advance. Not sure what was going on, but he had as good a set as anyone else in his round, but I guess the judges weren't feeling it. Three comics moved on from his prelim, there was a tie for second, apparently. After the prelim, we ended up at Boston's Improv Asylum where they had just screened some videos for the movie portion of the festival. Rob spent a lot of time in Boston when he went to school there so he knew a good portion of the comics. I got to meet a lot of of locals and I remembered how bad I am with names.

Monday morning I woke up and went running in the Public Garden, next to the Boston Common. I was the only one running through the park and it worried me at first, I thought maybe the Public Garden had some sort of "no jogging" rule. Then I realized that thanks to the lack of sunlight in my room at the Milner, I didn't wake up until one in the afternoon. Which means I didn't start running until one thirty. Nobody in Boston runs at one thirty because they're all getting educated, or working, or eating donuts.

Later that evening, I got dressed and made it over to the Comedy Connection to watch some of the first prelim. Around 8:45 P.M. everyone from my prelim, the second of the night, was called into the green room to check in and draw numbers for the order. I got to meet the other contestants that I had been eyeing up and figuring out on the website the prior week. The only comic I even knew in my prelim was Stuart Huff, and he is a damn funny guy. We drew numbers and I drew first, which if you don't know, is the most hated spot in comedy. I couldn't change it, so I just dealt with it. They mic'd me up for the recording and the MC did his ten minutes of material and announcements and I was brought up. I did well for myself, but they just weren't with my like they could've been. Stuart Huff was second and he got a nice roll going. I think he set the crowd in motion. The rest of the comics had good sets, nobody really standing far above anyone else. Then, Maine native and great comic Juston Mckinney, did a set while the judges tallied votes. Obviously, I didn't advance. Stuart Huff and Bob Gautreau, an impressionist, advanced.

I managed to make my way to the after party that night to drink beer, and eat crab cakes. That made me feel better about not advancing. I had a wierd dream that night. I dreamed that I was at my mom's house and she had baked an assortment of cakes. I cut myself a full slice of each kind of cake and I sat down with a full plate. My sister asked my why I was eating so much of my mom's cake, I said "because it makes me happy." That's right, I have dreams about comfort food. I then woke up at around 1 P.M. again, thanks to the coffin-like conditions at the fabulous Milner.

Tuesday afternoon, I auditioned for the Carnival Cruise Line comedy challenge. They were "cattle call" day auditions, which are always horrible, but somehow I did well. Well enough to move on to the finals later that night. I went out and did the finals at a place called Nick's Comedy Stop. The venue was empty except for literally seven non-comic audience members. It didn't help that the place was freezing cold either. To make things worse, the sound system kept acting up. I actually didn't go first this time, I was a comfortable fifth. I did my set, which was a little week, but fun. I grabbed the mic stand and tried to adjust it, when it didn't work I said outloud "Why would it work?" Which broke the tension and discomfort for a split second and I got a huge laugh. It was enough to get the audience votes to take second place. I won a week of work with the Comedy Zone (a mostly southern chain of small clubs) and a week of work at the Stardome in Birmingham, AL, one of the biggest comedy theaters in the country. Awesome, I wouldn't be leaving this insanely expensive trip empty-handed.

Later that night, I shot over to the Comedy Connection for the second prelim. My roomate, Ryan Hamilton, and one of my other favorites, Kjell Bjorgen, were competing so I went to support. Both of them ended up moving on. Then it was off to after party yet again. More hanging out, more beer, more crab cakes. I love crab cakes. At this point I was pretty much surviving on Ensure for breakfast and crab cakes for a late dinner.

By Wednesday, we had switched hotels. Ryan had a discounted reservation still on file at the Park Plaza. This place was a little more liveable. The sink was inside the bathroom, where it should always be. My friend and local comic Jason Lawhead got into town for his prelim that night, so I headed over to the Connectioni to watch. Jason's prelim, overall was full of decent comics, with one exception, the Romanian guy who went up before Jason. He did a nice five minute set about nothing, and he did it with a Romanian accent. I've been compiling a list of "ways to kill a crowd" over the past year, and now "put a senile Romanian on stage" has made that list. In fact, it's now number one. There was no way to dig out of something like that, especially in five minutes, so Jason didn't get to advance. No matter, there's always crab cakes.

Thursday morning I woke up and hit the eliptical machine. I did thirty minutes on that machine for one reason and one reason only - so I could eat a gigantic seafood lunch. Ryan, Jason and I planned an attack on Boston's "Legal Seafood" restaurant. It was incredible. I love seafood and living in Ohio, you really can't get anything great. "Shrimpfest" does not count as real seafood.

Thursday night was a big night for the Gala events. Tonight's show was "30 Years of Comedy at Emerson" and it featured Denis Leary, Anthony Clark, Eddie Brill, Bill Burr and Bill Dana. However, I didn't get in free to this event which means I wasn't going. Ryan, Kjell and I decided to head over to Cambridge to a black box theatre called "Improv" Boston to watch the weekly Walsh Brothers show. This was a show that mixed improv and standup. Sounds like a recipe for a shitty show, but it wasn't. The Walsh Brothers are brilliant. They know how to commit. In the beginning of the show, they brought in a homeless drunk and put him on stage as part of the sketch. Then they left him there for the remainder of the show, and put a mic on him. Every ridiculous thing they did worked. The standups were great as well. And get this, they had a full audience of bright-eyed laughers, on a Wednesday night! What?! How'd they do that? Overall, a brilliant show. Watch out for the Walsh brothers.

On our way to the after party, we saw Jason walking down the street with Bill Burr. He had just finished the Emerson show and was headed back to his hotel for the night, but I got to meet one of my more recent favorite comics. Jason, Kjell, Ryan and I walked to the place where the after party was being held and when we got there, we saw Lewis Black and Anthony Clark standing outside. I don't get star-struck, but I do get star-wow'd. They both seemed pretty down to earth. Everyone stuck around until they kicked us out of the venue.

Thursday and Friday nights were the semi-finals, rather uneventful. On Thursday night my friend Stewart Huff moved on to the finals and Friday night my friend and hotel-mate Ryan Hamilton advanced. At some point on Friday, I hit up this pizza place with my friend Stewart Huff and Russell Bell, not important, but necessary to describe this picture.

Saturday night was the night of the finals. They were held in the Cutler Majestic Theater at Emerson. An awesome theater. The finals were being taped for a DVD, no expense was spared. They even gave the comics free tickets so we could watch the show. The theater was almost completely packed and everyone was pretty amped for a good show. Ryan drew first the night before, so he had to open. Not a big deal for this show, especially since Jim McCue, the creator of the festival, was hosting. He did a good job getting everyone warmed up for the show. Everyone had great sets. Hard not to in these conditions. A young local, Dan Boulger, ended up taking the whole thing and he deserved it. He had a great set. A life time achievement award was presented to Norm Crosby and Jonathan Winters. Norm even did a set. Then a comic of the year award was given to Boston native Steven Wright, who said in his acceptance speech "They gave me comic of the year, but they didn't say which year. I choose 1917." That show was followed by "Lewis Black and friends" featuring Lewis black, Jackie Flynn, and Nick Dipaolo.

Guess what we did afterwards? If you said crab cakes and beer, you'd be right. The last night was a lot of fun. Lots of hanging out and meeting people who weren't able to come out earlier in the week. To top it all off, I saw a big, bloody street brawl outside the bar that night! In heat of the moment, somone dropped a half-eaten piece of pizza on the sidewalk. How symbolic of the week's events. It's like, you get so caught up in competition, you neglect the really important things, like pizza.

Posted by Jim Tews at 08:56 AM | Permalink

I enjoy my life. I enjoy the ups and downs that make life what it is. I enjoy life because I've figured a lot of it out. I know that when I don't expect a lot, I'm much less disappointed. I figured that one out when I was about nine years old.

As a nine year old boy, I was chubby, relatively friendless and generally disrespected by the majority of my peers. But on a warm spring day in 1991 things looked like they were about to change. That morning, my teacher pulled me out into the hall to talk to me. She told me that I had been selected to be a part of a special program and I had to meet the gym teacher at two o'clock that afternoon.

I was excited beyond words. I couldn't keep my focus that day, even more so than usual. I had been selected to be a part of a special group. Finally, I was part of something. I was going to be a part of something larger than myself. I wasn't part of any sports team, academic team, or any other club. But FINALLY I was going to have something to identify with. I was going to find my place, my slot, in the mixed up world that was the fourth grade social structure. Maybe this little club I was going to be a part of would carry on to middle school, then maybe high school. I could finally start carving my niche.

Two o'clock finally came and I made my way down to the gym. When I walked in, I looked around at the other students who had also been chosen to be a part of the special group. These were the people I would bond with, my future friends and comrades. As I began to identify the other students, I realized that most of them were kids that I already considered friends. They were the other chubby, relatively friendless and generally disrespected students that I hung out with during recess. What special club could we all be a part of? Finally, my question was answered. The teacher addressed the group by saying "Welcome, everyone to the 'S.U.N. Club'!"

Sun club? What? Are we tanning together? That had to be it. We were all going to do outdoor activities or something. Maybe something with science or astronomy. I was good at that. I was probably chosen to be a part of an astronomy club because of my solid earth science skills. That's it! Awesome! Sounds like fun. Let's get started!

"What's the 'Sun' Club?" one girl asked.

"S.U.N. stands for Shape Up Now! We're all going to get in shape!" The teacher said.

What? How was an astronomy club going to help us get in shape? Oh wait, it wasn't an astronomy club, it was a school-run fat camp. Awesome. That's the "special" group I was selected for? Being out of shape made me special? Had I known that overdosing on oreo's everyday after school in fourth grade would've made me "special", I'd have done it sooner. Regardless of what got me there, I was there, and when I figured out what was going on, I bailed.

I understood that the "S.U.N. Club" was the first of many heartbreaks and let downs that I would suffer in the future. So now, I was ready. The whole experience allowed me to better handle what lie ahead of me. Thanks to my experience at Hiram W. Dodd elementary, I was better prepared to deal with the whirling shit storm that life really is.

Posted by Jim Tews at 10:32 PM | Permalink

I just did a show at a place called "Sneakee Pete's" in Eastlake, OH. I didn't bomb tonight, I actually had a great time, but sometimes jokes to don't work exactly how you want them to. As a comic, you hear a joke in your head, you say it out loud, you write it down, you envision yourself delivering the joke to a room full of people and all those people laugh. But, it almost never works that way.

People sometimes ask me what it's like when a joke bombs. I can't really describe what it feels like when you eat shit in front of a room full of strangers, it's an awful feeling. I could never find a way to convey that feeling to anyone reading this. The closest thing I can even relate it to is a scene from the Paul Thomas Anderson movie "Boogie Nights", starring Mark Whalberg and featuring Philip Seymour Hoffman.


If you've seen Boogie Nights, then this will make sense. If not, I'm sorry. Go rent the movie, then come back and read this.

There's a scene in "Boogie Nights" where Scotty (played by Philip Seymour Hoffman) tries to win Dirk Diggler's (played by Mark Wahlberg) approval by showing Dirk his new sportscar. He then tries to kiss dirk which leads into a very akward situation and ends with a rejected Scotty crying in his car. Here's a rough idea of how the scene plays out:

Scotty: Hey Dirk, wanna see my new car?

Dirk: Sure Scotty.

(Scotty and Dirk walk outside to the driveway)

Scotty: You like my new car, Dirk? If you don't like it, I'll take it back. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool.

Dirk: Yeah Scotty, it's cool.

(Scotty unexpectedly kisses Dirk on the mouth.)

Dirk: Whoa! What are you doing Scotty?

Scotty: I'm sorry man, sorry. I thought maybe you wanted it, you know.

Dirk: I'm not into you like that. It's ok though, just don't do it again.

Scotty: Can I kiss you on the mouth?

Dirk: No, Scotty. Later man, I'm going inside.

(Dirk walks away. Scotty sits in his car, starts crying, and repeatedly calls himself an idiot.)

In the comedy world, the scene plays out pretty much the same way:

Jim: Hey audience, wanna hear my new joke?

Audience: Sure Jim.

(Jim begins to setup and deliver his new bit.)

Jim: You like my new joke, Audience? If you don't like it, I'll take it out of my set. I wanted to make sure you thought it was funny.

Audience: Yeah Jim, it's funny.

(Jim unexpectedly delivers another new, untested joke.)

Audience: Whoa! What are you doing Jim?

Jim: I'm sorry folks, sorry. I thought maybe you wanted it, you know.

Audience: We're not into you like that. It's ok though, just don't do it again.

Scotty: Can I tell you one more new joke?

Audience: No, Jim. Later man, we're going to the bar.

(Audience walks away. Jim sits in his car, starts crying, and repeatedly calls himself an idiot.)

Posted by Jim Tews at 10:56 PM | Permalink

Yesterday morning, the headline on my yahoo news feed said "Ernesto Drops to Tropical Depression."

I have to say, I feel for Ernesto. I've been there before, the dark holes of depression can be extremely difficult to dig out of. When you're depressed sometimes it's difficult to get out of bed, let alone do anything productive, like maintain your "hurricane" status.

So this is a message of hope for you Ernesto -- Nobody is blaming you, and nobody thinks any less of you. Hang in there mi amigo, it'll get better.

Posted by Jim Tews at 06:08 AM | Permalink

The youth of communist China are going apeshit for this new personal networking site.

Posted by Jim Tews at 10:22 PM | Permalink

I would like to thank the crackhead that broke into my car last night for not breaking one of the roll-down windows, or ruining another one of my locks. This crackhead had the forethought to break one of my wing windows to unlock my door, so as not to cause me extensive financial damage. This crackhead said "I've got a habit to support, but I'm not going to horribly inconvenience others." I inconsiderate booster would've destroyed an expensive lock, or broken a roll-down window, which are much more costly to replace. This crackhead also did a fairly clean job of removing my stereo. Wires were neatly cut and there was minimal damage to the dashboard. I would also like to thank this crackhead for breaking my window during the summer months. My car doesn't have AC so I'm always reaching across the seat to roll down the passenger side window, but not anymore! Now I'll have that cross-breeze flowing from the second I open the drivers side window.

If every petty thief were a bit more considerate, this world would be a better place. I wish I could personally say thank you, but I think my car stereo and and a five dollar bill I left in the glove box will do just fine. Enjoy your rock sir, and stay away from the yellow ones!

Posted by Jim Tews at 10:30 PM | Permalink

July 26th

My first one in months. Went to Pat's because my friends weren't happy with Joey Vento's "English only" policy. I ordered a wiz wit' out, and got yelled at by the cashier for not having my money ready. I deserved to get yelled at. When you order a cheesesteak from a national landmark, you follow the god damned rules. Some people can't deal with that sort of thing, I handle it fine.

I ferociously worked my way, vertically, through about three-quarters of the sandwich. I set it down to take a breath and I looked down at my shiny fingertips. I could see the top of the table because the grease had soaked through the wax paper that my cheesesteak was wrapped in. As I finished the last quarter, I could taste the grease that was covering my fingertips and the table top. Some people can't deal with that sort of thing, but I handled it just fine.



July 28th

Pat's, Geno's, Jim's or any other steak shop that you've heard of was no longer good enough. I needed a new sandwich experience and the food gods obliged. I was taken to a place called Tony Luke's in south Philly. The menu was impressive. Various combinations of beef, chicken, vegetables, sauces and other food stuffs were dropped in steak rolls and offered to the public.

It was my first time here, so I had to ask my friend for guidance on which sandwich I should choose. I was told I should order the "Beef Buster" and that's just what I did. They called my name when the order was ready. I took it back to my table and unwrapped it. In front of me sat a sandwich would make the average diner second guess his or her menu choice. But not this diner. I examined the sandwich. Roast beef, tomatoes, horse radish and seasoned curly fries were among the recognizable ingredients.

I will remind myself at this point that I only intended on eating half the sandwich, then saving the other half for later. However, I will note for my own record, to prove to myself that my gluttony was not without justification, that the sandwich WAS NOT cut in half.

I ate the entire thing.

If the sandwich was cut in half, I would have only eaten half. If the sandwich were cut in half, it would've provided me some sort of stopping point. Had I stopped at this point, I could feel that I'd consumed enough food for an afternoon meal. But, the sandwich WAS NOT cut in half. Where was I going to stop? At the end.

By the time I got back to the house, about one-thirty p.m., I was almost fast asleep. I napped on the couch. During my hour long nap I had a lot of indistinguishable nightmares. I woke up sweating. My stomach burned. I didn't eat again until ten o'clock that night. By that point, all I could consume was a small salad.



July 30th

Went to mom's house for lunch. Ordered a chicken cheesesteak from Alcamo's. A Quakertown, PA favorite. It was cut in half, but I still ate the whole thing.

Posted by Jim Tews at 10:34 AM | Permalink

I will spend two hours a day for the next several weeks working out. I must be able to meet the Coast Guard physical fitness standards.

That means I've got to be able to do the following:

- 29 push-ups
- 38 sit-ups
- Run 1.5 miles in less than 12:51
- Swim 500yds in less than 12 minutes

I am also looking for someone who owns an M9 9 mm semiautomatic pistol and an M16A2 semiautomatic rifle. I need to brush up on my firearms skills. I need more practice with the rifle than I do the pistol. I did receive an expert pistol medal in basic training so take note, I'm lethal with a sidearm.

If anyone would like to join me in preparing for World War III, just message me and we'll go running or swimming or something. Until then, I will be studying old ship diagrams and preparing my uniforms.

Respectfully,
James W. Tews
Yeoman Third Class, USCG
(Served 1999-2003)

Posted by Jim Tews at 10:36 PM | Permalink

Get ready for this one. . . I've started jogging. For the past two weeks I've gone jogging like four times a week. I run about two miles each day. When I leave the house, I generally only carry two things with me: my iPod and my house keys. This is pretty much all I really need to go out running, but lately my neuroticism has been getting the best of me.

What if I trip, fall, and die while I'm on my jog? The authorities will not be able to identify me, because I'm not carrying a wallet. What if I'm running through the park and I spot a heinous crime taking place. Am I going to run to the nearest police station to report it? No. But I can't call the cops, because I don't carry my cell phone. My wallet and my cell phone are two items that I should really be carrying if I leave the house for more than fifteen minutes. This means I've now got four items to carry - cell phone, iPod, keys and wallet. Where will I put them?

I'll tell you where I'll put 'em. I'll put 'em around my waist. In a convenient little apparatus known as the fanny pack. The perfect marriage of fashion and function. Now only one dilemma remains, choosing the perfect pouch.

Posted by Jim Tews at 08:35 PM | Permalink

I've been with my girlfriend for five years this month, and I'm still trying to figure out how I pulled it off. My girlfriend is far more attractive than me. But, when you break heterosexual attraction to a very basic level, it goes far beyond physical attraction. Women look for a lot of different things in a potential mate. But mostly, they look for a man who can provide. Someone with stability and potential. Someone who can offer a decent future for their offspring. There are many things that signify to a member of the opposite sex that a man is a solid provider, and therefore a preferred, potential mate. Things like a good job, financial stability, and resourcefulness indicate that a man will be able to take care of his family. I offer none of those things. Except maybe resourcefulness.

Resourcefulness is most definitely the only thing I've got going for me. I haven't had a real job since 2003, I don't have an active savings account and my car has a kelly blue book value of $475. The only thing I own of any value would be my computer and video equipment, and that could be valued at less than $3,000. So clearly net worth and financial status are where I fall short. But resourcefulness, now that's where I outshine the rest of the pack. You may not see being resourceful as a girl-magnet but if every Macgyver episode ran an extra 15 minutes, I guarantee you there would've been sex scenes.

Not that I feel the need to prove myself to the public, but I'm going to anyway. I'm going to give you the most recent example of my resourcefulness. I'm sure most of you, especially guys, are familiar with Gillette's line of Mach 3 and Mach 4 razors. Let me refresh your memories if you're not, the Mach 3 razor was neon green and black the Mach 4 razor is orange and silver. The green cartridges won't fit on the orange handles and vice versa. That's the only important information you need to know.

When you're shopping for replacement razor cartridges you have to make sure you get the proper ones, depending on which model you own. Here's where I made my mistake. I am the proud owner of the "Mach 4 Power" model. When I bought new cartridges at target, I bought the ones that fit the Mach 3 model. Oh my, what a mistake. A FOURTEEN DOLLAR MISTAKE to be exact. That's right, the razors cost 14 dollars a pack, and they didn't fit my Mach 4 handle.

What was I going to do now? I couldn't return them. I'd already opened them, and with today's laundry list of un-cureable communicable diseases, I'm sure Target would not give me a refund. So, instead of losing out on 14 bucks, I decided to put my resourcefulness to the test. I decided that I would make my own razor handle. After close examination of the razor cartridges I realized that a piece of coat hanger would do the trick. Long story short, I ended up with this fine piece of jail house quality craftsmanship you see below.



I might not be able to buy you a nice house, a fancy car, or some cigarettes. But, I could fashion a papoose out of an old t-shirt and some hair scrunchies in less than five minutes. That has to count for something.

Posted by Jim Tews at 10:46 PM | Permalink

I was once again propositioned by an old man. I didn't even realize it at first. Bill Squire brought it to my attention. Bill came to pick me up last week to give me a ride to the airport. I was walking out of my building, on the way to Bill's car and I was stopped by an older black guy who lives in my building, he shares a place with another older guy. He stopped me because I was carrying two movies that I had rented and was about to return. He said "What movies you got there?"

I said "The Squid and The Whale and Oliver Twist"

He was like "I can get you a copy of Broken Trail"

I said, "Nah, that's ok." It took me a minute to realize that he was referring to Brokeback Mountain.

Then he said "Oh, you're not into that?"

"Not really." I said. I was referring to the fact that I was not really into buying bootleg movies.

He said "You sure? I can get you a copy of Broken Trail!"

I said "Nah, I'm good. I have to go catch a plane." He just kind of looked at me weird, then I walked to Bill's car. When I got in the car, I told Bill what happened, he said "I think you almost got raped." That may have been a slight exaggeration on Bill's part, but it made me realize what was really going on.

The guy was "testing" me. He asked me if I wanted a copy of a "Broken Trail", meaning Brokeback Mountain. Now, you probably think I'm over-reacting, but if you could've seen the guys face when he asked me, you'd know where I was coming from. He asked me in that "You know what I mean" kind of way. Like when you're trying to pull a friend away from a conversation and you say, "I have to go to the bathroom, don't you?". You say "I have to use the bathroom, don't you?" but you mean, "Let's get the fuck out of here."

This guy was saying "I can get you a copy of Brokeback Mountain" but he meant "You' re the exact piece of chubby young man ass that I've been a hankerin' for." It's as if Brokeback Mountain has become some sort of sexual preference indicator. Like if you want to find out of a guy is gay you say

"Have you seen Brokeback Mountain?", he'll say

"yeah, who hasn't" Then you'll say

"No, have you SEEN Brokeback Mountain?" His answer will indicate his preference. It's the latest litmus test for gay guys with bad "gay-dar".

I know I'm getting a bit off topic here, but the whole point is, I totally could've made out with that guy.

Posted by Jim Tews at 11:18 PM | Permalink

Mother's day is fast approaching. I know you're thinking "What could I get mom that might make her life a little easier? I know, I'll get her one of those Roomba robotic vaccuum cleaners! Good idea!"

No, bad idea. Roombas are not the cure-all for a dirty house. Quite the opposite, actually. Roombas are part of a government program that I am calling "Operation Robot Acclamation."

Please, allow me to explain. You, the American public, view a television advertisement for a product called the "Roomba." The advertisement headline reads "I love Robots". It also features claims from "real customers" stating how the Roomba has made their lives easier and more productive. Here is a couple of testimonials from enlightened Roomba owners.

Jennifer states: "It eagerly goes out to search and destroy dirt."

David claims: "Just put the Roomba on the floor, leave and come back and its all clean."

Nick says: "The time is now for robots."

What an effective advertisement. All these people love there robots, so they must be OK right? Wrong! The Roomba is phase one of the Operation Robot Acclamation, or ORA for short.

Here's how it works people. You see the Roomba, you're OK with the Roomba, you buy the Roomba. Now you've got the Roomba in your house and it's cleaning your floors. You like the convenience. You like the ease-of-use. Well let me remind you, the Roomba is not a "Mommy's little Helper", it's a robot. A robot, in your house, near you children, playing a part in your everyday life. And you're OK with it.

This is where it all begins. You've been using the Roomba for a while and now you're OK with having a robot in your house. That's fine, it's a big help. But where does it go from there. I know first hand how the government operates. Need I remind you, I was in the United States Coast Guard for FOUR years. I have seen what goes on within the hierarchy of a federal agencie's office and it's not pretty.

Your government wants you to be OK with robots, and they're breaking you in slowly with a friendly little product called the roomba. The Roomba cleans up your house while you're not around! Great! But what else does it do when you've got your back turned? I've got a few things I'd like to say to our "satisfied" customers. . .

Jennifer: "It eagerly goes out to search and destroy dirt."
Does it also search and destroy the members of what it suspects might be a terrorist sleeper cell? Jennifer?! Sleep with one eye open, and don't say the words "Holy War" out loud, or that helpful little roomba might take out your entire gated community.

David: "Just put the Roomba on the floor, leave and come back and its all clean."
"Sometimes I leave the Roomba to watch the kids while I'm playing racquetball. My names David and I'm a clueless follower!" David, please. Your floor is all clean, and so is the boxes you keep your receipts in. Thanks to Roomba, Uncle Sam now knows how much you spend on fertilizer every year.

Nick: "The time is now for robots."
A paid spokesperson perhaps?! Wow, unreal. A blatant plug for robot acclamation. I wonder if Nick's ever worked for the government. Because I have, I was in the United States Coast Guard for FOUR years. Their motives are not pure. Nick is the epitome of the "model citizen". He is everything your government wants you to be. A robot-loving, network watching lemming. Why can't everyone be more like Nick!"

Don't say I didn't warn you America. First comes Roomba, last comes mechanical death.

Posted by Jim Tews at 10:50 PM | Permalink

In Coast Guard boot camp they give you free food That's right, I said free. Free food, free lodging and free health insurance. The same goes for any branch of the military I guess; it's an interesting experience. If you've never had the privilege, I highly recommend it. You want to know how to do well in boot camp? Just do whatever your superiors tell you, and do it exactly how they tell you to do it. You really don't have to think for yourself. I wish I could still live like that. I'm not knocking the military or being sarcastic, I'm totally serious. I'm tired of thinking for myself. Everything was spelled out for you. It was like having a giant "to-do" list, and as long as you checked all the boxes on the list, you made it one more day. I miss that way of life sometimes.

I miss polishing my shoes and ironing my shirts. It was some of the most simple and strangely satisfying work I've ever done. Whey you polish a shoe, you rub and rub and it starts to shine. It's that simple, you work and you see the results, almost immediately. The more you polish something, the more it shines.

I also did a lot of cleaning in boot camp. That's pretty close to shoe-polishing and ironing. It's a lot of work with clear results. The more you clean something, the cleaner it looks. But sometimes, you never feel like it's clean enough. That's my problem.

When I clean my apartment, I can never seem to clean the whole thing in one shot. I always set out to clean the entire place, but I almost never make it past one room. I don't have obsessive-compulsive disorder or anything, I just have an obsession with details. If you gave me twenty minutes to wash a sink full of dishes I probably couldn't do it. Why? Because I'd spend 19 of those minutes making sure the first spoon was completely clean. Then I'd spend the last minute freaking out because I spent 19 minutes cleaning a spoon.

I'd like to thank Coast Guard boot camp for kick-starting my obsessive attention to detail. I never had the "cleaning problem" until boot camp. I suppose it's some reflection of what's going on inside my head -- "I'll never get my shoes shiny enough" somehow equals "I'll never be good enough." But hey, I'm okay with all that. I've been okay so far. I just figured that I'd get all this off my chest now, so that twenty years from now, when I'm wearing tissue boxes on my feet and sealing up my bedroom door with masking tape, you won't all be surprised, and you'll know who to blame.

"The way of the future, the way of the future, the way of the future, the way of the future, the way of the future. . . . "

Posted by Jim Tews at 10:54 PM | Permalink

Blarggghhh!!! That's what Charlie Brown would call his blog.

I got lunch at the BP "Wild Bean Cafe" last week. That's my only option, since there are no Wawa's in Ohio. Nothing will ever match a Wawa, except a Wawa. That's the goddamn truth. If Morgan Spurlock ("Super Size Me") decides to launch his next attack on Wawa's fine selection of fresh-made sandwiches and wraps, I would consider it blaspheme, and I would write him an angry letter.

Back to my story. I was ordering my sandwich when I noticed that the woman taking my order was missing her two front teeth. Everything about the woman, besides her lack of teeth, was totally normal and in place. She was a totally normal looking older lady. She had full makeup, her hair was done, and she was wearing a tasteful amount of gold jewelry, but she was missing her two front teeth. Oh if those missing teeth could talk, they could probably fill a book. How did she lose them? I was so distracted thinking about this that I actuall started zoning out, and she had to get my attention to tell me that my sandwich was done. The fact that this woman was missing her two front teeth isn't that exciting. There are plenty of people in the world that are missing teeth. It was everything else about the woman that made the missing teeth seem really out of place. The lady was totally made up and clean and pleasant. Like she woke up in the morning, did her hair, did her make up, put on her jewelry, then looked in the mirror at the nickel-sized hole in the front of her mouth and said "nobody will notice".

I kept trying to figure out how she lost her teeth. I've only known one person who lost their two front teeth as an adult, he was skateboarding and hit a wall teeth-first. I knew she didn't lose them that way. I figured, maybe she just didn't take care of them, and they rotted out or something, but the rest of her teeth were super white. So that couldn't have been the case. Then I figured it out, someone punched her. That's the only explanation. I had decided, in my mind, that someone had punched her in the mouth and knocked out her teeth. Just when I started to doubt my assumption, I noticed a tattoo on her arm. The tattoo was completely blurred and unreadable. It was one of those tattoos that can speak volumes about a person's past. There's only two places you can get tattoos that end up looking like that; the Navy (during WWII), and prison.

In the 3 minutes I had known this woman, I had her life story completely figured out. She was a WWII sailor who lost her teeth in a bar fight. I thanked her twice. Once for the sandwich, and once for her military service. Then I was on my way.

Posted by Jim Tews at 11:02 PM | Permalink

I was ten years old which may or may not have been too old to believe in Santa, but i still believed in him anyway. It was Christmas eve and my Mom and step Dad took my sister and I to look at Christmas lights. Once we were finished we decided to stop off at Kmart, I still can't remember exactly why. While we were sitting in the parking lot, my parents thought it was a good idea to tell my sister and I the truth about Santa Clause.

My stepfather started the conversation, "We're pretty sure that you guys know this by now, but Santa Clause isn't real." My sister was way too smart for her age at this point, so she already knew what was going on. Right away, she said "Yeah, I know Santa isn't real." My mom said "Jimmy, did you know about Santa?" I kept my cool and said "Well, duh. Of course I know Santa isn't real."

On the outside, I was tough and mature. On the inside, I was crushed. This Christmas before that one, I began to feel that maybe, there was a slight possiblity that Santa Clause was bullshit. I tried my hardest not to think about it. I tried to hold on to the last piece of childhood that I had left. So much for that. It was Christmas eve and I just heard, from the mouths of the people that had originally convinced me of his existence, that there was no Santa Clause. Not only that, but now I had to contain my disappointment for the remainder of the evening. Thanks Mom and Stepdad. Your timing was fucking impeccable. Most parents would wait until at least February to spring the truth on their kids. Maybe give them a couple of months to digest the news. Not you guys, you told me on Christmas eve. That gave me a whole night to pick up the pieces. At least I got a good night's sleep, because I wasn't lying awake listening for the sound of deer hooves hitting the roof.

My kids will have it different. I'm going to teach my kids the value of dissapointment. When they're about six years old I'm going to teach them a valuable lesson. On Christmas eve, I'll get them all hyped up: "You kids ready for Christmas?! Are you excited?! I bet you can't wait to see all those presents under the tree!" They'll be so excited! Then, on Christmas morning, when they walk down the stairs and they take a look under that tree, they won't see a god damn thing. There will be nothing there. My kids will say to me "Daddy, where are all the presents? Why didn't Santa Clause come?" I'd say to them "Well kids, that's life. Sometimes things don't go your way." They'd ask me "Where's Santa Clause?" I'd reply "Well kids, sometimes life sucks and some people are assholes. Santa Clause is one of them. Santa Clause is an asshole."

Now you're saying, Jim that's a bit harsh, but I disagree. You see, I think I will have done my kids a favor, one day they will thank me. Because I will have taught them the true meaning of dissapointment.

Posted by Jim Tews at 11:00 PM | Permalink