In Memoriam: Tim Wilson

Timothy Collins Wilson, August 5, 1961 – February 26, 2014

Back in college, when I first really started to pay attention to how stand up comedians shape popular thought, Tim Wilson was one of the first new voices that really caught my ear. At one of his shows I hung around to tell him how much I enjoyed his act and I apologized for being too broke to buy one of his tapes. He quietly told me to stand behind him and wait until the crowd passed. After all the handshakes, autographs, and sales of his CDs and cassettes, which was how he made his living at the time, the crowd dispersed and he shuffled through the remains of his merch table and gave me a cassette he thought I would like. He made sure no one saw this act of kindness, well aware that it could be taken advantage of, but as he handed me this gift, HE thanked ME. For coming, and laughing, but mostly for listening. I will never forget that. Rest in peace, Tim. Thanks a million, and not just for the tape.

If You Try To Save This Marriage Again

Raisin Pie

Since the diabetes diagnosis I rarely order dessert. But I saw it there at the bottom of the menu and I just had to know. Raisin pie. My sister-in-law warned me of it’s awfulness. Missy, it is 100% as bad as you described.

It was like raisins with the volume turned up too loud, with an unexpected and entirely unwelcome hint of wet tobacco. I ate the whole slice because the flavor was so fucking bizarre I couldn’t figure out what the hell I was tasting. I thought it would be packed solid with raisins. But there was a lot of brownish… ooze. I will not be eating raisin pie again.

I like raisins. I’m a big fan. But they are NOT meant for pies.


They make unicycles with 4 foot diameter wheels and 5 foot high seats. I know this because I passed a jackass riding one down Colerain Ave. I hate driving in this fucking city.

Fuck that guy. I think I have a decent sense of whimsy, but I had already gotten lost and delayed by endless construction detours and unmarked streets. Nothing in the world can strip away my humor and good will like driving in Cincinnati. NOTHING. Unicycle asshole was yet another reason a street full of people had to hit the brakes. I hated him. I hated him immediately, as soon as I saw him, and I hoped like hell he’d get hit and killed in my rear view mirror. Just talking about it now makes me hate him still. I hope somewhere, somehow, something grotesque and awful is happening to him. Why? Because he was the one slowing down traffic and I’m the one telling the story, that’s why.

A Steady Paycheck

I just got a contract with the closest thing to a real life Winston Zeddemore interview I’ve ever had.

“Do you have Windows migration and hardware rollout experience?”
“Do you own steel toed boots?”
“Beautiful, you’re hired.”