Monday, November 30, 2009

Gift of Laughter

You ever have those days when you have so much to say but, at the same time, you have nothing to say.

Welcome to my present world.

It has been such an amazing week. There have been so many things that have gone on that have left me simply speechless…although, obviously not speechless enough to miss writing this blog entry.

I desperately wanted to start this week off with a blast of the funny, but I can not seem to ignore the reflective state that I’ve been in recently.

Now, I will be the first to admit that I am not always “on”, which is kind of a disappointing reality for some people.

But, this is one of those moments. Hopefully, no one is disappointed enough to stop reading.

I love making people laugh. It is a deep passion. So deep, in fact, that I’m pretty sure it is what makes me…me.

I am often reminded, by my mother, that over 30 years ago, I was the first person to make my little sister laugh. And, to this day, that thought brings much joy to my heart.

Whenever, I am able to give someone the gift of laughter, it is like receiving a gift, my self.

And, it really doesn’t matter how I accomplish the task. Whether I’m sitting in a living room, performing on stage or even writing this blog, if something I have said or done has brought a smile to someone’s face…I am equally satisfied.

Obviously, whenever anyone does something that they love doing, it is incredibly encouraging, and appreciated, when that thing gets acknowledged.

That is why I’m reflective today.

You see, over the last few days, I have received some awesome words of encouragement. They’ve been words that have not only affirmed my belief that I am good at what I’m doing (blogging and performing), but also that what I am doing is of worth.

These words have left me humbled, grateful and…feeling all warm and fuzzy.

The amazing thing is that the comments all came in this one particular wave. I find it very cool when stuff like that happens.

A single remark, although appreciated, can easily get forgotten, but when a few get packaged together and delivered, one after the other - from completely different and unexpected sources – it is difficult to ignore.

In fact, I really do believe that it has been gift from God. It was his way of telling my wife and I that we are moving in the right direction.

Well, that’s it for now. Thanks for listening. Now, that I got that off my chest, I can start trying to bring the funny again.

If you got a few moments, please check out this short video. In it I answer the question, “Why do I love comedy?” Click HERE and enjoy.

Keep on smiling and
Have a good one,
Timmy

Friday, November 27, 2009

Dreaming with Dad!

Dare to Dream.

Well, I don't know what to say.

I've spent alot of time, over the last week or so, talking about "Daring to Dream." If you aren't aware of all that has transpired, you can read the whole story later...

But for now, here is the Cole's Notes:

My dream was to go see Bob Newhart with Ben Stiller. I had the tickets, but didn't know Ben. I called out for people to dare to dream with me. My invitation to Ben Stiller actually got to...Ben Stiller. Amazingly, he replied back. Sadly, he is unable to join me.

So, the question has been asked...what next? And, believe me, my mind has been spinning.

Earlier today, I was relaxing with my kids at home. My oldest daughter was updating the Facebook group, that she had started, about Ben Stiller responding to my invitation, and we were talking about how cool it was that he actually got my letter.

As we were discussing my options, now that Ben was unavailable, my son wandered over to me and silently dropped a piece of paper in my lap.

When I read it, I almost cried! I was so proud of him.

First, he had composed this letter without once asking me how to spell a word - quietly trying to sound out everything on his own.

Second, he wrote it, completely on his own initiative.

And third, and more importantly, was what he wrote.

Here is Connor's letter:


That's awesome! Well, aside from the spelling (Good 'ol phonics).
What it says is:
Ryan Seacrest (or "Rayin see crust"), do you want to go with my dad Tim to see Bob Newhart?
I love it! My son is "Daring to Dream" with me! That's beautiful!
Seriously, how can I not follow up on it?
He's left it to me to send his letter. So, if you're reading this...start up the Dream Machine. Connor needs to get his letter to Rayin see crust!
Pass this blog entry on. Post it, Tweet it, Email it...Whatever it. Just pass it on. (or maybe we should just get Vanessa to send it.)
Dare to Dream...again! This time for Connor.
Have a good one,
Timmy

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Ben Stiller declined my invitation. What a class act!

Dare to dream.

It’s been a couple of hours since I got a most amazing surprise…and I’m still slightly stunned. You would be too, if Ben Stiller personally turned down your invitation.

You see, a few weeks ago, I composed an Open Letter to Ben Stiller. It was a whole-hearted invitation for Ben Stiller to join me at the Bob Newhart concert on December, 4th.

Today, he politely declined the invitation.

If you need to get up to speed, follow the story through these postings:
A Dream come True
Open Letter to Ben Stiller
Dare to Dream

Now, I’m not stunned that Mr. Stiller won’t be able to attend the show with me (although, I really felt the offer was too good to pass up), but I am slightly stunned that he sent his regrets.

I say “slightly”, because although I wasn’t sure that I could actually get the letter into his hands (or on his computer screen), I was quite confident that if it did get there…he would take note.

Of course, he didn’t have to. He could have easily ignored it. But he didn’t.

His quick and very personal response reveals that he is, indeed, the class act that I figured he was. It really is too bad I won’t be able to share my dream moment with him.

Anyways, here is how it all went down.

On Monday, in my blog Dare to Dream, I called for people to "dare to dream with me"…and people did.

I’d like to mention just a few (please don’t be offended if you’re not on this list):

Troy began posting my letter on Facebook.
Erin wrote a letter to Regis & Kelly and The Bonnie Hunt Show (I still don’t know who that is).
Chris wrote a blog, in response to mine, about following dreams and linked it to my letter.
My daughter, Jade, started a Facebook group called “Help Timmy Boyle get Ben Stiller to see Bob Newhart with him” (of which many have joined), and wrote a letter to Ryan Seacrest.

And then there was Vanessa. She went for the heart and sent a tweet directly to the intended receiver of my letter…Mr. Stiller.

@RedHourBen My friend Timmy is inviting you to see Bob Newhart with him! Here's his open letter to ya: http://bit.ly/78rkL6 For reals. 7:46 PM Nov 24th from TweetDeck (link to actual tweet)

This afternoon, I went for a walk with Heidi.

We talked about my dream; We talked about all the people who have come along side me in my pursuit of the dream of dreams; And we talked about how I should I have started earlier.

When I got home, around 3:00pm I checked my messages. Lo and behold, on my Twitter Home Page, I read the following:

RedHourBen @vanster Thanks for the invite Timmy. i can't make it but i am also a huge Newhart fan. Have a great time.

Are you kidding me! Ben Stiller responded to us! Vanessa’s tweet had actually got through. And there is reason to believe that Ben not only responded to the tweet, but had read the actually blog.

Timmy Boyle’s “Open Letter to Ben Stiller” was read, and responded to, by…Ben Stiller!

That is awesome! Dare to Dream, my friends! Dare to Dream!


Vanessa has since blogged about her experience, you can check it out at The Typing Fiend. In the comments someone has asked, “Will Timmy keep trying?”

That’s a good question.

Will I keep trying to invite Ben Stiller to see Bob Newhart? No. He’s graciously declined.

Will I keep daring to dream…in general? You betcha!


THANKS to all who have "Dared to Dream" with me on this particular journey.

THANKS to Vanessa for...being successful.

And,

THANKS to Ben Stiller, for not ignoring my invitation, for responding graciously and for making my dream (in part) come true.

Is this story over? I’m not sure.

But, that’s the beauty of dreams…sometimes instead of ending, they just morph into another dream.

P.S.
Mr. Stiller, I’m sorry you can’t make it to Newhart. How ‘bout a Rain Check?
Have a good one,
Timmy

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Orange - "A Shift in the Life of a Hall Monitor"

THIS ENTRY IS IN A BETTER PLACE

To read this entry, and many other greats from the past,
you’ll need to buy a copy of the greatest collection of wit this side of Jupiter.

NOW AVAILABLE!
“INSIDE TIMMY’S MIND”…THE BOOK.
Timmys Book Inside Timmys Mind

ORDER YOUR COPY HERE

READ ABOUT THE BOOK HERE

TIMMY’S MIND IS:
A great gift for any literate person
A must for any coffee table or bathroom basket
A rock solid financial investment.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

No late nights for me.

Well,

It’s 11:00pm. I have 15 minutes to compose this blog post.

Normally, it takes me a lot longer than that to craft the glorious masterpieces that many of you have so faithfully read. And, I don’t normally put a time limit on myself either, but tonight is different.

Tonight, there will be no marathon blog writing session into the early hours of the morning. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t.

You see, for those who aren’t up to speed with my daily adventures, I have spent some time at the doctor’s office recently for blood work, two urine tests, a cardiogram and even a abdominal ultra sound.

So, this afternoon, I went to get all my results.

I have 9 minutes left.

I mean for this writing session…not how long I have to live.

The reason I initially went to the doctor in the first place, was because I’ve been feeling really tired…a lot. I just haven’t had much energy for quite a while, and it was starting to concern me.

However, apparently I’m fine. I just need to really fix my sleeping pattern.

That being said, I do have to send some random urine samples to the lab every two weeks just to monitor something…of which I’m not sure exactly.

And as a side note, by “random” I mean doing them at home sporadically, not that I need to send in some random urine. It’ll be mine.

4 minutes left.

Anyways, that recent saga is kinda why I can’t stay up tonight to pen (or type) another engaging piece of literature.

Basically, I’m not allowed. My wife has said, “No.”

She obviously wants me to get better sleep and more rest than I’ve been getting. And this evening she was pretty adamant about it.

So, I’m going to have to start getting creative earlier in the day, because it seems that my midnight blogging is coming to an end.

But, she’s my wife and I love her. So, I’m going to listen.

Tomorrow I’ll start the good stuff again!

1 minute left.

Good night and have a good one,
Timmy

Monday, November 23, 2009

Dare to dream!

Alright.

It was almost two weeks ago that I posted my Open Letter to Ben Stiller and...still no word.

Now, that letter is one of the most read blog posts I've written, so I know that there are many people who have stumbled across it. However, it appears that Mr. Stiller is not one of them.

So, with time running out, I've decided that the whole process needs to be ramped up a notch.

My first plan involved tapping into the phenomenon known as "Six-degrees of separation". But, in order for that to work, I needed people to pass my letter on.

The vision was that they would pass it to their friends, who would pass it to their friends, who would pass it to their friends, until it eventually reached Ben. He would then read my letter, be overcome with emotion, and accept the gracious invitation. Mission accomplished.

But, what I think transpired was that most people read it and did nothing with it, leaving the train to Stiller Station, derailed.

Now, I’m not all that surprised. I mean, most people probably thought, “What a crazy idea…It’ll never work.”

To that I say, “Yes and…why not?” Stranger things have happened.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m a dreamer living in a world that just doesn’t dare to dream.

You see, I’m a fan of the phrase “What if”.

Not in the sense of second guessing one’s past and wondering what could’ve been, for that, as a friend has said, would be rather pointless.

But, I do believe in occasionally leaving the box, that most of our world lives in, and doing things for the sheer adventure (and craziness) of doing it…and then seeing what happens.

Sure, the chance of my Open Letter to Ben Stiller actually reaching its intended recipient is slim.

And, yes, the chance of my request ever being acknowledged, let alone accepted, is VERY slim.

But, I simply ask...“What if?”

What if the “Six-degrees of separation” is a reality? What if the letter actually got to Mr. Stiller? What if I received an actual response? What if…my dream came true?

Doesn’t anyone else want to know if it could actually happen?

Some may say, “Well, what if...nothing happens?”

I say, “So what.” Trying to attain a dream and failing, isn’t failure. Never trying…that’s failure.

But, this really is the ideal situation. No risk. Huge potential. So, if it comes to naught…oh well.

The only negative, for the person who participates in my little experiment, may be that someone else might accuse them of being dreamer.

But, is that really a negative? I don’t think so. We need more dreamers in the world.

So, I ask the readers of this blog, if you haven’t already, would you consider passing my letter on, in one way or another, and encouraging others to do the same.

http://timmyboyle.blogspot.com/2009/11/open-letter-to-ben-stiller.html

I hope many will join me in this crazy little journey, but just in case they don’t… I have begun to put other wheels in motion.

If you need something done, who do you call? That’s right.

Ellen!

Last night, I sent The Ellen Degeneres Show the following email:

Ellen. Can you help me? I am pursuing a dream and I'm running out of time. I finally have a chance to see the legendary Bob Newhart (the funniest man I've ever heard) live in concert. That is a dream in itself, but then I was thinking...who do I share this momentous occasion with? It was a no-brainer.

I need to get a hold of Ben Stiller ASAP. I don't need a signed photograph or anything crazy like that. I just want to know if he'd be able to attend a Bob Newhart concert with me in December. I've got the extra ticket and I'll even pay for the snacks. He just needs to arrange his travel to Toronto.

EVERYONE watches your show. Surely if you were to mention my "Open Letter to Ben Stiller" on air, he (or his wife...or neighbour) would hear about it. http://timmyboyle.blogspot.com/2009/11/open-letter-to-ben-stiller.html

And, if by chance, he's busy. Would you be available? Hope to hear from ya soon, Have a good one, Tim

Hey, who knows…but “what if?”

So, pass on my letter, then go hatch your own silly idea.

Dare to dream!

Have a good one,
Timmy

*Go to Part 4 of the saga. Read about Ben Stiller's response here

Friday, November 20, 2009

My Dad. My Hero.

I have great parents.

When I was growing up, I always wanted to have kids. And, I figured that if I could be just half of what my parents were...then I’d be doing pretty well.

Then, I became a parent, and it hit me. I’m a father! I am half of what my parents were. Mission accomplished!

Now, if only I could somehow get to be half of what my father is. That’s the real test. Because, truth be told. That bar is pretty high. It may never happen.

He truly is an incredible man.

I’ve known my dad since I was born. And over the years, he has passed many of his traits onto me.

I have the Boyle nose…just like him. It took me a while to embrace it, but I love it now (see Boyle Nose).

I shake my leg, whenever I’m sitting down relaxing…just like him. My wife is annoyed by my habit, every bit as much as my mom is annoyed by his.

I whistle in the car…just like him. I even do tunes that he’s whistled, since I was child, and I still have no idea what songs they are.

I have his sense of humour, his enjoyment of sport and his love of family.

I also like to think that there are many character qualities that we share as well, but I will leave those for others to point out. Because, although I strive to be like him in so many areas of character, I don’t feel I match up in most of them.

My dad loves unconditionally. He serves without strings attached. He sacrifices constantly. He gives, more than, generously. He leads with humility. He’s not just patient…he’s long-suffering. And, he doesn’t raise his voice, because he doesn’t need to.

My dad is the best example of Jesus I’ve ever known, and it is by his loving example, that I properly understand God as Father.

I could fill pages with stories and examples of all that makes my dad so special, but I've chosen to highlight just a few.

1) My dad gives freely...and cheerfully.
I still can’t believe that he handed over his '92 World Series tickets to me and my sister. He certainly didn’t know Joe Carter would hit such a monumental and dramatic home run, but I don’t doubt, for one minute, that he hoped his kids would see something that special.

And, after it happened, I don’t believe he regretted his sacrifice, either. In fact, even if he did know such a moment was going to happen. I think he would have given us the tickets anyways!

2) My dad pays attention to the little things.Every day after work, when I was growing up, he would arrive home with chocolate bars for my mom, sister and myself. It was always our favourite kind, and no matter how many times my favourite changed (O-Henry, Mars, Smarties, Mr. Big, Kit Kat, Aero…), he always brought home the right one.

3) My dad is always there.
He’s attended every pivotal moment of my life...as well as every baseball game, school play, special speaking opportunity or any other event that has been important to me. Now, I know “every” is an exaggeration, but it certainly feels like it’s true.

If he could make it…he’d be there.

For years, I’d be playing ball and look up to see my dad, reading his paper, in the stands. Sometimes it looked like he wasn’t paying attention, but after every game, he’d tell me how I played. He was watching.

4) My dad is 100% behind me following my dreams.Heidi (my wife) tells me that she is my biggest fan. But, I disagree. Because, even though my dad has never uttered those words, I know that he’s my biggest fan. He has done everything humanly possible to make sure that I’ve been able to pursue those things that I love to do.

And one day, somehow, I’ll be able to repay him.

5) My dad doesn’t care if he’s repaid.____________________________________

Today is my dad’s birthday. I won’t tell you how old he is; although I don’t think he’d really care. But, I will tell you that he is older than me…and my sister – just not combined.

But, what do you give a man, who doesn’t seem to want or need anything beyond what’s best for those around him? I’ve struggled with this for years, so I just keep getting him books.

Well this year – along with a book – I want to simply say,

Thanks, dad! For everything…and beyond. I love you more than you’ll ever know. You are the most awesome dad (and "papa") in the world. You have been, are, and always will be…my hero.

Have a wonderful birthday. You deserve it.

Love,
Tim

Thursday, November 19, 2009

FOH-NIKS

THIS ENTRY IS IN A BETTER PLACE

To read this entry, and many other greats from the past,
you’ll need to buy a copy of the greatest collection of wit this side of Jupiter.

NOW AVAILABLE!
“INSIDE TIMMY’S MIND”…THE BOOK.
Timmys Book Inside Timmys Mind

ORDER YOUR COPY HERE

READ ABOUT THE BOOK HERE

TIMMY’S MIND IS:
A great gift for any literate person
A must for any coffee table or bathroom basket
A rock solid financial investment.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Yellow - "A poetic buffet"

THIS ENTRY IS IN A BETTER PLACE

To read this entry, and many other greats from the past,
you’ll need to buy a copy of the greatest collection of wit this side of Jupiter.

NOW AVAILABLE!
“INSIDE TIMMY’S MIND”…THE BOOK.
Timmys Book Inside Timmys Mind

ORDER YOUR COPY HERE

READ ABOUT THE BOOK HERE

TIMMY’S MIND IS:
A great gift for any literate person
A must for any coffee table or bathroom basket
A rock solid financial investment.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Ultra Sound

Today I had a most odd experience. My first Ultra Sound.

Flash back to last week. It had been few days since my first Physical, in years. I remember sitting in my doctor's office (yes, in the actual office - see What's Up Doc?) waiting to hear the results of my tests.

It was kind of awkward, really. While I sat in my chair watching the doctor mull over the data, we engaged in this strange little see-saw game.

When he had finished reading, he sat back and I leaned forward to hear what conclusion had been made. After a few moments, having said nothing, my doctor leaned forward to re-read the results. So, since he obviously wasn't ready to talk, I leaned back to a comfortable position.

The pattern continued over the next few minutes. He'd lean in. I'd lean back. He'd lean in. I'd lean back. When he finally spoke, I was nursing a strained abdominal muscle.

Finally, after analyzing the numbers or figuring out his handwriting, he mentioned that there was good news and bad news. He then proceeded to ask me which one I would rather hear first. I said the bad news. He wanted to tell me the good news.

Why ask?! Why do you ask if you already know which one you're going to tell? I hate that.

Anyways, the good news was that the blood test revealed that my haemoglobin was at a healthy level. Of course, telling me that, revealed that I had no idea what haemoglobin was.

The bad news was in regards to my urine sample. They had found traces of…

Now, as soon as I heard the words "found traces”, my heart sank. Before the doctor could utter another word I just started bawling. I was so ashamed.

But, it's not like he didn't know. After all, you don't get a body like mine without dipping into the steroid pot a few times.

I just started confessing. I told him about the time my seven-year old son beat me in Mini-Putt. I told him how humiliating it was. And I told him how I knew steroids were wrong...but I was just trying to look for an edge.

After my dramatic presentation, the doctor asked me how my comedy career was coming along and then recommended that I get an abdominal ultra sound taken.

An abdominal ultra sound!? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

I was confused, scared and excited and I haven’t, simultaneously, felt those three emotions since my honeymoon.

So, I called my wife right away. “Heidi, you’re never going to believe this! The doctor thinks I may be pregnant!”

It must have been a bad connection, because I’m sure she wouldn’t have purposely hung up on me.

Well, today was the day.

I arrived at the clinic, with an empty stomach and giddier than a school girl with tickets to see the Jonas Brothers.

The “Technician” (they don’t like to be called “Ultra Sound Chicks”), invited me into this room that was about the size of my refrigerator…and just as cold.

After some small talk about Sarah Palin’s interview with Oprah, I was told to lift up my shirt.

No worries there. I had come prepared. I quickly took off my coat to reveal that I was wearing a belly top.

Strangely, I couldn’t tell if she was impressed with my forethought or slightly horrified.

I then lied down on the bench which was covered by a strip of paper towel. The “Technician” squeezed this clear goo onto my stomach, and then moved an ice cold metal prod all over my mid-section.

I asked, more than once, if she could tell whether I was having a boy or a girl. But, she must have been very focused on the task at hand, because she never did answer me.

Looks like I’ll have to wait until next Monday for the results...I’m guessing boy.

When I left the Ultra Sound room, I told Heidi that I badly needed a shower. Shocked, she asked, “Didn’t you wipe the goo off?” To which I replied, “Don’t you remember I have a hairy stomach?”

I don't know what's more difficult...
Me wiping that goo off or you getting that image out of your mind.

Have a good one,
Timmy

Monday, November 16, 2009

Super-dumb-stitions

THIS ENTRY IS IN A BETTER PLACE

To read this entry, and many other greats from the past,
you’ll need to buy a copy of the greatest collection of wit this side of Jupiter.

NOW AVAILABLE!
“INSIDE TIMMY’S MIND”…THE BOOK.
Timmys Book Inside Timmys Mind

ORDER YOUR COPY HERE

READ ABOUT THE BOOK HERE

TIMMY’S MIND IS:
A great gift for any literate person
A must for any coffee table or bathroom basket
A rock solid financial investment.

Friday, November 13, 2009

The best blog ever!

Yesterday, I watched a video entitled, The Most Annoying Video on YouTube and you know what? It wasn’t a clip of Kirsten Dunst and…it was brilliant!

You see, although it was frantic, repetitive and grating, I found it way more amusing than annoying.

Now, I suppose if I was locked in a room - against my will - and forced to watch it (like I did to my wife), I might have had a different perspective.

I do certainly understand how it could, potentially, under the right circumstances, drive a person to a mild state of insanity. But I wasn’t in those circumstances.

I, very clearly, saw the title “Most Annoying Video” and with all of my faculties in place, consciously moved my little cursor over the link and then exercised my free-will by left-clicking my mouse.

“Why?” you ask. Well, maybe I’m already insane, but I don’t think so, because, as I write this, The Most Annoying Video on YouTube has been viewed over 21,000 times!

That’s right. Twenty-one THOUSAND.

Now, I’m sure that there are many people (like me) who have watched it multiple times and there are many people (like my wife) who couldn’t get passed the first 30 seconds.

But, regardless, what I find amazing is that The Most Annoying Video on YouTube has been watched over 20,000 times. That is a lot of views. However, I am astounded, but not surprised.

We live in a culture of extremes. It is a world that is equally fascinated by both the incredibly bad and the incredibly good.

Now, we may not celebrate the bottom feeders, in the ocean of life, like we do the powerful sharks and the graceful dolphins, but we certainly pay equal attention to them.

It’s "The William Hung Principle", and it’s been (and will be) around for ever.

Basically, the really ugly, inept and/or dumb are just as captivating as the really beautiful, talented and/or smart. In our culture, either end of the spectrum will garner the attention of those residing in the middle.

If you are mildly funny, relatively good looking, sort of talented and make a modest income…you may be in the majority, but you will be out of the spotlight.

But, if you embody all the gifts of heaven or none of them...we'll watch you!

Our world seems to be obsessed with the superlative. The same people who set up fan pages for the BEST our world has to offer will also, when smelling the WORST odour in the world, call on their friends to take a whiff.

It’s weird, but it’s what we do.

Actually, I find it incredible that People magazine, which publishes the widely popular “Most Beautiful People” list, has never put out an “Ugliest People” edition.

Maybe they’re just being nice…but it would sell a pile of magazines!

So, what I’m trying to say is that titling a video, “The best”, “The worst”, “The funniest”, “The dumbest” or “The most annoying” will draw an audience, everytime.

Now, keeping the audience...that's a different matter. We like to watch a train wreck, but only for so long. To keep our attention, the really bad needs to be so bad, that it’s good.

Which brings me back to this particular video. The title got me to watch, but the content got me to watch again.

I was so amazed about how annoying it was...I couldn’t take my eyes off it. In fact, I watched the whole six-minutes and 38 seconds. Three times!

I just kept shaking my head, thinking, “This is so bad, it’s great!”

Afterwards, I ended up watching other videos with a similar title. Don't bother with those ones, because they were just plain, middle of the road, bad. Not annoying. Just…bad.

Well, that’s it for now. Tune in next week for “The Most Boring Blog Ever”.

It’s going to be a colossal failure. You’re going to love it!

Have a good one,
Timmy

Thursday, November 12, 2009

What's up Doc?

"Let's get physical!" or "Let's get A physical."

Hmmm? Olivia Newton John or...my doctor?

I do not like going to the doctor. In fact, I don't even like writing the word "doctor". Having to type it twice has already given me an ulcer. Great. Now I have to go to the doc...MD.

My aversion to the whole world of needles, stethoscopes and lil’ unchewable pills has been around for some time. I’m pretty sure it started around the time that I was born.

After having spent ten, wonderfully relaxing, months in the comfort of my mother’s womb, getting slapped on the butt by a strange, masked man, with rubber gloves, as soon as I entered the world, formed some early walls.

Now, it’s not as though I perceive the physician as a tool of evil - although I do think that only an evil mind could have conceived the rectal thermometer – it’s just that I find them…uncomfortable (the doctor, that is).

Maybe it’s just me, but I have a hard time developing a really solid relationship with someone who, every time we get together, needs to jam a wooden stick down my throat, steal my blood or make me cough.

Look, Doc. If we could just talk…or watch a movie, once in a while, maybe I’d visit more often. But I’m not going to get all giddy-like about having to pee in a small bottle.

As a young child I heard that, “An apple a day will keep the doctor away”. So, an apple a day it was. I figure that in my life-time, I’ve eaten…oh…let’s say 11,000 apples. Give or take a few.

How much credit goes to the apple, I’m not really sure, but after 36 years, I am proud to say that I have managed to keep my doctoral encounters to a bare minimum.

Not only have I been able to avoid my family physician, with phenomenal success, but I have also never been in the hospital for any reason, other than to visit or be born (which was kind of out of my control).

That is really quite miraculous, considering I partook in multiple head first slides on gravel, falling down flights of stairs on purpose and juggling coat hangers.

Mind you, catching that one coat hangar with my eye did land me, briefly, in a walk-in clinic.

But, even with that unfortunate accident, the number of trips I’ve made, during my adult years, to my medical practitioner’s office could be counted on one hand…maybe even a paw.

Come to think about it, I’ve been hit by lightning more often.

And, only two of those strikes caused me to consider medical help. Other than the occasional short term memory failure…I’ve experienced no negative effects.

In fact, only two of those strikes caused me to consider medical help.

Other than the occasional short term memory failure…I’ve experienced no negative effects.

Obviously, if I’m going to see the Doc...I must really feel something is wrong. So, you can imagine the shock, and scare, I gave everyone in my life, when I mentioned that I would, voluntarily, be paying a visit to the man in white.

But, I don’t believe I had any choice. Last Tuesday, one look in the mirror was all it took. What I saw, that morning, was quite un-settling actually. I’m a proud man…but, this time, I knew I was going to need help.

And, I’ll be honest…despite the genuine sense of urgency, getting myself to make the appointment was still like pulling teeth.

Which reminds me…I haven’t been to the dentist since I got my braces off. Wow! 25 years go fast. I should drop in, one day, just to see if my dentist is still alive.

Anyways, that afternoon, I headed down to the Medical Clinic (aka House of Horrors).

When I walked in my worst fears were confirmed, by those seated around the waiting room. I must have looked deathly ill, because after the collective gasp, even the patient with the face mask got up and left.

Now, I really don’t blame him. I was not a pleasant sight. My hair was all dishevelled, my lips were dry and cracked, my skin was pale and my eyes were blood red. I looked worse than that guy Edward from the movie Twilight (that boy’s not well).

However, still in the waiting room - after two hours…and 17 Chatelaine magazines - I discovered something. It was great news!

I didn’t need a doctor, after all.

Apparently, according to what I read, my problem wasn’t anything that a brush, lip balm, some sun and a good night sleep wouldn’t be able to cure.

I was so thrilled. I tore out an article, called “Seven Keys to Super Soft Skin”, told the secretary that I’d been healed and skipped out of the office.

Once home, I immediately subscribed to Chatelaine…in Robert Pattinson’s name. Hope it helps him, like it helped me.

Have a good one,
Timmy

P.S. I'd take Olivia Newton John...just incase you were wondering.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

A Moment of Silence

Nov. 11, 2009. I don't shut up very often. Now seems like a good time.


LEST WE FORGET

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

~John McCrae, 1915

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Purple - "A Colourful Confrontation"

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Monday, November 9, 2009

A perfect weekend

I had just a phenomenal weekend!

It was one of those really special weekends that just seemed to get better and better as it went along.

It all started Friday morning, when I woke up.

That's right. I woke up! I'm sure you are already beginning to see the potential wrapped up in those few words.

Personally, I don't believe there is any better way to start a day - or any day, for that matter - then waking up. In fact, I think not waking up would put a serious damper on things.

But, there were other details, which made this particular waking up so amazing. For one, I had the immense privilege of opening my eyes, just in time, to watch the sunrise...to the highest point in the sky. 12:00pm. High Noon. Oh, the joy of sleeping in. What a beautiful thing.

Now, I know that some astute readers will notice that my weekend, apparently, started on Friday. I also realize that many people wouldn't, technically, consider Friday morning as the "weekend", but when you're a Stay-at-home Dad / Comedian...the days often blend together.

Regardless, when Friday feels like the weekend has already started...you know it's going to be a good one.

My first task, on this already glorious day - other than checking my email, showering, getting dressed, having breakfast, brushing my teeth, reading the paper, cleaning the cat pee off my shoes, washing my hands and kicking the cat - was to pick up my good friend Leland Klassen (who was in town for a comedy show) and bring him back home for a visit with the family.

Now, I hadn't seen Leland for almost eight months, so it was certainly awesome, in and of itself. But, as a result of his visit, the house got cleaned and there were fancy treats on our dining room table.

Y'know, if we never had guests over, our house would be a total disaster and the best snack we'd ever have would be strawberry pop tarts.

So, check it out: It feels like a long weekend, I wake up late and visit with a friend in my newly cleaned house, while eating minty chocolate…and it was only Friday!

On Saturday, I went to the Toronto Argonaut football game. Now, had I been a die-hard Argo fan, and the score actually mattered to me…then this would have brought my awesome weekend to a screeching halt.

Montreal won 387-3…or at least that’s how it felt. But, I didn’t really care. I had a great time anyway.

First of all, my daughter had purchased the tickets, as an early Christmas gift, for me, and her two grandfathers – which I thought was very sweet. Secondly, it was great to see my sister and her husband, who were also in attendance. Thirdly, we managed to get Leland, a big CFL fan, a ticket so that he could join us.

And lastly, I got a cardboard football helmet, a mini football – which my dad caught - and the chance to run on the turf, while catching a pass from Leland and getting tackled by my brother-in-law…onto a pillow (it’s a long story).

If only those pesky cheerleaders didn’t keep getting in the way of my view of the game…it would have been perfect. Right, dear?

That evening, as I drove Leland to his comedy show in Brantford, Ontario (the hometown of Mr. Wayne “Greatest player to ever lace ‘em up” Gretzky), we reminisced about all the great memories we’ve had while travelling together, in the past.

I mean, who could forget about almost running out of gas, getting stuck in snow drifts or battling six-foot tall inflatable syringes. Hey, the comedian’s life isn’t all glamour.

At the show I saw an incredible juggling act, danced on stage to YMCA on a DDR mat, and ate a couple (five) of slices of the most delicious apple pie I have ever had…apart from the pie my wife makes, of course (see "Woo'ed by pie").

Now, if that was how it all ended, I would have been satisfied…but it didn’t. The best was yet to come!

This morning I went to my church and officially began my first day as “Hall Monitor”. No way! Yes way! I am a Hall Monitor!

Even though, my shirt was orange (see "Green"), I wore it proudly. I positioned my chair just right, so that no door was unseen…because when “Hall Monitor Timmy” is on duty, rest assured, that hall is a safe hall.

My shift was pretty uneventful, but very invigorating. I did have one take down, but it was a false alarm. I’m there to protect the children, so I can’t take any chances. If you walk down my hall and reach into your pocket, be prepared to kiss the floor. Senior citizen, or not!

Friends, sports, comedy and power trips. A perfect weekend!

Have a good one,
Timmy

Friday, November 6, 2009

An Open Letter to Ben Stiller

Dear Mr. Stiller,

(Wait…that sounds like I’m trying to address Ben’s dad. Now, I’m sure Jerry is nice enough and all, but I’m really trying to get a hold of his son.)

Dear Ben,

(Man…that is much too informal. I mean, laughing during Zoolander hardly puts us on a first name basis.)

Dear Ben Stiller,

(Hmmm…there isn’t just one “Ben Stiller”. I really don’t want to cause confusion and get any ol’ Ben Stiller responding. I remember how things got out of hand at Cheers with the whole Jacqueline “Jackie” Bisset debacle.)

Dear Ben Stiller, son of Jerry, star of Zoolander and king of comedy

(Whoa, whoa! That’s way too much. The last part sounds like I’m kissing up.)

Dear Ben Stiller, son of Jerry and star of Zoolander.

(Perfect. It's respectful and clear.)

I know you must get many letters like this from fans (and really confused friends), but I am hoping that this one will somehow stand out.

I considered sending you a real letter – you know, the old-fashioned way - with ink, paper and all the trimmings, but I decided against.

First of all, I’m not sure if letters like that ever get by your “people” and secondly…do you have any idea how much stamps are, now a days!? It’s ridiculous.

So, as I was looking into other options, a friend introduced me to a thing called the World Wide Web. Have you heard of it? If not…you’ll never read this.

Anyways, I’d like to start by saying that I’m a huge fan…of Bob Newhart.

Now, I know you’re probably thinking, “So...send a letter to Bob Newhart.” But if I sent this letter to Newhart, then you wouldn’t receive it. See where I’m going with this.

If you don’t know where I’m going with this, then it’s probably because you haven’t read yesterday’s blog entry. This would be completely understandable, given the fact that you didn’t know it existed.

So, to make sure we’re on the same page, please take a few moments to read through the previous entry. You can speed read it if you want.

I’m leaving a link, so that I don’t have to type it all again and risk Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. Click here ...and then come back.

Welcome back.

Remember those Choose your own Adventure books? Well, let’s relive that experience:

If you didn’t click on the link (or it didn’t work)...you'll miss some stuff, but go to Line 37

If you did click on the link (and it worked) go to line Line 59

LINE 37: The funniest person I have ever heard is Bob Newhart. His dry satirical wit, with the trademark stammer, is legendary. His one sided phone conversations are simply remarkable. Since his stand-up comedy career was at its peak in the 60’s - well before I was born - I knew him as an actor before I knew him as a stand-up comedian.

In the 80’s, his sitcom, Newhart was a regular part of my television diet. I was later introduced to his 70’s sitcom, The Bob Newhart Show and then to his classic 60’s comedy album, The Button-Down Mind.

I followed Newhart’s career backwards. And, with each step back, I grew to admire Bob Newhart’s comic genius more and more. He has just turned 80, and is one of the last remaining members of the golden age of comedy. As my admiration increased, I quickly realized that so was his age. This man was not going to be around for ever…and guys like him don’t come around very often.

Over the last few years, his calendar has become very limited, and although I have tried to get to one of the few shows he does do, the dates just haven’t jived with my calendar.
Until now!

Thanks to my parents, I have finally secured two tickets to see Bob Newhart Live! I am absolutely ecstatic. It truly is a once in a life-time experience. It is a chance to see a living legend. Friday, December 4, 2009 at Roy Thompson Hall. Two floor seats, 16 rows back.

I can’t truly explain how excited I am. I really do expect this to be one of those rare inspirational moments that I’ll always look back to as I pursue my own dream of being a comedian.

There is only one thing that would make seeing my comic idol more special...I've got one month to somehow convince Ben Stiller to join me.

(Don’t worry about Carpal Tunnel…I used Cut & Paste)

LINE 59: So, Mr. Stiller...are you interested?

Here’s the deal.

I’m covering the tickets…and snacks. You just have to arrange your own travel to Toronto, Canada.

Looking forward to hearing from you soon,
Timmy Boyle, son of John, writer of “Inside Timmy’s Mind”

P.S. Please help me get this message out. If that "Six-degrees of Separation” law is real, then if everyone who reads this sends this blog link to all their friends, it will eventually get to Mr. Stiller. So...Pass it on! No, seriously...do it.

Note: This obviously doesn’t apply to Mr. Stiller...unless he wants to pass it on to Mr. Newhart.
*Go to Part 3 of the saga. To find out what happened next, read "Dare to Dream" here

Thursday, November 5, 2009

A dream come true!

I have always had the desire to make people laugh. I love laughing. I love people who can make me laugh.

Tim Conway was the first entertainer that I remember emulating. On The Carol Burnett Show, he often played this crazy old man character that would move and speak in super slow motion. One episode he fell down the stairs...slowly...super slowly.

I cracked up for the entire accident! Up to that point in my life, it may have been the funniest thing I'd ever seen.

So, for years to come, I would welcome visitors to our family’s home by falling down the stairs to greet them. It may have been the cause of the lower back problems that I experience today, but it was well worth it.

As I grew older - and could stay up later - I became a regular viewer of Late Night. During my high-school years, it was on my "won't miss" list. I loved David Letterman's dry, sarcastic, quick wit. I not only found it hilarious, but I could relate to it.

I was also very drawn to his use of video and the over all quirkiness of the show. Although Late Night had a template it followed, you just were never quite sure what would happen on any given night.

In 1999, I saw the movie Mystery Men. I ended up seeing it three times in the theatres, which no other movie has ever caused me to do. It quickly became my all-time favourite and remains there today.

That movie also marked the first time I had witnessed Ben Stiller, doing what he does best: Being frustrated and angry with all the stupidness around him. Mr. Furious…awesome!

By the time I had discovered his short-lived, but brilliant, sketch comedy show, The Ben Stiller Show (‘92-93), I was already a huge fan of his work. I’ve seen almost every movie he has played a role in and most of them sit very high on my favourite movie list.

Although, he hasn’t been around nearly as long as Conway, Letterman and others, I consider him very much to be one of my comedy influences. In fact, I have often said that Ben Stiller is the 2nd funniest person I have ever come across.

Which quite naturally brings me to who holds that number one spot.

Now, I’m not a star-struck individual, so I don’t spend a whole lot of time gushing over celebrities. There are many entertainers that I enjoy and respect immensely, but there is only ONE that I decided, some time ago, that I must see "live on stage" before he dies.

He is Bob Newhart.

His dry satirical wit, with the trademark stammer, is legendary. His one sided phone conversations are simply remarkable.

Since his stand-up comedy career was at its peak in the 60’s - well before I was born - I knew him as an actor before I knew him as a stand-up comedian.

In the 80’s, his sitcom, Newhart was a regular part of my television diet. I was later introduced to his 70’s sitcom, The Bob Newhart Show and then to his classic 60’s comedy album, The Button-Down Mind.

I followed Newhart’s career backwards. And, with each step back, I grew to admire Bob Newhart’s comic genius more and more.

He has just turned 80, and is one of the last remaining members of the golden age of comedy.

As my admiration increased, I quickly realized that so was his age. This man was not going to be around for ever…and guys like him don’t come around very often.

Over the last few years, his calendar has become very limited, and although I have tried to get to one of the few shows he does do, the dates just haven’t jived with my calendar.

Until now!

Thanks to my parents, I have finally secured two tickets to see Bob Newhart Live! I am absolutely ecstatic. It truly is a once in a life-time experience. It is a chance to see a living legend.

Friday, December 4, 2009 at Roy Thompson Hall. Two floor seats, 16 rows back.

I can’t truly explain how excited I am. I really do expect this to be one of those rare inspirational moments that I’ll always look back to as I pursue my own dream of being a comedian.

There is only one thing that would make seeing my comic idol more special...I've got one month to somehow convince Ben Stiller to join me.

I’ve got an extra ticket, Ben. Call me.

*Go to PART 2 of the saga. Read my open letter to Ben Stiller here

Have a good one,
Timmy

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

White - "The Beauty of a Fresh Start"

White.

Have you ever thought about it? White, that is. It's not easy.

When I thought about "Red", I immediately thought about fire trucks, roses and Santa Claus.

When I thought about "Blue", my mind filled with images of water, blue jays and Grover from Sesame Street.

When I thought about "Yellow", visions of taxi cabs, lemons and M&M peanut packages danced in my head.

When I thought about "White"...my mind was blank.

And there it was!

White.

Some might perceive a blank mind as being "Black", for emptiness is often associated with darkness. But I see "blankness" quite differently.

I don't think a blank anything is actually empty, at all. I think to be blank, is to be filled...with hope and potential.

There are so many colours that are often described with words like "vibrant" and "happy".

No one seems to talk about White that way...but they should.

A rainbow is no less stunning than a new bride in her white wedding gown.

A field of flowers is no less breath taking than a hillside of freshly fallen snow.

And, although, a white canvas is not as interesting as one that hosts a finished work of art, they are both "full of life".

In fact, I would argue that the blank one is more full...much like a new born baby being compared to a person who has lived a solid 80 years, plus.

Both are living, but the baby, being the blank canvas, also holds all the potential in the world.

That being said, with White comes great responsibility.

Because Potential is the keeper of both good and evil, the keeper of White must decide what to do with this blank slate.

What will the builder construct? What will the artist paint? What will the writer write? What will the speaker say? What will the parent instil?

Handling White should never be taken lightly, because White can be lost in an instant.

Once a work begins - the first dot on the page, drop of paint on the canvas, brick to be laid, word to be spoken - White will never be white again.

And so, White is often very intimidating. In fact, some people, out of fear of making a mistake, choose to leave White alone. But, White was never intended to remain white.

You see, White is not satisfied unless it is used as a springboard into something else.

It is better to make a mistake than to do nothing at all.

To leave a white piece of paper...white, is a waste.

White would rather have a young child joyfully scribble on it, then to be hung on the fridge, as is.

A hillside of white snow is great for a picture or two, but unless someone eventually jumps into it...White will become frustrated.

White that has been explored is more beautiful than White itself.

You see, White may be utterly pure, but strangely, it would rather be "real" than perfect.

So, whether life presents you with a completely new beginning, or you choose to turn over a new page on your own, the next time you have a fresh opportunity in front of you...do something positive with it.

Encourage, challenge, teach, inspire, amuse. Turn that White moment into a masterpiece!

My hope is that I turned this particular white page into something of worth. It may not be perfect...but it's real.

What will you do with your White moments?

Have a good one,
Timmy

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Fear Factor - Part 2

Welcome back to Timmy's Top Five Terrors. If you haven't read Part 1, I'd encourage you to take a few moments to find out what was #5 and #4, before continuing. Click here for Part 1.

Now, it is time to find out what things cause me to scream like a little girl.

TIMMY'S TOP FIVE TERRORS


THREE
Kirsten Dunst/Ben Affleck

I really, really wanted to like the movie Spiderman. I had such incredibly high hopes for Daredevil. However, each dream was dashed, un-mercilessly, against the rocks of Dunst and Affleck.

They single-handedly sunk two movies - and one entire franchise - for me. I think any film, starring either of these two brilliantly dull "actors", should be found in the Horror section of video stores. They are movie monsters...who have never played the role of a monster.

Ben is Frankenstein. With simple words and awkward actions, his acting will pound you into submission.

Kirsten is an eerie combination of the Sandman & Dracula. First, she puts you to sleep and then she sucks the life out of you.

In fact, if you want to make the ultimate horror flick. Cast Ben & Kirsten...together! That, my friends, even if it was a romantic comedy, would be guaranteed to send shivers down your spine. It would be worse than Home Alone 3 and scarier than The Shining. SROTCA DAB!

TWO
Speedos

I've mentioned the Speedo in a previous post (See The Name that Makes me Cringe), and it certainly deserves to be on this list. Because..."Speedos kill".

In Nightmare on Elm Street, Freddy Krueger wore a metal glove of knives. Scary? You bet! But, if you really want nightmares, then imagine that thin, disfigured man, with burnt skin, wearing nothing but a Speedo.
Knives or not, THAT is an image you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy.

Yet, sadly, that nightmare is lived out on our beaches each year. You, an innocent person, dressed in modest attire, just want to go for a nice, relaxing walk along the water's edge and then, out of no where...

"My eyes! They're burning!"

And it wasn't because of the glaring sun. No. You had just witnessed the large old man with sagging skin, wearing the Speedo...or, at least, you think it was a Speedo. It's always hard to tell when the wearers belly button hangs lower than their waist line.

Just because you can buy a Speedo...doesn't mean you should wear one.

But, that's what makes Speedos so evil. The (the Speedo) mainly use their diabolical powers to draw in people who shouldn't wear one. You see, the Speedo preys on the obese, the bony thin and the elderly.

Once the Speedo has a person of bone, wrinkle or flab, within purchasing distance, it is on to step two. Quickly, the Speedo sends mind control pulses to render "common sense" paralyzed, and then easily convinces these individuals that wearing as little fabric as possible, will help solve world hunger.

At this point, the cautionary advice from friends and family is powerless. So, under the Speedos hypnotic spell, these people proudly march the public beaches, completely unaware of the fact that they are implanting horrific, debilitating images into the minds of the public.

Once man kind's minds have been deadened, the call will be made to the Speedo mother ship and...world domination will be theirs.

Tell me that's not scary!

And now, it's time for Timmy's #1 Terror

ONE
Women with Hairy Armpits

I just can't go there, folks.

Well, there you go. I'm not so sure if I should have revealed all of this. Now, if I'm ever in a situation where international spies need to get a secret code out of me...they know the key.

Sit me in a washroom stall and send in the clown. If that doesn't work...just slowly ramp up the pressure. Kirsten Dunst, followed by the fat guy in the Speedo. Still nothing? Release the hairy woman!

"I'll Talk! I'll Talk!"

Have a good one,
Timmy

Monday, November 2, 2009

Fear Factor - Part 1

This weekend was Halloween. I spent the evening relaxing at home with my oldest daughter. We watched two movies while my wife took the other two children to wander the cold, dark streets collecting candy for me. They did good. We're all candied up until, at least, Christmas.

For me, Halloween usually comes and goes without a whole lot of fanfare, but when you write a blog...it's hard to ignore such an event.

On Friday, I wrote about the scariest thing I experienced this Halloween (see Halloween Cheer...), and it got me thinking. What things scare me, in general? After discussing it over with my wife, here are the Top Five things that give me the Willies...or, at the very least, bring about a substantial gag reflex.

TIMMY'S TOP FIVE TERRORS

FIVE

Public Washrooms

I avoid public washrooms, whenever humanly possible...and for good reason. I think that using the public facilities is very comparable to the moods of a menopausal woman. Unpredictably frightening!

As a result, I have often travelled home, from a public location, while experiencing intense cramping with the real possibility of needing a change of clothes when I arrive. But for me...it's always worth the risk.

If you've ever used a public washroom then, guaranteed, you'll understand the following scary scenarios:

A) The door lock doesn't work. This leaves a person to sit with one leg (or arm) stretched, to the max, holding the door closed, while doing their thing. In those larger washrooms, only a NBA Center with the flexibility of a Yoga Master, can actually accomplish the task. Under those conditions, people like me just pray and hope for the best.

B) The toilet doesn't flush...or keeps filling up. I think public toilets get stressed when too many people are around, because these failures always seem to happen when someone is waiting in line. When found in that situation, I quickly open the door - avoiding eye contact with the next user - and...run!

C) There is no toilet paper. Strangely, there is always paper...except for that ONE time that you didn't check BEFORE you did your thing.

I just can't risk going through that...again. Scary? Absolutely!

FOUR

Clowns

Trix are for kids. Clowns are not. Who decided that clowns were entertainment? Probably the same people who give out toothbrushes to "Trick or Treaters".

Apparently, I'm a Coulrophobic. This is a person who, according to one definition, has an "extreme fear of clowns". Now, I don't like the word "extreme", because it makes it sound like I curl up into the fetal position, whenever I see over-sized shoes.

C'mon! When I see a clown, I may wail uncontrollably, drool and wet my pants...but I don't act like a baby.

Wikipedia defines it as "an abnormal or exaggerated fear of clowns". Really? Being afraid of clowns is abnormal? Obviously, this entry was edited by a clown.

I would think that a grown man calling himself "Bobo" is abnormal...and to be rightfully feared.

Wikipedia goes on to say, "(Coulrophobia) is acquired after having a bad experience...or seeing a sinister portrayal (of a clown)." Doesn't that describe every clown encounter? Bad and sinister.

Let's be honest. Clowns are, flat out, creepy. I've been weirded out by clowns for as long as I can remember. Even now, as an adult, if a clown approaches me, to show me something amusing, I'll keep him (or her) at arms length and inform them to have both hands visible, at all times. I simply don't trust someone who needs to paint a smile on their face.

Hey, thanks for the balloon giraffe...it's cute. You? Not so much. Please leave...before I call the cops.

Well, I know what you're thinking. "There is no way anything is more terrifying than public washrooms and clowns!" Oh, believe me, there are.

To find out the top three things that cause my skin to crawl, go to Part 2 here.

Have a good one,

Timmy

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