What can you do when your BFF is a troublemaker and a bad influence? What can you do when your mother doesn’t like your BFF and cringes whenever their name is mentioned?
What can you do when your BFF is a dragon puppet who wears a striped turtleneck, work boots, and size 6X OshKosh B’Gosh coveralls festooned with buttons that say “Why Be Normal” and “I Love My Dad?”
You do the same thing I did when Benny came into my life. When I say “came into my life” I don’t mean he walked in the door and sat down on the couch with a beer, I mean I created him as an assignment in Children’s Drama Class in college. As soon as I gave him a voice like an articulate Cookie Monster, though, he became his own…presence.
When I say “presence” I mean he got invited to floor parties in residence and the girls loved him. How much? Let’s just say that Benny got kissed more in college than I ever did…
Read the rest of My BFF is a Bad Influence from Tim Reynolds in SEARCH Magazine‘s Winter 2022 #KeepLaughing issue.
We all grasp at moments of humor when they float by, desperate to raise our serotonin levels with a smile, a chuckle, or an outright, belly-splitting guffaw and tears. Sometimes it’s hard to see the humor in the situation or the world around us…and that’s why we need professional humor-makers—especially stand-up comedians—whether live on a stage, in a Netflix special, or on YouTube.
For six years I treaded the boards and stared into the spotlights as an amateur comic willing to grab any time on almost any stage. I have performed for Baptist church groups (they don’t like jokes about farting dogs), lawyers and accountants (the more they drink, the less intelligent the jokes have to be), and I’ve had the rare honor of MCing a six-hour show featuring live music and burlesque acts, which is where standup comedy started—entertaining the audience while the stage hands reset the stage between acts of exotic dancers. Although, no matter what words were coming out of my mouth or what ears they were going into, there were basic rules I learned at the workshops given by working comics every Wednesday…
Read the rest of Stand Up and Succeed from Tim Reynolds in SEARCH Magazine‘s Winter 2022 #KeepLaughing issue.
I’d like to say that I’m the Do-It-Yourself King, but as much as I like fixing stuff and solving my own problems, my skills often fall short of my needs for the project. Or, if not my skills falling short, then it might be the plan itself.
I’ve been at this since I was a kid when Dad would bring home a clean, empty wooden crate from work and I would convert it into lopsided shelves, or a battleship for G.I. Joe—complete with a dart board featuring Adolf H’s evil face.
I have turned a discarded flooring store display into a wall unit bar, repaired a hole in my muffler with a soda can, and tried to make an incline table on the basement stairs but got stuck hanging upside down by my ankles while the dogs licked my face. More recently, I designed and built my own pergola on my deck.
It’s sturdy enough to…
Read the rest of DIY Dental Disaster from Tim Reynolds in SEARCH Magazine‘s Fall 2022 #Homemade issue.
I was a suburban brat who was allergic to trees, grass, ragweed, mold, and mildew. In other words, I was allergic to the world, which was a bit of a bummer since when I wasn’t hiding from my sisters in the basement with a book, I was outside raising hell and getting into mischief.
Summers as a kid were the best. We lived a ten-minute walk from a ravine with a fast-flowing creek for environmentally unfriendly styrofoam boat races, life-risking Tarzan swings over the water, a little hippy commune down the hill from the IBM country club, and an improvised plywood fort the big kids tried to light…
We all have summer memories of one sort or another. Mine are pretty good and the best ones involve my father, Ken. Regular readers here know me as the Class Clown of SEARCH Magazine, but what you don’t know is that I inherited my Genetic Goofball gene from my dad.
Although he had a reputation as an ex-military, ex-lumberjack, strongly-disciplined man, Dad was really a big teddy bear with the kind of off-color humor being a navy pilot and a lumberjack will foster. I wish I could share some of his classic chuckles with you here, but SEARCH is a family magazine and Dad…
This year marks the 50th anniversary of when I began failing as an entrepreneur, going back to my first days as the neighborhood butcher of grass. For five dollars here and five dollars there, I pushed our four-horse, two-stroke (or was that two-horse, four-stroke?) grass-shredding beast from lawn to lawn. As easy as the job was, I failed to make my fortune at it for two reasons. First, I really hated cutting lawns and second, I’m allergic to grass. Of course, fifty years later I’m still allergic and still have a lawn I have to cut, only now I don’t have an overseer watching and judging me from a second-floor window.
Eventually, I failed enough at that job that I decided to become the world’s greatest magician. Or at least the greatest one in our household. I had a few tricks I was pretty good at and some I was mediocre at, but my entrepreneurial success was stunted by my complete lack of interest in practicing my art beyond knowing how the trick worked. Despite this crappy attitude and my weak business acumen, I…
I’m a big supporter of health and wellness. Really! I have a regular exercise regimen that includes stretching the truth, jumping to conclusions, and running off at the mouth. When I’m feeling extra energetic I even try to jog my memory.
I like my yoga plain, with fresh fruit mixed in, and my “downward dog” is textbook perfect—if you define “downward dog” as napping with my pup, Sedona. I have a coat rack in my living room that looks just like a stationary bike, a tarp hanger in my basement that strongly resembles an $1100 elliptical machine…
Continue reading in our Winter 2021 #Wellness issue.
You’re thinking, “Of course you’re not, Tim. You’re 61 and you’re not an astronaut,” and you’d be right. But I might have. I actually applied to go with Japanese billionaire Yusaka Maezawa.
He’s taking eight people with him on SpaceX’s Starship, in 2023. Really! It’s the #DearMoon project. And I applied. So what if I didn’t make the cut? My point is, I might have gone. The odds of me going weren’t great, but there was a slim chance. By applying, my chances were 1 in 62,500. Despite failing to make the cut, I don’t regret applying. If I didn’t apply, my chance was zero.
The world is full of self-helpless gurus much more ego-boosting than I, all lined up to feed you a “Reasons to DO Something” list, but I’m here to give you 40 valid reasons NOT to do something. In no particular order.
It’s going to hurt…a lot. You’re not a trained dancer and that table isn’t very sturdy.
There are laws in place to specifically discourage doing it.
Your mother wouldn’t approve.
Your insurance has lapsed.
The last time you tried to do it, you lost your pants and your pride.
There are still active warrants from the last time you did it.
Sister Mary Elephant warned that you’d go to Hell if you did it.
You haven’t asked, “WWJD?”
You’re not as young as you once were.
When they did it on American Gladiator it looked like fun but two contestants were hospitalized.
Up in the sky! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s…my buddy Bruce in a cape jumping off his roof and breaking his arm! Oops.
Even after Bruce broke his arm, I wanted to be Superman. Or even Clark Kent, star reporter. I ended up being Jimmy Olsen, photographer. We all grew up wanting to be superheroes. I wanted to be Green Arrow and had the archery set and practiced in the front yard… until I shot an arrow in the air and it came down and hit the neighbor’s car two houses away. I wanted to be Aquaman and swim the oceans with the whales and sharks using my perfect dolphin kick…except I sank like a stone and couldn’t grow gills no matter how many fish sticks I ate. I dreamed of being The Flash…but couldn’t outrun my own bullies so I sure wasn’t saving anyone else.
My buddy Patrick and I wanted to be Spider-Men, but after climbing a very tall pinnacle of rock in the park, we couldn’t get down. No sticky webs, no Spidey-jumps, just a rope…and Mr. McGregor talking us down one hand-hold at a time…