An Ode to Mothers My Mother (Kathleen Tobe)

By: Jim (youngest; born: August 28, 1985; SSN: xxx-xx-xxxx)

Mothers. Every child has one. (Well, is that true is this day and age? There are books featuring kids with two dads…Let’s start over). Biological mothers. Every child technically had one at birth. A mother is one of the two most influential parents in the lives of their children. The extent of this influence seems to peak every year on the second Sunday in May. Fathers, meanwhile, experience absolutely no variance in the impact they have on their kids until the local department store advertises a clearance sale on tacky novelty ties. As April’s precipitation delivers May vegetation (that is a good saying, I should jot that down), children everywhere remember how their mothers nurtured what were once fragile, blossoming nose pickers and molded them into the stout, full-formed masters of metaphor they have become.

So, Mom, like any devoted son who catches a Kentucky Derby commercial, performs a frantic Google search for the terms, “Mother’s Day; 2010,” and looks for a calendar, I have been thinking recently about how to express my gratitude for all you have done for me. What sort of gift could I give that is truly unique? Flowers? Cliché. A card? Hackneyed. Chocolates? Trite. Acrostic poem? The third listed synonym from thesaurus for unoriginal. Time? Technology hasn’t been perfected. Grandchild? Already got it for Christmas. (Side note: adoption agencies are extremely pessimistic and dismissive about the possibility of time travel). Whenever I’m seeking something truly creative that countless employers have consistently refused to assign any monetary value, I consult my own imagination. That’s when it hit me: a grandchild! Four removed Craigslist postings and one restraining order later, I decided to write this essay on your behalf.

A mother’s bond with her son is eternal. Despite any trials and tribulations this relationship might endure, one inexorable fact remains: you and I were inseparable for a nine month period. You carried me everywhere. Was it difficult being the only third grade student who had to relearn the ability to walk as a result of leg atrophy? Obviously. But seeing me take my first steps for the second time was worth it. The experience brought us closer together. In a manner of speaking, you have been carrying me my whole life. Whenever I stumble on my path to greatness, you and Dad are there to help me gather myself and call me “Ex-Lax,” respectively. You have been my most loyal and supportive audience member. The approval of a million other people would be rendered meaningless by your unenthusiastic response. Whenever I pen a new work, I eagerly await your laughter. It is only fitting that your eyes be the first to behold this latest creation. I hope you have enjoyed it. If it doesn’t seem befitting of the unconditional love you’ve bestowed upon me over the years, read it again. This entire page is written in iambic pentameter.

(Did you actually attempt to reread the top portion? I apologize for misleading you. It was one last joke for the road).

Happy Mother’s Day to the Best Mother a Loquacious Offspring Dare Ever Imagine!
Love,
-Jim-

Season’s greetings to family, friends and anyone else in my parents’ address book,

As the weather invariably grows colder, our thoughts naturally turn to that old familiar birth story we’ve all heard hundreds of times. You undoubtedly know the details. The son of a carpenter, the green-sleeved child (and his fluorescent rhinoplastic nightmare) would grow from rather humble beginnings to become King Wenceslas, the most famous reindeer of all. As a monarch, he received gifts. Gold. Frankincense. Myrrh. (You’re probably thinking, all three!? Remember, these were more prosperous times). He was wrapped in swaddling clothes. Later in life he preferred less confining garments and frequently wore sandals. It’s easy to forget that our focus should be on him during this time of celebration. Ideally, every decision made in preparation for the holiday should be governed by the question of WWJD: What Would Jim Desire for Christmas?

Much like the advent wreath, the Tobe family (as I see it) consists of four candles, each one shining brightly in its own right. One of these four is unique, distinguishing itself mainly through unapologetic self-promotion and cleverly written Christmas letters. I shall provide an update on each segment of the family, starting with the eldest members and ending with the most vibrant.

Russell and Kathleen:
Mom and dad both celebrated an age-related milestone this year. To ensure that I’m well-represented under the tree come the 25th, let’s just say they look good for fifty, don’t they? Mom also doubled the size of her cooking repertoire (break AND bake, anyone?), while Dad suffered through the final year of the Charlie Weis era at Notre Dame. Dad still reminisces with a wistful glint in his eye about the Fighting Irish’s last national championship in 1988, when he was on the verge of thirty. (I’m committed at this point. What does one name his first yacht?)

Ben and Theresa:
The Schroeders celebrated a decade of married bliss and moved into their beautiful new home. This leaves two vacant guest rooms at la casa de Tobe. In order to combat Mom’s second bout of Empty Nest Syndrome, I suggest she open a “Bed and Bed,” considering breakfast for her usually consists of oatmeal and coffee. Ben also generously donated a kidney to his cousin in November. Evidently he was determined to complete his Christmas shopping early and avoid any possibility of his present being exchanged or returned.

John and *Francie (*denotes new Tobe!):
These two lovebirds tied the knot, saw Star Trek as part of an Australian honeymoon and were treated to an absolutely amazing toast at their wedding reception. The first new Tobe to make Russ and Kathy’s family picture since August of 1985, Francie was a shrewd free agent acquisition.

James Russell Tobe, Esquire:
I had an absolutely amazing year. The highlights include serving as best man for a second time, moving into an apartment with my new roommate and writing what I hope is an amusing Christmas letter. Returning to the question mentioned earlier (WWJD), Santa already knows what I hope to receive this year: the laughter and love exchanged on a late December morning in a tightly-wrapped package known as my family. They are a present I don’t deserve, but happily accept every Christmas.

Merry Christmas from the Tobes,
-Jim Tobe-

The process begins with a simple change in philosophy. In order to assume the role of evil mastermind, one must first view the traditional hero of the game as an enemy. By extension, this also makes whoever is playing the game an enemy, be it a friend, roommate or, ideally, a preexisting enemy. Forming a relationship with the person holding the controller through common interests will enable a covert attack from behind hero (enemy) lines. A truly committed saboteur may wish to marry his/her target. This is recommended only for those who are absolutely diabolical.

To play as a mini-boss, study the primary tool of the hero and use it against him. This controller has only one button: the power button on your enemy’s (the traditional hero’s) console. Advanced weapons in the arsenal of evil include any cords that plug into the wall, the eject button, remote detonation devices and grenades. Turning off the game system (or destroying it) before the player has the opportunity to save his progress results in a win of an imaginary prize (or a new enemy) and the loss of a friend (and possibly a video game console).

1.) The Bubonic Plague.
-With the notable exceptions of scurvy and witches, the Black Death is among my biggest fears. I likes my lymph nodes nice and slender. Therefore, I am ever vigilant to be sure that the perpetrator of said continent-wide epidemic doesn’t come strolling through my door. Would a Bigger, Older Red Riding Hood ever adopt a pet wolf? No, and the principle here is the same. “But, Jim!” you protest, “It’s been over six centuries!” No amount of time is enough. Each animal only gets one catastrophic disease that kills an estimated 100 million people before I categorically refuse to accept it as a domesticated pet. Rats have cashed in their epidemic collateral. Humans now have the opportunity to exact their revenge for the rest of time. I’m sorry, rats. Your ship has sailed. (Historical wordplay!)

2.) My short list of acceptable pets.
-Call me old-fashioned, but the animals which I consider ideal pets are also a possible tic-tac-toe outcome between skilled competitors: cats and dogs. Animals that spend most of their days in cages, tanks or American Gladiator-esque transportation modules? Not for me. Have a flu named after you? Not domesticated enough. Would a stereotypical female character from a 1950’s cartoon leap onto a chair when the alleged pet entered a room? Sorry, not a pet in my book.

3.) Hygiene.
-Rats are renowned for their ability to thrive in unsanitary conditions, a fact my roommate seems to have embraced fully. The Odd Couple symbiosis that currently exists in the apartment ecosystem would be jeopardized by the introduction of a rodent. Right now, I’m reluctantly functioning as an overwhelmed Oscar (wait, he lived in a garbage can. The other one must have been the neat freak…Bert, or Ernie. I never really watched the show, truthfully). I can’t imagine a rat would assist in balancing the cleanliness ratio, despite what I’ve been shown in propaganda films like Walt Disney’s Snow White. The attempts by Mickey Mouse’s creator to advance a pro-rat agenda are disgustingly blatant. Actually, upon further reflection, my roommate enjoys cheese and maintains a level of sanitation equivalent to 14th century Italian standards, which brings me to my final concern…

4.) My roommate is either a rat himself or has been brainwashed by the rat overlord.
-My vitamin C intake is fine. This is now my most paralyzing fear. With every bite of food he gnaws, the evidence becomes increasingly damning. Then again, he has admitted to dining at Taco Bell, which would make him a cannibal.

Well, this post probably hasn’t provided a resolution to this difference of opinion, but I hope it has introduced some levity to the situation. If conditions deteriorate any further, the Zagat Rodentia will give this place a five star review. Only then will the rat overlord reveal himself and challenge me to a battle for control of the planet. I only hope my strait-jacket doesn’t inhibit my pugilistic performance.

I apologize if I sound bitter about the whole situation, but after an entire summer of drama, I was expecting a more satisfying resolution. I feel like I just endured eleven episodes of the O.C. only to watch the main character move to Alaska on the season finale. Maybe that’s not the perfect analogy….I can’t think of a city that sucks as much as the Jets do. The point is, he won’t be scoring as much, the supporting cast isn’t nearly as sexy and he doesn’t stand a chance of being as beloved or successful.

I also wish the media could have resisted the urge to use every Jet-themed pun at their disposal as a headline. Thanks to their lack of restraint, I was treated to gems like: “Jet Favre,” “Jet Setter,” “Jettisoned” and “For Jetter or Worse.” Ok, so I made up one of those. You get the point. Of course, Green Bay sports writers had their own unique perspective, as evidenced by their headline choice: “Fudge Packer.” Alright, so that’s another Jaymz original. I’m still waiting for an announcer to say “Crotchety to Cotchery” when Brett hits his new favorite target for a touchdown.

Lost in all the hysterics and hoopla is the real story. Despite reports that Brett returned for the “love of the game,” I believe I’ve determined his actual motive for coming back. Brett Favre is addicted to the rush of retirement. He can’t stop himself from walking away from the game, so he has to continue to get that fix every season. He is incapable of retiring from retiring. He loves the cake, the kind words and the nonstop media attention. I’m not criticizing the man. I can empathize with his plight. My own mother retired just this year, but couldn’t stay on the educational sidelines for long. She was promptly reinstated as a substitute teacher. I propose that the NFL institute a similar policy for gray-whiskered players like Mr. Favre.

Poor Kellen Clemens thought he was finally getting a full-time starting position. After years of education and studying lesson plans, the principal had indicated it was his time to teach. Instead, this old bastard with tenure sweeps in and usurps his position….and this elderly gentleman never takes a sick day, either.

You know, this whole teacher-quarterback analogy has forced me to rethink something. How is an organization supposed to produce results with limited resources? If the classroom leaders are not compensated properly, how will the next generation be encouraged to assume the responsibilities of this critical profession? Maybe it is wise to keep the seasoned, reliable veterans around instead of paying less for kids fresh out of college…The NFL needs to eliminate the salary cap restrictions. Otherwise, kids are going to grow up aspiring to be something else besides professional athletes, maybe even teachers….and where would we be as a society if that happens?

Well, that’s all I have for this week. Oh, and to any cynics who would dare to speculate that I started this entry back when Brett Favre was first reinstated and then proceeded to procrastinate for a couple of months, you have some nerve…albeit an accurate one.

Before I get to the wish list, I have some other business to discuss. Next quarter, I plan on working at Wright State’s radio station in order to acquire some (mandatory) experience in the communications field. I would like to become comfortable behind the microphone before I take over the airwaves, so I want to resurrect the podcast on this site with John’s help. One potential idea I had was to perform a weekly impression based on suggestions from loyal listeners/readers. Well, I’ve given everyone a considerable amount of fodder for your respective Jaymz journals. Think it over, digest it, talk amongst yourselves. Specific point of emphasis: my network administrator is responsible for all my internet-related shortcomings. If you’re interested in the list, continue reading.

Here’s the 2007 edition of my (relatively) grown-up Christmas list:

-the new Cranium game (Cranium Wow, available here)
-Stephen Colbert’s book (I Am America (and So Can You!), available on Amazon and elsewhere)
-Curb Your Enthusiasm dvds
-a swell looking outfit for Christmas (possibly a ridiculous Christmas sweater for comedic value)
-Second Amendment Busted Tees hoodie (medium)
-this scrolling LED belt buckle (blue)

-I believe almost everyone in my group of friends has moved at least once (and some are preparing to move again)

-I applied for and was rejected in my attempt to receive a doctorate from Humor University, home of the Fighting Punch Lines!

-I printed over 2000 business cards in anticipation of my new profession

-the world witnessed the phenomena of Tylergasm and Jimini and their resulting whirlwind press tours

-the world’s first Ball-O-Tron was created by geniuses, geniuses the likes of which you will never know

-redundancy was hailed as 2006’s hippest, coolest, most popular way to write awesomely and in style

-my countenance was featured on the only officially sanctioned shuffle quarters table

-kids across the country started constructing their own shuffle quarters tables out of spare wood and bootleg copies of “How to Draw Jaymz Naked” books sold on eBay (available from Bantam books for just $9.98, by the way)

-due to the popularity of shuffle quarters, dimes and nickels became obsolete as quarters enjoyed a brief but memorable renaissance as “drinking disks”

-Luda coined the phrase, “The quarter is in your quarter,” to a mixed response from the lexicon community

-G-I-M was ephemerally listed by Webster’s Dictionary as an alternate spelling for “Jim” before a revision was issued. The error was attributed to inebriation

-Mats and I consumed our weight in beer and generated an estimated 3,670 inside jokes

-Tyler killed approximately seven hobos, drifters and gentlemen of the evening with his bear hands

-An Ohio man participated in the first successful human-to-bear transmutation operation. He later reverted to his human form, but not before going on a murderous rampage that targeted nomadic wanderers and claimed at least seven lives (Thought that was a typo up above, didn’t you?)

-Megan and I burst onto the choreography scene with her Ridin’ Dirty routine. We enjoyed a brief stint on Broadway in “Pimpin’ Is Easy,” but the pressures of fame were too much. Megan later overdosed on feline allergy medication and was found dancing for drinking disks in front of a liquor store

Wow, a lot can happen in fifteen months. You probably don’t even remember all that stuff, but that’s what I’m here for. If you enjoyed this blog, it’s your patriotic duty to inspire me to write an entry more often through physical coercion, pecks on the cheek from fetching young lasses or a donation of novelty drinking disks, circa 2006. Those things will sell for a lot of money on eBay, especially when coupled with one of those Jaymz-drawing books.

-You’ll have to wait for the exciting conclusion because this is getting kinda long.

“Dear Jaymz,

I just finished my first quarter of college life. It was a little overwhelming walking around campus and encountering so many hot babes. You seem like you have a way with the ladies, can you offer any advice on dating?

Your loyal and very real fan,
Steve Wazoucheztetsky
Authenti City, GA”

Now, I want to begin by saying that this is an actual question and it deserves a serious answer. I don’t know why Steve chose to ask me, someone who hasn’t really been in a serious relationship, for advice about the ladies, but he did. I am insulted that anyone would suggest that this question is fake…but, if it were made up, that should stress a need for more people to submit questions in the future. Anyways, it’s time to try and help our friend Steve. As I said earlier, I don’t really know if I’m the person you should be referring to as your “love guru” and “idol” because I’m honestly not much of a ladies man. Having said that, I believe there are a few basic guidelines that every guy should follow in order to have success on the gridiron of love.
Rule #1: Never call the dating scene the “gridiron of love”. It’s not the most flattering comparison and no girl to date has appreciated being referred to as the “cheerleader in the end zone of your heart”, believe me.
Rule #2: When you’re picking a girl up, don’t just sit in your car and blast your horn. Instead, beep politely three times. If she doesn’t come out after that, then lay on the horn. If she then comes out and says that she was still getting ready, ask, “What, does it really take you that long to look like that?” This establishes dominance and shows that you’re not afraid to be honest. It is often confused for “being a jerk”, but there are subtle differences I cannot explain here.
Rule #3: If you ever have to meet her parents, always address them by their first names. If she has several siblings, elbow her father while winking and say, “Guess we both like a special kind of women eh?…the ones who put out! Am I right?” At this point, extend your arm for a high five. This assists in building a rapport and showing that you have a sense of humor.
Rule #4: At dinner, order something small, perhaps just a double cheeseburger or a McChicken sandwich, and only water to drink. Also, be sure that you only pay for what you ordered. There is no stronger aphrodisiac than frugality…it drives women wild. If she questions why you aren’t paying the bill, simply exclaim, “You all wanted equality, well here it is!”
Rule #5: Conclude your romantic evening by moving in for a sloppy, wet kiss, regardless of her reaction. If she refuses, she’s probably stuck up.

There you go, Steve. I hope you can use this free information from your so-called “Doctor of Love”. Follow these simple rules, and you’ll be en-route to Romancetown in no time…or single and alone, forever trapped in a horrible cycle of dates that result in a myriad of trips to the hospital because you are perpetually sprayed in the eyes with mace. Look on the bright side though: perhaps you will develop immunity. If you do not have success with the ladies, well, I suppose that means that they will still be available for me…what a fortuitous yet unfortunate irony…Oh, and Steve, don’t listen to anyone who tries to tell you that I’m actually “sabotaging” you and the other guys just so I can continue my escapades with attractive women…that’s ridiculous.