Diary of a Cage Fighter (Journalist) In Training

I didn’t know that I had truly arrived on the internet blog scene until I started receiving some unusual comments recently. While the majority of my comments are just pledges of support from friends and both female and gentlemen callers, lately I have been finding slightly disturbing ones from people that I don’t know. Now, no one enjoys the obsessed fans and increased paparazzi attention associated with the limelight, but it’s all part of being a celebrity. Most big stars who are jaded by their fabulous lives in Hollywood would simply ignore these star-stuck fans. Not me, though. These poor bumpkin are just desperately trying to catch a glimpse inside of my fantasy lifestyle, to sneak a peek at what’s behind the glitz and glamour of my protective curtain. Although I must say that these comments contain an alarming number of exclamation points and the topics that they address are rather personal. Nevertheless, here we go. First, someone left a comment that offered me a home loan with only a 6.9% APR. Wouldn’t you know, they didn’t leave a name. Let me just tell this anonymous fan that if you had been doing your homework and reading your blogs, you would know that I live in an apartment with my brother and I’m only 19 years old. I won’t be looking for a house for awhile, but thanks for the tip anyway. People sure can be helpful, but sometimes these comments are borderline intrusive. For example, Kyle_1@hotmail.com wanted to know if I was interested in increasing the size of my penis. I explained to Kyle that his question was a little inappropriate. Actually, I have received many comments like this, and I even saw one about a birth control pill. These fans have invaded my personal life so much that they are even beginning to flood my e-mail inbox. I don’t want to discourage people from visiting the site, but this type of comment is not appreciated. I hope the fans out there continue to write me and read the blog. Send in your questions and I will be happy to help. In fact, maybe Ask Jaymz could become a weekly subject for a post. I only ask that there be no more questions about altering the size of human genitalia. I’m not an expert in that subject…..not anymore. No, I had to get out of that business after “the incident”….Until next time, kids, keep your nose out of the funny stuff and read your blogs.

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What the heck is happening around here? Just a few short weeks ago, I was enjoying an overwhelming influx of love and support, and today I have been reduced to a hobo. I humbly stand before you, bindle in hand, panhandling for the comments that were once so copious. With that out of the way, this post is for anyone who has been wondering what’s been going on in my world lately, or for people who are just really bored. If you haven’t been reading John’s blog lately, then you may be unaware of my new roommate, Baxter. Here’s a picture of us during happier times. I should first explain that “Baxter”, as he’s now known, has a history with me. We were on a season of MTV’s the Real World together, and there was a conflict between us. Things started off innocently enough. We got along pretty well, and he even slept in my bed on his first night in the house. After that, our relationship took a turn for the worse, however. I caught him eating peanut butter out of the jar using his dirty paws, and he was getting drunk like every night. One night, while we were all drinking, he tried to give me a wedgie. I don’t where he got off putting his hands on my undawears, but I don’t play like that, son. Guess what, he may be a meathead, but that don’t impress me much. Anyway, the situation continued to escalate, and our tension exploded into an incident one night. Allow me to explain the story through these pictures that the camera crew snapped. It all started when I glanced towards the mirror that evening after washing my hands. I thought to myself, “Hey there, I’m looking good today! Who is that handsome man?”, etc. Armed with this stylish coiffure and a new sense of confidence, I had an epiphany. With my new hair, and the admittedly cute Baxter, I had the potential to create the cutest picture ever taken. Granted, I may not have been adding much in the looks department, but it would be just enough to produce a picture that was so cute people would be rioting in the streets. Unfortunately, Baxter didn’t exactly share my artistic vision from the beginning. He was still hung over, and seemed more interested in getting a pay check out of the experience, and then sleeping the day away as usual. I wanted to ensure maximum cuteness, so first, I practiced posing by myself, allowing the recovering drunk to nap. Then, I brought in the talent. After a couple of preliminary shots, I managed to get him to work with me, and we got this photo. Now, I will admit, it was a decently cute picture. Maybe it would incite a couple of small riots and certainly sell some posters, but it was not exactly what I was looking for. Baxter was simply not cooperating anymore and becoming impatient. Eventually, I talked him into at least one more picture, but I quickly discovered that he was not interested in more pictures: he was seeking revenge. Here I am preparing to take the picture. I was positioning the two of us for our potentially groundbreaking photograph, when I realized that something was wrong. As you can see in this picture, Baxter is clearly thinking about something, plotting his betrayal. He could have just clawed me in the eye right there, but he had a more sinister plan. I turned around to look at the camera, and he was standing there with a knife. I was taken aback, and I pleaded with him to spare my life. It was at that moment that he raised the knife in one paw….and shot me in the eye with a pistol. “Ouch!” I cried out, “You shot me, you feline traitor!” He scampered off, leaving me injured. Seeing my own blood, I fainted, and collapsed on the floor. The producers rushed me to the hospital and explained what happened. Apparently, I had imagined the whole thing because I had mistakenly ingested some hallucinogenic mushrooms. Either that, or I did get shot by a cat. No matter what happened, though, the producers refused to get rid of Baxter, who was the most popular cast member. So there you have it. He and I have seemingly made peace since then, but let me just tell you that I have been sleeping with one eye open….because it takes time for my cornea (cataract to some) to heal.

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Listen, we need to talk, ok? I know you want me to blog you up so good, honey, but I’m still a little tired. Can’t we just cuddle and snuggle up with the posts that I’ve already provided? Alright, calm down, it was just a thought. I guess it has been awhile. I did not have a post over the weekend because I was camping at a site that was surrounded with more bicycles than the Tour de France. John did bring his laptop in his traveling armoire of a duffel bag, but I was trying to embrace a more rustic experience, even though we enjoyed charcoal grilling courtesy of Chef Luda. I’m going to try and talk about the trip without going into too much detail, because Taryn has already written a book that’s considered to be the authority on the subject. The delicious food that we ate this weekend was made possible by God’s most amazing shape created: the cylinder. This simple device was the difference between our failed first attempt to grill at Emerald Lakes and the amazingly succulent burgers that we made while camping. So, I would like to thank John, Luda and especially Taryn, who organized the trip, for a great time this weekend. I’m sure we will all have fond memories of this trip in the future, and some even have lingering physical reminders in addition. Oh, and in case you’re wondering how a witty, slightly immature, humorous journalism student could have a post about camping without an obligatory “pitching a tent” joke, I thought that such a pun would be hackneyed and inappropriate for a blog of this caliber…and the tent was already up when we got there. Until my next post, happy trails, my little chickadees.

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What’s a guy gotta do to get some comments around here? Maybe this post will do the trick. Well, Mother’s Day and Father’s Day have come and gone already, and without any accolades from this embarrassed blog author. I haven’t been thanking mom and pop enough for all the love and support they have given me over the years. They are the best parents a smart aleck of a son could ask for. And ladies, you should be thanking them, too. It was their genetics and child-rearing techniques that resulted in my debonair personality and towel-picture good looks. And it was their flexible and generous curfews that allowed this stud of a stallion to sow his wild oats in my later high school years. This may be a scary thought for everyone out there, but I almost was never born. My mother was in the convent during her teenage years. Just imagine if she had remained cloistered. The Jaymz Tobe fan club may never have existed. Luckily, attractive males, which I suppose includes my father, assisted by her loss of interest in the strict religious life, lured her back to a secular life and eventually a marriage to a young and handsome Russell Tobe. My dad is the best. I owe a lot to that man. People often recognized me as “Russ Tobe’s son” when I was growing up, which was something that I was never ashamed of. When asked, I was proud to say “Yes I am”, and then smile ear-to-ear. I am comfortable with the fact that I am continually becoming more and more like him every day. My parents are always there for me. Just yesterday, my mom typed up my resume on the computer from a hard-copy so she could e-mail it to me. I don’t deserve to have parents so great, but they’re stuck with me, so we’re a happy family. Thanks again to my mom and dad for everything you’ve done for me. I only hope that I’m making you proud, which is the ultimate goal for me in my life.

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It’s been awhile since my last post, and I apologize to anyone who may be addicted to this most humble of blog authors. I just don’t know if I can live up to all the hype anymore. Having said that, I thought I’d take a little time to tell you some of my random dreams and goals in life. As some of you know, I recently gave up, at least temporarily, on one of my dreams for the summer. Since Christmas, I had aspired to grow my hair out to an appropriate length that would prompt a kindly old sage of a professor to rub me on the head and say, “Get to class, mop-top!”, or something to that effect, in a jesting manner. I waited to cut my hair, growing it out until it was longer than ever before. I sauntered to and from class, just hoping any male professor would call me mop-top. By the end of spring quarter I was desperate, I was willing to accept hearing the moniker from a janitor or even a rather masculine woman. But those old jerks wouldn’t descend from their ivory towers to make a shaggy-haired guy’s day, so I gave up. When summer arrived and this miraculous moment had not occurred, I decided to get a hair-cut because I don’t see elderly scholarly gentleman nearly as much off-campus, and the long hair wasn’t doing anything for the female persuasion. After school is back in session, I think I’d be willing to settle for friendly advice from anyone with a monocle. I don’t know what it is, but when a guy’s got a monocle: instant credibility with me. Some people aspire to be celebrities or professional athletes; I just want to be addressed with a condescending, out-of-date nickname. In job hunting news, I still haven’t heard back from Best Buy or Circuit City. I am thinking about focusing on finding a job that will just get me some action with the ladies. You know the professions I’m talking about: pool boy, gardener, pizza delivery guy, carnie, all the normal jobs that will place me in precarious situations with single women. If anyone’s interested in hiring me for one of these positions, even if you don’t have a pool, garden, or carnival, just let me know. I’m a simple man with simple dreams. Hopefully this summer I can find a girl who will tell me, “Thank goodness you’re cute/handsome, because you sure can’t clean a pool/perform lawn care services/manage a ring-toss game”. Good night and sweet dreams, no matter how ridiculous they may be.

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