Thomas “Tommy” Przybylinski Jr. (1976–2026), beloved son, brother, uncle, and friend, passed away peacefully in his bed early in the morning on August 25, 2026, after an illness he had been battling in the hospital.

Tommy had a mind that was perpetually curious. He wanted to know how things worked, why they worked, and what might happen if you pushed them a little further. From the TI-99/4A and home computers of his childhood to servers, networks, radio, satellites, telescopes, rockets, and the endless possibilities of computers, he was always tinkering, investigating, and following some fascinating thread wherever it led. He could disappear down an obscure rabbit hole and come back having learned an astonishing amount about something most people had never even thought to wonder about.

That curiosity became both his profession and one of the ways he connected with the people he loved. He built computers and servers, solved problems, and shared what he knew. One of his coolest feats was building a working satellite dish from parts found around the house. He could turn technology into a game for a child, a conversation with a friend, or a way to help someone who needed him. That same combination of curiosity, patience, and genuine interest in people made him exceptionally good at customer service, and his work was met with the resounding appreciation of the customers and clients he helped. For Tommy, intelligence was never simply something to possess or demonstrate. It was a vehicle for moving through the world: asking questions, figuring things out, and inviting other people along for the ride. Often that ride took him, speakers blasting, along the very edge of the speed limit and often directly to the ocean front wherever he happened to live at the moment.

That phrase—moving through the world—was something Tommy himself seemed to understand intuitively. He created a YouTube channel called Dasein 23, describing it as “ASMR & More for Being-in-the-World.” Dasein, a character from the philosophy of Martin Heidegger, concerns the uniquely human experience of being in the world: encountering it, questioning it, experiencing it, and trying to make sense of what it means to be here. For Tommy, the idea seems to have been more than an intellectual interest. It was an apt description of the way he lived. He explored sound, music, technology, philosophy, art, games, film, and the natural world with the same restless curiosity. In his own words, he wanted to “experiment with sound and share things with people,” inviting others to learn and “grow together.” Even his more obscure interests were ultimately ways of engaging with the world and with the people in it.

He shared with his siblings a deep curiosity about the world and a willingness to admit that, despite all our questions, none of us really knows what we're doing here. They found comfort in exploring that mystery together—with equal parts curiosity, humor, and existential dread.

Tommy shared with his mother and father a belief in God and in Heaven. We take comfort in the faith that he has now joined our sister Janine in some radio DJ booth, our father, Tommy Ski, for several rounds of rummy, and he’s running on the beach with all of the beloved pets who remain part of our family and whom we still talk about every day.

Music was one of Tommy's great ways of experiencing the world. His tastes were wide-ranging, deeply personal, and rarely predictable. He was drawn to industrial, post-punk, experimental, electronic, and underground music—the more unconventional, the better. It would be impossible to list all of the bands but some favorites were Joy Division, Ride, Aphex Twin, Chameleons UK, Einsturzende Neubauten and countless bands most people (outside of his sisters and passengers in his car) had never heard of became part of the soundtrack of his life.

But Tommy wasn't simply a music fan. He played guitar and bass, produced electronic music, went to shows, participated in the local music scene, and loved talking about music with anyone willing to follow him down the rabbit hole. Friends remember exchanging obscure musical discoveries with him—songs and artists they weren't sure anyone else would appreciate, but knew Tommy would. Alumni of Brick Township High School in the early 90s will remember him patrolling the hallways his beat up guitar, covered in stickers, covering Ride, The Smiths, Magnetic Fields, or a song he had just made up on the spot in the stairwell and jamming up the flow of traffic between classes. On his last day, he continued to make music, serenading the family’s new German Shepherd puppy, rhyming Ayla with “I love ya.”

Music was also one of the languages Tommy and his siblings shared. It gave them endless things to argue about, discover, recommend, mock, obsess over, and laugh about together. Some of their conversations were serious; others were gloriously ridiculous. What mattered was the shared discovery—the pleasure of finding something strange and wonderful and knowing there was someone else who would understand why it mattered. Spotify playlists, last.fm, and YouTube playlists were the stuff of connection and carried the weight of the world for him and his siblings and their offspring.

His musical curiosity never seemed to require that anyone else understand it. He simply delighted in finding something interesting and offering it up: Here. Listen to this.

Video games were another of Tommy's great ways of connecting with people. What began in childhood with the TI-99/4A and early home computers became, throughout his life, a deeply social part of who he was. Games were never simply something Tommy played alone. They were places to meet, compete, collaborate, explore, and spend time with people he loved.

He shared a lifelong love of games with his siblings, and some of his most cherished family memories were rooted in them. With his sister Emily, he shared a particular affection for Skyrim, Fallout, and Battletech, even returning as adults to the games and technology of their childhood and finally discovering the elusive star-map ending they had never managed to find when they were young. These were not simply nostalgic trips into the past; they were pieces of childhood they could pick up again and enjoy together. You will no doubt continue to hear his sisters referencing the title page music from Alpiner, Jawbreaker (ironically not the band), and the quirky little things playing out of the Texas Instruments speech synthesizer sidecar peripheral module. The german shepherds in Wolfenstein 3D, a simple game called “Tunnels”, Prince of Persia, Kings Quest and Hoyle’s Book of Games will live on in our collective memory as a family.

As an adult, Tommy brought that same instinct for connection into online gaming. He built and maintained servers and gaming communities, creating spaces where friends and family could play together. He especially loved sharing games with his nieces and nephews, and one of his last gifts was setting up a computer for Saoirse so she could enter that world herself, learning to use a mouse and keyboard and play on a PC. For Tommy, technology was rarely just technology; it was a way of opening a door and saying, come play.

Tommy's lifelong fascination with computers eventually became his profession. He built a career in information technology spanning more than two decades, working in systems, technical support, software and server environments, and developing solutions to problems that were often as complicated and ill-defined as they were interesting to him. He was the kind of person who didn't just want to know that something worked—he wanted to understand why.

He studied at PC Age Career Institute, where he graduated at the top of his class in 2010. Even as a student, he was already helping other students with both conceptual and hands-on technical work. His professional certifications included Microsoft networking and server technologies.

But perhaps the best description of Tommy's professional abilities comes from those who worked with him. For a person who at times had almost crippling social anxiety, he had an ability to connect with people and make them feel special. One colleague remembered him as exceptionally proficient at supporting users and maintaining their satisfaction; another praised him for building a robust reporting system from a difficult and poorly defined data source. He was a dedicated hard worker, who knew the values of customer service and delivered it with charm and grace (and the occasional good-natured joke)!

He was a fiercely loyal person, even when that loyalty might not have been earned. This was best exemplified by his love for the University of Michigan football team, and the multiple losing seasons of his beloved New York Giants. But still, he never gave up. He had great hopes for Coach Harbaugh this season.

Tommy was deeply connected to the Jersey Shore, growing up in Brick Township, and spending a year in Point Pleasant, where so many family memories were made. He played football and remained loved by legendary Brick coach Warren Wolf even after he stopped playing his senior year – but Tom was like that. He was the kind of person who could throw you into the ocean, make you laugh, and leave you with a story you would still be telling years later.

He was also a deeply compassionate person. He understood that the world could be cruel, but he never chose cruelty himself. He was kind, generous, loyal, and particularly tender toward animals and the people he loved. His humor could be dark and wonderfully inappropriate, and he and his siblings shared a particular talent for finding the absurdity—and occasionally the double entendre—in almost anything.

He leaves behind his mother, his siblings, nieces and nephews, extended family, and many friends and former colleagues who will remember him for his curiosity, his humor, his kindness, his music, his games, and his singular way of seeing the world.

The world is a strange place. We’re glad you were here, Tommy. We love you.