Say hello to Tam. He’s a self described craZy aZian who writes long, humorous rants here and there on the Internet. We’ve brought him on board to CTB so that you may read his craZiness on a semi regular basis. Enjoy his introductory love letter entitled “A common man with uncommon thoughts. Also, screw you Ryan Gosling.”
Well Hi There! That mouse clicking of yours landed you right here, and now your life is forever altered from the course of normalcy! It doesn’t matter if that act was premeditated, or whether you detoured here while Googling crockpot recipes. This was meant to be, this meeting of your eyes and my words. There are 175 million public Blogs in existence, and you careened upon my inaugural one! That makes me want to affectionately rub my nose on your cheek. Since you are already here, pretend I’m Peace, and give me a chance. It is a bit long, but that is only because this is my introduction Blog.
Who art moi? I’m Tam. Single foster dad raising 2 sibling felines. Reeses, so named because his markings make him look like a peanut butter cup, and Molly, named after the youngest daughter of my dear friend Beth who saw that I was spending too many nights alone drunk, eating Stouffers, and gazing blankly at the tube watching Ron Popiel push his latest breakthrough kitchen gadget (that Flavor Injector looks very intriguing).
She thought I needed companionship, so the introduction of a pair of small carnivorous mammals took place. These 2 were the last of a litter of 8 from the SPCA and arrived to me when they were widdle puddy tats just weeks old. Initially, I had the inclination to sauté them in a soy and ginger sauce with a side of broccoli rabe, but I’ve since grown attached to the little fur balls. They purr when I poke them in the belly, and they both sleep on my head. I think I’ll keep them.
I’ve been engaged once, never married, and just wobbling through the cobblestone of Life in high heels trying to keep my balance. I floated from the Far East into US waters when I was 2, raised in the hardcore streets of Charm City against a backdrop of OP Corduroy shorts, Bell Biv Devoe and Ralph Macchio movies. I could elaborate more, but it’s not what you want to know right now. Rather, your question is why am I blogging, and why should you care? Very fair questions indeed.
Outside of our daily routines of working, eating, masturbating, and sleeping, we are only given a few precious moments to GPS roam, to seek out new signals for amusement. Of all the legal things you could be doing, why should you spend your limited free time here? After all, a few clicks and you could be on YouTube watching Miley Cyrus Twerking. I know you’re thinking about it, but be strong and do not succumb to the sexual suggestive hip motions of Hannah Montana. I feel the conflict within you, my young Padawan. Don’t let your thoughts betray you. Be vigilante and read on.
Not too long ago, while exploring my sexuality during a period I categorize as ‘The Dark Ages of Tam’, the only thing I yearned for was to be Natalie Portman’s pillow, where the warmth of her saliva can dribble on me all night, every night. However, since my Primary Care Physician diagnosed me as a primate, and not a densely packed bundle of goose feathers stuffed inside a 300 thread count, I became cognizant that a pillow I will never be. Not even a cushion. This moment of clarity in my drunken fog of a world rekindled a realization that had long laid dormant in my mind; the cruel fact that this is it. This is as good as it gets (Shout out to Helen Hunt and Jack Nicholson).
My life, as I knew it then, had settled. We’ve all felt that way before. It’s when the recipe of your current situation stays stagnant, and the ingredients do not evolve, or worst, become stale. Our lives become so slowly predictable that eventually we find ourselves spinning tires in a rut of routineness, with not enough horsepower to accelerate out. That was me. Somehow, my life had become a snow globe, and the flurries of fun were lying motionless on the ground. In essence, nothing was grabbing hold and shaking my world.
You see, I am nothing special, just common; an average guy who just drifts along in the ocean of life, who allows the current to dictate where he ends up. Sure, I have had periods where I would flap my arms and kick my legs against the waves hoping to change my course to the point that my ego may have convinced me that my life is beyond the ordinary, where I would get all pumped, fist pound random immigrants on the street, and be ready to box Dolph Lundgren. But then the Vicodins would wear off, and I am back to being an average schmuck just co-existing with air, laid out on his back, and still drifting along with the tide.
In Nicholas Spark’s opening paragraph to “The Notebook” (you know, that film that made all men inferior to Ryan Gosling, and made all girls torture their boyfriends into kissing them in the pouring rain), he wrote “I am nothing special, of this I am sure. I am a common man with common thoughts, and I’ve led a common life”. I suspect that line resonates with most people, not just me. It’s not a bad way to identify one’s life as such, at least according to Mr. Sparks (whose 218 romance novels all have essentially the exact same plot).
Ms. Bong-Cha, the 93 year old 4 foot Asian woman who massages the kimchi in front of the cow tongue section at my local Korean Mart leads a common life. She can’t speak a syllable of English, but she sure as hell knows how to manually assault a head of fermented cabbage. In her world of blood sausage, tripe, and pork hocks, she is nothing special. But dammit, that no tooth, blue smock wearing, gummy old hag is always smiling and nodding, so she must be happy with her life. I was convinced. Ms. Bong-Cha, “The Notebook”, and Ryan Gosling made me accept my mediocrity.
So there I was, proud to be what Nicholas Sparks describes as a “common man” with “common thoughts” leading a “common life”. I started to embrace the mundaneness of my daily routines. I even started doing more common things people do who live pathetic common lives. I would shop at Target. I would eat Lean Cuisine meals. I would even change my Facebook Profile picture with a photo at least 3 years old that looks nothing like me now. Soon, being common wasn’t so bad. After all, the aforementioned hunk of tenderloin, Ryan Gosling, portrayed that “common man” in “The Notebook”, and not only did he get to poke the very fine Rachel McAdams in a PG-13 way, but it propelled him to immense swooning by prepubescent girls. That’s easily worth 10 points to Gryffindor.
Then it happened. One day as I was pirouetting nude around my place listening to the melodic melodies of One Direction, I tumbled over a cordless phone and smacked my head against a styrofoam bowl of peanut M&M’s. When I came to, lying amid chocolaty shells and cracked nuts, it hit me. No, not the idea for the flux capacitor, but the realization that while I am indeed a common man leading a common life, I most certainly do NOT have common thoughts! Heck no! My thoughts are anything but common! For example, when most people get pulled over for a speeding ticket, they are focused on the officer’s questions, and answer accordingly. Me? I think of chicken pot pie.
It’s true, all my life I have been told I was a sandwich short of a picnic basket, and that my mouth was like the water in Mexico; it’s unfiltered. Worst, I never had a leash on my dog of a tongue. I would speak without pause or censorship. This has provided me constant problems, usually in the form of hostility from the opposite sex, and occasionally involving local law enforcement. My brain was always churning that I’m surprised Land O Lakes didn’t seep out of my ears. But I still had to be heard.
I just needed a passive delivery device for my thoughts. Then the answer was like Chris Brown; it punched me right in the face. I would become one of those internet trolls where I could spew what I wanted behind the safety of my Norton anti-virus. So I started posting incoherent, random ramblings in various chat rooms, with my target audience being Somolian refugees, recently paroled convicts, and the Penn State Athletic Club. After being banned on AOL, the most unlikely thing happened. I started getting some feedback that didn’t involve curse words. People were actually entertained by what I had to say!
With the encouragement from my friends, my Psychiatrist, and representatives of Jerry Sandusky, I decided to start this blog. Like wheels on a suitcase, this just made sense. By entering your homes and offices with my text, I could falsely fill the void of acceptance I so longed for. And who knows, maybe somewhere out there, I may have a follower who is as messed as me, and who decides to stalk me. I can only hope and dream. Because there is no better acknowledgment of your existence than to have your photo taped to a brick wall in a musky basement surrounded by lit candles and a chicken carcass.
So what to expect? As I alluded to, I tend to speak my mind completely, which translates to my writing about anything and everything. I am extremely random (as if you couldn’t tell by now). I may rant, rave, and ramble. I am known to get very emotional, sometimes sappy. I have thoughts and opinions on everything from food, to pop culture, to gangsta rap, to methamphetamine production, and definitely to life, love, relationships, and all things that makes us raise our voices, or lowers our heads. My interests are truly wide ranging, my opinions are forthcoming, and no fence can contain me in the yard of topics I write about. Whatever thoughts that come to me while I am fingering my keyboard, will surely find its way onto the page, which at times goes against my better judgment.
With that said, I will apologize in advance as I may harmlessly offend, but since that is an oxymoron, and this is in fact a public site where 11 year old Timmy may accidentally stumble upon as he is online chatting with a 58 year old man who goes by the handle ‘CuteSally’, I will erect some guardrails to keep me from swerving too far off from the Interstate of Insult. My words can be both tasteful and tasteless, but they will hopefully enlighten, educate, inspire, resonate, and entertain. I may even get your pulse racing. After all, if I didn’t stir the pot every now and then, then the flavors will settle and it just wouldn’t taste right.
My desire is to blog weekly, but the problem here is that I am what you call a spur of the moment writer. I cannot plan what is random, and I cannot predict when the wattage in that bulb that hovers over my head, increases. Inspiration is an illuminous thing, and it can flicker at any time. It will shine on you in your darkest moments (holy sh#t, that was cheesy). It is what drives me to type at 3:20am on a Tuesday morning while watching Reeses lick his butt because he just made a sausage delivery in the litter box. It can come while I am baking a loaf of bread, or it can come while I am pinching a loaf.
But dammit, I will write! I will write when I sob. I will write when I cackle. When I’m stuck with a day, that’s gray, and lonely, I just stick out my chin, and grin, and blog. I tend to blog late night, but I will blog over breakfast too. I will blog over green eggs and ham. I will blog Tam, I am.
So screw you Ryan Gosling. I am done being common. Plus you are an actor anyway, and you were never common to begin with. You just portrayed a common man onscreen and got paid like $10M to do it. I portray that person every day, and the only payment I get is when I am paid a visit by my Puerto Rican neighbor Consuela, asking to borrow some adobo seasoning. Mr. Gosling, your posters and magazine pictures are coming down my wall today. I’m not inspired by you anymore.
I will instead, seek new meaning in this Blog. This is will be my attempt to add a new ingredient into MY recipe of life, to do something UNcommon in my world of commonness. Out with the stale and wilted, and in with the fresh and vibrant! I hope you will follow along as I chronicle the thoughts of my life, and enjoy a chuckle or two along the way. After all, we are all connected in some way with our experiences and emotions. In the end, we all physically resemble one another. What makes us unique is that little hamster that is running on that wheel in our minds. It’s just that my little rodent is probably drunk, has Down syndrome, Multiple Sclerosis, Lou Gehrig’s disease, hooked up to an oxygen tank, has abandonment issues, and hobbling on one paw.
Thank you again for visiting. I hope your initial stay was entertaining, and hopefully you have a roundtrip ticket to return to read my next Blog, where I will state what I believe is the greatest song ever written (No, it’s not MMMbop).
Thanks for reading.
I still desire Natalie Portman’s saliva on me.
Note: I would like to extend my marrow deep gratitude to Mila the Producer, and the crew of ‘The City That Breeds’, for allowing me to fulfill this stupid blogging dream of mine on this site. It was either this, or a life of questionable activities in the shadows of convenience store dumpsters. All thoughts, and opinions posted are solely mine and not representative of CTB. Quite simply, they are smarter than that.
2 thoughts on “Wham Bam Thank You Tam”
Lol! Absolutely hysterical! Love it!!!
When were you in my basement? Leave my fucking candles and pictures of you alone!!! I’m doing some Santeria on your ass!