its beginning to look a lot like...

so, i am laying here while the 3 mini-me's are deeply enthralled in the latest episode of sonic x, staring at those blinking lights you see up there, and i am worrying, of course. as many of my earlier posts stated, this used to be my favorite time of year. I have already been yelled at for letting my inner child be killed (thanks, nikon), and i deserved that. its my own damn fault, word to jimmy buffet. now I worry about bills and Christmas on top of everything else. i am trying though. I have a new job im starting tomorrow. im being open and more honest with the mrs. i am up for another new job, making close to what I made at the place that axed me in february. praying more. i'll be fine. just having an "overwhelmed" moment.

happy holidays.

-tym

a quick note about the young man and literature...

so I just had (yet) another conversation with someone about writing and books. which is fine, because I am a published author and screenwriter, blahblahblah. heres the thing. its funny to me to have conversations with "book people". and by "book people" I mean those folks with original first editions of wuthering heights, or who have beat up copies of the entire lord of the rings trilogy that theyve read 155 times because they have a deep down need to understand bilbo baggins and blahblahblahgettheeffouttaherewiththatshite. these are the same folks I always imagine with brown courduroy blazers on and a striped winter scarf in mid june, smoking a pipe and constantly reminding everyone that they are a scholar. that is the reason I hesitate to tell people im a writer. I dont want to be mistaken for the brown cord type, nor do I want to be around/associate with the brown cord type. Id rather chew glass.
ya know, I like people that look nothing like their careers would indicate, like how guy fieri looks nothing like a chef, or antonio ballatore looks nothing like an interior designer. I look at myself as one of them. like I care more about the actual process of creating than anything else. like im not gonna sit and debate about jk rowling's mind state when she wrote something. not interested. I have an opinion, but I dont care to talk about it. it bores me... maybe its an artist thing. iown know... word to bad speech.

its back.

f--k 'em if they cant take a joke the truth,

tribute.

hello. so yeah, its been a minute since i have been here. sorry about that. and sorry for what you are about to read. and if i dont just delete this before posting it (or at least edit it), sorry for the language.

*ahem...*

to whom it may concern,

the holiday season is upon us, and based solely upon the things i have been going through for the last couple of months, id like to say thank you, for your part. allow me to expound...

thanks for helping me to learn just how much stress one man can handle before he starts eyeing oncoming traffic, sleeping pills, razor blades and butcher knives.

thanks for helping me realize the gut wrenching embarrassment of sobbing uncontrollably in front of a 4-year-old and a 2-year-old.

thank you for sharing with a fucking service provider the bullshit i am going through, and not letting me know that you shared that with her. its always nice when some fucking minor player in my life has first-hand knowledge of just how fucked up my life is.

thank you for the execution-style murder of my inner child. he's gone, and you are to blame. actually, i am to blame for letting you kill him.

thanks for causing me to abhor my favorite time of year. or any time of year.

thanks for giving new, non-sexual meanings for the words insatiable and tease.

thank you for helping me to dispel a preconceived notion i have always had. i didnt realize that the people on the suicide prevention hotline would talk to you even if you werent actually in the process of killing yourself.

thank you for helping me realize the goal of being a living, breathing black woody allen character. i am the african-american george costanza/kevin james (in hitch)/paul reiser/woody allen. i am the chocolatey manifestation of the word neurotic. and i have a shrink to prove it.

thanks for never finishing anything you start.

thanks for giving me the opportunity to learn that when you take an exacto knife apart, there are extra sharp replacement blades inside the handle.

thanks for allowing me to expand my number of drugs taken daily from 3 to 5, with the addition of two anti-depressants. better living through chemistry, right?

thank you for helping to keep mountain workers employed, through continued molehill conversion.

thank you for showing me how much more important a facebook chat is than a supposed loved one's untimely demise by his own hand. who knew?

thank you for wiping your ass with my feelings.

thanks for hurting me and liking it.

-tym

a quick note about work...

seriously, this is what it is like where i work now.

yes party people, i found a new gig, in the fashion industry, and no i do not fold khakis at the gap. and it is completely different. i mean, i went from contemplating a kevlar vest as a daily fashion choice to butterflies and rainbows. and trust me, that shite took some getting used to. i actually heard someone say "you know, i go home every day with a smile on my face! i just love it here!" and literally, my first thought was "is she mental? nobody goes home in a good mood!" however, i have to admit that i really like this place. and i do come home in a pretty good mood. and all of my managers are way cool, so far. but don't think that this will bring an end to my scathing reports on dumb shite. come on... you know me better than that. and yes, i did remove those vicious posts about my former place of employment because i felt guilty. but i don't work there anymore, do i? i will work on getting those re-published...

thank you for your time,
tym

the m factor.

not her

...and not them.

ladies and gentlemen, the young man is back on his bs. it has been a little while, i know, but i'm here now, right? why you gotta talk about old stuff? anyhoo...

i'd like to formally apologize for the barrage of foul language that is on its way out of my head and onto your screen. parental discretion iz advized, word to n.w.a. and if this is boring to you, again i apologize. this one is for me.

today's subject: the m factor. the m factor has nothing to do with james bond's boss, nor the 80s band that made pop muzik. no, this m factor is a phenomenon that has, unbeknownst to me, clouded my mind since... wait for it... 1984, word to george orwell. however this has nothing to do with big brother. at least not my big brother. he's a preacher in arkansas. but that's neither here nor there. ah, a.d.d. but back to the subject at hand.

the m factor has been referred to in some of my earlier blog posts as my inner hater, that little voice in my head that reminds me how awful of a person/creator/writer/husband/father i am, and how nobody cares for me, word to david lee roth. i have done many things to try to counter this voice, but to no avail. the m factor (as it is now called) was a phenomenon that i couldn't understand. that is until last week, on a long overdue date night with mrs. young man. the mrs. and i had just sat down to some excellent mexican food, and were just chatting away. the mrs. stopped me and said "i have to tell you something, and i have needed to tell you this for quite a while. everytime you talk about that voice in your head, all i can think is that the things that voice says sound an awful lot like the things m------ used to say to you..." that m------ is my ex-wife, the spawn. although a big part of me wants to display her full name, social security number and directions to her house, out of respect i will refer to her only as m. yet, i have no respect for her. she is/was an evil person. she shares the same birthday as adolph hitler. coincidence? i think not. is it obvious that i don't really care for this woman? no? keep reading...

when the mrs. pointed that out to me, i was floored, because it was the truth. this b--ch has had a mental hold on me since we started dating in 1984, and i never realized it. we have been divorced since 1997, but my self esteem has taken a daily hit since her sloven ass infiltrated my brain. and unfortunately, the mrs has had to deal with this f-cking cow for the past 16 or so years, through me. i felt horrible when this came to light. then i just felt angry. i thought i was through with this broad when my divorce was final, only to realize this much later in life that she was still there. she kept me in a state of perpetual eeyore all through high school and college, yet i married her anyway. granted, this state i was in was as much my fault as it was hers, but come on - she knew what she was doing to me, she knew where my esteem was, yet she took advantage of it if only to make her bloated ass feel better about herself. my self esteem was way low, and thanks to her, i was convinced she was the only one who wanted me. how wrong i was... i was/am a sexy beast! her? just a beast.

anyhow, i am using this platform to deal with this revelation, instead of a platform involving either vodka and pain killers, or firearms and camouflage clothing. now that it has been addressed, i'd like to officially bid her fat ass a fond "get thef--k out of my head." i wish you nothing but the worst.

the young man is on the road to peace. and to being his true larger than life self, as seen in this billboard

:

thank you for your time.
-tym

...and a quick question re: basketball wives

do away with this bucket-mouthed heifer on sight.

who the F**K cares?

thank you for your time.

-tym

appropriate.

...and so that journey ends. (PG13 version)

le sigh...

"unknown caller"

"hello?"

"this is missy soandso calling from the company that recently laid you off, then called you back and got you super excited by saying we wanted you to come in for an interview in your favorite city in the world..."

"yes ma'am!"

"well, we changed our minds. f**k you. goodbye."

*click*

*crickets*

*extremely heavy sigh*

-tym

... a few words about mediocrity

this picture is complete bs

i'm back again.

so, yes - I am in transition, but one phrase continues to bounce around in my head:

"mediocrity is not an option".

this is bothering me in such a way that i needed to get clarity on the word. sure i "get" what it means, but here is the official meaning (from dictionary.com):

me·di·o·cre

   [mee-dee-oh-ker]  Show IPA

–adjective

1.

of only ordinary or moderate quality; neither good nor bad;barely adequate.

2.

rather poor or inferior.

ah. gotcha. so yeah, that shit is a no-no. TYM has entirely too much flavor (hello, 1989) to be mediocre. it would be way easy to be mediocre too: 42, unemployed, unshaven, home all day with children, driving an american-made 4 door car... Y*A*W*N! laytah, man.

I said, laytah man. can you dig it? I knew that you could.

I have had a few Moments in Mediocrity in the past few months, definitely not bragging. but the thing is, whenever I have them, I start out with a twist in my stomach, then nausea, then an overwhelming desire to look in the mirror and say "Come On, Son...". the latest MIM happened just a few minutes ago. My son is taking a nap, and I am at my kitchen table, surfing the internet and spilling a bowl of Ro-Tel with sausage on my laptop/table/pants/floor. and it was like it happened in slow motion, so i could be sure to see just how wack it all was.

ladies and gentlemen, Al Bundy.

anyway, this shit has got to stop. mediocrity is officially not an option.

thank you for your time,

TYM

And so, the journey begins...

Not THAT Journey... but Frontiers was my SHIT!

So last Friday, the Mrs. And I go grocery shopping. No big deal. We get back home, the mini-est mini-me has fallen asleep, so she takes him in while I get bags from the family truckster. Again, no big deal. The big deal came when my phone rang.

"Unknown Caller".

Normally, I would just send that to Ye Olde Voice Maile, but something said to answer.

Listening ears. Yay!

"This is Missy Soandso, from the home office of The Company That Just Laid You Off A Couple Of Months Ago, in Your Favorite City In The World... You recently applied for a position here, and I'm looking at your resume. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"

"Do I?" - Eddie Murphy as Marcus Graham in Boomerang

So, we chat. She inquires. I answer. I try to be as charming as I can, while holding back tears of shock/joy and stifling a panic attack.

"Young Man, I don't see any reason why we wouldn't have you down here to interview, because you have the experience we are looking for. I will talk to the hiring manager today, and we should be in touch either way by Monday!"

I immediately sent out a group text, requesting prayers from across the country. Then I cried for about 20 minutes. TYM has dreamed about living in this city ever since he went for his 5th (?) wedding anniversary (we're celebrating #14 in 2 weeks, folks...). Now it is potentially a reality? You better believe I cried. Eric Benet.

5:15 pm, SAME DAY, I get the e-mail asking for my availability. Cloud 9, all weekend.

NOW comes the hard part. Waiting for corporate America. I know the buzz is still going (I have so much intel going on at that company, I feel like Jack Bauer. I got a text message every time a move was made on my behalf yesterday), but of course no official call or e-mail yet. Tom Petty was right.

Le sigh.

Like Jodeci said, "I'm Still Waiting..."

-tym

what to do, what to do...

Which screen is most important?

 My God, I am so full right now. Not full of food, but full of anguish. And caffeine.  I have been in front of this laptop for a couple of hours now, and I am making myself sick. Its not as if I don't have anything to put on the screen (tons of ideas, tons of finished stuff that needs to be transferred from brain to hard drive), but its all of these freakin' contradictions in my head. As you know, I am still sans employ, but still receiving pay. While this would seem to be a GOOD THING to most people, I am not most people. I am SUPPOSED to be finishing up my second attempt at the great american novel, and the screenplay to shut down all other screenplays on the planet, yet I have a regularly scheduled wrestling match in my head every morning between me and the person I refer to as My Inner Hater. Every morning, its “you realize you suck, right? I mean, you don’t contribute to society at all anymore. You don’t have a job, you have a wife and 3 kids, yet you are a bum…” I know I’m still getting a check. I know all our bills are still being paid. I know everyone is still warm and safe and clothed and eating. Yet and still, I have to be called a bum. Maybe its because The Mrs. doesn’t treat me like that, so I feel like someone has to berate me, so why not me (More on the self depreciation in a later post.)? Who better knows the buttons to push to drive me mentally underground than… me?

That being said, I am insane. If I just change how I look at things, I am (more or less) being paid to write, and my life continues as “normal.” I think maybe it is a guy thing. You know, the whole “I’m a mayne (duh-duh-duh-duh-duh), well past 21…”, and I have to take care of my family. Maybe I need to get up and put on clothes and eat breakfast and leave like I have somewhere to go every morning. Maybe its just the feeling of not getting up and going somewhere that has me jacked up. I don’t know anymore.

“He’s a complicated man, and no one understands him but wom-ahunnnnnnnnnn…. YOUNG MAN…”

-tym

...and yet ANOTHER quick update (and no video)

**EDITOR'S NOTE: I DID MAKE A VIDEO FOR THIS POST, BUT THE CAMCORDER ON MY PHONE IS SMARTER THAN ME... VIDEO IS COMING, I PROMISE...**

Two posts ago, I made a statement or two about how I was addicted to certain chemicals since 1988, and how I almost OD'd. I am now getting a flood of folks asking me if I have been hiding my drug addiction, etc.

As Erykah Badu once said, "KEEP IN MIND - I'M AN ARTIST." That being said, keep in mind that artists can take artistic license every now and again. That's why its called artistic license.

A) I am not now, nor have I never been addicted to drugs. Unless you count caffeine. And Franks Red Hot Sauce. "I put that s**t on everything!"

2) Those chemicals I mentioned are the chemicals that are released in the brain when people fall in love. Most of the comments, phone calls and texts I received were from people who thought I typed Oxycontin instead of Oxytocin. See the links below for further information.

G) I am a recovering romantic sap. That's all I was getting at.

7) Please have the people from "Intervention" stop calling me.

-tym

http://www.oxytocin.org/oxytoc/love-science.html
http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/oxycontin
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/02/12/AR2007021201657.html

a quick update

I have discovered vlogging. So very soon you all get to see that frightening creature in the picture in full technicolor video. What a treat...

-tym

truths according to the young man, part 1

Being off work these past couple of weeks (and moving into a new house) has given me some time to reflect on and accept a few things. Truths, if you will. Enjoy.

*I hate moving. Passionately. Like I hate Satan. And bee stings. This move proved a lot to me, like how much of a great humanitarian I am. I moved the whole condo by myself, over 1 week, in a mini-van. I asked for NO help, and blew my knee out. I did this because of my extreme hatred for moving, and I refuse to ask any of my friends to help. I wouldn't want to put anything I despise this much on anyone else. Plus, I never want any of my friends to ask me to help them move*, nor do I ever want to hear "well, I helped you move that time..." (*anyone who knows me knows I will help them move in a heartbeat. I will be pissed while doing so, but I'll help...)

*For the most part, people annoy the sh*t out of me. Marsha Ambrosius is doing a live ustream chat right now (her banging new CD came out @ midnight), so I went to ustream.com to check her out. She was very excited about the release, she was talking, singing and trying to answer some of the questions her "fans" were typing into the chat. A good amount of the people were singing her praises, congratulating her on the CD, and telling her to get some sleep since it is so late. Then, there were the other ignorant MFs out there. "Is you mixed?" "You should do a song with Princess Leia!" Kill yourselves. Ooohh... people piss me off. To quote Jerry and Elaine, "I hate people - they're the worst!"

*Forget heroin. Oxytocin, Dopamine and Norepinephrine are the most difficult chemicals to break an addiction from. Trust me, I know from experience. I have been hooked on these since (at least) 1988, and only now have I realized/accepted that fact. For a time, I was on my way to ODing, but luckily I pulled myself out before it was too late. Don't get me wrong, I haven't quit cold turkey. I just get my fix in small, measured doses now.

*Romantic love, porn and music videos = smoke and mirrors. All propaganda, one big fat lie. Bishit. False, untrue.

TO BE CONTINUED...

-tym

New

Tears for Fears Everybody Wants to Rule the World
Uploaded by Celtiemama. - Explore more music videos.

The opening lines of Tears For Fears' classic "Everybody Wants To Rule The World" are Welcome to your life/There's no turning back. These lines kept playing over and over in my head Wednesday as I drove home from my 9 to 5 of the past 5 years for the last time.

I arrived at work like any other ordinary Wednesday, thinking only of coffee, my weekly meeting and my need to place a Staples supply order. However, things played out nothing like I anticipated. We started out the day with an e-mail from corporate, which contained information eluding to the fact that sales hadn't been what we expected them to be for last quarter, blahblahblah, severance packages, etc. I didn't think anything of it at first, and went on about my morning.

First, my weekly meeting got cancelled, no big deal. Suddenly there are people milling around in the aisleways, which always happens, but this day seemed particularly focused on that e-mail. I went on about my business, joking with my crew, who were also strangely focused on this e-mail.

Fast forward about 45 minutes. My manager comes over, pulls me into a conference room with her manager and another manager, and within 10 minutes, I was escorted to the elevator.

Wow.

5 years, capped by the completion of my first project (that blasted infomercial), and a week after I turn that in, I'm downsized.

Funny thing is, when they told me, I felt "strangely fine", to quote Semisonic.

The managers seemed more upset than I was, and I think that threw them off. Excellent.

As I drove home, the opening line of the aforementioned Tears For Fears song repeatedly played in my head. This was the beginning of my new life. The life I always wanted, but never thought was achievable. I have run the gamut of emotions since Wednesday. Thing is, I got a decent package, so we are covered for a good long time. My worries are all coming from inside me. I am so scared to step out there, but I know this was all God's doing. Without going into detail, I have had quite an eventful January. But God knows what He is doing, and I have no idea what that is. I trust Him, though.

That being said, I shall get my freelance writing on, followed by finishing my book and some screenplays.

The Young Man is still the man. Don't count him out.

TYM