Third Generation Bad Ass

It started with my Grandma Mary. Even at the time I was young I was somewhat aware of her medical struggles. Of course as a child they're all just words and even something like "cancer" doesn't register until many years down the line. For me it was just easy to see by what she ate.
Grandma had her own separate meals from the rest of us. Low in sodium, low in sugar, low in this, low in that. I'm sure just as any child would do I noticed my grandmother's one of a kind meals and wondered why she got something special. Then my mom must have inevitably told me of my grandmother's heart conditions and that her food probably tasted like cardboard, though she would never complain about it.
Which is the point, she never complained or whined and definitely didn't say "FML". She just carried on doing what she needed to do, through breast cancer, heart attacks and anything and everything that was thrown her way. Even on her deathbed she didn't complain, she just smiled and waved goodbye to my grandfather. It's taken me years to come to grips with her passing too early, and maybe I'm still not there yet, but I have come to realize that in the final moments there can be nothing more badass than being able to smile and wave one last time to the person you love.

My mother inherited some of that spirit, though she's never fully been able to realize it for herself. She helped take care of my grandmother on the rare occasions when grandma asked for help (she hated to be a bother to anyone), and since then has done her best to hold the family together, including taking care of my grandfather. From cooking countless holiday meals, to making sure Gramps is warm in the winter or has someone to talk to when he feels alone she's taken a mental and physical beating to get it all done. And it always has been. All of that would be enough to make her a hero but it pales in comparison to what she went through during my parents divorce.
They're both my parents so I'm not going to pick sides - without either of them I don't exist. But it was my mom who went back to school, got her masters, got a job teaching to support us, survived the loss of her mother, the loss of our home, a fire that destroyed our new home, scrapped together enough money to see that my sister and I always had food, shelter and a little extra to spend on the frivolous trinkets of youth so that we never appeared lacking compared to our friends. We both went to college. We both graduated, with honors and we both shed a tear every time our mom second guesses anything she did in raising us. Maybe one day she'll stop and revel in her accomplishments - the two biggest, my sister and I.

All of that brings us to the new generation. The kids who have endured a fairly tumultuous divorce, watched their house burn down during those awkward high school years, and for me, getting diagnosed with a chronic condition at age 17. Since then I've had to deal with biopsies, blood transfusions, vomiting that would make a prom queen proud, drinking more liquid barium than any human should have to endure, constant blood tests, IV treatments, being doubled over in pain for days at a time, and being so sick that your body doesn't want to eat for a week despite the fact that you're withering away to nothing in front of your own eyes. And now they tell me that it's time for surgery they want to cut out 10 inches of my insides. Maybe I should be more concerned than I am, maybe I should get scared or something. Maybe, but I won't. When the doctor told me this prognosis I took a breath and said "okay". Life throws challenges at you. Easy if you can't handle it, tough if you can. So what else was I expecting?
I am the next step in Darwin's evolution. Grandma's silent strength, with Mom's persistence. But I acknowledge it. I revel in it. I stand out and wait for the next challenge. They get progressively harder but I don't care. As weak as my body has been at 104lbs my mind is a 255lb middle linebacker out for blood (i.e. Ray Lewis) or the FTW World Champion, Taz.

I don't do things the easy way. I don't back down. I don't run from a challenge and I sure as hell don't half ass it. I just do it. Whatever it is that's thrown in my way. I do it. I endure.

My name is Bob Tallman, and I'm a 3rd generation bad-ass.
Beat me, if you can.
Survive, if I let you.

The Ultimate Power Ballad?

Perhaps my contribution to the world of advertising, or the the written word in general, will be my style/technique for storytelling using bits of song lyrics (as previously seen here). Who knows if anyone else actually finds it interesting or amusing - the point is I do. I just did another one, this time with the goal of creating a Super Power Ballad.
Of course I had to up the production value now, so I gave it a title, an estimated track length and of course - album art. Enjoy. Or don't. I don't care, I had fun doing it.

Without further ado; assembled from some of the greatest power ballads of all time (using My Music Lists, What is that Song?, Best Power Ballads of All Time, and AOL Radio Blog as references) this latest Dr. Frankenstein creation is designed to tug heart strings and melt faces.


Title: Wanna Know Dream Love
Artist: Various
Time: approximately 6:32
--------------------------------------------

I guess this time you're really leaving
I heard your suitcase say goodbye
And as my broken heart lies bleeding
You say true love is suicide

So nobody ever told you baby
How it was gonna be
So what'll happen to you baby
Guess we'll have to wait and see

Don't tell me it's not worth tryin' for
You can't tell me it's not worth dyin' for
You know it's true

I'd stare a lifetime into your eyes
So that I knew you were there for me
Time after time you were there for me

[Guitar Solo 1]

I know I could have saved a love that night
If I'd known what to say
Instead of makin' love
We both made our separate ways

I can't tell ya baby what went wrong
I can't make you feel what you felt so long ago
I'll let it show
I can't give you back what's been hurt
Heartaches come and go and all that's left are the words
I can't let go

I can't sing a love song
Like the way it's meant to be
I guess I'm not that good anymore
But that's just me

The wind of change
Blows straight into the face of time
Like a stormwind that will ring the freedom bell
For peace of mind

When I'm tired and thinking cold
I hide in my music, forget the day
And dream of a girl I used to know
I closed my eyes and she slipped away

Is this love that I'm feeling?
Is this love, that I've been searching for?
Is this love, or am I dreaming?

[Guitar Solo 2]

When I see you smile
I can face the world

I know it's hard to keep an open heart
When even friends seem out to harm you
But if you could heal a broken heart
Wouldn't time be out to charm you

Right down the line it's been you and me
And loving a music man
Ain't always what it's supposed to be
Oh girl,
You stand by me

So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
No, nothing else matters

Does this mean that I'm an international chef?

This past Saturday night my friend Aaron and I cooked dinner for the girls at his place. He handled salad and apps while I prepared the main course. Apparently I had shot my mouth off about cooking lasagna one time too many and Jess called it in, so I was tasked with baking a meat lasagna, with garlic bread, of course.

Unfortunately, I forgot my camera so there will be no "Culinary Adventures" photo album associated with the meal.

I woke up on Saturday morning after a fun and drink filled Friday and spent most of the mid-afternoon purchasing ingredients. It's a fairly minor task in the states because finding ingredients to do your own cook is normal. In London, it's a pain in the ass. I quickly realized why British food gets the rap that it does - they don't even have the proper ingredients to cook something that doesn't suck. Everything is pre-made or in a jar. Like "Burger Sauce". I have no idea what that is, but it's some generic crap in a squeeze tube that you're supposed to want to put on a well cooked piece of meat. No thanks. There is no spice (i.e. flavor) aisle in the supermarket and the theme of the day is always "grab and go" for meals. It's sad really. I know American's are over eaters but part of that is because our food tastes good.

So back to the story. I left for Aaron's missing only a few ingredients: an egg (which I didn't want to try to take on the train), sliced mozzarella (I like the way it cooks more than the shredded variety) and garlic powder (again no spice aisle). I finally gave in an picked up a package of shredded mozzarella on the way. After meeting me at the train station Aaron and I picked up some eggs and by the greatest of fortunes, the small corner store we went to had a bag of garlic powder. So, no armed with all the ingredients we headed for the kitchen.

It was fun putting together the lasagna and the minor difficulties we ran into - ran out of noodles for the top layer so I got creative with the structure, not understanding British oven settings and setting the oven to broil for the first 15 minutes (which resulted in some very nicely melted cheese on top). But we overcame that, set the oven correctly and I whipped up a batch of garlic bread.

We all sat around the table and had a nice meal. It felt good to cook again. Especially when everyone went to for seconds.

The All American Birthday

Now turning 28 isn't the sexiest of birthdays. In fact, it's probably one of the more humdrum or troublesome ones, as you realize your twenties are quickly fleeting and soon you'll be thirty, are still in school, have no job and in no position for marriage or any of that family stuff that your friends are starting to do.

Still with all of that working against me, I was determined to have a good one. Unfortunately, it was a Tuesday, so I still had to go to work. So I put on my new (bad ass) Rolling Stones t-shirt and headed towards the tube.

After I made my usual commute to the office my friends surprised me with breakfast - a handful of mini chocolate muffins and a pair of (delicious) donuts, all with candles. They sang and it was nice, and as previously mentioned, delicious.

Then it was back to work - the perfect remedy for a birthday when you're too old to just get drunk and pass out and too young to hate the thought of getting older and just want to sleep. So we got cracking on our assignments.

At lunch time I made a quick run to Subway for the sub of the day (Tuesday is meatball marinara - and there is no $5 footlong in England. Not even a £5 footlong) and paired it with my birthday present to myself - a can of Mountain Dew, bottled back in the good 'ol US of A with the familiar list of ingredients. Yay America!

After doing a few more hours of work, the group informed me that we had to get going. They had planned my birthday for me and swore to keep it a surprise. Of course after the mega surprise party that Jenn had thrown for me years ago, I've learned to be a little more aware of my surroundings and at least had an idea of what dinner would be like.

It was what I hoped - we went to a place called 'The Big Easy' which is an American themed crabshack and steakhouse. Fantastic. On Tuesdays they also have a great deal, called their deluxe lobster bake. It looks something like this:





That would be a whole Maine lobster, atlantic crab claw, tiger prawns and mussels served with small potatoes and a complimentary Becks. (Not pictured is the incredible belgian waffle ice cream sundae for dessert.) And to make it even more American - when we sat down we noticed an autographed picture of Stevie Wonder, who has eaten there and then they started playing "Kiss" by Prince. It was my own little slice of Americana.

After dinner and dessert I was informed that the party would continue. We hopped on a double decker (and got the front row on the top) and headed towards Picaddilly Circus. There, I was taken to 'Funland' or as I shall refer to it - British Dave and Busters, just without the restaurant. We headed upstairs to the bowling alley and got our bowling on with a few drinks. I was fairly embarrassing, threatening to not break 100 until, when in the 10th frame I finally hit my groove and rolled back to back strikes (the strike dance followed). In the end I had a 106, allowing me to save face.

From there most people headed back home leaving me and Deanna to explore the arcade and play some games. Basically the equivalent of mom and dad going home and leaving the kids alone in a candy store. After waving goodbye to our friends our eyes beemed as we went exploring. The plan was to look around for a while before playing anything, so that we wouldn't waste our time or money on not-worthwhile games.

Of course, within 2 minutes of making this plan we had already started pumping 1 pound coins into Time Crisis 4 to play co-op. It was a lot of fun, and D is a pretty good shot. We finally broke away from the machine and continued looking around. We found bumper cars, but without the rest of the group we took a rain check. More games were played - including the obligatory Sure Shot basketball, some skee-ball, and... a knock-off version of DDR which ended with exhaustion and laughs, mixed with some crushed spirits. Fortunately, digital dancing isn't real dancing just like Guitar Hero isn't playing the guitar.

In the end we cashed in our tickets for 3 bird shaped whistles (one each for D, myself and Julie).
It was the greatest international birthday I ever had, thanks to a great group of Americans.

Don't Stop Me Now

Before I came over to England I developed a theory. Well really it wasn't a theory just something I really hoped was true. What was it that I came up with?

"Don't stop me now" by Queen is to England what "Livin' on a prayer" by Bon Jovi is to NY/NJ.

I wanted this to be true so badly. Based on the classic scene in Shaun of the Dead, and that great wedding video that some couple in England had done featuring the song, I thought this crazy hope/theory of mine had a chance.

Now the first instance where I experienced the song, in England, with a large crowd around, was when I saw the musical, We Will Rock You. People were excited but it was hard to tell if it was purely based on the song because the whole musical is great (as is Queen's catalog). But that's not what I was looking for.

Then, this past Saturday night we were in a lounge/club/bar in Hoxton Square. At the beginning the place didn't seem like much, but then the girls decided to move the group into the room with the dance floor. The dj there was playing some great 80s/90s pop and hip hop and there was no way to resist dancing.

So after a few (classic) songs I was really pumped. And then it happened...I heard the first few notes.

I immediately froze and looked around. The dance floor was still packed and it was now time to test my theory. Would the Brits react as I had thought/hopped?

The answer came quickly and was rather anticlimactic. Everyone immediately started singing along, jumping around and dancing. And at the end of the song, everyone started swaying and singing the "la la laas".

It was great, not only to be validated but also (as I mentioned) because the song is great and since my answer came so quickly and obviously, I was able to join in on the fun.

That song is definitely going on the wedding playlist.

Turning 28

So for my birthday I created a new playlist. These are the songs I think best describe me:


Name Artist
Big Balls AC/DC
Gives You Hell The All-American Rejects
Be Yourself Audioslave
All You Need Is Love The Beatles
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da The Beatles
Only the Good Die Young Billy Joel
Iron Man Black Sabbath
Don't Rain on my Parade Bobby Darin
Fortunate Son Creedance Clearwater Revival
I Believe in a Thing Called Love The Darkness
Let's Hear It For The Boy Deniece Williams
Ruff Riders' Anthem Dmx
The Way I Am Eminem
Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life Ensemble, Michael McGrath & Tim Curry
Everything To Everyone Everclear
I did it my way Frank Sinatra
Walking Contradiction Green Day
Live And Let Die Guns N' Roses
December 4th Jay-Z
Public Service Announcement (Interlude) Jay-Z
Hard Knock Life(Ghetto Anthem) Jay-Z
Voodoo Child (Slight Return) Jimi Hendrix
I Love Rock and Roll Joan Jett & the Blackhearts
With a Little Help From My Friends (Wonder Years Theme) Joe Cocker
Don't Stop Believin' Journey
God Gave Rock & Roll To You KISS
Good Times Bad Times Led Zeppelin
Mama Said Knock You Out LL Cool J
Smooth Criminal Michael Jackson
Po' Folks Nappy Roots
Hey Hey, My My Neil Young
King of New York Newsies
Juicy Notorious B.i.g.
Ghetto Superstar Pras, O.D.B and Mya
Pretty Girls Prozzak [Simon and Milo]
I Want It All Queen
Headlong Queen
Princes Of The Universe Queen
Dont Stop Me Now Queen
You Can't Always Get What You Want The Rolling Stones
Sympathy For The Devil The Rolling Stones
Get Off My Cloud The Rolling Stones
It's Tricky Run DMC
Revolution Stone Temple Pilots
I Won't Back Down Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
Runnin' Down A Dream Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
Dancing In The Moonlight Toploader
Runnin' With The Devil Van Halen
Dance the Night Away Van Halen
Keep Fishing Weezer
Baba O'Riley The Who
My Generation The Who
Behind Blue Eyes The Who
If I can't do it 50 Cent
God Gave Me Style 50 Cent
Hate It Or Love It (G-Unit Remix) 50 Cent

My hero - the gimp

Despite a hospital visit last Christmas time, reuniting with my doctor in New York before flying over to London and some new medicines, I still haven't been healthy in over a year. Really healthy, like the way you expect to feel on an average day.

It starts to weigh on you after a while. Maybe you start thinking about giving in and resigning yourself to the new status quo. You can start to feel sorry for yourself, no matter how against your nature it may be or how you despise people who post stupid "FML" status messages on the internet like their lives are all that bad. You wind up holding on to your physical and mental state by a thread. You find yourself needing some semblance of hope, or motivation to keep going after all this time.
And then you see a guy hobbling down the street. A gimp, for the un-pc crowd of which I associate, or a "poor soul" as my mom would immediately refer to them. On your first look your immediate emotional response is something like pitty, although you won't admit it. You watch as a veritable dead-leg is half dragged and half flung in front in order to poorly simulate the walking motion you yourself have no issues performing.

Then I took a second to process what I saw.

It's about 8:30 in the morning.This man is wearing a nice suit. Not gaudy, nor pauperish. It's contemporary, stylish and fits him well.
His shoes aren't dull. They're well maintained.
He's got his laptop/messenger back slung over his shoulder, like me and everyone else.

He's on his way to work. He's not feeling sorry for himself or asking anyone for a hand. He walks funny, he knows it, so he leaves early knowing he needs more time to get to the train.
He's got his headphones on and is listening to whatever music makes him happy.
He lives his life, given the hand he's been dealt.
Despite the professional appearance, the nice clothes and the calm demeanor this guy has his middle finger to the sky telling the universe that it can go fuck itself because it's not going to stop him.

He's gangsta
And he's my hero.