Note From The Namer Desk, Freezing Sunday 7:23 PM.

It is an often quoted piece of Shakespeare, or Bill as I like to call him (friendly, familiar), that there is, to paraphrase, fuck all in a name. Substance is the thing and the label you put on it is fairly unimportant.

I have not historically been a big fan of my own name, for a few different reasons.

    For one, there aren't many good things named after 'Toms'. You have Doubting Thomas who was a skeptical shit-head, Peeping Tom the pervert, Tomcats are horny cats and of course TomBoys (or as I like to call them, lesbians in Embryo form). Tom was Jerrys antagonist, Tom Cruise is plain terrible (or maybe 'Fancy Terrible') and Tom Green is an awful piece of human garbage.

   If we ignore the non-ignorable (Morello, Hanks and Waits) it seems like Tom has pretty bad connotations. History is littered with Toms who were complete dicks and thats just part of it. Thomas is no better and may be infinitely worse. I always think people are pissed off when they use it, also it seems kinda soft. As I mentioned in my last post, there was a time I thought Jason was the winning name to have, though I have changed my tune some. And heres why....

It Sounds Cool When Said With An Accent

My Polish (and crazy, though not in a sunglass-wearing-rocking-out-on-electric guitar kinda way, in a sad way) Grandfather likes to call me by my full name. Though with his accent and spelling (Tomasz) it seems a lot cooler. It makes me feel like a mountain man, working steadily through a series of more ambitious wood-working projects while readying for the winter that the townsfolk got word to me late of. A guy can dream.

  My Greek boss has a similar pronunciation but his makes me feel like a Disco King with flares and enormous sideburns. Sort of like an Australian John Travolta with a gun. Point is, its got a nice rhythm and sound when said with an accent.

Its Short and Simple.

I never, ever, have trouble fitting my name on the display computer when I go bowling. Just one of the many advantages to having a short name. (Full Disclosure, I have had trouble doing that, but its usually because I like to make my name 'Terrance', Terrance just seems like a better bowler). No-one ever has to ask how to spell it, or if it is with any other letter. I did once go through another 'fashionable' period where I spelled it with an 'H', as in 'Thom'. People called me 'Thom' (like Thong) and I regret it with ever fibre of my being, but for the most part I have never had to explain its detailed letter pattern.

I also am glad I got out of the womb in the nick of time, before the trend of naming people after where they were conceived or born, or the parents favourite flower, or the quality they most hope the child to have (I would be 'Wallang' or 'Tulip' or 'Adequacy' if these were the case). I have a normal name and that is enjoyable.

It is After a Grandparent.

While I am no proponent of naming a child after you, it is nice to shout out to your ancestry through your children. My name comes from my Paternal Grandmothers father, and thats kinda cool. A tall guy who loved horses (which means we are both tall guys). I don't know why, but I like that. Carrying it on and such. It is a further guard against the names of today becoming further entrenched in irony or eccentricities. Something simple, a mans name....

It Sounds Like It Could Be On A Street Sign (Or Menu).

I have always wanted something named after me. Not a human child, star or library. But maybe a small street or sandwich (which would definitely feature the unlikely friendship of egg and chilli flakes, also a lot of salami) and with a simple name like mine it doesn't seem impossible. Why not enjoy an open faced Tom while cruising down Tom Boulevard (also the name of my upcoming R&B album/seniors clothing line). I have also considered putting out a line of cocktail hot-dog buns to go with cocktail frankfurts, Toms Thumbs, anyone?

It can take time to learn to live with your name. While Jason still has its appeal to me I have been gradually getting used to being in The Tom Club (I have said too much). Now its time to reach peace with my middle names, which is another story for another day.

NP.

Note From The Trendsetters Desk: 2:54 A.M, Warm Saturday.

I remember when I was seven years old, there was nothing in the world then that I wanted more than glasses and braces. Did I need them? Not in the slightest. At the time my teeth were straight and inexplicably healthy, my eyesight was a gentlemanly 20-20 with perfect clock-reading abilities and no need for large-text books nor engorged buttons on my telephone (not that I had a telephone, children with mobiles wasn't a thing).

       No, I thought they looked cool. In what was perhaps the start of a long line of questionable fashion role models, people with braces or glasses (especially those captain-of-the-football team level awesome folks with both), struck me as pretty badass. Of course the canon of popular culture and common opinion has proven that it was the opposite of cool or badass.

Still, it is interesting to me that this was my first inclination of what was cool and, even then, it had nothing to do with what everyone else felt was fashionable. Now we have widespread hipster culture where glasses provide an image that harks back to Ginsberg or John Lennon, but then hipsters weren't a thing either.

       Thinking back, I think I thought that brain-power was real-power. In my earliest years people who seemed smart seemed tough or ahead of the curb. A high intelligence seemed the thing to envy rather than a high level of muscle tone or athletic prowess (something admittedly I now envy).

      Though not all of my fashion aspirations were so noble or impressively moral. The valleys were as great and numerous as the peaks. For example, for at least an entire year I wished my name was Jason.             I have no explanation for it, except that it sounded cool. Much cooler than 'Tom'. Jason's seemed to be winners, the same way smart guys with glasses and braces did. Team Jason seemed to be the only team worth being on and for a good while I was pissed off at my mother for damning my life by not putting me on that team.

       A year or two later I spent 18 months fully exploring my 'bright-orange camouflage fishing vest' phase, a phase that didn't end (or even go) well, except that it did end.

      Then I spent a good few years delving into insanely loose, silver jeans and nothing else. It seemed the height of pride and prowess and though people told me different in no uncertain terms, it was one of those unfortunate experiences that you can't understand until you organically grow out of it.

      Fashion is a funny thing and my history with it will never be held up as exemplary of high-taste or medium-taste or even taste. I was bold (stupid) and regret all of it. I don't know that my choices are much better now, but I am going for as timeless a look as I can muster without being even near the crest of that ever-breaking style wave.

NP.