Check out a great night from the kids camp gala! Such great people…. John Stamos, Joel McHale, Linda Cardellini, Scott Grimes, McKenzie Westmore, Seven, Laura Diaz, and of course my wife! THANK YOU to EVERYONE (counselors, campers, friends, sponsors, doctors, nurses, auction donaters, film makers, etc) that made this night so incredible! ESPECIALLY THE KIDS! You can go to www.campdelcorazon.com to learn more….

See, I’m the one who needs help but I can only get the help I need by helping others.   It’s not because I’m a wonderful guy.   It’s because I’m a selfish ass wipe with a Santa Claus complex who’s only happy when distracted from his own self.  It’s a weird win-win.   Like if your girlfriend suddenly becomes an addict (sad, scary) BUT she’s addicted to making love to you.  Just you.  Her focus on your pleasure releases endorphins of joy or peace….who cares?   She feels better for making you feel better.   That’s why I do so much charity work and now that we have more time than ever on our hands we should all be doing as much as we can in case there really is a heaven.

I know what you’re thinking, “But Tom, charity work doesn’t pay.”  Wrong.  Charity work makes you forget about your miserable life, right?  Just like Crack.   But Crack costs money and the more you do it, the more you need.  The more you need, the more you spend.   Then one day you realize that old fashioned smoking rock cocaine isn’t doing the trick anymore.   So, of course, you go to needles and high quality syringes are an added expense.  But you adjust. Then suddenly you realize your veins have collapsed and the next thing you know you’re sticking things up your butt. When “your bottom” is actually you bottom it’s maybe time to look for help plus where do you go when “taking it up the ass” isn’t crazy enough?

Lending a hand (volunteerism to you college folks) to someone in worse shape than you (they’re out there, some of us have to look harder than others at first) is free and the high, take it from an expert, is better, lasts longer and there’s no rectal bleeding.

So here’s some of TA’s Tips For Being Selfless and Humble, Like Me:

Volunteer. You can volunteer at almost any type of charity.   Most have Gala’s or Run-Walk’s and whether it’s the fancy schmancy Carousel of Hope Ball (Juvenile Diabetes), the “dancing insisted upon” Race 2 Erase MS event, the more subtle but still black tie (I never wear a tux…a thrift shop black suit works just as well) Camp Del Corazon Gala, camp for severe heart kids, there’s dancing, drinking and doctors…always a funny combination or, if you need your vitamin D, any AIDS, Cancer, Non Violence Run-Walk.

The one constant in all these events is they’re all incredibly dependant on volunteers AND as I sneak out the back door (sad fact, I recently realized that most of the time I’ve got nowhere to sneak too so now I try to linger and genuinely take it all in) after emceeing, introducing someone truly heroic or commanding the Live Auction (tip: before you start, locate the rich guys.   Get them drinking heavily, especially the ones that look like me with dates who look like my fiancé – young, beautiful, the kind of women insecure, inebriated balding fat guys NEED to impress with public displays of appreciation i.e. tax deductible jewelry, fancy, one of a kind sports cars, first class trips to 5 star exotic locations, “anything for the kids” i.e. private displays of affection – Big Daddy wants a gratitude blow job).

I always take a look back and see the volunteers, still working hard, handing out the goodie bags to the high rollers, people who’ve just spent 10’s of thousands of dollars, waiting in a long line to collect their free swag, usually a heavy bag filled with junk, (3 kinds of conditioner, Extra Small T-shirts, a reality “star’s” perfume, Olsen Twins eyeliner, a VHS copy of a movie no one has ever heard of (usually mine) a cook book, written by a fat balding rich guy’s 3rd wife’s 2nd cook, another book written by The Dietian, Trainer or Plastic Surgeon of “The Stars” and an 800 page book written by the brilliant Doctor who will eventually cure this disease but sadly, literally no one will ever read this book.  All this bounty is carted home and placed in the Re-gift Closet by housekeepers who then gratefully re-receive these as they head for home at 5PM on Christmas Day (that’s a Candy Spelling half day) and they, in a tradition as old as Tory Spelling’s first botched boob job, immediately re-re-gift by tossing the bag into the unsuspecting garners pickups so they don’t have any extra crap to haul the 10 K to the bus stop.

I’m always’ a little envious of the volunteers because I hear them talking about the “wrap party” they are having at some dive bar after “the rich weirdos have gone.”   They genuinely seem to know that they’ve worked hard and made a difference and no matter what is going on in their lives, these troupers have a sense of community.  In spite of our reality, they know that things could be worse but they just made them a little better.

Other things I like: The USO.   Whether raising money here or entertaining in a war zone, those men and women are ALWAYS so darn grateful…and not in a sarcastic way, “oh man, I’m so grateful that you flew First Class over here to tell some jokes for a week so I can enjoy the last two years of being shot at while my wife raises our kids alone.”   It is the definition of irony.

Like the time I was at the Ronald McDonald House in Seattle and this sweet little boy with cancer was worried about my career.

“Is it true you’re not on the Best Damn Sports Show anymore?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Oh sure, I mean, I loved working there but it got too expensive for them.”

The 11 year old comforted me with his family then told me I was his Autistic brother’s favorite TV person.  ”He’s only 8 and dad put a lock on the cable box but he broke the code every night at 8 when your show was on.   I think you remind him of himself, the way you shake and talk.”  Of course I considered this high praise.  See, WAY better than jogging or meditating.   And I immediately asked Fox to make a compilation tape of my craziest moments to send to the 11-year old’s little brother.   Not to brag but I really felt important that day and it’s not that I’m not aware of a sick little kid or a severely wounded soldier and I know how tough life is for a 7 year old who’s had 2 heart transplants…it’s just that when I’m in their presence, I cannot look sad.  That’s my job.   Business as usual.   They don’t want my tears, my sympathy.  They want me to be the idiot from TV and the movies or they want to tell me a joke or ask who’s gonna win the Super Bowl.

So I save the sadness for later and I try not to obsess on it because I’ve probably got another show or charity thing tonight and my job is to provide an opportunity to escape.  That’s how I help.   I volunteer, still sometimes I wish it was the young old days and I was a real volunteer-volunteer.  They sure laugh a lot.

But maybe the best charity for my self esteem is the Special Olympics.  Anyone can help us.   And selfishly, I’m sure this is one of the big reasons I do so many of these events…these kids really like me.   They like everybody but I don’t know any place in the world where everybody likes ME.  And they’re fun.   Again, my favorite memories are of the kids coaching me in their events.  Trying to make me a better bowler, sprinter, golfer, power lifter, etc.

And then there’s Eunice Shriver.  My personal hero.   She started the Special Olympics about 50 years ago and I’m sure it wasn’t easy but she wasn’t easy.  She knew what she wanted for her kids and she got it.   So inspiring.   My favorite memory was The United States Games in 2006. It was held in my home state, Iowa, so I was pretty proud.   I was the host and I basically followed around Eunice, a woman I fondly referred to as “a 90 pound woman with a 100 pound purse.”  I do have a Santa Claus Complex.   If you’ve ever been dressed as Santa Claus, you understand.  Kids look at you like you are Will Smith times ten.  Anyway, I love putting the S.O. Metal on the athletes.  Makes me feel cool.  Eunice saw me pinning one on and yelled “stop!   They can do that themselves” and I said, “it’s kinda hard” and she said “can YOU do it?  Can Arnold do it?  Well, then they can do it.”  She was always about self reliance and she was always right.   So since she’s gone she’s going to need a whole bunch of us to carry on her 100 pound purse.  Join me if you can.   Feels great.

It’s 5 a.m.  My good days always begin with the same ritual:

1. Wake up at sunrise
2. Stretch and ride bicycle to Runyon Canyon
3. Power walk up and sprint back down
4. Bike back to house, dive into the pool, swim 25 laps
5. Spring out, somersault into micro-yard and begin 30 min core strengthening routine
6. Hit my knees and pray-meditate for 20
7. Journal, egg white omelet, return all calls, send “thank you” notes and spend some intimate quality time with life partner, which begins with just listening to her feelings and hopefully, once again, going over every minute detail of our wedding plans.

Did you know that Gelson’s in West Hollywood sells the finest blue roses?  Well, they do.   And even though we’re getting married in the middle of the world’s largest exotic flower farm, Maui, I’m honored to be able to provide whatever her heart desires, regardless of the price or excessive shipping costs, because, darn it honey, it’s my honor.

As groom my only job is to make sure everything is perfect for my soul mate on the most important day of our lives and since I’ve shared my daily ritual – my “program,” if you will – you’ll understand why my normally crazy head is way too filled with contentment and gratitude to think of any ridiculous thoughts like “what the f–k are you talking about? It’s going to be nighttime. In Maui. Who cares about some fake-ass flowers you can’t even see? Oh my god! What’s the budget again? Did you not read the papers? I should’ve taken you up when you demanded to get married in the Compton Court House during that PMS frenzy.”

But no; instead I stupidly said “that would kill your mother and I can’t live with myself if your father doesn’t get to walk his baby girl down the aisle.”   But I was lying. Maybe even a little scared because I could live with myself. Hell, quite frankly, I could live with myself if I lived by myself. But that’s all over. I can’t change the past, but I can change the future and just looking at the “Ashley’s Dream Wedding” cost estimate I realize I can also live with myself if we lose the live ban. I’ll download some stuff from “Glee” for your friends and I’ve got that Tupac-Biggie Smalls mix tape for mine. We could spend hours going over this budget line by painful line but as The Honorable Governor of the world’s fifth largest economy recently said in a genius Twitter post while holding his Crocodile Dundee Knife, “just cut everything in half…except for the cake.”  Maybe not his exact words but we’ve all got to tighten our belts and mine is ready to burst!

But of course, none of those selfish thoughts or even my daily perennials “I suck, I’ll never work again, you can’t fool anyone, even the mean spirited random loser bloggers, I AM an idiot, so it makes sense that my agents ignore me, I already knew I’d die alone and penniless, my drunken mom was a G D. visionary!”

Crazy stuff, huh? Especially from a man who’s got 20 years of 12 Step meetings and intensive therapy behind him.   But don’t be alarmed friends.   None of those negative thoughts would ever cross my mind day and night again…if only I’d do even a couple of the items on my daily ritual list, but I don’t.  Never have, never will.   And that means I can’t even enlist my best-est old friend from childhood: Self pity. I have buddies that live by and honor their lists.  They are happy and healthy.   So why the hell don’t I get off my fat ass and do something about the one thing I can control, my sense of well being?  I’d love to, believe me but unfortunately I have another major defect of character; I’m lazy.  There, I said it.   (I was hoping that flourish of rigorous honesty would be rewarded with something magical but nope. I still suck.)

I may be a miserable bastard but at least I know what I could do to make my life better.  Got it in writing.   Laminated right in front of me.  So at least I face it.  Literally.  Some people are clueless.   I see them out the window.  They just live a happy life.   Lucky to be alive.   Feeling unconditional love, peace of mind, self respect.  They are amazing, fearlessly confident.  I hate them because their lives seem so easy.   But then again, of course, it’s easy.  They’re not ME.  Try being me for one day and you’d give up, too.  Why couldn’t I be “not me?”   What kind of horrible crap did I do in a past life that brought me to me? Even if I was a genocidal evil-doer who purposely unleashed the super plague that killed the dinosaurs, wouldn’t I still be entitled ONE accidentally blissful moment?   Just a half beat before my eyes opened, my brain turned on and it all came crashing down?

In case you’re still reading, my story has a happy ending.   Even though I’m from a small Midwestern town where you are taught that the world’s biggest sin is arrogance and compliments of any kind are physically painful, you are also taught that wallowing in mountains of self doubt is every bit as sick as the excessive self worth of a sociopath (you’ve seen the impossibly confident lunatics at the casting calls for American Idol, right?).   So I figured out a while ago that if I was going to even have a shot at succeeding in any form during this gift we call life, without a militiaman work ethic, I’d have to harness my strengths and the one advantage of facing the world as a sober, people-pleaser with a realist’s fear of wrath of woman, a mild case of Aspergers and stage 4 ADHD, and say “yes” a lot.

Which is why I started my day a few Wednesdays ago in Lynwood CA, building houses for Habitat for Humanity.   A the wondrous, Linda Cardellini, actress, humanitarian, asked me if I knew how to build houses.   (I say “yes” to almost anything a pretty girl asks me to do).   But after pounding a few nails I realized that I did in fact NOT know how to build houses.   I also realized this wasn’t “Celebrity Habitat for Humanity” where you hand out a few juice boxes, take some pictures with the real workers, then go home.   I don’t have a problem telling men “no” so when some great looking dude asked my in front of Linda is I was afraid of heights, of course I said “no.”  If he asked me if I had a problem with someone shooting me in the face with the nail gun, I would’ve paused until I was sure Linda was looking and then said “no” again. Hoping my extreme manliness would work her up into such a frenzy that even her young, handsome boyfriend could not hold this wiry little minx back.   I’ve replayed the rest of this scenario like a loop in my head and it always ends with Ashley showing up, pulling Linda off of me and when their unusually erotic cat fight over who’s earned the privilege to lick me all over suddenly ends in a “there’s enough of “T” to go around.”   Their hugs of relief quickly escalate into a passionate make out session which I am required, as a gentleman, to enjoy.

A half a beat later the hammer slamming into my thumb jolted me back to the real world but it was too late.   I’d had a moment. Sunshine and lollypops. Fleeting but very real. No dread, no horror, no “me.”   I was momentarily out of my head.  In a happy, if silly place, and I love being in that town. I’ve been there before and I can’t wait to get back.   And you can get there the hard way: 1. Wake up at sunrise. 2…or my way: Be of service.  Help someone.

I will be appearing on this week’s Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader? It airs Wednesday, Sept. 30th at 8pm on CMT.  It’s harder than it looks.  Trust me.  My charity was one of my favorites, Camp del Corazon.  They do great year round support for children with heart disease, including an awesome camp they can attend since the kids’ medical conditions prevents them from going to regular camp with other kids.