My Ironically-Titled Blog

Hey, so, what'd I miss? I mean, besides you, obviously.

2007-11-07T12:31:00.000-05:00

1. How do you return to your website after having disappeared, with no explanation, for one-hundred and five days?

[A] Simply reappear, acting as if said disappearance had never occurred, and hoping to be welcomed back in a similar attitude (also known as “the Wakefield approach”).
[B] Alienate the remaining members of your already-diminished audience by opening with a reference to a Nathaniel Hawthorne story that does not feature adultery.
[C] Admit that you ignored your readers for a length of time roughly equivalent to the gestation period of a chinchilla. Beg for forgiveness, while also asserting that we can’t all be Gawker, enlightening our audience on the half-hour with such posts as “Seen:160 Central Park S. T-boz from TLC at the essex house. Heard the voice and just KNEW it was her. She’s the hotness.” Inquire politely as to whether any of your readers’ chinchillas have given birth during your absence. Send a gift.
[D] Just begin typing in hopes that you will be well-served by the single most important lesson you learned in high school: self-awareness solves everything.

2. What topic do you choose for your all-important returning post, a post already bearing the weight of both three months of anticipation and of your tendency to disappoint?

[A] “How awesome was that donkey on this week’s Amazing Race?”
[B] “I have opinions about politics and you must read them. Now excuse me while I type ‘Barack’ into Google to make sure that I am spelling it correctly.”
[C] “Should Paladins have their own class Epic Flying Mount?”
[D] “Yes, I know that I’ve abandoned you all in the past, that I haven’t been as present as I should’ve been. I know that I’ve missed out on many momentous occasions in all of your lives, and believe me, no one is more disappointed about this than I am (though, for the record, I only missed the birth of our third son because of tunnel traffic, and I still refuse to concede that a dance recital is a 'momentous occasion'). But I’m back, and I’ve changed now, and I know you’ve heard that before, but this time I’m not just talking about the colored contacts, which, by the way, I got rid of—nobody’s eyes are that blue, those were a ridiculous purchase on my part.”

3. How do you assure people that such an absence will never occur again, and that they can once more show a passing-at-best interest in, say, your three-page reviews of disappointing cereals without eventually feeling deserted?

[A] Quit school and make this your full-time job, because nobody will ask to see your degree when they’re busy laughing at your online dissertation about grocery store etiquette, and because blogs are the new Great American Novel, and because the internet is going to make us all rich, now light your cigars and have a drink on me, boys, because the future is lookin’ bright!
[B] Hire a ghostwriter and have them follow your EasyPost Template™: “[Semi-obscure reference to a science fiction show or teen soap opera] [Parenthetical aside] [Self-deprecating remark about how nobody reads this anyway and/or how much you suck at sports] [Inconclusive conclusion].”
[C] Stop wasting so much time on aspects such as spelling, punctuation, and subject matter, instead spending no more than eight minutes on any given post, and mostly talking about why your life is the worst ever and how everybody is automaton robots and quoting Angels and Airwaves lyrics.
[D] Adopt and explain your moderately new format, which is pretty much the old format, but with the caveat that, in order to cover more ground and exist more often, every post needn’t be essay-length. Because in this case, less words at once will probably mean more words overall, and besides, sometimes you have something to say about, for example, how you wish biscuits were as prominent in New York City as the bagel, and where can a guy go to get a decent biscuit in this city, but you have neither the time nor the material to say much more on the topic.

Which, of course, is just an example, as even with this new, looser format, I would never waste an entire post, nor your time, on such paltry and self-serving subject matters. Which, of course, is a complete lie, and if anyone can help me with The Great New York Biscuit Hunt, by all means, leave it in the comments.

Nah, I'm Kidding, Grade-Schoolers are Alright.

2007-07-25T12:48:00.000-05:00

For the past five days, I have not been a functioning member of society. I’ve lived on the fringes, like Nell in the first twenty minutes, or Howard Hughes in his last ten years. But today, I begin the process of reintegration—a process that actually begins with shutting myself in my room for an indeterminate period of time. And by the time the week is through, I plan to be able to break my media-blackout, to no longer have to yell, “NO NO WAIT DON’T TELL ME ANYTHING I WILL EAT YOUR FACE!” to every person I encounter, and to finally feel as accomplished as most 12 year-olds. Because by the time this week is through, I plan to have read The Final Hary Potter.

Oh, right, and I’m also reading it because I can’t friggin’ wait. To which I know your response will be, “Well they why did you wait, Matt, don’t you know it came out on Saturday, don’t you care what happens, and can’t you give up one weekend of your life to stay up-to-date with a cultural milestone?” Now don't get me wrong, Harry Potter fans—I love you, I really do. You helped make books about boy wizards, magic spells, and made-up mythology—and, therefore, people who enjoy said books—socially acceptable (for which I and my social life can’t thank you enough). Plus, only you can appreciate a good “defense against the dark arts” or “wingardium leviosa!" reference (and let’s be honest, there’s no such thing as a bad one).

But here’s the thing: you’re all too stinkin’ good. For the past few months, I’ve encountered a dozen people who are “reading all the old books” to prepare for the new one—and these are people who, unlike me, have jobs and lives, or at least pets. One of the reasons I fear this and every new Harry Potter is because I know that the returning characters and open plotlines will force me to accept that I have no clue what’s going on. The first few chapters of every new book become a marathon of cross-referencing with the final few chapters of the last—heck, the weird “politics of magic” opening of Book 6 almost had me running to Scholastic.com. Which would all be fine, actually, were it not for the suspicion that it’s probably not even that complicated, because grade-schoolers get it, and grade-schoolers are, by default, idiots.

And that’s not even my main deal with you guys. Because my main deal with you guys is that, since this weekend, I’ve been painted as a slacker just because I didn’t finish the 800 page book in the four days since it’s been out.

I feel like a Ron Weasley living in a world full of Hermiones, and it’s your admirably unflagging enthusiasm that’s to blame. Way to go guys. Now I’m off to turn to the first page and hope that I’m not supposed to remember who Lanius Fenellium or whoever is, where he came from, and whether or not he wants Harry Potter dead.

Taking One For The Team.

2007-07-24T14:28:00.000-05:00

As I have made clear in the past, this space is first and foremost a public service—a means for me, the disembodied voice on the internet, to reach out to you, the five acquaintances who still read this. And it’s with this attitude that I present to you Part One of (what I am not guaranteeing will be) a multi-part series:

MATT REVIEWS NEW CEREALS.

[Disclaimer: I am not a licensed food critic. 60% of the five meals I have eaten in the past two days have been cheeseburgers. When I saw Ratatouille, I found myself hoping that it would be one of those Disney movies in which the bad guy—in this film, a food critic—dies by falling a great distance from a cliff or castle tower. Breakfast, however, is my favorite meal of the day, and seeing a new cereal on the shelf can be enough to make any grocery trip the highlight of my entire day—no—week. All of which is to say: I feel that I am not without authority on the subject.]

Let’s get right to it—kicking it off:

NEW Kellogg’s Pops Chocolate Peanut Butter!

The Idea: “General Mills has Reese’s Peanut Butter Puffs, and Quaker Oats has the equally delicious (though redundantly-named) Cap’n Crunch’s Peanut Butter Crunch. Why is our company the last on this bandwagon, we used to be pioneers, everyone in research and development is fired, yes, even you, Terri, I don’t care that you’ve been with the company for 30 years and invented Crispix!”

The Packaging: We’ll start on the outside. Your average everyman/John Q. Public/John C. Reilly might assume that a cereal box’s only job is to grab the shopper’s attention. But a cereal connoisseur knows that the cereal box doubles as reading material—something to keep in front of you and stare at for the three minute duration of your meal. The ultimate goal is not aesthetics, but to cram as much on there as possible. A maze? Great. With a word search? Even better. Throw a couple of Fun Facts on there, and I’m sold. So that’s the criteria we're working with. How does Pops Chocolate Peanut Butter stack up?

First of all, yes, that is the illogical order in which they chose to put those words, and therefore, the name of their cereal. Not a good start, Kellogg’s. Aside from that, though, the front of the box is serviceable. Product name, picture of the cereal (“enlarged to show texture,” of course) splashing into the bowl in that “stop getting milk all over the dining room table” kind of way. It’s the back of the box, though, where a cereal truly has the opportunity to shine, and where Pops Peanut Butter fails. Almost interchangeable with a box-front, the back features a barrage of unintelligible plugs for the product (“Flavor Factor!” “Sphere factor!” “Me Factor!” Like, what?), not even bothering to disguise them as a maze. Sure, they try to make up for this with some narrow-side-of-the-box fun facts: “Peanuts are not a nut! They are actually legumes!” and the likes. But sorry, Kellogg’s. Looking up “chocolate” and “peanut butter” on Wikipedia and then adding a few exclamation points does not count as effort.

C’MON, KELLOGG’S, GET IT TOGETHER!

How It Compares to the Original: The short answer? It doesn’t. The unnecessarily long answer? Pops Chocolate Peanut Butter is one of those spin-offs that is less a spin-off and more a transparent attempt to use an existing brand to launch an almost entirely unrelated product (see also: Cap’n Crunch’s Choco Donuts, CSI: New York). Gone is the oddly-hollow-yet-satisfying crunch of Corn Pops. Gone is the glossy, sweet, and slightly sticky sheen. Gone is the foil-lined bag, which always made me feel like I was eating some kind of astronaut food.

Instead, we get a generic attempt at cashing in on both the Pops dynasty and the chocolate peanut-butter craze. While the original Pops have a light, airy, and vaguely roasted quality (yes, I’m aware that that sounds gross, but: Yum!), Chocolate Peanut Butter are a solid, heavy affair, a quality that makes them unfit for snacking and is not relieved by milk. Furthermore, every piece of Pops Chocolate Peanut Butter sports the uniform “cereal ball” shape, as opposed to the sort of pop-corn irregularity of original Pops—a quality that would add a spontaneity, not often found before 10:00 am, to any morning. In a sentence: these are not Pops.

YOU ARE DESTROYING A 50-YEAR LEGACY, KELLOGG’S!

How It Compares To Other Cereals: For the length of my childhood, Cap’n Crunch held the gold standard for peanut butter cereal—straightforward, pure, and not overpowering in its nuttiness. In my teenage years, Reese’s Peanut Butter Puffs were introduced, and quickly took the crown. Sure the whole “Wait, Reese’s for breakfast?!” advertising campaign lost its edge to anyone who’d ever tried Cookie Crisp (which are, quite literally, a bowl of tiny cookies you eat before work-or-school), but the Reese’s product itself took what had already been established by the Cap’n and improved upon it with the introduction of chocolate. Also, they feel kind of cold in your mouth, which is a hard-to-describe yet enjoyable sensation.

And while I swear this isn’t just a case of loyalties, I’m happy to say that Reese’s keeps the title. And it really comes down to one factor. You see, Reese’s had the good sense to divide the peanut butter and chocolate flavors into separate puffs, distinguishable from one-another by their coloring. Not only is this visually appealing, but it puts the client in control; focusing on chocolate in this bite? Get more dark brown pieces on your spoon! In it for the peanut butter? Go for the tan! Pops Chocolate Peanut Butter, meanwhile, attempts to cram the dual flavors into each piece with no care at all, resulting in what can best be summed up as a ridiculous mess.

The Verdict: Those last two words up there actually sum it all up. From the packaging to the execution, and even the name, itself, Pops Chocolate Peanut Butter are a ridiculous mess—a failure as both a spinoff and a cereal. Don't bother when there's better things out there.

PACK UP YOUR THINGS AND GO HOME, KELLOGG'S POPS CHOCOLATE PEANUT BUTTER!

I Should Throw More.

2007-07-03T12:26:00.000-05:00

Anyone who’s known me long enough to either toss me a set of keys or stand on the receiving end of a similar exchange knows this: I am not a coordinated human being. (And for those of you who haven’t experienced such a transaction, just know that holding me accountable for airborne metal objects will result in an “AUGH, MY EYE!” from you, me, someone within a fifty-yard radius, or maybe all three of us.) Unless Wii Tennis counts, I am not good at sports, I have never been good at sports, and I have long been okay with this fact—after all, a guy can’t be good at everything, and not being able to hit a thing with another thing seems like a fair trade for being able to write a well-punctuated paragraph about said deficiency. But recently, I've realized: I am not good at sports, I have never been good at sports, and, as it stands, I will never be good at sports. And I’m not sure I am entirely okay with that last part.

I spent a good portion of my thirteen years of gym class moaning, “Why do we even have to have gym class?” while shooting underhand, being responsible for another “side out, rotate!” or making sure I wasn't open. But I’m learning that the answer to this question is: because, as an adult, people expect you to be able to toss them that pen or run for that train—heck, for some people, throwing a football counts as communication. And after high school, opportunities to learn such skills are hard to come by. Because you can't exactly practice these things in the privacy of your own home—which is to say, without making a day of it—and let’s face it: a twenty-two year old guy learning how to bat looks kind of ridiculous.

But at the same time, I feel that I ultimately have nobody to blame but myself for my lack of flag footballing ability, these days. In gym class, you have excuses—in grade school, I was tiny, in middle school, I was fat (which wasn’t my fault, it was food’s), and in general, mandatory sports means you’re not playing exclusively with friends, and by “friends” I mean “people who would choose to give up the ball rather than put you in a full body cast.” At twenty-two years old, though, I’m now in the position to learn whatever I want to at my own speed, and I’m probably as healthy as I’ll ever be. So the only thing keeping me from not feeling like I’m 15 years old every time that I hold a baseball bat is the fact that, well, I haven’t gone out of my way to hold a baseball bat since I was 15 years old.

So it’s something of a Catch-22, really: I don’t have the confidence to play even the most basic of sports because I’m not very good at them, but I’m not very good at them because I don’t have the confidence to play even the most basic of sports.

Somebody help.

(Yes, I realize this is the second post in a row that ended with those two words, which: these are desperate times, apparently. And I also realize—though I’m sure you don’t—that this post directly contradicts something that I wrote a year ago, to the point where I seem like much more of a neurotic mess now than I did in April of 2006, which: uh, see part one of this paragraph, apparently.)

Background noise: Ben Folds, “Learn To Live With What You Are.” If only it were so easy, Ben Folds.

Movie Stars!

2007-06-29T12:26:00.000-05:00

The What I'm Whatevering List
because I know you care...

Last Movie I’ve Seen: Ocean’s 13. I loved the first one, didn’t understand why everyone acted like the second one killed their firstborns (or heard that the second one would kill their firstborn and decided to avoid it), and I’m pretty sure I liked this one more than I liked 12. To get one thing out of the way: yeah, three movies have confirmed that I’d watch these guys cool their way through two-hours of stealing from “take a penny, leave a penny” trays and not complain; not simply because “Omigosh it’s famous people hanging out!” but because we enter a scene and, for no apparent reason, Brad Pitt and George Clooney are discussing the heist in cartoonishly puffy winter coats with the tags still on, like they’re playing dress up in the mall or something—end of scene. Except that a few scenes later, we see them wearing the coats while they crawl through air conditioner vents: now I get it and ha! Which is my long way of saying: the writers are having fun, the cast is having fun, the key set production assistant is probably having fun, and I dig that.

Also diggable is the fact that 13 probably has more heart than either of the last two, with its increased focus on “guys watching out for each other” and even more so in the “times are changing” vibe that carries the movie—the Ocean’s Whatever movies have always had a kind of old-school vibe, both in their focus on Movie Stars and in the team’s insistence on doing it the hard (but way more fun) way, as far as the heist goes, and it's nice to see the themes coincide with that. But speaking of the heist, my only real complaint is that, as a fan of heist movies, the scheme is a little disappointing. It’s a cool multifaceted plan that’s fun to watch, but you never really get that feeling of tension, like there’s anything really at stake—that the plan could go bad in any real way. Still, it’s a good time, and probably the most all-the-way-through satisfying threequel (I know, ick, but it’s just the best word for that) I saw this summer.

What I'm Watching - TV on TV Edition: American Inventor. Yeah, I know. It’s slight, even for a summer reality show, and it barely works as a competition. They’re never exactly clear on their mission statement—or maybe the subject matter is just too vague for this kind of contest (Is the “next great American invention” a potentially life-saving Christmas-tree-fire-safety device, an improved bicycle storage hook, or an air-freshener/artificial flower hybrid? Because that last one would totally sell the most, but...). Plus, televised open auditions pretty much mean “prototypes you've made in your home” will beat out “could-be-awesome concepts diagrammed on a posterboard," so we’re not exactly hoping for the next iPod out of this. And finally, the winner’s odds of post-show success seem even lower than that of an American Idol champion. But, all of that said, when an episode ends, I kind of find myself wishing that it didn’t. Simply put, the fact that the show celebrates thinking of/executing ideas, and requires that contestants do so to even audition makes an average episode way more watchable and even enjoyable than the first half of any Idol season. Plus: people with ideas are crazy, but not in an “I want to be famous on the TV!” way so much as a “I am dedicated yet socially inept” way, which is always fun.

What I'm Watching - TV on DVD Edition: Seinfeld. It’s actually been a long time since I really watched this show, as opposed to keeping reruns on as background noise/distraction at 7:30 and 11. And, well, there’s not much more that needs to be said other than it’s so funny that I can’t believe it was actually on weekly TV at one time. And watching it As A Writer (sorry I had to go there) it’s doubly impressive that they can get 22 minutes out of, say, picking up a cake before a party. Also, it reminds me of when I used to tape all of the syndicated episodes in, like, 8th grade, and that my screen name actually includes a Seinfeld shout-out.

What I'm Playing: Not my 360. Because they won’t fix it for less than $139. But then, that’s what you get for giving a company your confidence by buying their console at launch. That's right Microsoft--my blog is angry. What now, huh? What now?!

What I’m Reading: As a way of making up for my needlessly long dissertations on Ocean’s 13 and American Inventor, I’ll just say real quick that The Believer’s music issue/CD is good stuff and can be found wherever books are sold.

What I'm Refreshing: My Facebook page, over and over. Somebody help.

Background noise: See: What I’m reading.

The Best Spinoff Since "Joey."

2007-06-12T11:21:00.000-05:00

Check it out: two posts in as many days. Because, after more or less (if by “more or less” you mean “more”) falling off of the face of the earth (if by “the Earth” you mean “the internet”) for the past year (if by “the past year” you mean…okay, listen, you seriously have to work on your diction), I’m back. And while I’ve been enjoying this summer freedom for about a month now, it still feels good to write something for fun, rather than for a grade (or, since some professors don’t believe in grades, for another construction paper apple to tape to my “Progress Tree”). Watch as I use so many more words than necessary to get my honestly nearly nonexistent point across! Stand powerlessly as I refuse to cite my sources, an offense that has been called the equivalent to “stealing someone else's work or ideas.” (Marvel at my overuse of the parenthetical aside.) What are you going to do about it? You can’t do anything! Because I run this town, and the only thing you can do here is know your role and get back in line.

Whoa. Sorry. Just had to get that out of my system. I promise, from here on out, you’re a guest in this town, and you’ll be treated as such. Here, have some of our trademark toffee. And a pamphlet featuring the story of our founders and a tour schedule. Hold on, though, no bikes on the sidewalks. C’mon, read the signs!

But, right, here’s where I try to break out of my “I’m too busy to exist” lifestyle and to break into your hearts.

Because I present to you: the spinoff.

My mission is threefold:

1. To ensure that I write at least three completely useless sentences a day.
2. To provide a different take on the “this is my life and what happens in it, don’t you care, like, a lot??!” blog.
3. To maybe even put some of that “use less words” stuff that’s been hammered into my head this semester to use.

Maybe it’ll be fun. Maybe I’ll forget about it by tomorrow. Let’s see what happens!

Give Me Slippers And A Pipe, And I'm Your Grandpa.

2007-06-11T10:16:00.000-05:00

What’s the best way to come back after a four month absence? Pretend that you were never gone and hope that nobody noticed.

Though I’m pretty sure I just blew that plan with the opening line, alone.

But anyway, here’s the thing: I’m back, and it’s summer, which means that in-between eating Fla-Vor-Ices, watching movie threequels, and [insert joke about global warming here], I’m holed up in my room, [insert joke about Paris Hilton’s house arrest here], and kicking myself for not using these vacant months to write a short story a day (and a three-volume novel each weekend). Because my entire goal for the summer was to prove myself more productive than the Industrial Revolution, but so far I’ve been about as productive as The Wrens.

I guess it’s just hard to break the summer habit of using all of my free time to put off doing anything that matters. Which is just my lofty way of saying: I’ve started playing video games, again. But before you start assuming that I’ve completely reverted back to my 14 year-old self (minus the braces and Will Smith CDs), I’ll have you know that the game I can’t put down isn’t Zelda: Twilight Princess or Guitar Hero II. No, I’ve spent the past few weeks hooked on the Nintendo DS’s New York Times Crosswords.

As is the case with most addictions, I’m not even sure I’m enjoying myself. Sure, it starts out fun, as I identify “50 across: Loaded” as “RICH,” interpret “1 down: Have some pull” as “ATTRACT,” and impress myself as “52 across: Possibly” becomes “I’LL THINK ABOUT IT.” But the timer on this particular puzzle has just ticked past the three hour mark, and now all I do hate myself for not being able to identify 35 down’s “Italian violinist Giuseppe” or 2 down’s “1960’s-90’s Indonesian president.” If the first thirty clues are the high, than the remaining puzzle is the period when I wake up in an alley and realize that I’ve spent all my money on eight-balls, while the rest of the band has not only started a side-project without me, but left me with the band dog, even though we all agreed we’d take care of him together.

Which brings us to the part where you come in and save me. While I don’t expect you to know 35 or 2 down (which, uh, is how highly I estimate my friends?), I’m praying that you can help me get there. So it's time to prove you're smarter than me, kids! Here goes:

22 across: Some computer messages.

_ L E _ T S

29 across: Large-minded.

T _ L _ _ _ N K

34 across: The right stuff.

_ _ H _ _ _

48 across: Dries, as hay.

_ _ D _

For real, leave it in the comments (you don't have to sign up or anything) or reach me any other way if you've got anything. There’s really only one rule: no looking it up on the internet, because, I mean, I could do that if I wanted to. On the other hand, if you, say, own a book about how hay dries then, by all means, go to town and take me with you.

And, with that, I’m officially back. Stay tuned tomorrow for more goings-on.

Background noise: The Beatles “With A Little Help From My Friends.” Make me proud, guys!

Blog Post Disappoints Blog's Three Readers!

2007-02-21T00:30:00.000-05:00

[Disclaimer: so, I wrote this a week-and-a-half ago, and realized I'd never posted it. But then, I'd never promised to be relevant--just vaguely resemblant of something entertaining.]

In an effort to act like the grownup that I apparently (and suddenly) am, I’ve taken up reading the newspaper (because it was either “read the newspaper” or “quit throwing High School Musical parties for all of my friends,” which: yeah, right, we all love movie stars too much for that!) Or, more accurately, I’ve taken up buying The New York Times every day, keeping it on my desk for the next two days, deciding that if anything really important (read: anything that would have resulted in my being blown up) had happened, I would have heard about it, already, and then throwing it aw—I mean, bringing it to the recycling center, while wearing my “styNOfoam!” t-shirt and planting apple trees along the way.

At least, that was the case until last week, when my entire opinion of current events that Jon Stewart does not have an opinion on changed with three words: astronaut love triangle. Because, not to run this into the ground any more than it already has been (I mean, Letterman alone has already taken it into “funny because I know that it’s not funny” territory—which, to go on a tangent-within-a-tangent, I kind of love that most of his monologues appear entirely lame until you understand it’s funny because he knows that it’s “B” material), but you guys! She followed her romantic rival while wearing a wig and a diaper and carrying a BB gun, a four-inch folding buck knife, a new steel mallet, black gloves, rubber tubing, and plastic garbage bags. I mean, how often does the front page of The New York Times intersect quite so perfectly with Harlequin romance novels, the first five minutes of CSI, and Reno: 911, all at the same time?

And since then, the news has really picked up, with stories about Russian dog fights and real-life long-lost Da Vincis and, uh, “More Girls Take Part In High School Wrestling” (and, right, this would have been a fine time to break the comic rule of threes). Sure, there’s still Baghdad and North Korea and The Daily Article About the Scooter Libby Trial That I Don’t Exactly Understand, but…the point is, I get to read about Russian dog fights and look smart doing it. And you never know when another cosmonaut will completely lose it.

Background noise: The New Pornographers “High Art, Local News.” Okay, so I’m not sure how applicable this one really is, but it has the word “news” in the title and I don’t have time to Google the lyrics on account of class in five minutes, but it’s a good song either way, so…there you go.

CakeCakeCakeCakeCakeCakeCakeCakeCakeCake...

2006-12-22T12:48:00.000-05:00

So they say it’s my birthday, and I guess I believe them, although I have to admit, I’m mostly taking their word for it, at this point. And, no, I’m not about to kick off round number 22 of “My God, why hast thou upstaged me?” (because: we’re cool), and, okay, I’m sort of kicking off round number 573 (today) of “Seriously, guys, where’s the piñata, because I wasn’t born on this day, 22 years ago, to not break open a Bob the Builder full of candy,” but mostly, I’m coming to realize that this birthday doesn’t come with half as many privileges as last year’s—my 21st. Which leads to the more depressing realization that my “shiny new privilege” years seem to be behind me, for good, at least until I’m eligible for senior citizen discounts.

And it’s this line of thinking that’s lead to the decision to come up with my own privileges, which will begin on this day. For example, now that I’m 22, I grant myself final say in any pizza topping or movie rental debates at which I am present. Yes, I will be glad to hear you out on the fact that you like meatball and we never get meatball, or that you know it got how it got, but that doesn’t change the fact that Donnie Darko was a pretty entertaining movie that we haven’t seen in a while, but we'll still be doing ham-and-pineapple with Clue: The Movie, in the end. Also, I grant myself permission to jump in front of any senior citizen in line at the grocery store, because we both know that I’ll have been paid and outta there in the time it would have taken them to triple-check the price, realize that they had to buy four in order to receive the sale, complain about said requirement, and then fish through their little change purse for the extra 29 cents that they now have to pay. Also, I always get front seat, I never have to give up my controller for somebody else, and the dark Tootsie Roll Pop is blue and tastes like blueberry, not purple and tastes like grape, because I say so, and besides, it’s totally obvious.

But, before you let this new switch-up in rules send you clicking furiously on the “Comments” button, here’s the thing: not only are they good solely for my 22nd year (with a brand new set of privileges to be released on my 23rd), but they’re good for yours, too. So, whether you are 22, or will one day be turning 22, I’ve given us all something to look forward to! Unless, of course, you're 22nd year is behind you. Then, well...I hope you like Clue: The Movie.

Background noise: Sufjan Stevens’s “Happy Birthday.” By the way, get his Christmas album(s). Yes, even if you’re Jewish, because they are just that awesome.

And On The Topic Of "Celebrity Birthdays..."

2006-12-19T13:58:00.000-05:00

Well, I’m home for Christmas break. Which might not seem like such a feat, given the fact that my close proximity to the place has previously allowed me to be home for my siblings’ birthday, Veterans’ Day and November the 4th Day, but seriously, you guys? I haven’t looked forward to something quite so much since the years separating Free Willies 1 and 2. Plus, assuming that Santa got my letters, I’ll be riding back to school, come January, on a shiny new pony. Or, if he’s noticed the general increase of last-minute good will towards men that I’ve been exhibiting in the past few weeks: unicorn. But, while any of them are more than preferred to writing yet another “reading response” about Virgina Woolf (who, unlike Flannery O’Connor, isn’t half as cool as her name), I’m learning that Christmas break comes with its own set of responsibilities—the main one being my own desire to fit as much Christmas as I can within the seven days that I’ve got before the 25th.

I’m also learning that there are many possible routes to take, towards this goal. Though still one less than I came home with, because, as it turns out, eating enough Christmas cookies to make up for all of the ones that you’d missed since Thanksgiving doesn’t make you feel like the holidays so much as joining the gym, again, if only you’d thought of installing a system of pulleys and levers in the living room to help you off of the couch before you realized there was a second layer of gingerbread men underneath the wax paper. Also a bad plan (though not a bad name for a death-metal Christmas cover band): nogging ‘till you vomit. Which leads me to turn towards that most reliable provider of holiday spirit: the TV. Because what could be better than watching the original “guy gets hurt lots on Christmas” movie, Christmas Vacation, or the more evolved “two guys get hurt lots on Christmas—in the name of justice!” movie, Home Alone, or the movie which, due to its “kids suffer ‘round Christmas” theme, I wasn’t allowed to watch until years long after my failure to understand why all the kids in my third grade class were yelling “You’ll shoot yer eye out!” had left me a social outcast, A Christmas Story. Not to mention remembering a time before all of the mall-Goth kids declared Jack Skellington their official mascot with a viewing of The Nightmare Before Christmas. And, wow, you guys: Christmas movies are dark! I mean, the theme of It's a Wonderful Life? Don't kill yourself.

And it’s weird, the pressure that comes with Christmas—not the obvious, you’ve-already-heard-it-from-your-mom stuff like shopping, wrapping, decorating, and pretending that you didn’t already buy the Roomba for yourself while being careful not to overdo it with the staged excitement. I'm talking about the pressure to make it feel like Christmas, and the fear that you’re going to find yourself standing in the middle of January, realizing that you didn’t have one moment, this year, that looked like the front of a Hallmark card, or even a Cool Whip commercial. And I know that it seems like I’m leading up to some kind of profound point about the true meaning of Christmas and the dangers of commercialism and how sometimes we need to believe in order to see, but actually, I’m just trying to explain why I’m about to get off of here so that I can untangle lights while Raffi’s Christmas albums plays on repeat, in the background.

But, so as not to completely disappoint, on the Christmas Lesson front: Jesus!

Background noise: “Who's got a beard that's long and white?/Santa's got a beard that's long and white!/Who comes around on a special night?/Santa comes around on a special night!; Special night, beard that's white.../Must be Santa, must be Santa,/Must be Santa, Santa Claus!”

I've Completely Fallen Out Of Practice Regarding This Whole "Title" Thing...

2006-10-31T11:37:00.000-05:00

Hey, so, remember when I used to update about things other than how I never update this? And remember when I used to show up with a new AIM away message more than two days a week? All of by which I’m really saying, remember when I used to have time to write things that weren’t “4-5 pages discussing the theme of the grotesque in Lispector’s The Hour Of The Star and one other work from this unit?”

Yes, those really were…the wonder years.

[Cue the opening theme. Hey, look, it’s Corey Matthews’s brother! And Marilyn Manson, in the glasses! Wait, but if the entire family, plus Paul, is in that table shot and dad is cooking, then who’s filming?]

And starting with this here post, I’m going to try to get back there, too, because there’s something strangely unsettling about not proving that you exist, for this long, like, now I know how a ghost feels, except that I don’t have the ability to walk through walls, or an excuse when people don’t realize I’ve been standing in their presence for the past hour and a half, or the responsibility to set old guys straight on Christmas Eve while everyone else is at home, celebrating with their families. And, wow, a sentence that long would never fly in college.

Speaking of which, you’d be amazed at how moving out to a place whose very intention is to give you something to do that’s not this could throw off your equilibrium for a month or two. And make you self-conscious about your use of semi-colons. And also about pretty much everything else that comes out of your keyboard, to the point where you’re sitting here, refreshing Facebook over and over when you should be working on a five-page story that’s due tomorrow, thinking, “Remember when I used to think I was good at this, or at least halfway decent at this, or at least halfway decent at composing a sentence that actually featured a subject and a predicate and ended with the correct punctuation mark@”

Yeah, well, thankfully I finally feel like I’m part of a well-balanced life, again, which is good news for both me and for you, the home viewer. Because I know that you’ve been feeling this void in your life, ever since I quit sharing my random opinions on Post-It Notes, or Heroes, or Orbit’s Bubblemint chewing gum or whatever. (Which, in turn: infinitely useful, for more than just “Kick Me” signs; getting better by the week, except for this week, which was not quite as good as the previous two; the best chewing gum in the ever-crowded chewing gum market.) And there ya go: voidless.

Background Noise: Say Hi To Your Mom’s Impeccable Blahs. Not only is it a really good album (“album?”), but it’s a really good vampire-themed album, which…I’m all for finding the dorkiest ways to celebrate each holiday. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a Halloween Buffy Mini-Marathon to get to.

I Was Supposed To Post This Yesterday, But Then Yesterday Happened.

2006-09-23T12:03:00.000-05:00

You know, between The Office and Grey’s Anatomy, I’m pretty sure that Thursday has become The Night Of A Thousand Away Message Quotes, for most people. But, in the grand tradition of saying more about everything than anyone cares to read, I’ll do you one better. So, without further ado: to the unnecessarily long and over-analyzey paragraphs!

The Office: It’s hard to believe that, around this time last year, I had no proof that anyone who wasn’t me and my brother were watching the season premiere, and that even for us, it was greeted with more of a “Oh, right, they actually renewed that. Guess we’ll be there,” (which: I know, but you have to understand – it was a different time…) than the “Omigosh, omigosh, is it Thursday yet, what do you mean, ‘Yeah, but that’s only because the finale just ended two minutes ago?!’” level of anticipation that preceded it, this time around. And I’m not saying this (just) to prove how frighteningly ahead of the curve we are (although we totally are – I mean, we’d have to invent new letters of the alphabet to tell you what we’re watching, now), but to point out what a nice place the world can be when they don’t cancel every unwatched show five episodes into its run; to think that if NBC wasn’t desperate for a hit show (or, really, for any show), last summer, we would have never learned what a Dundie is.

But, anyway, onto what anyone reading this actually cares about: we’re back in the office, and it’s always weird to see the characters do brand new things when you’re so used to rewatching and requoting the same episodes, all summer. Weird in the best way, of course – I was getting tired of reusing the same old inappropriate comments about gays and retards, and, by the looks on their faces, I think my gay and retarded friends agreed. Oh, Michael Scott. Your ability to make me want to laugh, cry and punch you in the face, all within a period of twenty-two minutes is unprecedented. And who’s not back? That would be transferred Jim, which I’m going to call a Good Move for a few reasons. Viewer-wise, it’s a nice divergence from the “Must! Not! Change! Anything!” world of most sitcoms, and one that is going to allow for a no-doubt-satisfying “Return of the Jim” episode. Writer-wise, it’s a clever (though probably unintentional) safeguard against turning The Office into The Jim & Pam Show – because it’s clear that the season two finale would only stay great as long as The Kiss didn’t eat the whole series. And awesome-wise: Ed Helms!

Also: Conference room, yay! Phyllis and Angela, yay! Roy’s mug shot, HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL, THAT WAS TERRIFYING, FOR SOME REASON.

Grey’s Anatomy: You wouldn’t think it possible, but Grey’s Anatomy actually deserves to be just as huge as it’s become, which is nice. Because, I mean: crikey, that was satisfying TV. And doubly so when you realize just how unbearable a show like this could be. But, somehow, instead of having you roll your eyes at all the soap operatics and how no one talks like that, in real life, they manage to convince you that these people’s lives are The Most Important Things In The World for an hour a week – and I’m not even half as involved in it as most of the audience.

Which is why I won’t go into the recappage, because A. you already know and B. if you don’t, you’d do better to watch it on iTunes (which, incidentally, is what I think saved almost single-handedly saved The Office). Except to say that you should probably bring tissues (or, better yet, just tape an entire roll of toilet paper right under your nose), that the Origin Story stuff actually works (which is sort of interesting, seeing as to how the flashbacks were pretty random) and that that little speech about how doctors are still seventeen, and why, was one of my favorite things they’ve ever said on this show, in the way that it made sense, summed up the entire series and shot down any of its detractors.

And, going back to last season: any medical show that can come up with an even half-convincing reason to throw a prom in the hospital is alright by me.

Also: if there was a gay pride parade right now, I would be out, in the front, covered in feathers and…sorry. I’ll not quote, here.

How I Spent My College Orientation

2006-08-26T11:54:00.000-05:00

Dinner at 11:30 PM? Check. A new package of pens, all of which I plan to misplace by next week? Check. Passing on my first invitation to a frat party in favor of walking around campus alone and then watching Simpsons DVDs in my room?

Well, check, but maybe that last one applies to nobody but myself (if for no other reason then that everybody but myself seems to have already found a way to travel two-by-two, like, now I know how that one unicorn felt when he was watching everyone else get on the ark. Wait, what?) Anyway, the point is: College? You bet I made it.

That’s right, after three years of telling people that, no, really, I’m gonna go, this time!, I can finally label myself as a survivor of college orientation, which means that I’ll finally have something new to write about (and hopefully get better at doing so), that, okay fine, I’ll sign up at Facebook, but, more than anything, it means that I’ve spent so much time, this week, participating in ice breakers, that a circle, saying my name (“Matt”), where I’m from (“New Jersey”) and one interesting fact about myself (“and I cried during Lilo & Stich…”) pretty much feels like my natural habitat.

And it’s a weird thing, being stuck knee-deep in the highest concentration of people-you-don’t-know since probably kindergarten. And not in an “Oh no, what if I don’t make friends, who will I talk to, who will I sit with in the cafeteria, what if people think I’m weird because of my third eye???” kind of way, either. Actually, it’s more of a “Listen, I’m all for meeting new people, and, yeah, we’re all going to be in the general vicinity of each other, for the next four years, but I can’t possibly remember the names of all of the people I’ve been introduced to, this week, let alone be B.F.F.s forever and ever, so how about we hold off on the matching tattoos, for the moment and see how the next few weeks go?” Um, where was I? Oh, right: kind of way.

Also weird is that some of those people might, actually, eventually be reading this, in which case: Just kidding, you guys! B.F.F.s forever! I just meant that…that’s going to be a lot of friendship bracelets to make, that’s all! Oh man, you guys, friend me, call me, text me about tonight!

So, anyway: I’m here, summer’s over, which hopefully means that I’ll be doing up this blog again, just like in the old days. And the two of you that still care can finally sleep easy.

Background Noise: The Shins! Who I went to see, this week, which, aside from the whole “night of a thousand hipsters” vibe, was so awesome that I didn’t even realize I that was standing for, like, three hours, inhaling so much secondhand smoke that I won’t surprised I actually turn into a cartoon camel wearing sunglasses, by the end of the week (whoa…dated reference). Good times.

In Other News, Spellcheck Recognizes "Cuomo."

2006-07-24T13:45:00.000-05:00

So, have you been to Last.fm, yet? (Which, for some reason, they won't let me link to, correctly - there's a psuedo-link down there, anyway.) Because, a few days ago, I finally gave in to the come-hither call of the “just enter all of your stats, here, and receive a brand new stalker in less than a week!”-type website, which means that, for the first time ever, I am actually capable of friending you. That is, if anyone else actually belonged to the site (because, yes, that is the excuse I’m using for my lack of frienditude). But friends or no, it’s still a very cool place to receive much-too-detailed information about what people are listening to, and letting them do the same back in your direction. But, like an unevenly toasted bagel, there is a dark side to The Music Community. A side that, judging by what’s on my iPod, probably despises me as much as I despise them. A side that is so blinded by their own opinions of both their music and themselves that they’re probably the only people in the country who wouldn’t admit that Kelly Clarkson’s latest CD provided as healthy a boost to popular music, in the last few years, as the one provided by American Idiot. That’s right: I’m talkin’ rock snobs.

Because, seriously, what is it about getting into music that so easily turns people to the dark side? A person buys one Wilco CD, and, suddenly, he’s denouncing all else, actively hating any artist he doesn’t particularly love, and constantly searching for segues to turn any conversation into one about his favorite band, even though he’s already planning to cap off said conversation with a “but, never mind, you probably haven’t heard of them, anyway,” um…anyway. I mean, I understand the way in which people connect to their personal soundtrack to the point where it becomes part of their identity (which I guess, due to my taste for just-below-surface level indie music, poppy alternative and bad ‘90s songs would make me Seth Cohen in Rivers Cuomo glasses eating a Spice Girls lollipop, speaking of which, does anyone else remember those? They were awesome.) I understand the rush of discovering something that other people haven’t (which is the only thing that explains my recent purchase of three large sailing vessels and a pocket-sized telescope). Heck, I even understand hating FM radio, because, just…expletive deleted do I understand hating FM radio.

But what I don’t understand – and what seriously gets to me more than it should, to the point where this particular entry is probably even less humorous than usual, seeing as to how I’m mostly just complaining, here – is the weird (and probably somewhat subconscious) way in which rock snobs seem to gather music as artillery, rather than entertainment. The way that they acquire bands and then hole them up, mentioning them in conversation while holding back from actually recommending them to you, because if you know all of their tricks, well then what will they have to use against you? I mean, they like music, I guess – or, okay, I know – but, just as often, it seems that they like the idea of liking music even more. That they’d rather listen to themselves talk about the latest Yo La Tengo than they would the latest Yo La Tengo, itself. And that the only thing they like more than the idea of liking music is the idea of disliking your music.

And it’s always the same tricks too. If a band is appealing enough to be played outside of a select group of basements? They suck. If a good band dares to make it big? They’re sell-outs. If a band has credibility but also fans? They’re overrated. Which seems to be the latest trend in rock snobbery, by the way, and which is also my least favorite. Because it’s just such an…easy and obvious way to bring down anything that’s liked by anyone, and everything ends up being overrated, and you are so obviously trying to show off your more-musical-than-thou attitude if whatever isn’t liked enough is actually liked too much, you know? I mean, I’ve heard people call the Beatles overrated, which: A. Okay, now you’re just being contrary, B. And also, you sound ridiculous, because C. The level of rated that the Beatles are means that calling them overrated would be similar to calling, say, chocolate overrated – maybe it’s not your favorite, but it’s obviously worked well enough for enough people that the bar of ratedness has been raised so high that you will never be able to reach it and drag it back down, anyway, so how about you put on your headphones and stop trying.

It’s like, I get it, you’re a fan – I read the t-shirt and everything – but you can like Radiohead without being a jerk about it, you know? I’ve seen it done. And I actually find it sort of amazing that so many people find ways to be a jerk about it, in the first place. It’s music. Some people like the Shins, some people like Shakira.

And while nobody should like the Black-Eyed Peas, well…some people just don’t know any better.

Background Noise: I'll spare you this, today, because if you clicked that link up there, you already have a general idea.

I Mean, I Love Saturn As Much As The Next Guy, But...

2006-06-26T12:40:00.000-05:00

Hey, kids! It’s just four days past my half-birthday, which can only mean one thing: The holiday shopping season has begun! And I’m thinking I better get a list out there, quick, because there are certain things I just don’t have a need for.

Like, for example, I'm not saying that if you handed me a free spaceship, I wouldn't take it, but still, you might just want to get me a gift card to Best Buy or something, because....I'm not sure how many trips to infinite and beyond I’d end up taking. And not only because [insert joke about gas prices, here. HA, get it, because: Expensive!], but also because, I mean, there's sort of less to do up there than there is down here, isn't there? Like, you suit up, push through the fog towards your rocketship while Aerosmith plays in the background, take the two day trip during which the only fun to be had is running your "Ground control to major tom" and "Houston, we have a problem…" jokes into the ground (the latter of which might be a little less amusing, coming from an actual spaceship. Because, you know, they're still so bloody hilarious here on the ground...) and for what? To be surrounded by space. Like, actual, literal space, because…that’s mostly what they have up there, you know. I think it’s where they got the name. And to me, that all seems like a lot of trouble to go through, just to experience nothingness, firsthand.

Okay, so I guess there’s some fun to be had up there. I’d like to see the earth from far away, for example, if only to prove my theory that there’s a secret continent they’re not telling us about (I call it “Wherethey’rehidingalltheunicornsistan.” Also, I don’t believe in Antarctica) – plus, I always wondered what my house looks like from above. Also, I’ve been getting sort of tired of all this standing on the ground, lately, so zero-gravity sounds like it would be kind of awesome (while also providing an impossible environment to set up a game of Mousetrap, but…you take the good, you take the bad, I suppose). Oh, and: Aliens! (But then: Cylons!)

Still, I’m not sure any of that is worth traveling a killbillion miles from earth to a place where you’re a lot more likely to actually run out of air or get your ship hijacked by The Big Giant Head or sucked into a black hole into another dimension, where you’ll get hunted down by an entire race of Otter-People, and eaten alive just moments after you realize that – wait! – it is we who are the monsters!

Or something. I don’t know. You know, if you can’t return the thing? I’ll take it. In other news: Shut up. Third Rock From The Sun was awesome.

Background Noise: “I Don’t Want to Live On the Moon” by, uh, Ernie? Remember this song, from Sesame Street? It’s great! And it always made kind of sad, even though it’s about not about anything particularly sad, I guess. The Muppets did that a lot – lots of crazy, and then suddenly: Random sad song. Gonzo and Ernie in particular. I quite liked that, actually.

Spellcheck Recognized "Superheroes" And Not "Supervillians." Take That, Evildoers!

2006-06-24T12:28:00.000-05:00

The What I'm Whatevering List
because I know you care...

Last Movie I’ve Seen: Superman. Not Returns – the 1978 one. It must be tough, having to do these origin movies, because while the story is allegedly about how Superman became Superman, you know everyone is just waiting for the moment where the transformation actually happens – even the best superhero movies have a certain amount of, “That’s cool and all, but…how ‘bout those superheroics?” (Well, okay, maybe not the best because The Incredibles rocked the whole way through.) Everything before that moment is just build-up that most of your audience already knows.

But it’s possible pull off, and this one does it just fine. Okay, the opening sequence, before Krypton blows up, is actually less-than-fine (especially as the kick-off, guys!), but everything after that is fun to watch. Not perfect – the movie’s datedness aside (because you can’t really hold that against it), I still wish they got to grownup Superman earlier. The newspaper stuff (with the Clark/Superman balancing act) is my favorite part, and they don’t really get to get into it, all that much. Also, Lex Luthor is goofy to the point of hardly-evil, which is…strange. Speaking of which, it's sort of a common thing, with origin movies, that the Big Bad hardly comes into play until the final act, what with all the establishing that has to be done, first – if your movie is about how the superhero came to be, he’s not really allowed to have an official run-in with a supervillian until the (non-literal) last minute. And so that showdown feels a little…rushed, I guess. It was the same with the whole Scarecrow vs. Batman deal in (the awesome) Batman Begins – in the end, the movie’s just not really about that.

And (uh, spoiler alert?) I’m not really behind the whole reversing-the-rotation-of-the-earth time-travel thing. Yeah, it immediately leads to the “Well, now why doesn’t he just do that every time?” question, but some of that automatically comes with the “near unstoppable, all-powerful man” territory, so I’m willing to accept it. More than that, though, I just think it was an odd choice to have Superman in need of a do-over in his first movie, you know?

But anyway, it’s definitely a good movie, even if you do get the idea that it was an even better one, thirty years ago. Oh, and it’s kind of awesome that we’re at the point now where, in thirty years, our special effects will probably still be able to hold their own. Yeah, I’m excited.

What I'm Watching- TV on TV Edition: Sigh. The Real World/Road Rules Challenge. Oh, The Challenge – you’re the only MTV show that I watch season in, season out, and I’m still not sure why. The challenges are almost always stupid, and the contestants are more often than not unbearable, and I think they should ban Tonya from ever competing in one of these again, just for the sake of her own mental stability. All of which, actually, explains the why, I guess. I do like the Rookie/Veteran teams of two deal they’ve got going on, though. Boo, Coral! Go Derrick!

What I'm Watching- TV on DVD Edition: Buffy! I figured that I finally had enough time to tackle The Box, which probably means that I’ll be done with the whole series in about eight months – I just don’t marathon well. Anyway, I’ve never seen the series in order, and I’d been holding off on watching anything but the Halloween episodes (annual tradition, see) until I got the chance to do so, so this is the first Buffy I’ve watched in a very long time, and I’m having a real good time getting back into it. Still season one, right now, which is only, like, an idea of what the show would eventually become, and has it’s (very) laughable moments. Still, unlike some first season DVDs, you never get the idea that you’re just trudging through it so you can get to the good stuff (Giles rocks always), and besides, you have to give the writers credit for even trying stuff like giant bug teachers and hyena-Xander before they knew that anyone would even watch their little show - even if it doesn't completely work, every time. Oh, and I was always a big fan of the invisible girl episode - I didn't realize it occured this early in the series.

What I'm Playing: New Super Mario Bros. I think I’ve written extensively, in some other time and place, about why 2D Mario is better than most things, so I’ll spare you, here. Just: Get a DS! Get this, Mario’s first new old-school game in, like, more than ten years! You won’t be sorry!

Last Book I Read: The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett. Mysteries, yay! This is one of those books whose title you hear all around, even if you never read the book in your life, and for some reason, I always assumed it was about a cat, or a cat statue. Which is stupid, because a falcon? Is a bird. And I knew that. But anyway, often, when I’m reading, I torture myself trying to make sure I have a clear picture of the characters in my head, and then I realize that they’ve been sort of faceless or foggy for a long time, and it drives me crazy (and I end up attaching their descriptions to either actors or people I know, like, does everyone do that?) But Hammett writes insanely detailed things using the least words possible, which makes for, like, a crystal-clear, HD image in your imagination, with minimal effort on your part. Go read this! It’s super-cool! And not too long, either, if that holds you back.

What I'm Coveting: My Neighbor’s Mac. Well, okay, my brother’s. I’d quite like one of those new Macbooks before I start school in the fall. Who’s got a spare?

Background Noise: The Beatles' "Help!" Because if I were in charge of a Superman TV show, this would be the theme song. Incidentally, if I were in charge of a Superman TV show, nerds of the world would have me drawn and quartered for screwing things up by the time the opening credits were through.

GOOOOOAAAL! Wait, right? Okay, thought so.

2006-06-22T11:47:00.000-05:00

Alright, three guesses as to what I’m doing while I write this, winner gets his or her choice of a hug or a handshake (no questions asked). Quilting with friends? Aw, sorry, caught me on the wrong day. Making sure that there’ll be a little less Ozone layer to go around, by the time my kid is president? Well, yeah, but it’s not my fault Dunkin’ Donuts uses Styrofoam cups, so try to keep yourself from the “post a comment” button, Al Gore. Wait, what’s that you say? Watching the soccer match? Well, then, pick up your jaw and step up for your hug, because, yep: I’ve got me a case of World Cup fever!

Okay, so maybe it’s less “World Cup fever” as it is, say, a World Cup cough, but that still ranks higher than your average “World Cup allergic reaction to pollen” or “World Cup post-nasal drip” (although, on my Big List of Everything Ever, anything that involves the word “nasal” ranks bottom, so…) And, while it’s true that I’ve latched onto what is probably my country’s third most ridiculed sport (right after hockey and the Double Dare obstacle course), the point is, it’s an achievement on any level that I’m actually sitting down to watch a sport that’s not organized into single and double Jeopardies.

And not only that – I’ve been paying attention! I Tivo games! (Who knew that instant-replay button was good for something other than every time Coral falls on her face on The Real World/Road Rules Challenge, which, by the way, will never be often enough.) I make sounds at the TV! (“Ooh!” “Come on!” “Enough with the stupid Gecko, Geico, you’re better than that!” Because, you know…commercials.) You guys, just now? I got mad at a ref! I’ve, I’ve…never felt this way about a referee, before. (Seriously, though, penalty kick, what?) Oh, and last Saturday, I was this close to using the phrase, “One second! The game’s on…” It was, in a word: Exhilarating. And, in 24 words: The closest I’ve felt to being a Regular Guy since that time I didn’t really get How to Lose a Guy In 10 Days.

And…judging by the score of the game, my team needs me, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go paint a flag on my chest, drape another one over my shoulders, and run around town screaming blasphemies against Ghana – I’ll run into you, I’m sure. USA! USA! US…eh…

Background Noise: Daniel Powter’s “Bad Day” – yeah, the one that became “the American Idol song,” because time is running out quick, as I reach the end of this, and I’m at least hoping they’ll do a highlight reel with this playing in the background, while all the American players cry in the bottom left corner. Because that's how sports work, right?

I've Said "Puerto Rico" So Many Times That It Doesn't Even Sound Like a Real Commonwealth, Anymore.

2006-06-12T14:05:00.000-05:00

There’s lots of things that can keep you from getting from here to there (and from there to here, on the way back) – car won’t start, spring just broke on your pogo stick (and your spare!), all you have is a bicycle built for five, and you’re beginning to think you picked the wrong day to drop the rest of the band and start a solo career, even if “The Paperback Novelists” is a stupid name for a band, and if that’s what they’re going with, then you quit! (All of which, by the way, would also make great answers for Scattergories “Reasons For Being Late” category – and I would know, because this one time, our game of Scattergories devolved into playing only that question and seeing who could create a story worth the most points within the three-minute time limit – alliteration is fun! And so are my weekends! No, really!) But all of those things pale in comparison to what I went through yesterday, because, as it turns out, that banned episode of Seinfeld was onto something, and if there’s one thing you don’t want to run into between point A and point B? It’s a Puerto Rican Day Parade (unless, I guess, you’re Puerto Rican, but even then, you better really like Puerto Rico). I mean, all we ever wanted was to go to the Apple Store.

But it became apparent, the minute that we stepped out of the Port Authority and onto the streets of New York, that we picked the wrong day to not be Puerto Rican in the city – because either everyone just happened to wear their “I [Puerto Rican Flag] Puerto Rico!” shirts on the same day (embarrassing!), or something was going on that we were clearly going to be on the outside of (and I guess there was also the slight chance that the bus accidentally took us all the way to Puerto Rico, but that seemed less likely, as the Caribbean Sea still felt pretty far away). As we made our way down the avenues and up the streets, the crowd thickened, and it wasn’t long before we were swimming against a sea of Puerto Rican pride, the blocks twice as hard to walk up as they are on the days when all you’re dodging is people asking if you like stand-up comedy (“Nah, I’m really more of a stand-up tragedy kinda guy, but if you’ve got tickets for that…”) and people who should just take the picture, already, so I could walk by! Sure, we were still blocks away from the parade, but then, I guess Puerto Rican pride know parade route!

The closer we got to the corner of 59th and 5th , the more pointy flag poles, “Go here after the parade!” fliers, and girls who, quite honestly, maybe should have worn more clothes and less…not-clothes that day, we were dodging. It sort of felt like the running of the bulls in Spain, except in any of the ways that it would be considered offensive to compare Puerto Ricans to bulls (because Puerto Ricans are not like bulls! What Puerto Ricans are is awesome! Though I have to admit, in some cases, just as tramply, but I’m sure that’s not a trait particular to their homeland.) Honestly, I think there were more Puerto Ricans in New York, yesterday, than there were in Puerto Rico.* Oh, and who knew a Puerto Rican flag made such a versatile accessory? Whether you’re going for smart (behind the ear), stylish (bandanas are all the rage, these days) or superhero (flag cape!), a Puerto Rican flag is all you need to go from boredrobe to wardrobe™!

So, after we finally traversed the four avenues, the 18 streets, the detour through Central Park that proved, by taking us an extra 15 minutes, that the shortest distance between two points really is a straight line, what did we learn? That everyone’s favorite commonwealth decided to pass right in front of our destination, and, despite the fact that we were the width-of-5th-avenue away from where we wanted to be, there was no way we were getting to the Apple Store, unless we had it in us to hop a few barricades and risk a run-in with a marching band.

We took the subway back.

Though this story does have a happy ending, because we did achieve our goal (which, by then, had become less about seeing the Apple Store and more about just proving that we could) after we churched it, and, like all Apple Stores, it was very cool to look at, but once your inside, it’s kind of like, “Well, either we buy a computer or leave, so…yeah, that was fun!” But still: It was fun. Oh, and incidentally, this isn't even the first Puerto Rican parade that I've accidentally gone to - but at least this one didn't inspire an ominous, "Kids...lock your doors..." from the front seat.

*Probably not true.

Background Noise: So it was going to be Rogue Wave’s “Salesman at the Day of the Parade,” which didn’t have much to do with what I just wrote, aside from having the word “parade” in it. But then I remembered The Gallery EP that they handed out at church, once. And, since church was the whole reason we were in the city, in the first place: Congratulations, Brett and Cynthia – you’ve officially been shout-outed.

OMG! Rory And Jess 4eVeR!!!111!!1!!1!!!!

2006-06-11T11:44:00.000-05:00

The What I'm Whatevering List (Part Two)
because I know you care...

What I'm Watching- TV on TV Edition: With less TV on, right now, I guess I could use this space for some season-ending wrap-up, so let’s talk about Gilmore Girls. Because I know that the general consensus was that this season was disappointing, and, on most accounts, I agree. Though I did like the rift that started off the season, as well as Rory’s Screwed Up Education Plans (some of us don’t go directly from high school to four straight years of college, television), the wrap-up of both of those storylines was just a little too easy for all of the build up that preceded it. And, unfortunately, those storylines weren’t wrapped up to make way for something better, because: First of all, Logan is a complete drain on the show, second of all, Rory is completely unlikable for about 90% of the past two seasons (and she used to be so cool, too!) and third of all, really, long lost daughters? While I actually liked the character (which was a nice surprise), that’s exactly the kind of plot line the characters on this show would normally make fun of, not experience. Also, I really thought that the writers were going to bypass the keeping of ‘em separated in favor of letting Luke and Lorelai get married and proving that a show can exist after the “will they or won’t they” becomes “they will!” but…guess not. It’s just disappointing that they decided to get so soapy, this year, because this show used to be one of the most comfortable things on TV, and they were usually pretty good at creating, uh, dramedy out of relatively regular things (loans, oversleeping on test day, etc.). But, all of that said, even when the storylines disappoint on this show, the lines rarely do, and if we find out Emily has a long-lost son, next year, I’ll keep watching so long as the characters keep saying really awesome things and having at least one really good argument every five episodes or so. Also, it’s pretty cool that the writers have established their characters so well that they can now hand over entire plotlines to characters like Lane and Paris and not have it seem weird.

What I'm Watching- TV on DVD Edition: Wonder Showzen: Season One. If you’ve heard anything about it, “anything” is probably that it’s MTV2’s “outrageous parody of Sesame Street.” Which I actually think is selling it short, because: A. Anybody who’s under eight or over fifteen years-old knows that Sesame Street is too cool to make fun of, and, personally, I think that what they’ve created is more of a really twisted homage than it is a parody, and B. They actually earn a fair amount of their laughs in ways other than the, “My word, did they just say that? And on a program that looks like a kids show, no less!” and, at least from what I’ve seen, even the outrageous parts are less “dirty” than they are just…very wrong, most of the time (which is good, because I don’t love “dirty”). So, yeah, if you’re into “very wrong,” you’ll love this, and if you’re not, you’ll love it in spite of yourself. Oh, and “Beat Kids” is fairly AWESOME.

What I'm Playing: Halo 2 (Xbox). I hardly got into this, until now. And in the past few days, I’ve gone from “awful” to, well, not “good,” but at least “functional,” online. So, if you want, leave your gamertag, and once I’m at least “alright,” we could play on Live. The future is now!

Last Book I Read: A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. It’s one of those “unsuspecting fool goes in and out of the lives of others, accidentally affecting the lives of those around him” books. (Which I think there’s a word for…Picaresque, maybe?) And it was good. Maybe very good, but, to no fault of its own, this book was one of those ones that ended up taking me almost three months to get through, but it’s at least good enough that I want to read it through in a more concentrated period of time, sometime. But if you’re going to read it, you might want to avoid the critic-quotes that are all over the back cover and inside, as they’re kind of mega-hypey, which, expectations, and all that…

What I'm drinking: Water. It’s nature’s Gatorade!

Background noise: The Gilmore Girls soundtrack. It’s been out for a long time, now, but it’s still a terrific album, especially for something that they must have figured not many people would know existed, in the end. So go get it! It’ll make you happy! And maybe sad, depending on the song!

Seriously, Though, What's With the Title? Well, Not That This One's Any Better...

2006-06-09T11:49:00.000-05:00

Okay, so for the second time, I sat down to update the What I’m Whatevering List, and the movie part got so lengthy that to continue with the rest of the list would just turn people off. So I’ll probably post the rest of it tomorrow, but right now:

The What I'm Whatevering List (Part One of Two)
because I know you care...

Last Movie I've Seen: Cars. Yeah, so, I saw it already, because I’m kind of a Pixar geek and got tickets to a pre-screening (can you say, “Score”?). And I suppose their diabolical scheme is working, because here I am, doing the word-of-mouth thing. Actually, though, this was the first time that I wasn’t completely sold on a Pixar movie from the moment I heard about it – that I was skeptical before going in. Like, “Cars,” really? But I’m happy to report that I’m just an idiot, as Pixar keeps up their 100% track record with this one (which is, you know, sort of amazing), and I’m not just saying that because of the aforementioned geekitude. Honestly, I don’t know why they couldn’t make a decent commercial out of this, because there’s just as much to like here as there is in every other Pixar movie (well, okay, Finding Nemo and The Incredibles were kind of perfect…oh, and Toy Story 2, but, I mean, all of their movies are so good that it’s kind of unfair to compare them to each other, as there’s not really a “worst” Pixar movie. So I won’t.)

Because I know what your thinking: “Yeah, but…you know, it’s about cars. And the trailer wasn’t that funny, and, like, is there even a plot? Because it looks like driving, mostly.” First off, it’s a testament to Pixar’s madd animation skillz that not only do you accept the fact the “cars as people” thing about a minute into the film, but that you also care about these things that have to, you know, back up just to turn their heads – I mean, there was rooting, as in actual mid-movie audience applause, the majority of which was coming from the grownups. What’s also cool is that the world they’ve created doesn’t make any sense – it’s not “What cars do when people aren’t watching.” It’s “the world is actually populated by cars, who cut each other off, watch other cars race, wait in line for car restrooms…” In anyone else’s hands, it would have sucked so bad. But in Pixar’s, it doesn’t. Oh, and it’s really, really nice to look at, too – once again proving that it’s more fun to watch a computer animated film that imitates art, rather than one that tries to imitate real life (i.e. just because you’re 3D-ish doesn’t mean you have to stop looking like a cartoon).

As far as the plot and the script – I figured, more than anything, that this would be more of a “kids’ movie” than their previous films, resigning myself to this “fact” before I saw it. But, once again, they’ve created an everyone movie, an actual “crowd pleaser,” and not one that succeeds by presenting pop culture references and innuendos for the adults could smirk at while their kids enjoy all the pretty colors. It’s all of the seemingly effortless, character-driven, ensemble-type humor that the geniuses at Pixar have earned themselves a reputation for. And, actually, there seems to me more going on – more visual gags (and not one coffee place that’s called “Carbucks,” which you know the folks at Dreamworks wouldn’t have been able to resist…um, well, you know if you’re a dork, at least), more throwaway lines (“We have too much surplus as it is!” Ha.), and just more to notice than there has been in most, and maybe any, of Pixar’s other movies. Again, there’s just so much great, Pixaresque stuff here that I don’t know why they couldn’t translate any of it into the trailers.

And I’ll keep it brief (I mean…from here on out), but there is an actual plot, and most of it doesn’t revolve around NASCAR stuff (and the parts that do involve NASCAR are more fun than actual NASCAR). Oh, and remember in Toy Story 2 when Jessie the cowgirl has that flashback with Sarah McLachlan playing in the background, and, depending on who you’re watching the movie with, it gets kind of awkward, like, “Uh, what’s going on? Start being cool again, movie!” Yeah, well there’s another brief slow-song interlude in this one, which…I mean, they’re alright, and they don’t not work, and it’s nice how these segments prove that the writers are taking their talking-toys-or-cars as seriously as other movies take their human characters. So, all I’m saying, I guess, is: Be warned. There’s a slow song. And…still not so brief, eh?

But, so as to not end on a negative note: Not only was Cars better than I expected, but it was actually good, and, with my confidence in Pixar back where it should be, all is once again right with the world (well, aside from most of what's going on in the middle east). Oh, and stay for the credits! So great!

Background Noise: Life Could Be a Dream. It’s that old ‘50s song, with the “sh-boom sh-booms” in it (which looks so lame, typed out like that, but it’s a good old song), you know the one. Anyway, it's far from "in regular rotation" on my iPod, but I randomly clicked on it on the way there, and then they played it in the movie, which was really weird.

Hey, I Bet No One Else Is Posting Their LOST Theories, Today!

2006-05-25T15:15:00.000-05:00

Last night on LOST: Wait, what? I don't even know where to - well, okay, remember the boat, from last week? It turns out that the castaways aren't saved, a reveal which I'm guessing they better get used to, because, as long as the characters don't start finding evil twins or adorable, long-lost little cousins, I want at least five years out of this thing. Though, actually...I love a good "evil twin" storyline. But anyway, Desmond's on the boat – and he brought alcohol! I can only hope that the writers' next alternative-media tie-in is volumes one through five of Others Gone Wild. So, Desmond's flashbacks let us know that he actually was on a literal "race around the world" to impress Caleb Nichol, in a boat that was named after Libby-in-a-wig (whether that was just weird flashback-hair or an intentional bad wig – since that's what crazy people wear – has yet to be determined), all in hopes to win over this girl that looks like Meredith Grey. After that, one thing lead to another (if by “one thing” you mean “Desmond's boat got de-coursed and he was taken into the hatch by one of those ‘23-19!’ guys from Monsters Inc., who it turns out is actually that CIA guy from Sayid’s flashback,” and by “another” you mean, “Desmond killed the guy, who had his boat, and then he went kinda crazy, because it’s a very small hatch, and there's no TV or Soduku or anything,”), and Desmond eventually stopped pushing the button, which set off an electromagnet (and the only thing I really know about electromagnets is that my fridge would stick to them, rather than the other way around, so I can’t much theorize about that aspect of the show), which is what brought flight 815 crashing to the ground. So it turns out that The Story of What Crashed the Plane ended up looking a lot like The Story That I’d Pieced Together, Already – which, rather than being disappointing, is actually kind of a good thing. Because, while it’s nice to be surprised, it’s also nice to see bits of storytelling that can actually be figured out, and don’t rely completely on Big Reveals that render all of your previous guessing kind of useless. Oh, and Desmond also has this key, that fits in this keyhole, that can make the whole hatch “go away,” or something – remember that, for later.

And what of the characters we already know? Well, Sayid and Jack decide that, while Jack & Friends are pretending to be led through the forest by Michael (who, did you hear? Has a boy!), Sayid, Jin and Sun will take the Queen Libby out to sea, to scout out The Others’ camp and signal when the coast is clear. And you’d think at least Jin would know better than to set sail on a season finale. But he goes, anyway, and while the Yacht Club are out doing their part just fine, Jack decides that, actually, the best plan is to…tell Michael the plan. Way to keep your alliance a secret for more than a few hours, doc. Not that it matters, because it’s not long before they’re ambushed, bound and gagged in a way that stretches their cheeks out all funny, while they watch Michael win an amazing showcase that includes Walt and freedom and…this beautiful boat! Just follow the compass for a one way ticket out of paradise, I’m guessing for a while, but not for good! And then, after this surprising follow-through of the deal, the Others continue to be sort of less hostile, while still taking in Jack, Sawyer and Kate (obviously, to figure out those relationship issues, once and for all), and sending Hurley back to warn everyone not to rescue them. (They dragged him all the way out there for that? Warn them yourself, Others!)

Meanwhile, Locke realizes that it’s the end of the season, and he might as well do the less patient viewers a favor by stopping Eko from pushing that button, ever again. So he and Desmond get Eko on the other side of the blast doors, without even so much as a “Watch your leg!” and they spend most of the episode waiting for the countdown to…count down. But Eko goes all Wile E. Coyote, deciding that TNT is the answer to all of his problems, while Charlie plays his usual role of “Guy Following Around The Guy That’s Doing Something Much More Exciting Than He Is.” Watch out Charlie! That’s how you get yourself killed! And while the dynamite doesn’t much help the Eko get to the other side, it does allow for a “fire chasing characters down a narrow corridor” sequence, which is always fun, though I really did think Charlie might die, there. And then: The button goes unpushed! Desmond remembers it’s a bad idea! Hieroglyphics! Magnets are fun! Desmond races for the just-in-case keyhole! The blast doors open! Things are crumpling and flying and sticking to the giant magnet wall, which means Charlie has to dodge metal cabinets and pots and darts, which is a very cool part of this really cool sequence! The hatch is torn apart, therefore guaranteeing that next season won't look too much like this one! Locke and Eko stare at each other, and Locke’s just like, “I was wrong,” which was the coolest part of this really cool sequence! And then Desmond turns the key, and there’s a loud noise, and outside the sky goes all bright and "violet," and the hatch door falls from the sky, almost killing Claire. Watch where you land, hatch door! We're low on girls, as it is!

Episode cool down time: Charlie returns, his ears a-ringing (I thought permanently, especially since he’s Music Guy, and that would be tragic, but it seems I was wrong – guess the writers don’t need two communication barriers to deal with, and I understand). And his mood is surprisingly less “in shock” about whatever just happened and more “I don’t really feel like talking about it, right now, thanks.” Also, he’s sort of casually surprised that Locke and Eko haven’t shown, yet. All in all, Charlie’s reaction and attitude and ability to still exist imply that Locke and Eko weren’t anywhere to be found in the hatch, when Charlie exited, but also that he has no reason to think they’re dead or in trouble, either. Or that they were in the hatch, and they were fine, and he was just like, “See you guys later!” and now, where are they? Which, in turn, implies that whatever did happen when Desmond turned the key wasn’t the explosion that we all assumed would result, because if that were the case, wouldn't Charlie be like, "Oh no," or "You guys - Locke and Eko..." Or something. I don’t know. Maybe Charlie’s pretending, for some reason. But I do know that, going out of the season, the only regulars whose fates we’re actually sure of are Charlie and Claire’s. And that their fates involve kissing each other! Aww.

Fade to black! And then, cut to what appears to be the show’s first present time off-the-island scene, which is really weird to see. We’re somewhere snowy, and all the white blocks out the ABC logo in the bottom right corner, so I fast-forward for half a second, and everyone yells at me, because it’s still show that we’re watching. Oops. Cold people, speaking in subtitles! Possible (probable) chess metaphor! Some kind of apparatus (Ha, “apparatus.” Fun word.) detects an “electromagnetic anomaly.” The cold people pick up the Antarctaphone. And call…Penny, that girl Desmond was racing for, in what we’re to assume is her bedroom in the “real world." “We found it!” the cold people tell her. End Season. Dun dun dun!

And it’s much less clear-cut of a cliffhanger than last year’s, as, instead of leaving us with a catchphrase of a question (“What’s in the hatch?”) it’s more, just: “Huh?” Which is fine by me. Actually, the weirdest thing about the final scene is that it doesn’t seem like the kind of cliffhanger they can resolve in any conventional way, because to show us “what happens next” would mean to have to suddenly start cutting back-and-forth between the real world and the island, and I just can’t see the show doing that. Except, of course, that they’re allowed to do whatever they want, so what I “can’t see” them doing doesn’t really mean anything. But, anyway, I’m going to risk embarrassing myself, come September, by guessing that next season will either start out on the island, without mention of the cliffhanger, and that Penny’s rescue efforts will do something that’ll have some effect on the island, by the end of the episode, therefore resolving the cliffhanger without having to hand part of the show over to The Adventures of Desmond’s Girlfriend, and that everything that happened in-between will be gradually revealed, in classic LOST fashion. OR, she’s on the island, in her own hatch (which I know doesn’t seem likely, but remember how in the season premiere, after they revealed that Desmond-from-the-flashJack was actually what’s in the hatch, you were like, “What?? How did he…and how are they ever going to create a satisfactory explain for that, without, like, getting magic involved??” And how, as you watched the finale, you actually forgot how that was your initial reaction, because they did explain it in a way that made sense, at least in the world of the show? These things are possible, is what I’m saying.), or she’s at least not just “chilling cluelessly at home,” as it appears. And maybe she’s not looking for Desmond, exactly, but for something else Dharma-related, because, anyway, how would she know to watch out for “electromagnetic anomalies” if she were just some girl looking for her missing boyfriend? Which also makes sense, because I don’t think a season could hinge on a “Will they be rescued?” storyline, this early in the series. So that's my guess, actually: That she's knows more than we think she does, about where Desmond ended up, which means that she's looking for something that's not Desmond, which means that her alert doesn't have anything to do with our heroes being saved. But if you writers want to prove me wrong, well, then…feel free to do so! And how did you find my blog? Because that’s just weird…

Oh, and before we go: There’s a statue of a foot with only four toes (which really creeped me out, for some reason) on the island, some bird might have said Hurley’s name or maybe that was just a joke, Sawyer thinks maybe the Others are aliens, and I think that’s really funny, it’s somewhere around November 26, 2004 in show time, the pneumatic tube system led to nowhere, and…probably a lot of other things I’m forgetting.

Wow. That got lengthy. And…run on sentency. And I’m guessing it kind of defeats the purpose when my post about LOST is actually harder to decipher than the actual show. But, anyway, at least you have all summer long to unravel what the heck I’m talking about. All summer long….

Background noise: Green Days' "Castaway." If the show had a really bad theme song, this would be the one. Not that it's a bad song - just that it fits almost too well, and I can imagine clips of the cast doing wacky things in time to the music, Friends-style, and it would be painful. And hilarious. Hey, someone make that for me and put it up on YouTube, will ya?

I Am So, So, Sorry.

2006-04-26T14:07:00.000-05:00

Unless you happen to be one those exhausting “Well, if everyone likes it, then I refuse to, and yes, that’s exactly why I don’t eat shrimp” types (upon which, um…hi!), it’s very hard to find something bad to say about the iPod (well, omnipresent ads aside, because did any of us really need “Lose Yourself” stuck in our heads for another two months?) The pluses are easy: Its ability to fit more than every song I’ve got means that I don’t have to decide whether I’m in the mood for Manilow or Diamond, before I leave the house. Also, the included headphones are an excellent self-defense against unwanted conversation, which I’m sure anyone who relies on public transportation can appreciate, as buses and subways seem to attract the sort of people who talk to you without even realizing they’re doing so, while still expecting you to nod along. And, heck, even that one time my iPod broke, Apple took it and fixed it so quickly – forcing me to rely on my skiptastic CD player for only a day (which was tough, because when I’m not traveling by bus, I usually go by pogo stick) – that I’m guessing they simply had to point a wand at it and shout “Reparo!”

But then, there is one negative side-effect to the iPod's “fits everything, goes everywhereness.” Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever “hung out” with a “group of friends” before, but when you do, there’s a good chance that your eventual lack of things to talk about will result in a passing around of the iPods. Because it’s a cool thing, everyone being able to carry their entire music library in their pocket, and an even cooler thing to be able to compare said libraries with each other. Still, as you hand your iPod off, you will likely find yourself with a sudden and growing seed of despair in the pit of your stomach – the feeling that this room full of people will, in just a short time, be passing around your soul, your deepest, darkest secrets just moments away from going public. Because I think that every person’s music collection features at least five items that he’d dare not show to anyone, songs that maybe even he never chooses to listen to, songs that, out of context, can counteract 2,457 other tracks from bands-you’ve-never-heard-of, forcing him to explain, for the rest of his life, why his “Artists” list would have anything in common with that of your 11 year-old sister. And…this paragraph stopped being about the all-inclusive “you” quite some time ago…didn’t it? Well, it’s too late to turn back, now. So, with that in mind, I not-so-proudly present:

The Top 5 Things I Will Never Admit to Having On My iPod
And the Explanations that I Know Won’t Make It Any Better

1. The Backstreet Boys – Okay, so maybe this would be more humiliating in 1998 than it is now, but, like I said, out of context, these things just don’t look very good. And I know that using the “I…only have that CD because my sister does” excuse is almost as middle-school as having to explain why you have a Backstreet Boys CD in the first place, but, well…that’s where it starts, at least. Because if I didn’t spend the back half of the ‘90s in an environment where “the BSB” beat out my Blink-182-or-whatever on most long car rides, I can almost guarantee you that there wouldn’t be Backstreet Boys on my iPod right now. Which isn’t to say my excuse is: “Way back before this thing was even invented, my sister listened to boy bands, and now, nine years later, omigosh, how did that get on there?! Heh…heh, heh…” No, the fact is that growing up with “I Want It That Way” stuck in my head led me to acquire what I will fully admit is now my own fondness for the shiny, happy, please-don’t-judge-me-for-listening-to-this brand of pop music that is best exemplified by songs like the Backstreet Boys’ “I Just Want You to Know.” And, while I’m hoping I put up a good argument for this one, I’m warning you…it gets worse.

2. Alanis Morissette’s “Head Over Feet” – But not yet, it doesn’t. Because, depending on who you are, you might not see anything particularly incriminating about this particular entry. But then, if you’re me, you’ll notice that “Alanis Morissette” is one of the first things to show up on your alphabetical “Artists” list, and then you’ll remember that kinda smurfy video for the song, and suddenly you realize that you’re humming along with lyrics like, “You treat me like…I’m a princess/I’m not used to…liking thaaa-aaa-at.” So, yeah. If it was “Ironic” it wouldn’t have made the list, as that has a more obvious ‘90s-nostalgia air to it. But the fact that I’m actually glad when this song comes on made me feel like it was worth coming clean about.

3. Hanson’s “Underneath” – Yes. That Hanson. I don’t know if it’s less embarrassing, or more so, that I’m actually talking about their most recent album (as in, I was pretty much who I am now, when this came out), rather than, like, “Mmmbop” but…they’re actually a very different band then they were when I was in middle school, and I can’t deny that, if they just appeared with this album, I’d probably be listening to it with a straight face. It’s just sort of enjoyable poppy-alternative music, and I’m very sorry, except that I’m not. But they are considered “indie,” now, so, as college-age kids, aren’t we sort of legally obligated to like them, anyway?

4. Ashlee Simpson’s “Pieces of Me”/Lindsay Lohan’s “Over” – They get grouped together for being songs that I hate myself for liking by people that I don’t even like. But “Pieces of Me” is one of those songs that was all over place, one summer, therefore gaining points by: A. Forcing itself upon us during the season that’s all about the guilty pleasures and B. Eventually reminding me of that summer, and…you know how it is, with songs that take you back to the summertime – it’s the only reason anyone remembers who LFO was, anymore. “Over,” meanwhile…well, I don’t know how to defend myself, here. It’s just such a melodramatic, over-the-top ballad which found its way onto my computer because of that fact. You know, with the, “tell me that it’s…ov-ERR-ER!” Just: Ha.

5. Aaron Carter – Wow, it’s dark down here, at the bottom of the barrel. But really: I have a little sister who, once upon a time, was even littler, and therefore, subjected me to Aaron Carter, who, in turn, taught me that there’s nothing funnier than a 12 year-old white boy trying to rap. And, no, I don’t remember what crazy conversation led to my decision to put an Aaron Carter song on my computer of one-and-a-half years, and, no, I never press “play” on said song, to remind myself of how he beat Shaq, and, actually, the only reason why I never bothered to uncheck the little box that puts him on my iPod in the first place is because, well, as long as it’s there, I won’t hide it. Yes, world, right in-between “A.C. Newman” and “Adrienne Pierce,” there is Aaron Carter on my iPod! Feel free to kick me out of your Cool Club.

Wow, that actually felt good – I feel like I could finally rest my head on something real. But, really, what’s the worst your music library has to offer? Feel free to comment, below. After all, I’m certainly in no position to judge.

Background noise: Wilco's "Heavy Metal Drummer." An awesome song, to make up for all the bad ones I just got stuck in your head.

I'm Open! I'm Open? Why Am I OPEN?!

2006-04-06T12:12:00.000-05:00

So, it’s no secret that, when it comes to being good at sports, I’m not. Fine, understatement – because it’s no secret that, when it comes to being good at sports, I get two strikes by swinging twice before the first pitch, and then nearly decapitate the catcher when the ball actually reaches the plate. I accidentally pass the football to someone on the other team, and that someone is the mascot, and you’d think I’d realize that the giant-headed bulldog was playing for the team that was named after him, but then, you’d be wrong. I dribble from the opposite side of the court, taking a shot with only five seconds left in the game, scoring a basket from the three point line, while an entire gymnasium shouts, “We’re playing indoor soccer!”

Okay, so, overstatement, now, but my point is: I have the hand-eye coordination of a snake. And I’m okay with that. Well, I’m okay with that so long as you never ever force me to relive Gym Class: Grades One through Eight-or-So, again, because…middle school gym class? Scariest 45 minutes of any given day (which is saying a lot, because you should try the cafeteria food, am I right, people?). I mean, even now, I wonder how they continue to force kids who, quite obviously, were not made for throwing and catching and serving and dodging to attempt to do exactly that, in front of an entire room of possible friends. How do they stick someone whose primary method of exercise is marching band on the same team as the guy who punches lockers in when he loses? How could they say something like, “Alright, it’s guys day, and we’re going to try wrestling, but if you can’t make it past the first step, there’s a ping-pong table set up in the hallway…” and not realize the potential for embarrassment? Is the fear in some kids’ eyes too hard for gym teachers to make out, what with the goggles that they force anyone with glasses to wear? And, by the way – wear your glasses and put on these Mr. Wizard goggles, or take them off and continue to pass the basketball to that particularly person-looking garbage can over there – really, what kind of options are those? And doesn’t the fact that, seven years later, I still feel the need to write paragraphs about this prove something? I mean, besides about myself?

But…again – I’m okay with it. In fact, since I never got to have a Bar Mitzvah, nor watch my evil uncle, against whom I would one day swear vengeance, push my father into a stampede of wildebeest, I think the moment that I became a man might have been when I made the sudden realization that my only hope of survival was to embrace my complete uselessness when it came to sports, therefore acquiring self-awareness, which in turn, works as a preliminary strike against any would-be attackers, because if you’re already making fun of how much you suck at football, what the heck could they really to do to you?

Wait. How did this whole thing go from being about how I can’t catch a pop fly to a self-analyzation on the lasting effect of would-be childhood trauma, and the way it has affected the way I approach both myself and the world? Ew, let’s not let that happen, ever again.

But, hey, I think we all learned a valuable lesson, today: If at first you don’t succeed, at least learn how to succeed at not succeeding. Or something.

Background noise: The Decemberist’s The Sporting Life. People don’t write enough straightforward songs about completely random topics, but this is great one. Likewise, the few Decemberist songs that are really good are…well, exactly that, so I hope their next album features 75% less pirate shanties and more “real” tracks, because, sure, if I wanted to listen to pirate shanties I’d probably choose theirs, but when does that mood ever strike me, ya know?

It's Duck Soup For You Yegs.

2006-04-05T13:41:00.000-05:00

Right, so this was supposed to mark another entry in the What I’m Whatevering department, but then I realized I had enough to say about one thing that to continue with the rest of the list would be to keep all of us here much longer than any of us want to be, and so…yeah, now it’s just Movie Recommendation Time!

And that movie? Is Brick. Because Brick? Was awesome in italics – even after my looking forward to it for almost a year, which I know makes me sound pathetic, but it’s not like I was putting big, red “X’s” on my wall calendar, counting down the days, or anything – it’s just, I heard about it, and it took a year to come out. It’s not like I didn’t have expectations (see: the links section on the side), which it definitely lived up to, is all I’m saying. And it’s been a while since I’ve had a movie to obsess over (Batman? Star Wars? Fun, but…ya know), so bear with me.

Okay, so, be a good movie set in high school, and you’ve already won me over (if you think I’m kidding, Mean Girls was on my Top 5 Movies of Whatever-Year-It-Came-Out List). The same goes for being a good mystery (Encyclopedia Brown and I go way back). But do both at the same time, and I promise to name my kid after you. And Brick, poor kid, is a detective story set in high school – Brendan’s ex-girlfriend turns up dead-in-the-first-few-seconds-so-I-didn’t-give-anything-away, and he sets out to figure out why, running into all manner of shifty situations and entertainingly disreputable characters along the way. And, yeah, that makes it sound a lot like Veronica Mars (at least, if you know what Veronica Mars sounds like, watch Veronica Mars), but, if anything, the two are more comparable in the fact that they both have a plot and dialogue that are packed – forcing you to pay attention while guaranteeing that you’ll want to, anyway – than they are in any other fashion (as Brick doesn’t really revolve around the mystery in the same way, its being more about the quest than the question). But, right, enough with the comparing two things that you probably haven’t seen, yet (though, if you have, let me know, and your name goes to the next kid).

Because what really makes Brick awesome (or, "even more awesome") is that the whole thing looks, feels and sounds like those old noir mystery stories and movies, which, if you don’t know, is to say like…ugh, is the most recent, reliable comparison we have for “film noir” really those Flonase commercials? Um – okay, you know those old black-and-white movies, with the private eyes and the mean, lonely streets and the “You’re gonna close your head, drop the dame and scram, else I squirt metal” [i.e. You’re gonna shut up, let go of the girl and get outta here or I shoot]? You know (random) but the kind of thing Roger Rabbit was paying tribute to? Right, so that’s what this is, but instead of being a parody or even an homage to some old movies, it really creates its own world, with its own rules and language (no, really, they even hand you a cool little Brick Talk glossary when you walk in, I’m not even kidding), a world that's somewhere in-between old detective movies and a modern-day high school. And while that could have gone horribly “Kids Playing Dress Up” wrong (or, “How Independent-Film of You to Spend More Time Trying to Get Cool Points for Style, While Forgetting About the Story?” wrong) the movie tells a great story, with great characters, all while having enough confidence in its unusual self that everything stays right, preempting any possible questions (Why are these kids talking like that? Why are their parents letting this happen? Why is any of this allowed to go on at a high school?) with a “because we said so” that keeps you from wondering, in the first place.

So, in case I bored you, up there, and you skipped to the end – all I’m saying is that Brick is completely cool, and, once it makes it into more theaters, you’d do best to go see it. It’s the sort of movie that I inadvertently find myself writing more-than-one paragraph about. It’s the sort of movie that you inadvertently find yourself pretending you’re in, in your head, as you walk out of the theater (you know what I mean…uh, right?). It’s the sort of movie that I wish I made (and, actually, it kind of resembles a story that I did make, before I even knew this existed, but don’t worry, they’re different enough that I won’t get sued, if I ever learn how to write a decent mystery).

Oh, and its super-cool, no-nonsense main character makes an excellent case for quiet outsiders who wear glasses. Which, I suppose, might explain why I liked it so much…

Background Noise: Well, the soundtrack. Easy, this time.

I Miss the 101.

2006-03-23T14:05:00.000-05:00

I wish I could see New Jersey in the same way I see California. I mean, I guess that’s impossible, because New Jersey is home, and California is where you go to not be home, and then there’s that kid we met, who goes to Jersey every Summer because he gets tired of Laguna Beach (aw, the fact that that’s also a TV show title really threw off my italicization for emphasis, there), which I guess proves something profound. But still, having just returned from the land of the In-N-Out Burger, I have to report that California is severely awesome, not just “vacation awesome” – as in, if you forced me to move there tomorrow, the only complaint I’d have is how they sometimes refilm the screwed-up SNL skits for the west coast, reducing them to only half as funny as when Peter Sarsgaard’s hotel TV suddenly turned off, and, for the sake of the script, they had to pretend it was still on, and he was reaching behind it while saying his lines, and you could see someone running by the camera, and Rachel Dratch’s train of thought got lost in the chaos, so there’s this long pause and suddenly she’s like, “WOW, LOOK AT THOSE SHRIMP!” and I was, like, crying.

Wait, what? Oh, right, no offense to home, because that’s what it is, after all – where the greatest percentage of people who know my name are waiting for me [cue the Cheers theme song] – but, everyone I could never not miss, aside, I would not have minded missing the flight back, even if it meant finding an apartment where I’d probably have more room to move if I chose to live in the closet, while waiting tables with all of the other aspiring-something-or-others and always keeping an eye out for the nearest door frame on account of the earth shaking about a bit, from time to time. Because even driving to nowhere is oddly inspiring on the west coast, and, somehow, you get to say, “I am a writer” rather than, “I want to be a writer,” there (speaking of which, realizing the steep population of wannabe writers was surprisingly “en” rather than “dis” on my couraging level – maybe because no one knows how to respond to “I wanna write for TV,” in Jersey, but in California, you get a “Me too!” rather than an eyebrow-raise). And because, if nothing else, it turns out my music matches the scenery a lot better on the west coast, which…means more than you might think.

And, chances are, a majority of the people who live in California, right now, would be like, “Yeah, you’d think, but…” upon reading this. They’d probably say something about the pollution, or how insular everyone is, or that the weather isn’t quite as awesome when it’s all you get, all year ‘round. To which I say: First of all, it’s not like the cars over here are emitting gusts of happiness into the atmosphere, so I’ve never understood complaint…secondly, if there’s one thing I learned, last week, it’s that most people would love to tell you why they are who they are, if you just ask (I’m not sure if they’re friendlier than we’re used to or we’re friendlier than they’re used to, but I’d put my money on the latter, and anyone from around here is included in that “we”), so you might want to try that, sometime, Californian…and lastly, shut up about that, because it was 30-something degrees when we got home, and, just – say one more word about your boring weather and I’ll hit you.

But, for now, I’ll try to see things over here in the same way that I saw things for the past week, and remember that a good amount of people probably wish they were just twenty minutes from New York (which is, also, awesome), right now. And also that some kid in Laguna Beach thinks our shore is worth the trip. Still, though: Sigh.

Background Noise: Rogue Wave’s California. No, it’s not the OC theme song. And, actually, the lyrics are pretty down on the place, but I’d like to think the “Lead us there” counteracts the resentment. Either way, it’s the saddest-sounding song I know about California, so it fit both the entry and the flight home, well enough. iTunes it. [Disclaimer: The existence of this new addition pretty much relies on my ability to find a song that matches whatever I’m posting about, so…there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to keep up with it, but here’s hoping.]

OMIGOSH SKIS.

2006-02-26T13:54:00.000-05:00

I’ll tell you what. If you’re in bad mood today, I’ll forgive you. In fact, if you decide to sleep until three and get up just in time to complain that there’s no food in the house, which you then proceed to burn down before even giving me a chance to save my completely awesome Freaks and Geeks DVDs and/or family? Yeah, well I promise I won’t say one word about your “waking up on the wrong side of the bed,” because, first off, we all know that your bed’s in a corner, but mostly because I’ll understand that you, like the rest of the world, are dreading the arrival of tonight – and not just for the obvious reasons, this time (i.e. the impending Monday, your incurable night terrors, American Dad). No, I’ll know that your brooding and rampant pyromania are just a result of tonight being the night that you’ll suddenly be pulled from the warm and loving embrace of the Winter Olympics.

And what have the past 17 days of Olympic fever taught us? Well, first off, that my pediatrician was amazingly thorough with my immunization shots. Of course, I don't really believe that anyone who’s not Shaun White’s mom has contracted some disease, in the past month, for which the only cure is an official Olympic arena scarf, an official Olympic varsity bag and an official Olympic crystal luge paperweight. Just speaking from my own experience, here – if the point of all this was to get us to actually care, rather than to complain about how LOST is a repeat because bobsledding is new, well then maybe the games featured too few shark pits, blindfolds and hidden patches of thin ice, and too many Slovakians in spandex. (I mean, no offense to Slovakia, or anything – I don’t even know where you guys are. Which…no offense, again. Besides, I’m sure you looked stunning.) Though I did try caring, once, and I have to ask – if this is supposed to be some big world-peace-through-sports thing, then why did I spend most of the night hoping that that girl from Japan would fall to the ground mid-triple-axel, displaying an embarrassing lack of coordination in front of an entire planet?

Or maybe the Olympics just have to broaden their horizons, as far as the events go, at least if they want me as an audience. Because, sure, they call them the “winter games,” but then you tune in and it’s just NASCAR on skates or “101 Ways to Slide Down a Hill.” Which, yes, you probably wouldn’t choose to do in shorts, but I know winter games – where are the forts? The guerrilla war-tactics? The building a sort-of-jump behind the Borough Hall, and pushing your friend down on one of those plastic saucer things, and then laughing as, instead of flying over it, he just sort of crashes head first, and omigosh, is he even moving, quick, let’s get out of here? Okay, the snowboarding almost resembled exciting, but until America is bringing home the gold in the Freestyle Coed Snowball Fight, I’m not going to be happy (nor an Olympic athlete).

I don’t know…I’m just not sure that the highlight of the Olympics was supposed to be trying to figure out which figure skaters were CGI. Which isn’t to say I’m not dreading the closing ceremonies. Because if they’re anything like the opening ones (read: four hours of Cirque du Soleil, but with play-by-play)? Well, then I’ll be at church, thanks. Where, actually, I'll be either way, because, yeah: Good times.

Anti-Arctica

2006-02-23T12:04:00.000-05:00

Not to be the 3,819th person to remind you of this, in the past four months, but I don’t think there’s anything worse, in the entire world, than being cold. Okay fine, I’m exaggerating, because: terrorism, erasable pens, those twins on American Idol that made me want to pull out all of my hair, and then my eyeballs, and then the part of the brain that controls my short-term memory, with a pair of pliers, and who ended up getting the “We Know What You Did Three Years Ago, And It Was Illegal And/Or In Maxim” offscreen boot, so they weren’t even good for that bit of satisfaction, but, uh, anyway...no offense to the Snow Miser, but I'm not sure how many more daily-highs-and-lows-that-resemble-tennis-game-scores I can take before I personally start up the "We Will Surround This State With a Weather-Proof Dome, Even If We Have To Take Tax Money Away From Public Schools, As Long As It's Not From The Music And Art Programs" Fund. (I take donations via PayPal!)

I mean, is it like this everywhere, or was my house just built on some ancient Eskimo burial ground? I wake up making actual "Brrrr!" sounds, the cold forcing me to do the old-man shuffle around the house, the post-shower chill probably enough to preserve my body for the next 150 years, during which global warming will have hopefully had its way and I'll step outside to year-round summer and seals wearing Hawaiian shirts. Which, even if I can't get them off of the lawn, will beat stepping outside now, with the layers and the gloves rendering all of my joints completely useless, and my teeth knocking around like a wind-up toy, so that everything I say sounds like when you'd talk into the fan when you were little, and your voice would be a robot's, and then your mom would tell you to stop, because I guess if you stuck your tounge out too far, there'd go your speaking priveleges, and who feels like teaching their kid sign language, really? And factor in the...factor that most everywhere I go depends on walking or public transportation and you'll understand why I've been living like Bill Watterson, all winter long.

Sometimes I stare at my hands, trying to remember what it was like to feel my own fingers. I faugely renwmber beink avle to hit the r8ght keys. Or maybe I'm just being dramatic. Still, I don't know how they do it in Alaska, without setting themselves on fire just to keep warm. Anyway, I might as well look at the bright side: At least if I stand outside eating a lollypop, right now, it almost looks like I'm smoking. I do want my friends to think I'm cool, after all.

The Same Thing We Do Every Night, Pinky...

2006-02-20T13:41:00.000-05:00

I guess it’s not impossible. I mean, yeah, it does seem highly unlikely, but then I’m sure they said the same thing about achieving the great taste of Dr. Pepper with zero the calories, or that whole “running out of mammoths” thing, back in the day, and we know how that all turned out (and if not: mmm and oops), and besides...oh, hi! I’m Matt – you might remember me from such blog entries as “What’s a Spork?” and that one with all the Harry Potter! I was just imagining what I would do if I ever took over the world. Join me!

Wait, don’t worry – it’s not like I’m sitting here next to a chalkboard full of stick-figure drawings, right now, mapping out my plans for world domination (besides, I'm probably seriously overestimating the persuasive powers of free t-shirts – and I’ve said too much, already) but let’s just say I did, and it worked, or maybe they actually offered me the job, since Oprah turned it down and I got the next highest number of text-message votes. First off, would I take it? Well, yeah – I mean, okay, it might cut into my free time a bit, and I’m not sure how forward I’d look to dealing with Bono and Angelina Jolie on such a professional level and, fair enough, I could hardly keep my SimCity running, back in the day, without earthquakes or Godzilla making the whole thing look like a scene from…Earthquake or Godzilla (hospitals, it’s all about the hospitals!) But, still, it would be totally worth it, just to be able to walk up to anybody, all, “So, that world your standing on? Yeah, it’s mine.”

Of course, I’d do things that weren't walking up to people, too – changes have to be made, after all, and we might as well start with the name. I mean, “the World,” that works okay, but what does it say, really? Exactly, about as much as silent film star Colleen Moore (1900-1988), which is why my first act as owner of “Earth” would be to go straight to the master of planet-naming: Mr. George Lucas. Once Mr. Lucas came up with something cool and new and with an “x” – Raxylbax, maybe – we would have to spread it, and since the flyers probably wouldn't be enough, I'd change everything else, accordingly, i.e. “the Raxylbax-wide web,” and “Where in the Raxylbax is Carmen Sandiego?” and “What I'm saying, Matt, is that I wouldn't go out with you for all the free t-shirts in the Raxylbax.” Wait, I mean, um, I didn't, uh...do it Rockapella!

Still, if you want to be elected leader of the free world, and also all the other ones, you have to take a stand on some things – you need some kind of platform. Luckily, I’ve thought this one through, too, reaching the obvious conclusion that my platform will look down upon the clouds, having been built atop the 25,000 foot tower that I will, naturally, call my home. It’ll be a glorious structure, all windows and stainless-steel and soundproof bathrooms (because that just...weirds me out, no matter which side I'm on). Every five floors will house a Jamba Juice. The basement will be paintball. The elevator races will be the stuff of dreams. Oh, and the robot guards could be programmed to let you in, as long as they know your DNA, so…just let me know, ya know? And send a strand of hair.

Yes, my friends, you'd best find your way to a Sunglass Hut, because the future’s lookin’ bright! Now all we have to do is hope that Oprah decides to keep her day job. Because I’m sure she’d do just swell, but then…what would I watch at four?

If You Really Want to Hear About It...

2006-01-20T14:36:00.000-05:00

In case you're wondering why my blog has been quieter than a scene in an independent movie, lately, it's because I've been spending the last the month-or-so partying like it's senior year of high school - well, the part of senior year that happens before the actual partying (or, and I air-quote, “partying” – because prom was fun and all, but what, no foam machine?) What I’m saying, in my typical “what I’m not actually saying, at all, judging by the fact that just made you click on ‘foam parties’ for no real reason” fashion, is that it's…college application time!

And yeah, well...I'm late for most things that aren't the movies. But here’s the thing about the last two years – they’ve been quick, and long, and good, and really confusing, all at the same time, in an “Ack, I hope I don’t run into anyone from high school, because they’re going to ask what I’ve been up to, and I’ll make a stupid joke, but they’ll be like, ‘Ha, yeah, but…really,’ and then what the heck do I tell them? ” kind of way. Because, mostly: I don’t know what I’m doing but…I know what I’m doing. I mean, the past two years don’t make for the most exciting story, but, all screw-ups considered, they’ve still felt mostly right. Sure, up until now, I’ve been able to relate to post-graduation Xander more than I’d really hoped, and Weezer’s “The Good Life” kind of took on new meaning, but…despite things working out weirder than I wanted them to, I still think they have been working out. So my point is, remember when I promised not to fill this “journal” up with pages of feeling-sorry-for-myself? Well, that's actually been pretty easy, because…I don’t. And since I'm not real good at talking about this stuff out loud, I figured I'd get it out here. And I’m glad I did, because now when I run into you, we can skip all the, “Well, it’s just, lately I’ve been, um…” and go right to talking about how my hair isn’t as pointy as it used to be.

Oh, and more specifically, this week is Application Essaypalooza, which mostly means my head hurts from trying to "be myself," but not the self that would laugh in the face, and then proceed to punch, whoever made up these stupid questions, like: “You've just been elected leader of a new nation, what are you going to do?” Um, a terrible, awful, no-good, very bad job. “Outline your platform or manifesto.” We’ll save the whales, and then Arrested Development (if by “and then,” you mean “but first”), and outlaw talking on your cell-phone while paying for things. “Who will you appoint as your advisors, and why?” Off the top of my head – Jon Stewart, who would fill the role of Vice President, Summer from The OC, who would fill the role of best friend/will-they-or-won’t-they love interest, and that guy on Letterman who juggled while riding a unicycle on a treadmill, who would fill the role of being awesome. Oh, and Gandhi, because I think I’m supposed to say him, and besides, it’s not like he would take up that much space. “What will you value as a society?” Money. Lots and lots of money. And also the Muppets. And…that one down!

Well, that went places I didn’t expect it to. Sorry – I promise, the next entry will feature 75% less introspection and more references to bad reality shows. Because I know you'd expect nothing less.

Consider It Curbed.

2006-01-05T14:19:00.000-05:00

The What I'm Whatevering List
because I know you care...

Last Movie I've Seen: King Kong (the old, 1933 one). Heh. King Kong really hates dinosaurs. Almost as much as he hates flash-photography. So it’s always weird watching old movies, and not just because all the girls have giant eyes and sound like Minnie Mouse while all the guys look the same and sound like the Radio in The Brave Little Toaster. No, the real reason it’s weird watching them is because, when a movie is carrying over 50 years’ worth of word-of-mouth, it’s hard not to let that affect your judgment of it, one way or the other. But, while I’m sure this was really impressive back in 1933, and was actually sort-of impressive, in parts, for 1933, that doesn’t change the fact that, when you put history aside (which you kind of should, if you’re talking about whether you liked it or not), effects-driven movies don’t age too well. Especially when we’re talking decades. And while this was surprisingly not-hilariously-bad when King Kong was fighting T-Rexes and things, as in a lot of old movies, this one had lots of “Are We There Yet?” before that. Which is either the result of our already knowing certain parts of these movies so well, beforehand, or because people just weren’t much for cutting at least 10 minutes closer to the chase, back then. Anyway, I couldn’t not watch it, and I’m glad I did, but once was enough.

What I'm Watching- TV on TV Edition: Supernatural. Yeah, it's not exactly scary, it’s always annoying when it wants to be funny, and at least 60% of any given episode is mostly just dull, all of which makes it very difficult to explain why I'd voluntarily watch a show that co-stars Dean from Gilmore Girls. And still, I do. It’s kind of like The X-Files (in spirit, but in no way quality), except that it focuses almost exclusively on urban and local legends, and pretty much disregards any expectations that it should ever make any sense at all. Mostly, I just needed a show that I only have to think about for the hour that it’s on (and even then, not so much). And if it didn’t have the urban legend angle, I probably wouldn’t even bother. Though, all that said, it occasionally comes together better than I expected it to, but that’s mostly because I expected it to be unwatchable, when it mostly just hovers somewhere in the middle. And if “better than you’re expecting, as long as you’re expecting it to suck” doesn’t sound like much of an endorsement, that’s because it’s not supposed to. Still, I kinda liked that last episode with the abandoned mental institution, but then, it’s impossible to create something about an abandoned mental institution that I don’t kinda like, especially if you call it an “asylum.” Which they did.

What I'm Watching- TV on DVD Edition: Curb Your Enthusiasm: Season 4. Eh. Still overrated. I always want to enjoy it more than I do, in the end. I mean, it's good enough for me to keep renting the seasons as they come out, but...it's just never as funny as it thinks it is. For those who don't know, it's about Larry David (who co-created Seinfeld, back in the day), and it’s more-or-less an HBO version of Seinfeld, in that it involves a character whose tragic flaw is that he can never just deal, which leads to all sorts of unfortunate and clever coincidences. Thing is, while there are funny scenes, the situations mostly come off as either predictable, contrived, avoidable or any combination of the three. Like, I have no problem with a main character who's kind of jerk, but if Larry could've avoided everything by just shutting up when any normal person would, or maybe by explaining himself some, or by not confronting people and going off on them like real humans just don’t, it kind of kills both the “clever” and the “coincidence” part of the episode, which is more-or-less the whole thing. And people will probably say, "That's the point," then…okay, I don't think it's the best point. Or at least the best execution of it. Still, while the show may not be, Larry David is very funny, and if he just walked around and talked for a half-hour, plot-free, that would probably be my favorite episode. And also be called “stand up.”

What I'm Playing: Project Gotham Racing 3 (360). While I’m a big fan of the racing game, I didn’t expect the 360 launch-title I spent the most time with to be this one. But here I am, trying to cut seconds off my Las Vegas Blvd. Run time and earn enough credits to unlock the concept cars. There’s not that much to say, except that the ability to hook my iPod up to the Xbox so I could drive to my own playlist is awesome (while also helping me realize just how easy it is to make a car commercial), that inside-the-car view is even awesomer (and, after years of “yeah, it looks cool, but I could never actually play this way,” it actually, like, works, in this game) and, oh yeah, that PGR3 is really, really hard when you start out, to the point where I had to put it on easy mode (which I hate) just to figure out how to make a turn without crashing headfirst into a wall, first. But, in the end, that just means it’s more satisfying when you actually learn how to win, so…yeah, good times.

Last Book I Read: A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. So Dave Eggers’s mom died and then his dad died (or maybe it happened the other way around, I forget), and he was left to take care of his little brother and they moved to California and then he wrote a book about it. And, if you can make it past the first chapter or two, which are really sad and sometimes gross – not in a way that’s poorly written but just in a way that doesn’t make it a fun, easy read – you won’t want the book to end for a while. Like most memoirs, it has “episodes” more than it does a clear plotline, and, like most memoirs, you have to assume that most of the dialogue is fictionalized, because real people just don’t talk like that, and, like most memoirs, certain parts suffer from ew-that’s-way-too-much-information syndrome, but...that first comment isn’t a complaint, and he actually admits to my second one, and that third one…well, just skim through those paragraphs. And, for a book that’s about what this is about, it’s actually really funny a lot of the time, what with the dry, ironic tone (see: the title, for one), the pop-culture references and the applying for The Real World.

What I'm Hoping: That my confession to watching Supernatural doesn’t somehow discount my unconventional opinion in regards to allegedly “ingenious” Curb Your Enthusiasm. And that you’ll go watch the Arrested Development DVDs. Because any line that George-Michael (no, not that one) has ever had has probably made me laugh louder than anything on Curb.

Hate my opinion? Comment away!

Same as the Last - Except Evenly Divisible by 59!

2006-01-01T13:27:00.000-05:00

So, it’s my first post of the new year, and…I have no idea what that means. Well, I kind of get what it means, like, lots of dip yesterday (woo!), and we’re going around the sun again (woo?) and that our only reward for changing the channel when Carson Daly came on, last night, was Ryan Seacrest (eh). But…I don’t know, Linus – I guess I never really understood the true meaning of New Year’s…

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve had parties for much stranger reasons (or, more accurately, for much stranger awesome, weekend-long TV-marathon events with the cousins, and also this one time when we watched Harry Potter – yes, there was themed food. And photos.) And also, it’s my sister’s birthday, so I’m probably going to get in trouble for even thinking about questioning the sanctity of December 31st, once she reads this. And, hey, counting backwards is always fun for a change, but…New Year’s Eve still never fails to weird me out, with everyone hugging like it’s graduation, acting like they’re not going to see each other on the other side of midnight, and then that formidable, looming countdown in the corner of the screen, all leading up to those ten seconds where you feel like you’re supposed to be feeling something important, but you’re not, because all you’re feeling is…like you’re supposed to be feeling something important. And also a little sad for Dick Clark, this year (which is also last year). And that champagne is gross.

Oh, and then? People cry. That is…what is…why do people cry? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, like, if you want to come cry around me for reasons that I don’t get but obviously mean a lot to you, feel free to do so no matter what day of the year it is. (I know, awww, can we keep going, now?) And, actually, I’d almost understand people breaking into tears at midnight because, yeah, January sucks. But, for some reason, I just don’t think that’s why they’re crying, so…it all just adds to the general weirdness of New Year’s Eve. Really, I…don’t even know what to say about it. Tears and hugs, every year, and then we come out at 12:01 feeling about the same. Except my shoulder is soggier.

Which I know sounds like the typical, cynical, “who cares about the new year” argument, which isn’t exactly what I’m trying to say. But then, I guess I don’t even know what I’m trying to say, so…some first post of the new year, eh? I probably should’ve wrote more about the dip.

Oh, and how are they going to make those goofy New Year’s glasses once there’s no zero-zero to work with, in the middle? 2010 – now that’ll be an interesting transition.

Giving and Deceiving

2005-12-23T13:31:00.000-05:00

Judging by the date on my 365 Cats-a-Year Calendar (what, and I suppose you’ve discovered a less fluffy-and-adorable way to measure time?), in two more days it’ll be December 25th, which means there’s only 48 hours until I have to save Christmas, again. (You guys have no idea what goes on behind the scenes, do you?) Oh, and also that out in the stores, all the moms and the dads are out buying gifts so their kids won’t get mad (because it is better to give than receive, and miracles happen if you just believe – see, I don’t think your Christmas poem actually has to be good, as long as you include those two sentiments, in there). And…I know that the shopping is supposed to be this Thing We Hate, but honestly? It’s never much bothered me, outside of the usual “I should’ve left my coat in the car.” Maybe it’s because I don’t have a bunch of kids to buy for (upon which it’s nice to know that the shopping won’t be much bothering me for a very long time). Or maybe it’s because my main responsibility, on most of the trips, is to hold the bags, which means I mostly get to stand around and drink Starbucks and take in the scene, like, “Whoa. Christmas.” Or maybe it’s because I’m from New Jersey, and the mall is, like, our natural habitat (a stereotype which I always hated, by the way – but then I met some kids from the South over the summer, and when they asked what we did for fun in New Jersey, I replied honestly and without thinking: “We’ve got malls.” Oops. Sorry, guys.). But, for whatever the reason, the lines and crowds are the least of my holiday worries. In fact, the most exhausting part of the holiday season happens after the buying – because sort of a side-effect of all the generosity and giving are, yep: the secrets and lies. (LIES!)

For one thing, I’m not too good at it. Well, actually, I do the improv okay – it’s the keeping the straight face that gets me. So, unless it’s over the phone, you might want to keep our Christmas conversation centered around “What is figgy pudding, anyway?” and “Wait, is Santa bald, I forget,” because, otherwise, you’ll be like, “You know what I really want? One of those Roombas,” and suddenly I’m sticking my tongue out and crossing my eyes and hopping up-and-down on one foot with one hand on my head while the other one’s doing the alphabet in sign language, and you’ll be all, “Thanks for ruining Christmas, jerk,” while getting gingerbread crumbs all over the floor because, thanks to me, you know you won’t be cleaning up that mess!

Plus, talking to someone who might just be keeping the element of surprise isn’t any easier, resulting in conversations in which no one is saying what they mean, and everyone’s walking away feeling just a little bit conflicted. For an example of which, I give you this year’s Christmas pageant, in which I ask you to remember that every line is a lie:

FADE IN on ME, wearing a Santa hat and baking cookies. MOM enters, with a shopping bag behind her back.

MOM

Sorry, but I couldn’t get you one
of those new Xboxes, this year.

That’s fine, because…you know,
a lot of them had glitches
and…I’m not real excited about
any of the games, anyway,
so…don’t be sorry, I mean, I don’t
even want a 360!

MOM

Well…then…good thing I didn’t
get you one! Because I didn’t!

Yeah, I’ll say! Stupid Xbox!

As Mom and I exit with our heads down, we FADE OUT.

And, while I said I don’t mind the shopping, I’d suggest you don’t rely on the “let’s go to the mall and split up” method unless you don’t mind making with the Metal Gear at the Garden State Plaza, sneaking around and backing stealthily out of stores as you walk in on everyone picking out your gifts, after which you’re forced to pretend, for the next few weeks, that you don’t know what you’re getting, which at least helps sharpen the acting skills that you’re now going to need, since they expect you to be surprised on Christmas day. Unless, of course, you don’t back away, which only makes things worse – I give to you Part II of this year’s Christmas pageant:

FADE IN on ME, in the bag (“pocketbook?”) section of Macy’s, trying to figure out how the heck to pick these things out, while also trying not to look like I need the help of a sales assistant. MOM enters, confused.

MOM

Matt! What are you doing,
shopping for a purse?

Wait! It’s not what it looks like,
I mean, it’s not, I just…need a
place to put my stuff, is all.

(Pause)

We should probably talk about
this after Christmas.

MOM

(concerned)

Yeah. I think we really, really should.

Mom exits, with her head down, as we FADE OUT.

I mean, I’m all for surprises and I’m glad we don’t do it any other way, but I’m just saying – for a season that’s supposed to be all about spending time with friends and family, there seems to be just as much misleading and avoiding and looking the other way.

And I think I’ll just never have kids, because I have no clue how I’ll last ten years pretending not to know that (SPOILER ALERT) Santa isn’t real (END SPOILER).

P.S. Don't worry, Mom, I don't think I'm getting an Xbox 360 for Christmas. And also, I don't think you read this.

Well, It's Certainly Not the Most Important Birthday of the Month, But...

2005-12-22T16:10:00.000-05:00

This is it, I guess – my most important birthday since I turned 18 (when I finally became old enough to vote for things that weren’t hosted by Ryan Seacrest, to buy cigarettes for minors and to go to a big-boy jail once I got caught doing so). Yes, today is the long-awaited 21st, upon which the door opens to one of life’s more anticipated rights, the one that every kid spends most of his teenage years counting down to. Because, having acquired the maturity and responsibility that comes with just over two decades of experience in, ya know, existing, I am finally old enough to lose all my inhibitions and – that’s right – apply for a reality show! So get outta the way, kids, because I’ve got one place left to go, and that’s wild! Woo! WOO!

Okay, I’m mostly kidding, because…nothing against reality contestants, of which I’m sure there are plenty of respectable and balanced human beings that I just don’t remember because of that very fact, but…well, “reality-TV contestant” just doesn’t carry the rock-star status you’d...actually never expect it would in the first place. Plus, having spent a good part of my formative years mocking them from the comfort of my own home (read all about it in my new book, From Mitchell to Maggie: 21 Years of Making Fun of Those Who Can’t Hear Me So I Could Feel Better About Myself!), I’d probably spend all of my time worrying that I was currently filling an entire season with tragically ironic interviews, slow motion shots of my taking the wrong turn and the kind of challenge-related slapstick that makes you reach for Tivo’s instant replay button. But, that said, what better way to spend my 21st birthday than weighing the hypothetical pros and cons of my exciting new prospects? To the list!

The Apprentice – I started here because, yeah…it’s all cons, with this one. I’ve had at least two bad dreams where I ended up on The Apprentice (well, it’s not like I can control these things…) before realizing that I had no leadership skills, was afraid of getting yelled at (even if it was only by Donald Trump), and didn’t even want the grand prize, in the first place. Plus I could only take so much “step up to the plate and take accountability for utilizing your skill sets” before wanting to punch, like, the world in the face. Well, except George.

Survivor – See, I always trick myself into thinking I could handle this. Living on nothing but rice and fish and the occasional Pringles™ Brand Pringles™ (buy Pringles™!) for about a month? As long as “each other” isn’t on the menu, I think I’d live. Not getting to shower for just as long? Okay, gross, but it’s not like everyone else is hanging out with their lavender bath beads and rubber duckies, so I bet that kind of stops mattering after the first five days or so. Sleeping on the beach in the same pair of shorts for weeks on end? That? I might do for free. I mean, I’m sure the island makes you appreciate things like beds and hamburgers and not smelling like the monkeys that keep you up at night, but since you know it’s not permanent, and you know they’re not going to let you die out there, it mostly just seems like a pretty interesting way to spend anywhere from three to thirty-nine days. So...I just don't know why they always get so dramatic about handling it, is all.

But then…I always forget about the whole game situation, namely: Challenges. See, my already unruly coordination could hardly take first-period gym class, back in the day, so I’m pretty sure the combination of severe dehydration, extreme hunger and Probst’s nonstop narrating (“And Matt falls down again! Matt bringing his team way behind! Matt having trouble with this whole concept of ‘catching things’…”) wouldn’t help my ability to not look like a complete spaz when it comes to rope ladders. So…if it wasn’t televised, I’d totally give it a shot, but, as it is, I’d rather not bring dishonor to my family, like that.

Big Brother – AHAHAHA! HAHAHA! HA! NO. Not that I wouldn’t love chatting it up with Julie Chen (or smuggling a few magnets into the studio, so I could totally call her out on being a robot on live TV, all, “Look! They stick!”) but, even setting aside the boredom and the goofy challenges, and the having to carry the “Former Big Brother Contestant” label around for the rest of your life…looking at past seasons, I just don’t trust casting to stick me in a house with someone’s who’s not crazy or racist or wants to kill me, all summer.

The Real World – Okay, I’ve been old enough for this one for a while, but I only mention it because, while I would never even think about doing The Real World, I’ve always kind of wondered if my chances of getting on don’t actually suck. I mean, I’ve got all the makings of the “How Will This Decent, Christian Boy Who Doesn’t Party And Avoids Confrontation React To All Of The Drunken Hookups Going On In The Other Room” Guy, as opposed to the millions of frat boys and “bad” girls I’m sure actually want to be on their show. But then, should I get on, I’d actually have to react to the all of the drunken hookups going on in the other room, so…no. And besides, I think you have to lack a certain self-awareness, or at least spend enough time in bars to lack a certain self-awareness, for them to let you on, so maybe I’m wrong about my chances, anyway.

The Amazing Race – Without a doubt, the only reality show I actually really want to do (not that I actually want to do anything about that…unless you’re looking for a teammate, that is), which probably has something to do with the fact that it basically has no downsides. You get eliminated? At least it’s not because all of your cool, new friends decided that the disadvantages of having you around far outweighed any of the benefits. You get eliminated first? At least you still got to be a New York Jew in Iceland. You’ve been dating your teammate for the past 12 years, and you finally begin realizing, with each task, that you guys actually kind of can’t stand each other, resulting in interviews that are almost as uncomfortable to watch as the entire Family Edition? Well, okay, I can’t help ya there, Millie and Chuck.

On the other hand…I’m about as good at reading maps as I am at folding them up, and if I’m gonna be driving around a whole other hemisphere, I should probably figure out which pedal means “go,” and my inexperience with airports would probably accidentally land my team on a flight to Neptune (and not even the earliest one). Still, if there’s ever a show that would make me say, “Hey, let’s send in a tape and see!” this would be it.

So the moral of this story? While I wouldn’t mind doing certain reality shows to varying degrees, one thing’s for certain: I’d lose them all, equally. At least, until they come out with America’s Next Top Model: Guy’s Edition.

And…okay, guys, you could stop pretending you forgot, now, and jump out from behind the couch. Guys? Anyone? Cake?

I'm All Out of Love...I'm So Lost Without You...

2005-12-10T12:37:00.002-05:00

Well, I know it’s been slowly eating away at you, so I might as well answer the question that’s been on everyone’s mind, lately - well, at least the one that doesn't involve the words "Nick," "Jessica" and "WHY??" No, I mean the one that involves the words: Why have things been so slow on here?

Has the Christmas shopping season suddenly turned all my free time into not-exactly-that? Nope - I finished gluing macaroni on all those refrigerator magnets way back in September (looks like that whole "low-carb" trend passed over just in time - and I hope you guys like GLITTER!) Have I finally decided to keep my incoherent ramblings (read: Alias references) to myself? As if! Does the fact that I finally started Metroid Prime 2 have anything to do with it? No - well, okay, I do loves me some sci-fi violence, but...moving on...

The real reason that I've had about as many updates in the past week as the United States has had since August 21, 1959 is because my Stupid Broken Computer is currently livin' it up repair-style on the west side - that's, like, two whole mountain chains between us! And an Alamo! And, according to my HP tracking number (speaking of which, you do not wanna know me when I’ve got a tracking number - I check on it so often you’d suspect I had, like, an orangutan hidden in the other room, or maybe another girl who doesn’t know you’re here, and that sitcommy hijinks of the "You...just wait right there - I've gotta go check on the, uh, thing in the oven" variety are about to ensue), it won't be back in my warm embrace (uh, moving on again...) until I have a car, squirrels are extinct and my favorite team actually wins The Amazing Race (the car and the squirrel thing which, actually, will most likely coincide with each other. At least, so long as I have anything to do with it.) In other words, my computer will be back NOT UNTIL FOREVER. Or, okay, not until December 16, which...do you know how long that is? It's like waiting for my birthday and Christmas at the same time! Which, actually, is already like waiting for my birthday and Christmas at the same time (December 22, y'all - gift me) so...it's like waiting for my birthday and Christmas and Bastille Day, all at the same time. Darn you, slow passage of time! Why must your dark pendulum swing to and fro at its leaden pace, slicing deeper into my soul with every beat?

Wait, what? See, my brain's all not right and stuff. By which I'm referring less to the bad poetry than I am to the fact that I even hypotheticalled that I could get two girls to have to hide from each other, let alone the first. Or an orangutan! As if!

ARGH.

Pa Rum Pum Pum Blech.

2005-11-30T13:35:00.000-05:00

Well, it’s beginning to sound a lot like Christmas, by which I’m not referring to my complaining that I have to switch the fuse on again, the lights (uh, in my room, alone) having once more blown out half the house, but to the fact that, when you walk around the mall, it’s all “Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” and you’re like, am I supposed to be skipping around with a box of garland streaming behind me, right now, because part of me suddenly feels guilty for walking regular. And how, when you turn on the radio, you have a 75% better chance of hearing either Hanson or ‘N Sync than you do any other time of the year – that you’re not in a room with me. (I’m just kidding! I hate ‘N Sync!) Yep, kind of like how summer sometimes feels like reason enough to not not listen to Sugar Ray, people seem to take Christmas as a very good excuse to play some Very Bad Music.

I’m not saying all Christmas music is bad, or even a majority of it. And I’m not going to knock, like, Frosty or Rudolph, because if you ask me, people don’t sing enough about snowmen or…reindeer that double as headlights, these days. It’s just, with Christmas songs, they tend to stick half-a-year’s worth of play time into a two-month period, and they’re all sung by at least seven different artists, a fourth of which haven’t done anything since 1995, so it’s a very high concentration of bad. See, just because it’s December doesn’t mean that “Last Christmas” is suddenly a good song, or that you should put Wham! back into rotation at all, and the same goes for Savage Garden covering Wham! and, wait, is that Hilary Duff? It’s not a good song, you guys! Stop singing it! Play that Mariah Carey one, instead! Even the Grinch loves that song, and the Grinch hated Christmas, the whole Christmas season!

And the 12 Days of Christmas – unless you’re Relient K, I do not want to hear about ‘em. Once that starts up, you know you’re gonna be there for a while, and they just keep going down that list, and, twelve verses later, you’re still trying to figure out what half of these things are and why the French hens and turtle doves from days prior wouldn’t pretty much cancel out your need for one calling bird, let alone four of them. And your “true love gave to you," really? I bet he caught half those gifts in his backyard. Lords-a-leaping included. And if the 12 Days of Christmas isn’t bad enough, there’s the 1200 Song-Parodies Of The 12 Days Of Christmas – the first thing of Christmas that’s such a pain to me? Is your stupid song.

Or “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” which, actually, isn’t a bad song (aside from the title). Until you think about it, that is, and realize that there’s all manner of shady behavior going on, over there. Just face it, Anonymous Guy, the girl obviously doesn’t want to stay, and it’s real cute how you keep interrupting each other’s lines, like that, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re trying to pressure her into something that she totally doesn’t want to do. All things considered, it’s mostly creepy, especially when she gets to, “Say, what’s in this drink?” and you realize: this just isn’t going to end well. That’s not a Christmas song, that’s like one of those filmstrips they show you in middle school health class, where That ‘70s Dad offers to drive That ‘70s Babysitter home, and suddenly, he starts hitting on her in the car, and it’s disgusting, and we all learn to…walk home alone in the dark, instead of getting a ride, or something.

I could go on – there’s “Wonderful Christmas Time” (Did you ever notice how many lyrics that song has? Like, hardly any. And the ones it does have? Suck.) and “Holly Jolly Christmas” (oh, by golly…) and have you heard the other verses to “Jingle Bells?” But let’s cut to the worst Christmas song of them all. From the ‘80s, of course, when I guess it was a trend to write songs about Stuff That Mattered and then pile as many artists as you could into one room so they could sing with their eyes closed while wearing those giant headphones…ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I give you: “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” I hate “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” Let’s let the song explain for itself, shall we? Sample lyrics: “At Christmastime it's hard, but when you're having fun; There's a world outside your window, and it's a world of dread and fear…and the Christmas bells that ring there, are the clanging chimes of doom; Well tonight thank God it's them instead of you!” Just...come ON! First of all, Edgar-Allen-Poe, much? And secondly, I understand things aren’t the best, outside my window, and that kids in Africa would enjoy my leftovers, and I’m all for “feeding the world,” but…I just don’t think Christmas songs are supposed to sound so much like the news. And, by the way, just because you’re singing about Christmas and world hunger at the same time doesn’t mean you get to write whatever-the-heck you want, and we’ll just grab our (now guilt-laden) hot cocoa and sing along, okay? So stop that, pop stars of the eighties.

Then again...at least the Pound Puppies aren’t barking it. Which: Yikes.

P.S. I Googled 'NSync, just to make sure I was putting the apostrophe in the right place and...not that I didn't notice it years ago, but my gosh, what a stupid name for a band.

Say "Tofurky!"

2005-11-23T13:15:00.000-05:00

Yes. There's only one day until Thanksgiving, which means that, on a scale of one-to-excited, I'm dressed up as a turkey right now. Because the great thing about Thanksgiving is that, like most holidays, it's all about eating (the exception being Christmas, which – in order – is all about Jesus, presents and matching pajamas. Wait, what?), but unlike most holidays, Thanksgiving doesn’t really pretend to be about anything else (like, who do you think you’re fooling, “Independence” Day, you’re just another excuse to eat hamburgers – not that we should need one). Sure, there’s the business of “giving thanks,” but, c’mon, what are we mostly being thankful for? That’s right: Stuffing.

Then again, Thanksgiving is about some other things. I mean, not to get all Tevye on you, but there is the matter of tradition. Like, tomorrow, I’ll continue the once-a-year tradition of waking up early expressly to watch a Roker-hosted event, followed by the traditions of wondering when they’re ever going to pull the “Ask Jeeves” balloon out of rotation, breaking out the Christmas music (which has a way of getting some pretty suspect artists onto the iPod, every year), saying, “Okay, this is the last thing I’m eating until dinner,” about once every half-hour, sitting at the “kids” table and loving it, trying both cranberry sauce and asparagus – again – deciding that I still don’t like cranberry sauce or asparagus – again – avoiding tomato juice altogether (Because that? Is just gross.), and being in the presence of more kinds-of-pie in one room than I knew was possible outside of a Smith-family reunion.

And I guess Thanksgiving is also about pilgrims, though weirdly, you kind of stop hearing about that after grade school. And, last but certainly not least, it’s also a great excuse to break out Pieces of April (an awesome Thanksgiving movie, even if Katie Holmes has kind of ruined Katie Holmes for me) and, even better, the OC: Season One DVDs, to watch what is one of the best episodes ever. Hey, you celebrate your way, I’ll celebrate…with the Cohens.

Oh, and in a preemptive strike against what I’m guessing we’ll be seeing a lot of, tomorrow morning: Shut up, commercials for Rent. I mean, nothing against Rent, which I’ve never seen nor heard nor know anything about outside of that one song with all the counting that reminds me of Thanksgiving, but those commercials are just a little…too much, what with all the fireworks and the twirling in the streets and the “Baby – we’re the lucky ones.” It’s like, I know you’re in the East Village of New York City struggling with life, love, AIDS, and the impacts they have on America, but could you be a little less exhausting about it?

Then again, you're probably wondering why I don't just Tivo through those, but...let's forget about that bit of continuity for the sake of the plotline, okay? Good plan.

What's a spork?

2005-11-18T13:43:00.000-05:00

OH MY GOSH READ THIS.

Now, don’t you wish you didn’t?

While real-life examples are pretty slim (until now – UGH), as a slow-motion replay of my reaction to certain scenes of Buffy and Kill Bill will tell you, I hate eyeball violence. I mean, if we’re talking fiction here, I can deal with on-screen injections, amputations (otherwise I wouldn’t have made it through four seasons of 24 – “There’s another terrorist attack!” “Did you try cutting your arm off?” “Good plan! Quick, where are the lefty scissors?!”) and anything Se7en wants to throw at me, without looking away. But let’s say Marshall just accidentally killed the guy who was supposed to get him to some very important files, and those files are blocked by a retinal scan, and now Marshall’s gotta think quick and improvise, because they can still use this guy’s eyes if only our hero can find some tool or something. Now read the quote I used to title this post and try to guess what Marshall did, in what was probably the funniest yet most disgusting episode of Alias, ever. Yes – there was prying.

It’s that “ugh, imagine what that would feel like – NO DON’T – BUT I ALREADY AM!” kind of gross.

And another thing: Why do these types of stories get filed under the “Peculiar Postings” section of the news, all the time? Because there’s a difference between “peculiar” and “horrific,” and I just think that headlines like “Seal bites off woman’s nose” or “Suicide victim mistaken for Halloween decoration” look kind of weird lodged in-between “Woman stuffs bra with stolen parrot” and, ya know, “Now there’s salmon-flavored soda.”

Which, actually, might have eyeball violence beat in the “yuck” department. On second thought, no, because: She stepped on it! It made a squish sound!

Not That I Don't Love Pin-The-Tail-On-The-Aardvark...

2005-11-16T19:24:00.000-05:00

But this makes me happier than your birthday.

Now kids in Tokyo can know learn how much I suck at Rainbow Road.

Daniel and Rupert, Let's Be Friends!

2005-11-15T13:56:00.000-05:00

I love New York (I’ve got the t-shirt to prove it) – really, I’ll jump at any excuse to go (It’s a weekend – let’s go to the city! It’s Lincoln’s birthday – let’s go to the city! I saw a tree – let’s go to the city!). So, the new Harry Potter movie was having its big-US-premiere-thing, over the weekend (yeah, that’s where this is heading), and, well, we weren’t not curious about what that kind of thing looked like (if by “that kind of thing” you mean Hermione-in-person, because omg!1!!11!!! KIDDING.) And so, we decided on a Saturday in the city (“we” meaning “me and those-who-I-won't-drag-into-this-since-they-didn’t-sign-the-papers”). And what did that kind of thing look like? (I love parentheses.)

Well, you know those videos they always show of Beatles fans way-back-when, with the screaming and the trembling and then some girl always faints, who’s probably wearing glasses, and must be at least a little bit embarrassed that it was caught on film, these days? (“I just…didn’t eat breakfast that morning! I was screaming ‘Ringo Starr-vation.’ It’s a disease – here, have a wristband!”) Yeah, it looked kind of like that, except with less cardigan sweaters. An entire block, packed. People brought chairs. There were signs. It was weird. And awesome. Except for the news cameras, which were less awesome, because we’re not like them, I swear! We just went because it was there! We were there in the third-person! I haven’t worn my Gryffindor scarf in weeks, at least!

Oh, and then – being in the minority, gender-wise and also clearly incapable of doing whatever it is normal people do on a Saturday (not that I’m complaning – mine are way better) – I saw the inside of The American Girl Store, which, I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a place full of little girls who are all carrying smaller, more-lifeless little girls, the soulless eyes of which bob up and down at you while you slowly realize that the men’s-room-to-ladies’-room ratio in that building is seriously out-of-whack, but…well, I don’t like judging things that clearly aren’t made for me in the first place, but yeah.

Also: The big tree is almost up, the skating rink is already packed and slippery and slapsticky as ever, and I got proposed to on a street corner – NO – I got proposed next to on a street corner. I have got to stop forgetting the most important words in things. And then typing another sentence instead of just backspacing, which would seem like the most logical way to correct that kind of mistake…

I'd Rather Stick Anchovies In My Ears.

2005-11-12T22:32:00.000-05:00

And…I have a blog. I have a blog? See, I didn’t want one, exactly, but then I do enjoy the writing, and every book I read about the writing (which I hate doing, by the way, because how much how-to can you take before you’re just putting off doing the thing, yourself?) tells me to keep a journal, and, well, I hate journals. (No offense to Doug Funnie. Or Anne Frank. You both rock in your own extremely dissimilar ways.) Because, here’s the thing with journals - you sit there with your big, blank marble notebook, or one of those – ugh – leather-bound deals with the ribbon-for-a-bookmark thing, and suddenly, it’s like you have to put something Important down, which leads to all kinds of over-thinking, which leads to uncalled-for self-pity, which leads to overly-dramatic accounts of, like, your trip to the supermarket the other day (“They had these new honey-barbeque potato chips. And I felt so…alone.”) And none of it sounds like you at all, and you end up finding it in a box in five years, wondering, “Who is this unhappy boy and why is he using so many Thesaurus words?”

So anyway, I was like, fine, Books, I’ll sit here and start a kind-of-journal as long as you promise to shut up about “the canvas of my mind” or whatever. Which they didn’t. So I burned them. And then I gave in and made a blog, just like all the cool kids are doing these days (at least, that’s what some old guy on the news told me, about six months ago – “short for ‘web-log,’ blog fever is sweeping the nation - just like custodians, but trendier!”)

And besides, not doing something just because everyone else is doing it almost as bad as doing something because everyone else is doing it (unless that thing is, like, drugs – because, if I remember my Saturday morning public-service-announcements correctly, drugs make you mean to everybody, like a monster!) (And, great, three paragraphs in and I’m already making less sense than a typical episode of Supernatural. Which makes. No. Sense.) And besides besides, I know you were looking for something else to pretend to care about. And besides all that, even - at least it’s not a podcast (“Welcome to this week’s installment of Omigosh, Do I Really Sound Like That??”).

Right, so, we’ll see how this goes. Maybe I'll always write this much. Maybe sometimes I'll write less, and you could actually move on with your day. Maybe I’ll become a world-wide-phenomenon, with people flocking from all over to see what I ate for dinner last night or how I feel about that stupid Wal-Mart commercial where the woman is decorating her place for Christmas, and then we zoom out to see she’s in a mobile home that’s going around what looks like a bit of a sharp turn, and I’m like, lady, you just lit candles in there, that doesn’t seem too smart! And then you'll comment, like, "Nobody knows what's happening when you talk, Matt."

All I know is, if I ever start up with that “I hate my life, now sit back as I express my pain through this Dashboard Confessional lyric and a haiku about my cat” business, I grant you full permission to come to my house and kick me. Hard.