i wish i were anne hathaway

i just realized, i think, i think i haven't blacked out in 2009. even if that's not completely true, i know i haven't in a long time. now that i've gotten into a slight routine again in chicago, i probably drink most days, but only a few, or one, which i had a hard time doing in the past. i had 5 pints and a shot last night, and i was good; after seeing a show at quenchers i went home and didn't finish the torpedo ipa in the fridge, or hit the garbage vodka. (i know, 'garbage vodka' could use some explanation, but that deserves it's very own blog entry, which i will do sometime soon). i feel good now, and am ready for a long day at work. i'm doing a demo at the south loop whole foods, biking there because the weather is lovingly overcast, and then closing up the handlebar before opening it on sunday and hopefully hanging out with keith whilst attending the division street musicfest. nonetheless.

this may just be the year of the white-out.

cubs are losing in the 7th

this is an email to dani, subject of "life", body as follows:

"i think i've spent the last many years thinking i know what sex is, and what communication is, and i really don't. thanks for understanding. i texted kathy (woman who traded me for the this american life ticket) and said thanks for the offer, but i'm now watching it on tv, and i was with friends. she responded with:

"Hey, no problem! i tried everyone i could think of. turned out that my prom date's little brother & his friends...i went to prom in 1991. Ha!"

due to the lack of cohesion and punctuation, i assume she's as drunk as i am. at least. but i got the point, right? funny connection, though. you are sweet to say what you said. quenchers on friday? xo,

matt"

quotes within quotes get lost in translation.

Green Airplanes

I spent all day yesterday working for upton's naturals; did i mention i love that company? i helped them to set up for the chicago greenfest at navy pier, and i'd love to be working there this weekend but, instead, i'm off to arizona, soon. phoenix on saturday, or tucson, then wedding in tucson on sunday, caleb, a friend from high school and early college. monday morning we're all going from flagstaff to the creek and you (yes, YOU) should fucking go, too. prescott on monday afternoon and night, then flying back on tuesday. get to see the winders, too. i'm so happy about that. live in chicago. though.

on a lighter note of internet conversation:
1) when did beeteedubs as a BTW replacement become so fucking widespread??? fuck
2) russ coined "chillaxitude" as yet another modern meme, so please look for it in this weeks episode of 'saturday night live'
3) the 'teamster 2-hand' in regards to hand-jobs
4) blogs as conduit for social wankery

thus lost

did not type much last few days, been working and running, some going out, quite tired. all work and all play make matt something something. get lazy? don't mind if i do. still not typing much, but also recognizing the fact that i've given up the creative urge as of late. which is fine, but strange. i (maybe finally?) gave up a writing project i had with my friend/professor, a book that we never got published. good story, but not packaged well. we had large new yorker publishers looking at it, which is an awesome opportunity for a petite failure. i wrote the following on a train from tacoma to portland, and i don't know why. i will post it so that it is not lost forever into nothingness, but mostly to fill space because i don't feel like typing much else. perchance:

"My Study. Always a place of peace, despite the stack of things to be done that scatters my view of it. As a child, I’d wander into my father’s study, big and bold, dull cabinets with fancy archaic locks on drawers. I’d wonder at what was in there, pry little fingers into places they could get caught. The drawers would open and I would wander around, never understanding the drift of paper, it’s order, it’s sentiment. I grew up and took a slight pity on myself for now knowing all the meticulous symbols, though I’m sure the child wouldn’t want my pity. Perhaps.
As the cells of my body grew, cells still thinner than a sheet of letterhead, the ideas of “my study” grew and grew and grew, exponentially, until they fit neatly and securely into the box constructed by my father.
He was a stark and rigid man. He was on the heads-up side of the law. He would file things needlessly, receipts, trip ticks, memoirs. He had lost his father at a young age. He still hung onto things, which constituted the makeup of his study more than actual projects or things to do. I tried, consciously, to keep that opposite.
My study currently is filled with achievement. Hung on the wall or perched on my desk are frames, slices of wood that bring protection and importance to photos of my family, art that has been made in my name, book covers. The two portraits of humans are probably the most significant of my framed collection.
The first and slightly larger of the two is of me beside my family, wife Janet, twins Julianne and Trevor. Twins with matching severe peanut allergies. Twins who astound me daily, who came from indisputable odds. A woman who tore through my wreck of a life and my torrential divorce to ---"



from "a density of time and place"

i love art because it gives me a legitimate excuse to be poor and stupid

color coordination seems, to me, to be a function of either money or time. i've been told they equal each other anyways. jel contends (in theFREEhoudini mixtape, themselves) that one can buy their time, while he gets his for free. interesting. x's mark the spot; where holes once existed in drywall, dirt, pavement. you can take that as innuendo if you'd like, which is still an apt comparison on a couple levels, but it's not necessary and not what i meant. though either way is fine.
on phone conversations: white sails bring down eyelids, partially with wind power but mostly through wireless batteries. i try to look through the eyes, and my brain stutters to find completion of
ideas start to solidify, and find text through tips of fingers. what i'm trying to say is that i'm having troubles talking on the phone. i think radiation is getting to my brain, exponentially and temporally, permanently, 6 is a valid number. i'm trying asbestos i can! please keep time changes in pace, and I"LL L SEEP EVRR DAY UNTIL sUN WAKE UPp.
happy cinco de pink eye. 9i(mean)brtda. bra.
28 majic mumbler.

Entranced Significance of Sport

i worked 3 full days at handlebar (old/current restaurant i worked at) and it felt great to work hard and have a drink and meal afterward. it's pretty ridiculous how this kind of work is frowned upon by my resumé, volunteered civility and 'professionalism'. i may very well do this for the rest of my (life?). i also got drunk on saturday, watched the bulls lose after biking to a bar that was quite north. i still bike without a helmet, and it seems pretty dangerous, but i really have no vision of ever getting in an accident. i feel as if there is a force field around me (everybody needs an angel? what the fuck is that?). stupid.

i watched baseball, and might do the same at wrigley tonight. i played bags (aka cornhole) last night at archies neighborhood bar (iowa/rockwell) and kicked the shit! it's the midwestern version of horseshoes i presume, so i had some shit-kicking experience already. up by one and 4 points from winning, i had 2 throws left. i threw the first one on the box for one point, and then the second one. the second one. as i released it, i said "and here's for the game..." and got it in the hole, for 3 points, making an even 21 and win for me and my teammate (kyle casey). apparently they were still talking about it at the bar after i left. maybe i have a gift for bags?

fuck. i need to start making music again, and write songs about how i have to stop supporting sports by the minute, so that i don't die a douche in the moment.

Pour Me

growing up in a stable middle class environment, i've always found comfort in being poor (relatively) and seeking to be humble through minimal needs or possessions. a 'grass-is-greener' approach, which works opposite for some (like elvis, who grew up poor and always needed to put out that he was well off in order to escape that initial stature). however, almost daily i get the tinge to finally start making money, have nice things, save for the future. it's usually drowned by a few cups of coffee or a nice run, but what if my food stamps gave out (or, god forbid, my running legs) and i couldn't get roasted beans or a high in humboldt park? if i had $500, i already know exactly how i would spend it:

a new pair of 'expensive' pants; a nice collared shirt that actually fits me, for white collar purposes; a fender for my bike so i don't get as wet when it rains; a large thing of orange juice; a start to saving for car insurance, and; pay off more than the minimum payment on my credit card.

pipe dreams for now, but i'll look back on this in 6 weeks or so and see if i've accomplished anything. right now i'm happy for one reason, and it was what caused thought that led to this blog- there's a freshly washed and fluffy towel on the bathroom floor waiting for my feet after i shower today. as i sat in the bathroom, i set my coffee on it a few times, making rings of indentation into the fabric. *sigh* i love that.