I'm watching Eminem perform his new single on SNL and I can't believe he's actually using a teleprompter and a trackback. Now that's entertainment -- watching a so called rhythmic thug read his own song and still occasionally miss a syllable while the vocal mysteriously continues. This just one week after Ashley Simpson missed her cue to sing along with her own track... Worthless.
Bustin' up cube pimps since '70...
If you are a Kerry supporter, get and vote pronto! Consider this article: "Why Conflicted Voters Will Go for Bush".
I'm sitting on the Northbound connector - rockin' the Hyundai. I'm surfing morning shows, squinting into another late morning, on auto-pilot. Toucher, that douchebag, is on the radio occupying my headspace like a pair of wet jeans under the covers. "And now the latest from U2, Vertigo"... Uno, dos, tres, catorce.
I am in an arena, rows away from the left corner of the stage near The Edge. I'm wearing ripped jeans, a white t-shirt and I have the volume of a thousand unfullfilled men coming up out of my throat. I am a revolutionary, and I am coming up out of the masses. "Uno dos tres catorce. Uno dos tres catorce. UNO DOS TRES CATORCE" I am a sonic Che, complete with mustache, and I will overcome oppression.
I am heard. The blue lensed singer reaches down to a pop-politic comrade and I ride the shoulders of thick yellow shirted men into the light. "Your head can't rule your heart.." I am possesed. I am resolute against the light and staring across a sea of jealous discontent, my volume on 11, hurling lyrics to the rafters, "..of ink with gold, these boys play rock and roll..."
I swagger to the mic, forehead to forehead with Bono, and with large, pulsating rock and roll neck veins in full coil, I bend in back-arching euphoria. "Hello, hello!
"Feel-ee-eeell."
LURCH. The house lights melt into brakelights. I'm left here, on 4 wheels in a long line of industrial habit, in the sole company of Korean hi-fi speakers and cold toast, wondering how you write 'Feel' the way Bono sings it.
Welcome the newest roommate to Natasha's place....
Nat and I got up this morning and decided to try brunch at Cafe 458 on Edgewood. We were both pleasantly suprised to find out that all of the staff on the weekend are voluteers and that all proceeds go towards funding the Samaritan House. The Samaritan House of Atlanta supports homeless men and women in their efforts to achieve self-sufficiency in an atmosphere of dignity, accountability and trust.
The food was great (We shared the Biscuits and Gravy and the Pulled Pork Eggs Benedict...) Highly recommend stopping by for your next weekend brunch!
I got a sad email from my buddy Chris last night. His dog Verruca has not responded to cancer treatment and has to be put down. Verruca is one of the best dogs I have ever had the pleasure of hanging out with. She will be missed... Best Veruca memory: Summer 02 - Alligator Point, FL. Sitting in a submerged beach chair at the beach, the water up to my neck, and Veruca using me as a waypoint between the beach and Chris, who was another 50 yards out. Nothing like a Boxer/GreatDane mix sitting on your sunburnt head and shoulders...
The Faint just doesn't know how to dissapoint. I've seen them 5 times now, and they are still as amazing as always. Their latest effort, Wet From Birth, doesn't stray too far from the neo synth dance pop that was so infectious on Danse Macabre. Live, these Omaha boys explode from the first down beat, pulsing, dancing, jerking, and swaying all over the stage. I would say that's probably one of the things that keeps me coming back for more - there just aren't that many bands that MOVE as well as these guys do. Favorite songs of the night: Paranoia, Retro Career Melted, Agenda Suicide, and Drop Kick Punks.
Their multimedia projected behind the band was stunning in complexity and syncopation. I tried to deconstruct how they were controlling the cue for each song but it made my brain hurt unnecessary. And the fact that Flash was used to animate the snake and arm in the video work for Phone Call was pretty ingenious too. If they come to your neck of the woods, pay $15 and go get yer danse on!
Coming home from work after a long rainy day and finding your girlfriend asleep on the floor of the living room wrapped in white blanket, her new puppy asleep at her side, and the Beta Band gently echoing across the loft.
I dropped Blanca off to get her "in heat" machinery removed today. As such, I put her in her green polyurethane holding tank and got her ready for transport. As per usual, she assumed her sphinx like travel persona, closed her eyes to half slits and occasionally growled at me. Yes, growled. Such a happy kitty.
I picked her up today at 4:17. I don't know why I remember that, but I do, so I include that reference for your reading pleasure. On the trip home, I was mildly startled and somewhat disconcerted to see one feline eye pressed with conviction to the circular opening in her holding tank wall. This green, wildly dilated eye was darting back and forth like the Eye of Sauron after three lattes and a Krispy Kreme. I have expected to here a voice come out of the box saying "gimme some candy gimme some candy GIMME SOME CANDY!"
At home, I released her on the bed and she slithered (yes, slithered) out of the box and slinked around the bed like the Grinch around a tree. I don't know what kind of trip she was on, but after she fell off the bed onto her head (I know, my bad, but who knew cats could get THAT stoned) I confined her to a roomy crate in the bathroom where she could sleep it off.
I'm going to hide the Doritos, because that's a cat that will have the munchies hard core.
I was birthed, musically speaking, in front of an old stereo on the living room carpet of a two story house in Montevideo, Uruguay. Headphones vacuum pressed to the side of my head; the coiled umbilical cord from ear drum to stereo output; the light industrial sound "crrkkpllnkk" of the needle dropping to vinyl. It was there, in a Uruguayan dusk, where the waterfall of Brian Wilson's harmony washed over me and launched a thousand dreams of stardom.
His was my first love. I this love with me everywhere I went, albeit in silence. I was a Wilsonphile, and it was a pop culture cross to bear. No (at that time) I didn't like the beatles, I wasn't really into Iron Maiden or the Scorpions (although I wore their pins as sort of a passport visa into the middleschool killzone, where many a boy was bloodied for not knowing the lyrics to Number of the Beast) and I just wasn't that rock and roll in my musical development.
In 1985, my parents bought be the a video called "Beach Boys - an American Band". It was this videotape that gave me my first look at the darker more complex side of Brian Wilson. It was the first time I heard Surf's Up. It was the first time I saw Brian as anything other than the skinny, surfboard carrying posterboy from California. I became fascinated with this side of the BeachBoys, and over time, grew to appreciate Pet Sounds for the masterpiece it is. I read all the press about the greatest album Brian never released called Smile. I had cuts of Heroes and Villains and Good Vibrations. I would later debate bandmates on the influence the Beach Boys had on the Beatles and vice versa.
All of this came to a head for me on Saturday night. Brian Wilson, apparently resurrected from years of creative castration, rerecorded Smile in it's entirety and has been performing it around the world. I nabbed tickets for Natasha and I, and we got ourselves seated in the cold fall air of an outdoor amphitheatre. Brian and his band (19 members all of who seemed to be able to play every instrument) warmed up with some acapella versions of Beach Boys standards, and then played a set of Beach Boys / Brian Wilson tunes. Good, especially for devotee like myself, but a bit to sugary sweet for Natasha (who was giving me look as if to say "if you like this crap, you really ARE old..."). I started to panic, certainly it would be better than this. Tell me I haven't waited in vain for this moment of pop nirvana only to be distracted by the glow stick sales guy and a slightly off key version of Barbara Ann. Brian and Co. took a break, we the audience took a collected breath, and waited.
Upon return, Brian and Co. launched into Smile. It's hard to describe the clear distinction between Smile and EEBWHD (Everything Else Brian Wilson Has Done). Where EEBWHD is sweet and fun, Smile is a symphony of genius, manic mood swings, and instrumental bliss. To say I was blown away is too easy. I was blown apart; with all the little pieces of my sonic id caught up in the ripcurl of a sweeping orchestra. Heroes and Villians was Wonkwellian in scope. Surfs Up will be forever be my standard for pop ballad complexity. Hearing Good Vibrations in the context of Smile was an "a-ha" moment for me, sort of like seeing the Directors cut of The Abyss (I know, an obscure reference for most.) I snuck a glance or too at Nat, and I was pleased to see that she was having her own awakening to pop genius, manifested by a long series of softly repeated "wow"s.
As I left the amphitheatre, I hummed, "Hung velvet overtaken me / Dim chandelier awaken me / To a song dissolved in the dawn. The music hall a costly bow / The music all is lost for now /To a muted trumperter swan." Genius is a mysterious beauty.
Bet #1. 12:32 p.m.
During lunch, I wandered into Urban Outfitters, where to my surprise, I bought a blazer. I suppose I had a moment of blazer envy, because of my team mate John came in to work looking smart and ‘fall-ish’ in a very cool Burberryesque blazer. If it weren’t for my UO discount card (thanks Karen!) I might have passed this blazer by, but after a furtive look around to make sure my punk-rock conscience was on a smoke break, I slid my credit card to a stoned looking employee who sealed the deal. I took the blazer home, threw on a hipster tee, faded jeans, and brown boots, was quite pleased with myself. Not my normal look, but October appropriate and a safe bet.
Bet #2 6:15 p.m.
Natasha and I played the game all couples play. “Where do you want to eat?” “I don’t know. Where do you want to eat?” “I don’t care, you decide.” “I’m not particular, you decide.” “I chose last time.” “I don’t know. What part of town do you feel like going to?” “I don’t care, you’re driving.” And so on and so forth. After a few scintillating rounds of this, we decided we’d give Django a try.
Djangos was a good bet. “Named after Django Reinhardt, the influential jazz figure of Gypsy origins, Django is the meeting point of influences reaching to Asia, Latin America and North Africa with a distinct Mediterranean accent….” Blah blah blah. The place is downtown-artsy, has three levels including a bar, restaurant / art gallery, a deck, and a downstairs club. We decided to sample a bunch of appetizers including the calamari (great), the rock shrimp (good), the beef skewers (good), and the Lamb and Swiss pizza (yuck from me / good from Nat). All in all a decent dining experience, and I think I we got out of there for under $40.
(My favorite moment: As we left, I was accosted by a speed-walking-cracked-out-lifestyle-alternative-street-resident who, with a gaping toothless mouth smacking away at unidentifiable chunks of a sandwich, asked me, “you wanna tek me in der an buy me sum dinnah?” After declining his kind dinner invitation, he sped passed me into the restaurant, walked around in a quick circle and then speed-walked his way back out past me and further down Peachtree Street.)
Bet #3 8:15 p.m.
All was going well. I was enjoying the weight and style of a new blazer, I had a belly full of tasty dinner treats, and now my date and I were off to see a play called Killer Joe. Killer Joe is billed as a “thrilling black comedy that will leave you hoarse from guffawing, if you don't choke on the fried chicken first...”
The only thing ‘thrilling’ was the feel of theatre bleachers (built out of two by fours, string, and some loose plywood) swaying under the weight of a full audience. I was particularly thrilled to have no less than 5 patrons who all tipped the scales at 300 lbs+ sit in front and behind us. Thilling indeed. I was hoarse from guffawing, if ‘hoarse from guffawing’ means quiet with the occasional chuckle or ‘hmphh’ sound of an almost-chuckle. And it was a black comedy, if by ‘black’ you mean the lighting was near-dark a lot and ‘comedy’ in that there was a moment of full frontal male nudity. It wasn’t a total loss however. I was reminded how much I like the word ‘can’t’ pronounced ‘kaint’, an empty Pabst Blue Ribbon carton will work well as trash can, and that all good southerners know a bucket ‘o K Fry C is good for the soul.
Next time I'm invited to see a play about a pyschotic redneck assasin in a love triangle with a backwoods debutante and her trailer trash kin - all bets are off.
Nat's B-Day night at Lenny's.
Welcome, welcome. You probably just got my mass email announcing that I had changed my email address. Well, as you can see, I've also created a new website that will serve as your own private door into my head. Mi cabeza es su cabeza...
For those of you who have never seen or used a Blog, it's basically an online journal. The coolest feature on a blog is that the reader can actually respond to my posts, making the website even more dynamic and personal. I'm going to use my site to post on most everything in the world around me. For example: How funny is it that both of the candidates on the debate tonight are nearly orange skinned and wearing a red tie. They both lose the Fab Five vote.
You'll note the "Category" form on the right that will let you browse through my posts based on their respective categories. Some of the categories include "Hot Rocks" (Music), "Wanderlust" (My travels), and "Photo Albums" (yep, you guessed it). You get the idea.
I hope you check back here on a regular basis, read up, and sound off! I look forward to hearing from you!
~ Matt ~
Here are my pics from the Drive-Invasion in September 2004. <<click here>>
Here are the pics from my work trip to Melbourne, AUS. Click <<click here>>
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There are two sauces that I one day hope to have on tap in my custom built kitchen: Sonny's Sweet BBQ Sauce and Kraft Creamy Cumcumber Salad Dressing (which I'll post on another day...) Alas, I do not yet have either of these sauces on tap, so I went to lunch with Natasha at Sonny's yesterday. I ordered a rib sampler to go with my sauce dosing, and was quietly excited to learn that my mustache will hold the sauce flavor long after lunch ends! Furthering my silent, yet somewhat perverse euphoria, I noticed that you can buy sauce by the GALLON. I haven't quite worked out how to play off purchasing a two years supply of Sweet Sauce as prudent planning, so until then, I'm keeping the 'stache. On a related note, major props to my girlfriend for not acting as though as though I'm a complete freak. |
I am admittedly on the fence right now, and for the most part, frustrated in equal parts by both candidates. However, the debate tonight went a long way in restoring my belief in the ability to learn through debate. I'd much prefer to see the entire campaign as a series of debates that touched on specific issues at length.
Cheney was impressive. I've never seen someone who is heartbeat away from the presidency -- or a massive coronary -- look so legitimately authoritative. He looked completed calm, a true veteran in combat. I didn't see him flinch once. I'd hate to play poker with this guy. I thought his reflection on El Salvador was on point, and a good argument for the current's administration in Iraq. His willingness to speak his own view on same sex marraige, although in opposition to the President was admirable. The greatest takeaway I got from Cheney was the link to www.factcheck.org. I'll be doing a lot of reading here in the weeks to come!
Edwards on the other hand, was an exhibit of youthful energy, hope, and naivete, which is not necessarily a negative thing. I was really impressed with Edward's understanding of the economic toilet bowl that is our economy. I truly believe that Edwards/Kerry will fight more passionately for reduced healthcare, better education, and a stronger middle class.
So to date, I percieve my choices as follows: Elect Bush/Cheney and you will see them lead the nation through another 4 years of loss and bloodshed in Iraq, but in the end both Afghanistan and Iraq will assume the fulltime fight and sacrifice to maintain their gains and investment in democracy. I believe that they will get there, but at a high cost. I also believe that terrorists will think twice before flexing muscles when two old school junkyard dogs still wield the big stick that is the US military. However, elect Bush/Cheney and you'll see continue to see jobs outsourced, education struggle, and healthcare maintain the same if not increased costs.
Elect Kerry/Edwards and I think Iraq will become more sticky, and ultimately, an opportunity for the US to look even more incompetent. Any traction they gain in the diplomacy and mending fences with those who have called us out as imperialists will be lost in chaos that will ensue if we don't stay and finish what started out to do. It is an ugly, bitter hunch that I'm making, but it makes me hesitant to put them in charge of this task. On the other hand, if I do elect Kerry/Edwards I think that we will see rapid improvement in legislation that will protect my social security, better our homeland education system, increase the wealth and fiscal welfare of the middle class (mi familia!), and a decrease in partisanship.
So I'm left feeling like I'm being asked to vote to let our nations economy founder while we try to see our way through a war we should have never started (which also feels like the moral thing to do) or vote to increase our strength, wealth, and education at home and let the chips fall where they may.
Looking forward to the next debate.
Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye... Rock and roll is now in session. This is a record that has chest hair, chain smokes, always wears dark glasses, and turns the volume down for no one. Part Hendrix, part White Stripes, The Black Key's Rubber Factory LP is in regular rotation in mattLandia, thanks to a tip from DJ Light up in Saint Loooee. Good rock is so hard to find, so I've been drinking heavy from this well the past few days.
A few strokes of the keyboard reveal that this is an Akron, Ohio based band and that this is their third LP. Although the band's own website is decent, the fan site put together at blackkeys.net is easier to navigate and offers up a ton of good readin'. I've put a 20 second clip of one of my favorite tracks "Grown So Ugly" right here for the sonic voyeaur (click here). Be forewarned: like crack, one hit off the Black Keys and you'll be a droolin' fool, suckin' fumes off the nearest speaker.
I'm sitting on a flight between Metropolis #1 and Metropolis #2, staring at the tiny silver sack of baked dough alloted to seat 13D. Different carriers, different cities, different timezones; same silver sack. I'm quite convinced that at some time in the recent past, dark suited representatives from all the major airlines huddled together in the handicap bathroom stall of Starbucks and made a collective deal with the pretzel mafia to pimp dimebags of baked dough sticks. This dark alliance, known in law enforcement agencies as the SSS (Salty Stick Syndicate), operates without challenge in the friendsly skies. Without fail, every flight I take has at least one pusher, hustling the passengers in low whispers, "ey youse.. wanna a sack?".
I am a victim! I want justice! I seek damages! What does a brother have to do to get a bag of honey roasted peanuts?
Ok, who knew that setting up your own blog with no prior experience would be so difficult. I am Jonah, swallowed whole by the BLOG, waiting to be delivered back onto the safe shores of "whew-I'm-glad-that-is-finally-done-landia."
Welcome to Mattlandia (best pronounced in your best Ricardo Montalbaneque voice, e.g. "mattLANDIA!"), the static TV manifestation of my thoughts, ruminations, observations, complaints, rants, etc. on subjects including, but not limited to: me, my friends, transpacific hot towelettes, bands that you know and love, the boob tube, all things southern, my kick ass mustache, day work, night work, hot lovin', rawk-n-roll, mind melting prose, and all things fried with sugar on top.
So without further ado, and in the spirit MXC's General Lee, "Let's get it on."