Dust Bunnies

The Santa Close One

2011-12-08T01:33:00.001-06:00

As a de facto atheist, I find some general shame in using the word "spirit." But I believe in the spirit of Christmas. Friends doing favors they wouldn't usually, strangers exchanging good-hearted and genuine well wishes for each other, the thrill of stumbling on that perfect gift for your brother, and the stress of your extended family griping about your refusal of their invitation to spend the holiday with them but neglecting to realize your mom's side of the family embraces the idea of you bringing your boyfriend along, and maybe that's why, maybe you need to check yourself before you wreck yourself, and I hope conversations at Christmas dinner are neither interesting nor sophisticated, owing greatly to my absence.¹

But I'm not here to get personal. Let's talk Santa. Even though Santa stands for everything I hate about Christmas (and mind you, my hatred of the commercialization of Xmas is neither vapid nor pompous—I think it's reasonable to say that pepper spraying your consumer competition is taking Xmas greed a bit too far), the guy was always good to me. He got me an N64 that time I really needed one, and that Bat Cave action figure set was a blast for years, even though it was my brother's. Santa was not, however, good to my new friend Harry. Not at all.

Harry is eight-ish years old and the son of the kitchen manager at the restaurant where I'm a delivery driver. I met him for the first time yesterday after getting to work late and missing out on some hot cocoa the general manager had prepared for everyone. A managerial meeting was underway outside, so Harry and I were the only two in the restaurant.

"You got a favorite Christmas song?" I asked him as "Feliz Navidad" played on the Pandora Christmas station.

"No," he said, and continued to write his sentences.

"What about a favorite regular song?" I asked.

Again, "No."

He then stopped doing his homework and took from his pocket a sheet of paper that had been folded into a square some way that the corners were tucked back in, so it wouldn't unfold. He then tried to spin it on the tiled bar. It was a top. It didn't spin.

"Can you make this work?" he asked me. I didn't know anything about paper tops really. I said he should probably be doing his homework, or his mother would be angry. He was too upset to do his homework, he explained, because one of the managers had spilled hot cocoa all over his first attempt and he'd have to start it all over on a new sheet. I told him I knew how to make a fortune teller, and maybe that would be just as fun.

He didn't know what a fortune teller was. And then I got that irrational paranoid feeling you get, you know the one where you just started this new job and you don't know anybody there, and you're about to teach one of your co-worker's kids about paper fortune tellers, but you're acutely aware of the possibility that the family is a fundamentally and vehemently Baptist one that holds paper fortune tellers as instruments of Satanic worship? But you also don't want to say something like, "This is just for fun, and fortune telling isn't real," because what if the family is new-agey or if Great Aunt Lyla made her fortune telling fortunes or something? So when writing the possible fortunes down I tried to stay ultra light on the "predicting" aspect and instead wrote "Have a nice day," "You rock," "Study hard," and "Santa's watching."

Boy, did I fuck up on that last one.

"Pick a number," I said. The choices showing were 1, 2, 3, and 4.

"19," he said.

"No, one of the ones here."

"10." Come on, do kids not know numbers at age 8?

"1, 2, 3, or 4."

"Um, 4." And I do the fortune telling motion thing.

Now his choices are 5, 6, 9, and 10.

"4 again," he said.

"It doesn't work that way, stupid kid!" I said. I didn't really say that, but wouldn't that have been so mean? And funny later? He picked 10, and then he picked 12. And behind door 12 was "Santa's watching."

He seemed confused. Consequently, I became confused. "What's wrong?" I asked him. He had something to say, but was obviously nervous to say it, like he was about to hurt my feelings with whatever it was. He hopped off the stool and came around to the side of the bar that I was on, motioning for me to come down to his level so he could whisper to me.

"My mom said," he started. "Well, last year, Santa didn't bring me presents or eat the cookies I left for him."

"Oh," I said. Shit.

"Well, and last year when I was in kindergarten I woke up Christmas morning and my mom said she bought all my Christmas presents and that I had to eat all the cookies." My confusion grew... it seemed as though the kid still believed in Santa Claus but for some reason he understood that last year of all years, Santa took a break. And it couldn't have been a financial issue, because the kid still got presents. And what I got next was no answer, but instead the catalyst for quite a few more questions. "She said it was because Santa died."

I'm sorry. Excuse me?

"Oh!" Not gonna lie, I felt a little trapped. "Yeah, I heard about that, isn't that awful?" Isn't it awful to tell a kid that Santa died rather than never existed? Myself, I took it pretty hard when I found out about Santa. Cried and whatnot. But I cannot imagine how distraught I would've been if I heard he died. He was like my third grandpa.

"If you heard about it, why did you write that Santa's watching?"

Well, I thought. What do I say now? Something vague like his spirit is still around and I'm sure presents will continue to be given even if mothers and fathers have to take on the burden? Or something as simple as "I forgot?" There should be one single story that every person is instructed to go by whenever he or she is told the truth about Santa. When parents go around telling their kids Santa died and shit, that's asking for a bit of trauma down the road. Just a little.

I think I've proven myself fairly capable of avoiding discomfort. I'd say that's one of my most prized and most utilized skills. Call me an escapist. I don't care. Kids are the easiest people to distract, and I was not about to talk death of Santa with this one.

So I went with, "Hey, is that a lizard?!"

¹ Because it is most likely true that Dennis would not be welcome at my Dad's side's festivities, and because I am truly somewhat on the estranged end of things, but also because I do not actually harbor any resentment towards the Armatos, and because I am Facebook friends with a sizable majority of them, I'd like to establish that I am, in the referred paragraph, exaggerating for effect. Thank you.

America's Funny Man

2011-12-07T10:42:00.001-06:00

You know how when you meet celebrities you take particular care to not wig out on them, but you concentrate so hard on not spilling your irrational and unfounded love for them all over their finely pressed sweater vests that you end up not saying anything at all? And then you've lost the chance to say something so witty, so hysterical that the celebrity in question befriends you after taking you out for coffee, and pretty soon you're a celebrity yourself—nope, that ship has sailed.

Dennis, Chastity, and I went to a reading and book signing for David Sedaris's Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk, and I was determined—no, destined to make that guy laugh so hard he'd offer for he and Hugh to take Dennis and me out for dinner. He'd then carefully work with my on my writing, helping me to find a great agent and publisher, you know someone who "gets" my stuff. He'd praise me, and I'd be in awe of him, and they'd let us go stay with them at their home in England. Oh, how wonderful it was going to be. But I froze up.

Dennis spoke to him before I did. "Hi, thank you for asking a question," Mr. Sedaris said, as Dennis had asked something about a movie that had been rumored to be in the making, something about the Sedaris family. "Oh, no problem," he said.

"It was a very good one. What's your name?"

As he asked this question, he began drawing a picture of a knife on the title page of Dennis's book.

"Well, Dennis, this is a picture of the knife you used to stab the guy who took my computer."

He'd told the story earlier, something about when he was in Hawaii a couple weeks ago the house he stayed in was broken into, and his computer bag was stolen. Something about there being drugs in the computer bag? At any rate, there were stories on the computer he'd not backed up because, these are his words, "I didn't know you had to drag the files onto the little stick, I thought you just put the stick in and it backed it up for you." Oh, older generations. During the talk, Dennis had leaned over and whispered to me, "What a lucky thief!"

As Dennis said to Mr. Sedaris what he'd told me of the thief's luck, I thought about making fun of Mr. Sedaris's technological illiteracy for my One Joke That Would Change My Life, but then there was the possibility of offending him.

"And how long have you two been together?" Mr. Sedaris asked. It'll be two years at the end of February, so I said, "two years."

"No, no, it's not two years until the end of February," Dennis said. Yes, he was right, but you can't get corrected in front of a celebrity when you're trying to get them to give their fame to you! People with celebrity potential do not get corrected!

"Yes," I said, and shut up for a while. Mr. Sedaris finished the knife he was drawing for Dennis and moved onto my book.

"Who's this for?" he asked. I was confused by the question, because someone who worked at the book shop had gone down the line and asked each person specifically if they wanted a name in their copy or just a signature. Since Mr. Sedaris had very openly expressed his annoyance with people who nitpick about inscriptions in autographs, I said that I'd just like a signature.

"It's for me, I guess," I said. And I didn't mean it to come out this way, but if my voice weren't so deep, my intonation would have pegged me as a high school girl with a purse puppy.

"And your name is...?" Shit. He hated me. He loved Dennis and he hated me. He was gonna sweep my boyfriend away from me and convince him of what a terribly rude person I am, or at least write about me in such a light in one of his future stories. The picture he began to draw in my book was a face.

I told him my name.

"And you're in school?"

Yes, Loyola, English, digital media, that whole speech.

The face in the drawing was now connected by some sort of hose to what looked like wheels?

"Oh." And that's all he had to say.

No, no, not wheels. Balls. Testicles. He definitely just added pubic hair to the sketch.

"This," he said, "is a picture of you after you've been in a terrible accident, and all you have left is your head, so to help you regrow the rest of your body they graft that to your boyfriend's balls."

I looked at the picture and said, "Well those can't be his, he's got three."

Best things D-F

2011-12-07T03:24:00.000-06:00

D is for Danny DeVito at Dorignac's.

At dawn, I do declare that I did arise to drive to Dorignac's and drop Danny DeVito a line. He was drinking limoncello. All right, fuck this alliteration thing I said I was gonna do. Michael and Martin caused a ruckus, and this old man yelled at us and said he was gonna get security. So we were all, "Fuck you, old timer, you don't fucking own this place." Turns out he was Dorignac. Eh... so we're all banned from Dorignac's forever.

---2 Years Separate the Writing of "D" and the writing of "E"---

E is for Eurythmics.

The Eurythmics are the best because you can't help but love the shit out of "Sweet Dreams" even though you're super creeped out by Annie Lennox because when you were a young child her ambiguous gender had a subconscious psychological impact on you, causing you to question your sexual identity long before you knew the definitions of "sexual" or "identity."

Fable III

I had something written up about the Fibonacci sequence, and I was trying really hard to make it interesting, but I don't know anything about math really. Then I was gonna write about Fawlty Towers but realized I don't even like that show that much. But I do generally like John Cleese. And what's Cleese's most iconic role other than Basil Fawlty? That's right, Jasper the butler from Fable III for Xbox 360! Which is coincidentally the only video game I've played beginning to end in close to ten years. I'm a recovering game-aholic who's abstained since admitting to that, and I'm just now working responsible gaming back into my shattered life. Fable III was huge spiritual stepping stone, and I took that step. Congratulate me.

The Versus the World Tally

2011-12-07T02:00:00.001-06:00

About a year ago—perhaps because I'm an insecure, excuse-abusing, self-pitying scum beast, or perhaps because some part of me still believes that to be false and is desperate to prove it so to the rest of me—I began a blog project. Not just any blog project. This the vainest, whiniest, most negative subject matter I've ever had the (post hoc) shame of discussing. A year ago I began a tally of shitty things that happen to me.

I didn't keep up with it, because I just don't really do "keeping up" with things, but I'm here to bring it back. Hopefully in a more positive, productive light this time. Below is the full text of all documented points thus far in the competition. I'll carry on where I left off.

0-0
The world and I have been playing this game for 19 years, 9 months, 8 days, and 4 hours, and 29 minutes at the time of this writing. Only now have I begun to keep score.

I revoke all points I've scored on the grounds that they have not been properly documented. Of course, I also will assume the authority to revoke all points scored by the opposition on those same grounds.

Here we go. All tied up at zero. First to 1,000 wins.

Begin.

1-0
One points awarded to the world for the slowness of drying machines. I need my work shirt to not be wet anymore so I can go make the money.

2-0
Apparently, I'm the only one at my job who doesn't know how to open a bottle of wine.

I've recently begun a serving job. We've got an extensive wine collection. Four of my tables ordered bottles of wine today, and I had to open them, as a server does. So I'm griping about all this after work and everyone I tell the story to knows exactly how it's done. In this just a selection of common knowledge that I missed out on while growing up?

One of the ladies at one of my tables ended up taking the bottle from me and opening it herself. Oy.

2-1
After learning that I missed out on some wine opening knowledge, I bought two bottles. A chardonnay and a pinot grigiot. And with some helpful instruction from the bartender at work and from my roommates, I adequately and even gracefully opened those two bottles and drank them. A point goes to me.

2-2
Landed a job interview at a mighty nice movie theatre. Heading over there right now with my one year of movie theatre experience, a some Stalone confidence, and a little bit of scruff.

5-4
At last count, the score was 2-2.

I'm a waiter. Last night I lucked out with a full section! 2-3.

A full section of Europeans. Those folks don't tip. 3-3.

Oh, and they only spoke French. "Je voudrais du thé glacé." And I'm like, "Euh... glacé... I remember this from French II. Ice cream?" And they're like, "Oui, oui." "I'm sorry, we don't have ice cream. Nous n'avons pas de glace." "Non, non, pas 'glace.' J'ai dit 'thé glacé.' Iced tea." God dammit, say it in English the first time if you know how. Similar exchanges took place between me and each of the 36 francophones I served. 4-3.

After that annoying night of work, it was lovely to get completely hammered with my dear friends 4-4.

But that led to waking up five minutes after I was supposed to be in philosophy class. 5-4.

7-4
As stated earlier, I was late to my philosophy class. I usually skip that class. I went today because I thought it was a review day. It wasn't, I just had to sit through my fart of a teacher go on about William James and Soren Kierkegaard.

Please allow me a brief aside. Philosophy is the most useless discipline of the entire common curriculum. I understand that studying people's thoughts on life and justice and morality and god might be interesting, but I do not see what purpose this serves. I can read as much Marx or Plato as I want, but my ideas on those things are probably not going to change. And I think it's boring, too.

So the world gets a point because I thought I needed to go to class, but I didn't need to, and I ended up going anyway. 6-4.

But the world gets another point. After I got out of philosophy at 10:45, I waited around school for my 3:30 class. I found out at 3 that it was cancelled. 7-4.

7-5

It's been a year. We'll count that year as a time-out, because there's absolutely no way I can count all the points that the world and I each scored. So here' almost a year later, I declare the score to be 7-5.
This week I got my shit STRAIGHT. If I've ever said a word to you, you know that I cannot stand school. I honestly feel like I wouldn't care if I never owned property, worked in a coffee shop, and wrote blogs and poetry for the rest of my life. I'd have no credit, no spouse, no children, no money, and no responsibility.

That was how I used to think. Now I kind of see that I kind of like having responsibility. And how am I ever going to get the house I want if I don't own property? Even if I find it, the owners could stop renting it whenever they please. And I really do not want to work in customer service or any non-skilled profession because I hate manual labor, and I hate people. There, I said it.

I'm gonna teach English, y'all. At my high school. And write in the mean time. And English teachers need degrees. So I'm gonna get mine and quit griping about "Oh, but I work full time and go to school full time, and the other people in my classes are just doing well because their daddies pay for their food, booze, and Coach purses, and I'm .... I'm ... "

I can summarize my attitude for the past three years in five words: I don't give a shit. But now, I don't give a shit if I don't give a shit. I'm gonna give a shit. I'm gonna give plenty of shits.

7-6
I get a point for dressing as a cowboy and playing with some 0–3 year-olds at their Halloween party.And then for getting trashed at noon.And then for going to work at 4, trashed, and still performing well.And then for not going to the Seahorse Saloon, but staying in and watching Night of the Living Dead.

8-6
The world gets a point for my belligerent drunkenness last night on All Hallows' Eve. I had trouble finding my way back home, and according to Dennis, I was nearly hit by several cars as I biked down Esplanade, no fault of theirs.I had a great night, though, so I'll keep my head up high.

Bachelor's Degree

2011-10-27T04:13:00.001-05:00

Paper trophy—that
cuts that cuts that
cuts that cuts

that brands my XP
dry-skulled forehead
for what for what
for what for

that untuned urgent
grand piano
plucked a forte
'plauding crowds are
worth some lint
a bunny dusted mopped

that floor—all wood—
and dry skin cells a blank-
et trampoline.

Horned yarn swords believe
the sound.

Sonnet of Disenchantment

2011-10-27T04:12:00.000-05:00

This crown chakra’s pounding on
the doors, an unlit fire. The mind
matter match is struck, the strip
a brilliant liar—who wants to find

us as taped up boxes, “Fragile,”
stamped upon the package. Shipped
to destinations where, arrived,
batteries lacking. Ill-equipped

for proper, polite usage,
to the sewage with the rest. Tossed
into the fecal matter. The cost
of the pieces unassessed. Lost.

(But don’t fret, bro, we’re all foolish sheep.
Too dumb and tired—to fallow dreams.)

Hey, October

2011-10-27T04:10:00.002-05:00

So much for screenwriting, haven't done that since finishing That's Agape. I'm back to poetry after two long years. Feels good, but I wish I had the same passion for something like biology. Or law. Then I'd make money at some point in my life.

That's agape

2011-04-07T21:39:00.001-05:00

From Evernote:

That's agape

I reached the end of my first and definitely not my last feature length screenplay earlier this week. That's Agape is the title as of now. Universal said they'd buy it for $20,000 if they can change the title to Me Make Movie, but I would hate to lose my artistic integrity so early on.

I really enjoyed this eight month process. I think I've found a hobby i'm in love with that I'm also decent at. I therefore establish this journal in the name of my future endeavors in the field.

Best Things A-Z part TWO

2009-07-10T05:48:00.004-05:00

I did this in January-February of '08. I liked it. Here it is again, with different choices and a lousy attempt to make every entry alliterative.

A is for Anne-Louise.
Anne-Louise is the name of my white '99 Honda Passport. She's about to fall apart a bit, but I adore her. Admittedly, she's got a little vehicle arthritis, only allowing me to open from the passenger side. Although, that doesn't anger me. And the A/C doesn't work, but I can access air through the sunroof. And she ain't too atrocious at arriving at the destination I ask for. So A is for Anne-Louise.

B is for Bad, "Beat It," and "Billie Jean."
Ok, the letter B basically belongs to Michael Jackson. I can't decide if I want to bestow it upon Bad for "best Michael Jackson album" because it features "Bad," "Man in the Mirror," and "Smooth Criminal," or if I want to bring it to a tie between "Beat It" and "Billie Jean" for best Michael Jackson songs. No lie, Bad is the best MJ album, and the best MJ songs are "Smooth Criminal," "Beat It," and "Billie Jean." Believe it or not, I'm drawing a blank. Why bother? B is for Bad, "Beat It," and "Billie Jean."

C is for The Catcher in the Rye.
The Catcher in the Rye is the best book I've ever read for school. No competition. It caused me to completely change my perception of the cosmos. Can't begin to describe how carefully I chewed on that novel. Caufield can convey his thoughts like no character I've read before. And Salinger's crazy cool, too. So C is for The Catcher in the Rye.

2009-04-02T00:08:00.004-05:00

---why-------------did------
canal soot------leech onto---
a mix CD scratched by fear’s
-unclipped fingernails if---
---a faulty bloodpumper-----
------sweat the sweet--------
-------eye water to----------
--------compensate-----------
---------for the-------------
----------hands--------------
-----------hak---------------
------------e----------------
------------?---

We'll call this an experiment in imagism. You can thank William Carlos Williams for writing "The Red Wheelbarrow," Ryan Gallagher for having his sophomore English class read it, and an adorable little asshole for throwing the mix CD I made him into a canal. Cheers.

2009-02-26T00:41:00.000-06:00

Conversations with Ben Childress bring a smile to me face.

Matt
i dropped my phone in the toilet, and that's a little bothersome.

12:39amBen
that lovely lg chocolate thing?

12:39amMatt
the very same.

12:39amBen
i was wondering why you hadn't responded to any of my texts confessing my love to you

12:40amMatt
hmm. no, i got those before it broke.

12:40amBen
is that right

12:40amMatt
yeah. sorry.

Falling Easy

2009-02-10T00:28:00.004-06:00

To be read in one breath.

I can fall in love so easy like a
baby falls asleep so easy quick and

I can't feel my head it's spinning round a
round a carousel around like spinning
wheels and weaving wishes in to thread so

easy falling like a beat just pulsing
jazzing dancing feet I'm falling down but
speeding up and slowly passing out of

consciousness whene'er I smell the music
stepping techno over near me kind of

losing equilibrium but not from
any alcohol just spinning in my

head and kissing faces for a second's
time but not a second time just once and
only for a second but I hope for
seconds every second moment I am

pulsing falling spinning jazzing speeding
techno stepping easy weaving quick and
dancing losing passing kissing loving

learning I can fall in love so easy
fall in love so deep and easy.

Waiting

2009-02-06T01:21:00.000-06:00

Boy, you say, “For
ever is a long time.”
Longer than one
thousand longing
stares at you.

But
I can
stare. I can smile
small, you won’t
smell the melting
eyes just north of this
plaqued, pearled fort.

I can wait; on
drunk nights I
do
bitters.

Disappointment is a Shattered Tooth

2009-02-04T23:16:00.002-06:00

St. Apollonia is the patron saint of dentistry and toothaches. She was given this position mostly because before her execution, each of her teeth was individually ripped out or shattered. We have 32 teeth. By the 3rd, this process would likely become a little monotonous.

"But it never stops hurting."

(Paraphrased from John Green's An Abundance of Katherines)

In the words of Michael Jackson, "I'm bad!"

2009-01-21T22:03:00.004-06:00

My plan was brilliant. I'd written my note with nearly perfect mimicry of my mother's neat script: "Please allow Matthew to check out after 1st period. He isn't feeling very well, but he needs to take a calculus test. Thanks, J. Armato."

So I took my calculus test. The bell rings. The soundtrack to the movie of my life now includes this original piece that played in my head as I strutted out of there like I was the motherfucking man:

Tristan Smooth is looking cool.
I'm such a badass. I skipped school.

Nerment of the day: I skipped to go to the library to prepare for college auditions. I'm such a nerd!

I'm at the library, I check out some books, I'm doing great. I'm texting Dennis, and he and Chastity are getting something to eat, so I decide I'll go meet them for lunch. Then I get a text from my mom. "911 call me."

Well fuck. I knew she wouldn't expect me to call her in the middle of the school day, so I figure it's because she knows I've skipped. But how? My plan was so flawless. I reason that maybe Meme has gone into the hospital and I need to get Mikey and leave school so we can go see her. Well, I called Mom and... nope. My counselor, Mrs. Gomez, had called home to talk to me about the Student of the Year award that she had nominated me for. How disastrously ironic is that?

So I go back to school and have four long chats with 1. my counselor 2. my counselor and the disciplinarian 3. my mother and 4. my mother and my counselor. Collectively they've reasoned that I'm depressed and overworked and I need to slow down for like 2.5, so my disciplinarian-slash-English-teacher told me my homework for tonight was to "work on myself." Lovely.

I finished the Student of the Year paperwork, too. It would be such a good story to tell if I won the award. Is it bad that the only reason I want to win it is so I can tell how I skipped school and won the award the next day? Yes. Does that stop me? HAH!

Smooth

2009-01-20T22:49:00.004-06:00

I want an alter ego. He'll be the polar opposite of me in absolutely every aspect of his personality. Beyoncé has Sasha Fierce, so what's keeping me from having... Tristan Smooth?

When I'm the dumbass who waited until now to start really working on preparing for my college auditions, Tristan could take over. He'd know exactly how to go clubbing on a school night without Mama 1. finding out or 2. caring—but he'd time it just right so I'd get enough sleep and not miss a massive amount of school work. And when it's 2nd period and it's time for P.E., Tristan would surprise the fuck out of all those assholes who think theatre kids can't be athletic and pick me last (after the fat kids and the midgets); he'd shoot baskets and dribble and do all that fancy shit the Harlem Globetrotters do. And Tristan—good ol' Tristan—he'd know exactly how and when to let my boy-of-your-dreams know that I'm in no rush, that I'll wait as long as he needs me to. I am ... not Tristan Smooth.

Nerment of the day! (nerd + moment - dmo = nerment)
I went to the grocery store for cookie dough (just cookie dough) and made a batch so I could bring just one cookie to someone.

This is what I meant by "bittersweet."

2009-01-03T17:09:00.004-06:00

"Matt, are you drunk?" he asked me. The "he."

"Not yet, should I be?"

"Go for it."

"You just want to get me drunk so you can have your way with me, huh?"

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't."

Later, we were sitting in the circle playing spin the bottle. Hannah spun the bottle and it landed on him. He was the only one in the group who was in a committed relationship, so he'd previously decided that he was not going to play. Since he's gay, though, he said, "Whatever," and he and Hannah kissed.

He then spun and it landed on me. What a crazy random happenstance!

"It's his call," someone said. I told him I'd understand and not be offended. He chose not to kiss me.

Then he and Chastity began texting each other from across the room.

"You're sending Chastity secrets via text message, aren't you?" I asked him.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not."

"So now I know that when you answer like that, it means 'yes,' right?"

"You're good."

They both (he and Chastity) then had to pee at the same time. Chastity speaks very loudly when she's drunk. Not even trying to hear what they were saying (not even wanting to, even) I heard, "And I didn't know what to tell Matt other than, 'You're cute, you're single but he's happy with his boyfriend.'" He then said, "Yeah, I am." Wahmp wah.

"I heard y'all talking about me in the bathroom," I told him later. "I wasn't trying to, really, Chastity's just... loud, I guess."

"Oh damn. Did you hear what I said?"

"I heard you say you were happy with your boyfriend. I'm okay with that, I can get over that, and I just wanted to let you know that I'm totally cool with you not liking me." He pulled out his phone and began texting someone. I thought that was rude. I was sitting there pouring my heart out to him and he initiates a conversation with someone else. "I know you and your boyfriend are happy together, and I'd never want to come between you, but I also think it's fair for you to know how I feel."

I then got a text message. It was from him. "i totally like you. i told chastity i wish i was single."

Complications!!!

2008-12-27T14:07:00.001-06:00

Sunday School Musical: Not Your Ordinary High School. Really?

2008-12-23T09:06:00.000-06:00

Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people.

Eleanor Roosevelt

2008-12-14T09:20:00.003-06:00

"Ghost of a Chance"

2008-12-09T23:44:00.002-06:00

You see a man
trying to think.

You want to say
to everything:
Keep off! Give him room!
But you only watch,
terrified
the old consolations
will get him at last
like a fish
half-dead from flopping
and almost crawling
across the shingle
almost breathing
the raw, agonizing
air
till a wave
pulls it back blind into the triumphant
sea.

-Adrienne Rich

(Perhaps it is egotistical of me to think so, but I’m nearly convinced that every poem written after 1920 is about me.)

Lately I want to just be alone, but I never have time to do so because others are too busy asking me to divulge my most private thoughts and feelings. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, dear friend, but if you could allow me an hour of seclusion I may be able to figure it out, and both of us will be satisfied.” Whereas this poem speaks of a fish who (fish are people, too!) flops on the sand and gasps for water, I feel like I’m drowning in a monsoon of false worry. I’m not sure how recently I became a supporter of the theory of enlightened self-interest (maybe it was only upon reading this particular poem while in this particular mood that it finally dawned on me), but I’d say most of the people who bombard others with questions like “What’s wrong?” and “Can I help?” ask such questions primarily because of that respect or that “good feeling” they get when they sense that they’ve aided another human being.

I’ll flop and hope that big wave comes and takes me back to the sea where I can breathe a bit. If all goes well, nobody will attempt to just simply toss me back—I’ve seen fish tossed into the gulf that die upon impact if they hit the water at just the right angle. For someone who only wanted to help to unintentionally cause a much bigger problem—now that would be quite a misfortune.

Being Human: A How-To

2008-12-09T17:05:00.002-06:00

I can never get the clocks to say the same time. They’re always a bit different, always at least milliseconds off. It’s almost ridiculous. You would think they’d be able to eventually all start the day at the same moment. They should go off the same time every morning—two or three hundred alarms sounding at the same instant, down to the jiffy. Two clocks should get me where I need to be those same five minutes before I need to be there.

I guess it’s just always been that way, and I can’t do anything to change it or make it right. It needs to be exact, because who wants to get somewhere at the real 8:43 when your watch says 8:40? It’s totally illogical.

But how do I even know all the seconds are the same anyway? What’s a second? Yeah, one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, but what if you’re from Mississippi and you can say it fast, and I’m from Washington so I have to say it slow because I’m not used to it? Ask me to count twenty seconds and ask another guy to count twenty-one seconds, and we could end at the same time. He could finish before me, even. What if the guy who made my watch was from Washington so my seconds are slower? Even if he was from Mississippi, he could make a mistake.

Accuracy is a lie—nothing’s accurate. That’s why we have significant digits. It’s why π is just 3.14 and not 3.14592654 until the end, because there is no end, because it’s a guess because we can’t measure a perfect circle ’cause those don’t exist, and even if they did, how the heck would we measure it right? All the inches on a ruler are really a little different than all the other inches, because we can’t do anything perfect. Even our right hands are different sizes than their left hands, and God made those.

So what do we do? We can’t even draw the same line twice, and I can’t do even one straight line. You might be able to draw a straight line, but its really just looks straight and isn’t really straight. It has curves in it, and your pencil doesn’t have a perfect point because we don’t have perfect lines or perfect circles, which is why π is just 3.14.

This is how it works: we can’t do perfect stuff, because that’s impossible, but we need to be perfect anyway, so whenever your buddy or your sister or your cousin or your teacher doesn’t do something right, like really draws an oval instead of a circle or gets somewhere at 2:41:03 instead of 2:40:58, make sure you make fun of them. Get angry and yell at them. Just make them know they’re really, really bad at whatever they did, even if they were almost perfect but didn’t quite make it, because if you go skydiving and your parachute almost opens, the “almost” doesn’t matter—the parachute didn’t open, and you’re going to die. Make them sad and tell them the right way to do it like you think you can be perfect. You can’t, though, because nobody’s clock says the right time.

2008-12-06T18:14:00.003-06:00

I changed my layout back to what it was. I saved that newer one in case I want to go back to that one again.

I also said good-bye to my old blog title. I named this blog "Two or More Days from a Weirdo's Perspective" in May of 2005. While I'm not any less weird, I just felt it was time for a change. So here we are, with "i'm belly-up, mouthing lyrics to dust-bunnies:" which I like worlds more. And yes, it ends with a colon, or I'd not be quoting the source accurately.

-----

Your tongue forged acoustic sugar,
and it's still singing in my naive brain.
Your song's been dead for hours,
and I'm belly-up on the dance floor,
rewinding, then pausing when I spot
lips carving your love into mockery.

When you left the room, the world
followed your tongue's tune,
natural nicotine beguiling the foolish,
while I'm belly-up, mouthing lyrics to
dust-bunnies: "my girl scourged my
wooden shoulders with a velvet stare,
struck my cheek flesh, forced me
to my back on the dance floor, where
her marble eyes stole my airy head,

and we'd sung love for hours, before
our voices peeled, she snapped her lips
and dropped her voice, ran
through punch and dresses, balloons, wires.
Her sugarbaby held her like I hold this tune."

2008-12-04T23:28:00.001-06:00

wannadanta4sho: whats wrongs matthew
yogacelebrity: when i find out, i'll tell you

2008-11-28T18:25:00.001-06:00

I miss my lousy attempts at writing novels.

Nerddom

2008-11-26T02:15:00.002-06:00

When I was rearranging the coding of my new layout, I started reminiscing a bit about the good ole days when I made pretty website layouts all by myself. I edited the graphics, I wrote the CSS, I wrote the HTML, I picked all the hexadecimal color codes, etc. Those were good days. I was such a nerd!

No lie, I used to make website layouts for a free graphics site called DayDreamGraphics.com. People went to that website looking for pretty anime-based layouts to use on their own websites.

Here is my gallery on DDG. You have to be a member of the site to preview or download those layouts, so for those of you who really don't want to be bothered with registering there, I uploaded some of my favorite layouts to a Freewebs website.

So Lonesome

Butterfly

A Light that Never Goes Out

Don't Get Me Wrong

If you browse through those, you'll get a glimpse of me as a little middle-school kid trying to be a funny and cool webdesigner. Hah. For an entire year, I had my own domain name website to which I uploaded layouts and graphics for people to use. Nobody ever stumbled upon it. It was great, though, and I kept it up. My mom wouldn't pay for the re-registration of the domain name, though, so cajunity.com came to an end.

I'm thinking about buying a domain name again. This time maybe it'll just be something simple like mattarmato.com. I have no idea what I'd use it for, but it'd be smart to buy it now just in case I become famous. I don't want to eventually have to buy my own name from some little piece of trash teenager for thousands of dollars when I can do it for cheap now, right?

Neeeeeeew layout.

2008-11-24T00:48:00.002-06:00

It took me several decades to get this new layout to work the way I wanted it to. I'm satisfied. And because I spent that much time making it function correctly, I'm keeping this for quite a while.

Julia Nunes is lovely.

2008-11-17T16:39:00.004-06:00

Glitter and track spikes

2008-11-12T22:47:00.005-06:00

The other day, the Polish baker man at work told me, "When I wos your age, I wos fockin anotha new girl each night." He then inhaled a bit from his cigarette. I don't know what brand of cigarettes he buys, but I've recently been tempted to sneak a smoke whenever he leaves the little guy unattended. I haven't. "My school dere was a six hondred girls an like fifty boys, an all de otha boys had girlfriends or were little queers focken each otha, so I get de leftova."

I was a bit turned off when he mentioned the "queers." As you can probably imagine, the emphasis he placed on this word made it obvious that he regarded "queers" as inferior to people like him. Of course, every European thinks everybody else is inferior to him, so ... (I'm trying to write in opposition to generalizations and stereotypes. I'll stop there. No more European jokes. [Eurapoopin jokes are fair game though! (How Lame am I? [This needs to stop.] Tres lame.) Yeah I went there.] Whew.)

Later on, I was thinking to myself about how angry I am that most of the world makes generalizations about various groupings of people that I may happen to belong to. Not just gays but Americans, white people, Southerners, thespians, teenagers, internet-whores, actual whores, etc. I asked myself this question: "Why does the world force me to fit into these various molds?" Remember that question, it's important later.

My thoughts then drifted elsewhere. I very quickly made note of three things one after another after another: 1. I was wearing dirty, old, ripped Converse sneakers, 2. I had just told Ziggy the Polish baker man at work, "Yeah, dude," and 3. I was washing dishes in a restaurant kitchen. I thought, "Damn, I feel like such a boy."

Remember the question? "Why does the world force me to fit into these various molds?" The correct answer is as follows. It [the world] doesn't [force me to do that], and the question should be "Why do I allow the world to put me in these categories?" Yes, kids at school make jokes about how I'm the stereotypical gay kid coming to school with eyeliner he couldn't wash off from his show the night before. Yeah, people look straight at me whenever the phrase "interior design" is uttered. But do I do anything to stop it? No. In fact, I fuel it. It makes people laugh, so I play it up, and for two minutes I stop being Matt and start being the gay kid.

I wear Converse, say "dude," and wash dished. So I feel like a boy. And? Of course I feel like "such a boy." I am a boy. I frequently burst into song, but I'm a boy. I hold other boys' hands, but I'm a boy. I watch Project Runway, but I'm a boy. I also play World of Warcraft, and I love to go running, and I'm a beast at dodgeball, and I've made out with more girls than most of my "real guy" friends have.

So here's the deal. I'm done with being "the gay kid." I'm ready to be Matt 24/7.

This entry would be so much better if kids at school read it. Oh well.

Try, try again.

2008-11-11T23:05:00.004-06:00

I want to start keeping the promises I make to myself.

Today is November 11th. 11/11. I wonder if 11:11 wishes count for more today.

It shouldn't matter. I promised myself I'd stop making 11:11 wishes—any wishes, actually. Wishes don't come true for me. They just remind me of what (or whom, in some cases) I don't have.

It's 11:09. Wishing a bit more can't really hurt, can it?

11:10. A rational person would rely on himself rather than a time of day to make his wishes come true. Well, I sure as hell am not rational.

11:11. Wishing.

Whatever. I hope I never grow up.

Achieving Greatness via Mediocrity: A How-To

2008-11-10T22:31:00.003-06:00

The American Dream, as Fitzgerald describes it in The Great Gatsby, is primarily characterized by the acquisition and maintenance of material wealth. The means to achieve this wealth, especially in Jay Gatsby’s case, are of little importance; the ends matter most to the Fitzgerald-ean “American Dreamer.” Even if the general population aspires for this level of extreme luxury, the American Dream as perceived by Fitzgerald is certainly not applicable to each American’s individual dream, my own American Dream, for example. Gatsby’s American Dream is an adversary to my personal dream; I want the opposite of what other Americans expect me to want.

A classy mansion with a clean-cut lawn and trimmed hedges; a brick driveway directing visitors from the iron gates surrounding the estate up to the glass front doors which are always promptly opened by the butler; an expensive foreign car for every day of the week, each with leather interiors and glossy paint jobs; a caddy who drives me across the green behind the house to the golf course, where I frequently spend my weekday mornings; a never-empty house where parties last so long we forget when they started, but none of us care, so we continue to snack on small squares of cheese cake and sip on Patron—what a luxurious, respectable, stable, entirely unattractive lifestyle.

I’d hardly even consider myself a proper candidate for the aristocratic life. Even the middle-class life isn’t appropriate for someone of such low standards as me. I’m lowering the bar here. I can think of no life more appealing than the one that puts me residing in a small one-bedroom apartment in New York City with limited lighting and nothing but a refrigerator, a futon, and my loyal notebook computer, Klaus. I would wake up every morning and shower as well as the low water pressure would let me before bringing Klaus to the coffee shop on the corner and writing my quota for whatever novel I might be working on at the time. Then, of course, I’d take the subway to Times Square and clock in at the Virgin Megastore so I could restock the inventory and try my best to appease the customers’ every wish for nine or so hours before changing into my tights and sneakers and racing the three blocks to the Eugene O’Neill theatre for yet another probably unsuccessful audition. Not knowing whether or not I’d be able to pay that month’s rent would keep me moving through the days. The adventure of insecurity, the romance of unpredictability, and the danger of failure at any minute would drive me to a personal sense of success far better than any amount of wealth could, ever.

Rootless Tree

2008-10-20T01:40:00.006-05:00

I tweeted some of these lyrics, but it just wasn't enough.

Fuck you and all we've been through.
I said leave it, it's nothing to you,
And if you hate me,
Hate me so good that you can
Let me out,
'Cause it's hell when you're around.

2008-10-10T14:17:00.000-05:00

Sappy Metaphor Time!

2008-10-07T18:27:00.006-05:00

Those glasses are so me. Structured yet fun, plain yet sexy, not-straight yet satisfactory...and they get a little dirty every so often. I wear them because they look good. Well I mean, I wear them because I need to them to see perfectly, but I wear that specific pair because they looked better on me than any of the other pairs I tried on when I went to get them. I only really need to wear them when I'm driving or when I'm at school, and those used to be the only times I wore them. Eventually, though, I liked them so much, and I thought they looked so good, so much better than my plain ole face, that I started to wear them elsewhere. To rehearsal, around the house, at dinner, when I read, at parties. I only took them off to shower and sleep, so I was looking good all the damn time.

The glasses became less of a window for me eyes to see clearly through and more of a camouflage for others' perception of me to become clouded. Rather than making my literal vision better, they were making the rest of the world's figurative vision of me worse. I had begun to use them as a hiding place, a disguise. When I put those glasses on, I could shield myself against judgmental stares from classmates as my name was spoken over the announcements as "Drama club President Matt Armato." I could quickly turn my head in embarrassment and play it off as a trick of the light that had distracted me whenever somebody made a comment akin to, "Oh, of course the gay kid knows it's not 'Sax' but 'Saks Fifth Avenue.'" I could avoid eye contact with anybody I wanted to, whenever I wanted to, for whatever reason I wanted to. And best of all, these glasses were so damn big I could hide a huge portion of my less-than-attractive face and draw attention away my sperm whale ears and Mt. Rushmore nose.

Well, the other day, for some reason, I didn't have my glasses on. I was on the computer and they were bothering the bridge of my nose, so I took them off and put them on the table. Then I got up to go to the bathroom and glanced at myself in the mirror. I know I'd looked at myself without the glasses before, but I'd never really paid much attention to my reflection unless I was wearing those glasses. I guess that's because I was under the impression that without the glasses there was nothing special to see. The glasses had become the focus of my face. Nothing else really mattered. As long as I had those glasses, I was looking fine. Without them, I was nothing. Well this time, I took that glance in the mirror and had to almost remind myself that the handsome guy staring back was I. This was the first moment in all of my life that I'd ever thought of myself as physically attractive. I felt more honest, more confident than I had in times not too far in the past. I didn't need the glasses to be that confident, attractive person into whom I'd believed the glasses transformed me. I already was that confident, attractive person—the glasses were only keeping everybody from seeing me on a more honest, more intimate level.

This is my vow to not wear the glasses unless I need them for their intended purpose. I will wear them when I drive, when I'm in class, or when I'm seeing a play. That'll be it for the most part. If you catch me wearing them at other times, you are to follow these steps.

Remove them from my face.
Fold them and place them in my pocket or some other safe place.
Slap me. Good and hard.

I'm not kidding.

I encourage you to think about whether or not you have your own version of my glasses. Maybe you've always been and always will be your despectacled, honest self. Well, great. But maybe your own pair of glasses has given you a similar handicap. Take them off. Maybe you feel like your style of clothing makes you "who you are." Wear a "so not you" outfit. Do your hair a different way than you usually do. Go to Subway rather than Taco Bell. Pick up a book you've never heard of and read it in it's entirety. Change it up. Be yourself, but don't let the idea of "you" be defined by anything outside of ... YOU.

Sadfaceheart

2008-10-06T23:07:00.005-05:00

You consistently make me smile when you're around. Why does that make me cry when you're not around?

Screw the Siamese

2008-09-22T21:35:00.002-05:00

Me two months ago: I dunno, I just feel like with every other show I've done I've really gotten to know everybody really well. I just think since there are so many older people and since I've been missing rehearsals because of Pajama Game, that's not going to happen with Miss Saigon.

Me today: I MISS THOSE BITCHES. I fucking saw them yesterday and every day before that for the past two weeks or something crazy like that. I've never become so close to people so quickly. Seriously, I do not know what to do with myself. For as long as I can remember, I've gone to school, come home, and gone straight to Rivertown for rehearsal or call or whathaveyou.

Note to self: never feel like you can't be friends with somebody just because they are years (maybe even a decade) older than you.

I still have two more weekends with them, but these three days in between shows.... UGH IT'S KILLING ME. I want to laugh about how horrible Morning of the Dragon is, I want to sell my Thai prostitutes, I want to steal animal crackers from Tam's dressing room, I want to joke with Kaleb about the people we like to look at.

A dramatic representation of my current pressing issue.

2008-09-14T23:41:00.003-05:00

(Curtain up. MATT stands DSC.)

MATT: (To AUDIENCE)Some day I hope that something good happens to me. Yes, good things have happened to me. When this good thing happens, though, I want to recognize it before, for whatever reason, I ruin it.

AUDIENCE: (Unison)Whatever could he be talking about? What good thing hath he ruined?

MATT: I can hear you.

AUDIENCE: (Unison)Whatever could'st thou be talking about? What good thing hast thou ruined?

MATT: I'm not about to divulge my private life to the world in script form via the world wide web.

AUDIENCE: (Frenzied chatter) We won't tell! I want to help you! Say it's hypothetic!

MATT: Ugh. Fine.

AUDIENCE: (Cheers)

MATT: So hypothetically let's say there was this boy. And his name was Matt, which is my name, too. But that's okay, lots of people are named Matt, I mean there's SAINT Matt, there's Matt LeBlanc, there's Matt Hobbs, Matt Artigues, I mean it could be any of them really, don't just assume it's me because my name is also—

HAYLI: S'mores.

MATT: Sorry. Thanks, Hayli. So Matt meets this other boy who we'll call "Boy." Matt and Boy knew each other for a long time before they ever started to really be friends. Almost a year, really. But when they started to hang out together finally, it was pretty freaking awesome. Matt and Boy had all sorts of inside jokes about gay boys who were beating down that closet door and about some person they compared to a marathon this one time. And sometimes Matt and Boy would even sing songs from Dreamgirls together, and Matt would insist on singing "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going" in the same octave as the recording of Jennifer Hudson sang it. And it was really bad, but Matt and Boy didn't really care that it was bad because it was fun.

DIONNE: Matthew, could ya please wrap it up a bit? Allison's gotta go home and clean the kitchen.

ALLISON: Dionne!

MATT: I can help you do that.

TARA: No you can't, it's Allison's job.

ALLISON: Omigod, Tara!

MATT: And one day Matt and Boy sort of started spending a lot more alone time together and their friendship got a little more intimate than Matt had ever thought it might get. The funny thing is, Matt didn't really mind it. He had never really liked surprises and this relationship certainly was a surprise... but he liked it. It was weird, though, because part of Matt's brain really wanted to hug and kiss Boy but the other part of his brain just wanted to hang out with Boy and hug him only occasionally, like to say "Hello" and "Goodbye."

JODY: (Singing)What I'd give, what I'd dare, just to live on day out there!

JANIE: Haha.

MATT: This really ate at Matt for a little while. He didn't know what to do, because he knew Boy didn't have that dissent in his brain. Boy probably wouldn't have minded being just my friend—I mean Matt's friend, but Boy definitely wanted to do the kissing stuff more so than the friend stuff, whereas Matt, as has become the custom, didn't know what the hell he wanted.

ALEX: Poopsie! Poopsie!

TYLER: Oh my FUCKING God, Alex.

MATT: Hush, bitches. Here's what happened. Matt felt that he should probably make sure the whole relationship thing ended because he was not as invested in it as it seemed Boy was. Even though part of Matt wanted to be with Boy, there was still the part of him that thought he and Boy would be so much happier as friends. So, lest their friendship be threatened, Matt began to back away, and it slowly ended. It just sucks because that section of my brain that likes Boy is still here. And now I have to stop myself from holding his hand or whatever, because I would then be leading him on again.

Flashback to unrelated conversation

MATT: It's a hairflip. It's whatever.

BOY: But it really isn't, I mean it's gotta be something to somebody.

End flashback

MATT: That happened earlier today. And it's true. And it applies here. It's something to me.

(Exeunt)

Thoughts on a word: "remarkable"

2008-09-07T17:08:00.004-05:00

Think about the word "remarkable." How the hell did that word come to have the connotation it has? Think about what it actually means. Break it down. "Remark" + "able" = able to be remarked upon. The way we use it now is kind of like an understatement for effect when you think about what the word actually means.

Remarkable. We think incredible, amazing, magnificent, stupendous, extraordinary. But no, when you call something "remarkable" you only mean it's worth talking about. Underwear is worth talking about, especially if you find skid marks on them. Magnificent is not the first description that comes to mind when thinking about soiled undergarments.

2008-09-02T21:29:00.002-05:00

I know a lot more about current... issues... than anybody really thinks I do. I know quite a bit. It kind of sucks because I'm not "supposed" to know most of it. What am I going to do, call CNN and announce stuff to the world? I'm always the one everybody is keeping stuff from. I don't care about knowing gossip. I don't need to know everybody's secrets. What I DO care about is when people talk about how I "can't know" right in front of me... and then proceed to have secret conversations that only I'm not filled in on.

Who is Quasimodo?

I'm not talking about anything in particular here. Don't get your panties in a bunch, those of you whom I've talked to about this recently.

Now. New Topic.

Who the hell can I talk to about this new issue? Ummmm nobody. Thought so.

I think I'm gonna stop talking about issues to people. Doesn't get me anywhere.

P.S. I kind of hate that friends read this now. I used to be able to talk about anything on this blog, now I stop myself from including certain things. I should make a new one with different name and not tell anyone about it.

Three years ago.

2008-08-31T15:18:00.002-05:00

Three years ago today, I opened up a brand new notebook and began to document my time away from home due to Hurricane Katrina. That doesn't feel too long ago, everything since then has basically flown by. This is so much scarier than that was, though. Maybe because I know how horrible it can be. Katrina was catastrophic. They're saying Gustav will be far worse.

New Orleans cannot die. It is who I am, it is my home, it is my family, it is my history, it is my life. It cannot--WILL not be defeated by wind and rain. The only thing that could stop New Orleans from going on would be the loss of New Orleans spirit, and there is far too much of that for me to be worrying about whether or not New Orleans will go on.

Too many of my friends have told me that they will not be coming back to New Orleans if Gustav affects their homes in any way. I don't know how I would be able to handle that. My friends are my happiness. They've always been so accessible. If they are scattered all over the country (as they are now in their evacuative state) for any longer than this week that we're all away, I promise you I will not be able to function for months. I'm hopelessly dependent on them.

I know some of you read this. Keep in touch and keep safe. I'll see you guys at home in a few days I hope. I love you all.

2008-08-31T12:02:00.000-05:00

The three essential food groups for the evacuee: 7up, ham, and swiss cake rolls.

2008-08-28T20:56:00.000-05:00

Senior ring. :-)

An English assignment.

2008-08-28T00:27:00.003-05:00

This is lame of me. I had to write this poetry response for English class. It surprised me, I usually just do short, meaningless sentences for English assignments. I like this even if it's the most pessimistic thing I've ever written.

No, I do not need to be put on a suicide watch.

---

Randall Jarrell, "The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner"

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

---

Death is tough. When somebody we loves dies, a part of us dies as well. I think about everyone I’ve known who’s died and I regret not spending more time with them or learning more from them or giving them all the respect they deserved when alive. Something ironically easier to deal with though is the exponentially larger number of people who have died whom I did not know. Everybody who has ever lived in the history of the human race and who is not alive today is dead. What an obvious statement, but that’s a huge number of people. How many of these individuals’ deaths actually affected me? A small amount of them, I’d say.

Why limit it to humans? We’re so close to the other primates, and they’re close to the other mammals, and we’re all so close to the other vertebrates, and we’re all animals, right? And some animals are like bacteria, and some of those are like fungi and plants and protists. We’re all just organisms. Well, everything that’s ever lived is now dead. In this light, one death doesn’t seem too monumental. Oh, it’s dead, huh? Yeah, so is this other thing here. Oh and that one, too.

One death’s not so big a deal. Just hose the body away and get someone to come take its place at the gun turret. That guy will die, too, whether at the turret or in his bed forty years later. But everything dies. Does it really matter when?

Am I supposed to write stuff here sometimes?

2008-08-18T23:18:00.003-05:00

I'm not too sure of what I'm comfortable writing here anymore after one of my recent posts became the topic of some minor gossip.

Tyler and I are planning a surprise trip to Dani's new place of residence. And when I say "Tyler and I" I really mean that I'm planning it and I'm probably going to bring Tyler along because he and Dani are ... sort of friends, right? Am I right?

I've had only two days of school and it's already driving me insane. I only enjoy one of my classes, English V AP, and that's a bit of irony right there, my friends, because that's the class that's keeping me from going to NOCCA this year.

It sucks seeing the Brother Martin NOCCA kids leaving after 5th period and thinking, "I could be heading off to NOCCA right now, too, if this school cared a bit about my ambitions." Really, Brother Martin? After everything I've done for that school you would think allowing me to not take a fifth year of English (a year that isn't even required by the state in order for me to graduate) so that I can take a legitimate and incredibly beneficial step towards a career in musical theater would be no huge deal. If you thought that, you would be wrong.

Do I sound bitter?

Speaking of sounding bitter, I had to write a paragraph about my summer vacation. Mr. Mavor gave each of us a specific tone we were to convey in that paragraph. My tone was "caustic." Holy hell did I have fun with that essay. I vented like nobody's business. My classmates guessed the tone pretty accurately. The whole time as I was reading the essay people winced went "ouch" and such. I did well.

The Heat is On in Saigon

2008-08-13T16:20:00.002-05:00

So Pajama Game is over. I almost forgot that I'm in another show.

Musical theatre is boring right now. I feel like such an unknown among the rest of the cast of Miss Saigon because of how many rehearsals I missed due to the Pajama Game. I'm just sort of there.

I need to read my summer reading books. I told my English teacher today at orientation that I've read the books and he started trying to talk to me about them. I had no idea what we were talking about but I think he believed me.

Summer sucks because it's too short.

That's all.

Before another sunrise wakes me...

2008-08-11T17:32:00.004-05:00

How is it possible for one person to influence my moods, thoughts, and actions so much?

Dear ---,

You're not going to read this. Unless someone guesses that this is to you and decides to inform you of it. This is the only place I feel comfortable saying this, though. I can't talk to any individual person about it anymore, it's not something I want to bore anybody with more than I already have.

When I'm with you I feel like I could wrap my arms around your waist and hold you, dance with you, kiss you, whatever, and you would be okay with it. I sent you a text message that ended with, "I just had to tell someone," and you replied, "I'm glad you chose me." When I tell you goodbye our arms sort of linger in a hug for longer than what is normal. Whenever you and I make eye contact we both smile. It's almost as if I actually understand you.

But I don't. I'm just not enough for you. Or maybe I'm too much.

It makes me so happy that you and I can talk without a go-between like we used to. I finally feel like you and I are direct friends. We could hang out and it not be uncomfortable now that we've started talking to each other and not through someone else. As much as I don't want to ruin that, I want so much more than that. I think that was always the issue, that we didn't speak to each other. That's why it didn't work out before. I know this is just me being unrealistically hopeful, but since we've crossed that bridge, I don't understand what is keeping us from giving it another chance.

Fuck, I don't even know if you know that I feel like this still. I feel like I'm a fairly easy read, so I don't really know why you wouldn't. Even if you don't, though, I can't put it in words, that's not how I want it to be. If we have a second chance in store, I want us to just know. I don't want to have to say it.

Jody got me thinking.

2008-07-27T02:53:00.001-05:00

Thoughts, Feelings, Random, etc.: Another Rambler This is not really a response to what Jody said, it's just what I started to think as I read Jody's blog.

I have so many incoherent thoughts about these paragraphs, Jody. I am going to just start writing and maybe I'll stumble upon the words that I'm actually thinking. That's always difficult to do when I'm not actually thinking in words but in feelings, moods, and memories.

I used to have a set of people who I called my friends. (I'm not saying I don't have friends. I do. Facebook says 638 as of July 27th. And I feel no shame in including people like Andrew Keenan-Bolger and Autumn Hurlbert in that mix even though I've never met them. And 638 sounds a lot better than 636.) When anybody talked about friends in general, I had a select group of three or four people who came to mind. I loved that. I loved that I was part of a group, and that this group was incomplete without me. I loved that I would spend time with the very same people every single day. I loved that I knew there was always somebody to talk to or spend time with.

Well that eventually ended for some small reasons I've never really understood and one big reason that I completely understand and thoroughly regret. That's not the point, I'm over that and have (I think) reconciled with them. But I am nowhere near being as close to them as I used to.

I find many examples of friends like that. Currently, I wouldn't say I have a best friend, or even a selection of people who could tie as best friends. And everybody I've ever considered a best friend I've either grown apart from or angered immensely. Friendship just isn't my niche.

I'm socially awkward, everybody knows that. It used to be the reason people liked me. Because seriously, there's really nothing special about me other than that. I'm bad at telling stories, and people find that cute and funny. I am adorably insecure. Well great. People lose interest. They have lost interest in me. I'm no longer worth it, I guess, there just isn't enough to me. I'm still the naive, ditzy Matt, and that's apparently all I'll ever be seen as.

And then I think, "Fuck you, self. Stop complaining and grow a pair." So I'm now proud to be an individual. I float through social circles like Clay Aiken floats through sexual orientations. I'm not confined to one group of people anymore. I love this because I get to hang out with a wide variety of people. I also don't like it so much because I don't have that "most important person in my life."

I want to prove to myself and to the world that I don't need anybody, but the undeniable first step is making that a reality. Not needing anybody. Even if that were true, though, that I didn't need anybody, I would still want somebody. And this is where we find the dilemma.

I want someone to be close to. I'm not even talking romantically. I just want a best friend or a group of best friends. At the same time, I want to know that I won't lose my best friends, as I have lost so many. I needn't name them. So I can let myself get close to people and ultimately be disappointed (as my experience tells me would happen), or I can remain some ambiguous acquaintance and not risk losing the best things that have ever happened to me.

Squirrels Complete Insane Obstacle Course - Video

2008-07-23T14:06:00.000-05:00

Squirrels Complete Insane Obstacle Course - Video

Video speaks for itself.

2008-07-21T02:03:00.002-05:00

Words and I... we have a love/hate sort of relationship. I love words. I love words' power to appeal to all the senses and to emotions and to memories and thoughts and to a person's very essence. I love that words can move a person to do, feel, think, or say things he never would have done, felt, thought, or said. Words empower, persuade, frighten, embarrass, create, destroy, amuse, depress, describe.

In some instances, I am able to wield words fairly aptly. As far as fiction goes, I can write a thought-provoking, entertaining story. In poetry, I do not hesitate to boast, I'm something of a jedi knight. And I can create oh-so-clever Facebook statuses. (No, it isn't "stati.") Notice something those three have in common? Bingo, none of them matter.

The things that matter are things like friends, basic communication, job interviews, telephone etiquette, oral presentations. I can never describe how I feel to a friend without misusing some phrase. I hardly ever am able to recount a funny anecdote without getting sidetracked and caught up in the little details. I sweat and point out the flaws of my communication as I make said flaws. I never know if, when I answer the phone and the caller asks to speak to me, I should sound dumb and say, "This is him," or sound pretentious and say, "This is he." I hate that I cannot handle words in these ways.

Most of all, though, I hate that, while words can "empower, persuade, frighten, embarrass, create, destroy, amuse, depress, describe," they cannot force. If words could force ideas, my goodness, life would be so much easier. My heart would never be broken, I would never be without a friend, I would never feel discriminated or isolated, I could do whatever the hell I please, I could maybe for once feel comfortable and loved at the same time.

As I write that, though, I realize that if my words were to "force" anything or anybody to do, feel, think, or say something, that something would immediately, at the moment it began to exist, lose any value it may have had were it to have not been "forced."

Gee, those were some complicated verb tenses.

Notes to self:
1. Never give up a definite for a maybe.
2. Twitter is so good but sooooo bad.
3. Don't ever say anything you don't want absolutely everyone to know.
4. Get some sleep.

The Table for Six

2008-07-19T02:14:00.003-05:00

Nobody reads this blog, I've realized. But maybe people will start to thanks to this lovely collaboration channel that I'm now a part of! My excitement is not CONTAINABLE. If it weren't so far past my bed time, I might have some other, more interesting words. Alas, sleep has robbed from me that very ability. The one that lets me use words well, I mean. That one.

2008-07-04T12:04:00.000-05:00

2008-07-04T12:03:00.001-05:00

2008-05-29T23:06:00.000-05:00

Ashley Rose and I are at the premiere of Sex and the City. I don't know anything about this series. I just like midnight premieres!

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2008-05-29T14:35:00.000-05:00

City park. Twas a fun afternoon. We were very nearly arrested for trespassing in storyland.

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2008-05-29T14:28:00.000-05:00

School's out! Now what?

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2008-05-03T10:46:00.002-05:00

Those readers who know me may have realized that a large portion of all my time is spent thinking about how I think. I've always held that my thought process is a bit different than that of anyone else I know. I've never quite been able to describe it. Yesterday, I discovered a description for it. It isn't a complete description--it's a sort of category. I have to keep working on this description to make it complete.

I think musically. It's really a shame, because I don't play a musical instrument. I should try to start doing so. When I say I think musically I mean this: my thoughts are structured, but I have a large amount of space for creativity.

Ergh, I'd write more but I'm feeling very apathetic at the moment. Sorry.

2008-04-27T13:28:00.001-05:00

Mental

2008-04-24T22:43:00.002-05:00

I am NOT healthy. I am, at least recently (and for various lengths of time in the past), obsessing over one incredibly insignificant issue in my life. It is to such a degree that I am apathetic toward all other aspects of my life. There is an English paper that was due LAST Monday. That's Monday the 14th of April. It is now Thursday the 24th of April. I am so lucky my teacher is a pushover... it scares me, though, that I still have absolutely no desire to write this paper. And instead of writing this paper, I'm writing poetry about stupid things like love or lust or guilt. I need to fucking get over this.

Sorry for being vague and annoyingly depressing. I need to be vague to avoid embarrassing myself and others. I need to be annoyingly depressing to get all this shit out of my system and prepare for a long night of writing about the Scopes trial.

For Emily Webb of Grover's Corners

2008-04-23T17:18:00.000-05:00

Our conversations were mostly breaths,
impatient ones that feared the other’s
voice would ever split the tethers that
bound us in nervous, melting hope.

My little chair smiles and offers me the
motherly star who lets rivers chase
down the hills to raise wheat and rice
that my thirst and hunger may end.
My little chair smiles and begs me to
lie down and sleep when the sun leaves,
deny my tongue any more honey,

but I’d again trek through the blizzard
if I could start from the warmth of a
rooftop kiss that binds me in a sun
and sings to the storm ahead that I am
loved.

False alarm.

2008-04-18T00:20:00.000-05:00

Happiness gone.

Happy!!!!

2008-04-16T18:46:00.001-05:00

Very very happy to have a certain someone in my life.

Oh my Godspell

2008-04-13T11:55:00.003-05:00

Oh my God, it's Godspell! This picture is of me as John the Baptist/Judas in my school's Godspell preparing the way of the Lord. I'm also one of the three directors of the show. I am so proud of this show. It's been called the best show my school has ever done. I find myself connecting to this character more than I've connected to any other character I've ever played (which is scary, because he betrayed the alleged savior of the world).

Anyway, Godspell is almost over; I have one more show later today. I'm going to cry. I've never cried at the end of a show, but I just cannot imagine what my life will be like starting tomorrow. No rehearsal! No show! I'm going to miss this show and this character so much!

last Tuesday's abusive tempest

2008-04-09T17:17:00.000-05:00

You were a jump rope that I
whipped ‘round myself and skipped over, and
every time you beat the ground,
your stripes were scuffed with
watermud from last Tuesday’s
abusive tempest, during which did we
herd the toys into their boxes,
the toys that held your face with
plastic, stubborn, immobile arms that
held my waist before I spotted
one galactic tear in your unblinking eye,
your clenched fists, your active tongue,
and hid ‘neath the bed scratching on paper.

Hello, YouTube!

2008-03-23T12:18:00.002-05:00

I finally started making videos! I've always wanted to be one of those cool vlogger people, and now I am. Well, I'm not so sure about the "cool" part, but the "vlogger people" part is not debatable. Or perhaps it. All confusion and dissent aside, I've now begun uploading videos to YouTube. I love myself for it. Over to the right of this screen is a link to my YouTube channel.

I changed the URL of this blog from mattarmato.blogspot.com to earnestoscar.blogspot.com so I can be consisten with my YouTube name. That old URL, mattarmato.blogspot.com, is now the new URL of my writing blog, iDeas, which used to be mlob.blogspot.com.

YouTube channel
iDeas

2008-03-17T11:54:00.000-05:00

No more metal!

My teeth.

2008-03-16T20:23:00.002-05:00

These fucking metal bodies of unhappiness will be unglued from my teeth as soon as eleven o'clock tomorrow! I'm going to lick them and chew gum and eat popcorn and have a thoroughly enjoyable time. I wonder if bracelessness will make getting and keeping a girlfriend any easier? I've been told mid-kiss that braces don't work for kissing. Ouch.

I'm sorry.

2008-03-16T19:26:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry. If this applies to you, you should know so.

2008-03-11T17:17:00.000-05:00

Shine bright, little star.
Pucker up like you do
after you’ve tasted a citrus fruit or
before you let me kiss
your mouth of orange and vodka.

Let me kiss you sixteen times.
I’ll count like we counted stars.
I’ll name the kisses for what they are:
Slop, Smile, Heat, Truth…

We’ll name the stars as well.
I’ll refill your glass until
you’ve met every one.
Having met you, they will shine brighter.

We’ll lie with vodka and to each other
until the year is old
and we have watched the sky fires pop
and fall into the river.

I never mentioned my trip to New York.

2008-03-05T22:22:00.003-06:00

I went to New York with my two best friends (Allison and Darren) and Allison's mothers. That city was so full of life, I can't even explain. We saw seven shows: Spamalot, A Chorus Line, Is He Dead?, Spring Awakening, Young Frankenstein, Avenue Q, and Xanadu. Unfortunately, Allison, Tara, and Dionne were sick most of the trip. Darren and I had a grand ol' time roaming Times Square and 5th Avenue and Central Park and the Subway system and Marymount College and the Museum of Natural History. And we got to visit with some friends of ours who are at university in and around that great city. I wanted to STAY and never come back. Maybe sometimes I would've wanted to come back. But I want to live there and eat at the Amish Market on 9th and 49th (or somewhere close to there) every day and get an acai berry shake from Jamba Juice all the time and audition for shows and walk everywhere I go. I vow to do that.

Best things U-Z

2008-02-15T15:43:00.002-06:00

U

"Under Pressure": the best Queen song

V

Veruca Salt: the best Roald Dahl character

W

World of Warcraft: the best MMORPG

X

Xanadu: the best Broadway musical of the 2007-2008 season (calling it!)

Y

Ya'at'teeh: the best poem I've written

Z

Zelda: the best video game series

2008-02-14T23:42:00.002-06:00

"You will become as small as your controlling desire; as great as your dominant aspiration." --James Allen

2008-01-22T17:17:00.000-06:00

Sitting atop my roof, I've found
a route to the sky that had before
hidden above trees, smoke, and wires,
while I lay stupid on the ground.

The next door dogs bark song to me.
I speak one back with rough, quick voice,
then clutch the rotting, mossy wood
of lovely, unloved sycamore tree.

I'm losing it.

2008-01-08T22:42:00.000-06:00

I haven't written anything in forever. I'm not talking about blog material, I'm talking about poetry and fiction. iDeas has not been updates in a LONG time. I should get on that.

NCC

2008-01-07T23:25:00.000-06:00

My friend's father is a member of the National Comedy Company, an improv troupe based in New Orleans. She asked her friends to post a link to the NCC's website should they have a website of some sort. I'm not sure how much good a link from this blog will do, but here you are.

NCC

They really are VERY good and VERY funny. They help out with my school's improv troupe, of which I am part. They helped us out so much, I guess because they have so much talent to share? Check them out.

Best things P-T

2008-01-07T00:22:00.000-06:00

Pickled okra: the best thing on which to snack at work

Queen: the best rock band

Renoir: the best impressionist painter

Sudoku: the best thing to do in English class

The Importance of Being Earnest: the best play

Mixed feelings about G.N.O.

2008-01-07T00:21:00.001-06:00

G.N.O. was a student council workshop over the weekend. January 5-6. It was a blast, and I had loads of fun, but I'm not so sure it did what it was meant to do. What happened to learning leadership skills? Yeah, that didn't ever happen.

Best things K-O

2008-01-04T15:49:00.003-06:00

K

Klagetoh: the best trip I've gone on

L

Lasagna: the best pasta

M

Macintosh: the best computer

N

New Orleans: the best city

O

Orange juice: the best fruity beverage

So I am now seventeen.

2008-01-04T15:36:00.000-06:00

If I lived in the Harry Potter world, I would be of age! I would be allowed to do magic outside of school and everything!

And if I lived in the world that I live in, I could see and buy R and NC-17 movies and not be breaking any rules!

The new phone I spoke of was a present. I like it. It is nice. Not Mac compatible, though, so I can't put my music on it. And we went to Commander's Palace to celebrate my grandmother's birthday which was December 29. The lunch celebration for her ended up on my birthday, so all the servers and hosts and such wished ME a happy birthday instead of her. And I got a chef hat and balloons.

birthday

2008-01-04T15:02:00.000-06:00

Commander's Palace birthday lunch!

2008-01-04T11:00:00.001-06:00

Goodbye old phone, hello new. A photo taken by my new phone of my old one.

Best things F-J

2008-01-03T13:24:00.000-06:00

F

Facebook: the best social utility

G

Geneva: the best city for chocolate

H

Harry Potter: the best book series

I

Internet: the best invention since Genesis

J

Johnny Depp: the best actor

Personality test

2008-01-03T01:52:00.000-06:00

I took this test in August of '06 and scored high in only Obsessive-Compulsive. Now I'm only moderate in that area, but high in three others. I'm getting crazier and crazier. You can click on the name of the disorder to see more information about the disorder.

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid Disorder:	Low
Schizoid Disorder:	Low
Schizotypal Disorder:	Moderate
Antisocial Disorder:	Low
Borderline Disorder:	Low
Histrionic Disorder:	High
Narcissistic Disorder:	High
Avoidant Disorder:	High
Dependent Disorder:	Moderate
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder:	Moderate
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! -- -- Personality Disorders --

Best things A-E

2008-01-02T18:14:00.000-06:00

A

Apple Pie: the best desert

B

Bat Boy: the best musical

C

Calamari: the best fried food

D

Disney World: the best amusement park

E

Edward Scissorhands: the best movie

Best things in life A-Z

2008-01-02T18:03:00.000-06:00

A list of the best things in life, one thing for every letter. Five letters per entry, six for the last. I will now begin posting said best things and include what category they dominate.

PostSecret

2008-01-01T19:46:00.000-06:00

Link: PostSecret

I submitted a secret. I feel rather accomplished. I've been wanting to submit a secret, any secret, but I've lacked creativity. I've also lacked knowledge of what I could use as a secret. I think ultimately what motivated me to sit down and do it was the knowledge that one friend had a secret published on the website a few months ago, and another friend recently submitted a secret. So I went for it. I am not going to tell what secret it is, or even if it ever made it on the website. Sorry. :(

If I could be anybody...

2008-01-01T15:38:00.000-06:00

If I could be anyone, I would be frezned from YouTube.

frezned.

One of these days I'm going to make YouTube videos, and I'm going to be funny and likeable and popular.

That is all.

I don't know much, but I know

2008-01-01T15:34:00.001-06:00

I love Allison.

Quotes that made my life (thus far)

2008-01-01T15:20:00.000-06:00

I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around--nobody big, I mean--except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff--I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be.

J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

A man who does not think for himself does not think at all.

Oscar Wilde

What's worse: making a mistake, or knowing how to fix it and not doing anything?

Steve Angrisano

FOREVER

2008-01-01T15:19:00.000-06:00

Forever, that's how long it's been since I've posted anything on here. I like life too much to chronicle my escapades in regard to it (life). I vow to write more and live less.

2007-07-13T17:36:00.000-05:00

OotP was awesome. My favorite Potter film yet.

Now I just have to wait for this little booger to be released.

Nnnnerhghhh.

2007-07-09T13:31:00.000-05:00

The liquid excitement inside me is starteing to boil. In fact, it already has. It isn't disappearing, though. Every time a bubble of excitement bursts, more liquid is conjured and the boiling process continues more intensely.

OotP the movie comes out TOMORROW NIGHT. That was my favorite book in the HP series. I just watch that, and it will settle me for a little bit. Then I have ten days of unfulfilled excitement for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the last book in the series.

It makes me sad a bit, since I've been reading these books since third grade. They're a big chunck of my life. They alone sparked my interest in reading, writing, history, and mythology. No other book or book series has had that much of an impact on me. I love Jo Rowling.

2007-07-05T14:37:00.001-05:00

Probably not going to be posting for quite a while. I'm preparing for these releases!

Tonight I gotta cut loose.

2007-06-28T01:38:00.000-05:00

Another show with crappy casting. This one's fun, though. I'm having a blast with the dances. I'm going to lose about ten pounds, which I need to do if I want to be Canada's next top model.

Just so I know I'm completely insane...

2007-06-28T01:34:00.000-05:00

Just so I know I'm completely insane, I got involved in Just So. It's a musical of Rudyard Kipling's Just So Stories.

Its a complete nightmare. The rehearsals are incredibly obnoxious. We were cast without auditions. My friends in the show are apparently better friends with each other than they are with me, which mean I sit by myself at rehearsals while they talk about things I'm not allowed to hear because "it's none of my business". That's a load of crap. The only thing keeping me going is looking forward to rehearsals for the OTHER show I'm in. I'm sane, I promise.

2007-06-28T01:30:00.000-05:00

The last two weeks of Joseph, Seussical the Musical started. I was cast as a Wickersham Brother. Freaking loved that play. That's the most fun I've had on stage for any play ever. Thank you, Theodore S. Geisel.

2007-06-28T01:29:00.000-05:00

Haven't said anything on here in forever.

Joseph was an absolute crapfest.

Stardom

2007-05-02T17:16:00.000-05:00

is standing center-stage
with a sunburst of spirit fingers
crowded around my head,
and she’s applauding,

so I was like: “A baker who
prepares four flawless Xmas fruitcakes
is riper than a hog runt chopped in chunks
and served as young bacon (which, btw
doesn’t even fill me up)”

to which she replied: “But the bacon
is nutritious
and delicious.
The pig is otherwise
useless,
fruitless,
the forbidden pig of
knowledge of good and evil
when he
could be
a luxury.”

7th period with suuji wa dokushin ni kagiru

2007-05-02T17:15:00.001-05:00

Parabolas avoid Directrix and Focus
with a vertex or vertice. I don’t know this
method, so I place a 5
in my row #9, and I’ve
lost my binocular choochoo of thought,
so the test smiles bright, and I squeal that I forgot
how to factor a polynomial with four degrees.
Before sudoku captured my hypothalamus, these
fingers could scratch a brilliant solution set
with any numbers you might get
from a smart mathematician’s toughies du jour
but now my memory’s on a 3-hour tour,
so I tuck the graphite recording utensil away,
sacrifice my processed wood pulp whiteness and say
my prayers.

They're called fingers, but they don't fing.

2007-05-02T17:15:00.000-05:00

Closing night was far away as Nazareth to Rome by foot.
It burgled sweaty socks from me while I misstepped.
My smile stayed plastered to my jaws, though
My two sleeping hours failed to keep ma tête
from climbing down air to lie—
1. on any supportive/attractive shoulder or desk
while you shirtless young lovers get caught
smooching ‘neath blankets.
2. when I was asked those several times
“Whose your left-hand girl?”
and my zipper lips stayed zipped.

Any Dream Will Do

2007-04-02T21:57:00.000-05:00

I'm apparently in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. I didn't audition, but I'm in it. I suppose it's because of a lack of boys that I receved the title role. Joseph, I mean, as opposed to the dreamcoat. I have absolutely no idea how I'll get to rehearsal every day, but the fact that I'm starring in it makes me want to do whatever I need to in order to get to those rehearsals. I hope it all works out.

This is me pretending other people care about me, writing about my boring daily life in an online journal.

Dust Bunnies

The Santa Close One

America's Funny Man

Best things D-F

The Versus the World Tally

Bachelor's Degree

Sonnet of Disenchantment

Hey, October

That's agape

From Evernote:

That's agape

Best Things A-Z part TWO

Matti dropped my phone in the toilet, and that's a little bothersome.

12:39amBenthat lovely lg chocolate thing?

12:39amMattthe very same.

12:39amBeni was wondering why you hadn't responded to any of my texts confessing my love to you

12:40amMatthmm. no, i got those before it broke.

12:40amBenis that right

12:40amMattyeah. sorry.

Falling Easy

Waiting

Disappointment is a Shattered Tooth

In the words of Michael Jackson, "I'm bad!"

Smooth

This is what I meant by "bittersweet."

"Ghost of a Chance"

Being Human: A How-To

Nerddom

Neeeeeeew layout.

Julia Nunes is lovely.

Glitter and track spikes

Try, try again.

Achieving Greatness via Mediocrity: A How-To

Rootless Tree

Sappy Metaphor Time!

Sadfaceheart

Screw the Siamese

A dramatic representation of my current pressing issue.

Thoughts on a word: "remarkable"

Three years ago.

An English assignment.

Am I supposed to write stuff here sometimes?

The Heat is On in Saigon

Before another sunrise wakes me...

Jody got me thinking.

Squirrels Complete Insane Obstacle Course - Video

The Table for Six

Mental

For Emily Webb of Grover's Corners

False alarm.

Happy!!!!

Oh my Godspell

last Tuesday's abusive tempest

Hello, YouTube!

My teeth.

I'm sorry.

I never mentioned my trip to New York.

Best things U-Z

I'm losing it.

NCC

Best things P-T

Mixed feelings about G.N.O.

Best things K-O

So I am now seventeen.

birthday

Best things F-J

Personality test

Best things A-E

Best things in life A-Z

PostSecret

If I could be anybody...

I don't know much, but I know

Quotes that made my life (thus far)

FOREVER

Nnnnerhghhh.

Tonight I gotta cut loose.

Just so I know I'm completely insane...

Stardom

7th period with suuji wa dokushin ni kagiru

They're called fingers, but they don't fing.

Matt
i dropped my phone in the toilet, and that's a little bothersome.

12:39amBen
that lovely lg chocolate thing?

12:39amMatt
the very same.

12:39amBen
i was wondering why you hadn't responded to any of my texts confessing my love to you

12:40amMatt
hmm. no, i got those before it broke.

12:40amBen
is that right

12:40amMatt
yeah. sorry.