The Open Matt Project

I must have had a

I must have had a lot to drink last night.

No wait, scratch that. I think I just forgot to eat last night. I don't think I had more than 3 pints of beer, and that's really not much. I should remember to eat.

Anyway I was walking home, listening to music with my headphones, and I decided to sit at North Gate and just... take a little rest. So I sat there for a while, drunk as can be, and just stared at the stars and listened.

I could tell I was very drunk because when I closed my eyes I could feel the earth spin. Maybe it was me. Whatever.

I decided I didn't want to go home. So I went for a walk. I walked across campus with a vague notion of going to The Bears Lair... or maybe to Ashby House. Yeah, I must have been drunk. I wandered through campus in a straight line, ignoring the paths (which were making me dizzy) and heading South. I made it to Telegraph and decided I didn't really want to deal with the assorted south Berkeley crowd. Not drunk. With my camera in my bag. So I turned around and headed back up through Sproul (sp?) as the crow flies. It was foggy all night, and there were haloed lights everywhere. Or maybe my eyes were glazed over and crossed. Who knows.

At any rate, it was beautiful. It was as close as I've gotten, and I'm getting closer daily, to adventure. I'm glad I did something random. Something outside. Something not computer. I'm glad I felt like I used to when I was bussing around the country.

But this hangover's a bitch.

Well that sucks. I actually

Well that sucks. I actually get duped into watching the four to six hours of "Children of Dune" on the SciFi channel - only to discover that there are THREE parts. I only watched the first two! And now I find out the last broadcast of the 3rd part (the god damn ending!!) was two days ago.

Shit.

It's sunny outside. I managed

It's sunny outside. I managed to somehow achieve escape velocity from my house and get outside to the cafe around the corner. I fiddled around with trying to get my Boingo Wireless account to work, but I think it needed to authenticate online... and you can't get online until it authenticates. At any rate, I paid for the stupid Surfn'Sip bullshit they have here (don't ask) and so at least I'm online. Outside. Neat.

I've been wrestling with the Denali issue a lot, again, recently.

Denali Part 1

I met her about 9 years ago. That's a long time. I actually met her through a random girl meeting...

I had spent the whole day trying to find chicks with Iskandar on Telegraph Ave. Iskandar was some kind of Berkeley god who knew everyone worth knowing and who had an uncanny ability to have people (read: hot girls) know HIM. This made finding chicks easy, but didn't help me hook up at all. It didn't matter. I enjoyed the adventure back then. We had pretty much given up by late-afternoon and had headed back to Ashby House.

Ashby House gets capitalized now because it has become the legendary source of a tremendous social circle - myself included. It was a brokedown palace on Ashby and College Ave, next to an auto repair shop. 16 people lived there, give or take, and it was as close to an anarchy as you can get without police (or as apparently was later the case, Nation of Islam) intervention. We paid the rent, basically, and the bills, more or less, and tried not to fuck each other, too much, and so on. It was the 90's and even though it seems like only yesterday, to me it was a whole different era. But anyway.

On the way back to the house we noticed a couple of girls sitting at the bus stop caddycorner from our block. Hell, that's not a long way out of our way is it, Isk? Hell no! ok, let's go, I'll talk to them.

Historically speaking, I think I have always been the ice-breaker. I have this near-absolute fearlessness about meeting people that makes it easy for me to walk up to someone (read: hot girls) and just start talking. My all-time favorite line? "So what's your story?" People make fun of this line when I tell them about it, but the reality is that anybody worth talking to isn't going to fall for any line, and so you're better off looking for something that will just plain initiate conversation. Typically, just like the afterschool specials all said, if you just be yourself everything will work out in the end. At least in the beginning. But anyway.

So I go over and talk to them. This is where I meet Nora and Miriam. Nora stays in the story for a long, long time, but we say goodbye to Miriam right about - now. I say that, "we're just looking for hot chicks and we hadn't had any luck and so you're our last chance before we have to go home and drink beers all by ourselves. So would you like to join us on the porch for some beers?" It's important to note that at this point we notice that these girls are pretty young, and we probably looked pretty weird. I explain that the porch is near the street, they don't have to come in at all, and they're free to leave whenever. We're just looking for beer-sipping company for the remains of the sunny day. So after a bit of this back and forth, they decide what the hell, let's go, and we're off to the porch.

About a year later, I lost my journals on that porch. One of my housemates, a firebrand named Colleen (naturally), had decided to do some cleaning and had moved my notebooks outside onto the porch for "a while." Sadly, that while included a rainshower that soaked them into mush. Untold volumes of post-teen angst and self-conscious historical revisionism were lost. It's a pity, but I imagine one could easily reverse-extrapolate their contents by looking at the past four years of website updates. Yes, But anyway.

We had the beers and the girls toddled off to whatever teenage girls do after beers with freakish older men. Whatever it was, it resulted in their later return with some of their friends. I guess the allure of an anarchist commune sans parents was too much to resist. Or something. One of these friends was Denali. It is one of those events that is refreshed so frequently in my memory that I'll likely never forget it. That's saying something, considering my well-known lack of memory. She walked in the room looking a little like a muted goth-punk version of Sinead O'Connor. Small, shaved head, shy, and dark yet glowing. That was the first time she stopped my heart. I did the only natural thing, and popped the skylight (conveniently located in that room) and jumped right up onto the roof. I just couldn't be in that room with her for another moment. I sat up there and made comments through the skylight that I hoped she'd hear. I don't remember if I wanted her to come up with me, or was just saying such, or if I was just jibbering. I do tend to jibber at moments like that.

That roof was the same roof where I discovered that although suicide may seem like an irresistablly desirable option at times, it is simply not in the cards for me. I had stood up there after my breakup with Denise, right on the edge with my feet half-on and half-off and felt the wind push and pull me. Maybe I was letting god decide. Maybe fate. Maybe I was just too chicken to do it myself. I don't know or care. It simply became clear to me that suicide was without question not an option for me. Period.

She left, and maybe everyone else left too, I don't remember. But I managed to catch Nora before she left. I told her without question that I simply had to have Denali's phone number and that I must secure a date with her as soon as possible. Nora told me that Denali was 14, and that it just wasn't possible. I demanded her phone number. I am fairly certain she didn't give it to me, but I know that I was reluctantly invited to the movie they were all going to that Denali would be attending. It was "Clockwork Orange," and even though I knew that would be one of the least romantic movies one could possibly have a first date at, there was no way I was going to miss this opportunity to see her again.

There are a handfull of films that I burned out on as a teen. Brazil, Pink Floyd's The Wall, and A Clockwork Orange are the primaries. As a teen, I had this obsession with movies that focused on misunderstanding and featured a main character who was beset with problems whose sources were both external and internal. Dark heroes. I remember watching "The Wall" with my friends about a million times at my friend Russell's house while drinking whatever alcohol we could get our hands on. I must've cried buckets over the unfair nature of the world. Shameless really, and not at all like every other teenager.

So I went with Nora and her friends, and Denali, to the UC Theater in Berkeley to see the movie. Naturally, a movie whose primary focus is murder, rape, and violent assault made for some pretty uncomfortable moments. I couldn't have paid less attention to the movie. I was struggling to not openly stare. She was sitting to my right, and she looked like someone had stuffed her deeply into her seat. I'm not sure if it was the content of the movie, her natural shyness at the time, or my presence that caused it, but she was doing a very good job of shrinking. When we left the theater, I made some neutral comments just to fit in, even though I knew I didn't fit in at all. I don't remember what happened after that - but I did get her phone number and I learned that she only lived about 2 blocks away from Ashby House - if that.

Years later, in the 21st century, I went along with a group of girls to a "house party" at a place that was just across the street from her house. I stood outside smoking and staring at the house and thinking about how many years had gone by and how much I wanted to walk across the street, ring the doorbell, and have her answer - and find myself 8 years back in time. Instead the party animals I was with came outside and told me they were "down for Denny's" and I had to explain that I was no longer the all-nighter I used to be, and that 4AM was a pretty good time for bed. Cherry.

My memories of those early years with Denali are spotty at best. A number of my friends rapidly informed me at great length of the hazards of "statutory rape," something that I had not heard of until then. That would be the first time I felt my coat of age. I didn't feel 21 - I felt 17 and in many ways still do, but I saw the reality of the situation and resigned myself to it. So although I would see her many times again, it would be three more years before I would start dating her. For the first time.

Free speech at its

Free speech at its most unfortunate.

Absolutely terrifying and frustrating. There are so many different issues to tackle with this war on Iraq. To see things like this, which are so very distant from reflecting anything useful or pertinent and is instead sensationalist nerve-pressing, just makes me even more frustrated.

Talk about fighting in the

Talk about fighting in the face of futility. She likes ME, god damn it. She HATES me, god damn it. She. She's ...

And so on.

Love. What a joke.

The inability to communicate

The inability to communicate information in an easily accessable way is a terrible terrible failure of the Bush administration. From Bush's stammering, robotic speeches to the vague press releases to the inevitable declarations, this administration shoots itself in the foot every time they try to communicate.

That is not to say I don't think they're right. I agree with this administrations policies more-or-less. But the wealth of misinformation or outright lies in the media that are not countered by this administration makes me tear my hair out.

How many times did you hear "smoking gun" or "find out if they are in material breech" on the news when the inspections were underway? Resolution 1441 had already declared Iraq in material breech and demanded they -actively- show us the proof that they were innocent. Not that we had to find it - but that they had to prove to us they were complying. But even today NOBODY KNOWS. It's obvious when you read the resolution (and the corresponding earlier resolutions)

(READ them! These are "INTERNATIONAL LAW")

that we were not hunting down the clue that would convict at all - but in fact were completely within our rights to (brace yourself) respond to the total failure to comply with INTERNATIONAL decisions.

But all of this is lost in the media storm of Hans Blix saying "Iraq seems to be nicer today.. not as nice as yesterday but a little nicer than last week." and a focus on whether or not "the international community" loves us or not.

The problem is not that the facts don't exist. The problem is not that the facts are wrong. The problem is that a vast majority of the people watching this are completely unaware of the facts. It has been a terrible failure of this administration that they have not managed to broadcast these truths with any success.

Even now we're protesting to stop a war that looks likely to be relatively low in damage and death (and high in removal of a murderous dictator) and the administration continues to make proclamations about our intent. I wish the British foreign minister could address our nation instead of Bush. He at least can make a compelling speech - and frequently cover the facts at the same time.

It is not the loss

It is not the loss that I am afraid of. It's the fear of realizing that I don't care that it's gone that keeps me up at night.

Round and Round - HAHAHAHA!!!!

Round and Round - HAHAHAHA!!!!

I've discovered "Sugarbabes" as a

I've discovered "Sugarbabes" as a group I really like. Sure, it's a little like liking the Vengaboys, but at this point I don't really care if people think the music is crap or not. To some extent I know that It's crap, but if it makes my hips shake I tend to give less of a shit if people hate it. I like it, and my body likes it. Sounds good to me.

If you're interested, I'm listening to these tracks:

Round Round
Overload (or Destination)
Switch
and Freak like me

Most of the people I've played any of this shit for think that it's total crap. Ok. Maybe it is. But I like it.

I'm waiting for the Safeway

I'm waiting for the Safeway guy to show up, and it occurs to me the number one thing I want from my order is the bottle of Claussen Dill Pickles. I absolutely adore pickles. Oh boy oh boy oh boy!!!

HURRY SAFEWAY GUY HURRY!!!

Stilted. I never would have

Stilted. I never would have thought of my writing as stilted. Overblown, sure. Blustery, maybe. But stilted? I mean, I know I have a tendancy to just ramble on and on, and I use too many "big" words, and I have a problem with topics aside from my own unhappiness... but I always figured that it was at least genuine. Interesting and genuine.

To hear it's stilted is like getting a 6.5 on an intellectual hotornot.com. ow!

I'd feel better if I thought I could change it, but I don't really feel like that's how it is. Stilted, I mean. I think I do write this stuff for an audience. I know there are a good number of people, most of whom I know and more who I wish I did, who come here and read my jabbering. I have to be careful to not overshare, but also remain consistant to the theme of "open" Matt. It ain't easy.

Well, we'll see what comes.

YAY! Hot water is back!

YAY! Hot water is back! I am now back in the 20th century - in the 21st century!!!

Is it wrong to drink

Is it wrong to drink whiskey and smoke just after you wake up? I'm sure there's an article about it in the Journal of Medicine Men and their Ideas somewhere. I think I'll just put it on my magical morality mystery train and let it toot-toot it's way without me.

No, I'm not depressed.

It's a beauty of a day out there. Bigtime sun and warm. If the warm water comes back on today instead of tonight, I'll probably go out. As it is, I'm still holding out for that life-giving hot shower. I know I could just go to someones house and take one there, but it's a little like Survivor: Matt, safety is within arms reach but you lose if you grab it. So I stink. And my butt cheeks are stuck together. And my underarms squeak when I move my arms. And I have a glass of whiskey in my hand.

Oh my god becky, I

Oh my god becky, I cannot believe how unpleasant that was.

They are replacing the boiler in my building, so there is no hot water for three days (and it's day 2). I couldn't take it anymore and decided I needed a shower. So I went ahead and fired up the cold water, grit my teeth, and went on in. Ho-lee-shit. It felt like someone had slapped me 100 times, and was still swingin', wherever the water touched. That water is fucking cold! I noticed that there was condensation on the shower head! That is how cold. Fucking ice cold. Colder than a witches tit blah blah blah.

And yes, I washed the naughty bits too, and let me tell you something. Aside from the French, I have never seen anything retreat faster than my sack when that ice water hit it. Good lord. And you have to wash so you cant just get it wet and thats it, no no, you have to go the distance and scrub and rinse! Quite an experience, and one only paralleled by the washing of the rear. My browneye had to be shut about as tightly as my brown eyes were wide open. Xtreme showering, my friends. You should try it!

I will never do that again without being prodded with a loaded firearm first.

OO oOO Thursday night! YAY.

OO oOO Thursday night! YAY. I can't wait. I'm all showered up and I smell like a pansy. I'm gonna go meet everyone in a few hours I reckon, and it's a beauty of a day out there.

This site is just not

This site is just not living up to my expectations. I meant for it to truly be the title. Open Matt. I wanted to write here and share things about myself that I couldn't or wouldn't say. I wanted to put pictures up. I had all these ideas for what I was going to do with it.

I just haven't. There is so much on my mind, and I have to put it up on my closed site. Closedmatt.com. I thought that by sharing more, there would be more understanding. Of me? I dunno. Maybe. I was wrong though. I spend ten times more time explaining my posts than I do writing them.

I mean hey, that's just kinda silly.

I think I spend too much time miserating here. This is not miserybox.com (beware, not updated in 3 years.) I should spend more time writing about the good things, of which there are many.

I don't write about Rose enough. She's single-handedly pimp slapped my personality into an all new shape. She's scared the shit out of me and surprised me more than I probably deserve. She's a wildcat in the sack who makes me make sounds like I'm in grade school and I have the answer "ooh ooh!" and I want the teacher to "nnnnnggnn" choose me! She cooks great meals. She makes me laugh, and that is actually far more rare than most people would believe. She's allright.

I don't write about the JDC enough. The Jupiter Drinking Club (est. 2001) is probably my most central group of friends. Members come and go (heh, I just said Members Come) but the general feeling is always the same. Mutual respect, fun, and care for each other. These are the people who show up at my parties. These are the folks who manage to not only listen to my stupid problems, but also give much-needed 3rd person advice.

I don't write about my political interests enough. Most people either assume I'm one of the media-following sheep who thinks whatever the headlines are saying or some kind of closet gay-bashing, white power Republican. I'm neither. I'm a weird mix of a variety of politics. If I agree with you, you won't notice. If I don't... well, you'll notice if you allow me to speak. Being in Berkeley is difficult. It's frustrating to live somewhere where you can write down a short list political ideals on a postcard and walk around and have 99% of the people you meet agree with them. I really feel that most of my peers don't know very much about politics, and worse think that they do, and even worse don't even want to hear a different opinion.

I don't write about ME enough.

Today everything is awesome! It's

Today everything is awesome! It's so pretty outside. The sun is shining and so many birds are tweeting (and it doesnt annoy me at all! Amazing!) and I couldn't be more relaxed and content.

I'm going to do a spot of laundry and kick back at the cafe.

Today is just finger-lickin' good.

Sometimes it really just seems

Sometimes it really just seems like trying to do the right thing is just a big waste of time. Do you really get that much more screwed for not doing the right thing? I mean is is really worse than this?

I feel like I have several 8 inch blades in my head.