The Open Matt Project

Omigod

Yesterday, my second day of not smoking or drinking any caffiene, I actually started to trip out. By the evening, I was almost completely out of my head. Thankfully a beer and a smoke brought me hurtling back into my skull and directly into the awesome That One Guy show! Sweeeeeet! Ian intelligently decided to come to the show and he loved it (of course). All of you who missed it, who could have been there, all I can say is that you really, really missed it.

Cold Weather

It's cold out and insomnia is the word of the day. Tomorrow That One Guy plays at Jupiter. Can't wait. I've got a lot to post, but it's going to have to wait until next week.

Ian's Moozik

Right-click the links and select "Save target as" to download

Track 1
Track 3

PMS Carnivale

"Oh! I'm PMSing!"

Words that bring mysterious relief to women, and abject horror to men. I can't possibly detail the innumerable times I've discovered that the shrieking hell-bitch sitting next to me is merely "PMSing" and felt that special relief that's usually saved for people who find out what their unknown illness is. You know, like the residents of Chernobyl. "Oh, you mean these weeping sores and my shitting blood all week is just radiation sickness? Thank you comrade!"

Now I can relax. She's only PMSing. I won't have to call Ghostbusters or a priest. Thank goodness, I thought that I was really being insulted, ridiculed, yelled at, beaten, and/or accused of various unrelated crimes. Turns out, it was just the ole PMS gettin' froggy. Silly me!

I considered this at length this morning in the shower. It began as a half-assed men vs women kind of thought, and rapidly moved into problem solving construction. Here's the meat of it. Since there is no fairometer to show me the balance of meanness and cruelty (deserved or not) dished out by one sex, due to their particular nature, to the other sex, I am forced to surrender the notion of eliminating the source of the problem and move on to finding an adequate solution for its results. I hope I didn't lose anyone there. If I did, don't worry because we're past the hard part. From here on in it's all coasting.

Recently, I've been focused on a few powerful topics. Responsibility. Respect. Compassion. Sympathy. You've seen some of this in the past posts. Well I'm not going to talk about that stuff. The one useful tidbit I've extracted from all that thinkery was the notion that when you hurt someone, you are the one responsible for removing that hurt as best you can. Let me approach from another, simpler, angle. If you do harm, you should apologize.

Which brings me to my solution. I would like to propose that there be a post-PMS apology ceremony. Ideally it would take the form of redressing the hurt party with the opposite of whatever they endured. If they were yelled at, they should get Austin Power's "zzzzzZZZZipit"s to spend at their discretion. Accusations of random crimes? They get one get-out-of-jail-free card. Didn't they just get yelled at for something they didn't do? That should count against something they actually did do. And so on. Use your imagination.

However, we are not in an ideal world (see all posts below for more evidence), and as such I would be happy enough to see the Post-PMS Ceremony be relegated to a Valentine's Daysey kind of "I like the teddy bear with the 'I couldn't bear to be without you' card" deal. Honestly, it really is the thought that counts.

Post-PMS Ceremony. Think about it.

Evidence of Deep Laziness

I'm too lazy to even post anything of my own, but I read this post about Bush's lying to the American people and had to link it.

Yay. No, Not Really.

I just had my first Rose nightmare. Theme: absolute confusion and helplessness. I think I woke up whimpering.

Blah.

Mini-Hellraiser

For years now I've occasionally discovered clean razor-thin cuts on myself. I usually find them in the morning, but sometimes it will be some time before I notice. The cuts are always the same, usually running from two to six inches long, not very deep, and always perfect razor lines. I initially thought it was me scratching myself in my sleep, but I've since ruled that out. The cuts are too perfect. They dont have the ragged laceration look of fingernails at all; quite the contrary, they are completely straight and both begin and end cleanly.

Just now, I discovered one on my left hip. It's vertical, coming up from my beltline for about 2 inches.

Earlier tonight I discovered one running from the inside of my lip to the outside, as if I had bit into a scalpel.

I'm not particularly worried about it because all the cuts are, like I said, pretty shallow and are so thin that they usually heal in no time. But I can't help but wonder - where the hell are they coming from? What the fuck?

It's Official. Today Sucks.

Sympathy

sym·pa·thy

sym·pa·thy [símpethee]
(plural sym·pa·thies)
n

1. capacity to share feelings: the ability to enter into, understand, or share somebody else’s feelings

2. feelings caused by sympathy: the feelings of somebody who enters into or shares another’s feelings

3. sorrow for another’s pain: the feeling or expression of pity or sorrow for the pain or distress of somebody else
We extended our sympathies to the widow.

4. inclination to feel alike: the inclination to think or feel the same as somebody else

5. agreement: agreement or harmony with something or somebody else

6. allegiance or loyalty: allegiance or loyalty to a group or cause (often used in the plural)
nationalist sympathies

[Late 16th century. Via Latin from Greek sumpatheia , from sumpathēs , literally “feeling with,” from pathos “feeling” (source of English pathetic and pathology).]

It might be a side-effect of being as empathic as I am that I find myself disturbed by the lack of sympathy around me. It's been a theme of the past few weeks that I'll express negative feelings, as in being sad or lonely or whatever, and I get blame, recrimination, and apathy. Is there something so difficult about simply saying, "Wow, I'm sorry you're feeling so crappy. I hope things get better soon."? Is it really that hard to see someone feeling bad and sympathize?

Have I surrounded myself with people who are more aggressively proactive than emotionally sensitive? I certainly prefer people who have a fat kid on the logic side of the emotional see-saw. Maybe I shouldn't expect so much from them. Perhaps in this aspect I have chosen my associates unwisely.

Maybe I'm just whiney. Maybe I've become so emotionally sensitive that it's simply beyond the normal range of sympathetic possibilities to join me here. Maybe I haven't had enough practice yet in sharing my feelings with people.

I don't think so. I think there is an expectation of exceptional emotional resilience bordering on stoicism from me. I could see that. I've been very good at tai-ching my way around emotional confrontation. Or maybe I haven't been as good I thought I was. Maybe I've been like that Star Wars Kid, thinking of myself as talented and powerful when the reality was only so much fodder for good-natured ridicule.

I have said over and over that I need people to listen to me, or care for me, or to merely express their sympathies. Not constantly, or even with any frequency, but merely when appropriate. Sadly, I've found that no moment is appropriate as far as everyone is concerned.

Even this post, should it get any comments, will be seen as a big bulls-eye for my intimates to lambast me for my flaws and/or offer advice on how to fix it. The past two random comments from people I dont know were both more sympathetic than anyone I've spoken with in the past couple of months (excepting Ian). I only seem to get sympathy from people who don't know me.

Today is just sucking hard.

Horrible Horrible TV

A friend of mine recently called me a masochist. I mean like seriously, not as a frivolous comment. I can only consider the truth in that as I deliberately tune my TV into "Temptation Island." Watching the first season of it was a guilty pleasure, mostly because it validated my often proclaimed and always condemned belief that given opportunity, most people will try and get-some get-some every fucking time. No pun intended.

Your girlfriend is going to be shown videos of you "cheating"!!! Doesn't stop them for a second. Nope, their attention span makes ADD victims seem like Oxford researchers. Amazing.

Put this together with watching Paradise Hotel, and you have a recipe for swiftly diminishing respect for humanity. For those who have been watching, I cannot believe how much of a sucker Dave is and why on Earth can't he see that Charla is a stone-cold bitch who would gladly feed him to hungry dogs for a mere trifle? I want to slap him in the face.

Sadly, I'm merely projecting. I know who needs the facial-slapage and if I wasn't worried about somehow dropping my remote, I'd dish it out but good.

Watching these shows, in the end, is a lot like looking through pop-magazines. You see these better-looking, richer, and (more and more) frequently younger people having the time of their lives, and yet you can see that their excitement is at best like the swirling rainbow sheen of a soap bubble - beautiful, inspiring, magic, but hollow, transparent, and then gone.

I can't help but feel uglier, more alone, more pathetic. I look at myself and I realize I'm the opposite of an anorexic, whatever that is. Everyone on TV is bigger than me. I bet even Urkel could beat my ass. I rarely move without some kind of pain somewhere. These superhuman barbies and kens jump around like they're made of cybernetic steel, flying into just about everything with a laugh (and a bud light). I sit down in an ergonomic chair and it feels like someone is running a garden weasel down my spine.

I really should stop watching TV. At least the TV that makes me want to slash my wrists with a set of brand new Ginsu knives. It hurts. Hurts so good?

Maybe my friend was right.

Temple of Elemental Crap

No need for a long post. Just take a gander at the official forums.

Sleep, Good Sleep

I miss sleeping with Sascha and Rebecca in New York. That had to be some of the best sleep in years. I miss Sasha's rattley air conditioner and Rebecca's random street people. I miss playing with Francis in the morning, and I miss talking with Ian.

I actually think about moving there far far more frequently than I ever thought I would.

Perhaps I just need sleep.

Hot Spicy Links

I've added some links to my painfully miniscule link section. No, no thanks are neccessary.

Cerebratwister

Ok, I've been meaning to post this long thing about how someone's aspirations to unrealistic goals are poor choices for criticism, but really I can't put two words next to each other without thinking about Den...

Temple of Elemental Evil!!! (ha-ha gotcha!)

I want it soooo bad. It's been gold (meaning complete) for weeks, and I have been annoying my friends and myself with endless ranting about it coming out. Today is the day it's supposed to actually be in the store, but it's after noon and I just called and nothing! They dont have it. GRRRR.

Temple of Elemental Evil was originally released as a AD&D (Advanced Dungeons and Dragons) module for the Pen and Paper version. The man himself, Gary Gygax, actually wrote it. Take a look at some history of the T1-T4 set. Amazing geekery.

I owned that module, and many others, and don't think I ever played them. Now is my chance. If only it would come out!!!

Dim Echoes of Horror Past

"looks like I picked the wrong week to quit drinking."

Chompy Monster

Train Whistle, Dance Class, Honi Honi, Nu Nu, Owie Ouchie, Bastard!

If I Were in France, I Would be Dead

It is hot as blazes here in Berkeley today. I'm debating whether or not I want to go out. A big part of me wants to go out and pour water on myself and drink non-alcoholic beverages. The rest of me wants to sit here in the heat, and the quiet, and just sweat.

In case you're wondering what I'm talking about, I'm talking about the wonders of European Socialism at work.

"According to official French figures, 11,435 more people than usual died in the first two weeks of August alone."

I wonder if their families had life insurance... or if their government will compensate them in lieu of a lack of such. As far as I can tell, all they seem to be debating is whether or not the health minister should step down. I'm sure that comforts the families of the dead.

"Some 4,175 more elderly people died in Italy during one month of this summer's European heatwave..."

"Italy's health authorities conducted their study after the French figures caused public alarm that Italy might have suffered a similarly high death toll."

I guess in Italy, nobody would notice 4,000 extra dead old people.

Hot tip (no pun intended): If you're elderly, you might want to plan vacationing somewhere they will notice if you've died.

Pre 9-11 Pt. 2

As the day progresses, I am getting sadder and more frustrated. I am finding it more and more difficult to put into words what it is I'm thinking and feeling, largely because of the lack of sympathy around me. At any rate, in true blogger tradition, I link one of the better compilations of material I've seen today.

The Winds of Change 9/11 Anniversary page

Pre 9-11 post

I've been dreading today for the past couple of weeks. Living in Berkeley can sometimes be difficult, and I don't think there is a day that will be more trying for me than today.

I woke up this morning and hit my favorite website. I was pleasantly surprised by the short, respectful memorial post to the victims of 9-11 that I found there. I was unpleasantly surprised by the first forum post under it. The poster decided to respond to this memorial with one of the many "America deserves what it gets" responses I've grown used to seeing and hearing from ignorant Berkeleyites.

I guess you could say I flew off the handle. I think I used more invective in my response than I ever have in the years I've been visiting that site. Perhaps too much.

Politics? Again?

I just watched Jim Lehrer's News Hour's coverage of the democratic debate, presumably over presidential nomination. After watching and listening to their soundbites (presumably the best of the best), nothing could make me more confident of Bush's sure victory in 2004.

The democrats are doomed. This debate was 70% circus, 20% demagogery (spelling anyone?), and 10% an illustration of the broken and dispirited state of the DNC.

Torn Leash

I think I don't want to let go because if I really do let go, I'll have to accept that true love really can die. I don't believe that now...aaaand I don't want to believe it ever. I think pretty much everything but true love is transient and I... I guess I'm just unwilling to let that go too.

Maybe I'm just crazy. No, really, I mean that.

Politics, schmolitics

On the news just now, they broke down the money California is supposedly going to have to shell out for Bush's request for money to handle Iraq this year.

They pointed out things that money could be used for. I'll skip the whole list and get to the last one: Take every homeless person in all of California off the streets, send them to Berkeley for 4 years, and give them a new car. They said "These are just some of the missed opportunities."

Pardon me, but what the fuck are they talking about? You want to GIVE a better life to some drunk on the street? It's an opportunity to take someone who has failed to succeed and give them all new resources to fail with, I guess.

The whole notion of trying to compare the volume of money Bush wants for dealing with Iraq with a big pile of cash that somebody is going to walk about and hand out is just crazy. We could "give" that money to ANY social services and it would get eaten alive by beaurocracy before any of the people it's supposed to help would touch it. Remember what happened to the bags of grain we sent to Somalia? Yeah, it never got to the hungry.

Meanwhile, I wish the news would decide what it wants. They start out by saying that Iraq is an expensive quagmire and we still haven't found Osama or the weapons of mass destruciton (I'm amazed they forgot about Saddam) - and then have this piece explaining how we shouldn't spend any more money on that, but insted should... hand it out to the homeless?

Do they have any idea what would happen if we pulled out of Iraq? Or if we fail to maintain security there?

Oh, and before some genius starts talking about handing it over to the UN - do some google searches about the Bosnian-Serbian war, or Somalia, or any other place the UN peacekeepers stood by and watched genocide occur. Do you really think blue-hats are going to fire on the influx of wannabe Saddams that would pour into Iraq to fill the vacuum of us leaving?

Bah. The "news" is fucking retarded.

The Joy of Alcohol

WASTED!!!

Holy shit this makes me laugh every time I look at it. I can't believe I managed to keep my cigarette in my hand the whole time. Hell, I don't even remember this - someone took this picture with my camera while I was ... in my cups.

Lyric Time

In tribute to my back-to-back dreams of last night, and the total random happenstance of my finding a song that perfectly expressed their meaning:

One Last Breath - Creed

Please come now I think I’m falling
I’m holding on to all I think is safe
It seems I found the road to nowhere
And I’m trying to escape
I yelled back when I heard thunder
But I’m down to one last breath
And with it let me say
Let me say

Hold me now
I’m six feet from the edge and I’m thinking
That maybe six feet
Ain’t so far down

I’m looking down now that it’s over
Reflecting on all of my mistakes
I thought I found the road to somewhere
Somewhere in His grace
I cried out heaven save me
But I’m down to one last breath
And with it let me say
Let me say

Hold me now
I’m six feet from the edge and I’m thinking
That maybe six feet
Ain’t so far down

Sad eyes follow me
But I still believe there’s something left for me
So please come stay with me
‘Cause I still believe there’s something left for you and me
For you and me
For you and me

Hold me now
I’m six feet from the edge and I’m thinking

I Need Some Lovin'

This has been a particularly generous week for me. I'm not sure if I need something as potentially fashion smiting as say, a bright red rotating police light on my head, but if I don't get some lovin' soon I'm going to get really pissed off.

No, not at you. Never at you! I'm talking about the other people.

Vein: 1 , Moth: 0

Awesome. A stupid moth attacked me from out of nowhere while I was showering (yikes!) and I slapped it right into Vein's web. Vein, my pet spider that lives on my bathroom windowsill, has been getting smaller for the past few weeks and I have noticed no new carcasses in his web. This is not a good thing. I don't know how long it takes for a spider to starve to death, but I'm not eager to find out.

You can imagine my joy when I saw Vein burst out of his little hole and lickedy-quick jump on that moth. It was a big-ass moth too, probably 3 times bigger than him. Man that moth tried it's best to get out of there, but Vein is a super-weaver when it comes to webbing, and the moth's wings were knitted together in only a few minutes. As of this moment, he is still wrapping up his new meal, and I dont think he's gone in for the kill yet. This is great news. That moth will easily supply him with food for months... it's huge!

In other news, oh my god my fucking head! Joes BBQ yesterday/last night was sweet, and I had a great time. It was good to see Rene and John since I rarely see them, but the real treat was seeing Nora. Once I get over this hangover I think I might try to find her email address and write something funny. Guh. You have no idea how much I wanted (and still want, actually) tacos last night. I would have done ANYTHING for tacos. Sad, yes, but true.

Oh, and my Angel Season 1 and 2 DVD sets are shipped!!! joy!

Communipassion

Long story short, last night I managed to get into an argument that contained all the perfect elements of a shitty time. It was pointless, as in the focus of the argument went nowhere. It was one-sided, as in one party wanted to hear himself speak more than anything else. Worst, it was mutually damaging.

If you've ever had one of those fights with someone where they are releasing emotions on you that had been born somewhere else and they are now making you the surrogate mother for them, you'll know what I'm talking about.

For what it's worth, the argument was about racism.

There are actually many times that I take a beating, emotionally, intellectually, romantically, socially, where it is percieved that I am "asking for it." Although it is true that I put myself in harm's way, it is not true that I do it for harm's sake. I like to explore terrain that most people don't - maybe because it's fruitless, or because it's hazardous, or because it's already been explored - or some combination of such. I don't know.

What I do know is that I gain the aspects of myself that people like largely by exploring the depth and distance of the interations around me. That's why I'm generous. That's why I'm compassionate. That's why I like to connect people.

Sometimes my openness, or my pushing boundaries, or my radical shifts in perspective causes me to take a hit - like last night did - and I feel hurt and want what crumbs of sympathy I can get. But I don't think most everyone realizes how little I get. Mostly I get the "you brought it on yourself" response, which as I've stated may or may not be true. The point is that sometimes I need someone to assume I was right before they assume I was wrong. occasionally I need to hear "that sucks, man" when I explain how things went badly for me.

I do it for you - all the time.

My Birthday is Coming Up

and I want this:

The glorious T40 Thinkpad

*drooool*

Ok, that's three

No, I dreamt about dingy bathrooms and having the runs. I dreamt about fighting multiple assailants and, after a very cinematic beating, I pulled a hulkamania and won. I dreamt of long, ameliorating, talks with Denali in Ashby house. I dreamt of lost secrets written on the backs of bricks in the basement of houses rusty with bloodstains and trapped screams.

Not neccessarily in that order, mind you.

Sur-fucking-Real

Three guesses what I dreamed about last night.

Resonance-ce-ce

I'm sure all of you are familiar with the pheonomenon wherein you encouter something and note it, only to find that thing recurring over and over again. Hearing about a new band can be like that. One person mentions it, and suddenly that band is on the radio when you turn it on, on the front page of the newspaper, has the same name as your friends new dog, is being hummed by the guy next to you at the cafe, and so on. There is just a freaky reverb to that thing hitting your life.

Now whether or not that thing is actually hitting you, or if you are suddenly sensitized to it and it was always there, I don't know. School's still out on that one. My feeling is it's a combination of the two. Kay.

So I mentioned this morning I found myself wandering into D-land. Since 10 this morning I have only left the house long enough to get the pizza from the delivery guy. Here's the short list:

1. I want to compile a list of references for a possible new job. (do not ask me about this I will pretend I don't know what you're talking about) One of the references: Don Kim, a guy I used to work with at my last job. Where is he now? Walmart.com, where D works. They met. Maybe they bump into each other at the coffee stand, who knows, the point is I haven't really thought about Don in months.

2. Apparently there is some kind of sale going on for SUVs all over. Consequently there are ads on TV every five minutes for the yukon Denali. watching TV has become like eating fish and tongueing the chewed mush for bones.

3. Someone on a TV show is remarking about nice cars, y'know, "like the Denali?" *sigh*

4. I go to take a nap and realize the only thing of hers I hadn't packed up or trashed was a little Hawaiian mask she gave me years ago. It sat on my wall and glowered at me while I dozed off.

5. After a little visit from Hope (I won't even mention the obvious), I flick on the TV and what is on? Queen of the Damned. I take a moment to think about why I have this funny feeling while watching it. Oh yeah. I saw it with Denali.

6. I give up on TV for the night and turn to my new DVD authoring software. I pull up my list of videos and tap "Don't wanna miss a thing" by Aerosmith. Liv Tyler and Denali are fucking clones. Don't bother arguing. I'm right.

And it keeps happening. Is it because I'm recouperating from a long night of drinking? Maybe it's a secret anniversary of something? Maybe it's just that time of the month.

I used to sit at times and just solely concentrate on making her call me, when I missed her a lot. Don't laugh too much, you'd be surprised at how often she would call at those moments. I always thought there was some indelible and intangible connection between us.

But it might just be my imagination.

Stupid

I woke up at 5 this morning in a dehydrated stupor. I made soup, watched "Insomnia" off my TiVo, and tried to suppress my pop-up nausea. At about 9, I moved to the computer to catch up on my politics and email and porn. At 10, after loads of web-surfing, I found myself on friendster and stupidly

stupidly

looked up Denali. I should have my fucking head examined.