matthearn.com

Bless you, Emily V. It had been too long since I’d received a chain mail quiz doodad that I could respond to online and mock with my words. Here we go:

1. What is your full name?
Matt “The Grinding Apparatus” Hearn

2. What color pants are you wearing?
Khaki, with a few booger stains on the left thigh.

3. What are you listening to right now?
A very loud coworker yelling into his phone. I hate him.

4. What was the last thing you ate?
A small bag of Bugles and a bottle of Diet Coke.

5. Do you wish on stars?
Who has time for that? I wish on food. Every time I finish eating something, I wish there was more of it. (Rarely works.)

6. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?
I’m gonna go with Chartreuse. (Is that a kind of purple? Or is it green? I guess I don’t really know what Chartreuse is. What does that indicate about my self-awareness? Whatever it is, it can’t be good.)

7. How is the weather right now?
Well, it’s kinda hot and humid, and we’re expecting rain later. Not great times. I’m glad I cut off all my hair.

8. Last person you spoke to on the phone?
A friendly customer representative that did not yell at me YAY. (I’m pretty incompetent.)

9. Do you like the person who sent this to you?
Yeah, I guess. She’s, uh, cool, or something.

10. How old are you today?
Same as I was yesterday. 27. Hell of elderly.

11. Favorite drink?
I’d have to go with beer. I’m not picky about brand or style, although a good cask ale is definitely very ::drools::

12. Favorite sport?
To watch? Hm. Probably football. To play? Hm. Probably softball, if only because I’m too slow to play football, and too horribly ungainly to play much of anything else.

13. Hair color?
This is a topic of great angst. For many years, I was blond; I have had to accept that now I have become a light brunette. This displeases me. I’m hoping to go prematurely gray. Also, since I got my hair cut, my wife says I appear to be thinning a bit on the top. So I plan to take my own life.

14. Siblings?
One sister, who is rad.

15. Favorite food?
Dead animal of any kind. Seriously. I’ll eat anything that once moved around on its own.

16. What was the last movie you watched? The whole thing?
Eek. I dunno, I watch very few movies, particularly from beginning to end. I’m more of a “flipping channels…flipping channels…OOH Major League is on!” kind of movie-watcher. I’m sure I’ve watched something more recently than “Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle,” which I rented about 3 months ago, but I can’t remember what it might be.

Within the past week I’ve watched roughly 47 episodes of “Law & Order: SVU;” those are movie-like, right?

17. Favorite day of the year?
That’s a toughie. Probably Christmas. I love Christmas. Only 6 months left!!!

18. What was your favorite toy as a child?
I am uncertain. I had a lot of toys, and my favorite depended largely on what happened to be in my hands. I got a great deal of enjoyment out of my Construx, though. What with me being an engineering genius and whatnot.

19. Summer or winter?
That depends largely on which I’m currently suffering through. By about July, I’ll be ready for another lengthy winter with lots of snow and cold weather. By about February of 2006, I’ll be moaning about the cold and openly advocating global warming. Clearly, I’m a jerk.

20. Hugs or kisses?
Depends on the gender of the hugger or kisser.

21. Chocolate or Vanilla?
Chocolate. And anybody that said Vanilla: you need to stop drinking bong water. Because you talk of madness.

22. Do you want your friends to email you back?
Hells yeah. Nothing’s more fun than a good lengthy email conversation in which I can ridicule the grammatical errors of others.

23. Who is most likely to respond?
Well, technically I’m not sending this to anyone. I guess the best I can hope for is it’ll turn into a meme and some of my friends will cut and paste and respond and we can learn about each other ’cause that’s what it’s all about my friends learning about each other and achieving lasting peace through knowledge and love and WHAP

Sorry.

24. Who is least likely to respond?
Instapundit. Or the New York Times editorial section.

25. Living arrangements?
I share a house with my wife and four obese cats that insist upon sleeping on my head.

26. When was the last time you cried?
I did get a little bit choked up on Sunday while watching “A Perfect Storm.” That part at the end, where they’re rescuing the helicopter crew, and they just won’t let each other give up, and the captain won’t give up trying to get them aboard . . . I always seem to get something in my eye at that point.

27. What is under your bed?
A crapload of dust bunnies and a shoe or two. Also probably a cat.

28. Who is the friend you have had the longest?
Hm. I guess I’ve been friends with Josh since about the 7th grade, so that’s something like 15 years now. I should send him an email or something.

29. What did you do last night?
Went to rehearsal for South Pacific, then came home and crashed.

30. Favorite smell?
French armpit.

31. Clean?
Well, personally yes, I suppose, as I did shower this morning and made sure to exfoliate all my crevices. The house? No. My desk at work? HAHA HELLS no.

32. What are you afraid of?
Islamic fundamentalism; God, or His representative; my wife; change.

33. Plain, buttered or salted popcorn?
Buttered, with salt. Awesome. Now I’m hungry. Thanks. (Jerk.)

34. Favorite car?
This question is extremely complex, as there are a number of automobiles I would like to own:

• 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS with the 454 cubic inch big block engine. That car has 450 horsepower and can light pedestrians on fire with its flaming exhaust.
• 1987 Chevrolet Monte Carlo SS Aerocoupe. The little 305 Chevy small block only puts out about 180 HP, but I’d just replace that with a souped up 350 and go for the monstrous power. Plus a manual transmission. Plus I’d rip out all the seats ’cause of the unnecessary weight. Plus I’d install a roll cage. Plus I’d . . . I’d better stop now.
• 1972 Pontiac Grand Ville. This was my first car, which I drove through most of the second half of high school. In a fit of childish idiocy, I told my father to sell it. (In my defense, it’s not like it actually ran.) I still have dreams about this car.

I would also accept any car built before 1987 with a massive V8 engine in it.

35. Favorite Flower?
I’m not terribly knowledgeable about flowers, but I don’t want to just say “roses,” ’cause that’s lame, and in reality I don’t much care for roses anyway. I’m gonna go with Tulips.

36. Number of keys on your key ring?
At the moment I’m carrying two key rings; one of them has four keys on it, and the other has something like 5. (I need access to a lot of stuff, yo.)

37. How many years at your current job?
About 4 years. WOOHOO FULLY VESTED IN COMPANY MATCHING!

38. Favorite day of the week?
I could say Wednesday, just to freak you out, but I’d be lying. I’m a big fan of Friday, personally.

39. What did you do on your last birthday?
Had a wild party at the house, much of which is very blurry.

40. How many states have you lived in?
Thuh-ree. Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Maryland. I am not exactly a well-travelled mofo.

41. Have many cities have you lived in?
I’m gonna go with 5: Media, PA; Wilmington, DE; Baltimore, MD; Newark, DE; and New Castle, DE.

Well how about that. We’re done! Although I gotta be honest with you, some of these questions were pretty week. And ending on such a lame one…whoever wrote this has no sense of pride in their work. And they probably were high on paint thinner.

I’ve hemmed and hawed on this before, I’m sure, but I can’t help but notice that, despite my best efforts, spelling and grammar in America have gotten even WORSE. I was on the internet this morning (I know, it’s very out of character for me) and surfed over to the website of a major company that will remain nameless to examine a home theater system about which I had heard good things, when I was presented with the following sentence:

To see content that’s relevent to where you are select your country from the drop down below.

Are they kidding me? This is a major company, and the fact that it is owned by nice Japanese businessmen should not change the fact that a company employing thousands of Americans should be able to find somebody that knows how to spell “relevant.” Am I right? Is it too much to ask? How is it that no one has commented on this? AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO CARES?

Apparently so.

When I was going through school, it seemed like every time I took a breath, someone was telling me how important it was that I be able to write. Even if I took a job in computers, they said, I’d better be able to communicate via the written word. In college, I had a professor get into a screaming match with one of my snide classmates who didn’t believe that writing was at all important in the real world.

Now that I do indeed work in the computer industry, I’ve discovered that the ability to write, or at least spell and use correct grammar, isn’t nearly as important as I’d been led to believe. Few people in my line of work seem to really care about it, which of course makes me freaking INSANE, but I’ve long gotten over the urge to correct people. (They already think I’m a jerk. No need to make them want to kill me.) So I’ve learned to take it in stride.

But that doesn’t mean I’m letting the above-quoted company off the hook. Oh man, the emails they’re gonna get. I figure I’ll start with a nice, polite tone, like this:

To whom it may concern: have you been lobotomized, or are you just retarded?

If that doesn’t have any effect, I’ll move up to the more pointed criticism:

Dear Sir: I am going to drive to your house and pee in your linen closet.

Hey, I’m fighting for the English language here. There’s no line that I won’t cross.

Before:

After:

MY GOD. I AM SO PRETTY.

Holy crap! Something happened yesterday afternoon that NEVER. EVER. HAPPENS. A woman walking by me as I took my daily constitutional asked me directions, and I actually knew where to tell her to go!

Normally, the only time people ask me directions is when I’m visiting a town that is completely foreign to me. This is due to my spectacular ability to fit in and look like a “local,” wherever I might be. It’s particularly noticeable in stores that I visit on the way home from work, because my security badge for my office looks pretty much the same as the ones that employees at major chain warehouses have; I’ll be wandering around aimlessly, looking for grommets or spinakers or whatever, and some poor soul will wander up to me and say, “Hi! Can you tell me where to find marital aids?” It’s a serious problem, I’m telling you.

Even more amusing is when I’m visiting a foreign country, say, Hungary, and someone comes up and says something to me in Hungarian, to which I respond, “Um…do you, uh, speak English?” And then they switch to English and ask me if I know where such-and-such museum is, DESPITE THE FACT THAT I CLEARLY DO NOT SPEAK THE LOCAL LANGUAGE AND THEREFORE AM UNLIKELY TO KNOW A GREAT DEAL OF DETAIL ABOUT MY SURROUNDINGS. (It’s worth noting that this has never actually happened to me, but then, I’ve never been to Hungary. I’m pretty sure that if I were to visit there, it would happen.)

Yesterday, I was wandering down Chapel Street, enjoying the sun, and developing some really superb blisters on my feet (my shoe selection was not very good), when a rather portly latin-looking woman asked me if I knew where Matt Slap Subaru was. I bet this poor woman had never bothered someone on the street before whose eyes lit up like mine must have.

“Keep going that way, make a right, and you’ll see it!” I was almost jumping for joy. “It’s about a hundred yards down the street, on the right.”

“Uh . . . thanks,” she said, and strode away briskly, while I danced down the sidewalk with glee. I had done a good deed, and no one was going to take it away from me.

(Oh! Before you go, click this. Don’t worry, it’s not pr0n or anything; it’s something Brian made for me in his Flash class today, and it made me giggle a lot a lot.)

I have an exclamation to make, and it’s very controversial, particularly among my liberal friends, but I think it really needs to said, and said loud and clear:

Yay for rich people.

Yay, I say. And here’s why: if it weren’t for rich people, there would be no designer clothing stores. And if there were no designer clothing stores, there would be no designer clothing store clearance racks. And if there were no designer clothing store clearance racks, I would have to buy everything I own at Walmart. And when I buy things at Walmart, I have to come in contact with a class of humanity that makes me wish to light myself on fire, if only to cleanse off the patina of absolute nastiness that the customers there seem to exude.

Now, just to be clear, I’m not saying that poor people are nasty. I have met a number of people who don’t have a lot of money, and yet are actually hard workers, who wash themselves at LEAST once per day, and who in many cases are quite smart and educated. The average Walmart customer, however, isn’t like this. In the interest of hyperbole, let’s do a quick comparison between the average Walmart shopper and, say, a customer at Harrod’s in London:

	Harrodite	Walmartian
Investments:	Maintains a wildly successful portfolio of municipal bonds and mutual funds.	Owns a trailer, a 91 Chevy Beretta, and 37 collectible “Days of Our Lives” figurines.
Couture:	Tends towards the conservative, including fashionable suits and casual wear; never wears white shoes after Labor Day.	Has a sleeveless tank top for every day of the month, and a pair of Wrangler jeans he bought in 1987.
Hairstyle:	Varies, but usually pays between $30-200 for a cut and highlights.	Mullet, probably cut with a flowbie.
Vacation plans:	St. Croix or Florence.	Dollywood.
Knows how to operate a shopping cart without blocking an entire aisle:	Yes.	No. Hells no.

Every month or so, I say to Sarah, “Hey, let’s run to Walmart, get some stuff!” So we do. And 30 minutes later, I’ll be stomping out of the store, muttering incoherently, having purchased a jug of milk and two packs of Chiclets, vowing never to return. It is a rare occurrence when I can find an article of clothing there that doesn’t look like something I’d wear to a golden shower party, and yet every few months, I’ll simply forget, and meander over to see what they’ve got. And inevitably I come within two snapped synapses of poking out the eyeball of some stupid fat woman with eleventeen small children who has decided that, in order for her to examine the enormous bag of pork rinds (as if the nutritional content of it actually concerned her), she has to park herself and her car completely perpendicular to the flow of the aisle she’s in, forcing other customers to either try and squeeze by her enormous bulk, or go around her via another aisle, which has the inevitable result that she throws the pork rinds into her cart or onto the floor and hustles around so she can block that aisle too. (I mean, seriously. People that have absolutely no concern for the other people around them should be chained to the back of a circus elephant or something, right?)

Then I’ll go to the mall, and wander into Banana Republic. BR is always nice because they rarely have more than 2 other customers, because no one in their right mind would pay $175 for a pair of jeans. I have no idea how they make their money. (I think they’ve got some kind of protection racket set up with Ambercrombie and Fitch, wherein if they are having trouble paying the rent, they just grab people from the mall, drag them into A&F, and threaten not to let them leave the eardrum-rupturing store until they promise to come over to the Republic and buy a $380 linen blazer.) Anyway, I go straight to the clearance rack, where you can find nice designer shirts for under $25.

So thank you, rich elitist snobs, for making it possible for me to avoid serious prison time for going upside a fat man’s head with a display shelf bracket.

I’m considering turning Wednesday into a true “blog day,” as in, I grab a bunch of humorous links that catch my fancy and comment on them punks. So here’s where it’s at, hosses:

• Germans know a good hairstyle when they see it, dude. Seriously.
• The man tries to keep good games off the shelves. Amusing quote:
  

  But concerned mom Tori Cage, who was shopping with her 9-year-old son, Dquan, said the game should never hit store shelves.

  “They should ban them totally,” said Cage, 27, of Maywood, N.J.

  Really? Personally, I think people that name children “Dquan” should be banned. But that’s just me.

• Baseball . . . with a twist! A really lame one!
  

  The idea for the promotion came from the 6-year-old niece of Bryan Williams, director of community relations for the T-Bones.

  I don’t have any nieces yet, but I do have young cousins, and the odds of me inviting them to my office to lend UNIX-related advice are rather slim. I guess it’s acceptable for ballclub executives, though.

• This happened to Sarah and me once on our honeymoon. I’m still paying off the damages.
• Best ever band name EVER EVER: “Freak Wombat Accident.”
• “I only made love to the ewe twice using two condoms but I never do it regularly . . .”

  Which leads me to one key question: What kind of person would spot a sheep, think “Man, that’s hot. I’m gonna go hit it,” walk over, grab the sheep, drop trou, and then, just as he’s about to do the nasty with a farm animal, and finally think “Oops, better put a condom on.” What in the gamboling monkey hell? That’s like carefully washing your hands, including under the fingernails, before performing “goatse.”

  Gross.

Pictures from Mel and Craig’s Wedding are up! Be warned: I got into a very strange mood during the rehearsal dinner and kept taking close up pictures of people.

Extremely, extremely close up. It’s way gross in some cases. Which is, of course, why it simply HAD to be posted online! Check it out!

Seriously. Check it OUT.

Random thoughts while considering if Bugles are of the grain or vegetable food groups:

• Has anything ever been more effectively covered up than the actual album title of “Let’s Get It Started,” by the Black Eyed Peas? Nobody I know seems to be aware of it. I feel like Deep Throat just for bringing it up.
• You know how when you eat asparagus, your pee smells of it for a day or so? Why doesn’t this happen with other foodstuffs? Would it not be awesome if, for example, this also worked with apple pie, or nachos? I bet there’s a company out there working on a chemical that makes their food smell strongly in pee, just so that the day after the meal, you’re reminded of how delicious it was. Great advertising, that.
• New Teen Girl Squad!!! I’m so happy. We’re ointment!
• People who make or wear short-sleeved dress shirts (other than the super-casual stuff with fun bowling prints) should be forced to eat heaping bowls of staple sauce.
• XM radio is awesome, but seems to be even worse than regular FM when it comes to “playing the same crap over and over.” Sure, some of the stations are very specialized, such as the one that just plays the current top20 hits in order. But even the “mix” station, which ostensibly plays pop hits from the 80s to today (it’s the commercial free B101!), seems to play “Holla Back Girl” an inordinate number of times per day.

  Also they need to add more classical and Broadway channels. And they need to have a Matt Hearn channel that plays an eclectic mix. As it stands, I’m sure there’s a channel on there (either a rock or alternative or dance station) that plays The Postal Service, but sadly I’d probably have to suffer through a lot of stupid Trent Reznor crap before I got to hear “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight.” Which is sad, really.

“You! Bring that penis here, or put it back where you found it!”