matthearn.com

On Sunday, I was scheduled to sing a Messiah concert at my parents’ church, splitting the bass solos with another nice fellow named Tom. And then Tom got sick. So I sang most of his stuff, with the entire men’s sections singing “The Trumpet Shall Sound” because it’s flat-out too high for me to get all the way through without one of my testicles exploding.

So there. Bet you didn’t know that.

Now that that’s done, I’m basically done with my various extra-curricular musical endeavours for the year. I still have church services to do, but no more concerts. My wife is pleased by this, although since her class is done her life is a lot less stressful, particularly when it comes to my absences.

Sarah’s about 4 classes away from completing her master’s degree, which is pretty amazing to me. Her GPA right now is a solid 4.0, which is flat-out ridiculous. My GPA in college was Very Bad, mostly because, for me, going to college at 18 was like giving an eleven-year-old the keys to a motorcycle. The first year was a waste of time, the second year was life-threateningly unhealthy on a dozen levels, and the remaining three years were just numb. I ended up with a degree in a subject I’m not terribly fond of but am good at and which pays well, and now I have 35-40 years of life-sucking grind to look forward to.

How thrilling.

On the other hand, since Sarah will soon be done her degree (and has no interest in immediately continuing on into a doctorate, although that would be kinda cool), the free education that comes with her job will be unused unless one of us goes back to school, so I’ve been considering the possibility of doing so. Now, if I’m smart, I’ll go back and get a degree in computer engineering. This degree has a great deal of upside: I’d be more marketable, and probably be eligible for a payraise at work. The problems are that I have zero interest in actually studying computer engineering, and my GPA in college was so detestable that getting into the program would require convincing the-powers-that-be that I’m a worthy risk, despite my history. Begging professors to let me into a program that I’m uninterested in doesn’t seem like a winner to me.

The other option is to go back and get a music degree, possibly one in conducting. This has almost no upside; it has no bearing on my 9-5 career, and basically makes me eligible to make a few extra grand a year as a church choir director (and not even one in the Episcopal church, where I’d be expected to be able to play the organ, which I cannot, at the moment, do). Also, I run into an even worse problem getting accepted into the degree because I don’t actually have a music degree at all, let alone one with a nice tidy GPA.

On the other hand, if I were accepted (which isn’t a long shot as the previous paragraph would make it seem, if I can basically do some sucking up and get every musician I know to intervene on my behalf), I could get a master’s degree in music for free, and I’m rather interested in conducting as an avocation. Getting a music degree to help advance one’s hobbies would be a poor idea if I had to pay for it, but free? Not taking advantage of it is like giving away money. Plus, theoretically if I got the degree and my GPA was pimp, I could then contact the computer engineering department and say, “Hey look, I learned how to study!” and get the master’s in that later.

Just mulling this over. Your thoughts?

Picture day!

Also the 65th anniversary of the infamous attack on Pearl Harbor. Japan isn’t the military power it once was, but still, let’s not be forgetting the other threats that face us:

Enough serious stuff! Pete likes to air out what’s left of his junk occasionally:

Guess whose lips these are!

Look at my pole!

Guess whose junk this is!

Took Charles to the doctor this morning for a checkup. I always enjoy those, when I have occasion to go, as it’s fun to find out what records he may be breaking as far as weight and height. As of this morning he weighs 21 pounds, 13 ounces, which is very large, and is 30.75 inches long, which is just ridiculous. That’s the height of a 14-month-old. He also, for a brief moment, held his own bottle while sucking on it.

Unfortunately, the great mirth was broken up by the fact that he had to get shots. The nurses came in (they work in teams, one on each leg, to make things go quickly, since he needed four shots today) and started getting set up while I distracted him. Then they started wiping his legs with alcohol, and he got a look on his face that seemed to say, “Hey, wait a minute…deja vu.” Then I held his arms so he wouldn’t flail around and impale a finger in a needle, and I swear he realized what was about to happen, and looked up at me as if to say, “Et tu, jerk?”

The nurses jabbed away, which took all of 15 seconds, during which he screamed, and then once he’d been suitably band-aided up, I picked him up to console him, and he looked at the nurses and giggled. What a faker. I think he was more angry I held his arms down so he couldn’t lift his head up and watch the needles go in.

The doctor’s name (our usual guy was caught in traffic because some idiot clipped a school bus and flipped his Explorer on 95), incidentally, was Hearn. Charles seemed to be fond of her, but then, he’s a lady’s man. Daddy is jealous.

Picture this scene: you’ve just purchased a donut and a cup of coffee. You just hit the ATM, so you hand the clerk a twenty, pick up your joe and take a sip. The clerk presses the magic buttons on her register, and the till pops open; she puts your twenty in there and pulls out a ten, a five, three ones, a quarter, and a dime, totaling $18.35. You hold out your hand, and she puts the bills in it and sits the coins on top. You try to put the coins and cash in your pocket, but because she put the coins ATOP the cash, the quarter falls off and rolls under the table of a group of rowdy teenagers who laugh at you and say things like “Loser!” and “Vagrant!”

All of this could have been avoided. And not just by avoiding Dunkin’ Donuts, because that would be ridiculous; as we can all agree, donuts are delicious, and a hot cuppa ain’t bad neither. No, it could have been avoided if the clerk had simply put the coins in your hand FIRST, and then place the bills on top. The coins, being smaller, are easier to grasp with your palm flesh while you fold the bills up into your pocket. But no clerk does this. Seriously. NONE. EVER.

Why is this? I don’t know. I know when I worked at Dunkin’ Donuts, I did the same damn thing. Nobody told me to; it just seemed natural. It was as if God had designed my brain to do a thing that trebled the likelihood that the customer would be taunted by delinquents. Why, God, WHY?

Here is what I propose: let’s have an International Give Me The Coins First Please Day. We’ll print up shirts and bumper stickers! It’ll be great! And we’ll make the world a much better place for people who have a pathological fear of teenagers.

I’m sick. My whole head feels like this word: nxxnfzzznzfnznxzcvxz. It is Not Pleasant. Still, when people send me silly internet surveys, I feel required to respond online, even when I’m taking high-powered drugs that are making everything have smoke trails when I move my head. Also I can’t spel so gud.

1. FIRST NAME: Matt.
2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? If I recall correctly, my mother was born on the Feast of Saint Matthew. Patron saint of bankers! Wooo.
3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? I get a little choked up watching “Aqua Teen Hunger Force” sometimes.
4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Ha! Ha ha! No. Here is an example of my handwriting:
   
   Roughly translated, that reads “It has been my experience that folks who have no vices have very few virtues. – Abraham Lincoln” Or something. Don’t ask me. I’m high on DayQuil^TM.

5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH EAT? Lunch Eat? Who wrote this, Tarzan? Assuming it meant “Lunch Meat,” I’m gonna go with turkey. Assuming it meant literally “what do you like to eat for lunch,” well, anything really. Same things I like to eat for dinner and breakfast and evening snack; I’ll eat anything at pretty much any hour of the day.
6. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? Yes, Charles. He is rad.
7. If YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Probably. I don’t return calls, but I like to buy booze for people.
8. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL? Sort of; this is about it.
9. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Unless my wife removed them in one of her late-night-while-I’m-asleep carving sessions, yes.
10. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Sure, if the bungees were sufficiently strong.
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Depends on how tired I am. Usually not, unless I can’t get them off any other way.
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Physically, yes. Mentally, no. Emotionally…let’s not talk about it, I might get choked up. I hate you.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. With chocolate syrup.
14. SHOE SIZE? 12EE. If I can’t find the super wide stuff I’ve been known to buy up to a 14.
15. RED OR PINK? Red, methinks.
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? My complete and utter lack of self-discipline, willpower, and work ethic.
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? I’ve been blessed in that I really haven’t lost anybody yet. All of my close blood relatives are still around, with the exception of my sister Amelia, who I really only knew for about a year when I was 5. For better or worse, I don’t really remember her.
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU? I don’t usually send these out via email, although I fully support people cutting and pasting the questions into their own blogs and posting links in the comments here so I can go comment THEIR responses with great ridicule and ass-ness.
19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES YOU ARE WEARING? Khaki and brown.
20. WHAT IS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? A MASSIVE chef’s salad from the cafeteria here at work. Seriously, it was the heaviest salad ever. It’s sitting in my stomach like a fat man on a hooker’s chest.
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? Other people’s high-volume phone conversations and the tippity-tappity of my own fingers.
22. FAVORITE SMELL? Roast beast.
23. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED WITH ON THE PHONE? Bill Owen, oddly enough.
24. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU MEET? Physical appearance. What can I say? I am the shallowest person you will ever meet.
25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? Yes. (‘Twas my brother-in-law.)
26. FAVORITE DRINK? Non-alcoholic: Diet Sunkist. Alcoholic: yes.
27. HAIR COLOR? Dirty blond, with totally soxy highlights.
28. EYE COLOR? Blue.
29. YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Nope. Me gots grood vision! Which I am currently probably destroying by staring at computer screens all day from a distance of a few feet.
30. FAVORITE FOOD: Whatever happens to be within the immense gravity of the black hole that is my gaping maw.
31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDING? Happy endings. Heh. (That’s funny ’cause it’s a sexual euphemism, like the “Donkey Punch” or “Doenitz’s Meniscus.”)
32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? We watched “Waiting for Guffman” at the beach a few weeks ago…I don’t think I’ve watched anything since. I did catch part of “Guys and Dolls” yesterday and taped the rest for later perusal.
33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Blue sweater.
34. SUMMER OR WINTER? Hm. That’s a toughie. I like chilly weather, but I have to put up with HW complaining about being cold. I’m gonna go with winter anyway.
35. HUGS OR KISSES? I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.
36. FAVORITE DESSERT? I don’t like stuff that’s cloyingly sweet; fruit pies are a fave, and simple cookies. Also, whipped cream licked off the skin of a stewardess.
37. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND THE QUICKEST? Not sure. Rachel, maybe; she’s new enough to the web that things like this might still have some appeal.
38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? I’m gonna say one of the Aboriginal guys that lives somewhere out in Western Australia and has no idea what a computer is.
39. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? I need some new ones. Right now I’m recycling a book on alternate histories, and leafing through an old collection of Dave Barry columns here at work.
40. WHAT’S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? To my left: some kind of hemispheric grid thing on a pad shaped like a human head from “Medilect Intelligent Decision Support.” No idea where I got it. To my right (I have two compies at my desk), a Dilbert mouse pad.
41. FAVORITE SOUNDS? Things frying.
42. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Beatles, for a couple tracks, then I’m going to put on something that’s less Important and more Pleasant.
43. THE FURTHEST YOU’VE BEEN FROM HOME? I’m not sure if Austria or Norway is technically further. Austria is a bit east, but Norway is a good bit further north.
44. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? I can play the nose harp just like I’m ringing a bell.
45. WHEN AND WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Upper Darby, PA, 01/21/1978.
46. FAVORITE TV SHOW? Who knows? You people know I am remarkably fickle. Scrubs, House, Doctor Who…apparently I like doctors.

That is all there is. Go back to your life, loser!

When we left our narrative yesterday, Team Hearn had arrived at the Outer Banks, I had gone for a bike ride, and then my father and I bought a metric f-ton of booze.

That night, we had A Storm. It was a Noreaster, one of those storms of lore that demolishes homes and moves dunes around. The wind shook the house and drenched everything, but we spent the evening in our tidy little nook knocking back beers and gin until House ended and we all fell asleep. WE ARE WILD PARTY ANIMALS.

On Tuesday, we stayed inside while we awaited the abatement of the rain. That night my brother-in-law arrived, and later that evening my aunt and uncle and cousin as well. And there was much rejoicing.

Wednesday, we did some shopping and prepared ourselves for the onslaught of deliciousness that is Thanksgiving. We also drank more.

Thursday, we ate ourselves retarded.

Friday, I briefly considered going out for a jog, but made myself a sandwich instead. We ran low on beer and had to go out for more, and then went out to dinner, where we drank more beer and ate like kings yet again, ignoring the mounds of leftovers back at the house. And babies in Africa cried.

On Saturday we awoke, did some more shopping, packed ourselves up, and BOUNCED. Charles slept the whole way, aside from a stop once we reached Delaware for KFC and Taco Bell.

Speaking of Charles, he is now 6 months old.

Team Hearn (we’re Hearn-licious) hadn’t been down to the Outer Banks in a few years, so my parents decided that’s where they wanted to do Thanksgiving this year. In the off-season, beach-front homes rent for a song (specifically, “What About Love” by Heart), so my dad got us into some 6-bedroom, 6-bathroom monstrosity a few blocks from the sound.

It’s a six-hour drive, so luckily we have our comfy Honda Accord. Sadly, what we do NOT have is a massive SUV, which is what we need to bring along all of our stuff; the amount of material we have to take along on road trips has roughly DOUBLED since Charles arrived, between his stroller, diaper bag, car seat, toys, bouncy seat, food, spare diapers. At the same time, the space we have to store stuff has about halved, since we used to load up the back seat with crap that wouldn’t fit in the truck, and now we have to put him in there as well as leave one seat free in case one of us has to sit back there with him to keep him from screaming.

The solution: one of those rooftop cargo things, just to complete our transformation into suburban yuppie parents. Woo! But which one? I did a little research online and discovered that Thule, which makes popular bike racks, also makes roof cargo thingies, ranging from $300-600, which made me laugh so hard I chipped a tooth. Sears, on other hand, listed a model running about $120. So we headed to Sears, where they indeed sold what we needed, but had none in stock. The young clerk said, “We’ll have more on Wednesday!” Sadly, this was Friday the 17th, 2 days before we were leaving. He told us Pep Boys sold the same model under a different name, we should give them a try. I gave them a try, and lo and behold we had us an 18 cubic foot storage box for $99, plus an extree $9 for the Accord-specific hooks that hold it to the car. It was awesome. Assembly was a bit taxing, but in the end I basically added another trunk to the car, doubling our storage, and enabling us to take actual clothes and deodorant and stuff.

After church on Sunday we packed up and rolled south. It’s a six-hour drive, counting a few stops; I was assuming we’d have to stop roughly every hour and half to recharge Charles, change diapers, etc. Instead, he slept for about 2 hours until we stopped for lunch, and then slept again until we hit the Bay Bridge, at which time he started screaming, because once you’re on the Bay Bridge you can’t stop for anything short of a breakdown or the cops become angry with you. As soon as we got to a place we could stop, he went back to sleep.

It’s like dealing with a ridiculously intelligent miniature alien who doesn’t speak your language and likes to stand on your groin.

We arrived in record time, thanks to various road improvements through Virginia, and set about to the important task of eating and drinking everything we could get our grubby hands upon. I had, luckily, brought beer and cinnamon rolls.

I got up Monday morning and took a nice long bike ride. This was the only healthy thing I did for the remainder of the week. I compensated for it by going out with my father and spending roughly $180 on booze.

Tomorrow: the things we did with the booze.

My buddy Rick and his girl own a coffee shop in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Out front of it, they have a big sign where they can put letters with specials and other information. Usually they just put a funny quote in there; recently they had one that read “COME IN FOR A FRESH CUP OF WHOOPA$$”. Anyway, Rick comes to me yesterday and says “Give me something funny to put on our board.” This is the result:

I cannot tell a lie: this makes me happy in my pants.

Oh, I can tell a lie: the vacation update will be tomorrow, not today. Ha ha! That picture is funnier anyway.

Oh hi! Didn’t expect to see you here! Why would I? It’s not like I’ve published anything for 2 weeks, although to be seriously serious for a moment, I do feel very guilty about that, but I was working and then there was vacation and I don’t like to post while on vacation because I’m on FREAKIN’ VACATION man and it’s awesome.

Anyway. Forgive the previous post, I was sleep-deprived. At the time I was working in Philadelphia practicing what would happen if our data center asploded, which meant I got my normal 40 hour workweek completed in 3 days. On the plus side, I got to stay at the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Philadelphia, which is some kind of luxurious, although it has a few flaws:

• My room leaked. It was raining like all mad craziness when I got there, and the windows were dripping; after a few hours, the carpet was soaked. It was gross. I could have moved my room, but I was really only using it as a place to come shower and catnap and store my crap.
• The TV didn’t have any RCA inputs so I couldn’t connect my Playstation. (Just because I’m showering and catnapping doesn’t mean I can’t catch up on Grand Theft Auto, fools!)

So the hotel wasn’t so great, but I sort of rediscovered downtown Philadelphia. I hadn’t really spent any time there in something like 20 years; maybe it wasn’t so nice back then. I don’t really recall. It’s sure nice now. Office buildings, and professional folks, and WAY fewer scary toothless women waiting for busses! I felt safe enough to walk from my hotel to the worksite, even after dark. Of course, I wasn’t going anywhere without my enormous black knife, plus it would take a pretty serious mofo to mess with me; I might poop my pants, and what mugger wants to smell that?

Since I was working night shift, I was able to get lunch with Brian at John’s Roast Pork, which was delicious, and also met up with him on Wednesday because the Phantoms were having a daytime hockey game and he invited me to come watch. They lost. I’m not a good luck charm anymore, apparently.

We were done Wednesday night, so I got to spend Thursday and Friday hanging with The Beef, as we’ve taken to calling him. He’s heavy, has developed teeth, and is awfully grabby.

Tomorrow: Teh Vakashunzozrzx!

Oh snap son it is TOTALLY 3:21am and I am working, doing work things at a work place. Technically my work is pretty much done, we’re just waiting for word that everything worked. Meanwhile, I’m putting up with my laptop keyboard, which is not so grood. The control key is not great, and also the O, U, and L keys have an annoying tendency to to type extra letters in strange ways, such that sentences often look like this:

I’m goiong to opoen the lletter, sir, lelt’s make sure to hide the childrens.

The backspace key is getting a heck of workout.

Anyway, I wanted to report two important things:

1. My friend Rachel now has a blog, although she feels remorse and guilt about the whole thing. Nevertheless, you should read it, as it’s far more entertaining than anything you might read here. I post horrific camera-phone pictures of my hair, for Jebus’s Own Sake. What the hell is wrong with me.
2. I have decided to start a new internet meme. It is entitled:

My Favorite Canadian

My favorite Canadian is Alex Trebek. Born to gay furtrappers in Jonquiere in 1765, he grew up learning the art of Indian negotiations. When one of his fathers was captured by the Algonquin tribe, he travelled by himself over the Mighty Mississipp’ to retrieve him, but found only the sweet ethnic love of a Cherokee medicine woman. She bore him 17 children before dying in a tragic balloon animal accident.

Alex found his true calling 180 years later on a Dutch variety show, hosting a segment entitled “Het Gevaar,” and occasionally smoking vast amounts of herbal seaweed and performing free appendectomies for Amsterdam’s large prostitute population. Eventually, he was invited to perform for the czarina in Prague during her tour of the Western Continent, and she saw fit to have him sentenced to death for referring to her as “That Wild Moscovite Skank.”

After the czarina was revealed to, indeed, be a pretty skanky ho, Alex’s sentence was commuted to 6 days cleaning the royal garderobe and occasionally shaving Royal Auntie Esmerelda’s neck.

By 1976, Alex Trebek was the most famous game-show host in the galaxy, and spent his evenings being serenaded by Pavarotti and fellated by Maria Callas. It was all downhill from there.

Who is YOUR Favorite Canadian?