matthearn.com

Okay, my bad, it’s been like 3 days since I was done with all the busy crap that’s kept me away from you. But now I’m back – to let you know: I can really shake ’em down.

Anyway, the show went great (I have some pictures of it that I’ll try and get up this week), and the performances on Sunday went really really well. Despite feeling a little dry and allergenic, I managed to get through a Fauré Requiem, and then an entire Bach St. John Passion (I played Pilate and sang the last bass aria). Then I found a bottle of single malt scotch.

The next few weeks should be a breeze compared to the last month (in March, except for the road trip, I basically worked 16 hour days every day of the week), even with Easter coming up. I suppose I should look at the schedule and find out what all I have to do Easter weekend, but I don’t think I have anything more than a good Friday service, and an Easter morning service. I might have to do Maundy Thursday, but I’m not sure.

Okay, now that I’ve gotten the “Matt’s Life Update (Not That You Care)” portion of the column out of the way, I’d like to discuss why my pee smells. I can’t figure it out. I assume it must have SOMETHING to do with the fact that I ate asparagus last night, but I’ve eaten asparagus in the past and haven’t had this happen. Perhaps coupled with the Atkins diet (I’ve been doing pretty well, I think I’m down to about 240), asparagus enzymes in my whizz just really reek. For a while I thought I was just smelling remnants of hair colorant and conditioner, but I’m not sure. It definitely gets stronger in the bathroom (and lingers on me, much to the endless joy of my coworkers).

Hair colorant? Yes, I dyed my hair. And without Sarah’s help! Which is why it doesn’t look quite like I’d hoped, although it’s not bad. It’s a little more “golden” than “blond,” unfortunately, and it’s not really “highlights” like I wanted. It’s still highly rad, though. I’m so pretty. It’s like being Goldilocks, except without the curls, and my job lost me my girlish laughter eons ago.

Next time: why Charles Atkins is my real dad. Or would be, if I didn’t already have a real dad. And if Dr. Atkins wasn’t, ya know, dead.

Here they are! The pictures from our Atlanta trip are up, hot, and ready to be examined and commented upon by all humanity. Check it out . . . check it out, I’m incredible, check it out . . .

I guess I should apologize for disappearing off the face of the earth for almost 2 weeks, but the Brandywine High School production of South Pacific is all kinds of geared up and ready to go. Opening night is Thursday, March 25th, at 7pm. Be there, and probably be square! Starting next week I should be able to get back to weekly (or more often) updates.

Wednesday is Zoo day! We went to the Atlanta Zoo and had us a righteous time antagonizing the animals, at least until the elephant picked me up with her trunk and flung me into the tiger den. They were able to reattach my foot, and they say I’ll eventually get 50-60% use of it again, although I got an infection and they had to amputate my left buttock.

We saw many critters, and took pictures of same, including some truly sweet ones of the pandas (I got a pic of the female from about 6″ away, it’s totally hot); I’m adding them to the total “Road Trip Gallery” that I plan to put up when I get back next week.

After that, around 1pm, we headed north. We got about an hour north when I saw the signs: Iron Skillet . . . 20 oz. T-bone . . . 9.99. Oh yeah. Oh yeah. So we stopped. Here’s the down-low: if you are ever in the mood for a steak, you need to drive to Carnesville, GA, to the Petro truckstop there, and get the 9.99 20oz t-bone, dude. It was the best steak I’ve had in months, and that includes multiple trips to Lone Star, who wouldn’t know a decent cut of meat if leapt onto their face while they were sleeping. Tender…juicy…so delicious. I’m nearly weeping.

Then we continued north, stopping at the outlet mall in Gaffney, where my frustrations at being able to find pants had steam coming out off my ass. (Although that also might have been the 20 oz. t-bone reacting badly with my colon, as sometimes happens.) Sarah found a few things, and we went into the Levi’s store thinking they’ve GOTTA have a pair of jeans that fit me!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Their jeans went up to 38×34, and 40×32. No 40×34 to be found, at least in the 505 section, which is the style I like. I did see a decent jean jacket (they’re back in style…who knew!), but it was $50, and I just couldn’t justify it. And then….Haggar.

Oh, Haggar…how do I love thee? Let me count the ways: 1, 2, 3 . . . $108.64 ways, to be exact. For that fairly minimal amount of cash, I got a polo shirt, 2 pairs of flat-front khakis, and a totally money sport coat. I was almost giggling with joy at finding clothes that fit. I haven’t felt like that since I was in prison in Hungary a few years back! (There was this girl, and a llama…nevermind.)

We got to Charlotte and found a hotel, went to a bar and had crablegs, and passed out around midnight. (Luckily Milo’s not with us, since there was a girl at the bar that he would have simply clubbed over the head with a barstool and dragged out by her hair.) Plan for Thursday: hit up Kannapolis for a Dale Earnhardt memorial, go to JR and buy brassieres and chandeliers (remind me to tell you later), get into Richmond sometime in the early evening, and commence drinking heavily with Kyrone and Kritdy. Update tomorrow!

What an amusing day. We’re still in Atlanta, of course; we got up around 9, showered, rolled out. We went to Underground Atlanta, a sort of underground mall kind of place with some shops and small exhibits and restaurants. Ate at Mick’s. Food was good, service was decent, prices were okay, entire staff was black. I’m not saying there’s anything WRONG with that, but it was kinda strange to see a place that was ENTIRELY staffed by African-Americans. It was affirmative action gone amuck! Somehow it kinda turned me on.

After that, we went through “World of Coca Cola,” or “Coke World,” or “House of Overpriced Marketing Gimmicks,” or something like that. $7 to be subjected to 90 minutes of “Drink Coke! It’s delicious AND refreshing! And heals the hiv! And it took this boil right off my ass!” I rather enjoyed the video of “Coke Commercials Over the Years,” including the “I’d Like to Buy the World a Coke” commercial, and the “77% Less Cocaine!” marketing campaign from the early 30s. But I fail to understand how they can charge money to see all that mess, even with the free samples at the end, and still expect to get into heaven after they die. Of course, this didn’t stop us from buying a Coke shot-glass and bottle opener, and taking hot pictures of Hearnwife with the massive Coke Polar Bear. We’re such suckers for capitalism.

After that, we headed back to Danielle and John’s apartment, sat around, and then went to Mellow Mushroom for dinner. Delicious pizza, although I had a “Lo-carb Cheese-Steak” (no bun). Those of you who bother to click that link will probably notice the odd similarity to Homestar Runner; I’m pretty sure the same group of guys does each website. I always wondered how they paid the bills.

Right now, we’re hanging around, drinking beer, watching Danielle get highly retarded. Good times. Tomorrow: Atlanta Zoo, drive back up towards Charlotte. BTW: I’m taking pictures all over the place, and intend to gather them together into a loverly photo essay in which I will make fun of Southerners.

I’m hell of in Hotlanta! Except that it’s not hot. It’s like 54 degrees. Admittedly, that’s about 20 degrees better than at home, but when I come to a place with a nickname including the word “Hot” I expect to have my piss boiling within my bladder. Instead, if I were to step outside in the nude (which happens more than you’d dare hope), my wank would immediately retreat into my torso, NEVER TO RETURN.

Anyway, the drive was nice. We stopped off in Durham (home of the Durham “Sellout” Bulls) for the night, and took the opportunity to drink some Heinekins and enjoy a breakfast buffet. We did one before bed, and one after. I’ll leave it to you to decide which was when.

We’ll be here for a couple days, and then we’ll be driving back north, stopping off at another hotel on the way home, possibly a battlefield or Dale Earnhardt memorial or three. We’ll hit up Kyle and Kris in Richmond for a day or two, and then “Jodd” (Jodi and Todd) in DC, and then home.

Now you know our itinerary! If anything is missing from my house, I WILL KILL ALL OF YOU.

Okay, sorry. I haven’t been here for you. I’ve been, uh, busy. I know, that’s a poor excuse. You need the fix only I can provide. Well, I’m here to make it all better, baby. Just lay back, and let The Hearn take you higher than you’ve ever been before. The Hearn will rock you like it ain’t no thang.

Uh…let’s pretend that paragraph didn’t happen.

Here’s the short list of what’s been going on over at Hearndom:

• “South Pacific” – Spring musical over at Brandywine High School. Once again, Sarah’s doing choreography, I’m doing vocal direction. As an added twist, this year I’m conducting the pit band! We’ll see how that goes, since my conducting experience consists mostly of air drumming to Pat Boone albums. Side note: I tried to get them to do “Hair,” but the idea of a bunch of 14-18 year olds running around on stage naked set of some kind of “prude” alarms in the Powers-That-Be. So much for freedom, huh?
• St. John Passion – Long oratorio-type thing by J.S. Bach. Getting performed the day after “South Pacific” closes. Rehearsals every Monday. I just remembered I have to learn a solo.
• Work getting hectic. We’ve basically reached the point at work where everybody’s working 50+ hours a week, just putting out fires. We’re completely event driven at this point. I’ll let whole projects sit and fester for weeks because I’m working 9-10 hour days just responding to people calling me and asking about something they need. If they lay anybody else off the whole place will simply collapse. I’m raving again.

Between all that and the usual stuff (church choir, etc.), I’m out of the house 11-12 hours every day of the week, including weekends. But you don’t wanna read my whining. You wanna read some funny stuff!

I just have a few comments about the Oscars, nothing major. It was nice to see so many people show up in costume; Liv Tyler came as Lisa Loeb, and Charlize Theron came in the makeup she wore in “Monster.” It was pretty neat to see that, since the odds of me ever, EVER sitting down to watch a movie about a lesbian serial killer are similar to the odds of Rick Springfield answering my love letters.

Uh…forget I said that, too.

The guy that won the Animated Short Film award brought along Pixanne! It was nice to see her. I always thought she was dead.

I’d like to point out that Alison Krauss had TWO songs nominated for Oscars, and one of them involved Sting. Usually, doing a movie song with Sting is an absolute Oscar-lock, but somehow she managed to lose. I’m willing to ignore the fact that the Academy could pass over Sting (maybe they were drunk), but to give an award to Annie Lennox??? Sting even played a Hurdy Gurdy! What the hell, man! How can you turn him down?

Okay, last thing: a fellow named Kevin Brofsky wrote a play about Claymont, Delaware. This intrigues me, particularly since it involves a young gay man in the late 60s. I didn’t know that Delaware HAD gay folks in the 60s. And I didn’t think Claymont had any NOW. Anyway, the play appeared in NY for about a month and then closed. Anybody that actually SAW it, shoot me an email at spam |at| matthearn.com and let me know what it was like, and how it compares to “Wicked,” which apparently is the “in” Broadway show right now, despite not being about AIDS or vaginas.

Today we respond to folks who emailed asking for advice on various topics. Letter number 1:

Dear The Hearn,
I’ve been dating this girl for like 7 months, and I’m totally digging her. But I think she’s gonna break up with me. How do I know, you ask? I just sense a growing indifference towards me. Plus I caught her in the shower with my father. What should I do?

Worried in Wisconsin

Dear Worried:

I am known the world over for my expertise in two areas: my totally rad UNIX Engineering skillz, and my ability to keep the ladies on lockdown. I will use the latter to dispense advice to you now.

If you’re worried about a girl leaving you, the easiest way to get her to stick around is to have an enormous wang. Unfortunately, it sounds like you came up short in that department, since Bonnie, or whoever she is, needs to get a frequent taste of your dad’s sugarstick. The second best way is to put a large diamond ring on her finger. It is absolutely incredible how easy it is to keep a girl in your pocket once you bling her left hand up.

Don’t wanna get married? That’s not even a problem. The average engagement these days is something like 2 or 3 years, and you’ll have gotten tired of her and dumped her long before then. On the other hand, it can get expensive. I recommend cubic zirconium. The only way she’ll be able to tell the difference is if she goes to a jeweler and has it professionally examined, and if she does that, RUN. Throw her to the curb and move to Montana.

Because she is crazy.

---

Dear matthearn.com,
My baby mama keep axing me for money. I’m all, “Damn, beotch, you get $550 a week in welfare (’cause of her 7 kids) and I livin’ on the street for 2 months now.” I cain’t even keep a job ’cause I can’t afford to shower at the YMCA and my clothes smell like onions and crack. I needs help!

Broke as a Joke

<stunned silence>

Dear Broke:

Please submit your query over at The Temple of Black Jesus. Hopefully they’ll be able to help you, since all I can say is:

• Stop smoking crack.
• Onions are merely a flavor additive. They are not a self-contained meal.
• Perhaps see about having your baby mama killed.
• $550 a week? The Libertarian in me is outraged, but the lazy jerk in me is wondering how I can get a piece of that action.

---

Dear Matt,
You are so rad. How can I be more rad like you?

Unhip in East Gabip

Now this is a letter. I agree…my radity is unbounded. Unfortunately, how my hipness is defined is impossible to qualify or quantify. My only advice can be: buy some really hot shoes, and learn to like Dewar’s.

---

Dear Hearn,
My wife and I are contemplating a trip to Delaware to see the sights! We plan to be there for roughly a week. Do you have any recommendations on where to stay, and what to see?

Bob Jenkins of Casper, Wyoming

Dear Bob,

Delaware is a tourist’s paradise! We’ve got the beaches . . . um, and . . . Hagley Museum! Yeah, that’s a must see. And, uh . . . well, we’re close to Philadelphia!

But seriously, there is a lot to see in Delaware. If you come, you can stay in the hotel where Amy Grossberg had her boyfriend kill their baby! If you’re not into that kinda thing, the Hotel Dupont is always nice, although pricey. But, if you really wanna get the Delaware experience, I suggest you stay at the TallyHo Inn on Concord Pike. I think they even have nap rates!

As for things to see, well, the Delaware Art Museum is closed for renovations (or was, last I checked). You can go to Longwood Gardens, though! Except that’s technically in PA. Winterthur is open, if you’re interested in homes built and occupied by moderately insane rich folks. (Those last four words seem strangely redundant.)

Honestly, the best thing to see in Delaware (other than me) is probably Rehoboth Beach, particularly if your wife gets turned on watching guys making out.

Hope this helps! (Helps you stay away… Just kidding, Delaware. I love it here. The banking choices make it all worthwhile.)

---

Yo Hearndogg,

Yo man, I got all KINDS of wasted last month and I don’t remember much, but now this girl Karin is all “we got it on” and I’m all “was it any good” and she’s all “hell no and I’m late” and I’m like “is it mine” and she’s all “do I look like a slut” and I’m like, “um, DUH” and then her dad broke my arm with a piece of, whaddayacallit, rebar. What do I do now?

Elliott in Arkansas

Buy her a ring and hope for the best, although in your case I suspect “the best” involves marrying the girl, divorcing her after 10 months, and paying $2000 a month in child support and alimony until the cops find out about that crystal meth lab in the basement and you get shanked in prison for not letting Bruno love you like he told you to.

---

Okay folks, be sure to send your advice requests to advice [at] matthearn [dot] com! I’ll answer ’em when I get around to it, or something. Yeah.

Went to dinner over at P.F. Chang’s Chinese Bistro on Sunday, so I thought I’d write a Hearn-style (read: unfunny, amateurish, and rambling) restaurant review!

For any restaurant to be considered “Hellagood,” the ultimate Hearn review rating, it must perform well in the following three categories:

• Ambience
• Service
• Food

Let’s cover each in turn.

Ambience: Visually, P.F. Chang’s is pretty nifty. Some neat asian-style statues, cool tile-work, and muted lighting give it a very hip look, although the bright lighting from the kitchen is distracting. Unfortunately, the aural experience is an absolute tragedy. The kitchen is largely open to view behind the bar, and kitchens are not quiet places. All the banging of pots and pans is audible in the eating area, which means everybody has to talk louder, which escalates into a deafening roar. We couldn’t hear our waiter very well, and he was standing right next to us and nearly yelling.

Okay, sure, it’s a bistro, so I guess I should have expected a cafe-type environment. That doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it. There’s a fine line between “cafe” and “cafeteria,” and Mr. Chang has definitely crossed it. You could get the same atmosphere if you went to Hong Kong Buffet and bribed the manager to dim the lights.

Ambience rating: 2/10

Service: Our waiter, Jeff, was superb, and the rest of the staff seemed equally competent. He was crisply polite, and he wrote the order down. (I can’t begin to explain how important this is. Attention all waitstaff everywhere: I am not impressed that you can remember 90% of what we ordered without writing it down. Your superb memory skills aren’t worth a damn if you forget the little things, like that I wanted mayonnaise on the side, or if you bring me a scotch with ice in it when I order it NEAT. Write the order down, get it absolutely exactly right, and collect your 20-25% tip with a smile.)

The orders came on time, the drinks were as requested, Jeff made no mistakes.

Service rating: 10/10

Food: You can’t see me, but I’m shaking my head sadly. After my complaints about the ambience, it was going to take some damn fine food to make me come back to Señor Chang’s. First to arrive was the Won-Ton soup, which was actually quite good. It was hot and sweet, with chunks of chicken and shrimp. Next we got the Peking Dumplings, which were pork-filled, chewy, and all around mad flava-ful.

Unfortunately, we had also ordered entrees: “Mongolian Beef,” and “Double Pan Fried Noodles with Chicken.” The beef was actually not bad, although it just wasn’t hot enough. I’d rather wait for a dish to cool than have to dig into it knowing that, by the end, I’ll be eating cold meat. That’s what happened. Plus, since the beef was somewhat blackened, it became tough, so after eating about half of the dish, it had cooled into beef jerky.

The double fried noodles…were not good (understatement of the month). Half of the dish was cold, the noodles were caked into an unchewable mass, the sauce was too sweet, it was just nasty. You know how you can get packages of dry chinese noodles with spices, and you just throw ’em in boiling water and they break up and soak up the liquid and become a very tasty (and cheap) meal? Okay, I think the recipe for the “double fried noodles” is: take the dry chinese noodles, and throw them on a plate WITHOUT COOKING THEM. Make a sauce consisting of a cup of sugar and a bottle of Kikkoman, heating until it has the consistency of baby poop. Then, cook some chicken in a microwave and sit it in the fridge to cool. Put the chicken under the dry noodles. Pour the sauce on top. Serve to an extremely displeased Hearnwife, who felt guilty just for ordering it.

It looked like some kind of Chinese Jesus had thrown up on a plate after being kicked in the balls by Buddha.

Food Rating: 4/10

So, the overall rating? (3+10+4)/3 = 5.67 out of 10. Considering that the entire meal, including drinks and tip, was upwards of $80 for two people, I don’t think it’s too much to ask for a bit more value. Not much you can do about the ambience; the place is just poorly designed. But the food, man…FIX THE FOOD, I beg you. Just don’t let it sit around. That’s nasty.

Hearn Review Rating: Plus ungood.

Random thoughts while working an all-night change outage:

• 0032 – I am the man who will fight for your honor. I am the hero you’ve been dreaming of. We’ll live together, knowing [something something] that we did it all for the glory of love.
• 0217 – While I’m on the lyrics tip, I have written a poem:

  ‘Twas the feast of St. Valentine
  And all through the world
  Many folks were getting nooky
  Every boy, every girl

  But Hearn is at work
  He’s typing and tapping
  He drinks too much caffeine
  And spends an hour crapping

  He’s moving some fibre,
  He’s drinking some Coke
  He’s catching some hell
  For the servers he broke

  He wants to be home
  In bed with his wife
  But that’s not the way
  Of an IT geek’s life

  But let us not weep,
  And whine, cry, or sob.
  I just mutter sometimes,
  “God, I hate this #&*$ing job.”

• 0227 – I picked the wrong week to quit amphetamines.
• 0335 – At 3:30 in the morning, I expect a little understanding if I get a little loopy. Ya know? I mean, if I spontaneously start singing, to the tune of “Good King Wenceslas,” “woot woot woot woot woot woot woot, woot woot woot woot woot woot!” I don’t think it’s too much to ask for my employees to just nod and smile. Is it really necessary to inject powerful anti-psychotic drugs into my stomach lining? What the hell, man?
• 0342 – The “Good King Wenceslas” song also works well when sung as “Badger badger badger badge, badger badger mushroom!”
• 0348 – Intake so far:
  • 4 units Wendy’s Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers
  • 2 units Biggie Fries
  • 1 unit Biggie Diet Coke
  • 1 unit 20z Diet Pepsi
  • 1 unit Twix

  Remaining food:

  • 3 units Wendy’s Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers
  • 1 box Girls Scouts Thin Mints
  • Anything I choose to buy from the snack machines, particularly the Honey Bun upon which I have my eye
• 0411 – Milo’s online! He’s had as little sleep as I! And has just driven 2 hours to DC and will be working until noon! This is the only explanation for our conversation so far:
  MiloBloom34 signed on at 4:11:05 AM.
  MattHearnCSC: The butt!
  MiloBloom34: Jewbie.
  MattHearnCSC: badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger
  MattHearnCSC: I bought a lawnmower today.
  MiloBloom34: mushroom mushroom
• 0508 – Conversation between me and coworker Mikey:
  Mike: [coughs]
  Me: [Pats Mike on back]
  Mike: Thanks.
  Me: Don’t croak.
  Mike: [short pause] Ribbit.
  [crickets chirping]
  Mike: Get it? Ribbit? You said “Don’t Croak.” Haha!
  Me: Got it. Not funny.
  Mike: Hey, whaddaya want at 5am? F#*$ you.
• 0615 – I can’t believe I’m still going. At this point I’ve been up for almost 22 hours, which is nowhere near Jared’s record of roughly 8 straight days, but pretty damn good for me. I’m frickin’ tired, Mr. Bigglesworth. And when Mr. Bigglesworth gets tired, people die! Okay, that’s not true, he just lays down next to the air-conditioning vent with his belly in the air so he can cool his Schweddy Balls. Switcheroo, for 2! [Hearn does happy mambo dance around the conference room]
• 0621 – I think they’re releasing us. I’m not entirely sure because I’ve been hallucinating vividly for the last 30-40 minutes. Oh well. This shall be the last update to the diary! Time to sleep! Yay! Yay! Talk to you later….

I just realized that I forgot to tell everyone about my wife’s extremely traumatic experience on Sunday, and trust me, you need to hear this, because it was absolutely freaking hilarious it may have scarred her for life, so if you run into her and say the wrong thing (“How do you feel about squirrels?”) and she stabs you, you’ll at least know why.

Last week, we kept hearing sounds in the vents above the TV room. We assumed that Poly, who likes sitting next to the vent in the bedroom right above us, was rubbing her scent onto the vent and causing noises to reverberate throughout the house. We…were…wrong.

Sunday afternoon I had a concert to sing in Dover, so we left around 2. Concert went fine, as usual, because I am the bomb. Sarah, meanwhile, was sitting on the couch, working on choreography (definition: “the study of choral graphics and their effects on seizure victims”), watching a little TV, waiting for my sister to show up so they could hang. Suddenly, Veronicat (aka The Cheat), our psychopathic calico feline, came flying (not literally, as she is very fat) into the room, chasing something that Sarah first assumed was another of our four cats.

Sarah realized it was not a cat, but in fact a squirrel, when it jumped up on one of our purple chairs and charged straight at her. Thinking quickly, she chose a non-standard defense: screaming like Kyle did when we waxed his ass, and hiding under her blanket. Veronicat, who is now Official Hearndom Badass, cornered the squirrel in the bathroom. Sarah took a moment to compose herself and change into clean knickers, and called her father. Then she peeked into the bathroom to see what was going on; the squirrel had managed to wedge himself into a space between the sink and the wall, an opening of about one inch. Veronicat was hovering nearby, waiting for her chance to make lunch of him. While Sarah was contemplating him, he twitched his tail menacingly, causing her to scream again and run upstairs to hide under the bed, where she whimpered softly until her father could get there and sort things out.

Before he did, though, my sister Liz arrived, found out what was going on, and stationed herself in the broom closet.

Then Charles finally arrived, bearing with him a couple pieces of plywood to block off the path of the squirrel and force him to run out the front door. Sarah locked up the cats, and she and Liz took positions with a rake and a broom to defend themselves. Charles put on a thick pair of gloves and reached in after the squirrel, which took one look at his eyebrows and ran, terrified, out the front door, never to be seen again.

The excitement over at the House of Hearn is unending.