Sunday 1st February 2009

circular bowl

1. the super bowl draws millions of television viewers worldwide each year
2. its production is lavish in the extreme, its commercials titillating and overpriced, and everything surrounding it is hyped ad nauseum

1 because 2; 2 because 1. thank a marketer near you.


posted by mAtt @ 12.57 (gmt+0000)
to /entertainment
tagged

Sunday 4th January 2009

cold, and hot

fun fact: the waiting list for denver broncos season tickets is ridiculous, so my apologies to the wife but it looks like your birthday/x-mas presents for at least the next decade will continue not to jump the shark. unless we get in on a wild card berth! which doesn't actually exist, so there we are.

of course, this year's were not so bad, but not so good as to leave no room for improvement.

also! three cheers and a tally-ho for friends' free hot tub! ask him (or his personal financial assistant) how much this 'free' actually costs. go on, i dare you.


posted by mAtt @ 17.03 (gmt+0000)
to /entertainment/happiness/unhappiness
tagged

Wednesday 24th August 2005

this realm, this … salmon

the river trip we just completed was tremendous and i wish i had written something about it earlier (rather than become enamored with a fresh style.css file to play with), because now the details are slipping into a general sense of what the trip encompassed, and general senses are rather difficult to write about when one has a brain like mine. but i'll do my best, as always.

waterfalls and hot springs, and sometimes both. the plop of elderberries on slow, deep water. a tent, a sleeping bag, a pillow, a wife. sunscreen and bug spray and deodorant and biodegradable soap. a perfectly cast line, and the fish!—inches and inches and inches of cutthroat trout, all tauntingly catch and release. tinder, kindling, down-and-dead wood. fire island (no relation). the unabashed horror of the scat can. the love/hate relationship with the inflatable kayak. the shock of cold water on sun-warmed skin. sore muscles. bruised hands. torn feet. pancakes and eggs and horrible little fake-meat turds almost every morning; contrast with well-smoked salmon followed by an abundance of spaghetti. river otters on the opposite bank, for which cutthroat trout are not catch and release. running to catch up with the boat. a long-overdue tan. a long, long night drive in another man's diesel truck pulling another man's trailer whose lights refused to light, attracting the attention of a nice gentleman in a dark blue suit and a black and white car who told us what a good idea it would be for us to drive two hundred-odd miles with the four-way flashers on—the same ones that would begin to make strange scraping noises very late at night. arriving home and the subsequent race for the shower. a long, sad unpacking.

and that was my exciting vacation. holiday. thingy.

my parents just returned from their own vacation holiday thingy to the uk. they mock us with their postcards. 'oh hello, landlocked americans. today we got lost in camden town market, had fish and chips in a pub, and had high tea with h.m. the queen herself! also we got take-away, took the tube, and went to the loo. tomorrow we're going to formally separate from the roman catholic church. cheerio, fatties!'

damned tourists.


i'm only beginning to understand the bbc radio version of douglas adams' hitchhiker series. it's so superlatively different from the book after about the sixth episode that following it becomes a chore (albeit a very enjoyable one, due in part to the fact i am strangely attracted to lintilla's voice) for my book-familiar memory. and why have i not yet seen the movie? the answer to that is unknowable.


dear anyone: we must play risk.


posted by mAtt @ 19.00 (gmt+0000)
to /happiness/insoluble
tagged

Sunday 19th September 2004

blame society

well, that ridiculous posting problem is gone now. space characters in links are Bad Things. the capital letters mean it's true.

watching american football (a Good Thing) on sunday (a Good Thing) with a wife (a Good Wife) whose team (a Good Team) loses a challenged play is also a Bad Thing.


posted by antimAtt @ 13.16 (gmt+0000)
to /happiness/meta/visibleman
tagged

Saturday 8th May 2004

oh how very odd it is

to receive extracurricular communication. not a message. not a reply. the old standby: email. my funk-a-licious hypewriter is good for so many things.


Bic Runga sets you (me) free. that is all.


playing saturday football in the park seems like it would be much more enjoyable if

one. I were not allergic to the grass, and
two. I were not the skinniest person in the county. speed doesn't matter when you're outpounded 3 to 1.


an excellent trip to the thrift store has my spirits high, though [aside]. polyester saved the last generation. I'm working toward optimistic. if nothing else there are fifty billion people on eBay who don't know the difference between a bargain and a ripoff and a stiff blow to the head, so things will work out in the end.


tempting: nap.
attempting: staying awake.
contempting: 'light year' as a measurement of time.





where am I going with this?

perhaps the answer is






posted by antimAtt @ 15.45 (gmt+0000)
to /happiness/hatelife/humans/meta
tagged

Tuesday 20th January 2004

playing basketball makes me want to just never play basketball ever again

"Hey you! Are you morbidly out of shape? Do you have the reflexes of a sloth? Are you laughably accident-prone? Have we got a sport for you! Go down to your school's gym and sign up for … BASKETBALL INTRAMURALS!!"

So the ad said.

Not really. There was no ad. "So why did I undertake this fool endeavor?" I ask myself, recently more and more often.

Here's why. Because I have friends who wanted me to. I'm kind of tall, and they needed a kind of tall person. So they asked me to be a kind of tall person on their team.

Being the kind of person who can't say no, I said yes instead.

And as a team, we're really not doing too poorly. Last night we did so not poorly that the coach actually put me in for a few minutes.

"Matt!" he said late in the first half. "Matt for chrissakes I want you to get in there and play some defense for chrissakes and also some offense I want you hustling I want you running your butt off and for chrissakes I want you to put a body on number 42 he's killing us on the boards now GO for chrissakes and for chrissakes play some BASKETBALL for chrissakes!"

And so, for chrissakes, I ran out onto the floor, inexplicably taking the place of a perfectly good player who wept when he saw me coming in for him. Not that I can blame him.

And now, per the coach's orders, I'm out hustling I'm out running my butt off and, more importantly, I'm putting a body on number 42 (who, you'll recall, had previously been killing us on the boards). That's not so much the problem. The problem not even that number 42 weighs a hundred pounds more than I do—conservatively. The problem is not that number 42 is taller than me by about sixteen inches.

The problem, more precisely, is this. With the above factors in mind, it shouldn't come as a surprise that putting a body on number 42 is an exercise in unnecessary pain.

One particularly interesting exercise I shall detail here. Number 42 got the ball in the high post, turned around, and looked at me with his beady little eyes that only jocks and the criminally insane possess. I was between him and the basket. Try as I might to escape, there was nowhere for me to go, no other player to defend instead. So I closed my eyes, protected my crotch, and stood there, hoping to survive or at least draw the charge for the team. From the sidelines I heard the coach screaming "Matt open your eyes for chrissakes open your eyes!"

He must have seen me close my eyes, because he took advantage of it. At that point, when fear had shut down most of my higher brain functions, he drove in a little bit, shot the ball, and THEN elbowed me in the head.

I went down like a sack of people who had just been elbowed in the head. To my dismay, I didn't bleed, and therefore I didn't have a valid excuse to leave the game.

But fear not, matt fans! At this point in the game, Our Hero lost consciousness and therefore was ineligible to play for the rest of the evening! (Whether I actually lost consciousness or was simply faking it is another matter entirely and I will not address it here.)

Don't worry about me. I'm still playing intramural basketball, and I'm having a lot of fun … from the sidelines. Being a cheerleader most of the time.



I used to be able to say that "Although my problems are stacking up and the end is not in sight, at least I don't have a chronic headache the size of the world and a hideous black eye that makes the ladies run away screaming." I can't say that anymore.


posted by antimAtt @ 9.45 (gmt+0000)
to /hatelife/unhappiness
tagged