i'm hungry...for my childhood

Clearly the greatest cereal ever produced. Perfect to eat while watching Voltron. I used to wash it down with a game of Excitebike or a Transformers-Meets-G.I. Joe session.

 

fifty-eight sixteen

"Welcome to the Monkey House"
-Kurt Vonnegut

Entering the world of homeownership changes you. Yeah, you work a little harder and everything, but something fundamental happens. You start to care about things like grass, appliances, and plumbing. Where I used to make a phone call to the landlord when the dishwasher broke, now I have to fix it myself...er...I mean...wait around for the repair dude.

Still, it's nice. As the office's resident single guy, my house is now the last bastion of freedom for the married guys who want to play poker. Which is good, because the only piece of furniture I've purchased so far is a casino-style poker table.

Last week, I had the inaugural party at 5816. Good times, but I got made fun of...

Dr. J. - Hey, Matt, where are your cups?

Me - I haven't unpacked them yet.

Dr. J. - What am I supposed to drink out of?

Me - Just empty out a Coke can, rinse it out, and drink out of that.

(Laughter from all...directed at me)

Ster - Matt, where's your plates?

Me - They're in a box in the garage.

Ster - How am I supposed to eat this pizza?

Me - Eh, I have tile flooring and a dog, so don't worry about a plate.

(Derision...directed at me)

Willard - What's in that third bedroom?

Me - That's not my third bedroom. I call that the "hamper."

she seems to have an invisible touch

I stumbled upon my yearbook from first grade in a box the other day. How this happened is not a story worth relating, save to say there might have been a search for a working pen involved. The world hasn't changed much in twenty years:

(1) I still covet Transformers.
(2) Genesis is still a cool band. Especially the pre-Phil Collins era.
(3) Space shuttles.
(4) I still don't know how to subtract.
(5) One must still remain quiet when sitting in the circle.
(6) My hair remains disheveled.
(7) Ocean Pacific socks became Cole Haan shoes somehow.
(8) The Rangers remain in the cellar.
(9) The Rolling Stones are still old.
(10) I still have a crush on Mallory from Family Ties.

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."
-Seneca (or, for those into pop culture, Semisonic)

no sugar tonight (in my coffee)

In between quashing subpoenas, I just booked my yearly trip here. I'll give you three guesses where it is.

"You know that I would be a liar,
If I was to say to you,
Girl we couldn't get much higher."
-Jim Morrison

everybody's working [on] the weekend*

Did anyone out there know that there's a 3:00 in the morning? Sometimes, your ox gets in a grind and you have to work late. Even on a Sunday. But I digress...

*Nominally at least, I dislike 80s music. Especially Loverboy. There's something pretentious about keytars. It's as though the guy who normally plays piano in the band wasn't satisfied with being stuck on the back of the stage with the drummer, so he came up with an instrument that would allow him to strut his stuff in spandex or zubaz pants with the rest of the hair band no-talents. But no matter how expensive or revolutionary the keytar might be, it still looks like a children's toy that blows bubbles out the end when you try and play it.

i think i'll let my subscription to this theory lapse

I learned this weekend what color I am. I've been having an identity crisis about it for some time now - my immense street cred and Irish blood having duked it out for some time.

But more to the point, I learned what color my personality has designs on being. My own id/ego/superego, apparently, is Gold. Without boring kind reader of blog with details, having a Gold personality is essentially akin to being a loner despot bent on world domination. So I've got that going for me.

The other personality colors, according to theory, are:

Blue: This was my second-highest score on the personality test. In short, Blues are sensitive doormats.

Green: Kermit the Frog is apparently an over-analytical Cliff Claven-type. Which explains why it ain't easy being green.

Orange: Orange personalities have a zest for living. They also like to do crazy things. Which is why they fill up prisons.

All of my scores on were bunched close together. When I asked the counselor who administered the test whether this meant I was crazy, strange, or just lacking in personality of any kind, she responded that I was living in the personality "nexus."

Star Trek allusions aside, being in the nexus is a good thing. It means you're "balanced." The theory holds that Jesus lived in the nexus. Nobody has ever accused me of being balanced, so I'll take that for what its worth. All I know is this: I'll just be myself and let the God complex work itself out. After you peons all fetch me a cup of coffee, that is...