Aggro Crag

TTFN. Forever.

2009-06-14T18:09:00.000-07:00

All good things must, one day, come to an end.

This statement also applies to other, non-good things.

And every now and then, to really really dumb things with no purpose.

No, not bass players.

This blog, you turkeys.

Ta ta for now.

Forever!

Gems and the Holograms

2009-05-14T19:23:00.000-07:00

Let's be honest. My blog is ridiculous.

I realized this just a few minutes into the endeavor. But for some reason, I kept going. I offered up posts about night-owl neighbor girls with an itch for some late-night interaction, cabbage patch kids and their negative impact on children, morphing my face with Michael Jackson's, dreams about tornadoes and swirlies, devouring an entire gift box of cheese and meat, Boyz II Men, and Crocs, the worst invention of all time.

Then I gave up.

I found it much easier to see someone in Crocs on the street and then cringe and call it a day, than I did to see someone in Crocs and cringe and then go home and sit down and try to make it seem interesting to anyone other than myself.

Tonight I decided I'd sit down and give it another shot, though, as it's been almost two months since I logged in here.

Ten minutes in, I realize that I have nothing to share. So, I found myself searching for some inspirational music in my iTunes. Something that might trigger a worthwhile post.

In doing so, I came across a few gems. And by gems, I mean petrified pieces of poop that have gained value over time as a result of their poopiness. Like Pogs, Magic cards, zit stickers from the popular young girls' game "Girl Talk," and actual pieces of poop with valuable diamonds inside.

There's not too much to say about these gems, other than that they were squeezed out at a strange transitional time in my life. I had graduated college with an advertising degree, and yet, for some reason, I was living with my parents and sleeping in the same bed I used to pee in. Oh, and yes, the booger trail I had left on the wall next to said bed was still there, and it spelled out "salty nose treats" in braille. This post is all about forgotten gems, as it turns out.

Anyway, point is, I was living with my folks and bussing tables with no idea where I was headed in life. But I still had all these deep feelings and deep ideas and deep understandings of deep things that I had developed in college. But I had nowhere to put them.

Until I discovered a microphone from the late 80s in the basement, and the fact that a Dell desktop could actually be used for more than browsing the interweb (at 56k, mind you).

With the help of some illegally downloaded recording software and said 80s microphone, I decided to get creative in my gem-infested bedroom while mom taught clarinet lessons downstairs.

I'm going to share the results with all 3 of you who might still stumble upon this thing by mistake.

Why? Same reason I devoted an entire entry to meat logs. No reason whatsoever. And also because I find the results somewhat laughable and also delicious. Like meat logs and cheese.

Make fun of them. Make your own music videos to them. Make love to them. Make your own gem braille messages inspired by them. Whatever floats your boats, friends.

The following represent Matt years before a band was in the works. And years and years after it was acceptable to record songs on an 80s microphone. Boogers all 'round, y'all.

http://rapidshare.com/files/233121844/sappy_cover_1.m4a

http://rapidshare.com/files/233121845/sappy_original_1.m4a

http://rapidshare.com/files/233121846/sappy_cover_2.m4a

http://rapidshare.com/files/233121847/sappy_original_2.m4a

Crag Repellent

2009-03-24T17:19:00.000-07:00

No. Bad. Wrong.

Thanks for the flower.

Wait a second. That's not a flower. That's a hideous whirlwind of poisonwear.

Good luck trying to scale this insurmountable pile of pure evil.

Sorry I missed your party.

I was busy trying not to look like a giant ugly infant.

One less evil-doer.

And two that somehow survived.

Sorry if I offended any of you who enjoy looking like you dipped your feet into Barney's excrement.

My first relevant post...

2009-03-03T19:59:00.000-08:00

So maybe you don't care about Boyz II Men, Cabbage Patch Kids, or my encounters with drunken night-owl neighbor chicks.

In the tradition of posting things you don't care about, I invite you to come see my band at Subterranean on the 12th of March. We're playing with some great bands, including one of my all-time favorites, the Silent Years.

Hope to see you there.

And then, back here for my next useless post.

Boyz becoming Men. Men becoming Wolvz.

2009-02-26T19:26:00.000-08:00

Roman numerically, Boyz II Men are worth re-listening II, if you haven't given them a chance in the last XIII years or so.

These multi-Grammy winners are the real deal. Particularly if you enjoy deep, pillow-talky apologies.

In the middle of every song.

But subwooferously bass-y vocal interludes aside, these guys were hard-working poets. They even re-recorded their songs in Spanish II out-do the then popular British-voice Madonna.

I think what really drew me II these guyz was their ability II target all of the issues that the average VIII-year-old boy was dealing with at the time. Songs about saying goodbye II yesterday and its challenges, eating all the Philly steaks you could eat, and strange moaning noises that I still don't understand II this day.

I think it's time IV a comeback. In the form of a collaboration.

Boyz II Men at Work

Buying bread from a man in Brussels.
He was VI foot IV and full of muscles.
I said, "Do you speak-a my language?"
He just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich.
And he said,

(spoken word interlude)

Baby...I'm sorry.
I never meant II hurt you.
Please come back home, girl.
All those times at night, when you just hurt me,
and just ran out with that other fella...
Baby, I knew about it. I just didn't care.
Just give me a bite of that vegemite sandwich,
and we'll call it even.
Just come back II me.
Yes, baby, my heart is lonely.
My heart hurts, baby. Yes, I feel pain, II.
Just let me try that vegemite sandwich, baby!
Just let me try that sandwich!

I come from a land down under,
Where beer does flow and men chunder.
Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?
You'd better run, you'd better take cover.

(spoken word interlude II)

Baby...I'm sorry.
I never meant II chunder up that vegemite sandwich.
I'm just not used II dark brown food pastes.
Yeast extract tickles my bowels, II, baby.
Please, give me another chance, girl.
Do you have some normal jelly or even just some peanut butter or something?
It's kind of weird that all you have is vegemite.
You were born in Berkley, Michigan. Not Brisbane.
Just feed me, girl. Any paste will do.
But if it's vegemite, sprinkle some bean-o inII that paste
before you spread it all over the the bread slices, darling.
Baby, I hate to chunder.
Especially in front of your mother.

How I spent my Valentine's Day

2009-02-14T12:36:00.001-08:00

Goatellitonthemountain.

2009-01-26T19:26:00.000-08:00

Dear (8) friends and an unknown number of anonymous lurkers (likely, 1),

I feel like I owe you more than the ridiculous and childish banter I dish out once in a blue moon. Or, sometimes, after 4 or 5 Blue Moons, depending on the night. Tonight, it's the sky-related blue moon. But come to think of it, "blue moon" refers to the second full moon that occurs in any calendar month. On average, there will be 41 months that have two full moons in every century. By that calculation, "once in a blue moon" means once every two-and-a-half years. So, I must actually be talking about the beer. I blame PJ Clarke's next to the theater where I saw MBV3D for this flub. That baked goat cheese made me thirsty for one. And that dry, parching orange slice made me thirsty for the second.

Anyway...the point is, you deserve more from me.

Which is why I offer you this photo from work earlier today. Only once in a blue moon will you see something like this. And this time, I mean the two-and-a-half years thing.

It's a photo of my mind being blown. Straight out of my nose. And for good reason.

Jim Breuer DOES look like a real goat boy! Oh my goodness! He really, truly, mind-blowingly does!

"Hey! Remember the eeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiighties?"

Taze me now.

why pay $16.99...

2009-01-12T18:01:00.000-08:00

...when you can pay the sale price of $17.99!?

CVS, Birmingham, Michigan challenged me to this mind duel recently.

And since it is dishonorable and cowardly conduct to ignore a duel challenge once it has been formally issued, I must answer this seemingly absurd question.

The answer is one or all of the following:

a) You are blind.

b) You pretended to be blind when you passed that homeless woman outside and proceeded to blow your nose with a dollar bill in front of her, and now you feel bad, so you convince yourself that buying this bottle of wine and paying an extra dollar for it will clear your conscience.

c) Your crush works at CVS, and you write "keep the change" on the extra dollar to impress her. Then you realize, "Wow...you totally just called her out on mis-pricing that bottle of wine. You idiot! She's probably going to get fired now. You're totally going to have to support her now that she doesn't have a job. And you totally just spent your last support dollar on that mis-priced bottle of wine."

d) You have a coupon for 20% off any purchase of $20 or more at CVS, and those E.T. Pogs with Elliot-Touching-E.T.'s-Finger Super-Slammer only cost $0.99. Michigan sales tax, yo.

Chips, Ahoy!

2009-01-05T19:02:00.000-08:00

Once in a bleu cheese moon, one stumbles upon something so amazing, so indescribable, that it cannot be...well, described. Doyyy! Or at least not with commonly accepted terminology. (See: Doyyy)

Case in point: Redcoat Tavern.

This place is the real deal. They've got the best burger I've tasted in my life. Anywhere. Ever.

And on top of that, they've got about 100 beers, most of which I've never heard of, which means they're good.

Not to mention, but certainly worth mentioning, the burger that they serve is made from Piedmontese beef. Which, according to the menu, means it's nearly fat-free. The last time I tasted something so good and so free-of-fat was actually just a couple of minutes ago when I licked an elevator button. Someone on 13 was snacking on some serious corn chips.

Which brings me to the point of this post. While visiting the Redcoat Tavern over break, its indescribability was finally put into words.

My broseph Kirk and I were pulling into Redcoat's parking lot, and my excitement could not be stifled.

"I love this place!" I whimpered like the ghost of a gay lamb in heat.

Without hesitation, and pardoning me from an awkward voice intervention, Kirk belted out, "This place is the CHIPS!"

The Chips was intended to be a fecal curse word, no doubt. But the language gods would not allow such an establishment to be cheapened to the level of common curse-phrase. No sirs and ma'ams!

The most powerful exclamation ever uttered, The Chips, was born on this fateful day. And based on its reception post inception, as well as its frequent use on facebook since that day, I'd say it's safe to assume The Chips is here to stay.

Use it. But use it sparingly.

This is no "the bomb" or "the best" or "the bee's knees."

This is The Chips.

Chips ahoy, y'all. Chips ahoy!

Pictured: Matt and Kirk sharing a Chips-worthy moment many years before The Chips' birth.

Bad at Blog

2009-01-03T16:12:00.000-08:00

Apparently, I'm no good at updating this thing.

In other news, is there something in my teeth?

Oops...I did it again.

2008-12-25T17:21:00.000-08:00

When it comes to fattening cheeses and meats, I lack finger-to-mouth control.

I just gotta keep shoving stacks of the stuff into my mouth.

It's an addiction, really. And quite an unhealthy one.

You don't give an alcoholic gallons of booze for Hanukkah. You don't dangle crack in front of a crack baby on Kwanzaa. And you don't send me a Hickory Farms gift box for Christmas. It's just not right.

Today, I did major damage to one such gift box, and to my arteries.

First, I devoured slice after slice of Beef Stick. Then I took a dive into the Jalapeño Jack Wedge. Without taking a breath, I smeared Cheddar Cheese Chub all over some Ritz, and stacked some Summer Sausage, Hot Mustard, chunks of the Jalapeño stuff, and slices of the Beef Stick on top. After I had finished nearly half of the gift box, I had a look-see at the old nutrition facts. (then, mom made a pork roast)

Well, it was really great knowing all of you.

Happy Holidays, and I'll see you where the rivers flow with Hot Mustard, the sun shines rays of Cheddar Chub, and the air we breathe smells of delicious, life-shortening Beef Stick.

What Dreams May Come

2008-12-18T20:10:00.000-08:00

Last night, I had the most intense dream. The premise was simple, but insane: tornadoes kept forming in the distance and coming directly toward me. Some barely touched me. Others dragged me across the ground. And some picked me up into the air and tossed me around a bit. There were co-workers present, and also a ton of other faces I've never met, all experiencing the same thing as I. It was really quite strange. But, in all honesty, I've had many like this before.

Tonight, I decided to google "tornadoes in dreams."

All of the interpretations point to stress and uncertainty in life, whether it be work related, a new relationship, or simply a feeling of having no control over a situation. The experts swear it's because I'm stressed, overwhelmed, or aimless.

Truthfully, the dream was a bit scary and even painful. But it was also very exciting and enjoyable. In fact, when I woke up, I tried to go back to sleep right away in hopes of picking up where I had left off.

I'm not convinced it's stress related. I'm not a high-stress individual.

Excuse me for a moment while I go give myself a swirly.

Ok, I'm back. Where were we...?

Ahh, yes. The tornado dream.

Ummm...shoot. I seem to have lost my train of thought. When this happens, I usually give myself a swirly. One second...I'm just going to go and give myself another swirly. Back in a second.

Ok, here I am.

Wait, what were we talking about?

Excuse me. Swirly time.

Ok, I'm back.

Errr...wait. What?

Hold on...gotta go give myself a swirly.

Phew! That swirly was refreshing.

Where were we...?

Ahh yes, tornadoes.

Kids do the darn'dest things!

2008-12-14T20:33:00.000-08:00

Monkey see, monkey do...right?

Monkey see monkey throwing a banana peel, monkey throw a banana peel.

Monkey see monkey monkeying around on monkey bars, monkey monkey around on monkey bars.

Monkey monkey monkey monkey monkey, monkey monkey. Monkey. (monkey)

So, why is it that parents are shocked and confused by their child's "crazy" behavior, when it is they who encourage it from the get-go? That's right, parents. Your kid's crazy haircut is your fault. Think I'm nuts? Allow me to clear things up for you, with one fact:

If you allow your child to play with a Cabbage Patch Kid, you are solely responsible for your child's social awkwardness, criminal record, job as a stripper, job at Denny's, addiction to the Denny's Moons Over My Hammy breakfast, and so on. Some examples.

Bad Haircut:

Ice Cream on Crotch Problem:

Exotic Dance Tendencies:

Exotic Dance Tendencies with Bad Haircut Combo:

Inappropriate Tattoo:

Fashion Failure:

Odd Botanical Behavior. Specifically, Forcing Head Through Cabbage:

Don't stop me now.

2008-12-11T19:15:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is the C-K holiday party.

Today, I found the perfect outfit.

1 and 1 is 2

2008-12-10T19:01:00.000-08:00

Christmas is the time for sharing.

If you need help carving a Christmas goose, I'll hand you your knife.

If you'd like a hand hanging up your ornaments, I'll coach you from the couch as you hang them.

If your driveway needs shoveling, I'll point you in the direction of the kid down the street who gets no allowance and will do it for a glass of warm milk. (You can blame the strange taste of your expired milk on the fact that milk is not meant to be heated up and served out of an old Pepto-Bismol cap).

And finally, if you need a holiday card designed, look no further than yours truly.

Recently, my friend asked me to do just that. She wanted something designed that screamed "Happy happy holidays! Cheer! Delight! Cute puppies! Angel outreach! Sisterhood of the traveling pants! Hark! Yonder! And other joyous words and phrases."

She provided me with this image:

Instantly I decided that nothing screams "cute puppies, happiness, joy, Mall Madness, not getting a zit in Girl Talk, jellies shoes, and Macauly Culkin before he turned creepy" like the Grinch who stole Christmas.

I hope this card is as well received as that one voicemail I left on that cute girl's phone when I just kept breathing really heavily and uttering, "me me me...you you you...one plus one...equals two two two...two two two...minus the second two twos...that leaves two...me and you."

Your brain is full of spiders, you've got garlic in your soul, Mr. Grinch.
I wouldn't touch you with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole!
You have all the tender sweetness of a seasick crocodile, Mr. Grinch.
Given the choice between the two of you, I'd take the seasick crocodile!
Your heart is full of unwashed socks, your soul is full of gunk, Mr. Grinch.
Your heart's a dead tomato splotched with moldy purple spots, Mr. Grinch.
You're a crooked jerky jockey and you drive a crooked horse, Mr. Grinch.

You're a three-decker saurkraut and toadstool sandwich, with arsenic sauce.

Face Oddity

2008-12-08T20:21:00.000-08:00

Heartbreak is devastating.

Trust me. I should know.

Some of you probably recognize this photo from years and years ago.

Yes, that's right. It's me and Natalie Portman on the Tonight Show together. In love.

We were as deeply in love as two strangers who had never met could have been.

But things change. People change. Portmans change.

Apparently, Natalie never noticed this picture circulating about the interweb. And if she did, she never took the time to write me and say something like, "oh...hey matt! that picture you photoshopped in your parents' basement when you got home from bussing tables at Brady's Tavern is really great! maybe we should meet and date and kiss and stuff."

And you know what..? That really hurt. It cut me deep.

Deep cuts all down in my soul.

But today, I came across this image of my ex-boo. And you know what now..? I'm totally over her.

Ms. P will never be Mrs. C.

Matt and Nat forNEVER!

At least until she looks at the camera in such a way that it feels like it's directed toward me...or at the very least, she looks in the direction of the side of the theater I'm on. Anyway, here's why she's a terrible land-monster:

A. Clumpy eye-lashes.
B. Clearly bathes in make-up.
C. Chiclet tooth.
D. Scary black eyeball.
E. Uni-brow.
F. Lone hair gone wild.

We're through, Fatalie.

THROUGH!

2008-12-08T19:02:00.000-08:00

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be Michael Jackson?

I have.

I think my legs would be sore from the leg kicking. I also think that my face would frighten small children and weathered adults alike.

Tonight, I decided to test these theories.

First, I queued up a little Dirty Diana, along with a pair of sparkling golden underpants which I wore on the outside of my much-too-short black dance pants. And then, slipping into a sequined glove, I hit the play button. All was well, until about 0:35 into the song. The kicking and spinning and toe-standing was simply too much for my jell-o legs. Crawling back to my laptop, defeated, I crashed down on the stop button. How does that little milky man do it?

Perhaps I would understand if I put myself into his skin.

I think I understand now.

And by "understand," I mean "need a therapist."

The Stranger

2008-12-07T16:07:00.000-08:00

Now this is a story all about how
my life got flipped, turned upside down.
I'd like to take a minute, just sit right there, or stand.
I'll tell you how I became the target of a drunk with sloppy hand.

Thursday, 3:00 am

I wake up from a deep sleep to noises in the hall outside my door.
I live in a high-rise, and I don't really know anyone in the building.
At first, I think it's time to wake up for work, and I am tired and sad.
Then I look at the clock, and I am tired and happy cuz I get to sleep a lot more.
Must be hearing things, or dreaming. I start to fall back asleep.

Thursday, 3:02 am...two minutes later

Somebody is now knocking on my door.
Loud.
With the metal knocker thingy.
The Strangers has ruined door knocking for me.
Door knocking means someone will kill me.
So, needless to say, I'm feeling a bit frightened now.
It's 3:02 on a school night. Who knocks?
And how did someone get past the doorman?
I decide I'd better get up and check it out.
I look out the peephole, and nobody is there.
Now, I've messed my drawers.
I decide to call the doorman.

Me: Hi, this is Matt in 1410. Someone was up here knocking on doors. With the knocker. And nobody seems to be up here, and I didn't hear the elevator. (and I just doo doo'd myself)

Door Lady: Really? Well...a girl from your floor actually came in a few minutes ago, and she had clearly been drinking. I'll come up and make sure things are cool.

Me: Thanks. (also, would you mind rocking me to sleep while you're up here?)

Like I said, I don't really know the people in my building.
So, I figure it must have been a mistake. I go back to bed.

Thursday, 3:20 am

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Now I'm pissed.

I get up and creep over to the door. As I'm approaching, someone is sliding a note under my door. I look out the peephole, and it's this girl I had met earlier that night on my way out to band practice. We had exchanged a few kind words in the elevator, but nothing that would warrant a late-night attack of this nature. I decide not to open the door, but instead just read the note.

"It was nice to meet you.
I'll be around all days now
if you need anything."

I must have really made quite an impression on her in the elevator when I said, "Soooo....how long have you lived here?"

Last night, I got a call from a blocked number at 3:46am.

If I don't update this blog in the next couple of days, you can assume I've been killed.

Intro to Aggro Crag

2008-12-07T15:06:00.000-08:00

It's dense.

It's got massive mounds.

And every adolescent boy dreams about getting a piece.

No, it's not that foreign exchange student you asked out and then immediately farted on and wet your pants.

It's the Aggro Crag, you turkey.

According to Urban Dictionary: The Aggro Crag is a treacherous mountain with many obstacles, such as falling boulders and snow, which 3 challengers had to face as the last event of the Nick show GUTS! Players had to hit 7 buttons and a final one at the top. The first to do so won a piece of the majestic Crag.

What does this have to do with my blog?

Well...my blog is heaping mound of garbage. And it will instill feelings of desire and discomfort in all who come across it.

Urban Dictionary also has an entry for its misspelled alter-ego.

Agro Crag
A sh*t, fecal matter, dung, crap, poo.
i.e. I ate too many treats last night and had to drop a monster agro crag.

Come to think of it, this one more accurately describes my blog...

Epiphany

2008-12-07T13:44:00.000-08:00

Every single day, I ask myself the same thing: WWDHMDD?

Just before earning a perfect score on my SAT, I asked myself.

On the day of my graduation from Princeton at the age of 10, I asked myself.

When Wanda started sleeping around, and Vinnie said "dump that tramp, son!" I asked myself.

And just this morning, as I was standing in front of the mirror completely naked and crying while drinking mayonnaise, I once again asked myself, What Would Doogie Howser, M.D. Do?

And then it hit me like the splat of mayo that hit the floor, spelling out the word BLOG.

Doogie would blog.