Kaye: I have a playhouse that I bought for a friend's kid for Christmas and she doesn't want it. Interested?
Me: Maybe. What does it look like?
Kaye: It's this thing.
Me: The Discovery Kids Playhouse?
Kaye: Yeah.
Me: I'll tell what I would discover in that thing. My son touching himself.
Kaye: Nice.

Labels: im convos, kaye, the boy

You are not interesting or funny. A week old carcass scooped off the road with a snow shovel, sprinkled with organic garnish and served in a trailer is not a meal. It's a misdemeanor. I am not opposed to eating meat, either. I will consume just about anything that has the misfortune of being below me on the food chain. I am just opposed to eating something whose time of death exceeds its time of refrigeration. And please stop calling yourself an artist. You are not. You are the annoying, alternative, Wiccan priestess, solstice-worshipping, patchouli-stink girl I sat next to in college who claimed to be an art major because you shit out 13 variations of the same Grateful Dead dancing bears painting in one semester. Real artists label themselves "artists". Insecure girls who work full-time at Kenny Shoes and volunteer once a month at the community center teaching children art classes call themselves "Nomadic Shamanic Artists".

Labels: art, food, open letter, rage, random

The wife and I have been doing yoga for the past few months. I enjoy the workout and stretching my aging, longshoreman like back. I do not enjoy the overuse of an obscure language from antiquity, the smug flexible students that can pull their youthful ankles up through the back of their assholes and the music. Especially the music. It is a combination of Indian restaurant waiting room, New Age spirituality and Yanni Live At The Acropolis. I know the goal of the soundtrack is to relax the soul into peaceful reflection, but it has the quite opposite effect on me. I spend much of my meditative experience fantasizing about tracking down whoever recorded the music and kicking their head through a plate glass window. Then a sense of calm washes over me and I feel alright with the world and my place in it. So I guess in a roundabout way, mission accomplished.

Labels: health, l-i-v-i-n, wife

Labels: family, geekery, l-i-v-i-n, the boy

Me: I think this sums up the entire Rockies 2011 season.
DJ: I think this sums it up better. You and I are the frog in the scenario.
Me: Can you please stop sending me inter-species rape videos? I find it weird I have to ask that.
DJ: I find it weird I have to answer that question, but the answer is "no".
Me: Nice.

Labels: dj, im convos, perversion, random, sports

According to the lunatic fringe, we are only a few days away from the rapture. I wasn't around for the first coming of Christ but I hear it was awesome. Especially if you were Roman.

I am guessing I will not be lifted up as one of God's chosen if the rapture hits on Saturday as my life has been lived as far from mistranslated and misinterpreted biblical passages as possible. High places tend to give me vertigo and I do not care much for flying, anyway.

I have a problem with faith because I tend to apply logic, reasoning and critical thinking to most aspects of my life. Those things that I do not apply these aforementioned principles to I get through with a lot of yelling and scotch. I am happy "God" works for some people. I am even happier that grown adults who think the concept of Santa Claus is ridiculous also think that a supreme being not only cares about the good deeds they do but uses said deeds as a reason to love or not love them.

It's not that I don't believe in God. It's that I just don't care if God exists or doesn't exist. I have bigger things to worry about. Like a wife to take care of, kids to raise, bills to pay and clients to design for. It seems like God's "chosen" people think heaven is some kind of exclusionary country club, anyway. If I wanted to be around a bunch of elitist pricks I would hang out at the Cherry Creek Mall on the weekends.

Labels: history, l-i-v-i-n, religion

• All the Friday the 13th Movie Posters. I caught the 2009 Reboot on late night cable a few months ago and I think it should qualify as a new movie genre; Horror Porn.
• Hot Girls with Hulk Hands or Hot Girls with Nosebleeds? Personally, I lean towards the hot chicks with nosebleeds. It's the mystery of how she got the nosebleed that does it for me. Something to be said for that instead of her posing with some random kid's sticky-ass toys she picked up off the floor (NSFW).
• Prom advice from a second grader that knows too much about life. Well played, Emma Clark.

Labels: chicks, link goodness, movies, pop culture

Today hippies, burnouts, college students and losers everywhere will be motivated to do something other than playing Call of Duty Black Ops and running down to area convenience stores for Snapples and bags of Funyons. That something will entail joining mass demonstrations to show the world that smoking weed is totally awesome.

Colorado essentially decriminalized marijuana in 2005 and dispensaries have been opening up all over the state ever since. Some have clever names like "Health Joint" or "Green Room" while others have less imaginative monikers like "Marijuana Store" or "Pot Shop".

I am indifferent about marijuana and could care less if people smoke it or not. I wish the government would just legalize it (and every other drug) and be done with it. Tax it, sell it and put that money to use somewhere else. Like re-paving the goddamn Boulder Turnpike. I feel like I am driving on the back of a fossilized Stegosaurus.

Labels: boulder, colorado, drugs, politics

While the boy's birthing was a marathon fight like Rocky Balboa versus Ivan Drago (minus the sweet "No Easy Way Out" montage), the girl child fired her way out of the chute like a Hitler-hating Jesse Owens in the 1936 Olympics.

As labor approached the noon hour, my mom asked if I wanted to run downstairs and get a sandwich with her because, "You need to keep your strength up too, Matty." The wife gave me the go ahead as her contractions were light and I was not planning on being gone for long. 20 minutes later I walked back into the labor and delivery room and the wife had gone from being dilated at 4 to 6 (for those of you unfamiliar with the cervix during childbirth, this is like hitting a thirty-pointer in basketball).

Within the hour, the girl child was being tagged and our nurse was quoted as saying, "That was pretty intense."

The House of Broz is currently fun, crazy and full of poop. Lots of poop.

Labels: babies, family, girl child, l-i-v-i-n, poop, pop culture, sports, the boy

Yesterday I ran into a guy I used to work with at the data slaughterhouse at the hockey rink. After exchanging pleasantries ("pleasantries" being me talking smack after we shut his team his team out 4-0), I asked him how everything was going. I knew that he was still toiling away in that godforsaken hellhole and I was curious if things were as I remembered them. He dropped this gem on me:

"Once I stopped caring about what was happening around me, I was a lot happier. When I cared, management knew it and they crushed my soul."

Good to hear that nothing has changed since the day I was laid off.

Labels: career, data slaughterhouse, hockey