So it's come to this

April 14. Holy crap, I have left all you adoring fans with absolutely no blog posts for almost a month. But I have my excuses; thank you very much Bye Bye Birdie, I am happy to see you go bye bye. (Wow, just about the worst joke I have ever written?) It was fun though, especially when we finally got to perform it in front of a live studio audience! (Um... this is a reference to television... never mind.) Being reporter number three was a huge challenge. Memorizing my four lines took dedication and courage, not to mention hours of hardship and toil. I was particularly proud of my "I'll make sure we've got a wire to New York!" statement, in which I used perfect inflection of the voice that truly brought out my character. And let me tell you, I made sure we had that wire. I walked with it all the way from Sweet Apple my self. And the notebook, who could ever forget my infamous notebook, which will remain confidential until the end of time. For those of you who don't know, the notebook is not some cheesy, sappy lovey dovey, chick flick movie. It is my reporter notebook, shown to several of my classmates on stage during actual performances, the contents of which designed to do nothing other than to make people break character and laugh during the show. And it worked. And they hated me for it. The camera gag was another goodie. During parent night, the show before the opening, my cardboard camera plummeted to the ground. Seeing it on the ground, I did the only thing I could do. Freak out. It's on of those "had to be there moments", but it was a doozy. And finally, to top it all off, is a hot microphone backstage during the overture, and none other than Conrad Birdie himself saying "shit all over the floor", much to the surprise of over 400 audience members. They loved it though; if only they could have heard the rest of it: "Don't you know? If you shit in front of the fan, it oscillates throughout the entire room!" Good times. Wow, did I really write all that stuff about our musical? Looks like I had more fun than I thought. Anyway, on to what I really want to blog about. (Is blog a verb?) Smokers. And not just smokers by themselves, but old smokers. Do you ever notice that you rarely see old people smoking? This vague but true statement makes me laugh, especially because of how valid it is. I wonder where they all are! I can't really make a joke out of this without it being horribly incorrect, so I'll leave it to you. Remember pop up books? Those things may be one of the top ten inventions of all time. Nobody ever reads them, but everyone does try and fathom how flat paper could magically be transformed into a three dimensional object simply by opening the book. Seriously those things are pimp.

Philosophy

Sweet Ben Folds song. One of my favorites. By popular request, here is a copy of the start of the "Table of Contents" to my philosophy. TABLE OF CONTENTS (The table of contents is split up into parts. Roman numerals indicate various contracts. Capital letters are categories and integers are subcategories. Lowercase letters are specific codes.) Forward and Introduction Preamble I. Social contracts    A. Relationships with others       1. Immediate family          a. Parents          b. Brothers          c. Sisters       2. Relatives          a. Geographical location          b. Frequency of visits          c. Holidays          d. Baked goods          e. Second cousins          f. Disposal of       3. Friends          a. Establishing          b. Friday and Saturday nights          c. The pop-in          d. The three-way call          e. The small group          f. Car decorating          g. Refrigerator privileges          h. Borrowing CDs and DVDs       4. Dating          a. Advantages and Disadvantages          b. Starting          c. Maintaining          d. Exploiting          e. Gift-giving          f. Purchasing movies and meals          g. Phone conversation frequency          h. Having the upper hand          i. Ending       5. Other peers          a. The social leech          b. The know-it-all          c. The data processor          d. The Libby       6. Authority figures          a. Which ones to respect          b. Bypassing       7. People on the internet          a. Not really people    B. Activities with others       1. Bathroom breaks (for guys)          a. With urinals and dividers          b. With urinals and no dividers          c. With "tub" urinals          d. When using the stall          e. Automatic flushing          f. When there's no toilet paper          g. When there's no soap          h. Foam soap          i. Air drying or paper towels?          j. What to do when your fly is left open       2. Bathroom breaks for girls          a. Why everyone at once?          b. The real conspiracy          c. Secret underground conference rooms       3. The movie          a. Who should go?          b. You can't talk in a movie theatre          c. Buttered popcorn          d. Bitchy manager enforcing R rating          e. Chick flicks          f. The "good" theatres with rocking seats          g. Armrest etiquette          h. At someone's house       4. Coffee          a. Single or double?          b. Mochas          c. Why all the artsy fliers?          d. Purchasing items other than coffee          e. The little cardboard sleeves       5. Dining          a. Seating arrangements          b. Cloth napkins          c. Lemon in the water          d. Television orientation (for sports bars)          e. The meal itself          f. The check             1. The "reach"             2. The bathroom trick          g. The af er meal mint       6. Pranks          a. The car decorating          b. The TP ritual          c. The trifector             1. Tabletopping             2. Depantsifying             3. Nut tapping          d. The crank call          e. Revenge -Matt

This is the answer

Duct tape. Ordinary duct tape. I have a theory that any problem in the world can be solved with duct tape. Think about it. There is no possible way this isn't true. Give me your problem and I will give you your solution: duct tape. For example, I have a problem. When an individual driving home from wherever his traversion (that's a made up word, but I like it) originated, he or she will undoubtedly come across other people traveling on the roads. Now when it comes to rush hour, this traffic increases dramatically. This is a problem. Being stuck in this mad stampede of automobiles, I couldn't help but think there's got to be a better way. My friends, let me tell you there is. Before I dive into my highly technical and intricate plans, let me show you the steps of presenting yourself with an issue at hand, and resolving that issue, following these steps in order: 1. First you must analyze the given problem and decide when the results need to happen. If your dilemma can be contemplated and thought through, proceed to step two. If it needs a solution in a very short amount of time, skip to step three. IF YOU SIMPLY DO NOT CARE, skip to step four. 2. Step two is the point at which you give it your first few tries. At this point you've had enough time to examine the situation and make your initial judgment. Present yourself with the answer and complete the first test, and see if it works. If it does, congratulations. I commend you. If all of your initial plans fail, your skills are lacking and you must continue to the next step. 3. Irrational actions is step number three. This is where you have no time to think anything through, or you are so frustrated that you don't give a damn anymore. At this level, you perform any actions you possibly can, even if there's no possible way any of them could ever solve your problem. If this is the case, advance to step four. 4. Duct tape. Let me show you how this works. As I was saying I had the problem of many people being in my way when I desperately need to arrive at home to catch the beginning of Antiques Roadshow. So I think it through. Before I leave to go home, I know in advance that traffic will be bad. Therefore, I come to the most logical solution first. It takes way too much time for cars to go through green lights. If I'm sitting at the back of a massively large line of cars, it will take up to thirty seconds after the light turns green before I can even think about starting to move. This is simply unacceptable. So I propose my answer: the second the light turns green, every car in the entire line will hit the gas. Then we will all proceed through the light without having to wait for the car in front of us. Brilliant! Needless to say, this didn't work. People didn't want to listen to me as I was yelling to everyone outside my car. I tried to explain to them to start moving as the light turned green, but all that happened were two fender benders and one really upset police officer. Seeing as how my plan failed, I looked to step three, where I basically pissed off every driver on the road. In my haste I screwed over ever car I passed by cutting them off and running through the seven red lights. But what was I to do? Step two had been compromised. I was left to drive like a mad man. Unfortunately, I missed the start of Antiques Roadshow. I was extremely depressed. But not so depressed that I couldn't carry on to the final rung on the ladder: step four. How can this be you say? You plan to dissolve your traffic problem with duct tape? Yes. Yes, I do. The duct tape solution is simple: I inconspicuously go around town and whip out my perpetual roll of duct tape, and simply duct tape every door of every car shut. So they can't open it! Ingenious idea, I must say. If this succeeds, no one will be able to get into their car for several hours, enough time for me to cruise the streets unscathed and untouched! Thus allowing me to watch my much needed fix of... well.... you know. So there you have it, my philosophy on solving day to day predicaments. I hope you find my guide useful. In other news, this weekend rocked. My Friday was spent in Holmes Park playing with a sweet vortex football and a My Dog Skip frisbee. Then later I had coffee at the Mill. It doesn't get any better than that! Saturday I spent taking photographs. Then I worked. Then I watched the History Channel. Then I talked to Kate. Then I went to bed. Then I decided to write like a first grader. Sunday was cool. I went geocaching on my bike, and met some other geocachers on my way. They were extremely nice people; it makes me want to go to an "event cache" some time in the future. It was a lot of fun; my total for the day was three (and 8.5 kilometers on my bike). And that brings me here. It's Sunday night, and I am required by law to be at school tomorrow. That's too bad. I would rather spend my time doing what I have just mentioned, with the inclusion of lighting hand sanitizer on fire. -Matt

The many uses of hand sanitizer

As I stare into the bottle half full of Purell, I wonder to myself. What happens to the other .01% of most common germs that may cause illness? Perhaps we will never know. What we do know, however, that the active ingredient is ethyl alcohol (62% - for antimicrobal purposes). This means not only can you get drunk off it, but it is possible to light it on fire and see what kind of blazing pictures you can make on a cookie sheet. Two of my accomplices have asisted me in this matter. Names, flowers, smily faces; they were are wreathed in a blue flame. As a grand finale, the entire cookie sheet was coated with hand sanitizer, at which point the enormous orange flame signaled a conclusion of the night's activities. But we'll be back. No one can elude the seductive lure of Purell. This is what I don't get. If Purell is 62% alcohol, how can it leave my hands feeling soft and refreshed, with moisturizers and vitamin E? Is that possible? Am I missing something? Did I really think I could center an entire blog post around instant hand sanitizer? How foolish I was. -Matt

I should be doing my homework...

And my college stuff. But I'm here instead. Because I care about you. So, I'm Mr. Bolt. It makes me laugh. Especially how my messed up answer to the "question" will inevitably be shown on channel 21. It was a lot of fun, though, and according to Andrea, all of us are "Perfect!!!!" She choreographed the dance, which was performed fairly well, complete with "Let's Hear it for the Boys" theme music. Then, it was time for the Elton John glasses which I had secretly constructed the night before with a surplus glue and craploads of glitter. The piano solo didn't come without its mistakes, but it was pretty sweet being able to perform in front of all those people. Thanks to everyone for supporting me. In other news, I have incorrectly identified the squirrel computer as number 12. It is actually PC 1. And if you have no idea what I'm talking about, read my last post. This is so depressing that I really don't have any sarcastic or humorous stories, perhaps because I'm worried about my senior writing or UNL honors, so I deeply apologize. This is cool, however: Matt Gibney search on Google. Looks like I've made it (almost) to the top of the list. -Matt

Where do I begin?

I guess I didn't realize how much I have become attached to my blog. So much stuff has happened in the last ten days, I don't know what to write about. Hopefully I can write more often to achieve the maximum sarcasm factor. Last weekend was our Spectrum trip to Ijoboko, meaning Okoboji, Iowa. This seriously rocked. Now this is difficult to write about, because I can only see many boring paragraphs about how much fun it was for me. So I will keep it blunt (or at least try to). I was rooming with four other guys, and by chance we were given the crappiest room of them all, complete with two beds. Now, another room housing other members of our choir had three beds, and it was poolside. Do you understand what I'm saying? Poolside, fools. We knew we had to take their room, so we hatched a scheme no one would think of: complain to the adults. It worked. We kicked them out of the their room and we were in business. Which is funny because Tony, a member of my room, was doing his business in our old room, which we were later informed that it was the "biggest crap [he] had ever taken." In the confusion and madness of switching rooms, he was unable to get it down the toilet, even after flushing, and it was decided to leave it. Five minutes later, Chris, who was forced into the room with the crap, came back. "You had to take our room," he said. "Did you have to take the shit?" I know it may not seem like it now, but it was the funniest thing I had ever heard. All of us laughed five minutes straight until we were crying. Sorry to bore you, but it was hilarious. Almost as hilarious as the old Korean woman yelling at us to get out of the pool. "You see sign?! It say close 10PM! People trying to sleep! Out! Out!" Hahah, you can just imagine her. Anyway, it was a fun trip and we got fourth in the competition. Tell if this makes any sense. In the Pius library there is a computer, you may have noticed it, namely PC 12, that likes to freak out and make an extremely irritating noise, one that sounds like a squirrel is trapped in its disk drive. Now when is concentrating on hard work, such as homestarrunner.com, this is extremely annoying. So, being the go-getter I am, I made sure the coast was clear and walked over and pressed the power button. It took time to shut down and finally the computer was off. With this information, one can logically conclude that the squirrel died. No more noise. Now you might say, this makes perfect sense, Matt. But then explain this: approximately four to five minutes later, a girl, probably a freshman or sophomore walks into the computer lab. Before I continue, let me give you some background specs on the room. There are twelve computers, all of which constantly remain on. You can just sit down and get to work on any of them. So please explain why this girl would sit at the only computer in the room that is not turned on, and wait for it to start up. What? Are you serious? She's going to wait for this prehistoric machine to take 10 minutes to turn on? I came to the only logical conclusion anyone could think of: this girl loves squirrels. So I once again must cut my writing short, but you'll be back. Or... I'll be back. Either way, Elton John is still gay. -Matt

This is a clever title

Actually, it's not. But that's what makes it so clever. Get it? Neither do I. So it seems I always reflect on the weekends, but it's true. Since nothing happens during the week, there is nothing to examine or interpret. But weekends are different. Weekends rule. This one started for me on Friday, actually, when I woke up at 3:52AM to see Georgio Bush at the Qwest Center. Anyway, that was cool, even though the security guard made me delete a picture I took with my phone. But wait a minute. How many people around me had cameras? Why were there thousands of flashes during the President's speech on social security? Please explain? Anyway, outside the Qwest Center were protesters, and we gave them what they deserved: comments like, "Get a haircut, hippie," or "Get a job." Then we unintentionally stood behind a news camera, and once we realized the possibility for mischief, well, you probably figured out what happened. We threw snowballs, well, really iceballs at each other and did our Spectrum routine. Bush's motorcade was cool. Tons of cars and motorcycles and limos and those little ear pieces CIA guys wear. Sweet. We returned home at 11:30AM, and I decided I wasn't going back to school. So what was I to do? Rock Ed's world at Halo. Again, there is nothing you can't do with a 100-foot LAN cable. Anyway, I don't want to turn into Harvey Johnson, so let's move along, shall we? Work sucks. I didn't get to my acoustic gig until after I was released, around 10:30PM. Keep in mind I wasn't just listening to music, I was the music; I was playing. Oh well, playing unplugged was interesting, almost as interesting as Donald Trump eating a banana encased with gold. Where the hell did that come from? Man, I tell you, I really shouldn't make these horrible jokes. It's not even a joke, really. It's essentially a rich man who looks like an orangutan consuming a food that an orangutan eats... except this one is gold plated. This is where my post actually has something. This is a story I think you'll enjoy. While coming back from Rob's house, the location of the gig, I drove in the dark construction area on 84th street. I was traveling at a high velocity, maneuvering through cones and barrels flawlessly. Until, when out of nowhere I made my error; a curb grew from the ground right in front of me. Using my superhuman skills, I swerved away with the reaction time of Garfield smelling lasagna. But it was too late. The curb had it's own ideas; it held a grudge against me from second grade, when I wrote "fart" on its side with chalk. The car gave a loud thump and I looked back, only too see dust and smoke flying every which way, concealing the exact location of the curb. Looking back I watched, and seconds ticked by, until finally, a disc flew down into the mess. Was it a UFO? But then I identified it: it was my hubcap. It fell right out of the sky and landed on the ground, literally coming out of nowhere. I stopped and did the only thing I could do: laugh my freakin' head off. I returned to the scene and picked up my hubcap, which is still laying in my trunk. Oh and I forgot to mention, as it seems I am obsessed with feedback and comments, because I so insecure I need other's opinions to comfort me, I encourage you to do so. Those of you without a blog of their own can still leave messages, just click "Post anonymously" or something like that. Now I'm currently off to watch the Huskers game, they're playing ISU. Too bad I don't have courtside seats... -Matt

Rome is Burning

So much to say

Dave Matthews rocks. First let me start with Saturday night. Was it Saturday? No, Friday rather. This was the night of the already infamous basketball game that Pius lost. I arrived about thirty minutes early knowing that it was already crowded, but I was not prepared for the treachery ahead: on the main doors of the school, mine and many others' fates were sealed. "Gym is full." Gym is full? Of morons? Actually I was the moron thinking I was getting into this game, but then I thought to myself. Does it really have to be this way? Is there something more I can do? I met two partners in crime, whose names we will leave anonymous. "We must find a way in," I said to Ed and Joel, and they agreed without hesitation. So it was decided we weren't going to let the school screw us over, and it was made first priority to infiltrate the game and successfully witness basketball. But they had the upper hand. In fact, they had all the hand, and we had absolutely no hand whatsoever. Let me tell you one thing, it's good to have hand. Hand is everything, especially in a mission like this where everyone is hunting you down to make sure you can't get into the game, and to make sure you have no hand. After several minutes of pacing in front of the school, something happened that astounded me to no end, the very thought of it made me take a step back and say, "wow." A camera operator working for channel 8 pulled up and parked (illegally, as a side note). Ed walked up to him and asked if he need us to help carry any of his equipment in for him, at which point he gave us an affirmative. Folks, this is pure genius. It was perfect. How could I not have seen this before? Didn't I know every basketball infiltration mission came down to tricking a camera guy to bringing us in with his stuff? The answer is no, I didn't. But it seemed simple enough, yet so clever that... it almost worked. After realizing the gym was a complete mob, he feebly said, "I think I've got it guys." Damn. Apparently we misjudged his intelligence. The moral of the story being, camera men have the same intelligence of an 18 year old. Either that or people (i.e. me) should just show up to the game on time. Okay, our first attempt failed, though not without a little success. It gave us hope for the long journey ahead, one filled with locked doors and policemen guarding entry points. So at that point I did what seemed best: called someone from the inside. I pleaded with the person to let us in, but the policemen pretty much had that part taken care of. It was not gonna happen. I said, "Go to the music room. Let us in there." But alas! the doors were not accessible from the inside. The iron gate, known as the dragon's cage or sometimes Gene Wilder's cage, blocked access. Mission status for Plan B: FAILED. Plan C. Oh how we dreaded Plan C. If Plan B is a female dog, Plan C is it's mother. We walked around the school to the back side, and placed ourselves near checkpoint delta. You might ask, where would you go if there are no doors leading in? The answer: up. Yes, up to the roof, going through an open window and through the school, successfully entering the game. I really don't want to go into the details, perhaps because I don't want to bore you even more than you already are, or maybe because I didn't really know them. Anyway, my two accomplices lifted me onto a graded part of the roof, but it was slippery, and I fell. As I looked up horror struck me as four men looked on. Suspenseful right? Nah, turns out they were looking for a way in as well. But we were still freaked out. All hopes were faded, dreams were shattered, Tinky-Winky and Poe were no longer cool; it was all turning south. As I tried the last remaining door to the school I cried tears of an agony not known to anyone since watching Gigli. Giggli? Jiggily? Oh, why did it matter! We were hosed like no other person has been hosed before, except the time when Curly dropped a huge chuck of ice on Moe's head. Yeah, he was hosed more than us, but this still has to be a nine on the scale of hoseness. But what was this? The door as ajar, barely perceivable to the naked eye. It opened. We were in. Calmly we snuck around, turned a corner and disappeared into the gym. This is the first time in the history of mankind that Plan D actually worked. Do you even understand what I'm saying? Actually you probably don't give a damn, but on that day, D was spelled v-i-c-t-o-r-y. That's right. A letter of the alphabet was actually seven. The game turned out to be amazing, though we lost in overtime. Well worth the nothing I spent to get in. Perhaps I should stand by that door and charge people a dollar less to get in the game? I'd make like twenty bucks! So that concludes that episode in my life, and although you thought you'd never get to this point in the blog post, you have, and I just want you to know that a very briefified version of what happened; someday perhaps I will give you the boxer version. That was Friday, a day who likes to regularly sabotage me. Saturday I worked. Great. Exciting. Sunday was church. Great. Exciting. Although I must mention Sunday's strange event. At Church I sat where the usher put me. Great. Exciting. But then, a funky aroma permeated around the pew, a combination of diaper and... was it... it was. Spaghettios. What the hell. Not cool. Degree ten of hoseness. The kid in front of me was unmistakably the one. Wow. I have never seen anything like this. And on top of that, some kid with a pirate patch was there. Way neato. I chose to cut Sunday short, because, well, for the sake of your back which probably gave out now because of the length of this post. But I'm still forcing you to march on. Tuesday was very interesting. I was given courtside seats to a Husker basketball game, which I was greatly looking forward to. But I was injured greatly before the game, after rehearsal in fact, in the very parking lot you and I visit almost every day. Kate. Do you not know the concept of inertia? Newton's laws of physics: objects in motion stay in motion; objects at rest stay a rest. When someone, say Matt, is riding on the back of someone's car, say Kate's, and someone floors the gas, the other certain someone is thrown violently backward. Luckily on almost every car there is a seat on the back trunk to prevent this. But not on this car. On this car you fly right off the rear of the vehicle, which is precisely what happened. Knowing instantly that I scraped my elbow and bruised my buttock (the right one), I replied to a certain someone's concern. I was alright, I said. Driving home, I looked at my mangled extremity, with blood dripping down my arm. As I came home I cleaned it, and mended it, though I will hold a scar there the rest of my life (seriously). But I didn't really care. I was off to a basketball game, one in which my ticket offered me not only the best seats in the house, but also free food and drinks and... famous football players. When my mother asked me about my horrific wound, I knew I could not tell the truth, yet I knew I could not lie. "I fell down," was all I ever said on the matter. She concluded for herself that I was "running and I tripped" and then fell. Okay, whatever, it was never going to be brought up again. But that never is the case, because life is a prick. We drove down to the Devany Center, and let me tell you, our parking spot would make the handicap jealous. I can't even describe to you the beauty of those two lines. It was numbered with a portable barricade sign, small, but important. A worker moved it out of the way to allow us to park. Seriously check out my moblog, you will see a picture of the Devany Center. This is looking from where we parked. We walked in and were escorted to the courtside lounge, the same room where the press conference is held after the game. The hostess took our coats and led us to free food and drinks. I love free food. I would even pay for free food. While eating, an unexpected guest approached us, and his name was Tommy Frazier. Tommy Frazier! Do you remember me? I asked you for your autograph in a Godfather's pizza in second grade? No? Okay! So what was the first thing he said? "What did you do to your elbow, were you skateboarding or something?" Before I had the chance to speak another homo sapien communicated, "He was running and he fell!" Let me say, thank you, mom. I appreciate it so much. Tommy however, is extremely intelligent, more so than channel 8 camera guys, and knew this was an obvious fabrication. So it worked out in the end. He didn't think I was a nancy boy and we got to talk to Tommy Frazier for almost twenty minutes. The game was sweet. I could literally reach my hand out and touch the players if I swung that way. Nebraska wasted the Utah whatever, beating them by well over thirty points. But the seats were so good I didn't care how exciting the game was. The hostess even gave us stat sheets from the first half when the second had just started. On Thursday, I went to Momma Mia!, a musical based on the music of none other than ABBA. It was funny. Friday. Not the same Friday as mentioned above, but today Friday, as in right now. It is currently 5:30 PM, that is 17:30. I have been awake for almost 14 hours already. Why, do you ask? President Bush made a visit to the Qwest Center in Omaha, and to get there on time required a 3:45 wake up call. Sweet. It was interesting, I guess. I completely skipped the rest of school afterwards and played some Halo with three others. There is nothing you can't accomplish with a 100 foot network cable. "Holy cow!" says Harry Carey. "That was a freakin' long post!" -Matt

Audioblog

Tuesday? Oh, next Tuesday.

Yeah. So it's been over a week since I've written in my stupid little blog thing. I was so disappointed when I started writing this. I was going for a new record. Oh well, now everyone (sweatman and computer geek) can read what I've been up to. Last week was auditions for the 2005 Pius X musical, Bye Bye Birdie. This is what I have to say on the matter: this is the stupidest, most appalling musical I have ever encountered in my entire life. What kind of a methamphetamine user comes up with a five minute song with only one lyric: Ed Sullivan? Ed Sullivan. That's it. Pass out the Tonys, Oscars, Grammys, and the complimentary Bubble Yum. By the way, if anyone offers you a VHS copy of the movie version taped off of the Disney Channel in 1991, take it. First call the number on your screen to tell Walter's frozen head how craptastic his movie is, then throw it in the fire to burn for heat. You'll need the thermal comfort after we put on this musical; the pure evil of it will thrust us into a nuclear winter from which only Ed Sullivan could save us. I guess it is kinda cool I get to play more than one part, just like last year where I had three different roles in the Music Man. That rocked my island. The theatre people, however, all of which requested to be anonymous, don't particularly like me, hence my Tom Hanks audition but my Hayden Christensen part. But I will dominate. What is domination, you ask? You know that large chicken pizza Tony and I dominated at Old Chicago? That was, or is, domination. I know I am really defining domination as domination, and I'm using circular logic to dominate your mind, but it was all worth it in the end, because I get to make fun of George Lucas's casting abilities. On a side note, I watched Ed throw an empty bottle and witnessed it drilling a girl in the face; unintentional direct hit. Hahah, it sure was funny. I am cutting this post short due to time. Perhaps I will write tomorrow, but if I beat my old record of eight days without blogging I'll get a prize. Hey, did you ever play 500 outside and then shout, "prize box!" It was always a lifetime supply of toilets. -Matt

Monday. That is all.

Just a few notes before I dive into my thoughts: First of all, I have a moblog located at http://runxc24.textamerica.com. A moblog is basically a collection of images from a picture phone, and since I have uploaded some of my pics, I thought I'd share them with you. Secondly, this written blog has an atom XML feed, which means you can use your RSS reader to read posts. For those of you who don't know what this means, basically you can read my blog posts on the go-- even on your iPod. The feed is located at http://www.mattgibney.com/blog/atom.xml. Firefox users can also click the orange icon in the lower right of the window. Anyway, on to whatever I do, which is talk about nothing. It has come to my attention that 90% of the people who inhabit this world have just seen Napoleon Dynamite for the first time in the last week. Now first I say, congratulations on watching and enjoying such a high-quality, entertaining film directed by Jared Hess. In fact props to you. I am glad that Napoleon is getting all the attention he deserves. Great. But now is the part I beat all of you with a rubber hose. Where the hell have you been for the last three to four months? There's something called a theater that allows you to watch movies before they come out on video. Okay, okay, so they saw the movie a little bit later than I did. No big deal. Why should I care? I love Napoleon Dynamite! Why would I want to hinder the buzz concerning a hilarious movie? Because the buzz has gone, packed its things, and zipped off to Cancun, where the people there won't think to bother it because they're too drunk to care. The buzz no longer wants to be here, and do you know why? Because every flippin' five seconds someone is attempting a pathetic impersonation of the characters you and I have already come to love... from about four months ago. I already had my Kip voice perfected and locked in my memory for all eternity before any of these other nincumpoops could say "Napola-what?" This is my message to the people oh so far behind the present time: You suck. I despise you. Why must you annoy me everyday with horrific, pitiful imitations that would make Uncle Ben, the kindest, most loving person ever to market to the masses his convenient food bowls, turn in his grave. Did you like rice? Well now you'll be making yourself a dang quesa-dilla you moron, and I will never, NEVER give you even a look at my tots. Now comes an experience while I was commuting home from work. At the intersection of 70th and O, looking south, I was stopped at a red light (and no, this is not lyrics from some country song-- I was in my '94 Buick, not a Chevy "like a rock" truck). I was happily enjoying myself, counting how many seconds it took to change green so as to further my already advanced driving technique. However something happened that I did not expect, something so earth-shattering that no one could have seen it coming. It was official: the movie Spanglish sucked. I couldn't believe it. It was a dream come true. Anyway, as I stared ahead waiting for the light to turn, three teenagers, probably a year or two younger than I, pulled up next to me. With a bang they looked at me and revved their engine. I stared at them, and in an instant I was making numerous calculations (haha, pun). Could I win? Look at my car. It's a piece of crap, it goes from 0-60 mph in 24.4 seconds. Three of my four windows are stuck up (another pun). Is it possible? Is my car going to stand up and fight? Did I take a shower today? I looked at them again and nodded it was on. The light, after an eternity of seconds (actually 39-- I... um... counted) turned from red to green. Tires screeched and... well, I took off. 100 meters down the road, and I was winning, and the three kids backed down. Wait a minute, my 4 cylinder car doesn't have the slowest acceleration in the world? I couldn't believe it. And I know you're saying, "Maybe they didn't floor it? Maybe they let you win?" What? Are you crazy? No one would do that. I actually did win, in all honesty. The experience was a defining moment in my life. It taught me about life's hardships and the only way to get through them is to hit the gas. Well, it's Monday, and that was my weekend. Wait a minute, Monday? That means that 24 is airing in approximately 4 hours and 10 minutes. Rock on. Anyway, I seriously hope you have read this entire post, since hours of toil and pints of blood have been spilled throughout writing this. With that, I'm going to build a cake or something. -Matt

Thursday's Thoughts

Before my thoughts, however, I would like to reflect upon the Battle of the Bands. It pretty much rocked my world, considering that we were exposed to so many people who didn't attend the sweat dance. I was finally able to play a rockin' piano song, One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces by Ben Folds Five. It was a good experience that taught me a lot, not only experience in playing live music, but also what it means to put on a good show; one that entertains and excites people that are watching you perform and play your instrument with absolute enthusiasm. The roads were extremely slick that night. Black ice was everywhere, which is great for sliding around the driveway with yourself, but when it comes to your car, it's probably not that great of an idea. And especially when you're driving my car, you become a hollywood stunt driver. Which, I guess, isn't that bad. In fact, now that I have drawn one conclusion about driving in icy conditions and how dangerous it is, I will proceed to contradict myself by saying it rocks being a hollywood stunt driver. So if you know what you're doing (like I do... did... will?) go for it. (Forewarning: Note that the text that follows is not knocking anyone down, it is merely an attempt to poke fun at life online, as I am being purely sarcastic in my remarks. If you have the slightest inkling about what my personality is like, you would have already realized that conclusion. For those of you who don't know me and are offended by this entry, please don't email me saying how many eggs you will use on my car tonight. I already know the answer is three.) So back to my thoughts. It has come to my attention that an inferior journaling website, known as www.xanga.com, is pretty much the hang out place of every junior in high school that I could possibly name. They write in their "journals" (don't point out that I am doing the same presently) and they leave comments like, (1) "HI KYLE!!!!! NICE POST!!!! IT WAS SO ENTERTAINING I ALMOST READ ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!@!!#!@!" and (2) "hey, i gtg because im rotfl while brb cya l8ter. c/m b/c idk" and (3) "<TABLE cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 width=300 border=0> var img_str1="";img_str1=""; var result_str1=""; <TBODY> <TR> <TD>". Okay, this where I analyze these three comments. They were numbered for your convenience. First of all, turn your caps lock off, I'm sure it's not stuck down by super glue or some atomic force that refuses to let the atoms in the key raise itself from the keyboard. Secondly, this is not instant messenger. You can post actual comments in when reading somebody's blog... er.. (z)anga. Put some thought into it. Lastly, that is, comment number (3), is just a either a horrible attempt to paste something into the message box, or just pathetic knowledge of HTML. Nice try. And as a side note, I believe blogger was the original wasn't it? (Don't correct me if I'm wrong, I want to think my point is valid.) And what is up with these eprops, the "currency of good will", as quoted from the website. This is the worst scam since the National Honor Roll. Currency of good will? I'm not even going to comment on this. I know there are about fifty good jokes I could put in place of this sentence, but currency of good will? I'm lmao gtg bbl jk right now. Anyway, those are my opinions of this online journal posting. And I know you're saying, "But Matt, you are going against your philosophy of posting journals! You are divided against yourself on this issue. I am reading what you wrote in an online journal!" First of all, my philosophy isn't going against the posting of online journals. My philosophy is to watch Napoleon Dynamite and 24 until my eyes fall out of their sockets. So there. Plus I'm twelve years older than all of you. Now to my other thoughts. Spectrum Singers continues to make me more and more tired in the morning. Although today I woke up and wasn't that tired. I found that reading for an hour before sleep helps. I picked up The Silmarillion up at 8:30 and was asleep by 2200 hours. Sweet. I hope this trend continues for me. As I have engraved in your minds, I have three or four off periods every day. Today for the first time, I went to the "library" in our school. I picked up a photography magazine and read for forty-five minutes. I really need to read more, and not spend so much time online. So I am going to come to a close, since this entry is getting both long and boring, but also because I must now wait by my car with a shotgun the whole night. -Matt

Relaxation

It's Tuesday, and it's about 12:30 in the afternoon. If you read my last post you will know what this means. That's right. I'm currently enjoying my 3 hour, 45 minute break from school. Why even go back for my last class? However, the enjoyment of these next two weeks has been compromised. Every morning until the 22nd of January, at 0700 hours, a cruel and unusual punishment will be put upon me. Singing and dancing. Now I've said before this is a good thing. But trust me, not this early. I had been watching 24 last night until the wee hours of the morning, as I could not wait to see what happened to Jack Bauer and the others working at CTU. After concluding four 1-hour episodes, I was shocked to remember early practice in what was literally a few hours. Waking from a very short sleep, I proceeded downstairs and tried to have a conversation with my mom. However, the sleep deprivation was so intense I could not understand a word she was saying. I later she found out that she asked me a simple question: did the tape of 24 work? I replied, "What are you talking about? That doesn't even make sense!" Somehow I managed to get myself ready for the day, and I listened to the hilarious radio duo Bob and Tom on the way to school. So after the early morning torture and my three classes, here I am blogging or whatever. And since I'm pretty much wasting my life typing this, I will conclude. -Matt

Twenty four and more...

I must say 24 is my favorite television show. What else can I say? The best show in the world. Jack Bauer is one good field agent. I know many of you (or should I say few of you, seeing as how no one is reading this) may be shocked beyond belief to hear me say this: school this semester isn't all that bad. I start my day by learning a little about how our government works, then I go straight to singing and dancing. And who doesn't like to sing and dance? The answer is no one. I continue my day by visiting the chemistry room, which is a great class (thanks Mr. Schmidt). Now three classes in a row is really invigorating, and I suppose I'm getting a little tired. So it's time for a break. Fourth period I have no class. Nothing at all. I can do whatever I want so long as it's not pulling the fire drill. After this I feel refreshed, so it's time to tackle another class, and in all seriousness, it's one of my favorites: photography. Taking pictures is a blast. And it helps when you've got a sweet 35mm SLR camera. I am hopeful that I can somehow share my photos online one day. That would be cool. Now you can't complete a day without learning about God. He's a great guy, I see him at this little Christian bookstore all the time. Religion is a lot more interesting when you have an interesting teacher. Oh, and did I mention on Tuesdays that I have religion off? Yeah, once a week I require another break. Now sanctifying my soul takes a lot of effort, so naturally I have the next class off too. That means on Tuesdays, I could have four luxurious periods all to myself, if I have nothing to print in photography... At the end of the day comes senior writing. I never really wrote anything, although I know this statement is contradictory considering I'm engaging in that very activity as we speak... er... as I speak... er... as I write? Anyway, writing is a good thing. That's the end of my day at school, hence my next 18 weeks. Rock on. Now if you have read all the way through this blog post, I applaud you. The only reason I am sharing my thoughts right now is because I'm waiting for the episode of 24 I missed to download. Our VCR is a piece of crap, and it decided to fail me again by recording a bunch of black insects flying around some sort of white space. Oh! How exciting! My download is complete! I must now indulge in the two episodes of 24 that I missed. Did I mention that it is the best show ever?

Check it out...

I am writing in a blog. I don't really know what it is, just some sort of virtual log of real events. Blogger? Seems like a fun idea. Maybe it is a good idea to keep some sort of journal where I can write some memories down. Of course, the whole idea of a blog is so that everyone can read it. So unfortunately, I can't elaborate on how much I despise the people around me, because they'll find out. Just kidding :-) But seriously, the real reason for this little entry is really a test to see if my FTP server is working. So rock on, everyone!!! -Matt