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

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