SERVED WITH A SIDE OF SARCASM

Do You Speak?

This morning, I was waiting for my coffee at Starbucks when a woman came up to me and asked, “Is there where we wait for the coffee?” I took a moment to wonder how she did not know how Starbucks worked, since I refuse to believe anyone who lives in America hasn’t been to Starbucks at least a handful of times, and responded, “Yes.”

I then took another moment to think about how this woman’s hair looked like a helmet, and how she reminded me of a professor I had a couple years ago who encouraged us to give pot brownies to the Kinko’s employees who helped us print our final projects. She also reminded me of death and despair, because as society will tell you, women over 40 are pretty much the Grim Reaper, and she was probably at least in her mid-50s, so she’s basically a giant flashing “GAME OVER” screen on an 80s arcade game, right?

The woman, apparently impressed with my “Yes,” told me that I have a lovely voice. I thanked her, and she followed up by asking if I sing. I told her, “No, not really,” because although I had just finished singing at the top of my lungs to “Your Body” in my car, I didn’t really consider that singing. Then she asked me, “Do you speak?”

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Matt Goes To The Movies

This weekend, I saw the movie Come Out And Play, which was screened as part of the American Film Institute’s AFI Fest. I don’t mean to criticize the AFI, because they do important work, but after sitting through Come Out And Play, it seems like they could have better quality control over what they let into the festival.

Come Out And Play is a remake of a Spanish horror film from the 70s whose title translates to Who Can Kill A Child? The plot of the movie is basically Children of the Corn minus the religious element - kids on a remote island just wake up one morning feeling all murder-y, slaughter all the adults, and then terrorize two American tourists who show up on the island the next morning. From here on out I’m going to spoil the entire movie, because I think it was absolutely terrible and don’t recommend you see it for yourself.

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Future Pillow Biter

So like I mentioned a little over a month ago in another TL;DR, at the ripe old age of 10, my grandma showed me my first Playboy.

The year was 2000, the month was July, and the latest Harry Potter book, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, was just about to be released. At this point in my life, I was still a huge HP fan – like, I was one of those kids who bought the third book and then barely did so much as breathe until it the last page was turned. I was, of course, pants-crappingly excited to do the same thing with book four. 

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A Review of the First 57 Minutes of Batman & Robin

So I thought it would be fun to watch all of the previous Batman movies before The Dark Knight Rises comes out. Also, I have pretty much nothing going on and since every single one of those movies is at least two hours long, I figured they would eat up some time. I decided to go backwards through the four Tim Burton/Joel Schumacher films, so that I would get the two most painful ones out of the way first, and so that I could save the Christopher Nolan ones for closer to Friday. With that plan in mind, I pressed play and settled in to watch Batman & Robin.

As the title will tell you, I didn’t get very far.

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French Fries

I always hate when I’m reading an autobiography and the author spends a ton of time discussing his/her childhood, because I immediately start thinking about what I would write about my childhood if I were writing my memoirs (Pro Tip: if I can’t make something about me, it isn’t worth discussing). I had a pretty normal childhood, so I don’t know what stories I could tell that would be of any interest to anyone. I mean, I do know one story that I could tell, one story that I think tells you pretty much everything you’d need to know about my childhood and how I turned out the way I did.

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Casual Anti-Semitism in the Classroom

Let me start off by bragging that I have been on the Dean’s List for two consecutive semesters. This is important because it’s further proof in my ongoing argument that I am better than you, and it’s also important because generally, I am pretty stupid. This was never more apparent than in, well, any math class I’ve taken since middle school, with the climax of my mathematical retardation happening during my senior year of high school. My teacher was passing back quizzes, and when he reached me, he slid the quiz facedown onto my desk and said, “You’re killing me,” then calmly walked away to return the next student’s quiz. While I have to admit that the situation was funny (and also I kinda did deserve it), it had nothing on an exchange I had with another teacher the previous year.

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The Nine Weirdest Things Guys Have Said To Me

Originally written for the Your Magazine blog, but in the interest of self promotion, I thought I should post it here, too.

My experiences with men have provided a treasure trove of memorable quotes over the years. I’ve collected nine of weirdest here for your reading pleasure. Scroll through these the next time you’re feeling bad about your love life, and remember that while you might think your situation is crappy, at least no one has ever said any of these things to you.

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Keep It To Yourself

A couple weeks ago, a friend of mine who is a frequent reader of this blog asked me why I never post about guys on here. To him I would say that it is either because I have nothing going on and I spend most of my Friday nights crying into a bowl of Reese’s Puffs, or because I think that for stuff like that, maybe you should not be blathering about it all over the Internet. I realize that these days everybody is like, “Privacy is overrated,” as they attempt to contort themselves to take a picture of their asshole that they’ll post on Instagram, but call me old fashioned, because I still think you should keep some things to yourself.

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Bad Haircuts, Second Husbands, and White Guilt

So freshman year of college, I was in this residential program that was supposed to be about arts and humanities, but really it was just about white guilt.

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Awful

I was talking to this guy once, and he was telling me all the ingredients he had to have for him to consider a night out a success. He had so many details on his list that I can’t even remember them all. What I do remember is that he had to be both high and drunk, and that a couple very specific things had to happen at whatever club or bar he was at, and then there may have been some more specifics governing what kind of food could be consumed at the end of the evening. I’m absolutely certain that I’ve never done all of those things in one night, because who has that kind of time? Maybe it’s because I hang out with too many girls, so the “getting ready” phase always takes fifteen years and it’s already 11PM before you’ve started drinking, let alone left the house. Maybe it has nothing to do with time and everything to do with the fact that I don’t live a very exciting life. A couple days ago, my night consisted of eating a burrito and watching three hours of Mad Men, and I considered it a successful evening. You might call it “boring,” I just call it “fully prepared to be 35.”

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