DUMBER THAN A CAN OF HAIR

I like to think of myself as quite intelligent. I am able to process a good many ideas and express opinion/thought on a number of topics (excluding sports) --- However, if you know me. And, really, you should. I can be somewhat --- well, absent minded. I am the person who can dismantle a film or a book or a philosophy and offer up various essays on what the art means. I am also the person who can mediate between two disgruntled people. I am the person who can creatively come up with solutions to hard to solve problems (excluding sport strategy) ...I am also the person who will ask you if you know where I left my hat and be reminded that I am wearing it. I am the person who gets lost. ...in his own home. I am the person who buys the proto-cylo of popcorn which is impossible for a village to consume because it is only fifty cents more than the regular-one-person-size popcorn --- and I will then complain about it for an hour or feel the need to explain why I paid for such a large amount of popcorn which I have to discard upon exiting the cinema. And, I am the one who of how to spell "decide" or "receipt"

...the other day someone teased me after I had made a really stupid error. This person said, "You know, when you get down to it Matty is dumber than a can of hair."

This really made me laugh and I wish I could make claim to having had even made up the concept of a can of hair. Which, we all know, would be quite dumb indeed. I mean, can there be anything dumber than a can of hair (excluding the Landers Sisters of course)

This is a picture of me taken during my fumbled and confused senior year of high school. I was a mess. At the time my plan was to meet "Ginger" at the Greyhound bus station in Beaumont, Texas the day after graduation with my most fave things in a zipp'd up travel bag. We were going to get a one way ticket to Manhattan. She was going to become a serious actress and I was aspiring to be a comic. I fell out of bed after a night of stoned confusion where "Betty" and I ended up spending over an hour stuck in one of those car wash things -- I kept just missing the mark and having to put it in reverse. Too out of fit to drive into a car wash garage -- I opted to finally just reverse out. This ended up banging my poor car into all manner of things. And, after landing halfway in a ditch -- "Betty" and I giggled for a quite a while when we realized that the 5 minutes spent attempting to drive thru the car wash machine had actually been 40 minutes -- after we stopped laughing, "Betty" got annoyed that we had filled my tank to get the excitement of driving thru the car wash and hadn't been able to do so she stormed to the cashier's box to demand a refund. ...And, promptly walked directly into the booth before she could say anything. I think she thought there was a door there. Anyway, I remember pulling her up and back into the car. We slept a few hours in the parking lot at Denny's. I got home with a massive headache at about 5am. I made my way to Greyhound at about 11AM. "Ginger" showed up half an hour later in her full McDonald's costumary. Thru heavy tears she told me she couldn't do it and that I should just go without her. I thought about it. But, I ended up calling "Betty" and "Betty" told me that I had to go to university with her and that I would be majoring in English. I would teach and all would be happy, I did as "Betty" instructed but opted out of teaching when I discovered that the Powers That Be'd in Texas wanted me to discipline kids and not teach them. And, I hate the silly rules of grammar. I know them. I simply choose to reject them. Not good for a teacher. And no one liked my idea of using Hip Hop to get to some of the kids. That was shot down.

At this time I also believed that there was a chemical, a person and a job that would provide me with what I felt I really needed: 24 hour/365 days a year of absolute bliss. I just knew that could be mine if I searched hard enough. I remember also thinking that the only two people on the planet we could really trust and respect were Woody Allen and Yoko Ono. See? In many ways I've always been dumber than a can of hair. Fast forward some 23 years later from my 17 year old self and I know this all to be quite silly. However, a part of me still pretends than a purchase can make my day or an extra bit of chocolate can save a bad moment -- but I am much more grounded now. I am in love. I have a couple of GREAT friends. Life is good.

And, tho I may not always be able to find my way to the kitchen if I am fast in thought --- I am quite intelligent. This is a picture of me in my standard uniform at the age of 9.

Oh, and from my 423 Reasons I Love Living in San Francisco: Reason # 117: I love that my waiter is a guy who wears a leather skirt, a form-fitted shirt imprinted with a silk screened black and white photo of hairy balls and semi erect penis, has his nose, ears, forehead and other things pierced and is apt to pat me on the back and chat with me before taking my order. Love that. And, I suspect I will only find that here in lovely San Francisco! I figure that there is no better city for person who wore Barbra Streisand on his tshirts when he was 9 years old. Sort of fitting, don't ya think?

If you've noticed me missing from Blog Land -- I've been working hard at moving all my stuff in with B. We've taken the Big Plunge. It is very exciting and fun. It is also a bit scary and stress-inducing. But, I should be getting settled in by mid week. I'll be catching up on my blogging soon! Kisses!