Saturday, January 26, 2008

4 Credits has been launched

So I started 4 Credits, the blog I'm doing for school credit.

Obviously it's extremely stiff and academic and maybe a little bit boring, but I'm hoping any of you with an interest in subculture or feminism or media will find it at least kind of interesting.

So here it is: 4 credits.

It's weird to not be able to talk about how stoned I was when I came up with the name (I totally was).


Inside the mind of an Olsen Twin

From 23/ fucking love the Olsen twins. But LOL.




Friday, January 25, 2008

Facebook can suck my metaphorical dick

Sometimes I think Mark Zuckerberg wants everyone to be as lonely as he probably is. He hides himself in 1's and 0's. Maybe we should all do the same?


These are the people that make the world go 'round

Last night after smoking a bowl and watching "Across the Universe," I started thinking about the most random jobs and the people who do them. Because you know there has to be a group of people that do these things. In my stoned mind it seemed so fascinating: how do you become something like that? Is it passed down generation to generation? Or do you just kind of stumble into it because you have bills to pay? So here's the list I came up with --

1. Army officers who go to families' homes to report on war casualties: I'm not sure this actually happens because I've only ever seen it in movies (thankfully), but who the fuck wants this kind of job?
2. The people who fix parking meters when quarters get stuck in them: Are they paid by the government? What do they do with the stuck quarters? Do they keep them and buy a coffee? Or do they have to turn them into the parking patrol?
3. People who test condoms: There must be some. How else would they know how effective they are? I kind of want to be this person. Wait, no really. Where do I sign up?

There were more but at this point I'm sober so I can't really remember them.

Also, Across the Universe is fucking weird. But I kind of want to be Evan Rachel Wood, minus the whole Marilyn Manson thing.


Wednesday, January 23, 2008

All good cooperational things beget sideprojects: Jess and Josh is no different

I will not complain about my shitty day here.

I will not turn this into a Livejournal.

That being said, God my day was shitty.

On the bright side, after dropping what I thought was going to be an ethical politics class but actually turned out to be a philosophy as in we started reading The Iliad on the first day of class. (Sidenote: HASN'T EVERYONE READ THAT ALREADY? LIKE IN 8TH GRADE? WHAT THE FUCK!) Anyway, after doing that I finally got in contact with my academic adviser and he agreed to let me do an independent study. I get to make a book list of books that interest me and then blog about them and earn 4 credits. Aka amazing.

So everyone who reads this will hopefully also want to read my sideproject. Think of me as Thom Yorke's solo CD: Like The Eraser, my other blog will be good, but it just won't be as good as the collective effort of Amnesiac. Also I like, have to earn school credit, so I can't talk about drugs and sex and shit. Well, I can talk about sex, just not sex I've had. Okay I'm rambling.

I'll post the link when it's up.


The Rapist

I was having a depressing conversation with my friend, so of course I was also talking to Jess about it:

JOSH: i dont wanna have this convo
JESS: lol
JOSH: but i can't stop now cuz i outed myself as an outlet for grief
JOSH: i ALWAYS do that
JOSH: i express polite, mild concern and suddenly i'm the therapist

This happens all the time. Seriously, I know so much shit about so many people whose private lives I'd rather not discuss. It's not that I'm a bad friend or that I don't want to listen to your problems, it's just that, well, at some point you may want to consider leaving me and actually talking to someone qualified to make assessments of your psyche. Leave it to me and I'll tell you to do what I do: sit around and blog about your problems instead of actually doing anything to solve them.
I don't know what it is about me that makes others feel comfortable to divulge their deepest secrets or dirtiest romantic desires. Maybe it's because I rarely have anything interesting to say about myself, so the conversation turns to you, and you sure do have a stressful life, don't you, bud?
News flash: we all do. Everyone is stressed. Everyone is lonely, or if they're with someone, they're dissatisfied. Everyone is freaking out and pissed off and sad and could probably use a little more medication--take it from me, that's what a steady diet of self-loathing, alcohol, and an underlying sense that your life is not going the way you really want it to will bring you.
I don't need to hear about all your problems. I don't want to hear about all your problems. I don't want to hear about many of your problems at all, but hey, I'm a pretty tolerant guy. Gripe to me if you want. Tell me about the kid who sits in front of you in class who breathes too loudly or the girl who cut you off as you were getting on the subway. Ask me what you should do about that guy you really like at the coffee shop, the one who may have a girlfriend cuz he's always on the phone but then again you've never seen her. Let me know who bothers you and why. Just keep the truly deep stuff to yourself.
Me? I complain like Amy Winehouse smokes crack; that is to say, a lot, and when I try to stop I can't. But that's where it ends: the complaint. The annoyance. I would never tell any of my friends about half the shit that seriously brings me down, because, well, I just don't feel comfortable exposing that many of my inner workings. I barely like what I see inside, and I certainly don't want to show anyone else.
So please. Next time we're talking and you're thinking of telling me that you want to kill yourself, don't. I will obviously tell you not to. I will obviously recommend that if you're really feeling suicidal, then you should get help. I will obviously be here for you. But as your friend, not your therapist.



As if to feed my existential crisis concerning my journalistic endeavors, the man I flirted with quoted me in The Washington Post.

"Great actor," said a New York University student named Jessica Roy, who lives nearby. She'd seen Ledger in the neighborhood a few times, on his bicycle, she said, and remembered thinking, "He looked like any scruffy New Yorker."

I called Heath Ledger a scruffy New Yorker in the Washington Post. I don't know whether to be mortified, ashamed or impressed with myself.

I just walked by the site earlier and people started laying out flowers. I don't know why Mr. Ledger's death is affecting me so much. Like Josh says, I didn't know him. Maybe it's just a reminder that life is fleeting and all that. Or maybe it's a wakeup call for me to climb out of my celebrity gossip hole. Or maybe I'm just overanalyzing everything. Or maybe I'm stoned. (Hey, we all have our ways of dealing with things.)

MATT: celebrity deaths freak me out a little more than normal people deaths
JESS: same!
JESS: why is that?
MATT: dont know. i guess we've just accepted that everyone we know is gonna die and celebrities just seem immortal
JESS: yeah, they seem untouchable
JESS: the masses can't get close to them neither can the cosmos
JESS: weird
MATT: brb, getting lifted

UPDATE: I am also quoted in the New York Times as saying:

Jessica Roy 19, a New York University journalism student, said she had met Mr. Ledger in the neighborhood, and she called his death “really sad.” She said she had never seen such hubbub in SoHo. “It’s fascinating to me, this whole media extravaganza,” she said.

I hate capitalizing on such a tragic event. It makes me feel dirty all over. But is it safe to assume this is one step closer to an NYTimes byline?


Tuesday, January 22, 2008


Today Jess got annoyed at me for not expressing more sadness at the death of Heath Ledger. In fact, I don't really care.
Look, the guy was a great actor, and it's a shame he died so young. That said, I didn't know him. He wasn't a friend; he wasn't family. I can only mourn his death as a fan, and I didn't even see that many of his movies.
But I'm not going to get really depressed. I'm not sure if this makes me an insensitive or bad person, but I don't know...lots of people die every day, and I know he was a celebrity and blah blah blah, but still. I didn't know him on a personal level. Yes, I'm sure he was a good man, and again, he was talented. But I'm can't bring myself to be that sad about it, just because the news really doesn't affect me personally. If I got that upset about the death of every celebrity whose work I enjoy, well, I'd be a lot more depressed a lot more of the time.
It will be a little weird seeing the new Batman movie, when it comes out. I wonder how they're gonna handle it.
And Jess: I'd like to think you would be a journalist with integrity who would not shove through a crowd to get a shot of a dead man. There are many kinds of journalism, after all. Don't let this get you discouraged from your dream.


Heath Ledger, Dead at 28

This news is particularly shocking to me, being as I live in the building across from Mr. Ledger's. It is currently swarmed with media and paparazzi; film cameras in the front and print reporters in the back. Lovely gentleman from the New York Times and The Washington Post interviewed me on my opinions about my neighborhood being taken over by the media frenzy. I flirted with the Washington Post guy and when he said "Thank you" I said, "Anything for the Washington Post."

That aside, this is an extremely sad story. I've seen Mr. Ledger out and about our neighborhood. His film I'm Not There was, in my opinion and as I wrote about previously, the best film of the year. He was an extremely talented actor and I feel so sorry for his wife and daughter.

This whole story also brought out this strange side to me that I've never seen before. I was caught up in the media storm, listening to the reporters gossip (Is this apartment owned by Mary-Kate Olsen? Was it the 4th floor or the 5th?). So many people fighting to get word, to get their best story out faster and better than everyone else; and meanwhile, someone is dead. Someone is dead and all these people care about is Was it drugs? Suicide?

Being in the belly of the beast today has made me seriously question my desire to be a journalist, and even question this blog.

RIP Heath Ledger.


Just a Quickie

I would just like to point out, Girl Who Sits Next To Me In Every Class, that wearing a hand-knit cap and a pair of hiking boots doesn't make you look original or interesting.
It makes you look like one of those girls that listens to Jack Johnson while surfing the Web for photos of cute dogs for your desktop wallpaper.
Your name is probably "Jenn" or "Kris."



Hey, did you guys know Amy Winehouse smokes crack? Yeah, me neither!!!


The watering hole

If you ever want to find Josh and Jess, just go to one of these places. Cuz you know, we're part of the blogging elite. Nevermind the fact that I've only been to Max Fish and Happy Ending. Josh and I will begin to hang out exclusively at these places so we can rub elbows with Gawker types. YES!


Monday, January 21, 2008

*For Increased Traffic Only*

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No clit then quit

I'm sorry.

Would someone tell me what the point of living is if you get your clit cut off?

Yes, love. Yes, compassion. Yes, success. Yes to all of these things. But without clitoral orgasms the world would just be an awful place. Angry women everywhere! I bet there will be many a female-driven revolution in Indonesia in the next few decades. Women with pent up sexual aggression never fare well.

Mr. Lukman Hakim, you just fucked yourself. (Pun intended duh)


Looking at pictures of Sienna Miller will not make you sexier

Take it from me. I've tried it.

JESS: ew i need to learn how to be sexy
JESS: basically im just a school marm
JESS: josh teach me to be sexy
JOSH: fuck, you think i know what to do?
JOSH: i can teach you to be awkward and alienate your friends.
JESS: ok but i already know how to do that

Oh Sienna, teach me your ways.
You know when you think you're sexy and then you realize you're not? That happened to me today. I mean sure I get proposed to on the subway but like... that doesn't mean I'm sexy, just that I have blonde hair.

This is me wishing I was Sienna Miller. Fuck feminism for today apparently.


Sunday, January 20, 2008

Songs to kill yourself by

I'm in a funk. A funk that involves chainsmoking and Klonopin and looking up flights to London that I seriously can't afford. ($600, what the FUCK?)

Here's my playlist recently, in case you're in the same boat. I mean, what are Sundays for if not wallowing and feeling depressed and watching The Notebook? Yeah, I don't know either.

In no particular order:

"Dinnu Lipatti's Bones" by The Mountain Goats
"Bankrupt on Selling" by Modest Mouse
"Videotape" by Radiohead
"To be Alone With You" by Sufjan Stevens
"Slow Show" by The National
"Sweet Thing" by Van Morrison
"New York, I Love You, But You're Bringing Me Down" by LCD Soundsystem
"Get Big" by Okkervil River
"Crown of Love" by The Arcade Fire
"Transatlantacism" by Death Cab for Cutie
"Between the Bars" by Elliott Smith
"The First Song" by Band of Horses
"Lua" by Bright Eyes
"On the Bus Mall" by The Decemberists
"Never is a Promise" by Fiona Apple
"Heartbeats" by Jose Gonzalez
"Atmosphere" by Joy Division
"Inside of Love" by Nada Surf
"True Love Waits" by Radiohead
"Desolation Row" by Bob Dylan

Please feel free to comment with your own tear-inducing songs. And remember the wise words of Disciple Eric G. Wilson:

Melancholia generates a deep feeling in regard to this same anxiety, a turbulence of heart that results in an active questioning of the status quo, a perpetual longing to create new ways of being and seeing.