This is a painting I just finished. "Christ Fishstick" oil on canvas.

God, What has happened to America

This is not meant to be political, although undoubtably it has to be so. I remember the days of unquestioned enthusiam for the ol' USA and me having little reason to question. Now, however, things are entirely opposite, and instead of asking, " Why can't they be more like us?" I am asking, "Why can't we be more like them?"Matt Harbour, you are my only hope.....

Hey! Dont worry I'll be unhappy soon

Winter time is the best time to turn to this vamped up Marconi machine. So, once it gets cold, I'll be out there once again.

I think that when I grow old I shall have few words. They say that nostalgia is a common malady for the elderly. My grandfather showed all of the common symptoms, far away eyes, a look that made the present seem like a passing dream. I suffer from it at thirty and the outlook of any kind of inflammation frightens me. I can stare at a picture for hours, remembering the smell of the air that day, the breeze on my face, and how her bottom lip stuck out so far that you thought a raven might find it an appropriate place to perch. “Ramona come closer, shut softly your watering eyes” not much of a sentence for terse old Papa Hem, but a damn good one for any old softy. Turning to me on the couch the other day, my son said, “I don’t ever want to die, I don’t want to grow old.” Who said that DNA doesn’t convey any more information than the color of your eyes, or when your ticker is finally going to give out.

This blog is coming to you live from the Rome campground. 7:00 AM, two beers down.

And now introducing... Mr. Walt Whitman

“There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.”

Ah, good old Uncle Walt, reminding me once again about the importance of the present. My blogs seem to trend towards plans for the future or nostalgia for the past. Everything having to do with the present is concerning waiting for the future. Sometimes, I just need to think about how good things are now. This is my Thanksgiving. I’m glad I’m alive, all of my organs are working sufficiently (keep it up little liver). I have food in my belly, ale in hand, a roof to sleep under, a woman to sleep with, a boy to cuddle, and people who can stand me. My problems are not life threatening (I have to remind myself of this frequently), nor are they permanent. Life is pretty damn good!

Things I want to do before I die

I think the title of this blog says everything about what is going to be listed herein. So, let's cut the dribble and get to the fat.
1. Hike the Appalation Trail
2. Float down the Mississippi in a canoe
3. Visit every state in the US
4. Spend three months in complete isolation
5. Write a book not full of bullshit and get it published
6. Run in and win an election
7. Ride a motorcycle through the US to the plains of Oaxacan Mexico
8. Attend Carivale in Rio De Jinero
9. Fall in love in Venice, Italy
10. Visit the Basque region of Spain
11. Cross the Atlantic via sail
12. Visit Iceland, Sweden, Japan, New Zealand, Morocco, and Argentina
13. Make cheese
14. Build my own house
15. Live in Ireland
That's all for now, if you have any good ones to add do so.

All play and no work....

...makes Matt a tired old man. Too much free time and too little money. I'm sitting here reflecting on that great line from Fellini's "8 1/2", "I have nothing to say, but I want to say it anyway." The best part of the movie is the end... Marcello (the lead character) directing everyone in his life... well it's hard and complicated to describe without watching the movie... as are most of Fellini's statements, just go see it (Criterion Collection please).

In a turn to the mundane, nationally I feel that are coffee is getting far too strong. I'm sitting here at the Maproom, I've had about a half a cup of the "intellegentsia" house brew and I'm shaking like a madman... I also find that I almost always require cream with my coffee now, something I would scorn myself for in my younger days.

getting hard to type...but I feel I should add something profound before I leave you. Howabout this, does anyone miss heartbreak? The feeling like there's a heavy cold blanket on your heart, and you don't want to talk to anybody, but sit, drink, and listen to the blues all day long. Maybe I'm melancholic, but I do... I wonder what that means?

More on the flip side,

Summer madness, summer music

It's cool today, and the once short skirts that hung like washrags from girls wasteline have elongated into some horrible thing they call a capri. Not that I have anything against the capri (I think that Audrey Hepburn sported them charmingly) it's just that they tend to get in the way. Did the capri originate on the island of Capri? God, this blog is getting stupider by the moment. Anyway, it's cold today... went out looking for jobs, even considering putting my name in at Starbucks. Every single day that I spend out of work is horrible, I can't enjoy the extra time, I just sit there thinking about what a dreadful state I'm in. On top of it I'm faced with the same problem Henry is in "Barfly." That being, "There's so many things I don't want to do... like go to the doctor, get my teeth cleaned, save the whales... I don't understand that kind of thing." Though, admittingly I wouldn't mind working to save the whales as long as I didn't have to do any of the fundraising side of it... and the more I come to know about it's all about fundraising.

Summer reading... well, I read the last Harry Potter book over the last three days, in preparation for the next installment coming out in July. Other than that I recently finished a book by Erik Larsen titled, "The Devil in the White City" an interesting nonfiction book based on the live of two men living and thriving during the 1893 Worlds Fair in Chicago. It's a good book if you are interested in either architecture and or serial killers... It won the national book award, and I daresay it deserved it.

As for summer music... as I stated previously I am still enjoying "Guaro" However, I have picked a few songs that I feel best convey my childhood. In fact, I have them in my playlist right now and listening to them brings me straight back. One thing I noticed about the first few of these selection is that they all feature a pipe organ... or some synthesizer trying to sound like one.... I don't know what that has to do about summer or my childhood... Anyways
1. Dire Straits- Walk of Life
2. J Geils Band- Angel in a Centerfold
3. Bruce Springsteen- Glory Days (I'm starting to enjoy the old Boss, does this mean I'm gettin' old?)
4. John Fogerty- Centerfield
5 Anything by John COUGAR Mellencamp (fuck all that John Mellencamp shit... I want the guy that punches at the camera in the video for "Jack and Diane)

Send in if you know any other good eighties summer hits that I haven't included here. But right now, I'm going to go and worry the rest of the afternoon away.....

Cheers,
Matthew

Took me long 'nuff

Yeah, you don't have to give me any shit... I know, I haven't written in a while... but hell, sometime life interferes into things, and who's to say that I don't have another blog where I can schill out my grievances with all possible candor (hint, hint Morg). I'm sure some of you have gotten updates on me either in person or from the kind comments left on my ex's blog (thanks Beth!)

Well summer has descended upon Chicago in earnest. It was hard to sleep last night, I hate sweating in bed... not in all instances, but most of the time. I've been doing some substituting in the Chicago Public Schools lately... I t made me realize quite quickly why I hate and love teaching, and gave a strong boost to my already considerable diet of booze. Right now, though, school is ending so I have to look for a new position for the summer. I have a few little things that I can do for money... I think I'll be alright.

Summer in Chicago is the shit but it still hasn't been able to erase the bitterness of the winter months from my memory. It's nice to know that I'm in the same city that the Cubs are playing in but apes me with the fact that I am not at the game. Women... Jesus, and the women... very fine and wearing little enough to get your blood up and just enough to retain some mystery (insert random Beth comment here).

Before I go, make sure you listen to the new Beck album "Guaro"... I have been unable to get the disc out of my player and my ipod play count on it has to be up in the fifties... Good stuff fer a hot summer.

"I wouldn't be so proud of your clothes..."

Seeing that it's almost St. Paddies day I'd like to post a trad song

ARTHUR MCBRIDE
Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride,
As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside,
Now mark what followed and what did betide
For it bein' on Christmas mornin'
Now, for recreation, we went on a tramp,
And we met Sergeant Napper and Corporal Vamp
And a little wee drummer intending to camp,
For the day bein' pleasant and charmin'.

"Good morning, good morning," the Sergeant he cried.
"And the same to you, gentlemen," we did reply,
Intending no harm but meant to pass by,
For it bein' on Christmas mornin'
"But," says he, "My fine fellows, if you will enlist,
Ten guineas in gold I'll stick to your fist,
And a crown in the bargain for to kick up the dust,
And drink the king's health in the morning.

"For a soldier, he leads a very fine life,
And he always is blessed with a charming young wife,
And he pays all his debts without sorrow or strife,
And he always lives pleasant and charmin',
And a soldier, he always is decent and clean,
In the finest of clothing he's constantly seen.
While other poor fellows go dirty and mean,
And sup on thin gruel in the morning."

"But," says Arthur, "I wouldn't be proud of your clothes,
For you've only the lend of them, as I suppose,
And you dare not change them one night, for you know
If you do, you'll be flogged in the morning,
And although that we're single and free,
We take great delight in our own company,
We have no desire strange places to see,
Although that your offers are charming.

"And we have no desire to take your advance,
All hazards and dangers we barter on chance,
For you'd have no scruples for to send us to France,
Where we would get shot without warning."

"Oh no," says the Sergeant. "I'll have no such chat,
And neither will I take it from snappy young brats,
For if you insult me with one other word,
I'll cut off your heads in the morning."
And Arthur and I, we soon drew our hogs,
And we scarce gave them time to draw their own blades
When a trusty shillelagh came over their head
And bid them take that as fair warning.

And their old rusty rapiers that hung by their sides,
We flung them as far as we could in the tide,
"Now take them up, devils!" cried Arthur McBride,
"And temper their edge in the mornin'!"
And the little wee drummer, we flattened his bow,
And we made a football of his rowdy-dow-dow,
Threw it in the tide for to rock and to roll,
And bade it a tedious returning

And we havin' no money, paid them off in cracks.
We paid no respect to their two bloody backs,
And we lathered them there like a pair of wet sacks,
And left them for dead in the morning.
And so, to conclude and to finish disputes,
We obligingly asked if they wanted recruits,
For we were the lads who would give them hard clouts
And bid them look sharp in the mornin'

Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride,
As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside,
Mark now what followed and what did betide,
For it bein' on Christmas mornin'

Lot's of possiblities for this one 'specially among the yups and corporate stiffs. Anyone want to be my cousin?

I Gots Clogs In De Toboggan

For the gumption of knuckledraggers I keeps Flouroshimes to de dirt. Let a Dodger take me fer a holy trip down Buckley lane and whip him fer his insolens. Drab that drigger down de ole miss, ta have sum good old skullduggery. Flotsam and Jetsam, fer who'll believe um, covered in orangy peels and clove. But there's few to let loose, sep sum drunks in the 'boose and everyone calls me draconian.

A World For Atlas, A Marble For Me

"Do you want the moon Mary?" Everyone wants something off the top shelf. It gets pretty hard when they got their heel on your neck. I miss blue skies, Chicago is concrete grey and the bright snow has found a better place to winter. The Empty Bottle should be a good getaway tomorrow, with the fantastic Avi Drake on the drums.

Right now I'm zipped up tight in a business suit, waiting to get the chance to sell myself to some good for nothing schmuck with a mind for nothing but numbers. How am I going to explain that my worth is tied to the soil and rain, that I can't add to well, but I'm hell on wheels when it comes to guessing the right shape of cumulous clouds, or knowing the right time to use the term morose in contrast to melencholy. No, some things cannot be quantified, but I can't buy anything based on my good looks, or my estatic movements on the dance floor. So here I sit, thinking about the numbers, trying to wrap my head in formulas and statistics. Looking at my roommate like he was dead, thinking 80% water and the rest charcoal. Is that what this man is going to be viewing me like? 39,000 USD plus benefits? And me looking back at him knowing the numbers don't add up right either, but they never will.

Morgan thinks that I have another blog going. Perhaps I do, and it's filled with the most wonderful observations. It villifies myself and lays bare the stinking piece of flesh that I am. Who knows? I can't say everything here, but who's to say that I want to say anything more... Maybe I just want to rot in peace.

A Sign of More to Come

“This long time curse hurts, but what’s worse is this pain in here….” Another day as Cain, another day broken, another day as Fortune’s fool. Days like this cast a cold, gray shade upon life. Yesterday, I was content, confident, stiff upper lip proudly displayed for all to see, today I am little more than a shivering, huddled mass, with a distracted spirit and a defeated will. It takes a lot for a mortal man, but we adapt, and a subtle song can quickly become an anthem under the right circumstances. I was fired, and for purely distracted reasons. Justice must have let her bandana unfurl.