Day light savings withdraw

soon the days of darkness shall be upon us. the sun sets noticeably earlier already and within weeks we will , like time traveling lemmings , turn our clocks back, taking yet another hour of lucious vitamin D syntysizing sunlight away.

Now i know we dont actually lose an hour, it just gets shifted to some ungodly hour of the morning that most of us dont believe in cause we've never seen it.

well this year it's time to take a stand against turning back the clocks. Now i know it's been protested before to no avail even though the whole reason we do this clock thing is obsolete. i say this year lets keep our extra hour of light, i for one will not be turning my clock back, who's with me!!

now i know what your thinking, joe just conform, maybe even take a stand against something that matters rather then some petty thing no one cares about and isnt gonna make a difference to anyone. well i say whooie this is important,

how many games and fun times will be called on the count of darkness, how pasty white will everyone end up, how tired will we think we are cause it's dark outside,

ya thats right now i know maybe only a few people will jump on my bandwagon, no no, my time wagon. but I assure you more and more will each year. i know the 2 or three of us may be an hour early for a lot of things but hey, it's the price we pay for change and sun light. and i will pay that price ten fold !! to preserve my right as an american to call time realative and keep my hour of dayligt.

so that said who's coming with me into the future.

joe eoj

Sudden Youth Christian Bake Sale Forces Cancellation of Saturday's Downpour (Shiite Motha' F'er)

Jump upon BM's mystical flying doormat for another time consuming blogging adventure. Speaking of doormats, if Big Matt ever became a Wal-Mart greeter, he'd become WM, Welcome Matt. Enough of the funny business. Got your ticket? Good. Now hop on fella', extinguish your cigar, and mind your practicality. And lickitty-splitting headache, we're off...whish....

Our first stop is on Walnut street, the hub of Shadyside pretentiousness. To your left you'll see Tiffany, a 23 year old graduate of National Inquiror Whore University, lugging a small chihuahua and stinking like Abercrombian Fish. Look out Tiffany! Whew, you almost bumped into Todd, a 6th year Bachlelor of Complete Pudds student. Decked out in a white striped collared shirt, Todd has ambitions that a bimbo like Tiffany will be so impressed with his new white striped collared shirt that she will stumble drunkenly unto his lilly pad where she'll stroke his ego, not to mention his frightfully tiny dingy. Goodness, Todd, you just knocked over Emmanuel's coffee. By Cleft's palate! it spilled all over the lap top computer he lugged all the way from home so he could plop it on a public table and yell to the world "Look at me, ye who pass by, for I am operating a computer in public outside a coffee house, therefore I am an intellectual who more than likley writes faggy poetry." Put down the fake Weezer glasses Emmanuel and join BM on his mystical doormat. Whish...

Look Emmanuel, our next stop is at the 415 sqaure foot apartment of BM himself, conveniently located only two blocks from Walnut St. Hmm, all I see is a living room/kitchen and a bedroom. You're probably asking yourself, where does BM have his BMs? No stupid, not out the window or in a Pringles can, but in the closet-sized bathroom that was occupied when BM was given his apartment tour by Mozart Management. Wow, you mean the door is only a foot from the job-john when it's closed? Yes my friends, yes. Too bad our doormat wasn't a time machine, and we could fly back to yesterday when BM met his new third floor housemate, a nice law student named Anthony. BM was helping Anthony move a dresser up the stairs to this new apartment when the first thing BM saw upon opening the front door was Anthony's absolutely enormous bathroom. When I say enormous I mean all 7 of the McDonald's mascots could throw a kegs-and-eggs party in there enormous. When BM saw this, his eyes lit up as though he were a boxcar hobo who's stumbled upon the ivory tower, but unable to pee in it. Whish...

Spudder, spudder...crapple, we're out of fuel. Hang on Emmanuel, we're gonna' have to make a crash landing. Ahhh...kerplunk. Where are we? And who is this odd, shadowy figure approaching? She looks so familar, as if I just read about her in another blog. Oh no! it's the crazy old smoker lady with the trachea from Terese's latest blog (directly below mine.) Start, you peice of shit doormat, start...yes, thank you baby, thank you. Whish...

Well, we're back from where ever it was we started. I hope you learned a lesson from our little ride. Never bother reading BM's rambling blogs, and you don't necessarily have to be a lumberjack to wear flannel.

Too much public.

I was in Eckerd the other day. Minding my own business purchasing my panty hose and giant bag of sour patch kids. When a women enters on her cell phone. I usually don’t have a problem with that, hell I’ve been quality of doing that on occasion. But I don’t talk about inappropriate things in the middle of a public place! At first she was quiet but then she started to get louder, as she got louder I could hear what she was talking about loud and clear. “I have to go in, and they are going to remove part of my cervix.” She said proudly. A hush fell over the crowd. Did this woman really say “cervix” in the middle of Eckerd? She did and for those of you interested she is going to have a biopsy too. So I just hope everything goes well for her. I believe she has all of Eckerd rooting for her cervix.

If that wasn’t weird enough, later that same day I was at Subway in the sticks. Ok it was Allison Park, but it must be just like the sticks because people were smoking inside the restaurant. When I walked in I only noticed one woman smoking, and I felt kinda bad that she was with a lady who had a trache in. (the tube that protrudes from your neck to help you breathe.) I thought to myself, poor woman has trouble breathing now she has to deal with smoker lady. But that pity only lasted until I had my sandwich in my hand. It turns out Trache Lady is a SMOKER!!! How irritating what people do with their bodies, especially when given a second chance at life. But she was there puffing away holding the end of her trache so she could get the full effect of the smoke.

It is enough to make you give up on the population as a whole. So as I sit here in my cave, away from the crazies, I wish you a found farewell.

Happy Swayze Day

well, it's that time of year again. No, not another pregnancy scare, i'm talking about Patrick Swayze's Birthday,

And to celebrate our rough and tumble roadhouse rumbler's 51st birthday, i'd like to share a few little known facts about Mr. Swayze, that i assure you are all true.

Before he was sporting a sports bra as vida bohime in to wong fu Mr. dirty dancing was just like any one else whos mother was a a dance coriographer. Pat took ballet from the time he could walk and had become a very good dancer by the time he was in highschool, The same highschool as none other then the former wwf star THE UNDERTAKER atended ..scary eh?

after highschool and a breif stint with acting lessons the Swayzenator took on his first major movie role as ,say this without laughing, Ace Johnson , the super hip kid from skatetown usa.
and from there a star was born.

swayze-O's movie career was higher then woody harelson for most of the late 80's and early 90's in fact, he was so popular and charming that people magazine voted him sexiest man alive, beeting out harrison ford tom cruise and of course curt russle.

so whats the Swayze man been up to lately, well aside from his donnie darko days, and a guest spot on a m*a*s*h* tribute, (he played sturgis on the show) and some dirty dancing havana nights work, Swayze has been hanging out at his 5 acre ranch apptly named Rancho Bizzaro.

and now we know a little more about our friend Patrick Swayze, who shares his b-day with the likes of Ed Norton, and my personal fave, Roman polanski.

To Pat Swayze, thanks for everything, may you remain all out of bubble gum so you can continue to kick ass.

joe eoj

Bad boy, bad boy, what'm I gonna do?

People get a certain thrill doing bad things. I'm a people. And a closet rebel with a confession to make.
I trespassed last Saturday.
Twice.
Now, you may be thinking, Larry, you are a paragon of moral, ethical, and legal conduct, how could you possibly have trespassed twice in one day?
Easy.
The first time came and went quick and easy through someone’s backyard as they barbecued on the porch at the end of a road in the lovely little town of Cannelton, out near Darlington. (What you’ve never heard of it, even though you’ve lived in Beaver County all your life? Amazing.). Sarah just walked through the yard into the woods, and I just followed.
It felt wrong, felt strange, but it felt good. I felt a little dirty. I felt a little excited marching right through this backyard, with the smell of steaks frying and quest of the Face in front of me.
My life of crime had started.
I have an extremely boring book that told me on a high knob, half a mile South of Cannelton, on an unused road, over an iron stringer bridge with most of the floorboards missing, a face was carved into a rock.
I trespassed in pursuit of The Face on the Hill.

We walked right into the woods, and up onto an overgrown path (which is an understatement) we didn’t know was there. I could have used a machete in spots. I wouldn’t have been surprised to stumble across someone and hear, ‘Livingstone, I presume.’
But the random path lead to the iron stinger bridge with most of the floor boards missing - and by that I mean all of them.
We crossed it anyway (one of us faster than the other), found the knob, climbed the only side that was climbable, and found the face.
It was creepy. (but I kissed it)
On the way back, we decided to just follow the river, along the side of the hill we were just on thinking it would eventually lead to the bridge.
That lasted about 3 minutes until it was impassable. So we crossed the creek, and trespassed into someone’s backyard.
I felt dirty again, but I think that was mostly from the creek which smelled like sewer.
This backyard contained a trailer from a tractor trailer truck (that’s what we call a storage shed), and a lot of plastic toys. The front yard consisted of a rusted out tractor, a dead car, a driveway that went in two directions and two dogs, neither of which were leashed.
We hurried down what seemed to be the driveway out, through the trees and between two fields, one overgrown with weeds, and the other caged in with an electric fence.
The dogs were still barking and circling, and I heard a voice behind us say, “Can I help you?”
Trespassing can be dangerous.
The electric fence pen contained a real horse, a tiny horse, a donkey and a bull. A big bull. Big scary bull. No trespassing there. We were stuck. So we turned to face the lady, obviously annoyed we’d been trespassing. (some people.) We explained our situation and she opened a gate into the weeds, to let us through.
Wow, what a narrow escape!
I’d like to say my trespassing days are over, but the thrill, the excitement of the wrongness, the bad boy in me might be too much. More, again!
Perhaps tomorrow, I will speed.

Tin Man "Buries Hatchet" with Old High School Bully; Lion Pisses Self

Hey Now,

Caution: While reading this blog, you may want to sit approximately 4 to 5 feet away from your computer monitor soley based on the fact that the blogger is Big Matt. Cases have been documented where the reader has been found impaled in the wall oppossite the computer after unwittingly reading and attempting to comprehend a "big" thought or idea. How can this be? Let's just say that nary a horse is hung like BM in terms of importance, sophistication, and utter dominance of any given situation. So please, unless you want this blog reading experience to get ugly, move your seat back.

I have found that this blog serves little purpose these days based on the fact that everything important or crucial that has been, or is going on, in my life and which I have an opinion about, directly involves acquaintences that may or may not read this blog page. It's not that I have anything bad to say about anyone is particular really; I just do not advocate needless drama. Take for instance two relatively recent dating experiences. 1. I asked out So and So, a very pretty young, devout Christain girl, and So and So and I were at a resturant. The conversation was lively and involved until So and So ordered a burger and it was three times the width of a deck of cards so she complained as to how she was going to eat it. Then, oddly, So and So started staring at the burger like the sesame seeds on the bun began country line dancing...just staring, staring. So I said..."So and So, looking at it won't make it any smaller." Then So and So looked up at me, visibly disturbed, and retorted, "Ah, I'm...praying." So and so and I are no longer in contact. 2. I haven't told my friends this one yet so feel free to ask more about it. Anyway, a while back I asked Whose-a-what who picks up clients at the MR day program I struggle to supervise out on a date. Whose-a-what is a very typical 19 year old girl, but pretty and nice. So Whose-a-what and I are walking at the Waterfront when this camera guy comes out of no where and follows us with his camera. Off course, I stare down its barrel the whole time. Wouldn't you know it, days later there is a news story on tv about the new teenage curphew at the Waterfront and the footage...Whose-a-what and I walking by Dave and Busters. I didn't see this myself, I was told this by a superior at my job. Good stuff, huh?

So, I won't blog about those specific dating experiences and embaress myself. Actually, I treasure stories such as those. Without them the world doesn't go round.

I am here to briefly blog about a man who has been a bedrock in my life, much more than So and So and Whose-a-what, who aren't men at all by the way. Yes, he's the one who was there to celebrate my single-handedly defeating Greater Susquehanna Valley in the Little League District 12 finals, and there to console me when the Challenger blew up, because that's the day my childhood sweetheart moved to Loyalsock Township. That man is Merman, Underwater Overlord and faithful minion to Skelator.

Merman was never much to look at. His body was of the same mold as Stinkor and he had this frozen expression as though he had just witnessed a grisly motorcycle wreck and some inconsiderate asshole slapped him on the back. (remember that wive's tale?) But regardless, he was my buddy. My father (second most nurturing figure in my life, next to Merman) surprised me with the evil sea king one day when he arrived home from work; I was in first grade. Dad promised me action figures if I could manage a C grade in handwriting.

The rest of the story is relatively uneventful, as it follows the same story line as many of today's successful cop buddy movies. There was the day when Merman put out the curtains when I unwittingly set them on fire at Aunt Ester's 89th B-Day party using the same blow torch I refused to wrap-up and give as her gift. Then there was the time when he rescued me after I mangled myself around the top branches of an oak tree after trying out my new catipult, which later won me Boy Scout of the Year honors. Merman, ironicaly, pulled-in second prize with his elaborate weather-altering device, which would have won hands-down had I not bribed the judges with the fashionable cumber buns I had been collecting for years for just such an occassion.

Needless to say, we had some good times and Merman is still with me today. I'm sure the sage with continue.

Ok, that's it. The sad part is that the Merman stuff is mostly untrue and for comedic effect, while the So and So and Whose-a-what dating stories are fact to the most specific details.

Godspeed,

Big Matt