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matschnake's LiveJournal:
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| Wednesday, August 31st, 2005 | | 9:30 pm |
We're Fine
In case anyone remembers us, we're fine. We're at my (Mat's) parents house in Memphis. In case anyone wants to see their house, or apartment, or job, here: It's www.noaa.gov then, under: NOAA CONDUCTS AERIAL SURVEY OF REGIONS RAVAGED BY HURRICANE KATRINA go to "full story inside". Scroll to the bottom of that page, then click the first link under "Relevant Web Sites" Then, under "index maps" click on "click here for imagery". click on the bottom right corner to zoom. You can't zoom in REAL close, but you should at least be able to find out whether or not you are currently homeless. Our house looks like it's in one piece, but it's moved off its pilings. Anyone know anyone who can move a house? Oh, and by the way, I'm probably unemployed because the Grand is F.U.C.K.E.D. Looks like all you people who complained about my journal getting too happy and sappy after Carrie and I got together got your wish. boo hoo | | Thursday, August 11th, 2005 | | 12:09 pm |
| | Monday, February 21st, 2005 | | 1:08 am |
A SAD, SAD DAY.
Carrie just told me on the phone earlier that Hunter S. Thompson killed himself. I normally don't get that upset when famous people die, because, well, I don't know them. But when you've read almost every book a person's written, and those books are mostly nonfiction, diary-type books about the insane things a person has done, it almost is like you know them. I think I have far fewer heroes than most people. I probably only have 4 or 5. And he was one of the last ones I have that was still alive. I am VERY, VERY sad about this. Although his bloodstream was a 24/7 mix of drugs, booze and whatever else, he really was a genius. Most people have just seen the movie of Fear And Loathing, and they assume that he was just a fucked up lunatic. But reading any of his other books will show you a man who changed the face of journalistic writing. His vocabulary, and clever wordplay were unparalleled, and he lived more life in 67 years than most people could live if they were given another 500. He scoffed at fear, exposed corruption, and never compromised for one solitary second. His words were more like fierce ejaculations, brimming with impatience and intolerance for those who couldn't understand that life happens ONCE. I could go on, but I could never do justice to how much this man meant to me. I honestly feel like crying. RIP Hunter. | | Friday, December 24th, 2004 | | 11:10 pm |
IT'S THAT TIME AGAIN.
All right, people. You know where I'm going with this. You may want to take Mrs. Carrie Franklin and myself off your friends list for the next three days, because it's time for: THE SECOND ANNUAL CHRISTMAS SEPERATION WHINE-A-THON!!!! That's right. For those of you not familar with this holiday tradition, please access either my or Carrie's journal, circa late December, 2003. You will witness firsthand that we are the two most codependent humans alive. On top of that, we have absolutely no shame about broadcasting it. Our pity party is on such a massive scale that we've considered asking Dick Clark to host it. Anyway, Carrie arrives back in town on Sunday, but I have to work until 2 am. So, in short, the countdown now stands at roughly 51 hours. Keep us in your prayers. | | Friday, December 17th, 2004 | | 1:47 pm |
| | Friday, November 26th, 2004 | | 1:44 am |
| | Wednesday, November 3rd, 2004 | | 11:33 pm |
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
Happy Birthday to the only example of human perfection I've ever come across. And Happy one-year anniversary, on Friday. We rule. | | Tuesday, October 26th, 2004 | | 11:19 am |
| | Thursday, September 30th, 2004 | | 1:24 am |
| | Thursday, July 1st, 2004 | | 3:41 am |
| | Sunday, June 6th, 2004 | | 2:39 am |
| | Saturday, May 29th, 2004 | | 2:43 am |
IT'S THAT TIME, AGAIN.
I will be having my 3rd annual 30th birthday party at my house, on Sunday...June 13th, from 4 pm until daybreak. If you're reading this in the first place, you're invited. I'm serious. That's your ticket to the inside. There will be two kegs, and a surplus of vice, debauchery, lewdness, humiliation, despair, nudity, knashing of teeth, dissipation, sex out of wedlock, dogs and cats living together, and bad check writing. Plus there will be two kegs. And I'm relatively sure that Carrie will once again be encouraging nudity on video tape for her second volume of "Girls Gone Wild, Overlord Style". If you need directions, and don't already have my email address, or yahoo messenger name, post YOUR email address here, and I'll get back to you. Oh yeah, and if anyone knows how I can bribe the authorities to "overlook" my house for the evening, email me also. These parties don't tend to be quiet, nor do they tend to be legal, in many regards. You have been warned/invited. | | Wednesday, May 5th, 2004 | | 5:39 am |
WHY DO I ONLY UPDATE DRUNK LATELY?!?!
I don't know the answer to that timely question. "Timely", because I'm drunk at the moment, not because it's been a popular question lately. Today marks six glorious months with Carrie. I know you're all vomiting from every possible orifice upon reading that, since it contains no bitching or vile statements directed at the human condition or those who are beneath me, or most of my friends. Nah, I'm feeling nice lately. And it's her fault. So you should all find Carrie's journal and post something mean to her if you want to bitch about how soft I've gotten. Hehe...yeah, blame her. That might be fun. Because unless she leaves me (which I know isn't gonna happen), you're stuck reading happy, pacified comments from a guy who's never had it better. Even after all this time, I'm in constant awe of her. Awe, because of how well she's gotten to know me in just six months. Awe, because of the fact that she has become the one person whose company could never bore me, or seem requisite. I absolutely CAN NOT get enough of her. And I'm a man who gets bored with people REAL FAST. Awe, because she disregards all rules of human interaction, behavior, and norms. And believe me, that is just about the penultimate compliment, coming from me. I'm in awe of her, because she somehow manages to find ME lovable. Now THAT is a chore. Awe, because she always makes my days worth living. And beyond that, worth looking forward to. She is, plainly stated, my best friend, my partner for life, and the person I've looked up to more than anyone I've ever known in 32 years of living. It's called love, but that word comes nowhere near explaining it. I quess I'll just thank her. Thank you for the past six months. mat. | | Thursday, February 12th, 2004 | | 2:02 pm |
TIME KEEPS ON SLIPPING (slipping, slipping)
I never have time to update this thing anymore. Likewise, my real-life, paper-bound journal has only been used about ten times this month as well. School is kicking my ass squarely, I don't get to go out hardly at all. Also, I never have time to play music or watch movies as I used to. On the other hand... I have the sweetest, most brilliant, thoughtful, hilarious, creative, interesting woman on earth next to me all the time. I've never thought any person could be so many things to me...the greatest friend I've ever known, my truest and most absolute confidante, the only person on earth whom I know with absolute conviction would do ANYTHING for me. These concepts are awfully foreign to me, and it's really taking some getting used to, but who wouldn't WANT to get used to them? It's been 3 months and one week, and she has yet to let me down, even in the most miniscule, slight way... nor have we had even the tiniest argument/disagreement. I hate even writing this stuff, because although I know many people label me as "arrogant", I really try not to brag about things. But I honestly wish more people could be as thrilled to be with someone as I am about Carrie. And then, I could go into the other ways in which she is perfect, but I think that would be breaking "bedroom protocol". I'll just leave that little section labeled as "dat girl be havin' mad skillz, yo". I am aware that everyone I know is tired of my sheer adulation of this person. That is probably due to the fact that you don't know her the way I do. I promise you that you'd be right beside me at the altar if you did. So shut up. Assholes. hehe End Transmission. | | Friday, February 6th, 2004 | | 2:33 pm |
| | Friday, January 23rd, 2004 | | 5:13 pm |
HEY, BOO.
I don't have the time to explain this inside joke, so if you're not Carrie, you'll just have to take my word for the fact that it's hysterical. And no, for the love of Christ, I do NOT use the word "boo" as some sort of pet name for Carrie. Even WE won't take things THAT far. Time to go to work. It's not easy having a girl who's primary aspiration in life is to keep on poppin' out babies, so I gots to pay for 'em some damn how. By the way, if anyone has anything else to say about Carrie and I being cheesy, I'm going to promptly direct you in the direction of Jonboi and HIS new online love. Jeezus, they make me and Carrie look positively morbid by comparison. Bleech. Cut it out, you guys. | | Tuesday, January 13th, 2004 | | 12:39 pm |
CLASS, OR SHOULD I SAY, "LACK THEROF"?
I'm aware of my tendency to ramble, so I'm going to keep this short. There is a girl who is in EVERY ONE OF MY CLASSES who is in imminent danger of being given severe head trauma with a hammer courtesy of yours truly. It started yesterday. I was tired. I'm not used to being up at eight. So, I was a little grumpy. Plus, I'm not much of a nice guy until I know someone in the first place. This girl, whom I'll refer to from this point as "Legba" since I don't know her real name, started off as kind of the victim here. Admittedly, I was a little harsh on her the first day of class. But, I was trying to be the "I'm quiet. Leave me alone" kind of guy, but she kept on probing and goading me until I had to turn into the "elitist, better-than-you, expose you for the outright bottom-feeder that you are" kind of guy. I don't like having to be that guy, but when cornered, the gloves come off. It went down like this. Legba: (In reference to a book I was reading) Oooh, what class is that for? Me: It's not for a class. I'm just reading it. Legba: What do you mean, it's not for a class? Me: I'm reading it because I bought it. I wanted to read it. Legba: You mean that book wasn't assigned to you? Me: (sigh) No. Legba: Hmmmmm. I like to read too. Me: (Blatently non-interested, but not willing YET to be rude) Oh, really? What kind of stuff do you normally read? Legba: Well, I'm really into Dean Koontz. Now at this point, I'm in a position where I have to QUICKLY make a decision. I believe that Dean Koontz is single handedly responsible for allowing illiterate people to experience the sense of achievement you get after reading a book, without actually having to read anything remotely resembling a well-crafted story. If they had a law concerning "crimes against literature", I'd recommend that he be given the chair. SO now, I've got a choice to make: Give her a story along the lines of "oh my friend so and so really likes him, but he's not my kind of stuff..." or just kind of ignore the comment and hope that she drops it. I go with that one. Unfortunately, I couldn't stop my involuntary muscle spasm, which came in the form of the kind of expression I would have if a dirty bum approached me and asked me to wash his asshole. So just to prove her status as the "queen of all punishment-gluttons", she says: Legba: I take it you don't like Dean Koontz. Now, I hate to admit it, but I actually perked up upon hearing this question, for one reason: the ball was placed firmly in her court, and she had every chance not to hit it back to me. But she did anyway. Now I have no choice but to engage her. Me: Dean Koontz is the "Road Rules" of Literature. Now, when someone puts you in this kind of a culture-related DDT move, the last thing on EARTH you want to do is say anything else that can be used as ammo against you. But, God bless her, she was DETERMINED to make this a cake-walk for me. I swear, I could not make this up: Legba: What do you mean by that? I gave up. This wasn't just a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent... this opponent was purposely shooting itself in every non-lethal limb it had. I just kinda said some variation of "eh, forget it", and I thought that would be it. WRONG. Today, I'm in another class, and she comes walking in. She appears to be ready to sit elsewhere then spots ME, and comes and sits right next to me. Legba: You're the only person I know here, so I'm gonna sit here, K? Me: (head in book) mmm k. Legba: Read any Dean Koontz lately? hahaha. Me: I'd rather contract gonorhrea. Then, our teacher comes in. And guess what? It's Mrs. Phifer, who also taught me at Tulane. She's one of the only teachers on earth that I LOVE...one of the only teachers who I feel can make ANY class interesting. She's just great. So she looks at me and says, "Hey! What are you doing here?" and I say "I was just wondering the same thing about you." So she explains to the class that she teaches at both schools, etc,etc. Then, she's explaining how "debate is encouraged" for this class (Administrative Legal Research) and she points at ME and says "And I know that SOME of you can argue!" Because I really got into the other class I had with her. So, of course Legba has to chime in: Legba: Yeah, some of us already know he's good at THAT. Like she's known for me years!! This chick has received but a TASTE of the saccharine bite of my verbal sparring skillz, yo. But I have taken it upon myself to see it as a personal quest... nay, a DUTY... to incite this dipshit to drop this class so as to never have to share a room with me again. It's the least I can do for Mrs. Phifer. P.S. I love Carrie. | | Saturday, January 10th, 2004 | | 12:47 pm |
THE END OF AN ERA
Well, I have to start school again on Monday, and I have been "lucky" enough to have been tossed the unchewable bone of a 9 am class. That's right, NINE. Now, anyone who knows anything about me knows that my circadian rhythms are only in sync with night hours, i.e. those kept by either graveshift workers, certifiable insomniacs, and those who are escaped convicts and can only travel during the night, and hide out during the day. In fact, that last one pretty much sums up my M.O. during the past 8-9 months. I "hide out" in my house all day, usually with my ass plastered to this computer desk, like some sort of statuesque protest against having any ambition or semblence of a life. Then, at night, I either (a) Go out or (b) Stay in, but modify my behavior (which is a fancy way to say "I move into the living room and watch a movie"). Lately I've had Carrie to do all these things with, so it's been much more enjoyable. But alas, it's all coming to a screeching halt this Monday. I will have become one of the (gasp) "morning people". Well, Carrie's already one of those, so she'll help me get up, I'm sure. In fact, she's kind of my role model when it comes to this particular subject. I can keep this woman out drinking until about twenty minutes before she has to be at work, and she just gets right out of bed like a Pavlov dog hearing a bell. I honestly don't know how she does it. Because if I don't get eight hours (and Carrie will attest to this) I am a nightmare, both to look at and to be around. Another thing I'm not looking forward to is the prospect of having to be around students in their natural habitat, a school. I usually prefer to be around people who are either "in school" or have "been to school" in a SOCIAL environment (bars, hanging out, etc), because they stand less of a chance of making me want to bash the stupidity out of them by way of a hammer-meets-skull exorcism of the pinhead within. But, being around "students" while they are in the PROCESS of "learning" (and they really believe they are doing this...i've seen it first hand) is about as appealing to me as signing up for Greenpeace. For instance, while registering the other day, I was in line behind this girl who was talking to her advisor. Now, I have always taken the term "advisor" to mean "person who I have to get my pin number from, and then quickly walk away". Half the time your advisor doesn't even teach a single class in your major's curriculum. So, I treat them with all the respect and ceremonial flair that they have earned: none. Anyway, there is this mindless bimbo in front of me who should be taking classes on how not to be date-raped at the vo-tech section of school, because she's about as intelligent as the combined efforts of everything I flushed yesterday, all mixed together in a frothy gumbo. SO, she's listening to her "advisor" tell her that she needs to take Trig before she takes Calculus. WTF?!? I've taken them both, it's fucking apples and oranges. This Down's Syndrome riddled "advisor" is telling her that these maths build upon each other, when there is ABSOLUTELY NO REASON to take them in any certain order. You apply NOTHING from EITHER ONE to the other. And she's saying "Well, Trig isn't in my curiculum, but I do have to take Calculus, so I guess I'd better take Trig." Please read that part again. SHE DIDN'T NEED TO TAKE IT. I was an inch away from just suggesting she give ME the extra $300 to use, since that way it would actually be going towards a DEGREE OF SOME SORT. But, she's eating up everything her cult leader, or sorry, her ADVISOR tells her, perhaps due to the fact that she is suffering from the intellectual equivalent of Stockholm Syndrome. I offered to sit her in front of a strobe light to deprogram her, but no dice. This is but ONE of the reasons I wish I could just stay home and make out with Carrie 24 hours a day. But, there's really no market for that, is there? Anyone want to pay to watch us make out? | | Wednesday, January 7th, 2004 | | 2:58 am |
FIVE BEERS DOWN. I LOVE CARRIE.
I'm going to write just one or two sentences for each beer I drink from this point on. I'm already at number five. 5: Carrie isn't here and I miss her. I'm reading a collection of Hemingway's short stories, and dear God, that man is a genius. What a way with words. He paints pictures with words, absolute realism. I realize that "painting pictures with words" sounds like hippie talk, and drunken blather, but anyone who's read more than two pages by this genius knows what i'm getting at. Jeez... And someone dies in almost every story, but yet there's also a sense of optimism throughout all of them. He's a God amongst men, and if you haven't read anything by him, you deserve to be shat upon. | | Monday, January 5th, 2004 | | 11:51 am |
A LETTER TO BELL SOUTH. FOR YOUR PERUSAL.
This is a copy of a letter that I'm mailing to Bell South tomorrow, in regards to a big-ass phone bill they sent me. Mathew Schnake 507 Magnolia Street Gulfport MS, 39507 To Whom It May Concern, This is in regards to the enclosed bill for account number 228-604-4049. I had planned to turn this account back on, but since then, I have discovered I have no use for a home line. It really is quite miraculous the way a cell phone frees you from the tether of a cord connecting you to a wall, thus imprisoning you to a confined space. All hail the inventors of cellular technology! But that is neither here nor there, for now. Let’s stick to the subject. I am in a financial situation that will not allow me to pay this entire amount all at once. In fact, it’s all I can physically stand to keep from laughing hysterically at the inexplicable way in which your service continues to financially skull-fuck an unsuspecting public on a regular basis. However, that being said, I am a man who likes to settle his debts. So, in the interest of not handing the future of my credit on a silver platter for you to rape and pillage, I will be mailing you a check for fifty (50) dollars each month. I will not be turning the phone back on, so this is basically working on the “better late than never” policy. But, I’m sure you people deal with the “never” so often that you’re eager to get the “late”, since money talks, and....well, you know the rest. In short, I’m only doing this because it’s what the voices in my head tell me is in my best interests. So, if the amount specified is not adequate, please contact me at my cell-phone number (you know, the type of phones that WILL be around in 10 years?)...it is 424-8501. Thank you and say hello to the shattered remnants of your conscience for putting me in such a debt-ridden purgatory. Intestinally yours, Mathew Schnake |
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