Matt Sweet

Last night was fun. Jay and I did some work around the house--he mowed and did laundry; I cooked and took out the trash. For some reason I feel better today... maybe the doldrums are lifting?

It's amazing how much more the house feels like home now that we have cable and internet. I know... I know... but it's true. I love TV. I could use my free time to plan Green Party potlucks or train for a marathon or start an organic food cooperative. But instead, I watched pro wrestling for three hours last night. (As I told Jason: "I have to catch up on my stories.") So sue me.

Other stuff to see:

The Supreme Court rules ambiguously on the issue of "Under God" in the pledge. Good old Supreme Court--supporting the Constitution, sometimes, when it's politically expediant. Here is a New York Times opinion piece that doesn't pull any punches. The first line of this article: "No question: John Ashcroft is the worst attorney general in history."

This Presidential election is a division in the educated elite of the country. Whatever.

This cartoon is funny and crude.

This woman has what might be the most unfortunate name in history.

I'm back at work today, even though I'm still sore. My devotion knows no bounds.

So, the weekend. Well, Yesterday was a comedy of errors. First, my computer started acting up. I guess I screwed it up when I installed the wireless card. Sigh.

Then, the washing machine started flooding the basement. I re-attached the hose on the back of the washing machine, and felt pretty good about myself, until Jay pointed out that our washer is even more broken--it doesn't do the spin cycle. Instead, it just leaves our clothes in a big wet mass. And, our dryer is venting the wet, steamy air into the basement instead of outside. The combination of the dryer blowing hot wet air around and the washer pouring water onto the floor left our basement with roughly the same environment and climate as the Everglades.

As we were wrestling with our appliances, the power went out. Which means that all the cooking for the week, which I usually do on Sunday evening, did not get done.

So Jay and I went for a walk; we wanted to see how far the power was out. We met four of our new neighbors, who converged on us:

Neighbor 1: Oh, yes, we used to know the people who lived in that house. It's a beautiful house, and we're so glad that someone is taking care of it again.
Neighbor 2: Most assuredly. What a beautiful house. So nice that someone is living there.
Neighbor 3: We think you'll love the neighborhood. Say, did you have you sprinklers turned on for the year yet?
Neighbor 4: Oh, make sure you have them turned on. The lawn will look much better once they are running.

This is about the 30th time that neighbors have come up to us and told us how high their expectations are for us to keep the house beautiful. This makes me feel pressured, and on this particular day, it made me feel inept, since these people were suggesting that we had let our lawn to go pot--all the while our basement is sitting there, hatching alligators.

We got home, and the power was still out, so Jay and I had to go out to eat--and on the way out to the car, a bird pooped on me.

At this point I started to laugh / cry. Probably having been in pain for four days up to this point was not helping my mood. So, we went out to eat:

Jay: I want to go to a chain restaraunt, filled with fat, white people. I don't want to go to some quirky little cafe with a modern take on traditional classics--one of those places that is filled with anorexic-thin people who push their "Santa Fe Mashed Yams" around their plates and sip iced tea and look fabulous. I want to eat at a Big Boy's or a Chili's or something.

So that's what we did. I felt a little better about my life after that.

OK, so yesterday morning I woke up and I was tremendous pain. So I took the day off work and went to the doctor. It turns out I have a bone bruise on my pelvis. That sounds kind of dirty, but really, it's exceptionally painful. But now, I have prescription painkillers to help me, and I feel better.

This afternoon we had our cable installed. The cable boy was a total hottie... and he's my hero because now I have TV again, and an internet connection at home. And, to put the TV to good use, I watched the Nick and Jessica Variety Show, replayed on MTV. Nick and Jessica sang, "I've Got You, Babe." Jay and I had this conversation:

Matt: God, Jessica Simpson is no Cher.
Jay: And Nick Lechey is no Sonny Bono.
Matt: I think that's more sad for Nick than for Jessica.
Jay: Yeah, good thing their beautiful, young, rich and famous.
Matt: That probably takes the edge off.

Have a good weekend.

I fell down the stairs this morning, and I think I broke my kidney or something. I fell at about 8:00 am, and I'm still in pain. People are giving me helpful suggestions, like: Put ice on it; put heat on it; walk it off; lie down; stretch it out; rub it with your palms; see a doctor; make a tincture using the left wing of a red-eyed fly and the spittle of a fish and apply it on the eve of the full moon.

If I sit very, very still it doesn't feel like my back is breaking. So as long as I sit here and don't move, I should be fine.

Ouch.

Interesting stuff:

Here is a New York Times article about Nancy Reagan, the choreographer of the Reagan Death Pagent. The article is reserved in its cynicism.

Here is Maureen Dowd's take on the Reagan Death Pagent.

In This article, Arianna Huffington writes about Ronald Reagan, hedgehogs, and politics. I had to post the link.

Mark Fiore's latest cartoon is amusing.

I usually avoid posting more than once a day (Mostly because I can't really blog while in session with clients, can I?), but here I'm making an exception. I found this picture while surfing a bit:

Last night I worked around the house a bit. I have noticed that, since becoming a homeowner, I spend more and more time working around the house. We need a houseboy.

Anyway, it has not escaped my attention that there are a lot of hot joggers passing by my house on any given day. Or, at least, in the summer. Jay and I have taken to having little "jogger alerts," where we rush to the windows and stare at the hotties as they run by. Sometimes, they even turn the corner we live on, and then we run from the living room to the dining room to continue watching them.

We really need to have TV put back in, people. We're desperate for entertainment.

Stuff to see and do:

Americans aren't getting fatter as a whole; but the very fat are getting even more obese, according to this New York Times article.

Poetry from Iraq, and commentary on it, found here.

The case for Bob Dylan to be included amoung the great poets is here. Personally, I'm sold.

From Ernie, courtsey of Cheesedip, I give you the three songs that make me want to put my head in an oven:

Underneath Your Clothes, by Shakira.
The lyrics to this song are arguably the worst ever written. For example: "As every voice is hanging from the silence / Lamps are hanging from the ceiling / Like a lady tied to her manners / I'm tied up to this feeling." And "This might sound to you a bit odd / But you own the place / Where all my thoughts go hiding." I don't even know what to say about this... I actually lose the ability to critize because I am awestruck by the sheer terribleness of this song. Oh, and please let's not talk about the video.

Luka, by Suzanne Vega.
The lyrics suck, for one thing. But it's the way the sad lyrics don't match up with the semi-happy tune that really make my skin crawl. I need a shower.

Because You Loved Me, by Celine Dion
Once again, it's the lyrics. Basically, Celine sing us another "I owe everything I am to you" type of song, but this time she goes over the top and gives the impression that she's saying thank you to the nurse who cared for her while she was on a feeding tube. Interesting trivia: This is the Official Anthem of Codependents Anonymous. Plus, this song is really, really long... approximately 78 minutes. Seriously.

And as a special treat, I give you the three worst songs that I don't like to admit that I love, but that I just can't help singing along to:

Cher, Half Breed.
"Give her a feather, she's a Cherokee." This song is kind of crappy, but I'll sing along at the top of my lungs while driving. "HALF BREED... THAT'S ALL I EVER HEARD!" Whoo! I feel your pain, little Cher!

Neil Diamond, Cracklin' Rosie
This was the song that proved that my parent's taste in music was lame... until I became an adult. Then one day, I realized I know all the lyrics by heart. "Cracklin rose, you're a store bought woman..."

Baby... One More Time, by Britney Spears.
I know, I know... what can I say. I'll hang my head in shame.

Other stuff to see:

This article from The New York Times details how a panel of White House Lawyers in March of 2003 concluded that President Bush's administration and military are not bound by international bans on torture. Seriously, read this... it's stunning how this administration flippantly changes whatever laws they don't like.

Enron employees are caught on tape gloating about cheating customers out of money.

And, on a lighter note: Join the hunt for the Crazy Drunk Guy.

Sunday was Motor City Pride. Jay and I were able to walk to the event from our house. (I love living in Ferndale!!) We had fun, ate lots, bought rainbow-colored crap; it was all good.

Lots of cool stuff happened this weekend, but I'm too tired today to remember any of it.

Other stuff:

Ding-Dong, the Gipper's gone! Read about the demise of Ronnie Reagan in the New York Times, or at DeadBrain.com. It may be a little soon to point out that it was Reagan who supplied Saddam Hussein with weapons, trained the Taliban, and supported Osama Bin Ladin. Or maybe people's reluctance to speak ill of the dead is keeping journalists from reporting on how Reagan's "Win the Cold War at Any Cost" economic policy plunged this country in deficit that we are still paying off. And please, don't get me started on the AIDS crisis.

Here is an opinion piece on George W. Bush's attempts on distance himself from the gay community.

I'm sorry, I just had to post another link about Ronald Reagan. This article details his... shall we say, unique political acumen.

If you love Karl Rove, go here.

Instead of writing something original, I took this quiz about the soundtrack to my life:

Opening credits:	"Lust for Life," Iggy Pop
Waking up:	"Everybody Knows," Leonard Cohen
Average day:	"Closer to Fine," Indigo Girls
First date:	"Addams Family Theme"
Falling in love:	"Blue Moon," Ella Fitzgerald
Love scene:	"Let's Do It," Cole Porter
Fight scene:	"Requim: Dies Irae," Mozart
Breaking up:	"Cry Like a Rainy Day," Etta James
Secret love:	"Sea Lime Woman," Nina Simone
Life's okay:	"What's Up?" Four Non Blondes
Mental breakdown:	"End of the World," REM
Driving:	"How Soon is Now?" The Smiths
Learning a lesson:	"Ironic," Alanis Morissette
Deep thought:	"America," Leonard Cohen
Flashback:	"Karma Chameleon," Boy George
Partying:	"Kids in America," The Muffs
Happy dance:	"Baby Got Back," Sir Mix-A-Lot
Regreting:	"Time After Time," Cyndi Lauper
Long night alone:	"Under the Bridge," Red Hot Chili Peppers
Death scene:	"Last Dance," Donna Summer
Closing credits:	"Ring of Fire," Johnny Cash

Your Life: The Soundtrack brought to you by BZOINK!

News:

This article from the New York Times about teenage sex is fascinating. I wonder if recent figures showing a reduction in teen pregnancy has more to do with teens choosing oral sex over vaginal intercourse?

President Bush panders to Catholic voters by giving Pope John Paul the Presidential Medal of Freedom. I mean really... the Presidential Medal of Freedom? They just give that thing away now.

Go to Human for Sale and find out how much money you are worth, if you were to sell yourself. It turns out I'm worth $2,606,466.00, putting me in the top five most expensive males to take the survey today. Score! (They give lots of points for being a well-educated polyglot.)

OK, so last night Jay and I went to the Border's in Grosse Pointe to hear gay indy-rock hottieEric Himan. (That's his picture on the right, by the way.) We met Kate and Chris from work. Chris' partner (also named Chris) was there. Eric was pretty, and he rocked, as always.

After the set, Eric came over to our table and sat down to chat. (Eric knows my friend Kate.) Here is a snippet of the conversation, as best I can remember:

Eric: ... yeah, since college lots of people in my fraternity have come out of the closet. It's kind of weird.
Jay: You were in a fraternity?
Eric: Yup... and it turns out a large number of my frat brothers were gay. Who would guess?
Matt: Apparently, the gay porn industry.
Eric: stunned silence
Jay: stunned silence
Kate: stunned silence
Chris: stunned silence
Matt: Ha-HA! How Awkard!

Yes, I made an off-color gay porn joke with all my cool friends and in front of a super-hot folk singer. I'm not cool; I must accept this.

Other stuff:

This New York Times article talks about the reality of moving from a unskilled minimum-wage earner to a middle-class employee in Las Vegas. Take that, Barbara Ehrenreich!

People with more money than brains want refunds for stupid stuff they never should have paid so much for in the first place. Cry me a river.

Someone went and compiled some of the Creepiest Valentine's Day cards of all time. Check them out, if you dare.

The dust is settling and life is returning to some sort of normalcy. (Is that how that is spelled?) And it feels good to be getting back into a routine--work, home, sleep, repeat.

Like all people who move, or do remodeling, or plan vacations, Jay and I were visited by the Fairies that Screw Up Your Plans. For example, the phone line in our old apartment is disconnected, but the phone in our new house has not been hooked up yet, so we have only our cell phones. Also, we have no cable yet, and no internet--which is far more severe than having to live without a landline for a couple of weeks. And, we have no dining room table and no bed. In fact, since our box springs was damaged in the move, we have just a matress on the floor to sleep on. It feels very fratboy-esque. It's weird how some things go exactly according to plans, and other things get screwed up beyond belief.

Other stuff:

This study indicates that the antidepressant drug fluoxetine (trade name: Prozac) is effective in treating teenagers with depression. A related study shows that dressing in black and writing bad poetry has the same effect. But specifically, the article compares talk therapy to Prozac, and finds that Prozac does better in improving mood. (To throw a bone to us talk therapists, the study reports that Prozac + talk therapy = the best results of all.) One drug dealer  pill-pusher pharmaceutical representative was quoted as saying, "Why waste time and money teaching kids how to take emotional responsibility for themselves--giving them skills they can use both as teens and into adulthood? Instead, let's just drug 'em until they don't know what's what. Then we can all get back to watching Americans getting humiliated in talent contests. That is how society should be run, damn it."

This article in the New York Times is a criticism of the Bush Administration's economic policies. It is aptly named "Dooh Nibor Economics." (Hint: Read it backwards.)

Here is a video game where play either Hulk Hogan, He-Man, or Mr. T, and then you stick it to the Bush Administration. Someone put a lot of work into this. And unless you work in a a workplace like mine, this is not work-safe.

Jay and I spent the weekend (the long, long holiday weekend) moving our crap from our old hovel into our new house in Fashionable Ferndale, MI,. There was much complaining. ("My back hurts." "I never work this hard at the office." "Next time we hire movers.") But now, we have our stuff (or most of it, anyway) in the new place. And that is cool.

We moved from Sterling Heights, which is a rather boring bedroom community in Macomb County. Sterling Heights is one of those Nouveau Mining Towns, where all the houses are identical and in little rows. Ferndale has a bit more personality--all the houses are different, there is a downtown area, there are lots of small businesses, and so on. Jay and I both feel that we made a good choice as far as moving goes.

I've got a ton of work to do today, so I'll blog more tomorrow.

I was reading Man's Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl. Excellent.

I was also reading Bitten, by Kelley Armstrong. It comes higly recommended.

And, to keep my clinical skills fresh, I was working my way through I Hate You, Don't Leave Me by Jerold J. Kreisman and Hal Straus. It's about working with Boderline Personality Disorder, which I do quite a bit in my practice.

Music:

I was listening to:

Afterglow, by Sarah McLachlan.

Indigo Girls, All that we let in.. I love the Indigo Girls.

The Essential Sarah Vaughn. Speak low, when you speak love...

Links I visited often:

Amazon

Ask Oxford

Le Monde

NPR

The New York Times

WDET

Yahoo! News