Maybe She's Born with It....

I just discovered something yesterday - the meaning behind a casual marketing slogan that I have never truly paid attention to. Countless times this simple sentence has washed over me while watching television: "Maybe she's born with it; maybe it's Maybelline." Do you know what that means? I didn't. Until now. But I will inform you.

The ad begins with an image of a beautiful woman. She's all made up and looking at the camera, communicating something like, "I haven't eaten at Burger King in 13 years...and I had a twizzler for lunch." And of course, her hair is blowing in the wind....which to be honest, I've never really understood. Why are all these models congregating in places where there are gusts of wind. How is all that wind getting indoors? Did someone leave a door open? And furthermore, does wind-blown hair make you want to purchase lipstick? Apparently.

And then the voice-over: "Maybe she's born with it." Now, here is the first question that this is intended to raise: "Maybe this person is naturally beautiful." Maybe she was born looking like this. Maybe. But just maybe. The second sentence, however, clearly answers that question...."Naaaah. Maybe it's Maybelline."

She's not naturally beautiful; it's the make up. Here is some atrocious baglady that we pulled off the streets. But slap a little Maybelline on her and - ta da!! You have a wind-blown, pimple-less star!!

Is she born with it? No way. It's the Maybelline.

A Long Blog Sabbatical

Well, this is a bit awkward. It's been....quite a few months since I've done this. I feel like I'm trying to relearn how to use a badminton racquet after years of inactivity. It just feels and looks awkward.

But as I attempt to shake off the rust, I felt that today's observation warranted a comment or two. And the observation was this: two gentlemen emerging from the forrest from a hunting trip. I happened to be driving down the road at the exact moment that these two young men walked out from the woods and into the open. And I was able to check out what these two gentlemen were wearing.

From top to bottom they were covered in camouflage. This seems appropriate. The dark greens and browns of their apparel blended them into their environment with ease, making unsuspecting animals unaware of their position. And yet, over the top of this camouflage was a bright, neon orange vest, sort of like the types that crossing guards would wear. And this seemed appropriate too. Hunters don't want other hunters to shoot them; so they make their position obvious.

And herein lies the problem. Hunters - do you want to be seen or not? Neon orange vests over camouflage is sending mixed messages. See, the hunter is really in a predicament, I realized. He has to be inconspicuous so as not to scare off his pray. And yet, he has to be completely visible so as not to become another hunter's prey. He is caught in this perpetual tension of needing to be both visible and invisible at the same time.

And so what is his solution? Wearing neon orange over camouflage. He goes for visibility and invisibility. And cancels out both. (But how would that work? (How can you be both visible and invisible at the same time??))

All I know is - Dick Cheney capped someone who was hunting. That guy probably wasn't rocking out the orange vest.

Matthowell.com

For whatever reason, I googled my name this morning. I thought - "Hey, I've got some stuff out there on the internet now. I'm on facebook. I have a few sermons floating about in cyberspace. What would happen if I were to search for myself?" Well, I found out what would happen. Nothing.

I did discover with some astonishment that there are a lot of other Matt Howells out there. Pretty strange. They are a lot more famous on the internet than I am. I even scrolled down to the bottom of the page and none of the Matt Howells had anything to do with me. Just a cluttered list of faceless clones. I hope they are nice. I don't want any Matt Howell out there doing something stupid and ruining the name that I have worked so hard to protect.

Towards the top of the page was a link to go to matthowell.com. I was intrigued. And so I went. Go there with me. Go right now. Click here.

You'll notice that the link takes you to a singular page of a simple photograph. No other distracting tabs or pop-up ads or things to click. Just an idyllic snapshot of white sand, clean turquoise waters, and a pillowy-clouded sky. Just looking at this page relaxes your nerves, you find your heart beat slowing down, your eyes get heavy, and you sink into your chair with the cares melting off of your heart. You feel at peace, finally. Your limbs feel like they are barely dangling off of your mellowed torso. Your brain tingles with mossiness. You are content. You have no worries or thoughts. Only bliss. Pure, peaceful, rested bliss.

And so I thought this was an appropriate website because that is typically what happens to people when they think of me. Matthowell.com captured it pretty well.

Completion. Commencement. Consummation.

One a day for all of May Madness

Done.

So many C's. So many opportunities. So much madness.

As is our Madness o' May custom, we review the month's madness, reflecting upon the insanity, rolling the flavors of mania around in our mouths and drinking deeply of the lunacy. This is what we do at the end of May. We also sigh deep, billowy grunts of relief and question why we put ourselves through such creative torture for one of life's busiest months. We then think about why we even own blogs, how utterly self-indulgent they are, and we ponder shutting it down completely. And in those dark, despairing moments, a soft and mellifluous whisper speaks truth: "You can't stop now. You have years invested into this. Keep going. And make next year's May Madness even madder. Do it."
And I submit...again...to the soft, mellifluous voice.

1. It's All About C!!
2. Corn Syrup is the Key to Utopia
3. Couch Cushion: Just Flip it!
4. Thinking About Fruit Again
5. I Want Your iPhone
6. Gene and Oliver Strike Back
7. Cankers
8. Laughing Courteously at Bad Jokes
9. Captain Hook
10. (I Got Nothing)
11. Self-Check Out Aisles at Grocery Stores Make Me Mad
12. MC Hammer Has Quit (Negating His Legitimacy)
13. Chicken Wing, Chicken Wing, Chicken Wing Stew
14. Craigslist....ugh....WOW
15. Carbon Copy Terminology in a Digital-Cyber Universe
16. Chicken Empanada Counting Problemo
17. My C-Movie Ratings
18. Meat Liker's Pizza
19. Digital Chores (Email Cleaning)
20. Coffee. Camomile. Crustaceans.
21. Tipping Guilt
22. Sight for Sore Eyes....Undetermined Meaning
23. Picking Up Dog Poo
24. Doctors' Office Waiting Room Artwork
25. Wingdings
26. Chester Cheetah vs. Joe Camel
27. Cell Phones
28. That Boy is a Chef!
29. A C-Novella About Birds
30. The Case of Cluttered Conscience
31. This.

Call me Crazy. Seriously. Do it.

One A Day For All Of May.

"I went to the car dealership the other day for an oil change (I have free coupons there). Big mistake. I never have pleasant experiences there. A simple oil change ends up taking over an hour. And I bring a book with me to read while I wait...only I can't read it because the Today Show is cranked up to unheard of (pun) volume levels. Very distracting. And the coffee is bad. And it smells weird. And people talk too loud on their cell phones."

This is how I wanted to begin this morning's blog post. I was going to pry deep into my irritation of car dealerships. Call me crazy, but I am going to hit the brakes (pun) and not go there. Call it conscience. Call it conviction. I realized today that my blog posts are simply forums for venting irritation and frustration. I hop on here, think about something that has recently bugged me, and I aim my lasers, tasers, and rockets at it (pun), pouring out hot, steamy, poisonous satire. And today, I will refrain (at least in part....I did include that paragraph at the top, didn't I? (pun)). Today I will write about something that I enjoy:

I like ice cream.

Hmmm. Not too much comedic mileage on things that are pleasant.

Countless Captive Curlews and Cormorants

one a bird for all of may

Countless captive curlews and cormorants (chicks comparable to canaries) cried for compassion cause they were chained up in copper cages. Their corrupt and criminal captor, Captain Crunch (contra the commercialized cartoon), caterwauled in contemptible contentment. The Captain, a celebrated crow and chick capturer (and curiously, a clarinet competitor), cackled with cheer at his current collective conquest (his capturing the curlews and cormorants) cause his cook called for chicks to be chopped to concoct his chicken coconut chowder.

Christopher Columbus caught the close cries of the captive crows, currently (and conveniently) confessing his care to a certain Catherine. Consequently, Christopher cast Catherine and charged on course for their crying calls, compelled by compassion. (Catherine was cross at Christopher's choice!)

Courageous Christopher convened a crowd of cannon craftsmen and upon his command, they caused a combustion (creating a caliginous cloud), and a cluster of cobalt cannonballs careened, coming toward Captain Crunch's chest cavity. Conversely, Captain Crunch was callow and credulous - he couldn't confer a care for the coming cannonballs, choosing to chop carrots for the captured chicks to consume.

With a cluttering clamor (comparable to castanets), the cannonballs crashed upon Captain Crunch's chest cavity, crushing him to crumbs. While Captain Crunch had collapsed into a crude clutter, Christopher Columbus cursorily came upon the copper cages containing the captive curlews and cormorants (currently cawing and clawing). He cut the cords of the cages and the captive curlews and cormorants came out!

But Christopher was consequentially crestfallen. A concealed and covert, carnivorous crocodile cropped up and chomped the credulous chicks.

Chef Boyardee

...may of all for day a one

Meat in a can. This is no different from Spam. And yet I'm repulsed by Spam. Won't eat it. Won't touch it. And yet, back in the day I would throw down some Chef Boyardee. Rip open that aluminum top, dump that can-shaped-congealed-mess of noodles and meat into a bowl, heat it up in the microwave (only to have the pseudo-tomato-based paste splatter everywhere), and 2 minutes later you have an amazing meal. Meat from a can.

Meat that has been sitting unrefrigerated in the grocery store for 3 months. Meat that has since been sitting in your pantry for 5 weeks. Meat that is now being chewed by your back molars and soon to be entering your colon (only to wreak havoc there). Meat in a can.

I should have known that any "chef" who has the name "boy" in it isn't going to be experienced enough to know not to make that mistake. You've got a "boy chef" throwing meat in a can and selling it to children. Of course they will buy it. They don't know better. Neither did the boy chef. He is just a boy.

Simple mistake, boy chef. But please learn.

Cell Phones

one a day for all of may

I have a call dropped at least once a day when talking on cellular telephonic devices. (I don't like the terminology of "dropped" calls by the way. What? Is my conversation a hot potato? Alas, I digress.) You are talking with someone and...suddenly....they are a bit less responsive. You aren't receiving those intermittent, affirming "uh-huh"s like you were receiving during the first half of your conversation. You know something is odd. So you ask, "You there?" And you are met with silence.

And then you are met with frustration.

And then you call them back. But of course....they are simultaneously attempting to call you back. So when you are calling them, your phone call goes straight to their voicemail since they are currently busy (calling you). How this is possible, I'm not really sure. You hang up. You try again. And of course, your second attempt at calling them back receives the familiar voicemail salutational message. So you hang up for a second time. Frustrated.

And now your strategy changes. You think, "Ok. I'll just wait for them to call me now." So you sit there in silence. Waiting. And after a few moments you begin to wonder, "Maybe they are doing the exact same thing....waiting for me to call them." And you don't know this, but they are in fact doing that very thing. Waiting on you. So you take up the phone again for a 3rd attempt. You even begin to think cliches to yourself like, "Well, 3rd time's a charm!" You even begin to speak it aloud. After all, you have been in silence for well over 2 minutes now and something must break the awkwardness.

But of course, the moment you decided to pick up the phone was the exact moment that it crossed your friend's mind that maybe you are waiting on them. And now you are locked up again in a battle of call backs. Like two ram's horns gripped together. Neither is budging. Neither is getting through.

All because of our stupid cell phones and their inability to manage an interruption-free phone call.

Cool Cheetahs and Camels

One a May for all of day

Chester Cheetah and Joe Camel - the two smoothest and coolest animated animals with addiction problems.

Chester Cheetah is the official mascot for Cheetos - a crunchy snack of puffed corn, dusted with powdered cheese (the very fact that it contains "powdered cheese" makes one hesitant to continue purchasing these). He wears sunglasses. He has cool looking tennis shoes. He listens to jazz music. He probably drinks vermouth straight up. And he has a troubling addiction. He needs to eat Cheetos. You will find him getting tricked by children in TV commercials as he continues to fail in his quest for Cheetos. But he is still cool and smooth. And the ladies love him. But if they only knew about his harrowing problems.

Joe Camel is the official mascot for Camel Cigarettes - a cigarette made from actual Camel tongues. He wears sunglasses. He wears tight T-shirts to showcase his camely physique. He drives nice cars and plays pool. And he smokes those cool-enhancing cigarettes. He probably listens to jazz music too. And you will find him living out his addictive personality as well - he can be seen in advertisements (or at least, he used to be seen) constantly puffing away on those cool cigarettes, luring adults and children alike to be apart of his cool revolution.

Cheetah. Camel. These are not the animals one would expect to be the icon of coolness. Especially the camel. I can't think of a more awkward animal on the face of the planet. Their bodies are oddly shaped, they chew their food really weirdly, their tongues are enormous, they have built-in water vats on their backs, and the joints on the legs bend the wrong way. Not cool at all. But slap some shades on their faces and throw a lit cigarette in their mouth and now you've got something you can work with.

Commercial Break

~one a day for all of may~

Does anyone use the "wingdings" font?  I don't understand why this is even an option.

You know, because it is so obviously stupid.

Cartoons of Chest Cavities

¡¡¡una dia para todos los mayo!!

When you go to the doctor and you are waiting in the waiting room (that is what you do there), have you ever looked at the "artwork" on the walls? Decorating the walls are cartoon pictures of nasty, internal human organs. Do I really want to look at that? No, I don't. So I force my eyes away from the pink and green jumbo-shaped spleen in front of me and the multiple layers of epidermis with enormous, pencil-like hair follicles protruding out.

I was already sick before I got here. That is why I am here. I am sick. I don't need that nausea reinforced and encouraged by disturbing and disgusting cartoons of the inner-workings of my heart ventricles. Or my folded up bag of intestines. Or my nervous system.

Spare yourselves the vomit-cleaning that is impending and take those pictures down. How about replacing them with calming photographs of bunny rabbits and dandelions?

Collecting Canine Crap

One a day for all of May...

I have the given responsibility of going into our backyard and removing our dog's poo. Yes, that is my job. I am the Poo Man. Dog Poo Man. I slowly walk around in the backyard, meticulously combing through the grass looking for canine excrement. And when I find it, I reach down and grab it through the back of a plastic bag. I feel the texture (sometimes the warmth, depending on how fresh), though there is no direct contact with skin and poo. All that to say, it is a pretty terrible job to do. But so they say - someone has to do it.

Today as I was walking around in the backyard Poo-Pooin (as I call it), I couldn't help but notice our dog watching me do this. She just sits there at a comfortable, poo-safe distance watching me clean up her waste. And I had to wonder what in the world was going through her mind. Was she embarrassed? You know, "Matt, I'm really sorry that you have to do this. I feel really awful, seriously. I hate that I can't take advantage of the indoor plumbing." Or was it rather more sinister - a subtle snickering under her breath as she surveys me collecting her crap?

And I had to wonder - what would go through my mind if I had to sit there and watch someone pick up my #2 through a plastic bag? And an idea struck me. I can do this. I can accomplish this and see how I might react. I think I am going to 'take my business to the backyard' and make Kathryn clean it up and see what happens.

Cliché Confusion: Complementary or Condemnatory

one c a day for all c of may

"You're a sight for sore eyes."

This particular expression/cliche has caused quite a bit of confusion/frustration in our marriage lately. To remain anonymous, one of us (Person A) believes that this expression is complementary. To translate - You are a beautiful and welcomed sight for my somewhat exhausted eyes.

The other of us (Person B) believes that this expression is condemnatory. To translate - You are a terrible sight, so much so that you are making my eyes sore.

Which is it? We have been doing a poll amongst our friends and even the poll remains divided. Some say - "Oh this is extremely complementary. You would say this if you were away at war and when you came back and saw your beautiful bride waiting for you - you would say - You're a sight for sore eyes." Others have disagreed. They've said - "Only when someone emerges from a deep sleep with unkempt hair, bed wrinkles pressed into their face, and crusty drool on their shirt would you say - Ew, gross - you're a sight for sore eyes."

Which is it? Your thoughts?

Check Please

oNe a DaY FoR aLL oF MaY.

I have never been very secure as a tipper. What I mean by that is - I always feel a bit awkward when it comes to filling out the "Gratuity" line on the bill at a restaurant. It makes me uncomfortable. What is going to be insulting? What is going to be gratuitously generous? I have been told that 15% is the average. But that always feels too minimal. Why am I so insecure?

My insecurity flares into hyper-insecurity (that is borderline dangerous) when it comes to take-out or pick-up orders. You go the restaurant, wait at the designated "pick up" line, pay for your meal which has been nicely wrapped up for you in a bag, and then it is time to fill out the check. And there is that haunting line. Gratuity. Now, who in the world is supposed to receive this tip? The guy at the register? Should he really get 15% for handing me a bag of food? I think not. So I don't tip. I'm not eating there. Nobody is serving me. This makes sense. What doesn't make sense to me is the feeling of guilt that I have when I hand the check back to the register guy. That makes no sense to me. Should I really let this 16 year old summer intern make me feel guilty for not tipping him for something he didn't do?

Oh, the guilt. If only I believed the gospel.

Coffee, Camomile, and Crustaceans

one a day For all oF may

Coffee. Does coffee not work after a while? I had 3 cups of coffee yesterday and by 5 pm I was exhausted. Is something wrong with me or has my caffeine tolerance gotten so high that multiple cups of liquid-adrenaline can't touch me anymore? Or perhaps my tiredness is so strong that the coffee can't handle it? Or perhaps the coffee that I'm consuming isn't as strong as I think it is? I am glad to inform you of this though - despite coffee's recent caffeine deficiency, it's digestive effects are thoroughly consistent.

Camomile. I enjoy tea, one could say. One could also say that I don't enjoy tea. But they would be lying. The first person would be telling the truth. I enjoy tea. I go in and out of enjoyment phases though. So perhaps if the second person were to strategically say that I don't enjoy tea at the certain moment that I didn't like tea - then that would be true. If I am in a don't-like-tea-right-now phase and the second person said that I didn't like tea - he or she would be telling the truth. And the first person would be lying. But I was in a I-like-tea phase, which I am currently in, then it would be just the opposite. I'm glad we're all clear on that.

Crustaceans. I feel sorry for this type of aquatic animal. They have the word "crust" in their name. That just sounds gross. They are crusty. But I think a better adjective to describe them would be "crunchy." I think we should change their name to Crunchtaceans. That it more fitting and a bit more appetizing. I don't want crusty shrimp for dinner. But oh! Crunchy shrimp?!? Now we're talking.

Cleaning Out My Inbox

one A day for All of mAy


As of this morning, I have 473 messages in my inbox. Why am I saving so many emails? Will I ever go back and re-read these things? Probably not. But the fact that I am going to have to carve out an afternoon and work through all of these emails makes me think....

With the rise of technology, I now have digital chores. Before, the only cleaning that I needed to do involved real, tangible, concrete things - clean my room, clean my teeth, dust the counter, wipe down the table, spray the cat, etc. And now, my cleaning responsibilities have spilled over into maintaining a cyber account. It needs a bit of tidying up. And so I will sit down, read through my inbox and determine which emails need to be deleted. This will take at least an hour of my life. And there will be those emails, I know, that I will think - ooooh, I have got to keep that one.

And so maybe after this cleaning, I will end up with an inbox of...say....85. That's a thorough overhauling. 473 to 85. That is a serious slim and trim. But I am still keeping 85 emails that I will never read again until 3 years from now when I will need to clean out the inbox again. And then, probably only then, will I erase them. Why don't I spare myself the trouble and just delete them all? If they are going to be erased in 3 years without having been read any in the mean time (who goes back to previous emails and re-reads them? I don't even do that with good literature.), it makes sense to clean house. Ship shape.

Tip top.

Hip hop.

Trip hop.

Clogging Arteries with Meat

One day a for the month May of...

Meat Lover's Pizza. Come on, people. Do we really need that much animal? I was recently at a pizza joint and considered the "Meat Lover's." I felt that this was an appropriate decision because I love meat. I haven't ever thought to label myself as a "Meat Lover," but once I thought about it, sure, I would label myself that. Meat Lover Matt. Maybe that could be my new nickname.

So, after reflecting about my new identity in relation to loving meat, I perused the toppings on this pie. Bacon, sausage, hamburger, italian sausage, pepperoni, ham, canadian bacon. I've seen this thing ordered before. It is simply a heaping mound of assorted meats resting atop some dough. Seriously, people? Granted, I love meat (see my new nickname), but even I cannot see a reason to ingest entire mouthfuls of animal for a whole meal. Does one really need that much?

And then it hit me. This is what really separates the "Meat Lovers" from the "Meat Likers." Because if someone truly loves meat - loves it so much that they are willing to eat nothing but various meat combinations for a meal - then this pizza is for them. I shouldn't flatter myself and call myself a "Meat Lover" and then scoff at an all-animal pizza. This is truly for the Meat Lovers. I, after some reflection, am nothing but a "Meat Liker."

Meat Liker Matt - my new(er) nickname.

C this Movie: Or Don't!!

one a day for all of may.

Castaway: The worst movie ever. Tom Hanks stuck on an island for 90% of it, talking to a coconut. He gets off and his wife leaves him. Absolutely terrible.

Capote: Haven't seen it in a while. Remember liking it. Remember thinking - This guy had a weird voice.

Caddyshack: I didn't grow up on this movie but watched it about a year ago. First viewing. Absolutely terrible. I realize that some of you think this is probably sinful. But humor seems to be culturally stamped and dated. It comes with an expiration date on it. Just try going back and watching Saved by the Bell. Sure, it was enjoyable then. Now....just terrible.

Child's Play: I can still vividly recall one of those final scenes where little Chuckie slices through that guys ankle with an exact-o-knife. It went down so smoothly like butter. I remember the slicing motion being somewhat slow and dramatic. Now that I think about it, why didn't the guy move his ankle after the initial piercing? Why did he sit there still to let the knife sink in about 3 more inches before yelping out for help?

City Slickers: I used to watch this A LOT on VHS growing up. I remember when Billy Crystal helped deliver that calf (later to be named Norman) from the pregnant cow. Even then I wondered why human assistance was necessary in the birth of cows. How do cattle manage without us?

Click: I never saw it. But the previews convinced me that Adam Sandler had made another poor career move.

Crocodile Dundee: This capitalized on a popular movie premise: Place a person of one culture inside a different culture. (Other movies to play on this cross-cultural comedic experiment - Encino Man, Rush Hour, Coming to America, and Curious George)

Confusion over Chicken Empanadas

¡¡One a day for all of May!!

I was at Trader Joes "shopping" aka "doin my thang," and I came upon a frozen bag of "Chicken Empanadas." The picture on the front was enticing enough to make me inquire more. So I did. I picked up the package. I looked at the picture a bit closer. Sure enough, that does look appetizing.

And so I went to phase 2 of my investigation: price. After a little searching, I discovered that this pouch of empanadas was $3.95, a bit pricey for what appeared to be a meager portion of empanadas. So of course, phase 3 was to determine exactly how many empanadas were contained in said pouch.

Nothing on the front revealed the quantity, so I flipped it over and checked out the nutritional value. At the top, it tells you how big the servings are: 1 empanada. Ok. Keep going, Matt. Don't stop here. The following line tells you how many servings this particular pouch contains. Ok, this makes sense. Simple logic leads me to conclude that if 1 serving = 1 empanada, then the number of servings it contains tells me how many empanadas are in there. But this is when I got a bit confused.

It read "Contains about 5 empanadas."

"About"? That is not really informative, is it? How can something contain "about" 5 of something? Are there 4 fully-intact empanadas and a few crumbly bits to round it out to about 5?

Furthermore - the number is so low, that is quite a big difference between 4 and 6 in a package. If there were like 50 in there - ok. I understand. Round it out to "about" 50. But if I'm buying a package of empanadas for $4.00 thinking there is a chance that I may strike gold and get 6 empanadas, only to really get 4 - that makes for a bad day. A bad day indeed.

Furthermore, does Trader Joes not count or regulate the number of empanadas in there? If it isn't exact, what is to prevent someone from stuffing 15 empanadas up in that pouch? One could argue that there are "about" 5 in there if you have a large enough scale. Between 0 and 1,000 empanadas - 15 is roughly "about" 5, you could say.

Joe, if I am going to keep trading with you, you're going to have to be upfront with me.

Carbon Copy

One a DAY for all of MAY

I've come to realize that people don't seem to know that the "CC" feature of sending emails harkens back and stands for "Carbon copy." Are we really utilizing this outdated technology and terminology to refer to our current system of duplication? Just think about it:

Carbon. Copy.

This is the technology that was available in the early 1990s to procure a reliable imprint on someone's credit card. You certainly didn't swipe this piece of plastic through a little machine at the register. No, you handed your card to the person checking you out, they whipped out a clunky rectangular shaped device that was underneath the register, inserted your card into its designated spot, and with a quick and simple, back and forth "cha-chunk," the necessary information was imprinted into a strip of carbon paper. Is this primitive technology really what we are going to compare with our modern version of CC'ing someone when we send non-physical data across the universe via cyber space?

It's kin to referring to the power of our automobiles as "horse power." Why don't we just throw it all back and refer to our cell phones as "sea shells", our web sites as "papyrus" or "vellum", and our grocery stores as "Trader Joes"?