VHS must stand for "Very Highly Satisfying."

I stumbled upon a gold mine this evening. And I have my computer to thank for it. Allow me to extrapolate the details. I don't know what I just said. Well, that's never stopped me before...

My computer is a wretched lump of silicon and plastic... not unlike Joan Crawford (I don't really know much about Ms. Crawford, but I hear that she was awful, just awful,)... and at some point in the past few days iTunes made a request which inspired a crisis of confidence somewhere in my C-drive. My computer now has all the self-assurance of Bob Wiley and has therefore been tackling each task with baby-steps.

For more information on Bob Wiley and his many hilarious afflictions, watch this:


Yeah. That's pretty much what my computer has been doing the past day and a half.

I don't know boatloads about computers, but I do know a bit. A mega-bit! See? That was a computer joke.

I did some anti-virus stuff and some defragmentation and I deleted a few programs that were eating up valuable memory... pretty basic stuff. However, my computer has been very cautious and is going about these processes at essentially the speed of a Speak & Spell. So rather than settle down and do the work that I actually had hoped to do this evening, I found myself digging through a drawer of old VHS tapes from many, many years ago. The following is an incomplete list of the programming that I or my wife deemed worthy of recording...

several episodes of Space Ghost Coast To Coast,
one episode of Sealab 2021,
one episode of Perfect Strangers,
one episode of WWF Monday Night Raw,
VH1 Behind the Music: Sublime,
the final episode of Seinfeld,
a dozen episodes of The Simpsons,
the Beastie Boys' "Intergallactic" video (three times in a row),
several History Channel programs about experimental WWII aircraft,
commercials for Parker Lewis Can't Lose, Beverly Hills 90210, Lady Stetson perfume,
a Minute Maid commercial with Patrick Ewing spinning a can on his finger,
a Pepsi/Super Nintendo commercial starring Bo Jackson,
a cinematic trailer for Dutch, and the VHS release of Home Alone (a steal at just $24.98),
countless half-episodes of Mystery Science Theater 3000,
and much, much more!

Anyway, my computer has summoned enough courage to allow me these few minutes of blogging enjoyment, which I promptly squandered.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

Bidding for the movie rights is now open.

Something terrifying and awful happened today, but I had my support team of shoe-wielding sissies with me, so everything worked out. Let's turn back the clock to noonish today...

The kids were done with lunch and I had just put Zoe down for her nap. Betsy was packing some scrap-booking supplies to go spend the rest of the day with a friend. And then she left.

Maybe we turned back further than we needed to. Or farther. Or neither. Doesn't matter. No one knows and no one cares and I'm already pretty sure I've forgotten where I was going with this.

My friend, Eric, came over to hang out for a while since my wife was away and they totally can't stand each other. That's not true. It's a purely one-sided loathing. Well, after the kids had eaten dinner and played around for a while and then were strapped into their beds, Eric and I went out into my garage to watch the very excellent Shaun of the Dead. The evening being very temperate, we decided to leave the garage door open. Then it started raining and the whole thing would have been very romantic except for the very bloody and very funny zombie movie playing on the very large television away from which we were not sitting nearly far enough. Grammar!

At some point a large spider decided that the inside of my garage was more welcoming than the potentially fatal downpour happening outside. So intense was the on-screen action that neither Eric or I noticed Shelob as she dragged her corpulent abdomen across the concrete floor.

The movie ended and Eric and I went back inside. A few minutes later, Betsy returned home, opened the garage door and saw, on the screen door separating the garage from our kitchen, The Beast. She managed to summon the courage to open the door (so brave) and called out in a panicky tremble, "Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi (that's her bedroom name for me)! You're my only hope!" Needless to say, I sprang immediately into action. I grabbed the hilt of the hunting knife I wear hidden on my person at all times and I threw myself onto The Beast, plunging my blade deep into her bile-filled heart. The hot, searing liquid splashed over my arm, blistering my skin instantly, but still I held fast. My quarry, sensing a foe whose strength and determination she had heretofore never encountered, released a shriek which could only have come from a hell filled with long fingernails and blackboards. I wrenched free my knife and savagely hacked off two legs with one, masterful stroke. The Beast stumbled and fell, causing me to tumble off of her back. Using the last of her prodigious strength, she raised herself and fell upon me, baring fangs glistening with an acidic poison which would have no doubt ended my life had I not been so staggeringly muscled and fabulous. I caught The Beast's head between my iron-like hands and rent her skull asunder.

Except that before any of that could happen, Eric grabbed a shoe and smashed the spider on the floor.

Yuck.

But to give you an idea of what we were up against...

That picture is pretty much to scale.

And while you're at it, give Shaun of the Dead a view.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

Matt's Glory Days, part 3

This is it. My last night of smelly bachelor freedom before my much-missed family comes home. Here's the movie line-up:






I threw that last one in there just because I love the show Firefly. But I'm actually getting ready to watch this one:



Good times. Good times... Not pathetic. Good.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

"I thought they smelled bad... on the outside."

Okay, here's the thing: I know there are benefits to going on a juice fast. I know that my body is full of toxins and fat. I know that an all-juice diet will not only help to eliminate those toxins and help to reduce the fat, but it will give me more energy, give me healthier skin and hair, help me to think more clearly, improve my mood, and generally make me feel better about everything.

I seriously don't give a crap about any of that right now.

I'm hungry, I'm grumpy, the very thought of drinking another meal makes me nauseous.

I have a new plan. This one is far more reasonable for a person like me. It is this: Raw fruit and vegetable juice for breakfast and low-fat, low-calorie meals the rest of the day. Grilled chicken and beans and crap like that. And occasionally, an entire package of sausages. For the protein.

And I have no problem admitting to all of you naysayers that I was wrong.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

I gotta stop trying everything I see on TV.

I just checked my tauntaun... It's not looking too good.

In other words, my ten-day juice fast just turned into a three-day juice fast. Or maybe a one-day juice fast.

Throughout the day I just kept coming up with unpleasant adjectives to describe the texture of the juice. When I arrived at "slimy," I lost all interest in living.

I want to eat something that was once alive, preferably something that died a painful, bloody death before being dragged, twitching, to the deep-frier. And some french fries. OH, muh GAHHH! KFC! Seriously.

I'm not giving up, people, don't worry. I'm just thinking that I might have to resort to exercise if I want to lose any weight.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

Lime

I bought a juicer. I bought five mangos. I bought three limes. I bought three "Pink Lady" apples. I put one mango in the juicer. I put one lime in the juicer. I put one "Pink Lady" apple in the juicer. The juice receptacle wasn't full. I reached into the fridge and grabbed a pear that we already had. I put one pear in the juicer.

A whole lime may have been too much.

I was in Mexico years ago and, in the process of tarring a roof, I got tar all over my hands. One of the locals siphoned some gas from a gas tank and I used it to clean the tar from my hands. The local quickly grabbed a lime and used it to clear the taste of gasoline from his mouth.

Lime can kill the taste of gasoline. Keep that in mind when adding lime to your food.

I love mango juice. For reals. On our flight home from Serbia I kept making the flight attendant bring me more mango juice, ignoring a look of annoyance that she had obviously perfected in the night clubs of Paris. I also enjoy the electric blast of lime, but this is too much. It's muting the mango.

So, rule number one when making your own juice: Don't use a whole lime.

This is day one of my ten-day juice fast. I've only had one meal and I'm having trouble finishing it, not because it's disgusting or anything, but... the lime.

It was so small and cute... I didn't think it could cause this much damage. I know better now.

That doesn't mean I won't make the same mistake later. I'm dumb like that.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

Completely out-of-place Star Wars reference right at the end. Don't miss it.

I didn't realize it at first, but the past few days have been a sort of farewell tour for many of my favorite foods. Pizza, sausage rolls, steak fajita quesadillas, coney dogs, sesame chicken, brownies, pie... I've partaken and enjoyed, but grudgingly. I'm supposed to be losing weight, or at the very least, I'm supposed to be getting healthier. This food I've fallen in love with simply will not do.

I've been doing a lot of weight-lifting (a lot for me, anyway) and I'm really starting to enjoy it. It doesn't hurt that I'm starting to see major results. I'm getting pretty beefy, ladies. Unfortunately I'm not burning any fat. I'm adding muscle and, thus, adding weight. So I've decided to make some changes.

The first change might seem kind of drastic, and I'm sure after the first day I'll be jeering at myself right along with the rest of you, but here it is: I'm going on a ten-day juice fast. I'll consume nothing but water and fresh fruit and vegetable juice. For ten days. Mm-hm. I even went out and bought a juicer and a butt-load of mangos, which kind of sounds like a punk band.

Right now I'm drinking my last can of soda and I'm baking my last pan of brownies... at least for the next ten days. After that I'm going to be far more aware of what I eat and I'm going to attempt to take more responsibility for my body.

And for those of you who claim that my tauntaun will freeze before I reach the first marker, I offer this rebuttal, "No, it won't."


Thank you,
      Matt Beers

Glory Days, part 2

Today I took a shower and emptied the dishwasher. Then I read the newspaper.

I've got to slow down before I hurt myself. I'm not as young as I used to be.

Yesterday was kind of a surprise day. I woke up at 11:00. I didn't wake up at 8:30 and go back to bed, I woke up at 11:00. I must have needed the sleep. Anyway, I got up and decided to skip the late breakfast farce and lunge right into lunch. I had leftover sausage roll and cherry pie. Then I lounged about in my pajamas ALL day watching movies and playing video games. Then, around dinnerish time I got dressed and went out for some sesame chicken and crab rangoon. Then I came home and watched a documentary called Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead. It was about how the food we eat is killing us. I spent the rest of the day watching movies while working out. This morning I was pleased to discover that I ache all over.

The movies I watched yesterday:






For the record, Master and Commander is one of my all-time favorite movies.

Now, I'm off to have lunch with my friend, the alpaca farmer, Brian Foss.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

I'm pretty sure my actual "glory days" had more police involvement...

Betsy and I have reached a very wonderful time in our marriage. We have agreed mutually that it's totally cool if she takes the kids to Oklahoma for five days to visit her family while I stay home. So, here I am, all alone in this big, empty house. What's a guy to do? Well, I'll tell you...

Matt Re-Lives His Glory Days (Day 1)

It's not all fun and games, you know. I did have to work today. Sort of. This is what I did with the daycare kids...

The plan is that we'll build a whole town (which the daycare kids have named "Betty City,") and then set it all up on a table and add little cars and things like that. What I haven't yet explained to the kids is that Betty City is being built between Angry Mutant Reptile City and Giant Killer Robotville. This won't end well.

As soon as the daycare kids left I rolled in the big-screens. Just two of them. I don't know why I would need all three at once. Besides, there isn't room. I checked.

With no kids to be negatively influenced, I immediately shoved Pulp Fiction into the DVD player and turned it up. I spent the rest of the day playing Lego Star Wars and listening to Quentin Tarantino try to direct himself. It was so much fun that eight o'clock rolled around and I realized that I had forgotten to eat. I rushed right out and bought a delicious sausage roll (with onions and green olives) and a lovely cherry pie. I then sat down and watched an episode of Flight of the Conchords while attempting to eat the entire sausage roll (I failed).

For more information on Pulp Fiction and Flight of the Conchords, see below:

I now sit here writing all of this down as if it would be interesting to anyone but me... and I'm realizing at this very moment that it isn't even interesting to me. But I refuse to be depressed. There's a whole cherry pie on the counter and I don't see anyone else around here that I need to share with.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

This is happening...

Do you want to know what peace feels like? It feels like fifty pounds just lifted off of your soul. And when you realize that you're at peace your whole body flutters. It's pretty wonderful.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

You probably know him...

I'd like to tell you about my friend, Brian Foss. Brian Foss is one of those 

people who seems to have lived everywhere and done everything. He 

knows absolutely EVERYONE. In fact, while I was in Serbia last summer 

I met people who knew him. It's wierd and a little creepy.
 
Here's a list of a few of the adventures you'll find in the index of The Big 

Book of Brian's Life:
 

Web-designer,
Guitarist,
Missionary,
Wrestler,
Pen-enthusiast,
Alpaca farmer,
Extreme right-wing grafitto  conservationist,
Closet Louis Lamour fanatic,
Blacklisted flamenco dancer,
Two-time East Coast dog-walking champ,
Flippin' good quesadilla chef,
Twentieth-century chimney-sweep,
Fledgling shelf-builder,
Fontaine understudy whenever Les Miserables comes to town,
Fashionista,
Part-time astronaut,
Amateur chair-rail historian...
 
The list goes on. 
 
Actually, the list goes on right here. 
 
Brian has attempted to read Volume One of Democracy In America 

several times. 

He has, in his house, a very rare, yet fully functioning, stationary 

escalator. 

There is reportedly an alligator (or crocodile) living in his garage. 

He decided he couldn't be burdened with the demands of a colon 

and, so, had his removed and was not pleased with the results. 

He has a price on his head of twenty-six dollars. 

He claims to have operated the very first cash-for-gold business in 

San Francisco in 1849. 

As a boy he was nearly fatally attacked by five ladybugs. 

He has been banned from soup.

 
Brian and I met when my mother-in-law's husband, Bob, had a 

heart-attack while cutting down a tree in his backyard. As Bob 

was recuperating several days later, I went over to finish chopping 

up the tree. Brian lived nextdoor and came over to help, too, 'cause 

Brian's cool like that. Also, he had a chainsaw. That's basically my 

criteria for being friends with someone. 
 
Brian, you're a rockin' dude and I don't even mind that you're into 

older chicks. MUCH older chicks. AARP. I mean it's weird, but, hey, 

Cari's cool and with that hip replacement I'm sure she'll be just as 

spry as a 40-year old. Love you, broseph. 

(NOTE: I typed this last night on my iPod and e-mailed it to myself, 

which is why it's all double-spaced and Helvetica-y and weird.)
 
Thank you,
      Matt Beers

The first rule is, "You do not have love handles."

Watch this clip from one of my favorite movies, Fight Club...


So, is that what a man looks like? The ideology and persistent theme throughout the film Fight Club would have us all answer a resounding, "NO!" But look here...

It's certainly what Brad Pitt looks like. So what conclusion are we meant to draw from this? That a man is not expected to practice what he preaches as long as he's got smokin' hot abs.

Hollywood, you've let me down yet again. Shame on you.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

Next, on a very special 200lb Man...

My buddy Evan (Two Bibliomaniacs) gave me a blog nod this morning, so I should probably put up a new post to take advantage of all of the extra traffic I'll receive as a result.

Today something wholly miraculous happened. I got a pizza in the mail. Let me explain.

On Monday, completely out of nowhere, I was attacked by a deep longing for a deep dish pizza. I sent out a wailing moan on Facebook and my new pal Judd (Trials of a Phat Athlete) came to the rescue. He was in the region of the great state of Chicago and saw an opportunity to make a little boy's dreams come true.

I didn't even know they sent pizza by mail. My entire outlook on life has changed completely.

So I started wondering... How often have I dropped the ball in similar situations? How many times have I had the unique opportunity to do something totally selfless to make someone feel incredibly special and then watched said opportunity fly by? Probably a lot of times. I'm pretty thick-headed.

So, go friends and friends of friends. Find a way to make someone feel grand.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

The old ways are the best ways. Mainly because the new ways are way too expensive.

I'm churning an idea about in my head which has kind of stuffed all of my other creative ideas into the dark corners of my brain. My day spent among the nerds (Comic Con) has re-ignited the long dormant flame of desire which once burned brightly in my chest cavity. I want to make a comic book.

Here's the cover, which is all I have so far.

 

Good, no? I totally traced it. Most comic book artists do that. 

That's probably not true.

I'm about crapping myself dry wanting to get out of this house and into the next one. I had this brilliant idea today that I would find an old mimeograph machine and an old printing press and I would learn how to do screen-printing. I can't exactly do any of those things right now because I understand that they are kind of messy endeavors and messy isn't what you want your house to be when you're trying to sell it. So my fruitless ambition will have to wait a while longer.

Thank you,

      Matt Beers

The Astonishing 200lb Man VS. the Wide-Eyed Basement Dwellers (in 3-D!)

I attended the Summit City Comic Con today and I saw a great many people dressed up as Star Wars characters. There were some awkward moments, to be honest, but all in all it was a good day.

 

Not me.

 

Me. And I don't mind saying that I look pretty darn good in my stripey shirt.

 I met and interacted with the following artists and would recommend that you check them out (each artist's name links to his web site):

Ryan Claytor (Elephant Eater Comics)

Andy Jewett

Aaron Minier

Actually, I've worked with Aaron Minier in the past (briefly, but, in my opinion, very successfully), but I met him for the first time, face to face, today. He was taller than I had hoped.

Anyway, it was a good time. I got to hang out with my old buddy Nate and I got to chat with people who knew WAYYY too much about some very obscure super heroes and I got to see some very lonely people dressed in a way that was obviously designed to make certain that their loneliness stretches on until the end of time.

Also, there was free soda.

Do yourself and the rest of yourself a favor and check out these prince... prints. Sorry. (CLIQUEABLE LINQUE!)

My friend Nate Utesch designed these five screen-prints commemorating NASA's shuttle program which will soon be available to purchase online. You will ache and pine for them, trust me. Or is it "oak and pine"? I don't know trees.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

Dork-fest '11

In two days time (June 18, 2011) I will be seated in a booth at the Summit City Comic Con signing autographs, posing for photos, and answering all of your questions. It's at the Grand Wayne Center in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Here's a link: LINQUE!

You may want to get there early to get a good place in line.

Actually, the whole thing is a little... weird. Nate signed us up for a Ferocious booth at the comic con, but some wires must have gotten a bit crossed because we each have our own booth. We'll probably just pick whichever one seems like it has the best location and set up there.

I'm not entirely sure what is expected of me. I doubt I'll be signing much or posing for photos or answering any questions other than, "Annnd... WHO are you, exactly?" That said, it sounds a lot like my wedding day.

Anyway, if you're in town and you want to come see the 200lb Man take on the public in a very lackadaisical display of self-promotion, I'll be there all day. Bring me a sandwich or something, 'cause I'm pretty sure it'll be hungry in there.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

This is the sound of my brain mumbling.

Bill Murray
Paul Giamatti
Phillip Seymour Hoffman

In order of the number of syllables in their names, these are three actors who have rarely failed to astonish me with their utter awesomeness. The coincidence of their less-than-ideal body types in relation to my own has not been overlooked by me, proven by the fact that I just mentioned it.

On a less than upbeat note, I just watched Stripes again last night and I found it to be rather stupid. Sorry, Mr. Murray, but judging by your performance, you agree. It felt as though they wrote a twenty minute script, filmed it three times in moderately different settings, and then decided to spend the other 90% of the budget on the end, which was terrible.

Why am I bothering to put all of this in a post? What possible relevance could this have? Will there be follow-up posts about other sub-par performances by Messrs Giamatti and Hoffman? Nope.

Maybe.

Parks and Recreation is a pretty funny show. I kinda wanna be Ron Swanson.

Also, I'm pretty bummed 'cause I ran out of Irish Cream tonight in the middle of making a drink. Why do they make those bottle so danged heavy? It throws me, man.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

I'm digging my own grave, but as I plan on being a very lazy zombie, I'm digging it shallow.

Betsy and I just played two games of Phase 10 Dice, both of which I won. As our good-natured second place finisher rose from the table, a rumble arose from her bowels, bursting forth like stinky applause, to which she replied, "Oops."

Is this the kind of sportsmanship we are teaching our children, America?  Are we really saying, "Rather than congratulate you with encouraging words, I think I'll break wind. Don't worry. You're worth it."

Which brings me to my next point: Can "'til death do you part" be an amicable parting?

I'm joking, of course, but if any of you hear that I've died under mysterious circumstances in the coming weeks, maybe ominously drop Betsy's name whenever talking to the police.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

We're devils and black sheep, we're really bad eggs. Drink up, me hearties! Yo-ho!

Every summer something awakens inside of me. Sweat glands.

Being a chubby sort of fellow, it doesn't take much in the way of heat and humidity to set off my circulatory system's automatic cooling devices nestled in my rolly-polly places, of which I have many. Before the end of May, it never fails, I'm shunting fashion and propriety to one side in favor of flowy, breathy clothes, regardless of how they look or in what decade they were manufactured. This has resulted in me looking very much like a pirate. I will now share a very poignant quote:

"Be careful what you pretend to be because you are what you pretend to be." - Kurt Vonnegut

Having dressed piratey for the last several days, I am now thinking piratey as well. I went to WalMart this evening looking for rum, hoping to also drink piratey, but I ended up buying some hard pink lemonade instead. I am a sensible pirate, it would seem.

Thinking piratey has worked wonders with the daycare, I should point out. I simply pretend that I'm used to harsh swearing and... what else do pirates do? Anyway, by comparison, the daycare kids are really quite manageable, which isn't to say that my role as quartermaster has been overlooked. For example, I made this today:

This is Lucero Grandor, our new pirate-hitty-thingy. I tied a red scarf on the handle end because it seems a very garish and flamboyant and Jack Sparrowy thing to do. I haven't had a chance to use it, yet, but I'm pretty sure that when I do I'll injure myself. It's gonna be awesome.

I consider immersion in Pirate Mode a perfectly acceptable coping mechanism when faced with the harsh and cruel heat of summer... which hasn't even started yet. When one considers the alternative (Hobbit Mode), Pirate Mode isn't so bad. My wife may feel differently.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

Real Estate Update

Our house has been on the market for exactly eleven (11) days and we have had four (4) showings and zero (0) offers. We have a house all picked out and we're just waiting for the money ($) to roll in from the sale of our house. There. You are now updated.

In other news, it's hot. I hate hot. Well, sometimes hot is okay, but not when you're talking about weather.


I've been a little preoccupied with Bill Murray lately, so, here's some Bill Murray.









Thank you,
      Matt Beers