Tell Them...

I once took a speech class in college and the professor said one thing over and over that eventually made me want to kill myself and throw up simultaneously.

"Tell them what you're gonna tell them, Tell them, Tell them what you told them"

So in honor of that, I give you my outline for this blog.
1. Paying Attention
2. Star Sighting
3. P.D.A.


1. I started classes again Monday. I am taking a 5 week intensive, Hebrew Prophets. If any of you read this with sort of consistency (or talk to me on a regular basis) you know that I have been doing a bit of traveling/sitting around recently. I have mostly been filling my time with a whole lot of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She really knows how to take care of business. Anyway, when I attended my first class of the summer quarter, I forgot how to pay attention. This is not to say that the Professor is boring, (although he could stand to look more like Sarah Michelle Gellar) but he sure was not killing vampires. Here's the thing, he spent 3 hours talking about the the theology of Joshua and Judges. It's like he doesn't want me to pay attention.

Interesting? Yes. But, he totally jumped over all the sweet battles, Prostitutes getting chopped up, dudes ripping off a jawbone of a lion and then beating the lion with it. This stuff is gold.


2. This morning, July 28, 2010. I saw Bradley Whitford! You may remember him from such shows as The West Wing and Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. I can legitimately say I was star struck. I love this dude. I think he is hilarious and handsome (Yes, I said it.) My love for him is only trumped by one man, Tom Hanks. He will forever be number 1. And if I saw him on the street, let it be known I would urinate my pants.

3. Finally, a quick discussion on P.D.A.. Maybe it was was my southern conservative up-bringing. Or maybe it is my aversion to physical touch in general, but public displays of affection make my stomach turn. To be clear, I'm not talking about a quick kiss or hand holding. That I'm okay with and even encourage. But, when I am sitting in Starbucks working on a paper and glance outside to see a guys hand down the back of a girls pants, it kinda makes me want to poke out my own eyes with my ice coffee straw.

Well, I told you about:
1. Paying Attention
2. Star Sighting
3. P.D.A.

I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, or at least as much as the Starbucks couple.

Summer: Friend or Foe?

Summer. What is it? When I was a kid. Summer was a coveted time. Countdowns started the first day of school. It meant complete and total freedom from teachers and their dirty looks. Summer was hot, which meant serious pool/beach time. Spending the night at friends houses. Staying up late. Summertime romances. Vacations and most importantly...NO SCHOOL!!

And then, You would return to school, put on that leather jacket with T-birds on the back. Realize that your summer romance moved to your school and then you sing in unison with your fellow T-birds. At the same time this girl and her new friends are singing the same song but the lamer, more love filled version of the same song. We'll call this song "Summer Lovin"

Fine, thats Grease, but if my life looked more like John Travolta's, it wouldn't be the worst thing.

But now I find myself in this weird, hybrid adult-college world, aka: "College 2: Prolonged Adolescence" I don't have a summer. Technically, by the definition I gave above I haven't had a summer in quite some time.

I remember being in college and talking to an admissions woman who, I think generally hated her life, said to me, "Summer really just becomes the 'hot time' of the year" That immediately depressed me. (And that women satisfied her need to kill the spirit of Bible College students) I now know what she meant. Summer is actually a gigantic tease. It plays with you, it seduces us with its sun and warm temperatures, but really its just hot and you sweat in uncomfortable places.

I try and best summer by wearing less clothing or "breathable" clothing. This never works and you are reminded why mesh is strictly a transvestite statement. Fashion for summer is also a tease, who doesn't want to wear tank tops and linen pants? Boy I do! But, they fail to mention, that unless you look like Matthew McConaughey you should just wear a T-shirt. Probably a Parka.

But, here is my real problem, I miss what summer used to mean. Movies capture this well, the perfect summer experience. Fun adventures, great conversations and best of all, little to no sweat, depending on the situation. (if your looking for buried treasure, a little sweat is expected even desired)

So here it is, in conclusion, Summer is the popular girl in high school. Once you leave high school she becomes unimpressive and you have moved on to more stimulating things. I prefer Fall. I would like to propose that fall is the most intellectual of seasons. Fall is the girl who awkwardly read Jane Austin in the corner but, comes into her own in college when personalities become more important for guys.

And with a solid dose of chauvinism, I bid you adieu.

Summer Loving

I'm currently taking applications for my summertime girlfriend. It will consist of hand holding and musical numbers. An Essay and 2 letters of recommendation are required. Freckles are a plus. Also, no commitment past Labor Day

Saturday, May 1st was a bizarre day. Really nothing about it was a typical day in my life. It started with heading into Downtown LA with a class group. We we're supposed to "observe" a community. Well, downtown was having a Cinco De Mayo celebration, and I can't think of a better use of my time. Taquitos and Margaritas were flowing like wine. (I'm not sure how the metaphor applies to taquitos...go with it) While we were downtown, we decided to "stop by" the march on city hall in opposition to the recent activities in Arizona.

I'm not sure how many protests you have attended, this was my first. It was philosophically interesting, but emotionally disconcerting. There were more or less 250,000 people in downtown LA, marching and protesting this recent bill. I don't know where you stand, but I make it a point to not talk about serious things, ever.

I'll leave it at this, what has Arizona really ever given me? A boycott doesn't really affect me, now if you ask me to boycott the GAP? Then I have some serious problems.

My day continued with homework, and then bizarrely enough I ended up watching The Notebook. But, let me tell you the circumstances surrounding it. I came home around 8:30, made a PB&J with raspberry jelly, a Gin and Tonic and sat down a balled my eyes out.

That darn Rachel McAdams is a spirited lady.

So, because of the events of my saturday, I have decided to hire for a new position.

"Summertime Girlfriend" The ad is at the top of this blog and any/all who are interested should reply by a comment to this blog.

Why the application? Well, I'm just trying to weed out the ones who are not interested in musical theatre. I think thats reason enough, I can have standards, right?

Also, if these marches are an indication of anything, it is the fact that the world is coming to an end. Maybe I am more sensitive to it now that I live in california - and a stiff breeze could knock this state into the pacific - but no one wants to be alone during the apocalypse.

Am I right?

E-Day Brunch

I'm beginning to notice theme in these blogs. Maybe you have already seen it. Adulthood. You, the viewer or "Peeping Tom" have been watching me closely and noticed this growth. This is what bothers me...you haven't said anything! I've been walking around, casually, becoming an adult. I new something was weird when my voice dropped and I was no longer confused for my mother on the phone. I should have seen it coming.

I wish we'd all been ready! (Any contemporary christian music fans out there?)

Easter sunday I had brunch. I know, Brunch! That is what adults do. It's a bizarre concept. Its not breakfast, because mimosas are involved. It's not lunch because of the presence of eggs.

It is the purgatory of meals. It exists in the gray area and no one really knows what to do when you are there to get out.

I was concerned when the the plans were made. What was I going to do? How was I going to contribute?

Cook? No. I'm lucky to affectively boil noodles.

Host? Maybe, I am quite funny but that is a lot of pressure. I mean, Jesus rose from the dead, how do you top that?

I decided to lead an Easter Egg hunt. Great idea right? It would have been if the state of California did not sell out of those hollow, plastic eggs three days before E-Day (Easter Sunday). Who thought I had to be responsible enough to buy those eggs 4 days in advance?

So what did I do next? I put together one of the sweetest playlists that has ever been assembled. It was 4 sweet hours of Ray Charles, Righteous Brothers, John Legend and Carol King to name a few.

Let's just say that if E-day was a movie, you would all be asking questions about the soundtrack.

I hope you all had a great Easter Sunday, I leave you with an article that I found interesting and awesome.

Augustine:Octave of Easter

A Brush with Death

I almost died today. This week is my finals week and has not only kept from communicating with you loyal followers of WestCoastMatt, but also it has kept me from my sweet, sweet, bed. Sleep is something that I miss dearly, like the touch from a former lover or a piece of cake for a woman on a diet, I need it, I crave it, I'm pining. I rarely pine, I'm not proud but, never the less, It's happening.

This morning at 4 a.m. an earthquake, a whopping 4.0 on the richter scale, hit sunny Los Angeles. A friend here at Fuller said she always wondered what her response would be under these auspicious circumstances. Fight? Flight? It is a question that can only be answered when you are under the gun.

Apparently my response is sleeping. Also, it is appropriate to know that I did not realize that we even had a earthquake until, Sam my roommate, mentioned it casually. He said, "Yea, it woke me up, I thought about waking you up but then I fell back asleep." It's good to know that we are people you can depend on. And by depend, I mean just assume I am dead in a major natural disaster, it will save you time and energy in the rescue process. And If I am able to find you in the end, the surprise will be all the more special.

Please know this, I was thinking about you in the end, I will miss you dearly and I look forward to seeing you in heaven. I'll meet you at Milkshake Mountain. Take a left at the cheesecake factory if you see Britney Spears you've gone to far. She's not in Heaven.

I'm in seminary, please don't question me.

The wonder that is, my Mother.

At some point I became an adult. (I'm as surprised as you are) I am in charge of paying bills, waking up for school, tying my own shoes, the whole nine. My life is serious business now. I like to believe I have embraced it with open arms. Saying yes and no to things and standing by my decisions. I'm a man and I am in control. I know whats best for me, and I know how to accomplish it.

Well, my mom sent me a package the other day. First things first. My mom was never a person who sent packages. When I lived in Columbia she would wait for me to come home. I was lucky to get a card on my birthday. But, now that I live on the other side of the country and I live in the constant threat of mudslides, forest fires and the state breaking off and falling into the ocean, she warms up a bit.

When I was home for Xmas break, my parents framed my college diploma for Xmas. I was pumped, it looked super awesome and professional. When I hang that bad boy on my wall in Cali the ladies will flock. Why wouldn't they, it's a humanities degree from a small southeast bible college. They would be putty in my hands. So, to say the least I wanted it, but I did not really have space for it on the plane back. We decided we would mail it. Fast forward 2 months later, she tells me it is in the mail with some other little trinkets and such.

Imagine my surprise when the box is bigger than the apartment I live in. Seriously, I could stop paying rent and move in there, luckily it rarely rains in California so the sogginess is not a factor.

I opened it to find...Toilet Paper!! I know, nothing says, "Love You, Mom." like some two-ply. I continued to dig and I found a new quilt, sheets and pillowcases. Now, anonymous internet reader, you may be super psyched about new sheets, I was not. I was hoping for something real sweet like, the new Adidas Star Wars Series, Ken Burn's documentary on Baseball or a Flux-capacitor.

Man, was I wrong. I put those new sheets on my bed and I have never slept better in my life. Side-note: Did you guys know that sheet's come in more than one thread count? Me either, but as the old adage goes, the more the merrier, and in this case it is most definitely the case. Is it possible that I have a 1 million thread count? I'm new to the lingo, but my life is completely changed. If heaven has beds, my bed is somewhere in that ball park. It's smooth like butter, but welcoming like margarine.

In other news; I will be attending a taping of the Price is right. I will be blogging about, possibly from my BRAND NEW CAR!!! I'll keep you updated.

Thanksgiving?

What is Thanksgiving really?

Food? Check.
Nap? Check.
Defeating the Death Star? Check.
Beer? Check
Nazis? Check

This was my first thanksgiving away from home. I had one of two emotions.

1. I spent my day swimming in my own tears.
2. I hate my family. No tears were shed over them.

Which statement is true? We may never know.
It's weird to not be with your family for a major holiday. I've heard people talk about it in some bohemian, enlightening way. I have seen movies with this premise but it always leads to some sweet adventure. I was hoping to stumble on some doubloons or meet the president.

Here is my schedule of the days events:
9:30am Feed the Homeless
11:30 IHOP for a garden omelet and whole wheat pancakes
1:15-3:30 Nap
3:45 Bathroom
4:00 Starwars- A New Hope
6:30 Barney's Beanery for T-dinner and Beer
9-1:30 A knights Tale and Swing Kids

I know what your thinking, it looks a lot like your family's thanksgiving. As I was having maybe the most un-traditional thanksgiving in my personal history, I thought about t-day.( I hate it when people call it that) Who says you have to eat turkey and stuffing? Who says your day cannot contain a garden omelet and destroying the death star? I think the Indians would hate the empire. In a way they did, the white man, but we know how that fight turned out.

All day I couldn't help but think back on growing up and the epic thanksgivings I had. At least they seemed big to a 12 year old. We would eat, and I mean eat, and nap and then see a movie. Sometimes Christmas themed movies other times violent themed. I think the key to a good holiday is an element of selfishness. Selfishness that can only truly exist in the company of your family.

Why else are people stressed during the holidays? Selfishness. It's the only time you can truly be yourself without being concerned with anyone else. I know, you love your family but not enough for them to have the last of the cranberry sauce. That's yours, you saw it first. But, that is your favorite part. Being with parents and siblings and reverting back to old habits.

That's what was missing. My dad wanting to eat ham, turkey, everything at 10:30 am. My mom not being ready until 1:30 or 2:00. The kids complaining about being hungry. When we would finally sit down and eat, all of us yelling over one another trying to get the other to laugh.

As much fun as having thanksgiving in a bar, I missed the chaos.

Thanksgiving, you elusive bastard.

Hypochondria

I have decided to run a 5k. Before your super impressed by my athletic prowess you should probably know that it is 3.1 miles. Every "runner" that I talk to about a 5k acts so casual about it. Occasionally, they are even ashamed by their participation. They say things like; "I'm doing it for charity", "This is my off year from a marathon", "I needed to something to do with my saturday morning at 7am". Regardless, my goal is to do one of these in the next year. Here's the problem.

Last week I decided I would try and run the distance of a 5k (3.1 miles) and just see how I stacked up. If I walked some of it, no big deal. I can work up to it. I'm in no hurry. There is a track near my house, conveniently enough, is 3.1 miles. Perfect!
To my delight, I ran it and did not stop. I'm a champion! What's even better is that I did not feel like I was going to die. Of course my body felt like it just ran three miles but I did not throw up on the track. Runner's don't like that.
The next day I went to work. And by work I mean hosting for a Burger and Beer restaurant. Maybe the most mindless thing I could ever do with my time. I don't want to belittle the world of hosting in general, I'm sure in some restaurants it takes skill and possibly a degree, but at Islands, if your breathing your a professional host or hostess. Without hosts and hostesses what would high school girls do when they are not babysitting? Anyway, while I was at work my right foot began to hurt. As the night progressed it went from a slight pain to, "Oh my dear God is someone stabbing my foot?!" When I was finally allowed to go home I immediately went looking for a diagnosis.Thank you WebMd. This website is the single most terrifying site I have encountered. I simply searched foot pain and I spent the next hour reading about all the possible problems with my foot. Apparently, if I am not careful, I could ruin my foot, have it removed and possibly be handicapped for life. Instead of help I developed a healthy dose of paranoia and have not run since my "diagnosis".
Today, I looked up hypochondria at dictionary.com and it defined it as; an excessive preoccupation with one's health, usually focusing on some particular symptom, as cardiac or gastric problems. Based on that definition I realized that I could be a hypochondriac. This whole week I have been obsessed with my foot. Testing it under ludicrous conditions that I would never encounter. Thinking in my head, if I walk at a brisk pace on this uneven sidewalk and there is no pain or problem I am healed. If I jump up and down violently on these steps and there is no pain than I am OK. If I drop this microwave on my ankle and I can still walk after then I'm ready for an Iron-man.
Based on my scientific tests and an inordinate amount of over the counter pain relievers, I think I'm better.
In other news I still have way to much homework for an individual to accomplish in a given week. In protest I decided to take today off and walk around the Apple Store and Barnes and Noble. That'll show them. Also, my new favorite show is The Big Bang Theory. Give it a chance, its awkward science geeks talking to pretty blondes (sp?). Who doesn't love that? I know I do.

Red Bull

When I was driving across the country about 2 months ago I realized something. There is a ton of crap to do in L.A.. I began to make a list of things I wanted to do in L.A. and California. Things like; go to the Hollywood Bowl, see a movie star, go to Salinas Valley where John Steinbeck is from, make-out with a movie star in Malibu, etc. This list is pretty long in its physical sense. It is infinitely longer in my head. When I hear of something cool to do or see I make a mental note. If it is something super serious it ends up written in my journal for further consideration.

All of that is to say my first evening in L.A. I saw a giant advertisement for the "Red Bull Soap Box Derby" needless to say I made a mental note, wrote it in my journal, tattooed it on my body. I refused to do anything else on September 26. If my dad died, the funeral would be postponed. I mean Red Bull gives you wings. Think what it could do for my dead dad.

It was everything I thought it could be. Over 100,000 people attended this glorious event. The breakdown is this. Remember those soapbox derbies you may or may not have attended as a child? Maybe you were a boyscout or just watched a Disney channel movie that culminated with the main character winning the race as well as growing as a person and learning a life lesson. I knew that I had to be there. (I've missed out on a lot of life lessons) There were about 40 contestants all equally crazy in their themes and presentations. Eric Estrada was a guest judge. They gave away free energy drinks to men, women and children who really did not any more blind energy than they already had.

Where do you go from the Red bull Soapbox derby in Downtown L.A. in the shadow of Skyscrapers and homeless dudes selling Blow pops for a quarter? I went to an outdoor showing of Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

Richard Dreyfuss at his best as a crazed man who saw...something...and is now a exhibitionist sculptor with potatoes and play-do. There is something special about watching a movie outside. Perfect weather. No one under the age of 40 except Sam and I. Apparently, the youth of today have something better to do than watch a classic Spielberg film outside on a blow up screen with a raffle for telescopes going on.

School started for me yesterday. More on that soon. Once I get out from under about 600 pages of reading, I'll tell you about it.