tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57532108471601191012024-03-14T01:59:50.199-07:00Happy & GrimOptimist by choice. Pessimist by name. Writer by trade.Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.comBlogger92125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-55484604331510070262011-06-06T20:04:00.000-07:002011-06-06T20:04:51.061-07:00The Patriot<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I don't want a drink named after me, too much pressure there. Instead, a comrade named Todd and I came up with proper titling for a Jack and Coke. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKzwjU3qeX-mt1KSc6s7ra5c9uypGYiSdyufnHN2gm-Ukk-UPoiUiZ1k7L-dHWfCDvRVS4mVxH3QYshdHARk3Dgf3XRBCEhAEFCwsOhKEK7KHRKQKTX99CIG_ysTirE2U-bxp0gcPB9v8/s1600/Jack_and_Coke_by_ajohns95616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKzwjU3qeX-mt1KSc6s7ra5c9uypGYiSdyufnHN2gm-Ukk-UPoiUiZ1k7L-dHWfCDvRVS4mVxH3QYshdHARk3Dgf3XRBCEhAEFCwsOhKEK7KHRKQKTX99CIG_ysTirE2U-bxp0gcPB9v8/s320/Jack_and_Coke_by_ajohns95616.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
It's not a Jack & Coke, it's The Patriot. <br />
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Like any good capitalist, we have conditions. The Patriot is only the Patriot when there's more Jack than Coke. <br />
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If it's equal parts Jack and Coke, it's 'the Communist.' <br />
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If it's more Coke than Jack, it's 'the Traitor.'<br />
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That is all.</div>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-74601502450279315412011-02-03T09:40:00.000-08:002011-02-03T09:40:57.971-08:00Hallo Hundt!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">It was a summer afternoon in Hamburg, Germany. A gorgeous brunette was walking her German Shepherd along Alstor Lake. I had just learned hundt meant dog in German, so I couldn’t hold back from saying “Hallo Hundt!” The woman, once bouncing along the lake walk, was now staring me down as she power walked past.<br />
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Then, my friend who was fluent in German broke it to me by saying “Grim. You idiot. You just said 'hello bitch.'” </span></span> <!--EndFragment--> </div>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-88502006721066895132011-01-28T14:40:00.000-08:002011-01-28T14:42:40.874-08:00Apocalypse Cakes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I stumbled across this little gem from Shannon O'Malley. Awhile back, this copywriter phenom decided to start crafting cakes in the tune of armageddon. Rock on Shannon. When the fallen angel's given the key to open the abyss, I hope Shannon caters the event.<br />
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<a href="http://apocalypsecakes.wordpress.com/">To get a taste of the end, check out these pastries of hopelessness.</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVoHa89HlCejdmvRRl9BwhkK-MZzc6i2Tpz74CnXhdakHS34GTggQxVHZAOtRgXyoI656tGGT4BzpA2ipHcXn0ISefst7326mscPcXkHUemIIwuaNlBCmI151MLugvKI8pJUjCYFykwSI/s1600/61YvtO0oeoL._SS500_.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVoHa89HlCejdmvRRl9BwhkK-MZzc6i2Tpz74CnXhdakHS34GTggQxVHZAOtRgXyoI656tGGT4BzpA2ipHcXn0ISefst7326mscPcXkHUemIIwuaNlBCmI151MLugvKI8pJUjCYFykwSI/s320/61YvtO0oeoL._SS500_.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-21630408750962120422011-01-04T10:23:00.000-08:002011-01-04T10:26:28.304-08:00The radar flashed 215Between Milwaukee and Chicago is a ninety minute stretch of boredom. A lone officer spends the early hours of a fall wednesday parked next to the highway. His radar gun haphazardly scans the road.<br />
<br />
When 3am came around, his radar gave off a digital squeal and flashed "215 mph." Nothing was there, and everything went back to dull. Random fluke. What else could it be? He forgot about it and returned to a boredom induced coma.<br />
<br />
One week later. Same time, same radar, same problem. He swaps the radar and writes it off as a new fangled failure.<br />
<br />
Two weeks later. Same time, new radar, same problem. It's beyond him. No-one else is having this problem. <br />
<br />
Three weeks later. Same time, two squad cars, new idea. Something must be setting this radar off. Since no cars come by between 2:45 am and 3:15 am, let's spread tire spikes across the highway and see what happens.<br />
<br />
3 am comes and goes. Nothing happens. 3:04 am, 3:05 am, nothing. But at 3:06 am, two explosions rip across dullsville and sparks fly on the highway like a Rammstein encore in Berlin. The officers stumble out and run onto the road to find a Lamborghini Diablo with shredded tires perpendicularly spread across the road. <br />
<br />
The windows were blacked out, all lights, blinkers, license plates, and anything else reflective had been stripped or painted black. Inside the car were two men wearing night vision goggles, black body spandex hooded suits, and .50 caliber hand guns.<br />
<br />
And inside the trunk, they found sixty pounds of cocaine stashed between the trunk lining and car frame.Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-83877738928238447992010-12-15T08:38:00.000-08:002010-12-15T08:38:10.082-08:00Seth Green Killed ItI don't normally think of Robot Chicken as a knock out show. It has it's moments, for example... I can't keep a straight face when I see this clip. <br />
<object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/w5HaHy87ILM?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/w5HaHy87ILM?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
Come on. It's funny. It's not trying to be hilarious, it just is. And here's why I'm saying Seth Green Killed It, look at how he's promoting the action figure in time for the holidays...<br />
<b>*Start this video at 6:45*</b><br />
<br />
<object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" height="375" id="ep" width="442"><param name='allowfullscreen' value='true' /><param name='allowscriptaccess' value='always' /><param name='movie' value='http://i.cdn.turner.com/tegwebapps/tbs/tbs-www/cvp/teamcoco_432x243_embed.swf?context=teamcoco_embed_offsite&videoId=237841' /><param name='bgcolor' 'value='#000000' /><embed src='http://i.cdn.turner.com/tegwebapps/tbs/tbs-www/cvp/teamcoco_432x243_embed.swf?context=teamcoco_embed_offsite&videoId=237841' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' bgcolor='#000000' allowfullscreen='true' allowscriptaccess='always' width='442' height='375'></embed></object>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-71639692987871841732010-12-13T22:40:00.000-08:002010-12-15T08:47:04.279-08:00Pranks are like Art DirectionSubtlety is the key.<br />
<br />
I've tried many pranks and succeeded with a few. Every success hinged on a subtle detail being changed to manipulate something over time.<br />
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For example, changing an answering machine greeting. You don't pick up on it until someone says something. Perfect set up. So, when I was in Wheaton College, a Christian Liberal Arts college; I lived in an all-male dorm for my freshman year. With so many sexually repressed students, shock value was easy to come by. How does this play into an answering machine message? <br />
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Here's the set-up. After a day in college, I realized my cordless phone (this term already feels archaic, wow) worked as a portable speakerphone. So, I could call gay sex lines and project their pre-recorded messages into the general public. This was fun for about two minutes tops. Then, I realized it was easy to change everyone's answering machine within the working radius of my cordless phone. Put the pieces together ... and, voila: a new favorite freshman prank.<br />
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Did I run around and change everyone's answering machine into a gay sex line? No. <br />
<br />
I picked a victim. His name was Brian. He was tall and once gangly but filled out by the start of college. His voice was a cross between Ernie from Sesamee Street and Gomer Pyle from the Andy Griffith Show. He was a premature dad as in his humor was at the dad joke level, but his maturity wasn't. Bad, awkward combo. <br />
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I'd give examples but the only one which comes to mind is him joking that his favorite part about sleeping on the lower bunk of a bunk bed was having the underside of the top bunk serve as an ejaculatory target. Was he joking? I don't know ... all of us were afraid to swipe a black light and find out the truth.. let alone if his range was as great as he graphically depicted.<br />
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The prank. How did it happen and why Brian? I targeted him once I discovered what my portable phone could do. I think we can all agree he was overdue for a prank by this point. So, he got one. Two months into the school year, Brian left for two days which gave me ample time to do a recording session and figure out how to make the speaker sound as natural as possible. After a series of attempts, I had a perfect recording. Seriously, with the natural distortion of a landline phone, it sounded like you were calling a flamboyantly gay college kid who was hustling his landline as a sex chat for extra cash.<br />
<br />
Once Brian returned from his trip, life went on. He, big surprise, didn't get many phone calls let alone voicemails. But, he was competing for a highly sought after internship at a church affiliated summer camp. Part of this application process was a phone interview. This phone interview happened to fall within the same week that his grandmother made her annual call to check in and see how her favorite grandson was doing. Two voicemails, the only voicemails he got all semester... both in the same week. <br />
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This was a dramatic detail, yes. But, the beauty of it was it made Brian realize his phone line had been a sex chat line for the past month and lab partners or theology study buddies who called him were confused and appalled for reasons unbeknownst to him... until he got his two voicemails. Yes, a pastor looking to hire him to be a head counselor of kids at a christian summer camp heard the message. And yes, his grandmother called and presumably heard what she thought was her grandson hosting a sex chat. <br />
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The reaction was memorable. On a Tuesday evening, anger in the awkward form of one-hundred and seventy eight pounds splotched about a six foot two-inch frame paraded into my dorm room holding a phone console high in the air. "What the fuck Grim."<br />
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He had to explain his gay chat line that he allegedly had nothing to do with to both his employer for the summer who he checked in with everyday for the entire summer as a measure of accountability. And, he had to convince his grandmother he wasn't hosting a gay sex chat.<br />
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Luckily, he cracked up about it because the recording was ridiculous enough. To this day, it's the only time I've heard him drop an F bomb. <br />
<br />
Subtle changes make for the best pranks. Remember that.Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-86834073542988814692010-11-08T08:45:00.000-08:002010-11-08T08:45:24.611-08:00How to win a Halloween Costume Competition1. Recruit your grandma or grandpa (helps if they've been smoking hard for the past four decades).<br />
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2. Bribe them with Golden Girl DVD Box Set, Three Stooges, or a pack of smokes.<br />
<br />
3. Have them wear leather pants, English flags for shirts, and wigs.<br />
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4. You have Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and whatever the prize is for best costume.<br />
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5. Don't exclude yourself, you can be their manager. Wear a suit.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhId7nVIkINRcaIc2r-z28qGVU3G3MTH8l1DNJPLKYxKaKOGMg3kRWmZBHz48lEBjKkN2i-C4CfBto7oBD7ofiSHEL6WScisUHVHUzDgxzG4q-eSS7pNoY8IhXtRfOXqAzdb_3dzcMAaYc/s1600/800px-Jagger-and-Richards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhId7nVIkINRcaIc2r-z28qGVU3G3MTH8l1DNJPLKYxKaKOGMg3kRWmZBHz48lEBjKkN2i-C4CfBto7oBD7ofiSHEL6WScisUHVHUzDgxzG4q-eSS7pNoY8IhXtRfOXqAzdb_3dzcMAaYc/s320/800px-Jagger-and-Richards.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-66159234903190211702010-11-08T07:58:00.000-08:002010-11-08T07:58:25.923-08:00Almost there<script src="http://www.teamcoco.com/widget/countdown.js" type="text/javascript">
</script>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-31740008574947886702010-11-01T22:18:00.000-07:002010-11-01T22:20:06.200-07:00Facebook's changed me<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I used to love, now I like.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I used to hug, now I poke.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I use to listen, now I ignore.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Zuckerberg. You ruined me.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijaLjjFXTsIWNTJ_ZcE4A8IO5QAirxE9vGv5hNonkqIFcxXNu1Xh9J_LWohE39FG4t_yc8edjo5Lp15Q3oZIWnhqA_1b6YgcGq9_DCmaVYphx4jjySCTV7dk9TXtIicgu6A-oxPlpuXb4/s1600/4785888323_61ede6b7c8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijaLjjFXTsIWNTJ_ZcE4A8IO5QAirxE9vGv5hNonkqIFcxXNu1Xh9J_LWohE39FG4t_yc8edjo5Lp15Q3oZIWnhqA_1b6YgcGq9_DCmaVYphx4jjySCTV7dk9TXtIicgu6A-oxPlpuXb4/s320/4785888323_61ede6b7c8.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-18209125278612525632010-10-23T17:26:00.000-07:002010-10-23T17:34:44.485-07:00Bill Murray's still got itWhat do you do when you become a comedic superstar? Take advantage of it.<br />
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I found out about Bill Murray's antics one night after telling the story I heard about Emma Watson in college (see my earlier post). Kyle, a friend of mine, told me the story of his friend that happened one early morning outside of Union Square.<br />
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</a><br />
Kyle's friend (let's call him Damien) bought hash browns from a nearby Dunkin Donuts and was waiting to cross a street. As he waited for the light to change, a hand reached over his shoulder and grabbed a hash brown. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVzHcR_at0PBBSdAsToeDtYMGQNeAuhKsYbz8RmJHcFT9TTcverhaQe3Pii2WRNfJzd4zlkPjYKUeFsqMK7k1ExIDJjEMNVg0KpcS5aYwi36c1__CgiSuDH_elUPFafxBNjoWpcX-eiVE/s1600/tumblr_kx7weazqXl1qasao1o1_400.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVzHcR_at0PBBSdAsToeDtYMGQNeAuhKsYbz8RmJHcFT9TTcverhaQe3Pii2WRNfJzd4zlkPjYKUeFsqMK7k1ExIDJjEMNVg0KpcS5aYwi36c1__CgiSuDH_elUPFafxBNjoWpcX-eiVE/s320/tumblr_kx7weazqXl1qasao1o1_400.jpg" width="205" /></a></div><br />
The hand moved in one smooth motion, like grabbing a toothpick from the complimentary bin at a hostess's stand. Damien turned to confront his hash brown burglar and ended up staring Bill Murray in the face.<br />
<br />
Bill Murray finished eating the hash brown and looked square into his vitcim's face. "No one will ever believe you."<br />
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And, he walked away.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-PrU2b0KNtBLv9nD46w44W1sWga2BS8arNUKz14tqByeq7KVkeaGD7ucINOJxMZd1flarPk-AEPYSpv14m55_jWOvlXQMvEo94U0WEyLvTUxtQXHHuw8UXID1yRS1YOzGsiZPD7wbTy8/s1600/caddyshackbillmurray.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-PrU2b0KNtBLv9nD46w44W1sWga2BS8arNUKz14tqByeq7KVkeaGD7ucINOJxMZd1flarPk-AEPYSpv14m55_jWOvlXQMvEo94U0WEyLvTUxtQXHHuw8UXID1yRS1YOzGsiZPD7wbTy8/s320/caddyshackbillmurray.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Can anyone else really pull it off with being a major d bag? I doubt it. Bill knows it too, and has a monopoly on these candid moments of comedic gold. Don't take my word for it, take the interenet's. . .<br />
<br />
<div style="color: lime;"><a href="http://seriouslulz.com/no-one-will-ever-believe-you/index.php?id=34">Bill Murray At Random</a></div><br />
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</a>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-47691297153129112242010-10-19T10:32:00.000-07:002010-10-19T10:59:18.444-07:00Fantasy, the Heroic Anti-hero of football.<div>Before I rant, I'll lay out my back story with football. It's relatively new to me. When I was a kid, I was shunned from pop culture. Shunned to the extent of not knowing what the Superbowl was when I was 9.</div><br />
Public high school and a liberal arts college did their part in giving me a crash course on everything trendy. But I've always been an outsider to the sports world. I can't speak the language of sport stats. I can't tell you what school whatever burly, short-lived sensation of a running back went to. At least, I couldn't until Fantasy football brought me in. Hard. Now, onto my rant.<br />
<div><br />
</div>Fantasy Football makes football relevant in a weird, perverted way. Granted, I don't get it half the time. But when I do, it's not rewarding. I don't feel happy when a player does well, I feel relieved. Fantasy football's a constant stream of worrying about players living up to projections, warding off injuries, avoiding season ending tackles, recovering quickly from a concussion, or finishing off a suspension for being a dumb ass and getting busted for drunk driving in San Diego. Twice.<br />
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I don't have team loyalty, I only care about certain players. I obsess over stats like Emperor Dawes (a best friend of mine who's anal about having an immaculately kept wardrobe) obssesses over wrinkles in his starched oxfords. I root against defenses and pray to all the gods for injuries to rival superstars. I watch games, but cheer for both sides. I'm a bastardized fan.<br />
<br />
Fantasy turns football into sales and turns up the heat for every fan invovled. Like Alec Baldwin preached in his cinematic apex (30 Rock is tv, not cinema), you have to always be closing.<br />
<object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4OQc0_ah0zU?fs=1&hl=en_GB"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4OQc0_ah0zU?fs=1&hl=en_GB" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-87999577362550777042010-09-28T08:56:00.000-07:002010-09-28T15:26:12.655-07:00This one's for Dena<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">There I was, a second semester freshman sitting in a class struggling to make sense of biological classifications. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In this class, 25% of your semester grade depended on a presentation of a biological disease, depiction of its causal pathways, treatment options, and predicting what future research can lead to in terms of dealing with it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As a group led us through Huntington’s Disease, I was enamored. Not with the presentation, but with a presenter. Her name was Dena. She had Demi Moore’s hair, Claire Dane’s eyes, and Reese Witherspoon’s body. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJRKJWLAPfq98BjU9uEcGaLsQlj9pEHJx7SR6cLQb_ZleMvMsFdDa9e8ISrFCFgPB-VEptaBHtG5zs6qblZB_i4VHlU8qbNtQ5yiCETE9kevqT3MxJtaH37ISNt5kT7Tmy7gLOnbsC-Y/s1600/claire_danes_picture_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJRKJWLAPfq98BjU9uEcGaLsQlj9pEHJx7SR6cLQb_ZleMvMsFdDa9e8ISrFCFgPB-VEptaBHtG5zs6qblZB_i4VHlU8qbNtQ5yiCETE9kevqT3MxJtaH37ISNt5kT7Tmy7gLOnbsC-Y/s320/claire_danes_picture_001.jpg" width="255" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLjeC2gcYTDwk4nuGE4Qh1QX9ySuoTf_Uy097vreYALMPXC3U87WhuUnolBbGZRqKMBKtdO1ocP-jNpJdrnLCePJDOvsZ0PWSw01ijMA6Fu6gvjCNtRUK5vHYK_PEsWrqKbWYL6NDpAM/s1600/demi_moore1_300_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLjeC2gcYTDwk4nuGE4Qh1QX9ySuoTf_Uy097vreYALMPXC3U87WhuUnolBbGZRqKMBKtdO1ocP-jNpJdrnLCePJDOvsZ0PWSw01ijMA6Fu6gvjCNtRUK5vHYK_PEsWrqKbWYL6NDpAM/s320/demi_moore1_300_400.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9cXV1lU9OoaPoafzKtM608041z7LKwFHJzZS4T81gzNnFa5FNewg8fzXTNgevMD-8vWOGjOg8NvxYQG1vRNwY_8BzrSdoF-D7n3lNvdcWT9aYju9-aLqMDsHgMUFLNnufMggend07X-8/s1600/reese_witherspoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9cXV1lU9OoaPoafzKtM608041z7LKwFHJzZS4T81gzNnFa5FNewg8fzXTNgevMD-8vWOGjOg8NvxYQG1vRNwY_8BzrSdoF-D7n3lNvdcWT9aYju9-aLqMDsHgMUFLNnufMggend07X-8/s320/reese_witherspoon.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">All I needed was a friend’s approval and I was sold on going after her. So I leaned over to my friend Hannah. “She’s pretty cute, right?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Yeah, you should ask her out.” Her words felt like gunfire at the start of a race. I was ready. I was going for it.</div> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">The timing couldn’t have been better, and the timing couldn’t have been worse. As Hannah unknowingly gave me a green light, Dena’s presentation reached the question and answer portion. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This was my chance. My hand shot up. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Yes, you.” Her eyes locked on me. She was ready to answer anything.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I stalled, tried to compose myself, and squeaked “How do we detect it at an early age?” It was a bullshit question and a lame cover for wussing out on asking her out.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A few more people asked equally boring questions and the presentation reached its end. As Dena’s group made their way towards the side of the stage in front of our lecture hall of three hundred students, my hand shot back up.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Wait, Matt’s got another question for the group.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Actually, this question’s for Dana.” Her name was Dena, not Dana. I’d already shot myself in the foot but kept sprinting for it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“What are you doing tonight? I was hoping we could grab some coffee, talk about Huntington’s Disease, and go from there.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dena was ready for any question except that. Her eyes locked onto mine in shock, her mouth dropped, and silence came out. This was all the class needed for laughter to erupt. It started with a cackle in the upper right where someone woke up and realized what was happening. Then it spread like Chlamydia in the late sixties. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">Little did I know, Dena had a personality like a corpse and a long-distance boyfriend of five years. </div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">My friends fell out of their seat as their bodies contorted with bursts of laughter. Seriously, they were on the ground. When you combine a strict classroom striving to be as professional as college students could be, a twist is a shock and a shock is what a class of calculated thought never expected.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dena’s face glowed with red like Darth Vader’s lightsaber before he took of Skywalker’s hand. Without a word, she walked off the stage and made her way towards her seat in the crowd of people who couldn’t stop laughing at my expense.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I couldn’t think, I could only react.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Did I mention I’ll treat?” Was all it took for her to turn about face as she walked by my row and snap back. As she turned, the class silenced themselves to see how much worse I could crash and burn.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“For the record, I have a boyfriend and he’s visiting this week.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Again, I couldn’t think. So I reacted.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Can I meet him? I’d like to see what I’m up against.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once again, she wasn’t ready for my question. She turned her body away from me and her hair flung like a middle finger as it followed suit with the snappiness of her walk away.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Laughs died down slowly as people dabbed their eyes and sighed like they just had a Thanksgiving meal. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Matt, remind me to never let you ask a question in my class.” Of course my professor couldn't resist kicking me when I was down. Who could?</div>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-59614958456220752062010-09-21T15:28:00.000-07:002010-09-21T15:31:14.369-07:00Three Points for GriffindorThis story came from the little sister of a friend of a best friend of mine and it's still great.<br />
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Emma Watson is a pre-med student at Brown University. Apparently Hermione, Harry Potter's uber studious best friend, wasn't too foreign of a character to her. <br />
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Our story takes place at Emma's Organic Chemistry class at Brown. Emma sits in the front row to avoid excess attention and help her focus on class content. The teacher loves to quiz his students on the fly and today he targets Emma with a hard question about covalent bonds. <br />
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Emma pauses, thinks, and answers. She gets it right. Then, the inevitable happens from the back row.<br />
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"THREE POINTS FOR GRIFFINDOR!"<br />
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The class erupts with laughter. Everyone, including the teacher, wheez, cough, and roar with delight. Everyone except Emma who took in stride and took it in silence.<br />
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True story.<br />
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Twenty bucks says the guy who yelled it out only took the class for that opportunity. I know I would have, which leads to my story of using a pre-med class to try to get a date. I'll tell it next time so stay tuned.Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-63761519798689794652010-08-25T14:55:00.000-07:002010-08-25T14:57:57.727-07:00My relative. Cornelius O'Neil.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXmM5RNhJ5jdef0AGHnWb5EScoEEd_Q70mySTxkKsfrm9tAApw_oxnRpE3SHdLAAF0NUK_u05ORN4je3EpkDFPtDV5IIVz3xKSLMEoTbu_xndNDPwwPOQeOJatOdNLaKY2VNLY5wYPlIU/s1600/Cornelius+O%27neil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXmM5RNhJ5jdef0AGHnWb5EScoEEd_Q70mySTxkKsfrm9tAApw_oxnRpE3SHdLAAF0NUK_u05ORN4je3EpkDFPtDV5IIVz3xKSLMEoTbu_xndNDPwwPOQeOJatOdNLaKY2VNLY5wYPlIU/s320/Cornelius+O%27neil.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br />
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I'd like you to meet Cornelius O'Neil, he's from my Irish side.<br />
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This is a picture which a good friend of mine uncovered while image searching. I don't know how he found the picture because it's hung on an oak mantle of a grandiose cabin deep in the northern forest of Wisconsin.<br />
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As you can tell, he was beautiful. Women sang songs of warning about him and men sang songs in general. He lived with a touring whistler band that swooned the hearts of hummingbirds (colonial talk for crowds of slaves who came up with soul songs by humming them while they worked the fields) using only puckered lips and tonal duality. <br />
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Sometimes I wonder who I would've been had I been around for that photo. As you can tell, he dressed well in colonial layers with a fashion forward victorian esque edge. <br />
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Sadly, Cornelius's reign was cut short by pneumonia. He survived, but it killed his lung capacity which short handed his career. <br />
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Bet you didn't know I was that cool, or at least my blood is.<br />
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<span style="color: #888888;"> </span> <br />
Final note on Cornelius, you may have heard his most famous song, it's the jingle at the end of the Old Spice spots.<br />
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<span style="color: #888888;"> </span>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-24301682846629099082010-08-25T08:38:00.000-07:002010-08-25T08:42:10.533-07:00Bon Iver in ParisBon Iver is a favorite of mine. If you know them, you will love this. If you don't, be ready for an intimate folk sound that was born in the deep Northern woods of Wisconsin where Justin Vernon escaped to after a hard break up.<br />
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He did something beautiful with his pain and created music that anyone who's ever been through a rough patch can find solace in.<br />
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Especially this set. It was done in Paris while they were on a break from their European tour. Thank you JibberJabber.com for posting this for me to steal.<br />
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<a href="http://vimeo.com/3382261">Take Away Show #93 _ Bon Iver (full version)</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/temporaryareas">vincent moon / temporary areas</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-821973701274592632010-08-19T08:59:00.000-07:002010-08-25T10:51:16.044-07:00Their words taste like a plumber's hankerchiefIt's hard to be a writer in advertising. Duh.<br />
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I try to keep my subconscious loaded with quality content of Hemingway, Dostoyevsky, and Jersey Shore (kidding). But when I see tags like "Treat your eyes to a feat of surprise" plastered across a bus for Cirque De Solei, I feel the creative feces return to rot the brain like Bon Jovi doing a reunion tour in Jersey.<br />
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Bitching about it won't do any good. I'm done ranting and complaining, it's time to find inspiration which means I need to get after the creative scene out here in Chicago. <br />
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I don't have a major cash flow to hit up every rock show across town, but I've heard whisperings of a decent creative scene in this city. It's yet to be seen by yours truly. I won't lose heart, and I'll start asking around a little more. And when / if I find a few decent spots, I'll write them up here for the one person who still reads this after my fourth month hiatus. I love you mom.Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-83423868741228805862010-05-18T11:15:00.000-07:002010-08-03T10:03:06.966-07:00Bay To BreakersSan Francisco has a great tradition where 3,000 people run an 11K race and 67,000 people make a parade out of it. For the majority, the goal is to make the race last as long as possible and have a blast while doing it.<br />
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I took the camera out for good times and great black mail. Of the 400 pictures, 50 were keepers. I'll upload the rest in future posts, but for now enjoy these characters. <br />
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Or, new person if you wanna be a dick about it.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEMnCnuoTVQRbjk5cjII1VUyZoHQ7A49anrkLJkNUGz216u5FT1xuR-try2oYhejziStNf5m6pgz3kfGL04jnI2T0n-OIF7fmgyns0GY3OmBYltx3OahEGXe96GO02yUDQ5lgRgX9YgLc/s1600/robot+fight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEMnCnuoTVQRbjk5cjII1VUyZoHQ7A49anrkLJkNUGz216u5FT1xuR-try2oYhejziStNf5m6pgz3kfGL04jnI2T0n-OIF7fmgyns0GY3OmBYltx3OahEGXe96GO02yUDQ5lgRgX9YgLc/s200/robot+fight.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>Hi there</b>. Let me finish battling this robot and introduce myself.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
Almost there. And, done. Now, before I introduce myself, I want to thank everyone who helped me get <a href="http://www.mattgrim.com/">www.mattgrim.com</a> up and running where you can see my work.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6nNTBFl8GsyFdhXK0AlfiJ9rcE3c64rWtkX0H-1zTUuYDtqQ9EerejFTlTrVpOM_2sgoa0jLjY7CK3AhJYnwrHolXT-ZsoF_m1bJfTmLU5VDy3nMaRFjHNmuKil9tkfZ4yqVvH6lFXaA/s1600/handstand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6nNTBFl8GsyFdhXK0AlfiJ9rcE3c64rWtkX0H-1zTUuYDtqQ9EerejFTlTrVpOM_2sgoa0jLjY7CK3AhJYnwrHolXT-ZsoF_m1bJfTmLU5VDy3nMaRFjHNmuKil9tkfZ4yqVvH6lFXaA/s320/handstand.jpg" width="211" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Okay, let me introduce myself.<br />
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<b>I am Matt Grim. I have five sisters and no off switch. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">I'm an avid people watcher, cinephile, superficial philosopher, occasional reader, amplified conversationalist, and writer. The nickname "The Brotherless Grim" comes from having five sisters. Five sisters who won't date you, Nick Jones, so stop already. God I hate you. And love you.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br />
<b>Colleague = Comrade.</b><br />
I think the measure of a man or a woman lies within how enjoyable they are to share a beer with. For me, the best people are the ones who will stay up all night to perfect something, but can kick back every now and then and have a beer. And by "now and then," I mean weekly. Basically, I love hanging out with ad people when we don't spend the whole time talking about the biz. Or, I love hanging out with screenwriters when we don't spend the whole time gossiping about the biz.<br />
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</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE_GF5E5ixauLb7m3sauFJmQWur4cvlrTAgVrWmJ85l3-RY7dmkfoDfW0gCsAKmKjc0m0PdIsJOcD1xvQakzjJ0ciMYnxEN34zmzF2y2gQe1ZauKmiqNAxhy4l73OT2ugCptRZ6xZSqIM/s1600/Hockey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE_GF5E5ixauLb7m3sauFJmQWur4cvlrTAgVrWmJ85l3-RY7dmkfoDfW0gCsAKmKjc0m0PdIsJOcD1xvQakzjJ0ciMYnxEN34zmzF2y2gQe1ZauKmiqNAxhy4l73OT2ugCptRZ6xZSqIM/s400/Hockey.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">My Colorful Past: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">M</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">y past is pretty wacky. It ranges from being in a cult for two years as a kid to working as a beekeeper for a summer. Yeah, there's a lot of great stories which lead to how I got here. But the fact is, I am here and I'm ready to go.</span></span><br />
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We can talk about everything else over lunch, or a jog, a climb, a snowboarding session, a live show, or whatever you feel up to doing. See you there.<br />
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<a href="http://www.mattgrim.com/">www.mattgrim.com</a></div>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-21051369158215561672010-04-21T12:18:00.000-07:002010-04-21T12:18:12.052-07:00When I asked the Czechloslovokian whore for directions,She must've assumed I wanted sex because she responded quickly and positively. Once she figured out Brian, my cohort in traveling Europe, and I were lost and weren't looking for sex, she told us to Fich off.<br />
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Nice, she told us to fich off, not fuck off. She must have thought we were German, not American. <br />
<br />
So there we were, lost in Prague without a clue as to how to get back in the direction opposite our forty minute bus ride. We walked around and saw the coked out whores of Prague, the slums of the outlying projects, and basically everything else we didn't come here to see.<br />
<br />
On the plus side, there weren't any tourists within eyesight. On the not so plus side, we were about to get stabbed and bleed out in the slums of Czechoslovakia. After an hour of wandering about and asking whore after whore for directions but getting only a cocked eyebrow from one as she asked "Do you both?" as she slowly unzipped her fanny pack to expose a multitude of condoms. Cheap, expired looking condoms.<br />
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<br />
"No thanks, we want to go to Prague." -Brian<br />
"Fich off." -Czechoslovakian Prostitute. <br />
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I didn't take pictures because I didn't want to die. Sorry, use your imagination and pretend you're in a cobble stone ghetto. In your sandals, shorts, and rain jacket at 2 in the morning local time. <br />
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As it turns out, we went the wrong way. Big surprise. We found a sweet woman who took pity on us and steered us in the right direction. Fast forward an hour and we're in a tavern being served on by the rudest waitress in all of Prague. Her blue eyes were venomous and I'm pretty sure her tongue was forked. But, the beer was fifty cents a litre so we put up with it and gave her a five cent tip, which she loved us for. <br />
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I guess waiters and waitresses never get tips out there, big surprise.<br />
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So there you have it, the story of how Brian and I spent most of our first night in the slums Prague talking to whores and trying to get directions. Next up is the story of how my foot got aids in Prague when my sandal broke and we still had a three mile walk ahead of us. <br />
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Stay tuned.Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-62889866438688232332010-04-15T11:37:00.000-07:002010-04-15T11:38:04.575-07:00The Banksy MovieIt sounds awesome. I saw a preview before for it when I went to see "The Ghost Writer." It's all about the street art movement with artists like Banksy who create beautiful pieces illegally.<br />
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I'm gonna see it because it's all about a guy who tries to document the street art movement. He tries and fails miserably because he's never done a documentary. I love a guy with balls like that. My kinda guy.<br />
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Anyways, he becomes an internet celebrity and something completely different comes out of this project. Maybe the movie will suck, maybe it won't. At the very least, it's a way to give props to Banksy and everything he's done. So, I'm gonna pay my $10 to see it.<br />
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You should too.<br />
<br />
<object width="660" height="405"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/GTlm6dU2xHk&hl=en_US&fs=1&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/GTlm6dU2xHk&hl=en_US&fs=1&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="660" height="405"></embed></object>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-6680639113876314192010-04-09T20:39:00.000-07:002010-04-09T20:39:02.187-07:00Let's celebrate.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKWZ_SfAb5CmgzqYOD_dVl_Ovv19zdPbdgUE6tSgN0dZbnUpj2Avv4gByX8vPNyWybOoVEN4asZqqHZiswWv4PDV7-XAQs15prFOpv804sg0nGKA1kezMAPbK-8aPy2zkGMWSDFenUzDc/s1600/congrats2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKWZ_SfAb5CmgzqYOD_dVl_Ovv19zdPbdgUE6tSgN0dZbnUpj2Avv4gByX8vPNyWybOoVEN4asZqqHZiswWv4PDV7-XAQs15prFOpv804sg0nGKA1kezMAPbK-8aPy2zkGMWSDFenUzDc/s320/congrats2.jpg" /></a></div>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-13230860040350842072010-04-09T19:15:00.000-07:002010-04-09T19:15:40.736-07:00I hate you Brad Marshal.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMRv3tL3Q05AAYtOPoVCL4fyInMrbBEMc9p-vhZFHt25XOyl4doGFSW4zG96PpnP_rowDCRlMgv3XsJ2ITK73IoMhft4el9sk1DB4XxdpZPW6phPUe4HpGucyGasq9Bx47glqF6itsgfk/s1600/Bradley+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMRv3tL3Q05AAYtOPoVCL4fyInMrbBEMc9p-vhZFHt25XOyl4doGFSW4zG96PpnP_rowDCRlMgv3XsJ2ITK73IoMhft4el9sk1DB4XxdpZPW6phPUe4HpGucyGasq9Bx47glqF6itsgfk/s320/Bradley+1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMRv3tL3Q05AAYtOPoVCL4fyInMrbBEMc9p-vhZFHt25XOyl4doGFSW4zG96PpnP_rowDCRlMgv3XsJ2ITK73IoMhft4el9sk1DB4XxdpZPW6phPUe4HpGucyGasq9Bx47glqF6itsgfk/s1600/Bradley+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK3Zsvm2mme_Mi2gMNRzQSkHi_zlr528eiTvu5jZhZce2mJrIuW_zrkYT-mJhb02NexP7OKN47k1CuIlOYAToGZyb_1oUNJjfTB9hTC6xJ8tV03T4xn9nYhzhH7uNJtZgjmAtNrbzlW5c/s1600/Bradley+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK3Zsvm2mme_Mi2gMNRzQSkHi_zlr528eiTvu5jZhZce2mJrIuW_zrkYT-mJhb02NexP7OKN47k1CuIlOYAToGZyb_1oUNJjfTB9hTC6xJ8tV03T4xn9nYhzhH7uNJtZgjmAtNrbzlW5c/s320/Bradley+2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJodEdOexzkDoQw8itNCOrrzLt3h6RmYeSIBSVJpVzyZU2pyMM4JisT0jxh6KkcGwD4CsEVEGtQMD5ArWzg3Xu_UnNxDc8F43LN2xm2dPnjgSR4oJp3CCJkPpYfKeU3gqvfqG8zkB9qIw/s1600/Bradley+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJodEdOexzkDoQw8itNCOrrzLt3h6RmYeSIBSVJpVzyZU2pyMM4JisT0jxh6KkcGwD4CsEVEGtQMD5ArWzg3Xu_UnNxDc8F43LN2xm2dPnjgSR4oJp3CCJkPpYfKeU3gqvfqG8zkB9qIw/s320/Bradley+3.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJodEdOexzkDoQw8itNCOrrzLt3h6RmYeSIBSVJpVzyZU2pyMM4JisT0jxh6KkcGwD4CsEVEGtQMD5ArWzg3Xu_UnNxDc8F43LN2xm2dPnjgSR4oJp3CCJkPpYfKeU3gqvfqG8zkB9qIw/s1600/Bradley+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbGDUuLpple8t-_7ee314bcaZ4rBwbrskI52Ofl_DtCJd17s9lXrVi_MObkH25xvi4C73aelpRdNu4eMvr8YDJFR2DTH9d0kfv0LQgxRKT2okelATz02UhuAoXWrRtK182tNH9fZQu34/s1600/Brad+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbGDUuLpple8t-_7ee314bcaZ4rBwbrskI52Ofl_DtCJd17s9lXrVi_MObkH25xvi4C73aelpRdNu4eMvr8YDJFR2DTH9d0kfv0LQgxRKT2okelATz02UhuAoXWrRtK182tNH9fZQu34/s320/Brad+4.jpg" /></a></div>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-76859298911891021272010-04-09T19:01:00.000-07:002010-04-09T19:01:32.222-07:00FAT MATTI'M USING CAPS TO DESCRIBE HOW EXCITING THIS IS TO ME.<br />
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<a href="HTTP://WWW.FATMATT.COM/">FATMATT.COM</a>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-660246247875436432010-04-09T02:15:00.000-07:002010-04-09T02:15:39.795-07:00the xxAhh man, first off: don't use Blogger. It's the slow one of the blogging bunch, the final pick. I was deep into a story about the xx, a band I love dearly because they make sweet love to my ears on a regular basis, and Blogger shut it down on me. I lost everything. <div><br />
</div><div>So, I'm rewriting the bastard. Here we go.<br />
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Kevin, a good friend I road tripped the coast of California with, got me into the XX when we worked together in Chicago. After putting them on heavy rotation for a few writing sessions, I fell in love. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCZAqd36vGKzloVGgg4EZRfxmABr8y-NM6BDLEmR_1tPLWFms4MmBO1yVbkvwmOXdyg2yvjsYtKn3Mr_qnKh0OnY6UjfDNziCYWpJchxMBW2_Ub8-asNhL7TJuoK1WzuHpTI9f-to-03o/s1600/the-xx-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCZAqd36vGKzloVGgg4EZRfxmABr8y-NM6BDLEmR_1tPLWFms4MmBO1yVbkvwmOXdyg2yvjsYtKn3Mr_qnKh0OnY6UjfDNziCYWpJchxMBW2_Ub8-asNhL7TJuoK1WzuHpTI9f-to-03o/s320/the-xx-2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I fell in love because the xx is an intimate trip. It's gentle, subdued, but loaded with style. This works perfectly for me because when I write, the background music has to be raw and sedated. Think ambient electronics or chilled out live recordings. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2jmPoUK58s)<br />
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Sigur Ros live at the Icelandic Opera House is my default, they have such a peaceful sound (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rWR-jJ3v1pk&feature=related) followed closely by Radiohead's live recordings. <br />
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Here, listen to the live piano version of "Like Spinning Plates by" Radiohead. Listen close and you can hear Tom Bjork hypnotize thousands using only his vocals, 88 keys, and a few englishmen.<br />
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=utcsErz3hjk&feature=related)<br />
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Back to the xx. I'm hot for this band for two reasons: percussion and vocals. <br />
The percussion feels as smooth as water babbling over skeletal remains of fallen climbers in a mountain stream in the Austrian Alps.<br />
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The vocals feel naked. intimate. exposed.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Hj35sj0NPfc0K422ZmEDOljtaNbnDePw7CQwPbxAheI79OYR-adnLNQW2SoJaRKxT7dRrf9f55UWZtIBmdqCZK1zF5jaRsPRr4_wjqh9j0Ha2fU680f_iXuKWJWyi_XP6tb6kzFkQM8/s1600/the-xx1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Hj35sj0NPfc0K422ZmEDOljtaNbnDePw7CQwPbxAheI79OYR-adnLNQW2SoJaRKxT7dRrf9f55UWZtIBmdqCZK1zF5jaRsPRr4_wjqh9j0Ha2fU680f_iXuKWJWyi_XP6tb6kzFkQM8/s320/the-xx1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Vocalists Tomy Madley Croft and Oliver sim make a lifetime of intimacy be felt with every shared note they sing, hum, and speak. The tension between the magnetism of their voices and the meticulous percussion is gratifying. On every note.<br />
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It's a beautiful relationship they let us be part of. Intimate like when Bon Iver went deep into the Northern woods of Wisconsin to find his soul, then came back with this: (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=62i9Sodwp5o)<br />
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At the end of the day, I say the xx is a talented group of emo hipsters who are talented enough to be emo hipsters for a living. Gifted bastards.<br />
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</div>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5753210847160119101.post-74073923946598633292010-04-08T17:53:00.000-07:002010-04-08T17:53:02.415-07:00This Justin: The BrocastFor the past two days, I've spent more time than I should on this podcast idea. I think it's gonna be a smashing failure and I'm pumped to orchestrate it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2SO_Y_Wze0Ful8MyKRPLXmGR3nZIb4RtBMpVivNoET8CNU_-NbTEIwmy8vixu00Q-G3RwrTx2kYX1Vj6CW3zjHvWDhnJsGfcwhGJVVKQuwDCOJcQk7hYFd1BIDenwfqoACiWcuGueMPY/s1600/Brocast-WEB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2SO_Y_Wze0Ful8MyKRPLXmGR3nZIb4RtBMpVivNoET8CNU_-NbTEIwmy8vixu00Q-G3RwrTx2kYX1Vj6CW3zjHvWDhnJsGfcwhGJVVKQuwDCOJcQk7hYFd1BIDenwfqoACiWcuGueMPY/s320/Brocast-WEB.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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The running joke behind this is we're not meeting in a room. We're meeting through a ghetto conference call. I'm using skype, g chat, and my iPhone to make this a disjointed attempt at a conversation. Basically, I'm forcing my best friends from Germany to have an awkward conversation with each other. And Brian gets it the worst because he's always on the iPhone talking and listening through the speakerphone. Ouch.<br />
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The Deustch Bags are back in action!<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EcI9K2mNkIE">This Justin: The Brocast</a>Matt Grimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10569184441913647703noreply@blogger.com0