PlugInMatty

so, I walk into the office this morning (five minutes late, mind you), and I'm confronted with a couple of new additions... posters. on the walls, on the doors, in the halls... posters. appparently, the new office manager decided that we didn't look corporate enough, so he's decided to cover every square inch of the office in posters. posters. new deli department! new fruit and veg! new seafood! new new new! and, of course, the corporate logo is prominently displayed on each one. it feels like I'm being brainwashed. we own you, Matthew. we're awesome, tell all your friends! but as bad as that is, there's an even more evil sub-plot. money. financial gain. I feel underpaid as it is, but now it feels like I'm being subliminally told to pump my entire paycheck back into the company, as well. spend where you earn, Matthew. see these lovely new fruit and vegetables? they could be yours! so anyway, in a show of defiance, I stopped at a rival supermarket on the way home and bought a litre of milk. let's call it a peaceful protest. take that, corporation. god I'm such a badass.

if it helps, I'm watching Grey's Anatomy.

aerials ftw

So, back in primary school, the word 'sex' was just the funniest thing ever. In second grade, we used to have these posters on the classroom wall with the word 'Exercise' on them. I used to take great joy in putting the letter 'S' in front of that word, to create a new word: 'Sexercise'. That's right, sexercise. Then, in third grade, when I moved up a grade but stayed in the same classroom, I figured out that I could put the letter 'X' on the end of it and create sexercisex. Sex. YEAH. Anyway, as much as my old-man rants would lead you to believe otherwise, people used to have sex back in my day. Hell, we even used to have underage sluts back in my day. It wasn't as bad as it is now, but they were there. They used to write things like D.C 4 M.L and true love lasts 4eva all over their borrowed textbooks, and go to the mall to talk about kissing boys with braces. Needless to say, these girls weren't really good for anything. They're now thirty-two years old and still working in retail. But, as useless as they were/are, they did come up with the modern mating call that I now like to call my own: sex me. That's right, sex me. It's, like, my line. So anyway, the Hottest 100 was on yesterday, and the words sex me became my rocket to the moon. (If you've never heard of the Triple J Hottest 100, you're a dweeb.) One of their crusty, veteran presenters was on air and I propositioned him, 1990s teen-slut style. That's right, I texted the words 'Sex Me, Richard Kingsmill' (his name) to their studio hotline. I thought it was great. But then an hour passed, nothing happened, and Richard went off air. Damn. BUT THEN, about two hours (and six jelly shots) later, my phone starts ringing. I can't hear it over the music, but it goes to voicemail and I feel my phone vibrate. So, I check my voicemail, and it's Sam Simmons from the radio! OH MY FREAKING GOD. Anyway (I'm saying that a lot tonight), his voicemail says he's going to call back, so I grab two of the closest partygoers and we lock ourselves in a spare bedroom to await the callback from Sam Simmons. Five minutes later, it comes. The next five minutes... well, I can't describe it. However, the results of our phone call were played on national radio this morning. So, if you've ever wondered what I sound like when absolutely smashed, click on this link here. Select Tom and Alex: Wednesday 27 January, fast-forward to the 14:50 mark of the podcast and laugh your little arse off. And then, comment away. Happy Australia Day, everyone.

apparently, the new thing at clubs is to ask people for their facebook, rather than their phone number. but yeah, i've met people who 'know' me, despite the fact that we'd never met prior to that. I have a little gay fanbase, as well! one of the girls at work tells many of her gay friends about me, and then links them to my facebook. it's a bit weird, actually. I should set my profile to private, just to see how many of these randoms add me!

a bitter, jaded combination of all three haha let's call it the psychotic rants of a journalism major who knows exactly how the mass media works. I'm not saying that copy writers are evil masterminds, trying to deceive the public at every turn. they're not. but news is big business in the 21st century. the world's major newspapers are all owned by corporations, who present news stories as a means to connect consumers with advertisers (why do you think The Sun newspaper runs Page Three girls? I don't imagine it's for news value). naturally, with millions of dollars on the line, these advertising contracts have an influence on each newspaper's editorial agenda. for example, one of my region's two major newspapers has a financial partnership with a major timber company. said timber company is building an extremely controversial pulp mill in the local area. one local newspaper frames the pulp mill in a positive light, the other in a negative light. can you guess which major newspaper supports the pulp mill project? and you know what, I haven't even touched on political bias. we'll have that discussion another day.

the beauty of journalism is that you can report personal opinion as 'public' opinion. every news item has an author, an editor, a presenter. each of these people brings their own opinion/agenda to the table (eg: I hate black people, I hate the French, anti-abortion, pro-Prop 8, the CIA killed JFK, Michael Jackson isn't guilty). the most dominant agenda wins the day, and this victorious agenda is then fed to the consumer as 'public opinion'

have a look at a guy Toussaint l'Ouverture and his impact on the course of Haitian history. basically, the Spanish went in and made Haiti a slave colony in the 16th century. then, in the 18th century, the French went in with their own slaves and decided to exploit it for themselves. by the end of the 18th century, Haiti was the jewel in the French crown, and its slaves were some of the most poorly-treated of their time. anyway, Toussaint l'Ouverture basically led the slave uprising, and the slaves took control of Haiti in the late 18th century. simple, right? well, no. Napoleon Bonaparte, being the midget dickbag that he was, decided he was going to take the country back. so basically, the French spent the next few years waging war on the slaves and destroying the country beyond all repair. America went in after WWI and did a pretty good job of f**king it up themselves, but the damage was already done by the time they arrived. so yeah, in conclusion, the destruction of Haiti is the responsibility of the French. as the most powerful economy in the world, America feels it has a responsibility to help the Haitians out (I largely agree with this point of view, and this is likely the point that your journalism professor is touching on), but America has little historical responsibility when it comes to Haiti. if the French weren't so f**king inept at global diplomacy, they'd be in there getting their own hands dirty. alas, they're the dirtbag French.

this probably deserves a blog of its own, but there was a guy on the roof of the bar last night, threatening to jump! we're sitting there, smashing our way through happy hour, talking shit, wondering why there's two police vans and 10 cops standing around. then we look up, and there's a guy standing on the ledge! they lured him back and crash-tackled him to safety, but it was still pretty f**ken scary. in other news: I'm hungover as a motherbitch, listening to The Fratellis, eating a banana, drinking OJ, thinking about streaming Chelsea Lately and considering throwing pants on to go and get cheeseburgers. mmm... cheeseburgers. and pants. pants are good, no?

I love you.

so, I still don't have my old laptop. it's been over a week, and I still can't get access to my up-to-date copy of The Things You Fear The Most. Gay. can't get access to my MP3s or tv shows, either. Gaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyy. the repair shop screwed up my order, so now they won't have the part I need until Tuesday of next week. Gay Gay Gay Gay Gayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Gay. it's not all bad, though. I've written about 10,000 words in the past two weeks, so that's pretty cool. if I can maintain even half that output over the next couple of months, I might even get some of these projects finished before my 75th birthday. not gay. anyway, I got my first real flame the other day. sure, I've had constructive criticism before, but this was an actual flame. truth be told, I didn't know how to react. at first, I laughed my ass off, thinking I'd got a really strong reaction from a reader and that it was actually a bit of a compliment. but then I got really, really, really pissed off. how dare this Johnny-come-lately sign up to GA and then leave an insulting review. the funny thing was, the person left the terrible review, deleted it, wrote a much-nicer review, wrote me a PM to apologise for the original review, said they were embarrassed and hopeful that I didn't read the original review, then spat the dummy when I admitted to reading the original review, and left an even nastier bit of a feedback after that. I mean, come on. if I take time out of my day to write you a story and then respond to your nasty and childish correspondence, you'd better damn well justify any nasty response that you choose to send back. calling my chapters 'woosey sized' and proclaiming your chapters to be 'man sized' is not a constructive criticism, especially when I take five minutes to view some of your work and am forced to hit the 'back' button because it's so obvious that you haven't proof-read. that's enough about readers with mood disorders for one day, anyway. I'm watching heaps of tennis at the moment. they're sooooooooooooooo pretty. and I'm flogging the shit out of Grand Slam Tennis on the Wii. currently hold all major titles, bar the French. stupid French. it's all good, though. and I'm going out clubbing tonight. it feels weird to call it 'clubbing', but if I said 'I'm going out tonight', you'd be left with the impression that I never leave the house. whether or not that's actually true, I still don't want to leave that impression. but yeah, it's a Wednesday night, and I'm going out. I remember, back when I was 19-20, we'd go out every Wednesday night. but now that I'm actually thinking about it, I haven't been out on a weeknight since the middle of 2007. god, I'm so old. anyway, I'm gonna get back to writing this new story of mine. feedback's been pretty cool so far, although I'm a bit miffed that 300 people would read something and only five would leave any feedback. all I can say is, don't complain to me in five chapters' time. actually, just don't complain to me at all. ever. Peace

So there's this running joke in my circle of friends: Facebook = Fight Club. Because what's the first rule of Fight Club? YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT FIGHT CLUB. So anyway, I go to this party last night, and all this girl wants to talk to me about is Facebook. Facebook. Ugh. Remember, before Facebook, when we used to have actual conversations? Stupid bitch. [/end rant] that's all I have to say. check out my new story. Peace.

happy birthday, soldier.

I like how you write half a blog about undressing a dude with your eyes, but then it's the Owl City concert that's labelled 'gay'. gonna send you through the first chapter of my new thing, too. homo.

that's the most tragic story I've ever heard hahaha

well, yes and no. from my limited research, Martha Ingram does appear to have quite a standing in the philanthropic community, perhaps even in high culture, but her influence doesn't seem to extend into popular culture. and while we may often look down on popular culture, perhaps even label it 'inferior', one cannot underestimate the cultural influence of figures like Oprah and Ellen across middle America. the fact is, women look to figures like Ellen and Oprah for guidance on things they might/should enjoy, and people who gain their endorsement will subsequently gain immeasurable exposure. if Oprah recommends a book, it becomes a best-seller. if Ellen has a musical guest, viewers buy their album. on the flipside, people who perform unfavourably on their program (or even incur their wrath), will feel the brunt of negative media exposure. when James Frey's 'memoir' A Million Little Pieces was exposed as a fake on Oprah's show, he lost his book deal and became 'America's most-hated writer'. when Tom Cruise jumped on Oprah's couch, his Q-rating dipped 40%. remarkable. who'd have thought, thirty years ago, that two women from minority backgrounds would be telling American women what to think? if Ellen can maintain this far-reaching influence, she may ending up doing more good for the GLBT community than a thousand protest rallies could ever achieve.

So, it's just occured to me that America's two most-powerful women are a black woman and a lesbian. Ellen Degeneres and Oprah Winfrey. Forget the Obamas and Clintons of the world, the women who set America's social agenda are the ones that American housewives willingly let into their homes at 11am every morning. Scoff, if you like, but these are the two women are the people who tell American housewives what to think. If Oprah says it's a good book, millions of readers buy it. If Ellen says he's a good bloke, his Q-rating goes through the roof. That might seem insignificant to you, but these are the housewives who will shape the minds of the next generation. If the kids of tomorrow are growing up with the belief that the opinions of black women and lesbians matter, that's going to achieve a lot more progress than the divisive agenda of a token black president ever could. Be proud of yourselves, America. I know I am\.

So, massive tech fail this morning. Sitting on the computer, reading the overnight news from CNN, and suddenly the computer comes up with a '0% battery' warning. So I double-check the power connection, decide that everything's in order, then go back to reading my morning. Anyway, two minutes later, the laptop cuts out. So, in my wisdom, I phone HP tech support. Raj in Kolkata tells me 'I can do a software check, but it will cost you 33 dollars.' I say 'well, the laptop won't turn itself on, dickbag.' He says, 'ok, phone Melbourne'. So, I hang up and phone Melbourne. In Melbourne, I speak with Amy. Straight away, Amy says 'no, phone Hobart', and agrees that Raj is a dickbag. So, I hang up and phone Abby here in Hobart. Abby says '250 dollars, please'. I say 'thank you, you've just inspired me to buy a new computer'. So I went down to the local computer store and bought a shiny new HP Pavillion dv6. Gosh it's pretty. So anyway, now I have a new computer. And, since I spent over $1200, I also have a free xbox. Hooray for xbox. But anyway, since I'm a douche and hadn't backed up my files since before Christmas, I'm now in a position where I can't access the 'good' copy of The Things You Fear The Most until at least Thursday night, which is f**ked, cos I'd written 1,000 words last night and I was only a couple of days away from getting it finished. Gay. So anyway, now I've gotta wait til Thursday when the computer shop gets the part that they need to convert my old hard drive into a USB drive. Gay. So now, instead of getting a new chapter of TTYFTM out by the end of this week, I've decided to turn my attention to something else. Another story, in fact. One that I'd posted in Sneak Peeks a while ago, and have been itching to write for quite a few weeks. The first couple of chapters are all planned out, so I'll see if I can get the first chapter of that done before I get my proper copy of TTYFTM back later in the week. Exciting? Well, we'll see. I really think that the new story is gonna be awesome, so if you see a new story unexpectedly pop up over the next handful of days, you'll know that I made some solid progress while on TTYFTM hiatus. Also, while I'm here, I've gotta mention something else. Tennis. Tennis, tennis, tennis. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeah. The Australian Open is about to start and all the tennis stars are down here in Australia for the next couple of weeks. w00t! Gosh tennis players are hot. Andy Roddick, Richard Gasquet, Novak Djokovic, Juan Martin Del Potro, Marat Safin... Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Marat Safin. The things I'd do to that man. Um... yeah. That's all, really. Wish me luck with this new story! ...and Marat. Peace

the one and only. one of my favourite acts.

Camilo: short people (read: girls) have this thing at concerts where they get right up the front, so close to the stage that they can't see who's actually on it, and then they want to climb up and sit on peoples' shoulders so they can see. kinda like watered-down crowd surfing. it's actually pretty cool when you're sitting 5ft above the rest of the crowd, screaming all the words to all the songs and high-fiving all the other people who are up there with you. that said, I've only done it twice (once when I was 19, then again at a Presets gig earlier this year). needless to say, when you're the better part of 6'2"/100kg, you don't get to experience such things very often!

When did Australia stop being the lucky country? It seems that every morning of late, I turn on the news and hear of some new racially-motivated crime that's taken place in Australia. Bashings, muggings, gang violence, murder. In the last week, we've had two Indian nationals murdered on Australian shores for no other reason than the colour of their skin. Disgusting. But despite the truly vile nature of these hate crimes, Australian police are refusing to acknowledge that these crimes are racially-motivated. There's no evidence to support such a claim. I'm sorry, is there evidence to suggest that these crimes weren't racially-motivated? Furthermore, if these crimes aren't racially-motivated, does that mean that Australians are now being murdered just for daring to walk down a public street? How is that not news? What a joke. Anyway, since these crimes aren't racially-motivated, the Australian media has mounted its high horse and taken offence to a cartoon published in an Indian daily newspaper. This is the cartoon in question: *pause for lolz* As you can, it's actually pretty clever and funny. Obviously, I don't like my country being portrayed as some KKK backwater, but what do people expect when we're murdering people just for being different? God, I'm different. How long is it going to be before somebody turns up dead outside a gay bar? Will it be me? Should I not kiss another boy in public for fear of copping a knife between the shoulder blades? And if, god forbid, it happens; will you turn on the morning news and be told this crime wasn't sexually-motivated? What a sad, sad world we live in. Anyway, in other news, I went to a music festival yesterday. It went like this: Music, alcohol, boppers, alcohol, poppers, alcohol, boppers, alcohol, music, alcohol. Just like any other festival, basically. The music was good (check out Empire of the Sun, if you haven't already), the alcohol was over-priced (but good), the boppers were annoying... and the poppers? Well, that was a bit of a sad story. There was a boy, rather cute, someone who I know through friends, definitely gay, and delightfully single. Anyway, I'm there in the crowd, going through the will-I-or-won't-I debate in my head, and then he's suddenly got a bottle held up to his nose. Damn it. I have no real issue with drugs, per-se. I mean, I like gay sex, so I'm hardly going to judge other peoples' lifestyle choices. But still, my default attitude is pretty much don't ask, don't tell. Pop, smoke or snort anything you like, just don't drag me into it. So anyway, I didn't want to get caught up in someone else's court case, so I aborted that mission before it even really started. Again, damn it. And now for another community service announcement: Carrying people on your shoulders. It's bad. This is what my shoulders look like this morning: Messy. I carried my friend Ben for a couple of songs. That guy needs to eat more, seriously. I carried his girlfriend for a couple of songs, too. I reckon, between the two of them, they'd still weigh less than I do. And trust me, I don't weigh that much. 98 kilos. 215 pounds. 15 stone. 3457 ounces. Whatever. Most of it's muscle. Anyway, this other girl wanted to get up there, so I picked her up and carried her. Bad idea. Not only was she heavier, but f**k she was violent. Moving everywhere. She was wearing shorts with zippers and buttons and shit all over them, too. That's why my shoulders are all messed up today. My hip is pretty messy, too. I felt a bit of sharp pain while I was carrying the random girl last night, but I didn't think any more of it at the time. Bad idea. Let's just say, once the adrenaline and alcohol started wearing off last night, I couldn't walk. Even now, I'm laying in bed and there's a shooting pain travelling down my leg. Think I might have to go back to the doctor about it. That'll f**k up my holidays just nicely, won't it? (I'm on annual leave until the 27th) I promise to do some writing while I'm off work! Hopefully I'll get a new chapter out in the next few days. Maybe, maybe not. We'll see. I just got invited to join a Facebook group, too. You're in Australia, SPEAK ENGLISH. Who creates these things, honestly? The funny thing is, I was invited by a bloke who went on an overseas holiday last July. Does he not understand irony? It's not like he learnt Thai in between drinking and groping ladyboys. What a tossbag. Actually, now I think about, he was probably the bloke who murdered those Indian nationals. Ah well, at least he's not a racist. Peace

"Religion is people talking about their imaginary friend... at length." - Dylan Moran

so, it's a whole new year. a whole new decade, in fact. wow. is it really ten years since Y2K? ten years since Malcolm in the Middle? ten years since The White Stripes? ten years since Relationship of Command? ten years since Enema of the State? ten years since Halflway Between the Gutter and the Stars? ten years since 'oh my god, the Olympics are coming to Sydney!'? jesus christ, it's ten years since Pokemon! I f**king hated Pokemon. I still f**king hate Pokemon. anyway, I think the new year is always a good time to take stock and reflect on where I've been and where my life's going. so where have I been in the past year? well, nowhere. I haven't flown anywhere, been on holiday, gone anywhere interesting, done anything unusual... nothing. I'm still working for the same company (albeit in a more senior position), still list my relationship status as 'single', still hang out with the same group of friends... same everything, really. except everything's different. I feel like a completely different person. more grounded, more mature, more focused, more confident. more happy. I was happy with myself 12 months ago, but now I feel invincible. like every life decision is going to be the right one. basically, I can do no wrong. that attitude can probably be attributed to a lot of things, but I think there's one thing in particular that acted as the catalyst: this. writing. GA. I can't believe I'm saying this, but it's one year this week since I started posting The Things You Fear The Most! Insane. I don't even know what made me do it, really. Chapter One had been sitting around on my laptop in various (mostly shitty!) forms since at least September 2008, but I'd never really bothered to actually do anything about it. so, one night, I gave it a title (not even a real title - just the title of a song I was listening to at the time), posted it in Sneak Peeks and said 'right, I'm bored, tell me what doesn't work'. turns out that lots of things didn't work! so I went back to the drawing board, changed a whole heap of shit, created a new character, changed a lot of the storyline's fundamentals, tossed in a third-person plotline as an almost-afterthought and created something that's, well... I don't actually know what it is, just yet. but I'm 99% sure that it's pretty awesome hahaha and from the feedback my readers give me, they think it's pretty awesome too! so let me just say, thank you to all my readers. you made 2009 the most unbelieveably awesome year ever. thank you to my editor Sharon, as well. I wouldn't have gotten anywhere if Sharon wasn't there to answer my dumb questions, bounce my dumb ideas off, correct my stupid mistakes and return my emails at a ridiculously fast pace. and thank you to Chase. you're a total spastic (I mean that in the nicest possible way ), but the fun I've had editing your stuff has made my own writing so much better. admittedly, none of it has actually been posted in eFiction yet, but it's still awesome nonetheless. anyway, that brings me to the question I'm sure all of my readers have been wondering... where's the new chapter? well, it's... stalled. still in progress. plotted in its entirety, most of it's actually written in its entirety, but there's just a couple of pivotal scenes that I can't find the time or inspiration to finish. truth be told, there's a couple of 'finished' scenes that aren't really up to scratch, either. sit tight though, because the new chapter isn't far away. I have a feeling it's gonna be worth the wait, too. oh, and there's one other thing. I was reading the new DNA yesterday (some of us actually read it, you know), and there was this competition thing where you basically write 3,000 words of erotica and you can win $2000. so I'm gonna do it. I've never actually written anything with that sort of focus before, but it's a challenge I'd be really interested in taking up. in fact, I'm so interested that I've plotted it in its entirety and already started writing it. it's only 3,000 words, so with a bit of effort it could actually be finished in the next couple of weeks. or, more likely, I'll get sidetracked and it'll be finished about 5 minutes before the actual deadline. but who cares, I'm doing it. who knows, might win something. the only catch is, my entry cannot be previously published. therefore, I won't be able to post it to GA. damn. HOWEVER... I have an idea. since my readers are so awesome, I was thinking that I could write this story and distribute it via email to a handful of lucky GA readers. it'd be kinda like a reward, for all the people who keep in touch and give me such awesome feedback. they know who they are. so, if you get a random private message from me promising to increase your penis size by 30% in three simple steps, you'll know that you're one of the lucky readers. don't fret if there isn't a PM in your inbox by the time you read this, though. it could be days, it could be weeks, it could be months. I'll blog about it when it's done. oh, and Santa brought me a Wii. helllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll yeah! I might go play it now, actually. take care, dear reader. xMatt.

haha I was ten years old, we used to think The Presidents of the United States of America were cool. (incidentally, glad to know you're alive.)

ok, go down to your local Foot Locker, and pick up a pair of each of the following: Thongs: The cheaper and nastier, the better. Comfort has never been a consideration when choosing a pair of thongs, and while strap-on sandals are most definitely a more comfortable alternative, the only 'men' who would dare to wear such things are either married, over-45, European, or all three of the aforementioned. Cheap, nasty, dodgy, ill-fitting, blister-inducing, smelly, dirty, falling apart thongs are a rite of passage for men all over the world, and are a must in any Australian wardrobe. (I own two pairs) Adidas Superstars: It's often alleged that Jesus chose bare feet because he couldn't find a pair of Superstars in his size. No joke, Superstars are that good. I wouldn't recommend them with shorts (as some colourways can be hit/miss), but I've yet to see a pair of Superstars that doesn't look a million bucks with a pair of jeans. (I own three pairs) Dunlop Volleys: Cheap as chips, but durable as hell. Made from the same stuff that keeps your car on the road, a good pair of Volleys can last you many, many years. (I own two pairs) Vans: The skater alternative to Volleys. Personally, I hate them, but still own a white pair nonetheless. Nike Air Max: Sex. Oh my God, sex. I cannot recommend Air Max 90s highly enough. However, they do come with a warning: buy your boyfriend Air Max 90s, and he might actually leave you to start a relationship with them. (I only own one pair, but sweet Jesus they are the best pair of shoes in my collection) Chuck Taylors: My fourth grade teacher owned two pairs of Chuck Taylors. On Mondays/Wednesdays/Fridays, he wore a red one on his left foot, and a blue one on his right. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he reversed this pattern. Legend. Having said that, Chuck Taylors have absolutely no technology in them, will destroy your ankles, fall apart at the drop of a hat, look like shit in most situations (i.e. with skinny jeans) and are extremely popular with scene kids. On that basis I cannot, and will not recommend them. (I do not own a pair, and will never own a pair. They are shit.) DCs and Etnies: Skating by numbers, really. Everyone's owned a pair at some point. Can be overpriced, but can also be worn well past their use-by date. (My only pair are in landfill somewhere) Puma Future Cats: This may sound like exaggeration... but a well-fitting pair of Future Cats literally feel like you're wearing nothing at all. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant shoes. (I actually own the pair in that link.) and since you asked, I own more shoes than every girl I know (18 pairs). and I also admit to being a total faggot but that's beside the point, really.