Stunning Web Traffic Statistic

Accoirding to my probably-screwed-up visitor tracking system, the plurality of SuperMattalica readers appear to be coming from that time zone just east of EST--in other words, the Argentina/Newfoundland/Eastern South America time zone.

What the-!! Time to fight back, America!

Self-Whoring Solicitation

There's a new website coming to town, and we need your help! Explanation follows...:

RouckOnline is a website devoted to rouckin’.

The notion of rouckin’ began in Rockville, Maryland circa 1994 when one rouckin’ dude refused to cut his hair for two years. At this point in his life, the dude in question listened to a great deal of Metallica and Slayer, and in general preferred to engage in activities where headbanging was involved. Rest assured, dear reader, that nasty habit has ceased. Nevertheless, this dude carried an inexorable spirit with him at all times, a seemingly incongruous blend of intelligent discourse and penetrating critical thought mixed with a willingness to curse at his English teacher and garnished with wardrobe of torn heavy metal t-shirts. Rockville, Maryland could not ignore this dude. The world could not ignore this dude.

And so, a movement was born.

Join us, the International Brotherhood of Dudes, as we take the Internet by storm with the power of RouckOnline.com! We’re gonna have rouckin’ jokes that’ll make you piss your pants, rouckin’ insults guaranteed to bust your balls, rouckin’ images that’ll shoot milk out your nose or out your wiener, depending on the context and your degree of heterosexuality, rouckin’ short stories that’ll bring sunshine into your otherwise cloudy life, and rouckin’ columns so damn hysterial you may even go so far as to refer our website to a valued friend.

But before all that good stuff goes down, we need a web designer. Somebody to set the shit up and show us the ropes, organize it and plot it out, and do it all snazzy-like. Of course, you must rouck—but since you’re still reading, you probably do. We’d also appreciate it if you can put up with lots of stupid questions.

Alas, we cannot pay you in any national currency at the moment. We agree, that soucks. But we are willing to provide glorious recommendations, give you a lengthy and glowing online biography, induct you as an honorary member of the IBD, provide you with an email account—heck, we may even take you out for a beer if you live nearby. Most importantly—and this is no small matter—your ledger sheet in the currency of rouck will be overflowing in the positive, more than enough to endow you and your family with the best of karma and rouckin’ rights for generations to come.

If you’re interested, please drop us a line and we’ll talk. If you’re not, thanks for sticking with us for this long, and remember to keep on rouckin’!

A Smile: Guaranteed!

This piece made me laugh.

Three Things I Learned This Weekend

1. A co-worker of mine not only broke out of the Oakland jail in the 60s, but--and this is impressive--after he was out on the street and realized that the police would shoot him licketysplit when they tracked him down, he attempted to break back into jail and was captured in the process.

2. If you are involved in a fender bender on Highway 101 in Marin County, and the offending driver happens to be an illegal immigrant with no license, registration, insurance, or a meaningful understanding of the English language, the cops will be surprisingly nice to the illegal immigrant if she happens to be a young attractive Mexican girl that will not stop bawling her brains out. There's a ridiculous story here, but I'm not in the mood to type it out.

3. HDTV still has a few years to go before it's worth buying. Regular TV looks blurry on it.

BREAKING NEWS!!

The State of California is holding a massive garage sale this weekend in Sacramento! Ford Mustangs, baseball cards, laptops, Swiss Army knives, everything must go!

No word if that cool Prop 57/58 Governator jacket will be available...

Win One for the Fat Bald Guy

I hate Dick Cheney more than most. I think he's a conniving rich boy who couldn't care less about the environment, or regular people, or multilateralism, and will do whatever it takes to make himself and his buddies richer at the expense of the rest of America. He's rude, pompous, a bigtime major league asshole, and, to use his own expression, should go fuck himself.

But I liked what he said about gay marriages yesterday. Even the biggest of assholes can turn reasonable (going against a gay marriage amendment ban) after actually interacting with gay people and realizing that they occassionally fall in love like the rest of us and simply want the same protections everybody else has.

It's a shame it takes a lesbian daughter to drive that home.

Blog = Cash

So I got to thinking, I spent a good ten minutes writing up that diatribe re: the lack of a heart statue on Haight Street...why not get paid for it and circulate the whole thing around San Francisco?

Good thinking me! Click here to read the final product.

Oh, and disregard that "Overheard by John Mecklin" part. Another playa hata tryin to jones my style, ya hear?

The Most Addictive Cereal in the World

....is Count Chocula.

Now on sale for $2.00 at Safeway!

SuperMattalica Customer Service

Here at SuperMattalica, I take my readers very seriously. After all, without you, I'm nothing more than another loser lost in cyberspace, preaching to a chorus of dead air.

Oh wait....

Nevertheless, I received a serious complaint from my number one fan that her image in yesterday's photo looked too fat! Therefore, not only do I declare that Karla Zens is not fat, I offer photographic proof below:


Not fat!

Hot on Dave Eggers's tail

My McSweeney's piece came out today. Short, sweet, and didn't require much time to write. In other words, perfect for the internet.

Read it here!

Capitola!

Just got back from a lovely weekend in Capitola, CA. I think of the place as a slice of Europe in Northern California--colorful oceanside buildings, quiet beaches, overpriced seafood. They even have a Begonia Festival, which, to my amazement, is very very awesome.

I know, it's tough to believe.

Nevertheless, Capitola is more than just quaint buildings, relaxing scenery, and oddball festivals. It's also 3 miles away from Santa Cruz, where just today I won a 12-player game of Laser Tag, earning me the title of King of Berserkers.

There's also a drive-in movie theater a short drive from the Salvation Army emergency apartment (aka home base) where on Friday night Karla and I took in Collateral, Alien v. Predator, and several Gordon Biersch beers.

Reviews
Collateral: Overrated. Tom Cruise ain't bad enough for the role. No ice in his veins.
AVP: Not bad for a drive-in movie where minimal attention is required. Plenty of mindless action.
Gordon Biersch: Delicious!

These days, the sound at drive-in theaters is transmitted by a low-power radio station, so you just tune in and listen on your car stereo. If you're like me, however, and your stereo is now the property of Haight Street thugs, what are you to do? I queried the cashier with this very dilemma, and he alerted me that they had boomboxes to lend out for the low price of nothing. After fiddling with the antennas for a few minutes, we were able to enjoy the movies with a minimal amount of background hissing.

Now that's Capitola!

20 Feet From History

On my walk back from lunch, I discovered that the billboard approximately 20 feet above where I sit at this very moment currently features an Abercrombie and Fitch ad starring...Chris Carmack.

For those of you who didn't grow up with me, I went to high school with Chris's older brother, Scott Carmack, and met Chris a couple of times when we went back to Scott's house for homework parties. Since then, Chris has blown up on "The OC," as a male model, and I think he's doing movies too.

Kinda weird to work underneath a huge picture of his bad sexy self is all I'm saying.

Overrated Underworld

This week I finished Don DeLillo's book "Underworld," an 825-page behemoth swathed in accolades from the biggest names in the literary universe. I know that DeLillo is a heavyweight writer, and I hadn't read any of his stuff before, so I attacked this book with energy and vigor.

It's a fine book. There are some extremely elegant stylistic flourishes, penetrating language, vivid imagery, stunning metaphors, etc. There are some obvious and intriguing themes contrasting popularly recognized America versus the underworld of the late 20th century--anti-war protestors, the scientists that make the nukes, landfill engineers, and other people that slip under the radar but make our society what it is.

Thematically and stylistically, it's a delightful book. Appreciate it for that. My problem is the lack of a cohesive plot. Underworld is basically a compendium of hundreds of vignettes, many of them moving and interesting. There's the story of the shot heard round the world in the Dodgers-Giants playoff game in 1951, which I didn't know anything about previously. There's the story of a bad kid in the Bronx that accidentally kills a neighbor and grows up and has to grapple with the consequences. There's the story of an unhappy housewife finding her independence through art. There's the story of the civil rights movement, of J. Edgar Hoover going to a ritzy NY party, of abstract art projects in the desert, of a Texas serial killer. There's the story of the 20th century and the growth of America, and you can certainly draw parallels between America and the character arcs.

But Underworld sorely lacks an overarching conflict to drive me to find out what happens next on the character level. There was no urgency to turn the page, no major character-driven conflict that drives the book as a whole. You can put down this book at any point and pick it up ten years later and you won't miss a beat--pick right up again with the pretty words and the disconnected plotlines. There's not enough that ties together--very few vignettes are ever resolved, and what is resolved doesn't much matter anyway.

Ah, but life's like that, you say. But life isn't always good read, now is it?

Besides, isn't life too short for books without a good story? Especially 825-page ones...

Broadway Bribery

Just saw that Mayor Bloomberg has announced a program in NYC where "peaceful political activists" at the RNC can get discounts on Broadway shows, hotel accommodations, etc.

I think it's great to encourage people to protest against a terrible president, although it's surprising to see Bloomberg do it against a fellow Republican. It's a very Schwarzeneggeresque approach--accept that your state doesn't like the guy and work on solidifying support for your own re-election.

Cheap Broadway tickets sure beats tear gas, don't it?

Where my Gs at?

Anybody out there want Gmail? I have 2 invites---email me or leave a comment here with your email. If I know you and/or like your style, you're in the club!

It's official!

My boss handed me an envelope with several hundred-dollar bills in it. I took them out and smelled them and gave them back. I can wait five days for money to get into the company account, better that than get jumped on the way home, as I'm destined to be with so many hundred-dollar bills in my backpack.

My hands still smell like cash.

By the way, if anybody out there needs some cocaine, I'm your man.

He's back?

Prepare the end zones for breakdancing.

Note to self: I'm not a drug dealer

Apparently my boss wants to pay us in cash this month.

Ah, the financial wizardry of life in a start-up. No word yet if we'll be visiting abandoned shipyards at three in the morning with silver briefcases and oversized trenchcoats, but if so I plan to bring my Snoop Doggy Dogg in full effzect

Heartless Haight

San Francisco is currently in the midst of "Hearts in San Francisco," a public art exhibition where large heart statues are on display at key locations around the city. This is not a new idea: my hometown Washington, DC is currently in the midst of Pandamania, and the "Cows on Parade" shebang in Chicago in 1999 kicked off the whole temporary public art phenomenon.

We all agree that this public art is delightful and raises money for worthy causes. My beef: there is no heart statue in the Haight-Ashbury.

"That's ridiculous!" you exclaim. "Why, Haight-Ashbury was home to the Summer of Love in 1967 and has served as a beacon for hippies and anti-war activists around the world! Its name is synonymous with free love and free food and free thought (and heavy drug use)! By golly, they even tried to rename Haight Street Love Street! Of course they have a heart! Right on the corner of Haight and Ashbury!"

Enlightened readers of SuperMattalica, I agree with you. San Francisco doesn't. There is no heart statue on the corner of Haight and Ashbury--there is no heart statue in the Haight at all! You have to walk all the way down to the Panhandle to see the nearest heart, which is basically mired in the median strip of a major intersection.

Extraordinarily lame, yes yes yes.

I called up the Hearts in SF people to ask them why there is no heart on the corner of Haight and Ashbury. Their response: there were concerns that the hearts might be defaced by the locals. It's a legitimate concern. BUT: there are hearts in many other defacing-prone areas of the city, including the corner of Market and Castro and parts of the Mission. Don't you think there's an artist out there willing to throw his heart statue into the Haight-Ashbury forge, to come out improved and blessed as only this neighborhood can do? I bet yes.

A call to arms! Pick up your telephones! Bother the people at Hearts in SF as I did, being reasonable but insistent in your demands for a Haight-Ashbury heart! Bother our elected representative, Supervisor Matt Gonzalez, who not only carries major street cred from narrowly losing the last mayoral election but also is a major supporter of the arts and should theoretically jump on this bandwagon like it was the last train to Mayorville!

Your heart will thank you!

Hearts in SF: 415-651-1811, info@heartsinsf.com
Matt Gonzalez: 415-441-7630, matt.gonzalez@sfgov.org

eBay buys 25% of Craigslist

Boy, I don't know what to think of this.

Craigslist is awesome. It's responsible for my current job, my previous job, lots of free furniture, free beach chairs, a free king size bed, Redskins tickets, my writing group, free LSAT review books, tennis partners. I've sold Southwest Rapid Rewards tickets on Craigslist, I've sold DVD+Rs on Craigslist, I traded away my old queen size bed and the (heavily marked-up) LSAT review books on Craigslist, for a six-pack of Becks and Red Hook respectively. I exchanged one homebrewed beer for some guy to install a shelf in my home office via Craigslist. I'm in negotiations to infiltrate a solitaire club via Craigslist. I gave away my old stereo and a walkman on Craigslist to keep the karma alive. I've emailed Craig a few times, and he always writes back. Heck, he lives a few blocks away from me--Marc Bush ran into him in a cafe last week!

Craigslist is so uncorporate it's beautiful. It's like a slice of Havana on the Internet, an online oasis. I'm not against corporations at all, but it's so refreshing in these days of Spiderman 2 ads on MLB bases and corporate ads on the sidewalk to have no ads on the site at all, to not have to register with another login name and password to either forget or make the same as all my other 10,000 passwords, to email the founder and get a prompt, thoughtful response! It's democracy, the unbelievable Internet dream alive, complete with ugly spammers and the unethical scam here and there, but in large part led by a good hearts and idealistic intentions.

And now 25% owned by eBay.

A useful company, eBay is, but it's way more capitalistic than democratic, with profit-hungry shareholders and sprawling corporate offices. By contrast, Craigslist operates out of an old Victorian out in the Inner Sunset district of SF and has 14 employees. I just hope they keep the next 25.000001% a hundred zillion miles away from eBay, and everybody else.

Read what Craig has to say about it here.

Hilarious Blog Humor

The Onion does it again.

The Gayest Gym in the Universe

It's official: I belong to the Gayest Gym in the Universe. 24 Hour Fitness on Market Street is right in the middle of the Castro--for those of you not familiar with San Francisco, that's the center of gay life in the city, and basically the United States.

Going to a gym with a lot of gay people doesn't bother me a lick. The gym's convenient, there's a garage and a bike rack, all the gay guys are polite, and I have a great deal on membership. Despite a little too much techno on the PA and the occasional gratuitous nudity in the locker room, it's been a nice run.

Except when I see people kissing on the workout floor. Absolutely disgusting. I've NEVER seen people kissing in a gym ever before--throughout college, back at my parents' gym in Maryland, assorted gyms around San Francisco where I exploited free trial passes. But at the 24 Hour Fitness on Market Street, I've encountered 2 recent tongue-kisses: boy-boy and girl-girl. The boy-boy kiss was by the locker room door, and the girl-girl kiss was between sets on a machine. BETWEEN SETS! I could barely lift a 30-pound dumbbell watching that, much less complete a set. I like girl-on-girl action just as much as the next guy, but please: save it for home video!

Let me make myself clear: I don't want to see ANYBODY kissing on the workout floor. The workout floor is for working out, not smoochieboochies. There are many establishments in the Castro and points elsewhere appropriate for kissing, gay or straight. 24 Fitness is not one of them.

Don't even get me started on the 10-months pregnant woman gymaholic who thinks it's okay to wear only a sports bra and spandex pants out there...just imagine a basketball strapped onto an anorexic woman and you'll get the idea...

SF Weekly Redux

I just found out today that one of my more retarded letters to the editor was published in SF Weekly this week. In a hard-hitting article on The San Francisco Parking Situation back in early July, the author made the assertion that it's OK to leave a parked car touching another parked car's bumper. Read the self-important rhetoric here. (It's tip #3)

That's the kind of ridiculous assertion you get when there are more communists than Republicans living in your town--not that I like either group. My enlightened response.

WARNING: HIGHLY STUPID, BUT HIGHLY ENTERTAINING

Thirty Seconds of Glorious Entertainment

Finally, a definitive resource for masturbation euphemisms! Be sure to click on "Do Me" over and over again for maximum pleasure.

God bless the Internet.

PS did you click here yet?

Tailgating Candidates

So I couldn't help but notice that John Kerry and George Bush keep campaigning in the same area. That's right, first they went to West Virginia and Ohio--within miles of each other--to fight over the backwater vote, and this week Bush is following Kerry to New Mexico, Nevada, Arizona, California, and Oregon. Sometimes they've visited the same states a few days apart--but they're both in LA today and in Portland tomorrow. Here's my source.

Give me a break! The country's not big enough for the two of these guys? Even if you argue that there are only 15-20 swing states that actually matter, that's still plenty of room in which to campaign without bumping into each other. This week Bush is following Gore, so I'll gladly blame him for being uncreative. (Like he has a chance in hell of winning California anyway!?)

But they're both being ridiculous. Laugh about it here.

2 year anniversary

I got Otis 2 years ago to the day. He's officially the best dog in the universe. He volunteers licking sick and old people, he can fetch his own leash, he never poops in the house, and he's obviously quite handsome. Thanks to the Berkeley East Bay Humane Society for letting me have him. (Although they called him "Sport," the dumbest name in the universe.)

Breaking news on dog year conversion! No longer are dog years equal to human years times seven. It's much more complicated.

When a dog is:
1 in human years, he is 15 in dog years
2 in human years, he is 24 in dog years
For each additional human year, add four dog years.

Not earth-shattering news, but it made Otis, who is 3 and a half in human years, jump from 24 years old to 30 years old in dog years. In other words, he's now older than me.

The dynamic between us has changed dramatically.

Up and At 'Em!!!!

Friends and family, internet surfers and actual surfers, acquaintances and strangers, funnymen and moneymen--

Greetings and salutations!

My name is Matt Stewart, and I'm thrilled to join the ranks of millions of people with blogs that nobody reads. I live three miles from the beach in San Francisco with my girlfriend and my dog and 800,000 people living in fantasyland. It's a nice fantasyland though, especially in the winter.

A little about me: I work as a creative writer for a start-up animation studio. We're currently looking for investors, so if you'd like to be a part of Iron Kid Fist Action! please drop me an email with your credit card number and billing address. Cash is also acceptable.

I also write stuff in my free time-- mostly "the novel," but I also work on other, shorter pieces that I frequently mail out to get rejected by retarded editors at stupid literary magazines that nobody's ever heard of. One silly piece actually did make it on the air over at Opiummagazine.com, and you can read it here if you're ready to laugh your ass off. NOTE: I'm aware of an improper "an" usage, so please don't remind me, thanks.

Man I feel cool already.