back on track.

Okay, a few things.

First, as an effect of my last post, I now do not give a shit about much of anything anymore. In a good way. I'll explain.

If you've read about the Croissan'wich incident this morning, then you know that I had an extremely angry lady with a drive-thru headset on throw my breakfast at me this morning. Surprising. Shocking. Funny. But ultimately, uncalled for. You work at a godamn Burger King. Relax.

I've taken that occurance and applied it to my current mindset. I've been very stressed out at work lately. I won't get into it, but there are some miscommunications and practices that have been compromising my good-time personality. You see, this mean lady works at Burger King...I work at a fly shop. Not much difference as far as important occupations go. Neither of us are saving babies or curing feline AIDS (which is the leading form of cat deaths in the US. Wa, wa, wa...). No, we both have totally meaningless jobs. So there's no sense in getting stressed out and taking it out on random people who just want a fly rod--or in my case, a sausage, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwich.

So even though it angered me, I'm glad it happened. It put things back into perspective for me.

Second, I saw some good friends from Missouri over the weekend who were up skiing in the mountains. It was awesome. Such good friends, and I rarely see them anymore. My fault for moving 700 miles away, but nevertheless it was great to hang out.

A couple of them used to follow this here blog. They says to me, "Hey Matt, what happened to your blog? It used to be so fun to read and all of a sudden you stop keeping up with it."

I gave them some excuse about filling my creative needs in other ways or someshit. Truth is, I've tried to change it over the past few months to possibly spark interest from some sort of publisher or something. I like to write, and I found myself using Earl's Brain as a reference to potential employers or someone that might want me to freelance. So I became very particular about what I would write, and would edit myself due to the possibility of certain editor-type someones reading it and judging my skills.

So no more stories about crapping my pants. No more getting shitfaced and seeing if I could form a sentence, much less an entire post. No more badass 80s metal videos. My blog became worthless. It became something it was not. Groomed, detailed, serious, and unentertaining. Unentertaining for you, and unentertaining for me.

Now, to revist the first point that I made on this post...I don't really give a shit about much since I got my breakfast hurled at me this morning. And with that said, the old Earl's Brain is back. I don't care about someone from Sunset Magazine, or Travel Channel calling me up and saying, "Fuck, Matt! Your blog is incredible! I've never read anything quite so eloquent and stylish! The pictures of you fishing and shit are unbelievable--and the brown background, breathtaking!" (that's what it looked like before I changed it back to just plain ol'...)

And even if you're not some bigshot that gets paid $200,000 a year to proofread shit, you might be an older relative, or someone who may be offended by questionable language and shocking images of 80s wickedness. That's okay. You're still invited to pour yourself a tall glass of Scotch, sit back in your easy chair, pull up Earl's Brain on the ol' Innertube, and enjoy yourself for a few moments.

I've attached a fantastic live performance of the entertaining band, Van Halen, for both your viewing and listening pleasure.

"Senni-seed....No second to none. Woooww!! Son of a gun!.........Alright." Those aren't the lyrics at all--they don't even make sense, but that's what Dave decided to say. That is a metaphor for how I want to live life everyday.

Please Boycott Burger King.

Not because my wife was an employment casualty in the 800 person lay-off after BK got bought out earlier this year. Not because of their horrendous commercials that make me want to eat McDonald's everyday just out of principle. Not even because their food flat-out sucks.

I need you to boycott Burger King because I got a Croissan'wich thrown at me this morning.

Since my wife was a Marketing Manager for quite some time with the King, she had a stack of "Free Whopper" and "Free Croissan'wich" coupons laying around all the time. This was probably the biggest perk she received while working there. On my way to work today, I notice a coupon for the breakfast sandwich in my console. And although I rarely east fast food--especially BK--I was a little hungry and the "free" aspect appealed to me.

I pull in to the Boulder restaurant and proceed to the drive-through lane. I explain the coupon to the employee on the speaker and specify that I'd like sausage on that sandwich. She asked another time or two for me to repeat the coupon--which usually happens. I suppose they don't see these coupons all that often. So she accepts my explanation and instructs me pull around to the second window.

I hand the coupon to the stand-offish lady working the window, and hear her grumbling about "free sammich..." something or other. She didn't speak the best English, but I could tell she was put-out by my coupon.

A little time passes as she wrestles with how to ring up the coupon in the register and ponders how much attitude she wants to give me. She slowly approaches the window, headset on, and says without looking at me, "$3.35".

I think that there is a strong possibility that she's talking to the person in line behind me, seeing as how she's not looking at me and barking out a grand total just after I gave her a coupon for a free freakin' sandwich. But I ask very politely, "Are you talking to me?" She ignores me.

"$3.35!" she says much louder and more demanding, still while not looking at me. Once again, I politely try to verify that she is in fact talking to me. She ignores me for a second, then glances down at me. I point to myself and meekly ask for the third time, "Are you talking to me?"

"Yes!! I'm talkin' to you!!" she yells. She literally yelled. "But...it's a 'free' coupon." I replied, confused and hungry.

She gives me the most "I want you dead" sigh I've ever received, storms over to the breakfast sandwich schute, grabs the sausage, egg, & cheese, chucks in a bag, and literally throws it out of the drive-through window and into my car window while saying, "Here!!"

"Sorry." I said. Then I drove off laughing at my response and surprised as hell that she actually put my breakfast in a bag.

My wife has done marketing in the fast food industry for years, and we have sampled most every form of convenience "food" imaginable. Burger King has hands down the absolute worst service I've ever witnessed. And I'm not just saying that because their food and their commercials suck.

So for all the many reasons that the King sucks, this morning's incident has actually made me boycott the company.

Throw a sandwich at me, will you... I have a blog, bitches.



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Quick Ramble Before Bed.

Sorry.

I keep changing my blog. One minute it's fun and stupid...the next minute it's serious and formal. And sometimes it's white and sometimes it's brown.

Also, I've been sour lately and I apologize for that. I'll start concentrating on being more positive. Okay? Fine.

I've been gearing up for Spring. And what that entails is celebrations including Mardi Gras, St. Pat's, and Opening Day. So far, I've been to see the Dropkick Murphy's (their March tour, a tradition for St. Patrick's Day), I've been to Soulard in St. Louis for Mardi Gras (that was three days ago and I'm still hungover), and I've purchased my mlb.com Game Package for Cardinal viewing.

Although fly fishermen annoy me and I have to deal with their neediness, I am dying to get on the river. Or the lake. Pond. Wherever. It's been way too long and way too cold of a winter, and I'm sick of it. So I've been tying flies and gearing up for the Williams Fork, Lake Pomme De Terre, and my local open space pond down the street. I still dig fishing...

Alright, I'm tired and it's past my bedtime. I'll post some Mardi Gras pics and elaborate on it a little later on. And my St. Patty's entry promises to be entertaining too, I hope. We can't decide on green tutus, royal robes, or capes. I'm sure we'll make the correct green decision.

g'night.

Never-Happy Rant.

And I thought I was egotistical when it came to fly fishing.

Dealing with fly fishermen everyday and witnessing first hand the incestuousness, the cliquishness, the clubhouse mentality--it has quickly made me grow weary of the one activity that I hold dearly to my heart.

When I say that I'm egotistical, it's more or less in a tongue-&-cheek manner. I've been fly fishing for thirty years, so I think I'm pretty good. That's where my back-patting starts and ends--with a shit-eating smerk, of course. Don't worry, I self deprecate enough to balance out both humors.

I don't loiter fly shops on a weekly basis. I don't keep up with the latest fish catching trends, methods, or gadgets. I don't read every magazine article, attend every clinic and trade show, or mimic anglers whom I deem better than myself simply because they're employed by the industry. No, I just kind of know how to fish. I adapt to conditions, understand what fish usually eat, and apply thirty years of trial and error. See? I'm somewhat egotistical.

To be accepted into one of these fly fishing cliques (or the fly fishing clique), you have to continually rub elbows with people in the know. That is, people whom other people think are fly fishing geniuses. People that can definitely talk the talk. They live, eat, and breathe fly fishing. At least fly fishing jargon. I call it shop knowledge. And I've never felt the need to frequent a fly shop for the sake of talking shop. I don't get satisfaction from spec-dropping. I don't need to feel that the more I talk the more I'm going to be accepted into the realm of fly fishing elbow-rubbers. It's like a Chamber Of Commerce meeting. All you're doing is trying to one-up the other guy with your random shop knowledge and name dropping.

I've never been subjected to ugly side of shop culture--until I started managing a fly shop a few months ago. Now, it's unavoidable. Fly fishing is not that exciting anymore. It feels like work--it is work. When I go to the river, I feel like I'm on the clock. I've lost track of why I go.

This is the first time I've incorporated passion and employment. It's a sour mix--at least for a passion that is based on solitude, art, and spirituality. My passion is quickly becoming a means for fueling shop jargon, reports, and anything else that helps the shop make a dime. Which is fine--that's how it works. I made my choice.

I honestly do like the industry, but not at the expense of diminishing my true likes. Work is work. Fun is fun. Ain't much mixing the two. At least in my experience.


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Sad Shit.

It's time to vomit words and emotions. I've got quite a bit on my not-drunk-enough-mind tonight.

Ever had a bad break-up from someone you thought you were in love with? Whether it was back in high school or during your adult life--that tough, hurtful feeling of someone gone. There's that discomfort that you revisit months, possibly years later. That reminissing, that void, that anger...

I'm experiencing that this evening.

Except I'm not longing for that ex, or an explanation from that ex. Well, I suppose, in a way I am.

If you're reading this, there's a good chance that you know that a good friend of mine took his own life a couple years back. And that sucked. This evening, my thoughts have come to a head. All the manly, "put your feelings aside"-type of things have ceased. I miss him, and I am sad.

I'm not saying that Todd and I were in love. Jesus. I'm simply saying that I really have no other feeling to compare this to. I've felt love lost before...and it's the closest thing that I have to compare with the real loss of a close friend.

I normally try and sweep these sad feelings under the rug. I chalk them up to "moving on" or "what a selfish act". And this is true. That's certainly what I think about. I do...a'hem, WE do have to move on. And, as far as suicide goes, it is a selfish act. So with these blunt, truthful thoughts in my head, I stick out my jaw, squint my eyes, and move on like a man.

I'm not sure why I've been thinking about him lately, but I have.

He never got a chance to meet my wife. I've met his. She's contacted me lately via the Facebook. I accepted. She was always nice...we all got along really well. They had a beautiful little girl together. She's gotten so big.

I suppose I've been pretty homesick lately, as well. Thinking about old friends...family. My folks actually went to his funeral because I couldn't make it. That's love. Sure, they knew Todd. He was one of the boys that loitered my parents' house back in the easy days. I've been missing the whole crew.

This is really the first buddy that I've had that's died. Good chance I'll see more when I'm old and decrepit...but that's how it is then. I want to be able to celebrate my friend's and family's lives, not mourn them. Thinking about all this really makes me want to embrace my life, my family's lives, and my friend's lives.

This whole sad-fest isn't meant for anything other than my own therapy. I was reluctant to write, but it's my blog--my soap box--my voice, and I can write whatever I want. Good chance I won't even click "Publish Post" when I'm done. Only reason I might is because it may open up thoughts or conversation for some of my other friends feeling the same shit.

I'm sure my verbal diarrhea isn't exactly making anyone feel any better. Sorry. But talking about that asshole is starting to make me feel a little better. Somehow my sadness and anger have subsided--at least temporarily--and I'm thinking about all the other lives of people I love. Not sure what that's supposed to mean, but it's what I'm feelin'.

Maybe Todd knew something was wrong. Maybe he knew that he wasn't right--that someone might get hurt. Maybe he did it to protect people. Maybe.

Maybe he's letting me know that it's okay now.

Fuck, I don't know. Those thoughts might be delusional, but they make me feel a little better. I knew a Todd. But maybe I didn't know Todd.

At any rate, if I end up clicking "Publish Post" I should apologize for digging up sad thoughts. These things probably are better left unsaid.

But it's my blog. And I am sad tonight.


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I Was Reminded Of A Very Strong Opinion That I Have While On My Way To Work Today.

I fucking hate R.E.M..



The end.







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Fish Lottery.

Last night after I got home from work, I had a package waiting on the front porch for me. It was a book I had ordered about fly fishing Missouri--the state that I was born and raised in. As I flipped through this book that will remain nameless, I became disappointed. The book left out a ton of fantastic water that most definitely should not be overlooked. But as the disappointment quickly turned into acceptance, I started thinking about all the water listed, all the water not listed...and then I started thinking about all the water.

It's difficult to wrap your brain around, but there is an obscene amount of fishable water out there. And by "out there", I mean exactly that. Everywhere. Missouri, Colorado, most everywhere.

And that got me to thinking about fishing as much of that water as humanly possible. My thought process resembled that of trying to answer the question of "If I won the lottery, how would I spend my money?".

Jeez, if I had the chance to fish any and all bodies of water that my heart desires, how would I go about it? Where would I start? Where would I finish? Would I finish? Would I just fish until I physically or mentally couldn't take it anymore? I'd like to give it the ol' college try.

Then I started thinking about it in realistic terms--not just "spending my make-believe lottery winnings". How would an everyday, average Joe afford something like this? Could I balance a feat like this and my grown-up-type responsibilities? Hmmmm.

These are valid questions. And comparing this to winning the lottery is valid also, because this is exactly what I would do if I won the lottery: Fish as many places that I could fit into the remaining years of my life. Every state, every continent, every lake, river, creek, and sea. Sounds nice, huh?

I'm still thinking about it. I'm thinking about how to pull this off. The thought of fishing everywhere, for everything, greatly appeals to me. About as much as winning the lottery--which, at this point may be the only way to accomplish this.

If I figure it out, I'll let you know. If I win the lottery, though, I can assure you that you won't hear from me for quite a while...


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