I Really Don't Care About the Populus

I had a therapist once call me a "hipster". I think this stems from my tendency to sport a "hipster" fashion. I think hipsters like things that have a "progressive feel". "Hipsters" claim to go "against the grain". As soon as something becomes not too progressive, a hipster will abandon that thing.  I don't care at all about the populus. I just do what I like, regardless of how the public views that thing. I don't make fashion statements. If I wear a noticeable pair of shoes, it's just because I like those shoes, not because I want people to notice me.

Rutgers should've realized before they joined the Big 10 that the Big 10 competition will smoke them.

Snorting Cocaine through your eyeballs gets you so high. I'd certainly recommend it.

I think calling anybody who grows a mustache for "Movember" a "hipster" is petty. These people are trying to promote an admirable cause, and I think the act of ridiculing somebodies "Movember" mustache is very petty. You should ridicule a bigot, or a rasict. I'm pretty young for a prostate examination, so I won't recognize the "Movember" cause and have my prostate examined.

My cat looks so happy right now. She's curled up in a ball, sleeping on a chair , in the sun. I can't think of a better situation for her. She's a content ball of fluff.

I love to hand out nuts to my father and sister. Walnuts are brain-food.

People close to me call me "Matthew Potatoes".

Why Must I Be Surrounded By Such Incompotent Fools?

My family has had a nightmare dealing with the transportation service that is assigned to take me to therapy. Noone comes to pick me to take me to therapy often in the morning, even though my family (and my insurance) has assigned someone to do so. So, in the morning, my mom (who's an exceptionally hard worker) sometimes must take me to therapy, and this causes her to show up late at her job, and her students wait around like schmucks. My mom doesn't deserve to show up late to her job (which she rules at) because some fool neglected to put my house into the schedule. The country can't run like this.

Through all of the shit she has had to deal with in the past few years, my mom still cooks great food.

A Short Story I Wrote in 1st Grade: Frankenstein and Me

I saw a castle. I had to follow a path. I got to the castle. I went in it. In it was a box. I opened it and in the box was a dead body. It was Frankenstein. He said, "Hello, how are you Matthew?" We go out for pizza. It was good. We go to my house. We go to bed. He says goodnight. I say goodnight, too.

Don't act like a punk if you want people to respect you.

If you're sad, keep it to yourself. Don't bring others down with your negativity.

I have a hard time getting down with anyone who doesn't know what acronym IFMES stands for.

My mom just hates knives.

I'm not as polite as I once was (especially regarding sneezing).

My mom heats up left-overs better than your mom.

I, one day, hope to love my job as much as the guy on "NFL Red Zone".

Once a Runner, Always a Runner

I went into a running store just to browse, because I have, and always have had, a tremendous obsession with running sneakers. As I browsed through the store, I thought, "What do these ambulatories make of a person in a wheelchair browsing around a running (the apex of bi-pedalism) store?" My dad says to a sales clerk, (the clerk clearly noticed my obsession with running sneakers) "once a runner, always a runner."

In considering the value of different parts of a slice of pizza, I enjoy the crust-part the least.

The Existential Implications of My Accident

Each time I hear Tyler Chaira (the person who saved my life) relay the story about my accident, I feel that Tyler tells a story out of a novel written by an existentialist. Tyler told the ski patrol he couldn't find his friend who mysteriously went missing. The ski patrol didn't do shit while Tyler took the ski-lift up to the top of the mountain, and rode down the same trail we'd just taken (I don't remember any of this. I only know of the day what Tyler tells me). The entire time, Tyler thinks, "Matt's probably at the bar, drinking a beer, and relaxing." This thought couldn't be further from reality. Meanwhile, I'm lying on the mountain, not drinking a beer, but bloody from hitting something (probably a rock, I don't remember). The "ski patrol", the members of which have a job to rescue someone like me, doesn't do shit, as if this story were taken out of an existential novel.

Witnessing the granduer of "2001: A Space Odyssey" makes one realize Stanley Kubrick dominates the filmmaking realm.

Innocent Until Proven Guilty

A law should exist that makes it illegal to associate someone's name with a crime before he or she is found guilty or innocent of that crime. Whenever the media continuously associates a person's name with a crime, a person in the public makes his or her own verdict. Unless the media reveals substantial evidence to prove the said person's innocence, the "court of public opinion" usually finds the defendant guilty, which I find totally unfair. A person in a jury can't talk about the case outside of the court, in order to ensure he or she comes to his or her own verdict. I think the same rule should apply to the media, in order to not tarnish one's name.

Gary Nova (the notorious QB for Rutgers football) changed his name to Gary Interception.

Where Is My Mind?

The main adversary of my recovery is and has been my own brain. If I constantly fight my own brain, then exactly where is my brain? I know the answer. I only injured 1 half of my brain, therefore, save from "shaken baby syndrome", the neurons on the other side of the brain didn't get harmed. They've always been relatively harmed, but I can't save me from myself. I didn't completely injure my entire brain, in which case I'd be dead. I'm alive, and have 1 hell of an injury to defeat. I'm in the 2 minute warning.

In tough times, remind yourself of 1 thing: it's your couch, not my couch.