Matt Brozovich

Michael Jackson Sleeping With Jehovah

2009-06-26T15:37:00.001-06:00

I am somewhat indifferent about MJ's passing as the King of Pop has been dead to me since 1993. On one hand, I owned Thriller on vinyl and am able to sing most of its songs from memory. On the other hand, kiddie-touchin'? Dude was always weird. But I would have been weird, too, if I were raised by a devout Jehovah's Witness that had a penchant for regular beatings and mental anguish. Still, weirdness and amazing talent should not give you a free pass on the kiddie-touchin'. The complete entertainment package that MJ was will be unmatched for years to come. The world is now left to ponder who the most talented Jackson alive is. Most will argue Janet, but I am calling Jermaine.

Link Goodness

2009-06-23T13:16:00.004-06:00

I cannot wait to have another baby only to see my kids do this to each other.
"Yes, Jimmy. There is such thing as the freshman fifteen."
Ed McMahon is sleeping with Jesus. Ed was most famous for being the Lancelot to Johnny Carson's King Arthur, hosting Star Search and giving old ladies heart attacks via Publisher's Clearinghouse. I was unaware that Ed was a retired Colonel and accomplished pilot in WWII and Korea.

An Open Letter To The Fat Guy In The Spandex Suit On His Mountain Bike I Saw After Lunch Today

2009-06-12T16:25:00.005-06:00

You like to ride your bike. I do too. It is a refreshing work out as the warm wind blows on your face while you work up a sweat as your legs pump like engine pistons. I notice you have a Starbucks there. In your hand. As you ride your bike. Sipping on a be-whipped Frappuccino while you ride leads me to believe you are not serious about exercise. I could have never know that from looking at you, however. You know why? You are wearing a triple-XL spandex racing suit like you are training for the fucking Tour de France. Seriously? That is what you decided to wear while riding your bike today? To Starbucks? Squeezed into spandex like some generic-wrapped sausage at the grocery store? Where does one even find a triple-XL spandex racing suit? Is there a Bicycle Village Big and Tall somewhere around here? At least pretend you are serious about losing wieght by draining that Caramel Light (I will swear on my infant son it had to be a Caramel Light) before you get back on your bike. Thanks for the fat guy pressed ham shot post-Chipotle, too. Helps with digestion. And by "helps" I mean comes back up in chunks with stomach acid in my mouth. Dick.

Link Goodness

2009-06-04T10:13:00.005-06:00

I love my son but I do not love him this much.
Shipwreck map of Sable Island (a.k.a. the Graveyard of the Atlantic). The island is also famous for its ponies. Good to know.
No matter what former Playboy centerfolds with huge fake cans tell me, I am vaccinating the boy. Much like Roald Dahl, I still take the Measles seriously.

Grow Up, Whippersnapper!

2009-05-27T00:02:00.009-06:00

My response to the well-compiled Tomato Nation 25 and Over list:

Remember to write thank-you notes. The written word is a lost art and most youngsters under age 25 think texting 'THX PLAYA' does the trick. Taking the time to send off a stamped, hand-written note (especially after a job interview) shows that you are considerate and not a serial killer.
Do not invite yourself to stay with friends when you travel anymore. Being as I have a deep aversion to inconvenience (both for myself and those around me), this has never been a problem for me. I would much rather crash at a hotel even if family/friends are close by.
Do not expect friends to help you move anymore. I only expect my friends to help me move things if they stayed at my house due to a bout of excessive drinking the night before. Asking someone to help you move a roll-top desk with a crippling hangover should not be an issue if said someone yacked in your sink twelve hours earlier.
Develop a physical awareness of your surroundings. I pride myself on assessing my surroundings and acting accordingly. Alcohol often kills this one for me.
Be on time. I generally show up on time to most events. If I am late to anything longer than thirty minutes, I will blame my infant child who cannot speak.
Have enough money. Nothing pisses me off more than somebody who never brings money out in card or cash from. You did not leave your wallet at home. You are just a cheap bastard.
Know how to calculate the tip. It is not difficult to multiply the bill by two to get the 20% tip equivalent. If you do not have the mental capacity to calculate a tip without the aid of a calculator or cell phone, eating out is probably the least of your worries.
Do not share the crazy dream you had last night with anyone but your mental wellness professional. Depends on what the dream is about and what your intentions are by sharing said dream. A sex dream with the intention of getting yourself laid? Absolutely. Murdering all you co-workers with a machine gun during a casual Friday with the intention of getting a raise? Probably not.
Learn to walk in heels. Only applies to me if I patronize an East German sex club.
Have at least one good dress-up outfit. Before the wife cleaned me up, taught me how to dress and expanded my wardrobe, I owned only one suit at the behest of my mother. It was my all-purpose suit that saw many weddings, funerals and job interviews. I could sometimes tell the last time I wore it by reaching in the inner-coat pocket and finding an old event program.
Do as invitations ask you. I am usually not formally invited to anything and if I am the wife handles all the RSVP-ing and gifting. It is better this way.
Know how. Sadly I think most people 25 and under grew up with every convenience afforded to them and would perish in the wilderness after being given a knife and a water source. Problem solving is lost on a generation that did not have to solve any problems because their parents were afraid if they failed it would crush there delicate sensibilities. I like to think I know enough about enough to be dangerous.
Don't use your friends. This should be on an age 5 and over list. You should never use your friends unless they have an awesome surround-sound system.
Have something to talk about besides college or your job. As the many people in my life can attest, I have plenty to talk about besides college and my job.
Give and receive favors graciously. As my Dad said while scolding me after an excessive sports celebration in my youth, "Act like you have been there before."
Drinking until you throw up is no longer properly a point of pride. It depends on how good the scotch is.
Have a real trash receptacle, real Kleenex, and, if you smoke, a real ashtray. Toilet paper serves multiple purposes (in my opinion); nose blowing and ass-wiping. If you smoke? You will be dead before me. That and you should properly dispose of your butts. My yard is not that place.
Universal quiet hours do in fact apply to you. Working from home I keep weird hours and I keep the volume down during the quiet hours without even realizing it.
Take care of yourself. Workout a few times. Take a shower every other day. Do not eat Taco Bell three times a week. Repeat.
Rudeness is not a signifier of your importance. It is when you are from California.

An Open Letter To The King Soopers Parking Lot Attendant

2009-05-22T14:38:00.006-06:00

I could not help but overhear your whining to the manager on duty regarding the broken cart-pushing machine while I was waiting in the checkout line with my steaks and diapers. I wish I could say I felt sympathy for you, kid, but you are nothing more than a spoiled bitch. Back when you were still playing with your own crap and watching Sesame Street, I was pushing carts for Uncle Sam Walton without the aid of mechanized transport. The Slushy Gutter Crew toiled and labored in that godforsaken parking lot, but we all took pride in pushing cart trains into the warehouse with our youthful exuberance and brawn. We also took pride in pushing those same carts into the lake behind the warehouse, playing Nerf football games when the manager's backs were turned, daring each other to climb into the hydraulic bailing machine and turn it on, loading eight flatbeds full of merchandise into a motorcycle gang's refrigerated truck and kicking boxes across the asphalt. In short, suck it up and push the carts in yourself, princess.

A Bag Of Dicks

2009-05-12T10:38:00.002-06:00

Me: Go suck a bag of dicks. One by one. In order of smallest to largest.
Candee: So as I get tired of sucking dicks, the dicks keep getting bigger and bigger making it even more gay and more painful? Is the last one in that bag a real choker? Like Mike Tyson's dick?
Me: Well, if it were Mike Tyson's dick it would rape you and then beat your head in before you sucked it. I was thinking more along the lines of John Holmes's dick. It is enormous and then gives you AIDS when it is all over. Because that is what you get for sucking a bag of dicks.
Candee: Nice.

Link Goodness

2009-05-11T17:03:00.005-06:00

Timberlake absolutely killed Saturday Night Live over the weekend. I am loving the Color Me Badd personas he and Samberg take on. Acid-washed jeans? Christ.
The Denver Nuggets have been rolling through the first two rounds of the NBA playoffs. The main reason? Homegrown talent Chauncey Billups. I remember watching Chauncey eat my high school alive in the state basketball tournament back in '94. If the Nugs win it all, there is no player more deserving of MVP honors.
Rwanda, fifteen years after the genocide. The new government granted Get Out Of Jail Free Cards to most participants of the single largest mass murder in African history. Good times.

How To Survive In A Down Economy: Surrender?

2009-05-08T17:09:00.009-06:00

Articles like this make me happy I committed to Broz Design last November. From a guy who has been laid off and fired more than most, I can tell you that offering to cut your own salary will do little other than show your employer you have no pride left. If anything, it makes you look desperate and afraid.

I take more risks with my income than most. There is no guarantee when my next pay check will arrive. My retainer clients may decide to cut losses and liquidate their contracts tomorrow. Yet in spite of all this, I am happier than I have ever been professionally. I have always refused (sometimes at my own peril) to justify to anyone why my skills and abilities are indispensable. If my work did not speak for itself or it went about unnoticed, than I do not want to work for you.

My employment missteps have led me to where I am today. I am flourishing. I do not have to wear pants to work. I am making enough money to keep diapers on the boy. I would rather fail on my own that be somebody's puppet. I do not like anyone's hand up my ass, be it metaphorically or literally.

Link Goodness

2009-04-24T10:42:00.002-06:00

Unicorn madness brought to you by my wife's childhood needlepoint "Unicorn Jumping Over A Rainbow" project.
Best. Jon Mayer. Fan. Ever.
I need to order business cards for Broz Design and beef jerky is now officially under consideration.

F-Hood

2009-04-20T09:24:00.000-06:00

The first few weeks of parenthood have been rife with happiness, urine, poop and sleep in three hour clips. The boy is still getting the day/night schedule figured out so I am getting used to working at four in the morning while he squirms about and makes cute little noises. The wife has it far worse as she is the food source and usually the one waking up at all hours to nurse. Women really get the shitty end of the deal in nature. Menstruation? Check. Squeezing a living human out of your vagina? Check. On call for the first year (or first six years if you are a perverted fruitcake) to suckle said living human? Check. Then here I am, Sperms McGee. Just the male actor in a straight porn movie. The prop. "Stand over there with your penis and do not say anything stupid. We will call you when we are ready."

The House Of Broz Lives On

2009-04-11T16:32:00.005-06:00

The wife has successfully gone number three and brought into this world our first offspring (click here for some hot Flickr action). She was in labor for 33 hours and produced our eight pound, twenty-inch boy on April 7, 2009 just after 8:13 PM. I saw many things I can never un-see during the birth of my son. All parts of the female anatomy are now completely demystified for me. While I can still objectify naked woman, I now understand that nature intended for boobs to be suckled by infants and that a vagina was meant for a baby to be pushed out of, not for me to press/push/thrust my penis on/in/around. The boy is experiencing a touch of the Jaundice and is currently laying in a portable baby tanning bed, but other than that, we are all happy, healthy and exhausted.

Pimping For Mickey D's

2009-03-30T11:05:00.002-06:00

Gay Joe: This seem fair to me.
Me: Ha! I love that picture. A whore alone in a tunnel.
Gay Joe: It is like a fractal; a tunnel inside of a tunnel.
Me: Both are hollow inside.
Gay Joe: Both are sordid and smell of urine.
Me: Both are easily entered and exited.
Gay Joe: Nice.
Me: Still on for tacos this week?
Gay Joe: Totally.

When A Hippy Cries An Angel Gets Its Wings

2009-03-26T17:23:00.004-06:00

Check out these freak shows crying over dead trees. Are there not more pressing things to waste your energy on other than a decaying old growth forest? My favorite part of the video is when Moonbeam lets out a guttural scream and all her dirtbag friends follow suit because I sense they are all actually suffering. I find comfort in hippy suffering. I would love to get in the middle of that mourning circle with an ax and start chopping down something. Or start a good old-fashioned tire fire. I would even settle for just punching a stinky white guy with dreadlocks in the face.

Awaiting The Fruits Of My Demon Cherries

2009-03-19T21:58:00.005-06:00

The wife and I are officially prepared for our spawn to make its grand entrance into this world. The nursery is littered with the spoils of numerous baby showers, bathed in gender-neutral tones and is decorated with a ridiculous amount of monkeys. We have registered with the hospital and have taken assorted labor preparation classes. I have read two great books (Punk Rock Dad and Babywise) that have given me honest perspectives on fatherhood and read half of one terrible book (The Expectant Father) before throwing it across the bedroom and calling the author a "new-age queer." All we need now is the living, goddamn baby (the wife is due on April 3). In an effort to celebrate the last few weeks of our baby-free couplehood, the wife and I are spending this Saturday night at the Brown Palace Hotel for a romantic, in-city getaway. It is there where we will renew our love affair and my wife will get her pregnant lady bubble bath on while I drain cocktails at the Ship Tavern and watch opening weekend of the NCAA college basketball tournament.

Link Goodness

2009-03-12T17:00:00.005-06:00

Elena Basescu, daughter of Romanian president Traian Basescu, looks like an Eastern-bloc Wynne Cooper, is running for European Parliament and likes to mount fallen horses to pose for pictures.
The saddest and happiest headstone I have ever seen.
The Sears Tower is getting renamed the Willis Tower. Nice work, Sears. I can just hear my dead grandfather Broz renouncing his brand loyalty to all Craftsmen products on the other side.

The KKK Took My Baby Away

2009-03-11T23:36:00.003-06:00

Buck Fifty has fast become my favorite site for Denver and Colorado history. Today's installment: The Ku Klux Klan in Colorado. In the 1920s; the Klan boasted nationwide membership in the millions and was not the backwoods, hillbilly joke that it is today. Regis University (my collegiate Alma mater) has a stone wall on the southwestern edge of campus declared a historical landmark (or so I was told) where students of the 1920s and 1930s fought off the Silent Empire on numerous occasions. In my day, said stone wall was used by students to park the pricey SUVs their parents bought them next to or to smoke cigarettes against on a warm autumn day. I was also unaware that the old Denver airport (Stapleton) bore the name of noted klansmen Ben Stapleton.

No Fate But What We Make

2009-03-09T09:05:00.000-06:00

My love for the Terminator franchise began in 1985 when my dad let me stay up late with him and watch the James Cameron joint on HBO. The movie had everything a ten year-old boy could want; violence, cyborgs, sex and boobs! I was hooked. In 1991, early CGI technology, a ripped Linda Hamilton and a Guns N' Roses-laden soundtrack made for a sequel that was much better than the original. When T3: Rise Against The Machines came out, I took my wife on our first date to watch it in the theater (I am a hopeless romantic). I thought I would have to keep her informed with back story through out the film, but she quickly interrupted me mid-Skynet dissertation with, "I know who Skynet is. Please shut up," and thereby proved her worthiness as a mate (this date was the very reason I engraved 'NO FATE' on the inner-band of my wedding ring in reference to Linda Hamilton's bowie knife table-carving in T2). I even went so far as to tune into the first full season of the Sarah Connor Chronicles only to tune out once Brian Austin Green joined the cast (thanks to long-time reader of the MB, Bryan Candee, who pointed out that Brian Austin Green's initials are BAG for a reason). Sadly, the television series has resorted to this for viewership. Summer Glau has a nice little frame, but her eyes are so far apart she looks like a cutthroat trout. Cutthroat trout are delicious when sauteed in butter, but are not sexually arousing. I can only hope T4: Salvation with Christian Bale will renew my faith in the franchise. At least they cast Christian Bale. He alone will get my wife out to the theater with me. She would watch that guy read the paper.

According To Prophesy

2009-03-03T14:18:00.004-07:00

Wil: You ever want to just generally fuck yourself up? Watch CNN World for two hours. The human race is not long for this planet.
Me: Agreed. Hopefully my unborn child will get something out of it all before it blows up.
Wil: I am kind of counting on him/her to fix it all, actually. Is that not going to happen?
Me: If he/she takes after the wife, yes. After me? We are doomed.
Wil: Your spawn has been spoken of in countless Nostradamus prophecies. "And she who kicketh ass in softball shall breed with he who has odd hair of the face, and together the savior is born."
Me: Wow. Thanks? Let us hope said spawn makes the animals go bonkers at the zoo ala The Omen. The original with Gregory Peck. Not that bag of dicks remake with Julia Styles.
Wil: Well played, sir. Going to go get some dinner here in Barcelona. If I can find a place with an early bird special at 8:30 PM, that is. The Spaniards do not like to sleep.
Me: Save for the daily siesta?
Wil: Right. Adios.

Roots Radicals

2009-02-25T13:49:00.008-07:00

The majority of my ancestors settled in Denver in the early 20th Century. My mother's Italian relatives took refuge in the various brownstones of North Denver and my great-grandfather, an illiterate fruit peddler, was one of the founding members of Potenza Hall (an Italian lodge that is still standing today amidst a landscape of Rite Aids and Taco Bells). My father's Slavic ancestors settled in the Globeville area; a hard neighborhood know for its rail yards, smelting and meat packing industries. My dad grew up in this community in a small house amongst Slavic kin who liked to drink, cuss, smoke and hate anyone who was not Slavic (my great uncle is still getting his "Gran Torino" on in a Globeville neighborhood that is now predominately Hispanic). The Western Slavonic Lodge was founded around the same time my great-grandmother arrived in Denver from what is now modern-day Russia. I think these lodges are indicative of the mindset of immigrants at the time. It was a place to gather with fellow countrymen, drink, offer support and learn about the idea known as "America." Being "American" was important to all of my ancestors that settled in Denver. My great-grandfather, for example, when asked by his children to teach them Italian would reply, "We are in America, and in America you speak English." I often ponder what happened to this mindset; where people identified themselves as American first and their ethnic background second. Perhaps it withered away as class systems divided. Or maybe it disappeared with our manufacturing base when we decided culturally that it was better to consume goods rather than produce them. Perhaps it vanished when people accepted that being friendly was merely waving hello to your nameless neighbor at Starbucks. It could be all these things, or it could just be that a fucking McDonalds became more important to us than a community center.

Mickey Rourke Is Magical

2009-02-23T18:30:00.002-07:00

I have heard that Mickey Rourke's portrayal of Randy "The Ram" Robinson in the Wrestler was incredible but not enough to net him a best actor Oscar (Sean Penn won it last night for his performance in Milk). I am guessing his Spirit Award acceptance speech had something to do with it. Wow. Mickey Rourke may be my new hero. He sort of reminds me of myself after a half bottle of bourbon; rude, obnoxious and dropping f-bombs as if he were cleaning a latrine on an aircraft carrier. My favorite parts of his speech are his references to "banging chicks in the ass" and repeatedly calling Marisa Tomei "Melissa."

Valentine's Day Is For Suckers

2009-02-16T14:52:00.006-07:00

This past weekend the wife and I celebrated our final Valentine's Day sans children. Next year, we will be up to our elbows in shitty diapers, crying babies and "dress-up" clothes covered in baby vomit (or so I am told). We were told by many to savor our final Valentine's Day out which we semi-scoffed at because we have never really been "Valentine's Day people." I am of the opinion that greeting card companies have inflated Valentine's Day's importance and think overpriced flowers, chocolates and/or stuffed trinkets sent to a lover are fleeting (if not ridiculous). I tend to buy the wife flowers on a semi-frequent basis and remind her I love her everyday and she, in turn, keeps me happy by accepting whatever career path I may be on that particular week and consistently makes me cookies, banana bread and blueberry muffins. So when Valentine's Day rolls around, we tend to do what we did this past Saturday; grab a steak early in the afternoon with the blue-hairs and catch a matinee at the local movie theater. Nothing says "I love you" like Clint Eastwood slinging some racism ala the late Grandpa Broz.

'Roids Ahoy!

2009-02-10T19:33:00.007-07:00

I do not feel sorry for A-Rod (I think he is serving punishment enough for having coital relations with the Crypt Keeper) and am indifferent over this professional baseball steroid issue. I could care less if a guy is injecting himself with elephant hormones and the back fat of an aborted pig fetus. Pick up a goddamn bat and hit that baseball to China. Nobody (except maybe Wil and DJ) watch baseball to see guys hit singles and bunt in winning runs. Professional baseball should embrace steroid abuse. Not only should players be allowed to do steroids, they should be allowed to use aluminum bats, too. Who will be brave enough to play third base when a juiced meathead three times the size of Mark McGwire digs in at the dish? Let pitchers inject performance enhancing drugs until their fastball is touching 110 mph and their arm vaporizes on the mound. That is something I would pay money to see. Most baseball purists argue that the steroid era has sullied the sanctity of the game and has ruined professional baseball's image. To them I say Pete Rose, Marge Schott, John Rocker and the Black Sox Scandal. Does taking performance enhancing drugs make you a cheater? Probably. But fans like me will only take steroid abuse seriously when professional baseball starts to taking it seriously.

Musical Diarrhea

2009-02-09T15:08:00.007-07:00

Last night, after a home-cooked Italian feast courtesy of my mother, we settled on my parent's couch to catch the 2009 Grammy Awards. Some highlights:

I now remember why I have not watched a Grammy Awards show since 2005. Its called Coldplay.
Enough with the onstage collaborations. Seriously. I doubt anyone in America has been dripping in anticipation for a Paul McCartney and Foo Fighters jam session. There is a reason why two Beatles are dead; God does not want the surviving members to play their songs anymore.
I cannot count how many times Dean Martin must have turned over in his grave after seeing this. Being as his next of kin were in the audience watching, I believe they were legally within their rights to kill one (if not all) of the performers that took a shit on Dino's memory and then wiped their asses with it. Except maybe MIA's unborn child. That kid is innocent. My rage spares the unborn.
Jennifer Hudson: Look, I understand your family was murdered just a short while ago, but could you have at least sent your assistant out to find a dress that did not look like you you just ate a plate of crab legs at a seafood restaurant?
Alison Krauss and Robert Plant recorded music together? I thought Robert Plant was dead. At least he has been dead to me after the Honeydrippers fiasco.
Is there anything left for Kanye West to not bitch about? Even the Commish is with me on this one.
Stevie Wonder. Sigh. You just make me sad.

Pre-Hookering

2009-02-06T18:06:00.003-07:00

Gay Joe: www.trueacceptance.com.
Me: I am sure some ex-girlfriends of mine use that service.
Gay Joe: I am going to make a profile: "Tranny suffering from post-coital Pseudobulbar palsy with anger management issues seeking same in Denver."
Me: Wow. That would be awesome if you found someone.
Gay Joe: Ha! "You have 228 new messages."
Me: That site would have been a dream come true for me in college since I tended to veer towards messed up chicks back then. They had daddy issues; either he touched them too much or did not touch them enough. I essentially dated strippers before they hit the pole, Joey. Before they completely died on the inside.
Gay Joe: It is a good idea to date them before said inner-death; it is something I like to call "pre-hookering." In my tribe, that is pretty much everyone by age 18, so I had it easy.
Me: Pun intended.
Gay Joe: Exactly.