Matt Brozovich

The MB Transitions Into Obscurity

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 19:02:00 +0000

When I started the MB back in 2000, my original intent was to showcase my resume and minuscule design portfolio. I had just made the transition from print design to web design and thought the purchase of the domain name would motivate me to learn more about designing and maintaining websites. It did.

In 2002, the MB transitioned from a professional showcase to a personal one. I started posting about all manner of nonsense, because, in case you have not realized by now, I have a lot to say about a lot of shit. In 2002 there was no Facebook. No Twitter. No MySpace. No news feeds. It actually took some doing to track down links and write about them. I was happy to do this because my job was mind-numbing and management at the data slaughterhouse had no idea what the hell I was up to. Soon, links, emails and IMs started flooding in from the likes of Jake, Michael, DJ, Kaye, Monica, CH, Gay Joe and Mark. Boredom loves company? I was happy to be posting regularly as it fueled my passion for creativity in ways that my career was not.

Enter Broz Design in November 2008 and my posting to the MB fizzling out. Maybe its because I am fulfilled professionally? Or because I would rather hang out with my kid than waste my time posting about a guy that got fucked to death by a horse? Or maybe it is time to take the MB into a new direction? I go with the latter. I have always dreamed about writing the Great American Novel but am no closer to that goal than I was last year. My New Years resolution for 2010 is to start using the MB to focus more on actually writing a book and get some ideas out into the ether. It may not lead to anything other than me doing what I have been wanting to do for some time and that is fine. It is not like you want to read about a horse fucking a guy to death, anyway. Right?

What It Takes To Be A Man

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 21:41:00 +0000

Me: Thanks for the Xmas card.
Tanya: You are welcome.
Me: I teared up a little because it was so nice.
Tanya: Teared up on the inside, right? Because tearing up on the outside would make you gay.
Me: Yes. I bury all my emotions deep inside because otherwise I would be gay. I would rather drink through my emotional issues and kill a kid in a crosswalk DUI style then talk about my feelings.
Tanya: Sounds like the manly thing to do.
Me: Indeed.

Obama Addresses West Point

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 17:12:00 +0000

Last night I actually watched the presidential address. It was not my fault. No decent hockey games were on, our DVR was empty and Jeopardy was not showing due to the speech. I will take "Apathetic American" for $400, Alex. Obama is a great orator. He is take your panties off smooth. I am so used to Bush tripping over words and fumbling around at the podium for the past eight years that it is refreshing. My love for Obama ends there, however. Aside from appreciating the historical context of his presidency, I think Obama is all spectacle, no substance. Case and point the public relations sweetness of giving a military-themed speech at West Point. Here is my rundown of what Obama said last night:

We are pulling out of Iraq and re-mobilizing to Afghanistan. This should excite you as I have talked with generals and advisers who told me this what we need to do. Here is an exact date of when I will bring home the troops. Yes, I think war is timed like a football game and America just entered the fourth quarter. Go Bears! Here is a comparison of me to FDR. Please ignore the irony that New Deal programs failed miserably and/or saddled future generations of Americans with the burden of contributing to programs that will go bankrupt in their lifetime (Social Security). Something about liberty. We like Muslims now. Support your troops. It is all Bush's fault.

Who needs a drink? And some Obama Jesus gear? And some Hope Is Fading Fast gear?

Link Goodness

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 18:25:00 +0000

Sarah Palin is MILF-tastic. I could care less about her politics or shitting developmentally disabled babies out of her old dried-up uterus when she has that slutty soccer mom thing working for her.
Foreign policy lessons for America from the Byzantine Empire. Very Art of War with guerrilla warfare sprinkles on top. I agree with most of these points, however, the United States has the tremendous advantage of geographic isolation which the Byzantine Empire did not. This means we can wage wars on six continents with a slim a chance of the conflicts spilling over into our Motherland. So unless we drop bombs on Canada or Mexico, I am guessing Americans will flourish historically a lot longer than the Byzantines.
The more I see of Ice-T's wife Coco, the happier with him as a person I become. Continue to Peel Their Caps Back with your cave bitch, good sir.

Rules For My *Born Son

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 18:14:00 +0000

I must own this book and pass on its wisdom to the boy. Here are some of my favorites maxims with comments directed at my infant son as if he were an adult with the ability to reason:

Surround Yourself With Smart People. You are who you hang out with. Your friends will expect you to do what they are doing alongside them. Smart people expect you to be intelligent and well read. Drug addicts expect you to pass the Guns N' Roses coke mirror you won at the carnival balloon-dart game after snorting a line.
It Is Not A Gang Without The Cool Girl. Be sure to always have at least one cool girl in your inner-circle of friends (bonus if she is hot). She can provide invaluable feminine perspective and is bound to bring around other cool girls. You may even marry her someday.
Ask Your Mother To Dance. There is no better way to make your mother's night then taking her for a spin around the dance floor and acting like it is fun and not a chore. You will do this and you will like it.
Do Not Get All Fancy About Your Beer Or Coffee. Coffee? Black. Beer? Yes, please. It is as simple as that.
Do Not Have A Girlfriend In College. Think of all the awesome shenanigans you can get into while attending college. Now think about doing them while maintaining a steady relationship with an average looking girl that you met in the first week of your freshman year.
Never Sit Down On A Ball Field. Take A Knee. You do not sit down on a sports field unless you are severed at the torso and have no legs. Even then, you still take a stump.
Always Meet Your Date At The Door. Do not be the dickhead honking the horn in the driveway. Go up to the door and ring the bell. Doing this affords you the opportunity to open the car door for her as well. Double the points, my son.
Yes Ma'am. No Sir. No Exceptions. People that are older than you are always sir or ma'am. Even if your friends parents tell you to call them by name you still call them sir or ma'am.
Try To Lose The Adverbs. Nothing illustrates how weak your vocabulary is more than an adverb. You are not very tired. You are exhausted. You are not extremely happy. You are ecstatic.
Keep Your Word. Even the over-consumption of liquor does not excuse you from this one. If you tell someone you will do something, you do it.
If You Are Good At Something, Never Do It For Free. Excluding sex, masturbating and murder.
Walk It Off. This philosophy that can be applied to many situations including electrocution, being on fire and venereal diseases.
Never Be Afraid To Ask Out The Best Looking Girl In The Room. Be fearless. What is the worst that can happen? She says no and you call her a lesbian? You are still in the same position you were in when you walked into the room.
You Do Not Get To Choose Your Own Nickname. You are luckier than most as you have a sweet last name that can be shortened to "Broz" or "Brozo." Even so, you do not ask anyone to call you this. They must do it of their own accord.

Halloween Ideas That Humiliate Children, The Handicapped

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 19:25:00 +0000

I have to give credit where credit is due: this kid has a fantastic idea for a Halloween costume. He does not need a double amputee to pull it off, however. Roll behind a Kohl's and look for some discarded mannequin parts in the dumpsters. Piece together a torso and some arms and legs. Pick up some gold spray paint and you have yourself a rudimentary (yet light) C3P0. Imagine the logistics of having a double amputee strapped to your back all night. What happens if you (or the amputee) has to take a shit? Even without legs I am assuming a double amputee weighs 75 pounds (if not more). That is a lot of weight to be huffing around sober let alone with your veins pumping Jack Daniels. What if there is a slut dressed as Slave Leia at the party? Are you prepared for that menage-a-trois?

I think my idea for a Halloween costume is better than what this kid is attempting to pull of, anyway. Me as the "host body" and my infant son strapped to my mid-section as the alien Kuato from the movie Total Recall. I may have to hold out until next year for when the boy is talking so he can quip "Open your mind" upon presentation.

Tee Ball Questions & Tee Ball Answers

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 19:19:00 +0000

Jake's post got my juices flowing regarding my "career." While I am overjoyed I no longer have to answer questions like "Where do you see yourself in five years?" in employment reviews to people who have no right to judge my design abilities in the first place, I will play along with the question for just this post.

So, where do I want to be five years from now?

Simple; still walking the path of fulfillment. I want to be able to choose the work I want to take on. I want to understand the direct correlation between cause and effect. I want to be a single point of failure. I want my clients to be happy with the work I have done for them and be successful because of it. In short, I want to be exactly where I am today. Whether it be designing websites or writing the Great American Novel or shoveling mule shit. For the first time in my life I can say I am satisfied. I am satisfied without being rich, having a really bitchin' car or a loveless house in some wasteland suburb. I think that is the definition of success.

Coors Field Shenanigans

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 17:30:00 +0000

The wife and I braved freezing temperatures last night to watch game three of the National League Divisional Series in a four and a half hour affair that left our extremities numb. 50,000 faithful at Coors Field were in attendance, an impressive number considering the cold. Some highlights:

The Rockies organization once again fucked up some form of the post-season. The game started at ten after eight. We arrived at the gates at ten 'till eight, happy we would be catching the first pitch. We waited outside Coors Field for forty five minutes in the cold. No announcements as to why tickets were not being taken. No signage explaining why there was a delay. Chants of "Let Us In," almost degenerate into an angry mob poised to rush the gates and get into the game. My sweet wife even mentioned to me how easy it would be to get away with kidney-punching Phillies fan in the mayhem.
By the time we get to our seats, it is the bottom of the second inning and the Rockies are up 2-1. Fucking Rockies organization. I almost do not enjoy my Rockies Dog and refreshing beer(s).
Our section is fun early on; good fans, good spirits and an overall good vibe. This situation changes as sobriety slips away and is replaced with stupidity. Once polite Phillies fans sitting a few sections below us become raging assholes and start picking fights. One of the fans is a fat white guy who has long dreadlocks. Insults are hurled his way. "Cut your hair, white Bob Marley, " and, "Got any weed?" and my personal favorite (because I said it), "Go home to your bottle of shampoo, hairbag."
The couple in the row below us are stoned out of their mind. Through out the game, the guy eats slices of salami he has smuggled into the game via his coat pocket. No Ziploc. No brown bag. Literally eating slices of salami from his coat pocket.
The girl below us dances like she is at a rave every time music comes on. Her balance is so off I remark to the wife, "That girl is going to take a spill." Within minutes of my comment, it happens. The crowd is on its feet after Carlos Gonzalez belts a solo shot to right field and the girl takes a head plant into the seats below her, flips over another row, lands on her head again and somehow manages to finish the maneuver with her ass in a seat four rows down. She looks confused, disoriented and possibly concussed. Her boyfriend expresses no concern and casually takes another slice of salami from his coat pocket.
We decide to head out in the bottom of the ninth as our infant son it at his grandparents and probably needs sleep. It kills us both considering Brad Lidge has been a nightmare closing ball games this season. By the time we arrive at the the car, the Rockies have lost 6-5, unable to cash in two walks.

Upon further reflection, I should have kidney-punched a Phillies fan to make my night more enjoyable. Especially the fat one with dreadlocks.

Patrick Swayze Sleeping With Jesus

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 04:45:00 +0000

The Bodhizoffa is no more. Unlike most celebrity deaths, this one takes the wind out of my sails. I grew up on the Swayze. Outsiders. Red Dawn. Youngblood. Point Break. And his masterpiece opus; Roadhouse. I even sat through multiple viewings of Dirty Dancing because it taught me that a) spoiled bitches should get credit for carrying watermelons and b) nobody puts Baby in a corner. Nobody. 11:14 made me realize how much I missed the Swayze in cinema. Fucking cancer. Both my grandfathers and Patrick Swayze? I guess it is your way or the highway, cancer. I cannot help think that if cancer manifested itself in the form of a human fighting opponent the Swayze would have torn its throat out with his bare hands and thrown its lifeless body into a backwoods lake and then scream, "Cancer! Cancer! Fuck you!" Sounds about right to me.

The Bedroom Community For The Fourth Reich

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 22:02:00 +0000

Kaye: We met everyone before the trip at our friend's house in Highlands Ranch. The Exterra looked out of place around all the Audis and Beemers.
Me: Fucking Highlands Ranch. A girl I used to work with told me she grew up in Highlands Ranch. I told her, "No wonder why you are so boring." Living on streets named Wildcat Aspen Lane or Wild Mountain River Court or Bobcat Sunset Honeydew Boulevard.
Kaye: All the houses look the same, too.
Me: We went to my cousin's poker tournament down there awhile back. "Our house is the sage green house on the left side." Oh really? EVERY OTHER HOUSE WAS FUCKING SAGE GREEN. One house is brown, then ecru then sage green. Repeat until you want to rip your eyes out of your skull.
Kaye: Ha! It's the crazy homeowners associations down there. Our friend had to have a shade of gray approved before she painted her house.
Me: Jesus, is it 1938 Russia down there? All bleak and ubiquitous? Motherfuckers waiting in line for toilet paper?
Kaye: Nice.
Me: Actually, that is not fair. They are probably waiting in line for a Starbucks latte. Or some trendy plates from Crate and Barrel.

Generations Of Phone Dysfunction

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 03:04:00 +0000

Me: Call me if you need anything while watching the boy.
Dad: You will be away somewhere where you cannot help me. So why the hell would I call you if you could not help me?
Me: Um, okay.
Dad: I will see you when you pick him up. Gotta go. Your mother just made us some sandwiches.

1984 Equals Cinematic Gold

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 16:48:00 +0000

After reviewing this list, I would have to say 1984 was hands down the best year for movies. I can quote countless lines of dialogue from memory on most of those films. My dad really let me watch some inappropriate films during my impressionable years. He took me to see Ghostbusters, Gremlins, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (the very first movie rated PG-13) and Police Academy in the theaters. Terminator, Red Dawn, Revenge of the Nerds, Nightmare On Elm Street and Sixteen Candles found their way to me via HBO with my dad's standard caveat, "Don't let your mother know I let you watch this." There was some excellent gratuitous nudity in those films; Police Academy, Purple Rain (Apollonia jumping into Lake Minnetonka), Revenge of the Nerds (full frontal), The Terminator (right before Sarah Connor's roommate gets "terminated") and Sixteen Candles (Caroline in the locker room shower). Sadly, there will probably never be a year of cinema packed full of winners like that again. Unless someone decides to resurrect Steve Guttenberg and Ralph Macchio's careers.

Infectious Disease 1, Infant Son 0

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 03:08:00 +0000

My mom called this morning to inform me that the boy was exposed to some form of a coughing disease a few weekends ago at her house (my young nephew being the little monkey from Outbreak in this scenario). I told my mom that this weekend the boy was exposed to the drunken stupidity of my sixteenth annual fantasy football draft, his dad repeatedly calling the Rockies a "bunch of dirty ball sacks" for getting swept in San Francisco and the assorted programming of the History Channel including Gangland and one very disappointing show about prison tattoos that mostly focused on the Aryan Brotherhood of Texas. She said I should get him get him "checked out" just to be safe.

Link Goodness

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 17:08:00 +0000

Olympic gender-bending scandals.
A history of modern art in three paragraphs. Marcel Duchamp did change art forever. As for the Dadaists being radically opposed to rational thought? That does not make them punk rock. It just makes them rebellious.
Ted Kennedy is sleeping with Jesus. It has been a bad month for the Kennedys. I think Dennis Leary had it right: "They shot JFK, they shot RFK and when it came down to Ted they just said, 'Leave him be. He will fuck it all up on his own.'"

Indie Rock And Spilly Slams

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 17:31:00 +0000

Mark: Have you heard of Art Brut? Euro-Indie rock band. Not bad. That would also be a good name for your next child other than Spilly.
Me: Did you stay up for the game and watch the grand slam?
Mark: I did not. Although I was there for Tulo's unassisted triple play and that was dope.
Me: This was ... doper? More dope? Dopest?
Mark: Unsure.

Link Goodness

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 18:50:00 +0000

Ten things we do not understand about humans. I love how pubic hair made the list and I love even more that some scientist has studied pubic hair back to prehistory. For the record: we do not need explanations for why women prefer to go hairless.
With the recent retirement of NHL star Jeremy Roenick, Greg Wyshynski compiled a list of his top ten pop culture moments on Yahoo! Sports. Of course the mention of him in the movie Swingers was high on the list (#2). In reference to Roenick being a video game hall of famer I could not agree more. He was without a doubt the most dominant players on NHL '94. I averaged a hat trick with him each time I played as the Blackhawks. Note to my wife: with my birthday impending I urge you to make this happen.
The thirty five worst celebrity tattoos. Fred Durst: thank you for confirming you are the biggest douchebag in a group douchebags. And Reggie Miller? Seriously?

Papa Don't Preach

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 20:46:00 +0000

Fatherhood has yet to provide me with any kind of spiritual awakening. After speaking to the other expectant fathers in my various babying classes, I was expecting angels to descend from heaven and play a harp rendition of "MMMBop" while I recognized the kinship of all living things when my son was born. Instead, I was relieved that the boy arrived with no serious health/birth defects and his mother did not go all 19th Century on me and bleed to death during childbirth and leave me and the boy to resent our stations in life and grow bitter over the years while tending to the family farm. It is cool to have an entire life dependent on you. It is also scary as hell. I think the true measure of whether or not I was a successful parent will come when it is time for me to go into a nursing home. If I did well? The boy will come visit me with his family on a semi-regular basis and take me out for a steak on occasion while tolerating my rants at the waitress for being too slow with the side order of gravy. If I did not do well? I will suffer in a multi-level town house in Thornton and eat Alpo out of the can and call my son "a fucking pussy" when he makes his annual call to wish me a happy birthday. Right now the boy is much like a zombie army; singularly focused on food, growing at an exponential rate and adverse to any kind of a rest. I am debating the Boggins Window Crib to make nap time more interesting. Not sure if that will get me the steak dinner or the Alpo. Only time will tell.

Joe Sakic Retires

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 20:25:00 +0000

Super Joe hangs 'em up. One of the most entertaining, humble and classiest guys to ever play the game, Joe Sakic could have scored at a nunnery in the dead of winter. He is guaranteed to be a first ballot hall of famer no matter what snow blowers try to do to him. During the span of his twenty year career he is eighth all time in points, has won two Stanley Cups and holds the NHL record for game-winning overtime playoff goals (8). In celebration of watching Joe play regularly since the Avs landed in Denver in '95, here is my favorite "Sakic" moment:

How do you like them apples, Gilmour?

Link Goodness

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 20:49:00 +0000

The world's strongest vagina. It can lift 14 kilos? Whatever. I would like to see what it could do with ping pong balls. Seriously. I would really like to see that.
A father and son that kill and bury hookers together stay together.
I could not agree more, John Niven. Because you record some awesome shit like Dirty Diana you get a free pass of the kiddie-touchin'? Not on my watch you dead, twisted, clown-looking freak. It is not like you revolutionized industry and tried to get us to hate on some Jews. You fingered little boys in the ass and should be vilified accordingly; especially posthumously.

Michael Jackson Sleeping With Jehovah

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 21:37:00 +0000

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

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 19:16:00 +0000

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

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 22:25:00 +0000

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

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 16:13:00 +0000

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!

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Wed, 27 May 2009 06:02:00 +0000

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

mbrozo@gmail.com (Broz) — Fri, 22 May 2009 20:38:00 +0000

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.