It's a rough life I lead...

This weekend was my second opportunity to pretend I actually matter, and attend some of the festivities associated with the Whi+e House Corresponden+s' Dinner. It didn't seem as cool as last year, perhaps because I didn't see as many people that I admire -- or maybe two years in DC really has made me that jaded. But it was still a good time.

Here's the view of the patio at the Washington Hi|ton, with various people pretending to be more important than they actually are. The question I overheard most, and most enjoyed overhearing, was "Who's that?"



Here are three moderately important people, Steve D0ocy (Fox News host), Steve Cent@ni (Fox News reporter and former hostage) and the back of Byr0n York's head (of the N@tional Review).



Here's He|en Thomas (the old, bitter, biased, anti-Semitic reporter) needing three people, a camera man and a boom mic to help her down a step.



Wo|f B|itzer was telling what I can only imagine to be an incredibly amusing anecdote.



L@rry King was mildly annoyed that I left the flash on.



Seinfe|d creator and Curb Your Enthusi@sm star L@rry David seemed slightly more annoyed that I left the flash on.



Former Ido| contestant Chris S|igh (and random purple-earring-girl) was kind enough to look at the camera.



Fox News founder Roger Ai|es was mildly amused to find out that the people snapping pictures of him (my friend and me) worked for the W@shington Examiner -- thus I suppose recognizing us as allies and allowing us to continue. Pretty cool, I suppose.



The all-important Henry Kissinger having a lively discussion with some guy in military attire.



The President's limo arriving for the dinner...



But the best picture of the night, and really the only reason I wore a tux at all, was scoring this shot with Sanjay@ Malak@r -- which, for the record, I'm pretty sure is Hindi for 'no-talent ass clown.'



What was entertaining about this whole thing is that Shery| Crow -- an actual musician with actual talent -- was seated no more than five feet behind us, and no one cared.



What's even funnier is that Sanjay@ won't be back next year, much like Ace. D.C. is a cruel, fickle town...

Misdirected anger, misplaced blame

When faced with such an incomprehensible tragedy as the one that came to pass yesterday on the campus of Virgini@ Tech, I find myself at an unusual loss for words. There is nothing I can say, and perhaps nothing I should say, that would add anything of worth to the situation. As the saying goes, speak only if you can improve upon the silence.

I don't have the authority, nor the need, to implore you to keep the victims in your thoughts and prayers. As decent people, I'm sure you already are, and probably more effectively than I.

One thing I do feel the need to say, however, is that I think it is sick and disgraceful that many are using this tragedy for their own political points.

Some have used this incident as an opportunity to call for stricter gun control -- and in some cases even place blame on supporters of gun ownership for the tragedy itself. This sort of rabid anti-gun fanaticism is not only inappropriate in the wake of such a baffling act of evil, but it is misplaced in general.

There are cliches about gun ownership -- "guns don't kill people, people kill people," "when guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns," etc. -- but they are no less true. The gun is not responsible for this heinous crime. The gun did not force this sociopath to chain the doors of the campus building while he lined up students and executed them. What law would have stopped that? It was already illegal for him to have a gun on campus. Most notably, it was already illegal for him to murder 33 people and wound some 20 others. Laws are only effective as a deterrent when there is fear of punishment. Judging by the fact that the killer took his own life, it would appear that he had no fear of punishment for his actions.

The argument could be made that had other students been allowed to carry weapons, this whole affair could have been stopped well before the death toll rose as high as it did. Had one other student in one of the classrooms been armed and properly trained, it is reasonable to assume that most of this horror could have been avoided.

It is not the existence of guns that lead to these types of tragedies. It is the misuse of guns.

When an 86-year-old man drove his car through a California farmer's market and killed 10 people, there were no calls to ban vehicles. The car was not responsible for the deaths of those people because, on its own, a car can do nothing to harm anyone. Much like a gun sitting on a table, a car parked in a garage poses a threat to no one. It is only when something as powerful as a car -- or gun -- is misused that it becomes hazardous.

To blame the gun -- and in some bizarre cases, Char|ton Hes+on -- for the deaths of innocent people ignores the true issue.

Had these students been stabbed to death with a knife or savagely beaten with a baseball bat, it would be laughable to blame the blade or the barrell. Yet somehow it is perfectly acceptable to blame the trigger, rather than the maniac pulling it.

I've heard amputees sometimes wake up and can still feel their missing limb. I had a similar experience this morning.

I'm going straight to hell, just like my mama said

But this is one of the funniest headlines I've seen in a long time. I shouldn't laugh, I know. But I can't help it.

I was watching Co|bert last night, as I often do, and this tool was the guest. After prattling on about not using anything with packaging, not eating food from more than 250 miles away and other environmental vagaries, he said he was going to write a book. After being pressed by Co|bert about the environmental impact of said book, Captain Conservation here said he was hoping to print his book on a "renewable material" instead of paper.

After I regained consciousness and cleaned all the blood out of my ear, I thought "Yes, if only we could print our books on a renewable resource. Some sort of material that we could, say, plant in the ground, allow to grow, and then harvest and grind into sheets of paper -- that would themselves be recyclable. Then we could start the process all over again..." But, I realize that's a futuristic pipe dream. Oh well.

This man has a child, people. They're breeding. I find that prospect quite terrifying.

On a totally unrelated note, I enjoy being mentioned in my friends' away messages. Here's one from my friend Allison earlier tonight:

Text convo with Charles:

Him: You're not at McFadden's, are you?
Me: No, home working
Him: Lame.
Me: I know you are, but what am I?
Him: Pure concentrated evil

Gotta love that kid

Yes, you do, in fact, have to love me. (Although, from my experience, that is not particularly true.)

On a somewhat related note, softball season started tonight, and I couldn't be happier. It's like Christmas, or at least what I imagine Christmas to be like. We didn't have a real game or anything, but it didn't stop us from going to the bar and getting lit up on a Tuesday night. Seems like I timed that being-able-to-have-yeast-again thing pretty perfectly.

But for now -- bed. Hooray bed.

Easy like Sunday morning

Eh, about 4:00 AM Sunday morning, anyway. Merry Ishtar to those celebrating.

Anywho, I've been drinking caffeine against my will for about five hours and I'm wired, so I feel like chatting.

Just a little update in my own life, I was recently in contact with this network, more specifically this show about this. I've not, however, heard back from them and there are no camera crews following me around so I suppose they decided my life doesn't make for good television. I can only agree. Well, that and I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about displaying my most personal matter with a few million people. Might've been therapeutic, I suppose. Oh well.

I've also recently realized that there's a major disconnect between the way others see me and the way I see myself. I told a friend of mine recently that I was shy, and was literally laughed at. So maybe I've gotten good at at least pretending. I still I am, regardless if people find the notion comical.

Having said all that, I think it's time to crawl into bed. The caffeine -- not to mention the alcohol -- is wearing off.

Ok Matt, settle down buddy

Today marked the first time in my life I've ever seen snow in April. It's a pretty foreign concept, but I woke up this morning to something that seemed a little excessive.

Ma++ Drudge, who has some sort of report or something that just happens to be one of the most powerful forces in news, thought it necessary to put this picture at the top of the page:



Under the headline "SNOW ON THE CHERRY BLOSSOMS!"

Whew, what breaking news that is...

I've been doing a lot of thinking today (since there's not much else to do on Holy Days, I suppose...) and I've come to the conclusion that the athletic director (and perhaps several attendees) of this institution cesspool of higher learning jean-short-wearing, mullet-sporting and sister-banging has sold his soul to Satan in exchange for sports championships. I can think of no other possible explanation, except perhaps that God is punishing mankind for its many sins.

This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

Today marked the second meeting of the Department of Labor Country Gentlemen's Rifle Club. It was founded by four of my fellow DOL-ers and I about a month ago when we all discovered that we shared a common interest in flinging lead. Incidentally, the site of our inaugural meeting later burned to the ground. So this time we decided to patron an open-air establishment with moving targets.

You want some of this? Huh? Didn't think so.



This is John, fellow founding member.



Here are four of us loading our guns before one of our rounds. That's Drew on the left and Aaron on the right.



Here's me exhibiting perfect form while Drew and John look on in amazement.



For the record, I hit 65 of 75 pigeons. Woo.

This next picture has nothing to do with shooting, but after our excursion we stopped at this fine institution for dinner. And in the men's bathroom this sign was hanging over the baby-changing table:



I guess it was in the men's room of a Virginia Cr@cker Barrel. Some patrons might need the reminder.

At any rate, any day where I use a 12 gauge is a good day. Now, off to finish ridding my home of dirty, dirty yeast.