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Hello kiddies.

I have a sneaking suspicion that in the coming weeks I'm going to have time on my hands conducive to blogging - so I figured what the heck! I might as well embrace the time I've got and once again give all of you out in cyberspace the 411 on my inner psyche.

For today, or rather, for right now, I think it would be fun to just let my thoughts flow. A totally unedited, genuine, straight from my mind to my fingers to the computer stream of consciousness, although, perhaps with a rhyming twist.

Enjoy!


Looking at my hands, trying to type
Back when I was in London I used to talk on skype

I was tired then, I'm def tired now
I can't believe today's steep drop of the dow

Drinking a diet coke but it's caffeine free
I pressed the wrong button on the machine

This morning on my drive i missed exit 55
Had to turn around and do double time

I barely made it, but make it I did
first day on a new job, i wasn't going to be that kid

So now I'm sitting here twiddling my thumbs
Dreaming of sleep and leftover pizza crumbs

Which brings me to tonight, the highlight of my day
Prisonbreak on fox, get outta' Mahone's way

And then there's tomorrow, I'm off to the York of New
for yet another job interview

Hopefully it will go well and they'll offer me a posish
with all the fixins and all benefits (yea... so that was a stretch. Deal with it - it's my blog!)

But that's for tomorrow, today's still today
And for now, damn it all, that's all I've got to say.

Hollywood- HERE I COME!

I think I wrote in an earlier Blog entry that I have a penchant for switching career ambitions. I wish I could chalk it up to being just another confused 21 year-old without a clue as to what I want. Unfortunately, that would be a lie.

My problem is that I want to do everything.

In a perfect world I would be a main stage actor, perennial Oscar-candidate, screenwriter, basketball superstar, senator, creative director behind the award winning Coca-Cola advertising campaign, movie trailer voice, cartoon voice-over, fantasy novelist, Professional Wrestler, Rock and Roll Superstar, and President of the United States- all in one lifetime.

In fact, I have already outlined my career path that would lead to me accomplishing most of these goals.

After college I will accept an entry level job at some Advertising agency in New York. I will slowly climb the ladder and after seven years I will become a creative director. For the next three years I will create amazing, creative, entertaining, successful advertisements, earning wads of cash and making great contacts in the world of Hollywood.

These contacts are the key to my future. The directors, actors, cameramen, etc that I will meet while creating top-notch advertising will be my pawns to success. I will use these relationships to leave the advertising world and start my acting/screenwriting career.

After 15 years of successful movies, a couple Oscars, and all the women, money, and accolades I can ever hope for, it will be time to stop acting and pursue a nobler ambition. I will use my money to join that infamous "millionaire's club," or, The Senate.

I will win a Senate seat, probably in my home-state of Connecticut and serve my state and country for the next eight to twelve years. I will be the driving force behind policy that ends world hunger, provides Universal health care, and makes America the most popular and loved country in the world.

At this point there will be no stopping me.

*I will be President of the United States.

Am I unrealistic? Am I a dreamer? Well, if there's anything I've learned in my life it's that a dreamer keeps a dreaming, ages on!

To this point, the plan isn't going completely as planned. In fact, I might be changing the order of things. Instead of becoming an advertising creative director, I may very well be on my way to Hollywood stardom!

This summer, Aidan Levy and myself have embarked on a quest to write and sell a screenplay. Our first draft is complete and we are currently working on the second. Furthermore, we actually have real producers who are willing to read our script.

We've worked tirelessly thus far, editing and re-writing, discussing and philosophising, attempting to create perfect characters and dialogue. Could two, average, Jewish guys from northern CT make it big in Hollywood? Well, yea. I suppose we could.

This script better be damn good! The future of America may rest in the balance.



*Note- Matt Baram does not actually intend to ever run for President.

Junior Year Memories

Junior year has long since ended. And what a year it was.

The 2006/2007 school year was filled with laughs, tears, cringes, smiles, etc etc etc. How does it rank compared to the other 20 years of my life? Hard to tell at this point. But one thing's for certain- it was damn memorable.

In honor of the tradition I started last year, the following is a list of all the inside jokes/stories of the 2006 year. For the sake of those involved most names have been removed. But rest assured, anything that seems even potentially gross, perverted, or just out there was probably said/done by Warren, Mankorn, or myself. Enjoy!

Inside Jokes/Stories/etc from Junior Year (in no particular order):

-This is madness... This. Is. Mankorn!
-A teacher of ethics? A man who can tell the difference between right and wrong, black and white, good and evil! What can we call him but King?
-The Josh Morrow Bash
-Poor poor Josh Morrow.
-Yup, she cried.
-Naked ******
-Naked Ya'akov
-Ooh wah ooh wah oohwah.
-Sparkling Cider + Josh Morrow =
-The oar!
-Joshy, Mommy and Daddy are fighting again!
-Matt's night of mystery.
-Damn it all
-The 2/3 suited
-The bicycle
-The squirrel
-Baby Mothra
-Whenever life gets you down...
-We Are THE RIF!
-Warren's theory on various organic materials growing teeth and expressing their inner hunger.
-Weavel's gay?
-Now we know his weakness... Hmmm.....
-Teriyaki beef burritoooos
-This is a Josh-centric universe. I'm the sun and you're the moon
-I spend more time with mommy but daddy knows that i'm on his side!
-"yup, you're an idiot."
-"Douche."
-"Bat-shit crazy.
-ooooo-ooooh (pronounced "ew-ew")
-Jill: "What's that?"
-The Human Tornaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadah'
-Yes, God talks to Jesus as a bowl of cherries.
-MIKE GUSS!
-Ok, so which is more glorious- the thing u want most in life, or Josh Morrow...
-Matt- 5 Rachel- 0
-What kind of man, beast, or corn are you?
-45 freakin dollars!
-boom-shaka-laka
-yes, i kid you not, i just watched she's the man
-pink floyd lazer light show
- that a critic, of my scrupulous morality, be villified and pilloried in the stocks of common gossip!
-no Cynthia! now that i have found you!
-Brooke's bday dinner... sitting aloooone
-I've heard it all before!
-So it is... and it isn't.
-just texted by some hot hot girls
-ooooh stand, oh won't u stand, stand byyyyy meee
-insertion.
-it's the quickening! there can be only one!
-Matt- we just had the most glorious night EVER!
-ape shit
-i knoooooow! i'm so confuuuuuused!
-and lastly "BU should get double quilted toilet paper for all BU bathrooms!"

i may add some more later!

Long Live the Stallion

Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, the Blog is back and hopefully better than ever. However, there are going to be a few changes here in the Bear Cave.

No longer is this Blog part of a class assignment, meaning that I no longer plan on spending time spell checking and proofreading. Sorry if my grammar sucks or if I can't spelle four beanes (I made a funny, laugh!) but the purpose of this Blog isn't to write college level masterpieces. It's just a way for me to say to the world whatever it is I feel like saying.

With that said, to all my loyal fans out there in Blog-land (admit it, there are at least a couple of you), I apologize for the long hiatus. These past 6 months have lacked inspiration.

Sure, life's been pretty good. I've seen a lot of cool places, I've done a lot of cool things, met a lot of cool people and heard a lot of funny stories. But the writing juices have chosen to wade instead of flow, relaxing in a constant state of "eh, whatever."

Until last night.

Last night the writing juices were awakens in a vivacious rumble. My body was reinvigorated with shots of adrenaline and my soul was filled with strength and vigor.

The inspiring event: My dad, my brother and I saw the long awaited Rocky Balboa.

I was born as the Rocky phenomenon was fading away. I somewhat remember when Rocky V was released in theatres but as a 4 year old child I didn't really care.

But in 6th grade, along with sidekick Menachem Lapidus, I discovered the Italian Stallion and was held captive by his impossible rise from Philadelphia bum to American icon.

At my 6th grade birthday party, of all the possible music to play for my friends, I blasted my "The Rocky Story" soundtrack over and over and over again, much to the chagrin of the girls present.

Not only do I still watch Rocky 1, 2, 3, and 4 every time they are on TV (Rocky 5 is hard for even me to stomach), I, Matt Baram proudly own the Rocky collection on DVD.

Thus when I first heard that Rocky 6 was in production the excitement and anticipation began to build. I was flat out psyched. My brother and I began an unofficial countdown and we were both filled with dreams of a glorious ending for the movie legend to negate the devasting effects of the debacle referred to as Rocky 5.

And then I saw the movie trailer for Rocky 6.

No Adrian. An old, wrinkly Sylvester Stallone. A fight instigated by an ESPN computer simulation.

The excitement was gone.

No longer was I excited to watch the Italian Stallion defeat all odds to win not only Boxing glory, but our hearts as well.

I still, of course, planned to see the movie, partly out of respect for the series and partly because of a small glimmer of hope that remained in the bottom of my breadbasket telling me the movie still might rule.

But instead of talking about the awesome new Rocky movie, I referred to it as the probable awesomely bad Rocky movie that would be terrible but fun. AKA, I was trying to find the good in what I was sure would be a dreadful example of cinematography.

But my Gawd, Rocky Balboa may be the surprise movie of the year.

If you want a deep analysis of the plot, acting, dialogue, direction, etc then read my brother’s blog dannybaram.blogspot.com. But just trust me when I say that this movie reeked of awesomeness, in a way no other movie has in a long time.

The film was not only inspiring and hair-raising, but everyone in attendance left the theatre in jovial spirits. Rocky Balboa was one of those movies that made you happy just to be alive.

As the credits began to roll, I looked at my brother and tried to hide my shock as I blurted out, "Damn it all, that freakin RULED!" He nodded back in agreement. My dad threw in a, "wow, that was well done!"

Stallone- you're still the man. Thank you.

1 AM Ramblings

Wha' Happened?

I was doing so well, updating about once a week filling my readers’ lives with much needed Baramisms.

Readers of the world- I'm sorry. I've been, dare I say, lazy. Since coming home from B.U. my days have been filled with basketball, TV, guitar, videogames, and lots of food (including but not limited to my mom's secret chocolate stash that I opened without permission. SSSHHH! Don't tell...).

Basically, I've been sitting on my toosh, bored out of my mind.

Everyone reacts differently to massive amounts of free time. Some people find this time relaxing. Others work on a project they've been otherwise too busy to pursue.

I, on the other hand, can't seem to use free time for anything other than to complain of boredom.

It's the Matt Baram paradox: There's never any free time to do anything, except when there is, but then I don't want to do it. Or something like that...

Anyhow, 2 days until my 20th birthday and 14 days until USY on Wheels (the cross-country trip I'm staffing this summer). Whooo! Hopefully these next two weeks will pack some more punch.

Too Sexy For My Own Good

The Matt Baram Theory: If you go somewhere too many times you will eventually embarrass yourself.

Yesterday, in the spirit of Mother's Day, my family went to Bertuchiis for a quick bite to eat. After a delicious meal featuring Bertuchiis’s patented hot rolls, brick oven pizza and several refills of diet coke, I was a happy man.

A happy man with a full bladder.

I know what you're all thinking, "use the restroom, Matt!" Unfortunately, I am no longer capable of using the bathroom facilities in Bertuchiis West Hartford.

Not after last time…

November '03 was a much simpler era. Senior year had just begun, and Matt Baram was entering the prime of his life. The world-renowned magician, David Copperfield, was to perform at the Bushnell, and I, along with good friend and SMP aficionado Y-shizzle 2 da Schochatilizzle, were to be in attendance.

Before the show, Yael and I grabbed a bite to eat at the aforementioned Bertuchiis West Hartford. As always, Bertuchiis left Matt Baram a happy man, but on this occasion, possibly too happy.

After drinking, at minimum, four diet cokes, Matt's bladder had painfully expanded to its maximum capacity. He knew what had to be done. Matt quickly reached the bathroom door, and within seconds had penetrated the facility.

His mission was to pee, pee quickly, and not splash water all over himself as he washed his hands.

But alas, Matt's plan quickly fell apart.

As soon as he entered the Bertuchiis rest room, Matt noticed a large mirror to his left. Naturally, Matt could not help but admire himself, and gawked at his trademark dimples and babyface features.

BOOM!

Matt walked straight into the bathroom wall, and with a loud thud fell hard to the floor.

An elderly man-bald, flabby, and sporting a large beer gut- turned 180 degrees from his yernal, pointed at the fallen Matt with his right hand, and laughed a hearty old-man chuckle, all while his rabbit was still out of his hat.

Matt has never fully recovered. To this day he refuses to enter the Bertuchiis West Hartford bathroom. No matter the strain, Matt will not pee until he is safe in the confines of his home facilities.

Memories

Sophomore year has officially come and gone. Now all that remains are the grades, the memories, and the many loads of laundry still unlaundered.

In that spirit, I present you with a list of Matt Baram and friends favorite/funniest/most embarrassing sophomore year memories.
Note: Details not included preventing embarrassment, loss of dignity, and/or future arrest.

-Old Faithful in room 305
-Remember the time he ran?
-I think he just crapped in your chair!
-The Wall
-Nathaniel's trapped in between his bed and the wall!
-The second person she EVER gave the finger
-Throw up girl
-HAIR
-Priyank in general
-Lord of the Rings: The night of Glory
-"Dolemite is my name, and f&*%#ng up motha-f&*%ers is my game!"
-Sideman's "magic" medicine
-And the winner of the bet and free Cold Stone Ice Cream is: Rachel
-Kakaw! Kakaw!
-A feminist ten plagues? That sounds like a GREAT idea!
-You're ______!
-End of 24 commercial break: Beep Beep AAAAAAAAH!
-Who could be shomer nagiyah longer?
-Eat Me!
-Yihey Yihey, Yihey shlamah rabah
-Hellz yes please!
-Well that's classy
-Only for you, Professor
-Hush!
-Damn it all
-Breasts?!?
-And last but not least, I'll never forget the last day of sophomore year when my ladder broke as I was on it.

The Panda Man With A Side of Bamboo

People often ask me why my AOL Instant Messenger buddy icon is a panda bear.

The story begins in the fall of 2001 at Kingswood-Oxford high school. Matt Baram was an innocent, naive child who believed in equality, among other things.

When Matt overheard the joshing his friend was receiving from one John Preissler, Matt felt obligated to even the playing field by coming to his friend's defense.

Matt said to John, "Hey man! At least he doesn't look like an alligator!"

John sat in his chair befuddled, shocked by Matt's surprisingly accurate description of his features.

Matt's moment of triumph soon came to a shocking halt when Jeff Fliss, a wise man of few words, said, "Preissler may look like an alligator, but you look like a giant panda!"

For the rest of sophomore year Matt Baram became known as The Panda Man. Ninety percent of the messages in his sophomore yearbook began "Hey Panda!" and include a reference to eating bamboo.

At first The Panda Man was not a fan of the nickname, but soon came to embrace his new identity. After one particularly sweet blocked shot in a basketball game, The Panda Man shouted to his adoring fans, "the creator of PANDAmodium has arrived!"

The nickname has since died out. Matt's instant messenger buddy icon serves as a constant vigilance to his old identity.

If The Panda Man is remembered, then the creator of PANDAmodium still exists...

Tale As Old As Time

Earlier today I attended a lecture by renowned French intellectual Elaine Finkelkraut. But that's a story for another day.

The story I want to tell is about a Princess Bride and her true love Wesley- the Man in Black.

Since I was little, this two-hour fantasy adventure captivated me with its portrayals of destiny, revenge, pirates, duels, true love, miracles, evil, and good.

The Princess Bride is a cinematic classic. For the past two years it has become my duty to show the movie to any unfortunate soul who has yet to watch it.

If you are my friend then you have seen this movie.

My heart is warmed when I see a "second time watcher" spread the serenity of The Princess Bride to underprivileged "never seen it" souls.

That is why today was a happy day.

As I took my seat before Finkelkraut's lecture, I noticed an elderly woman to my right placing a brand new copy of The Princess Bride into her bag.

I couldn't help but smile and stare. She turned to me and said, "It's a marvelous picture! I just had to buy it for my grandson and all his friends!"

I don't know this woman. I will likely never see her again. But she and I share a common purpose: to spread the joy and happiness The Princess Bride provides.

Children, teenagers, friends, adults, ladies, gentleman, and things of all ages: Heed the words of this random elderly woman and see this marvelous picture. I promise you will enjoy it.

I leave you with these final words: My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father! Prepare to die!

You could poke an eye out!

"Be careful! You could poke an eye out!"
-Mothers of the world

This famous credo is directly responsible for most people in the world still having their eyes. Yet despite the proven legitimacy of the renown warning, it appears to me that BU students have chosen to ignore the words of their mothers.

Whether a downpoor or unusually strong mist, BU students quickly dawn their canopy-esque umbrellas.

Unfortunately, this normally protective measure quickly turns dangerous on the narrow sidewalks of Comm Ave.

Many BU students are short. Worse yet, they don't understand the mechanics of being short. As the short BU student opens his tent size umbrella, he fails to realize that the sharp metal prongs, which protrude from 8 different octagonal points, are at the eye level of the "normal height" students.

As I and other "normal height" students have learned the hard way, walking on Comm Ave. when there's a chance of rain is a war zone. I have bruises and scratches on my face to prove it.

Brooke Feldman- As the recently elected Student Union President, and as a close personal friend, hear my words. It's time to listen to the needs of BU students and fix this terrible, dangerous, potentially blinding experience. BU needs to give out official BU umbrellas that protect from sky droppings, but are reasonably sized and lack those dangerous metal thingies.

Furthermore, umbrella size should be regulated and rule breakers subjected to the pain of the same metal prongs I have been tormented with for the past two years.

Brooke- the time for change is now. You can create a legacy as the first President in the history of Boston University to protect the tall from the persecution of the short.

I have faith you will do what's right (our friendship might depend on it)!

The end of a career? Say it ain't so!

As a self-proclaimed basketball junkie, I tend not to care who's playing or who's commentating. As long as there's some bball to be watched, I am glued to the tube.

But for the past five years I, along with millions of others, have been lucky and blessed to listen to TNT's pregame, halftime, and postgame shows led by Ernie Johnson.

Johnson has a rare combination of intelligence, humor, and charisma that make him a pleasure to listen to, a real feat considering how many terrible sports commentators plague American television.

Even if the game is a blowout, Johnson manages to keep basketball entertaining through his friendly jabs at fellow analyst Charles Barkley or his comments aimed at Craig "I often wear a red suit" Sager.

Sadly, Ernie Johnson has cancer.

At the end of this year's NBA playoffs Johnson will begin his chemotherapy. Whether he will ever be able to return to the studio and continue the job he does so well is currently unknown.

Ernie- Despite the Utah Jazz's (my team) lackluster showing the past few seasons, you helped keep me addicted to the game of basketball. Thanks for everything.

I along with millions of others will be soaking up your words the next few months, with the great hope that you will be back next season, better than ever.

The Man

"To be the man, you've got to beat the man."
-Ric "Nature Boy" Flair

The game of basketball isn't played for fun.
Not for exercise.
Not for pride.
Not for the love of the game.

Basketball is played for one reason:

Victory.

Danny- Since we were little you and I have not judged each other on good looks, intelligence, wit, sense of humor, taste, talent, or video-game prowess (all of which I dominate, anyway).

Instead, Baram brother dominance has always been determined by who can put the ball in the hoop 21 times before the other can.

Readers of the world- last week, as my brother Danny returned home from his new LA digs for hearty Passover celebration, he was reminded of the painful truth he has had to endure since he was 12 years old and I was 8.

I am the better Baram brother.

41-27, 31-24, 51-32.

The scores speak for themselves.

The Passover Slave

During the Jewish holiday of Passover a Jew is supposed to feel as if he himself were freed from slavery. This year I was given help achieving slave status.

Last Wednesday night, as my family gathered in our Dining room to begin the ritual Passover Seder, we noticed that someone essential hadn't arrived.

The dog.

Yofi, an 18 pound Corgi/Chihuahua half-breed, our faithful companion for ten years had escaped to the outside world.

For the next hour engines roared, poison ivy infested forests were searched, death infiltrated our thoughts, and tears flowed like the Nile. Finally, after it appeared hope was lost and Yofi was a goner, I sadly began the drive home.

And then, on a yard a few houses away from where I was driving, I spotted a tail waggin', grass sniffin', territory markin' poop of a dog. Yofi was found and our Seder could begin!

Not yet.

Upon returning home my father said my mom was still conducting her forest search, and worse yet, had neglected to bring her cell-phone with her. My feelings of frustration soon turned to feelings of fear, as I believed I heard the voice of a screaming woman coming from the woods.

The next 20 minutes I sprinted, like a man posessed, through the backyards of our neighborhood, screaming my mother’s name. The neighbors stared at me through their back windows like I was a lunatic, which I was. Then my cell-phone rang.

My mother had returned shortly after Yofi was found. Unfortunately, no one shared this news with my father or me.

As our Seder finally began an hour and a half late, I was drenched with sweat, scraped from the forest brush, hoarse from screaming, and sore from the frantic search.

I was beat up, lifeless, and exhausted. Yet I was so happy that even matzah seemed appealing.

I was like one of the Jews being freed from Egypt.

How The Legend Was Born

The Time: Summer 2001

The Place: Camp Shalom

The Context: My eleventh year spending my summer swimming, bballin', canoeing, tubing, scavenger hunting, camp firing, singing, hiking, romanticizing, and pranking within the confines of Camp Shalom.

The Event: Matt Baram—basketball champion, social animal, movie buff, and gift to women—became Matt Baram—rock superstar.

The Reason: After exhausting all traditional 15 year old mechanisms for mocking their peers, Matt Baram and Camp Shalom guitar legend Mike Davidson formed the iconic rock band: 2 Fresh Cats. With hits like "The CIT Song," "Josh Cohen is B TA TUEY," and "Counselors In Love: Mer and Jake" Matt and Mike found a fresh, hip, emotional new way to mock their fellow campers.

The Aftermath: Matt decided Mike was holding him back and the once larger than life duo disbanded forever. Matt then dedicated himself to the study of guitar so he could rise from the blackness of Mike's shadow once and for all.

The Now: Five years later, Matt has become the premiere guitarist for all campfires and sing-a-longs. He can often be heard jamming along Comm Ave. accompanied by the saxophone prowess of Warren Allen. Crowds of 30 year old men with babies and random girls with video cameras often assemble to enjoy Matt and Warren’s soul cleansing renditions of "Amazing Grace," "Stand By Me," and "F# Blues."

Don't miss out on the action.
("Josh Cohen is B TA TUEY" MP3 found at http://www.garageband.com/artist/2freshcats)

Thai Warrior, Universal Hero

Sweat. Tears. Pain. Swelling. Stiffness. Achiness. Depression. Hopelessness.

My Blogger friends-

On Thursday, March 16th things looked grim.

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday were hard and trying days. Vacation was officially over and school was back in session. I received my midterm grades, and despite fairly good marks, I was sucked in by the gloom of grading season and post-vacation blues.

"But fear not," I told myself. "Thursday is the day of destiny!"

So there I was, along with faithful companions Warren Allen and Mike Guss, on another DVD purchasing adventure.

For months I anticipated the DVD release of A History of Violence, and all week had planned a DVD premier in my room Thursday night.

But alas, destiny is a tricky thing. Upon arriving at Best Buy, we discovered that 149 of 150 copies of A History of Violence were sold out.

Worst yet, the sole remaining copy was nowhere to be found. After an unsuccessful 45 minute search of the store morale was low.

Warren shed a tear. Mike's stomach released one of its trademark "gurgles." I "Oyed" until I could "Oy" no longer.

Then, as we reached the nadir of our sadness, Warren looked to his left, and jokingly prophesized that the DVD might be hiding behind Ong-Bak Thai Warrior.

I laughed and proclaimed that this was the last place the movie would be. Warren looked just in case.

Then I shrieked with joy, for Sitting there peacefully, protected by the mystical powers of Ong-Bak Thai Warrior, was the last copy of A History of Violence.

Some say every man has a guardian angel. On March 16th, mine was a man named Ong-Bak.

Matt Baram: Renaissance Man

Poppye said: I am what I am and that's all that I am.

No one, not even Matt Baram, can predict what Matt Baram is going to do next.

As hard as he tried to limit his interests, to concentrate his effort and ambition on one or two things, Matt is finding it harder and harder to control his ever-changing desires.

He still has dreams of being an NBA superstar, a guitar playing rock star, the first Jewish President of the United States, a World Series of Poker champion, the general manager of the Utah Jazz, an advertising creative genius, a stand-up comedian, the movie preview guy, the next Mike Meyers, the messiah, CEO of Coca Cola Inc., and the soon-to-be-found, lost son of Hugh Hefner.

As the years keep passing and the seconds keep ticking, Matt finds that the list keeps expanding to include new, possibly impossible endeavors.

Just yesterday, Matt decided that he wants to be an author. Some might argue this is an old ambition of his. But Matt was not referring to his long-standing desire to write an autobiography, though he recognizes that his stories are those of legend.

Matt's current interest lies in dragons, elves, dwarves, knights, wizards, gold, fire, good versus evil, and scantily clad fairies.

Yes, Matt Baram wants to write a fantasy novel.

Unfortunately, after hours of hard work, thought, and concentration Matt could not create a decent character name, let alone a mediocre plot. Later that night, he did however, have dreams in which he could transform into Blaze, the handsome, witty, one-eyed King of the Dragons.

While Matt can't promise the novel will ever be completed, he vows that if written, his fantasy epic will be a literary masterpiece.

Yes, I wish I could be Matt Baram too.

7/7/07

Dang nabbit! Yet again, I was wrong.

For years I had been stubborn, saying, "it's overrated," "it can't be that good," "the movies are only so-so," "it's just a bootlegged Lord of the Rings."

Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls: I am shocked and appalled at my ignorant resolute.

Harry- your movies were filled with plot holes, the acting was mediocre, and the three-hour installments of your story were sometimes, dare I say, boring.

But your books, Harry, your books!

It took me three months to travel with you as you destroyed the sorcerer’s stone, saved the life of your best friend's sister, and saved your godfather from life imprisonment.

I was interested but not captivated. I was stupid.

In a matter of two weeks I journeyed through your 4th, 5th, and 6th years at Hogwarts. It was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life.

And now, Harry, the countdown has begun. 7/7/07 is the likely release date for the final chapter of your fairy tale life. As you prepare for your final showdown with the evil Lord Voldemort, I want you to know this one thing:

I believe in you, Harry Potter.

I also really want to be a wizard!

A Disgrace to Humanity

Happy Valentine's Day!

Unfortunately, on this rejoiceful day of love and affection I am sad. And no, it has nothing to do with me being single or lonely.

My anger is instead caused by the incompetent fools who work for the B.U. mail room.

Every year as Valentine's day approaches, I look forward to the one thing I can count on with certainty to make me smile, albeit embarrassedly.

Every year on Valentine's day my mom sends me a holiday card containing a cheesy message, along with a chocolate nugget of superb taste and quality.

Call me corny. Call me a mother's boy. Call me a wuss, a softy, a child, or a chocolaholic.

I don't care. This is my delight and I'm not ashamed.

This year Valentine's day came and passed without my card or chocolate. My day was ruined. And the B.U. mailroom has some explaining to do.

When I last talked to my mom on Sunday, she asked me if I had already received her card. This means that she had expected it to arrive on Saturday, meaning she must have mailed it by Thursday at the latest.

Today is Tuesday and my mailbox is still empty.

I long for a day when excited, happy-go-lucky people like myself can have their Valentine's day expectations met, without fear of the B.U. mail office giving them the proverbial "screw."

B.U. mail, you are a disgrace to the postal service, and you've turned the day of love into a day of sadness. Tsk Tsk.

I Have A Dream

I love acting.

In a perfect world I would spend the rest of my life creating shenanigans with Lindsay Lohan as the actors/sex symbols of the movie industry for the next thirty years.

Realistically, this dream is laughable. But I will not give up!

George Washington and the founding fathers dreamed of an independent America, Martin Luther King Jr. dreamed of an integrated, equal United States, and Al Gore dreamed of the Internet.

At one point in American history these dreams were laughable. But through hard work, persistence, bravery, and ambition, these dreams came to fruition.

My fellow Americans: America is the land of opportunity. It's where the poorest child can become the richest man, it's where an immigrant refugee can find peace and stability, and yes, it's where George Bush can dupe America into electing him President. Twice.

Anything can happen in the good ol' U.S. of A., and so the dream lives on.

In sixteen days I will be performing in Alice in Wonderland here at Boston University. Admittedly, I do not expect this performance to catapult me to elite status in the acting industry. I do, however, know that while I study advertising and political science at Boston University, Alice in Wonderland represents the will of one man to keep his dreams alive.

God bless America, and God bless Lindsay Lohan!

The Small Pleasures of Life

In the words of my father, "I am a slob."

Sure, comparatively my room is cleaner than the rooms of the average male B.U. student. But let's be honest. I am a mess.

My father has ardently tried to clean up my act my entire life. While most child vs. parent arguments center around curfews, relationships, money, grades, or consent, my father and I have spent 19 years mostly bickering over un-made beds, laundry not washed, and clothes lying on the floor.

If my dad saw my room it its current condition he would be appalled. My bed is unmade, and my clothes from last night are lying to my right, on top of a pile of random papers, notebooks, and magazines. An empty orange juice carton is sitting on top of the refrigerator, and my desk is littered with crumpled papers, random tchochkes, and a plastic bowl containing the remains of my macaroni lunch.

And then this morning I had an epiphany. As I finished my morning shower, I wrapped myself in two clean, fresh, fluffy, soft towels that were laundered just yesterday. It was spectacular and I was happy.

Dad- fear not! I have once again been exposed to the world of cleanliness. I am on a crusade to make my bed, organize my piles, and throw away the trash. I will live the life of a clean man. A pure man.

A happy man.

At least until tomorrow...

A Man And His Hat

Fact 1: I have a big head. Fact 2: I have trouble fitting my head through certain shirts, finding comfortable sunglasses, and wearing "one size fits all" hats. To solve these bigheaded problems my shirt collars are stretched and I rarely wear sunglasses. Hats, though, are a more complicated issue.

As a child, adult-sized hats were readily available. But as I became an adult my head kept growing, until eventually they no longer fit comfortably. Now, baseball caps are too tight and snow hats don't properly protect my ears from the bitter cold.

After years of trial and error I have solved the winter hat conundrum. Immediately after purchase, a winter hat must be pulled, stretched, and molded for a solid hour and a half.

But now my head has ballooned to "big head status," and the so-called "one size fits all" Boston University hat, doesn't properly fit. With the rise of the "hat tipped slightly upwards" trend, I thought hope had arrived. I was wrong...

Wind doesn't like change. Just the other day I was walking down Comm Ave. when the wind blew my hat into the heart of rush-hour traffic. To my embarrassment, a policeman took it upon himself to block traffic with his car and rescue my hat from its imminent doom.

I'm tired of the hat industries blatant discrimination. We large noggin' folk need to unite! Until that day, I will continue wearing my too small Boston University cap, fighting the constant battle between comfort and wind. Victory will be mine!