When I was a little kid, any bump or bruise to the legs was an amazing excuse to wrap an Ace bandage around the ailing limb and limp around.  And oh did i limp.  In my childhood mind there was something cool to having a limp--something rugged-- something badass.  Now 80 lb. Matt was not badass.  If your kid's glasses change color in the sun and have strings attached to them so he'll stop losing them . . . its a pretty safe bet he's not moonlighting as the bully, taking smaller kids lunch money.  A really safe bet.  And i know that on some level I was self-aware enough, even then, to realize i wasn't causing anyone nightmares.  But man could i limp.

Many years later, as a budding social scientist (still in high school however), I once walked around Tel-Aviv for an entire day with a club foot.  I was interested in what the response would be (im pretty sure no one cared, and even if they did, i didn't know much hebrew so i wouldn't have been able to understand them--like i said, i was a budding social scientist--obviously just not a very bright one).  And looking back i cringe at the idea that i was that little douche-bag who pretended to have a club foot to see how people would react.  But what can you do.  We all have to be d-bags at one point or another, i figure i could have done worse (and probably did later).

I say this because as of the last few weeks i have so damaged the musculature of my back that i once again have found myself limping.  Grown-up Matt finds this decidedly UN-badass.  I've taken some drugs and finally have seen the doctor (P.T. tomorrow) but i almost lost it today when i got in the pool and it hurt too much to swim.  That's really not good.  So i must practice patience which, if you made a list of my attributes, would be in teeny tiny lower case letters at the very bottom edge of that list. Probably last. This is also one of the reasons that the creative juices haven't been flowing blogwise.  I apologize, but in the life of any blog/blogger there will be ebbs and flows.  I promise to never flow away without warning.  Pinky promise.

And now, for your amusement:

Matt fact #44:  I really like to poke at my belly button with my thumb--shirt on or off.

I have no idea why this is comforting to me.  Ask Piaget or Freud or some other dead pscyho-analist.  For a long time, i didn't even realize i was doing it.  Finally one of my roommates in Boston pointed out that not only do i do it, on some of the t-shirts that i've had a long time (which, since i still have almost all of my high-school t-shirts, could have been one of many), there was actually a dimpling of the cotton right over the belly button area.  The fabric of the shirt had been over-stretched in that one spot to the point where it dimpled.  I know that's totally weird, but i have to say i think that this falls under "incredible cool incredibly weird things i do."  I mean, post the whole "birth" thing, what else is the belly-button good for if not to be a thumb-rest.  I telling you guys, im ahead of my time.  Bellybutton thumb-rests; they'll be all the rage someday--i mean, as it stands, people are shoving this crap through them:




I rest my case.

*editors note: for an explanation of the above jewelry, see the comments section.