Dear Matt’s Alarm Clock,

We haven’t known each other long, you and I. Just this summer I noticed that my old alarm clock was losing a few minutes a week and since it was a good ten years or so old, I figured it was time for a new one. I found you and fell instantly in love. Nice big speakers, a port for my iPod. Even though your LED display is so bright I have to put something in front of it to sleep, I think we’ve gotten along well. Don’t you agree?

So it is with heavy heart that I must write you about the incident we experienced last weekend.

One thing you’ve learned about me, Matt’s Alarm Clock, is my propensity for lateness. Curse your snooze button! (j/k) Well, the autumnal change from Daylight Saving Time is my one day of reprieve from that. On DST Day (as I like to call it) I can count on being on time for church for a change. Early, even.

Every year I look forward to turning my alarm clock back an hour and giggling as I fall asleep, resting assured that I’ll either get an extra hour of sleep or my internal clock will awaken me early in the morning.

And so it was this year. I changed your time, remembering to go back an hour (a common mistake). When I awoke, it wasn’t even 8:00 yet, so I lounged around for an hour and a half before getting ready for church. At 9:30, the time clearly indicated by your display, as I got ready for a shower I looked at my new cell phone and noticed that it showed 10:30.

Thinking that it hadn’t gotten the update from the tower, I turned it off, waited a few minutes, and turned it back on. Now it was 10:34. I checked the internet. 10:35. WHAT? HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?!?

It wasn’t until later in the day that I realized that you must set yourself for DST Day, and that you were two hours back instead of one, causing all sorts of confusion and frustration in my life. I was 30 minutes late because of your self-setting ‘feature’ that you didn’t bother to remind me about!!!

Consider yourself on notice, mister.

Just five more minutes,
Matt

Dear Freezer Cake Sales Giant Sara Lee,

It’s not often that I write to companies that sell freezer cakes, but I was at the grocer’s last week and saw something in the freezer section that I almost couldn’t believe. I’m talking, of course, about your Sara Lee Cheesecake Bites.

I just stood there for a moment, standing a little bit on tip-toe, mouth agape as I tried to process the taste sensation that must accompany such a wonderful confection. My hand started to shake and my knees buckled in anticipation as I opened the freezer and reached in to pick out my container of frozen joy.

That’s when I realized that there was more than one variety. You don’t just make original Cheesecake Bites. You also make Strawberry Cheesecake Bites and Chocolate Cheesecake Bites. That’s just ridiculous!

Well, Sara Lee, it’ll come as no surprise to you that I picked the Chocolate Cheesecake Bites. You’ve known me long enough to know that chocolate is my anti-drug. I took the container to the checkout area, and the cashier asked where I found them because she wanted to get some too. She took my money and I managed to drive home before I opened the container.

It’s at this point that I get a tad emotional. It’s not often that a food that could have been custom made just for me. It’s as if you knocked on the door of my dreams and found my best hopes and warmest fuzzies, and spun the glories that you found there into little bits of digestible heaven.

So thank you, Sara Lee. Thank you for creating the best food since God Himself sent manna from heaven. If you were here (and a dude), I would totally open mouth kiss you to within an inch of your life.

Never mind the saturated fats,
Matt

Dear Matt’s Minister,

Last week I watched with interest as a new bishop was elected for our jurisdiction. (Church politics have become so interesting to me. Just understanding the inner workings of the conference system of the United Methodist Church is a challenge.)

Judging from the vote counts throughout the two days, it’s petty clear that the issue of human sexuality played a major part in the deliberations, at one point leading to a standoff between supporters of Greg Stover (on the board of directors for the so-called Confessing group) and David Bard (pastor of a Reconciling Congregation). While neither of them was elected, the election was marred by the struggle for a statement about homosexuality.

It seems like I’m always giving you a reason to sweat, but…

Several weeks ago you preached on Ecclesiastes 3, including the verse that says that there is “a time to be silent and a time to speak”. Dr. Bard lost because he wore my colors while I sat quietly in my pew. My time for being silent has past. I’m not about to disrupt worship services, but beginning Sunday I’ll be wearing this lapel pin whenever I’m at church and will engage people if/when the question arises.

Just an FYI in case you get some backlash.

-Matt

 

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As I was getting this post copied in from my email (yes, I really did send it to him, and no, it’s not enough), my rss reader served up a new post from the Reconciling Ministries Network Official Blog.

All is not lost. All is not well, but it’s not lost either.

(Note: I’ll be starting a separate blog for these kind of posts in the very near future. I’ve been thinking about doing that, and I have five or six unpublished posts that don’t fit here ready to go, so it’s time to get it started. We’ll return you to your regularly scheduled blog shortly.)

Dear TV’s AMERICA’S Neil Patrick Harris,

First of all, I love your work, though I realize as I type this that I’ve never seen How I Met Your Mother. One of the downfalls of not having cable/satellite, you know. I’m putting it on the top of my Netflix queue, I swear!

Anyway, I saw this awesome ad for Old Spice deodorant (left) in last week’s Entertainment Weekly, and realized that you’re a model of what an out gay man should be, especially at such a crucial time in our nation’s history.

Hotness aside (and that’s a big aside, my good man), you’re showing your generation and the next that being gay doesn’t mean that you can’t be happy. Closeted guys will and do find in you a hope that telling people who they really are doesn’t have to lead to the end of the world, that they don’t have to be relegated to the role of a stereotype. Out guys can see in you someone they can proudly claim as well. Newbies like me (eight months out!) can look to your example as one to follow as we navigate this strange new world of living in our own skin.

Just as importantly, your increasingly high profile in mainstream Hollywood gives The Straights (weirdos) someone to balance their image of The Gays. It’s nice to have a stable force when we keep getting news of Senators and other public figures getting caught in restroom stalls.

About a year and a half ago, Tom and Lorenzo from Project Rungay gave you some advice. Thanks for taking it, even if you never saw it.

Boys? A little advice. Please do NOT become activists. That’s not your job. Your job is to entertain us and thankfully, you seem to understand this for the most part. You want to help out the gays? Win an Emmy. Get yourself on the cover of TV Guide or People (for something other than your sexuality). Walk on the red carpet with your boyfriend. Be really good at what you do, avoid scandals or embarrassments, do your best to live a happy, out life and you will have accomplished more for the gay community than any speechmaking or marching you could do. Just be happy, fulfilled and successful (however you define those terms) and future actor fags and singer fags and entertainer fags will never even think of trying to lie about who they are and attempt to fool the public. Just be fabulous.

Good luck to you boys and once again, thank you.

Finally, um, if you, like, ever split up with David (GOD FORBID!!!), I’m, you know, available. I don’t have David’s perfect skin, or David’s boyish face with those dimples, or David’s gym-toned body (Wow, I’m terrible at this), or that Adam’s Apple you just want to give a good lick (Why am I still typing?!?), and I can’t cook worth a darn, but I have no problem being next in line.

No. Problem.

At all.

Yours in awkward but totally non-stalker admiration,
Matt

Dear That One Cashier Who Always Calls Me Honey,

Please stop it. Same goes for Sweetie, Darlin’, and Baby. I’m not asking you to call me Sir or anything, but you’re being a bit familiar, don’t you think?

Let me be blunt: This isn’t [cref 142 Al's Diner], and you ain’t Flo. It wouldn’t bother me as much (not at all, really) if you didn’t do it so poorly. See, those kind of cutesy nicknames work only when you use them sparingly. Here’s a sample of your standard patter:

You: Did you have gas, Honey?
Me: No.
You: Is that all, Darlin’?
Me: Yes, that’s it.
You: Thanks, Babe.
Me: . . .

And you do that with EVERY CUSTOMER! Seriously, after awhile, we all figured out that this wasn’t some friendly appellation Just For Me.

In closing, I renew my request. Stop it. You demean us both by continuing.

Not your Ragtime Gal,
Matt