Warning: All opinions expressed henceforth belong to Matt "Smoot" Bowyer, and do not in any way, shape, or form reflect the opinions of Fortunecity, Left of Nowhere, or probably anyone.

  Finally, Matt Bowyer HAS COME BACK............ ......... ............to the Internet.

  That's right. I decided that I might as well come back to the place which made me the legend that I am today. Well, if I were a legend, that is, and if anyone really cared enough about my egotistical ass enough to come and check this place out.

  I thought I'd prepare a long speech entailing all the reasons that I took time off, but then this column would be way too damn long, and the parties involved already know everything. So, with no further ado, let's get this thing on the road.

    1) Bloody Hot Days - When you’re working out in a field, with no shade around you, and it’s 104 degrees and only 11:00 AM, life sucks.
    2) People Crying At Graduation – Why would you cry at an event which solidifies the gap between you and high school? Why?
    3) Loud Drunk People – I wouldn’t hate them so much if they’d go the hell away at three in the morning and stop calling my room.
    4) Britney Spears – Someone offered you thousands of dollars to lose your virginity to them. I’ll give you twenty bucks to keep it and retire.
    5) CD Burners – Or, more specifically, the fact that I don’t have one, and most the people that DO have one have to ask ME how to work it.
    6) Radford University – This one gets double mention. See below.
    7) Circadian Rhythms – So I only sleep four hours a night, and they’re from 5-9 AM! So?!
    8) Exams – Our very first repeat Pet Peeve. I hate tests.
    9) This Damned Webpage – I deleted too much stuff, accidentally, so parts of my page are missing. I suck
    10) Cafeterias– Where does it say that every cafeteria must close in preparation for the next meal once I get ready to eat?

    1) Is there a type section you'd most like to see added to Left of Nowhere? Let me know.

  Since it's October, and I did spend the better part of last year bitching and moaning about high school, most of you should have drawn the conclusion that I graduated. And upon graduating high school, it was strongly suggested (Read that: Practically at gunpoint) that I should go attend college.

  I know I talked about our high school guidance department at some point, so I won't regurgitate that story. I will say, however, that I did not really make it to my first choice of a college.

  Or second, or third, or fourth, or fifth...

  I'm at Radford University. Where's that, you ask? In Radford. I hate that. Can't even tell people where I am.

  Radford is known as the Party School of the East Coast. Deservedly, too. There's a 7-11 convienence store right off campus that holds a world record. An odd world record, but a world record nonetheless.

  The record for "most alcohol sales in an hour."

  I'm going to repeat that. Because it bears repeating.

  The 7-11 here holds the world record for most alcohol sales in an hour.

  I don't need to say much more, do I?

  Some people take road trips the summer after they graduate. Some people vegetate for the whole three months, getting nothing done, but having a great time while they do it. And some people take a summer job to earn a little money and not really overdo themselves in the process.

  Me? I climbed towers.

  Yes, I had a reason to.

  My summer job was working with my father at his workplace, Shenandoah Tower Service. We work on most of the communications tower in the state of Virginia and some in the surrounding states, building them, relamping, rewiring, sweeping lines, and generally spending most of the day anywhere from 100-500 feet in the air.

  The pay was pretty good, which is the biggest reason I took it. But I'll tell ya smething. For adrenaline, nothing beats trying to climb down off a tower and looking up above you and seeing the sky slowly turn black as four thunderstorms converge right above you.

  It paid well enough for me to have some spending cash for college (remarkably, I've used up a LOT of it already), and I'm actually looking forward to doing it next summer. Shh, don't tell anyone.

  People piss me the hell off.

  What's this new kick everyone's on? "Don't bitch about someone behind their back. Whatever you're saying, you should have the balls to say it to their face." What is that? What the HELL, man?

  Now, if I'm going to go around talking about how I hate so-and-so, and they did this and that and they're a bitch/bastard/asshole/donkeyf-er/whatever, and that I'm going to go paint their siding hot pink or something, then yeah, I'm deserving of a little chew-out.

  But say I'm chatting, and that hypothetically, someone there is aggravating the hell out of me, but I don't want to snap at them, because it's rude, and why should I be the one to rule how people act? Who died and made ME God? And if someone did, why haven't I gotten a Playstation 2 yet?

  So let's say I mention this to someone later, just to bloody well vent. And that goes okay. But it's still enough on my mind for me to post about it on a messageboard, and other people respond and it's considered okay and cool for me to do that.

  But I say something later about it, just in idle passing, and someone jumps on me for not having the testicular fortitude to say it to their face. I don't have TIME to say everything I think about someone to their face. If I did that, I'd be dead by now! I think Fidel Castro's a big cigar-smoking oaf who should have his kneecaps rammed out the back end of his legs. I think that George W. Bush isn't qualified to have a drivers' license, let alone the keys to this country. And I think Al Gore is more boring than Spam. But I can't very well go tell them, can I?

  The bottom line is this. I don't have to tell everyone to their face what I think of them.  And if I did, I'd probably go do something more productive. Like fall down stairs, or something.

  And now.. the newest addition to Walking On The Moon save maybe the title -- 

  Matt Bowyer Recommends

  Yep, I'm whoring with a title this time around.

  Basically, what happens here is I promote three things every week. Something to read, something to watch or play, and something to listen to. I'm such a whore.

  I'll go in order.

  Spade has been writing fic for three years and then some, and she has yet to put out something which wasn't excellent. She started out with two epics, Return and Vow (which is currently being rewritten), which starred everyone's favorite X-Man Gambit as a half vampire attempting to discover the rest of his heritage. Both were about as critically acclaimed as a fanfic can be, and remain among the top AU Gambit fics on the web.

  Recently, though, Spade has widened her area of expertise into anime, specifically Gundam Wing. (Which is good, because it means I have someone to call up and ask, "What the hell happened on today's episode?") And she's decided to do more than just fanart for it, luckily for us.

  Pilot Revenge takes place three months after the treaty was signed to end the war, and one of the stipulations in that treaty was the destruction of the five Gundams. Three months after the war, four of the Gundam pilots have gone to join their machines in death. Only Duo Maxwell, Shinigami, remains alive. Add to this the fact that  a faction of OZ didn't destroy their Mobile Suits, and you have a slight problem. And once you finish incorporating Duo's brand-new Gundam, an enigmatic scientist named Dr. Schaefer, and something called Operation Lazarus, and everything goes apesh-t.

  Spade's characterization, as always, is damn near perfect in Pilot Revenge, and the battle scenes are as fluid and as vivid as anything she's ever written before. The imagery is at the level where you can imagine the visuals as you read the words. I'd say more, but that'd just be flogging a dead horse. Read this. Twice. It's worth it.
 
 

  If you haven't seen "The Daily Show" yet, you're missing quite a witty news spoof. Stand-up comedian Jon Stewart has taken the reins from former host Craig Kilborn and has kept his own style as opposed to trying to emulate Craig. And he's also damn funny when he does it.

  "Indecision 2000," TDS's coverage of the 2000 presidential election, is actually beginning to garner some serious praise from "serious" reveiewers. Jon Stewart's also starting to get some real respect as a newscaster, which is a bit odd, but cool nonetheless.

  And any show which can have Bob Dole and John McCain poking fun good-naturedly at themselves is cool in my book.
 
 

  It takes either a lot of talent or a lot of blindness for a band to keep putting out records for nearly twenty years. Luckily, Robert Smith and The Cure fit into the former category. And, contrary to popular music's exposure of the band, they have released more songs than just "Friday I'm In Love" and "Lovesong."

  Bloodflowers is the latast release from The Cure, and features the title track, "Out of This World," "Maybe Someday," the 11-minute "Watching Me Fall," along with six other tracks. The CD isn't quite as melancholy as the 1989 "Disintegration," which, as South Park's Kyle said, "is the best album ever!" I swear he did. I have it on tape. <grin>

  I used up most of my cheapness on the first one, so you're just going to have to trust me on this one. If you're a Cure fan, you should like Bloodflowers. If you're not a Cure fan, you still may be able to get into it. If you avidly hate The Cure, then you wouldn't like it.

  One would think I wouldn't need to clarify all that, but in today's world, you never know...

  Oh, idle note. I don't know if I ever mentioned this, but this past summer, I had the chance to go see one of the greatest concerts ever in the history of mankind.

  Nine Inch Nails.

  I really can't find the words to express how good that concert was. They played for what seemed like forever, but probably was closer to the two hour mark. The use of lights and pyros were just incredible. The opening song, Somewhat Damaged, was played behind the curtain, with lights flashing behind each instrument as it did something in the song. Very nice touch.

  I'm definitely going at least to two of the next tour.

  Apparently the new fad in the world is to wake me up at four in the morning every night and piss me the f- off.

  I've ranted about college before, so I'll spare you the simple stuff. But it's suffice to say that I'm not exactly in the place my brain has formed as the epitome of cultured life and intelligent associates.

  Oh, bloodf-ck. The people I'm around make Ernest, God rest his soul, look like a Rhodes f-ing Scholar.

  I'm mad enough to kill and not have to make up a reason for it.

  This is the NINTH time in the last week and a half that either Adam (my roommate), Chris (Dumbass Friend No. 1), or Tony (Dumbass Friend No. 2) have woken me up in the middle of the night.

  I'm an insomniac by nature and design. I'm trying, though, to get a decent sleeping schedule established, so I don't DIE when I start taking early classes again. I stay up 'til about 1:00 AM, and then I shut down everything and go to bed.

  One would think this could be respected.

  Then again, thinking here is cause for a media orgy.

  Tonight, though, was the topper. Tonight was the ever-loving lulu of all time.

  Tonight they woke me up THREE TIMES.

  I'm going to repeat that, because it bears repeating.

  Tonight, October the 28th AND 29th, they, being Adam, Tony, and Chris, woke me up THREE TIMES.

  Apparently one wasn't enough. What the hell is this, a world record competition?

  Adam and Chris come into my room and head straight for the bathroom to begin toking up with Adam's cleverly (snort) concealed stash of marijuana, which, obviously, is ILLEGAL, STUPID, and WRONG. I feel the need to place emphasis on those words, because they don't seem to know the meanings behind them.

  Then, for some reason that only God knows and even He's surely scratching His head about it, Chris starts shouting and screaming and laughing, and talking about what fictional character he would be if given the chance. I personally think he'd make a great Gumby. Stupid, wasteful, and good if made with fruit and served cold.

  This is what wakes me up. Screaming from my bathroom at one in the morning. I'm less than rosy-cheeked about it.

  Second offense. Adam, Chris, and everyone's favorite jackass Tony, all come tromping into my room to play the game that ALWAYS is the one to wake me up, Wrestlemania 2000. They're loud enough about coming in that it wakes me up ANYWAY.

  Now, I'd dealt with this problem before. The game was resting underneath my pillow, because *I* was getting sleep so I could work a little more on my web page on Sunday, and maybe go and actually grab some breakfast.

  EEEENNNH! Wrong.

  Tony goes, "Aw shit, man, the game's gone! What're we gonna do?"

  Chris says something I didn't catch, and they tromp back out.

  Problem solved, I think.

  I underestimated their stubbornness.

  I'm awakened rather rudely by the following sentence.

  "Man, Matt! I sure do love playing wrestling in the middle of the night and being loud about it! Isn't it great?!"

  (I'm going to strap him to the side of his own car and drive it along a chain-link fence.)

  I open my eyes, and Tony is sitting in MY CHAIR, looking over at me with this grin on his face that just SCREAMS "Someone please gouge out my eyeballs with my own teeth, please!", holding one of MY Nintendo 64 controllers.

  Then I realize it.

  They went and got another copy of the game.

  And not a single one of them owns another copy of the game.

  They must've gone and woken someone ELSE up to get THEIR copy of the game so they could come BACK and play it, apparently with the SOLE GOAL of making MY life MISERABLE.

  And they are reveling in the fact that they've woken me up. Any time I turn over to try and go back to sleep, Tony says, "Man, I sure do love this wrestling, eh Matt?"

  (I'm going to rip out his intestines and strangle him to death with them.)

  They play NOT ONE, but TWO games, and then tromp out, very proud of themselves.

  (I'm going to gut all three and and make human body art.)

  I hate the f-wits.

  Let's make a list of the offenses that the three of them have made. I'd separate them into three groups, one for each person, but I don't think they're deserving of even being THAT.

  Since arriving here at Radford, they have - 

       -replaced my Desktop background on my computer with various hardcore porno pictures.
       -gone through my CD collection numerous times, putting them in random places throughout the room.
       -downloaded roughly one gigabyte of mp3s and videos onto my computer, when I've spent long hours trying to free up space on it.
       -taken my CDs out of my CD player when they're in my room because they'd rather listen to Lynyrd Skynrd AGAIN rather than Duran Duran, or the
       Cure, or NIN, or -anything.-
       -played their guitars even after I've asked them to stop so I can watch a VH1 special on Sting that I've been waiting to see for quite some time.
       -mucked around with my notebooks and gaming books.
       -smoked up in my room more than once, and doing a bad job of making sure nothing got on my bed.
       -asked me "who the hell is Dizzy Gillespie?" f-ing music major doesn't know who f-ing Dizzy Gillespie is.
       -spilled something on my Nintendo 64 that WON'T COME OFF.
       -prank called my room at three in the morning just to get a rise out of us.
       -written stupid little notes to Adam on the messageboard I set up so Jon and I have a place people can leave US notes (this is also an offense of Rae's, possibly the dumbest girl in the entire world. She makes me want to throw away my stance of No Violence to Women and beat her to within an inch of her life.)
       -made disparaging comments about the type of company I keep. If I hear one more comment about how writers have no future or gamers are demon-worshipping little kids, I'm going to make paintings with their blood.
       -generally have done a good job of eating my food.
       -and, in their little way, they've kept me from writing anything more than just a five-hundred word story, destroying my output of what will one day be my
       living.

  I'm going to kill one of them, I swear it.

  I can't transfer rooms. One, I really like Jon, my other roommate. He's cool. Two, there's no more room. Anywhere. 

  If this happens ONE MORE TIME, and they go in my bathroom to smoke pot again, I'm going to deadbolt the door from the outside. And when they start whining and bitching, I'm going to slide a folded piece of paper underneath the door. And this piece of paper is going to say something, in nice, cleanly typed letters.

  "Say cheese, jackass."

  And then I'm calling the cops for possession of an illegal substance.

  Game over, f-wits. Game over.
 

  Cheers.

  This is Matt. 
 
 

     -Matt Bowyer is back with a vengeance, a short temper, a better physique, and a steel chair. Combine them all, and the fun really begins.

Hey, here's an idea. Email me and tell me what you thought. C'mon, it'll be fun. Really.