This is my blog post about Matt.
See Matt.
Matt is E's friend.
Matt is a lovely man.
Matt is a lovely man who wants a post about himself because E posted about our mutual friend Bob some months back on the occasion of his wedding.
Matt has no "blogworthy" occasion, except for marking today as the day he officially filed his grievance of having no blog post dedicated to him.
Here you go, Matt. Don't say I never gave you nuthin'.
I met Matt in 1997 in Georgia. Matt had many a tall tale to tell about his ongoing hijinks, jolly japes and wacky-things-afoot. So many tall tales that I started to think that Matt was a compulsive liar.
No kidding.
I would say to friends, "It's such a shame that Matt doesn't believe that we like him, no matter whether he was offered the chance to do cocaine in a hotel suite in Paris with Michael Douglas or not..."
I seriously wanted to do an intervention on Matt to reassure him of our love for him, regardless of whether he took two bullets while riding his bike on the back roads.
Or whether he was run over by a drunk lady while riding his bike on the back roads.
Or whether...oh, you get my point. So many dramatic stories, so little chance that they could ALL be true, right?
A year or so later, meet the Matty Family.
All lovely, normal people.
All witnesses, in some form or fashion, to EVERY SINGLE ONE of Matt's improbable narratives.
Turns out he was telling the truth all along, about finding himself in otherwise bizarre situations and landing on his feet. Which makes him one hell of a storyteller---or the modern, cute version of Forrest Gump.
