The Ramblings of Matt Morgan, #18

Posted on March 11, 2017

Originally published: February 16th 2007
Related show(s): NA
Title: The Haircut

I am going to get my hair cut. Sorry to sound girly but: my split-ends are terrible, apparently. This is on the authority of women who know about things like this. When they asked me how long ago I got my hair cut and I said ‘August’ they were horrified. But I thought that was the whole reason behind having long hair, you don’t need to go the hairdressers. Apparently not, but it’s made me realise that I have been avoiding the barbers because I have a mild phobia of the places. I think its because of all the embarrassing things that have happened to me in these awkward hellholes.

Once I went to a decent salon-type place and made a booking. The lady asked me who normally cut my hair, I replied ‘my Mum’s friend Mandy’. She actually wanted to know which of their stylists I usually had. It was pretty embarrassing; she went red with suppressed laughter.

Another time I went to Mr Topper’s where every haircut is £5. ‘Can’t go wrong’ I thought. But when the girl cutting my hair asked me what I did for a job I got embarrassed. I worked at MTV and I kind of became aware that I didn’t want to sound flash, so I mumbled that I worked at MTV and then immediately turned the tables on her. ‘What do you do?’ I enquired.
‘I’m a hairdresser’ she replied.
‘Oh yeah’. Damn, what an idiot.

And the final mortifying thing that happened to me at the hairdressers…. Once I was getting my hair cut, everything was going well. It was to cost £40 because when the girl at the front said ‘we only have our head-stylist available, do you want him to cut your hair?’ I thought:
‘Yes of course, head-stylist? That’s good isn’t it? Wow, the head-stylist doing my hair, oh the joy’ obviously what I didn’t realise was that it costs loads more money for this haircut-magician to get involved with your barnet. I found this out in the conversation with him, I was a bit gutted but I thought well I’m here now so I resigned myself to the fact. Anyway, after a bit he told me I would look really good with a bit of colour in my hair. ‘Really?’ I swooned. Well, he was the ‘head-stylist’ I’d trust him to know what’ll suit me. Ah, but I wasn’t gonna fall for the old money trick again. ‘How much will it be to have colour?’
‘Not much- £50’ he assured me.
Now for some reason at this point I thought ‘£50? Well that’s only £10 more- why not?’ What a fool I was. Obviously he meant ‘an additional £50’. £90 for a haircut? Not in my name mate. So as he was doing some weird stuff with foil and foul smelling stuff which took ages, I sat there awkwardly until I risked the question ‘ You do mean £50 in total don’t you?’. He looked at me with pure hate as if I was mocking his very livelihood. The foil and chemicals went in the bin. I had upset the ‘head-stylist’. I felt so ashamed.

I think the worst thing about these cringe-worthy incidents is that unlike anywhere else that you embarrass yourself, in the hairdressers you have to sit and look at your stupid reflection. You are forced to look yourself in the eye and think ‘Look at you, you idiot, what were you thinking?’ So off I go to get me split-ends seen to, there’ll probably be a bishop-stylist visiting from the Vatican of hairdressing and I’ll get him and it’ll cost me £900 and I’ll accidentally eat some hair-fudge or something. Bye.

The Ramblings of Matt Morgan, #17

Posted on March 10, 2017

Originally published: February 13th 2007
Related show(s): NA
Title: We are live in 5, 4, 3, 2…

Well, it’s the Brit awards tomorrow (Wednesday) which, of course, Russell is presenting and it’s totally live. I dunno how he does it. Live TV freaks me out, I remember when I had to play ‘General Zod’s nephew Andrew Zod’ on the E4 show ‘Russell Brand’s Got Issues’. A pretty pointless character he was, well in fact he did have a point- a great big arrow which he carried about and pointed at a chart depending on how he thought the debate was going. A premise that was, at best, flimsy.

So there I was dressed up as the baddie from Superman’s nephew with my stupid arrow, the first show was about ‘Beauty’ so I had to suffer the indignity of wearing full, ladies’ make-up as I was apparently ‘the most beautiful man in the universe’. This slap was then deemed by Russell to be an integral part of the Zod character and so each week I had to have lipstick and eye-shadow applied to my sulking face. So, there I stood waiting to hear the dreaded ‘we are live in 5, 4, 3, 2…’ and I’d feel like I was gonna be blasted out of a cannon, straight into people’s homes. All I could think was ‘This is LIVE! If I move my hand now, thousands of people will see my hand move in their houses’ then ‘Stop thinking about it, don’t worry, just be Zod’. It was hell; Russell is insane to enjoy that.

Anyway, I tried everything to get out of this charade every week, but the more I complained in my Zod costume and lipstick, the more hilarious everyone thought Zod was. Russell loves it when I have to do things I don’t want to do. I was the writer on that show, a back-room position, but when Russell decided he’d feel more relaxed with me stood behind him dressed not as Superman’s enemy but Superman’s Enemy’s nephew (!) in full glamour mode I suddenly had to take one for the team and step out into the white noise terror of live TV. I did relax into it eventually, but by that time the character had finally been dropped and I was then required to dress as Marc Bolan’s ghost. God, my acting CV would be a baffling document.

So my point is this: live TV is scary. I dunno how Russell controls his inner voice, mine would rise up and ‘Tourette’s’ itself all over people’s living rooms and I’d be hounded out of Britain. It does make me respect the man Brand for a fleeting moment until… and I’ve just remembered this...

Once on the next show we did, I had the choice of dressing up as Darth Vader or a stupid dog. I have always wanted to dress up as Darth Vader. Not Darth Vader’s niece ‘Leanne Vader’ but Lord Darth Vader himself. They had the costume there and everything but no, I was a bloody dog, with rubbish whiskers drawn on my face with eyeliner. Russell laughed and laughed and laughed. I should have gone to the RSPCA.

So I’ll be backstage at the Brits, I hope. If you see a reluctant man dressed up as a wizard in a bra or something for the purposes of an ill-thought out joke, do spare a thought for me. Break a leg Russ.

The Ramblings of Matt Morgan, #16

Posted on March 09, 2017

Originally published: February 9th 2007
Related show(s): NA
Title: An American Tale

Speaking of America, and we were. I shall recount to you a tale of when I myself was over the pond (I don’t like that expression, with its twee miniaturisation of the Atlantic. Also the word ‘pond’ makes me think of those pond-skater insects, I think they’re called ‘water boatmen’. What a misleading name, you expect to see a little man in a boat but what you actually see is a snidey mosquito-type character who struts about on water, and not in an impressive ‘Jesus’ way, oh no. This guy’s legs are just so pathetically thin they can’t even penetrate water, what a little jerk. ‘Boat’ is a lie and ‘men’ is a lie, only ‘water’ has any truth in it; who named these things? The same person who named ‘Sea-monkeys’? which are effectively just germs floating about in a glass which bear no resemblance to monkeys at all and don’t even live in seawater. More lies.)

Right so anyway, when I was over in New York last winter I was at this club and I met this girl and we were standing next to the dance floor holding our coats and she said to me in her broad Brooklyn accent ‘Hey, you wanna go over there and throw our shit down?’
Like an idiot I thought this was New Yorker parlance for ‘hey, you wanna go over there and dance?’ So I replied:
‘No, I’m not drunk enough to dance yet’.
She looked at me like I was mad because she just meant ‘Hey, you wanna go over there and put our coats down?’

It was embarrassing but I still managed to end the night back at her place, which kind of looked like a cave made out of jumble-sales. She clearly had a policy of just throwing her shit down willy-nilly. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, I blame those bloody ‘Water Boatmen’ they’ve made me start rambling. You know, I’d have some respect for them if one or more of them walked all the way across the sea to America. That I’d like to see, in fact I think there’s a Pixar movie in that idea. I’ll call Russell in L.A., get him to pitch it to some big-wigs.

The Ramblings of Matt Morgan, #15

Posted on March 08, 2017

Originally published: February 6th 2007
Related show(s): Episode 46
Title: Randy Rusty Brandstein

So Russell has gone to Hollywood has he? I thought he was just going there for a holiday and a snoop about, but now I look at the evidence I fear he is going to try and assimilate into their culture and become a star over there.

I notice in recent months he has changed from saying ‘ball-bags’ to ‘dick-sacks’. Is this a misguided attempt at americanising his vernacular? I fear so. It somewhat reminds me of Wurzel Gummidge putting on an American head and tottering off to make his mark Stateside but getting all the words a bit wrong and saying things like ‘hot-doggies’ and ‘have a nice daisy’.

The gym-ball thing is starting to make sense now too. He has been working towards attaining some sort of movie-hero physique. The poor man, I could weep for him. God knows what he’s dressed himself up as; they won’t go for his ‘normal’ Child-Catcher chic over in L.A. I can only imagine he’s wearing ‘Stars and Stripes’ leggings, a gold ‘Dynasty’-style power jacket with padded shoulders and all his hair hidden beneath an over-sized baseball cap with a drink-cup and a straw on it… also I’m seeing a cigar.

Well I wish him luck over there, old Worzel Brand; although he’ll probably be calling himself ‘Randy Rusty Brandstein’ or something by now. Will we ever see him again?

The Ramblings of Matt Morgan, #14

Posted on March 07, 2017

Originally published: January 31st 2007
Related show(s): NA
Title: My addiction

My name is Matt and I’m an addict

Yes, I have recently become addicted to YouTube and Googlevideo. Many a small hour has dribbled past as I gawp at that little box of delights. I know what you’re thinking but this is not about sexual content, oh no. There’s no smut allowed on these very decent databases and if some appears it is quickly flagged up by cyber-grasses and booted out. It’s a brave choice by the sites’ owners, as so many new technological endeavours are initially fuelled by the endless ‘demand’ for cyber-rudery; but there’s none of that here and it’s actually better for it. Besides there’s no shortage of that online… so I’ve heard. So what am I watching then? Well, here’s a selection of stuff I’ve watched just today:

.... And TV shows I appeared in but never actually saw (saddest of all, nearly as sad as googling myself, which I’ve done. Strangely though, if you search for ‘Matt Morgan’ there is a WCW wrestler of the same name, his special gimmick is that he has a stutter. I’m not joking. One day perhaps I will be top of the search results over that stammering brute, I can but hope)

Anyway, the addiction problem comes from the feature which cues up similar videos whilst you are watching the current one. As soon as one finishes you click on the next one and thus you spiral off down a glittering video helter-skelter towards morning and you crawl into bed with the sound of birds singing and a thousand images splashing around your mind. I wonder what the effect of all this will be?

Will I start to freak out a little bit in real life because encounters don’t have that little timer bar running along the bottom. ‘Oh God, I don’t know how long this conversation’s gonna go on for, it could be days’, or if something is boring will I be reaching to click a mouse-button that isn’t there? Who knows? Possibly the worst thing that could happen is that I start to talk like the dimwits who leave comments on there. Everything will be ‘gay’ or ‘retarded’ or other politically-incorrect terms, my spelling will erode back to phonetics that look like they were typed by someone operating the keyboard with shoes on their hands and I will end up arguing with anyone and everyone about the most pointless tripe.

God I hope it’s not too late dude. I might unplug my computor... Oh no, I said ‘dude’. Oh no, I spelt ‘computer’ wrong. Heeeellllllllpppppppp!!!!

The Ramblings of Matt Morgan, #13

Posted on March 06, 2017

Originally published: January 23rd 2007
Related show(s): Episode 44
Title: Strange Bed Fellow

OK, thanks for the support regarding my wearing a hat in bed. As the weather gets colder it grows even more comforting. Russell thinks it’s a bit mad but its hardly as though I’m laying there in a huge floppy cowboy hat or a top-hat with a cuckoo on a spring coming out of it, its just a regular beanie. However this week there has been a development. For reasons best left unexplained, I had a ladies hot-water bottle in my bedroom. It is pink, in a fluffy case and bears the legend ‘Huggable’ on it. Oh how I laughed at it, dismissed it as ridiculous and wedged it into my bookcase where its owner could reclaim it next time she came over. Then a few nights later, as I got into bed (fully hatted-up) I glanced at it and pondered for a moment.

Yes, I’m ashamed to say I went down stairs and put the kettle on. I felt a bit guilty as though the poor, pink, fluffy thing was all innocent and I’d got it drunk on boiling water and dragged it off to bed, but it was purely platonic of course. It was nice too, especially down the foot end.

Now, this is where it gets a bit weirder… I was so warm and cosy I didn’t want to get out of bed to turn the TV off. The remote control was obviously nowhere within easy reach but it was at this point I remembered I had a BB gun under my bed and I fished around under there until I found its cold steel barrel. Ha ha! I then sat up in bed, with a hat on and a pink hot-water bottle on my lap trying to shoot the power switch on my TV to turn it off. After about a minute I mused to myself ‘if someone could see me, they’d think I was eccentric’. Then it dawned on me ‘maybe I am eccentric? Maybe I’m mad? What am I doing? I’m 30 this year. I should be married with children by now, but look at me’. This epiphany jolted me right out of bed; I turned off the TV with my perfectly-functioning human hand, stuck my gun on top of the wardrobe, pulled off my hat and got back into bed, ashamedly pushing the hot-water bottle away like a spurned lover.

'OK, I’m not mad', I reassured myself and started to drift off. About two minutes later I got out of bed and put my hat back on. I don’t know why I’ve told you all this; perhaps this is my very own cry for help. Aaaaaargh, HELP!!!!

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