I don't know what people think when they see me for the first time, but I have a guess: they probably think, "He's a shirt guy." This is because the vast majority of the time, I'm wearing a shirt. It's something I put a lot of thought into. In fact, it's often the first thing I think about when I wake up, so I check the weather to determine whether I need to opt for short sleeves or long. I don't discriminate when it comes to sleeve length (although I never go sleeveless because that doesn't make sense to me. Short sleeves are short enough for this hombre), but I do discriminate when it comes to whether or not a shirt has the misfortune of having been relegated to the "Around The House" drawer. My shirt game features a relegation system, not unlike a lot of European sports leagues. The upper echelon shirts are part of what I call the "Going Out" tier of the Matt Reigle shirt system, meaning these shirts are permissible when out...

The title is self-explanatory. Let's do this. *** Gene Roddenberry and Gene Rayburn I'll start with an easy one, this is one hundred percent because they're both named Gene and have last names that start with "R." Other than that they're completely different. Gene Rayburn was of course the skinny microphone-wielding host of The Match Game while Gene Roddenberry is the God of Nerds who created some little sci-fi franchise called Star Trek.   I'll be honest neither one of these guys come up very often in my daily life but on the off chance that one does I have to think for a second after I say "Gene." Wait. Is it Rayburn or Roddenberry? I think the game show one is Rayburn, buuuuuuut... They also have similar hair, but every guy in the 70s either had that hairdo or the Greg Brady. Burt Reynolds and Tom Selleck You know that thing that people say they have where they can't identify people by their faces? Well, I think I have that but only for pe...

Considering that for the first ten or so years of my life of I was a picky eater of the highest order, it's an almost Twilight Zone- like turn of events that I now enjoy trying new foods a great deal. I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm a "foodie" because I'm not an asshole. I'm a douchebag. There's a difference. It's for this reason that I like going to restaurants. It's cool; you get to sit at a table with people you tolerate while a stranger brings you things that you picked from a menu that if you're lucky even has pictures of the food printed on it. Sometimes there's a high school football schedule on the placemat or an ad for a used car dealership, or if you find yourself at one of the Evel Kenevals of restaurants, there may be no placemat at all. I like all kinds of restaurant dining experiences with one massive exception: the potluck. Certain words just sound awful and potluck is one of them. Nothing makes me less excited to go t...

If there is one thing that has nagged me for my entire life — not counting intense self-hatred and a near entire lack of self-esteem — it's math. Back in high school, two days before graduation, my math teacher came up to me ahead of the big end-of-year slide show and asked, "Do you know how close you were to not graduating?" "Uh... no," I replied as visions of palm trees and girls playing beach volleyball outside my dorm window dance through my head, seeing as I had already punched my ticket to attend college at the hallowed hall of academia that is the University of Central Florida. "One point," said the public educator with one hell of a Napoleon complex. Even then I thought it was funny that math was trying to bring me down. I was rocking a report card of all aces, aside from calculus. If a calculus blemish kept me from graduating then the public school system is in worse shape than I thought it was.  Calculus had realized it was math's final h...

There's only one type of room that one encounters regularly that serves a clear and singular purpose. It goes by many names: bathroom, restroom, lavatory, or, shitter. Ever since Thomas J. Crapper realized there was a better way to do things than hucking buckets of our own excrement into the street like slightly-civilized apes, the bathroom has been a near-constant in all of our lives.  The bathroom isn't here to wow audiences. It's here to do its business, which involves your business, but lately, I've been getting irritated by some bathroom showboating that I've seen as of late. There's always an argument to be made about the level of importance that should be placed on the idea of "form over function." Some people like things simple and easy to use, while others will take a little inconvenience if it means upping the pizzaz a few notches. I'm somewhere in between. To me, it's a situational thing, but I know where I stand when it comes to bat...

Last year, I tried to weasel my way onto the lowest rung of show business aside from freak shows: The Hallmark Channel. I wrote a treatment for what many felt was destined to become a holiday classic, A Conundrum For Christmas . It would've starred Kate Beckinsale and myself, and followed a woman as she tried to enjoy Christmas again after her husband's untimely death by way of autoerotic asphyxiation. Since those people at Hallmark will air anything and their audience will gobble it up, I couldn't believe this wasn't optioned. Quite, frankly, it's a travesty. However, I'm not one to give up that easily. So I decided to try again. Enjoy. *** The Christmas Dreidle By Matt Reigle Sheryl Christmasberg (played by Kate Beckinsale) is the owner of an artisanal soap shop in the small town of Sugar Plum Ranch, Kansas. She lives there with her handsome husband, Jerry Christamsberg (played by me) and their four-year-old daughter, Florence-Anne, who wears glasses. This way...

Every year, I see people trying Thanksgiving knock it down a few pegs. I get it, the pilgrims were not the best house guests, but you'd be in a pissy mood too if you had spent so much time on a boat that didn't even have a buffet or water slides. You can't create such a great holiday without a few black eyes. I'm sure the whole smallpox blanket fiasco was a complete accident. I doubt that someone gave a bunch of blankets to Sarah Goodwife, had her cough up a lung all over them, and then said "here's a good gift for the Wampanoag." These are some of the same people who drowned women because they thought their ability to do math meant they were witches. I question their understanding of infectious diseases and biological warfare. But maybe I'm wrong and they knew precisely what they were doing, in which case, they're complete scumbags. Regardless, Thanksgiving is without a doubt my favorite holiday. It's nothing but food and football. I guess you...