The Cable Guy: Premium Cable, Premium Memories

Lauren Nixon Matney • October 14, 2025
The Cable Guy: Premium Cable, Premium Memories

Film: The Cable Guy

Jefferson Airplane: Don't You Want Somebody To Love

The Cable Guy


I was raised on music, movies, and the kind of pop culture that burrows into your brain and never leaves. Some kids grew up learning life lessons from their parents. Some from older siblings. And some of us? Well, let’s just say there’s a reason we speak in movie quotes and song lyrics like it’s second nature.


If you were born in the ‘80s and raised in the ‘90s, you know exactly what I mean. TV, radio, and whatever movie you had on VHS weren’t just entertainment...they were background noise for your entire childhood. We memorized sitcom morals, flipped through CD booklets like sacred texts, and built entire personalities around whatever was playing on MTV that week.


And sure, maybe that makes it easy to draw comparisons between me and a certain overenthusiastic cable installer. But let’s not get carried away. Besides, unlike Chip, my friendships have always been entirely voluntary.


Which brings me to Stephanie.


Stephanie was the kind of friend who made life more fun just by existing. She had this perfect mix of casual coolness and contagious excitement never forcing her interests on you, but making you want to love whatever she loved. She introduced me to so many things, but one of the most lasting gifts she ever gave me was The Cable Guy.


I met her my freshman year of high school and we connected almost instantly, though not just over movies. We both knew what it was like to lose someone who meant the world to us. There were gaps in our lives, spaces where people we loved should have still been, and somehow, in that unspoken understanding, we found a kind of comfort in each other. She once told me I reminded her of someone she had lost, and I took that as one of the greatest compliments I had ever received.


I was about fifteen when she let me borrow The Cable Guy, probably sliding the DVD over with a casual, “You have to watch this,” like it wasn’t about to change the way I saw comedy forever. It was a school night, sometime in the evening. I curled up in bed, snacks nearby, and pressed play, unaware that I was about to experience my first real taste of dark comedy.


I instantly loved it. The weirdness, the energy, the way Jim Carrey twisted his usual manic charm into something both hilarious and unsettling. And then the karaoke scene happened.


Chip Douglas throws himself into Somebody to Love like his life depends on it. Carrey’s version is… unhinged. He turns it into a full-blown, manic performance that is both comedic and unsettling. His screaming high notes are borderline terrifying (in the best way possible). I loved it; I absorbed it. It became part of me. And obviously it also made me think of Jefferson Airplane, a band I had already loved in passing but would now forever associate with this scene.


Stephanie was more than just a great friend—she was a bridge, connecting me to people who would become some of my closest friends in that season of life. Through her, I truly got to know Clint, Ricky, and Daniel. I had classes with some of them, but it was because of Stephanie, and her connection to Clint’s older brother, that I ended up in their circle. That’s the thing about friendships like ours—one good person has a way of leading you to other good people, and before you know it, your world is a little bigger and a lot brighter.


And then, of course, there was the Marilyn Manson flag.


Now, to be clear, I was never a huge Marilyn Manson fan. Not that I had anything against him—he just wasn’t my thing. Truthfully he kind of scared me a little. But Stephanie? Stephanie had this Marilyn Manson flag that she no longer wanted, and she decided I should have it. I wasn’t sure what to do with it at first, but then I realized it had an unexpected secondary use: as a deterrent.


At the time, my stepdad had a revolving door of less than ideal drinking buddies, many of whom had an unfortunate habit of stumbling into our house, using the bathroom outside my bedroom, and generally disrupting my peace. But as it turned out, nothing clears a hallway faster than a giant, looming Marilyn Manson flag. Something about his piercing eyes and skeletal aesthetic was enough to make even the drunkest of men reconsider their choices. Stephanie had unknowingly gifted me not just a piece of band merch, but a personal security system. And to this day, I don’t think I ever told her just how well it worked.


By the time I graduated high school and started finding my footing in the world, people had already decided who I was... the hippie. It wasn’t just about music or the way I dressed; it was the way I carried stories from an eclectic past, the way I talked about nature like it was an old friend, the way I gravitated toward spirituality and Native American customs like they were stitched into me. I had a deep love for music, a respect for the earth, and an instinct for finding meaning in the smallest things. So when my dad looked at me in my early 20s and said I reminded him of Grace Slick, I knew exactly what he meant. It wasn’t just the dark hair and bangs it was the energy, the aura, the quiet but undeniable presence. And honestly? I wore that like a badge of honor.


The Cable Guy was the beginning of something for me. It introduced me to a kind of humor I didn’t know I needed. It led me down a path that would later include Death to Smoochy and a dozen other films that took comedy to darker, stranger places. It became a comfort movie, the kind you revisit not just for the laughs, but because it reminds you of a specific time, a specific feeling, a specific version of yourself.


Stephanie gave me a gift in The Cable Guy and a Marilyn Manson flag that once gave me unexpected protection. Life is weird like that. It hands you moments, little gifts wrapped in absurdity and meaning, and sometimes you don’t even realize their value until years later.


The end of The Cable Guy always kind of lingered with me... two people lying in a satellite dish, looking up at the stars. Because even after everything, after all the noise, all the absurdity, all the chaos, all the reruns and rewinds, we all end up doing the same thing in the end. Searching for stars.

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Searching For Stars

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Good, Strong Words That Mean Something: A Letter of Light Through Pixelated Waves (for Heidi Clements)

By Lauren Nixon-Matney • July 5, 2026
My favorite literary phrase of all time is spoken by Josephine March, written by Louisa May Alcott in Little Women. “I like good, strong words that mean something.” You, my dear, you say good, strong words that mean something. You put good, strong words that mean something into the world, and I thank you so very sincerely for that. You have made such an incredible impact on my life, and on my outlook on beauty and aging. ⸻ I stumbled across your incredible fashion sense on Instagram and was completely hooked on your vibe. I absolutely love fashion. I always have. I’ve definitely had my own kind of zany style over the years. So when I saw you, I was like, OK, yes, she is amazing. I love this energy. ⸻ The way you put things together, the confidence, the energy, it makes you wanna get up, go into your closet, and actually enjoy getting dressed again. And for a woman approaching 40, who’s had three children and has had many of her own struggles with who am I, what’s my fashion, what’s my energy, or what’s my style, You just felt so damn refreshing and inspiring. So I hung around, but what really hooked me wasn’t just the style, it was you, the essence of you. The way you talk, the honesty, the fact that you just say things straight, no fluff, no sugarcoating, no trying to be anything other than exactly who you are.. and somehow that makes everything you say sound even more profound. ⸻ The impact your message was having in my life became undeniable. It wasn’t just something I watched for enjoyment anymore, it was something I actually began feeling, and carrying with me. I grew up in a time where it felt like there was an expiration date on women. Like if you didn’t fit into a certain mold, or size, or type… your worth somehow became less. And then life happens. You grow up. You age. Maybe have kids. Your body changes. Your priorities change. Somewhere in the middle of all of that, you can kind of lose your sense of… who am I now? What’s my style? Who am I supposed to become? Am I too late for something? What even feels like me anymore? So for a while, I think I actually bought into that idea without even realizing it. The idiodic notion that maybe I had passed some invisible point where things were supposed to quiet down. Tone down. Fit into something more “acceptable.” Or the grand illusion that I was out of time to follow my passions! But watching you… that narrative just started to fall apart. The way you show up, the way you speak, the way you move through the world so fully as yourself… it made me realize that aging isn’t something to fear or shrink from. If anything, it’s where things start to get really good. It’s where you get bolder. More comfortable. More you. More beautiful. ⸻ What you’re doing matters so much. The way you show up, the way you speak, the way you fully own who you are, it doesn’t just stay on a screen. It carries through pixelated waves. It reaches people like me, in real life, in real moments, and shifts something quietly but powerfully within us. So I just wanted to say thank you. For your honesty, your energy, your style, your voice… all of it. You have inspired me, Searching for Stars, and undoubtedly countless women all over the world more than words can truly translate. Thank you, for being you!

Getting Your Pink Back: Answered Prayers, Quiet Signs, Bluebirds and a Business Professional Poodle (A Letter of Light for Lindsey Gurk)

By Lauren Nixon-Matney • May 6, 2026
Okay, so I asked God for a sign this week… and I didn’t make it easy on Him. I had just seen this video about asking for a sign, about how God answers, about how He delights in it… and something in me just… recognized that. Like, oh. I’ve felt that before. Lindsey, it was your video. And the second I heard it, I remembered something. I remembered a time, years ago, back in that early, foggy, pinkless season of motherhood, when I had asked for a sign too. I had prayed, really specifically… really honestly… “God, just show me I’m okay. Show me I’m on the right path.” And I asked for a blue butterfly. I didn’t see it right away. I waited. I wondered if I had imagined the whole idea in the first place. And then, not long after, life moved us somewhere new. A new place, new energy… the kind of move that feels exciting and terrifying all at once. They handed us the keys… and right there on them… was a blue butterfly. And I remember feeling that same quiet recognition. Like… okay. And then, a couple months after that, with prayers inside us building for a second child, we went to a park. One of those ordinary days that turns into something you don’t forget. And there were butterflies everywhere. Hundreds of them. Yellow, filling the air, lifting all at once like something out of a dream. And right in the middle of it… one blue butterfly. I just stood there, overwhelmed, because I knew. I knew I had been heard. Nearly one year to the day later, our second child was born. And then… life kept moving. Time passed. Things got busy. Full. Loud. Beautiful… but a little hazy, too. Somewhere along the way, I think I stopped asking like that. Fast forward. I’m sitting with my kids on New Year’s Eve, going into 2025, talking about goals and dreams. The kind of things you say out loud but don’t always fully claim. “I’ve always wanted to write.” And my daughter, so sure, so certain, just looked at me and said, “Then make it your New Year’s resolution.” And something about the way she said it… she didn’t question it. she didn’t overthink it. She just… believed it was possible. So I did. I started building something I’ve carried in pieces since I was in high school. Old notebooks, scattered thoughts, songs, memories… things I’ve never really known how to explain out loud. And for the first time, it felt like someone actually got it. So I got to work. Writing with a baby asleep on my chest… voice notes, typed drafts, music playing in the background… piecing together old memories with new ones. And I love it. I really do. But if I’m being honest… I started to wonder. Is this meaningful? Is this worth the time? Is this something good… or just something I want? And more than anything… I wanted to know if it was something God saw as good. Not just something that looked meaningful… but something that was. So I sat down, quietly, and I prayed. And I said, “God, if this is something I’m supposed to keep building… if I’m on the right path… if this is your will for me… please just show me. Give me a sign.” And I paused… because I knew I couldn’t ask for something easy. I had asked for butterflies before and blue jays have been unusually common in our backyard lately. I needed something specific. Something I wouldn’t just brush off. I looked over… and saw this little pink and white poodle sitting on my daughter’s shelf. And I laughed a little and said, “Okay God… show me a poodle.” almost sarcastically thinking… well, this one’s going to take a little more effort. But of course… Not even 48 hours later, we ran into Burlington. We were just there to grab socks and shoes for my toddler, her sandals were bothering her. Quick in, quick out. We ended up wandering a little. We’re headed to checkout… and my husband steps down an aisle, picks something up, and goes, “Okay, I know this is ridiculous… but we need this for the office.” And he had no idea. Nothing about my prayer. Nothing about the poodle. I’m barely paying attention yet. And then he turns it around. It’s a painting. Of a poodle. Not just a poodle… a poodle in a full business suit… sitting at a desk… reading a newspaper. I just… stopped. A business professional poodle, for the office we’re building together, a space where I can write. Like everything in me went quiet for a second. Because of all the things in the world I could have asked for… of all the ways that prayer could have been answered… it was that. I remember thinking, smiling, fighting back tears of joy… of course it is. Because I had asked for something specific. And apparently… He has a sense of humor. Also, just to make sure I didn’t miss it… because let’s be real, God definitely knows how to show out… the very next place we went… was Petco. And there was this real poodle. Then again. And again. Every aisle I turned… I kept running into it. And that feeling came back. The same one from before. Quiet. Certain. seen. beloved. Lindsey… Thank you so much, you reminded me to ask. You reminded me that God doesn’t just hear us… He answers. Not always in big, overwhelming ways… but in ways we’ll recognize. In ways that feel personal. Specific. Sometimes even funny… like they were meant just for us. And Lindsey… I just want you to know how much I appreciate all of what you’re doing. Your energy, your humor, the way you show up so fully as yourself… it matters more than you probably realize. You make people laugh, you make motherhood feel seen, and you bring light into spaces that can feel heavy sometimes. But there is also so much more than that… God really radiates through you. In the way you speak, in the way you encourage, in the way you remind people to keep going and to keep believing. It’s powerful. And it’s beautiful to witness. What you’ve created with “get your pink back”… that message, that reminder… it’s reaching people. It’s lifting people. It’s giving something back to women who feel like they’ve poured everything out. And that matters. It really does. I’m so grateful I came across your video when I did. And I’m really looking forward to everything you create next… especially your writing. You’re doing something good here. Keep going. Please never stop casting your light into the world… it really does break through the darkness.
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