It was cold out, in fact it was Out Cold

I just got back from my ski trip to exotic Galena, Illinois and man I am sore. It was a wild couple of days there. Filled with laughter, cheap hotel rooms, skiing, major accidents, and insults. Basically go rent the movie Out Cold and you'll get an idea of what went on. It was more or less like that sans a fat bearded guy. I mean, we invited Michael Moore but there was some issue with the mountain supporting so much weight... I'll break it down by days to make the whole thing more digestable.

Sunday:
Ah, the splendor of America's Heartland. We spent the whole damn day driving through the backwoods to get to our destination: Dubuque, Iowa. We stayed in Iowa, because it was cheaper. Also it gave me the fun of insulting the local populous with my Iowa jokes. (Loudly in public: "did you know IOWA is an acronym? Yeah, it stands for Idiots Out Wandering Aimlessly. Roosevelt decided that during his 'let's go crazy with letters' days." and "Wisconsin hates Iowa, and vice versa. There was even a battle between the residents of the two states. It was pretty intense, the people on the Iowa side were throwing sticks of dynamite at the Wisconsin people...Then the people in Wisconsin were lighting them and throwing them back")

We rode up in my van, and as anyone who has ridden with me over a long distance knows; it was really fun and kind of scary. It's like a roller coaster that has an even chance of crashing or making it through its run. We got there around 7, after a few questionable manuvers and some creative driving. Brody went in to check us in, and Josh and Barrett got to work unloading the van. For some reason I thought it was funny to pull up a little bit while they were trying to grab the bags. After one or two times Barrett just stood up fully and gave me a "fuck you" look. But he didn't realize he was standing up where the hatch back was highest, as I pulled forward the handle of the door smoked him on the head. I just about peed my pants, it was hilarious. That'll teach him to give me the indignant look.

Other than seeing Blade III (worth it for Jessica Biel sexy-ness, and Ryan Reynolds humor...but not much else), we just went to bed that night.

Monday:
We woke up at the crack of 7:00 and showered (which was later questioned...why shower to go ski?) and ate breakfast. I managed to give them a fake room number at the hotel restaurant leading to problems the next day. But other than that...smooth.

I drove us up to the slopes which was just a hop across the river to Galena, Illinois. We got there and got our stuff ready. I rented boots and used Brody's ludacrisly nice (and as yet unused) skis. But it had been a year since I skiied and I was being a timid little bitch. So my first run was down the bunny slope. But I will say I friggin owned it. After that the confidence built exponentially. There was a black diamond slope that scared me however. For those that don't know there are different rankings of slopes. A black diamond is expert. I had no intention of doing it...until Brody mentioned that Karen had. From that point on my own survival didn't matter. He said she did it after lunch, it was 11:38 at the time....that gave me about 20 minutes to prove my manhood.

To give you an idea of what I was getting myself into, from the top of the hill, you can't see the bottom. All you can see is the Mississippi River at the base of the valley. The grade is like 30 degrees or something equally menacing. I'd beat this 90 pound girl or die trying I was thinking. So down I went. And you know what? It was great. +1000 to confidence.

Now if at this point you're worrying that I might be getting too confident, I can't blame you. Because I was. Basically I felt prepared to ski in the Olympics. So I decided that I didn't need to turn and bleed off speed anymore. I went pretty much straight down the mountain, from the black diamond. People said it was pretty ovbious I was going to crash when I was getting air from a slight bump in the snow. But they had seen nothing yet. The last 30 feet of the hill are a very sharp downward grade, above this it had flattened out somewhat. I didn't account for how much speed I had and never touched those last 30 feet. That's right, I flew.

And you know, flying is great...it's landing I need to work on. The landing was a spectacular wipeout. I kind of landed on my ski's and then sommersalted a few times, ending up on my back. I knew if I survived, but broke Brody's brand new performance skiis he would finish me off. So I, while spinning on my back, put my feet and skiis straight up in the air in a move that shall forever be known as the Helicopter Wipeout. I wrenched my knee a bit, but I was still in the game for the rest of the day.

Thank God lunch was up next. At lunch I showed my friends my proficiency at hacking Coke machines. A trick I can thank the internet and my nerdy college friends for. You can set the machine to give out free soda, tell you how much it's made since the last reset, do a two for one special, etc. Even change the password so no one else can get into the Coke machine utilities. I showed Barrett with no problem. I looked great, but Brody missed the show. So I went to show him. But the second time around, I didn't pay as much attention. Well...as it turned out I kind of broke it. Instead of displaying things, it just read NONE. And did little else. We're not sure what came of it, but the next day we saw a new coke machine being brought in on a truck. I think I'm a wanted man.

The rest of the skiing that day was uneventful. After the slopes, we decided it would be a good idea to come in from the cold and get in the hotel's hot tub. Sadly, we had no swimming trunks. So we went to the nearby Target and looked around. I found fur lined Santa boxers that came with a hat that I felt were just rediculous enough for me to buy. I also found a nice pair of basketball shorts to hot tub in. Score! Sadly, the hot tub wasn't quite up to Real World standards. Frankly it sucked. It was made of concrete and shaped like a little boat. There weren't really jets but there were a few bubblers. Unfortunately there wasn't a lot of water filtration, which turned our hot tub into a Gravy Boat of Disease. Still, it was relaxing.

That night we went and saw The Incredibles it was my second time and I'll reiterate; Elastigirl is hot. Too bad she's voiced by an old harpy by the name of Holly Hunter. But the voice was nice enough for the role. And Craig T. Nelson as Mr. Incredible? Brilliant. Way better than his 46 seasons of Coach, wrapped into 2 hours.

Tuesday:
At breakfast I gave them the right room number, they were like 227? How many people are in that room. I said "...four." And they said "did you pay for four." I replied, "Well one of us was pregnant and squeezed out a kid after we payed for three, so we figured it didn't count" They were not amused. After a scowl and the insinuated threat of spitting in my food I said "yes, we paid for four."

The weather report said it'd be zero out and they were right. What they failed to mention is that there would be wind bad enough to push you back up the hill. Literally, on the bunny slope if you didn't haul ass down it you'd stop then slowly be pushed back. Riding on the lift and looking down you felt like you were watching some piece on the artic, there were little torrents of snow blowing all over the ground and we were pretty much the only people dumb enough to be out in it. Today I had to rent boots and skis because Brody seperated his shoulder on a wipeout from the terrain park. I should mention that 2 seconds later Barrett face planted from the same jump and sustained a mild concussion. As you can imagine, it was awesome.

After lunch we didn't feel like we could go on. I felt like we needed a morale boost, and what is better for that than a huge wipeout. The lodge is at the top of the bunny hill and we were headed down it. I tucked in for speed against the wind and was actually getting some nice speed. I just leaned a bit too far forward at the wrong time and...wham flipped down the hill losing my skis, poles, hat, goggles, gloves and slid backwards getting snow up my coat. I flipped over quite a few times, once I landed hard on my back and it hurt for the next 2 days. All in all it was pretty hilarious. (But I'll own up, it wasn't intentional, if only it were. I'd have a carreer!)

We skiied the rest of the day and froze our asses off. It was pretty bad so we cut the day off an hour early, went back, hopped into the Gravy Boat of Death, and relaxed. I was feeling pretty good so I decided to try something I'd always wanted to try: to use one of those life saving hooks at the pool to polevault across it without touching the water. It was a learning experience, the lesson was that polevaulters don't use aluminum poles. As I plunged it into the water and put my weight on it the rod folded like a cheap tent. What a pisser, and into the freezing cold pool too. Ouch.

We went out that night and ate at Fat Cat pizzza. I spent 5.20 total and got fresh drafted root beer and a large pineapple pizza. It was the Tuesday special, if you're ever in Doobuuquue I suggest it. We decided to head back on Wednesday without skiing when we heard that the temp was going to be even colder than zero. "Colder than zero! That'd have to be....like negative or something" ah the quotes of blonde girls. We spent our last night on the town at a mall where I bought a maxim, knocked over a rack of DVD's at Suncoast, and shouted at Buckle employees. That's pretty much it. At the hotel we watched Collateral, and Josh gave us the quote of the trip. In the climactic scene at the end of the movie where Jada Pinket Smith is hiding from Tom Cruise in the dark of her office and Tom can't find her Josh blurts out, completely deadpan: "Good thing she's black"

And with that I end my marathon post. There's more to tell, but I'm tired of typing and you've read enough. Who needs reading? Go watch TV. I'm out like Jimmy McGreevey.
- Scott

There and Halfway Back Again; The Ho Ho Show

Boys and girls, crowd around and I shall tell you a tale. A tale of travel, a tale of music, a tale of moshing. It is the story of 'The Ho Ho Show: 2004' and it begins in Springfield. I was making plans for heading to the concert when my good buddy Stevo called me up and dropped the news on me; he couldn't get a ride. Oh no! What would I do? As the protagonist of the story I decided to be plucky and self-sacrificing and drive 100 miles in the opposite direction to pick up my friend. And so it was that I found myself in Champaign/Urbana when I should have been in St. Louis. It was really kind of surreal.

After I picked up Good Buddy #1 it was off to get the rest of the crew, this one was hiding in the backwoods of Jersey County, not far from Brighton. We took all sorts of backroads to get there and eventually picked him up around 6:10. By the time we left Barrett's house it was 6:20ish. We took off toward St. Louis, and ultimately The Pageant.

I was speeding pretty heavily because the show started at 7:00, and it was about 7:05 and we still weren't there. But eventually got there and found a parking spot... that was damn near my house in Illinois. I don't know what all those people were there for, but there were ass loads of cars that couldn't have been for the Ho-Ho-Show. The reason I know this is because I am pretty well versed in the Point's demographic, and these people actually graduated High School. I could tell by their cars, and their generally snooty demeanor. Plus the fact that they were like 50. Maybe they thought there was a Kenny-G concert that night or something.

Despite the retirement village going out for the night we still got a spot and got to the venue pretty easily. Going in, security was overly tight for a concert. Don't get me wrong I appreciated a random female gently feeling me up as next guy did, but it seemed like overkill. I wasn't there to meet the president, I was there to make the metal sign and push people in the pit. Oh and music, something about music. I would say we actually arrived around 7:20. In that time the opener act 'The Adored' had already played and their gear was off the stage. Did they play like one song? What the crap?

We wondered around and saw where we needed to be: right in front of the stage in the pit. There was only one problem, a problem that poured his 240 pounds into a large blue polo shirt and kakhi pants. That's right, it was a security guard; apparently one who thought that the pit was full enough. Ah, but sadly he hadn't consulted us about that decision. And that was really his mistake. He walked to one side and looked away for just long enough for us to bum rush the pit. It was great, we were in. Then we noticed him comming back, so I burrowed in deeper like a mole escaping the garden hose. Stevo followed suit behind me, but our burrowing efforts were too slow for Barrett and the 5 foot 9 inches of minimum waged fury that was the security guard pulled him back to the upper levels.

I felt so segregated. A bit like the Jews in all the WWII movies I've seen (thanks History Channel), me and Steve made the train and Barrett had to stay in the Ghetto. Or something. In any case that was how we saw the Lostprophets set. Apparently they're Welsh. Which is a really funny term for being from Wales. But after decades of being called "Walish" I guess I can see why they changed it. During their set Steve and I debated their sexuality. You see, these guys were dressed like they had spent the day with the Queer Guys. Seriously, in fact I think they could coach the Queer Guys. Especially Thom. What the hell Thom? Pull yourself together man, people are going to start thinking you're straight.

Anyway Lostprophets were rediculously well dressed. And one of them had some strange pelvic tattoos, kind of tribal style and going down to the junkular area. I don't know too many heteros sporting that one. A few of them were sporting 'vintage' tee shirts with more accesories than Claire's in the mall. One of them had a pretty righteous mullet-ish hairstyle, except if you can imagine a mullet that the gays have taken over and made stylish. That's when I couldn't take it anymore, when you actually make a mullet look so good that I would consider it for myself (again) you've gone too far, and by fashion alone cannot be straight. Add to that the fact that their hair styles obviously took longer than most womens' and one of them I wasn't even sure was a man...and you have an ambiguous group.

Their set was alright but pretty short at only 6 or 7 songs. The whole time I spent mocking them, and trying to figure a way for Barrett to get down to us. I saw one intrepid kid try not once, but twice to get down to us. He would walk to one of the areas where the tables are right against the pit and hop over, then try to get deep into the pit. Both times a security guard would come and get him, and both times they grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and dragged him out. It was hilarious. But I give him points for trying.

After Lostprophets finished up a few people exited the pit and in the hustle and bustle our good friend Mr. Barry managed to get past chubby security guard #1 and down to us. Next up, Cake they get bold type because they're that amazing. What a show. These guys should have been have been headlining. Half the crowd was there for them, and nobody was dissapointed. Very rarely have I seen a band work an audience like they did, and somehow they made it look like they weren't doing anything at all. Cake was great. While they were playing we looked around and saw a really hot girl. She looked so familiar... me and Stevo debated who she was and both thought that she looked a lot like a girl we knew. Eventually she was standing next to the three of us and I asked them if we should just ask, so I did. "Hey, we were wondering, are you Melissia Berry?" It turned out she was. I started to explain who I was and she was like "you're Scott Gresham." That moment alone was worth my $37.50. Sure we were neighbors, but she still knows who I am. Damn, I'm just that sexy. Anyway Cake rocked, and I don't think I've ever seen a better stage show. At the end of their set people chanted for more Cake for at least 5 minutes, but the radio promoter people wouldn't have it, even when they started to take back the stage. The promoter guy flipped out on the side of the stage and they had shrug and walk off. People booed after that, not booing Cake but booing the asshole promoter.

So after Cake no one was really interested in Jimmy Eat World, well except for some over privledged frat boys with flipped up collars. More on them later. But JEW was taking the stage just as the last cries for a Cake encore were dying out. And, although I like Jimmy Eat World enough I just didn't care. I wanted more Cake and I wanted to eat it too (I'm really sorry for that lame joke I just couldn't resist.) So JEW turned into a gi-normous moshpit for no reason. I don't know if you know this about me, but I'm a mosh pit kind of guy. Something about smashing the hell out of a random person with no hard feelings is just so appealing.

Naturally, I had a hell of a lot of fun with it. At one point I decided to go on a ramage to protect my personal space. I pretty much pushed everyone around me away and had my own little area to stomp around in. Then another time (and this was the first of two times I made eye contact with JEW frontman, Jim Adkins) everyone in front of me, including most of the annoying frat guy contingent, was leaning over heavily. I just decided to push them past the breaking point, I heaved with all I had and they all fell down. So there was a big section, maybe a 15 foot radius, of people fallen down in a circle and me putting my foot on one and raising my arms in triumph. That was when Jimmy John looked at me. I was really near the front, in spitting range if I wanted to. It was pretty cool.

As time went on we kind of moved back a bit and the second remarkable thing happened. I don't know if you guys have ever had to deal with annoying people crowd surfing over you, but it sucks. And we were sick of it. So Barrett decided that we would throw the next person that came over us. We waited and waited, and evenutally this girl was getting passed over us and we looked at each other and gave the universal '1,2,3' head movements and grunts and threw the bitch a good 8 or 9 feet ahead of us onto those same unsuspecting frat bastards. She toppled them, when this 80-90 pound girl crashed down onto the heads of these preppie jerk-offs she brought them down. And they stayed down for a bit. It was a shining, wonderful moment. The final thing of note I have to say about the concert was me, directly pissing off the fratty's. Everyone was moshing through all of JEW's songs, it wasn't about the band anymore. JEW finished whatever song they were playing and people were yelling, and I shouted out "No one's listening" right as I did everything got quiet and that just rang out. I think the band heard me as they were just a few feet away, and the dick head frat boys definately did. It was great. There's more to tell but I think I'll save it to tell you in person sometime, this has become far too long. I hope this tides you over until the 23rd, because it's my last post before my ski trip. Merry Christmas everyone - Scott

Hey dere, hi dere, ho dere

Well hello childrens, I haven't posted in a few days. But am now forced to thanks to the perfect storm of both Tim and Rob posting on the same day. Thanks alot assholes! But I'm comforted in the fact that it takes two people to make me look bad, so I think I almost break even. Here's the next post in my series of "girls-on-TV-that-I-want-who-would-never-have-anything-to-do-with-me" posts. It's actually the one that kicked them all off, but I just didn't get the chance to post it before. Here is the infamous Chloe Sullivan dinner date paper I recently turned in in my Writing for the Professional class.

Journal #2: My Mystery Date

If I could have dinner with one person, living or dea, fictitous or real, I'm fairly certain that I would have dinner with Chloe Sullivan, of TV's Smallville. The reasons for this decision are more than simply because "she's hot". No, there is much more to the decision than physical apperance, although it doesn't hurt. You see, Chloe is a character that I have enjoyed watching (on oh, so many levels) over four seasons of Smallville, however in that time she never had decent boyfriend.

In one instance, a boy feigned interest only to suck her body heat from her body for sustenance. In another, she was merely a pawn to get to the show's protagonist: Clark Kent. Even when she dated Clark, he ditched her at the prom to rescue Lana Lang (the attractive, but frusterating mocha skinned cheerleader) from some "Perfect Storm" of tornados. And it wasn't just because he wanted to save her life, or even the idea of having both girls at once, which has crossed my mind; he was romantically interested in Lana. So he ditched Chloe at the prom without a word, which is a pretty crappy thing to do to her. They quickly broke up.

Chloe has it bad enough on the romance front, but even at home things are chaotic. Her mom vanished from the lives of Chloe and her father without a trace, only to be found years later in a mental institution, with a hereditary mental disease no less. So potentially Chloe has this ailment as well. Not only does this add some character development and emotional shading to h er, I can only speculate that a fairly hot girl with a mental disease would only amount to a lot of fun for me.

Her problems are not limited to her family and friends however, she managed to incur the wrath of an unscrupulous billionaire Lionel Luthor. At first she was in league with him, but after awhile her good nature won out and she broke off their deal. Or tried to, her plan more or less failed. But eventually she got him to confess to the murder of his own parents and sent him to jail. I like this whole exchange because, 1. My plans often fail, despite good foundations and 2. I end up improvising a lot too, and it works out for me. So we have that in common, when you add to that mix the clever points she gets for tricking him into confessing and recording it, and this girl is shaping up nicely.

Through all this disaster and calamity Chloe has maintained her spunky personality, her hard hitting reporting, her wicked style, and her charisma. She has a rocky past as far as love is concerned, but I think this girl just needs a good man. And I am that man. So for these reasons and more I think she would make an interesting dinner partner.


- Scott

My Fantasy Date

I promised Tim that I would post the two page Chloe Sullivan paper when I get it back from my teacher, and I will. But I haven't gotten it back yet, so what could I post? I was thinking about this as I was watching ABC Family today and something came to mind. It was a conversation I had with Tim a long time ago but one that rings true to this day. Here's an excerpt:

Scott: "You know, if I could have a threesome with any two people on TV, I would choose the Gilmore Girls."

Tim: "Yeah, that's just wrong...but I see what you mean"

I know full well that when I'm famous this post will be uncovered and come back to bite me in the ass. To this end I say "Hi future self, drive it on home to those girls for me!" But I stand by it. I mean come on, they just work so well together, they always know what the other is thinking. And they both seem to shag like minxes. Given, Rory's count is only about 5 or less. But her innocence is sexy; this would be tempered by Lorelai's years, nay decades (I mean she had Rory at 16), of experience and their passions (for me) would burn so hot as to make any discrepancies in sexual talent moot. Frankly I don't think I would ever be happy without them again.

Now I have a raging (I realize by including the word raging in this post I leave myself open for jokes...BUT AT LEAST YOU HAVE TO COMMENT, freeloaders) debate going on in my head as to whether or not I want it to be with the actresses (Alexis Bledel and Lauren Graham), or the actual Gilmore Girls themselves. On the one hand, the first option deprives me of that Gilmore banter that I'd imagine they would be doing...even while getting busy. And I'm a big fan of that banter, I'm a banter-er myself and I think I could hold my own. On second thought, let them hold my own, but I'll keep up my end of the conversation. Come to think of it their ends should keep me up. Ok enough innuendo, I'm serious here. Get with the program brain. Back to the original thought, they play off one another so well I have to infer that this would translate into the bedroom as well. However, on the other hand the actresses actually exist. So it's quite the debate...with myself. But in the end I'd say: Advantage: Gilmore Girls.

- Scott

P.S. Could I have crammed any more innuendo into that?! I think not, count up the innuendo. We'll do this like the Jar of Jelly Beans at the supermarket, the closest to the actual number wins.

P.P.S. (I just said Pee Pee, add one to the innuendo count) Tim, I'll post that Chloe paper ASAP.

Que pasa?

Well I'm glad you asked. At the moment I'm planning my Christmas break. A big part of my plan involves cutting out of classes a week early. I know, I'm so hardcore, you guys should start calling me Johnny Hardcore. And make me cut holes in my jeans. And put a special emphasis on the 'core' in hardCore because I like the way it sounds, and if you don't do it I'll switchblade your lilly white surbaban middle-class ass! That's right, I fit exactly into the mold of the non-conformist. Take that social programming!

On Thursday the 16th I'm headed out with Stevo, and Mr. Barry to see the Ho Ho Show at the Pagent. Usually The Point and their corporate rock shows are below me, but I like the Pagent and check out this artist list:

1. Jimmy Eat World
2. Cake
3. Lostprophets

The week of the 20th I technically have school but choose to blow it off for a ski trip with my friends. We're heading up to Galena, IL which my mom reminded me was the first place I've ever skiied in my life. I was 4 at the time, and already a good little yuppie in training. My life became so much more interesting the day the little Chicago Suburb kid possibility died. Thank you Jerseyville. I mean, I wouldn't be makin' moonshine and going to hoe down's in barns if I lived in Naperville would I? I think not. Well, not until the cataclysm, in accordance with the prophesy.

Anyway, the crew heads out the 19th and gets back the 22nd. I swear you guys are going to go nuts over the shenanigans that will abound on this trip. I've got a few good ones in mind...and one or two great ones. Also I'll bring the digi cam, so expect some fan-friggin-tastic photos and maybe an over the top photo essay. I know you all want to be a part of my life, and here's your chance. I pull off capers all the time, but I don't usually take requests. This time, I'll consider it.

So, what ski-trip antics would you most like to see come from this trip?

I'll provide the photos, you provide the bad influence - Scott

On the phone...

Hi friends, I'm on the phone with TicketBastard customer service. So while I'm waititng I thought I'd make a quick post (the snowball that turns into the avalanche of the next mega post) but I was flipping through Natalie Portman (my future wife) pictures and came across one that might well be the most beautiful/sexy Nat pic ever. I thought I'd share this vision of the goddess Natalie with you all. After all, it is the season for giving. So here it is:





Ahh, that was nice. Completely washed away the frustrations of the customer support system, and the muziak they were playing. - Scott

Because I enjoy "borrowing"

Rob French, over at Rob's Office Space always posts intersting links. Some of them I've seen, some I haven't. I like to think of myself as a savant of all things internet, so not too much surprises me (but the Death comic was hilarious and new). But anyway, I finally have a link of my own. My good friend Karen showed me this. I'd say it's worth passing on. So, good little soldier that I am, here is me passing it on.

Click here.

It's pretty clever. I thought it was some lame "hot or not" or "secret crush" thing. It isn't, in fact this is one of the most clever things I've seen on the internet in awhile. Homestar Runner aside. Well I'm currently shirking my duties, so I'll get back to them. Sorry for the lousy post. - Scott

P.S. Everyone do this, if you're reading my work you're obligated. Now I'm out like Bush's cabinet.

My Thanksgiving; A Recap

Well, it was another Gresham Thanksgiving. How fun. Let me give you a little background on me and my Thanksgiving traditions. To do this let me take you back in time, *deedly do deedly do deedly do* (camera goes blury then spins around).

The year is 1995, I'm in fifth grade. It's another dull Thanksgiving at the stately Gresham Manor. The relatives are shooting the shit, and I've already eaten or hiden all the deviled eggs. After entertaining everyone by putting on all my clothes and pretending to have gotten fat from eating all the food, I needed something else to entertain myself. What caught my eye first was the myriad selection of wine everyone brought.

What's all the to-do over this grape juice stuff. "Mir-lot" I read. Hmm, not much of a name, it must rely more on great taste than marketing. I got myself a wine glass and poured it full to the brim. Then I got a straw (What hoosier drinks wine through a straw?), quickly noting no one else was drinking wine through a straw I scrapped it. I also decided that adults might not think it's as funny as I do to be drinking wine at my age so I'd better down it fast.

I tasted it, and immediately concluded that it had gone bad. But, not that bad. As I drank the rest of it (I'd say over about 10 minutes) I liked it a bit more. Eventually, the inevitable happened. I was about to get away with it when I decided it would be more fun to just blatently announce it to the family. Yeah, that's the ticket. I'll show everyone how slick I am. Unfortuntately, no one else took to heart how feindishly clever my plot to get to the wine was. Mom flipped out thinking I was drunk and demanded to smell my breath, and look into my eyes. Dad just thought it was kind of funny. All in all I got off with a slap on the wrist and a pretty fine buzz.

Back to the present. *Lighting strike, 1.21 Gigawatts. Etc.* *Doodly dee doodly dee doodly dee*

It's 9 years later. Thanksgiving has become my drunken holiday. Every year I get a little more adventurous. I remember the Thanksgiving I started to enjoy Bailey's Irish Cream, and when I tried my first gin. Ahh, good memories. All in moderation...until this year. I mean, I might drink a bit more than I should have, but I never got too out of hand.

This year, I got home a day before the T-Day and put in my order. Two bottles of Bailey's, some Whiskey, Vodka, and maybe some wine for everyone else. Sadly, only one bottle of Bailey's, one bottle of Gentleman Jack (the smoother older brother of Jack Daniel's), and one bottle of wine. Tisk tisk, how little I had to work with. I started in on the Bailey's the night before. Just a glass or two. The next day, I would hit it hard.

The morning of the next day (or morning-ish, I think I woke up at around noon) I had the Bailey's Irish Cream on the rocks with waffles for breakfast. The thick, viscous Irish Cream perfectly complimented the syrupy, buttered waffles. Delicious, and healthy! I went through more than half the bottle before the actual dinner. Then through the course of the dinner I finished the rest of it. It was hilarious. Everyone knew I was drinking it, just not how much.

Meanwhile I've been entertaining, jokes, stories, strange things I acted out, all in all you wouldn't have realized I was drunk. I act that way anyway. Although I'm much wittier sober, and my references never miss. For instance, I think when my brother gave out some random tidbit of explination on something I said "Well thanks for the hypothesis Encyclopedia Murphy Brown." Oops. The jig was up when my parents and aunt wanted some after dinner Bailey's and coffee. No one was happy about that, but I did point out that I told them to buy two bottles.

Then we moved on to games. Mad Gab and Buzzwords. I'm the offical North American Buzzword Champion. No one has ever beaten me and I have only missed 5 questions. My name is Daniel, and I can not be defeated... But the other team can get pissy that a drunken 19 year old is kicking their ass. And that's exactly the tact my aunt (and to a lesser extent my mom) took. They were just "taking" things. Like if it wasn't what the buzzphrase actually was, but close enough my aunt would be like 'I'm taking that'. And yet deny my team that same liberty. The bitch!

So, I did what any reasonable drunken master of the English language and Pop Culture would do. I threatened to ruin Thanksgiving. "IF YOU KEEP CHEATING I SWEAR THAT I WILL SAY SOMETHING TO RUIN THANKSGIVING" They knew not to push me. And we went on to win 165 to 48. Good times. - Scott

P.S. As I typed this epic, I was watching Smallville. Kristin Kruek is so hot she even looks good as a zombie. Now THAT's beauty. I don't care where you're from.

Did you really think we would let you get away with it?!

Timmy timmy timmy, (if you were Beetlejuice you would have just popped up with some zany adventure) I really appreciate what you do for our blogging triad. But you tried to get ahead of us with that widescreen stuff. I'm not going to leave it like this, I just don't want you getting too cocky. I can copy you in a heartbeat. And will.

Anyway, today was quite a day. I had two presentations to give. Both were hilarious and at least B work. Score! I'm too burned out to care about grades at this point. The first was a powerpoint, and I left a lot of jokes in it that I meant to delete for the presentation. Fortunately only one was noticed. And it was about beer.

The second presentation was less smooth. You see, I was once told that I was appointed editor of the school paper. I might have mentioned it once or twice to some people, I can be midly narsistic. Sadly, I forgot to go to the weekly newspaper staff meeting. For three weeks. That didn't sit well with the professor who oversees the paper. In fact you could say she was pissed. And what does this have to do with my second presentation you ask? Well, she was the guest evaluator. Joy.

Sos, I get up infront of my professional development class and gave this big spiel about how I would be good for such and such position etc. I got some jokes in at various points. Seemed to go well. As I'm walking back to my seat someone says "You might want to zip up your fly." No way. No way did that just happen. Sure enough...look down...zip up. Damn. "Do I get points taken off for that?" I asked. "Or maybe I get some seduction points added?" I said with a (rediculously) attractive gleam in my eye. That got the best laugh of the day. So my work was done. Oh yeah, the professor (who looks good, even when angry) wasn't giving me the stink eye either. All in all, mission accomplished.

One final thing for this, somewhat worthless post, I screwed up the quote thing over on http://xrobfrenchx.blogspot.com. So I reckon I'll post my own 80's movie quote. You guys have the challenge of telling me what movie it came from and (if possible) the scene. Here goes:

"Kick him in the nards!!"
"What?!"
"Kick him in the nards so he can't follow you."
[Kicks wolfman in nards]
"Wow! Wolfman has nards!!"

1000000 cool points if you get this one.

(Widescreen is Copyright Timmy Tapeworm Industries 2004, 80's Quote Game is Copyright Rob French Comedy Inc 2004.)

Free at last, free at last, thank Lordy, free at last

Me'sa write papers allll day long. Day's never finished, Masa got me workin', Masa got me workin' so haaaard. Ok, enough slave talk. But I was singing slave working songs over the past week as I work on the freak'n pantload of papers my professors were kind enough to crap all over me. But today, I finished the last of them. Halleuja! I feel like celebrating like a slave that made it to the north. Thank YOU Drinkin' Gord. You really can follow it, who knew?

But other than working on papers (and showing masa's wife why she can't go back) I've been having shenanigans, or misadventury if you will. I have had this 10 page paper for my government class that I've been neglecting for the past...10 weeks. Just not a lot of drive to do it, combined with not having a topic. I eventually stole one from a hot girl I know and went to work on it. My subject: The History of Jersey County. How fun. Turns out the only place you can research the history of Jersey County is IN Jersey County. Which gave me an interesting opportunity. Nobody can check my facts on this one, at least no one from my school. So, at various points in my paper random bits of history are inserted. For instance, did you know that the mayor asked the police department to shoot the birds off the statue on top of the courthouse, not realizing that it was hollow and would become infested with bees? Oops. Not quite how it happened, but it adds some zip to it.

So for the weekend at least I was back in town, Friday night I went and saw the variety show. Wow. I can't believe how much better we were. For starters, you could tell that everything the Emcee's (I love when terms that are actually abbreviations get to become legitimized words by adding vowels i.e. emcee, deejay, etc. It's the American Dream in word form) were totally going from pre-approved scripts. COME ON, where is the potential to get into serious trouble. Where is the lacking, clearly stretching for time dialogue? Not here that's where, not.

Then they ripped off my and Paul's Twelve Days of Christmas bit. Now, I'll be the first to admit that I ripped it off too. But I ripped it off from someone that did it six years before me. That's how you do it, that's how you steal. You steal something obscure enough that you can pass it off as your own. What are these kids learning in school? The only thing what they did could have been was an hommage to myself. In which case, they could have done a better job.

Moving right along, the next day Steve, Nathan, Myself, and Jacob went and saw National Treasure. It was like Indiana Jones but what's that thing it lacked, Oh yeah a decent plot, convincing actors, blood, any sort of interest, and credibility. Other than that, just like Indiana Jones. The gist of the movie was that Nicolas Cage was finding clues left behind by the signers of the declaration of independance, to some gi-normous treasure. The first (of many) problem(s) I have with this movie is that apparently the two things our founding fathers did with this treasure is: 1.) Hide it. and 2.) Leave clues EVERYWHERE about where they hid it. I'm surprised we weren't invaded by Canada.

Sunday consisted of me being too cynical in church and watching TV. Eventually I decided that I needed to head back to Springfield. The drive up was pretty uneventful other than almost getting pulled over by the fuzz for driving like I'm playing GTA. That game is bad on so many levels it's subliminal. Then I finally got home. To my crib, my pad, my home away from home. To an awful smell, one I think must have been hiding behind my El Rancharito bench. Because I walked in and was fine for about .25 seconds, then this sneaky bastard jumped out and socked me in the face. The nose specifically. My first thought was "it's either bad meat or good cheese." Turned out, bad meat. I had a flashback, I kid you not with overexposed borders framing the shot, of me throwing away some skanky ground chuck on Thursday. Good Lord, I thought it was skanky then... If I go another hundred years and don't smell anything like that again I'll have lived a happy life. If a fart farted, that's what I'd imagine it would smell like. And luckily I had enough fans and windows to air my place out, not like it was in the 30's last night. And that cold air moves so much, really helps disperse the smell... I went through a whole can of Oust, and half a can of Febreeze air spray before the place was liveable again.

Frankly, I reccomend against rotting meat as potpouri. Well, that's what's been up with me lately. In Rob French fashion I'll try to post again tomorrow now that I'm no longer in Alabama. - Scott

A loving look back...

I realize I haven't been blogging as fast and furious as I'd like to recently. So rather than string you along with little bits of mediocre quickie posts, I'll tide you over with an abundance of Scott Styled Internet Madness. What am I talking about you ask, well let me explain these two sites I'm going to introduce and perhaps you'll have a little better idea.

First off: Project Bilbo
A strange name for a strange project. It was our senior year and me, Stevo, Barrett, Nathan Harry, and Tim had nothing to do. So we get the brilliant idea that we wanted to live underground like Bilbo Baggins. It was the kind of idea that stoners have, but would never seriously consider persuing. Well, we are more persistant than stoners and have a bad idea rate that's easily twice as high. So this is the end result. Read the History, Index, and Pic Pages for the full story. And a healthy dose of Scott.

Next on deck: The Heaven's Devils Homepage
As my good friend Steve Harmon once said "With Scott everything gets a T-Shirt and a Webpage." How right he is, note the last update (over a year ago...my bad). We were (and are) the baddest biker gang in the world, maybe even the state. You know those Harley guys with their beer bellies, biker stench and engine CC's in the triple and quadruple digits? They're over compensating. I'll let you figure out for what. A real man rides a bike with a two number CC engine. Preferably bogged down with the weight of the rider and his lady. If he can find a skull helmet, plether jacket and fingerless spiked gloves he's all the badder.

Browse these gems of website design (circa 1995), and let's hear the opinions. And if you were there, share a story - Scott

Bunch of complainers, all of you

But I'm doing it all for you. So, my loving public, the 'shitty' post has been moved. Bonus points to whoever finds it first. Since I don't have much to post about currently I'll post one I've been saving for emergency use. The glass is broken, we might as well use it so here goes:

The dean of my school, in addition to the academic advisors selected me and 3 others as the student representatives of the college. How elite, how amazing, blah, blah, blah. We had this 10 week training period, we attended seminars on leadership, mentoring, being a douche, professionalism, etc. Then for the culmination they took us to Chicago, where we had a ceremony in the Walnut Room. Tre sophisticated.

Anyway, they wanted us to present a slick, professional image to the incomming students (those that we, I, would be responsible for). The dean/academic advisors decided it would be a good idea for us to have a card to give to them. The thing that caught my attention was that we would be designing and producing the cards ourselves. This was their greatest downfall. I got in trouble for it, but not too much. Just a scolding, probably because they thought it was pretty funny themselves. So, without further adieu, here is my business card that I present to all (female) freshmen and hand out around the community:





Giggedy giggedy, OHHHH Yeah! - Scott

Political Free Zone Ahead

I was thinking of writing some kind of politically charged article about the election and whatnot. But then I just said "fuck it". Then I was like, "did I really need to cuss". Then I decided that my image requires that I cuss from time to time and meditated on that. But I've come to the conclusion that I never want to hear about politics, hanging chads (Unless my friend Chad Bradley hangs himself. That I'd want to hear about), red states, blue states, states of mind..., the war on *fill in political buzz word here*, whateva. Just shut up. I want to see my damn shows, NOT 8 networks finding new and elaborate ways to say "We don't know".

One side note: Anytime there's a 'War on *BLANK*' it's kind of rediculous. You might as well have a war on sadness. A war on an abstract concept is going to be pretty damn hard to pull off. Like the war on drugs. Nobody says "Oh man, this damn war on drugs. When are we going to end this slaughter? WHEN?" "Here man, this might be our last joint. We're here on the frontlines on the war on drugs. I'm so scared hold me." "You aren't scared of the war, that's just the paranoia kicking in." Ok so maybe that last sentence gets uttered from time to time. But come on! So yeah, the ill defined war on terror falls squarely in this grey zone of shenanigan.

Moving along. My first java program went to shit pretty quickly. That damn number counter never got off the ground. And I was pretty annoyed about it. Then my Team Venture shirt took a laundry ride and came out a little worse for the wear. Team Venture was taking hits all over the place. But over the last two weeks we have pulled a Lazarus and risen again. Not that we're really back in the game, because of the first assignment debacle, we'd have to sabotage them...to...You know what, we might be back in the game.

Moving on. A little story about my day. But to be straight up Tarintino stizzle I'll be starting in the middle. No one in town sells legs for a sofa. ANYWHERE. And doesn't it sound like something you've seen and disreguarded because you didn't need it at the time. Like condoms for Tim, or an on-call lawyer for myself. Well, it seemed that way to me. And yet nothing.
*********Three Months Ago**********

Steve and Barrett unexpectedly show up at my apartment in Springfield. Apparently they looked in the windows first to make sure I wasn't busy. (Good thing they didn't show up a half hour earlier) baZING. Anyway suddenly imbued with more manpower I had an idea. Earlier that day I saw a perfectly good sofa just sitting by the side of the road! It had to be mine. It was even a flip and f*ck. (See how I sensor myself: only put one f-bomb per entry. Anymore than that and I have to be an R-rated blog. Because kids can see half a boob in a PG-13 but if they hear the f-word twice in 2 hours they'll be corrupted beyond any usefulness to society and become murderers). Naturally I put them to good use. Thanks guys, it looked really heavy. We got it into my apartment and into the spare bedroom only to open it up and find no mattress and no legs on it. Still free is free...
*********Present Day************

My mom found a foldable box-spring mattress for the sofa, and I brought it here in my car. Although at the end of the day still no legs. Then it hit me, what are my old school books for? So, I took a page from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and use books to support my couch. Ah, cartoons. What can't you teach us - Scott

Smoking blunts and bustin' caps in whitey

Sorry kids, I know how much you love me. I hereby dedicate myself to posting no less than twice a week. Although I will note how well my silent treatment worked. It was like a hunger strike of no updates. And what happened? Friends came crawling out of the woodwork to tell me about it. Two of them even commented (thank you Rob, and Timmy). That's all I want people, I'm doing it all for you. Jeez.

In other news, my costume was a huge success. The smarter people got it, the idiots I didn't care about anyway. There was a friggin pantload of other funny costumes. But at the top of the list were Nathan Rice as an ostrich, and Ryan Kanakallan as Smoky The Bear...with a joint. What a great audience. As Cady (of Mean Girls) pointed out, Halloween for girls is the opportunity to dress like a skank and not be labeled a skank. And oh how glorious the pseudo-skanks were. From the naughty school teacher complete with ruler and pupil to punish, to the various "See the ears I'm a *fill in animal here*." Yeah, you're an animal...now I get beastiality. (Was that one toke over the line?) Answer: yeah probably. I had a hella good time. And not just because it was Halloween, because I was drunk!

But even the sober times moved along nicely. Saturday night I had dinner at the Bar-B-Que place in Champaign. Very nice, there's this huge cage structure in the center of the 'establishment' with one table in it at the very base. Thanks to my quick wit and good lucks, that's where we sat. I proceeded to order everything the waitress suggested (which started out with 2 big appetizers) . This confused the hell out of her. And I went on and on with it. Tried to order some Merlot. Then slapped Nathan for forgetting my ID. Fun fun, all in all a very good night.

I came home Sunday night and recouperated from my wild weekend. Pretty uneventful that day sadly, but for a day I just wanted to sleep through, it was perfect. Today, I've cheifly played Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. Good game. In the beginning it's a little depressing (as I would imagine being a young black man in the ghetto would be) but after you start comming up in the world it's better. I like to yell anti-white things as I cap crackas. Or beaners. Or ricers. Good times.

Also, the writing for that EQ site continues. So that takes a bit o' time. Which I suppose is better than taking my bit o' honey. Because if they tried that I'd have to pop a cap in their asses - Scott

How can I be more offensive?

Well boys and girls, I've been stuck at the piss drenched hell hole that is RMC for too damn long. I may not have bitched about it before, but I'm in a wild mood so what the hell. Here's an idea of RMC, think of college. Ok good. Now take out all the good things about it. Add some insane bureaucracy, just a touch of 1950's conservativism, and two dollops of rediculous corporate America seminar cliches and there you have it. Slob the Bob Morris College. FUN!

As you can imagine it doesn't take much to create a stir in this place. And I've quickly grown bored of it. Don't get me wrong, the education is excellent. The only thing lacking is everything else. Anyhow, this weekend I am going to a place where I can (and must) exercize my antics on a much larger scale. That place is the college promised land: U of I.

So naturally my mind thinks, "How can I be noticed, how can I make a diffrence, how can I be more offensive?" Equally as naturally I think "Racism! Yay!" So, I think about racist groups. There's an old adage in Tennessee. Well, it's in Illinois, it's probably in Tennessee. It goes: "The smaller the minority, the better fighters they are" For instance, a black guy could kick my ass simply because he's more of a minority than I am. And a Cuban could kick his ass, because they're an even smaller minority. Indians can kick anyone's ass because they're almost gone. (But we can give them small pox blankets still. Score one for whitey).

This line of thinking brought me to an impass, who is the least small minority, or alternately the largest majority. Then it came to me: ASIANS! You know those bad drivers on the highway or the people who work at that buffett near your house or those people who smell like rice and fish on the bus. They can't really kick anyone's ass. (Karate excluded). So my costume.....(drumroll please......)



As I have been told, it is the "Most. Offensive Costume. EVER." Gotta love that - Scott

Execu-bot #2 who only likes what he has seen before...

I don't know if anyone here has been watching the show right after Smallville on the WB. (One side note, the WB has done a complete 180. I remember when every show on it would play equally well on UPN. No longer, I guess that's just one more thing we stole from the blacks.) Anyway, the show is called The Mountain, and it features two brothers who run a mountain. I can 't imagine the amount of time they spent on that title. Literally hundreds of seconds.

In the promo's they call it "The O.C. meets Colorado" or some equally generic drivel. The thing is, they left out the other half of the show's make up. It's really "The O.C. in Colorado meets Wings" Let's take a look at the brothers who own the mountain and see if they remind us of anyone....





For the love of God, they even dress the same! Sadly, it goes beyond this. If one of the actors on the mountain were ever sick they could shuffle one of these jokers in and not miss a beat. The characters are basically the 21st century clones of the Wings Bros. The wild rebel brother who provides strategic comic relief, the straight laced brother who just can't imagine how his brother lives the way he does, and the two come together with the common goal of running the family buissness...Did they write this while they were drunk and missing Wings or
what? - Scott

My Mom, the diplomat

Sorry about the 11 days since my last posting. Things are crazy here in the Little Easy. I wish the weather was better 8 straight days of rain. Is this Seattle or what? Anyway last weekend I went up to the U of I. I hit up the foam party, which was awesome. Nothing makes a party great like a suffocating 8 foot wall of foam.

Ironically, nothing suffocates quite like it. You can almost breathe, but not quite. There's also the side benefit of having a taste in your mouth like you just dropped the f-bomb in fifth grade. (that's for you kids who got your mouths "washed out." And I mean the liquid soap kids, not you pansy assed bar soapers. I put bar soaps on my cereal, like little pieces of banana! So cram it.) Other than that it was an alright time...while I was there. It ended up that I got seperated from Steve, and Maggie (more on her below). And walked my soaking wet ass home by my self and got lost in the process. Shit. Oh well, some kindly drunks helped me out (as they usually will) and found my way back to dry clothes. Sadly, the room I was supposed to be sleeping in was...otherwise occupied. So were the other 3 options I had. Damn, three hookups and none for me?! I got severely gyped.

Oh wait, did I say I got gyped? I didn't yet know the meaning of gyped. The whole damn AKL frat house was too busy for me to get any sleep (not that I completely trust that I would wake up unharmed). So I went to the one place in 200 miles that was mine and mine alone: my car. Slept in the back seat, which ain't no place for a man to be without a woman. But it is a good place to hear interesting snippets of conversation. For instance an estranged couple walking by offered this gem: "Come on" "No, you fucked him. And now you won't see him for another six months!" Brilliant. Lots of angry drunken people. And I woke up with a crick in my neck like I couldn't believe. Not a good trade.

I headed home the next day, my mom asked about the weekend. I told her about Maggie, a girl that looks exactly like my brother's girlfriend, but skinnier and taller. I described her to my mom just like that. I didn't really think much of it. A few days later I come home and my mom is describing this girl to Katie (brother's girl): "she looks just like you but skinny and taller." If you don't know my mom, don't get the wrong idea. She's just about the nicest person going. But this was just a slip of the tounge. (Btw, Katie isn't bad looking or fat). So we're making fun of her for saying that and she starts to feel bad about it. So she calls Katie's house but doesn't get Katie. The person on the other end said that she couldn't talk right now so my mom asks (and I quote): "Oh she's busy?, is she eating or something" I almost peed my pants. COME ON! Way to apologize. Rofl - Scott

Scotty 2 Hotty and the 3 Ply Nightmare

Firstly, I'm sorry about not posting recently. I'm ass deep in papers and with EQII comming out today, and the end of GTA: San Andreas in sight, video games are getting my priority time, then papers, sadly blogging almost becomes an afterthought. But I did say 'almost' hence the post.

Anycrap, usually I write about what's been up with me lately. And well this week what's been up has actually been crap. You see there's this ad campagin by Charmin. They use these bears that crap in the woods. Which conveniently answers the question of where a bear craps. But these bears are sophisticated, they go the extra mile. That's right the bears use TP. Not only do they use it, when they do the camera pans up and there's these wavy lines going out from their heads. Ruling out Spider Sense, his head being rediculously hot, or a bad smell comming off it (although that's not so far fetched considering the bear just took a dump) thoes lines must mean pleasure.

So I think, if a bear can derive so much happiness from wiping it's ass in the forest with this stuff, just think how much better it would be on a toilet instead of sitting on the ground leaning against a tree. Which begs the question, where does the poo go? Is THAT why they need so much TP? Some kind of fur cleaning fiasco? Well all this is beside the point but one little snippet of corporate jingle. Here it is verbatim: "what you thought was enough, might be too much." Damn straight. Using no more than the usual amount, somehow my toilet had a clog that would put the arterial clogs of Arkansas to shame.

Naturally I didn't realize this until my hands were nice and soapy. I looked over and let out a yell that should have shattered the porcelin. My soapy hands frantically flipped out in every direction turning on lights, struggling to open the door, I kicked the book I was reading out the doorway and into the dryer. Then cut the water right as it was the same level as the rim. I sat in the bathtub and caught my breath. Someone should start an exercize program that consists solely of going to someplace you don't want an overflowing toilet in, and noticing it too late.

After I recovered from my 32 seconds of soapy, screaming, over-flow preventing madness, I realized that no amount of coat hanger solutions were going to fix this. I needed a plunger. So I went out to buy one. How in the blue hell I managed to go 1 year and 3 months without a plunger is beyond me. I guess it's the run for the border I made earlier in the day. But sadly, it was 10 o'clock and Springfield closes at 9. So, after going to three other places I finally found some designer plunger at Target. It took quite a lot of plunging to fix that mess. Apparently digested Taco Bell = Toilet Spackle.

So that, EQII, papers, and GTA:SA have been gobbling up my time like Star Jones at a free buffet. But I'll still try to post at least twice more this week. Later for now - Scott

Go Team Venture!

I haven't posted in a few days, but I've been busy. With what you ask? How presumptious, I don't answer to you. But since I have a good answer I might as well give it. The last couple of days have been pretty righteous. Let me take you back to a few days ago (cue music: deedly do deedly do deedly do deedly do deedly do)

I was supposed to be starting as a writer for a website and a journalist for my school paper (how Chloe Sullivan, I know). So, that was comming up but I didn't have alot written. Then all of a sudden the date I said I'd start for the website was all up ons and so was the school newspaper meeting. Crap. I was supposed to have things written for both (well, one I did) and I had diddley. Jack Diddley. You know, I didn't even have Jack Diddley. On the basis of clean up and harsh-itude I didn't even not have Jack Diddley, it was in the realm of Jack Sh*t. One step above Jack the Ripper and 100 under Cracka Jack.

Anyway I went to the meeting for the paper (which is called The Eagle) and I was clearly the most awesome person present. Based on both writing skills and mitichlorian count. The faculty member in charge (ha!) of us told me she had a special 'job' for me. Despite the innuendo (or perhaps because of it) I was interested. And while I was buying jeans at White Oaks Mall with my mom, who should wander by but Ms. Hager, my english teacher/newspaper ward. It turns out they want me as the editor. I originally had an exclamation point at the end of that sentance but it struck me as over excited. Holy crap! I'm editing already. Although I guess I always have, you don't get this good by osmosis.

Also on this prestigous day my first article is published on Eq2.OGaming.com check it out. I'm the community digest by "Scott 'QuienAmorphous.'" Basically I write a gossip column about the EQ community. How cool I must sound, so moving right along....

In other news, I went and visited Haley yesterday at Lincoln Christian College. It was cool, we watched Smallville with her and her friends. I pretended I knew everyone already...some of them bought it. Good times, good Smallville episode. More naked Lois! Because frankly, I support it. The only hitch in the night was that when I got there I didn't have her number to call her. So I called everyone I could think of, and as a last resort, her cousin. Who was pissed that I called just get a number. Oh well. My handy new digital voice recorder helped out there (I got it for interviews and such) just had to say the number and play it back. I've also taken to making Norm McDonald style notes to self. Which I really like, because I can make myself laugh. With the added bonus of getting to hear my own voice! Win, win.

Finally, in my Java class we're programming robots. We work in pairs and he announced on Tuesday that the winning pair gets a robot for each person. Me and a guy named Jimmy are in a team. Today I chose the team name: Team Venture. Then joked about making shirts. Well...


That's right. I done did it. GO TEAM VENTURE! Those robots is ours baby. No contest, we have shirts! What do you have, good programming? Like that'll do it. Piish, good luck buddy. We'll be over here in our shirts. - Scott

Rage Against the TV

When did TV turn on me? Where there used to be a fool hardy friend, there is now a devious trickster ready to stab me in the back or otherwise confuse me. Let me explain:

I'm just sititing at home, watching the tube (hard to believe I know, bear with me). And this commercial for a reality show comes on. Since I was watching FOX I wasn't the least bit skeptical. It was "Tiny House: the love was sent from heaven but the house was built too small." I laughed my ass off. I was thinking this is the greatest reality show EVER. They were bumping their heads on the ceiling, trying to make love on the too small bed, you name it. Like a brobdingnagian suburban couple would, I suppose. I even liked the characters, there was a bit of insight into them. The husband had a catch phrase "awesome." Ok so that's more like a catch word, but he was using it alot. And the wife...was there too.

But then WHAMMO, it's all been a farce. The voice over says "the drama is real, but it won't save you up to 15% on car insurance." By the time he was saying "save you up to..." I was literally screaming NOOOOOOOOOO. I think I scared my neighbors, I heard them in the hallway and when I yelled there was a scurrying of feet and a door slammed. Which made me laugh pretty hard again. But when that wore off I was pissed again. How could Gieco do this to me? I mean, I expect this shit from SNL but from the Gecko? WHY GOD WHY?! - Scott

But I have good news...

This happened to me awhile ago. I was watching something on FOX and it went to commercial and since I couldn't find the remote I decided to watch the commercials. So I'm sitting in my recliner and the most hilarious reality show ad comes on. Tiny House: the love was real, but the house was built too small.

I laughed my ass off. Only on FOX I was thinking. Although I was also looking forward to watching it. I was like this is going to be an awesome show. Then it told me that I could save 15% on car insurance. It's a f*cking commercial for car insurance. CURSE YOU GEICO. I mean I expect this kind of thing from Saturday Night Live, but from Geico? I went from joy to sheer rage in about 30 seconds. Did anyone else get duped? - Scott

A Ninja Day's Night

So...I'm really bored. My classes now get out at 12 noon and I have a whole 13 to 14 hours a day to do whatever I want. Strangely, I still feel burned out. I've now been going to school for a full 12 months without any sizeable break at all. That might have something to do with it. Anyway, all this 'freedom' is making me a bit loopy.

Yestderday I tied a teeshirt to my head and ran around like a ninja. I also took pictures for posterity. (see above) I also was in the park yesterday. I dunno why, but it was just one of those moments where you don't want to go home and you have no place to be. So it was the park for me. I got to see the cops break open a car and look in the trunk. I thought I saw a dead body, but it turned out to be a duffle bag with a shirt on top of it. What a let down, the cop looked dissapointed too. Like he woke up and said "Today is the day, I'm gonna see somebody dead!" then got to that car and thought "this is it!!" then the whole thing turned out to be Al Capone's Vault, Vol. 2.

Today I was there again, I hope I'm not becoming some kind of crazy park person. Like the pidgeon lady from Home Alone 2. Nah, I'm too rich and harbor too great a pigeon resentment. But I did find these awesome paths in the woods. In the middle of this park there's like 2 or 3 acres of woodland. Nobody goes in there. Like it's the last remnant of Fangorn or something. But I realized that and went in anyway. It's awesome, I can run around like a wild man and nobody sees me. So I had a damn good time of it. Just got back. Then there was nothing to do, so I wrote this! You read it, you can't UNread it. - Scott

P.S. That's two Home Alone refrences in as many days. What the hell is that all about?

Location, Location, Location

You never really take those old standby cliches seriously. But most of them have a grain of truth buried beneath their worn surfaces. Like old hookers. I learned something today, (man you feel like Doogie Houser when you write that) I learned that real estate applies to everything. Like where you sit in class. Now generally where I sit is the place to be, but there are some feng shui type things to consider. Window seats are always a bonus, particularly the one where I have a view of the blonde's rack.

But when location is really important is when signs are involved. Like wet paint signs. Like "Hey we just painted the front steps like an hour ago so don't go out this way in your favorite shoes signs" Say what you will about my literacy, but that kind of thing catches my eye. It's just for the fact that they put the sign, ON THE OUTSIDE OF THE F*CKING BUILDING. Now, comming from outside it's pretty bloody ovbious that the stairs are painted. The whole glistening in the light of the lamp post thing pretty much cracks that case. But when you're pretending to be a fast food ninja with whopper wrappers on your hands and a black tee-shirt around your head and you jump out the front door of your building, only to almost slip on the admitedly ovbious wet paint it's something quite different.

So thank YOU Cedar Point. Way to go on that one, now if you could just fix that spiked log that's supposed to swing down from overhead when I open my front door you could be a grade A, Kevin from Home Alone booby trap house. Now I'll just go rinse off my shoes in my bath tub...-Scott

The Cloth Symbiote

What's the deal with belly button lint? I've had this conversation once or twice, but I mentioned it this weekend and now it is really bothering me. Here's the thing, sometimes I have belly button lint. Not so bad eh? Not cancer, not even ED. But, here is the twist: it's always blue. Always, I could be wearing a white shirt all day, I come home and and there to mock me is the blue lint. It's even happened to me in a red shirt. How in the hell?

After much research (googling it), I found a compendium of BBL research. Check this. That link takes you to a survey of belly button lint info. Apparently as you get older you get more BBL. Or as I like to think of it, BBL prolongs your life so those who are old are so as a result of BBL. And that's why the percentage goes up as people age. Or maybe, we with the belly button lint are the master race and we naturally life longer. Like the Jaffa and they are our 90% cotton symbiotes. Our cloth like fountains of youth, and to think that fool Juan Ponce de Leon wasted his time searching in Florida. Shoulda worn a tee-shirt Jon Juan...tisk tisk.

Liars, Guns, and Money. Part 1

I don't know if you've wised up and taken my advice to go see Garden State but if you did, you probably noticed how sleazy some of Largeman (Braff's) friends are. Well, compaired to the posse I was hanging out with this weekend, those guys are saints. It all started out with me chatting (read pumping for information) with an old friend from high school. (One side note, how cool is that I'm old enough to have an "old friend from high school. Mesa cool, that's how cool.) And she mentioned that she wanted to see me. I thought it was just an excuse to try to jump my bones, and so gladly accepted.

Then in comes one of my shadier aquaintences, no names will be named, but think long hair, no shoes. Suddenly it's a party at his farm I'm supposed to go to. I'd been to one there once before, and on that occasion I ended up drinking a fifth of rum, starting a minor forrest fire (then trying to smother it with leaves and small brush), and finally realizing that we should have pitched the tent before it got so drunk out, pitching a tent over a sapling. Which was poking the hell out of my back all night. I don't reccomend it.

Anyway this was the type of thing I was expecting. But expectations, like children from Appalachia, don't always come out the way you'd expect. Somewhere along the line I forgot that a normal kid goes kind of wild in college. And a slightly wild kid, goes completely apeshit. It used to be mostly alcohol and sometimes Mary Jane with him, but now there's perscription pills,
marijuana, and mushrooms. Come to think of it, that kinda sounds like toppings on some kind of Betty Ford pizza. His friends were no great influences either. His stoner friends range from the smoked/perscription pilled-himself-retarded guy, to the kinda decent guy who's funny stoned. I met this motley crew at the Shop-N-Save at around 11PM, where they were stocking up on the essentials of the night. Which turned out to be dried appercots, 10 bags of potato chips, a gas can to fill with vodka and drink out of, and liquor.

We set out from the store around 11:30 and maybe got to the field where we were going to camp at about 12 AM. As you might guess, it was dark. Gold star for knowing your times of day. It was so dark in fact that when we pulled up and got out of our cars we didn't even realize that what field we had parked in. We didn't find out until one of them got close enough to bump into and let out a cautious "moooo?" It was a huge, curious cow, and we were surrounded by more of them. The (mostly) city stoner kids freaked out. I was a bit worried myself, I had been eating the angus, and now the angus was angry. Fortunately the angus knew better and I didn't have to eat any raw cow. I still don't know how our headlights missed that.

We moved into a different field and set up camp. Then of course they busted out the drugs. For stoners though, his friends turned out to be pretty good on peer pressure, in fact the one time someone tried to pressure me into doing something 4 other guys jumped his ass about how uncool it was. No peer pressure druggies...this political correctness thing has gotten way out of hand. After consuming enough mind altering substances to consider voting for Bush, the hippies decided that it was time to tell scary stories around the fire. Or try to while 9 other stoned people make fun of you. Eventually the desire for some kind of entertainment won out and the stories began. And while it was supposed to be funny (which it kind of was) what I heard was the most distrubing thing I may ever hear. This is getting a bit long, so it's going to be a multi parter.

Before I end here is that story paraphrased as best I can remember: "Ok, here's the story. Some of you have heard it and were there, so don't ruin the ending. Well me and *I don't remember the guy's name, I'll call him Casey* Casey were heading out to meet some friend at a motel. And we go in and everyone's doing acid, so we do some acid. And we're drinking and stuff, and then we decide to go out and walk around. So, we go out and we're walking down the street and we see this midget. And we're like 'Yo. Midget, what's up' and we get to talking and this midget just has a lot of ideas. We're like this is pretty cool, this midget has something to say. So we bring him back to the motel with us. And we gave him some beer and some acid. And he's having a good time. But a little later he gets up on the table and starts screaming. The midget is just freaking out. We tried to calm him down, but nothing would work...so we ended up throwing him in the closet and blocking the door. Eventually we went to sleep and kind of forgot about him. So the next day we were leaving and somebody was like "Oh yeah the midget." Everyone was pretty worried, so we opened the closet and..."

The ending is mind blowing, and severely wrong. I'm pretty sure someone told me not to repeat this, but it gives you an idea of who I accidently ended up hanging out with. I think I'll leave you in suspense. If I get enough comments I'll just finish the tale in the comments portion of the blog. Let me know - Scott

How much did you miss me??

That's right I'm back, the postings have been a bit erratic lately, but I'm making up for it now. Beware this blog entry is going to be all over the place...

In case you're wondering about the order, listen to the audio first, then read this. Anyway, that was pretty bad. Fortunately from attending RMC I'm used to hanging around nerds and generally defective people. It's like being the last piece of bread in the bag without any mold on it I guess. I just have to stay nice and fungi free, that's my plan.

Anyway, I'll fill you in on what's been up in my world lately. My car stereo broke, through no fault of my own (although I did help it in the transistion...) and I've been listening to my damn portable CD player with headphones. Before you say it, yes I know it's illegal. But it's one of those evil suppressive laws. We let deaf people drive right? Why not the temporarily hearing otherwise engaged I say. I consider it an act of civil disobedience, in protest. I'm like the people in Nazi Germany who tried to cross the border without their papers. THAT's how rebel I am. Until the replacement stereo gets here anyway.

Also, it seems that I'm being Shanghaied by the various people I know to write for things they find interesting. It started with Stevo telling me about a position at the main EQ2 community site (http://eq2.ogaming.com if you're interested). I had been following that site for a long time and to write for it would be amazing. So I applied, posted this blog as my resume and was accepted. Sadly I was so busy, as a working girl on nickel night, and I could hardly reply for another few days and had to think about it (as he explained it, suddenly it was a much larger job than I had guessed) and when I replied it had been quite awhile. I haven't heard back yet, but I'm hopeful.

The second was when my English professor drafted me to write for the school paper. Yeah, that's right I'm going to have my own column. Take THAT world, my opinions are getting published...You know I think I'm going to get myself kicked out of college if I'm not careful with this gig. Hmm, might still be worth it. Things to think about - Scott

Stereotype Alley

You know Tornado Alley? It's in the Mid-West, from Texas to somewhere in Indiana where all the twista's come through. And every hack comic uses it as their closing bit on open mic night "You know who I don't feel sorry for? Those hillbillies who live in tornado alley and are surprised when a tornado destroys their trailer..." yeah, that's what I meant.

Anyway, where I live it isn't so much Tornado Alley (though I'm pretty sure we're in that as well), it's more Stereotype Alley. Where all the Stereo Type's come to live. Let me give you an example. I'm outside in my car driving out of the parking lot, and what should come across my path but a Latin man carrying a 24 case of Corona. Hmmm, 1 for 1. We can do better, then I spied a Black man carring a case of KFC. Doing well, 2 for 2, and finally the kicker a hippy looking guy eating granola.

Wow, throw in a few asian delivery men and you're set. It's just amazing that not only did I have this wonderful diversity of people, they were doing diversly funny things based on ethinic/cultural stereotypes. I love it. - Scott

JoJo is HOW OLD?!

Uh ho. I almost pulled an R. Kelly. Why is this kind of information not plastered across the bottom of the screen on MTV? You're flipping through the channels and you come across a girl that's singing like she's at least Hilary Duff aged. (Not that's she's even as attractive as Hilary, but she seems a bit more alert and less like a facade.) Then later on you find out she's 13! What the hell is this country comming to. I'm starting to believe the whole too much estrogen in chicken breasts. Seriously, this kind of crap has to stop.

Besides, she's THIR-FRIGGIN-TEEN YEARS OLD. What the hell does she have to sing about? "I got a note in class, somebody likes me, do I check yes, no or maaaaybe?" Or maybe something about how she's super psyced to get her braces off!!! And she could do a blues-y song about how she had to eat her mom's meatloaf last night, bummer! That's great, and maybe she could perform at her middle school's variety show, but GET THE HELL OFF MTV. That is all - Scott

Thank you Polaris...

That's right, thank YOU imaginary band that plays the Adventures of Pete and Pete theme song. I'm up to my elbows in crap and I'm wearing flip flops. But you and your insatiable song with it's one line of lyrics garbled so bad no one can decipher them...You have become my last refuge. In the midst of about 80 projects bearing down on me like Delta Burke on an open buffett, you somehow calm me and remind me how surreal life really is. So props to you. - Scotty

P.S. Short post because I'm going out of my mind with stress. And Adult Swim is on. That was also a factor.

My Kinda Lame Audio Post.

Because you care...

Hey there, yeah this is a rip off of Tim's template. But mine has more muted colors and more interesting content. I don't know if I'll move here for real, but I can at least point you in the right direction. www.geocities.com/gmoneydopefly That's my current web-residence. My issue with that locale, is that it looks like shizit. Although I do have lots of flexibility. I may be updating the style soon. Who knows, I might just move all my posts to here. We shall see. - Scott

New Jersey Is Officially A Good State

A certain percentage of you will know exactly what I'm talking about. But for you other poor unfortunate fools, allow me to elaborate on the greatness of this oft mocked state. It's actually a really cool state (and as it turns out a breeding ground for really hot girls.) I mean come on, have you SEEN Pete and Pete? That was shot in New Jersey. And it was one of the best TV series of all time. I still get a kick out of it. It's that clever. Beyond that there's a pantload of movies some of which I'll list, because...why not?

New Jersey Films:

• Clerks
  
• Chasing Amy
  
• Mallrats
  
• 54
  
• (a lesser entry) Cop Land
  
• A Beautiful Mind

If you can overlook Cop Land those are some excellent films that have been very Jersey-centric. Some filmed entirely in New Jersey. But there is one movie dubiously absent from this list, and that is because it warrants a mention on it's own. That film is Garden State. Good movie. Gets it's own sentence. How about that? Finally, it seems NJ has this odd habit of exporting it's really attractive women. I can only guess this is to trick people into comming to the state. Only to find that the more attractive women have already left (and come to Illinois.) So, I don't know if I'd live there. But New Jersey is now in my good graces.

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a SUPERMARKET

That's right. Super. And it's to this market of markets that I go to buy things that keep me alive. These "things" are commonly called food. The glitch I have with this deal is that I don't really make an active list of what I need. And I never go grocery shopping until I'm STARVING. 11 Hungry man dinners and 3 packages of Jello Snack Packs, yeah good meal.

But I've gotten really good over this year of alone-living-ness at shopping. So good in fact that I have a route I take through the store every time. It never fails me. Other shoppers look on in shock and awe as I storm through the aisles like a commando in the bush (ha ha ha, I said bush.) Seriously I use the patented-by-every-kid-who-thinks-he's-awesome ride-the-kart technique. That's high level. It also gets you around faster. In one case it got me around to hitting a very attractive lady's kart faster, but that's really the exception. As a rule it works well. You might think that after a year of living away from the parents the childish joy of buying whatever food you want would wear off. And I would think that too. But it really never did. I still announce loudly that I'll buy what I want and when I want to anyone near by. And that I can eat my dessert first too if I want.

I also enjoy the sometimes akward exchange at the checkout counter. For example once I was buying an FHM Magazine, some jerkey (the literal kind, not the kind people buy FHM for), and some cookies. The thing that makes this funny is that my dad called me at the exact moment and we started talking. So as the old lady cashier was checking my items out I said something like "I'm at Shop and Save...yeah, just getting the essentials." Her reaction was priceless.

Or what happened yesterday. I was buying my usual items (stuff that requires 1-2 minutes preperation). Anyway the conveyer belt sent my groceries down to me I was putting them in a bag. But something struck me as odd. I had put half a cart's worth of food into one bag?? How in the hell. Breifly I thought I had some kind of magical Marry Poppins bag. Sadly my next thought was how good it would be to steal and smuggle things. As I put my 4th salad bowl in it things started to fall out the sides. I was between two seperate bags. Dammit. At least the sexy checkout chick liked it. - Scott

Where ta hell have I been?

The short answer is everywhere. The existential answer is nowhere. And the Tralfamadorian answer is that I have always been in the same place and will be there forever because the moment is structured that way. But screw them I hate that answer. Truthfully the reason I haven't been blogging away like the blogchuck I am is that I am friggin swamped in papers and projects. My school has become a vertible Nazi work camp. But instead of...whatever the hell was the point of work camps, I have to turn out my thought provoking, insightful papers.

I just got back from Garden State which I talk about below so I'll spare you for now. But I will fill you in on what in the blue hell I've been up to for the past week-ish. After AVP my weekend was more or less over. I went drug my feet back to Springfield to start the week over again. Blah blah blah. It was a strange week for me. For many reasons. But the most prominent in my mind was that I couldn't be on time for the life of my childeren this week. In fact in the Nazi work camp I think I would have been killed. Or at least paralyzed. Dumbass Nazis, that wouldn't make me any faster! Oh well, that's why they lost the war.

But yeah, not on time at all. Which put a rush on everything. Or seemed to. Even the morning crap suffered. It's a bit diffrent when you are rushed. Trying to turn a normal colon into a TURDZOOKA 5000 is ill advised. At least without proper coaching and a visit to the doctor. Grahaahahaaaaaa, (the noise I just made) I'masoooo tired. Going to sleep now. Finishing update...tomorrow...hope fully.

24 -23r

I typed that last thing was what happened when I slapped the keyboard out of tired frustration. But I kind of like it. So it stays. Maybe I'll use it later as a bogus mathematical formula. In any case last week was hectic. I finally got through the school week and back onto my weekend life and moseyed back down to J-ville.

I had a chiropractic appointment at the DEATH SPA. Named as such because the place it's at used to be a funeral home. When you go in it still smells like dead people. I was there to get a hip adjustment (yeah yeah I know, what am I like 90?). So after a little massage from their rediculously expensive massage chair it was off to the creepy little room. What was creepy was that the lighting was obviously original. IT'S THE SAME WAY THEY LIT DEAD PEOPLE TO WORK ON THEM! As I lay there I took off my shoes and almost expected they'd put a toe tag on me. It's sort of a disconcerting place if you ask me. Considering that half of the things they do there for the living (hair, make up, skin reconstruction...) they used to do for the dead. Not. Cosher. (btw, for those of you using my site as a dictionary, I don't think that's how you spell cosher.)

So that was Thursday. After that I had most of a Friday to kill before heading back to Springfield. Generally I'd spend the weekend in town. But this weekend I had a dumbass Eagle Scholar event to attend. So I was duty bound to go there. Bah. I didn't do anything too much on Friday except some assorted naked shenanigans. Piqued your interest? Good, I'll continue. The first naked incident occured shortly after Ross pissed me off. He was preparing to take a shower. The shower was running (and had been for the last 28 minutes while he fiddle fuged around.) So I hid his towel and hopped in the shower. I hid behind the curtain. Eventually (after searching fruitlessly for his towel) he decides to get in, but before he does I jump out and scare the hell out of him. Before you ask, yes I do look good naked. Which horrified him even further...horrified with JEALOUSY.

The second of these was after I had actually taken my shower. I was hungry and lo and behold I hear some enchanting melody drifting softly (well, actually kind of shrill-ly) through my open windows. The ice cream truck! And it was playing Turkey In A Straw, not that gay song it was playing last week when I complained that it should be playing Turkey in a Straw! So I ran after it. Sadly I hadn't yet dressed. But I did have my mom's windbreaker and boxers on. I can only imagine what the hell the driver was thinking seeing an unzipped windbreaker and orange owl boxers on a guy chasing him wildly with 5 dollars in his hand. I'm actually surprised he didn't just floor it. But I got my icecream and I was happy.

Finally, on Saturday (the day I'm writing the latter part of this update on(in fact, everything before this sentence is from eariler today (and now it is after I've gone and seen Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. (Also a good movie))) I had my Eagle Scholar shit. How is it that every place I go they want me to become part of their damn machine. Why do I have to be so amazingly talented???? Oh well, at least I get large audiences to perform infront of. I guess it would help to explain that it was an orientation for Freshmen that I had to attend today. It went as well as you'd expect. After that I scooted on down to the local mall. I didn't even have a desire to buy anything I was just excited at the prospect of having a whole day that I could do whatever with. In my mall excursion I wandered into The Buckle. This is always a mistake. However my el cheapo nature lead me to the bargain rack. Sadly, nothing there caught my eye. Doubly sadly, I caught the eye of the damn salesman. Eighty dollars later and I have two shirts. Two. Two friggen shirts. Damn cool guy salesmen. I WANT THEM TO LIKE ME. What can you do? Look cool in your expensive shirts; that's what. Oh, and be more frugal.

One final note, if you ever go to the movies by yourself and end up sitting a few rows ahead of some hotties try not to act like a spaz. It kind of goes without saying. But I want to add this tag line, becareful about how you sit so you don't give yourself a calf cramp. Because if you do and it happens to be a relatively calm part of the movie where nothing is going on and you have excruciating pains in your leg, you're bound to react somehow. My method was to flail around and breathe in and out like Peter Griffin when he hurt his knee. Bad idea. Draws attention like an indian at a klan meeting. That's this man's advice - Scott

Wow

Have you ever seen something that so aptly portrayed life in general that you don't really know how you didn't run into the same situations yourself? Well, as complicated and ill written as that sentance was, it kind of describes my reaction to Garden State also Zach Braff is a really talented guy. Props to you my nigga. Your movie just made my Top 7 of all time list. And good news, it's in the top 5.

I don't think there's a bigger contrast between movies than the one between Garden State and AVP. It's like the difference between a festering pile of cow shit and the most elaborately brilliant work of El Greco. Not alot of similarities. Don't get me wrong, if it sounds like I'm in love with Zach Braff I apologize. That's not the image I'm wanting to portray. But I AM willing to buy the man a hooker and a 6 pack.

Wow, seriously. Go see this movie. I don't care how poor you are. If it's between seeing the film and eating...well at least you'll lose some weight. A wise, skinny man once said that it's a very "generational" film. And at the time I was thinking "Tim, you lanky mad man. I think you just wanted to seem like you're 'hip' and 'down with the kidz in the street'." But now that I've seen it I'd have to agree with the boy. Send your friends, send your second string friends, send your TA's but just don't ask your parents to see it. I don't think it would resonate as strongly with them. Oh well. It's late and I'm rambling. To quote someone I once knew "If you made it this far I congratulate you." Because this has been by far my most worthless entry. - Scott

No Thought vs. No Talent. WHO WILL PREVAIL?

I just got back from AVP, or Alien vs. Predator. I think you can guess how that went. It was like the directors of the so called 'film' decided to squat over the chest of Hollywood and squeeze out a steaming log on it. What. A. Pantload. The movie would make an excelent MST3k. I had a good time tearing it to pieces, and naturally the people around me enjoyed my biting commentary.

The saddest point in the movie was when the writers noticed they were 40 minutes into the film without any established plot, or background. Which they proceeded to try to cram into a 5 minute transistion that there wasn't any plot for. Oh, and why not use annoying cliche's instead of dialogue. Great, cut it, print it. And that's our backstory. It was like trying to put a hat on a decapitated corpse. Yeah, that'll cover it. All better now...

In fact, I think the actors were just so embarassed of the movie they tried to make up a backstory right then and there. "Hey we've got 10 minutes to kill. Anybody got anything we could do?" "Well, lets poorly improv some kind of gap filler inner." "Yes, and well said."

Another annoyance was the archaeologist. Sort of a Daniel Jackson from Stargate meets the voiceover guy from the discovery channel. Following suit with everyone else he talked like a douchebag. Each and every line of this movie was as stilted as a trailer in Louisiana. But this asshole was by far the worst. He teetered between the most painfully ovbious comments and the most terribly wrong statements. For instance; the predator had killed an alien and was using it's acidic blood to give himself "tribal markings". Anoying Archaeologist Boy interjects this gem: "Now he's marking himself."
Very good, now what does the kitty cat say? Then, "...They need us. They use us like cattle to breed more of the aliens" What the hell kind of people use their cattle like that? I think I want to rent out the theater and have this movie playing just to make fun of it properly. Sort of a MST2k+4. It's a working title, lay off me.

One final nail in the coffin of this cinematic dead horse: apparently in Antartica all you need to stay warm is a long sleve tee-shirt. Also, don't worry there is no need to cover your face, nor will your breath won't show up in the air. And if there's an explosion, don't worry. You can easily out run it on foot. You can also out pace hyper advanced aliens of various descriptions. Why not? You're a middle aged scientist, you should be in peak physical condtion. Maybe the movie is better when you're on drugs, it was clearly written that way. BY 10 YEAR OLDS. It's like a script you'd get from kids waiting in line for Yugi-Oh the movie. My advice: wait for the dollar matinees, you'll still feel cheated but at least you'll only be out a dollar. - Scott

Scott Gresham, Man, Myth, Eagle Scholar

Being an Eagle Scholar. Not one of the 3 things in life I take seriously, and so not that important to me. At least not to the point where I actually try or worry too much about it. I just coast on natural skill. Which as you are already correctly guessing leads to hilarity.

I wanted to post just excerpts of this, but sadly it's too hilarious to butcher. So here in it's entirety is my 1st essay (which I had to turn into the advisory department) on how I entered into the Eagle Scholar position. All true and un-edited.

How I Secured an Interview

As the esteemed and celebrated literary character, Harry Potter once said “I don’t go looking for trouble…trouble finds me.” In a sense, that is what has happened here. Although instead of trouble finding me, it is a scholarship opportunity. I suppose a less cryptic method of saying the same thing would be to explain that Rhonda Boeker asked me to participate. I initially had little to no interest in becoming an “Eagle Scholar.” But as Rhonda persisted in beseeching me (practically begging) to supply my own personal brand of wisdom to the project, and as she explained the duties I would be partaking in I decided that it might be worth my time. Another factor in my decision to participate was the fact that I enjoy helping and mentoring people. However a small, but noteworthy dynamic within my decision, was the fact that I found out that I would be the only male in my class, and adding my gender’s unique perspective was very important to me.

I did run into a bit of a problem when, in the end, I did decide to become a part of the Eagle Scholar (ES) program. The predicament was that I had only 2 days to complete my application before it would be ridiculously late. An application and a paper wouldn’t have been much in the way of stumbling blocks, but the third and final aspect of the application was a set of two letters of recommendation. Asking people to write a letter of recommendation with only 1 day’s notice is not generally the best method of securing good comments. Thankfully, my letter writers (Mr.’s Frye and Ross) were as adamant about my skills as ever and their letters, despite a certain hastiness, reflected this.

Next, I filled out the necessary paperwork. This step was somewhat tedious, but nothing could deter my steadfast focus. After the red tape was cut it was off to the part of the application that I would not give me any trouble: the essay. In an inspired one page essay, I detailed the myriad reasons I would want to become and would make a good ES. The composition, fine points of which will not be rehashed in this paper, was clearly enjoyed by those whom it concerned as I shortly afterwards received word that I was to attend an interview.

Subsequent to getting word that I was selected for an interview, and negotiating a suitable time for an appointment, I prepared myself for the meeting. By “prepared” I mean that I ate, slept, and dressed appropriately. When I arrived for my interview I was in a relaxed state of mind and prepared for anything that I might be asked. There really is not much to tell. I simply answered each question as best I could and it seemed that my answers were well received.

Finally, in the vein of what I would hope to get out of the ES experience, I expect to learn to be a better leader, and also a better listener in general. I want to be able to more "effectively communicate" with people to help them with their problems. Not only do I expect to gain from the ES program, but I also anticipate those in my charge to become better for having interacted with me. Through the students encounters with me I expect that they will have an easier time at RMC and gain an ally to turn to for assistance. Even if I, myself, can not directly solve their problems, I can at the very least point them in the right direction...and sometimes the door.

That was what I turned in. Balls to the wall, caution to the wind, queen to f3. I didn't really care what happened with it. But I was still unprepared for what did happen. I looked as surprised as I would be seeing a black guy at the Republican National Convention, but they loved it. In fact the lady who read it passed it around the office. Apparently they just couldn't resist my callous rediculousness. What can you do? Nothing! That's right. Gold star for those who said nothing. That's all for now -Scott