Invisibility is a relative thing...

Things to do today,

1. Go to school
2. Poo
3. Crib a line from a Butthole Surfers song

Check, check, chiggedy-check. The reasoning behind the first two is simple (I want a degree, and I ate something roughly eight hours ago), however the last one might be a bit cryptic. So, just like Darren with his dance grooves, I'll break it down for you. I lost a dear, dear friend today. No, friend is an insulting understatement in reference to our relationship. More like brother. One who has seen me through thick and thin, good and bad, cliché and other cliché. Who you ask? I am, of course, speaking of the necklace I've worn for the past 5 years.

And when I say I've worn it for the past five years, I mean I've worn it for the past five years. Like a self-imposed house arrest anklet, the thing didn't come off. I even broke Beauchamp anal retentive, overblown, dictatorial rule #13a and wore it onstage in a performance. Well, a few actually. It was there when I got escorted off the tarmac in Germany by security, when I got my ticket(s) and when I broke the color barrier (incidentally the last two were at the same time, I was just going that fast). My point is since early 2000 that necklace has been ensconcing itself firmly around my shapely neck. That is, until today. I don't know what happened, maybe it was the he/she hitting me with rolled up newspaper, maybe it just felt that we had grown apart, but my necklace is gone without a trace. A moment of silence for the fallen...




That should cover it. I'm sure my necklace wouldn't want me to be sad, but look back fondly on it. If you care to browse here and here, you'll notice it around my neck (even in costume as Harry Scotter it's peaking out above the tie). Also feel free to share your sad tales of inanimate losses that seem to be more painful than they really should be.

- Scott

Nothing to post today... How about irrational hate?

I have a confession to make. No not a confession, it's not like I'd hide it from anyone, it's more like something I just want people to know. And it's this: I hate Reese Witherspoon. Hate her. I loathe her very living on the same Earth as I. Were she on fire, I would not pee on her to put her out. I would however, gladly enjoy some Legally Browned S'mores cooked on her flaming corpse. For good measure I would pee on her ashes. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not usually such a hater of people I don't know. If anything I tend to find things I like in them. For instance I always picture Saddam Hussein as that estranged uncle who never comes to Thanksgiving, who's not really such a bad guy if you give him a chance. As long as you never play rock, paper, scissors with the bastard.

Anyway I've mentioned this before, and people always ask me for justifications. "Why Scott, how could you hate her?" I'll tell you how; I sense evil. Long before most people can. And this woman is pure unadulterated evil. In fact she's so evil she is adulterated. The whore. I have it on good authority that she actually eats babies to keep herself young. Remember when she was knocked up? Hmmm? And have you ever seen a picture of her and that baby? In fact she seemed to lose that baby weight pretty fast didn't she... BECAUSE SHE SACRIFICED THE BABY IN A BLACK MASS! The pieces are all right there staring you in the face like a one legged hooker who knows she's going to get passed over, despite the fact that she's in plain sight. There's clearly only one thing to do, Napoleon Skywalker, take us away:

"You're next Anne Coulter!"

Ah, that felt good. Thanks Napoleon Skywalker, I knew you'd be a good character.

- Scott

P.S. Napoleon is depicted as drawn by Nicolas Allgood (real last name). Reese dying an 8-bit death, Copyright Scott Gresham.

Unfadeable so please don't try to fade this...

First of all Timmy's back. How about that. Who had 10 days after he last posted? Nobody? Because they had Rob and Scott to entertain them? Oh. Sweet. Well then, let me apologize for my recent absence. I meant to post yesterday, but FedEx, who is apparently staffed by 90 year old women, couldn't find the strength to knock audibly on my door. So to get my new video card, I had to track down the actual FedEx Office. This took far too long. But on the bright side I did get to find out exactly where the butthole of Springfield is located.

But that's not all that distracted me. Nay, not at all. I was, in fact, penning the Charter of Our Pad, or the COP. The purpose of the COP is to lay down specific rules for our living together. This should pre-emptively circumvent any forseeable problem we could possibly have. You might check my facts on this one, but I think it's the best idea anyone's had, ever. The first issue we ran into was milk; Rob drinks it like a baby seal. So the rule for milk is as follows:

1. Rule 1: Milk consumption.

• Each tenant shall have his own gallon jug of milk and drink only from his particular jug. However, should either tenant of the apartment have two jugs of milk the less full one is fair game and indeed must be power drained. Because there's no race like the race to beat the expiration date on a gallon of milk. It's like playing chicken with food posioning
  

2. Rule 2: Disarming (as in, removing my arm).

• When fighting with swords, it is never a legal move to lock my frickin' claymore with your left schimitar, surprising both of us enough that we forget about your right schimitar and it's respectable attempt to cut my arm off. Because damn, that hurt.

3. Rule 3: Swords in general...

• You know what? Let's just leave the swords alone. I'm still hoping to get my security deposit back.
  

4. Rule 4: Out on the Town.

• We're going to get escorted off private property, and/or arrested. I don't know why, but it seems to be what happens. Just accept it, and take a funny mugshot. That way when we're famous we won't look like this. Also let's hope our police sketches are way more accurate. On second thought, let's hope they're even further off.
  

5. The Final Rule: So far.

• USE A DIFFERENT COLORED TOWEL. I very nearly used your used towel this morning. Do you know why this is? Because somebody decided to use a towel in the exact same shade of hunter green that I'm currently using. So from now on pretend the bathroom is a party, and the towel rack is two girls at that party. Let's not have them embarrassed because they're wearing the same thing? Ok?
  

And that's it for now. Feel free to add rules. If they're good enough and they seem to work out in my favor, I might even add them.

- Scott

Star Wars: Episode III Revenge of the Slytherin

Guess who went to the midnight showing of Revenge of the Sith last night: this guy. I decided to go in costume... as Harry Potter. Why you ask? Well because I wanted to get in a Potter/Star Wars fight and settle once and for all who rules the geek kingdom. Originally I was going to go as Gandalf but a suggestion from Rob and a complete lack of Gandalf accessories changed my mind. It was perfect. It... it... let me just show you:

I call this one "Pensive Potter".


"One of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong, can you tell me which thing is not like the others by the time I finish this song"

I swear to George Lucas, I just met these random people in a crowd and we spontaneously broke out into that song as we posed for photo-ops (for quite a crowd). I wanted pictures of them and they me. And everyone else, all of us. The whole night was ridiculous. I was making fun of people for dressing up as "Star Wars Fags" and they were like "are you Harry friggin' Potter?" to which I replied "DIE MUGGLE" and attempted to place the Imperio curse on them. Which failed, as did Expelliarmus on the light sabers.

All in all however, go see Episode III. It was amazing. Even without having seen any of the other Star Wars movies, you could see this one and like it. I can't tell you how surprised I am that they got it right. The new series has been a strike, a bunt, and now a homerun. Go check it out. And dress as a character not included in the Star Wars universe, seriously it exponentially multiplies the enjoyment.

- Scott

P.S. But if you're going in your graduation robe that you have to walk across stage in tomorrow (like one very attractive Harry Scotter did), make sure you don't spill buttered popcorn on it, and you don't sit in gum. Just my advice.

Neolocal Bliss

I never realized it before, but I blog better without an audience. Not you (where you is the person (undoubtedly a hot girl (an issue I will address a bit further down in this post)) reading this). I mean it's hard for me to blog with other people in the room. It's just some weird hang-up I have. Like the way I can't allow anyone to actually witness me shaving. Seeing as that only happens about twice a month, it isn't much of an issue yet. But don't get me wrong here, I'm pretty bohemian about most things. For instance, I gleefully take a crap with the door open. It's very liberating.

And all of this leads into my rant on why I, Scott Gresham, the man you all revere as a demi-Sex-God, am single. For those of you who didn't know: yes, now is the appropriate time to gasp. A hand covering the mouth is also warranted. I believe it was Rob who pointed out "For all the girls who want you, which are most of the ones you've met in your lifetime, you seem to actually date none of them, also; you're better than me in life, and as a person." Now I realize it's surprising. But I really am better than him as a person. Also, it's shocking that I don't actually date any of them, that is, it's shocking to the outsider. But to me it makes perfect sense. They just don't fall into my loosely defined set of guidelines. Let me break it down with nice bulleted points for you.

1. She must be of the same religion but less pious than I. Now I know this might sound preachy or whatever you'd call it, but I'm thinking long term here. Biblically we're all supposed to get crowns upon entering heaven. And the grand-ness of the crown reflects the person's deeds in life. And you have that crown FOREVER. I can't let my wife have a bigger crown than me for all eternity. I just won't have it. So, she has to be slightly less "good" than me.
   
2. She must be an orphan. I know, I know. Why would you want to marry an orphan. But there's some serious strategy here. For one, I wouldn't ever have to meet her parents. We all know that's awkward. Plus most of the people I know eventually have the same conversation with me it starts like this "You know something funny? I used to hate you." My first impression isn't always golden. This would take care of that. Also it would cause her to have more dependance on me. Which is a good thing because it gives me more influence.
   
3. She must be less (everything) than me. This is because I'm not marrying a girl that's taller/smarter (like that's possible)/stronger/faster/heavier/cleverer/funnier (again, unlikely)/better at swimming/has more degrees than me. It's extreme, but pretty much all guys think this on some level. I mean really, if a girl can beat me in Electronic Talking Battleship, I'm pretty much never going to talk to her again. Chalk it up to a fragile male ego, but I am not dealing with that. She can live alone with her extreme Milton/Bradley game skill and her cats for the rest of her life. Good riddance.
   
4. She must not have progeria. Seriously. This is just common sense.
   
5. She must be OK with not having a job. Two income households? Pfft. Forget that crap. Career women need not apply. Unless that career includes cleaning the house and making delicious meals. Also looking really hot. And child care. And looking really hot. Because if that's the career you're fine. Other than that though... I kind of frown on. She may feel free, however, to belong to the DAR, a bridge group, M.A.D.D. or any other adorable non-employed female organizations. But no real job. Especially not one where she could potentially earn more money than me. This relates to rule #3.
   
6. She must be a girl who laughs for no one else; when I'm away she puts her makeup on the shelf. When I'm away she never leaves the hou-hou-hou-house. I want a girl who laughs for no one else. Self explanatory.
   
7. Accents are cool. It would be nice if she had one. Like an English one. That's classy.
   

That's it. 7 Simple Rules for dating my no-longer teenaged self. There's easily dozens of girls in the world who fit this description. Sadly none of them go to my school. So for the moment, yes, I am single. But don't get discouraged ladies, just because you're not an English orphan who consistently loses at Battleship doesn't mean I'll ignore you. But we'll consider that strike one. Sound good? I thought so.

- Scott

The above ideas expressed do not necessarily represent Scott's actual views on male/female relations... They just mostly do. But if you're hot enough he will gladly ignore this list of qualifications and focus on you as a "person". Also if you have a good personality... err... yeah that too.

P.S. Everyone follow the Rob link under my Top Five List to see his views on male relationships.

Day 7412: Today I did some stuff,

It occurs to me that if I had kept a blog for my each day of my entire life (like Wendyloo seems to be able to do) this would be the 7412th entry. Mind you the first oh say 1,000 entries would read like this guys stuff. But eventually I stopped speaking Swedish. It's just a strange phase kids go through. Like those years I would pretend to be dead and let someone find me. Ah morbid enjoyment. And when I say morbid I'm talking about the Swedish. I begin to think they weren't neutral in WWII, it's just that no one could figure out what they were saying and told them to stay the hell out it for being damn freaks.

But enough unnatural hating of Sweden. On to the day's activities. I had a hell of a good time filling out incorrect answers to questions in Cisco today. A shame that they had to grade the thing. It was just that funny. Here's an excerpt:

- category: boobs
- metric: cup size
- updates: ummm, puberty, plastic surgery, pasties(?) and of course the bustier.

True enjoyment. Another gem was when el professor mentioned something about protocols and how "They all know everything", at which point I piped up in my old man voice "They think they do don't they... whippersnapper protocols, in my day we had 15 baud modems that we prayed to God wouldn't arbitrarily disconnect before I finished downloading a picture of picture of Teri Hatcher... In the snow... With shoeboxes for monitors..." It got a nice laugh and a completely bewildered stare, both of which I enjoy immensely.

However all of this supports what I am gradually realizing; I don't want to spend my life worrying about computers, or networks, or pictures of Teri Hatcher. Because who gives two craps if she got the red swimsuit? Anyway, I think I want to write things. Or try to. Tim once said something to the effect that I should consider comedy writing, and that my friend, is exactly what I think I want to do. However I am keeping an open mind to different career's, but I graduate in 8 1/2 months and I have to go to gradschool for a better purpose than "to have a summer break again" so let's hear those brilliant suggestions in a timely manner.

One last thing, the exciting news: Rob is now my roommate. Insert cataclysmic warning here: _____ ________ ______. So far it's been pretty good, except that he re-wired my stereo system to the point that I can't even watch cable anymore. When he gets home from work he's hearing about that one. Anyway that's it for now. Tomorrow: adventures in Scott Land.

- Scott

The post most likely to be sued for coypright infringement.

I don't know about you kids, but I am excited to the point of nerd-ery over the new (and last) Star Wars movie. Don't get me wrong, the last two prequels sucked goat ass, but they've actually tricked me into being interested in this one. Maybe it's their playing "Duel of the Fates" over the trailers, but something about them definately says "Trust me, we can't suck too bad. Yoda fights again!". The point is, I'm optimistic.

Even being optimistic, I know this is probably going to be the last legitimate Star Wars movie I see in my lifetime. Sure there's talk of a new cartoon series on Cartoon Network and Lucas is shopping around his idea for a live action television series as well, but I don't anticipate anything movie-worthy. But then I got to thinking... does it have to be legitimate? Like most NBA player's kids, there are lots of illegitimate movies that are really just as good as anything supposedly "legit". Lots of random bastardizations that strike some campy note with the public and do well. I was thinking about these and how Luke is a whiny little bitch in the first movie and came up with a parody film I'd love to get made. Here it is: Napoleon Skywalker. Combining the two movies works better than you'd think, take a look:

Memorable Napoleon Skywalker Quotes:

Napoleon Skywalker: Can I go to the Tashi Station? But I need power converters real bad!

---

Rex Kwandobi: At Force Kwan Do, we use the buddy system. No more flying solo. You need the Force watching your back at all times. Second off, you're gonna learn to discipline your image. You think I got where I am today because I dressed like Jar Jar over here? Take a look at the mysterious robes I'm wearing, people. You think anybody wants a Jedi Mind Trick to the face while I'm wearing these bad boys? Forget about it.

---

Napoleon Skywalker:That's a sweet Imerial Speeder.
Pedrofett (yeah I know it doesn't work, screw you): Thanks, it's a Sledgehammer.
Napoleon Skywalker: Dang you got shocks... lucky. You ever take it on any sweet forest chases?

---

Darth Vandy (Based off Randy the Tots guy: Napoleon, give me your tots.
Napoleon Skywaker:No, I'll never turn over my tots to the dark side.
Darth Vandy:You want to give me your tots. Search your feelings, you know it to be true.
Napoleon Skywalker:NOOOOOO!

And that's all I have for that ridiculous farce. I hope it works as well in print as it does when I act it out. Out loud in character it's pretty good stuff. So read it in the character's voices if you can. That's all for now, tomorrow I'll recap the events of today including beating Rob and Ro at all the games in my GameCube library. Also I have some exciting news on the horizon. Night kids.

- Scott

Morning has broken

And apparently so have the laws of physics for my hair. This is what Rob was talking about when he said I look "amazing" in the morning. I'll say now for the record that the previous sentence is the single most homoerotic thing that will ever grace my blog. But I'll also say, he's right. I naturally have the hair emo kids pretend they didn't spend hours styling that way. Take a look:

There's the pictures you all demanded. Every morning a variation on that theme. Sometimes I take a picture of it. Sometimes I envision myself with a mustache and goatee, then poorly photoshop it.

And people wonder why I'm never on time to class...

Necessity is the mother of invention, niche marketing is the mother of greeting cards

...And today is Mother's Day. I know this because I, like most red blooded American heterosexual males, spent a portion of Mother's Day Eve at the mall picking out the gift and card combo. Now the gift was easy, I'd like to say she hinted around at what she wanted but it was more or less a point blank demand. Fine, gift's in the bag. The time consumer, without fail, is the card. I challenge anyone that proclaims Shakespeare as a great writer to point to any greeting cards he ever came up with, because based on the literary defacation out there (that means word poo, try to work it into conversation), it strikes me as a thing that must be very hard to do.

Seriously, it's not an art where you can get stoned and listen to Phish for inspiration. You basically have to be the most effusive person in your group of friends, then work out every way imaginable to say "Happy Birthday" to them one hundred times a year. And variety they have. Once again, very little of it is good, but there's a variety in the types of crap they offer. Now there's French, German, and (my favorite) Braille cards. Now, it might sound a bit jaded, or callous, but I have to ask why they went to the effort of putting a lot of visuals on the BRAILLE card. It could pretty much be plain white, or even composed of scraps of recycled other cards, as long as the bumps work out who would ever know? It's like putting a nice sound system in the car of a deaf guy, sure it gets him street cred, but he doesn't know if he's bumpin' 50 Cent or Wang Chung.

The next thing I came upon in the ever increasingly fragmented greeting card section was the aunt-half-step-daughter-grand-neice Mother's Day cards. Seriously, who is that for? You spend a pant load of money on developing these things, hit .05% of the population, and waste time doing it to seem like a comprehensive company, when all you really need to do is take the MadLibs approach. "Here's wishing you a happy __________(holiday or occasion) my dearest ________(kin related pronoun)". Bam, done, you've officially created the most flexible card ever.

And finally, I walked upon a section of cards that clearly weren't for me. It took me a minute to realize but all the characters on the cards were African American cartoons. It seemed strange at first, but I quickly realized that it was desperately needed. Who wants to give a card with some cheeky cracka on it, unless you yourself are a cheeky cracka? Nobody that's who. Except maybe as the occasional joke to the guy who can't dance. The concept was fine, the name of the cards however, I take issue with. They're the Hallmark Mahogany Series. That's right, Mahogany. Why is it that we always describe African American targeted media like darkly colored wood? Seriously. What's the deal? I know for damn sure I don't want to go in Hallmark and pick out some White Oak greeting cards. But it's alright for black people to have to put up with this? "Hey Ebony magazine is doing well, it's clear that black people want a wood they can identify with." "Great idea, while we're at it let's hit the Native American crowd too, I have a card line in mind called Redwood Greetings, now if I could only reference buffalo hunting somehow... hmm, I'll get back to you on that one Chaz." What. The. Hell. Can we please just integrate the cards before we get to the point of having "Brown Sugar" Newspapers, and "Vanilla" Lisa Frank stickers?

One last thing, you may have noticed my "Top Five / Bottom Five" list off to the right. I figured I would jump on the ranking people bandwagon that Rob so bravely pioneered. Except unlike Rob and his "I-trade-love-for-comments" stance, I intend to be completely arbitrary and often contradict myself. I think I'll have fun with it, but if it becomes too much of a hassel I'll just delete it like so much StrongBad email.

- Scott

The Northwest Shuffle

You've waited for it, you've pined for it, and now you're getting it. What is this ill-defined "it" I speak of? Could it be those infamous nudes I took in my highschool days? Keep waiting ladies, or come and see the live show. Touching encouraged... The good news is that the answer to those questions is no. Gentlemen feel free to breathe that sigh of relief that you can continue to live in blissful ignorance of your inferiority. What I am talking about is the end to all this trip related nonsense. And the end, like most endings, involves a picture montage. So without further ado:

Above: Barrett on the randomly placed slide.
Below: Myself shooting a wicked awesome action shot from said slide.





Me and my clossal interro-wang. (Tim that one's for you.)



Blatantly disregarding the (cropped in) warnings and threats.
And having a great time of it. (See below)


Scotthar of the Cave People...
along with
Nathar of the Narcoleptic Cave People...



Myself enjoying a nice coloring session at the fake Vancouver Space Needle.


I'm long, strong and down to get the Civil War on.


Smilin' Scott for Ballzite. The all concrete male supplement.
Should balls become immovable and grow grass beneath them consult a doctor and a lawn care specialist immeadiately.


It is called "The Crane", there is no defense for this.
But you can make fun of how rediculous the person looks. Because really, emotional scarring lasts so much longer.


Included as a tribute to Ro, whose ass I am kicking in the Rob's Blog Comment Contest.


The Awesome Donut Guy: serving up tiny donuts with big punk rock attitude.


The most serious coffee drinkers. Ever. But they're outside the original (as in first) Starbucks Coffee house, so a certain vibe is expected.


Pike's Market, with optional blurryness. Makes a nice desktop.


Finally the "Three Musketeers" (as named by a hobo) at the end of their journey (for now).
What an awesome trip.

That's it for now, tomorrow: normal posts. Enjoy this last special one.

Canadian Adventures

Alright, I skipped a day. Sue me. No, actually praise my ability to keep you in suspense. I like that one a lot better. Anyway let me pick up where I left off at the cyber cafe: Ok, so I leave after making my post. Being the fine young bacholers that we are, we decided that we wanted to find a liquor store. So we walked all over Vancouver only to discover that all the liquor stores closed an hour ago. Damn. So we decided to walk back to our hotel via the water front. We jogged over a street because we thought that there might be one last liqour store over there, but there wasn't. So we set out for the water.

As we mosey down a street we come upon what looks like some trailers and various production equipment. "It looks like somebody's shooting a movie" Nathan said, almost jokingly. Then we got closer and came upon some huge cranes holding aloft giant sprinklers. Quickly we put together that they were shooting a scene in the rain. A scene, yes... but of what? I made time with a female security guard and got some info out of her. They were shooting a movie. And the kicker you ask? This isn't just any movie, it's a movie with Harrison Ford. No friggin' way. And the spot we had been gawking from? Yeah that was in the shot. By that time we were jockey-ing for a better position. The spot we eventually ended up in was just off camera, but still close enough to get fake rained on.

All of a sudden, the fake rain fired up, the cameras started rolling, and who should walk within 10 feet of us but Han Solo himself. There were a few other fans who were lucky enough to stumble upon this rediculously surreal scene. After the scene, which consisted of him saying a few words to a co-star and walking briskly across the street and getting in an SUV that we were standing near, he walked back to the place he started from. As he did, a female fan screamed "WE LOVE YOU HARRISON". But Indy didn't even turn his head. This cat is too cool for school. Harrison dissapeared for awhile and they made the "background" (extras) practice their thing. We tried to blend in with the extras and get in the shot, but security shut us down as we had no umbrellas and were among the people inexplicably not wearing black. Because really everyone in the city likes to wear black with their umbrella when it's raining. That way we help out the one guy wearing brighter colors and not using an umbrella stand out more. And they say there's no sense of community these days.

I quickly decided that if I couldn't be in a movie I could sure as hell make fun of the people that were. And it was this that I sat out to do. I was standing in a group of extras listing to them talk about their other jobs and how this was so good for their career. They were just so pretentious, I wanted to make it clear to them: YOU'RE AN EXTRA. YOU'RE A SMALL BLACK BLUR IN THE BACKGROUND. NO ONE WILL RECOGONIZE YOU. But I found that it would be best to accomplish this in a round about manner. Namely, patronizing them. To the extras as they walked by: "Good energy" and "You sold it to me" or "It told a story to my very soul" and finally, the most offensive "...And the Academy Award for self-important overacting extra goes to..." I had my own little audience of pedestrian onlookers and I was killing. Meanwhile the extra's were getting pretty annoyed, which made it even better. This went on for quite awhile. I also speculated that being the guy who raises and lowers the fake rain machines for the movie is pretty much the pinnacle of being a crane operator. That's the job you get into the business hoping for. We saw Harrison Ford's body double too, who they were basically using as the extra Harrison Ford, the one they would use if they didn't have the nice Harrison Ford hanging around back stage. At which point I shouted "I don't believe it, it's really him, it's Sparrison Ford!" Body double guy was not amused. But I like to think I entertained my audience almost as well as the movie I was making fun of.

I should drop some knowledge about that movie at this point I think. The movie's new name is Firewall. Changed from "The Wrong Element". A change for the better I think. It also stars Paul Bettany. Who was hanging out about 10 feet away near another SUV. We also saw some grips who work on Smallville (as evidenced by their Smallville hats and coats) and a super fine PA who worked on the Fantastic Four movie. After we had bummed around the set for a good two hours and had begun to incur the ire of the production crew at large (or I had...) we decided it was time to head back to our hotel. On the way two exciting things happened.

1. I was running to jump over a railing in a park we cut through, and very nearly ran over a hobo sleeping under a tarp I didn't see. I only stopped because I heard them saying "Hey look out for that guy"
2. After the hobo incident, we had walked not half a block when Barrett spotted what looked like a black and white cat. I was for some reason doing a flying hump at the time down the sidewalk and landed next to said cat. However, this was no cat. It was a skunk. In the middle of Vancouver. And I had just pissed it off. It turned around and assumed the spraying position, and we ran as we had never run before. Nathan, Barrett and I split up without ever discussing it and ran like men on fire. It was the funniest and most terrifying end to a wild night we could imagine.

The next day we toured Vancouver some more, and headed to Cloverdale. Home of Smallville. And from the name you would think that we're talking about a town the size of Woodriver or something. Well, you would be wrong. It's a town the size of Alton at the very least, and it seamlessly connects to two other towns. We drove around for a good 4 hours looking for Smallville set locations but found whiptey crap. Sadly, I tracked them down online in like 5 minutes, but such is life eh? Today we went to church and played some ultimate frisbee and that's pretty much it. Tomorrow is our last day in Seattle, and we intend to make it good. For now though, I'm off to bed. Until next time kids,

- Scott