Bufford the Wonder Blog

Frodo Gusoku

2009-12-06T12:41:00.002-06:00

So last night I hear something like a woman being beaten. She was screaming bloody murder, and it went on long enough that I was convinced it from a person, not a TV. Sounds like it's coming downstairs, just outside my window.

Now it's pretty dark down there, and I can't see anything. But that doesn't mean much since you could park an Escalade covered in obese strippers down there, and because of how deep the shadows are in contrast to the streetlight, your night vision can't see it for shit. Compounding matters is that I'm not sure what to tell the cops even if I called them:

"Uhh, yeah I heard a sound from somewhere, just a minute ago. Please check it out? Also, don't investigate me, because I don't legally exist in this state*."

So, I did what I've been training for since Zork. I threw on my blackest clothes, my freak feet (because they allow me to walk silently), my bracers of +5 awesome, and grabbed my only sharp sword in one hand and a novelty bat in the other. That's right bitches, I dual wield.

Bracers displayed, here.

And I stole down the stairs, keeping to the aforementioned dark-assed shadows like some kind of Frodo Batman Gusoku, samurai/hobbit/vigilante. I'd resolved to call the cops from my Google Voice number, as presumably they'd have no idea what to do with that. And only if I didn't have to stick somebody. Finally I reach the spot where I'd heard it. And.... nothing.

I stalk about for a few moments, brandishing my sword and bat, seriously menacing the walls of my building, but nothing. The sound is gone. Also, I am freezing. I then decide, time to pack it in. I'm almost back up the stairs when I hear the sounds of a woman screaming again. I run back down to where I was and... I realize it's a goddamn movie.

An extremely quiet movie except for the screaming parts, containing roughly no sound track. From what Rob tells me, I think it was the new version of Halloween.

I retired last night disappointed that I didn't get to cut anybody, and annoyed at my building's apparent lack of insulation.

I would do it all again...

* Another story. Another day...

Project Time!

2009-12-04T11:04:00.005-06:00

It's something about myself I can't change. In order to be happy, I need two things.

An enemy.
A project.

Since I'm sort of lacking an arch nemesis at the moment, I've decided to use my second trait to fulfill the first. I'm making a project of pissing people off, intentionally, as in interview for an Arch. I've decided that, as with most things in life, the internet provides the best solution.

Proposal: to offend people whose friendship I no longer, or possibly never did, desire on Facebook in order to ascertain which, if any, are suitable nemeses.

Added Awesome: Screenshots of the exchange.

Double Awesome: I'm blogging at work and I don't give a shit anymore. (This is somewhat unrelated.)

I think I'll start today and post the best results. I do it all for you, my ducklets.

Video Example: Dr. Orpheus attempts to court The Monarch as an arch.

Indeed.

When you're 600 years old, there's no such thing as a 'cougar'

2009-11-24T15:33:00.002-06:00

I know this doesn't count as an actual post, and my drunken redecoration stands, but I'm too in love with this song not to share it.

Suck it, Meyer.

That is all.

The Dude Redecorates

2009-11-21T02:02:00.000-06:00

I sort of... just shuffled the hell out of the color palate of the Wonder Blog. This is chiefly because I am drunk and it is late at night and the screen was too fucking bright.

I plan on fixing this later. When sober. And when I have a graphic designer advising.

For now, enjoy night mode.

The Dude abides.

2009-11-16T22:11:00.005-06:00

Jesus, Scott, what the hell are you doing with your life?

Livin' hard! If, by livin' hard, you mean investing money in things, learning to cook, and getting my previously luck-based finances into some kind of order resembling an intentional state. Also, being a cad-amongst the gadabout crowd. These are the voyages of Scott.

Also, weren't you previously distracted? What happened there?

Distractions come and go. And overlap. And interact. Honestly I'm not so sure that I'm not now distracted from whatever it was I was doing. But in any case, I find myself with free time and thoughts more complex than I can express in 140 characters (looking at you Twitter). Prime bloggin' territory.

Borrrring! Tell me a story! Now!

OK you bastards. Here's your story:

Recently I hid a device in our good friend Rob's house. This particular device, the likes of which I've included below, emits a series of sinister sounds at a random interval. Things like: creepy child laughter, tapping, death rattles, "hey, can you hear me?", and sinister creaking.

The devilish device. Oh, and it's magnetic.

I hid this in their guest bathroom, where nonetheless his wife tends to be. It is also somewhat central to the house. Terror-lairty ensued. For two days she heard, intermittently, these ominous sounds. She, and she alone, seemed to be the only one afflicted. Naturally I was a suspect, but since it "started" after I left I was able to deflect suspicion.

Since I'd told Rob about it ahead of time, he was able to "not hear any of this." Things built until she called me, outright hostile, while I pointed out all the ways in which she was crazy. No one else heard this? It's... talking to you? And it started after I left? ...And this is my fault how? I think you may be batshit insane.

It finally came down to Ro forcing Rob to eat his dinner IN the bathroom until he acknowledged the sounds and helped her look for it (I never told him where it was.) After completely dismantling their bathroom, Ro accidentally found it while standing on the toilet. I had used the magnet to hide it in the light fixture.

Of the things she called me at that point, I'm able/willing to print only: motherfucker!

Nerdblogging

2009-02-17T19:09:00.003-06:00

Alright. This is how it is. The Wonder Blog will live in infamy, but not much more than that for the time being. You can now find me in a myriad of online spaces, and I've not yet felt the need, the true, burning need I once felt, to blog in some time.

So where you can find me most is Twitter. I update almost daily, and they're mostly short funny snippets, or links that you, as my adoring public, must slavishly follow for the purposes of finding the newest thing to forward to all of your own followers.

As to what I've been doing lately, and why I've been so busy, the following video says it better than mere words could ever do. It doesn't address the current symptom*, but it does trace the infection** to its source. (Warning: contains an emulsion of rap and nerdery, not recommended for pregnant women, lest they spawn further generations of nerds.)

And follow me on Twitter, bastards.

* In the form of World of Warcraft. (Legume level 80 Mage, baby!)

** RPG's/Medieval RPG's in general.

Oh god. They're back, and bigger than ever!

2008-10-31T10:12:00.004-05:00

They've returned. Despite my best efforts. Despite my warnings. Just when you thought it was safe... They strike!

I thought this was dead and buried. I was wrong. Beware: Wolf Shirt!

It's right flippin' behind you. RUN BITCH!

Don't let this happen to you. Constant vigilance!

Last time on: Wonder Blog

2008-10-28T19:52:00.002-05:00

When last we left our hero he was bitching about Facebook. Really, when last your hero cared about this blog it was sometime around September 2007. Let's not kid ourselves, I couldn't give a shit.

Sometimes I think: my god I need to post. Then I just went on living my life. However after the third time I used my position in the office as a soapbox for my diatribes, I decided I should maybe resume venting that sort of thing on the internet, both for the sake of my coworkers and my biographers no doubt reading these very words decades from now and uttering a silent thanks to both my narcissistic proclivities and the preservative power of the internet.

Now, those selfsame proclivities are going to provide you with ~3 minutes of video entertainment. And it shall take the form of: The Cinnamon Challenge.

Browsing YouTube in the presence of the girlfriend and the ex-roommate's fiancee, I was informed of its existence. Prior to this, I had never heard of such a thing. What it entails is a tablespoon of cinnamon, in your mouth, for you to attempt to consume. Emphasis on attempt.

It has been deemed impossible. As proof, here's a friend and fellow SoE alum making the attempt:

Challenge Status: FAIL

I however would not be disuaded. Below you can see my glorious and hilarious attempt at the challenge.

Warning: I make some extremely horrible faces in this video. Aroused women should take note, and possibly redirect themselves to my other videos.

Challenge Status: Victory!

The celebration is to take place this weekend. I'm to be crowned King of "Painful Internet Challenges," thereby dethroning the guy who made it 1:46 into 2 Girls 1 Cup.

Happy Birthday Quien.

2008-10-28T17:44:00.005-05:00

God this is nerdy, but...

Nine years ago today, at 7:58 PM Central Standard Time, someone very dear to me came into creation. He was born to the Fier'Dal, they of the city Felwithe, otherwise known to the gallimaufry lesser races as the 'High Elves.'

His name was Quien. He was an Enchanter. And his legend is still sung throughout Norrath*.

Don't mess with me, I've got a scepter, a beer stein, and an ass-full of magic to unleash.

So today I raise my glass to you Quien Amorphous. You drew me in for several years playing a game that was otherwise like a bad first wife: difficult, expensive, and to which I was making payments long after we had broken apart. But I learned a lot, and I would not be the geek I am today had it not been for my tenure in your shoes*.

So Quien, this Minotaur Hero's Brew is for you.

* Seriously, stop into any pub in the Steamfont Mountains and ask about the Enchanter who figured out a way to stop the windmills.
** Hell, I learned about Cisco, pathping, and telnet while out with some stranger in the middle of nowhere camping a super rare spawn mob.

They can take our lives, but they can never take our FACEBOOK

2008-09-17T08:51:00.002-05:00

There is a rebellion in progress. The internet is rent in twain! The biggest issue of the year is currently being decided. That's right, Facebook has been redesigned. And people hate it. I, too, hate the redesign, and seeing that they provided me button as soon as I logged in allowing me to "Send Feedback" I had no choice but to do just that.

I share my thoughts with you below:

Dear Sir or Madame,

I recently had an experience that I just had to write you about. I logged into your Social Networking 2.0 site, and I discovered, to my chagrin(!) that it now has a proclivity to take human, male reproductive organs into its proverbial mouth and apply a most prodigious suction*!

Frankly, sir, one might observe that it sucks balls. It saddens me to tell you this, but unfortunately it is also a fan of receiving sodomy** from inmates of unusual size and aggression. It seems to enjoy this.

Please make the necessary changes to ensure that, should Facebook continue its new lifestyle, it does so well away from me. And allow me to enjoy the Facebook that did not suck balls quite so much.

If it's too much trouble, I could always just move on fully to Pownce.

Regards.

* (Not that there is anything intrinsically wrong with this activity.)
** (Again, this is not to pass judgement, it is simply not included in my preferences.)

No, I can't just write "sucks balls." Sue me.

- Scott

P.S. I've wrapped up my side project. And I've got energy for this crap again. So expect an outpouring.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of National Treasure

2008-05-22T12:04:00.007-05:00

Last night I made the mistake of going and seeing Indiana Jones IV. This wouldn't be such a bad thing, the movie was passable, the theater was awesome, and I like staying out late. Unfortunately I also woke up at 5:00 in the godforsaken morning that day. As a result by the time I got to the theater at 12:00 AM the next morning I was coming up on 20 hours of being awake.

Unfortunately all the booze, caffeine, and slap happiness coursing through my veins was not enough to stem the high tide of George Lucas's utter bastardization of the Indy franchise. So steel yourself and prepared for the horror as I review Indiana Jones, and the aging director.

Warning! Thar be spoilers past this point.

Let me be clear, I enjoyed a few things about this movie. So I'll get them out of the way first.

The Good

Indy's back; Harrison Ford doesn't suck.
Still casts the same shadow. See above.
Whip technology in the '50s is as conveniently plot obliging as it was in the '30s.

That said, I'll now indulge the bitchy high school gossip queen side of my personality, and tell you all the things that made me want steal the T.A.R.D.I.S., go back in time and kill George Lucas the instant filming wrapped on The Last Crusade.

The Bad

Shiite LaBeowulf. Or whatever the shit his name is made a respectable showing... for his first few minutes of screen time. Sure he dramatically burst into focus as a hodgepodge of '50s stereotypes riding a motorcycle and broadcasting "douche bag" at 50,000 decibels, but if I could accept Kate Capshaw for an entire movie, this post-pubescent little asshat was not going to bring me down. I would enjoy this movie if it took every last ounce of my rapidly waning alertness.

But then he just kept being in the movie. I think I lasted as far as his bonding with his dad in the jungle... but then it happened. When you've seen the movie you know what I'm talking about already. Imagine the most ridiculous thing that could happen in what is ostensibly an adult action/adventure movie. Now add two suitcases of ridiculous and you're close:

The little shit gets swept up into the vines hanging from trees. There, he quickly befriends the monkey king or something equally cocked up, and learns to swing like from vine to vine like Tarzan. It wasn't so much that I minded, it's acceptable for a swing or two. But the obnoxious little Ben Savage clone used it to chase down motor vehicles racing through the jungle. And when he got there, his new monkey friends all but joined him in a Disney-esque song about how if we work together we can overcome anything, as they helped him fight the film's main villain.
The "Plot." It can be described thusly: take the plot of the upcoming X-Files movie. Fuse it with a National Treasure script. Make Indiana Jones the main character. Add feces. Also, if you can find a way for Indy to survive a nuclear blast using a kitchenette set, that's just aces. Really, I'm as into aliens and nuclear holocaust as the next sci-fi obsessed white male, but it does not belong in my Indiana Jones.
Did I mention those fucking monkeys? At least in the old series they'd kill a monkey now and then. The modern incarnation is so family friendly, even the monkey that got thrown off the cliff gets to survive.
Cate Blanchett. Looked like a Romulan.

Tell me which one is not a Romulan. I dare you.
Finally, unnecessary CGI. I've learned from you George. About myself. I've learned that I prefer campy live action stunts over plastic, sterile, boring CGI effects. Is it really that hard to get actors on location? Did you ever even leave the greater Los Angeles area or was this whole monstrosity shot against a green screen a la Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow? Next time (and now I have no doubt that there will be a next time) how about you get those old saggy asses out in the elements and shoot anyone who suggests how much better they could make it look with a computer and eight hours in Maya.

So that's what I thought. Overall grade? C+. Though, do I think anyone cares? No. Everyone's going to see this, and damn it, I'm probably going to see it again. Lucas won't be happy until he's bastardized everything he ever made that had any value whatsoever. So enjoy this National Treasure/X-Files/Jones mash-up for what it is; an excuse to see Harrison Ford in that hat again.

Could we all just agree to kick George Lucas in the nuts before he remakes THX1138 with gigantic killer robots as he "always intended," though?

We're present, We like pheasant , Get used to it!

2008-05-19T22:44:00.003-05:00

I'm tired of living like a stranger to my own feelings. I'm sick of the lies, the constant clearing my history on my computer. The incessant guilt I feel over lustful feelings. It's time I come out of the closet (or, birdhouse as the case may be...).

I'll be clear. On the one hand I like women. On the other hand, I like birds of prey. What I'm saying here is, put those hands together friend. And if you do, you'll come out with something like the following: Erotic Falconry.

I kid. My interests fall short of hot, cloaca on woman action. But I have to marvel at the human capacity to sexualize anything. For instance, do you fancy the idea of say... sensual guitar playing, naked in the shower? Then WetRiffs.com is for you. I think, because it sounds like easy blog posts, I shall investigate this phenomenon on a semi monthly basis.

Now, take a moment and reflect on how lucky you are if your sexual proclivities do not include /require birdwatching. Though to be fair to our orniphile friends, I'm starting to come (ahem), around. I mean, after all, Eagles are Awesome.

Opaque Foothills

2008-05-13T09:13:00.007-05:00

I essentially decided that I could no longer stomach the idea of my 2.5+ hour round trip to work on the day it took me five and a half hours to get home amid snow, careening semi's, and a MacGyver'd route that involved a last minute dash to a ferry like some kind of wild-eyed, fleeing hobbit.

That day, I decided I would start looking at apartments. I did not realize that the snow storm that precipitated the decision would gradually give way to the shit-storm that is trying to find a decent apartment. Trying to find a decent apartment on Craigslist was essentially the same as trying to find a mentally healthy Oprah fan. And just as pleasant. After visiting a few apartments for rent from CL that looked like this online:

Grainy, but acceptable.

And looked like this* in person:

"Oh did we not mention there's no wall separating the bathroom from the living room? But it does come with some lovely random debris spread all over the apartment."

So I drove around and found Whisper Hollow. Now, before I make fun of it, I'll tell you it's a great apartment complex, and it couldn't be more affordable or in a better location. That said, it sounds like a place where the elderly come to die. Which is a problem I ran into in all the more commercial complexes: they have horrible names that fall into three categories.

1.) Retirement Home/Hospice. Whisper Hollow probably falls into this category, but in general, I've noticed a formula to the Retirement Home naming convention. And it is as follows: lighting condition + scenic geographical feature. This is the only explanation for the litany of apartments I saw, and old folks homes I accidentally walked into.

Examples: Sunset Hills. Shady Acres. Dusky Bluff. Smoky Hummocks. Diffuse Plateau...

Ok, one or two of those I made up. But I defy you to tell me which ones. I've found that these tend to be the best quality overall in the apartment market.

2.) Trust Fund Kid. On the other hand you have the faux-ritzy place that blatantly price gouges, but somehow still attracts shady tenants. And invariably they're named like the kid who references the sailing club way too much, and wears deck shoes to the exclusion of all other footwear.

Examples: Camden Westchase. Bercham Tudor. Easton Glen... etc.

3.) The NOUN. This is the absolute bottom rung, and avoid it at all costs. I only ran into it a handful of times, but every time it was bad. So bad in fact, that those in the know can always be counted on for a wistful head shake and a "Ah, yeah... that sounds like The NOUN."

Examples: The Pavilion. The Colony. The Ghetto.

The Colony is a real one, and the name carries weight. Though I'd say it was more like a hive... a wretched hive of scum and villainy. I had to be cautious.

And that... is what kept me so busy for so long. But I've found my place in the STL-verse. And it's near work and bars. What more could you ask?

*Sorry for the terrible image quality. The photo was taken from my phone, which is not regarded highly in photography circles. Also, I am not Tim, and ergo do not carry around a real digital camera in my always-equipped leather fanny pack.

Still Alive.

2008-05-12T08:41:00.007-05:00

This was a triumph. I'm making a note here: HUGE SUCCESS. It's hard to overstate my satisfaction.
< /Portal Quotes>

What can I add? GLaDOS pegged it. I've been reasonably satisfied with my life of late. If my life was the result of an eBay auction the seller's feedback would read something like:

"LOOKS EVEN BETTER IN PERSON! VERY HANDSOME!!! EXTREMEY (sic) FUN AND CLEVER. A+++++++++++++ Would purchace (sic) abstract concepts of life from again!"

And as a result, blogging has fallen by the wayside. You see, my disciples, I started blogging at a time in my life where I had 12+ hours of me-time everyday. I had a me-surplus, and as a result of leading a life too large for one man, portions of it spilled out onto the internet. As a necessity; a failsafe to prevent an explosion of such awesome magnitude as to rip the world in half.

But I've returned. Does this mean my life is going worse? Not really. I just don't like change, and I'm up to my ass in it right now. And in the last two weeks I've had 9 conversations I wrote down later because they needed to live on. So it seems I've got a me-surplus again. I'm just full of myself. And it's time I stopped being so selfish.

I'm back. For real.

And the winner is...

2008-03-31T21:59:00.004-05:00

The American People. That's right everyone, I've officially become political. I'll get to that in a moment, but I wanted to make it clear that the car's name is officially Icarus. Again, I blame Robert Plant and Jimmy Page. But also the movie Sunshine. Take a minute of your time and watch the trailer at the very least.

Now, on to business. I've made some drastic changes to my life lately. These have required a lot of time, thought, and effort. I put in my two week's notice at work. I've talked to my friends and family. And I've decided that this is what I want.

I'm now on as a volunteer on the Hilary Clinton campaign. That won't come as a surprise to my closest friends. It's long been established that I'm a campaigner for women's rights. In many ways it was I that started the neo-feminist movement when I was just a lad. I remember fondly the day I struck the "No" from the sign indicating whether or not girls were allowed in my treehouse.

These ideals stuck with me, and now I have no choice but support the best candidate: Hilary. Despite what the sexist liberal media would tell you, she's a lawyer, a states... err... person, an astronaut, an interior designer, a paleontologist, and a stewardess. Actually... I might be thinking of Barbie. But in my eyes, they're indistinguishable anyway.

So I'll keep you posted from the campaign trail. She's currently got an unstoppable momentum, and her lead in the states that really matter is broad. Just like her. I'll leave you with a video the campaign's put together.

Thank you and may you be blessed by one or more God(s) or less.

- Scott

Everything except Road Head

2008-03-23T18:17:00.004-05:00

Meet the new car, not the same as the old car:

Pre-Modded-Prius.

Thar she be. The new car, a 2008 Magnetic Grey Toyota Prius. The car itself is no less than fucking awesome. But before I get into all of that, I feel I must defend the choice. I shouldn't have to, but there are people who have an aversion to the car, if not an outright hate, and it's them I address now: read my below post, and piss off.

Now, on to the meat. The car is beautiful from a technical standpoint. I even like its vaguely teardrop shape. But technologically, it's a knockout. Here's a rundown of a few features I went crazy for long before I bought it:

Joystick shifter.
Hackable.
Car senses my presence, unlocks when I grab handle.
Key never has to leave my pocket, even to start the car.
Backup camera.
Touch-screen controls.
iPod port to interface with the sound system.
BlueTooth to interface with my phone.
Four doors (screw folding a seat down for passengers.)
Conversion kits to allow you to plug your Prius into your house to provide power. (Essentially making it a gigantic drivable emergency generator.)
Room enough for 3-5 dead hookers in cargo area.

And the best reason; what I call the Prius Moneyshot...

That sweet, sweet, mileage.

The last vehicle I drove that got such awesome MPG was a moped. In the above you can see the MFD (that touch screen I talked about, currently displaying Energy Consumption), the distant speedometer readout and the blue blur that is my radar detector.

Now I've mentioned hacks for the car no less than three times so far, so they warrant a quick rundown at the least. Here's what I've done to the car so far.

Hacks

Disabled beeping when in reverse.
Disabled passenger seatbelt alert
Disabled driver seatbelt alert
Hacked firmware to allow me to dial phone numbers on the touch screen while in motion.
Enabled voice control (allegedly only available with the Nav system I didn't buy.)
Removed parts of the wheel that didn't do anything (in above photo the "webbing" between spokes).
Increased tire pressure for better mileage.
Hacked wireless sensors in tires to accept higher pressure than expected.
Hacked same sensors to alert me when I lost 2 PSI instead of the standard 18.
EV mode. Allows me to choose to run the car as a hybrid or all electric. Short for Electric Vehicle mode.

Now, dear reader, is when I need your help. I haven't been able to sufficiently name this car. The last one was easy; Tom Celica. It hung together so nicely. So I'm turning to you, my audience to suggest names. Here's what I've come up with so far.

Potential Prius Names:

Priapus. If you're not snickering over that one click the link and find out why I am.
Judas Prius. Self explanatory.
HAL. Open the hatchback door HAL. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Scott."
Icarus. There's really no reason for this one. I just like it and I, like Robert Plant, hold a fondness for the character. Besides, NASA used to give things awesome mythological names. Why can't I? Also, I think that was the name of the ship in Sunshine, which is the best SciFi movie I've seen since Serenity.
Evey. Dual reference, Evey Hammond from V for Vendetta, and the EV mode.

And that's all I've got. Here's my offer, if any of you come up with a name for this car, I'll buy you a 20 dollar iTunes gift certificate. All I need for that is your email, and I'd be roughly 20 dollars worth of grateful. Otherwise just let me know what you think of my potentials.

Annnd... Go.

Don't be hatin'

2008-03-23T17:25:00.000-05:00

I've been through conversations like the below so many times now I feel I have to respond in writing. I do so here:

Typical comment #1: "You know that thing is going to break down in six years. I heard you have to get a new one after that."
Typical comment #2: "You know, they don't really pay for themselves. It would take like 100 years for them to pay for themselves."
Typical comment #3: "So... you're an environmentalist now?"

Response #1: Piss off. There are Prii (I loves me words that end in "i" when plural) used as taxis with upwards of 250,000 miles on them, and that have been in service since the first Gen version, and that came out in 2001.

Response #2: Oh no! Really? I had expected for the gas savings to pay off the mortgage of my house, put my grandchildren through college, and give me regular blow jobs! What will I do?! Oh, that's right. Nobody expects a car to pay for itself. Speaking of things paying off, how's that barcodesque comb-over working out for you? You know who you are...

Response #3: Pfft. I just ate veal, and mopped my kitchen with a baby seal fur. This is about cash and techno-lust, not activism. However, a certain type of woman has a very favorable reaction to a Prius, and I do encourage that.

Requiescat In Pace, Tom Celica.

2008-03-07T20:30:00.006-06:00

I'm ready to tell you. Let's get into the meat of the posts. The ones that really matter. The ones that really say something. For instance the ones where I end up in the custody of the police. How's that sound?

You may remember my run-ins with the law from posts like this one: Scott Outruns the Law. Well, this one is related. You see, my faithful car Tom Celica, was whisking me off to work once again. I was making good time. I had a lot of personal issues on my mind which I was expressing through the magic of song, when all of a sudden there it was.

It was my white whale. My One Ring. My bowl-of-Trix-snatched-away-from-me-by-cruel-children.

It was, dear readers... a car that had surrendered all semblance of aerodynamics. I had seen it before, and always desired a closer look. It lacked beauty. It no longer even paid lip-service to the concept. Some foul beast had besotted a red Geo Metro hatchback with all manner of antenna. Somehow they made it more hideous and hard for me to visually process. It were a car no longer, but instead a hideous technological abomination, cast back in time from some bygone alternate future. It looked... something like this:

An "artist's" conception of the monstrosity.

And in that fate-laden moment was entranced by the Cthulhu-esque abortion of a vehicle. Unfortunately, the other drivers were not so distracted. The line of vehicles ahead of me suddenly locked up their breaks. Sensing a slow down, I tore myself away from the blood-magicks of the car and looked ahead.

The slow-down was worse than I'd thought. In that split second distracted by the radio and that damn porcupine-mobile, the traffic had come to a complete stop (using brakes... assholes). And I was already less than a car's length away from the next one. There was an instant of bullet-time; I watched the front end disintegrate; I saw the airbags deploy; and I saw the car behind me manage to stop.

Getting out before I was in control of my actions again, I sprinted to the car I had just made an emergency 50mph stop into. I think I got there faster than she expected because appearing at her window I gave her a little jolt of surprise. She was OK. Her car was OK. When I turned back to mine, this is what I saw.

I know I'm in the middle of a four-lane highway, but damn, this looks blogable.

According to Toyota, the car runs best with those fluids inside the engine.

The airbags didn't actually do much besides total the car and make it smell horrible.

The cops showed up, talked to me, read my license plate in the cop phonetic alphabet, and threw me in the back of the squad car.

I figured, hell I'm not here very often. Seems like a good time to take a picture. Unfortunately, I look like hell. But cut me some slack, I just killed Tom Celica.

In the end, the cops were very accommodating. They let me get all my stuff out of the car, and then promptly dropped me off at a Denny's, and also gave me no ticket. What I had instead was a quest. A fire. I would find the man who drives that Red Abomination Machine. And when I had him before me he would have to answer for what he did to Tom Celica (not to mention his own ride).

I'm compiling a dossier on him. So far I know that he frequents 270 between 170 and Dorsett road on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Generally towards the 8:00 hour. My plan is to be late for work one day so that I can follow him, stop him somehow, and demand an explanation for his distraction contraption.

In the next post: my new (and improved) ride.

- Scott

P.S. Sorry this is an immense word-dump. But these memories are seared into my brain. And apparently read-only. So no editing this time around.

With a pang of sadness like a +3 STR dirk to the heart

2008-03-04T22:13:00.006-06:00

Gary Gygax, creator of D&D, has passed away at the age of 69 (heh).

I know that I had little to do with his passing, some would say none, and that I didn't do this art (thanks for letting me rip you off Penny Arcade.) But I'm not finished with my arrest post and I'm sick of seeing the Diggnation one every time. Besides, a great nerd has passed away.

A moment of... [rolls d20]... contemplative nerdery.

A reasonable excuse for a filler post.

- Scott

In Diggnation

2008-02-21T17:01:00.006-06:00

To answer your question: living the dream, that's where I've been. Thanks for your concern. I could have been dead people! A couple of times over that break it was actually the more likely outcome. And not one "hmm, why isn't Scott posting?" comment. Tish tish. Well, I've shed some distractions, and to fill that time guess what's back: blogging. (And a real website if I can ever get that goddamned thing off the ground.)

Since I had no requirement to blog, I found myself more busy than you'd think. Just living the jet-set geek lifestyle. For instance, last night: I decided to grace a filming of Diggnation here in St. Louis with my presence. (For the non-podcasters out there, that's an internet video show based on Digg.com. It's hosted by Kevin Rose and Alex Albrecht, who were on TechTV back in the glory days.)

Anyway, I look on Kevin Rose the way a Christian might look on Jesus. Or how a Scientologist might look at Tom Cruise. Or how a fat kid looks at pancakes. Because he's lived the ideal life¹, he's quickly developed a shit-ton of loyal followers, and he's yummy², respectively. What? I said it.

I'll not bore you with the details of the show, which you can watch at your own leisure this Sunday (and see me in the front row if they use the crowd footage.) Instead, here's a photo-essay of my night.

Kevin and I play catch, just like in my idle daydreaming³.

By which I mean he threw a shirt, and not only did I catch it, but I also took a picture of him throwing it. The irony here is that I botched my own reaction shot of me with the shirt. Damn you zoom.

Alex: Can I please just take a piss in here?
Scott: Pfft. Seriously, it's not like there's any girls here.

Now, I haven't mentioned that I got to chat with the Diggnation guys. But I did. And, not to brag, but earned a "lol" or two. Perhaps even a few "epic lulz." I even got to use a "buried as lame" joke.

How did I find them? I anticipated where they'd be using the time-honored technique of asking where the only bathroom is before the show, on-which they always complain about how bad they have to piss. Some people "follow the money," I follow the urine. To each his own.

Scott: By the way, where the shit is my Ctrl+Alt+Chicken?
Alex: We're workin' on it dude. We gotta bring it back.
Scott: Alright then, in that case you can take a picture of me.

Kevin: Holy shit, that's the Scott Gresham.
Scott: Yeah, yeah, keep your voice down.

I've framed the last photo. It's being transfered to canvas as an oil painting by Doc Hammer in April. He's dubbed it "A Meeting of Titans." A little ostentatious, but I'm not one to argue with art.

Tomorrow: my ride in the police car, my new quest/obsession, and my mysterious new nemesis.
- Scott

¹ I mean, besides the Dark Tips and Digg, he banged Lala! And Morgan Webb.
² What? That's a completely healthy, platonic assessment. I love women! Show me boobs!
³ Come on, that's not creepy.

Happy New Year, kids.

2008-01-02T13:00:00.001-06:00

I've much to say and very little time, so I'll be brief. Last night, after I had some friends over and watched a movie, I decided to make a little dinner for myself. Unfortunately I left the oven going and... well started quite a fire. On the list of 2008 resolutions is not burning down my place of residence.

The good news for me is that I grabbed my laptop, phone, and external hard drive out of the fire. And the good news for you is that I had the presence of mind to take a video of my apartment on fire with my phone.

Check it out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2b1D5w82yU

Scott's Consumerism Wishlist: Purely to make your lives easier.

2007-12-02T14:19:00.000-06:00

In one of my slowest idea-to-action ratios. Three Christmases ago I thought: "My god, wouldn't it be marvelous if I actually told people what I wanted for Christmas, instead of relying on their (often substandard) observational skills?" For example, I had to work for 20 minutes to convince my mom that the lead female villain in Live Free or Die Hard was Asian. So to stem the flow of poor detective work (or at least put a bandage on a bleeding artery), I offer this list of things you can get me this holiday season, ranked by how much you love me.

You Tolerate Me:

Titanium Spork: because after all, I don't do dishes that often.
The Annoy-o-tron: if you buy it for me, I promise not to use it on you.
The Subtle (LED, Pocket) Knife: because it's dark in the underworld.
In Case of DARPA Challenge Car Will Be Unmanned: Ha! Take that rapture-er...ians?
The Doctor's Sonic Screwdriver: "A sonic... screwdriver?" you ask. To which I reply, "What, never had a long night? Never needed to put up a couple of cabinets?"

You Like Me:

Vintage Style Bluetooth Phone Handset: I can't tell you how much I want to walk around in public talking on this thing.
Stealth Switch: You may remember the Stealth Switch from this post. Yeah, well I still want one. And with this, you give the gift of not getting fired for blogging at work.
The only doormat I've ever wanted: And if you get this joke, I'll forgive most other offenses.

You Really Like Me:
(too Sally Field?)

This Watch: To replace one that was similar, that has vanished from the material sphere.
A helmet cam: Tell me you aren't curious to see what would come of me owning this.

You Love Me:

Dr Who Series 2 and Series 3: As another dashing hero on perpetual vacation, I often like to look in on others. Anyone who buys me this set is officially granted my favor.
Absinthe: Here's the deal. It's legal to have, and legal to buy. But it's illegal to sell it in the US. So, ordering from overseas is fine, but if you bought it at the local Quick-E-Mart they'd be in trouble. I promise to share with anyone who buys it for me. What a nice guy I am!
This Hard Drive: I'm building a new computer and this is a big part of it. Half a Terabyte on one platter? Insane. And so cheap! Also, if you're an elderly, religious relative and you want to buy this for me: know that you're doing the Lord's work. Because if you got it for me I'd feel weird about filling it with porn. Win/win.
Another of the Same Hard Drive: Come on, I'm so close. With two I'd have a full terabyte. Besides, I'll need a different one to put the porn on.

So there you have it. A holiday gift giving guide for the dashing, geeky, rogue in your life (me). You're welcome. After all, I'm doing this all for you. (And also so I don't end up getting any clothes this year.)

Feel free to mention which things are already bought and to remark on how much you all love me in the comments.

P.S. I'm also quite partial to this tie.

Ok, I've had it.

2007-11-26T20:03:00.000-06:00

Excuse the Thanksgiving break following my spat of posting, which itself followed a month of binge drinking. That said, I have a bone to pick. And here it is:

Christians Boycott "The Golden Compass."

Are you people serious? I thought I had fought this ignorance in the form of correcting a chain email at my office about the story, and now I find it on my internet sites. Will this crap never end? So, for the last time, I'm going to explain to you Godless... err Godfull natives why you should sit your indignant asses back down and consider boycotting something more logical. Like that rock 'n roll music, for instance; I heard it makes young people want to fornicate!

Without further insults*...

Point by Point Reasons the Boycott is Ridiculous.

Most of you were called to action via an email forward.

If I knew you people reacted so strongly to email messages I would have told you about my imprisoned Nigerian uncle. You see, he has great riches, but he needs a small fee to retrieve them. I was told that you are a trustworthy person and you could help. Please just send $5,000 Canadian, and when we get the riches we wil pay U back with many many more monies!!!1!

He really need s UR help!! Send money orders to: 1600 N. Liberty, Scamston, MO. Bless you, my brother.
You can watch The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe and not want to be Catholic.

Watching The Golden Compass won't make you atheist. And if it does, your faith in God didn't mean anything anyway, and that you'll be just as happy as an atheist. Probably even happier since you won't be hemmed in by all those ridiculous "morals" forced upon you.

And if you're worried that it will only tempt you into thinking blasphemous thoughts... well you've probably already damned yourself. You might as well see the season's best fantasy blockbuster. (You might also take up the phrase "well, I'll be damned!")

Rejected Special Rebranded Edition DVD set.
All the best things are banned and boycotted against by these people.

Seriously. Examine their stances on birth control, sex, legalization of pot, and video games. It's getting to the point where their disapproval is the equivalent of a ringing endorsement. I've stopped reading the entertainment pages of my paper. I just get on the internet, find out what the kooks are frothing at the mouth about and have a go at it.

This method works. It's suggested fun new things to me at about 90% effectiveness. That's a better batting average than Amazon and Netflix combined.
Boycotting actually makes people more aware of the movie.

Ok, reversing my tack from the earlier point: let's say you're silly enough to believe this movie will have adverse affects on people, and that it's insulting to the invisible man who lives in the sky. You only provide more incentive for your rebelling children to see the film by demonizing it.

Also, it implies that you're of the school of thought that any dissenting idea should be quashed. This is usually the result of fear that your own ideas about life wouldn't hold up in the presence of others. If this is the case, please GO BACK AND RE-READ POINT 2!
Atheists didn't boycott The Passion of the Christ.

Do unto others as you would have done unto you. Ringing a bell? Somewhere in some book you might have read? What was it... oh yes it was the Bible. Really, look it up. It's in there. Under "D"; for what you should "do".

So that's why you should all just calm down. After all, Atheists can't kill God! We all know that only the Jews can do that! And only at Easter.

Peace to all.

- Scott

P.S. Feel free to email this rebuttal to anyone who sends you those bullshit forwards.

*I'm afraid there was just no way I could keep this promise.

The Spaz and the Spurious

2007-11-13T18:39:00.000-06:00

First thing is first: explaining why I can't buy beer anymore.

Driving home from work two Fridays ago I found myself with wide open(ish) roads ahead of me. I had ditched work two hours early and gone to watch a matinée. And I looked this good. Of course I was in a good place.

As it turned out, I was also passing through several places at quite a clip. I didn't care though, I'd been increasing my speed for several months in what I call the "Post-Ticket Cycle of Shame(lessness)." I made great time, but back in town someone was riding my ass. So, I slowed down another 10 miles per hour. In a 35 zone.

"Take that, dick!" I said aloud.

A few moments later said dick flipped on the cherries. It was a cop. And worse, a state cop. And worse, a woman. I find the fem-pigs are always the most angry at you for breaking whatever law you might have ignored. It's like they always followed all the rules in school while watching everyone else having a good time ditching, skipping, or ne'er do welling... and now it's pay back time.

Her attempt at pay back was the following:

Fem-Pig: *waddle waddle waddle* "Sir do you know why I pulled you over?"

Dashing Rogue (me): I thoughtfully pause, then: "Honestly, no."

FP: *exasperated, appalled, abbreviated sigh* "You were driving like a maniac. You passed three cars at once back there!"

Internally I smiled as I remembered doing it and realized why she must have pulled me over, and replied:

DR: "I don't recall doing that anywhere, how fast was I going?"

FP: *extreme embarrassment, and a look of dejection* "I... well, I don't know. I never got close enough to clock you. But I saw you at route 3 and you... blah blah blah"

She said more but I already wasn't listening. She couldn't catch me from Rt. 3 to where I was in Jerseyville?! That's eight miles. I know I was hauling ass, and my car has great ability to ignore curves, but holy shit. I outran a cop for eight miles. I was smiling externally at this point and that's where she got even more flustered.

FP: *sweating and adjusting her considerable girth* "Look, I know you were speeding. I know you were. You passed a car and then a minute later you were a mile and a half ahead of it. That's, you could have killed someone. That's absolutely unacceptable."

Now, there's no way I could have been a mile and a half ahead of a car that was already going 60 miles per hour without using NOS. But her estimate isn't that far off. It was great. She knew I broke the law and she couldn't do anything about it. I felt like I was in the mafia.

DR: *smiling wickedly, with a flourish* "If that's true, I'm sorry. I agree. Completely not acceptable. So what needs to be done, Officer?"

FP: *snippy now, and more flummoxed* "Well I think you know I can't give you a speeding ticket. I didn't clock you speeding. You're getting a following too closely citation. You can pick your license up at the court house in five working days."

And off she went. I still can't buy beer because I look so young, and my license is being held ransom until I pay my debt to society. But I don't need it, I'm still intoxicated by my accomplishment. If I had just taken the turn before town she never would have found me.

But I've learned my lesson: the next time I find myself rocking out as I play leap-frog down 109, make damn sure to keep the radar detector running... and maybe invest in a police scanner.

So, has anyone else got away with something this good during my month off?

P.S. This whole adventure reminds me... ask me about the time I went to jail. That's a post in and of itself.

Patience, Grasshopper(s).

2007-11-12T07:27:00.000-06:00

I'm back, collective bitches. Celebrate! I just got back from the longest two weeks of my working life, the culmination of all that work I started in October. I'll explain more, but I'm actually back to my usual, slacker work schedule and actually do need to pretend to work. Often it's just as hard as doing actual work.

...Jesus, I shit you not, as soon as I typed that our manager informed us that a co-worker has had a heart attack and that one of his projects is in my lap now. So that's... just awesome. Fantastic.

In any case, my blog sabbatical worked. I'm refreshed, and I don't want to burn down this elaborate series of tubes called the internet, every time I realize I need to post. I've also got hilarious stories about the following:

Incompetent Hospital Workers.
Asshole Doctors.
A very flustered State Trooper.
The Detective who is sure I'm lying, but not able to prove it.
Reckless driving.
Made-up words.
Sandwich Cults.
Robots.
Or get your diploma.

There'll be a post when I get home from work tonight. With photos, swearing, and the element that makes all my posts so special: love.

- Scott

Sabbatical.

2007-10-15T18:37:00.000-05:00

The best TV comes with the cost of mid-season breaks and an off season. (Reality shows, however, have the ability to churn out shit at the same rate, forever.) The best movies come in three part trilogies. (Actually so do some of the worst...) And the best bloggers have to take a break now and then.

I can't produce any posts until November. I'm allowing a beat for that statement to sink in.

.
.
.
.

Be strong. You'll make it. And when I return, let's just say there'll be a Revolution... Yes... quite a Revolution. OK, enough foreshadowing. In the meantime, and in no particular order, let's look back at the Best of Bufford... the Wonder Blog.

Offending the System post. Nostalgia for the kind of blatant assholery you can get away with in college, but not the workforce.
Bonus: a comment from future-girlfriend Meg.
Revenge of the Slytherin post. A classic featuring making fun of nerds by dressing nerdier than them.
Bonus: You need a bonus for that? Read the GD post!
Oh, the Hairmanity! post. An explanation of why I only get my hair cut once every three months in the same place.
Bonus: Tim saying "hey-oh," I think there'll eventually be a drinking game to that extent.
Tacky Triad post. My railing against mid-west truckstop couture.
Bonus: Farmed-out photoshoppery. I outsourced that one to Rob.
It's a twista! post. My favorite method of getting out of a lease early.
Bonus: Lots of photos, including one of my saving an orphan.

Enjoy. I'll see you kids in November.

The Eighth Deadly Sin

2007-09-25T12:18:00.000-05:00

Unfortunately, the 8th Deadly Sin has no simple one-word definition. But, in as few words as possible, it could be defined this way: the despising of johnny-come-latelies.

Everybody does it. Did you read that book, or like that TV show, or see the original version of that movie before everybody went ape-shit over it? If the answer is yes, then you know what I'm talking about. If the answer is no, then how does it feel to be a follower? I'm guessing: really desperate.

I'll tell you what it's like: basically you want to shout at the masses, sitting there dumbly blathering to one another about this thing that you liked first. "I liked Andrew Bird two years ago when you were listening to Dave "Gateway Drug to Adult Contemporary" Matthews! Piss off! Go back to your Top 40, assholes!*"

And that brings me to the crux. I saw Andrew Bird this weekend in Champaign and he was amazing. But I was in a bit of a foul mood as a result of waking up at 4:30 AM that morning, and being surrounded by annoying sorority skanks who are here because WPGU played his new, radio-friendly album. Still, if you ever get to see an Andrew Bird concert, do it. The man is a mix of the body type of Jack Skeleton and the insanity and passion of a savant like Willy Wonka. He also plays every instrument on his albums, and writes some of the most beautiful music, overlaid with clever lyrics.

Anyway, my question is this: as much as we want to connect with people, what have you had ruined solely by other people liking it?

- Scott

* You can also read this as "Top 40 Assholes." It's equally valid.

Crush of the Week: Hall of Fame Edition

2007-09-16T21:01:00.000-05:00

This week's¹ Crush of the Week: Jenna Fischer.

Why she's earned it: Jenna's has had a bit of a rough year. The first major snafu that happened was, she fell down a marble staircase and broke her back. And let's face it; that sucks. That sucks a lot. Fortunately she didn't lose any, you know, walking ability. But still. She broke her fucking back. She deserves her due props just for looking great despite spinal injury.

The next major shit-storm to hit Port Jenna was that she and her husband separated. And although you might think that would make me happy, it actually doesn't. Because she's a sweet, charming girl and the separation² has to be as painful as breaking her back. If not more so.

Bonus Materials: Jenna is a special kind of girl. She's beautiful in a way that vacillates between "girl-next-door-wholesome-hot" and "holy-shit-does-she-clean-up-well-no-holds-barred-gorgeous." It's hard to switch hit both of those. Meg Ryan has been trying to break into the latter category for years. And the result was In the Cut. Clearly it's a dangerous void to attempt crossing.

But what makes Jenna truly special is her ability to play tongue-in-cheek serious to the limits of the form. The moment I heard her say, dry as a Bounce Sheet, "it's an epidemic," I knew she was Crush of the Week material³.

And so, I deluge you with a shower of Jenna.

First enjoy her photo to the right. Possibly enjoy it for several months, or until I feel like changing it.

Second, give her appearance on Loveline a listen. It makes for a great distraction while you're driving. And even better; it's conclusive proof that she can actually have a conversation. Take that, legion of vapid, boring actresses. Score another for Jenna.

Finally, there is the below. I usually don't go for this kind of video. It's too emotional, too sad, and I generally don't like to focus on the breakup part of a relationship⁴. But she's in it, she's great, and it's grown on me. Just one more example of my seeing what might be dodgy (*ahem* Blades of Glory *ahem*) on the sole basis of her involvement.

So Jenna, I know you've had a rough year. But you know how I feel, and you're the Crush of the Week. Things are looking up.

The ball's in your court now.

- Scott

¹ And who am I kidding, probably this year's Crush of the Week as well, at the rate I remember to update this damn segment.
² I can't fully appreciate the sheer metric-crap-ton of hurt that must bring, but I can tell you that it hurts me to write about it. Literally. I hurt my hand earlier today and hitting CTRL+TAB to see the correct spelling of the word "separation" each time is killing me. I'm self-medicating with beer and Tylenol.
³ Despite not creating the segment for another two years.
⁴ Exception: Brooks & Dunn - Neon Moon. There is no funnier song to belt out when you're pathetically drunk.

Memory Dump

2007-09-11T21:33:00.000-05:00

In the style of Creed Bratton, I'm going to post a memory dump of all the things I referenced today, and thought "I should really flesh that out into a blog post." But I'm tired, so you get random Hedburg-esque nuggets of potential post material. Enjoy.

Why is it that women's fashion seems to revolve around taking what old people wore 15 years ago and slutting it up? Cases in point:

big damn sunglasses = old people "over glasses sunglasses"

the "cowl necked top" = "whatever the fuck Rue McClanahan is wearing on the left of this photo"
gauchos = old woman culottes

big assed, gaudy hoop earrings = ...big assed, gaudyhoop earrings (this one is kind of obvious)

Why is it that every time they show a violent video game on the news it's being played at 2 frames per second? If you want to show us what's causing kids to shoot each other, have the decency to play it on a NEW computer. Shell out for something to replace your Amiga. Because it looks like a very dull slideshow on that piece of shit, newsroom PC.

Reader's Digest should come with spray-able samples of air fresheners the way fashion magazines come with perfume... because no one ever reads that rag except on the crapper anyway. Might as well give a nod to your audience: people taking dump."

If I start a band we'll play only ska covers of Mexican folk music. Our name will be El Chupa-SKA-bra.

You used to always see movies where at some point the ultimate evil would show up and manically shout "THE SLEEPER HAS AWAKENED!" Haven't heard this in a long time. Have we all learned our lesson? Time will tell. Also, sleepers will, especially if they wake up.

- Scott

The Triumphant Return

2007-09-10T20:45:00.000-05:00

Oh, I've been meaning to mention: Josh R. is back in action.

You should all give the kid a read. His posts have inspired some of my better other-blog-commenting. For instance my explanation of just what exactly it was that Mr. Roboto was being thanked for.

And it comes with the Mis Blogos Favoritos seal of approval... so you know it's good.

Check him out. I command it!

Lazy Terrorists....

2007-09-05T12:50:00.000-05:00

Americans are obviously lazy. We've established ourselves as the most lazy nation in the world per capita. If you don't believe me, just go buy a new car-stereo. I promise you it will come with a remote control, because God forbid you do a 1/4th of a sit-up as you reach for the volume.

Don't get me wrong, though. I'm glad we're lazy. In fact, I believe it's our last line of defense against terrorists¹, and possibly our only line. Because how much faith do you have in the fine, young, drop-outs who work for the TSA securing our airports against hair gel, finger nail clippers, and mouthwash. They've started a Goddamn war on hygiene. But I digress...

No, what I put my faith in is the corrupting effect of the American lifestyle to prevent anyone getting up and saying "Hey, let's go frighten the infidels today."

I always hear about alleged terrorist cells in the States, out to do serious harm to our way of life. And presumably to terrorize us. But just what in the hell have they been doing for the last six years? I'll tell you what: eating at McDonald's, shopping at Wal-Mart, and seriously considering whether or not they can afford an H2.

The Shame Campaign: Al Qaeda, Ronald McDonald² is more terrifying than you; just ask a child. (And he likely kills more people.)

It's not that they don't want to hurt us; they do. It's just that it's so hard to find the time, and really, terrorism is such a hassle. Nobody can do the airplane thing again, because now it's passé... and to be fair nobody is really terrorized by it. Personally, in a hijacking situation, I think of myself as not unlike Wesley Snipes in Passenger 57. And that's exactly how I'd act. Because, what the hell, they're going to kill me anyway. I might as well get to live out my action movie fantasy³.

But if there really are terrorists in America, and people tell me that there are, then I think proof positive for my theory is the fact that not one car bomb has gone off in the U.S. since Tim "Honkey Infidel" McVeigh blew his truck up. Hence, there are no American Al Qaeda. Because really... that's the best tool in their arsenal. Look at Israel, do you want to take the bus there? Or go in a parking garage?

Parking garages are already fertile terroristic ground. I mean, combine loud noises with isolation, claustrophobia, and being trapped by foot thick concrete. Toss a few exploding Volkswagens in the mix and suddenly nobody goes to the mall. The economy crumbles (exception: online retail). And the terrorists bring America to its knees.

I'm sure it's been planned before. But they were going to do it on Tuesday and Abdulaziz just refuses to miss American Idol for anything. Then nobody could get their schedule to match up... and to be honest they use that mall as much as the infidels... I mean, it's got a Gap a Suncoast, and Orange Julius...

...and terrorism has been averted.

So score one for America land of the... stuff... or something. Listen, American Idol is coming on, I have to go...

¹ Another example of lazy: we've been saying "terror" attacks ever since about two days after 9/11. Jesus Christ people. It's just -ism. It's really not that much longer, and you sound less like a moron.
² Do a Google Image Search for "McDonalds" that's the sixth result.
³ This is why you see me rehearsing snappy one liners while waiting to board.

Adventures in not Working part 2

2007-08-28T09:40:00.000-05:00

Work is a dangerous place. Bosses, coworkers, sharp objects, and unruly customers conspire to steal time away from Digg reading, Wonder Blog posting, and website founding. Sometimes, you need to protect your perimeters. Sometimes you need to protect das fathja-cube. Sometimes you just need artillery superiority to secure your position in the office.

So that's what I created. By purchasing two separate items I created a mad scientist's weapon of mass distraction. The web-cam-missile-turret. With this I can protect my cube from those that would invade it to pilfer my pens, or my make off with my markers, or do something else that alliterates.

Observe:

Before being mounted on top of an 8 foot wall with a full view of the office.

Still in the testing phase, before sighting in the crosshairs... or figuring out how to apply crosshairs. Note the missle control console to the right.

Night-vision and targeting reticle in place, I'm ready to repel any comers.

Now I've been asked why I'm setting this system up when no one is even really messing with me yet. But I have to look at it like this: my cube neighbor Josh is making his move against the desk in picture #2. I've got an aggressive expansionist on my border. I have to approach this like I'm Poland in 1939... but this time I'm prepared (and not a Pole).

I've got about a 20 foot range, and an accurately sighted in scope up to 15. Josh (late 30's Germany to my east) has a small remote controlled helicopter that's going to know what hit it when it takes one of my missiles.

So that's what I've been doing at work.

(Edit: I forgot to mention the best part. I connected my missile-turret to my desktop that I have remote access to. So I can take a sick day, stay home, and from my apartment still shoot at people. Imagine the terror when a seemingly unmanned USB Missile Launcher suddenly comes to life, turns, and fires.)

An open letter to Atlanta, GA

2007-08-24T08:20:00.000-05:00

Dear Atlanta,

Hi. How's things?

Listen, I know we're not the best of friends... what with your insistence on calling every type of soda "Coke," and your passion for watching cars turn left for hours on end... not to mention Michael Vick...

My point is, it's not as if I needed more reasons to make fun of the south, but you've gone and decided to ban baggy pants, and the showing of underwear. Sadly including thongs and bras. What the hell are you thinking Atlanta?

Honestly, why can't you be more like Vermont? They just upheld public nudity, the god(s)-given right of everyone born... ever. Why do you think we're born that way?¹ I've my own mis-spent youth of bursting into all female parties and taking my clothes off. Sometimes also naked folk singing. That was good clean fun, and with the exception of a few girls crying (because they had never before realized their own men were so inadequate) everyone enjoyed it.

So how can you get up on your white-sheet-clad-high-horse and ban the kids from showing a little boxer? Is it suddenly illegal to wear a Speedo to go swimming? No? And it should be. But boxers (and bras and thongs) are an important part of our society. I can't count the number of times my mother has shrieked at me for walking around our front lawn in nothing but boxers and a secure sense of manliness. "Don't put our male neighbors to shame; have some modesty!" she complains.

But secretly everyone wants it to happen and you can't ignore it.

I'll conclude my argument with three points, one I think you'll agree with, one you won't understand, and one I think is undeniable.

1.) If you ban sagging pants how will you know which black people you can safely harrass? I mean, some of them can actually afford lawyers.
2.) Without legal baggy pants, low-level superhero Baggin' Saggin' Barry will have to go all Watchmen on your asses.
3.) Baggy pants? What is this 1995?

Just think it over.

- Scott

¹ Oh sure, I bet you'll argue that every once in a while a baby comes out wearing the placenta as a hat... but that's not clothes, Atlanta. And you know it.

Too busy to post, too distracted to work.

2007-08-17T08:15:00.000-05:00

Sorry kids, but this was quite a week. I had a server go-live on Tuesday which required I wake up at 3:30 AM and work until about 6:00 PM. It was fun, but it totally f'ed my sleep cycle in the A for the rest of the week. And when my sleep is off how can I post? I reckon I can't.

And unfortunately I don't really have time to post now either, but since I love you all so much I'm making a compromise. I'll post between service calls and remote server software installs, recounting the three work things I laughed at this week. Away we go:

1.) Hour 8 of the Tuesday go-live, a transcriptionist wants to know how to use a very obvious feature of the program (second only to "play audio"). I had been through eight hours of explaining things to people that they should already know. I kind of snapped:

Me: "Step 1. Open eyes. Step 2. Point them at screen."

2.) Internet was flickering on and off to the annoyance of all. It had been down (again) for about 2 minutes when this little exchange took place.

Bryan: "Yea, Al Gore giveth and Al Gore taketh away."
Robyn: "It's back on, but for how long this time?"
Me: "We must make a sacrifice to appease Al Gore. Quickly, someone bring me an SUV! I'll build an altar."

and finally...

3.) Eavesdropping on my boss talking at her desk with a co-worker about dating a stripper.

Beth: "She has four kids? That's a lot of baggage."
Me, mumbling: "Yeah... literally."
Beth: "What?! Did you just say 'literally'?"

Me: "Yeah, if you ever take them anywhere, it's literally a lot of baggage. They all have their day pack, and their suit case, and whatever gaming system they're dragging around, and like one doll and half an old blanket... you're going to have to buy a conversion van. That's what I'm saying. Dating this chick means buying a conversion van. Just go to a dealership right now."

Overheard in New York recogonizes brilliance when it sees it.

2007-08-13T13:45:00.000-05:00

Check out the winners of this week's headline contest over at Overhead. Notice anyone handsome? That's right, three weeks into plugging away with potential headlines one finally gets chosen. And it's about the chosen people actually. So that works out.

Unfortunately, it's only a runner-up. But give me another three weeks. I will own that signed book. Oh yes, it will be mine¹. In the mean time I have a good excuse to buy higher-priced liquor.

That's what we call a win-win. And by "we" I mean myself and my friends at the AA meetings.

¹ I might be the first person to quote Wayne's World in the last four to five years. God, what have I done?

It's already paying off.

2007-08-12T23:45:00.000-05:00

Remember the time I got ordained?

Well that's the gift that just keeps on giving.

Employee Survey

2007-08-10T12:39:00.000-05:00

Here at my work, we have a company wide newsletter. Once a month one special employee is interviewed and the results are published. And it looked like today was my lucky... uh... month. These are the answers exactly as I typed them. Enjoy my lazy excuse to say I posted twice this week. Also if you'd like to hope none of these offend someone who can fire me, you'd be in good company (mine).

1. Chicken: Grilled or Crispy?

This largely depends on how hot it is outside. I usually prefer grilled chicken when I’m hot, crispy when I’m cold.

2. If you could go on a cruise, where would you go?

I’d go to the Virgin Islands again. Also, what’s this “if” I could go on a cruise? Do you know something I don’t?

3. Do you snore?

No. I’ve been told I speak Spanish, curse, and sometimes yell in my sleep, but no one has ever told me I snore.

4. As a kid, were you a LEGO Builder?

I was more of a contractor. They never gave me LEGO employee status, but I was licensed to work with their product.

5. Do you chew on your straws?

Not unless it’s an actual piece of straw from a field, and I’m shirtless and barefoot wearing overalls. Other than that, no.

6. Do you sing in the shower?

Not as much (or as well) as in the car.

7. Have you ever bungee jumped?

Yes.

8. Have you ever eaten sushi?

Also yes.

9. How do you like your eggs?

Cooked by someone else.

10. Crunchy or Creamy Peanut Butter?

This depends on barometric pressure, the phase of the moon, and the stock market. But a good rule of thumb is: Crunchy for PB&J’s, Smooth for all other uses.

11. What is your favorite cartoon character?

Bender, of Futurama fame.

12. What is your *least* favorite color?

Fuchsia. Or possibly taupe. No definitely taupe. Just the sound of the name makes me want to punch somebody.

13. What food could you eat for two weeks straight?

Tuna salad. I don’t have it much, but I always eat it and think: I could probably eat this every day. Then I promptly don’t buy it for another month or so. Vicious cycle.

14. Have you ever licked a 9-volt batery?

Yes, once.

15. How many cars have you owned?

Two. Could we possibly rewrite this question as "how many noobs have you pwned?" Because I'd have funnier answers for that.

16. Are you right-handed or left-handed?

Right handed. Although I bowl left.

17. What country would you most like to visit?

Greece. It has the highest plastic-covered sofa per capita in the world and the most mispronounced ethnic food in the world. (The gyro.)

18. Cheerios or Corn Flakes?

Cheerios. It’s like an English person greeting me every time I take out the box.

19.What is on your PC Wallpaper?

A hi-res image of Earth taken from a satellite.

20. Do you believe in life on other planets?

Of course.

21. Finish this sentence - Isn't it weird that...

…rats are hunted but squirrels get a free ride. Don’t you see?! They’re slowly invading!

22. How many pillows do you sleep with?

Well, that’s very private. But I will say that I’ve been seeing an memory foam pillow lately and so far everything’s going well. We’ve got a date on Friday, actually. Maybe ask me again Monday.

23. Using the first letter of your first name:
- City
- Something you find in the bathroom
- Something you find in the sea

Seattle
Shampoo
Seal Clubbers

24. What is your favorite carnival ride?

My favorite ride was always the Rocko Planes. You just don’t see them anymore, so I guess carnies have a better way of turning people upside down to shake out their change. A shame really… it was the only ride where you had a little bit of control.

Movin' up in the world.

2007-08-08T09:46:00.000-05:00

I'm a fan of stereotypes. This is not, necessarily, to say that I'm a bad person. I just like to look at the elements that make up a person's life and come to a conclusion about them based solely on that information. This doesn't always appear to be accurate, but it almost always contains a few grains of truth.

For instance, until I was kindly and nicely thrown out of my last job, I was driving this:

Little acknowledged fact: Driving this car automatically signs you up for the AARP newsletter.

Sometimes when I drove this car I even smoked a pipe. And complained about the music the kids listen to. As a result of my car and my habits, I was demographically an old man in all but age and sex appeal. But as I said I got fired, and had a little quarter life crisis. I ditched the firm, wore flip flops and bought a new car (the wisest financial strategy when you have no income.)

Behold: Tom.

That's right. It's a Celica... named Tom. If you still don't get it, mouse-over for a hint.

New car, new license plate (ALT TAB), and a distinct lack of old person-osity. So now I skew young, irresponsible, wildly good looking, and nerdy. I believe that with time, I can live with this.

Another quick one to prove the theory:

My brother used to drive an old Dodge Ram, chew tobacco, and drink keystone. He was, demographically, a rural Midwestern college student. And probably a farmer.

But recently, he's taken out a loan to buy a motorcycle. He smokes menthol cigarettes, and he drinks malt liquor. My brother has become an inner city black man. Q.E.D. The theory works.

Bum Love

2007-07-25T12:43:00.000-05:00

Read this story: Homeless Couple Charged With Having Sex On Median During Rush Hour.

Now, is anyone else noticing an upswing in the homeless couple stories? I've read three in the last month. Is there some kind of hoboHarmony.com site out there or something? How are these people hooking up?

In my entire life, I've never seen bums on a date. In fact, I've rarely seen two homeless people in the same place¹. So when it happens... of COURSE they're going to have to just kind of go with it and take their time².

And really, what else are they supposed to do when they go out? 'Za and a movie is probably going to be out of the question, unless Dominoes is throwing something out and there's a drive-in within walking distance.

My point is this: hobos are dating more, and their options are limited. This instance is just another example of the Drifter Dating cliche "Your place or min... oh yeah. So then... screw in the street?"

We're all just going to have to adapt.

¹ Exception: under overpasses/soup kitchens. I go there for the soup, but I stay for the conversation. The bat-shit crazy, disjointed conversation.

² The stigma attached to homeless men getting 'there' too soon is intense. In street culture it is known as the "Bum's Rush" and hobos make fun of each other mercilessly over this.

A Fox News Exclusive

2007-07-24T10:26:00.001-05:00

Recently it was discovered that the Fox News website left it's image directory open. I was wandering through, enjoying the blatant and ridiculous rabble-rousing when I came upon the mother-load. I believe they were saving this one sweeps, but I think that it's a story everyone needs to be aware of.

CALL YOUR SENATOR! The liberals must be stopped!

Harry Potter and the Slow News Cycle

2007-07-18T08:41:00.000-05:00

Now that the book has been leaked to the internet there have been a number of sites posting spoilers to Harry Potter. I accidentally saw one that didn't ruin anything for me. But it might have. And you all might be spoiled as well. SO to protect my readers here's a long list of fake spoilers that I've created. Hopefully if you actually come across a real spoiler you'll forget it and/or get it confused with one of mine.

1.) Nymphadora Tonks is a man. As a metamorphmagus she can change her form. And if she can change her form HOW DO WE KNOW SHE'S NOT A MAN?! We don't. This is Rowling's bid for a homosexual relationship (between 'her' and Lupin)

2.) Hedwig is a Horcrux. That's right, Harry's bird was a plant from Voldemort. He has long had knowledge of Hagrid's penchant for Snowy Owls, and had his minions place the bird in Diagon Alley every time Hagrid was in the shop. Eventually it was purchased for Harry. It will be one of the most wrenching parts of the book when Ol' Potter has to destroy his beloved pet... and that's what Voldy wanted.

3.) The Sorting Hat is in a sexual relationship with Professor Trelawny. Nobody saw that one coming!

4.) House Elves are actually just wizarding children with Progeria.

5.) Harry becomes an Animagus. He changes quickly, and accidentally, while under extreme stress as he fights Death Eaters. Unfortunately, his form is a dolphin . The Death Eaters summon a tuna trawler and capture him, struggling, in a net.

6.) Snape is neither good or or evil. Just bored. In fact, he doesn't even appear in this volume having taken a position with the Peace Corps in South America to "find himself."

7.) Hermione overdoses on speed which she was taking to keep studying. Later it's revealed that the speed was actually caffeine pills, and her overdose consisted of sloppily singing "I'm so excited." Harry calls a "time out" and we all learn an important lesson about drugs.

8.) Voldemort is a Scientologist. Turns out his "horcruxes" were just body thetans he had to remove from himself to become pure again. He was just realizing the potential of a human mind free from psychology. A rumor in the Daily Prophet said he was a Hare Krishna, but Voldemort set them straight: "Oh sure, sure. Just because I'm bald and I wore an orange robe once that makes me a Hare Krishna. Listen, I wear robes. Sometimes I get tired of black. I know I'm the Dark Lord it's just... you know what, screw this. Avada Kedavra!"

9.) It's all been a dream. The last page is Harry waking up and finding himself 11 years old and living under the stairs at the Dursley's. He promptly hangs himself.

And that's what happens in the last book.

One last time.

2007-07-17T13:17:00.000-05:00

The Wonder Blog is not Captain Kirk's personal log, is it? No. Am I the guy from Memento? Another no. Am I even Doogie Houser? A qualified no, since I'm perpetually ahead of expectations and ridiculously good looking, but no. The Wonder Blog is not a journal. Remembering that, I'm going to stop treating it as such and get back to making fun of pop culture.

...but. One last time, because I have 10 minutes to kill.

What I've been doing today:

Seriously, I do this all the time.

What the hell do I do?

2007-07-13T22:29:00.000-05:00

Scott Adams recently asked his audience to describe their job in one self-deprecating sentence. Alan "the Great" recently asked me to describe my job in general. In the interest of answering all the idle inquiries of ignominious minds, I shall combine the above into one endeavor and I'll try not to use any semi-colons.

My job:

I install and maintain digital audio and visual recording systems for people that will use them at 1% of their potential, and whose words aren't worth recording in the first place.

I do this for the Courtrooms of Illinois and Missouri. Or at least I did... until today.

Returning from a week-long marathon install, I'm told by my boss that I need to talk with her in the conference room. Alone. In ten minutes. Meeting her in the room she asked how I was doing. Bad sign. Anytime someone wants to know your mental/emotional state before they get down to business it means that they're concerned about your reaction to the coming news.

She proceeded to tell me that they are looking for a replacement for my position.

...because they're promoting me. Because I "...kick far too much ass to continue working in [my] current position." Her words. Really.

The long and the short of it is that I'm now working in a different department within the company (the nice one, actually) as a result of my capacity to absorb large amounts of information quickly. Since I'm now on the medical side instead of legal my new job description (starting Monday) would be as follows.

My job:

I install and maintain business software allowing Luddites and bureaucrats to push more mind-numbing forms across larger distances, more quickly.

To be fair there's also some pretty sweet voice-recognition and OCR software at play. But that was too hard to work into my semi-pithy job description.

So that's what I do... now.

What the hell happened to me?

2007-07-10T22:09:00.000-05:00

In short: a new job.

The long version: a shit-ton. I should explain myself. I posted the above and apparently it wasn't enough for the several of you that were on AIM at the time. So I'll elaborate.

A few weeks ago I interviewed at a company called BizNet.¹ My headhunter warned me that they were interested in two other people with 5+ years of experience in the field (as opposed to my relative none). But it went well. I mean, anytime you find yourself in a situation where your responses to interview questions leaves the panel in gales of laughter you have to figure you're coming out a little bit ahead.²

And of course, I got hired. If I sound cocky it's because I'm just so damned qualified. Clearly. That must be the reason. I was in the office my first day, and ever since I've been on the road. I apparently learned all I could in those sparse eight hours before they flung me into the field to live or die by the data pipes. So far I've been mostly living.³

I've come to think of myself as a kind of better looking, less serious James Bond. I get my assignments from an attractive female clerk, take a car from the stable, and head out. I'm not to return until the job is done, or I have died.

Which is a possibility on the next big job, which will be in Alaska. The kicker of which is that, since I'm one of the few non-marrieds (not to mention the FNG) it's perfectly acceptable for me to be Shanghai'd into going there for a few weeks. Should be an interesting gig though, they'll have to fly me into remote locations on sea planes (Bondesque), I'll have to dive on submerged data lines (Bondesque), and I'll have to find ways to entertain myself in places with names like Coldfoot (Fur Trapper-esque).

Clearly I've got a lot on my plate at the moment, but I'm trying to find time to blog. I'm hitting my stride out here, so hopefully I'll just be able to incorporate it into my normal "on the road" routine like JV seems to do.

Anyway, that's what the hell happened to me. Any questions?

¹ Not its real name. But a rough approximation of meaning and cadence.
²Provided you meant to make them laugh.
³ In fact, I'm writing this from an reasonably decent hotel with an unreasonably huge bed for me to sleep on. I've got three beers, cable, and the internet. Live it up.

Bringing balance to the Force world

2007-07-03T08:39:00.000-05:00

I'm nothing if not a crusader against social injustices. Ask my friends. Every last one of them will tell you how I toil away every spare minute looking out for the less fortunate. Most of these things I've done subconsciously. So subconsciously in fact, that upon reflection I realize that if you asked those friends again they'd probably have no examples to give you. So in the interest of helping out a decent man (me) I'll give a few examples of the small ways I bring balance to the universe.

Ogling modestly dressed women. This includes Mennonites. I stare at every inch of hair escaping their bonnets, just so they know that it's working overall. I mean, 90% of their hair is still hidden, and therefore not lusted after.

Ask yourself, if I didn't slow my car down as I pass them, obviously leering at every curve those potato sack dresses betray... how would they know they need to go out of their way to avoid inciting lustful thoughts? Really I'm doing them a favor.
Tipping the homely waitress better than average. This is a result of fighting my instinct to tip the pretty girl better. But why? It's not like she's going to have any more sex with me as a result. (Usually we've already hit our limit.)

I have to speculate that the cumulative effect of this works out in favor of the pretty girl, so still I press on. As a side benefit, when you do tip a homely waitress better, you're more likely to get special attention next time.
Crossing the street to avoid well dressed, white businessmen. Anyone can feel leery of a dirty, panhandling bum as they pass him on an empty street at night. But it takes real Social Robin Hooding to religiously avoid the relatively clean, aloof banker. Deal with that, Person Not Asking Me for a Handout!

Sadly, his method is ineffective against Jehovah's Witnesses on college campuses. You can cross the street away from them, but they've set up a staggered net pattern. And you are going to have a little green bible whether you want one or not.

I'm sure I'm not alone. I may be the Mother Teresa of the movement, but I'm sure there's a few priests in the closet out there. What I mean is...

Let's hear your examples.

I have a dream!

2007-07-02T11:19:00.000-05:00

I have a dream, my brothers and sisters. In fact, I have a few per night*.

Recently I had a dream that I could fly. I also had a dream that I could use chopsticks. And let me tell you, that one was way more satisfying. It was also way more depressing to wake up from.

I can accept not being able to fly, but suddenly not being able to do something mundane like chopstikery... unacceptable.

What I'm saying is that there's a reason for the saying "if you're going to dream, dream big." Heed my warning.

- Scott

*Take that Junior.

The Emperor's New Pepper

2007-06-26T08:11:00.000-05:00

I had gone to Macaroni Grill. That was probably my first mistake. It was my last day at my old job, and my parents wanted to take me out to eat. Unfortunately I forgot that this was the plan and had earlier eaten a huge burger and a drank few equally huge beers. I was drunk. And I was going to dinner twice.

The fact that I could only imagine being able to choke down a salad (at best) meant that my ordering was simple. I would have a salad. And on this salad I would have ground pepper. Or so I thought.

The quasi-goth, semi-chubby, faux-waitress arrived and took our order. Experiencing buzzed subjective time it seemed like she immediately returned with my salad. Thats where things took a turn for the argumentative. This half-measure of a woman pretended to grind pepper onto my salad. I courteously explained that I believed her mill was empty, but she countered that the pepper was very fine. I leaned close to my salad and commended her on her ability to dissolve pepper into subatomic particles.

I was ignored because I was drunk, but the charade was too much for me. Even now! My parents sat there and pretended that she ground out pepper for them. In their defense, my dad did condescendingly comment on just how fine it was. So it's not like they bought it (or Dad didn't). But we sat our asses in those seats and ate like Peter Pan; imagining we were consuming hallucinatory spices.

It's the night that's been replaying itself over and over, projecting its madness on the very bone and tissue of my head.

Has this ever happened to any of you?

A related rant.

2007-06-26T07:31:00.000-05:00

I have a question for all of you. Especially women. Answer this simple question.

Why is this a "Guy Fridge"?

You'll notice that there's not even that much alcohol in it. I was proud that I could see the bottom without moving even one six pack, or fifth of liquor of any sort. And it even had the potential for a few meals in there (sammich' fixin's in the drawer are hard to see, but present.) And yet, all I hear is "oh, that's such a guy's refrigerator."

What the hell do you have to put in there to make it not a guy's fridge? Tampons? Help me out here.

Walking the Earth.

2007-06-18T21:36:00.000-05:00

Him: So if you're quitting the life, what'll you do?

Me: That's what I've been sitting here contemplating. First, I'm gonna finish this post. Then, basically, I'm gonna walk the earth.

Alas, no more waking hours consisting of 2 P.M. to 5:30 A.M., I've quit the life. I'll say no more now, since I'm on the verge of passing out from lack of sleep. I just wanted to tell you that I'm alive. And I've got a shit-ton of good news to lovingly dump on your unsuspecting bodies.

But for now, I have to pack; tomorrow I begin my long journey.

- Cryptic, but optimistic, Scott

Will play WoW for salary

2007-06-05T19:53:00.000-05:00

Picture that on a cardboard sign resting dashingly across chiseled pectoral muscles. You'd have some idea of my predicament. That's right Wonder Readers, I've been shitcanned. Gone are the halcyon days of playing World of Warcraft, hiding under floor tiles to scare co-workers, and blogging from work. Also, gone is the working. That too.

I'll not bore you with every detail (and I don't have any desire to offend former employers who might read this), but the short version of the story is that I was hired at the same time as another employee but started a few days later. This established seniority in his favor, and when it came down from the boss's boss's boss that the Operations department would have five instead of six... well, guess who was Number Six*? Me baby, me.

In the intervening time I've spent a weekend with a girl in another city, drank several varieties of beer, almost bought a car, drank some gin, cleaned up my apartment, and had a few drinks. I also watched 12 movies**.

Currently I'm drawing unemployment and plotting my next move. I like the first part better. You don't have a job? Oh, well here's money then. Excuse my prior anti-government rants, because this part clearly works.

So, good readers. I have no idea what I want to do. I could travel, move to another city, get another job, become a grifter, or get my (sham) Doctorate. Really my possibilities are wide open at this point.

What would you like to see me do?

Asides:
* To be fair, so are Tricia Helfer and Patrick McGoohan
** And if you're curious, here's the list:

Before Sunset
Wet Hot American Summer
Pirates of the Caribbean (1)
Pirates of the Caribbean (3)
Waking Life
Les Yeux sans visage
Tombstone
Office Space
Super Troopers
Accepted
American Beauty
Hackers

The Power of Blog Compels you!

2007-05-23T16:49:00.001-05:00

Gresham's Hundreds: The First Frivolities

I started Gresham's Hundreds as a direct result of the post where I said I had everything I wanted already. This bothered me. It made me ask myself, 'So what the bloody hell am I working for then?' Instead of quitting the workforce proper and becoming a grifter (which I am by no means ruling out) I decided that I would take on projects, frivolities, and bizarre purchases to fuel my languid sense of consumerism.

I wondered... what could I buy that would make me a better person. A more rounded person. A holier person. It so happened that, unbidden, the Reverend Al Sharpton jumped into my thoughts. In fact, I'm sure that's the only way he ever jumps into anyone's thoughts. I decided that I had to cast the beast out, but then I realized... he's a reverend. How do I contend with that?

By becoming ordained myself! A quick search around the interwebs turned up several such sites. A slightly longer comparison of the legality of various methods of being ordained followed, and finally a deliciously long rant about why I wanted (and felt I deserved) to be ordained along with some cash to grease the wheels, and two weeks later I receive the following in the mail:

I'm ordained as hell!

So from now on, you can refer to me as the Reverend H. Scott Gresham. On the left I have the founding documents of my church. As it turns out, I get to pick the name. I'm still taking suggestions, but I'm leaning toward The Scott Gresham Hallelujah House of Pancakes (and Salvation). On the right is the document from Rose Ministries confirming me as a member in good standing of their order, and legally ordaining me to perform marriages, funerals, and last rites.

Oh, and in the middle is my clergy credentials card, which I intend to use to visit friends in the hospital when they're only letting in family. You can always play the clergy card I've found. So it gets me a little more access. It's also a fun thing to pull out as an explanation for why you're someplace you shouldn't be. Nobody questions a Reverend. It's like a never ending roll of Mentos.

Other advantages of being ordained include:

Telling people the end is near, but also offering an inexpensive sure-fire-salvation package.
Blessing water to make it holy, useful for fighting Zombies, Vampires, Werewolves, and most other kinds of undead. (Ask me about my Holy Water creation service; just $5 bucks per gallon! Unleash a Super Soaker filled with the power of God on those pesky evil creatures of the night.)
Frequently forgiving myself.
Asking Jesus, as a personal favor, to spare a few kittens for me.
Being able to marry and bury people (not always mutually exclusive).

If you'd like a closer look at my (suitable for framing!) Certificate of Ordination, here it is.

I'm working on the doctorate for a future GH, but most of those come from Qatar or the United Arab Emirates. I'd prefer to stay off the no-fly lists, for now anyway. Still, I promise that eventually you'll be able to call me "Reverend Dr. H. Scott Gresham, Esquire." And not only will you be able to; I'll make you.

Go in peace my children.

So say we all.

P.S. (I got bored later, and since it was so easy... here's this: the sign for my church.)

New Wonder Blog Segment

2007-05-17T17:10:00.000-05:00

I'm ducked low at my desk typing furiously; attempting to finish before anyone notices I'm not working. The "Scranton" branch of my company (where I first worked) is closing tomorrow, and no one seemed to realize it until today so there's a week's worth of shit to get done in about 36 hours. This has been keeping me busy all week, hence my lack of updates. However I managed to complete a promotional shot for the new segment: Gresham's Hundreds.

Like Brewster's Millions... only poorer.

So look forward to that over the weekend. I'll explain more later, but someone's headed this way. Back to the Data Mines.

- Scott

When your Patron Saint is Jim Halpert...

2007-05-09T18:42:00.000-05:00

If I could be thought of as the equivalent of my office's Jim Halpert, then another employee who we'll call "Jeff" because it's his name, would certainly be Dwight Schrute. I've played a few practical jokes on him. Once I hid under the raised floor for 15 minutes, patiently waiting for a text message from Jimmy that would give me the heads up to... well pop my head up. Another time I called the "bat phone" (which was presumed to be disconnected) and as a fictitious VP, frantically described a smoke alarm I was seeing.

But what I think makes for the best pranks, are those you don't have to be present for. Without further ado, today's chicanery:

My phone ran out of memory, so here's a better look at what Jeff will see at 2 AM when he tries to open that (essential) program. Oh, and I turned the speakers up to full volume.

I love the corporate world.

Spider-man, Spider-man, does whatever the Emos can.

2007-05-07T16:12:00.000-05:00

I saw Spider-Man 3 this weekend with my good friend, and first Thane of Candyland, Jake. I could review it, but you'll see it anyway. Instead I'll make fun of the movie point by ridiculous point, using that tried and true blogging standard: unordered lists.

Without further skippable text all the things Spider-Man 3 loses points for.

Hot, female, well groomed scientists. As someone with a background in the sciences, I can tell you that these do not exist. Most of the women (especially in computer science) could pass for truckers, not models. So stop it with that crap.
Snaggletooth'd Mary Jane Watson. Kirsten Dunst. Enough said.
The "I have amnesia" plotline. Seriously. If one more asshole writer uses convenient memory loss as a way to advance the story, I'm going to rampage through Hollywood shooting at these people with bullets fashioned crudely from their scripts. It may not kill, but it will certainly maim.
The Mask-style dance scene in the Jazz club with Gwen Stacey filling in for Cameron Diaz. What, were we feeling nostalgic for 1994? And if Spidey's with MJ, shouldn't that mean that Gwen is dead?
The asymmetrical-haired-eyeliner-wearing-emo-kid "Dark Peter Parker." Why, God why was I forced to watch this?
That dance scene again. Jesus, he played jazz piano and said "this one's for you" in a faux-breathy jazz voice. I'm squirming in discomfort as I relive it.
Harry Osbourne as the new Green Goblin. He's not so much the new Green Goblin as the new Marty McFly on a brand new Mattel Hoverboard. I would go so far as to call him, not the Silver Surver, as the Black-clad Snowboarder.
And finally: everything the Sandman does. Especially that corny as Hee-Haw scene where he explains that "he didn't mean no harm" by all the stealing and the killing. He has a sick daughter after all, this was his only route.

But it's not all bad, I have to admit. Things that save the movie:

Bruce Campbell as the maître d'.

Go see it, if only for that.

In other news: I've been thinking a lot and I've come up with a new segment for the Wonder Blog that I think you'll all find quite hilarious. The two people I've described it to laughed aloud with mirth and merriment, just hearing the outline of the idea. So, I think it's a keeper. I'm working on it now, and hope to have something to show for it by the end of the week.

in the dark where do shadows go?

Hats off to you, Mr. Durden

2007-05-02T23:38:00.000-05:00

Apparently I'm a much more pure person than I give myself credit for. Perhaps even a super-being of some sort (I've certainly got my share of minor-superpowers, but that's stored away for a series of posts and a spin-off novel). I run into this quite a bit, and while at first I thought it was just the odd motivations of a few people I knew, I'm starting to think that I might be in the minority here.

I'll make the statement that seems to bother people, then go from there: I have everything I want.

Or, more accurately, there's nothing that I really want enough to pursue. This was something I had to explain to my parents (when they wanted me to get a job), my relatives (when they want to buy me things), and most recently my co-workers* (when they can't believe I don't want overtime).

I've looked into this deeply over the course of several seconds, and realized that most of the things I want can't be bought outright. So, rather than ponder at why the people in my immediate vicinity have such strange values, from now on I've decided to accept that I am simply a more evolved creature, completely above materialism at least where it involves extra effort on my part.

Tyler would be proud.

* they also stared me with incredulity when I would forget to pick up my check at Best Buy for two weeks in a row. What? I can't be expected to bother with these things.

I want some damn credit.

2007-04-30T20:20:00.000-05:00

I was just reading Tim's blog today, specifically this post when I came upon the following passage.

I was really honored to be chosed to play in the CIF show with MadTV's Frank Caeti*...

[other crap omitted]

*Super nice guy.

I've already expounded on the hilarious results of Tim's education at the hands of the public school system in the comments of his post. So if you'd like to make fun of his Jed Clamp-onics, that's the place to do it.

But what really struck me was the "super nice guy" portion. Let me tell you, I'm sick and tired of every time somebody meets some damned celebrity (even minor celebrity) they go on and on about what a "nice guy" they are. Well of course they're nice guys. You're lavishing them with attention, deference, and respect. Treat any asshole on the street like that, and suddenly, OH MY GOD! he'll seem like a really nice guy too.

I'll give you that without a certain amount of decency, they wouldn't have gotten as far as they did (we're back to talking about celebrities here). So naturally, they know how to shake a few hands and squeeze a few asses on the down-low, but this does not account for the lavish praise people heap upon them. All these sons of bitches have to do to get the "nice guy" status is not punch you in the face and break your camera.

I make a point of taking pictures of myself with your camera, often even without your asking me to, and I've never punched (most of) you in the face.

All I'm saying is that all you assholes should make a point of what a nice guy I am. Preferably in writing.

That is all.

Editors note: I later realized I didn't make it clear that I wasn't really talking about Tim in this post, but the experience of meeting celebrities in general. Usually by people more interested in the idea of their fame than the talents (if any) that brought them there. Except the part about "chosed" that was about him.

...NEXT!

2007-04-29T01:53:00.000-05:00

To be fair, they practically named the movie Don't Waste Your Time, but regardless I went and saw Next with Jakey today. I was braver than I was wise. From the trailer* I knew a number of things.

Nicolas Cage is in a position to wipe out the horror that was Ghost Rider by creating something even worse, effectively eclipsing his last catastrophe.
Julianne Moore is hard-up for cash and it pisses her off. This comes through in her performance.
There is a stylist in Hollywood propagating the Tom Hanks "DaVinci Code" hairstyle. This person is probably the anti-Christ.

The movie, if it deserves the title, starts with Nicolas Cage working as a magician. Why in God's name a guy trying to lay low would seek a job as public as a magician is a question for another blog post. He gets on stage and begins his act, as stilted and wooden as a poorly programmed robot making an awkward stab at humanity. Basically, he plays Nicolas Cage.

This lasts all of five minutes until (inexplicably) the FBI tries to grab him to fight French terrorists who (inexplicably) want to detonate a nuclear bomb**. He chooses to run, but before he can manage it he has to meet and woo Jessica Biel who (inexplicably) changes her footwear three times for the same outfit over a course of four hours.

Next was passably decent (in a National Treasure make-fun-of-every-scene kind of way) until the ending, which I shall now ruin for you. As it turns out at the end when he fails to prevent the nuclear bomb from detonating, it's all been an elaborate vision of what may happen.

This is bullshit. I'd rather a movie do something interesting (like blow up eight million people because our hero chose to save the girl) than pull a Dallas. The only saving grace of the movie was that it was a movie in which Jessica Biel was not only terrible, but actually flaunted her crippling lack of acting ability. I figure one more of these, she's got to do nudity just to stay in the game.

Here's hoping.

* If you watched the trailer, and didn't laugh when Jessica needlessly said "You can see things before they happen" you are no longer my friend.
** Seriously, they never explain why they want to blow this bomb. Not even a little exposition. Not even a simple "finally the American Pig-Dogs will pay for calling them 'freedom fries'" line.

Oh, about that.

2007-04-25T17:47:00.000-05:00

I realized that I, quite rudely, mentioned a blog that I write for without linking to it below. And upon further reflection, realized that I hadn't mentioned it on this blog at all. It's a joint blog between Myself, Nessa, Tim, Rob, and Jake . Originally I was keeping it a secret and waiting until it found it's "voice" or perhaps until we had a backlog of decent content. So... look for that sometime in the next few months.

In the meantime I have a post up that is both hilarious and informative. You'd do well to check it out.

Really Cool People... us.

Even the URL is cool and exclusionary. How can anyone resist?

- Scott

Slaughterhouse top Five bottom Five

2007-04-23T17:49:00.000-05:00

That's probably what Vonnegut was referring to in his title. I mean, you could ask him, but you'd have to be unstuck in time. And that's probably worse than taking me at my word (depending on whom you ask).

Anyway I had a real post for The Wonder Blog, but I then promised a fellow guild member that I would post on my other blog today. So instead, I'll take care of this little bit of housekeeping.

Top Five of the Week:

1.) Sixty things worth shortening you life for. Because I have an unhealthy love for unhealthy loves.

2.) An accurate recording of how I play video games. It's funny because it's painfully, painfully true. (Question: just what the hell kind of accent is that?)

3.) Good news! The devil made the VT shootings happen. Now we can all relax and stop all that worrying thinking that accompanies tragedies. Note: on the top five only because it made me laugh so hard.

4.) Oklahoma declares watermelon state vegetable. To-may-to/re-tard-o.

5.) Oh no! Somebody set us up the bomb! And the shame here is that the network still exists.

Bottom Five:

1.) This copying asshole. Didn't I do this weeks ago? Then, just afterwards, a Boing-Boing mention and a Digg article? What did the internet just find out because I mentioned it? The StealthSwitch has existed for at least two years. What the hell internet?

2.) New Electronic Talking ~~Battleship~~ Big Brother. Now with riboflavin!

3.) The collected works of the VT Shooter. I in no way make light of the act itself. It was a terrible, vile thing to do and my condolences go out to all those affected. But I think we all need to look at the silver lining here; he can't write any more of these horribly bad one act plays. Seriously.

4.) Remember Galactus? The giant planet eating alien from Fantastic Four comics? Yeah, now he's a cloud. Lame.

5.) Hot Fuzz getting screwed out of theaters. Damn it, a good movie only gets seen on DVD but shit like Are We Done Yet? gets 300,000 screens?

Crush of the... Past?

2007-04-18T19:25:00.000-05:00

Since entering corporate America, I've had little time to do the things I enjoy. Including developing new and intriguing crushes of the week. Fortunately I have what some would call a vault, and what the less couth might refer to as a "spank bank," of old crushes. But just because they're old, don't think they've gone bad. Most of these are still girls I still harbor crush-esque feeling towards, and one of these is the subject of today's post.

*doodley-do underwater music and a gradual fade to the wavy lines*

Crush of the Past:

The year was 2001. Disappointingly no Space Odyssey occurred, but I was a sophomore in high school and I had other things on my mind. Things like women. Frustratingly, the women on my mind were either fictitious (damn you, Rory Gilmore), married (damn you, Senora Wood*), or simply unattainable (damn you, my then-developing irresistible charm). Some have argued that all of these women were unattainable. These people are jealous of my now-fully-operational irresistible charm**.

But the girl in question fell in to the last category. Her name was... wait, I'm breaking with tradition. Might as well do this properly.

Her name: Laurel Shaffer.

Why she is (or was) crush worthy: A band called The Hippos once sang "Something in the way she never looks my way / I'm in love, I'm in lo-oh-ove." This was pretty much the case. As you might have noticed, I tend to attract a lot of attention. And not only for being so good looking. I'm also frequently at the center of lots of people laughing. With me or at me, either way they're entertained. She was never one of these people. And that intrigued me. She was aloof to the point of ignoring me, but it never came off snotty; it only made me try harder***. I think that was the quality I liked best.

Oh, she was also pretty hot. That factored in as well.

Bonus Material?: I often embed some YouTube link of the crush doing something adorable. There is no such material to offer in this case. She's currently working as an actress, she was even in a Clearasil ad that I'm sure you've seen, but there's not jack-all-squat out there for me to post. Hence, I'm forced to construct her visage by collaging. Here goes:

After several hours of fierce Photoshopping, this is the final product.

Basically I discovered an equation for Laurel rather than being able to accurately reproduce her. The hair, eyes, and head shape of Fiona Apple + the soft expression of Amanda Seyfried - any implication of ridiculously full lips = A rough approximation of this week's Crush o' the Past.

If anyone has a better effort, he is welcome to submit it.

* Senora, if you still read my blog, I'm mostly joking. Though a guy could do much worse.
** It became much easier once I found that watch with +8 Charisma.
*** I did finally get her to laugh when I was auditioning for improv teams. At which point I could have died happily.

Spaced Out.

2007-04-16T15:47:00.000-05:00

I don't know about you, but I've never felt more stoned than after a haircut. This isn't really saying anything because it's more or less been clinically proven that I can't get stoned. But I can imagine what it would be like and the afterglow of a haircut fits all the criteria.

Lack of focus (started this post at 3:30... the next bullet was completed at 5:14).
Content, sleepy feeling.
Half-open eyes.
Disjointed sense of time.
Hungry (munchies).

It's great. The process starts sometime about 3-5 minutes into the haircut (around the shampooing). I think this is why every person who has ever cut my hair is placeable on a range from somewhat stupid to makes-rabid-Larry-the-Cable-Guy-fans-seem-intellectual; they talk to stoned people all day. They've got to be getting dumber if only by osmosis.

Now I'll grant you that I go to a lady. I say I go to "a lady" because I'm very manly and it's just not appropriate to say I go to a "hairdresser," or even a "stylist." Bullshit. I go to a lady. And because of this I can't be sure that at a barbershop the entire experience isn't much more straightforward. But at His Excellency* I'm surrounded with beauty school graduates that have very strong opinions on everything... everything readily graspable by the core audience of the FOX network.

But like... dude... where was I going?

Oh yeah. I had questions. Are all hair ladies this way, or just the ones I've ran into? Furthermore, is there a manlier solution to having such glorious hairstyles? Finally, how is it that I'm above the influence against my will?

* This post brought to you by His Exellency: Where the Customer is King!**
** This slogan made up by Scott: which did not amuse the employee's thereof.

Grindhouse Review or A Tale of Two Shitties

2007-04-12T15:40:00.000-05:00

It was the best of films, it was the worst of films, it was a movie of action, it was an artless bore...

This weekend (on Easter day actually) I went to see the combined works of Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez. The double feature, collectively dubbed Grindhouse, was supposed to showcase two shortish films (Planet Terror and Death Proof) from two of my favorite directors interspersed with fake trailers. As far as that goes, it succeeded.

But in more practical terms it gave us two examples of shitty, B-movies that should have both been immaculately good, fastidiously planned, A-list versions of B-movies. They should play up all the things we love about seeing a so-bad-it's-good movie in a crappy theater, and none of the things that we endure grudgingly. Unfortunately only Planet Terror manages to use missing reels, scratched film, and overexposed negatives to their fullest potential. And Death Proof... well... let's save that for later.

Planet Terror was certainly worth the price of my admission. It was probably even worth the 14 bucks I spent on popcorn and orange soda. And it may have been worth the 15 year old gang-bangers wandering in around halfway through, sitting down, talking loudly, then deciding to go try to score some weed and leaving. Rodriguez packed more action movie one-liners into the script than I would have expected it could handle, but it always works, and it's always funny. There's just something ridiculously satisfying about plot twists involving the hero being forced to escape zombies on a pocket bike. Not to mention the fact that those selfsame zombies tear Fergie apart in her first five minutes of screen time. Turns out, she really wasn't really as Fergilicious as adverstised.

Wonder Blog rating for Planet Terror: 9.4/10

Then come the second trailers between showings, all of which were better than Death Proof.

Wonder Blog rating for The Trailers (which deserve their own post... damn they were brilliant): 10/10

And then... slowly, came Death Proof. After roughly an hour and a half of zombies, explosions, and chicks with prosthetic legs made out of (working) machine guns we're treated to this stinky cinematic suppository. It starts out somewhat promising, with a replacement title screen for the (obviously) lost real one. But then we're subject to the most boring, painful, meaningless chick flick girl-talk for what felt like longer than the first movie.

And the fetishism! My god! After the fifth or sixth long, lingering shot of some girl's feet I turned to my cohorts and asked 'I forgot, did Tarantino direct this one?' I mean, I fully support his doing whatever turns him on, but let's move along with the movie, alright?

A few spoilers follow from this point so just skip to the ranking if you'd like to avoid them. But the girls we meet at the start of the movie are so painful to watch that I literally applauded their deaths. I could not have been happier when Kurt Russel drove his car over the face of one of the most annoying of their number. After he dispatches the first long winded, annoying car-load of women, he manages to find a second. These girls are perhaps even more annoying and I was greatly looking forward to their deaths. Unfortunately that's not how the movie went. I won't ruin the ending, but I will say it was weak, and that I'd really liked for them all to have died painfully, if for no other reason than that it's not really suspense if nothing bad actually happens.

Wonder Blog rating: 4.5/10

Overall I'd recommend seeing it. But if you have to duck out early, don't feel too bad about missing Death Proof. I'm seeing Grindhouse again this weekend and I doubt I'll stay for it. (Though Rosario Dawson looked lovely in it. So did Mary Elizabeth Winstead for that matter *rwrr*.)

Of course, you're welcome to agree with me. Feel free to do so below.

- Scott

Brood Wars

2007-04-10T15:37:00.000-05:00

I'm not one to rest on my laurels. No. If anything I'd describe myself as lounging on them, with the occasional loaf thrown in for good measure. But what is it... almost the second week of April? And even though today's post has nothing to do with working, driving to work, or not working (except for the fact that I'm posting it from work maybe...) I feel it's time to move on.

Here's the issue that's been bothering me lately. I'm a terrible brooder. Really, I suck at it. Not in the creating offspring sense (though that would also be perfectly fine for a few years), but in the "I'm so misunderstood/No, I just can't let anyone inside/So unapproachable" sense. It's a very valuable "leave me the hell alone" skill.

I have to admit that while I often remark on how remarkably good looking I am, this is all just a facade of white noise to mask my utter inadequacy in the area of brooding. I hear you already, "But Scott, it's true; you are good looking!" Well, of course it is. But I play it up even more so I don't have to think how completely and utterly attractive I am to people I often don't wish to speak to.

For example, I found myself attempting to do some serious brooding at my local Megalo-Mart this morning. Despite my thousand yard stare, my furrowed brow, and my intimidating physique, I was interrupted by no less than three people while waiting on my car's oil change.

The first was a middle aged lady asked if the seat next to me was taken and proceeded to make fumbling attempts at chit-chat*. The second was another middle aged woman, obviously from out of town asking me if I knew where Canton**, the local Chinese restaurant, is. And finally, and most ridiculously, I was approached by the Croc-clad fag-hag of a gay, goth kid in Cowtown, IL. She informed me that her 15-year-old, overweight, homosexual version of John Constantine thought I was cute while he shyly waved.

Damn it people, I know I'm cute. I think we've established that. But just how the hell do you expect me to get in any "being unapproachable" practice in if you keep coming up to me? I even had my iPod in and sunglasses on, which is cruise-control for cashed-out.

So I implore you, good readers, lend me your secrets of the art of brooding. And if you're a female and feel that brooding is too manly, give me your pouting tips. It's basically the same thing, with a slightly different vibe. Hopefully next time I'll be so imposing no one will talk to me and I won't have to go take a nap in the Lawn and Garden section.

- Scott

* Which is annoying because, I'm like... just this guy, you know? You don't have to be nervous around me and you do not have to talk to me.

** She was also informed to ask for Jayne when she got there, and to perhaps order the Hero of Canton Platter. (Seriously. She probably did this, to the confusion of all involved.)

No Rain.

2007-03-30T15:25:00.000-05:00

I put it past the St. Louis DJ's to be ironic enough to play Blind Melon's "No Rain" just because it's raining. But the past two days it has been raining, and I've heard that song on both drives to work. And while the character in the song "start(s) to complain / when there's no rain," I start to want to wipe out 50 to 70 percent of humanity when it is raining.

I'll pose my question in it's most obvious form first: Why do people feel the need to drive like they're hauling nitroglycerin the instant it starts the lightest precipitation?

What'd that add, maybe 50 feet to your stopping distance? Does that justify the 30 miles per hour slower you're driving? And they say 'oh I could get in a wreck.' Well... would it be the worst thing in the world? If your reflexes are so bad you can't handle driving in the rain are these genes we need to pass down*?

And if there was a massive pileup in which say... 100 people died. Would this really be the worst thing that could happen? Think about all the revenue that's going to generate. Coffins, funeral expenses, accident cleanup, scrap metal sales, etc. And best of all, there's 100 less cars clogging I-270 on my way to work.

And another thing. I think doctors should stop curing illnesses. We need sickness to thin out the herd (so I can drive more easily to my place of business). I'm all for quality of life though. They can treat the symptoms but not the illness, no extending the lifespan. You've got pneumonia? Here, take this. You'll feel great, but I give you about two weeks to live.

I'm also for a mandatory offspring limiting program. This would be based on intelligence, income, and stability of lifestyle. Having seen Idiocracy, I'm frequently concerned about the moron underclasses outbreeding the intelligent among us. I feel this would also take care of my traffic issue nicely.

But for the short term, I'm probably just going to have to shoot people. Anyone have handgun recommendations?

- Scott

*Asians excluded. Everyone knows they can't drive faster than 45 miles per hour, but they've got the Science and Technology Pass. Besides, someone has to make Tim's Hentai.

Filters ain't sh*t but holes and tricks

2007-03-26T16:30:00.000-05:00

I'm glad to see everyone responding so nicely to my work slacking. Honestly, I'm not surprised; ever since Office Space it's pretty much become the new American Dream. You could argue that it was before the movie, but you'd be lying to yourself. Mike Judge made it what it is today. Before that it was cool, but less socially acceptable. Now it's bragging rights.

Anyway*, knowing who's coming around the corner is only half the issue with work slacking. It certainly frees you up to utilize your computer to your heart's content, but what if you can't access anything worthwhile because your internet is filtered all to hell? And what if all hell has broken loose and you need to switch over from your game/website/movie without a lot of obvious clicking and keystrokes? Well, my friends, there is a solution.

I fought my most evil foe to date in the form of a firewall/content filter by the name SmartFilter. I came to loathe it. SmartFilter blocked everything from Boing-Boing to Overheard in New York, and for the most asinine of reasons. For "profanity" or for "provocative attire." Yes, god forbid adults with 15 minutes to kill read the word "fuck" or see a woman in a bra (or whatever the hell else they might be posting on Boing-Boing.)

I had to get around SmartFilter. My first attempt was a do-it-yourself effort which worked roughly half the time and used up all my resources when it did. But after a little research I found Circumventor. It's the ultimate solution to all such woes. See the below "How To" post for more information.

That takes care of the ability to browse teh intarwebs to your heart's content, but what about that panic scenario I mentioned when your boss is an arm's length away and you need to switch from a lot of entertainment based programs to a few work-related ones?

Well what we at Wonder Blog Labs have created (well... found on the internet) is this:

Pretty impressive, no?

Ok, it might not look like much. But the StealthSwitch is essential work slacking gear. I wouldn't recommend entering a cubical without one. $25.00 of your hard earned cash gets you a programmable foot switch that can easily be set to hide one set of programs (for instance World of Warcraft, Security Camera Feeds, and iTunes) and bring up another (for example Excel, Outlook, and Word).

That's all for lessons in slacking this week. Look forward to next week's installment where I show you how to track your boss's location with a tiny USB compatible LoJack system.

- Scott

* I think on roughly 90% of my posts the second paragraph starts out "anyway." This is because, as a writer, I need a little scaffolding going in. And as a chronic rambler, I have a lot to say. In fact, if a post looks too long... just start on the second paragraph. I promise you won't miss anything.

How To: Defeat Internet Censorship

2007-03-26T15:18:00.000-05:00

There's two ways. You can try the Stupid Censorship site (which works about half the time), or you can go with a more permanent solution: your own Circumventor.

Circumventor is a program you install on your home computer. It creates a website that you can connect to from work. When you're at work, you go to your Circumventor site which uses your home computer and internet connection to load the pages you want to see. It gets around all internet censorship.

It's ridiculously easy to set up, and I'll make it even easier. Do the following (links are direct downloads):

Download Active Perl. Allow it to install itself to the C:\ drive (the default.) Go with the default options.
Download Open SA. Same deal, use all the default options, don't change anything.
Finally, download the Circumventor. When you run this, it'll show a whole hell of screens and prompts. You can ignore them. (With the exception of one where you have to click "OK.") At the end you should see a browser window pop up and tell you that it's ready. It will also tell you the address for your Circumventor.

Then you should be up and running. Your Circumventor will run as long as your computer is up and you have an internet connection. Occasionally Peace Fire (the organization who created Circumventor) will send traffic (usually people in China who can't connect to the internet without it) your way. If this bothers you when you're not using it from work, just close the program.

If you're a Wonder Blog reader and you need some help with this, just shoot me a comment with an email address where we can discuss it.

- Scott

Fightin' the Man since 1985.

Best. Employee. Ever.

2007-03-22T00:12:00.000-05:00

Everybody has their price. Everyone draws the line somewhere. Everyone waits for the straw that breaks the camel's back. For me this is a number, and that number is 3. Three comments and I feel like I can move on. I fully intended to post on Tuesday. But I was waiting for that third comment. It's like watching a Saved by the Bell marathon. You just watched an hour of it, butthey're only playing one more episode... might as well stick around for the third. Same thing.

Anyway, I have a job that offers awkward hours, alternately surly or incompetent coworkers, and a higher sense of responsibility than the title implies. But it's not really that bad. Especially considering the hours and hours of nothing-to-do that I must regularly kill (and get paid for). But, as I said above, at some point enough is enough and you have to fill those hours with something.

Well it just so happens I have an addiction that would while away more hours than I work in a day. It has a name: the World of Warcraft . The problem being, it doesn't seem like a very responsible way to spend my day, does it?

"How was work today, Scott?"

"Oh horrible, some damned level 70 rogue kept ganking me while I was trying to escort the Night Elf back to Honor Hold."

That aside, even though my boss is cool with any diversions that don't detract from my performing job duties, I still don't want to be seen playing. Lots of people come in and out of the Data Center, and despite the fact that it looks like the bridge of the damned Enterprise some people actually stop and check out what we're doing rather than oogle it.

This would be the NCC-1701 A, of course.

All nerdery aside, I needed a fool-proof way to play, without the risk of ever being caught. What I devised was no less than ingenious. I said it, ingenious. Observe:

On yer left: Sputnik running World of Warcraft. On yer right: Live security camera feeds for my floor.

How did I do this? Well I'd heard rumblings about the cameras in my building being capable of a web-interface and searched through all the documentation, and read the materials until I had the feed piped to my computer. Basically I can monitor the entire building from my desktop. And it gives me a five minute warning on approaching bosses, coworkers, and sight seers. Were there other ways to pass the time? Maybe. Would they have been as fun? Hardly.

- Scott

Housekeepy!

2007-03-19T17:47:00.000-05:00

This week you gets yer Top 5/Bottom 5 and yer Crush o' the Week all in one spectacular filler post! Celebrate people. Celebrate. And later, if you feel like it, represent. Moving right along.

This week's Crush of the Week: Sarah Silverman

Why her? Why the hell not? Have you seen her? But that's shallow, and as we all know, I like to conceal my superficial nature below layers and layers of reasoning. To that end, her work alone is endearing enough that I would have listed her sight unseen. No offense ladies, but I find very few female comedians funny. This is not to say I'm biased against them, but half of female standup is based on the "you know what? men are stupid! we're so much better than they are" formula. As a result few of them make me laugh. And even fewer do it in such a way that afterwards I'm attracted to them. I mean, Lisa Lampanelli is pretty funny, but even if she looked like Morgan Webb, she still wouldn't be crush-worthy.

Sarah strikes that difficult balance of funny, sweet, and completely filthy. If I were citing references I would point you to Jesus Is Magic and The Sarah Silverman Program. I mean, she named her show "The Sarah Silverman Program." I love her for that.

Further asskickery: She's quite the lady that Sarah Silverman. Not only will she date (and presumably have sex with Jimmy Kimmel) but she's also... you know what? There doesn't even have to be another thing. Making sweet, sweet love to Jimmy Kimmel is enough. God bless her. Not to mention, her physical beauty was enough to get me to purchase my first and only copy of Heeb: The new Jew review.

But for you good folk, here's two sources of the rich vein of Awesome that is Sarah Silverman. A little standup, and her guest spot on Loveline. I recommend watching the embedded now, and listening to Loveline whilst driving. Or vice versa if you prefer.

A good example of her work. Plus she looks smokin' hot here.

Also here's your Loveline link. She (and next week's crush, which I've already written) is a large reason that the Loveline archive is my number 1 in this week's Top 5. Excellent work entertainment. That's all for CotW, if you don't love her at this point, I can't love you.

Top Five: Work Hours Time Killer edition

1.) The Loveline Archive.
2.) John Dies at the End. (Fantastic online horror story. Excellent time killer.)
3.) This wonderful drunk. (A deviation from the formula, but damn I love this story.)
4.) N Game, the last flash game you'll ever need. (And an addiction I've suckered my office into. Just download it and give it a shot. I promise, you'll never want for another game to play at work.)
5.) Nessa. (Because sometimes you just have to catch me in want of a number 5.)

Bottom Five: Abstract Concept edition

1.) Users. (Literally, the users of the network at Tech Industries... idiots.)
2.) Barr Realty.
3.) The utter lack of Add-Ons for real life to manage my assets. (If I can have a report of every copper piece I've spent in the last 38 levels, why can't these people make software that tells me the same thing in real life?)
4.) Shitty Work Internet.
5.) Smartfilter.

And that's all for today. Look forward to nerdery and camera hacking tomorrow.

- Scott

Eye, Eye.

2007-03-13T18:14:00.000-05:00

The internet always surprises me. Every time I think I'm alone on something, others chime in. Or I chime in with others. To be fair, sometimes I just add my two cents, not quite a chime. In any case, the word "chime" is slowly losing its meaning with each repetition, so I'll retire this not-quite-dead-but-probably-paralyzed-horse right now.

My point is this: the last post I put up was just some random thought I had and instead of casting me as the heretic I am, people kind of took it and ran. So, I have another question that I've spoken of in real life, but never had anyone take seriously.

Does anyone else see the world in two different tints?

My left eye sees the world in through a cool (warmth wise) green tint. I dub this the "Matrix Eye." My right eye has a warmer reddish tint to it. I dub this my "Right Eye." Really it reminds me of playing with the contrast knobs on an old TV set. It's to the point where my arms (if I can only see one in each eye) seem to have different tans.

I don't know if what I'm saying is immediately clear, so I whipped up an image to demonstrate. It's a picture of me from last summer when I wasn't in such good shape, but it's all I had access to at work. Be gentle.

Greenish Scott on the left, Reddish Scott on the Right.

Basically that's what someone with eyes like mine would see as they looked through binoculars at me. Or, in other words, that's what I would see if I could go back in time. Because that's all I'd do. Look at myself. Look at myself from different angles, look at myself changing clothes, look at myself in the sho... well... you get the picture.

Anyway. My question from above was: is anyone else similarly eff'd up? (As far as the eyes are concerned.)

- Scott

G versus E (where E is economics)

2007-03-07T15:26:00.000-06:00

Something's been bothering me lately. (Well, something besides the auto-spell-checker built into the latest release of Firefox.) What's been nagging at me is where the hell* Faustian bargains went? When is the last time you heard of someone selling their soul for earthly pleasure? It seemed like it used to happen all the time. Some peasant sells his soul for a farm and a wife and bam, some other clod drops dead and it's all his. Pretty sweet deal... for the devil. All he had to do was manipulate some germs to do in a day what nature would have done in a decade.

I sometimes wonder if the devil gave up on Faustian bargains because in modern times, what people want in return for their souls is just so outlandish that it's economically not feasible to make the trade. I mean, how much hassle is a soul worth? For instance, among the things that would have to be on the table for me to consider parting with my immortal soul would be the following:

teleportation
telekenisis
telepathy
anything that has "tele-" before it and implies a god-like power
Lvl. 8 Cock of the Infinite
A flawless memory ( i.e. Bean)
Regeneration a-la Wolverine
riches
a Viper
the ability to understand, read, speak, and (why not) fart, in all the languages of the world, etc.

I probably wouldn't actually go through with the Faustian Deal, but if all that** were possible and easily do-able, hell it might be something to look into. But I just don't think Old Scratch is up to it. And who can blame him. That's a shit-ton of work to do when back before television all he needed to do was conjure up a prize winnin' hieffer. Honestly, I wouldn't bother either. Feel free to mention how unreasonable you'd be in the comments.

- Scott

* Pun intended, grudgingly
** And I mean the good version of all that, none of this "becareful what you wish for/how you phrase the wish or you end up being turned into an actual wolverine instead of having the mutant power you wanted" bullshit

Car Wreck

2007-03-05T00:36:00.000-06:00

Sorry I haven't posted lately everyone. I got in an accident with my parents' Highlander and it's been kind of a nightmare dealing with all the insurance bullshit since then.

I was driving to St. Louis in my parent's SUV on Saturday and adjusting the radio. For all the nice features of the car it's sound system sounded like shit. Or more accurately shit played through a tin can, recorded on an overused casette, and played back over the phone on a radio call-in show.

Anyway, I'm on a two lane highway headed toward the river road when another car comes up behind me driving like he just robbed a bank. Incidentally, it was the exact same model as the one I was driving, just black and slightly newer. I was speeding by about 5 miles an hour because it was a somewhat cop-saturated area.

I thought at the time that this was apparently nowhere near fast enough for Mr. Black-SUV-Assholerson, as he rode my ass for a few miles before he had a chance to swing out around me. It was the first chance he'd had in miles of oncoming cars, and I thought at the time that he'd picked his moment badly because he had VERY little time to pull it off.

Apparently not enough. Just as I was going to slow down to help him out Black-SUV-Assholerson changed lanes into my car, hard. Broke the all the windows on the driver's side except the back cargo area one, we traded some paint. By this point I had started to stop, but so did he so I was more or less forced into the ditch. This broke the front passenger-side headlight and screwed up the front axel.

We finally got stopped completely, him further up the road by about 20 feet. I got out and very seriously considered charging into him and taking the damages out of his flesh. Instead I screamed raggedly at him the only thing I could think to ask "WHY?! Why did you do this to my parent's Highlander?"

Leaning his head out his window, he said "Because there can be ONLY ONE!" and drove away.

State Farm still doesn't believe me.

Purpose-ly

2007-02-27T18:38:00.000-06:00

I just posted most of this on Nessa's blog as a comment, but really? It's post worthy. Especially on a boring day like today, I mean I think the Gilmore Girls is a rerun, so there's more or less nothing to look forward to. Without further ado, the rehashing:

Orthodontists are pricks. Just thought I'd get that out there. As far as medical practitioners that you're likely to encounter, these people are bar-none the most annoying on Earth. However, they also have little to no power over you. There is nothing finer in life than having a frivilous, inconsequential enemy. I'm recruiting Arch-Nemeses at the moment, but if I could get another orthodontist I'd do it in the space of time it takes a Kentucky Moonshiner to rationalize sleeping with his "purty kusinz."

I fondly remember using the following tactics to make the bloated, redfaced orthodontist with his fat, clumsy fingers seem even more bloated, redfaced and clumsy.

Eating Skittles. A handful at a time. This will cause your braces to come unglued. I took off the entirety of the top braces this way once, and walked in for my monthly appointment with them in my hand, smiling.
When it comes time to wear rubberbands, don't.
Or, if you'd actually like to get some tooth movement going on, wear eight of them at once two days before the appointment. It does the same thing in almost no time at all. Laugh as he tells your brother (who has been wearing his) that he should commit himself to wearing them like his brother has.
Sneeze while he's working on you. (It was an accident, but damn... it was fantastic.)
Accidentally break the mold of your teeth they took, later realizing that it was actually someone else's.

Ah, those were the days. While I was writing this, I realized something. That having that horrible, fat bastard as an enemy did wonderful things for me. It gave me purpose. Secretly, every prisoner who fights with other convicts is really only looking for his prison-enemy (we're assuming he's already found his bitch). Even God needs Satan (perhaps more than he needs us) because really, would it all be any fun if there was no back-and-forth? I think not.

So today I set out to find my arch-enemy, hopefully one who is both frivilous and inconsequential, with whom I hope to bicker, use as the default amusement when I'm bored, and advance the floundering plot of this blog.

In the words of a master:

Dr. Byron Orpheus: Oh, it must be dreamy to have a costumed nemesis. Chasing you... wringing his gloved hands in concern of your every move!
Dr. Venture: You're kidding, right?
Dr. Byron Orpheus: ...just seems so romantic.

- Scott

The Wonder Blog: Character's (flaws) Welcome

2007-02-23T16:52:00.000-06:00

Most of the time I don't like a person for their better qualities. Good traits just seem so generic, you know? What really attracts me to a person are their vices. Their character flaws (to put it into the terms I'm most comfortable with). And thinking about this, I realized that I'm living too blameless a life. That if I really want to acheive the type of infamy I deserve, I need to step up the character flaws a notch. And to that end, I've decided to tell you all about my racism.

I'll admit it here, for all the world to read that I am a racist... against Eskimos. I know, most of you are shocked. A few of my inner circle are silently rejoicing that they don't have to carry the burden of the secret alone anymore. Why Eskimos? I'll tell you why: because racism, when it hurts people, is a horrible, vile thing. But if there's one thing I've learned from every award winning drama ever, it's that racism is a fascinating character flaw. And since I'll never run into a filthy, grubby, parka-sewing Eskimo, it's not likely that any actual harm will come from it.

It's not often I'll open up this much, and usually it requires my being drunk. But as those closest to me will attest, when I get some sauce in me every other sentence is a slur against those "godsdamned seal-stinking snow-jobs!" In a video released to E!'s "Most Outrageous Blogger Rants," which I bought back for a princely sum, I was seen on an actual soapbox, blitzed out of my mind, shouting at passers-by about the evils of the "Fish Spearing Igloo-Trash!" The transcript is as follows:

The eskimo is the natural emen-emin-*shakes head* enemy of the rest of the world. They're up there every day plotting. Those "eskimo kisses" everyone thinks are so cute are how they pass tiny micro-dots full of information about their plans for nuclear winter! THINK ABOUT IT! They've got the least to lose! Those fish spearing igloo-trash bastards are trying to bring us down to their level! So they can rename places Inunjuak, and Nukchukbuckfluck and all sorts of snow-job bullshit!
They're trying to make us fat and complacent with their insidious pies! They don't even wait for their elderly to die, they just push them out to sea on some ice! Lazy seal clubbing ice-bums! They...

And so on in that fashion. Young children might have wanted to skip that section. I'm not proud of it, but it makes me a more interesting character, and we all need a little spice in our lives, no? Please, feel free to pick an uber-small demographic to ignorantly rant about in the comments. (I reccomend the gajin.)

- Scott

Do they? Do they really?

2007-02-21T17:20:00.000-06:00

On my way to work Monday I had to get out of my car and trudge through the snow. This was not because our lot wasn't shoveled. It was because I had seen a sign so ridiculous I needed to get photographic evidence of it.

Your tax dollars at work.

Gators make good choices! Eagles are awesome! I'm apparently working on the rough draft of a children's novel here. If I were, in that novel I might just have to ask, what kinds of good choices have gators historically made?

The best way to find out is by cutting one open. Inside you'll find a license plate, most of a tire, and the missing eight-year-old boy who got him cut open in the first place. We'll collectively call that Good Choice #1.

And Good Choice #2 must be that despite millions of years of existence, they're easily subdued by rednecks and Australians (rest in peace) who cover their eyes and stroke their bellies.

Good Choice #3 is obviously the stance he's striking in the sign. Nothing says "fierce mascot we can all get behind" better than a snotty, foppish gator posing akimbo like he's in a 40's pin-up magazine. Is that an elementary school student in your belly or are you just happy to see me, big boy?

But to be fair they could mean people named Gator in which case (I hope) they're referencing Burt Reynolds in White Lighting and the eponymous Gator. And except for the fact that both movies cement his legend as the least covert moonshiner of all time, and then he gets blackmailed because of it, then does it again... you know what, he's not really a good example either.

Screw this, gators make horrible decisions. Your children are going to grow up to either marry their sisters, or eat license plates and toddlers. In certain necks of the woods, both. I'd get them into a private school as soon as possible.

-Scott

Check out my webcam at Presidential Sluts dot Com

2007-02-19T16:38:00.000-06:00

I don't know about you, but nothing makes me feel more romantic than that special day in February; President's Day. Maybe it's the marketing blitz surrounding the holiday, or maybe it's just the spirit of the holiday itself, but something makes me want to sing sappy love songs in foreign languages.

...Ok, ok this was supposed to be a "cheer everyone up on a miserable holiday like Valentine's Day" post, but I forgot to put it up. In my defense, I don't pay much attention to the day, and let's be honest eagles are just too awesome to ignore.

So in the interest of preventing me from seeming too unhumanly cool for too long, here's a President's (Valentine's) Day tribute I shot a few years ago. Remember people, I'm just this guy, you know?

Incidentally, this soundtrack is available in the lobby.

Top Five / Bottom Five: Righteous Anger Edition

2007-02-15T15:39:00.000-06:00

In the interest of fairness, when isn't the bottom five filled with righteous anger? I mean, it's pretty much the entire reason for that section's existence... but I digress. Let's end the paragraph that everyone skips anyway, and get right down to it.

Top Five:

1.) Somebody finally tells Carlos Mencia what we're all thinking. We should send him back where he came from... Germany. Thank God for you Joe Rogan. Thank God for you. Actually, upon reading Rogan's blog, I have an exponentially higher appreciation for the man. Next could you do Dane Cook*? Please?

2.) See Dad? World of Warcraft is good for me. Stop with the interventions. Seriously. The catering wasn't all that good at the last one and it was too far away from the router to have a decent connection. I was lagging all through my questing**.

3.) What happens when an adult yells "PILLOW FIGHT!" This is the kind of thing we need to see more for adults. How about a ballpit at work? Don't we still deserve someplace to go and play, and maybe take a piss when no one's looking? Honestly.

4.) Watch #2 on this list. I promise you it's worth it. Creepiest. Man. Ever.

5.) While as an American-Pig-Dog I'm sure he hates me, most of what he said here is true. As testing the limits of free speech goes, applauding after an Al Qeada tirade is pretty good.

Bottom Five:

1.) My impending "dissapearance" as a result of #5 above. I hope they let me blog from Gitmo.

2.) The Fox News answer to the Daily Show (and here I thought Fox News WAS a joke). The least funny thing I've ever seen. Less funny than Saturday Night Live... and that's saying something. It's so unfunny that if you watch this then Carlos Mencia you might actually laugh at "his" jokes. (Also, are they actually using canned laughter?)

3.) RFID Powder? Thanks Hitachi, because I just wasn't acheiving my paranoia potential. We're getting pretty X-Files here people.

4.) These Three School Districts. You find the biggest idiots working in public schools, particularly administration. I mean, I'm surprised they even can teach evolution as their very existence tends to disprove the theory. Which is not to say there aren't exceptions... but damn.

5.) Lego Foodstuffs. I don't care about the nutrition, or even the fact that the list of ingredients reads like a chemical bomb, I'm just dreading the annoying bitchy parent we're going to have to see on the news explaining that her child died because he ate a real Lego thinking they were ALL food. It's evolution people. Besides, we could stand to thin out the herd.

- Scott

* I used to like Dane Cook, then he started to grate on me. Maybe it was the "I love Dane Cook!1!! OMFG he is like sooooo FUNNY!" / "I have the best fans ever, oh my god, my fans are so great!!!one!" circle jerk I got sick of, or maybe it's that he's just the kind of comic that the I get sick of having shoved in my face by idiots who just now heard of him, but however it happened, I hate the dude.

** Wait, was this the wedding reception or the intervention? Damn. Either way, I made a few levels at each, so that's something.

Eagles are awesome

2007-02-14T17:52:00.000-06:00

A few weeks ago (on my second day of work) I was passing through the Alton riverfront when I noticed a camera crew interviewing a man who looked like he was extremely uncomfortable. I made a note of it and went about my day. Fast forward to this week: my curiosity about that filming has been satisfied. More than satisfied, it's been downright ecstatic-ed.

I think I just have to show you for you to understand, but you should keep in mind that this isn't done for comedy purposes. It's a serious news cast like any local affiliate. They just happened to have technical difficulties with the audio and had to cover for it. The way they did elevates it to brillance level. Observe:

Eagles are awesome, no doubt about it.

...USA

- Scott

Why, we only live to serve...

2007-02-13T01:40:00.000-06:00

So, the kinds of things I usually see at work are limited to the below:

Yes, that is Lisa Simpson you see in the fifth monitor. Anyway, that's what I generally see. But on Friday, I needed some delicious snacks to get me through the day. Heading upstairs to the floor with the employee lounge I was shocked to stumble upon Tech Industries' vast, racist conspiracy.

Sure, it looks alright on the surface. A black woman holding a phone. The rest of the poster just says 24/7, At Your Call: Ethics and Compliance Hotline. But look closer and see the truth!

The phone is attached to her; it literally plugs into her liver. We can only speculate that the sign implies you should just go to the nearest black woman with a phone surgically implanted to report something. Not only that, but that they couldn't even trust her with a cordless. Having failed only one graphics and design class, I can tell you that the underlying message here is: "Black people are servants, some of which come with handy tools built in."

It's an outrage, what with this being February and all. I did the only sensible thing... I found the nearest black woman and used her to call the line and complain. Sorted that out straight away. No need to thank me. All in a day's work.

- Scott

Houston, we have a fatal attraction.

2007-02-08T15:13:00.000-06:00

For the uninitiated, here's a breif run down of the story... Lisa Nowak, an astronaut, fell in love with another astronaut, William Oefelein (who despite his appearence and occupation, is not nicknamed "Buzz"). Unfortunately, Willy was already with an Air Force chick named Colleen Shipman. True to her bunny boiler nature, Nowak had no choice but to drive to Florida from Texas and snuff her.

If you'd like a fuller account. Check here.

*sigh* NASA... For all their psychological screening, mission simulations, and contingency senarios, there was never any training on how to deal with the most dangerous mission of all: love. Specifically the love of a psychotic, clingy, stalker-woman.

What they did train for however, was being very comfortable letting your bowels loose as you go about your activities. "Don't crap in your hand, crap in your poopy suit / You'll feel relieved filling your brief's / Fill your pants over France in your poopy suit / Flying high in the poo, feel free to do the number two," goes the jingle in the film they show freshmen astronauts. And I guess it sticks with them, as evidenced by this snippet:

...police said Nowak intended to kill Shipman, 30, when she bought a knife, BB
Gun, and other supplies, got in her car in Houston, and made the 12-hour drive
to Orlando, wearing diapers so she would not have to stop along the way.

The complete list of her accessories for the outing include a hooded tan trench coat and black wig, a folding knife, BB pistol, a new steel mallet, black gloves, rubber tubing and plastic garbage bags. Police caught her while she was attempting to determine which of these items would be most useful in reaching the light side of the moon after crashlanding on the dark side*. The best answer would receive extra credit points.

I'm not entirely sure a black wig and a hooded tan trench coat make for the best inconspicuous outfit. I mean, where the hell do you even find a hooded trench coat? You'd look like the Grim Reaper version of the guy on the neighborhood watch sign.

Speaking of appearences, I don't think I can properly conclude this post without introducing you to the key players. So get your program here, can't tell a waifish virginal Air Force captain from a hardened, strung out, ex-astronaut without your program.

The Cling-on. The Man in Question. The Waif.

Now that you know what they look like, some triva about each.

The Cling-on: Apparently a big fan of Freeze Dried Meth. Fears include being alone, running out of diapers on a critical mission (like a coke run), and personal hygiene.

The Man in Question: One of the first mixed race astronauts; his grandfather was quite obviously a rabbit.

The Waif: Goes by the nickname "the little general" as a result of her military background and petite frame. Is unaware, however, that "the little general" is the penis nickname of choice for 99% of all males who don't go with the "Little OWNER NAME HERE" formula.

- Scott

Crush of the Week: Kate Winslet

2007-02-06T15:19:00.000-06:00

Well, now that I'm single, and I'm drowning in free time (at work mostly) I think the conditions are primed for the return of the CotW segment. Apologies to both Kristen Bell and Wendyloo Pseudonym (who contributed a bit) for leaving that post without further discussion, but I think we were all sick of her.

But Kate Winslet, now that's another story. I'm not actually sure it's possible to get sick of her. I mean, the woman looks so drastically different from one time period to another that it took me longer to find a picture of her that was decent and looks like her than any other CotW. And despite Nessa's assertion that it looks like she forgot someone's dinner, twice, I still think it's a fairly decent picture. Let's run down her features shall we?

Why she's worthy: First of all, give me an accent, and I'm already half way to a crush of the week. And she's an actress, in addition to the natural one, she can probably manage four or five others. One day she's Cockney Kate, the next she has a strong Irish brogue, after that... I don't know. Spanish or something. To keep things interesting. And she's a good enough actress that I think she could pull it off. She really should have an Oscar by now. My guess is that the right role portraying a mental toughing it out in the Holocaust hasn't come along just yet, but here's hoping.

Bonus Features: I was going to find some new Kate Winslet material. Something you hadn't all seen. But since no one commented on it (and if you'd watched it you would have had to) on the last post, I'm embedding the video that made me select her as this week's fleeting, ephemeral crush.

By the way, the word of the day is "purple headed womb ferret." Make sure to yell really loud when it comes up in everyday conversation.

- Scott

Top V, Bottom V: Boston Officals Suck edition

2007-02-03T17:25:00.000-06:00

Because it's time, and because Nessa can't get Loverboy's masterpiece out of her head, I'm moving on to this week (ok, let's face it month's) Top Five/Bottom Five.

Top 5

1.) Bostonian Aqua Teen promoters strike back. It's the only way to deal with the media; forcing them to become even more ridiculous mockeries of themselves. And honestly, it's what I would have done. I will say my presentation would have been better. If you don't know the story behind this one see the poorly written article in my bottom five.

2.) Can't put a price on honesty. Seriously. Good work Romania. I register all my pirated software under false identities, stolen from babies who died after birth. But you just walk right up to Willy Gates and say "hey, my entire country is running on the FCKGW-RHQQ2-YXRKT-8TG6W-2B7Q8 keycode that Scott knows by heart." Way to out me too, dick.

3.) Trouble talking dirty? Kate Winslet is here to help. Let me just say that Extras is perhaps the best comedy on television. After The Office (yes, American version. I've become enamoured of it even more than the British. Heresy, I know.)

4.) More everyday hacks. From the man who incorrectly applied the Coke machine hack, thereby completely bricking the OS, and requiring it to be sent back to factory (me), comes the link to the Coinstar machine hack. Free coin counting for the masses!

5.) Zeusdamn it! The Lords of Kobol are back, baby. Oh, and the Greek Orthodox Church is less than thrilled.

Bottom Five:

1.) Idiot's take on the ATHF promoters. Read this man's article and seethe with rage, it'll prepare you for the next two.

2.) Fox News Obama Coverage. There's two links there so Fox News and Obama Coverage go to two different stories. A shame that the video is gone from the first one (replaced with Bush smirking) but the transcript from that bullshit is still there. The second, hard hitting, relevant, fair and balanced piece is still there in it's entirety. Pure rage after watching these.

3.) Adam Curry. No link for this one, just the man himself. He was on This Week in Tech last week, and I have to say it. The man is a twat. Without further ado, he will be insulted by Stephen Colbert.

"The reasons why he sucks are many and, to be truthful, have been widely catalogued in the annals of the internet. So, with your indulgence, I'd like to focus instead on the intensity of his sucking.

Adam Curry is a worthless piece of shit. Fuck him. He is a taint, not just in the sense of a "stain on the podcast," but litterally a taint - the anatomical area between the anus and the testicles."

4.) The promised explanation. If you dropped down from the Top Five looking, here it is.

5.) Exxon, the bastards. This is obvious. But I needed five.

- Scott

Everybody's working for the Wii-kend

2007-01-30T14:49:00.000-06:00

Apologies for a horrible pun, but damn does that tiny white console own my every spare thought. And now that I'm a working stiff, I can afford such frivolities with the same ease I always have, but also with a distinct lack of guilt for knowing it was really my parents who could afford them. A band named CAKE once pointedly asked "Is it you or your parents in this income tax bracket?" It's me now, baby.

We're just jumping in in the middle here, which works for movies, but since nobody's pointing a gun to my head, and I'm not calmly wondering how I got myself into this situation as the scene freezes, it's probably better to back up a bit. (Besides have you seen Domino? It took a voice over, two types of on-screen, written exposition, and the Director's commentary to keep all those loose threads together. And since there's little chance of Kiera Knightley showing up, I won't put you through that.)

Last Friday, I got a call from a company (we'll call them Tech Industries), there's a roundabout story concerning how I got in touch with them, but it isn't really important. Things happened pretty fast. At 11:00 I talked to them on the phone, by 11:30 I had an interview, by 4:15 I was hired. "Didn't know what Tech Industries was this morning, now I'm working there."

Though technically I'm working for Tech, really I'm contracted out to an international paper company*. The Office theme song rings in my ears a few times a day**. As far as what the job entails, the title is "Computer Operator." I hope I can live up to the lofty expectations it implies. I mean, four years of computer science are all well and good... but do I really feel qualified to be a Computer Operator? Needless to say I'm taking a few classes at the learning annex on the side, you know, just to make completely sure I feel able to operate a computer. (Really though, it's basically a network admin-ish job.)

Best of all? I get to wake up at 1:00 PM everyday, also guilt free, because I don't have to be at work until 3:00. Basically, I've found a job that lets me continue the lifestyle I established while mooching off my parents***. It really couldn't have worked out better.

- Scott

* The trend amongst my closest blogging cohorts seems to be toward not mentioning the name of the company to avoid getting fired, so I'll hop on that bandwagon.
** And really, it should, because I just realized that it would make an awesome ringtone.
*** Even into the workplace, yesterday there was nothing to do for several hours and we were hungry. Solution: Order pizza and watch Beerfest. Was the network still running during all of this? Yes. So technically we were doing our jobs.

300

2007-01-29T13:45:00.000-06:00

On this, my birthday, my 300th post, and my first day at work, I have this to say: I've noticed that people will watch others being mugged, raped, or killed and do nothing. But Jesus, if I leave my lights on as I'm walking into Wal-Mart fifteen people will stop me and tell me about it. They're automatic, people. They go out.

Also, this being my 300th post, I think I should plug the movie by the same name that I'm wicked excited about. Watch this trailer, if you aren't excited check your pulse, most likely you've legally died.

I promise you all a full post sometime tomorrow (early in the morning). Now that I've moved into my new lofty apartment and got settled in I have infinite time for posting (not to mention at work as well).

- Scott

Ah... Jerseyville

2007-01-20T13:44:00.000-06:00

Where the food is just a little sweeter. Where the police are just a little slower. ...Where racism is just a little less thinly veiled.

Would it have been better if he wasn't wrestling African American opponents? Maybe. Discuss.

- Scott

Pass me an XX note.

2007-01-19T00:00:00.000-06:00

In keeping with my commitment to calling all notes by their roman numeral, instead of just the much lauded "C" note, my title refers to the $20 bill. "Why?" you ask in that demanding tone of yours? Well, my vernacular has become infected with $20 words. The origin of this term is elaborate, and near impossible to condense down to a couple of sentences. I do so below.

In middle school I had a choral teacher who used to compliment me on my use of "ten-dollar" words*. Well, with inflation, and an ever expanding vocabulary (including the swear words of foreign languages) I think $20 is a fair sum these days.

Anyway, they've spread through my vernacular like cancer through a prostate. They started innocently enough. An "ubiquitous" here, an "ignoble" there. But suddenly I'm constructing sentences that are needlessly obscure. I think I literally said the other day something along the lines of:

"He'd do well to get that papuliferous ass of his out of my quarters before things get any uglier than necessary walking around looking like that."

Seriously? Saying quarters is bad enough (even if it was applicable) but I also felt the need to toss off papuliferous? Am I too good for the word, pimply**? Hell, most people don't know what I mean when I say "vapid."

Ah well... I guess it could be worse. Thank god it wasn't tabloid words; if anyone ever hears me reporting that someone has been "spotted canoodling with" someone else, or if I EVER call a singer a "sultry siren," or even worse, a "crooner***" may God strike me dead.

- Scott

* I have, on many occasions, been praised for my vocabulary, which I find strange because the praise often originates from people who wouldn't even grudgingly admit that I was smart enough to be trusted with fireworks.
** Yes, actually but that's more a matter of appearence.
*** Seriously, who talks like that?

Buggre Alle this for a Lark!

2007-01-18T02:38:00.000-06:00

I've just finished Good Omens*, which itself I suppose is a good omen. At least it signals the start of my actually finishing things. Grad school, I'm looking in your direction. But in a larger sense, I fear my time in the fair city of vice and studies has come to an end. And so it is that I'm moving home while seeking a post-college job.

"Oh really? Moving home after college? Well give us just a moment to duck behind something substantial so we don't get hit by the shrapnel from that mold you're shattering," I hear you saying.

And I reply: "Nobody likes a smartass," gleefully ignoring the number of hits and comments on this very blog suggesting that occasionally, people do like a smartass. Especially a shapely one.

I wrestled this decision for longer than I needed to, having seen that it was really the only viable option days ago. But every Adam needs his Greasy Johnson right**? I guess it was just an elaborate observation of formality, but I really wanted to hate this decision enough that I wouldn't actually go through with it. Unfortunately, my hatred of radiator based heat and my love of laundry magically disappearing from my bedroom floor, only to reappear, clean, in drawers and closets had a large bearing on my decision.

Tomorrow? My thoughts on the ritual of the job search. Sleep well.

- Scott

*A book which forced laughter upon me with all the inexorable force of Gideons*** shoving little green New Testament Bibles into the hands of the off-guard.

** If you haven't read Good Omens and this line doesn't sound dirty to you, I ask you to take a sex education course, see a Kevin Smith movie, and visit the bathroom of any men's room in any Junior High, anywhere.

*** They seem to have taken a page from the homeless in the area and starting working in a net formation. Seeing one ahead of you and crossing the street to avoid him only forces you into another one, cleverly set up directly across the street from where you were attempting to escape the hobos in the first place.

Welcome to the WORLD OF TOMORROW

2007-01-14T00:04:00.000-06:00

Fun things have been going on in my world lately.

If there were a font that conveyed deadpan sarcasm I would have used it. I would call it Dana. Unfortunately there is no Dana there is only Zuul. And Zuul, as it happens, also goes by "Times New Roman," "Ariel," and "Default Brower Font."

Anyway, in every life there is some trouble. But when we lack cool Firefox extentions, we make it double. In short: this has made my life worth living. I won't tell you exactly what it does. I'll only tell you that it makes browsing the internet with Firefox something to be marveled at. It takes the internet of today and makes it into the internet we see in movies... minus horrid beeping noises whenever someone uses a keyboard.

Just use it.

- Scott

P.S. PC's only. Sorry Mac's.

Excuse Our Dust (where Dust = Emo Outburst)

2007-01-08T16:37:00.000-06:00

Please pardon the below. I was temporarily emsane. Emsanity is a condition where, due to a percieved tragedy a person becomes temporarily emo (though for some the condition is known to last years). I was lucky. The emsanity passed within minutes, but not before I had given myself an asymetric haircut, bought a messenger bag which I covered in small buttons bearing ironic statements, and wrote a shitty acoustic guitar song about my feelings.

Thank God I got out before I started cutting people. I know you're really supposed to cut yourself to let the pain out, but I'm very sympathetic so I think it would do. Besides, what immortal hand or eye could cut my fearful symmetry? (Lingering poetry references are an aftereffect of emsanity, bear with me.)

If I've brought infected any of you with my earlier affliction I have good news: there is a cure. And that cure, that I stumbled upon in the course of my moping, is ridiculous pictures of me. I had forgotten these as they existed in a time when I was between digital cameras.

Take three, as often as you'd like. And call me in the morning. Seriously. I have a hard time getting up. Enjoy.

Beware: Not every street on the coast of Mexico takes high tide into account. And no one could have predicted those gams! (I bet Nostradamus feels like a failure.)

Survivorman learned it all right here. On a desert island? Pick up part of a tree and do some reps. It might not help you survive, but at least when they find you they'll remark on your guns.

Imagine I get killed. There, you've seen Apocalypto. Taken at the table where sacrifices were offered, I kid you not, about half a second before our Mayan tour guide put a stop to it. I'm fun to travel with. (And I think a bit large for their sacrifical altar.)

And that's all I've got for now. If you're still emo, I suggest you hang around in Hot Topic, buy a bunch of modern artists on vinyl albums, and start calling the Salvation Army, "Salvo's" because you're in there so often.

Good luck.

- Scott

This fucking computer

2007-01-08T15:23:00.000-06:00

Sorry I'm in a vitriolic mood. Seriously I'm filled with bile at the moment. Which is really not the way you want to start a posting year. But I don't consider this the true post. I lost the true post, which was absolutely the best I've written in a few months. As a result, I feel physically ill.

I'll get back in the kind of headspace I need to be in to write sometime tonight or tomorrow and I'll try to reproduce it. Or at least "cover" it in the sense that a band covers a song, but it's never really the same.

On the upside, I managed not to smash my computer, which I was very very close to doing. Small victories.

- Scott

Death and Destruction

2006-12-23T12:32:00.000-06:00

Recently as I was lying comatose ("Comatose... coma-toes to-'er head" "Shut up!") I thought about all the things I wanted to do before I died. And all the things I hadn't done. But then, realizing how unrelentingly cliche this was, I thought of another better topic: all the thing I intend not to do before I die.

Now this list could be fairly obvious. For instance, most people wouldn't say they wanted to contract AIDS. Though, to be fair, for awhile I was very into RENT and I thought that I'd like nothing better than to be an artist with HIV dramatically living out my last days in an orgy of bohemian lifestyles. So there really aren't absolutes. But the thing I realized that I never want to do was different.

I had always considered climbing Mount Everest. Seems like a fun weekend. But it dawned on me that after all the people who died or were disfigured as a result of that mountain, climbing it successfully would be the worst thing I could do. Think about it. After that nothing I could do would be as impressive.

"Hey, I just finished Zelda in 12 hours!"
"So what, it's not like you climbed Everest again."

And if I died, the topic of discussion at my funeral wouldn't be directly centered on how great I was. It'd be all about how ironic it was that I could survive Everest but I just couldn't see that bus coming. Or about what a survivor I am, yet to be taken in such a strange way, by suffocation as a result of a large housecat settling over my nose and mouth as I slept, seems cruel and ironic.

So, essentially, I refuse to climb Everest as it would skew my legacy forever. Cross one off the list.

- Scott

Healed at last! Healed at last! Thank Lordy, healed at last!

2006-12-22T20:14:00.000-06:00

Two days ago I finally went to the doctor. I once again apologize to all of manhood for betraying our order and seeking medical attention. But I felt better and my mom had scheduled a chiropractic appointment and a doctor's appointment. The knuckle cracker really did more for me. A few bone pops and I felt pretty good. Though while I'm on her elaborate table I can't help but feeling like I'm a secret agent and she's an assassin trying to kill me with spine jabs, attempted neck breaks, and attacks upon my hips. Occasionally she pokes needles into my skin and connects them to electricity under the auspices of a proceedure to boost my immune system, all the while I refuse to give her information or even acknowledge our little duel.

Anyway at the doctors (after surviving the assassin) I was informed that despite feeling like I could run a mile I was:

1.) Running a 101.5° temperature
2.) Still sick
3.) Riddled with a particularly nasty sinus infection.

"Yeah, and I just faced down an attempt on my life too," said I. This is why new people often don't "get" me.

Current Status: Still recovering.

Current Status With the Ladies*: They all still want me.

- Scott

* Watch that thing I linked. It's reminicent of how I wrote this post.

What's the time?

2006-12-12T10:45:00.000-06:00

It's time to get ill. And apparently, unlike those brothers out there flakin and perpetratin', but scared to kick reality, I know what time it is.

Ok, I'm loopy. Just wanted to update my constituents.

- Scott

P.S. All of this was meant to mean "I've been flu-sick since Saturday night. And frankly I still feel like shit."

Panic at the Post-Post-Secondary Educational Facility

2006-12-06T13:54:00.000-06:00

Lately I've been having a lot of the same conversation. You've been there. A situation where everyone asks you the same question, and you answer it the same way. Basically you're in the social equivalent of a cold war. Each side keeping up appearences, following procedure, making a symbolic gesture, but underneath both sides want it to escalate or just end. It's like when you go home after being away for college/work/life in general. Everyone wants to feign interest in your activities, knowing full well that if anything monumental had happened they'd already have heard and gossiped about it. It goes something like this:

Psuedo-Interested Party: Hi! Where have you been? What have you been up to?
Completely Dispassionate Responder: Oh you know, not bad. It's good to get away from it... blah blah blah.

Pseudo-Interested Party 2: How has school/work/life in general been?
Increasingly Dispassionate Responder: Not too shabby. It's been fine/alright/third non-commital answer.

Pseudo-Interested Party 3: How are you? Tell me, how has school/work/life been?
Formerly Dispassionate Responder who has just hit his breaking point: I'm quitting school. Journalism is lame, dying, and frankly: unenfuckingjoyable. I have a bachelor's degree and no more tolerance for education. I'm tired of languishing in the stuffy halls of academia when I could be doing things that interest me and possibly making some sweet, sweet cash on the outside. "The outside!" Did I just say that? You see?! I subconsiously associate it with prision. So that's how school has been. ARE YOU HAPPY? IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED? IS IT, YOU DIRTY BITCH?!

At this point some panic sets in. I firmly believe I could say exactly what's written above and the next words out of the Pseudo-Interested Party's mouth would be (as they always have been) something implying the following: "You're not going to school anymore?! Well that's ok... if you're willing to be a FAILURE! Not everyone has to be successful."

Apparently there's a built in panic when you tell people that you aren't going to do it anymore, and that further you have no intention of continuing in the area at all. Sure I'll stick it out through the semester, but I'm not wasting another six months on something for which I harbor a mounting contempt.

So, this is my formal announcement of my intention to withdraw from the school of journalism. It's been fun (to mock), but I think I'm better suited to other pursuits. Suggestions?

- Scott

P.S. If you'd like to know why I'm withdrawing from the field read the companion post below.

Selected Scenes Supporting Sundering Scott's Second Secondary Schoolin'

2006-12-06T13:31:00.000-06:00

Because sometimes aliteration is irrestible. And so damned easy. Anyway this is a companion post answering a few questions you might have about the above. I think the best way to explain why journalism and I go together like babies and barbed wire is to give a few examples of things I've done, things that have been remarked upon, and in one case receiving a most noble branding.

You should probably read this post: I hate you so (effing) much. In addition I once wrote an assignment where every other line rhymed.
Allegedly I accuse people of murders. To be fair, I only do this when every piece of evidence has already been established and the person in question is certainly the murderer. But apparently a judge has to say it before I can publish it. Libel lawsuits. Bah.
The professor apparently did not find this as funny as I do. The article was about the reburial of Juan Peron, former President of Argentina, husband to Madonna. The picture was of brawling political factions hitting each other with rocks, bats, and rubber bullets as the casket is being moved. The headline I wrote was: Don't Riot For Me, Argentina. The professor was "Tempted to fail the assignment just for that."
"Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people, right? So basically by making our stories constantly about people it essentially means that either we're a bit slow or we're writing for people who really shouldn't bother reading." I was a called an elitist for that, but it's where I was going anyway.
Finally, my favorite: we were debating what a medium sized, failing paper should do to make money and stay in the business of good reporting. My reply was something along the lines of:

"Well we constantly hear how much good reporting costs, so you can't really have good reporting until you're making money. So plan for that five years down the road. In the mean time you have to orchestrate a scheme wherein you're in bed with advertisers. You write stories that happen to mention some product or service that happen to buy ad space in your papers. Now the public is dumb, but eventually they'll catch on. When you feel like they are getting close, that's when you put phase two into effect. Essentially you have the higher-ups of the newspaper and the product you're advertising work together. The newspaper will send a patsy reporter to "discover" some minor, mildly unacceptable issue with the product in question. The seller of said product will have planted this issue, and as such will be able to clean it up in record time. The exposé will cast off suspicions of bias, while the company whose product you sell will get some free press and will receive a follow up article about how competently they solved the problem."

The professor replied: "Scott, that violated every article of the Society of Professional Journalists Code of Ethics. You may be the most unethical person I've ever taught." But it would have worked damn it.

- Scott

Simple Pleasures

2006-11-28T13:22:00.000-06:00

Good news. I'm back to posting. That's something you can all be thankful for, even now with your kitchens festering with the remains of last Thursday's meal. I took a much needed vacation from everything that wasn't absolutely essential and as it turns out that means the Wonder Blog from time to time. But don't think I came back without new post material. I was thinking of you the whole time. (Incidentally, that last line makes it sound like I was cheating on my blog with a pen and notepad. And now I'm trying to smooth things over.) Anyway on to the post proper:

/start post

Just this weekend I had some automotive fun*. Unfortunately it came at the cost of a massive interstate accident, but there's always a silver lining to every cloud; you can't blame yourself when you're so completely surrounded by the lining that the cloud doesn't affect you. Coming back from my second viewing of Bond we were stuck in the thick of interstate traffic. The bridge to Illinois just ahead and a promising looking road to our right, we decided to shoot the moon and get out of the gridlock.

So did 15 other cars. We were a mighty caravan, carving a swath of light through the dark countryside. However, mighty though we were, apparently there wasn't one GPS navigation system among us. Otherwise we might have forseen what became inevitable.

Following the caravan, we were perhaps the 8th or 9th car from the front, with several behind. The roads kept getting worse and worse. And eventually we were on a one lane dirt path between cornfields, but everyone behind the first driver (who I suspect was laughing madly) was so sure that our Magellan of the Highway could get us where we were going that nobody turned back.

...Until the one lane road came to an abrupt end in a marsh. Then pictures like the below:

The Panic: "Why are we stopping?"

The Abort: "How the hell are we going to turn around?"

The Do-It-To-Them-Before-They-Do-It-To-Us: "Use the shoulder, before they get here!"

And then we drove several miles back across the country side to find a different (workable) route. It remained hilarious.

- Scott

* This reminds me of my other favorite anti-social car behavior which you can read about below.

Simple Pleasures Continued

2006-11-28T12:52:00.000-06:00

You know, it really is the simple things that amuse me the most. Sure, I could go to the movies. But what I like even better is driving around the parking lot and waiting. Waiting for my moment. For that golden opportunity when one of the primo spots opens up near the front of a line, right next to the theater entrance. I then take that spot. But our story, dear readers, does not end here.

Instead, I orchestrate a masterful deception. Everyone in the car gets out and walks to the theater and back. On the way back, we appear as a group just heading to the car. I make a big show of taking out my keys. When I see a car hovering like a jackyl at a carcass I know it's time.

Everyone gets in the car. We buckle up. I put the car in reverse and back out. I get so far out of the spot that I force the car who's waiting to backup too. At this point I'm completely out of the spot, facing down the lane, ready to drive off into the night. ...But I don't drive off. I pull back in. And the schmuck who thought he was going to get a spot? Infuriated.

And then I laugh and laugh. Rinse and repeat as desired. The above post reminded me of it. You should all give it a shot sometime if you're ever (somehow) early for a movie when the lot is packed.

- Scott

The Wonder Blog

2006-11-27T18:01:00.000-06:00

Well it's official. We've taken that step together. A serious commitment that, if properly maintained, will last a lifetime and provide enduring gratification. I think you can guess where this is heading. There's really only one conclusion that makes sense.

That's right. I've registered a domain.

thewonderblog.com

I can rest easy in the knowledge that I will never be forced to say aloud "g-money-dope-fly" again.

- Scott

P.S. Tell your friends.

Top (five) of the Pops

2006-11-14T12:02:00.000-06:00

Wow, if I knew those ridiculous camera phone pictures I took a month ago were going to stir such good discussion I would have hopped off my lazy ass and posted them sooner. But timing is everything and I guess that was their time. Who knows. Anyway, things have calmed down a spell here in wacky (read: rigid) journalism land. What does that mean for you? Postage of course. Not the 39¢ kind. The priceless kind.

Top Five:

1.) The greatest thing ever. This relates directly to number three on my bottom five. It is, in fact, what I believe Rumsfeld was attempting to do. Unfortunately we missed exactly what happened to the hippy. But it was such a stealthy blow I have no doubt that he was bleeding internally, and completely unconsious of it.

2.) Franklin, you old hound. America The Book on founding fathers and why they'd be unelectable today: Franklin. "He loved the ladies. Loved 'em. Old, young, fat, thin, whatever. Couldn't get enough. Just loved 'em." In addition, I choose to believe this is why he had to do so damned much in his little planner. You try to juggle women. You need time management.

3.) V for Congressman. I won't say I knew it would happen. But I will say I hoped it would happen. I just wish I could be there today when it all goes down. (Also that I had the costume.)

4.) 30 minutes or it's late because we were discussing the "big questions and stuff..." An aside about weed for a second children, shall we? I have to say, I'm dissapointed. Pot smokers have grown increasingly lazy. And I don't mean as a result of the drug. I mean as a group. I don't want to get into an "In my day..." type thing. Because it's clearly far too early for that. But I will say that having it delivered to your home is nothing like what people in my generation had to go through. A personal example of mine you can read here. Also, nobody knows how to roll anything anymore except Europeans, and they're doing it to smoke their own cigarettes (which is about as cool as whittling.)

5.) Election Wrap-up Vid. I thought about not posting this. I don't need to gloat. I don't want to be that guy. However, most of it I hadn't seen, and because I think the kids of today need to know how to roll a blunt, and who better to show them than Donald Rumsfeld.

Bottom Five:

1.) I, for one, welcome our new robot overlords. Hopefully I'll be given a cushy position within the new robo-administration. Like Baltar got. Except I'd request two #6's three #8's and no Xena Warrior Princesses.

2.) Wal-Mart: Nothing gets by them. An accidental slip, sure. But was the slip not noticing the Nazi implication, or was it that too many of us heard about it. Alles klar, Herr Kommissar?

3.) Rummy subtly responding to (what can only be) a grad student. He's clearly been trained in the art of the Kung Fu - Fuck You.

4.) More terrifying reasons for a low approval rate. The more I think about it, the more I'm glad that there are people storming the capital in V costumes right now.

5.) Another "hell-in-a-handbasket" story. Because they're plentiful and the more we hear about it the more we hate it. Does that help? Who knows. But it definitely belongs on the Bottom Five.

- Scott

The world today seems absolutely crackers...

2006-11-10T14:57:00.000-06:00

Random thought of the day: Kama Sutra Cookie Cutters. The tag-line practically writes itself. "The best fucking cookies you've ever had..."

Random real-life product of the day: The 9/11 Commission Report. Why is it interesting? Because someone decided it needed a little pizzaz. That there was a better way to tell the story. That words are just too abstract. This person made the report into a comic book. The result is shown below.

They wisely edited out the Blam! next to the building.

Strangely, I'm reminded of those picto-bibles from childhood more than anything.

Also is that Saddam in the last panel? Are they implying that he gave Al-Queada weapons of mass destruction himself? That he literally handed them over? Are they going to have to retcon this section now that we know the Saddam story-arc turned out differently? Who can say? Am I ending this post playing the question game?

- Scott?

"Think the drink through."

2006-11-07T23:34:00.000-06:00

Dragging my feet on the election story I'm covering, which is due by 8:00 a.m. tomorrow, I'm looking for any excuse to do something else. I had a beer. Made myself a sandwich (from my delicious deli fixin's I pick up weekly). Had a beer with my sandwich. Then enjoyed another beer.

Then I wanted dessert. I went to the Bailey's Irish Cream to pour myself a nightcap and stopped. "Oh God, I'll be too drunk to write."

...and then I laughed and laughed. Because we all know that as a whole, writers are a sober, clean and virtuous folk.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to fill this mug again.

- Scott