It was cold out, in fact it was Out Cold

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There and Halfway Back Again; The Ho Ho Show

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey dere, hi dere, ho dere

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

Journal #2: My Mystery Date

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

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

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

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

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


- Scott

My Fantasy Date

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

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

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

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

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

- Scott

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

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

Que pasa?

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

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

1. Jimmy Eat World
2. Cake
3. Lostprophets

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

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

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

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

On the phone...

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





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

Because I enjoy "borrowing"

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

Click here.

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

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

My Thanksgiving; A Recap

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1000000 cool points if you get this one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A loving look back...

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

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

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

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

Bunch of complainers, all of you

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

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

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





Giggedy giggedy, OHHHH Yeah! - Scott

Political Free Zone Ahead

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smoking blunts and bustin' caps in whitey

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

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

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

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

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

How can I be more offensive?

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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





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

My Mom, the diplomat

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

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

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

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

Scotty 2 Hotty and the 3 Ply Nightmare

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go Team Venture!

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Rage Against the TV

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

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

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