In Good Company

Tom Selleck, Oprah, John D. Rockefeller Jr, Heather Graham, Johnny Lang, Thomas Paine, William McKinley, and myself. What do we have in common? Well besides varying degress of awesome-ness, with myself at one extreme (the good one), and Jonny "I look like a girl, but play white-blues on my acoustic guitar" Lang at the other, not much. To be fair, we're all pretty influential people... again except for Jonny Lang. But the real cosmic bond we all share is that we're born on the same day in the Age of Aquarius, which dawned in the 70's. It's sometime around brunch at this point.

Anyway, the day: January 29th, such a nice looking date. That's my birthday. And this one was the 21st. Much happened that I could expound on for hours. But I think I'll keep this quick and dirty. The way I likes it. Without further B.S. here is the annotated account of my night:

6:30: Go out to Dos Reales. Heavy Mexican food is always the best when there's a chance you might see it again later. I had a burrito the size of my thigh. Mistake #1. However Stephen made a bigger mistake. The Mexican waiter who was serving us didn't really speak English. He offered Steve his choice of beer sizes that sounded like "Tweeelve ounzez, twendy four ounzez, or sisteen ounzez." So, being reasonable, Steve went with the last option. Sixteen ounces sounded pretty good he thought, right in the middle. Cut to the waiter comming back with a brimming 60 ounce pitcher of Dos Equis and Stephen mustering up the courage to tackle it. It was pretty hilarious and he left fairly buzzed. (I too helped with this... but mostly I let Steve take care of himself.)

Also at the restaurant was Britney, the second girl eliminated from the current season of Beauty and the Geek. I ended up sitting at the table right next to her. A pretty entertaining, yet dumb girl dealing with the 14th of her 15 minutes of fame.

7:25: Some idiot, possibly me, suggested a power hour to start the night.

7:45: Seriously debate the merit of continuing the power hour.

7:46: Throw caution to the wind, the power hour continues. Remark on how good I look.

8:01: See old friend I know from Stevo's frat. Insult him by calling him the wrong name, then Mexican. Recall that he's actually Italian. Mention that he should have a more Italian name than Tony. Finally, drunkenly call him Andy Capp because of the hat he was wearing and demand that he bring me hot fries. Observe Tony's reaction of simply turning around and leaving the room. Remember to send him fan club application.

8:30: Remember that I'm still doing a power hour here and I'm about 10 shots behind.

8:31: Caught back up.

8:53: Join an equally buzzed Stephen in third round of "America, FUCK YEAH!"

9:15: Remember that there's a posh soirée in the basement of a certain residence I was supposed to attend.

9:20: Show up. Have beer. Question sexuality of man drinking Zima.

9:25: Announce to the room that I cannot feel my face. Duck under the arc of the slap aimed at my face by random drunk guy as he slurs: "I caaan feelst it."

9:30 to 11:45: Reply hazy. Ask again later.

11:45: Leave for bars. Note ridiculous lines from all the people out celebrating my birthday.

12:01: Give finger to clouds for raining on me during my long walk to the bar.

12:04: "Holy crap, I'm 21!"

12:05: Begin long drawn out argument with Legends' doorman about whether or not I'm actually 21. His claim is that it's the fiscal day that matters, not whether or not it's 12:00.

12:07: Give finger to Legend's.

12:07 and 30 seconds: Give dollar to the girl I slammed with the door as I was exiting and giving finger to Legend's. On seeing how happy one dollar made her, ponder what I could have gotten for five.

12:23: Arrive at Kam's. Demand and receive the "I'm 21, so now I can buy all my underaged friends a beer" wristband. Explain I was kidding about the underaged thing.

12:24: Buy underaged friend a beer.

Note underaged friend on left. Post hoc beer. Note Stevo and myself post hoct many beers.

12:55: Get asked by skeevy top-three-buttons-open-to-no-undershirt, gold-chain-around-neck, sunglasses-at-night guy if I'm Dee Brown. Let him down gently and explain that it happens all the time.

Before leaving take picture with girl.

1:05: Leave Kams for the Illini Inn. Join the illustrious mug club. In the past three years it has accrued well over 45,000 members. Pretty good for a bar smaller than my living room. I'm number 45570.

Enjoying a brew with #45137

2:01: Leave because of this "last call" garbage. Go upstairs from the Illini Club to Bonnie Jean's and enjoy delicious beer absorbing pizza.

2:05 to 3:45: Compensate for beer absorbed by pizza. Make fun of people and things, dry hair, pass out.

"I have good hair!"

9:00 AM: Wake up in foreign apartment unable to tell time. Panic about brain damage from so much beer possibly destroying my ability to use a wristwatch. Remember I just suck at telling time. Quickly scout out surroundings and discover that I'm at Nathan Rice's apartment. As evidenced by Nathan Rice.

THE END!

Ok not really. I went home to Springfield and received a lovely Adigo gift set of Diggnation Tea and also the backpack for Europe I really wanted. I'll end things with the note that came with the tea set. It's really the sentiment I take away from all of this.

Scott, you are the greatest. We love you far more than your brother. It's true. We wrote this. - Mom and Dad

What a great family I have.

- Scott

Step Right Up...

Apparently the circus sideshow act isn't dead, it's just on cable. Has anyone else been watching The Learning Channel lately? More like The Damn Freak Channel. A short list of what's been on:

• The Half Ton Man
• Dwarf Family
  
• The 750 Pound Man
• The Girl Who Turned to Stone
• The Woman With Half A Body
• The 200 Pound Tumor
• The 627lb Woman
• Face Eating Tumor
• Born Without A Face
• The World's Strongest Boy
• The Boy Whose Skin Fell Off
• Born With Two Heads
• Archie: The 84 Pound Baby
  

What's sick, other than some of these people, is that having watched all of them means more than twelve hours of my life was devoted to this crap. And I've watched a few of them twice. The thing is I always want them to be about two seconds long. Like we cut to the boy and he's like "Well... daggum it, one day ma skin just fell'd off." Because if your skin fell off, you'd talk like a toothless old southerner too. I also think they should play ironic music in the background instead of the stock "sympathetic orchestral piece" they use at the moment. For instance there happens to be a song by Boy Hits Car called "Man Without Skin." Here's a lyrical excerpt:

You're like a man without skin.
Everything that touches seems to hurt him .
And he says maybe I'm just a person.
But I'll be for you if you let me.

It sells itself really. And another thing, what's with the super imaginative names? For instance The 627lb Woman, happened to be about... that's right a woman who weighed 627 pounds. They didn't even bother smoothing out the numbers on that one. In the past they at least rounded to the nearest half ton. But you know women... so vein. "I won't have people thinking I weigh 630 pounds. I'm no FATASS!" Sure honey, lots of people mesasure their BMI in scientific notation.

The Woman With Half a Body? Yep. Half a body. She wasn't all there, of course as her husband notes not all of her has to be. It's a shame they couldn't have sculpted something for her out of the 200 pound tumor they took of that other chick. And what a great cameo Arnold Schwarzenegger could have made there. "IT'S NOT A TUMOR! You are just a fat non-girly girl! Let me introduce you to the 627 pound woman... your twin! BECAUSE YOU ARE FAAAT!" Obviously the Arnold in my head is pretty belligerent.

Another another thing. The Dwarf Family: why weren't they wrestlers? That's a pretty great schtick there. Can you imagine a whole family of dwarves just laying into some wrestler? All in different colored costumes so you can tell them apart. Norm MacDonald would probably explode with delight. (He references midgets and hookers alot, so if one of them was a hooker too that'd probably be good.)

In the end I've come to a conclusion. Two actually. First is that these people should probably get more money from TLC. Come on, they ain't going from town to town here, they've got to make all their cash in one shot. And secondly, they should form some kind of Sideshow Justice League, SJL, and fight crime with their combined powers of distraction. I can see the criminals now. "I was going to suicide bomb this place, but these people... I just could not look away. That one does not have a face! Swear to Allah! No face! I must have watched for an hour, the next thing I knew I was in cuffs. Damn you Sideshow Justice League!" That's like, if they caught a terrorist. It would vary from crime to crime, but I think that's just semantics.

Anyway my point is... way to kick ass TLC!

- Scott

P.S. The Girl Who Turned to Stone reminds me of the aptly named boneitis from Futurama.

At least SOMEBODY can launch a rocket

I'm already an international sensation, that's not news. More interesting however, is the fact that NASA is now in the business of launching probes with my name on them into the outer reaches of our galaxy. That's right kids, the rocket launch that's supposed (EDIT: It did in fact, happen but this post was written before the launch and I didn't send it up because I liked the responses to my Synthesia post so much) to happen today, will bear a disc with my full name on it. Of course this means that aliens, equipped with CD-ROMS, will be able to get my name and track me down through Google. But this does not concern me too much. There's a few thing I want to ask them like, "Guys, what's with the anal probes? Can't you just scan us or something? I mean, you can travel light years, semi-successfully veil yourselves in secrecy, but you can't build an MRI? What the hell E.T.?"

The best/most futuristic part however is that it's not powered by normal rocket fuel. Or gas. Regular or unleaded. It needs something with a little more kick... plutonium. That's right, I'm telling you that this sucker's nuclear*. It'll pass the moon 9 hours after launch. That's pretty blindingly fast. Japan also recently launched a probe to Pluto. From what I've learned from the NASA channel we've already passed it too. Apparently it's flying at about half the speed of anything else and has been inexplicably flying with its turn signal on for the last 45,000 miles, almost as inexplicable as having a turn signal . Oh those crazy stereotypes.

Not that we're doing much better. The Ugly American tourist cliche now extends to the stars in the form of the ridiculous names that got put on the disc along with mine. Unfortunately no amount of money, asking nicely, or promising to be NASA's friend would get them to just paint my name on the side of the probe along with "Don't f*ck with Earth!" So, they took other names as well. A few thousand actually. Among the gems are Hugh Jass, Mike Grotch, and Heywood Jablome. Classy Earth, really classy.

**(Floating asterisks)

- Scott

* I'm hoping Nathan Harry caught the blatant Back to the Future reference here.
** Thanks for reminding me Josh.

Oh thank GOD

I just wanted to give you all a progress report on 2006. I can sum it up pretty succinctly; it kicks ass. The year's been off to a good start from day one. There's alot to be happy about, graduation, turning 21, touring Europe with my friends. But I think the thing I'm currently the most happy about is pretty freaking awesome. I just realized it today when I was writing a note. There's no 5 in the year.

That's right. No stupid hard to write number for this entire year. My percentage of checks I can write correctly, first try just went up enormously. More than once it looked like I was trying to fake a date because my fives are just horrible. If I slow down I can pull off a nice looking five, but it's a debilitating disorder. I should probably get a special parking spot for it. My God, I'm so brave...

But this year? 2 0 0 6. Easiest one since 2003. I've got some pretty awesome three's. By far the most personality of any of my numbers. I've got one pretty gangster looking three. Like 1930's gangster. He's constricted in the top curve, then all loosey goosey in the bottom. The most art deco of all my numbers. He just pops up out of nowhere sometimes. Very cocky that one. Then I have my ernest three. Just a hard working number doing his part to form a math problem, or a date, or some other number usage not specifically mentioned here... but I digress.

In short 2006 is shaping up to be a good year; one I can write.

- Scott

P.S. Does anyone else think of letters/numbers as male or female? For instance three is male. Kind of a rapscallion tyke. Am I the only one with Synthesia?

P.P.S. Photos of number writing available on request.

They Should Teach This Blog At College

I've always thought that. This blog is far more relevant to today's college student than statistics. I think just for reading it you should get some kind of college credit. In fact you could probably test out of Slang just for this blog. Your school doesn't have Slang 101? Pfft. What kind of fly-by-night B.J.U. do you go to? I damn near majored in slang. Would have been tight too, that ish is straight hyphy.

Anyway, this blog. And how it should be required reading. Well my friends, that day has already come. A few weeks back Robert Morris College's own Professor Hager decided to include my blog in her lesson plan. That's right. There are people who literally have to read this. To those people I say: hi. I also say: Be glad I'm not Joyce, or Kafka, or anyone else who was pissed off at their father and as a result force you to suss out paragraph after paragraph of symbolism, to finally come to the conclusion that, "Oh hey, they were pissed at their father." Although come to think of it, most great writers were. That and alcoholic. Unless the old man spends all of my inheritance I think I can only manage half of that equation.

So the reading, apparently the kids (for they were mere freshmen) had to read the greatness that is the Wonder Blog and then evaulate its worth as a source for a paper. Of course there were also a few other sites mixed in as well... but really those were a waste of time compared to the shining jewel they found here. La professora hasn't let me see what they wrote about it just yet, but I plan to post the responses they had in the comments after I find out (probably tomorrow). I think we can expect nothing short of utter adoration. Although, now that I think about it a large number of people now have a ridiculous amount of information about me. Price of fame, baby.

But if I'm going to be taught alongside Plato, Aristotle, and most likey Hip-hop-crates I think I should condense an idea down to an easily quoted mantra for living. In this spirit I bequeath to future generations the following aphorism... in pirate's map form.

- Scott

Misuse of Skills + Free Time = Crazy Devious

Man, that was a rough week. Thanks for the condolences. What do you mean how were you supposed to know? I didn't post for almost five week days! Where were the search parties? I could be lying dead surrounded by women. Hot women. In mourning. That killed me through "exhaustion." Fortunately for all of you (and the women) I'm still alive and, like Principal Skinner, was merely trapped under an avalanche of school work. It took me two weeks to get out of the holiday funk and back into doing awe inspiringly great work in classes.

For instance, I'd been putting off a 7 page research paper since the first day of the class. It was due today; yesterday I had nothing. Today I spent the morning cutting the paper back to seven pages rather than the roughly 15 it was going to be if I didn't. And that's just one day of work! I think I was just hungry to write. Really write something good. I can't remember the last time I had the chance to. (Phantom Waldorf: Neither can we!) Shut-up voice in my head!

Anyway, two things happened this week that warrant discussion. The first I'll let speak for itself. (So technically it warrants monologue.)

For the visually impaired it says: Mr. Pibb + Red Vines = Crazy Delicious.

Who knew that those crazy kids from The 'Bu would make it so big on SNL. And by making it big on SNL I mean they illicited a laugh from me without resorting to something completely worthless. Of course, that it wasn't actually live might be worth some debate... but I digress. Awesome shirt. And in fact, it was in this apparel of the counterculture that I went out into the neighborhood with the other thing that's kept me so busy this week: my senior project.

My senior project is kind of in the vein of Tim's trickery. While other kids are going for the gold(en paper of their diploma) with legitimate projects based on databases, and accountant spreadsheets, I decided to forge for myself and my partner a slightly more interesting project. A little bit on the 1337 side of things. The project, the quest, the goal: a cantenna. The ultimate in wireless network extension. Take a look:

I can't believe I'm allowed to have a drill.

Clearly visible are the aviator "safety" glasses, drill bits, lengths of wire, connectors, and the can Bailey's Irish Cream came in. Oh Lordy, how I loves me some Bailey's. All mad scientists need their alcohol of choice. There wasn't any around or I'd do the real mad scientist thing and chug moonshine. Anyway, much like Captain Planet, when those elements combine you get yourself a cantenna. And a license to wreak havoc.

Justin: the Igor to my Dr. Hornstien.

See the green? See how it's so high all of a sudden? That's the result of pointing a powerful cantenna at the computer. The amount of gain that I get out of it borders on what's considered illegal by the FCC. So that's cool. It's also a MacGyver'd together $12 dollar solution to what would cost about $250 to buy professionally. Anyway, with all of this software and technology we started to pick up networks in my neighborhood. Like mad. So we decided to look around.

Cleverly armed with an arsenal of... armorment, I set out to reap digital desctruction on the landscape. This took the form of getting into the router configurations of unsecured routers and politely advising them that security was very important. Such messages generally read "You've been TAGGED... SUCKA!" and "I pity the fool don't use WPA encryption."

Such is the power of a devious geek. I'm Reginald Hornstien, and that's one to think about.

- Scott

Vo-Nage.

Hi kids. I've been as swamped as New Orleans (what, is this also too soon?) lately so I haven't had time to post. Hurricane "Blowing off a week of school before break" came and bit me in the ass. So now that the majority of my back homework is made up (as far as I know) and now that I've had a bit o' rest since the violent transition back to the world of scheduals and due dates, I'm ready to drop a few trains on you. I can only hope you're ready to receive them.

Recently something has been seriously inciting my ranting wrath. This something: utter mis-use of computer jargon, and mispronunciation of common tech company names. The biggest offender: a local advertisement for Vonage, the broadband phone company. It's pronounced Von-age. In fact the vice president of the company once addressed this matter stating, " The name Vonage... is meant to imply "the age of VON" (Voice over Net)." Yes I know, she too is ridiculous. However, dumbass local guy always leads into the commercial break with "Sponsorship of this program provided by "Vo-Nage." And he does so in the most annoying-self-assured-but-wrong manner imaginable.

To the announcer I say this: if I ever catch you around town, confidently striding about and telling people about your Vo-Nage endorsements I think I'll kick you in the nuts. Just so you know.

Feel free to add to this list similar offenders.

- Scott

Trail of Bastards

I was recently having lunch with two lovely ladies and Nathan Rice, and one of the LL's broached an interesting topic. Near her school is a state park for the Trail of Tears. I was unaware that there were any commerative Trail of Tears tourist attractions. This led me to wonder just what kind of exhibits they might have at this park? Maybe a guided audio tour from the perspective of one of the Indians? "How. My name is Farting Cat. I died near this tree from starvation. Just beyond that turn is a great scenic overlook where a good twenty of my tribe died. Be sure to get a picture. Thank you for comming to the Trail of Tears State Park where my people's suffering is finally expressed. Please stop at the gift shop and make sure to pick out your very own 'I went to the Trail of Tears State Park and all I got was this crappy t-shirt. But at least I didn't die of starvation and cruelty like the thousands of Indians who came here before me.' t-shirt."

It's gotta be like having a gift shop at Auschwitz. What do they sell there? Dustbusters? (Oh my Lord am I sorry, but as I was typing and trying to think of a funny/horrible object that sprang, unbidden, into my head.) It's almost as horrible as the new Greyhound bus tours of the New Orelands debacle. That's right. Now you too can observe half drowned residents from the comfort of a chartered bus. Thought it was only for the president*? Not anymore. Don't care to actually go? No problem. Feel free to play a guitar at the depot while your friends and family check out the destruction.

So, after the relative success of these endeavours, I've decided to capitalize on tragedies of my own. I was thinking of selling glow in the dark clothing and fake Geiger counters at Nagasaki. And maybe some fun things for the kids, like Fat Man shaped firecrackers. Why not? It seems to be the new hawtness.

- Scott

* Though periodic month-long vacations to your "ranch", the ability to blow off work and do whatever the hell you'd like while a team of experts claim that people who point this out are unamerican, that's still just for the president.

Tanned, Relaxed, and Ready to Post

Hi kids. You didn't think I'd let 2005 slip away without one more post on the Wonder Blog did you? If so you've sorely misjudged the importance I place on symbolic dates. I'm proud of you all, not one "where the hell is Scott" comment. I conjure that's mostly because I'm seeing a nice chunk of you in person and you know damn well where I am. And also, people are out living their lives. But I think the real reason is because you respect my privacy. As an S-list celebrity I really appreciate fans that can respect me that way. In fact, there were only a few paparazzi. I think I'll show you a few of their shots.

Somehow they took one of me, inside the apartment. That's just such an invasion of privacy it's scary. Even worse, they had the screen flipped out to the side so I could see how good I looked. I ended up not even looking into the camera because I was so enthralled by my own visage. Bastards! But reguardless of how boyishly good looking I come off, there is a fire in me that is radiating heat, and a message. That message? F- cold weather. I punch it in the face.

As such, I blew off the Midwest and its frigid winters for the sunny Caribbean aboard the good ship ms Westerdam. There it is. The bastards snapped a shot of it when it was anchored off a private island. On the right of the photo (port of the ship) you can see one of the lifeboat "tenders" I took to shore.

Earlier in the vacation I had visited here. Sunny St. Thomas. Who knew it was the real life home of the Sealab? I kept saying omnious things, but no matter what I said the thing wouldn't blow up at the end. That's why they make the big bucks at the bottom of the sea I guess...

However, in no way does that mean that I can't visit the bottom of the sea myself. Hey self, lookin' good. At that point I was Neptune, LORD OF THE SEA. You know nothing of my work! Sealab 2021 jokes abounded, but because there were no radios, no one could hear me. I took full advantage of this and propositioned the professional diver, there to keep an eye on us. She could keep more than that on me. Come to think of it, I hope she can't read lips. I had a gaye old time of it. Jumping up and down on the bottom of the ocean, held down by the incredibly heavy bell on my head (the thing weighs about 80 pounds out of water). It was basically moon physics, so I did the Neil Armstrong thing and hopped about. Sadly the hot diver lady shut me down with head shake and a wagging finger of amused dissaproval. I almost smote her (LORD OF THE SEA, remember?) but I decided she was just hot enough to escape punishment.

Later that day, we decided to rent hardcore, manly motorcycles. And by that, I mean scooters. Those things booked though; Ross with the only functional dashboard, told us we topped out at about 80 kph/50mph. Not too shabby. Here, we're lost. But we're in St. Thomas, who the hell cares?

After a successful navigation back to the ship before it left us (narrow window that was), we had a nice dinner onboard ship. It was a formal night, so that meant suits and ties. Bleh. But at least I look sexy, so it's hard to hate the nights completely. I really liked how seriously the old folks took it. Quite a few tuxedos abounded, and I started to feel a bit underdressed. Then I noticed that no male under the age of 50 was wearing one and relaxed. "But Scott, we know you ate dinner. Why include a picture?" Well, I just like how dumb my brother looks in it.

The next day we chartered a sailboat. The Random Wind. It was quite a day. Free rum punch, beer, soda, and food. Not to mention getting to sail the boat. It was really relaxing, and a great way to escape all the elderly people on our cruise, none of them could stomach the high seas. We went snorkleing, and swimming at each place we stopped. At one point a lady's shirt blew overboard. Being the strapping young LORD OF THE SEAS I am, I decided to hop overboard and go get it. It had sank bottom and that meant about 15-18 feet where we were. So I strapped on some fins and a mask and went after it. Little did I know I would come face to face with the lord of all bony fish... a barracuda. We squared off he was swimming past the shirt, and I wanted the shirt. The situation was comming to a head.

For a moment we stared each other down. Then, after talking with the fish for a moment, we realized that we knew some of the same people, and that we liked each other pretty well. So he went his way, and I grabbed the shirt; returning to the surface the shirt in my fist broke the water first, followed by the rest of my glorious body. A cry went up. I was a hero, and the button up was safe for another day. My reward? Free beers... that were already free.

I also made a sport of rescuing starfish from certain destruction at the links of the anchor chain. Same depth. Only the starfish cheered me this time.

A quick picture of Ross and I the second time we rented scooters on Tortolla. See how his leg is wet? That's because I, inadvertantly, ran him off the road and nearly into a cliff. It's really his fault for comming up on my left. I chalk it up to the crazy British practice of driving on the left. I fully realize that doesn't explain how it got wet. He got muddy when he went off road, it was just after the daily downpour, so he washed off in the sea. There. Now you know.

Another formal night. I'm a bit trashed here. You might be able to tell. I'm drinking a Flaming Gunther with a straw for the love of Neptune! I dubbed it the Flaming Gunther because it's a coffee drink with lots of alcohol in it that was set on fire. Flaming for the alcohol and fire, Gunther for the coffee. Brilliant.

Faceplant!

I think this one is pretty clear. I'll leave it at that.

Here I am flying my kitesurfing kite. I had a pretty good time when the wind was cooperating. Sadly, that didn't last as long as I would have liked.

I was getting tricky and clipped the water with the edge of my kite. Had the stunt panned out a little better I was sure to fly several feet into the air. Instead, I got the pleasure of advice from 80 year old tourists about how I should try to keep it in the air and a smarmy look from my brother.

Here's another from our last formal dinner on the ship. Is is the name of the Filipino toy soldier between Ross and I. He was the mint guy who handed out after dinner mints, he was really funny. "Yummy yummy for your tummy" he was awesome enough to not sound dumb as he said that. Also, the dude was always happy. Huge smile, childish glee all the time. Why are Ross and I looking so happy? Well the merry mint-er tickled the hell out of us just as the flash was going off.

And here we have a typical scene at the end of the day. Beautiful sunset, ships comming and going at the laziest pace immaginable, a nice mixed drink in my hand. Is there anything better?

That's all suckas!

You made it to the end. Congratulations. You get a picture of me. This one isn't paparazzi, it's a Wonder Blog exclusive. Cherish it. And Happy New Year.

- Scott

The Tops

One of the music blogs I frequent recently posted their choices for the Top 22 Songs of 2005. Why 22? I don't know. But it's a nice round number (though I would have used either 8 or 1995) and all 22 songs are worth hearing. I don't necessarily agree that these are the best songs of 2005, but a lot of them are on my list anyway. Without further bullshit, I give you the link. All the songs are download-able for free so you can hear them for yourself. And as a bonus I'll tell you which songs are actually the best, or at least, my favorites.

Said The Grammophone's Top 22 Songs of 2005.

Scott's Personal Favorites:

Andrew Bird - Fake Palindromes: This is one of my favorite songs of all time. It's not my normal fare by any means, but the lyrics really drive it home. I find myself singing this song all the time, and occasionally inserting lyrics from it into everyday speech. Most of the time I can work it in so casually nobody stops and says "Wait, what the hell are you talking about?" Now that's smooth baby. Give it a listen. Bonus side trivia: Andrew Bird plays almost every instrument in the song except drums. Double bonus: I can't hear the lyrics "Dewy eyed Disney bride" without thinking of Allyn.

Kelly Clarkson - Since U Been Gone: I know. I know. Kelly Clarkson... what the hell. But the damn song is addiciting. Sean's description is perfect, so I'd strongly urge you to just read that. In addition I'll admidt that when I'm alone at my apartment or when I'm driving I'll just put this on and freaking rock out. To compensate for the gay-ness of this one song I also hunt deer... with my bare hands.

Sufjan Stevens - Casmir Polaski Day: This song makes me think of Rachel Sandvig. I don't know why. Anyone remember her? While I'm not a Sufjan fanatic, I do kind of enjoy him from time to time. So if I'm not wild about the song and I don't have anything more insightful to say about it than Rachel Sandvig referenes why list it? To piss off Jake.

Imogen Heap - Hide and Seek: Didn't Lauren Bitchwater want to name her child Imogen once? That taint aside, the song is entrancing. It's like staring into a fire. Anticipate four minutes, twenty eight seconds of not doing anything. Once again, not my usual fare, but a worthy song for the list.

The Strokes - You Only Live Once: Glad to see The Strokes can actually evolve musically as a band. I liked their first two albums, but there wasn't a lot of difference between them. So I got a little scared. Especially considering that another band I once liked has done nothing different since their debut. I'm looking in your direction Coldplay. Way to grow as an artist, asshole(s)! Speed of Sound? More like "Cut from the first album."

I could go on, but I don't think I need to. Suffice it to say Wolf Parade, Broken Social Scene, and LCD Soundsystem are all represented with songs that are definitely worth a curious listen. I also like Agent Simple, if for no other reason than that their name reminds me of Improv Everywhere, and I love Improv Everywhere.

So that's all for today. I probably won't be able to post again until Monday when I'm settled into my new floating city of a ship. Feel free to post responses and rebutals, I look forward to it. But now, off to skate in Forest Park. The next time most of you see me I'll be much tanner, hopefully not too tan though. I don't want to get searched at the airports*.

- Scott

* You could be offended here, but come on. You know that's how it works.

W.A.D.W.U.S. Vol 1, First Edition.

Today's post is to be the first of many entries into the WADWUS. That's an acronym. It stands for "Wicked Awesome Directory of Words Used by Scott". It was originally going to be the more flowing "Wicked Awesome Directory of Words Scott Uses" but that doesn't spell anything. Nothing useful like WADWUS anyway. So let's get down to the bread and butter of the WADWUS directory: words I use.

• 1995: The default date for something old. For instance "Wow, what an edgy guy... for 1995!" or "Nice taste in music Jacob, what is this, 1995?"
  

• 8: Arbitrary number. Used in a similar fashion to 1995, except this denotes ridiculous understatement. For instance: "Dude have you heard of the Carribean? There's like eight islands there." or "Man did you see Goblet of Fire? There were like eight wizards in that movie!" Always said in an excited manner.

• Boobs: Also said in an excited manner, but in so far as the the WADWUS goes just something I like to write in the margins of borrowed books and on computer keyboards at RMC. I also spent an entire class period one day in Cisco writing various obscenities with a label maker. It's a recurring theme in my school work. Often times I try to spell it down one side of a paper connecting every first letter in the line.
  

• Mesa: As used by me, not an elevated rocky plateau, but a measure of magnitude. For instance, "That was some mesa bad food poisoning. I thought I was going to crap out my skeleton." In the metric system mesa comes after yotta.
  

• Hilariculous: A term for use when a situation is both hilarious and ridiculous and that's just too many -ous's to not sound dumb. Plus with the sheer amount of time you save you could easily comment on my word skillz. I created this one.
  

• Plusdick: Also one I created though not a word I use very often as it's actually the nickname of a friend of mine. His real name is Tyler Adcock. But I thought Adcock was just a little plain for my tastes. So doing some quick mental math utilizing the transitive property Add Cock became Plus Dick. The scientific formula looks like this: (+ 8=======>) = (+ 8======>). And you thought you'd never use algebra.

Of course there are many I left out. But this is only volume one, I think you have quite enough to study as it is. If I left out any Scott-isms feel free to remind me. I'm just so prolific it's hard to do myself justice.

That's all I have in me for tonight. Merry Christmas kids.

- Scott

The Secret to Motivation

I am so checked out right now. As a rule, I think that only people who are clossal tools use the word senioritis, so I won't. But I relate to the concept, so I henceforth rename it: this-week-next-time-I'll-be-on-a-nice-warm-island-blissfully-sipping-an-alcoholic-beverage-itis. As a result, nothing will be getting done this week. Or so I thought just a few scant hours ago. Then I stumbled upon a revolutionary epiphany that may well rock the very foundation of our very society. Here it very is: if you want to feel motivated to do something, find someone who can't do it. Then proceed to remind yourself how lucky you are by flaunting your ability to do simple tasks. (It's better if you do it out of their sight. Not for your motivation, just your what's the thing... oh, soul.) It's horrible I know. But it came to me as I was trying to get about eight things done and ignoring all of them to chill in the recliner and watch some TV. Flipping through channels I landed on The 750 Pound Man (at first I thought it was a beanbag). Out of sheer, morbid curiosity I decided to watch.

When they got into his relatively normal back story of simply being a lazy, lazy bastard it terrified me. I'm a lazy bastard! I can't let all this go and live like that! And instantly got up and cleaned my house, did 50 situps (which burned... burned so good), and pounded out three homework assignments. And now a blog post. I'm seriously impressed at the resolve right now. I think I've been scared straight. Don't get me wrong I feel bad for the guy, but somehow someone go through physical therapy to be able to more easily scratch themselves in bed makes me feel like an Olympian for flipping over the end of my couch into a 9.5 point TV watching sprawl. Not to mention how comparitively ripped I look next to this guy. You could bounce a quarter off my knee. Can he say that? I think not. Now, if you'll excuse me I think I'm going to go lift some baskets of laundry all the way over my head!

- Scott

P.S. What are the odds that during this season of loving and togetherness both Tim and I would have darker than average posts?
P.P.S. The ship I'm going to be sailing on over this holiday season, the ms Westerdam, has an internet cafe. So expect regular reports of how much better my day is going than yours.

I prefer the invasion of the Fantanas

So, I like monsters. I'm excited (finally after originally thinking it was a dumb idea for a remake) about King Kong. When I read what looked like a legitimate BBC article about a zombie-like disease infecting people in Thailand I was thrilled. I know how to fight zombies! I've practically been training my whole life. For instance I know that you have to destroy the brain to really shut one down. You might unload a clip into it, and it might go down. But once you get to the key and pass back over it, the allegedly re-dead zombie will spring back to un-life with increased strength and speed. It is what is known as a "Crimson Head." Although if he does get you just make sure to combine some red and blue herbs to restore health and posion resistance to continue the fight.

See? I'm ready. (It should be noted that I figured out the article was a fake in about three seconds, but I just wanted to believe so bad...) However there is one mythical plague that I'm completely ill-prepared for. And that is the invasion of the giant jelly fish. They're currently attacking Japan. And most surprisingly of all, it's legit. Here's a link to the story. And below is a picture of the beasts shortly before devouring one of their human prey.

IT'S PEANUT BUTTER JELLY FISH!

Terrifying. Even more so because if someone made a Metroid joke here I would laugh. I think the best part of this whole story however, is that the people of Japan are responding... by eating the invaders. The thing I take away from all of this is that I should move to Japan, the women dress like schoolgirls, giant sea creatures invade sometimes, and passing out business cards is customary. If it weren't for them damn ninjas flipping out and killing people and popping 10 boners... maybe, just maybe.

- Scott

Sneak Like a Spaniard, Tumble Like a Weed

Apparently I'm more physically talented than I give myself credit for. Maybe it's the shoes. Whatever the reason, I've been ridiculously sneaky the past two weeks. I've been popping up next to people with more efficiency than even the Sidler. The last two times this happened to me were both at movie concession stands. The earlier time I had slipped out of Ice Harvest (horrible, horrible movie) to get a refill. I walked up to the counter just as the girl bent down to put some snacks away. When she turned back I was there. Fear met desire and a cry/moan of shock/lust escaped her lips. The second time when the reel broke at Goodnight, and Good Luck, I mosey-d on down to the concession stand to get some snackage to make that dry turkey of a flick more bearable. Same thing, the girl had her head turned, I walked to the counter started in with "What up, could I get some Reces's Pieces?" which was also quite shocking for the girl in question.

If I were some kind of unaware-women-murderer I would be cleaning up. Making out like a bandit I tell you! (Insert Family Guy-esq cutscene of a bandit awkwardly attempting to kiss a girl at a drive in movie, followed by my revision: "...well, maybe a little better than that.") But that's not the extent of my mutant powers. Not by a pantload. I also have the ability, or even skill, to fall down flights of stairs with little to no phsyical damage. I have done so when the occasion suited me in the past, and did it recently at Josh and Allyn's place. I think I decided it was necessary after the 10th time I heard "Becareful, the stairs are icy!" At that point I just threw myself down the stairs, tumbling like a sassy child in a dryer, then smacked into the concrete at the bottom and kept on rollin'. I finally stopped on the sidewalk and lay prone in one of positions made popular by the police chalkings-around-dead-foo's. I proceeded to moan: "If only you had warned me just a little sooner, or perhaps a few more times!"

It was good times for all.

- Scott

Add another moment to the list

We all, like Cool Runnings, have our moments. Some of us even like to name them. For instance, Rob imparted to me a term that I use quite often describing a moment where everything works perfectly like a movie, that term: cinematic moment. On this week's episode of one of TV's funniest animated programs featuring a 10 year old black child as the main character, The Boondocks, the theme was about nigga moments. A nigga moment is when for no apparent reason, otherwise charming and bright individuals will suddenly abandon all reason and through rage get themselves into a situation they can't get out of, like jail. (I know what you're thinking but it's not racist if I'm just giving a synopsis!)

Anyway, to this list of moments I add my own. I dub it the Julia Roberts Pretty Woman moment. It happened to me when I was at the mall. Just hanging out, minding my own business. I saw the very same Calvin Klein suit I purchased last week (after much conflict, discomfort, and amid hilarious bits (I was on fire)). Anyway I guess I wasn't really dressed to impress in my 80's Member's only jacket, my Vans, and my favorite pair of jeans, but I looked damn sexy. Despite this as I was compairing dress shirts to the suit the snooty salesman sauntered over to me and motioned for me to take off my headphones. He proceeded to look down his nose so intently I thought he was going to aim a sneeze at me before saying "I bet you wish you could buy that. Don't you? Pesant*?"

What the hell? Do I look like I just rode a borrowed mule from my thatched roof cottage or something? Those headphones went to an iPod! A 40-gig too, not some pissy 2-gig hand-me-down! I shot back "Actually, I already have this one, mostly for lounging around in, maybe going to the bars." He then sprang into Mr. Helpful Ass Kisser. It was darling. I ended up with four new shirts and he ended up with no comission** because I let him help me then bought them later. Ha!

- Scott

* True, except for the pesant bit. Too tempting to leave out.
** Do Famous Bar Employees*** get comission?
*** Also, why was this guy sweating me? He works at Famous Frickin' Bar who is he to judge?

It's been one week...

I can't think of more appropriate song lyrics. You know the song with the listing of things? Barenaked Ladies? A band that, much like Free Corndogs, changed their name to trick people into comming to their concerts. Which is a damned dirty trick, and as such I love it. I also like that the Barenaked Ladies now have nothing better to do than appear on VH1 "I love" series and Comedy Central Specials.

Anyway, the song lyrics, they're appropriate because it's been a friggin' week since I posted. That is just not acceptable. However you didn't miss much. I did get in some good hang time with old friends in town, but not nearly enough. This year continued the tradition of the Drunken Thanksgiving. I don't really think I had as good a time this year. Perhaps too drunk? That's something to think about for the next year. Maybe work out a formula for just exactly when to start drinking to be at my pique intoxication when we get to Mad Gab and Buzz Word.

I'll get on that. You enjoy this gem. I'm serious. If you've never followed a link I've laid down, now is the time to redeem yourself. It's amazing.

- Scott

C'mon post

Current Mood: Impressively lazy (instead of finding the remote and muting the TV, I just turned the game up louder)
Current Music: Led Zepplin - Kashmir (as played through an NES music processor)

Nintendo should just start making everything. I mean it. The NES controller is already a belt buckle, MP3 player, and all around geek chic item. The NES itself is the ultimate in computer case mods. So really, why isn't it still the 80's? That seems to be the basis of all fashion, music, and movies today. Are we any better off? Oh yeah, blazing fast porn. How could I forget.

Anyway I wanted to whip out a post considering the likelihood that I'll be busy these next few days (what with my being a stud and all the girlies being home for Thanksgiving... better get 'em before the holiday flux sets in). And this post is all about my favorite person: myself. So let's bring you all up to speed on what I've been doing and what I'm going to be doing over the past, and next few days respectivelly. And we'll use the post condensing tool of the year: bullets.

• Last few days: Went and saw Walk the Line which had some serious pacing issues. However whatever went on during the 2nd act was completely drowned out by the drunk-off-his-ass heckler in the back periodically slurring "C'mon Johnny!" It. Was. Hilarious. There was a breif scene with Waylon Jennings and Drunky McHeckle switched smoothly into a one time "C'mon Waylon". I was amazed that despite being more plastered than the outside of a Mexican villa, the guy had perfect comedic timing. However the kicker of the whole event was when bitchy girl No. 3 decided to intervene. Here is their exact exchange:

Bitchy Girl No. 3: Would you please shut up?!
Drunky McHeckle: I'm sorry...
Bitchy Girl No.3: It's ok.
Drunky McHeckle: Be quiet, we're trying to watch a movie here!

• I really was sad to see him go. That day also included a lovely conversation on the topic of cock piercings and the exact meaning of "Hot Carl". A car full of guys spins a wonderful web of topics. I had a pretty decent call back to the "Hot Carl" discussion later on, but for the life of me I can't remember what the second topic was. Steve, help me out?
  

• Most Recent Few Days: I've been planning a pretty bitchin' party for my school. Well... kind of... it's a LAN Party. I know. I know. Geeky. But still, we've got two girls comming. Not too hard on the eyes either. Not that I'll notice, what with the fragging of n00Bz and boasting of my superior penis size and the resultant boost in gameplay skill.
  

• Next Few Days: I'll be in Jerseyville. On Thanksgiving I'll be as drunk as the Golden Girls at Mardi Gras, so don't expect to be able to contact me. I believe the quote was "So break out the Bailey's because I plan to be two bottles deep before we even cook the bird." I think that pretty much covers it. Other than that, I'm open for shenanigans as always. If you want in, you know the digits.
  

Enjoy T-day everyone.

- Scott

The Early Adopters

I recently saw something that really took me back while I waited at the train station on my ridiculously delayed train. That something? L.A. Lights. Remember those? The shoes with the light up heel? I do. I used to wear them almost exclusively. I think that phase was somewhere beginning in 2nd grade all the way through 5th. But they didn't make them in bigger sizes for reasons I couldn't imagine. Sure they kind of gave you away when you were depositing a twosie in the school john (which was frowned upon, and by frowned upon I mean you got made fun of, apparently these kids were the target demographic for "Everybody Poops"), but they were a good shoe damn it. Now I've figured out why they didn't catch on in the upper age ranges.

Gangstas. That's right; gangstas. What makes a shoe executive decide to make a shoe is whether or not thug-ass gangstas will buy it. Why wouldn't they? Well it might have something to do with the easy to follow red flashing lights as they run from the crime scene. I mean, at that point, why not just leave a number and address where you can be reached at. Also they couldn't bring themselves to tiptoe to avoid setting off the lights, thus saving the batteries for a while longer, the way I could. But this early adopters policy isn't just for shoes, it's for everything.

For instance: the broadband. Know why we have such lovely high-speed connections readily available to the public? Porn. Guys just needed to get their porn at a more reasonable speed. As much as you can as fast as possible. So much internet traffic was taken up by porn it was deemed nessary to increase the speed at which this traffic can move. And it doesn't end there, bought anything online with a credit card lately? You can thank porn. Seen any schweet animated GIF's? Porn was there. Enjoying that new webcam Rob? Porn.

So what I'm saying here is that if we want things we love to endure, like the internet, shoes, and Arrested Development, we need to get pornographers and gangsta's behind it. I think I'm going to mull that over for awhile and debate whether or not I should just run everything.

- Scott

Shootyz Groove: wise beyond their spelling.

"Riding on the train, riiiiding on the EL train. I don't got no problems no more, no more, no. Riding on the train, cruising on the EL train, I will reach my destination for sure I know."

I have to agree with the lads, on the El it does seem like I've got no problems at all. I don't have to steer, I don't have to talk, I don't have to do a damn thing. It's a lot like mowing, except for the steering issue. Both times to chill out and do some deep thinking. The topic of this weekend's sessions of free thinking? Well they were largely centered around Lauren Sharpe, the beautiful pixie improvisario. I caught her and her team, Otis, at IO on Saturday night in Chi-town after the Video Games Live concert was canceled, the one Tim, the Ryder 'Rents, and myself rushed through dinner to attend, only to arrive to a dark and deserted Chicago Theater. To quote Tim "Life is funny sometimes".

It is, especially to me. This causes problems at funerals, police interrogations, and any time I have to pass through customs. And let's not even get into my SQL class in which the professor often uses the word "query". But for all my laughing at inappropriate times, Lauren Sharpe produced laughter at all the right times, and did it looking hot. Whilst sitting at the bar watching her I couldn't help but think: "This girl is f*&king BEAUTIFUL. And funny. More so than Sarah Silverman, on both counts." Then I laughed that I bothered to censor myself in my own head. Then I thought about how much I hate censorship and interjected the word fuck between all words in my internal monologue for the next few sentences. I stopped only because it was too easy and I could see it developing into a potentially debilitating speech problem.

Anyway, you can imagine how much I freaked out when I, not 20 minutes ago, saw her in a Long John Silvers commercial. I decided that it was a sign. I must now move to Chicago and follow her around until she too is in love with me. I anticipate that this will take no more than two weeks. Tim, if you see her could you give her my card? That way she'll be pre-seduced for when I eventually manage to track her down.

- Scott

P.S. Keri, you get to take that other guy to formal, I get to have unrealistic, shallow crushes. What we have is sooo much better, I promise you have nothing to fear.

P.P.S. Tim, if you find Lauren, don't mention anything about the above P.S. Thanks.

P.P.P.S. Keri, I'm just joking telling Tim that. You're still my favorite.

P.P.P.P.S Tim, seriously though.

Word.

I have a confession to make: I can be a bit of a wordsmith. It will really irk me when someone repeatedly types the wrong word. For example: then, meaning than. I was just reading one of my frequented blogs, Joe Likes Crappy Movies, and he (who owns a website) constantly uses the word "then." So what the people in the hallway just heard was: "DAMN IT. IT'S THAN! THEN IS A TIME, THAN IS COMPARATIVE. If I hear that one more time... gaaah, FUCKING PUBLIC SCHOOLS!" Then they got very quiet, presumably because they were afraid they might use poor grammar.

But my word standards don't just apply to others, but to myself. Stringently. For instance, I really wish I loved Cola because it sounds way cooler to order a Coke, than to say "I'll have a rootbiier" (spelled the way it sounds if said a nerdy manner). Not only that, but one of my favorite ice cream fixin's is sprinkles. There needs to be a more masculine form of this word. I think that might just be the reason I thought that going to get ice cream in the middle of the day for no reason was so... alternatively...oriented? I'm trying not to say "gay" here, but that's about the most succinct way of putting it. And seriously, ssssprinkles? The word itself begs to be said with a lisp.

So for the above mentioned reasons, from this day henceforth, I shall call sprinkles, manly-flakes. And rootbeer? Fake brew. And when someone says "then" meaning "than"? Punch them in the face. Then explain that it's because they're being more annoying than I could stand. I don't think it's too much to ask. While you're at it, any other word peeves feel free to bring up.

- Scott