I want some damn credit.

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

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

[other crap omitted]

*Super nice guy.

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

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

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

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

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

That is all.

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

...NEXT!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here's hoping.

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

Oh, about that.

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

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

Really Cool People... us.

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

- Scott

Slaughterhouse top Five bottom Five

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

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

Top Five of the Week:

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

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

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

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

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

Bottom Five:

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

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

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

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

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

Crush of the... Past?

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

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

Crush of the Past:

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

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

Her name: Laurel Shaffer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spaced Out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grindhouse Review or A Tale of Two Shitties

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

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

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

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

Wonder Blog rating for Planet Terror: 9.4/10

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

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

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

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

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

Wonder Blog rating: 4.5/10

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

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

- Scott

Brood Wars

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Scott

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

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

No Rain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Scott

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

Filters ain't sh*t but holes and tricks

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pretty impressive, no?

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

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

- Scott

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

How To: Defeat Internet Censorship

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Scott

Fightin' the Man since 1985.

Best. Employee. Ever.

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

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

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

"How was work today, Scott?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Scott

Housekeepy!

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

This week's Crush of the Week: Sarah Silverman

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

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

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

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

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

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

Top Five: Work Hours Time Killer edition

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

Bottom Five: Abstract Concept edition

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

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

- Scott

Eye, Eye.

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

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

Does anyone else see the world in two different tints?

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

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

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

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

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

- Scott

G versus E (where E is economics)

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

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

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

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

- Scott

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

Car Wreck

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

State Farm still doesn't believe me.

Purpose-ly

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the words of a master:

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

- Scott

The Wonder Blog: Character's (flaws) Welcome

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

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

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

The eskimo is the natural emen-emin-*shakes head* enemy of the rest of the world. They're up there every day plotting. Those "eskimo kisses" everyone thinks are so cute are how they pass tiny micro-dots full of information about their plans for nuclear winter! THINK ABOUT IT! They've got the least to lose! Those fish spearing igloo-trash bastards are trying to bring us down to their level! So they can rename places Inunjuak, and Nukchukbuckfluck and all sorts of snow-job bullshit!

They're trying to make us fat and complacent with their insidious pies! They don't even wait for their elderly to die, they just push them out to sea on some ice! Lazy seal clubbing ice-bums! They...

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

- Scott

Do they? Do they really?

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

Your tax dollars at work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Scott

Check out my webcam at Presidential Sluts dot Com

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

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

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

Incidentally, this soundtrack is available in the lobby.