Blogging powers... ACTIVATE!

Good news everybody. As of 21 days from now, my blog will be one year old. In celebration of this monumentous occasion, I'm going all friggin' out. We're throwing the first annual Blog Bash at El Casa Scott (y Rob). This is the official invatation. I'd like to have it on the 11th or 18th of June. Festivities kick off at my place around 7:00. And what festivities they'll be. I'm saving the details for later, but trust me they'll be pretty extravagant. Hit me up in the comments with your prefered day.

As far as blogging for today, I like Joseph of the Bible, turn to dreams for inspiration. And quite a dream I had. Basically I inadvertantly stole a little girl's bike. I didn't realize I was on the wrong one for quite some time, but when I did the tires started smoking, then caught fire. I paniced, because the little girl was my cousin and I was ruining her bike (somehow). In response I threw it into a soupy, chest deep, undried concret quagmire, which completed the ruining. I then explained the situation to Caroline Holmes as a laugh track went off every time I finished speaking. Later on, I was at the mall with three guys from my college perfoming a very beautiful version of Adoramus te Christe as we looked for the Gap. Later I met up with Tim and Josh Tapeworm (who were dying whilst playing a Jester, and being over-enthusiastic for Tim's antics as he ran a hand through his giant, faux-red flock of Seagulls hair... respectively).

Then I woke up. I think I was crying at the time even. Weird dream. I looked up the meanings behind everything and it turns out that I should sacrifice my firstborn, and store seven years worth of grain. So yeah, I should be getting to work on conceiving a first born (and while I'm at it, three or four children, I'm all for the attempt!) And also on that grain thing too. I think I'll just raid the personal stores of Tom Cruise. What? I know he's not fat. But he's batshit crazy. You just know he has some kind of stockpile, as dictated by L. Ron Hubbard in what he intended to be a science fiction book. And that's all for now. Be sure to RSVP.

- Scott

I throw myself on the mercy of the blogosphere

And I do so knowing that there is none. But allow me to apologize anyway. I know. I know. I'm pulling a totally Tapeworm here. And not the kind that comes out of an infested person. The Timmy kind. And really, that's the worse of the two.

So I'm sorry for not posting as regularly as usual this week, we're headed into finals here at Bobby Mo (also known as Bizarro U.) And I'm loaded down like a rented mule with back homework, studying for finals, and gi-normous projects. One of my projects is just a dream, I got promoted to group leader after our hissy-fit-man-bitch of a group leader took his THIRD vacation of the 10 week quarter. And even when he was here he was a total tyrant. So, now the group's mine. And he's demoted. Man is he pissed at me. So it's probaby not the healthiest, most productive group of all time.

I also have to create a presentation on the Liar's Paradox for my Discreet math class. I choose not to be insulted that the teacher selected "what she thought we would enjoy most" and then gave me something about lying. What are you saying Prof. McKinstry? Huh? Let's get it all out in the open. Although she made up for her potential insult the day she came in hopped up on steroids and pain killers waving her arms around and acting really hyper. To see a 65 year old woman, who is normally reserved to the point of making Mother Teresa think "Hey bitch, loosen up", say "Don't want to alarm you guys or just be like GRRRRRR (while she raised her hands over her head in the "monster scaring you"position) was hilarious beyond words. I laughed so hard there were tears. TEARS!

But anyway, this is just a quick "I can't post, post" and I'm doing it in an SQL class. Hopefully I'll be able to tell you all about my theories, the WADWUS, and some pretty great stories later in the week. That's all for now kids. Stay tuned.

- Scott

BOOMshackalacka

Why the title? No, I'm not brewin' some boomshine, although that does sound like a good idea. Seriously, as advertised in GTA: Vice City, you really can get messed up just smelling it. And how I know that... isn't important. Nothing to talk about in print anyway, damn you Patriot Act! You and your capitalization on national panic and jingoism. Ok, enough hating on an act of congress, on to the post proper:

Brace yourself. I, Scott Gresham, the man, the myth, the blogger, may have a job. A job where they allow, nay, encourage me to work with explosives. A job in a fireworks factory. Now if only I were the Human Torch, then there would be the kind of danger I'm really after. Also I'd get to do a trailer closing one liner with Maria Menounos. And I'd love any interaction with Maria, even if it was just a bit part in a potentially cheesy movie, or apologizing to her in court for breaking into her mansion and hiding all those cameras. Jessica Alba is right alongside her in that respect.

And as long as we're on the topic of celebrities I have something to get off my chest. Yeah, we all find their lives interesting. We like hearing about who they're dating, what they're buying, whether or not there's naked pictures of them available online. Hell, we even like watching them play poker. Poker is fine, there's money involved. It's interesting. But now AMC has gone and crossed the line; violated all that which we hold sacred. They've brought us celebrities playing Charades. CELEBRITY CHARADES!

I now expect the celebrity appeal to die off, we've seen it all. From celebrities leading lives of the rich and famous, jet setting around the world, drinking the blood of the exploited working class as a chaser for their 400 dollar shots of vodka, to playing the same game normal people break out when a party is completely dead. What's next AMC? Celebrities getting together at 7:14 on a Friday to hang out in the living room of their parent's place and say "What do you guys want to do tonight?" "I don't know, what do you want to do tonight?" "How about a movie" "Nah, nothing good is out" "Ok how about bowling" "We did that last week" "Fine, let's just stay in and watch Runaway Bride on TBS, and then catch the Runaway Bride update on CNN." Because we're almost there.

- Scott

Livin' Large

Well, I just got back from a pretty insane weekend. Here's a run down of what happened, a friend from high school became a porn star, she's shot 3 "pictures" and has a non-exclusive 6 picture deal with the illustrious Cherryboxxx Productions. I'd like to take a minute to thank her for never showing any interest in me whatsoever. I mean, it's not like your standards are THAT high, you're now having sex with anonymous people for money. I had money. And what's more I had time. So thanks alot for not even offering to sleep with me if I paid you. Not that I would have, that would look bad for me. But seriously, enjoy the "work" while it lasts, it can't be very hard. As the woman in the porno your obligations are to lay there, take it, and wonder how you all of a sudden got sooooo naked.

The other insane thing that happened this weekend was that my brother, who is apparently the Donald Trump of his age group, bought a very nice 20 foot power boat. I tried to find a picture of it, but none of them are the right model. Suffice it to say it's a pretty ridiculous purchase for him to make. The most ridiculous part of it was that he only started talking about wanting a boat about a week ago. It's like we were driving down the road and he saw a boat for sale and decided "I want a boat, I think I'll buy one". Despite not dealing drugs he somehow had enough for half of it and convinced my parents to finance the other half. Enjoy the interest on your yacht P. Diddy. I'm sure you'll really enjoy it. I know I will...

One last thing, if you're going to go skiing in the foreseeable future, start doing "grabbing on to things" exercizes. I found out during the course of the day that I apprarently have the grip of an arthritic sherpa. By the end of the day skiing behind Ross's big new boat I couldn't make a fist to save my life. My fingers decided that they're not getting overtime for this crap and promptly punched out. The last time I went to ski behind the boat I couldn't hold onto the bar long enough to get up on top of the water. It was pretty lame considering I usually clock a grip like my name was Dolemite. (See my bottom five list #2.) Oh well, next weekend I'll own that sucka. Then we'll see what's up.

- Scott

P.S. I have a tiny summer vacation comming up (July 8th through the 22nd). Hit me up with some summer vacation ideas. The less practical the better. Thanks in advance.

Ramblings, just ramblings

Ok, a few things on my mind today: First off, why is it that so many new bands are shooting for names that get me really excited when I misinterpret them? The bastards trick me into comming to their show, and when I find out what's really going on I'm always dissapointed, but too proud to admit I was tricked and leave. Confused? Let me explain, I recently attended the Jerseyville Music Festival (which consists of a flat bed trailer for a stage, a beer tent, and an empty parking lot as a venue). In the adverts they talked about the bands and the food, nestled safely near the bottom was "Free Corndogs". They had me at "free corn-", I was so going to this thing. So when I get there I have the fantastic discovery of Free Corndogs being a band. A shitty band. Fantastic.

I haven't been this dissapointed since 10,000 Maniacs turned out to be 5 rapidly aging mod rockers. How cool would it have been for a whole town of maniacs to become one band? I mean, by default they would have been a ska band (any band that outsizes its audience is most likely a ska band), but still awesome. I'd hate for anyone else to fall victim to this kind of n'er do welling, so I'll warn you ahead of time: Bloc Party is not a place to go and watch your teachers get drunk.

In other news, Rob and I went and laid out like the succlent pieces of grade A men we are at the pool today. Actually I should say Rob laid out, I swam, then laid out. It's pretty lame, but he gets severely cold. I'm pretty sure he's cold blooded. And I'm also pretty sure that he's some got some kind of huge secret, because as he laid on his stomach staring at the ground one ant carried another on its back, stopped right in front of his gi-normous face, dropped the carried ant, and ran away. I decided it was an ant virgin sacrifice and further, that Rob is the God of Carpenter Ants. Two more things before I go:

"10,000 Maniacs and One Stoned Raph". Now that's a band.
In fact, One Stoned Raph on it's own is a wicked awesome band name. Wow, I'm really creative without really trying. Double wow, this is the longest caption of all time.



It's Blogger Man! TM with the power to entertain the masses through describing seemingly normal activities seen through the eyes of a madman! He also has a pretty awesome pirate face.

- Scott

California: No longer allowed to make decisions

I don't know if it's from all the gold digging idiots (literally) who headed out in the 1840's, or it was the damn Okies who set out west to chase the illustrious dream of... picking fruit, but something somewhere along the way produced the abosolute dumbest population of any people outside of special institutes. (And some of those people could people whip the average Californian's ass at Boggle). By now you've all heard the verdict(s) that inspired this tirade. But in case you hadn't here's the gist of it: "Michael Jackson is innocent of all charges, and upon further deliberation, he also farts rainbows. It's because he didn't have a normal childhood!"

Fantastic. I don't know what's more annoying, the jurors, or the media. For 30 minutes before the trial they desperately tried to kill time until the trial verdict was read. I kid you not in one exchange an 'expert' explained that we should listen close because even if they say "Not guilty, not guilty, not guilty, not guilty, not guilty, not guilty, they might then say Guilty, and that means that he owes 1,500 dollars in fines and must prove that he can still moonwalk". Or some other obscure shit no one cares about. These anchors need to take some improv classes. I'd like to hear some games played while we wait.

Announcer: "Ok, in this scene Matt Lauer will play Michael Jackson. What should he be doing"
*Crowd*Mowing the yard! Baby sitting! Playing with Mr. Potato Head! Stealing Cable!*End Crowd*
Announcer: "Alright, I heard 'playing with Mr. Potato head'. Lauer take it away"
Lauer as Jackson: "Oh hello Potato Head. How are you? Uh ho, your nose fell off. Here have mine.
(Puts his nose on the Potato Head)
Lauer as Jackson: Now I'll wear yours.
(Puts Potato Head's Nose on)
Lauer as Jackson: Hey look now I'm black, white, and Jewish!"

And scene.

Now isn't that more entertaining than a half an hour of finding 82 new ways of saying that the judge will announce the verdict whenever they finish? I like to think so.

- Scott

Eye, Eye

Sometimes I question those "factoids" people give out sans any kind of actual documentation. Like the five second rule. What curteous germs we have, allowing you a full five seconds before infecting the food you drop on the ground. By that logic I don't even have to wash my hands, as long as I don't hold my food in it for more than five seconds. Chalk one up for improper grooming, and alert the hand soap companies they're on thin ice.

But there's one that I will no longer question, and it's the cliche that 90% of communication is non-verbal. Today I felt the full force of just how true that is. For you see, today I was interviewing young nubile ladies for the position of my colleague. That is to say, new representatives for my school. Let me pause to tell you that the vast majority of applicants (not even chosen by me mind you) were female (all but two), and hot (pretty much all of them except for maybe one or two older models). The next thing you should know is that they were all dressed to kill. Specifically to kill me, and even more to the point: to kill my ability to pay attention to anything else. They were all good looking (I have my eye on a certain one among them), but it was the last one that really caught my eye like the bears on the Discovery Channel catch salmon.

She did all the things the other girls did, she came in, she sat down, she nervously made polite conversation... but then she did something different. Something new. Something that caught me off guard, but something I was secretly hoping she would do. She, in her low cut top, push up bra, and perfectly tanned body... leaned forward. CLE-VAGE! I'm not even a breast guy, but this was amazing. I tried not to look, but my eyes were too fast... or else my will was too weak. Quickly, with speed that would make the Flash jealous, my green 20/13's darted over the supple mounds of gloriousness. Just as quickly they darted around the room. There was one male present other than myself, and he had been looking in her direction, not mine.

When later she repeated her little routine I looked to him first, then to her quickly (really quickly, so much that I was slightly dizzy afterwards and wondered if eyes could pull a muscle), then I looked back to the only other owner of a Y chromosome in the room (not allowing for the possiblity of Klienfelter Syndrome) and he was looking right at me. Our eyes met, his giving me a look of acusation, and mine shooting him double the reproachfulness he was attempting to give me. What is this guy a Sunday School Teacher? Had he not been looking?! Time literally stopped as we dueled with our eyes and our expressions.

"Pervert" his eyes said. "Dirty old man, you should know better. It's fine for me" my eyes shot back. "I caught you staring at her" his said. "Have you seen Lolita? I think you should" my eyes sarcastically quipped. But then someone asked me if I had a question for her and the spell was broken, time moved normally again, and strangely enough, so did my conversation. When teh other male and I talked later neither of us in any way acknowledged the event.

It's weird that so much can be said without words of any kind. But it's even weirder that people can then discard all that non-verbal communication and pretend it never happened. I don't know, am I alone here? Has anyone else ever been in one of these "We argued for about twelve hours without saying anything, but when we did both of us pretended to be perfectly fine" type things? If so, ;et's hear about it. If not, feel free to make things up. It's fun.

I don't have long...

They're comming for me. I just finished UFO's, JFK, and Elvis by Richard Belzer and I am now officially a conspiracy detecting nut. His were largely based around the JFK assassination (how fun is to write "ass" twice in a word and be able to use it in polite company), and he touched on some UFOlogist stuff as well. Mine are more mundane, but still just as explosive as proving we didn't land on the moon. For instance: When will DVD makers realize that "Chapter Selection" is not a special feature? Seriously, do books advertise about having a table of contents? Is this a big selling point? "Well, I'd really like to buy Titanic but there's no option of going directly from the boobs to seeing DiCaprio drowning, so I'll have to pass." I think it's part of the ongoing conspiracy to advertise the most unoriginal, mundane things of all time.

Like the new Bridgestone Tire commercial, their slogan is "the wheel goes round and round". Wow. Let me just take a minute to marvel at the thought that must have gone into that. What could we have this wheel do they thought. Maybe it could roll? No, that doesn't sound right. I know, let's have it mimic the ones on the bus and go round and round. Is there a copyright? No? Great. Sell it. I also like that they now feature a rapper spitin' on the topic of the wheel and it's rotation. Fantastic. I'm just proud they decided to skimp on the malt liquor with purchase of three tires deal.

The last one is one I've thought about for a while. Why can't things other than oil ever fall into the ocean? (Besides that alleged ginormous condom reef floating in the south Pacific.) I mean really, you never hear about a boatload of The Rock posters falling into the sea. Which is really unfair to the underwater creatures, and a part of a side conspiarcy to deprive aquatic beings of the most electrifying man in Sports entertainment. On that note I leave you to go into the world and point out the conspiarcies put out perpetrated daily by "The Man".

Oh and also check out me as a black guy, that's cool too.

Finally, I'm cool! And thus Lando Scotrissian is born.

- Scott

Mystery Science Theater: 2004

Well, apparently when Rob and I have the same adventures, we blog about the same things. But hey, there's two sides (at least) to every story, and some of my readers eschew Rob like Boys Scouts avoid the front lines. So, in that spirit, here's my account of "our weekend, which comes at the end of the week" That's a direct quote from Josh as he blessed the meal. The meal I'm refering to was the Friday night dinner we had at the Ryder's place. Despite the living room and kitchen looking like Monster House got cancled half-way through a remodel, I think there's a certain open aired charm to it.

After dinner, we ajourned to the backyard to fire Josh's trebuchet. That's right, as ironic as it may seem, Josh has long been constructing a trebuchet. Needless to say we let Tim nowhere near it, but had a good time firing it at cars, sweatshirts, and me. It would be the first time this weekend that I would unnessarily put myself in the way of a projectile to find out if it hurts or not. Anyway, once the trebuchet grew tiresome and we were growing short on time, we doned our protection against the frigid 70 degree night (in my case a killer 80's jacket) and headed to the ball field.

At this point my title makes sense. I started lacing into the softball players. I really ripped them apart. And Josh's team wasn't even playing yet. Seriously, they can't allow base stealing in this sport. If they did I would reasonably expect 3 runners to make it home before the ball even got to the batter on a pitch. They "throw" the ball (if you would go so far as to call it that) and time seems to stop. It's like watching bullets in the Matrix. "Are you telling me I can dodge softballs?" "I'm telling you that when you're ready, you won't have to."I was having a good time just making fun of the ridiculousness of the sport itself, but then I was presented with an entire enemy team to rip apart. It should be noted that this is a Christian Men's league, and that I did have to tone it down a bit. But I still got in some good stuff; I feel I would have made Crow proud.

Eventually we found the ultra competitive guy as predicted by Rob, to our surprise he was on our team. His name was Gary, and he was a douche. You know those baseball Dad's who go crazy in the stands if their kid makes an error, and you know that the kid gets no food unless he wins? Picture that guy playing on a men's softball league... poorly. He actually yelled at Josh to "Throw the BALL" and when (at the appropriate time) Josh did throw the ball to Gary, Gary missed the catch. We then had an über dork to make fun of. We began speculating on what tragic events Gary must have lived through that this game is so important, did he blow a shot at the Major Softball Leagues on a catcher not throwing him the ball? Does he have an endorsement deal he has to up hold? What's his deal? Then after the game he stormed off to his mid-life-crisis on wheels and rambled out of the parking lot.

And that was the game. Rob, Tim, and I now comprise the Gary fan club and are commited to following him around patronizing him at every mistake. "It's ok you missed the ball Gary, it's not like it was thrown directly to you, blame the world Gary..." Seriously, we have shirts! The night ended (as most good nights do) with ice cream and Next. I'll end this post on a wildly inappropriate exchange I had with Tim's dad:

Tom: You know what I like to do with Magic Shell?
Scott: Pour it on Mr. Freeze and watch him harden?
Tom: ...
Scott: That didn't come out right.

Beware the Trebuchet!

QuestLog: You must journey to the Living Room of Shenanigans computer and attempt to manipulate the Machine of XP and the browser of Firefox to post to the blog... kill all those who stand in your way.

Sorry, I've begun to see my life in terms of GuildWars. It really got me in trouble too. I was at school and a secretary gave me a quest to find a computer tech and bring him back to fix her printer. After shouting to the zone for five minutes I found out he was standing entranced by the "Widescreen Beast of High Definition TV" in the lowest level of the school. Upon bringing him back to the secretary my reward was a Thank You and a lousy +250 experience. So I figured I'd kill them both to see if they dropped any good loot. Apparently in doing so, I took a faction hit with the local guards and now the "Springfield Police" are after me. All in all I reccomend against this quest.

At this point I'd like to make a promise to the readers of my blog the promise is as follows: I, Scott Gresham, will never post a paragraph as geeky as the preceeding ever again; I'm sorry, two days of solid Guild Waring has temporarily warped my already maleable mind. But it warrants mentioning because it's distracted me from my usual posting duties. Check it out:

There I am, what a hero, bringing news from the front. Also check out the wicked clever name.



Fine, COWARD! You run, I'll just go fight an entire army. Which is what we did, and won. Despite Tim killing Rob and I (not to mention 2 or 3 platoons of the enemy) by firing a giant trebuchet on our location. This angered the prince as you can see below.

In that same vein, I reccomend against letting Tim near any trebuchet's. Considering Josh is building one, I really hope this message is getting through. That's it for today, my next post will be much more mainstream. For real. I'll talk about TRL, that should make up for this right? Let me know.

- Scott