Most. Describable. Days. Ever.

I just got back from the National College Media Convention. It was awesome. I met quite the cast of people along the way. I ran into people from my past, and quite possibly made some contacts for the future. The convention is basically all the colleges from the US sending their newspaper/yearbook/radio station/broadcast people to learn new things and to meet each other. That's the official story anyway. The real reason is clearly to have hilarious session names such as: "How Not to Offend Black People in 3 Easy Steps" or "Fakin' it with Photoshop, or 10 Ways to Destroy Your Credibility" and "You Don't Need Class to Publish a Student Newspaper". There was also a Lesbian Round Table Discussion, which I insisted should have been a Triangle Table Discussion. There was also a hilarious event involving the daylight savings shift.

That's the end of the story, though. I think we should start at the beginning. If disjointed chronology works for Falukner, I see no reason it wouldn't work for me. The man was a hack! However rather than steal directly, I intend to steal and modify. That's the basis of all creativity I'll have you know. The modification: headings.

Day 1: Most Random Day Ever.

*Doodly doo doodly doodly doo* Wavy lines, vaguely underwater-esq going back in time fadeout *Doodly dee doodly dee doodly dee*

Time: the start of the trip. Walking around the convention I saw someone familiar, so I went up behind her, put my head next to hers and said "what the hell are you reading". She turned to me and was as shocked as I was to see her. Her name: Molly Schell. We took a minute to reflect on the randomness, then I profusely appologized for past wrong doings. It happens. We chatted a bit, then I went to check out the convention center. Inside I mosey-ed past a booth and I watched a drawing, the lady in charge of it was saying "Come on, no whammy, no whammy..." which prompted my asking if she had seen any game shows in the last 15 years or so. She ignored me and then revealed the winner: "Molly Schell from Evangston" at which point my head would have exploded if I didn't know she was there. Because there's random, and then there's "this must be scripted random". That's the kind of random I was dealing with.

As we were arriving in Kansas City I mentioned that I would like to see a movie at some point, if it's possible. I really enjoy going to the movies on vacation, checking out the different theaters, observing new and exotic snack bar selections (this one had beer), and generally spreading the gospel of shouting "BOO COMMERCIALS" at the screen before the movie starts. It turned out that I wouldn't have to worry much about that. There were to be 4 advance screenings. First was RENT, then Shopgirl, then Grandma's Boy, and finally The Aristocrats. I saw them all. Here's my reviews in the order I saw them:

• RENT: Phenomenal. Sorry, just had to use Beauchamp's word. The movie itself was very very good however. Despite the opinion of one of the members of my paper staff (he's a republican, they hate RENT anyway). We got to see it on the 27th of October and were the first general audience screening of the film. Before us there was just a screening for people involved in it. There were a few changes, but the changes they made were minimal and necessary for it to work on the screen. All in all 4/4 Hand Turkeys.

Day Two: Most Cinematic Day Ever.

• Shopgirl: Ummm... good. Yeah, I'm definitely going with good. Well. No. It was good. I think. Yeah, didn't suck. I wouldn't praise it like I did RENT but it wasn't offenive to see. I liked it much better than the movie it's most compared to: Lost in Translation in any case. Plus Claire Danes is far hotter than the lion-faced Scarlett Johansson. I think she's famous just for her cool name.Saw this one on the 28th (Quien's birthday for those in the know). Summary: a solid B, within the curve of modern cinema. So sayeth the hand turkey.
  

• Grandma's Boy: Horrible movie. Good experience. It gets a paragraph. I was ditched by my RMC compatriots who wanted to go to a club with a guy that Gloria, an RMC-er from Chi-town, met online a week ago. He was going to come pick her up in a black Yukon Denali, and take her to a club to give her free drinks and... presumably rape and murder all of us. I was out. So wandering around I hopped the last bus to the screenign of this movie at a casino. Riding on the last bus, alone I met the organizer of the entire event. He looked familiar and I'm sure it was because he's been on one of the talking head shows I watch, but I really can't place him. Anyway, he asked me if I was a reporter. I said I was and gave him my card. He laughed (it's a ridiculous card) and asked me if I wanted to interview the stars of the movie after the screening. I said yes, of course. I then proceeded to spend the rest of the movie thinking "what the shit am I going to ask these guys?" Continued in the next bulleted point.
  

• Fortunately I have seen all the movies Allen Covert, and Peter Dante have been in and had some pretty insightful questions. After the obligatory "So... I bet you've heard this enough to kill, but... how do you know Sandler" question (it's a Happy Madison production) I moved on to more specific stuff. For instance, Nick Swardson's standup features prominently Gay Robots, which are in the movie, and old people/grandma's. So I asked how much was derived (except I said "ripped off") from his act. They laughed. I had about 15 minutes with the boys, and we hit it off pretty well. Well enough to take pictures in compromising gay-love embraces, which I always rate as being top shelf. In fact, here are those pictures now:

Center: Me and Peter Dante, clockwise from top right, Paul Provenza (we'll get into that later), Allen Covert and I, and then two more Scott/Dante's.

It should be noted I also went to some sessions on these days that I'm not getting into because... honestly this is long enough.

Day Three: Most Aristocratic Day Ever

• And finally, The Aristocrats. Another 5/5 Hand Turkeys. I got to meet and chat up Paul Provenza after the show. I told him he is now my patron saint of free speech. He then pondered just how fucked up that religion must be. It was hard to disagree. The movie itself had me laughing pretty good a few times. And I don't think Sarah Silverman ever looked that hot, or was that funny, at least from what I've seen. Although, I'm eager to be proved wrong.

And after that I flew home. One more funny thing happened though. And it was this: daylight savings time. I forgot about it. So when I woke up I had a 15 minute minor flipping out session. Afterwards I returned to my calm, aloof manner, but still insisted we get to the airport a bit early. It turned out our flight was later than we thought so we were severely early. About an hour before take off we saw a man frantically running through the terminal. It looked like he was looking for his kid and found the tot near the gate we were at, but he blew past him. Now we could hear him. He was frantically repeating "Oh no, oh no" and then screaming "WAIT!" he ran to the door that leads to the plane and tried to open it but it was locked. "No. NO! I can't miss this flight" he moaned as he pounded on the door.

At this point we were all watching, so was the flight attendant at the gate that was boarding next door. Flight Attendant (FA):"Can I help you sir?" Dumb Ass (DA):"I need to be on that flight!" FA: "Sir, that flight doesn't leave until 11:20" DA: "I know, I still have 1 minute. (turning to door) WHY IS THE DOOR LOCKED?!" FA: "Sir, did you forget about daylight savings time" DA: "... oh." He then sat down amid sarcastic applause and my cackles from being doubled over in laughter.


Ah, done. Tell me what you think.

- Scott

Currently

I'm frantically typing this post instead of packing for my trip. To add procrastination to procrastination to that other thing I'll name when I look it up, I'm constantly running back and forth from my computer to Rob's room to watch the Trailer Park Boys. Basically the Canadian version of the Soprano's. But it's Canada so they're in trailers. It's also pretty hilarious.

However not as hilarious as the article I read earlier today prominently featuring a certain Mr. Woo Suk Hwang, prominent scientist and walking Asian name joke. It's particularly good if you pronounce Woo as 'Who'. I heartily reccomend it. I just wanted to tap out a quick alert that I have not yet fallen off the face of the earth. But I am about to go to Kansas City to be a part of the National College Media Convention. When the plane touches down in Kansas City... then I've officially fallen off the face of the Earth. When I return I shall be the journalistic equal of Steve Corbert... or at least Rob Courdry, throw me a frickin' bone.

You know in sit-coms when they're not feeling like writing an episode so they give you a montage of past episodes? That's what this is. So if you're missing me while I'm incommunicado these next few days I reccomend you check out these past gems and reflect on the Scott-shaped void in your life until I return.

1. Revenge of the Slytherin
2. Conning a pilot part 1. And part deux.
3. Oh the hairmanity!
   
4. The impossible dream.
   
5. Junk in her trunk. The first Scott post graced by Tara D.
   

And that's that. Enjoy the montage, I'll be back Monday.

Bus-iness as usual

Man, more photos for you. You should cackle with glee at this insight into my life! Because honestly, this is some premo stuff. This weekend I attended a hockey game my brother was playing in. I got there a little late due to Springfield's inexplicable desire to repair all the roads at the exact same time. Questioning why they are repairing the roads will lead you to the conclusion that they pick the ones in the best shape, and endeavor to keep them in such impressive condition by constantly digging them up and resurfacing them to appear exactly as they did in the first place. It really is a marvelous system.

Anyway, once there most of the parking spots were taken. Including some especially good real estate up front by none other than the visiting team's bus. And the rat bastard was taking up about 9 really great parking spots. This I could not tolerate, roads may not be under my influence, but a charter bus is well within my capacity for revenge. I shamed the poor fool with this beauty:

I consider it another tool in the arsenal in the war against idiotry.

It was glorious. Especially considering how covertly I managed it. I prepared the bumpersticker, then pretended to be kneeling to tie my shoe and slapped it on under-the-leg style. I stood up, started walking to the rink and got about 4 steps before some of the opposing team (as identified by their "I'm better than you" track suits) rounding the corner. My face betrayed nothing except marvelous breeding. The best was timing my exit from the rink after the game/brutal pummeling and seeing them all milling around the bus completely oblivious. Just keep advertising it to the world guys, like the tracksuits didn't handle that already.

- Scott

Tacky Triad

Recently, I picked out a trend among some blogs I frequent. The subject: tacky things. Not that it was exactly addressed in this way, but that was the gist. The first was Tara D., she ranted on one of the words she loathes most be-boppin'. The second wave consisted of Wendyloo Pseudonym looking down her surly nose at fannypacks. And to this anti-tack I add my own voice. And that voice says: DOWN WITH WOLF SHIRTS!

You know what I mean. Wolf Shirts. Those graphic tees that rural women wear to the strip mall to look around and maybe pick up something at the Dollar Store to go with their new cowboy boots. And you even know the type I mean. Lives in the Mid-West but dresses like she's from an Indian reservation episode of Quantum Leap. Probably a bunch of "authentic" Navajo blankets thrown about her "rustic, log cabin on the inside" split level in the woods, filled with dream catchers and pine scented candles. Gaaah, just look:

How the world sees us.

In keeping with this I have founded the A.W.W. Anti-Wolfshirt Worldwide. It needs to be worldwide because people in other countries don't quite get why it's so terrible. Like my beautiful Irish friend (an attractive Irish woman, and I'm not even drunk!) Our goal is to inform the whole planet, and eventually the galaxy. DOWN WITH WOLF SHIRTS!

...We expect bumperstickers shortly.

- Scott

Your cover's blown

Today I had an oddly brotherly time of it. My brother and I don't often get along. We're a pretty righteous team when we're both after the same goal, so long as we're not after the same thing. As in, something there isn't two of. Think a toy, a girl, a person's attention. Fortunately the battle over who is the favorite was won long ago. They still claim they love him, but it's like having Jesus as your half brother. A lot to measure up to.

Anyway, Ross came over today and we hung out for a time. Then his roommate, Brent, came over with their other roommate's ex. There had just been a pretty brutal breakup (on account of their other room mate, Dallas, being an asshole... but one who can convince multiple women to sleep with him. Funny how that usually works out.) So Brent decided to covertly cheer her up, specifically by offering ice cream and my company. The funny part came when Dallas called him to see where he was. "I'm just getting some ice cream" he said. At this point I was taken to the morgue because I had died laughing. It was quite possibly the gayest thing (in the orientation sense) he could have said, next to "I'm riding a scooter and wearing short shorts. Wanna listen to the Rent soundtrack for the next 10 hours with me in my room, silly?" Comming from him, it was hilarious.

I'm clearly out of touch with exactly what gay people do for entertainment in Springfield, aside from wishing they lived somewhere with some sembelence of a theater community. I too wish this, especially after repeated bad experiences with what Springfield has to offer. Fiddler on the Roof will never be the same for me. At least pronounce the names right, I mean Teev-yee? Come on!

- Scott

P.S. Brent, if you have something to share with us, or you ever just want someone to, you know, talk to, we'll understand. We just want you to be happy.

In the bag

I am in the planning stages of a massive Euopean undertaking. I'm going backpacking across that most sexy landmass, and as such I'm going to need a few things. Most glaringly, a backpack. So it was that a few days ago I set out to see if I could find the one I want at a not insane price. Suddenly I know what it is to be a woman after a purse. Fortunately, thinking like any quasi-poor college student, eBay came to my rescue. Or attempted to. On a whim I decided to check there and to my complete lack of surprise they had the bag I wanted for cheap. Just one, and the auction was shutting down in 20 hours. Best of all, the thing had no bids on it! Fantastic!

So I placed my bid, and proceeded to go back and forth mentally over whether or not I actually wanted the damn thing (a conversation I often have with myself over eBay purchases). With a minute to go I decided that I did indeed want it and it was good that I had bid on it. So I refreshed, and refreshed. 10 seconds left! Sweet Judy Blue Rat, I've won! 8 seconds left, I'm in the clear, 6 seconds left, still on top. 5 seconds left: YOU HAVE BEEN OUTBID!

Insert obscenities. Some worthless bastard stole it with 5 seconds left, there wasn't even enough time for me to put in a higher amount. So now I'm not going to Europe, instead I'm using that cash and tracking down that rat f*cker and punching him repeatedly in the face. Feel free to share opinions on suitable revenge ideas.

- Scott

Japan, you've let me down

I once considered anime to be a sort of art. One I'm not overly into, although I do enjoy a nice Trigun or Cowboy Bebop as much as the next fanboy, I think of most of it as ridiculous, obscure, and the fast track to not having anything interesting to say. So as an art it ranks right just above those girls who write their own poetry in high school. But now they've gone into painfully cheesy territory. The new Cartoon Network anime show? BoBoBo-Bo Bo-BoBo. And my parents thought Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was a stupid name. What the hell kind of kids are we raising on this crap.

I suppose you're wondering about the plot. Perhaps they gave it a stupid name, but it has a plot of gold! Like me wife Audrey. If that's what you're hoping for you're not only mistaken, no sir, you're sorely mistaken. Here's a brief plot synopsis:

In the 31st century an evil emperor has organized a hair hunt to fuel his ruthless power. The citizens are in fear of losing their locks to vicious Hair Hunters. One man has decided to take a stand, that man is BoBoBo-Bo Bo-BoBo. He has a golden afro and Nose Hair Karate techniques and... someotherridiculousshit.

It's official, I'm debating whether or not I can still have faith in humanity's right to exist. Thanks alot Japan. But honestly, what are they saying about grooming? That it's evil? Because really I thought hygene was all the rage over there. Damn you Japan conform to my stereotypes.

- Scott

Dad is going to disown me

Have you ever signed up for something and completely forgot about it? Like a mailing list, or a CD club, or the National Guard? And then did you ever not remember it for six years? Because the other six years ago, I did. I think a little exposition is in order.

*Exposition Fade Out Music*
*Nostalgic/Irreverant Voice Over*
I have a bit of a confession to make. I used to play EverQuest. I have a bigger confession to make. I once went to an EverQuest Convention. God help me, I once went to an EQ convention. I think it was there that I had this epiphany: "If I keep playing this, I am never going get laid, or even acknowledged by any female... ever." Seriously, looking around the room it was like these guys had been virgins for so long they completely forgot there was another sex. It's going to be hard to show you this but I want you to know what I mean:

Image stolen from a security camera that was present at the convention. You might ask me how I got this? Just call me Mr. Universe, all signals go somewhere and I go everywhere. (Or Steve was at home hitting "Print Screen.) In case there's some confusion, I'm the scared looking plaid lad in the center. Behind the guy I'm assuming dressed up as Grimace.

Wow, I looked like a little kid back then. I'm so manly now it's hard to remember I wasn't born like this. Which would have been disgusting. Anyway, you can see the type of crowd I was dealing with. I'm painfully dissapointed that there aren't any of the cosplayers in view. Especially the guy with the tinfoil "armor". Here's a quote from one of the nerds present at the convention when hotel staff shooed EverQuesters out of sight: "They kicked us out the lobby for camping the spawn." (Nerdy laughter.) Between that, people greeting each other by saying "Hail" and the "real life quest" (AKA scavenger hunt) I realized that I needed to stop playing. Immeadiately.

Not terribly long after that I stopped playing. It really was for the best. I moved on, got sexier and sexier but still remained just as awesome and humble as I started. Well... probably more awesome. I played other games of course, did more things in what is known as 'real life', and went to college. But all the while there was this nagging feeling that I had some unfinished business. Well the other day I figured it out... I never actually canceled my subscription. See what reading your billing statement can get you? So six years later, I'm completely free of the beast. And I have to say, it feels good.


- Scott

P.S. This comment section is likely to turn into a complete nerd fest. Just so you know.

I wonder if there's a union

With Tim shipping out, presumably to persue his dream of making people laugh and getting paid for it, I find myself asking "just what is it I want to do with my life?" I've thought about it a long time, and I've finally decided: I want to be a smuggler. I haven't decided just what I plan to smuggle, but it looks like something I'd enjoy. Hell, who ever gets to decide what they smuggle? As far as I can tell, the smuggling greats ie Han Solo, Mal Reynolds, and to a lesser extent Them Duke Boys, all have to smuggle whatever people are paying them for. Now most times for the Duke boys it was moonshine, but I distinctly remember a time Boss Hog outlawed Seventeen magazine, it was dark times for all involved.

But where to start? I feel like I need smuggling contacts before I can break into the industry, and participate in the American dream of doing somewhat illegal things. Smuggling in Illinois alone is a $1 billion dollar* a year industry. I wanna get me a slice of that. The thing about it is, I bet there's a union. And your uncle or your father had to be in it to get you in. It's not like just anybody can smuggle things. You need to be part of a crack team. (It should be noted that, on occasion, it literally is a crack team like... with crack.) Preferably you should surround yourself with colorful savants each having fun character flaws that belie their genius level of skill at their particular speciality. That's SO one of those things a union, or guild, would hook up for you.

Don't get me wrong here, I realize I'm not going to *start* in a ship like Serenity or the Falcon, I recokon I'll get myself something simple. Like a conversion van, or a pontoon boat, and get my feet wet in that. I could probably make due in my car, the ever classy 1990 Chrysler New Yorker. I do have the optional dead hooker class trunk. In fact, push come to shove, I could probably fit 4-7 dead hookers in that trunk. Now I just have to figure out what I'm gonna smuggle to make the law man look all manner of stupid. Any suggestions?

- Scott

* Figure made up by me to sound cool.

And they say letter writing is dead

Well I've finally done it. My actions have brought about utter panic and nashing of teeth from the Robert Morris College administration. It came in the form of witty banter. Me and some of my friends from the Graphic Arts program were making fun of the "backyard BBQ" event my school was having. It should be noted that talking to a person of another major at RMC is practically like being a diplomat, my school is so damn cliquish. Anyway, I think the letter speaks for itself:

The institution that we call college has forced upon us the means to socialize. In laymen's terms this means that they make the student body pass a large mass of tables and fatty foods in order to get to their cars in hopes that the students will stop and chat with other students outside of their fields. I am sorry to say that this concept has failed. Not to say that the student body is not appreciative of free meals since most of us are paying for things in nickels and dimes, but the fact that you expect such difference in opinions to interact is slightly obtuse.

If you look at the different fields at this school, you will see that all the clicks are different. Graphic designers are the laid back, mellow, joking gang that is usually late and proud of accomplishments aquried. Business groups are more straight forward, always busy, conservative, and eager to get things done right the first, second, and third time. Networking students are more of the kind to always see working in the labs, talking computer lingo, and playing computer games while trying to look busy on projects. And so on and so forth. When trying to put these contradictory individuals together in a close proximity, you will see that the animal behavior of keeping to your own sets in.

Although, you will see a small few of students meander from their group to one or two others, these individuals either have to or they know others they are approaching. For instance, the great Scotty will approach others he has had classes with or knows from being around them while talking to those he knows (and just because he's a friendly guy like that). Again, not that the student body is not thankful for the free food, it just that the atmospheric tone of having to socialize with people you wouldn't talk to even if you were three sheets to the wind and loved everyone, just realize that we will socialize in our own way when we want. But keep the free food comming.

First of all, that "the great Scotty" bit was completely unsolicited. I also might friggin' love this girl. (Just kidding, I am married after all, and nothing can compare to Keri. Perfect Dark? More like Perfect Wife!) Her stereotypes of the majors, while somewhat biased were in fact, hilarious. Especially if you read into them a bit. There was apparently something of a screaming match over the publication of this letter, as if the carefully crafted facade of perfection was starting to crack. If only they realized that it doesn't need to crack. It's pretty much a screen door. All in all I consider it a good day's work.

- Scott

P.S. Goodbye Tim, Springfield will miss you. But don't pretend I won't show up unannounced at some point.

Quick Sunday Night Hilarity

H'ok. So I was trying in vein to find the podcast of my dear friend Jacob (which is suspiciously impossible to locate by any means) when I, in desperation, went to Google and tried his name along with Podcast. I also tried the name of his post "Voice of the Orange Belt". No dice. But, then thinking that Jacob wouldn't want his last name "Eyers" blasted around the internet, I went with his pseudonym "Jakey MacJake" and threw in "Podcast" to help narrow the field. Well... this is what I got.

I then laughed a ridiculous amount. Yes Google, I somehow mistyped Jackie MacJuke. Because that's so much more likely than Jakey MacJake. What was I thinking? Maybe it was this: I think, when I write my novel, I'm going to name my heroin (should there be one) Jakie MacJuke. The name is just too hilarious to pass up. I say this to Google. GET OUT OF MY HEAD!

- Scott