Tanned, Relaxed, and Ready to Post

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Faceplant!

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

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

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

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

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

That's all suckas!

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

- Scott

The Tops

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

Said The Grammophone's Top 22 Songs of 2005.

Scott's Personal Favorites:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Scott

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Scott

The Secret to Motivation

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

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

- Scott

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

I prefer the invasion of the Fantanas

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

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

IT'S PEANUT BUTTER JELLY FISH!

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

- Scott

Sneak Like a Spaniard, Tumble Like a Weed

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

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

It was good times for all.

- Scott