Death and Destruction

Recently as I was lying comatose ("Comatose... coma-toes to-'er head" "Shut up!") I thought about all the things I wanted to do before I died. And all the things I hadn't done. But then, realizing how unrelentingly cliche this was, I thought of another better topic: all the thing I intend not to do before I die.

Now this list could be fairly obvious. For instance, most people wouldn't say they wanted to contract AIDS. Though, to be fair, for awhile I was very into RENT and I thought that I'd like nothing better than to be an artist with HIV dramatically living out my last days in an orgy of bohemian lifestyles. So there really aren't absolutes. But the thing I realized that I never want to do was different.

I had always considered climbing Mount Everest. Seems like a fun weekend. But it dawned on me that after all the people who died or were disfigured as a result of that mountain, climbing it successfully would be the worst thing I could do. Think about it. After that nothing I could do would be as impressive.

"Hey, I just finished Zelda in 12 hours!"
"So what, it's not like you climbed Everest again."

And if I died, the topic of discussion at my funeral wouldn't be directly centered on how great I was. It'd be all about how ironic it was that I could survive Everest but I just couldn't see that bus coming. Or about what a survivor I am, yet to be taken in such a strange way, by suffocation as a result of a large housecat settling over my nose and mouth as I slept, seems cruel and ironic.

So, essentially, I refuse to climb Everest as it would skew my legacy forever. Cross one off the list.

- Scott

Healed at last! Healed at last! Thank Lordy, healed at last!

Two days ago I finally went to the doctor. I once again apologize to all of manhood for betraying our order and seeking medical attention. But I felt better and my mom had scheduled a chiropractic appointment and a doctor's appointment. The knuckle cracker really did more for me. A few bone pops and I felt pretty good. Though while I'm on her elaborate table I can't help but feeling like I'm a secret agent and she's an assassin trying to kill me with spine jabs, attempted neck breaks, and attacks upon my hips. Occasionally she pokes needles into my skin and connects them to electricity under the auspices of a proceedure to boost my immune system, all the while I refuse to give her information or even acknowledge our little duel.

Anyway at the doctors (after surviving the assassin) I was informed that despite feeling like I could run a mile I was:

1.) Running a 101.5° temperature
2.) Still sick
3.) Riddled with a particularly nasty sinus infection.

"Yeah, and I just faced down an attempt on my life too," said I. This is why new people often don't "get" me.

Current Status: Still recovering.

Current Status With the Ladies*: They all still want me.

- Scott

* Watch that thing I linked. It's reminicent of how I wrote this post.

What's the time?

It's time to get ill. And apparently, unlike those brothers out there flakin and perpetratin', but scared to kick reality, I know what time it is.

Ok, I'm loopy. Just wanted to update my constituents.

- Scott

P.S. All of this was meant to mean "I've been flu-sick since Saturday night. And frankly I still feel like shit."

Panic at the Post-Post-Secondary Educational Facility

Lately I've been having a lot of the same conversation. You've been there. A situation where everyone asks you the same question, and you answer it the same way. Basically you're in the social equivalent of a cold war. Each side keeping up appearences, following procedure, making a symbolic gesture, but underneath both sides want it to escalate or just end. It's like when you go home after being away for college/work/life in general. Everyone wants to feign interest in your activities, knowing full well that if anything monumental had happened they'd already have heard and gossiped about it. It goes something like this:

Psuedo-Interested Party: Hi! Where have you been? What have you been up to?
Completely Dispassionate Responder: Oh you know, not bad. It's good to get away from it... blah blah blah.

Pseudo-Interested Party 2: How has school/work/life in general been?
Increasingly Dispassionate Responder: Not too shabby. It's been fine/alright/third non-commital answer.

Pseudo-Interested Party 3: How are you? Tell me, how has school/work/life been?
Formerly Dispassionate Responder who has just hit his breaking point: I'm quitting school. Journalism is lame, dying, and frankly: unenfuckingjoyable. I have a bachelor's degree and no more tolerance for education. I'm tired of languishing in the stuffy halls of academia when I could be doing things that interest me and possibly making some sweet, sweet cash on the outside. "The outside!" Did I just say that? You see?! I subconsiously associate it with prision. So that's how school has been. ARE YOU HAPPY? IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED? IS IT, YOU DIRTY BITCH?!

At this point some panic sets in. I firmly believe I could say exactly what's written above and the next words out of the Pseudo-Interested Party's mouth would be (as they always have been) something implying the following: "You're not going to school anymore?! Well that's ok... if you're willing to be a FAILURE! Not everyone has to be successful."

Apparently there's a built in panic when you tell people that you aren't going to do it anymore, and that further you have no intention of continuing in the area at all. Sure I'll stick it out through the semester, but I'm not wasting another six months on something for which I harbor a mounting contempt.

So, this is my formal announcement of my intention to withdraw from the school of journalism. It's been fun (to mock), but I think I'm better suited to other pursuits. Suggestions?

- Scott

P.S. If you'd like to know why I'm withdrawing from the field read the companion post below.

Selected Scenes Supporting Sundering Scott's Second Secondary Schoolin'

Because sometimes aliteration is irrestible. And so damned easy. Anyway this is a companion post answering a few questions you might have about the above. I think the best way to explain why journalism and I go together like babies and barbed wire is to give a few examples of things I've done, things that have been remarked upon, and in one case receiving a most noble branding.

1. You should probably read this post: I hate you so (effing) much. In addition I once wrote an assignment where every other line rhymed.
   
   
2. Allegedly I accuse people of murders. To be fair, I only do this when every piece of evidence has already been established and the person in question is certainly the murderer. But apparently a judge has to say it before I can publish it. Libel lawsuits. Bah.
   
   
3. The professor apparently did not find this as funny as I do. The article was about the reburial of Juan Peron, former President of Argentina, husband to Madonna. The picture was of brawling political factions hitting each other with rocks, bats, and rubber bullets as the casket is being moved. The headline I wrote was: Don't Riot For Me, Argentina. The professor was "Tempted to fail the assignment just for that."
   
   
4. "Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people, right? So basically by making our stories constantly about people it essentially means that either we're a bit slow or we're writing for people who really shouldn't bother reading." I was a called an elitist for that, but it's where I was going anyway.
   
   
5. Finally, my favorite: we were debating what a medium sized, failing paper should do to make money and stay in the business of good reporting. My reply was something along the lines of:
   
   "Well we constantly hear how much good reporting costs, so you can't really have good reporting until you're making money. So plan for that five years down the road. In the mean time you have to orchestrate a scheme wherein you're in bed with advertisers. You write stories that happen to mention some product or service that happen to buy ad space in your papers. Now the public is dumb, but eventually they'll catch on. When you feel like they are getting close, that's when you put phase two into effect. Essentially you have the higher-ups of the newspaper and the product you're advertising work together. The newspaper will send a patsy reporter to "discover" some minor, mildly unacceptable issue with the product in question. The seller of said product will have planted this issue, and as such will be able to clean it up in record time. The exposé will cast off suspicions of bias, while the company whose product you sell will get some free press and will receive a follow up article about how competently they solved the problem."
   
   The professor replied: "Scott, that violated every article of the Society of Professional Journalists Code of Ethics. You may be the most unethical person I've ever taught." But it would have worked damn it.
   

- Scott