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Gresham's Hundreds: The First Frivolities

I started Gresham's Hundreds as a direct result of the post where I said I had everything I wanted already. This bothered me. It made me ask myself, 'So what the bloody hell am I working for then?' Instead of quitting the workforce proper and becoming a grifter (which I am by no means ruling out) I decided that I would take on projects, frivolities, and bizarre purchases to fuel my languid sense of consumerism.

I wondered... what could I buy that would make me a better person. A more rounded person. A holier person. It so happened that, unbidden, the Reverend Al Sharpton jumped into my thoughts. In fact, I'm sure that's the only way he ever jumps into anyone's thoughts. I decided that I had to cast the beast out, but then I realized... he's a reverend. How do I contend with that?

By becoming ordained myself! A quick search around the interwebs turned up several such sites. A slightly longer comparison of the legality of various methods of being ordained followed, and finally a deliciously long rant about why I wanted (and felt I deserved) to be ordained along with some cash to grease the wheels, and two weeks later I receive the following in the mail:

I'm ordained as hell!

So from now on, you can refer to me as the Reverend H. Scott Gresham. On the left I have the founding documents of my church. As it turns out, I get to pick the name. I'm still taking suggestions, but I'm leaning toward The Scott Gresham Hallelujah House of Pancakes (and Salvation). On the right is the document from Rose Ministries confirming me as a member in good standing of their order, and legally ordaining me to perform marriages, funerals, and last rites.

Oh, and in the middle is my clergy credentials card, which I intend to use to visit friends in the hospital when they're only letting in family. You can always play the clergy card I've found. So it gets me a little more access. It's also a fun thing to pull out as an explanation for why you're someplace you shouldn't be. Nobody questions a Reverend. It's like a never ending roll of Mentos.

Other advantages of being ordained include:

• Telling people the end is near, but also offering an inexpensive sure-fire-salvation package.
  
• Blessing water to make it holy, useful for fighting Zombies, Vampires, Werewolves, and most other kinds of undead. (Ask me about my Holy Water creation service; just $5 bucks per gallon! Unleash a Super Soaker filled with the power of God on those pesky evil creatures of the night.)
  
• Frequently forgiving myself.
  
• Asking Jesus, as a personal favor, to spare a few kittens for me.
  
• Being able to marry and bury people (not always mutually exclusive).
  

If you'd like a closer look at my (suitable for framing!) Certificate of Ordination, here it is.

I'm working on the doctorate for a future GH, but most of those come from Qatar or the United Arab Emirates. I'd prefer to stay off the no-fly lists, for now anyway. Still, I promise that eventually you'll be able to call me "Reverend Dr. H. Scott Gresham, Esquire." And not only will you be able to; I'll make you.

Go in peace my children.

So say we all.

P.S. (I got bored later, and since it was so easy... here's this: the sign for my church.)

New Wonder Blog Segment

I'm ducked low at my desk typing furiously; attempting to finish before anyone notices I'm not working. The "Scranton" branch of my company (where I first worked) is closing tomorrow, and no one seemed to realize it until today so there's a week's worth of shit to get done in about 36 hours. This has been keeping me busy all week, hence my lack of updates. However I managed to complete a promotional shot for the new segment: Gresham's Hundreds.

Like Brewster's Millions... only poorer.

So look forward to that over the weekend. I'll explain more later, but someone's headed this way. Back to the Data Mines.

- Scott

When your Patron Saint is Jim Halpert...

If I could be thought of as the equivalent of my office's Jim Halpert, then another employee who we'll call "Jeff" because it's his name, would certainly be Dwight Schrute. I've played a few practical jokes on him. Once I hid under the raised floor for 15 minutes, patiently waiting for a text message from Jimmy that would give me the heads up to... well pop my head up. Another time I called the "bat phone" (which was presumed to be disconnected) and as a fictitious VP, frantically described a smoke alarm I was seeing.

But what I think makes for the best pranks, are those you don't have to be present for. Without further ado, today's chicanery:



My phone ran out of memory, so here's a better look at what Jeff will see at 2 AM when he tries to open that (essential) program. Oh, and I turned the speakers up to full volume.

I love the corporate world.

Spider-man, Spider-man, does whatever the Emos can.

I saw Spider-Man 3 this weekend with my good friend, and first Thane of Candyland, Jake. I could review it, but you'll see it anyway. Instead I'll make fun of the movie point by ridiculous point, using that tried and true blogging standard: unordered lists.

Without further skippable text all the things Spider-Man 3 loses points for.

• Hot, female, well groomed scientists. As someone with a background in the sciences, I can tell you that these do not exist. Most of the women (especially in computer science) could pass for truckers, not models. So stop it with that crap.
  
• Snaggletooth'd Mary Jane Watson. Kirsten Dunst. Enough said.
  
• The "I have amnesia" plotline. Seriously. If one more asshole writer uses convenient memory loss as a way to advance the story, I'm going to rampage through Hollywood shooting at these people with bullets fashioned crudely from their scripts. It may not kill, but it will certainly maim.
  
• The Mask-style dance scene in the Jazz club with Gwen Stacey filling in for Cameron Diaz. What, were we feeling nostalgic for 1994? And if Spidey's with MJ, shouldn't that mean that Gwen is dead?
  
• The asymmetrical-haired-eyeliner-wearing-emo-kid "Dark Peter Parker." Why, God why was I forced to watch this?
• That dance scene again. Jesus, he played jazz piano and said "this one's for you" in a faux-breathy jazz voice. I'm squirming in discomfort as I relive it.
  
• Harry Osbourne as the new Green Goblin. He's not so much the new Green Goblin as the new Marty McFly on a brand new Mattel Hoverboard. I would go so far as to call him, not the Silver Surver, as the Black-clad Snowboarder.
• And finally: everything the Sandman does. Especially that corny as Hee-Haw scene where he explains that "he didn't mean no harm" by all the stealing and the killing. He has a sick daughter after all, this was his only route.
  

But it's not all bad, I have to admit. Things that save the movie:

• Bruce Campbell as the maître d'.
  

Go see it, if only for that.

In other news: I've been thinking a lot and I've come up with a new segment for the Wonder Blog that I think you'll all find quite hilarious. The two people I've described it to laughed aloud with mirth and merriment, just hearing the outline of the idea. So, I think it's a keeper. I'm working on it now, and hope to have something to show for it by the end of the week.

in the dark where do shadows go?

Hats off to you, Mr. Durden

Apparently I'm a much more pure person than I give myself credit for. Perhaps even a super-being of some sort (I've certainly got my share of minor-superpowers, but that's stored away for a series of posts and a spin-off novel). I run into this quite a bit, and while at first I thought it was just the odd motivations of a few people I knew, I'm starting to think that I might be in the minority here.

I'll make the statement that seems to bother people, then go from there: I have everything I want.

Or, more accurately, there's nothing that I really want enough to pursue. This was something I had to explain to my parents (when they wanted me to get a job), my relatives (when they want to buy me things), and most recently my co-workers* (when they can't believe I don't want overtime).

I've looked into this deeply over the course of several seconds, and realized that most of the things I want can't be bought outright. So, rather than ponder at why the people in my immediate vicinity have such strange values, from now on I've decided to accept that I am simply a more evolved creature, completely above materialism at least where it involves extra effort on my part.

Tyler would be proud.

* they also stared me with incredulity when I would forget to pick up my check at Best Buy for two weeks in a row. What? I can't be expected to bother with these things.