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

Simple Pleasures

Good news. I'm back to posting. That's something you can all be thankful for, even now with your kitchens festering with the remains of last Thursday's meal. I took a much needed vacation from everything that wasn't absolutely essential and as it turns out that means the Wonder Blog from time to time. But don't think I came back without new post material. I was thinking of you the whole time. (Incidentally, that last line makes it sound like I was cheating on my blog with a pen and notepad. And now I'm trying to smooth things over.) Anyway on to the post proper:

/start post

Just this weekend I had some automotive fun*. Unfortunately it came at the cost of a massive interstate accident, but there's always a silver lining to every cloud; you can't blame yourself when you're so completely surrounded by the lining that the cloud doesn't affect you. Coming back from my second viewing of Bond we were stuck in the thick of interstate traffic. The bridge to Illinois just ahead and a promising looking road to our right, we decided to shoot the moon and get out of the gridlock.

So did 15 other cars. We were a mighty caravan, carving a swath of light through the dark countryside. However, mighty though we were, apparently there wasn't one GPS navigation system among us. Otherwise we might have forseen what became inevitable.

Following the caravan, we were perhaps the 8th or 9th car from the front, with several behind. The roads kept getting worse and worse. And eventually we were on a one lane dirt path between cornfields, but everyone behind the first driver (who I suspect was laughing madly) was so sure that our Magellan of the Highway could get us where we were going that nobody turned back.

...Until the one lane road came to an abrupt end in a marsh. Then pictures like the below:

The Panic: "Why are we stopping?"

The Abort: "How the hell are we going to turn around?"

The Do-It-To-Them-Before-They-Do-It-To-Us: "Use the shoulder, before they get here!"

And then we drove several miles back across the country side to find a different (workable) route. It remained hilarious.

- Scott

* This reminds me of my other favorite anti-social car behavior which you can read about below.

Simple Pleasures Continued

You know, it really is the simple things that amuse me the most. Sure, I could go to the movies. But what I like even better is driving around the parking lot and waiting. Waiting for my moment. For that golden opportunity when one of the primo spots opens up near the front of a line, right next to the theater entrance. I then take that spot. But our story, dear readers, does not end here.

Instead, I orchestrate a masterful deception. Everyone in the car gets out and walks to the theater and back. On the way back, we appear as a group just heading to the car. I make a big show of taking out my keys. When I see a car hovering like a jackyl at a carcass I know it's time.

Everyone gets in the car. We buckle up. I put the car in reverse and back out. I get so far out of the spot that I force the car who's waiting to backup too. At this point I'm completely out of the spot, facing down the lane, ready to drive off into the night. ...But I don't drive off. I pull back in. And the schmuck who thought he was going to get a spot? Infuriated.

And then I laugh and laugh. Rinse and repeat as desired. The above post reminded me of it. You should all give it a shot sometime if you're ever (somehow) early for a movie when the lot is packed.

- Scott

The Wonder Blog

Well it's official. We've taken that step together. A serious commitment that, if properly maintained, will last a lifetime and provide enduring gratification. I think you can guess where this is heading. There's really only one conclusion that makes sense.

That's right. I've registered a domain.

thewonderblog.com

I can rest easy in the knowledge that I will never be forced to say aloud "g-money-dope-fly" again.

- Scott

P.S. Tell your friends.

Top (five) of the Pops

Wow, if I knew those ridiculous camera phone pictures I took a month ago were going to stir such good discussion I would have hopped off my lazy ass and posted them sooner. But timing is everything and I guess that was their time. Who knows. Anyway, things have calmed down a spell here in wacky (read: rigid) journalism land. What does that mean for you? Postage of course. Not the 39¢ kind. The priceless kind.

Top Five:

1.) The greatest thing ever. This relates directly to number three on my bottom five. It is, in fact, what I believe Rumsfeld was attempting to do. Unfortunately we missed exactly what happened to the hippy. But it was such a stealthy blow I have no doubt that he was bleeding internally, and completely unconsious of it.

2.) Franklin, you old hound. America The Book on founding fathers and why they'd be unelectable today: Franklin. "He loved the ladies. Loved 'em. Old, young, fat, thin, whatever. Couldn't get enough. Just loved 'em." In addition, I choose to believe this is why he had to do so damned much in his little planner. You try to juggle women. You need time management.

3.) V for Congressman. I won't say I knew it would happen. But I will say I hoped it would happen. I just wish I could be there today when it all goes down. (Also that I had the costume.)

4.) 30 minutes or it's late because we were discussing the "big questions and stuff..." An aside about weed for a second children, shall we? I have to say, I'm dissapointed. Pot smokers have grown increasingly lazy. And I don't mean as a result of the drug. I mean as a group. I don't want to get into an "In my day..." type thing. Because it's clearly far too early for that. But I will say that having it delivered to your home is nothing like what people in my generation had to go through. A personal example of mine you can read here. Also, nobody knows how to roll anything anymore except Europeans, and they're doing it to smoke their own cigarettes (which is about as cool as whittling.)

5.) Election Wrap-up Vid. I thought about not posting this. I don't need to gloat. I don't want to be that guy. However, most of it I hadn't seen, and because I think the kids of today need to know how to roll a blunt, and who better to show them than Donald Rumsfeld.

Bottom Five:

1.) I, for one, welcome our new robot overlords. Hopefully I'll be given a cushy position within the new robo-administration. Like Baltar got. Except I'd request two #6's three #8's and no Xena Warrior Princesses.

2.) Wal-Mart: Nothing gets by them. An accidental slip, sure. But was the slip not noticing the Nazi implication, or was it that too many of us heard about it. Alles klar, Herr Kommissar?

3.) Rummy subtly responding to (what can only be) a grad student. He's clearly been trained in the art of the Kung Fu - Fuck You.

4.) More terrifying reasons for a low approval rate. The more I think about it, the more I'm glad that there are people storming the capital in V costumes right now.

5.) Another "hell-in-a-handbasket" story. Because they're plentiful and the more we hear about it the more we hate it. Does that help? Who knows. But it definitely belongs on the Bottom Five.

- Scott

The world today seems absolutely crackers...

Random thought of the day: Kama Sutra Cookie Cutters. The tag-line practically writes itself. "The best fucking cookies you've ever had..."

Random real-life product of the day: The 9/11 Commission Report. Why is it interesting? Because someone decided it needed a little pizzaz. That there was a better way to tell the story. That words are just too abstract. This person made the report into a comic book. The result is shown below.

They wisely edited out the Blam! next to the building.


Strangely, I'm reminded of those picto-bibles from childhood more than anything.

Also is that Saddam in the last panel? Are they implying that he gave Al-Queada weapons of mass destruction himself? That he literally handed them over? Are they going to have to retcon this section now that we know the Saddam story-arc turned out differently? Who can say? Am I ending this post playing the question game?

- Scott?

"Think the drink through."

Dragging my feet on the election story I'm covering, which is due by 8:00 a.m. tomorrow, I'm looking for any excuse to do something else. I had a beer. Made myself a sandwich (from my delicious deli fixin's I pick up weekly). Had a beer with my sandwich. Then enjoyed another beer.

Then I wanted dessert. I went to the Bailey's Irish Cream to pour myself a nightcap and stopped. "Oh God, I'll be too drunk to write."

...and then I laughed and laughed. Because we all know that as a whole, writers are a sober, clean and virtuous folk.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to fill this mug again.

- Scott

Just a minute ladies, I'm questing.

And I thought I had privacy problems in Springfield... Today I was just minding my own business, sitting at my computer, clad only in boxers and one ripped sock. I was dressed like this because I was... you know what, it's not even worth explaining, suffice it to say my front door is dangerous and I was hot because I broke the handle off my radiator and was too lazy to find a wrench.

So sitting there in relative undress, wearing headphones I hear a beating sound. It mostly sounds like the wind, so I ignore it. There is also a demolition going on next door, so these kinds of sounds are fairly normal. But they were coming in bursts of three and starting to get fairly annoying. Had I not been playing a game and talking to people over Ventrillo (audio chat) I might have walked over to the window and told them my opinion on their intelligence, hygiene, and questioned the chastity of their mothers. As it was, I sat there in my red and white skull boxers and one sock.

All of a sudden a voice that was far too clear to be muffled by doors, windows or walls called out far too loudly, far to close to me, "Barr real-estate." As the three women rounded the corner, I pulled off my headphones and looked over at them. As they were reeling from the shockwaves of lust that were no-doubt washing over them I gave them the very non-chalant upward head nod, and said something charming. I believe it was "Just a second, I have to kill this orc."

I proceeded to kill the orc in what, I'm sure, they considered a very diciplined layering of flexible ad-hoc strategy. They proceeded to pine for me. I think they also toured my apartment, I couldn't be sure as I was running back to Lakeshire to try to escape some damned Kobolds that had aggro'd me.

I answered a few questions the girls asked about living here (allegedly they were on a leasing tour) and they lingered for perhaps five minutes before they reluctantly left, dragging their feet all the way.

I'm pretty sure the realty lady winked at me on the way out. And they say you'll never get laid playing World of Warcraft... pfft.

- Scott

Three milligrams of blogging, stat!

Walking into the emergency room, I shook my head and sighed.

"I'd be better off dying after seeing the end of Battlestar Galactica," I thought. Immeadiately following that thought was another. "What, that's going to be your last thought? Or this is? Damn it, think of something good."

But that's jumping into the story in the middle. And as much as I love Tarantino, I think it's better to explain exactly what happened first. (Also, I once wrote a really scathing paper on Faulker's disjointed chronology in A Rose for Emily* and we all know my stance on hypocrisy. I'm against it. For everyone else.)

It was Friday night and after a lovely few hours destroying that which threatens the fair citizens of the Alliance, and I decided that catching up on The Office/BSG that I had downloaded from iTunes would be a lovely way to cap off the night. And it would have.

But it was not to be. All of a sudden my heart felt like it was trying to kick its way out of my chest. Then, more alarmingly, it felt like it decided take a nap after the failed escape attempt. I jumped out of my chair and flipped the eff out. But I recovered (kind of) and allowed myself to be distracted by some more well-written sci-fi escapism.

...Until the second one. Just as strong, this time accompanied with the unnerving sensation of dizzyness and a slight (imagined?) numbness to the left side. I was convinced that I was going to die, and to be honest I was kind of pissed off about it. Here I was just enjoying my show...

Anyway I got my girlfriend to give me a ride and that about catches you up. I mosey'd on in. They hooked me up to an EKG, asked me repeatedly what street drugs I'm on (just Horse), and had me recount what I'd eaten and drunk that day. As it turned out, I'd had a lot of caffine. I never really thought about it as I was consuming it, but the ridiculously large latte, the tea, and the soda I'd had amounted to quite a lot. Coupled with a few hours of inactivity and a pretty vicious cold, I had a recipe for an unsatisfied heart. (I now believe that he was just taking his frusteration out on my ribs.)

So I ask you this, Yes. If the owner of a lonely heart is much better than the owner of a broken heart, how does that compare to the owner of a fitfully palpitating heart? I like to think it's the best of the lot.

- Scott

P.S. Don't worry, I'm fine. I was just overworked/needed rest/third generic "you're not really sick" doctor advice. And lay off the caffine... blah blah blah.

*I chose this angle because the teacher in question went on and on about how great it was. I proved, convincingly that it wasn't. It was my highest grade on a paper in that class (99/100).

I'd rather blog, I'd rather blog than do my work...

Vincent: I've got a threshold, Jules, I've got a threshold for the abuse that I'll take and right now I'm a racecar, man, and you got me in the red. I'm just saying, I'm just saying it's fucking dangerous to have a racecar in the fucking red, that's all. I might blow.

Jules: Oh, you ready to blow? Well I'm a mushroom-cloud-laying motherfucker, motherfucker! Everytime my fingers touch brain I'm Superfly TNT, I'm the Guns of the Navarone. In fact, what the fuck am I doing in the back? You're the motherfucker who should be on brain detail! We're fucking switching, I'm washing the windows and you're picking up this nigger's skull.

As it happens, I describe myself as a mushroom-cloud-laying motherfucker once or twice a day anyway, but at the moment the lines of dialogue apply in their more literal senses. I know I've mentioned it before. But frankly, it's just as true now, if not moreso, than the last time I posted. As a result, I want to blow everything off. And in the spirit of interpretive dance (and song*), here's a video that tells my story.

I'm the dude in the red. At the beginning (which for me, is now) he's in Journalism Graduate school. He's awesome, but unappreciated. At the end, he mocks the shortsighted fools who attempted to impose their arbitrary, rigid style on him.

Annd... cue film.



- Scott

* the song, incidentally, is one of my favorites ever.

Overheard in New York

I have always loved Overheard. It's the kind of project I wish I had started. Unfortunately Overheard in Jerseyville would be a mix of hog feed prices, subtle racism, and discussion about the economy of the community being bolstered by meth production. Which actually sounds like a decent topic the way I just presented...

But that's neither here nor there. What I've always liked best about Overheard in New York is not the quotes, funny though they may be. No, it's the descriptions of the people talking. You see alot of "Jewess" or "Thug Teen" but occasionally they get more elaborate. And I love it.

So in the spirit of Overheard in New York (and considering the awesomely good news at the bottom of this post which you should definitely read), I humbly present quotes from some of my favorite blogs that are Overhear-able, along with the title Overheard title of the person in question (based solely on the quote in question).
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Impossibly pretentious indie music-snob:There are shades of Queen all over the album and I think you're crazy for not hearing it.

Impossibly pretentious indie music-snob: For heaven's sake, the title track is essentially "Killer Queen" with a pared-down "Bohemian" structure, only if Freddie Mercury were from Arizona.
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Ranting sage... who might be on to something: What if the government grew weed, and paid hippies in weed to do various tasks. Its like a self replicating currency... and Hippies will do ANYTHING for weed. No more hazzard pay for those jobs no one wants: Hippies will do it. You want a housekeeper? Contract one from a government Hippie-Aid company, you pay the government a quarter what you normally would pay someone, and that will translate into top quality pot for the Hippy. Its a sure thing... almost as good as monkey butlers.
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Dichotomous Emo Kid: After a lot of drinking and sobbing incoherently about nothing in particular, I've decided that life is too short for hang-ups. From now on, I'm going to care even less about what you fuckers think about me. I'm that independent. Granted, I'll still care about what you think in general. But goddamn it, I've grown too soft, worrying about if I'm held in high regard by certain people. No more! You're all swine, figuratively! But I still love you!
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Animal lover: I woke up this morning to one whiny puppy and one grouchy husband. The two are not mutually exclusive as many a woman wishes.
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But why post this now Scott?: The reason I do this is simple: I've finally acheived a small measure of immortality with a quote on the actual OHNY blog. Check it out here.

Interestingly, avid readers of the Wonder Blog might surmise who the two attractive nerds in question actually are. But I leave the comments open to speculation.

- Scott

A rebuke.

Damn you football. I always think that there's some medieval epic on TV in the other room when I hear your soaring, brass heavy, themes. And there never is. Just football. The laziest sport of them all. Two minutes of setup for thirty seconds of action, followed by two assholes describing ad nasuem what just happened, statistics, and the last 30 years of the sport while we wait for them to set it back up for another thirty seconds.

From now on, when I hear a strong, brass heavy, theme there had damned well better be something to do with swords going on. And the undead. In fact, it had better be Army of Darkness. Do you hear me Fox network? DO YOU?!

- Scott

Five Easy Postings

It's that time of the week when I've got some 'splaining to do. The new Top 5/Bottom 5 is up, not to mention a new Crush o' the Week, so I'd better get to it.

Top Five:

1. If you're within 500 miles of Basil Thai, I command you to go there and have the Peanut Sauce Lover entree. It's fantastic and so damned filling I had it for lunch and skipped dinner.
   
2. I don't know if you get down like this... but combining South Park and World of Warcraft is the best idea since antiseptics (thank you Donnie Darko). You can watch the full episode here. I don't know why, but on some level it bothers me that there are a huge number of people who would be confused by this episode. Or who don't know what an MMORPG is. Or who don't realize that there are people exactly like this, and that I've fought with them on the planes of Karana.
   
3. I wish I were making this up. I doubly wish that it wasn't a Fox News article. But apparently the Muslim world has created knock-off versions of western products like Coca-Cola (Mecca-Cola), Burger King (Beurger-King), and Fulla (Burkha Barbie). They're wonderful parodies, a shame they're real.
   
4. That's right people. A Dark Crystal sequel. I know, it might be a bastardization, but I'm going to see it regardless, so I might as well be excited.
   
5. As lothe as I am to use the term steam-punk, it definitely applies and this laptop looks so good I don't really mind. As a bonus it's actually a functioning laptop.
   

Bottom Five:

1. The title pretty much sums it up.
   
2. Once again, the title says it all. But I will say that this is yet another tiny incremental step toward a frightening future. But if things really do get that bad, I'll at least be able to be a "people's champion" style bandit. So I'll have that consolation.
   
3. This should have been on the Top Five, but it represents a negative concept (and I filled out the Top Five pretty quickly this week) so it's on the bottom. But watch it. It's hilarious.
   
4. This man is banning Fahrenheit 451. Worse, I'm sure the irony is absolutely lost on him as he's never read it.
   
5. Bush might be the most strategicly stupid human being in the world. His allegedly unintentional inability to speak gives him two advantages. One: it gives his spin people time to work and the opportunity to say "Oh the president misspoke, what he meant was..." And two: he never has to commit to anything. He has the built-in excuse of being flustered or vague. His position is always revisible. Another bonus: he can pretend to be a man of the people, not some intellectual like the Dem's.

And that's the Top/Bottom Five.

- Scott

Mo' bloggin'.

I was recently standing in front of one of my largest classes defending a title I put on an infographic that said "Mo' Freshmen." The professor warned that it may be considered offensive. Bah. I went on "But it's true, there are mo' freshmen!" I (pretend to) have no idea where that man is coming from sometimes.

Anway the "mo'" in my title doesn't refer to more, but to mobile. I haven't updated my Moblog in what seems like ages. I haven't completed the photodump from my phone to my computer because I suspect that my phone is a USB 1.1 connection, or a USB 2.0 running at Full Speed rather than High Speed. To translate from Nerd: the transfer is painfully slow.

But in the past three(ish) days I've snapped three pictures that I think warrant posting. Without further tapdancing:

I'm everywhere*. The one in the back has my shirt on. Well, not my shirt. But one I own. We're also sporting the very trendy "I'm afraid to get my hair cut" do. Which led to an odd moment of walking through Borders and having my girlfriend point out that it looks like I'm on the cover of a Gay Men's magazine (not that I don't have the body for it).


"Absolut Awkward."

I think I should start a side-blog where I review bathrooms. Because I have very strong opinions about the layout and design of John's around the world. This one is perhaps the worst. There's no way to wash your hands without rubbing elbows with the guy taking a leak. There just isn't. And if you angle to the left to avoid contact, you inadvertantly align yourself to be hunched over, leaning towards a urinating man. Forget waterboarding, this should be the torture method of choice.

And finally...

Talk about not knowing your audience.

That bottom line says "Please re-think(sic) abortion." Being one myself, I have to say that most of the people that this poster appeals to do not need to consider abortion. Forget for a second the built-in LOTR birth control, the very idea that Galadriel is going to convince a die-hard pro-choicer is quite possibly the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. What could the thought process possibly be? "Well, I've always supported a woman's right to choose, but she is the weilder of Nenya, the ring of water, and she managed to turn down the One Ring... hmm, she might just be right."

Seriously.

- Scott

* Though technically it could also be Ed Speelers.

So. Busy. Must. Post...

Recently I've felt like I'm stretched to my limit. I'm ridiculously busy; between classes, girlfriends, and work I'm like a postal worker on speed. And like that postal worker I'm savoring the thought of going a little crazy. Though, to be fair, I don't intend to shoot anyone. But if I could actually fire bullets into abstract concepts I'd be going through clips like Fiddy.

Basically this is my "Civil War Letter Home"-style post to let you know that things are hellish on the front. I know not what kind of hardtack I'll be eating (either raman or Life cereal), nor when I might seek repreive from the ravages of academia. But I take solace in knowing that, like Cincinattus, when my campaign is over I'll have my farm (blog) to return to. Unless those fucking Plebians start with me, because so help me Gods...

Anyway I just wanted all you away from the fighting to know that I'm hanging in there... at least for now.

- Scott

P.S. If you'd like a better idea of where I'm at, stress-wise, watch this short, informational film. (The highest quality I could find too. So don't blame me.)

I hate you so much.

Ever been in a pissing contest*? I, through no fault of my own, sometimes find myself in them. Most recently I seem to have entered into a game of passive agressive torts with one of my teachers. This unfortunate woman has exactly no sense of humor. Word play? She hates it. And, my god, should you think of bending any rule of political correctness you'll find yourself face face with royalty in the form of an Ice Queen faster than you can say "those damn, filthy Eskimos."

Icy, we'll call her Icy, is the kind of writer (and human being) that is dry, exacting and devoid of all color. Both in the melanin and metaphorical senses of the word. As such I believe it is my duty to occasionally turn in something a little different. And by "occasionally," I mean in every article I have to write. And by "a little different" I mean I plan to teach her a lesson through the art of the horrible pun.

Here are three examples and her reactions.

Example 1:

• Headline for story about Heterosexual Society: A Gay Old Time.

• Reaction: Gave me a D, wrote that "offensive wisecracks are better kept to yourself."Challenge accepted.

Example 2:

• She went on and on about how we should mention that the City Council came from a soup kitchen just before the meeting. So... I did.

• An apron clad Champaign City Council met Tuesday night, fresh from serving at TIMES Center soup kitchen. At the meeting however, it was debate rather than soup, that was stirred. The deliberations centered on how to set the tax levy in a prosperous year like 2006: do they add some beef to the stew to fatten up as much as possible for potential “lean years” or do they "water down the broth" and give the tax payers a break?

• Reaction: She unexpectedly circled the paragraph and wrote "good."
  

Example 3:

• Today was the midterm exam. I took most of it at the computer where I typed up a few answers. One of the questions asked me to rewrite the lead of a story about American Indians. ...So I did.

• Tuesday night, five American Indian journalists had a powwow of sorts with university professors to discuss the role of American Indians in the news media and combat unfair stereotypes.

• Reaction: I'm thinking a lynch mob, but I just turned it in five hours ago, so I don't know.
  

- Scott

*Inexplicably my girlfriend has never heard the term "Getting into a pissing contest with him." It's pretty common isn't it?