Jeff's Christmas Bash/Political Statement

Another fine email from Jeff!

Chip,

Please confirm whether you are coming to the Christmas lunch.

I ordered you steak. The other options were the chicken (dessicant) or halibut (horseshoe fish). In the Navy we had three kinds of fish: square fish, triangle fish, and horseshoe fish. If you haven't had two month old horseshoe fish prepared to serve 5000 people you haven't truly lived!

By the way, some people (Hindus no doubt) had the gall to complain about presence of meat (lack of vegetarian dishes) at the Christmas party. Religiously prescribed vegetarianism has no place at a Christmas party. I am starting a political party called the Carnitarians, and our main platform will be to enact legislation that requires you to serve protein with every meal at public functions (Soy burgers count too, only because planting soybeans in alternating years increases corn yield, ultimately driving down the cost of meat and gasoline.)

Vote Carnitarian 2008!

Sincerely,
Jeff Demattos
Applications Engineer

Jeff's Conspicuous Lack of Hotel

Email received recently from Jeff, edited only for spelling and clarity:

Last week my house was missed by the wildfires "thanks to the giant firebreak in my backyard" [ed: the golf course finally served a purpose!]. Kim in inside sales called me sick in the head for not worrying about it. I could only tell her, "It's insured, and there weren't any people or any of my possessions in it, so why should I be worried? This will be great for the rental market!" That comment didn't help Kim's sense of my mental health.

Now I am in New Orleans for the Coast Guard Innovation Expo. Its like CES for people who are trying to take advantage of the fact that the Department of Homeland Security has no idea how to spend money effectively.

Last night we got in late, like 11:00 pm, to the hotel room. We are staying in a part of New Orleans with a conspicuous lack of restaurants open after 11:00 pm. So, we had to hunt around for an hour to find a place that was open. I ended up getting a really spicy chicken sandwich (yummy food, bad choice for a guy trying to go to sleep) at FuddRuckers. Nice name, asshole.

When I finally get back to the hotel room, the floor we are on is already populated by whooping and hollering drunken hillbillies. They continued to whoop and holler until well after 3:00 am. This is the only time in history that I have ever called security on someone who was having fun. I have to be up at 6:00 am to get ready for the show and these fuddruckers are whooping and hollering in an expensive hotel across from the convention center at 3:00 am Sunday night before a big show. I am talking the kind of whooping and hollering usually reserved for a strip club when some poor kid on his 18th birthday on stage simultaneously getting an atomic wedgie and three pairs of very nice tits rubbed in his face. And I had to try and break it up. This is already turning out to be a trip from hell. Fortunately for the fuddruckers next door, the hotel has a conspicuous lack of security personnel who are willing to do anything about it unless there is physical damage being done to hotel property.

I woke up this morning to take a shower. The first thing I noticed is that all of the towels were stored INSIDE of the shower. Who's bright idea was that? Please, mr. owner of W hotel, next time you have a bright idea try running it by a first grader to see if it has any fatal flaws that you might be missing. So I went to take the towels out of the shower, and noticed a conspicuous lack of anywhere to hang a towel, wet or dry (or my toiletry bag), in the bathroom. So the towels stayed in the shower. Then I turned on the shower, and it only has two modes: off, and supersonic. It's the kind of shower that blasts the top layer of skin off of your fuddrucker. After the water is done torturing your body, it instantly deflects upward toward the towel rack. It blasts so hard and fast that it creates an updraft that catches the shower curtain, forcing you to either huddle in a corner of the shower (presumably afraid of someone else's fuddruckers lurking on the shower curtain) or be forced to wrestle hopelessly with the curtain for legroom. I have to warn you here that no matter how hard you fight the shower curtain, it will always fly back up. There was a conspicuous lack of magnets or weights at the bottom of the shower curtain. [ed: GD Bernoulli effect!]

Then I went to iron my clothes for the show. I like to iron my clothes while drinking coffee. There was a conspicuous lack of a coffee maker in the room, and a conspicuous lack of a place to plug in the iron anywhere close to a place with enough floor space to stand the Ironing board. I should let you know that there was also a conspicuous lack of wireless internet (only a plug-type with a plug that is conspicuously too short to reach my Ethernet port on the left side of my computer. The provided cable is on the right side of the desk). There is also a conspicuous lack of a plug anywhere near the desk for charging my laptop, phone, and whathaveyou. I have to go now to give a wake-up call to the fuddruckers.

"Good morning, sir. this is your 6:30 wake up call"

"I didn't order a wakeup call"

"Thats funny, I didn't order you whooping and hollering all night long, and not even stopping after security came by your door to ask you to quiet down."

Sincerely,

Jeff Demattos

Applications Engineer

Wasted time...

"I have wasted too much time trying to figure out why you don't like me--it turns out I wasn't paying attention to what mattered most... You don't like me.

By the way... get over yourself. I sure have."

Funny thing is, I'm posting that here, but the people I'd love to read that won't ever do so. I'll have to wait for the next time they call, I suppose!

Lies, damned lies...

...and other crap I write on post-it notes, and put on my office door:

"Scott's afternoon office hours to meet in library as discussed in class! TNX!"

=lunch date

I'm not so ashamed.

WTF, Over?

Why does every semester's new math class bring with it someone that I wasn't planning on seeing? Jesus.

"James Blunt's 'You're Beautiful' Makes People Want to Hurt Others"

visit: AceShowBiz for the complete rundown...

"A poll was gathered by RollingStones.com's Rock List column and Blunt's hit beat Black Eyed Peas' 'My Hump' and Smash Mouth's 'All Star'. The songs that are considerably new are followed in the fourth and fifth post with old pieces 'Don't Worry be Happy' by Bobby McFerrin and 'YMCA' by Village People respectively."

Jeffunnies

A trip to Jeff's is always eventful and fun. There's never a time when I -don't- pull out my cell phone and take notes. Here's some entries from our car/Bart/ped from San Jose to Millbrae/San Francisco:

Jeff: "I don't want Chinese. You go eat, and wakeup in a bathtub full of ice with your kidneys missing."
Scott: "Or that's just what you think--you wake up with cuts on your back stitched up, and you THINK someone took your kidneys to sell on the black market. You come to, and think you're going to die soon, and you go do a bunch of wild and crazy shit that you never would have done otherwise. In reality, it was just a cruel joke. You live--and it turns out it was the best thing that ever happened to you."

---

Random lady near Pier 39: "Which one is Alcatraz?"
Jeff: "It's the one with the prison on it." (click thumbnail below for pictures!)

---

Jeff, on why Alcatraz appears so close to shore: "Its like a rear view mirror--only backwards. Objects in the ocean are farther away than they appear."

---

Jeff: "If we didn't go this way, we never would have seen pier 29 and a half."

---

Jeff, on a better technical name for the band (on a poster on BART): "It should be Frankie Valli XOR the Four Seasons."

---

Jeff, on ordering Pizza Hut: "Unfortunately the crust we wanted wasn't supported by the coupon structure."

---

San Jose/San Francisco/Jeff Trip

A Recent Jeff Funny

From an email:

...or we could go to the petting zoo or laguna seca or Starbucks for venti caramel vanilla latte.
Funny story about that: I was at Starbucks in Edgewood, MD two weeks ago.

They have three sizes, translated as large, tall, and long.

Me: Can I get a medium please?

Girl at counter: Sorry, no medium. We have three different sizes (pointing to the sign--all of which imply that you will be drinking too much coffee, each in their own different language). I think you want a tall.

Me: Thanks, next I bet you'll ask me if I play basketball. Give me the grande.

(She proceeds to hand me a tiny cup of piping hot foam with almost no coffee in it)

Me: I should have gotten the long.

Girl at counter: That's what she said.

A Starbucks girl got me with the "That's what she said." line. I guess I had it coming.

Tonopah

Yep... It sure is.

Jaidyn at the movies...

But we saw Transformers.

"Way to set up the double play..."

Joel and I headed to LA for a couple Dodger games. We returned to Vegas with two pounds of Mizithra cheese, and zero Dunkin' Donuts.

Overheard in Barstow...

"People don't realize that if Christmas was on the 20th and not the 24th, it'd still be fall..."

The D'ohrs at the Beauty Bar

Jim Morrison's Death + 36 years + Beauty Bar + (Noe/Kendall/PJ {white shoes, white shirt, cigarette, alcoholic beverage}) + Keil + Gogo Dancing + Tribute Band - Sound Issues + VJ Pablo {slideshow/oil show} + Getting in before they started charging cover = Pretty Cool.

You insist on your damned Fijian water...

You. Drinking it. Killing the planet.

Message in a Bottle (from FastCompany.com)

Quote:

"The label on a bottle of Fiji Water says "from the islands of Fiji." Journey to the source of that water, and you realize just how extraordinary that promise is. From New York, for instance, it is an 18-hour plane ride west and south (via Los Angeles) almost to Australia, and then a four-hour drive along Fiji's two-lane King's Highway.

Every bottle of Fiji Water goes on its own version of this trip, in reverse, although by truck and ship. In fact, since the plastic for the bottles is shipped to Fiji first, the bottles' journey is even longer. Half the wholesale cost of Fiji Water is transportation--which is to say, it costs as much to ship Fiji Water across the oceans and truck it to warehouses in the United States than it does to extract the water and bottle it.

That is not the only environmental cost embedded in each bottle of Fiji Water. The Fiji Water plant is a state-of-the-art facility that runs 24 hours a day. That means it requires an uninterrupted supply of electricity--something the local utility structure cannot support. So the factory supplies its own electricity, with three big generators running on diesel fuel. The water may come from "one of the last pristine ecosystems on earth," as some of the labels say, but out back of the bottling plant is a less pristine ecosystem veiled with a diesel haze."

When you can show me that your car gulps less gas than mine, and you're drinking a little more local water--lemme know. And no, hybrid cars don't count--they had to make that electricity somehow--and I'll give you a hint, it's not clean!

Wait... I'm starting to like PETA?

This is the same organization that has hot naked models--something they think will get me to STOP eating meat. Don't they realize that I'm going to continue, so long as the girls are clothed? Change your tactics! I'll sign your pledge if you shed the clothes--you can't start with the prize FIRST.

And, I totally agree with the "I'm not a nugget" cutesy pictures of chicks. It should read, "I'm not a nugget--yet... until I'm humanely grown, euthanised, plucked, separated, marinated, breaded, fried, and served with your choice of sauce..."

The reason I'm smiling: PETA Article - Letter to Michael Moore

Quote:

“Although we think that your film could actually help reform America’s sorely inadequate health care system, there’s an elephant in the room, and it is you. With all due respect, no one can help but notice that a weighty health issue is affecting you personally. We’d like to help you fix that. Going vegetarian is an easy and life-saving step that people of all economic backgrounds can take in order to become less reliant on the government’s shoddy healthcare system, and it’s something that you and all Americans can benefit from personally.”

So you think you're a citizen??

Click here to take MSNBC's test

I hear a lot of people talk a lot about politics and tons of other crap they know nothing about. I can usually ask a couple questions directly dealing with the subject at hand (that they brought up--lord knows I don't bring this stuff up), that completely annihilate their position, or show they know too little to even be talking about it.

Go ahead, take it. My score? First try--18 out of 20, 90%. I made two stupid mistakes.

From MSNBC:

"When immigrants want to become Americans, they must take a civics test as part of their naturalization interview before a Citizenship and Immigration Services (INS) officer. The questions are usually selected from a list of 100 sample questions that prospective citizens can look at ahead of the interview (though the examiner is not limited to those questions). Some are easy, some are not. We have picked some of the more difficult ones. NOTES: The INS plans to revise its list of questions in 2008 (a pilot program is using these new questions at selected INS sites). Also, the questions in the test below are as asked on the official United States Immigration and Naturalization Services Web site. Candidates are not given multiple choices in the naturalization interview, which is conducted orally."

from Bash.org

(edited only for clarity):

DragonflyBlade21:

A woman has a close male friend.

This means that he is probably interested in her, which is why he hangs around so much.

She sees him strictly as a friend. This always starts out with, "You're a great guy, but I don't like you in that way."

This is roughly the equivalent of going to a job interview and the company saying, "You have a great resume, you have all the qualifications we are looking for, but we're not going to hire you. We will, however, use your resume as the basis for comparison for all other applicants--but we're going to hire somebody who is far less qualified and is probably an alcoholic. And, if he doesn't work out, we'll hire somebody else--but still not you. In fact we will never hire you, but we will call you from time to time to complain about the person that we hired."

Too true!

Police Invesitgation Squad Trailer

From Jeff Hodsdon:

Hey all,

Here is the trailer to P.I.S., a pilot my buddies and I put together. Please pass it on to anyone and everyone. We will be having a premier party shortly. Thanks for your support and please enjoy.

- Jeff H.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2ep7D69y-Q

Vegas, again??

It's Saturday night--where the hell am I?? Cool--in the third picture, on the right there's a mirror/window. The window looks into the shower! Okay, I suppose you could also be in the shower and see the room. Nice tall vaulted cielings!

Exceptions (Acceptions) to Scottish Nomenclature

There are few people on this planet who can call me names other than 'Scott'. Well, as far as the ones close to 'Scott' go--I'm not typically called 'Scott', it's usually 'jerk', 'asshole', 'JESUS you're huge', 'slim', 'chief', 'brother', etc.

Exceptions:

• Scotters - My father and Jeff
  
• Scotty - Ryan
  
• Scotland - an 'ex'
  

Don't even think about adding yourself to the list, unless of course you want me to go by the much keener nickname, 'defendant'. Jeff can only call me Scotters because at one point in time he had 30+ pounds on me, and has always had a height advantage.

More retail shenanigans...

Why is it that everything I post in this 'rant' series revolves around food? Good question. Please tell my doctor, post-mortem.

So, this found on a Coldstone Creamery door. Are they saying they're open another 11 hours each day? Ya know, if you just slap a number on without changing the am/pm thingy... It no worky so well.

No Comment.

Why I'm at the Voodoo Lounge eludes me.

Math eludes her.

No biggy.

Deja-Again

What in the hell were they thinking? Eh--who knows. It reminds me of the Ethel M. chocolates near the elevators on the first floor. On crack. Yeah, forgot to mention that.

JFGI

from bash.org : I had to google "jfgi" to see what it meant. The irony is overwhelming.

Don't know what jfgi is? Click here.

The moral of the story is--it takes me less than 5 seconds to look up your answer. Do yourself (and me) a favor, and just try that Google thing. If Dr. Bhatnagar knows what it is, and how to use it...

Remembering 20+ Years at the B.C. Theatre

I remember when people went to this place to see movies. Talk about memories...

Today, Elise and I went to see "Sleeping Beauty", put on by Miss Amy's Dance Etc. and the Boulder City Ballet Company. I looked around and remembered other events from decades prior:

• First date, with Aimee, in the 3rd Grade. "The Private Eyes"
  
• Various Disney flicks such as Lady and the Tramp, and Aristocats
  
• One of my faves, "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels"
  
• Last, but not least, in 1992, with the former mayor of Boulder City (John Pilgrim)... "Kuffs"
  

I've gotta get me one of those... They're adorable...

There was another epic viewing of the smoking video tonight (the uncut full version--22+ minutes long)...

Haley: Can we pause this for a cigarette break?

Crayola Emos

Yeah... this is old and stolen... But it's funny. Click on the picture to enlarge it so you can read the colors...

Air Show

Air

We went to an Air Show, and I didn't even see one G.D. airplane or helicopter. How disappointing. Just a couple fruity Frenchmen. Sheesh.

P.S. I survived banana-girl and a Y!!! turn on Greek row. And had a good time doing it.

Didn't we just see this, like two months ago?

Caesar's

Yeah, but it's a hellofa place to write lectures.

He's Baaaack...

7:15pm--I'm in class. Some guy flips me off. That's a good thing. It's Heath's caller ID on my phone. He's in town. He's ready for a trek to the Crown & Anchor. (that's the picture, we always do the dart thing... they don't have John Courage anymore, but they'll always have darts...)

He's back from Afghanistania (what a joy it must be to forecast the weather in Kandahar!).

Tomorrow he and the lil' lady (I use the term lil' quite loosely, and lady even moreso) are off to an Angels game in Anaheim, then back to romp in Vegas 'til Monday. Hope they get to see Spamalot!

Worst. Fortune. EVER.

Tia and I had P.F. Chang's for din din last night. (It was China-Bistrolicious).

Anyhow. We got three fortune cookies, apparently one for each, and then one to share. I don't even remember what the shared one, because the one intended for me was so godawful...

YOU ARE ALMOST THERE
25 35 41 42 47 . 7

What the hell am I supposed to think about that?!?!?!? At least the number 42 was in there.

P dub Ts @ HOB in the OC

As the last part of a string of concerts-as-birthday-presents, Elise and I drove to Dizzyland on Sunday to see: Lovedrug, Mayday Parade, Boys Night Out, and The Plain White T's at the House of Blues in Disneyland's downtown district. It was even fun to wait for the show--I got to drive the remote control Jungle Cruise boats at the Disneyland Hotel, and there was much peoplewatching/peoplemocking to do.

Plain White T's @ HOB/Dizzyland

Funny Quotes from the trip:

• The tree leaves are so huge... This must be Disneyland... (Elise)
• I can't believe how cool I am! (Elise after a rocker asked for her number)
• Extra credit points if you point to me from on stage. (Elise to the same rocker)
• Girl: Oww, that really hurts. Me: Kiss and make it better? Girl: What? (After she was rescued from the crowd)
• 19 year old girls scare the shit out of me! (Me, after Elise yelled "HEY, come take a picture of me!")
  

Was that IAMX or IMAX??

Either way... It was loud. The laser-light circle was inspiring! It was so great that PJ wet his pants!

If you can't do the math...

...then get out of the equation...

I $#!t you not, that's lyrics from a song playing on my office-mate's computer... That'll teach me to be here after 5pm on a Friday.

On further inspection, that's Hilary Duff singing, "The Math", (Click here for links to lyrics)

Showering (no pictures, I promise)

I reaffirmed my hatred in two things today. Both of them are to be classified as immediate post-showering incidents, specifically right after drying off:

• Sneezing, probably from allergies, directly onto your dry bare chest. If you don't get right back in the shower and rinse, you can feel it all day. Just wet-toweling it clean doesn't work. I envision a very thin layer (like a light 'peel') of sneeze. Eww.

• Realizing that you may... or may have not... rinsed the conditioner out of your hair. It really sucks if you discover that you have, indeed, NOT done so--the question then becomes 'where does one stand to rectify this problem?' Back in the shower--getting more wet than necessary, or standing just outside the basin, leaning in, trying to rinse just your head? Either proposition sucks.
  

CVS Pharmacies are Price Gougers!

$999.99 for a 6 pack of Green Tea. I asked the cashier and he replied, "Yeah, there's a lot of items for a thousand bucks... Basically whenever we get an item, have to put it on the shelf, and have no information for it, that's what happens." Way to go, management!

Lied Library Devastation

This is what happens when I have to study for an exam. Well, there's usually an additional cell phone {but in this case, I was using it to take the picture}, and a several hundred pound oaf sitting there too... Table for four, please?

Math Dork?

5:06 am

Approximately 5% of my days start like this. Without my desire to do so. Watch the video. That's not my room. Any questions? Read on. This clip is worthless without sound--so crank it.

The following was created last year, 4/1/2006:

PRESS RELEASE

Dateline: 4/1/6, 0800 PST, and NO, this is no April Fool's Joke.
Location: East Las Vegas, Nevada, USA

Title: LARGE BEAST ROUSTED BY UNTIMELY {HA!} BEEPING--ALARM CLOCK DESTROYED IN ENSUING MELEE

Content: At approximately WAY TOO FUCKING EARLY in the morning (6:00am--after a long night battling a toothache, percocet, and insomnia for some strange reason), a 350 pound ogre's dreams increasingly contained a beeping alarm clock noise. Upon said beast's wakening, it muttered something about killing a Hawaiian, only to find that the racket was coming from somewhere... somewhere darker... much scarier... PJ's room. Thirty button presses and switch moves later, it had been silenced. Why the beast was looking on the BOTTOM of the alarm clock, the beast does not know. Nobody will ever know.

And, your clock is fine.

Food Service Industry Mathematics (a rant) {as usual}

Nothing upsets me more than making me think about math when I am hungry. Okay, that's a lie, I just really hate stupid people in the restaurant business. The workers have a bit more leeway with me in this department... It's the jerkoffs in their advertising and uppy-up departments that cheese my weasel.

Der Weinerschnitzel: By no means the worst offender, but they happen to be among the most recent. (sidenote: I'd like to see a replay of the staff meeting where they decided to drop the Der)... After being told an incorrect total for my meal, I simply stated, "No." to the worker behind the counter. Her first language was not English, and among her first two languages was not Math. Discussing this would be fruitless, so I hoped that she'd just grab a manager. She urged me that the total was correct and I said no again, and refused to hand over my money--in fact, I had the correct amount of money in my hands, which would not have covered the total she purported. A bit of manager intervention, and amazingly, the total became correct--I handed the money over, and that was that. I honestly think that she didn't even have anyone spit in my food either. Now, here's the fun part:


That's the sign in the window--I spied it as I got back into my car. Firstly, the idea of Weinerschnitzel for breakfast does NOT sound appealing in the slightest. Secondly, I hate to think of the number of employees that would have to be around for the breakfast shift for, what--two orders at most? Third--read the fineprint under the sign: "...served until 10:30 a.m. / full menu available all day" Do you understand the problem? They contradict themselves right there. If the full menu IS available all day, I should be able to order breakfast all day--otherwise just what the hell do they imply by Full Menu?


Subway: I always hated the fact that when I was in high school two six-inch 'cold cut combo' sandwiches cost LESS than one foot-long 'cold cut combo' sandwich--even though the amount of material (yes, just a trivial amount of paper) was greater, along with the work. "Can I get two six-inch cold cut combos?" "Do you want a footlong?" "No, it costs more than two six-inchers." The dismay that I saw at every Subway I went to (including out-of-state locations) was dumbfounding. Yeah, I know, it was only pennies (2 x $1.99 is only slightly less than 1 x $3.99, by a penny in fact) but it still cheesed my weasel. Provalone cheesed my weasel, in fact.


Wonder Burger: I am not sure if that's the exact name--they're no longer in business. They have been replaced by an equally generically named joint, still on the southeast corner of Trop and Eastern. I was intrigued by the menu item 'Mega Monster Burger'. Me, being a monster, was delighted at the fact that there was a menu item just for me. What worried me was the use of the term 'Mega'. Mega implies one million. It should have been one million times something, or at least so gargantuan that I shouldn't have been able to eat it. At over $8, I was expecting something that would kill me (on the spot, not in several decades via my clogged arteries). My banter with the owner stated that the math term was probably a bit inappropriate, but I was willing to turn a (fat) cheek--if indeed this was a monster burger. To her astonished dismay, I said, "If I can eat this all in one sitting, I will NEVER come back." I'm pretty sure that brought some relief--the chance that I wouldn't be back, but she assured me it was a big burger. Right. It was only two 1/2 pounders in one bun. It was good, but gone in under 15 minutes. I didn't, and won't, return.


Red Robin: In an opt-in spam I received (yes, I suppose the term morbidly obese floats around in your mind when you keenly notice that I'm subscribed to a burger-joint's email listserv), was the following blurb: New Mo-Cheese-Mo Cheeseburger -- Cheese to the 4th power. Right. Red Robin, famous for bottomless baskets of fries, was now in the business of selling higher-order cheeseburgers. It's funny, because Elise and I had been there several days prior to the email, and I'd seen a picture of it. I'd always been under the impression that it'd be quite difficult, if not impossible, to convey dimensions past the 3rd. I logged onto the corporate website and let them know this--I'm sure I won't hear back. I suggested they should say 4x the cheese (it's just a friggin' cheeseburger with 4 different kinds of cheese, 1 slice of each). I also went on to mention that burgers and math don't mix--if they wanted proof they could see the (shudder) Math Department BBQ pictures.


I'm pretty sure there will be more to report if I make the mistake of continuing this so-called life.



UPDATE!! Red Robin emailed me! What sports!

Hi Scott,

Thank you for your comment regarding the mathematical impossibility of our ‘Cheese to the 4^th Power’ Mo-Cheese-Mo Cheeseburger. Our marketing team here got quite a kick out of it!

One of our core values at Red Robin is having fun and we are happy that you had fun with our eClub postcard, although I must admit that it was unintentional on our part. We will work to consider the mathematical feasibility of our promotional materials moving forward, and will strive to accurately convey our menu items to our more mathematically-minded Guests.

Thank you again for having a great sense of humor, as we here at Red Robin always strive to.

Have a great day!

Kirsten Roesch

PANIC!

No, not at the disco.

I have conferred with many a classmate (and thus 'mathdork'), and even a non-classmate (although she could certainly be considered a 'writerdork').

What did we discuss?

The fact that, when one is wearing an analog watch, the moment that a perfectly sane stranger asks you for the time is the single most panic-inducing traumatic event one can experience.

• Person wearing watch's internal dialogue: Oh, God... The big hand... the little hand... past the... before... uhh... [blue screen]

• Person wearing watch's external dialogue: Umm................It's......................It's broken. Sorry. [innocent shrug akin to the kid who started the fire in Four Rooms--same grimaced smile]

Elise doesn't wear a watch precisely for this reason (and wearing a digital watch is for 9-year olds).

I'm pretty sure I can't get a prescription though.

Oops, I did it again...

Since October 27th, 2006 I have committed an act (on numerous occasions) that stupifies me. It amazes me, and makes me feel stupid.

If you know what happened that day, then I'm sure you can speculate as to why.

But.

I'm pretty sure that I need to seek professional help if it keeps happening--it may indicate abnormal swelling.

Elise left, and I checked my wash.

The dryer--done.

The washer?

Not done.

Had it started? Oh, yes. It was full of water, clothes, and dissolved detergent concentrate. Just sitting there.

How did I know this?

The G.D. lid was open.

Is that...?? No... Can't be...

20 minutes prior to the Rise Against/My Chemical Romance show...

Elise and I are sitting down in the ultra-comfy chairs of section 105 at the Orleans Arena...

Inevitably someone needs to go crotch-to-crotch with me--the act of passing by patrons that are too tall to just inch their way past my looming kneecaps. The gentleman in question was taller than me. His date? Pretty miniscule. (The fact that she was a high-school student explains quite a bit). She passed without problem.

I looked to my right to see the now-seated couple, sitting just past Elise.

My thought process was as follows: Is that? Could it be? Hmm... I've only seen him once, but... That looks like a student of my MATH 120 class... A student that showed up on day 1, only to get the syllabus, required documents to be signed and returned (and as of yet, haven't been), and then never to be seen again... Until tonight.

Hmm...

I told Elise. She wondered if she should ask, and I said no--I wasn't sure. How could I be? I pull my phone out and log on to the university's web grading system, giving me access to student phone numbers. I dial the number and wait--he's got a music "wait for me to answer" ringtone. If it's not him, I'm calling a student at about 8:30pm, and about to leave a message or talk to someone with an awful lot of ambient noise. If it's him, I've got to keep from laughing.

It happens. He leans to one side, with the grace of a building, and pulls his phone out--staring in dismay at the number. I've never called him with my cell phone. I have, however, called him from my office. He does not recognize the number--I prepare to talk to voicemail, but he ANSWERS. Awesome. Elise turns to me, eyes wide open, knowing what's about to happen--a huge smile makes its way to her lips.

Student: Hello?
Me: Hey, CHRIS?
Student: Yeah?
Me: Your MATH 120 instructor is sitting three seats to your left.

I pressed the button to disconnect. The smirk began to grow on my face as I leaned forward, looking to my right, past Elise and Chris's date.

Dismay. Recognition. Shock. A crimson face to match the seat upholstery.

Funniest thing to ever happen to me at a concert. To top it off, the bands rocked too.

One P.O.'d kitten...

I'd played a $20, waiting for the bands to start.

Ginger wanted in on my machine.

The machine quickly devoured her $20.

I sat back down, and the lil' kitten rejoined Kendall at the booth.

My first hand I was dealt 4 5s for 500 credits (knickels).

I nod over to Kendall, who gets Ginger's attention--she comes up and states that she only hates me a little bit.

She sits down.

About 100 hands later, I got the Royal, severely cheesing the kitten. 8000 credits. $400.

Aww, poor wittle kitty.

It's Jeopardy!!!

Okay contestants... See if you can figure out what happened this morning (circa 5amish)...

Scott: "I'll take things that inanimate objects say for $100, Alex."

Alex: "Oh, Hi. Wait. Oww. OWW! Stop that! Don't push that! Don't slide that! Stop yanking on me! OWWW!!! NO!!! NOOOOOOOO!!!!"

(Scott's panel lights up when he pushes his clicker)

Alex: "Scott"

Scott: "What was PJ's alarm clock?"

You think you've got it bad?

Some people are "the glass is half full" kinda people.

Some people are "the glass is half empty" kinda people.

Then there's Joel...


"Tomorrow already sucks."



Couldn't agree with you more, buddy.

What's the plural of next of kin? --OR-- Gun-running at Terrible Herbst

Next ofs kin?

My driver stated, "Stop making me laugh, I don't want to have to poop again!"

His phone rings. A cry of, "WHAT?!?!?!" could clearly be heard, in response to what was potentially his last text message ever, something about us going to pick up a gun, and that we weren't sure if anything was going to go down, and that, well, if we weren't seen or heard from again--well, something went down. (Of course, this was condensed into 160 characters as SMS messages would allow, and written in ultra-one-handed typing speak, as one does, driving 60 miles an hour up Mountain Vista).


It would be funny if it weren't all completely true. (Okay, it's still funny)

We arrived at the initial pick-up point, noting an ajar garage door, half-chuckling about our impending doom. I mentioned to my cohort that I wasn't going to take my shoes off--new wood floors or not, I might be dead in a minute. A gentle bang on the door brought the house's matriarch quickly, exclaiming, "GO. Just GO. Get out of here. Get in your car and leave!" About-face and towards the Matrix in a half-trot. Was she laughing... or crying?

Straight out of the Three Stooges (you know, the one where they have the car, the remote door unlocker, and the bad timing of trying to lift up the handle just as the door is unlocked, thus rendering it unopenable?), I try to get in the car. (See prior parenthesis). 30 seconds later we're driving off, hoping for the explanatory phone call.

It came. "Pecos and Windmill. Gas station. Buy her a drink"

We pull into Terrible Herbst and wait. The white convertible comes. I saunter over with a kevlar lock-box. A clunk announces that the passenger door is unlocked, and I dial in the last number on the box. It opens with a gentle 'click'. A .38 is wrapped in blue fabric--probably a mumu. I forget all about my prints as I place the gun safely into the foam receptacle, close the lid, and dial-out the digits. I went inside and bought the delivery agent a Pepsi. Not diet, that'd be cruel, and she had to go back to the warehouse.

Thank Christ that no bump brought a gunshot from the trunk. Perhaps if the rear would have been loaded with a few more crates of Rifles, Rocket-Propelled Grenades, or otherwise, the lockbox wouldn't have slid around as much.

That's an awesome gun-running car.

I want my money back.

Let's say that someone goes to work for a company, and on day one they make him sign a contract saying that he'll do anything they want him to. Absolutely anything. They then send him to training for weeks or months, pay his college loans, and get him set up on tons of benefits. He does routine deskwork for the most part, very little physical duty. A year or two into the job, his boss tells him to do something, and he disagrees with it. He doesn't want to quit, but just doesn't want to do that particular job.

If you were the boss, company, or stockholder, you'd want him to pay back all that he received, right? And, to get rid of him.

Equate this with a story in the headlines these days. I'm not going to specifically refer to it, but you can ask if you don't know.

I have no issue with his wanting to disagree with his job or superiors, but we as taxpayers paid for him to receive those benefits, and now we receive no benefit, and neither do his underlings. He swore. How can you say that you'll do something, and expect no repurcussions when you go against it? His lawyer says he hopes they'll see what a big mess this is, and just drop everything.

Look, if they don't put him up against a wall--fine... But for shit's sake--I want him to pay. People that swindle and embezzle even small amounts are sent to prison--I don't care about prison time, I want the money back in the pool, or to be used to train and retain his replacement.

People may say, "Yes, but his convictions..." Sure, again, I have no problem with that, and what he thinks is right or wrong. But, let's say for a second his boss is Howard Stern or some other shock jock. There's a demonstrated history of doing crappy things, ALL THE TIME. How is this any different than the Commander in Chief? I'm no dove, but jeebus--you've got a college degree and don't remember things like Vietnam?

Funny Farkin' News

Now, typically I don't laugh out loud when I read news-quips (I'm utterly addicted to RSS news feeds--thanks Google Reader)... but these from Fark made me laugh my farkin' butt off:

[Florida] Man walks into Social Security office with gun, gasoline, threatens to set himself on fire. Batshiat crazy trifecta now in play

[Interesting] Most foods with babies on the packaging don't contain even the smallest bit of baby. I for one am shocked and dismayed

((title withheld))

Saturday, February 3rd, 2007
Groundhog Day+1
Age 30+(1/365.25)

I woke up to my phone's usual persistant alarm. I looked around, and wondered how I had gotten to this place--what appeared to have formerly been an indoor swapmeet, now reduced to tatters and large pillows. Pillows? Large windows? Was that the Bellagio beyond their tinted and dusty water-stained exterior? Was I really inside the suite formerly known as 3764?

It's the only time I've left gratuity for a maid. I'm pretty sure the V-shaped green paper Lincoln on the nightstand will only antagonize the maidstaff. Antagonize...Antigone... what the? Where were these repressed memories coming from? What was repressing them? My formal apologies will be passed along to the Caesar's Palace Augustus Tower staff. This behavior was not acceptable, even for a 7-star member, Mr. MacDonald.

After a solid fifteen minutes cleaning, I gathered my cupcakes, the half-empty bottle of Scotch, and another forty pounds of post-birthday kit. I left the empty lotion bottle, and the remnants of the exotic fruit bowl. It was a very long trek to the parking lot.

What had caused these blisters?

Why was I limping?

Daylight. What a bitch.

Groundhog Time!!!

Yeah, the view is okay... Apparently the Bellagio celebrates this holiday with a water show. Neat!

A Mathematician's Apology

I have never done anything "useful." No discovery of mine has made, or is likely to make, directly or indirectly, for good or ill, any difference to the amenity of the world... The case for my life, then, is this: that I have added something to my knowledge, and have helped others to add more; and that these somethings have a value which differs in degree only, not in kind, from that of the creations of the great mathematicians.

-G.H. Hardy (1877-1947), 1940

(I'm going to have to put that on the back of my business cards)

Pack the Mack!

Yeah... It was packed.

Ancient comments...

Courtesy of PJ, À la May, 2004:

Make friends with this guy now before his name becomes a trademark and his Boulder Highway house gets traded in for a castle in Scotland. Scott's height assures that he has at least a one-foot advantage on the rest of us; his intellect assures even more. But the fact that he just doesn't give a crap about what you have to say or think - this dude is going to crush us all someday. The best you can hope for is to be Pinky to his Brain.

(nowhere near as good as his calling me a huge Boulder Highway transvestite--but I can't find a copy of his old deleted MySpace comment)

Calculators

I don't know why, but I clicked on an article entitled, "Best graphing calculator in the world?"

Seems some gentleman out there was posing the question to the powers that be (lurking on the internet). There's always a really dorky argument, blah blah blah, but it turns out that someone who had been using the same kind of calculator I have (since 1993, mind you), said this:

"There is just something fundamentally appealing to owning a powerful calculator 90% of the population can't even add two numbers on..." (link goes to Slashdot)

I'd have to agree. Every time someone asks to borrow my calculator I tell them, "Sure, but you won't be able to use it." They look puzzled, attempt to do the simplest of calculations, and an error message pops up. Thank goodness for the RPN system (a bass-ackwards way of entering things that I believe saves about 30% of keystrokes overall).

Link to Wikipedia article on the HP-48


I feel like a sea-pirate is going to come up behind me and go, "Yarr... Ye be a dork"

Can't argue with that.

On the grass field by the Central Desert Complex is apparently winter rush for the greeks. Peddling fraternities at their finest.

Overheard: "What class are you headed to? Math? That sounds lame."

Lame indeed.

Please excuse Mr. MacDonald for being tired this morning...

1:00amish - Walking towards the men's restroom, I nod at a guy who smiles at me on the way out of said lavatory. Gay? No, we're a new type of brethren.

Flash back to 10:00pmish, a few hours prior - I've filled up my plastic tumbler with water, and I'm preparing for the slumber that will make my Thursday a little less dreary. PJ strolls in, fixing the cuffs on his longsleeve shirt, "I don't know if you're interested, but at the Emergency Room bar they're having a Guitar Hero competition." My eyebrows raise. PJ walks away. Confusion sets in. "When?" I ask. He looks at his watch and replies, "Now." "Oh," I say, having expected a 'tomorrow [at some time]' as an answer, "I'll get ready." PJ admits, "Normally, it being a school night, I wouldn't go but..." "Lemme guess, there's a girl?" I nail it on the head. "Well, kinda--Julie will be there writing an article for the Weekly." If he had wanted to see Guitar Hero, as he mentioned later, "[he] could have just had dinner and watched Scott play in the living room."

Mere minutes later, we're in PJ's rent-a-Hyundai blazing our way towards Chinatown. The Emergency Room is a dive bar at Decatur and Spring Mountain, in the same shopping center as the restaurant that the Shiues take me.

Business cards are used as monetary devices at the door to avoid a $12 cover charge to see the last of what is referred to as a 'punk' band event. I don't see the correlation between punk, and hard-core cookie monster speed metal--but whatever, it was free because PJ's some hotshit guy with business cards to prove it. He needs cards to prove his fame, nobody has asked me once to prove that I'm the fried mozzarella cheese stick competitive eating champion for North America (3 years running).

Post bandage (which was intensely long, with much Coke-drinking, poker-playing, ear-bleeding, and "we've got one more"ing) - A bigscreen is rolled on a dolly onto the floor, and the complex hookings-up of a PS2 are made. Dozens try their hand at the unlocked songs you get if you use cash earned in the game--songs I had no desire to unlock myself, so I was hearing for the first time. Some of the originals were played, and it was clear that there were two experts, and a smidgen of easy/mediums around. Mr. Boo Radley formerly of KDT (now in some other band, I've been informed) played, and subsequently was unsuccessful at getting PJ to try his hand. The experts made it clear that this game could get unbelievably tough, with double and triple the notes flying.



War Pigs (as made famous by Black Sabbath) was ruined by a pair of females--one exhuberantly drunk--playing the guitar section, the other doing a decent job at the bass lines. It was surreal to hear such a good song flubbed up--with just Ozzy and bass, it could have almost worked as a funk tune.

Julie had finished her notes for the article, and it was determined that we were to leave. She proceeded to the event's organizers, and while she chatted with them, PJ and I stood in the back, watching more players. A song ended, and guitars were extended outwards--the sign for "Hey, wanna play?" Nobody bit. I waltzed up--this had been the opportunity I was waiting for, I didn't want to barge in the middle of the party, I wasn't one of 'them'. As I grab the controller, my co-player grabbed Player 1's guitar, and we settled into the arbitrage that was selecting the songs. He'd played several times already, and wanted 'Stray Cat Strut' which was not how I wanted to exit. He let me pick--and I went straight for Dick Dale's Misirlou--we both settled on medium, and I chose Lars Umlat's uncanny resemblance to me as my uber-avatar.

I took the guitar lead, and he played bass--both of us achieving 97% or above of the notes (as indicated by the stats at the end of the song). Jitters caused me to miss a couple--but nobody noticed. It rocked. We rocked. I had a new brother.

They're all conspiring against me. (Please just shoot me)

Somewhere post-8:15pmish. I bolt to my office, letting Joel know I'm headed to the end of the basketball game, and that I won't be giving him a ride home (he'll have to walk the 300 yards). I ditch my backpack in my office, and grab my jacket.

A confident zip up as I head down the stairs to the ground floor and out to the entrance of the T&M--less than half the distance to Joel's house. Have I timed this right? Have I missed everyone that had been congregating at the end of class?

No.

Eyes go saucer-like as she and Joel are 15 feet in front of me. Where are they headed? They're talking. Joel is going out of his way, keeping up with the conversation, she's obviously headed underneath the pavillion crossing--to the White lot via the tunnel. Where am I headed? Oh, God, I'm committed, they've seen me, and I'm going... the exact... same... place...

I hear Joel, "...I've noticed that Scott gets those kinds of assignments, and Car[cila] gets the female-type ones." Joel turns to see me, now a mere few feet away--she has turned as well. I'm now part of the conversation. Goddamned FEET.

Banter continues for at most 15 seconds as he peels off towards home for him. A 'goodnight' follows when he's about 20 feet away--a confident 'have a good night' from me. What the hell am I doing?

"So," she says, "it seems like the assignment..." I can't believe that I'm walking. Along. With her. Eerily familiar steps in the dark--a different cardinal direction, exiting a different class, and something else is different--I'm having a $%@*ing conversation with her. No, that's not bad, but it sure makes me feel about as awkward as (insert something here that's more awkward--I frickin' DARE you). Idle banter back and forth as our pace continues, approaching the tunnel. "It seems like an assignment for someone who has all the time in the world," she correctly surmises. I raise my hand confidently, not turning towards her--she laughs.

Another half minute of walking, more conversation about class and grades. Until then, it seemed mild-mannered. "So, are you almost done with your degree?" she questions. God, I can barely handle the voice, the casualness, the entire situation--3 years later and I'm still walking a couple feet away, but this time... talking... What could go wrong? (holy crap, don't answer that).

"2 more classes after this, and I'm done," says the dork.

"I suppose I'll be saying that in a few years if I'm lucky," she laughs.

"Lucky? That's a good one," the dork blurts, never having successfully not dished out sarcasm.

Her laugh continues. Continues to firmly embed itself in my auditory processing centers.

By this point, I've turned and have started bounding my way up stairs--she turns to me while still briskly walking... Perhaps a wave... "Have a good night," ends it from me. If she murmured anything, I was already half way up to the doors of the arena.

I still can't believe it.

That, along with straight-on eye contact, casual in-class banter-type words we had exchanged before class.

Does she know?

Does she remember?

Too much to consider--I have no clue about Thursday.

My subtle reconnaissance has given me facts which lead me to believe I'm destined to make at least one more ass out of myself. Ahh--that's how they get three-assed monkeys.

Je vous en prie... I pray of you. Shoot me.

Events at the Thomas & Mack Center

The last 4 events I've been in the stands for at UNLV's Thomas & Mack Center are as follows:

1. UNLV vs. San Diego State Aztecs basketball game
   
2. My undergraduate graduation ceremony
3. Mikhail Gorbachev's speech
4. Las Vegas Thunder (IHL) Hockey Game

And to think I didn't even drink at the most recent three!

Oh, just #@(&!%$ shoot me... revisited...

Well, upon further inspection...

I can actually accept things, and am currently at peace with myself, for one reason, and one reason alone: I'd rather feel like a complete ass for having mucked things up, than for never having taken the chance--and kicking myself for years (or more) for not having had the guts in the first place.

That's what I'll keep telling myself, anyway.

Of course, that's how it's always worked--if I do anything other than stare/drool/daydream (all rather 'light stalking' in my book) then it musses things up. I may hate the ensuing events of said course of action, however I really hate remembering the times when I didn't say anything. Of course, I'm sure the objects of said stalking really appreciate me having done diddly.

What the??

Dear Kendall:

The notes you leave on the Dry-Erase board on the back of my door are usually awe-inspiring and thought-provoking. I can make sense out of "Super Profundo [blah blah blah]..." But what the hell does THIS one mean???

Thank you for your time.

Oh the Romp We Had Last Night...

Ken-Doll @ Flamingo

Grand Theft Poster

I have no idea who stole the sign, PJ.

They Convinced Me to Move

Moving Units

The Oh-My-God-La's

The Oohlas...

Two Man Wonder Band

Who? From Phoenix? At least they have an excuse. He just spilled his drink and his wallet fell out of the hole in his back pocket.

Weight Loss

I'm thinking it'd be fun to lose a bunch of weight--just so when people compliment me on the loss, I could say, "Uhh... Yeah... Thanks. I've got cancer."

Oh, just #@(&!%$ shoot me...

6:53pm, still a few minutes to class. I peer in the CBC-C232B window--only one person looks familiar. I pass a bit down the hall to the 232A window--even more dismal. Have I gotten the classroom wrong? Did they change it? No time to panic--head to the drinking fountain, then make another pass.

232A still shows no sign of it being correct person-wise, but I spot the textbook on the desk closest to the back door--it has to be it. I enter. Slightly full, surprising for the tiny room. I make my way along the back row to circumnavigate the class clockwise to an empty refuge. Without even catching a full glimpse--Oh, God... she's there.

It had to have been three years since I'd first seen in her Anthropology 101--a wonderfully beautiful woman, always with perfect hair in some elegant or cute form, and a pristine countenance*. Quiet, but who wasn't in that class? I always sat to get a decent view--sometimes sitting within a few seats. We'd depart for the same trek back across campus from the engineering building (you tell me why they had ANT101 in the engineering building). We never spoke. We walked mere feet from eachother twice a week, for the quarter-mile or so.

I ruined it. I spoke up. Well, whatever I did--from a verbal confrontation, a note, or a casual mention of something--it really doesn't matter. I'm pretty sure my then-pneuomonia was affecting my ability to be suave. Not that I've a suave bone in my body--hell, I don't even use Suave in my hair.

That was the end of that. I avoided walking along with her, she sat farther and farther away in the lecture hall. Once again, you've F'ed it up, MacD.

Semesters pass, with chance sightings here and there--perfect hair, perfect face, perfect avoidance. Not even eye contact. The slightest hint of a peripheral glimpse was assured, however.

Last semester cut it close--for some reason she was in the math department (I get it now). I picked up my mail and high-tailed it out of there, having to pass within inches. Why was she there? No bother--the years had passed, and I was over it all.

Class seemed to crawl--with recitations of Dr. Bhatnagar's reflections (Joel's powerful voice, Brian's belting-to-finish tone, and Aaron's monotonous 'I really don't want to read this' drawl). Odd that I'd never even heard her speak before, and here she was reading a passage in class (okay, maybe she had said something that cold night--perhaps an innocent and polite, 'excuse me?'). My thoughts, oddly, weren't on the Dr.'s reflection for the evening, Fun With Mathematics. My internal reflection was a bit more like Jumping in Front of Cars. I just wouldn't want to hurt a car that bad.

Class ends, and I try to time my exit with colleagues, but both Joel and Brian needed "a word with Satish." Yeesh. I make my way to the door--she's already out. We're in the hallway alone. My notebook and Satish's reflections firmly gripped in one hand, backpack on the other shoulder as I bolt for the stairway to the bridge to our offices. My goal is clear--refuge on the third floor. Perhaps a stop in the bathroom to throw up after dropping everything on my desk.

Just F'ing shoot me. Please.

* in fact, I'm pretty sure I even used the word countenance in my comments to her.

Syndicate THIS!

No, I haven't lost sight of the fact that I'm perhaps the only one who reads, and certainly the only one at present who subscribes to the RSS feed for this Bastardly Lazy Omnibus of Greymatter. (Jeff won't let me use the term *cough* blog *cough*, so I'll always use an expanded acronym form).

p.s. you are a dork.

I Remember

That's the title of my great-grandmother's autobiography/family history book.

Dr. Bhatnagar was talking about history, and wondered if we could even remember the names of our great-grandfathers. Chet? Hmm. What seemed more important was my great-grandmother, Virgalene Edith Green (nay Hall).

I remember in the early 90's coming home from a diving trip to Hawaii with dad and Davin. We arrived at the house in Boulder City after an overnight flight (in which, it seems, I had consumed only half of a foot-long gargantuahoagie).

A black wreath, made of wide satin ribbon wrapped around what must have been a styrofoam ring, adorned the gate. The house I live in now doesn't have a gate--and the hook on the door is broken. If I died, they'd have to hot-glue or epoxy a wreath on.

At any rate, daytime and tiredness and the rest of a half-eaten gargantuahoagie are all I remember. Everytime I woke up throughout the day, I remembered my great-grandmother... The woman who always said, "That's my boy!" well into her sightless 90's. The woman who, when grandma Jean was out of the house, would immediately order us a pepperoni pizza from Tony's in Boulder City--from a $20 bill that seemed to perpetually exist in her brown diminutive purse. The woman who seems to come back to my brother and I in our dreams--happy Grandma Green.

Yes, I remember.

A note to my therapist...

Dr. (name withheld)

My roommate tells me, and everyone, that I'm a gadget guy. I suppose that means I'm addicted to gadgets. But, with gadgets like this:

http://www.boingboing.net/2007/01/16/ceramic_toaster_look.html
(a ceramic toaster that 'pulls' the toast through itself, and deposits itself in V-shaped holders)

How on EARTH can I resist?

Please, up my dosage.

-Scott "likes to play 'hide the fat guy'" MacDonald

Best Burgers....

Mmmmm...

TACO FIGHT!!!

---

TJ Trip II