Life of Scott

Imagination unleashed.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Insects and Boats

Everyone says that insect are the most successful class of any kingdom because there are over 10,000 of them for every one human. But I have never seen an ant with a boat and a trophy wife. Which is the most obvious measure of success. They only ever have a pile of sand and one female for every 6,000 males. This sounds like failure as a species to me.

Then you think about the abomination that is the mosquito. Or any animal dumb enough to get caught by a non-neural organism (Venus Fly Trap). And the moth -- even after watching countless of its brethren fly into the campfire, it continues onward. "Strange how the last several moths became bright and squealing, and then turned into dust. I better investigate...."

I hereby declare insects NOT the most successful class of any kingdom. Instead, they will be heretofore known simply as, STUPID.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Bachelor Party Predictions

Tomorrow, we start the long weekend. My friend, Kevin, is getting married, so we are throwing him a three-day bachelor party in a house on Lake Cumberland in Kentucky. We are going to drink, swim, fish, play video games, grill, play poker, and share our feelings.

I bought a floating chair with a cupholder armrest for my beer and I also have a 9-foot inflatable boat that will be filled with coolers of more beer. So we will be floating on the lake with beer in our chairs attached to a boat full of more beer. Maybe we will even bring our fishing rods with us. I will probably pass out with my line in the water and I will wake up in the middle of the lake because a fish pulled me out there. I will look around and see no sign of land and I will think I am doomed to die in the ocean until a boat full of young girls comes by.

They will ask me if I need help. "Hello, Scott. We are hotter than your friends will believe and we want to rub aloe on your sunburn because we think people that get very red in the sun are sexy." I will look back at my boat full of beer and initially say, "No," but I will quickly think the better of it and let them pull me aboard. They will have a wakeboard and I will slip my feet into it and do some sweet tricks that will impress them so much, their clothes will fall off. They will say, "Oh, he is good. Let's try to get him to fall by showing our boobs!" But it will not work -- I will merely do an even sweeter trick than before. Then they will say, "Let's kiss, too." I will stay strong until they get really dirty and then I will fall and break my penis against the water.

I will spend the rest of the weekend with ice in my shorts, saying, "Yes, that is actually how it happened!"

Friday, June 09, 2006

Superman and Dancing

I just remembered Spring Break 2005. WOOO!

There was a time when Joe and I were lounging on the beach while my sister and her friends were looking for boys. This was minutes before they found boys, brought them back to our spot, and told them Joe was gay. Joe got angry and threw sand all over the place and ruined an otherwise nice time. This, of course, reminds me of that scene in one of the Superman movies where Lex Luthor's evil solar-powered Bad Superman pounded the good Superman into the moon with his fists. Like Superman was a large, nerdy tent stake.

But in Sarasota, there was no Supermen. Instead, there was me and there was Joe, each listening to our headphones. At one point, we both had awesome songs, so we stood up and danced. He danced to his music, I danced to mine, but there was no question that we were grooving together. On the beach. To music no one else could hear.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Riding Through West Virginia

Recently, I took an 800-mile journey on the motorcycle to the New River gorge by way of Marietta, Ohio and home again via Maryland. I know it is only one state away from Ohio, but it is feels like a different country down there.

Aside from some of the most beautiful country I've seen (and I've seen an awful lot of the USA), West Virginia has much to offer.

There are these enormous an gorgeous plots of land that would go for $1-2 million around here with tiny dilapidated houses. There are shiny balls in every one of these yards. There is frequently plywood where windows used to be, but shiny balls are more important than windows.

Then there are the cranes. Every old crane from around the country must end up in the south, stuck among the vines and weeds, because there is no way these little towns can support enough work for that many cranes. "Hey, Jim. What should we do with this rotten crane?" "Just throw it out the window. Maybe a raccoon will eat it."

A disproportionate number of bars are designated, "Where Good Friends Meet." I counted five on my ride. How nice of the WVDOT to clearly mark places where it is appropriate to take good friends. Otherwise, you might end up at some sorrowful bar full of anger. "Steve's Bar: Where Mean People Fight."

The best snapshot of the south I can think of was at the campsite. This was soon after I pulled into my campsite as a dog was shitting on it. There was a pickup truck with a big American flag print on the back window. On the dashboard, next to a Homer Simpson bobblehead, was a Jesus Christ bobblehead. Amen.