The Annie Scott Experience

Experiencing Canadianness

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Sun, 27 May 2012 16:13:00 +0000

Hi! So, the Canadian Tourism Commission invited me up to Canada to do some writing and adventuring. Posts are coming up on Pure Happy Travel, so head over to the travel blog to get updates on things like mushing and poutine (above). And thank you!

Homeownership! Makeovers for the Dining Room and Sun Room

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Mon, 14 May 2012 03:11:00 +0000

Slowly but surely, our little Minneapolis house is becoming a home, with the help of some minor renovations. For one, we've taken the sunroom from an oppressive yellow with red and gold striped shades:

To a charmingly bright, retro-themed sitting/reading room:

Our dining room used to be a loud and proud burgundy (even inside the cabinets), making the room feel dark and a little intense for a happy dinner party:

Now? It's decked in an airy stone color, with a golden-hued rug and the dining table I actually grew up eating at (thanks Mom and Dad's storage facility!):

On the left, you can see the ship we bought ourselves for our first wedding anniversary. We were in Provincetown on Cape Cod for a friend's wedding, and we thought the sail was paper. It wasn't, but hey -- cool boat. We're still married and stuff.

Anyhow, I hope to bring you more homeowner before-and-afters soon. These two rooms are the only two which are starting to feel finished. Most of our home is updated, but still not done. From what I hear, we will *never* be done. So, we might as well get used to this "where did my weekend go?" feeling.

Homeownership! My New Basement

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 03:36:00 +0000

Well, we bought a house in Southwest Minneapolis last Thursday. Homeownership is amazing. The bloom is not off the rose. The rose is blooming awesomesauce. I'd like to regale you, for the sake of my own compulsion to overshare, with a few before-and-afters. Right now, they're just before-and-durings. We'll get there. (Yeah. That's a link to my Pinterest "This Goes In My New House" activity. Things have come to that.)

Challenge #1: Our basement looked like a preschool!

Now, I'm not complaining. The basement is fully finished. There is a TERRIFIC man cave which is unfortunately decked in Chicago Bears colors (my husband is a Browns fan), but we're going to fix that in no time and even build a bar in there. I'm talking about this "playroom" area, which is the first thing you see when you descend the stairs. It also contains the very depressing laundry room and 2nd kitchenette:

Did I mention I don't have children and that I consider myself to be decently hip for someone in their 30's? Yeah. I can't live at Captain Kangaroo's. Even the knobs on the cabinets were an alternating red and blue toddlerfest.

It took a couple of days and a few $$$ of Behr paint, plus these fabulous cabinet knobs I got from D Lawless Hardware (they had the style I wanted for $1 cheaper each than Home Depot and offered free shipping so I saved over $20):

They're not real crystal; they're acrylic. IT'S A LAUNDRY ROOM. Stop judging me.

Anyway, here's the new, after/during color, plus the new knobs:

The laundry room is now Fountain Spout by Behr. The rest of the offending blue is now Sandstone Cliff (that's the khaki at right -- it's surprisingly green in some lights). Oh -- and they left a pretty nice microwave in the upstairs kitchen. We have a Cuisinart we love, so their old one migrated down here. I thought about putting it on top of the refrigerator, but then it blocks the glass block window, which actually gets a good deal of light during the day.

Oh -- and I posted that nook on the other side of the stairs for a reason: it is now my husband's new Office Nook:

Two big screens, some bones and a room divider. It's a start. Like I said, this is a "during." I'm sitting in this nook right now and very pleased with its spaciousness. There used to be a spare bed in here.

Here's a bonus picture of my cats checking out the storage area, because everyone who reads this blog likes cats:

And that's the story of my new basement. So far.

Sad Panda Goodbye Lunch in NYC and the Five Stages of Grief

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 20:54:00 +0000

It isn't often that one works with such a rare group of internet dorks that one gets a fancy goodbye lunch at a nice restaurant and suddenly flashmobbed by cats and pandas on sticks and an entire play constructed to demonstrate one's coworkers five stages of grief over one's leaving. But that totally just happened.
Here's me with @MarySnauffer, making a Sad Panda face. Mary is grinning devilishly because she wrote the play about the five stages of grief and knows I have no idea what I'm in for.

Important note: these animal cutouts were made by printing them from the intarwebs and gluing them to file folders, then cutting up the file folders to make them into puppets. Apparently, my coworkers did this in my office the day before yesterday while I was wrapping up business in our Connecticut office. YOU JUST NEVER KNOW what people are up to when you're gone.

Are you familiar with the five stages of grief? Well, here they are, as represented by cats on sticks:

1. Denial.
In the above photo, I am reading aloud from the THREE PAGE script as Mary holds Denial Cat, looking all denial-y.

2. Anger.

Here we have @mink21 holding Anger Cat.

3. Bargaining.
Bet you thought there'd only be one Bargaining Cat. Nope. There are three. Go figure. I didn't make the rules. Truth be told, the puppets were under our plates when I got there and I thought they were really artsy placemats -- and I was SO SURPRISED that they used the same kind of file folders we have at work to make them.

I am an idiot.

In the middle there is @lshon who took the rest of the pictures.

4. Depression.

Depression Cat, as expressed by @JessicaRandazza.

5. Acceptance.

And here's cheerful Acceptance Cat, who speaks in a southern accent and said, and I quote, because I have the script in front of me: "You know what? I wish you the best of luck over there. But you know what, you don't even need luck because I know you'll do just great. Just the way you are."

Then Sad Panda becomes Happy:

So, basically, this is the best goodbye party anyone has ever given to anyone, ever. I work with some of the most creative and hilarious people in the world, and I will miss them very much when I move. Tomorrow. At 8am.

I wish everyone had friends at work who understood exactly how and exactly how VERY dorky they are. I know it's not the case, but for one day, I felt like my unique flavor of dorkiness was completely acknowledged and celebrated by my coworkers, and that was pretty darn fantastic.

I will miss them all very much, and will never forget this joyful, hysterical and delicious lunch in NYC.

Thank you everyone!!

American Horror Story Play By Play - Season One Finale - "Afterbirth"

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 18:14:00 +0000

"Afterbirth"

So. This American Horror Story was an "FX special event," as season finales often are -- extra special because there was an extra 10 minutes. Let's see what unlikely American horror stories are executed to bewitch, bother and befuddle us this week on American Horror Story, Season Finale (01-12): "Afterbirth."

SPOILERS******************************************

ACT ONE

Ben's looking at a tablet (computer kind, not pill or Moses kind) nine months ago in a modern apartment. Vivien comes downstairs with two suitcases and a major case of the "I'm gonna cry so don't talk to me face." She says she's taking Violet to Florida. Ben wants her to come to Los Angeles and start over. She says she has a wall (emotional kind, not structural or Pink Floyd kind). He says "look at this house," referring to the tablet. It's the scary house. She fights a little more, then presumably gives up and agrees to go with him to LA to look at the house.

Wow, this entire series almost avoided itself.

Now Ben's in the house calling for Vivien and Violet. I think this is present-day now, so they're dead. He doesn't know that yet? Oh wait, I think he does. He whispers "Where are you?" in more of a Poltergeist than practical way. The "I LOVE YOU" is back on Violet's chalkboard.

The creepy-baby-parts credits roll.

Ben asks Constance to take care of the baby. Oh wait. No. He's asking Constance NOT to take care of the baby anymore, because Vivien's sister's coming. Constance isn't into giving him up. She makes a dig about Ben not being the father and forces within his house wanting to do the child grave harm. Good point, Jess. And congrats on that Golden Globe nomination.

Why doesn't she take him to court? He's not the father and she's the grandmother. Can you prove grandmother...ship with a blood test? I bet you can. Well, nothing in this TV show is very Los Angeles, is it?

Seriously, if this is LA, he should have a restraining order against her by now, because she's scary. And she's always there. Does she have a secret room behind a bookcase in their house, or does she just hang there to talk to her dead children? How come she gets to talk to allllll the dead people? Where is her fourth kid? Why did she want the maid to stay there forever, and even make Ben build a gazebo over her bones?

I'm getting stressed out. Back to the show.

We're flashing back to when Ben called Constance to tell her he can't treat Tate anymore because he "crossed the line" with his daughter. Abigail is still alive and is drawing with crayons.

Back forward. I'm not really sure what the point of that flashback was. Constance tells Ben that Tate is long dead. Ben makes a vague threat on her life (on account of alleged family-destroying) and leaves with the baby. He also leaves a whole heap of toys just sitting there. Wasteful.

At the house, the maid and Viv are chatting about Viv's "transition." The maid tells her that people can only see her if she wants them to. Does that mean that dead people can see each other all the time? That can't be; every square inch of the Earth would be PACKED with dead people chatting about their feelings. So, it seems dead people only appear in the present to have conversations with each other and sometimes to tousle the living a bit.

Where do they go when they're not appearing? It must not be very interesting; they keep coming back like exes to a Facebook page. Move ON, dead people. If they can't move on because of the house ... how come? The house is less than 100 years old (built in the 1920s). What do the writers purport our great grandparents were up to? I mean, I know that the dentist was a murderer and the doctor was performing abortions, but neither of those make for an evil house.

Ahem. Vivien says she made Violet promise never to appear to Ben so that he will be able to leave and raise their baby away from the house. Viv and the maid talk a bit more about Ben, for whom Vivien's feelings have totally returned now that she sees him without her, and then Viv asks the maid for a cup of tea. The maid's all like "I don't take orders from ghosts, we're equal now." Vivien says "Call me Vivien." The maid's like "I'd like that" but she's probably thinking "that's what I just said I was going to do in not so many words. Are you so convinced that you're superior to me? Geez, lady. Get a clue." But she doesn't say that. She tells Vivien to "let him go." I'm not sure if she means Ben or the baby.

Ben's monologuing to the baby in the living room. The baby cries. Ben snuggles him. He stops. Ben goes to the kitchen and lays out all his personal effects, then goes to the office of broken dreams and proceeds to try to shoot himself (Viv's sister is en route, so supposedly the baby will be ok). Vivien appears to him and stops him. She forgives him for everything and tells him to make like a tree. Violet appears grumpily on the couch; apparently she's been watching this go down. She jokes that she saved him lots of money by killing herself. He plays along with the joke. Dark stuff, people.

Violet tells Ben to go. Vivien starts making out with him and then Violet and Viv both disappear. Ben goes and gets his suitcases, and then dead Kate Mara shows up on the staircase! Oh, Kate Mara. You're so pretty.

Pretty, dead Kate Mara hangs Ben by a noose from the chandelier, killing him and making it look like a suicide. Whoopsie. Best laid plans.

The baby cries.

ACT TWO

The realtor is showing her racist side to a new couple as she shows them the house. She's also carrying Viv's dog, who we haven't seen for awhile. I'm starting to wonder what her role in all this is. She's basically feeding the house. Is she the most evil of them all? Did she make a deal with the devil?

The Ramos couple has a son Violet's age. Love interest? Perhaps. His name is Gabe and he has a skateboard.

The realtor tells the Ramosi that the previous owners died in a tragically romantic way; she died in childbirth and he hung himself from grief. Doesn't that tie things in a nice little bow? She says she adopted the dog. Are the writers just tying up a loose end here because they forgot about the dog? Maybe. Or maybe something cool will happen two seasons from now. Who knows?

Gabe goes skateboarding. The dead redhead twins throw stuff under his wheels and he falls hard. Violet is watching him. The realtor says "gringos" to the Spanish couple. They still buy the house.

ACT THREE

Constance is back at her house talking with two detectives about having found Ben Harmon, hanging. There's a great flashback to the moment where she finds him and smokes a cigarette, calling him stupid a bunch of times. Then she goes to get the baby and finds an empty carrier; the baby must have been stolen by Pretty Dead Kate Mara.

Vivien welcomes Ben to the other side, along with Violet. Group hug!

We see that Violet's body is rotting in the basement. Constance presumably steps right over her to find PDKM rocking the baby. Have we discussed the fact that PDKM is unusually crazy? That is clearly not her baby, but she thinks it is. Guess you can't be that pretty without being a little nuts, no offense PDKM.

Some dude slits PDKM's already-dead throat, which I guess startles her a bit, and he grabs the baby to give to Constance. Maybe that's child #4. Or am I supposed to know who that is and I forgot?

Constance tells the police/detectives that Violet stole the baby and ran away, and that she prays for them. I did a triple take on the girl detective, thinking she was Jessica Alba. She's not. They leave. Constance goes and takes the baby out of her closet, where she was hiding him.

She picks him up and says "Who's my good little angel?" over and over, which sounds like benign baby talk but seems extra foreboding when you type it out. And when you say it. I just said it to my cat and felt weird about it.

Violet's playing Gabe's music in his new, her old, room. He comes in and is all like "What's this random girl with pretty hair doing in my room?" She criticizes his taste in music. The "I LOVE YOU" is no longer on the chalkboard. Violet's lines have clearly been looped in after shooting, probably to balance them with the music level, but geez, she slurs like crazy and having her reiterate lines she clearly slurred at the shoot makes it extra annoying. Okay, theater major rant over. Tate appears in the doorway and sees Violet chatting up the new kid. He looks all shocked and devastated. The music swells.

The Ramosi are unpacking. They talk about the realtor, who's name is Marcie. Exposing her name so openly makes me think her part's going to get bigger. (That's what she said.) They start making sweet sweet love on the kitchen counter while the Harmons (Ben and Viv) watch creepily. They talk about having another baby. The Harmons decide they can't let the nice Ramosi have a baby in the evil house. The maid appears over the writhing bodies and gives a speech about being on the "good" side of the spirits in the house; among those who don't want to see more suffering. I guess this means she'll help get the Ramosi out of there.

ACT FOUR

The Ramosi are sleeping. Mr. Ramos hears something and gets up to investigate and WOW does he work out! Sorry. Someone in a black bodysuit like Tate's starts getting frisky with Mrs. Ramos. Tate appears to Gabe and says a bunch of cryptic stuff (at least it would seem cryptic if you were Gabe). Mrs. Ramos notices that the black body suit dude isn't her husband. (It's Ben, we'd know those baby blues anywhere!) She screams. Gabe hears it and calls to her. Mr. Ramos turns on the stove and starts to burn his hand in a trance. Etc, etc. The Ramosi get terrorized. Mena Suvari is there and everything. It's not particularly difficult for the dead to terrorize the living. I'm surprised it doesn't happen more often. Oh yeah, this isn't real life.

What I AM surprised about is Tate's participation. He's not on the evil side, apparently -- and much to my surprise. Perhaps he just wants to be on whatever side Violet's on.

The Harmons kill each other a bunch of times, but they're already dead, so it's ok, except for that they're doing it in front of the Ramosi, who are hella scared.

Oh. Now Tate's got a knife to Gabe's throat, claiming that Violet needs a boyfriend or something. She manipulates him into letting Gabe go. She kisses him and vanishes. Like mother like daughter. Gabe escapes.

The Harmons, Violet included, watch the Ramosi drive away and make a sort-of-oath to keep any nice people from staying in the house. Fade to black. FALSE ENDING!

ACT FIVE

Marcie puts "REDUCED" over the For Sale sign by the house and tries to shoo away the Ghost Tour or whatever it is.

Ben is sweeping, because actors need things to do with their hands, and Tate comes in. He wants to talk. Ben calls him a monster and a psychopath. Then Ben denounces therapy as a sham: "Week after week, month after month, year after year we collect checks, but deep down, we know it doesn't work." Tate manipulates him into relative submission despite being a known psychopath with a pathetic "But can you just ... hang out with me sometimes?" Ben is a fool. That was a pretty good scene, though -- if a little heavy-handed. Good writing.

Vivien is playing cello, which seems a far more likely ghost activity than sweeping. She hears a baby crying and heads down to the basement.

She finds the 1920s doctor's wife Nora Montgomery, exhausted and condescending. Nora is rocking Viv's baby #2 -- the one who didn't make it. WHOA. We just had a major eureeka moment.

Viv says she thought the baby didn't make it. Nora says "barely," and notes that he made just one little cry and then passed on. Did American Horror Story just address abortion law? Yes. Yes they did. Apparently, you only get to be a ghost if you lived, and you only live if you're born. Fair enough.

Anyway, this baby is the one that was fathered by Ben. Nora calls him a weakling, but claims ownership. Viv offers to help quiet him down. She picks him up and sings to him. He stops crying. Nora goes to take a rest and leaves the baby with Vivien, just "for the night." On her way out, she says she's not sure she has the patience to be a mother. Vivien, who clearly does, walks through the house with her baby. She finds the maid in the kitchen who is cleaning because she has nothing else to do.

Viv lets the maid hold the baby. The maid says "I would have been a good mother if I hadn't been such a little tramp." HAHAHAHAhahahaha. Vivien makes her his godmother.

Now there's a Christmas tree. Ben, Violet and the maid are decorating. Viv comes in with the baby. Ben says he didn't think it was possible, but he's happy. Violet smiles. Then she notices Tate and PDKM watching from the other room. They're broody and scary. Tate says he'll wait forever for Violet.

"THREE YEARS LATER" - aka Act ... Six? Thanks for these extra special extra 10 minutes, FX.

JESSICA LANGE IS GETTING HER HAIR DONE. Are the writers reading my blog? Or am I just a genius? OR BOLTH?

Constance tells the hairdresser she had a baby; or adopted a baby whose parents were distant cousins who died. She calls him "Michael" and gets her hair awesome-ized. Finally, an explanation. Thanks, American Horror Story. Merry Christmas.

Constance gives a very long, crazy "I was destined to be somebody" speech in the mirror, ending with the notion that her son needs a strong mother, and that everything that happened to her was preparation for her to guide him wisely through life. Actually, I'm going to go ahead and transcribe this bad boy. It's so theatrical. Actors wishing to use this as a monologue: you're welcome.

"May I confide something? Ever since I was a little girl, I knew I was destined for great things. I was going to be somebody; a person of significance -- a star of the silver screen, I once thought, but my dreams became nightmares. Instead of laurels; funeral wreaths. Instead of glory; bitter disappointment, cruel afflictions. Now I understand: tragedy was preparing me for something greater. Every loss that came before was a lesson. I was being prepared. Now, I know for what: this child; a remarkable boy destined for greatness, in need of a remarkable mother -- someone forged in the fires of adversity who can guide him with wisdom, with firmness, with love."

Dang. That's some Turgenev stuff. Or at least Sam Shepard. Haha, theater joke! Oh -- they broke up. Two years ago. That must be why they sold that gorgeous house in Stillwater, MN. Sorry, Ms. Lange, I meant no ill will.

Ahem. Constance arrives home. The fridge is open. There's blood on it. She puts the milk in it anyway, but definitely looks perturbed. The cookie jar is on the floor. She calls for Flora, presumably the nanny. She's on the floor of Michael's room, dead. Michael is giggling in the rocking chair, which is smeared with blood. There's blood on his face. Constance kneels in front of him and says "Now, what am I gonna do with you?" She gives him a long, admiring look.

And that is the real end.

So here's what we know: The house has been around since the 1920s, and anyone who dies there stays there -- with the exception of if their bones are removed, which is a difficult-to-explain loophole the maid seems to have been interested in back in gazebo-building time. The Harmons are all dead now. Constance is alive. She has four children and is now raising a fifth, who is her grandson (Michael is the son of dead-Tate and live-Vivien, who is now dead-Vivien). Tate is waiting for Violet's forgiveness. PDKM wants revenge or the baby or something; but probably really just wants Ben. Michael is supernatural and evil.

That was fun! Am I missing any important facts? Leave 'em in the comments.

American Horror Story Play By Play - Season 1, Episode 6

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 23:28:00 +0000

"Piggy Piggy"

Here we go, folks. Let's see what unlikely American horror stories are executed to bewitch, bother and befuddle us this week on American Horror Story, Season 1, Episode 6: "Piggy Piggy."

SPOILERS******************************************

ACT ONE

A doorbell rings. Jessica Lange pats a hairdo she 100% cannot have achieved herself. Possible conclusion: dead people do her hair. She opens the door. It's a SWAT team. Why not?

They're looking for Tate Langdon, Lange's ("Constance's") son. They have big guns and chinstraps. They proceed to raid the home, and suddenly we are informed it is 1994, in Charles Rennie Mackintosh font.

Oh hey! It's all those dead teenagers from last episode! Wow. These people are all roughly the same age as I am (tad younger, who's counting), which means American Horror Story is shamelessly using the Columbine massacre as the inspiration for Tate's tortured character. Ouch. I actually knew one of the girls who was killed in that. She was in my cabin at camp and we played tetherball for a whole afternoon one time. I digress. Anyway, nice thinly-veiled riff on the wounds of my generation's youth.

Well. This is great. Remember what I just said? Now it's these kids trapped in a library as someone shoots up their schoolmates. Are the writers using true American horror stories all the time, and I just hadn't noticed yet? Is it because I tend to either work or fall asleep while I watch TV? Because they should be expecting that. Nick Swardson's Pretend Time, for example, shows the hashtag #pretendtime in the bottom left corner of the screen for the entire duration of the show. Why? Because they know me.

And yes, tweeting counts as work.

Isn't that that girl from that show on MTV with the cast on her arm?

Ok. The shooter shoots holes in the door, then opens it (easier). He begins stalking the students in the stacks. The students all look a little ... old ... but not like, 90210 old, so we're fine. A student begs for mercy and gets shot. The shooter is wearing a black coat, but not a trenchcoat, more of a euro-military-style coat. I am still uncomfortable.

MTV girl screams "WHY?" and is shot by Tate. You're not winning any points with me, American Horror Story writers.

Cut back to Constance's home; the SWAT team arrests Tate, who stands and puts a finger-gun to his own head. He fires. It is ineffective.

ACT TWO

Violet is Googling (I'm sorry, generic "Roundsearch"-ing) the Westfield High Massacre. She is visibly freaked out when she sees the kids, then she sees that Tate was the shooter. She runs downstairs and calls for her mom. Unfortunately, the only person around is Jessica Lange in the kitchen with the same hairdo, smoking an appropriately anachronistic cigarette. Wait. Is she wearing the same outfit from 1994?

Nope. Just checked. That's a negatory. Actually, the hair's a little different, too. How does she do that without the help of dead people? Can I accomplish this in the morning before work? Deep thoughts.

Constance makes a dig about Vivien's (Violet's mom's) cooking and guesses that Violet found out about Tate. What's she going to say now?? She has just blatantly acknowledged that Violet has been cavorting with a dead murderer. That's kind of harshing on my comprehension.

Violet's all like "Get out of my house!" and Constance is all like "THIS HOUSE MADE HIM DO IT." Then she takes Violet to meet Billie Dean Howard.

Billie Dean is model-pretty except I think she's had some work done. Yes, I will notice this every time. So. She's a medium. Like we need a medium on this show; everyone and their mother can talk to dead people.

To remind us that the world we live in is stupid, we learn that Constance found Billie on Craigslist, and that Billie has been offered a pilot for a show on Lifetime. Or is that to establish her legitimacy? (In which case, we live in an even stupider world.)

Billie is all put-upon about being a medium, and vaguely racist. Ugh, fine. She also has the oddest shade of pale salmon nails. I can't tell if I'm supposed to hate her. And now I notice that Violet's hair has been brushed perfectly. Maybe she has a dead hairstylist, too.

Billie says someone named Mary wants to talk to Violet, and musters a quote from Mary's deathbed that makes Violet run out of the room in disbelief and perhaps exhaustion from acting disbelieving. Constance asks Billie if she can trust Violet. Billie says she's not sure.

Cut to Vivien rubbing lotion on her pregnant belly in blissful ecstasy while listening to classical strings. Then... oh lordy. That was a claw. Everyone with half a brain in their head just flashed back to Alien, or at least Space Balls. A defined claw pushes from inside her belly. That's not great.

It's painful. She screams. She wakes! It was a dream.

She takes off her wedding ring and calls her police guard. Why not? He checks the house and doesn't find anything. She reminds us that her husband just moved out. Thanks, Vivien. Apparently, the guard's wife cheated on him with another woman. Well. That's a fun fact.

Dylan McDermott shows up! Oh, his name is Ben. Ok, cool. We'll call him that. The guard tells Ben that the woman he recently removed from their home never made it to the police station. It's because she was a ghost, but the guard doesn't seem to realize that, or be in any way alarmed that it happened.

Ben and Vivien bicker about Ben needing to run his psychiatry business from the home he's just wrecked by murdering his pregnant ex mistress, and oddly, the Producer credits show up. We are a full 15 minutes into this show. Fine. Viv says Ben can be the father to her kids but that she won't be his friend and that he has to leave after his last session of the day. He seems non-plussed, which is just how I would feel, especially since he just said that's what he would do anyway.

Up in the bathroom, Violet's got a razorblade and cuts a huge horizontal cut in her very-horizontally-scarred wrist. Then she slashes her own throat! Wait. I think that was a fantasy. Tate appears behind her and says "Are you scared now?" She turns. He's gone. OoooooOOOOOOoooooooo.

In the office of broken dreams, Ben is having a session with a man who familiarizes us with the tale of "Piggy Man." Here's the rundown: There was this pig butcher who got killed by his pigs and disappeared, then all his clients starting turning up dead. If you call him in the mirror and say "Here Piggy Pig Pig," he'll "return for the slaughter." I feel like a writer lost his soul over this one, in a fit of "Guys, that's not even creative ... but maybe we can work with it."

The man has never tried the mirror trick, but is afraid he might. What a horrible life he must have.

Ben make an appointment to see him again and suggests that he shave. The man fearfully says "in a mirror?" ... but this man clearly has only the very beginnings of any facial hair growth. Shouldn't they have cast someone with a beard to make this plot device functional? I am confused.

Violet comes in and says the darkness has her. All right.

ACT THREE

Constance is in the kitchen exchanging glances with the dead maid and recommending that Vivien eat offal during her pregnancy, making this all a bit Rosemary's Baby. It's like every horror movie ever got together and made a baby. A Satan baby.

Constance leaves muttering something about "we need that baby," and later, the dead maid is cooking offal for Vivien and talks about how despicable Ben is. Vivien is shown huffing a raw bloody pancreas by the sink. Ew.

Ben has his Piggy man in his family bathroom -- like, not even a guest bathroom on the ground floor; there's a whole shower in it. He hands him a knife and encourages him to go in. Again I am compelled to note this man has virtually no scruff on his face. This is either a brilliant plot device (i.e. Ben sees a beard we cannot see) or it is stupid. If a big dude were afraid to shave his face, he would have a beard.

Derek (oh -- we just learned the man's name is Derek) says his "Piggy Pig Pig" spiel, sees a corpse in the shower and screams. Ben comes in and shows him there is no corpse. And there isn't.

Vivien is getting an ultrasound.

Violet's friend wearing a ridiculous floppy purple hat (are people really wearing those??) and a bandaid on her face tells Violet the devil is real. Then she gives a chilling account of the book of Revelation complete with a red dragon and a woman screaming in labor. Violet unwisely takes pills from this friend. Idiot.

ACT FOUR

Violet's in the library where all the kids got shot. Some dude from the earlier library scene, older and in a motorized wheelchair, rolls over and calls her a "sicko," and tells her where the kids were shot. She realizes he was their teacher and calls him a hero. He says "Now you know what heroes look like," and hits the full-speed-ahead button on his wheelchair. "Wait," she says, though he has barely passed her and is moving at approximately .01 mph. They exchange words about Tate. Violet just wants to know why Tate did what he did. The teacher asserts that "maybe he wasn't a good person." Maybe!

The dead maid serves Vivien a raw brain. Oh, and notes that Constance brought it over earlier. SHE EATS IT. There is a weird eating montage, with music like there's a storm in a Jane Austen movie playing, and then Vivien looks disgusted with herself.

Violet gets home. It's late. She chases shadows of Tate around the house to the basement, and ends up seeing the two dead boys, then lots of other dead people. She runs back upstairs like a good girl.

Upstairs, her iPod is spontaneously playing. She turns it off. The blackboard in her room says "I LOVE YOU." Yeah. She has a blackboard in her room. She starts to cry. So would I. Then she takes one of floppy-hat-bandaid-face's pills. I guess that's really where Violet and I differ.

Then she takes, like, all of them, with a Sigg bottle, and curls up on the bed. I know. Aluminum poisoning.

Tate shows up and freaks out, and puts her in a cold shower to wake her up. He cradles her as she cries. Let's not forget that he is dead. Is Violet dead now, too? I don't think so, but the writers have barely established any "rules" here.

ACT FIVE

Ben tells Derek he has to do the "Piggy Man" thing in his mirror at home and that then he'll be free.

Vivien goes and meets Angela, her last ultrasound technician, in a church. Angela tells her the reason she freaked out and quit (this was last episode) is that she saw the devil in Vivien's unclean womb, complete with little hooves. Vivien takes this as her cue to leave.

Cut to Derek trying to be brave in the mirror at home. A robber appears from the shower and shoots him. His robber buddy is like "what are you doing, this is supposed to be a robbery!" They leave him, shot in the head, on the floor.

HA! Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself, but in the next scene, Constance calls Billie out on her ugly nailpolish! Sweet satisfaction. Anyway, Billie says Constance's dead daughter is mad at her. She notes that the dead can keep grudges even better than Scorpios (whoa). Constance says she has one last thing she wanted to say to her daughter and asks Billie to talk to her. Billie obliges. Constance says she's sorry for being a terrible mother, that she's proud of Addie, and that she thinks she's beautiful. Billie says Addie says thank you and that she knows, and that on the other side, "she's a pretty girl at last." She's also thankful not to be in the lawn at the old house because she's afraid of Tate now that she knows the truth. Bam!

We see the finger-gun scene from 1994 again, only it continues. Tate pulls out a real gun and the SWAT team fires on him until he is dead. Dead-dead.

Violet's reading a book and Tate comes in all like it's no big deal that he's dead and talks to her about the pills. She mentions that her parents think she's depressed, which leads us to believe she's still alive. Tate says he loves her and that he'll leave her alone if that's what she really wants. Violet instead offers to spoon with the dead boy.

And that's it! Tune in next time for god knows what.

Special thanks to FullHouseReviewed.wordpress.com whose delightful prose reminded me how much fun it is to review television shows.

Open Letter to Prospective Bloggers

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 13:20:00 +0000

So you want to be a professional blogger. Nerd!

I jest. Every now and then I get a note from someone asking me about becoming a professional blogger, usually referring to a job posting from one of the big-guy sites.

What I mean by "big-guy" sites is not legit blog or news websites with a few bloggers and/or journalists, but the major blogger networks. You know who they are, or you're about to know, if you're job-hunting. I'd rather not name them.

Here's a letter I recently wrote to a good friend who was interested in blogging as a side job, adapted for the interwebs:

Dear Very Smart Potential Blogging Superstar,

The fact that they say "join our network of 450,000 content creators" and a few other indicators lead me to believe this will pay nothing, or nearly nothing, or be traffic based and still pay nearly nothing. This company is following a high quantity, low quality model, and that model does not include paying the creatives properly.

The reason for this practice is search engine optimization (SEO). As long as they're churning out tons of content on relevant topics, their search engine rankings remain awesome, which means they can sell their ads for more. They don't actually care if the content is any good, they just need a lot of it.

I wouldn't recommend this as a real side job. Just learning to use their CMS (content management system) and format everything just the way they like it will be a bunch of work upfront, especially if you haven't blogged professionally before, and the rewards are likely super low.

That said, if you're interested in writing professionally and want to build your resume, this is a fine place to start -- but consider it more like an internship than an actual lucrative use of time. You'll have less hassle if you just start your OWN blog and develop a following -- and depending how much $ your time is worth to you, it may actually be more cost effective.

Developing your own following is pretty much the only way to get offered one of those fantastic, for-real blogging jobs that everyone wants, unless your parents are famous or you've been on a reality show. So, if that's your goal, you can build your following independently or with a big guy. There are pros and cons to both.

When you do begin blogging, write about everything you want to be writing about two years from now, on separate blogs if the topics are truly varied, because all bloggers are considered specialists and you want to get proven experience (and reader trust) writing about whatever you want to write about.

That's it!

Yours Truly,
The Annie Scott Experience
AOL, HuffPo, Huffington Post, Yahoo, Shine, Examiner, ReadWriteWeb

Post-It Office Window War - An NYC Story

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 02:35:00 +0000

An unexpected Post-It war has broken out in my office. And I'm the one who started it.

If you work in an office in New York City, chances are your window looks directly into someone else's office. In my particular case, I look into an office AND a hotel. Occasionally, I see a maid making the bed. From what I hear, the 8th and 11th floors of my office have seen less family-friendly displays in the middle of conference calls. Yipes. I'm on floor 2, where, apparently, it's all Disney.

It all started on August 29, 2011, just 3 days after the infamous New York non-hurricane. (Yes, I know it was a real hurricane in other places, but Irene never manifested in NYC, despite our best efforts to scare ourselves.) Rather than explain, here's what I posted to Facebook that day:

Upon seeing this, a friend (Hi Mel!) recommended I check out PostItWar.com. It was love at first sight.

We had a lengthy debate in my office, which is comprised of myself and two other fabulous women in social media management, and decided to break the ice with a simple "Hi!" in the window.

It was a simple test to see if the office across the street was willing to play with us. We have no idea what they do there, or why their office is so enormous and cool, but our only ambition here was and is to make contact. The sheer thrill of communicating via post-its, sadly, is totally enough for us.

Luckily, for our egos and for this blog, our effort paid off:

... we got a "Hi" back. GAME ON, FOLKS.

We didn't know quite where to go from here, so we stalled by posting the next most obvious phrase. It required venturing outside our office and adopting one of the windows in the hall:

At this point, stuff exploded. Other floors started responding.

Then, we learned later, other floors in our own office got involved. The 9th floor across from "Hola" started to play, as did the floor directly above ours with a candid "Yo!"

(Photo courtesy of Jessica Randazza.)
(The office windows we are utilizing are blocked by scaffolding and not visible from the street.)

As you might imagine, we had no interest in telling anyone to stop. Instead, we kept the momentum of post-it enthusiasm going!

Note the "Woof" upstairs and the "Hi" on a mid-level floor. We meow'd and got the same response downstairs:

Is this blue "Woof" from the same company as the office that "Woof'd" above? We still have no idea.

Naturally, we weren't going to let this just die. We're a marketing agency. And I work there.

So, we gamified it:

There is no ending to this story; it's still going on. Further updates as events warrant.

Can you guess what our Post-It Hangman secret says?

Toilet Training My Cats - Part One

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Sat, 15 Oct 2011 20:54:00 +0000

How to toilet train your cat (or cats).

I am toilet training my cats. These ones. It's working. I think.

My husband and I have an apartment in Brooklyn which is, well, not as tiny as our previous apartments, but not exactly Beyonce and Jay-Z's penthouse at Grand Army Plaza. For years, we've half-heartedly joked about potty-training the cats to avoid having the icky smell of litter in our home. We've all seen Meet the Parents, right? In case you haven't, Robert DeNiro's cat Jinxie knows how to use the toilet. The movie contains several scenes you might not think could actually take place in real life, but it turns out the cat using the toilet is not one of them!

We watched some "how-to's" on YouTube and it all seemed very complicated. Then, one day, we discovered the CitiKitty Toilet Training Kit for under $30, right there on the internet with all the news and celebrity bikini photos and everything. We bought it. Oh yes, yes we did. To add to the awkwardness of this, I had it sent to work:
The CitiKitty kit sits on top of your toilet bowl, under the seat. You fill it with litter and get rid of the litter box, and basically lock yourself in the bathroom with the cats for four hours and keep putting them on it until they both ... go. Or, at least, that's what we did. Then, over the next weeks, you start by cutting a small hole in the middle of the new "litter box," and you make it bigger and bigger until the cats are balancing completely on the seat. Then, bit by bit, you remove the litter from whatever's left of the tray until the cats seem ok using the toilet without the litter smell.

Apparently, their instinct is to cover up the scent of their waste (makes sense). Once they grasp that the water gets rid of the scent, they can potentially let go of the litter.

And so can you.

In case any of you are into this, you have to start by first getting your cats accustomed to flushable cat litter (we use Feline Pine) and move their litter box to near the toilet in the bathroom. So, if you were just about to order your kit, start that part today.

Ahem. So, that's what's supposed to happen. We're not there yet. In fact, we went too fast too soon and ended up with poop in the bathtub and urine in the sink. There, I said it. Also, the corner of the rug has been tainted. I'm not proud of it. I'm not happy about it. But I'm willing to admit it for the sake of internet education.

So, here's how it's gone for us so far.

1. We put the seat on the toilet and got rid of the litter box.
That's Margot the kitten on the seat, and Pistol chattily investigating from edge. Forgive the blurry iPhone shot.

The cats were very interested ... because we used catnip. We've never given our cats catnip before because I think it's weird, but the CitiKitty directions recommended it and we figured we were playing with fire, so we gave it to them.

It's a little worrying, really. We are concerned that the cats may start associating catnip with pooping, or worse, that they'll wake up months from now and go "Hey, remember when we were stoned for like three weeks and we pooped in the toilet? Weird." Maybe that will happen. Who's to say?

In any case, after a good amount of cuddling, cajoling and encouragement, they both adopted the tray in the toilet. No accidents. We celebrated the fact that our cats are geniuses.
But don't get me wrong. It's messy.

First of all, you obviously have to remove the tray from the toilet and put it on the floor every time you need to use the toilet yourself. Furthermore, you should keep some bleach spray handy, because the cats like to kick the litter all over the toilet seat (not to mention all over the floor). Lastly, and worstly, they are accustomed to a bigger box and their aim isn't great, meaning that sometimes there is actual cat poop on the toilet seat. I know. Gross. Horrifying.

Bleach spray.

But, you can't help but be proud of the little cuties for figuring out that you want them to "go" in the toilet. Aw. Such good kitties.

2. Cut a hole in the middle of the litter tray.

CitiKitty makes this part pretty easy. There are perforated marks in their training tray that show where you should cut. We did as it said. The cats? Were fascinated. Margot became immediately obsessed with finding out how far down the hole she could get her paw (ew).
Unfortunately, this turned the toilet seat into something of a game for her. We thought it would be fine, but when we got home from work? Poop on the rug.

Yeah.

I proceeded to lock myself in the bathroom with the kitties for like four hours again (ok it was two hours, but still), and eventually got Pistol to do #1's on the tray with the hole.
It was so weird. By chance, she "went" directly into the hole, and it sounded just like HUMAN PEEING. I wouldn't make that up. I'm still sort of unsure how to feel about that moment.

Anyway, when Pistol was done, Margot scratched around on the tray and seemed to understand. I let them out, and spent the rest of the evening very smugly satisfied with myself. Then, in the morning? Poop on the rug.

I needed to go to work, so after scrubbing the rug, I hesitantly locked both cats in the bathroom. I felt very guilty about it, but they had their food and water, it's a perfectly nice bathroom, and they like to play in the tub anyway. It had to be done, for the sake of the rug.

Unfortunately, when I got home from work, there was urine in the sink and poop in the tub. Poor kitties. They tried so hard to be good. They were just confused.
So, we had to go back a step. CitiKitty provides a form of "insurance" for this; you can insert a backup tray over the tray to basically return to the previous step.

We let them get used to the tray being in the toilet again for a few days, and there were no more accidents. Just today, we cut a -- much smaller -- hole in the middle of the tray, and so far so good. Maybe the hole was just too big to start with.

So, either they'll get used to the hole, we'll make it bigger, they'll adapt, they'll get used to using the toilet and pigs will fly, or we have totally broken our cats.

We'll see. Stay tuned for the next installment of Toilet Training My Cats.

Life is Like a Cat with a Fishbowl

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Sat, 16 Jul 2011 19:54:00 +0000

Our kitty Pistol meets our fish (and aquatic frogs) for the first time. Enjoy!

Social Network Measurement: Burgers Are Not People

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Fri, 15 Jul 2011 12:02:00 +0000

So. Facebook has 750 million active users. Twitter reported an average of 460,000 new accounts per month in March. Google+ has just hit 10 million users.

All this strikes me as a little evasive and wildly dishonest.

As a social media professional, I have multiple accounts on many social networks. Do I log into them now and again for client purposes and for looking at things through a dummy account? Yes -- and I bet that makes me a couple of "active users" on Facebook. Have I ever opened a Twitter account in the evening with a brilliant idea and basically forgotten it by morning? Multiple times. Did I check out Google+ first with an account that I no longer use, to see where my information was going to go? Sure did.

When I heard that Google+ had hit 10 million users, my initial response (and post) was:

When they say "users," do they mean people? Because I think they mean accounts. I bet there are plenty of people like me with multiple accounts (for example, all those brand pages that keep getting shut down are run by somebody), and/or people who created an account, checked it out, and have already mentally moved on.

When Facebook says they have 750 million active users ... are we under any illusions that they're not counting me like 5 times? And a heck of a lot of other people like me? You can't even claim that they're checking that I'm based on a different computer. I have FIVE MILLION COMPUTERS.

Twitter appears to be the most honest about this, citing "new accounts created" -- and they're also notoriously also the most tight-lipped about their overarching statistics. I bet this is not because they're secretive, but because the numbers are so absurdly high, they would make the error of counting numbers of accounts obvious. Despite Twitter's best efforts, I'm sure plenty of accounts are opened by autobots (or people who sit around opening Twitter accounts and programming them all day, which is basically the same thing).

When McDonald's says they've served 245.3 billion burgers (user-calculated in March 2010), do we think that 245.3 billion people were served? 35 times the earth's population? No. No, because there are jerkstores like me who go in and buy 5 burgers at a time. And everyone knows it.

That's right. A social network account? Is a BURGER. Not a person. And don't let them tell you otherwise.

Suggestion for an improved method of measurement: Why not count the max number of people logged in at a given time and use that as your milestone and benchmark? Sure, a few people could be logged into multiple accounts with multiple devices, but the margin of error (and misguidance) would be dramatically reduced.

Image by jayofboy via sxc.hu. Screenshot of/by myself.

Jesus Cat

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Tue, 28 Jun 2011 02:34:00 +0000

Jesus Cat! So, as those of you who follow my Twitter account surely know by now, I got a kitten:

Her name is Margot. However, it was not until today that I realized her sensational penchant for impersonating our Lord and Savior:

Jesus cat says: You're welcome.

Facebook Poised to Take 30 Percent of Your Sales ... and Replace Currency?

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Sun, 19 Jun 2011 14:39:00 +0000

This needs to be said.

Facebook allowed gamemakers like Zynga to create streams of revenue by asking players to purchase in-game items with real cash. Then, they revoked that privilege -- partly. They said games could only accept Facebook Credits as payment.

Two important points:
1. The items had already become important sources of revenue for gaming companies, and crucial to gameplay.
2. Facebook takes home 30% of Facebook Credits transactions.

Now, online shops are being developed for Facebook. Just think, your friend could recommend you a top from, oh, Banana Republic, you could Like their page and go see the top, and possibly purchase it right there (most if not all similar transactions are completed off-platform; you get linked out to an external page). It's not that far away -- in fact, in-Facebook transactions may already be happening, thanks to the iframe makeover.

As social recommendations are proven over and over again to be hugely influential in purchase decisions, this construct could be terrific for retailers -- and for Facebook, as it will have people spending more time on Facebook. And it's so convenient for consumers, right?

Well, ladies and gentlemen, Facebook is just as poised as they were with games to wait until Facebook social commerce becomes an integral revenue stream for retailers all over the world and then insist they switch over to Facebook Credits. It's their platform. They can do what they want.

And then, assuming that they wait until the practice of buying things on Facebook has become relatively regular, they will have 30% of everything.

You may call me a conspiracy theorist. Fine. But don't say I didn't tell you so.

Let's take it a step further. Facebook Credits have a unique allure: no foreign exchange rates. Imagine kids today growing up in an economy filled with social commerce. They want to buy something from a kid in Germany? They're not going to google out an exchange rate, they're going to ask "How much in Facebook Credits?" and possibly carry out their whole transaction on the big blue wall.

Facebook Credits is already a currency -- but because of its universality, it could actually grow to be extremely powerful. Eventually (and that's a big eventually), what will be the point of having individual currencies?

You can currently purchase a card of Facebook Credits at your local drugstore. They were wise not to start with banks, but I imagine that's where they'll end up.

Lastly, I don't think the very real possibility of Facebook claiming 30% of your sales should discourage brands and retailers from using social commerce. If that's the way human behavior is headed, you'd better be there with a social shopping cart -- just be prepared.

Image by ZyMOS via Wikimedia Commons.

The Alamo Drafthouse - 5 Ways They KILLED It

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Thu, 09 Jun 2011 12:21:00 +0000

In case you haven't seen it, The Alamo Drafthouse is a movie theater in Austin where they have a rule against texting. They threw someone out for texting, and she left an angry (drunk?) voicemail on their machine -- and it was just too ridiculous to delete. Rather than save it for the Christmas party, they put it online for all to see. Check it out:

Here are five reasons they TOTALLY KILLED IT with this stroke of social media genius, in the hopes that we all can learn from their underdog win.

1. They transcribed it.
The problem with a lot of similar attempts at this kind of brilliance is that you can't really understand what the errant voicemailer is saying. They eliminated that problem by transcribing, and even added hilarious emphasis with larger words, and spelled the mispronunciations phonetically (also hilarious).

2. It's real.
They totally didn't make this up. You can't make up "Magnited Status of America." If you can, BRAVO, dear sir or madam.

3. They were right.
They were following their own downright decent policy. In no way do we feel sorry for the complainer. We are totally with the Alamo Drafthouse, even though most of us had never heard of them before. We all magnite with the Alamo Drafthouse as the protagonist instantly when we hear this numbskull start her rant.

4. They ended it with a button.
When I was in theater, we used to talk about the "button" all the time. It's an essential component of storytelling, and especially comedy. The triumphant "YOU'RE WELCOME!" with kicky music is stellar. Just stellar.

5. They included their website.
I live in New York, so I'm probably not headed to the Alamo Drafthouse anytime soon, but I still wanted to learn a bit more after seeing this video. They made that easy for me by including their website at the end of the video. It seems simple enough, but people forget to do this all the time. Internet users are lazy. You have to make finding your company easy for them, or they will find another company.

Well done, Alamo Drafthouse. If one of your employees did that for you, you should give them a big raise or a pony or a vacation or something. Seriously.

DIRECTV Social Media Rescue ... or not

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Fri, 27 May 2011 18:11:00 +0000

I recently moved to Brooklyn, where I am in the process of unpacking and arranging the above apartment. One of the most important things to get settled, of course, is the TV service. I decided to try DIRECTV.

The representative who sold me my DIRECTV package told me the latest installation window for during the week is 4-8pm.

What? How do people with jobs do this? I wonder this every time I need utility help.

I told the rep that I could not make it home until 6pm, which would still require me to leave work earlier than usual. He said they would be able to put that in the notes of my appointment and it shouldn't be a problem. I gave him my credit card number and signed up for DIRECTV.

The appointed day rolled around and at around 3pm (note: not even 4pm yet), I got a call on my cell phone asking me if I was home. "No," I said, "I'm at work. And my appointment is for after 6pm." The person who called said "Oh... oh, I see that. Ok." "See you later, right?" I said. "Yes," said the representative. I looked at my officemate and she laughed, saying "I thought you were going to have to fight him."

Everyone hates installations.

After leaving work early and arriving home at 5:45, I called DIRECTV to make sure the technician was still coming. They said yes.

6pm.

7pm.

7:30pm.

By 7:45pm I was assuring my husband that they were coming, but doubting myself.

Finally, at 7:55pm (8pm is the end of the window, so fine, but I shouldn't have had to leave work early! So frustrating) the guy arrived. It was one kid, by himself, who walked into our little two story building, of which we have the top floor, and asked if we had roof access.

Of course not. It's a little two story building.

He informed us that he didn't have a ladder and would not be able to perform the installation. Could he come back tomorrow during the day?

Can you imagine our rage?

After telling him to go GET a ladder several times, he put us on the phone with his DIRECTV supervisor. We told the supervisor to get the heck over to our house with the supplies his technician needed to perform an installation in Brooklyn (there are plenty of buildings just like ours; it's not like we have some freaky anomaly building). The supervisor informed us that he stops working at 6 and wouldn't be able to make it until tomorrow. Could we be there during the day?

At this point, there was some yelling. Neither of us wanted to leave work early AGAIN on account of their incompetence. Finally, we had a new appointment set up -- for the first Saturday we were available, which was unfortunately three weeks later.

I was and am really, REALLY mad about this. How can they make you leave work early, send a technician with no ladder, and then refuse to complete the installation? How can they do that to people?

SO, I took to Twitter, which I do sometimes when a big brand lets me down (or does something awesome):

"Left work early yesterday for @DIRECTV installation. Guy shows up @7:55pm - no ladder. Can't do it. Now I have to wait 3 weeks for TV. #SMH"

Not demanding assistance. Just putting my frustration out there. A little while later, I got this from @DirectTVService:

"@AnnieScott We would like to see what we can do to help, Annie. Give us a call at (800) 531-5000."

Yeah right. Like I'm gonna call their 800 number and say "Someone on Twitter said they wanted to help me." I bet that would confuse the "Please say: 'Billing'..." autobot quite a bit. I said:

"@directvservice Unless you can send someone in the evening/early AM, WITH A DARN LADDER, there's no point in me calling. "REPRESENTATIVE.""

Then they asked me to direct message them so they could call me. Ok, I thought. But, they weren't following me, so I couldn't. A couple of hours and a tweet later, they figured it out and followed me, so I DM'd them my information.

Then, the oddest thing happened. They had someone call me ... and do nothing. Just to talk, I guess. Remember how I had said "no point in me calling"? Now, perhaps if I had ASKED for a month of free service or something I could have gotten it, but I didn't. In fact, I specifically said "I'm not asking for special treatment or anything; but it's wrong to send a technician to a Brooklyn apartment with no ladder and refuse to make it right. It's wrong to inconvenience working people that way."

It's not my job to beg for justice. They screwed up, and by reaching out, aren't they making a commitment of some kind to help me? Is it wrong to expect them to offer?

The representative was classically sympathetic. "Yeah, I know. Yeah, they should have had a ladder." But he offered nothing. What the heck was the point of calling me? I'm a big girl. I don't need a shoulder to cry on at DIRECTV. In fact, they wasted another portion of my workday by calling.

Then, after hanging up with absolutely no resolution or satisfaction, I looked at my computer screen and realized what the point may have been: to shut me up. I wasn't planning to tweet about it again after the first tweet to begin with, but after talking to them, there was certainly no sense in it ... and perhaps that was just what they wanted.

They had someone call me. On the phone. At work. To not resolve anything. As a social media professional, I find this interesting.

If someone reaches out to us in such a personal way, are they obligated to go an extra mile for us? Does reaching out count as the extra mile? (It certainly shouldn't; it was a waste of my time and theirs.) If a big brand's social media rep reaches out to you personally and calls you on the phone, should you expect special treatment? My gut-reaction answer to that is "No," but it's also "But big brands are not entitled to waste my time," which is exactly what DIRECTV's social media represenatives did.

So, I still don't have TV service and look forward to welcoming the technician a week from tomorrow... but dangit, he'd better have a ladder. And if he doesn't, and I tweet about it, don't bother calling me, DIRECTV, not unless you actually plan to offer me a resolution.

The Top 10 Greatest Photo Memes of All Time

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Wed, 11 May 2011 12:42:00 +0000

The 10 Greatest Photo Memes of All Time

A promised followup to my post Does Comedy Trump Copyright: The Top Ten Greatest Photo Memes of all time. Please note that the term "meme" is used to describe the entire kerfuffle of images around the noted theme -- not the selected image itself, though I did do my best to choose good ones. Enjoy!

10. The Social Network Meme

More on pleated-jeans.com.

9. Pancake Bunny

More on flickr.com.

8. Princess Beatrice and the Case of the Ridiculous Hat

More on gawker.com.

7. The Tiny Fey's Daughter Meme (She's got swagger!)

More on buzzfeed.com.

6. Leave Britney Alone

More on ... everywhere. But Seth Green's Leave Britney Alone is amazing: Leave Chris Crocker Alone!

5. The Kanye West Interruption

More on kanyegate.tumblr.com.

4. All Your Base Are Belong to Us

You can learn all about this meme in a Rocketboom video on YouTube.

3. The Classic Reddit FUU Cartoon Meme

More on ffuucomics.com.

2. LOLcats in general (and a shoutout to FailBlog - but just writing "FAIL" on something isnt usually as artful)

More on icanhascheezburger.com.

1. Climb the Highest Mountain, Punch the Face of God

(Note that these last two gave rise to Business Cat).

Inspired? Go make your own on memegenerator.net!

(And send them to me of course.)

Necessary:
*I don't own any of these images, but they are posted here in sheer celebration of their wonderfulness - if one of these is yours and you don't want it posted, just let me know, and also, awesome job*

Mom and the Internet

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Sat, 07 May 2011 15:42:00 +0000

Somewhere or other, I find a way to post this exchange every year. This is the infamous story of my mother attempting to type a heart into her gmail chat box. Every word of this is unaltered and true. Enjoy, and have a Happy Mother's Day.

bcscott is my mother and me is my sister.

me: ok.

7:05 AM

♥
bcscott: Howed you make that heart
7:08 AM me: it's this:
<
and this:
3
pretty cool.
7:10 AM bcscott: doesn't work on a non Apple

9 minutes

7:20 AM me: yes it does, i've doen it at work
you have to type them together.
but it ONLY works in this chat box, nowhere else.
7:22 AM bcscott: I typed them separately and together and I get a 3. Do you use shift or control? See if you can see the heart and smley face I inserted.
me: you have to type them in this window
i can tell you haven't because i should be able to see you doing it.
7:23 AM don't insert them,
type them here.
bcscott: ,3 There you go.
me: you hit the comma. try it again.
< and 3
7:24 AM bcscott: My greater symbol IS the comma.
me: doit again, barb.
< and 3
7:25 AM bcscott: #< There you go. That's with the shift.
me: mom, you can't be serious. instead of the 3, you typed # and you did it backwards.
< and 3
7:26 AM bcscott: Carrie, what kind of keyboad do you have? My 3 IS the #. The shift controls all this. ,3
me: yes, but you keyed in a #
you need to type exactly <
and then 3
just do it.
7:27 AM bcscott: I know, maybe you have a numbers pad. I don't have that on my laptop. Otherwise, this conversation is ridiculous.
me: this conversation is ridiculous.
i am not doing this on a number pad.
you're going to do this, mom.
type <
and then 3
you've been typing ,3 and <#
bcscott: I can't type < without the shift key. if I use the shift key on the 3 I will get a #
7:28 AM me: then ONLY use the shift key to get the <
and then don't use the shift key to get the 3
do it, mom.
bcscott: ♥ There you go!
me: that was unbelieveable.
absolutely unbelieveable.
7:29 AM bcscott: I had to do shift < and then regular 3. Now where did you get your smiley thing.
me: oh boy.

(Disclaimer: my mother finds this whole debacle hilarious and approves of this posting. We still type "#<" instead of "I love you.")

Does Comedy Trump Copyright?

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Fri, 06 May 2011 12:46:00 +0000

(via smosh.com)

I love photo memes. For the uninitiated: a photo meme is created when someone takes an image (or video still) completely out of its normal context and adds either text or some other image to make it hilarious. These, like the Zuckerberg gorilla face one above (The Social Network) and the Thor one I posted yesterday, are generally made by creative people who do *not* have rights to any of the images involved.

So, readers, my question to you is: does that bug you?

There's not much that copyright owners can do when a meme erupts. Here's how it works.

1. Say a photographer shoots princess Beatrice wearing a batdung crazy hat.
2. Maybe they sell that image to Getty or another photo distribution company.
3. Someone in the publishing industry buys that image and publishes it.

At this point, we are basically on the honor system for usage of this photo. Anyone can screenshot that image and have their way with it.

4. Someone ballsy superimposes text or another image onto the image for comedy value.
5. Someone else has a better idea (or so they think) and superimposes something ELSE in there.
6. Ten of their friends do the same, then ten of their friends, and so on, until it's the hottest, most viral and hilarious thing happening on teh interwebs.

Let's say you're the photographer or the copyright owner. What can you possibly do at this point? You have provided geeks and bystanders with hours and hours of entertainment, but you can't be paid for this. Perhaps this is a value that is "other than" money.

I'm normally pretty strict about intellectual property rights and protecting the work of artists, but I think we all have to accept at some point that the vigilante art of the photo meme cannot be prevented. The photo meme is the graffiti of the internet. You can keep taking it down (or painting over it), but it's just going to pop up somewhere else. Whether you consider it an art or a crime, one thing's certain: it's not going away.

The only way I can imagine this could be controlled would be if there were a new kind of photo file type that couldn't be written over, was invisible to screenshotters, and could always be tracked, so that every use of that image could be pulled at will. But even if you were a genius and created that filetype, there would be someone smarter than you in their parents' basement with a lot of time, and they would find a way to steal the image.

Internet law: There is always someone smarter than you in their parents' basement with a lot of time.

The internet has a tendency toward "share and share alike." When you think about it, it's pretty amazing that copyright laws manage to get enforced at all. It's like picking up pieces of confetti. And when it's a photo meme -- not just blatant thievery, but an act which involves using the image to create something else -- why would you want to throw away those pieces? It's like killing fireflies. Wow, way too many metaphors.

Anyhow, what do you think? How do you solve the epic copyright disaster of the photo meme? Is comedy more valuable than copyright?

What if photographers could file a claim of some kind if their image is used over 100 times without permission, and be given some kind of payment? Well, I guess a lot of photographers would sit in their basement and fake-steal their own work.

There has to be a value other than money.

Anyhow, the next post will be The Ten Greatest Photo Memes of All Time. I have the list written, but don't have time to pull all the images. ME AND WHAT ARMY?? I have to go to work now. :)

Osama Bin Laden, Thor, and Princess Beatrice

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Wed, 04 May 2011 12:16:00 +0000

Today, I'd like to share a couple of things my friends made, because they are awesome. The first one is serious, and the second one is REALLY (not) serious and involves the movie Thor.

The first comes from my dear and endlessly wise friend Maureen Perry (momoperry.com). This was her Facebook post when she heard about Osama Bin Laden's capture and execution:

In case you're on a mobile phone and can't read that, it starts with a Martin Luther King Jr. quote: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

Then Maureen says "I wish for my country a muted response, a somber respect for a fallen enemy, a lack of gloating and a measured and humble demeanor. I wish for peace."

And then Mystery Science Theater's Bill Corbett and 45 other people liked it.

What Mo Perry says is an awfully-close-to-perfect encapsulation of how I think a lot of people felt when they heard of Bin Laden's death, including me. I found out from my husband, and as we crawled my iPhone browser for news, we both kept saying "it's so unsatisfying. No part of me is excited about this." It's not that I'm scared that there will be retaliation, or that I'm particularly wrapped up in the politics of it; it ("it" being the idea of celebrating the killing of Bin Laden) just doesn't work for me on a human level. If you hate Apple, and you go after Steve Jobs ... well, that's symbolic and all, but it doesn't really accomplish anything of value. Even if you succeed in killing Steve Jobs (which I hope you don't), Apple will go on, a lot of people will hate you, and you've just taken a soul out of the world. What, really, does that do?

During and after the royal wedding on Friday, "#proudtobeBritish" was trending on Twitter. After Osama Bin Laden's death, "God Bless America" was trending. Is it possible that these kind of events unify people in the same way?

My answer to that is yes, and here's why: I think people tend to want to be unified. People use these (admittedly major) symbolic events as excuses to feel like part of something. People want to celebrate together, and feel that energy of people celebrating everywhere. That's part of what has me defending my lack of triumphant glee here on my blog days later. I didn't get to be part of that celebration, and I feel oddly left out. I don't want to start a movement of un-celebration and be part of that, either. I just feel like I went to a party and sat in the corner and watched everyone do a lot of bad drugs. I don't need company, but I think I learned something.

I think.

How to process that lesson, I wonder? Should there be a Saturday Night Live skit making fun of the folly of celebrating, as Mo calls him, "a fallen enemy"? Should I be angry? Should I stay at the party or go home until everyone sleeps it off? One thing's for certain: going up and telling people "Hey, I think what you're doing is kind of stupid and here's why" isn't going to work.

Summation of thesis: Watching people celebrate the death of Osama Bin Laden is like sitting quietly on the sidelines at a party where people are all taking drugs and having a fabulous time. There's an allure to what they're doing, but it's dark, and I don't want to participate.

And now for something completely different. One of these things is not like the other (click to enlarge):

It's Thor, naturally. Everyone else has an awesome hat on. :)

I have to say, I'm loving the evolving Princess Beatrice meme, but this one by my friend Chris Rogers (http://www.c-rogers.com) takes the cake.

Also, I don't own the rights to that image, nor does Chris, but you know what? Sometimes, the art of the meme trumps copyright. I'm normally an evangelist about artistic rights and intellectual property, but it honestly doesn't bother me a bit in cases like this. That may be my next blog.

Me and WHAT ARMY??

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Tue, 03 May 2011 01:05:00 +0000

Well, hello! What on Earth are you doing here? This blog ended a year ago! What? You heard that I reneged on that decision and have returned to The Annie Scott Experience due to a pathological inability to shut up?

You heard right. Sort of.

In the above photo taken five minutes ago, I'm wearing the same dress as the last entry -- one year ago, almost to the date -- but many other things have changed. Kate and William got hitched and Osama Bin Laden was killed. My stuff doesn't seem all that impressive, really. I should draw a chart mapping the relation of how much in your life can change to how long you can wear the same outfit. But not right now. What, I can't do EVERYTHING! ME and WHAT ARMY?? More on that shortly.

So. I closed up shop here because I was traveling so much as a full time writer for AOL, and wanted to spend my personal efforts developing my travel writing and photography. PureHappyTravel.com was launched, and to great, great success! After its inception, things really picked up for me. I went to 16 countries in 2010 alone, and if you think that sounds like a fine time, well, you must be a travel writer, at least at heart. It was incredibly taxing and and unbelievably wonderful, all at once. It was, if you will, a dream within a dream. Within a dream.

After two-ish years of that pace and lots of thought, I decided to try out the corporate thing before the kids who are now majoring in social media (good heavens) graduate and take all the jobs. By this point, I had won a Shorty Award and garnered a pretty good Twitter following of my own (@AnnieScott), and had also taken up Facebook management for Gadling. I was starting to realize that social media was one of the most unprecedented glories of the universe (what? Some of us feel that way.). So now, since late last year, I work in social media management -- and I like it very much. I have always professed that a theater background is the perfect prerequisite for social media work, and have since found that not only do the lessons of entertaining apply to my now full-time work daily, but I've also discovered a whole wealth of passion for social media inside my burnt up little crusty heart. I'm really into it.

And, they're generous with vacation time. :) I'm still into travel. Hard.

I have since been sacked from AOL, thanks to the Huffington Post job massacre. I'm awfully glad I'd already begun moving on! It was a lovely five years of freelance, AOL ... most of the time.

<Annie sees worms sneaking out of the can and goes at it with a staplegun, then a drill and deadbolts. Stay closed, you stupid can of worms.>

I'm still taking freelance writing jobs here and there, but not actively seeking new outlets. When would I do that? Me and what army? I have a great full time job and a creative heart -- not a heart that desires to beg editors who don't realize that I'm a special snowflake to churn out soulless SEO pieces for lunch money. If I could write this entire blog by hand, I might - but that would be terrible for SEO.

Many people have told me I need to start a video blog; combining my on-camera/stage background with my blogging and social media experience to create ... I dunno, the millionth travel show? That would be great and all, but ... again ... me and what army? I can't exactly pound the pavement hawking a YouTube channel or selling a TV show while I'm at work. Maybe videos will happen on this blog from time to time. Maybe not. Maybe some producer will approach me to host a TV show about social media someday (actually, that would be awesome). But for now, in my spare time, I kind of want to sit in the exact position I am now, doing exactly what I am now ... writing. With no shoes on. You could pay me a million dollars a week and I'd do the same thing in the evening. This is just what I do. For better or for worse. (But I'd do it from a tropical island somewhere. I'm not crazy. Maybe I could get my husband to fan me with a palm frond...)

In conclusion, The Annie Scott Experience is back, and with a not-any-wiser-but-perhaps-more-well-traveled being at the helm. What will I blog about? Everything. Social media from the entertainment perspective. TV shows. Philosophy about our times. Stuff I bought. For example, today I bought toilet paper and wine. You're welcome, World.

P.S. I also started myself a Facebook Page, which I feel pretty sheepish about.

Pure. Happy. Travel.

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Sun, 16 May 2010 14:21:00 +0000

Ladies and Gentlemen, it is time for The Annie Scott Experience to come to a close. I have launched a new website: Pure. Happy. Travel. Please bookmark it.

When this blog began back in 2004 (in the days of MySpace), I was a single girl with a fledgling blog and a theater career. The blog took me through writing countless plays, Drama Desk nominations, crazy auditions, NY Times reviews, festival awards, odd TV and film appearances, outrageous dates and degrading day jobs. 

During that time, the world changed. Back in 2006, I began professionally blogging for AOL's former fashion blog, Styledash.com. At that time, many people didn't know what a blog was. The job quickly went from a part-time delight to a full-time, well-loved endeavor by 2008. Then, when I became an editor for Tonic.com, I found it was time to put theater on the back burner for awhile; at least traditional theater.

What I mean by that is: theater is like the internet. In fact, I think there is immense theatrical potential in the internet which has yet to be tapped. There can be earth-shattering drama in an instant message; love affairs happen via email. There are countless ways the internet entertains and builds communities, and I want to be part of the faction developing new ways. One of my favorite achievements so far has been through Twitter; my work with an all-knowing llama, @DoWhatITellYou, has reached thousands and even won a Shorty Award. I don't feel I'm doing less theater at all, really.

In addition to implementing these harebrained ideas, I've managed to make a full-time career from online writing. I've become an expert in travel and luxury -- genres I grew up in and studied for years before realizing that they could be professional avenues. As a writer and journalist, I now travel the globe, make TV appearances, and am what I like to think of as a "professional learner." 

Pretty soon, I will have a new name, as I'm getting married to the handsome fella above (though I'll keep the "Annie Danger Scott" name professionally). The Annie Scott Experience has become most successful as a travel blog, and with that in mind, I've launched a real one which I think captures my perspective well: Pure. Happy. Travel. Next week, I'll make my first new posts there from the Cannes Film Festival.

And so, I bid you not farewell, but thank you, and please look here for me from now on.

My pics of Eyjafjallajökull on Digg

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Fri, 14 May 2010 14:16:00 +0000

I love it when my posts get picked up on Digg. The comments are hysterical. Case in point.

See more Digg comments on Eyjafjallajokull still spewing - exclusive pics from a trans-Atlantic flight  here.

Switzerland - Lausanne, You Don't Have to Wear That Dress Tonight

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Sun, 09 May 2010 08:34:00 +0000

Lausanne is gorgeous. 

I am fortunate to have traveled to many cities, but this is up there amongst the most beautiful. My sister told me she'd move to Lausanne tomorrow if someone asked her to, and I can totally see why.

Yesterday we got the train here from Zurich and had lunch in the dining car, as I had anticipated. The lunch was so-so, but the service was great (thanks, Mohammed!), and I enjoyed a good Swiss beer.

The real star of the train ride was, of course, the scenery. I've been here since Monday and it was the first time we had any real sun. Oh joy! Oh rapture unforseen!

Switzerland, at least from Lausanne to Teufen, but probably the rest of it, too, is covered in rape fields. Stunning neon yellows dot the landscape of meadows and country houses, all ascending into the rolling hills. Oh-so pretty.

Lausanne is a gorgeous, lake-side haven in the midst of this. Carnival of the Sun is happening at the moment (Fete du Soleil), so the streets were lined with Test-Your-Strength and Knock-Em-Down booths, brightly colored balloons, children running with waffles and lots and lots of noise. We are staying down at the (much quieter) waterfront with a view of the French alps (above). The area has the feeling of a quaint French village with the amenities of a city. Simply put, it is a sight for sore eyes. As is our hotel, the Angleterre.

 Our hotel consists of several elegantly appointed villas like the above, from which I currently write you, a separate lobby area, a waterfront restaurant and breakfast room and a luxe swimming pool (though not currently filled, due to the season). We have access to the spa at the Beau Rivage next door. I accessed it.

And, since I know you were all dying to know, YES, I have a bathtub. It's a terrific bathtub.

We had an aperitif in Les Arches, a cool club that exists under a historical city bridge where everything had to be constructed without disturbing the protected structures. The mini sandwiches were tasty. Dinner tonight was okay. It began to rain again just before and continued through the night. Apres food, we went to a club called MAD for a tour. Oddly, the bouncer kept us outside shivering (though there was an empty vestibule behind him) while we waited for the manager to come get us for the tour. I gave him a sweetly evil smile when we went in. Douchecanoe. (Annie! Language! Stop that.)

At first, I wasn't sure why they'd brought us there, other than that the club was one of the oldest establishments in the up-and-coming area, but then we ascended to the top floor, which can be accessed only by ages 28+. That was pretty cool. Apparently, my countryman Prince liked it, too. That was something of a claim-to-fame for them. I smiled again at the bouncer on the way out.

Then, I came back to the glorious hotel and soaked in the bathtub and slept the best sleep I've had in Switzerland. Merciful gods. When we first arrived at the hotel, I hugged one of the other journalists. "Oh, (name)," I said to her. "We're home."

That said ... there's still no hair conditioner. At least here, they did us the honor of providing different products for soap and shampoo. And the shampoo says "conditioning shampoo" on it, which is BS but a step in the right direction. :)

Switzerland Wegetarian Sauce

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Sat, 08 May 2010 08:28:00 +0000

It was a tiring day, largely because of the lack of sleep the nights before. We went to Hiltl, a famous vegetarian (pronounced "wegetarian") place, where they handed us prosecco at 10 AM (above), which is apparently totally normal here. I hear that people keep prosecco at the office for a quick glass around 10 or 11 AM. "It really helps," said a local.

Anyway, there was a vegetarian cooking class. We fared rather well, and the food was definitely wonderful. Naturally, they gave us a project that was hard to screw up. I appreciated that.

Then we roamed Zurich West, which was empty, for several hours, then we visited a fabric store that made me very happy (below), then we had a nice aperitif and a lovely dinner, then a bizarre little romp at a club called "Hard One." The name of the club on the itinerary set us up for a whole day of innuendos, and what could we do but oblige?

It's actually the next morning now, as I was so exhausted (by the Hard One ... see? I can't help myself) I went almost straight to bed. Dashing now to check out and get to the train to Lausanne. I'm looking forward to dining in the dining car, which I've never done! The weather has cleared up significantly, so the views from the train should be lovely.

Vroom vroom!

Switzerland - Happy Time

noreply@blogger.com (Annie Danger Scott) — Thu, 06 May 2010 23:58:00 +0000

Hey folks, I'm delighted to inform you that I had a perfectly lovely time today. I worked late on an assignment for Luxist, and it's past 1:30 AM here, so we're gonna do this bullet-style:

What I did today in Zurich:

Almost slept through breakfast for a second time, but miraculously and magically managed to awaken for some very buttery eggs. I liked the buttery eggs. Bring it.
Went on a walking tour of the historic areas of Zurich, where I learned all sorts of strange things and drank out of a lot of public fountains, which is safe. Not "drinking fountains" per se, either. Decorative fountains. Also notable: you can swim in the river and in the lake with your mouth open here and supposedly not die. Everything I thought I knew is ruined.
Visited Peclard, the best coffee shop I have ever been to ever ever ever cupcakes and velvet and sparkly things and ever.
Ate lunch by the lake at Lake Side -- a traditional meal of zueri gschnaetzlets (veal and pasta with mushroom sauce). I never order veal, as it makes me feel guilty, but if you put it in front of me ... I'm not made of stone. It was delicious. The dressing on the appetizer salad was good and one of the journalists asked what was in it, and the woman BLATANTLY LIED to her, citing honey and ginger (neither of which we tasted). We weren't mad or anything, we found it hilarious and spent much of the rest of the meal making up ingredients like "leg of Smurf."
Boat ride! The public transport ticket entitles you to all forms of public transit, including boats. I like boat rides.
The group parted ways and I headed to the university area to see what the kids are up to. I got to ride the Polybahn which is like a trolley on a rollercoaster track that goes very slow and takes you up the mountainside (to the university). It was really fun. You can ride on the front and play "King of the World." If you're a douche. Gross, did I just say that? Annie, language. <slap>
Found a cool cafe serving Malaysian curry, photographed the bejeebus out of it.
Went to the Watch and Clock Museum to geek out. I was disappointed with the dearth of English information available (pretty much none for the individual pieces), but I still had fun, as I love love LOVE clockwork. The pocketwatch above tickled me greatly. He looks so surprised. I shall call him Jules Verne.
Had a glass of wine at The Savoy. Like ya do.
Met with the local tourism representative who took us up into the "Top of Zurich" (highest mountaintop), which is a 20-minute train ride. Upon getting there, we walked 10 minutes to a perfectly charming restaurant with decent food and what I'm told is the greatest view in the galaxy ... but unfortunately, it rained all day, yet again. The fog was so thick that the wall-to-wall windows of the restaurant looked as though shades had been drawn.
While up there, I alone climbed to the top of the tower at the Top of Zurich. Why? Because Danger is my middle name. From the top, I couldn't see anything but fog, but due to weird acoustics, I could hear everyone talking at a normal level below. I shouted down, but no one could hear me. Or maybe they ignored me and are basterts.
We took the train back down into town and decided to save a night of drinks and gazing at the skyline for a clearer evening (hopefully tomorrow). Our usual train was under construction, we tried to walk home, we got lost (except for me, I was never lost, shut up), and then our train miraculously arrived at the wrong place (due to construction) where we were (due to the poor education system ... or perhaps stupidity).
Home. Writing. This.

And now bed. 