Chapter 19: It Ain't Easy

Ugh. What a rough few days.

I haven't been around for a few days simply because I was tired of Blogspot. Clearly, that is no longer the case...

Yesterday was Mom's birthday. The planned venue for the party changed a few times since Great-Grandpa got sick and didn't want to leave. So we had it at Aunt Lori's when it was decided he needed rest. It's been the first family gathering we've had there in a while, and man is it weird. It's all babied-up, and indeed much of the party was spent playing with babies or (good lord,) watching the kid's DVD's. It was surreal.

I did a lot of talking to Aunt Lori about the play, which she really seemed to love (she even went so far as to ask whether or not Alyssa was Ukranian, so good job Alyssa,) and indulge me in my favourite past-time - talking about myself. Haha, it's pretty shallow, but I'd think it's obvious by this blog.

For the second week in a row we went to a high-end grocer, only further enhancing the inevitable crash once we start going back to Price Chopper's. From this, we got some crab legs, which we had for tonight. Yes, we eat like the good life. And for cheap.

Fech. I'm worn out. It's been a nice enough day, and tomorrow is my delayed exam... but I just feel drained.

But hey. For all youse guys out there, why don't ya, just for me, keep on rockin',
-Scotto

Chapter 18: Something I could never be

Well.

I don't know how to say this in a blog without sounding like it doesn't matter... the very medium seems geared more toward gossip and blatant opinion - lighthearted stuff - but I've always tried to really get into it with my blog. And it doesn't get much more into it than this, so I'll just say it.

At 7:06 this morning, my father knocked at my bedroom door. Since he doesn't live with me, I knew what to assume and was proven correct. Dad gathered us in the kitchen and told us that Grandma had passed away over the night.

I could get deep about it. In fact, I did: not having the computer available at the early hour, I took pen to paper and wrote a few pages in my notebook my thoughts on the topic. They naturally reflect my Zen outlook on death, on my Grandmother's life... these things I may have portrayed already 2 posts down.

Naturally, I'm very sad, but like I said I'm one of those people who can look at death - especially one like this that was years in the making - and just see it as a part of life. A sad but very real part of life. When it sneaks up on you it sucks, but we were given plenty of notice. Over te last few years, any time dad would call on the phone I'd get a chill thinking something was wrong. I should've known better: it was his style to come in person on such an occasion. Even at such an early hour (I don't usually wake up until quarter-after.)

Years ago, the last time there was a death in the family, whenb I was notified, I'd been listening to "No More No More" by Aerosmith, and for years I could not listen to it because it made me paranoid, I felt like it was cursed. I listened to it sparingly, and never when a family member was in peril. I didn't want to be listening to any song upon hearing news of Grandma's death. Fortunately, I was not.

As such I had about an hour to digest this information before school; so at different points during the day I was aloof, sluggish, and even hyperactive. By the time I had to do anything sociable, I felt comfortable being my normal old self. In fact, and this is weird and possibly a horrible thing to say, after reflecting on the death I felt more like myself than I had in months.

Is that odd?

It's hilariously easy to fuck around withn people when they know you are in mourning. I had told Rosser, since I needed to reschedule my exam (an ordeal I don't even want to discuss,) and later in the day, when we Improv people all convened on him for lack of a better thing to do, somebody made a joke about the 2 "Drama" faces (comedy and tragedy,) and Rosser said I could be tragedy because of my mourning. And I looked him dead in the eye, dead in the eye and as straight as possible said "That's not funny..." and the tension, you could cut it with a knife before I cracked a smile and said "Kidding!" He flushed red and basically just said "Funeral or not you can really be a prick!" and we all laughed.

It's safe to laugh. It's comforting, makes me feel like me. I feel more alive now than I have virtually since school began.

My life is going to be a clusterfuck in the next few days. I still need to finalize those exam papers at school tomorrow, say my "goodbye and good luck"s to everyone at school, get my movie on DVD, come home and drive to North Bay. There will be no visitation, because Grandma for whatever reason requested closed-casket. I think of it being her way of having a dignified burial, very British. Anytime she did anything out of the ordinary I just think "That's very British." She doesn't want the undignified position of being laid in a box with people gawking at her. That, I can understand and respect.

I'll be in North Bay for a few days. Dad won't say how long but I take that to mean that he wants to stay as long as possible - understandable, but we have to be home for Sunday since it's Mom's birthday. I think 4 days is a fine amount of time for a funeral anyhow. In fact my personal opinion is that, since the Funeral is the only thing on the itinerary, it should be less time, only a day or two. So there's the practical or the emotional approach. Dad will clearly choose the emotional one, the one that says "stay as long as you can" and that's understandable.
All of the re-arranging of plans for funerals is so hellish. I really don't like it. But that's the nature of funerals. They happen suddenly and upset everything you had previously thought. That's the way they are, pretty much all of the time.

So perhaps in this entry I sound sad. Anyone who saw me today will know I really am not. Not unreasonably so anyhow. It's jsut liberating, knowing that it's okay to be sad. I'm so used to being sad for no good reason that this just feels right. Am I sick? Am I mentally disturbed?

I loved my Grandmother. I still do.

Enjoy every sandwich.

Keep on rockin'
Scott Williams

Chapter 17: When it doesn't work....

All over!

Today was the big day. Today was the movie, today was the drama presentation.... the huge day.

The video premiere was a disaster. There were a number of glitches we didn't know about which were horrifying when shown on the big screen. I think Josh fixed itm but it was just mortifying.

I can't even really describe the next few hours: they were blurry. I was worried about stuff, then I calmed down, then as usual I vomitted a bit. Then I went onstage and did a great show. Dad, Mom, Grandma Fournier and Aunt Lori were all there and they loved it; I'm glad they did. I hope Rosser appreciated it as much. Although it's probably not true, I'd like to think that audience reaction has some effect on Rosser's marking. People laugh at the right moments and Rosser might say to himself "Hey this must be funny." Of course, when people laugh at the wrong moments, Rosser might say "boy they fucked up."

So ours went well. I didn't see them all, although several of the ones I did see made me wish I could've written them because Ana's ("The Echo") and Kyle's ("Opposite Sex,") were both very good; Opposite Sex in particular had me (along with everybody else) rolling in the aisles.

I was worried about reaction. I was dreading that there would be silence throughout that whole thing. Silence would've been the worst, Fortunately, Emma and I played out all the beats right and maximized every laugh (in particular lines like "present company excluded" and "leather outfits..." got the best I'd hoped for, and my usual adlib "the way they talk like y'know" got good.) And as the scene went by I felt more confident. And Chris' did great, much better than expected: who knew school shooting could be so funny? Perhaps when it comes from somebody as blunt yet earnest as Chris Brown. He did a great job, his rhythm was better than I'd ever seen it before, and the crowd was havin' it.

It was a blast, it was a success, I'm proud. All that's left is the exam....

I'm very tired. I just wanna lie down and get off my feet.

Good night and keep on rockin'
Scott

Chapter 16: Maybe this is your year...

It's been such a weird day. I used the word "hellstorm" to describe the snow outside. It was pouring something fierce; indeed with a ferocity not normally witnessed by your average winter snowfall.

Alas, this is Canadian January. And you'd think the weather wouldn't be so (to use the term,) bi-polar, but the past few weeks have been insane. And I'd put money down that February will be nothing to get cheerful about. But then again I always bet against Feburary. I fucking hate February. Don't ask why; I just have a vendetta. Not that anything especially bad ever happened to me in Feburary, just that it's a miserable month.

I've been in my bowling shirt all day. I don't know why. I feel much more comfortable in this one than last year's. The material is nicer. A lot of people at bowling don't like it but I do. It's sleek, fitting, and cool. It's my kind of shirt. Maybe I'm wearing it just because it's cold down here and it keeps me warm.

It'll be hard to accomplish anything tomorrow, with all that f'n powder on the ground. On the bright side, since Mom and Frank are going to brunch tomorrow and there was so much snow today, the grocery shopping will get held off until late tomorrow. Which means a copious amount of sleeping in for yours truly.

I love sleep. It's the perhaps only thing that brings me happiness these days. Okay that's understating the importance of everything else, but still, I love to sleep. I love to dream, to rest, and to awake refreshed. Next semester I will be allowed more sleep each night than I am getting now. I think I'll start by taking an extra half hour and see how far I can take it. Now, I'm not advocating sloth: it's important to be active and to get things done. But you know, some mornings you just wake up, slowly coming out of that deep sleep, have that silly little grin on your face, and just think "This.... mmmmmm.... is the life...." and then roll over, even though you know you're not going to fall back asleep. Trying in vain to wrench more sleep out of it. It's worth a shot, but you gotta face the music: you're awake, time to start the day.

I hope my dad made it to North Bay okay in this weather.

Three more days. One more semester. A lifetime ahead of myself and nothing to do but write.

I sometimes think that I'm kidding myself. There are times when I think "Oh God oh God I really fucked up in life! What am I doing, trying to be a writer?!" Until you go big, it won't pay well, and there is very little fame associated with it, and hardly any stability to think of. After all, you basically have to go out and say "Here is what I have written: somebody please produce it!" But then I realize that I've more or less spent 17 years of my life (well realistically, like 7 or 8) just writing, and not wanting to do anything else. And at some point it became the only thing I would do, could do, should do. So... I'd better, right?

I don't want to fail.

And that's how I'll leave it for tonight. Good night, stay pink, soft and oily. And what do we always say? That's right, we always say "keep on rockin."

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 15: This Island Earth

Dad's gone to North Bay, to visit Grandma. She's sick. I'm sad to say that it appears her disease has gotten the better of her, at least at this point. Is it the end? It's difficult to tell. But I will not eulogize my Grandmother, not now, and hopefully not for a long time. "At her age," he said, "it may be serious." There were a number of qualifiers in his description of her condition; and I surely wouldn't disagree with my Dad that he needs to be with his mom while she's sick. I'm just cautiously optimistic about the situation. I am braced for the worst while hopeful for the best. Is it a possibility? Indeed, it always is. She has cancer and is well into her 70's. The last time I spoke to her, at New Year's, she seemed sharp: and indeed it would take more than a mere disease to slow down her mind, though her body is sadly another story. She's been in and out of hospitals for the past two years. She'd just been in the hospital before Christmas. Cancer is a tricky disease. She is always in my heart and I always pray for her health.

She was a smoker for many, many years. She quit only when she had a heart attack in her 60's, but by then the damage was done. Any smokers out there I urge to take this to heart. Don't fuckin' do it. My father himself is smoking his life away, having given up any hope of quitting years ago. The man knows that they're bad news but he's so addicted that there's just no hope in him. He knows that they'll more than likely be the cause of his demise, and yet he does nothing.

20 years ago, Steven Tyler and Joe Perry of Aerosmith kicked their longtime addictions to Heroin & Cocaine, but not before a weakened Tyler collapsed onstage. The sad thing is that while Cocaine might grant you a quick death that (apart from being addicted) you could never see coming, cigarettes will kill you for years before you're dead. I have no wish to see my dad carted in and out of Chemo for the last years of his life, breathing through a tube, suffering heart attacks... and he can't be too glad about seeing his own mother suffering such a fate.

A tragic hero is one who is aware of his own flaws, and that they are his undoing. My father has always warned us of smoking in a stern, Briton-Canuck tone, "Don't." This is the tragedy of Keith Williams.

I will not say my final goodbye to my grandmother tonight. I refuse to just say "well I guess this is it" when it probably isn't. All the same I'll reserve celebrations for the moment she steps foot back in her own home. After all, more than a few famous figures have been caught with their foot in their mouths about death. Dudley Moore proudly went on Entertainment Tonight and pled "I'm not dead, I'm not dying" only a few weeks before his death. I wouldn't be so foolish to say "Grandma's gonna be okay," because then I'd feel all the worse if she weren't. All the same I must confess I don't feel it. When my great grandmother died 5 years ago, she was hardly in the hospital when I gravely told my Grade 7 teacher "I might not be back on Monday, my Great Grandmother is ill and there may be a funeral." So I like to think I have a mental way of knowing. Maybe I'm a starchild. One who knows.

When my Great Grandmother died in Feb 2000, she left my Great Grandfather, Arthur Wood, who I am proud to say is still among us at age 100, and doing just well apart from comparitively minor memory malfunctions. There are people worse-off at half his age. I remember sensing that after his wife died, there was a spark taken from him that he did not regain. And I worry about my Grandad, Joseph, who may be spiritually lost without his wife. Theirs is a perfect British marriage after all: he makes the tea while she regales the guests with conversation on any of a variety of topics. The woman can talk, clearly blessed with a gift for gab. Even after the disease, she could still pontificate with the best of them. "Crossword Puzzles," she says, "keep the mind sharp in my later years." She also had some particular theories about cryptograms. Gradad on the other hand, is the stereotypical Englishman patriarch, with the stip upper lip. He hardly speaks, but for when Grandma asks his confirmation; "I remember back in 1969... was in 1969 Joe?" "Hm?" "When Suzie and Steven came to visit," "Yes Olive, 1969 I believe."

I honestly don't know how severe her condition is. I didn't go with my dad, despite his offer. He didn't insist in any particular way that we be there, except to say "would you like to come?" I told him I couldn't; he understood and relented. If he really believe my brothers and I should be there, he might have said so. I think he just wants to be there to see for himself everything get better. I don't blame him.

If she dies, I will revisit this entry and probably cry. How could I not?

I read Judd Winick's beautiful graphic novel "Pedro & Me" today, ironically before ever being told about Grandma's sudden turn. The story is about Pedro Zamora, whom the author knew (from their time on the Real World San Fransisco,) who lived his life with AIDS and eventually died from it. That's given me a strange perspective on this strange turn of events.

Grandma loved to travel. She would; she made the journey from England to Canada many years ago, and never really stopped. I still wear the belt they gave me as a souvenir from Spain, with its "S" on the buckle. I remember the Cyprus delight candy they gave us from their trip around the Mediterranean. The last trip I recall them going on was to Las Vegas, not long after September 11 (they noted the uber-security they encountered,) and not long before her diagnosis. But still, I can vividly remember her last Spring talking about where she'd like to go next. I can't remember where it was, but it must've been somewhere of warm climate. Was she on the mend? Was she filled with false hope or does she just have confidence in herself? Does she still feel that someday, she may travel again, or has the sickness permanently grounded her?

I'd like to think that even if she never travels beyond her home or the hospital again, that someday she'll be privy to the journey of the most glorious kind. As I sometimes casually hint at, I fancy myself something of a Buddhist. If not a full-fledged monk, then at least an enthusiast. I love the philosophy of it. Reincarnation; it's just too inviting not to believe. I believe that when she does go, my grandmother will return in the best possible way, because she led what I would think of as an exemplary life.

I love her with my all, and when she does go: be it tomorrow or next year, the world will have surrendered one of its best.

Naturally, this has made it rather hard for me to focus on the comparitively trivial events of my own life. I don't care how my day was, now that I've said all this. It wasn't great, but it seems to unimportant.

But, I may have pontificated long enough on this topic. I'd hate to think I may have brought anybody down with this entry. I want you all to go out tomorrow and live your lives as best you can. That's what I am going to be doing.

Keep on Rockin'
Scott

Chapter 14: Straight to Hell

I feel like I've finally levelled out.

After spending the last couple of days teetering somewhat on the brink, I think I'm mellowing out. My hypothesis of "If sleep, then feel better" has proven positive, by all measures.

I don't want to worry about anything. so I'm not. I'm just putting it out of my head and focusing on what's good right now.

The weirdest thing that happened today was that Chris unfortunately had a run-in between his skull and an errant nail sticking out of a panel. If it were me, I undoubtedly would have freaked out, but Chris, despite his skyrocketing distress in school, seemed rather casual about it and on that I must commend him.

It's hard to believe, but come Monday, I'll never have to work on Maim in Vain ever again. I'm excited to be done with it. I might pull it out once every few months just for nostolgia, but for the moment, I only want to endure it when I have to: like when I announce at a family gathering that "my movie's done," and then am subsequently forced by law to show it. Naturally, Eric will want to see it ASAP. But in a few weeks it'll only be a memory. A collection of horrible, horribe memories. Hahaha.

Every week or two, I just like to write a blog that is more upbeat. I've been down, way down for the last few days, and it's time to start looking up. "Nowhere to go but up" perhaps?

But I feel positive. Keep on rockin'
*Scotto

Chapter 13: Fuck & Run again

I feel like a wreck.

I can't even explain it. I wrote a whole rant but it was almost incomprehensible, so I scrapped it.

I just feel like such a mental case today.

I need help.

I yelled and screamed at everybody I possibly could at school today - including Mrs. D - and while I did manage to chill out later, the damage was done. And I came home and inexplicably (perhaps in a pathelogical attempt to do something good,) shoveled the driveway without anyone even being around to tell me to do so.

(I think I should go back to my extra hour of sleep. That might be it...)

I just wish I could get it over with. I'm resigned to my fate, gone through all the eight satges (fear, anger, denial and whatnot,) and so now I just want to flash forward a few weeks and attempt to start my life back up.

Life is hell, loyal readers.

Keep on Rockin'
Scott

Chapter 12: King of the Death Match

Sometimes, the thought that you might appear to be an asshole to others is a very sobering thought.

Even if it's not remotely true, and nobody's even said anything; if you pause for a minute and just think about something you've done - or even might do - that would make you look like an asshole, it might create a period of reflection. Even if nothing is gained, reflection is very valuable.

I was feeling angry for much of today. Yes, I was still angry from yesterday, despite getting a "good night's sleep." I just sort of found myself in a funk. This was not more evident than during 2nd period when I was trying to make a poutine for an innocent customer (and people who ask might recall that the poutine is my least favourite thing to make,) and the tongs fell into the gravy. Yep, right off the ledge where they are kept and into the fuckin' gravy, producing a splash of gravy all over the place. I tweaked a bit, and hurled the tongs into the dishroom, leaving a tong-shaped gravy stain on the wall that might not even be washed off by tomorrow. Naturally, I was still in such a funk that the last thing I needed was to be acosted by a falling set of tongs whilst making somebody's meal. And I feel bad for disregarding Mrs. D when she tried to console me on the matter.

I was in a bad mood for a lot of the day. I was not happy at losing valuable rehearsal time in drama for a friggin' lecture, I was not happy at lunch when people just put on their headphones and tuned the rest of the table out, leaving me and Kyle just to sit there and rip up a paper bag.

Big things don't normally happen to me. Nothing usually that you could point to and say "here's where my day went wrong." It's just that little things pile up and really make me mad.

In other news..........thanks to fuckin' Mr. Olma's accursed goddamn verility, Mrs. Wilson is pregnant. Okay that's not news, but the shocker is that I am supposed to have her for English next semester. And while she's not too far along yet, the rumor is that halfway through the semester she'll be taking maternity leave (more or elss a reasonable assumption, although I'd peg it closer to April, or perhaps as late as May,) and be replaced by Guthrie. Which means I get to spend pretty much my whole day with Guthrie for the end of the year. Well, not entirely - I get lunch in between English & Writer's Craft, and then afterward it's Dames but it's still a lot of Guthrie to be dealing with. I just hope that I don't get on his bad side or anything.

That'd suck.

But Me? On a teacher's bad side? I doubt if I've ever seen it. Even Mendes and Irvine didn't dislike me.

At least the music of Paul McCartney has lifted my spirit for today. I've been feeling better since I got home. During improv, however, I wasn't into it. What is it with me and not being "into" improv these days? I have no idea. I'm just not good at "Story." it was something Emma made up that has the possibility of being good but has yet to really acheive any real high quality. My big problem is something I've tried to hide all this time: I can't pun. I've spent my entire life running from my father's puns and I certainly never took the time, as Doug did, to learn the art of punning. I crank one out now and again, but it usually requires a lot of thought. The only thing - the only thing - I feel like I can do of any value in Improv is my waiter schtick, and it looks like we're not doing that anymore. Oh, and my mysterious ability to last extreme lengths of time in "Questions Only," exceded only by Doug (naturally.)

I'm reminded of the time, long ago, when Angela (this was before she was constantly trying to pry into my personal business and I hardly knew her*) asked who I thought was funnier (or perhaps "the funniest kid at school," I don't remember) me or Doug. and for the record, I said Doug, hands down. I have my moments, but Doug is the champion.

*Admittedly I still don't know too much about her.

And Jess was not present as she was not in that class. However, having said that, I have made a long-overdue reference to Angela & Jess, so if they read this, congratulations.

When I was working with Doug on our Entrepreneurship summative years ago (okay more like a year ago,) and in the early days, Genevieve (who was not doing her work,) would just follow us around listening to Doug be funny. And I was just thinking "God, Doug, turn your funny off! We have work to do!"

I've been writing longer entries lately, but hey: there's nothing I like doing better than talking about myself.

And I guess that, that having been said, it's a good time for me to advise everyone to Keep on rockin'
Scott

Chapter 11: I Still Don't Like Mondays

Who needs 'em?

It was rough going today. Josh overslept so he didn't show up to Commtech. Now, it's not a big deal since we're essentially done but for a few aspects, but I was just at a loss of things to do today. And later, in Drama not only Emma but Alyssa didn't show up as well, leaving Chris and I to wander around teh class like nomads, occasionally working on line-memorization.

I'm feeling less and less like a part of a group. Any group. Whether it's on a project, in a play, at a lunch table, whatever, I just don't feel like I belong. For that last one, it was very apparent when everyone at the table just went on about these wild adventures they had on the weekend and I was just like "I wasn't there." And this is naturally just something that is the way it is. As much as I like everyone at school, I just don't think the connection has ever really been made. So here I am. Ready to face my fate, my future: next semester I will have no viable connection whatsoever to any of the people I've considered my friends over the last year. Not most of them anyway, thanks to my gay ass schedule. I don't want to spend my last semester of high school without any of my friends, but hey there's not a fucking thing I can do about it since I really oughtta take Writer's Craft and it goes on during the period when they're all eating. I hate this. I hate living in isolation. I don't want to do that anymore. FUCK. This always happens, every single fucking time I can finally relax and start hanging fout with somebody at school circumstances change and I can't fuckin' see that person or those people anymore. It gets really fuckin' old the umpteenth time around.

I don't belong, maybe not because of myself, but because they won't let me. Or maybe, you know, maybe it's just my nature and there's nothing I can do so I might as well accept my fuckin' fate and be resigned to it.

Yeah, I got issues. I got so many fuckin' issues I should be offering subscriptions. And hey, I just came up with that expression now, so feel free to use it, as long as you preface it with "as Scott might say..." I'm fuckin' pissed at the universe. I can't even count on one hand all the things I'm pissed at.

It's not just about the fact that I'll have to find a new group of people to eat lunch with, because I'm sure they're out there. It's just that this has been happening for years. I've just become a total victim of the circumstances of the School System over the psat 7 years. That's right, from the beginning of grade f'ing six to present, this has been happening. I can't believe my fucking high school life is going to end this way, and then I'll have to go to college and start again.

That actually is both good and bad. I kinda look forward to making a fresh start. No, let me rephrase: I am eager to make a fresh start. I didn't get a fresh start in High school because in Grade 9, the grade was split into two factions: those from River Oaks and those from Montclair. Those from River Oaks already knew me and, because of a certain... reputation I had, a lot of them were bothered by me. The Montclair kids, well, I didn't talk to pretty much any of them for most of the first semester. They were all in seemingly impenetrable groups of friends, and people didn't start integrating until seemingly grade 10. Somehow in all this, Josh & Kyle, two guys who had no prior afilliations, managed to find each other and become friends. And in college, well, ideally I won't know anybody, and neither will anybody else.

I feel like a wreck just thinking about it. It's so goddamn frustrating. And writing this entry, it's really just helping it stew, so if I seem in a bad mood tomorrow, I apologize in advance. But if I'm in a strangely good mood tomorrow, I have no idea why that might be.

I was also supposed to have a dentist appointment today, which I found out about at the last possible second. Somehow, even later than that, it was cancelled (I actually had to be called to the office to be told,) because it was remembered that I needed to have crazy banana medicine before I could go to the chair, which I didn't get (what with this appointment being booked at the last minute and all.) So that was weird.

Let me check: yup, still frustrated and angry.

Help me if you can.

If you're out there.

Keep on Rockin'...
and I remain Scott Williams.

Chapter 10: My face staring back at me

Family Guy is back on TV. This will no doubt please the billions of Family Guy fans out there. I jsut don't get it. Why not bring back Futurama? Oh yeah, I forgot, they detest Futurama, whereas they love Family Guy, even though they've cancelled it what, about eight times?

I fell down on the ice on Friday, but I got better. Josh and I also nearly froze to death foolishly shooting an extra scene (alternate ending, which at this point doesn't seem like it can possibly work out well,) and I found out that if you go down to the shores of Lake Ontario, you can see the Toronto Skylike (although I find it pales in comparison to say, New York or Chicago, but it's still impressive or at least neat.)

After bowling, lunching, shooting and attempting to relax, mom made us go shopping yesterday, as in on a crowded Saturday. Fech - who needs that?

I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going. I've been so mentally unstable for so long I'm starting to get deluded. And I don't even have anything interesting to say. My thoughts are all clashing in my head, and I think I can't sort them out because I'm wearing a sweater (for warmth) and sweaters make me feel like a total goober.

I typed that and I don't even know what it means.

I guess that means it's time for me to stop typing. Keep on Rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 9: The Light Inside the Soul to Show You

Oh... where do I begin?

And what is there to even say?

Things have gotten so hectic that it all just appears in my head as one big, grey, distorted blob. I don't know what's what anymore.

I spoke to an old friend, Alison, last night, which can be quite an experience for one as nostolgic as myself. We got on a bit about old times, and seeing what was new. She's a year older than me so she's doing University, apparently over the net. And then there were the requisite questions that get answered by recounting the whole damn story about Randi, beginning to end.... hah, this is where I make some vague reference like, say, "I need to get some new anecdotes with a new girl."

My big problem for now is...................I have no idea what my problem is. I got a letter about doing an audition for Humber's "Comedy Writing & Performance" course, but seeing as how it's an audition, I don't really wanna do it, which narrows the field of things I applies for down from 5 to 2. I might end up doing it, but I don't want to go to such lengths about a course I only applied to as a tertiary (see:third) choice; and I don't have a lot of time to prepare/decide. So I'm in a state of self-induced paralysis.

Josh & I watched the final version of "Maim" today, and naturally everyone gathered around to see. I'd rather they didn't since they'll be seeing it on Monday and I don't want it to be ruined, but hey... whatever. Naturally, we're the furthest ahead of the game, which owes to a certain level of not only expertise, but commitment also. And also, because we're just so damn awesome; awesomeness is a property I find lacking in most of the other groups.

Hey I'm kidding, gawd. I can see that you're out there.

Life imitates art. Be on the lookout for this. And destroy it.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 8: The Big One

I don't think I have anything interesting to say. Life has gotten dull - that is, the parts that don't totally suck. Time was, I'd get in here and I'd bitch about... whatever. Now I don't even feel like doing that, so I'll bitch about nothing in particular.

Winter sucks. I think I have some kind of seasonal affected disorder. Like..... I get kinda depressed during Winter then kinda depressed during Summer...........it's more like transitional though than permanent depression. I'm always kind of shifting from one "blah" to another. Currently, the weather has got me down, man... and I feel less alive.

This new show is "Committed." It's about two people who are weird and unlikeable. The sitcom wants them to be endearing, but instead they're unrelatable. And while this may be a good thing in say... "Monster," the film that won Charlize Theron the Oscar... I think in this case it works against the show, and is unintentional. "Hey look... there's a black guy in a wheelchair... and a dying clown... and the son from Family Matters! I don't wanna tune out, who knows where this zaniness is going?!" Yeah, great strategy, ya friggin' morons.

Meanwihle, before that was "The Biggest Loser." Despite my misgivings, it at least proved to be a successful method of weight loss for all the competitors. By the end, all the chicks had hot, fit little bodies, and the guys... well who gives a damn? The fact that they lost all that weight makes those chicks more attractive.

Perhaps that explains Kyle and Josh's popularity with the ladies...? (Heh, cheap joke... nothing meant by it.)

Well those are the best random rambling thoughts I could come up with for tonight. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 7: Binge

Ecch.

For all those of you reading out there right now, I am feeling like crap.

There's no simple explanation. I'm just a mental case, I think. In addition to my various physical ailments - none of which are particularly special, they just seem to add up on me - I'm stressed out.

It's not that I feel overworked. I just feel like I've somehow bitten off more than I can chew. The summative is driving me nuts. I feel like it won't end well and it'll ruin the drama marks of my entire group. Because I already know Rosser doesn't like it. And when the person who is marking it doesn't like it, it's clearly not a good sign, but it's really just... too late. The date is passed, we're too far into it now, there's no more discussion except for perhaps a line here and there.

I'm just so incredibly bi-polar about it. Like... at times I'll be like "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I really fucked up!" and then I'll think about it and I'll be like "No, no... I like it. It's good." And I jsut can't get my head around it. Fuck, I wish I'd never pitched this damn idea. I wish I'd pitched something else. Something more conventional. I already knew - already fucking knew from Communications - that schoolwork is not the right avenue to pursue new creative dimensions. I could apply that lesson there, why didn't I think of that here? Fuck. I'm practically pulling my hair out. not literally, not physically, but inside my head it feels like all I can do is just grab my hair and keep pulling until it's all gone and this stupid fuckin' play keeps taunting me...

...I'm getting paranoid. Alyssa raised some valid issues about the script today, and I was just, in my head, going "Fuck she's right, fuck we're fucked, fuck this sucks, fuck, fuck...!" Naturally, I didn't say any of this out loud. And there's even a chance she'll end up reading this. And naturally I want her to know that she's got the right idea. But really... we can't think like that. It's just... not a normal play. It's not a play where you can say "here's the conflict and here's what gets done to resolve it" and maybe in that it fails but it certainly can't be looked at in those terms.

I'm going totally mental... and most of you out there in Blog Land clearly have no idea what any of this means. To some of you, it may become clear after the summative is done and over with. Others will never really know. I'll just be glad when it's all over with.

In similar but unrelated news, Maim in Vain is... done. We have a final cut pretty much ready to go, and for all intents and purposes, it's just... done. I expect the bootlegged copies to hit the streets tomorrow. All the footage is in there, and Josh and I even recorded our cersion of a "Director Commentary" (Kyle was even there, too.) It's a lame little feature but it made for an effective time-killer that adds to the bulk of the DVD - although not increasing our mark it'll sure give us something a little bit more neat to put on our DVD shelves and never look at again.

And you know? It looks really gret all together like that. I'd honestly never sat down and watched it, end-to-end, although attempts had been made. It was the first time I really got all the scene transitions, the big pictures, all the dialogue and everything all together, and it looks terrific. I may be sick of it, but at least I'm proud of this one. And at least my CommTech mark, along with my mark in Food School, will help offset the probably decrease in my Drama mark. Okay, that was a little uncalled for, but I can't fight my impulse to be self-deprecating.

Most of you will probably end up seeing it at some point; if you're not in my Commtech Class then Rosser expressed interest in showing the videos made by his students (including myself, Ana & Jess) after the summatives were done. These of course fall on days when he doesn't even request people to come to class, so it doesn't really matter what he does with the class time.

And if you're reading this and you don't go to White Oaks... I find that a bit odd, but hey, it's your time and you can do what you want with it. Thanks for comin' out.

So I've been goin' mental from stress lately. I'm getting into this little self-loathing psychosis that I don't want to show in class or anything, but I feel like... at some pointduring a runthrough... I might just snap.

Jesus I'm tense.

Keep on Rockin' to all of you out there.

[b]Scott[/b]

Chapter 6: The Boys Play Rock & Roll

Busy, busy, busy day. At least, as busy as it gets for such a mundane personhood as I.

My back was really killin' me this morning whe I woke up, and I felt dead by the time I was done bowling. Bowling, by the way, was not particularly good. We had 2 weeks in a row off and I only ended up winning/beating average in two of my 3 games. On the plus side, Mark Cowan got 7 straight strikes and then got a 9-spare in the 8th. He finished with a few more strikes and an open frame for a Two Seventy-Something.

From there it was to McDonald's for people-watching with Ryan. We were looking for people whose conversations we could transcribe for our drama project. We didn't find any at McDonald's, and the one we got from Tim Horton's wasn't particularly inspiring, but we overheard a nice little rep-helping-customer scene at HMV at the mall. And we also bought T-Shirts at a kiosk from a very nice, pretty girl.

And finally, Josh and I finally got our last scene done for "Maim" - the flashback montage shots of Jimmy Jazz, with Eric in that role. It actually was one of the best shoots of the entire project, reminding me why I like that class in the first place.

Like I said, busy day. I'm totally bushed. So this blog is done like dinner. Keep on Rockin'
Scott

Chapter 5: Tryin' to get away (into the night)

I watched the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson last night for the first time. Despite his accent, he does a good job hosting. He does seem to pattern himself after Letterman wuite a bit (and if you're going to pattern yourself after anybody, then he'd by the obvious choice,) but he has his own charms. He just needs a year or two to really hammer out a niche for himself.

It's been, at the very least, a nice couple of days. I feel upbeat and personable. I haven't felt the urge to lash out at anyone or sulk about anything. And although this is not an unusual occurrence, I've had a few laughs.

Yep, I must be writing.

I've already chronicled the writing of my Drama summative, but I must say I've found it unusual. Not necessarily because it's a group activity - trust me there's nothing to that - but it's just the first time I've ever had trouble trying to write what I was trying to. My best works - the ones I like best anyhow - "Half-Past" and "Sixteen" - pretty much wrote themselves. This time around I've just sort of... presented myself with a very difficult activity to undertake in writing, I guess. It's more difficult here to really get under the characters' skins, perhaps owing to the fact that it's really just a trilogy of dialogues, not anything driven remotely by a plot.

It's either one or the other: bad on paper/good in execution or good on paper/bad in execution. Probably the former. Rosser didn't like it. He didn't care much for the concept or the lack of traditional conflict and drama. "Drama is about chaos," he told us. I found this rich, because years ago with Mrs. Loft he co-directed "Sometimes I Wake Up in the Middle of the Night" which was not the same thing, but close enough.

He suggested we change the script; but I didn't care for his main suggestion, which was to get the characters together in a group session. I just don't see that working, as the character-types are too disconnected, too unrelated to make work. It's a different type of chaos, one that doesn't paly out well. The chaos, naturally, needs to be a type that is controlled.

And I do regret even using this idea. It's been so difficult to execute that it makes me question whether or not it will be worth it in the end.

Drama is supposed to be about chaos. Not quite so - drama is supposed to be about conflict. The conflict here is not of the traditional man vs. man variety. Here we give a nice man vs. self conflict in three different scenarios, which I think works well. But when you put three characters in a room that aren't supposed to be there together, it's not really drama - it's Farce. And this isn't a farce, it's a melodrama, which is highlighted by exaggerated emotions and whatnot. Well, I think it's a melodrama... I'll have to double-check on that, but it sounds right.

Who knows? It's probably something else altogether. I don't even particularly care for categories such as those, genre-rules to be adhered to, or edicts such as "drama is chaos." "Half-Past Eight PM" was almost completely devoid of chaos, paced like a brisk walk at its fastest points and a snail's crawl at its slowest, and it went gangbusters.

That's not to say Rosser didn't have some good points. I'd be a damned fool to write off most of what he said, since he was usually right. He made some good points about the inconsistent characterization of certain people in the play, and the big fact that it lacked something to really bring it together in the end. This was when Rosser brought up his wish that the characters be brought together - something with which we all vehemently disgareed.

I don't think Rosser likes my writing style. This is something that can really only hurt me since he is, after all, in control of my mark. I'd like to concede to him on at least a few points, not only because I think they would benefit our play, but also just to show him that we do listen to what he has to say. But he digs plays with chaotic action and I downright refuse to write that. Why? I really have no idea.

I expect that it's because I already write all those comics, which naturally get filled with off-the-wall comic book action, and I don't want that in my stage plays, so I go the other way. Yet, somewhere along the way, I might have fallen into a trap with my writing... the repetition is starting to really sink in.

It's decided then - this is going to be my last play of such a mundane nature. I would like to emphasize an actual plotline in the future, but I just felt like this is the play I had to write right now. It seemed right. It's my lame little "Seasons" thing. "Half-Past," "Sixteen" and "Maim" are Spring, Summer, and Fall, respectively, not only in terms of setting but also in mood. None of them are too plot-heavy. It just wasn't right to leave it without a Winter.

"Half-Past" was about new love. "Sixteen" was about boredom caused by excess. "Maim" is about death. This, "Night Sessions" is about isolation, about entropy; mental and moral decay. I know, I must be loopy (or a prick) to go about analyzing my own little plays and scripts, but if it didn't seem obvious at the time (and it wasn't, until "Sixteen" was completed,) it's just so obvious to me now, that I want everybody else to get it.

I've lived a very short life that has naturally more been spent thinking about things than doing things. The writing reflects that, simple as that. When I live a little more, I'll be able to write a little more focussed.

But I would honestly be surprised if we didn't get a great reaction for it in performance.

And wouldn't you know, I didn't intend for this entry to just be about this play, but here we are... that's all I seem to have the energy for today.

Keep on rockin'
Scott

Chapter 4: Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night...

I've been sleeping less lately. I don't know why. I certainly can't explain it. I just can't drive myself to go to sleep at my usual time. I go to sleep an hour later now. I've been using the extra time to do more work, sure, but that's not why I started going to bed late routinely. Or at least not why I continue to do so.

Maybe the break got my circadian rhythms out of whack. Oh well - it's not like it's becoming any detriment to my personality. If anything, I feel somewhat sharper and more personable than before.

The last couple of days have been pretty fun, in that banal everyday sort of way. Just days when you feel like, even though they're nothing special, things just go your way. Today I hardly had to do any work in the Cafe. We started breezing right through the details of our DVD in CommTech, and we started reading the script aloud in Drama, fine-tuning it. Which I admittedly should be doing at this moment but oh well... I've got an extra hour.

And we've been jiving well at lunch, too. Lots of laughs have been had in recent days. Banter has been more pleasant. We all unite around something like say, the Tool. I know that's mean, but it's really funny just to be like "Man that guy's such a tool." Today at lunch, we just started going around the table and pointing out each other's little habits in conversation. Potentially explosive, but laughs were had.

I feel good, I do.

Are things finally going my way? Well hell no, they're going the same way they were in 2004. I'm just dealing with it better now.

So far, so good, 2005. Keep on Rockin'
Scott

Chapter 3: Purge.

I've been buzzing around all day. Just kind of... mulling about in kind of a daze. It's been this way for a while. I'm in a state of... mental turmoil.

I don't know what it is. Being back at school? Winter "blahs"? It's a weird kind of... funk. I'm not operating on the usual level of consciousness I usually feel like I'm on. Maybe because my whole life is being crowded by these external factors and it makes it difficult for me to go about my day.

We spent lunch today making fun of the people at the table behind us. And Angela and Jess, in a vain attempt to get a mention on this blog, tried out some of their ridiculous questions. It didn't work, but how nice of them to try so they get a mention anyway.

I hate In-Jokes, because I'm never a part of them.

Other than that, not much to report. Life is boring and sucky.

Gotta go finish up my Drama summative and get marks now. Keep on Rockin'
Scott

Chapter 2: We could be heroes...

I shouldn't be doing this.

Man, it's late into the night and I'm blogging. What's worse is I've been tittering about all evening with this or that. I should be writing my Drama summative. I'm not. I haven't even glanced in its direction, even though I am explicitly in charge of the scriptwriting. I've completely ignored it.

In short, I am procrastinating.

And why? Do I lack inspiration? Or drive? Or am I just easily distracted? I don't know. I finally met with Chris & emma about it today (which is good since... it was a school day,) and they were both very receptive to the script I had sent them. That's good, because otherwise, well... I don't know. I guess I have a big and somewhat fragile ego when it comes to my writing.

Few people have ever told me that something I'd written was bad. Eric comes to mind immediately, but he's always especially critical of my work. Aunt Lori once picked out one little bit that bothered her about a script that I'd written that she otherwise liked. Nobody at school who I've worked with on anything though has ever said "Scott, that needs to be re-written." The closest that I've ever come to that is the way Josh and I have become disenfranchised with the "Maim" script - but that's mostly because we're just tired of it. Cary Ferguson, whom I understand fancies himself something of a writer (he did write that bit for "Creating a Scene,") once said he was talking to a friend of his, who had mentioned a first-time play that was very badly written. He told me he remarked "It was a first place. Nobody ever writes a good first play - except for Scott Williams." I was amused to hear this anecdote, and it uber-inflated my ego in that department. I know he really liked "Half-Past." I remember him seeming somewhat stunned after its premiere (and simultaneous last performance ever.)

But I always secretly hope, when I show somebody something new and am seeking their approval, that they'll just send it back and say "Do it better - this needs improvement and this and this..." Another time that came close was the time Ana and I sat down and she went over a list of requests she made about "Summer at Sixteen." Except that she really loved the script but for a few minor complaints and requests.

But enough of that mild self-loathing. Emma did have a request - it was the same idea she'd pitched before the break, and I was leery at the time. But she explained it better today and it sounds positively do-able. If properly executed, it might just elevate our little play into a different realm than it had initially settled in.

This is group work. Traditionally in Summative situations, I just take it on myself to set off and write it myself, based on any little plot notes I might've worked up with my group. The best example of this was in Grade 9 when my group all sat down and agreed on all the little plot points, and they all said "Here put this joke and this joke..." and I took the plot home, came back the next day with a rough 7-page script. Then I went home again and again and the script grew and grew to its final length, which I don't remember. This was basically repeated in Grade 10. Grade 11, obviously, the summative didn't involve any writing, but anyway...

..I digress. My continual writing only contributes to my persistent procrastination. Based on the headstart we got over the break, I doubt if there'll be any detriment to the group in my doing this. At most, it'll elicit a few eye rollings and sarcastic remarks from ym groupmates. We'll just go about our business and I'll finish my work at another time - probably tomorrow when I feel less stressed.

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good. Oh, lord, don't let me be misunderstood.

Keep on rockin'
Scotto

Aside: A New Year's Resolution...

In the year 2005 I resolve to: To wrestle an aligator. Get your resolution here

Chapter 1: The Spider House Rules

There's spiders all over my house. They crawl up and down the walls while I type on the computer. Never more than one at a time. Once I saw one emerge from under my computer (the computer-part of it, not the monitor, which I often have thought of as "the computer.")

So it's January The Second, Two-Thousand and Bloody Five, Anno Domini. I must've had a good New Year's bash if I haven't come back to the blog immediately eh? Well, no. New Years at the Williams' is traditionally lame, speaking comparitively. We rent movies/games, drink whatever alcohol we've lifted from around the house, and I go to bed at like 1, just because. So it's not a bash, and I didn't blog yesterday because Eric was on the computer all day. So, my life isn't that interesting anyway.

I don't know why the world shuts down on New Year's Day. Why all the stores are closed and there's no reaosn to go outside. It's like Bono sang, "Nothing changes on New Year's Day." And it's really true. I'm the same Scott Williams I was in December. I'll still be the same guy in February. Nothing changes, except in May when I officially become a year older, as do a cluster of other people (Ryan Wheeler's Birthday is days before mine, I share with Tom H. & Julia T., and Matty Oh's and long-ago friend Drew Van Der Jagt's are shortly thereafter - see? I don't forget birthdays.) I'm just trying to get through this thing called life... it's a tough thing to do, but here I am.

I wrote a script for the Drama Summative - I wasn't commissioned to do so by any giverning body (like Emma or Chris,) but I sent it to them anyway (while Alyssa fries on the beach in Jamaica.) Chris seems to like it, haven't heard from Emma, though. Personally, I like what I've done. I did it not to be rude, or to try and assert myself as the creator of the play... I just needed something to write, and I got inspired.

The concept, I've already explained. It's 3 segments of therapy sessions. It's clearly influenced by Jim Jarmusch (see: Night on Earth or Coffee & Cigarettes.) The idea started actually as something else: originally (and before I did it for the summative,) I wanted to write a play about 3 dates. A first date, a breakup, and a reunion. Or perhaps instead of a reunion, a couple in the midst of romance, showting three stages of a relationship. I didn't think it through. Then, I saw this 20/20 special about an Amish girl who left life in her community after being abused sexually, and became a counsellor to other abused young women. I then springboarded off my "segment" concept and into a therapist's office. It was going to be about the Amish girl too. But then once it became a real thing, I thought more about what roles each person in the group should play.

So I wrote it basically to not only get a head start on it, but to cure my own writer's block, since I've been marred by an inability to find anything to write for weeks/months now. I just really hope they aren't offended by the presumption (Emma's the only one I'm nervous about.)

Those are my thoughts for now. Keep on Rockin
-SW1