pg20: Fear Me/Fear For Me

Last day of March. Incidentally, I have nothing of interest to say. I can't say what I'm doing here, both on this blog and in my life in general. I'm having a mini-teenage crisis, because I'm just all "blecch" and my only course of action, instead of talking it out with someone who has some stock in the matter I'm just sort of blogging it out. I'm so close to just throwing a fit right here on this blog and going "Blahh nobody's listening anyway blahh all I can do is whine blahh blah blahhhhhh." But what would that accomplish?

I'm one screwed-up kid. My head is a mess, let me tell you. Now, there are those out there with worse things going on, and my problems are totally unimportant, I'm no Drama Queen, but I just feel driven with angst at the moment, frustration atthe world and my scenario.

I am feeling a bit sluggish and slow of wit lately, so I apologize to all if I at any point lack in conversational ability - if I at least lack my usual linguistic dexterity.

Ah well, tonight's complaint factory is closed. Keep on Rockin
-Scotto

pg19: Overanxious Underachiever

I've started something recently. A brand new script, the idea for which struck me whilst in North Bay and which has blossomed in my head. More on that in the future.

So spring hath sprung. The weather has been gorgeous, because as anybody who knows me - okay, not "knows" me, but anyone who's asked - knows, spring is my favourite time of the year. Maybe it's jsut the sad little poet inside me but I like feeling the world awakening from the sleep of winter. The air feels so much cleaner and more refreshing. I'm also not a man of extremes, so I like it better than summer (then again, I like that more than fall, because I'm all for heat.)

I've not got much going on. I've still got the same problems as I did yesterday. I've elected not to do anything about them. I'm afraid to take action. Now, it couldn't possibly hurt; quite the opposite. I just can't help but think that if I commit to this, i'll be robbing myself of something better. Isn't that paranoid? Maybe not in the negative sense, but it does involve me thinking something's there that probably isn't.

I just don't feel the same way as I did a year ago. I don't know if that amounts to me not wanting to go through with this or not, but it does figure into it. It's been on my mind for days and I can't reach any real conclusion; which is why I haven't taken action. There are so many different angles I can't quite nail down. And I feel like a worm for having to put this much thought into it. It should be simple. One voice just keeps saying "do it!" and that's coming from you-know-where, whereas my head urges me to slow down and think about it, if not to totally reject the notion altogether. And my heart, well, he just washes his hands of the matter completely. His interests lie elsewhere.

I don't know what profit I can make in all this empty speculation.

It's just driving me mad.

I lost to Scott Conorton at poker 4 times in a row today. I mean, the game was for little scraps of paper, so I just kept ripping up a sheet of paper and buying in. At one point, I thought I'd had him, because I had a Jack, and flopped a Jack. And the turn was a Jack. So I naturally went all in, to advertise that I had the Jack. And so he calls me on it and I'm all excited about winning, and then the river is a 7, and he's got pocket 7's. Fucking full house! Jesus Christ, I'm gonna be sore about that for days. Sometimes I hate poker. I'm just glad I don't play for money. I don't have enough money to lose.

And that was about the most interesting thing that happened all day.

And with that I'll take leave of this entry. Good night all and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

pg18: Too True to Be Good

What a goober, man.

Yesterday I slept in until 10:30. And that was a blast. Except I didn't get to sleep that night until about 2:30, so I was all "bleahhh" all day. It all was just a sort of blur that I was trying to get through desperately.

I've got a little bit of problems. Things are starting to happen and I just don't know what to do about them. There's an easy way to tackle this situation - just give in - but I'm reluctant. Yeah, i'm being vague because I feel like I'd be embarassed if I went back and read this and just blurted it out. No, instead I'm here choosing my words carefully.

I'm in kind of a tight spot. I could be doing something that I don't really wanna be doing, (or at least, know if I wanna be doing,) but I don't know if there's any better option. I wish there were, but I just am not seeing one.

Ehhh... I'll figure this out. I mean, I'll probably jsut go along with it, because it's really what's best.

But I wish, man...

Keep on Rockin'
-Scotto

pg17: I Can't Explain

(Rolling eyes, sighing heavily) What a weekend.

So, I was up in North Bay since Friday. I even half-wrote a post while there about how much I was hating it, about how much of the time was filled with awkward periods of silence (by me) and mild conversation, among other things. Then I got interrupted and abandoned it, so now there's this. Did I have a fun time in North Bay? Not really. No offense to my family, I love them to death, but they picked a boring place to live. It just sucked all the energy out of me and prevented me from being too much of an interesting person. I tried my best to be myself, and it came out at a few points during dinners, but I must seem to them like such a boring creature. But that's enough of that.

I'm kind of sapped of energy since getting back. We made good time though - with a half-hour-ish lunchbreak, we only took 4 hours to make the trip. On the downside, the Ford Freestar (which Dad rented for the trip.) has the world smallest motherfuckin' backseat. I'm embarassed to live in the same town as from where those things come.

I hope everybody had a blast at the party.

I must go now, I am required to amuse a small Shih Tzu. Keep on Rockin'
-Scotto

pg16: Elaborate Ruse

I had to go bowling last night at 9 o'clock. Whoever you are, I'm probably the only person you know who ever "has" to go bowling. Since I'll be in North Bay all weekend, I had to "bowl off," which is, put in scores for them to use. I hate it. It doesn't simulate the actual environment, so I end up doing crappy, and my muscles get tired, and it's too much energy to waste in the middle of the week, on bowling. I could hardly walk this morning.

So, here I am. It's the end of a nice, short week, ready for the four-day weekend, and yet... ecch.

For one thing, I am positively loaded with homework. English is the worst, since I've still got to finish Huck Finn and a couple chapters of Wuthering Heights, but Writer's Craft is no picnic either. I am beginning to loathe poetry. I am discovering that it's a lot harder to write for teachers than for an actual audience. In all the reviews and columns I've ever written nobody ever felt the need to try and give me notes.

It's hard, man. I'm getting a little disgruntled. School is no fun lately. It's all work, work, read, write. I come home, and man, I just vegetate. That ain't much of a way to live. I need to unwind. The sad thing is, if it weren't Easter, I'd be able to do that.

See, it's Emma's birthday tomorrow. What luck to have it on a long weekend, eh? And she went about inviting pretty much everybody over for this huge bash at her house. And as she so repetitively reminded me, I was the only one who couldn't make it, because it's Easter and I have to be in North Bay tomorrow. It's a bummer, man.

On a not-entirely-unrelated topic, a lot of people are buzzing about prom/formal/codeword. For what it's worth, I ain't going. I don't really have an explanation why, nor do I feel like I need one. What would be the use for me to go stag to this thing? It ain't my scene.

This weekend will provide very little relaxation for me. No, as I get older, my sojourns in North Bay become more and more about desperately searching for some way to pass the time. In this case, it's predetermined that I'll be doing an ass-load of reading, as well as getting back after a tragic week-long hiatus from the latest Sewerman adventure.

We also had to write up a shopping list, of things we need Mom to pick us up for next week. This, I don't like, since Eric's and my style is that we go to the store and pick out what we want when we're there. We had a hard time trying to figure out what we wanted, and even then it's not exactly thorough.

Fuck, man! I'm about ready to lash out. Sometimes at school lately, I'll be talking to someone and I'll just be bubbling under with this rage, that I just want to let it all out, but I can't because, well, in polite society those things just aren't done. It's not even like there's any good reason.

Well, maybe... listen up kids, because Scotto's gonna share. It's spring. Sort of. I mean, you wouldn't know it to look outside, but the calendar confirms it - yup, it's technically Spring. And what that oughtta mean is that Scott's moving out of the "winter blahs" into the spring "blahs."

It's spring. I want to feel alive again. But more than that, oh so much more than that, I want... well, don't make me say it. It shouldn't be hard to guess at.

And I just want to be able to relax, instead of trudging on, lagging behind and getting no satisfaction in either my personal or professional lives.

I hope I get well rested oer the weekend. I'll keep you posted.

Keep on rockin
-Willie

pg15: Getting born and staying alive

Today was fairly odd.

Does the whole "Today was..." intro get repetitive?> I think it's pretty straightforward if not original or unique. What else am I going to say at the beginning of an entry? Fuck it, man, I'll worry about that next time. Today was fairly odd.

See, last night, Mom surprised me by telling me I had a Dentist's appointment today. And then we got into a thing, because I was all "blahh I have rehearsal" and such. I dunno why I thought it was a big deal, maybe because they're always saying how I don't miss rehearsals and I guess I wanted to keep that up. Plus, I had to take amoxicillin an hour before. I thought that was bad at first, because normally the medication comes in the form of creamy yellow banana medicine, and I'd have had to take it at 2:40. And could you see me slipping out of law to sip meds? Well, this time around it was pills, which was cool - I took them out in the middle of class and popped them and nobody seemed to notice or care. And rehearsal was cancelled, because nobody could make it. And shoot - that was before I told 'em I had a dentist appointment. So that worked out.

So I made it over, courtesy of Alyssa's taxi service, rather early. That gave me time to not quite catch up in my book for English (this whole "reading" thing is a drag. Literacy sucks.) Then after what seemed like a half hour of waiting (and probably was,) I was pulled into the dentist office. Awkward small talk was made, and then I was cheerfully scraped and stabbed in the mouth by the viscious hands of the dental hygenist. It was fun - if you're some kind of masochist. I know being force-flossed until your gums bleed might be somebody's idea of a good time (Emma...) but for the rest of us it ain't a gas. The good news, though, is that I have no cavities and require no fillings (redundant as it may be, those are the facts.) This, despite the fact that I drink nearly a litre of pop in any given day and haven't been to the dentist in over a year. On the other hand, as the bleeding gums prove, my track record of flossing is, well, shat.

During the break, at one point I was watching MuchMoreMusic, and they were showing some old videos from random eras. I saw three in one sitting, from between 2000-2003 (Snow's Plum Song, Madonna's Die Another Day, and something by Kylie Minogue,) and all those videos involved blue-screened duplicates of the singers. And I'm just thinking... damn, maybe the Come Together video wasn't that unique after all (especially since any implication that there was two of the guy went right out the window.)

I have too much homework. Man, I remember back in, must've been Grade 7, we used to have a project every weekend that required cutting/pasting/bristol board/some kind of craft. I remember this because I had a ritual every Sunday of sitting down in front of the TV, doing this homework, and drinking too much pop. And now those salad days are long gone, and there's no real purpose to my reminiscing.

Actually that's not true: the purpose is that I don't want to be doing my Writer's Craft homework, so I'm writing more and more in this blog entry to kill time.

I guess on that note I oughtta go. Keep on Rockin' though
-Scotto

pg14: She's not there

I've got nothing going on. I just thought I'd share that. Yesterday was nice because thwe weather was nice and I did well at bowling, and for some reason Eric saw fit to buy a poker set (then proceded to cream me, although I took a dive at the end.) Life ain't too bad... just boring.

I've got a lot I should actually be doing, so I don't know why I feel this way. I should be reading, I really should. I've got 2 or 3 books to finish. And then there's Sewerman I could be doing, or even, like, the dishes or something... yet still, I'm completely lethargic. I'm getting addicted to Freecell. Like, it's my Dad's favourite game, but I never got it. Then one day, it was like "bam! Now you know how to play freecell." Which is... odd. And frustrating, since it keeps statistics about wins and I'm obsessed with mine.

Tomorrow it'll be time go back to school. Not terribly looking forward to that, but I've just been sitting here all week, so it's time I got back to society.

Keep on rockin
-Scott

pg13: Toys in the Attic

Oh lawdy.

God I want to write. Not even like, Blogging, but something substantial. The other night I couldn't even get to sleep, because I kept getting ideas... and it's not even something substantial that I can work on, it's just random bits that I might be able to work into something, eventually. This is my angst. I can't even really work on Metaworld too much since I've got to focus on the next ish of Sewerman, which, yes-- I am finally working on.

But today was a fun little anomaly. Last night Mom just kind of presented us with a proposition for today: get on outta the house, do something. Here's money. We were going to see Sideways at the AMC, but missed it, so we went Mini-Golfing instead. That was fun, especially since I won in the end, except we were sandwiched awkwardly between some teens (damn teenagers!) and a mom with kids, so it was slow goin's. Actually, Putting Edge was surprisingly busy, most likely due to exhausted housewives needing to get their March-Breaking kids out of the house. Actually, they told us there would be a "25-minute wait" and yet, having waited less than 25 minutes, we missed our call. Go fig. Y'know if I'd known how it was all gonna pan out, we probably would've gone shoot pool instead. Still, fun.

Yet, I'm looking forward to getting back to school. I know that's a little odd for anybody to say, but to be honest, this week has generally been such a mess that a little structure will only help.

Someday, the snow will melt and the world will be green again.

Someday soon.

Keep on Rockin (if you're out there.)
-Scotto

pg12: Stir of Echoes

The universe can be a fucked up place to exist sometimes. Sadly, it's the only game in town - or so I'm told. My belief in parallel realities and alternate planes of existance notwithstanding, it's been one strange, vertigo-inducing day.

I don't even want to get into the reasons as to why things didn't turn out right today. It's too harsh to even really think about. Is it weird that my ultimate reaction was that the universe was trying to talk to me? This isn't the first time I've thought the sentience of infinity had something to say, but I've been notorious for misinterpreting it. Let's just say the feeling that there's some greater force at play here is, though somewhat laughable, irrepressible.

It's hard for me to even broach this topic without seemingly being the most shallow person walking the Earth, I'm just letting my existential side out to play a little bit... which I hate doing because when I do, I become the most frustratingly philosophical person I could conceive. So I'll try not to drag that out too much, but still... What does it all mean? If anything? I feel like the universe owes me answers. Like there's something mystical out there we can't even comprehend, that is responsible for, among other things, a mysterious (as yet) fire ravaging a home in my Dad's complex.

But enough of that.

Yes, today was, otherwise, an incredible boring day. Clean this, haul that out to the backyard, answer a phone survey... yeah, I did a phone survey today. Strangely enough, they wanted to talk to me about Pro Wrestling, and I managed to score some free tickets to an as-yet-unnamed event in the area sometime in the future. Now, I don't talk about this a lot, both because it'll get me ostracized and because I've got nobody to really talk about it with outside the home, but I might as well confess (as I have already on the blog,) that I am actually a pretty big Wrestling fan. It's sad, but I do actually watch Raw every monday night, read all the news... and yeah, I'm excited that I managed to snag 4 free tickets to some event, whether it be WWE or not (which I doubt since they were like, just at ACC two months ago. It'll probably end up being Lucha-Va-Voom or something.)

Apart from all that, I'm enjoying my nice, serene March Break. No homework apart from an assload of reading for English and some Law. I'm mostly just going about my business, trying to get through this thing called life.

That's it for today. I hope it provided a worthy distraction from something more important.

Keep on Rockin'
Scott Williams

pg11: Owah Tagoo Siam

I was expecting a nice, relaxing beginning to my March Break. Somehow I am seething with furious anger.

Okay, that's more hyperbole than anything else but to say I am a tad peeved at the moment would not be inaccurate. Eric and I were talking today about why I was so looking forward to the Break, and it was essentially because I wanted some obscure form of freedom. I'm at school all day and when I come home, he's here sitting around and I hardly ever get any peace at home. I was really thirsty to be alone, because for the first time since... forever, seemingly... there's a reason for me to be home all day (the break,) and for him not to be (group.) Imagine my surprise when I get up at 9 and the first thing I see is Mom! "Oh, I've got the day off." Oh! Fuck, man. Good thing she did not say week. Because the way she was milling about the basement cleaning shit up was really agitating.

So I had to get out of the house. Had to. I can't stand being around while my mother is cleaning shit. Which means I did not get as much work done so far today as I'd hoped, although I did manage to attack the dishes before she got there. I don't know why I'm glad about that, but it feels like a victory to me. Is that immature? I'd like to think not, but then again... poop.

So far, an inauspicious (good vocab word) start to the Break, but it's looking up. DVD Day was rescheduled to Wednesday so I'll get Tuesday to relax and enjoy my solitude, the way God intended. Sometimes the Universe does add up to something nice.

Otherwise nothing too interesting to report. Writing this has eased my tension. Hopefully reading it hasn't added to yours. And what do I care if it did? It was your own choice. Nice going.

Keep on Rockin
--Scott

pg9: The Lost Blog

This entry is called "page 9" even though it comes after page 10, because Alyssa was helpful enough to notice that I just totally skipped over 9 and hey, I've got this crazy OCD "Number All Your Entries" thing goin' on (which I think makes my blog stylish,) so I'm just going to pretend like this actually falls between #8 and #10. But since nothing interesting happened between 8 and 10, and it wouldn't make sense to call and entry between 10 and now "9", I'm going to use this entry to make up a fictional Blog entry. So here goes.

I woke up yesterday morning, and looked at the clock. 8:15 it said. I felt this incredible rush, like I was going to be late. Late for what? It hit me that I couldn't remember. Not only that, but I had no recollection whatsoever of who I was to begin with. Everything in my room looked foreign. I looked for signs of my life. The name on all the work I found, all the papers and little trophies read "Scott Williams" but that name meant nothing to me. So instead of going anywhere or doing anything, I spent all of that day rocking back and forth in the fetal position. Then I fell asleep and when I woke up I remembered who I was...

Miguel Sanchez, outlaw of the Baja peninsula. Viva la raza!

...aaaaaaaaaaaaand scene. Hoper you enjoyed that bizarre paragraph. I'll be back later with something interesting. (Or not.) Keep on Rockin'

Miguel Scott

pg10: So they started calling him Lobster Boy.

Jesus my back's been hurting all day. Didn't sleep too well last night. And I know, posts about my back don't make the msot thrilling subject matter but it's all I can think of. And so, I will try to blog it out (new phrase I just came up with) and get onto other subjects in order to stop thinking about my criminally painful backache.

I feel weird about blogging. I mean, nothing interesting is happening, but when does anything interesting happen to me anyway? When was the last time I had anything legitimately interesting to blog about? Feh.

But March Break is coming soon and that will afford me plenty of time for... well, being bored I guess. Although I've got the pirate thing to look forward to.

Other than that, it's the same old. I do, however, have a shitload of reading to do... which I won't go do now, but I think it's about time I end this pointless exercise in blogification.

I'll be back when I have something worthwhile to say (or else am totally bored.) Keep on Rockin'
-Scott

pg8: Overexposed

I feel like I'm spreading myself a little thin lately. Like, back in the day, I'd think nothing of trying to juggle a) my comic-writing/drawing career with b) my comic review/column-writing career and c) my school career, but now school is driving itself to the forefront. I guess that's a good thing; I mean, I'd sure like to wind up in college someday, but still: I used to take pride that I'd go home at the end of the day and do my own thing and basically have a half a career (everything but the part where you make money,) and now, well, I'm not doing it enough. I want to, but the spark jsut isn't there right now. How can I get productive? Maybe over the break, when I don't have to be writing Journals for Writer's Craft every day? All I know is I'd better find some way to reconcile all my different "jobs" or else. It'll be a gas when I get out and start writing comics for a living and my Editor tells me "you went to college? I just hired you because I liked Sewerman." (That's totally my fantasy.)

In other news, I'm following up on my pirate DVD party idea. Eyepatches are optional (but also look sporty and come with a discounted ticket price.)

That's all for today. Keep on Rockin'
Scott

pg7: Poetry in Motion

So today didn't suck.

Yeah, that's weird, but I've actually been going around lately thinking blahhh life sucks. And yet today wasn't all that bad.

It started off bad; the knob on the hot wayer faucett was destroyed. Yes, destroyed - it's been problematic lately and apparently Eric figured he could fix it... but ended up destroying it. Go fig - smashing does not equal fixing. It still works, it's just hard to operate.

But on the plus side, Wuthering Heights is starting to make sense to me in English class.

On an unrelated topic, I had to write a poem today at lunch that I'd had all weekend and Monday to do. And Friday. So like, for 5 days, I didn't even glance at it. And yet I managed to get my first draft done over lunch.

I hate poetry. I ate lunch with Anisah today while she was working on the yearbook, and somehow the idea came up that I should submit a poem for the yearbook, and I said I'd try to come up with something. Ji-Sun came by at one point and agreed. Actually, she just had the same idea... which is weird. I have to admit, when people I hardly know request of my some kind of verse of the yearbook, I worry a bit about the reputation I might have.

So I tried to write this poem... and poetry is hard. Thanks to the poetry we've been reading in Writer's Craft lately, particularly Leonard Cohen's "For Anne," I've been trying my hand at shorter free verse, as opposed to a lot of what I used to do (back when something meant I had to write poetry,) which was usually stuff that rhymed and was longer. I came up with a bunch of different poems, and a lot of them are bad, but most of them are funny. Yeah, I wrote almost 5 pages worth of short poems, none of which rhyme at all (in case you're the sort who thinks poetry has to rhyme.) I've decided that I'll give them the best one, and post the rest on Interneta someday.

Writer's Craft... Alyssa used to say that Guthrie really scared her, but apparently on Friday he pulled her aside and just gushed over this poem she wrote at the beginning of the semester. I wonder about mine. I've got to be honest, I've got some feelings of inadequacy in that class. Still, it doesn't hurt that he gave me my journal back today and wrote that my anecdote about my Bowling team was "well observed" (and in his own words that's "one of the greatest compliments" he can give a student.) On the other hand, of one entry about College applications (under "Decisions") he asked if the first paragraph was even necessary. And it wasn't - I just didn't know what I was going to write about and needed to get my train of thought rolling. I don't know if I've ever had a teacher who could catch that sort of thing.

(I just heard about Paul Martin trying to bring his "pal" Bono to Ottawa and I'm wondering if maybe he's trying to be like Trudeau or something. Then again, how well did hangin' with Rock Stars work for Trudeau? Mick Jagger banged his wife! Not that Bono ever would.)

I love Law Class, because not only do I get away with not doing homework, but since there's damn near 40 people in there, I can mostly just sit back and go unnoticed. I love that!

Rehearsal for the Breakfast Club today. I love this play because, dammit, it's the Breakfast Club. It's familiar, but we're all bringing forth our own interpretations. I'm not Paul Gleason and Shawn Crawford's not Judd Nelson so why try to duplicate their performances note for note? That's like trying to make Vanessa Reese Witherspoon and Cary Colin Firth. We're plenty good, man. If the cast ever gets together and actually has a full-cast full-length rehearsal where I only have to be Vernon, it'll be an excellent show.

I felt funny today. I dunno how it works out that there are days when I don't feel funny, but I was good today. I felt like me.

Keep on Rockin'
Scott
I just wish there was someone out there who couldn't live without me.

pg6: Give 'em 'ell

My brother is the most infuriating person I know. I'm sure that, given an outlet, he'd say that same about me, but fuck him because he don't know the half of it.

Not that I hate him in general, just having to put up with him on a daily basis is enough to drive me up the fuckin' wall. The guy's brain went haywire years ago, I suspect. Whenever anybody motions toward the door he asks "where are you going?" For no reason at all he'll ask "what's wrong?" just because, I guess, he really wants to say something. (He talks a lot but rarely has anything to say, if you catch my drift.) And he flies way off the handle at the slightest provocation. Seriously. If he doesn't like the tone in your voice he will flip out. Okay, not "your" voice - my voice. Naturally, he doesn't know you, making it difficult to really get upset with you, and even if he did know you you're not his brother. It wouldn't be the same. Nevertheless, he's a pill and I wish I didn't have to spend so much time around him. I'd tell you what prompted this rant, but nobody would be interested. It's not even that I care whether people are interested by the blog or not - it's just that I don't care to say, because it was really, really stupid.

It was a fun, if uneventful weekend. Weirdly, I got more people asking how my weekend was than usual... not that there's anything to that, it's just that it's a conversation-starter that I don't actually hear that much, generally speaking.

I did a lot of playing with babies. That was my general answer. For the first time since Cameron, my cousin, was born, we really got down and did some hardcore playing. The kid's got stamina, I'll give him that.

Rehearsal for the Breakfast Club was rescheduled for Tomorrow, which upsets me because it could have totally avoided the incident I described at the top of this entry if it had been today. Oh, well, I'm sure there were reasons.

I had to start reading Wuthering Heights today. Bad enough, but the class started on Friday. One more reason I "love" Reach. I basically had to sit there reading while they were talking about it, and try and catch up. Well, I did, but while my eyes were seeing the words, none of them coagulated into sentences in my head. The book isn't adding up to me yet. Well, I'm not worried, since Wild Geese didn't make sense to me until half way through. As the girls say, fake it 'till you make it.

(That's a horrible thought.)

I scored a whole shit-load of pirated DVD's from my cousin. I'm thinking of having some kind of Pirated DVD Party, (which may or may not involve dressing up like pirates,) but I don't know when I'd have the time... maybe on March Break. Maybe never. But I would like to get people over to my house eventually to watch movies. I just hate hosting functions - I mean, there's seating and food and the dog to worry about.... it hurts my head.

Still, it'd be a shame to celebrate these free movies by myself.

I'll figure it out. You keep on rockin'
-Scott

pg5: Unfocussed Energies

My back is killing me.

I think there's a connection between the temperature and my back hurting. When it's cold, the back tenses up, stressing out the muscles in there. I can't relax, it's pretty damn cold down here. After writing this I'm going to go to my room, put on some music, and finish American Gods, where it's warm and I can relax.

I remember in Grade 10 having little contests with Emma to see who could complain about their back more. Apparently she had scoliosis (or has? Does that go away?) so her back was pretty messed up, but she had a condition to blame for that - me, I just blame several years of harsh treatment. I haven't had to deal with it too much lately, but damn it's killing me right now. I can't stand it when my back hurts - it makes it almost impossible for me to focus on anything else. My back was utterly killing me during the last Earnest show (way back in the day,) and I was really fuckin' tense.

Today's been your usual Sautrday fare. Bowling today = not great, shitty first two games, but somehow I broke 170 in the last game. I'm getting into this habit of not remembering how to bowl well until the closing frames. Dad speculated as to whether I was to blame or my ball - but knowing the shit I do on that lane, I am not apt to blame the ball (which means something, because given the opportunity I'll always blame anything on anything other than me.) Blew money on comics I didn't intend to buy and didn't end up enjoying. Sought out a chicken salad sandwich at Tim Horton's. Went grocery shopping - we're set for dinners so we bought almost $80 in snack foods, garbage bags and dish detergent. Made dinner... spanish rice = good medicine. Or at least, delicious medicine.

I've been spending a lot of time just idly thinking about the boredom-inducing clusterfuck of my life. That's dangerous shit, man, but as that famous literary character once said, "nothing to do when you're locked in a vacancy."

Okay I'm out. G'night fans. Keep on Rockin
-Scott

pg4: The movement you need is on your shoulder

When Paul McCartney first played "Hey Jude" for John Lennon, he admitted that line above was just "a place-holder," and that'd he'd "figure out something better later." Lennon then told him no. Apparently, he said it was one of the most beautiful lines he'd ever heard.

I cut myself, just under my lip, shaving this morning, and started bleeding more profusely than I ever have before. That wasn't any way to start the day.

I've been blogging more lately. My mind is racing. Not taht my life has become more eventful - hell, given the extra amount of time I have to spend on my computer writing these things, the opposite is probably true. It's mostly that sometimes I just feel like sitting down at the end of a long day and trying to put it all into place.

But hey, I dunno... I'm not in the habit of going back and re-reading all my old entries, but I do check them out once in a while, and going all the way back to the beginning is kind of scary. It paints such an overwhelming portrait of me. But not only that...

It feels sort've like I've been a part of a board game... like, I dunno, Sorry, or Trouble, or even Monopoly if you want to stretch the analogy... where I was once doing very well, but then I got "sent back to start" and every time I try to move, I keep getting that damn card that sends me back. Okay, that's probably the worst metaphor I've ever heard - or written, at any rate - but that's how I feel.

Might as well get this out of the way: I saw Angela and Jess today by their lockers, and they asked why I never wrote about them anymore. The answer was simple, that I never see them anymore. How am I supposed to tell anecdotes when there isn't a ready supply? Well, then they started asking if I was going to write that in the blog. "Well, no," and then they kinda coaxed me into working them in there. "Write about how much you miss us," they said. To which I ask... huh? Okay, they did bring a sense of flavour to lunch... but I can't say I miss contstantly being put on the spot. There, a classic paragraph about Jess & Angela. They pledged to me that they'd read it tonight... and sometimes I'd rather nobody read this blog at all. Yeah, it's unavoidable, being out there on the net and all, but some of the things I say on here... what gives me the gall?

But hey, apparently there are people out there who like to read this junk, and since I like writing it, it looks like we've got ourselves a mutually benificial agreement. So long as nobody gets hurt, what's the harm?

So today was the big Reach tournement. Well, it wasn't big. It was no more significant than the previous two, but it did tell us where we'd stand come finals. 3rd place, apparently - which is perfect, as far as I'm concerned, since it means we don't have to deal with the teams that are professional ass-kickers (OT comes to mind,) but also that we have a good chance of cleaning up, if we play our cards right (which, if history tells us anything, we won't.)

I figure I'm through with being lovesick. While we were playing Bateman, she decided to leave the room rather than stay and watch, with the very guy she was mackin' on 3 weeks ago, proving me theory - or at least providing further evidence - that I should totally not "go there." We're still cool, and I never did say anything to her (coward!) but it's over with. Time to pack up and move on, something with which I've got enough experience to know when to do.

Enough self-deprecation. I've got a whole evening and weekend to just relax. I can finish off "American Gods" (still excellent, and only increasing by the page,) or even do my Writer's Craft Homework (fuck - two journal entries and that poetry shit. Just WHO am I supposed to write about?!) I could even make another dent in my latest Net fascination; "Transplanted Life"... or I could even write about that here in the blog...

Transplanted Life is a story told right here on BlogSpot, in the form of a Blog, which adds a certain level of realism to the charactization, which is part of what I love. Plus, the story is indefinite, which I also adore (and have already shown some appreciate for... see Metaworld why don't you?) The "author" is Martin Hartle, who at the beginning of the story, is about to leave his home in Boston and move out west to start a new job; a new life. Well, before he can leave, he does start a new life, but not the one he was anticipating. Only a few entries in, we find that his mind has been transplanted into another person, and that he's stuck in a low-paying job, still in Boston, and prisoner in a body that does not belong to him. It was started in July of 2003, and continues to the present day... so I've got a lot of catching up to do (I've read as far as February 2004, and am thus far enthralled.) The story itself is genius - not only in concept but also execution, which is rare. I've read dozens of such literature - hell, I've even written a few, and pitched one to Ana as what would have been her follow up to "Summer at Sixteen" (which she accepted, but I never got around to,) - but so few are as authentic and as engaging as this. I think Guthrie would be proud. It's often difficult to think of it as somebody crafting fiction on their computer. It just sounds like a real person, really going through this problems.

Fuck, from how well it's written, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that it was all real, and the world is more fucked up than I'd even contemplated. You can read it here, but be forewarned - this is heavy stuff. It also offered me an awesome quote "Don't ask questions if you're afraid to know the answers" which goes in my "weirdly profound" notebook alongside "the only obligation any man has is to himself."

And on that note, I think I'll dive back into it.

Keep on Rockin'
Scott
(Every day I wake up now, I thank God my body hasn't been stolen.)

pg3: Just a shot away.

It was almost one of those days where you feel like shit and want to collapse.

I had to write the good copy of my essay in English - a task that required me to stay well into my lunch period. It was no big deal, especially considering most of the people I eat with were writing their essays, too. I was just so fuckin' hungry, having inexplicably skipped breakfast to do homework (which wasn't well done, but it did get done. Guthrie mustn't have a high opinion of my homework output, though, since it tends to be rushed.) By the time I got down there, the only thing going on was that Barrett was teaching Jasmine Brooker how to play Euchre (or however it's spelled. I remember seeing it written and going "really?") I didn't do anything of note at lunch... the only sandwich left was one of those strange tomato-lettuce-cheese concoctions Mrs. R makes that I have no business eating - they're devoid of meat and the processed cheese make me somewhat nauseous - but do anyway.

Eventually, I found my way over to Anisah, and Janessa's little sister (by way of Emma and Chris, who both eventually left.) Janessa's sister - Sonya, according to the Sears program I have at my desk - pulled out a Gandalf action figure from her pencil box. Definitely the weirdest thing I've seen in a while, a girl who keeps action figures next to her calculator. She and Anisah reminisced about toys from youth, and occasionally I jumped in, getting as much mileage out of my tendancy to say weirdly funny things as possible, but mostly I was just letting them go on, since they apparently go way back. I was thoroughly amused.

But even after that, I felt like sludge. My sense of humour took a nosedive, as I have never really perfected any real schtick about being in Reach. I mean back during Earnest, I'd have a ready supply of butler jokes at all times, and I'm always ready with a snap about Half-Past Eight PM should the topic ever come up (which it did, but more on that later,) but for whatever reason - maybe because I don't find it funny or because the people there don't have as sharp of senses of humour. I really don't know. But every time I make a joke about Reach, it fails. And then I string together a lame punchline that doesn't even make sense grammatically.

So I oozed my way through 4th and 5th period, barely creeping along, not really "with it," and then it came time to go to the meeting for Fringe Cast/Crew/Directors. I wasn't honestly expecting it to be cancelled again - Rosser was caught off guard last year, but not this time - but the thought crossed my mind and amused me. It was just a time to give everyone their Code of Conduct sheets and remind directors to make schedules - trust me, he doesn't like it when people don't make schedules.

And I can't believe I've written, what, like 4, 5 entries eithout mentioning this - Congrats to all my pals at Sears for their awesome performance. Not just onstage, but cleaning up at the awards. Specifically the 12 Angry Men, but let's not forget Vanessa's upset for Ensemble Cast Directing. Or whatever it was. I'm really proud, and I knew that play didn't need me (specifically the Waiting for the Parade... although I did get strangely good reviews for when I played Blanche as part of the Streetcar Named Desire Duologue. Nobody read anything into that.)

I began to realize that I was getting back on a roll before the meeting; Chris said he needed some money, and I said "Sorry, I'm not a loan office," and Ryan said "Actually I am a Loan Shark," and I said "Well, I've always thought of myself as a Lone Worlf but that won't help." Damn! Where was that great sense of riffing during Improv? Also, when Emma announced she needed an extra male actor for her play, I made a joke about her being promiscuous - you make the connection.

I left school in a good mood, and I felt like I had to get home and write. Unfortunately, that was not to be, as the computer was occupato. Fair enough, so I watched Kill Bill vol 2 on TMN, and by the time that was done, it was time to make dinner. Cajun Chicken Breasts and Tomato & Basil rice, very delicious. (Is delicious even a word you can qualify? I remember there being several that you just don't slap adverbs on, and I'm pretty sure delicious is one of them, but I'm not sitting next to Guthrie - who gives about Grammar?)

Speaking of the Guthrinator, his latest assignment is a doozy. We have to write a poem about someone. Okay, but we already did that. Yeah, but now he's giving us specific criteria to follow. Uh huh. So... it's basically Mad Libs poetry? Great, this'll help improve my craft tenfold. Okay, so ridiculing the project won't make it go away, or get better, or get done, but about whom can I write? At a time like this, being in a relationship would really be great. I could just say how beautiful she is, how she makes me laugh... whatever. But no, and writing about a girl with whom I'm not involved just seems... wrong. Almost as wrong as writing about, say, Doug Calderwood-Smith. Okay, don't get me wrong, Doug's a good friend, but I'm not sure he's a good enough friend for me to be crafting poetry about him.

Tsch. I was walking the dog tonight, and I looked up at the stars - given how cloudy the skies get in winter, the stars just don't appear as much. I looked at Orion, and I, being a writer and a romantic, a gentleman and a rogue, just thought how nice it would be to sit under the stars with a girl (although probably in summertime rather than winter,) and point out all the constellations I learned in Cubs. "Yeah, there's Orion, the hunter. See his belt? Those 3 bright stars... and right in there is Betelgeuse.... and over here is Casseopia, the beautiful princess, who the Gods, jealous of her beauty, put in the sky, but sitting upside down on her throne." Seriously. NOTE TO SELF: Next time you need a lame romantic scene for a movie, re-read this post.

Okay, so that's all I have for today. I've got to reboot the computer and write the next chapter of Metaworld, as well as some other stuff.

Keep on Rockin out there
-Scott

EDIT: This fits in somewhere in between the paragraphs detailing the Fringe meeting but I really meant to talk about it (I even said "more on that" without getting around to it, so there's proof.)

The award for "Best Awkward Faux-Pas" went to Natalie Bazar. Rosser was sort of recounting how last year's Fringe got cancelled, and naturally, it got on that "Oh, there was one play..." (naturally referring to my pride and joy, Half-Past,) and he did his little "Yeah, what a crappy play" bit. Honestly, he does that so much I don't know if he's joking or if he legitimately didn't like it, but I don't care, because I've got enough of a sense of humour that I was right there going "Yeah, what a terrible play!" And Ryan, sitting next to me, started with, "Yeah, and the acting was lousy," etc, etc - and soon the room erupts. Everybody who's seen it contributes to the joke, and everybody who didn't see it doesn't get the joke. Most notably Natalie, who was at HT at the time and thus couldn't be blamed for not seeing the play, and not getting it. She proceded to go on a very real and very fierce diatribe about how "Yeah, you need a good script if you want good performances... so don't blame the actors," and just about everybody in the room just... well, the jaws hung open, and somebody managed to say, "Uh, Natalie... Scott here? He wrote that. And we were joking."

It. Was. Hilarious.

Well, if she really grasps the gravity of the situation, she'll be mortified, but she doesn't seem to have that great of a handle on things. Still, to everybody who joined in on the dissing - y'all better step up and tell me if you were joking. I'd like to know where everyone stands, so that when the cleansing comes........ no, no, I won't go there.

Yet. Haw.

KOR
-Scotto

pg2: Bombinations of the soul.

Thanks to Alyssa's Vocab lesson for that word in the title. The context of that particular phrase is absolutely shat - it gives no indication of the meaning - but if you know it, it sounds cool.

Busy day. No, that's a lie - uneventful day, busy evening. The highlights of the school day were a) finding out from Ryan Goad that my English essay containted one sentence that was no less than 7 lines of foolscap in length, and from Ms. Wilson that, apart from one slightly superfluous clause, it was not a run-on. Being an English dork, that excited me. and b) beating Doug twice in Crazy Eights. I only learned the game last week (most people are supposed to learn it at like, 5,) but I had gotten my ass kicked every time I played, until today, when I won two and had to forfiet rhe third.

When I got home, I thought I'd have time to do homework, but the Universe had other plans. Dad took us out to a Hotel to have dinner with Grandad, who's going to Italy tomorrow for a few weeks. That was his big plan after Grandma died, to finally go on a trip, because they loved travelling, both to be together and to be away from home. He at least still has that last one. Then he jokes, "All I need is to find me a rich widow!" I hadn't thought about it, but the guy's got a hell of a sense of humour.

Dinner was not a great success. As is customary, I had whatever was closest to a Steak sandwich they offered, and as is customary, Eric ordered whatever I did. It made us both feel a little sick afterward.

The most interesting thing is that Dad was trying to shake ketchup out of the bottle, with no success. So, he seals it up and bangs the head flat against the palm of his hand. Still no luck, so he tries again, only harder - BAM! The bottle, in an instant, shatters right in his hand. Ketchup pours out, but the bottle has broken in at least large pieces, and dinner is not ruined. A cleanup is performed, and I scored two great jokes at the situation first, "how much of that is ketchup??" and then "on the bright side, at least the ketchup came out." Haw haw! Alyssa was right, I am clearly the funniest man to ever walk the Earth.

Okay, probably not (especially since I know Doug Calderwood-Smith.)

I'm nauseous about the next Reach tournement. As anybody who is able to read into these entries knows, they're not about trivia games for me anymore, they're about verdammt pointless romantic conquest. I'm a fool, I know...

So I'm strangely upbeat. I meant to write a new chapter for Metaworld today (on which I've received no feedback - honestly, I'd like to know if it sucks,) but I didn't have enough time - we got back at 9:30 and I got distracted by the most fascinating piece of fiction I've ever encountered on the web.

I was singing in the shower this morning. Yeah, I can do this, because Eric - whose bag is usually hanging around teh house all day, contributing nothing to society - is now attending group therapy for a month or so. Not only does it seem to be doing him good (*and where were all these wacky stories while I was working on Night Sessions?) but it gets him out of the house before I even wake up. So, in my uninhibited glee, I started belting out. Yeah, I was reminded of why I never did go out for the proposed musical (which clearly isn't happening;) I suck. Seriously! I could sing rock n roll - you don't need notes and shit for that - but these chords weren't made for Rogers & Hammerstein.

I have quite a bit of homework. Oh well - that's why God (or the computer, who according to that excellent book American Gods, is a type of god,) gave me first period off.

Or maybe... not, and I'm just a procrastinator.

Keep on Rockin'
Scott

pg1: You would not understand. This is not how I am.

Snow. Everywhere. Nothing but blindingly white snow, falling from the sky and piling on the ground.

Everybody at school, almost without exception, was pissed that today was not a snow day. Several people made references to that hurricane day we'd had a few years back, and how the Halton board were just getting us back for pussying out when there was clearly no real danger.

The snow continued to fall all day. The rumour is that tomorrow will be a snow day. I dunno, man.

Someday, the snow will melt. The Northern Hemisphere will once again tilt toward the sun, and the temperature will rise, and the snow will melt and the world will become green again. The air will feel cleaner, the roads will not be paved with salt. Life will be good again.

I'm feeling pretty profound at the moment. Now, I will segué from this profundity into more shallow thoughts.

What did I accomplish in February 2005? I did not finally capture the girl of my dreams. I did not even start on the comic I was supposed to be doing. I did manage to start my favourite new project, Metaworld, which everybody should be reading. I also managed to have a pretty awkward conversation with Randi a few weeks ago. Yeah, I didn't mention it here on this blog, but I might as well talk about it for a sec. On the 22nd, it was her birthday. And while we were going out, she was constantly asking me if I remembered when her birthday was, and I always proudly answered correctly. And I always figured that we wouldn't make it that long, and I was right but that's unimportant. I jsut thought it would be funny, or nice, or something, to drop her a line on that day and wish her a happy one. This resulted in her unblocking me from MSN. Oh, she didn't enact a conversation, but that was clearly in order, so I had to step up. We made the barest of bare minimum of conversation, the smallest of talk. "How's bowling?" "Good," "That's good." "You?" "Fine..." and then silence. It's a sure sign to me, if I ever needed one, that the moment has long passed.

I'm going to see Leanne from Bateman again on Friday at the Reach tournement. I hate myself for that. Sounds weird, doesn't it? Well it all adds up in my head. I can't do anything, and even if I could I'm-- well, I'd be too paralyzed with fear. All right, I know nobody out there who's reading this really wants to hear it, but that's what I'm writing, okay?

I was hoping I'd be talking to her, and I'd say "So, you know, this is the last time we'll probably ever see each other," and that it would net a positive reaction... knowhutamean? But not only is that a bizarre and unlikely scenario, I'm no good at plotting out conversations beforehand. Anyone who can is a svengali and is untrustworthy.

I'm not at all happy. Oh, I get along, I do fine, it ain't nothing I can't handle, but I ain't happy about anything.

I was intending to do my Writer's Craft homework at Lunch, but absent-mindedly I left my binder in English, so I was without the assignment. Emma came through and lent me a few sheets of paper, the poem (La Bella Dame Sans Merci, by Keats,) and gave me a general reminder of what the assignment was. I scribbled down 10 sentences worth of generic comments about the poem, and headed to class, not at all satisfied except that I at least had something.

Today in Writer's Craft I was reading American Gods (which is excellent,) and something happened in the book that moved me deeply, and my eyes began to water. Fuck, man! No shit this is a good book. Luckily, I was wearing my shades at the time and nobody caught it. Okay I guess the secret's out now. Then Guthrie, after looking over the "Belle Dame" papers, had me read mine out the class. Reluctantly, I did, and then he told me I had about 5 ideas, none being proven. Well, I took that in the context that I had, after all, written it rushedly and without much clue as to what I should be doing.

So we finished watching "A Civil Action" in Law today. Turns out they won, but didn't win. The legal system is just a fucked-up game of bluffing.

I found out last night, that for the 8 or so months that we've lived in this house, my Centrail Air vent in my room has been closed. I felt like a dunce, man! All this time, why it's been so fuckin' cold, and why it was roasting in the summer. So naturally, I opened it. Earlier this evening, when I went in there, it was so uncharacteristically warm in there I almost shat. Okay, I didn't almost shit, but that was my second choice of word - the first choice is a bit too racy, even for my own private blog. What if somebody actually reads this?

Hahaha. Fat chance.

So I'm all life sucks : blahhhhhh right now. Don't feel sorry for me, I just need to vent. As Mick sings, I can't get no satisfaction. I'm also lacking in "girlie action."

The title of this post comes from "Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd, a song I didn't realize I loved until a few days ago. I've been humming it all day.

Heather Graham is back on Scrubs... awesome.

I think this has been one of the most topic-spanning, soul-pouring-onto-keyboard entires I've done in a while.

On that note, I'll leave you pondering all the points I've addressed. And while you're pondering, why not stop by BlogSpot's new and improved "Comment" section, which now allows non-members to leave their name.

Keep on Rockin m'dears,
-Scotto