#19: This is where I came in.

Today: a day like any other, I suppose. A bland, nothingness of a day wherein I accomplished nothing of note.

Yesterday, we had a dress rehearsal for the Breakfast Club. I'm really looking forward to the big show, which is tomorrow night (and Friday, but seriously... come to the Wednesday show, if you're reading this and not in it.)

Tomorrow is our first show (of two.) I'm really hoping that name recognition will sell tickets to this bad boy: who doesn't love the Breakfast Club? And now, people will actually know it is going on, since we made a huge banner for the Caf, basically on a whim. Mr. Milne is a cool guy: he's always supported Drama. I like how the arts programs always stick up for each other (mostly so that Rosser can utilize them, but this wasn't even Rosser's idea.) It reminds me of his insistence that we re-paint the once-green (now brown) bench for Half-Past Eight PM, as well as bracing the bottom so it wouldn't collapse, which he was kind enough to do.

Today I also presented my Vocab for Writer's Craft. I was a little bitter last week, because Jae, the guy behind me, took one of my words, Acquiesce (I already mentioned that,) and so I had to find a replacement. Anyway, it worked out. I've had all semester, pretty much, to mentally prepare myself, and honestly giving that presentation was the most satisfying thing I've done since Improv ended. I was funny, I was succinct in my teaching... I feel I did well. It was a good feeling to get up in front of people and do something once again. So I'm not exactly cold for tomorrow's show.

That reminds me of the Hamlet dream I had last week. Still haunting.

This morning, I also happened upon a strange scene in the hallway next to my locker: Rosser giving Shawn Crawford a stern talking too. Y'know, I like the kid, he's good, but he's got an attitude that I can see gets him into trouble in class. He made an incredibly awkward faux pas comment to Alyssa the other day about vegetarianism (he didn't know she was a vegan, I nearly died from laughter.) But bless 'im, 'cause I can't imagine what I would've thought in Grade 9 about all these Grade 12's (and super seniors) hanging out with me. I was incredibly timid kid in those days. I was, to borrow my own vocab word, such a nebbish. Oy! I can't imagine really relating to older kids when I was that age. Of course, I wasn't a drama kid back then. Mind you, I was known to chill with some of my brother's friends, like John Cooper and Bob Forbes, before I ever came to WOSS, but that wasn't my typical scene. I think I only saw Coop once or twice once I actually started going to that school, and naturally that doesn't include that time I saw him onstage as "Everyman."

Hard to believe, but tomorrow marks the beginning of the end, doesn't it? I mean, that's the end of Drama, which has pretty much been the constant in my 4 years of WOSS (despite my actual conversion to "drama kid" not occurring until the end of Grade 11.) I abnegated the Sears festival, partically because I can't handle competitive drama (how I ever managed to get through Improv, that's a mystery.) Still, it's the one place I seem to have made an impact on people (if more for my antics offstage than on.)

Anyway, there are more thoughts in my head that I don't think I have the energy to address, so I'll leave you, as always, with:

keep on rockin'
Scotto

#18: Algebrassiere

Anyway, thanks God, for constantly introducing me to great girls with whom I have no chance whatsoever. You're really doing me a favour with that, aren't you? Allowing me to get a nice, good look at what other guys have that I can't ever seem to get? Thanks. Seriously.

So, In case you couldn't tell, I'm bitter at the moment, because I came to a conclusion that is frustrating the hell outta me. This revelation came last night when I was talking to this girl, Rachel. And it was a good conversation, too. I was being witty, charming, gregarious, all the good aspects which are buried deep within me, beneath my lugubriousness. I was having a real fun time with it, too, because we were playing off each other really well. I know only a few girls who play off as well as this one did, and it's an exceptional quality.

Naturally, the conversation eventually leads to the topic of her boyfriend.

It's not that she went on about him for too long, because the reference was really only passing. It was just how he was interjected into it that I objected to. Apparently, a comment I left on her MySpace (that's how I met her, y'see,) really offended this guy. Made him feel "threatened." Quoting her, quoting him, "I fuckin' hate that kid."

And I wonder... how does such a great girl, who has an ethereally majestic personality and is gorgeous, come to be with this guy, who is so clearly too insecure to function in society, and lacking any major social grace. He also looks a little like Napoleon Dynamite, but chubbier.

It's not fuckin' fair.

So now I'm wondering: is it that I think I should be with this girl? Is it that I think THAT GUY shouldn't? Am I frustrated that Mr. Cardboard over there has this unbelievably desirable paramour and the deepest sentiment he can muster, beyond "i love you baby you're my life" is "I fuckin' hate that kid?" Jesus H. Knickerbocker! The man was clearly born under the right sign. He's living a charmed life. Meanwhile I'm sitting here, just stewing in my own sense of loathing for this guy.

Maybe I ought to quiet up, in the off chance that this madamoiselle happens upon this blog. It seems unlikely, but people have been known to stumble into it, and not like what they have read.

The truth is, I'm just blowing off steam. It's jsut that, upon closer realization, of all the women I've known over the past year or so, I've actually not even come close. Most of them had boyfriends when I met them, or hooked up soon after. So even if I had nutted-up and done what was on my mind, it would have required precise timing.

The scoreboard:

C: Lives in California. Not an option.
A: Didn't get to know her until well after she had a boyfriend.
J: Insane, never would have worked.
A2: Impenetrable personality, shouldn't even be included on this list, and is uninterested.
A3: Pursued by many, turned them all down, clearly aversed to the idea, why go through that?
L: Lives in Burlington, has a boyfriend, I was too much of a coward anyway.
L2: Limited engagement, has boyfriend.
R: Has boyfriend, is in fact a snowbird.

I'm even sure I'm forgetting some, but those are a few examples. And that's not to say I was even all that interested in most of them, those are just some of the options I was presented with in the last year. And if you think I'm naming names, forget it. Just pray you're not on the list. What that was was basically just a round-up of cool girls who I think hypothetically might be my type, and who are, for their various reasons, unavailable. Just a glance proves I just have bad luck.

Right?

Ah, forget it.

Okay, I've ranted enough for tonight.

Today was hectic: family birthday celebration. And this being the first time all month (May: the month of birthdays,) our cousins from Palmerston have been able to get out, there were presents aplenty, and not just for me, but for all of us whose birthdays are in May. Then there were babies and a buffet and cakes and so much chaos, it was insane. The place was just a massive eruption of activity. It was wild.

Anyway, I'm gonna light out for now. Still have homework to take care of.

Come over for Sake some time and we'll see what happens.

Keep on rockin'
Scotto

#17: Where time stops.

Well, I just did nearly a solid hour of writing, and I'm proud. I accomplished virtually exactly what I wanted to today, so I'm satisfied, and can now relax.

Today was an odd duck of a day. For the second time this week I woke up inconveniently early - too late to go back to sleep, too early to be able to kill time. 7:30. So I got up and headed out for coffee - when who should spot me on my way, but Alyssa? So she joined me on my mission of coffee. And we ended up hanging out and talking for nearly an hour. It was pretty much the most satisfying conversation I've had in weeks. Not to slight all the other conversations I've had recently, or the other participants, but this was just coolness. It's been a long time since I've been able to sit down over coffee and relate to another human being.

Onward to school: Hamlet in English, cards at lunch, grammar in Writer's Craft and Workplace in Law. Also, some cold pizza there.

So I'm feeling okay. I'm not down, which is saying something since just two weeks ago I cryptically defined myself as "never all right." Maybe it was all the birthday stuff, maybe the writing, maybe it was the coffee. Whatever, I'm good.

I don't wanna ruin this. Oh, it won't last, I'm sad to say that's my outlook, but I'm at least enjoying it at the moment.

I'm a strange guy, I know, but whatever. I take all the small joys I can get.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

#16: The universe outside my window

Frustrated at my own lack of ability to be writing.

I can sit here for an hour typing out endless paragraphs. I could, if I wanted to, but I don't. I want desperately to be writing my fuckin' screenplay. I feel like an asshole for writing about writing it more than actually writing it but I am feeling - God help me and say it ain't so - writer's block.

It's just disheartening - Eric wisely has suggested I not waste my effort with a full length feature - the quality would be such that it wouldn't go anywhere, whereas quality is not as big an issue in short films (and I'm talking about picture quality here, asshole, not the quality of the film.) So I'm trying to think... okay, if a "short film" is designated 60 minutes or less, and the original stage version ran roughly 45 minutes... that gives me less than 15 minutes extra to play with. I don't like that. Yet, I'll have to figure out how to make it work. I'd rather complete the story, but if that's going to make it too long, then I guess I'll just do a filmed version of the play.

Which would be fine, since the play has a perfect ending (cliffhanger/punchline hybrid though it is.) What I'll probably do is write the whole script and maybe just shoot the portion of it that was the play. Bah. Creative direction is not my forte.

Right now, only a few people know about it. Of the original cast members, Ryan, Doug and Kyle are in. Chris Brown heard about it, too. Anyone who reads this blog naturally knows, and Eric of course had to be made aware, since it's his equipment I'll be using for production. I've also told a couple others, but there is still casting to be done. Well, I'll work up the nerve to do that next week.

Okay, I've blogged out my writer's block. I actually feel like a capable writer now, and I'm raring to get at the script.

Now keep on rockin'
-Scotto

#15: If not now, when?

"Is it your birthday?"

Peoples' responses to it being your birthday sometimes vary, unexpectedly. Most of the time they'll say "Happy Birthday." Sometimes, they'll not believe you, as Doug did, and ask to see ID (then be humbled when your health card reads "1987-05-26.") Some people, like Anisah in conjunction with Sonya and Kathryn, will go out and fetch you a huge balloon, then tie it to your wrist. Others, such as Alyssa, will improvise a card that is more smashing than anything Hallmark ever churned out.

Had a terrific day. It reaffirmed my faith in humanity - which, to be frank, was waning. The balloon was a particularly pleasant surprise. I should've suspected by Anisah's reaction when she found out, "it's your birthday? We should do something special." I'm glad it wasn't a cake. To be honest, I get enough cake. No, more than enough - it's a running gag around here that I "hate cake." I don't hate cake, but I get sick of it - literally nauseous at the thought of consuming - by the time my birthday rolls around, since I get so much of it in May. Anyway, I'm relieved that they didn't get me a cake, since Barrett & Hilary covered that in rehearsal, by whipping out a big ole "Scott" cake.

Suffice it to say, at least for now, I don't feel like I don't matter. And as aware as I am that that's a double negative, I don't feel like that's of any importance.

"Half-Past: The Motion Picture" is looking like a go. I sat downs to write the first scene today and it all just spilled right out. Even though I've done enough work on "Work in Progress" to affirm my rate of work, (not to mention the three-day marathon that was "Murder in the Wings,") I was amazed at how immediately it all came out, and how high it was in quality. Well, I know I'm not exactly impartial, but I feel like I can judge when something I've written is shit, and this is not shit. The film begins with a conversation between Mark and Perry - the subject matter is unimportant. That's what I like about writing a film - you can just write it, you don't need to be mindful of keeping the stagecraft going, bogging it down in exposition, or even troubling your actors with long diatribes. Film is a superior medium to stage in that it allows for better visual storytelling. I've got at least 3 people onboard. I'm nervous about talking a few others, because we don't talk much anymore. And all the while, I've got a few new roles I need to fill (and a couple, to be perfectly honest, to recast.)

But enough of that.

I'm worried about spreading myself thin. That's why I'm taking it easy on writing until exams. I've got schoolwork to focus on, after all.

Well, that's my life today. Keep on rockin' all out there
-S.A. Williams

#14: Oh Death, My Darling.

It was an interesting day to live, although not so much to retell.

The big story of the day was that we had our dress rehearsal for the Breakfast Club. It was actually the best run we've yet had, and, discounting a few woes in terms of set changes, we're quite ready to go, I think. It was an experience which made me feel all the more enthusiastic about this undertaking, and optimistic.

Somewhere out there... no, never mind.

Afterward, I just kinda hung around for no good reason. Mostly I just chilled with Chris Ferguson, a kid with whom I hung out in New York a lot.

Kyle gave me an idea the other day. Curse him for putting it into my head, it's all I can think about now. I want to do this now. I probably shouldn't, since it'll take a huge amount of time, effort and resources, but I've psyched myself up so much that I'm at least gonna give it an honest effort.

The story: we were talkin' yesterday while waiting for our respective rehearsals to begin (there was a meeting of directors,) and as it so often happens, the subject of Half-Past Eight PM came up. And Kyle blurts out "man, you should make a movie," and we only discussed it a little further before changing the subject, but the idea took root and is beginning to blossom, to extrapolate the metaphor. I really think I ought to do it. I'm gonna try and get most of the original cast together, I've already spoken to a few. I'm gonna write an expanded version of the script (the original script was about 45 minutes onstage, so I figure I'm already about halfway there.) I'll probably add a character or two, and change things around.

So that'll be that. I'll keep you posted. That's gonna keep me busy for the next few weeks (which is quite strange since I should be focussing on schoolwork until then, and I'm supposed to find a job this summer. Um hum...)

Other than that, not too much to report. I'm not currently depressed, so I haven't got that to work with.

Y'know, the sad thing is, by late May, I'm pretty much sick of cake. There are so many birthdays in May that I am even reluctant to enjoy my own celebration.

Well, that's about all. Keep on rockin'
-Williams

#13: Can't I just be nothing?

Another day, another evasion of working on Sewerman, yet somehow another chapter of Metaworld.

And what a strange and disheartening day. I'm starting to dispair, y'know. I had this horrible dream last night. My dreams, when I remember them, are usually extremely vivid, and this was no different. However, while most of my memorable dreams involve strange, metaphorical imagery, this was just one of those straightforward dreams people have.

It started on a stage. It was a school production of Hamlet. There I was, sitting in the wings, distressed, because I could swear I'm supposed to be onstage. It's Act 1, Scene 3 (or whatever Hamlet's first scene is) and I can't remember if I'm supposed to be playing Hamlet or Laertes. So I walk out there and just look at the crowd and launch into "O that this too, too solid flesh would melt..." and freeze, since I honestly can't recall anything past that. So the audience just starts reciting it in unison (which is particularly unsettling since I legitimately don't know it, so whatever they were saying is pretty much just gibberish,) as if to mock me and my forgetfulness. And then someone from my English class - I won't say who - just sits there, in the audience, laughing. And I just walk off, defeated. Then Rosser comes and talks to me, and obviously, he's not happy, but I have to go back up to my hotel room because I forgot something in New York (I didn't really.) And then eventually I woke up.

It was not yet 6, but I tossed and turned until the sun began to make itself known. At 6:30 I decided it was futile - I haven't been sleeping well lately - and I showered, then went out for some coffee. Then I went to school, sat in the caf, finished reading Hamlet Act 4, (that's where the dream comes from, English, not Drama ironically.) Then one person comes to join me and make minute conversation, and before you know it I'm surrounded by a squadron of people, none of whom I have any particular desire to sit with, although I've got nothing against them. And that was a bit frustrating, since I just wanted to leave.

And then it was English class. Holy katz man am I pissed about that. I was in a huge rush to get my Essay done with some time to spare, I killed my wrist and was cutting entire chunks of paragraphs, precis-ing left and right, totally re-wording arguments... the final product is quite a messy thing, and I'm not satisfied at all.

Nor was I satisfied that I had 12 minutes to eat lunch, but that was assuaged by my eventual feasting in Law.

And the day only got worse when in Writer's Craft Jai, through no fault of his own, stole my word for his vocab lesson, "acquiese." And he mispronounced it, "a-kweeze" (for those who are curious, it's "a-kwee-ess.") So I had to find a new word, which kinda sucks because I really, really liked "acquiesce." It's musical. Well, when you say it right.

At least Law wasn't too harsh.

At least people aren't unduly freaking out over the state of the Breakfast Club. Oh, wait, no, a bunch of people are, and it's totally uncalled for, and I'm sick of hearing it. Jeez, did I sound this bad when preparing for "Night Sessions," when I was freaking out left and right? Because I must not have been very pleasant to be around.

At least the rest of my life is going well. Oh wait, it's not. No, but good thing I re-examined those fershlugginer Bursary instructions or else Mom would've had some 'splainin' to do as to why I don't have a father. (Note: I actually do.)

But anyway... sorry kids, if I'm not happy-go-lucky these days. It's been a rough... year.

Speaking of which... it's been just over a year since I started this blog. Wow, hard to believe, but there it is, May 20th 2004-current. And all the major events of my life, and seemingly thousands of unimportant thoughts I've had along the way, all have been chronicled herein. I'm kinda proud I've been able to sustain this. To be honest, I think of blogging kinda like therapy. Everytime I type into the blog "blahhh my life sucks," it's one less time I go to a friend and dump shit all over them. Hopefully, I haven't done that in a long time, because I've had the blog to shit feelings all over.

Well, on that note, here's to one more. Hopefully in the coming year, you'll hear plenty about how bored I am, how fruitless my attempts at working in society are, and how badly I will fail at society.

To the new year of blogging!

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

#12: Never as deep as you thought

Y'know, I've been craving an Iced Cap from Tim Horton's... but damned if it's too chilly. The weather is taking an obscenely long time to get consistently good.

So, thank goodness I didn't get on the computer yesterday. I was mega-depressed about stuff, and now that I've had a little time to relax, I'm cool. It's rare these days to catch me on a good day, but here we are.

I figure it might have something to do with having gotten a haircut. All that hair flippin' and floppin' all over my face was really irritating. It's more manageable now (although as haircuts go, it's not the best I've ever had.) The guy that cut my hair... man, imagine Michael Chiklis from the Sheild, but kinda femme-ish, and with hands that smell disturbingly like pineapple. Shit you not, it was hard to keep from laughing at his island-scented hands.

Plus, my back had been ultra-killing me for a couple days, and I don't wanna talk about it since that feels like inviting it back, but whenever that happens it gets me down, puts me in a headspace like "everything's so futile if I can't get rid of this fershlugginer pain." And I ain't no party to be around.

Today's Victoria Day. Now, call me crazy, but this is far from one of my favourite days of the year, mostly since everybody's on vacation and there's nothing to do. Like, when I go on vacation, I don't want the whole world to get the day off with me. Plus, every one of my usual haunts is closed up, so I'm basically trapped indoors with my family. Well, at least only partly, since I'm doing shooting with Kyle, so that'll get me out.

Been watching a lot of Hitchcock lately, since MPix is doing a seemingly perpetual tribute to the man. Yesterday it was "The Man Who Knew Too Much." Let me tell ya, if you're into film, there are three directors whose films you must appreciate: Alfred Hitchcock, Woody Allen, and Martin Scorcese. Everyone else you might very well dismiss, but you gotta give some love to those 3, disparate as they may be. If any of those directors you dislike, then you may as well not see any movies since you clearly have no taste. Harsh? Yeah a bit, but that's my attitude toward film.

Okay, well I may as well truncate it right there, lest my buoyant mood fail me. Keep on rockin', fans
-Scotto

#11: Love is all and love is everyone

This post's title courtesy of "Tomorrow Never Knows" by the Beatles; a John composition, such a good song.

Today was... the type of day that makes one want to write about it in his blog. Not a red-letter day by any means, no momentous occasion, but strangely no tragedy either.

It started off painfully enough: I couldn't sleep last night for being posessed by anxious dreams ("anxious dreams" c&tm Franz Kafka.) After tossing and turning for a late-night eternity, I sought out entertainment on late-night television. To my delight, I found the last half hour of Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey, a film for which I have a great love.

Eventually, I did get back to sleep (although much more late-night tv watching was required,) and I woke up well-past my normal point - at 9 AM (usually by that point I'm nearly out the door.) Well, I did get to school, pretty much right on time for English, and finished rounding up quotes for my essay. Then we had cake for Ryan's birthday, at lunch.

I went for a drive with Anisah later that same period, because I felt the need to get out. The long and short of it is I don't prefer to spend each and every day playing cards at lunch. It feels like a wasted opportunity for that to be the same every day for the rest of my high school career. So once in a while I try to get out. Also, she was giving Kathryn Haynes a drive home and offered to take passanegers, so I went along for that reason. Had an interesting talk, too. She's a good talker, that one, never at a loss in a conversation. Yet I may have put her off by somewhat sarcastically referring to myself as "inconsequential" (oh sure it's a joke, but there's a deeper issue there.) Then the conversation made a right turn and she said something that impeded my ability to think right for the rest of the day, and will continue to do so for got knows how long.

I won't divulge the facts of the conversation, but I'll use an analogy. I feel like the hungriest man in the world, and she's given me a painting of a bowl of fruit.

Infer from that what you will, but I doubt you'll be accurate.

In Writer's Craft we were (aqmong other things,) talking about Coloridge's poem "Kubla Kahn," and Guthrie laid on us his interpretation - that the pleasure dome is one the writer seeks to make with his words, that his pursuit is of the creation of literature. I muttered to myself "that's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard." He asked I repeat it so the whole class could hear, and I did, and they laughed. I don't blame them either, because it's funny. Kind've a dorky thing to say.

After school we had rehearsal, much to the dismay of a beleaguered Rosser. Sadly, everybody is kind of sick, which bodes ill for the production.

Brandon dropped a pizza of the floor earlier.

This day has pretty much just flown by, too. It's been a weird day, though, that has caused way too much introspection. I mean, I just want to chill, but my mind is abuzz, and not in such a good way. I'm cursed. I walk a lonely street. Oy, I'm such a nebbish.

Don't mind me, I'm cellophane today.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

#10: Be Gentle

No, I'm not right. Not in a right state of mind.

I can't really explain myself, I'm just.... bluh. Nothing's interesting to me in the world. I slog along, I do my work, I try to keep up but in my head I'm just thinking "Goddamn it how much longer?"

Less than a month, if you can believe it. I sure as hell can't.

The universe, I feel, is taunting me. It exploits my ineptitude at acting like any normal person would. A normal person wants something, he probably would go and get it. Me, I sit and I think about it and somehow am content to suffer at my own hands and bitch all the same. I suck. Even now, when I'm typing this, I'm accomplishing nothing but committing the very crime of which I am indicting myself, if you can believe it!

Maybe it's all the beat poetry. Maybe it's making me feel beaten. Maybe it's not, though. It probably isn't. It's just me. I'm friggin' insane and I have to question at this point the merits anyone would find in associating with me.

Okay, yeah, this self-disparaging thing has really gone a bit far. Yet, I have no intention of deleting what I have written, because hey, I wrote it, why pretend I didn't? It's there. I don't mean it, but it sure as hell is a sobering thought, and it gives me pause.

"Do it," a voice says. Another says "Don't." I hate them both. It's easier yet more painful (isn't it?) to obey the second.

I'm falling a bit too far into my psyche. I'd hoped to draw some Sewerman today, but I never get anything done on Thursdays or Mondays.

I think I'll write some Metaworld.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

(PS - just re-read this post. Had a good laugh. Sorry kids for being too melodramatic. I'm just bi-polar, or maybe somehow tri-polar.)

#9: Find Your Grail

Y'know, I'm sorry if I downplayed New York City as soon as I got back. It's something I ought to rectify. My trip to that city - especially that it was with the Drama kids - really had a profound effect on me, and I feel richer for having been. It was an awesome experience and knowing how it turned out I'd feel super-lame if I hadn't gone. From the moment we stepped off the bus in NYC, (or even much earlier,) to the pre-dawn raid on the border on Sunday morning, it was a fuckin' blast. The only reason I was hesitant to write about it is that I wrote so extensively (I feel,) in my Writer's Craft journal on the subject that I felt I'd exhausted myself on it.

Anyway, this sentiment is brought out because today Alyssa delivered something very special to me: a copy of the Spamalot original cast recording. Listening to it, I was swept back into jsut how damnably good that show was. I'm overflowing with love right now.

Strangely, I'm also immersed in beat poetry, which is by and large depressing stuff, so that's kinda levelling me out. Until today it was Kerouac, now it's Ginsberg. Man, that guy is gay. No, seriously, one of the poems I read explicitly explains how he feels when getting nailed in the ass. The shockingness of it is pretty cool, actually.

I'm reaching a creative high, I think. I'm on my way to the upside of the arc. I'm writing Metaworld again, along with my own (admittedly lame) attempts at beat poetry, and will soon delve back into the latest issue of Sewerman (I promise.) Plus, I'm dabbling in my self-indulgent screenplay, called "Work in Progress" (a title that falls short of clever, like all my titles,) it's coming along, but might never get done. There's also the germ of an idea in my head for a novel(la?) called "The Life of Melancholy Catatonia: An Attack on a Novel" Atop all this, I contribute every now and again to Fiction Branches at Sapphire's Palace, and have schoolwork to contend with and... God, I swear I still review comics somewhere. So I'm keeping busy, you could say.

I'm fascinated by my own infernal English Essay. I always feel like a word limit on an in-class essay, where I have no way of accurately economizing words (as on a computer,) is actually a challenge to go way over. I always go way over, and right now I'm sitting basically at the limit without having written a conclusion. And also, my rough draft has no quotes, so... yeah. Hey, in case you can't infer from his very blog, I'm one wordy mofo. I'm loquacious by nature. That's me. And admit it - you love me for it.

No more to say. Not for now. Nothing seems important. Blogging is like therapy, but I'm doin' all right. (Okay, that's a lie, but my problems aren't bothering me as much.)

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

#8: Joyful Catatonia

In Writer's Craft today, one of the vocab words was "inextricable," which literally means "unable to be disentangled," and the example sentence used it in the sense of a knot... which amused me because that's actually kind of an inaccurate usage, if only because it's too literal. A concept can be inextricably linked to another, or a man inextricable from his girlfriend, if you want to get creative. But no, a lot of the people, other than Alyssa and I (and Julia,) used it in the literal sense of a knot, and I was waiting for Guthrie to comment on it... and he did. Cleverly he noted, "the word 'inextricable' seems inextricably linked to knots..."

At this point, I'd like to note that life sucks.

Yep, kids, surprise of surprises, Scotto's a little down. I'm lethargic more than anything but it shouldn't take much to toss me right over the edge. I'm sluggish, I'm not funny recently, not even that quick in conversation. I just sit and cannot think of a thing to say, I'm not on top of things. So if I seem dull in conversation lately, please go easy on me. To show you how not on top of things I am, Alyssa made some comment about "going to hell" and I could sense what the joke was but for the life of me, I was not following.

Tuesdays. Let me tell ya something about tuesdays. If you're not on the train by tuesday, the week is fucked, man.

This week, incidentally, is dedicated to writing my summative essay in English. This is the essay comparing, in my case, Huckleberry Finn to the Time Machine. I actually find myself overflowing with material, too, since it's supposed to be 1100-1300 words, and after the first body paragraph, I'm at 550. Yowza. Y'know, at this point, it occurs that I ought to be able to apply the art of Precis, which we're learning in Writer's Craft, to my own essay... but I'm nowhere near self-aware enough for that.

Went to the dentist today. For the second time in recollection, I've gotten the chip in my front tooth filled. It feels so weird, and it probably will come out, just because of the way my teeth grind together, but I'm glad for now, as my teeth finally look regular (somewhat.) My mouth was so numb, too. Yet it was numbed to the point of a dull ache, so can that really be numb? I couldn't feel it when I touched it, but there was definitely soreness. How odd. Odd and unpleasant.

So I'm on the melancholy side lately. Oh, there are a number of reasons for this, but it's mostly the same old shit. The sad thing is, my problems aren't even unique. The only unique thing is that it's me who has them. I was almost at the breaking point recently. I almost went through with "it," (longtime readers might understand what I'm talking about, but I prefer to be vague,) but when I had the chance, I just sat there. It's so weird. I had completely resolved yesterday that I was actually going to take my so-called "sure thing," but when the opportunity presented itself, I just let it pass by. Now what the hell is wrong with me? Am I so paralyzed that I cannot even bring myself to do this? Thinking about it just gave me another reason for delightful self-loathing.

I'm different. Maybe it doesn't always come across, but I know I'm not like every other teenager you meet. In fact, I don't think I'm like any of them. Because these words ain't me. It's the simplest way , maybe, to express what's going on in my head, but it ain't the truth. I'm not lying, but I ain't you average kid.

I'm not happy. I'm not sad. I'm both and nothing and anything I wanna be by at any given moment. It's just a lot easier to be depressed - it requires less effort on my part.

No that's fucked up.

And on that somewhat philosophical note (which is a statement as enigmatic as the man who wrote it, I hope,) I'll bid you a keep on rockin'
-Scotto

#7: Entrenched in sand in the middle of a plain.

So, funny story about last night. About 11, Alyssa comes on and asks about why I ended up not going to Emma's, and we talked a bit on it and eventually she wound up giving me a lift. Well, I didn't have a proper costume so I ended up taking my pants off and being Brad. Some found it revolting (and who could blame them? Although what Nolan was wearing was much worse, in my opinion.) Others found it strangely amusing, which is what I'm usually aiming for.

So what happened at the party? Eh, nothing to write home about... and I'm actually sworn not to mention a couple of the more interesting things. Basically, what happened is what can be expected when you show up 4 hours late for a party that seemingly consists of about 4 or 5 people getting wasted (Andrew Nolan, meanwhile, was a designated driver.) Beware of drunk girls who want you to get on even playing grounds with you, because they are armed with vodka. I didn't get drunk, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a tad inebriated (which I could use to explain why Nolan beat me at air hockey.) After people started filing out, Alyssa, her friend Mike, Chad and I just hung around for a while mostly talking about music, until it was time to go.

I got a good laugh out of some of the more wasted people there. I saw one such person, actually, at her place of work today while Grocery shopping. When I noticed she was my checkout girl, I couldn't help from grinning and she just looked at me and said "don't say a word." We then made a bit of small talk before I was done getting my 12-cases of Coke. That really made my day.

Anyway, it turned out mostly as I expected. I'm glad I went, because even if I didn't get wasted and have a blast, and was only there an hour or two, I at least managed to unwind, relax, and forget my troubles. Even as I remember my troubles, I feel less badly about them, having successfully unwound. Sitting with drunk girls in one's underpants (I actually had two layers on, so don't fret,) will do that.

And it's too bad, actually, that I'm being a gentleman and not recording any of the illicit bits I saw, because they amuse me and I'd like to record them for posterity. But, it wouldn't be fair to pick on those poor girls for their drunken indiscretions. It'd be fun, but not fair, and that ain't my style, Jack.

I should get out more. It does me good, I think.

Anyway, that's about it. Today was a mostly boring day spent shopping: groceries, birthday gifts, DVD's (bought UHF, A Fish Called Wanda, and Annie Hall. A more eclectic group of comedies I can hardly imagine.) I woke up a little dizzy, but far from hung over. Sadly for the particular girl of whom I spoke earlier, that cannot be said.

Keep on rockin
-Scotto

#6: Give 'em enough rope

Feelin' like a bit of a dope.

Strange day. Got up early. There was an early rehearsal for Breakfast Club, but I didn't have to go since it was for the second half which I'm not in (although I do have one line near the end, so I'm sorta in it.) Still, I showed up at the end (just in time for that line,) to try and scam some free breakfast. After that, I wandered to Tim Horton's for a double-double (toil and trouble not included?) And on the way back, I got to thinking. And the thinking got my a bit depressed by the time I started hanging out with Becky in the Caf. And she was about to drag the reason out of me (or so I suspect,) when who should arrive but a Scott Conorton, with a bit about how everyone seems to be in a bad mood, and he finds that upsetting or weird because he's in a good mood. How very astute of him. Ironically, thanks to his entrace I never did get into a diatribe and actually managed to cheer up some. He even tried to help me on the Hamlet test, though I am unhelpable - I just can't work with quotes, and that's the bulk of the test right there. I reckon I got about 60% but it's quite possibly less. Not that it matters, but it's disheartening.

So Emma was to have this "transvestite party" tonight, and strangely or not I actually was going to go. I felt like maybe I needed some retarded-ass fun out of the house tonight, but I just could not get any accomodations (no ride, no drag-wear,) and thus had to give the whole thing a miss. I feel so retarded for that, too, but these things happen.

In Writer's Craft, while I was supposed to be doing something else (though nothing in particular, so it's okay,) I randomly composed some "Beat Poetry." Wanna hear it? Okay, but it's terrible...

"(Love) Blood"

Blood pools in my brain
Driving me mad
down the road
to defeat.
Cut-off circulation
in cut-off jeans,
pins and needles
sew
designs
of hateful lust
in fashion.

"Italic World"

Italic World
Everything slants
and I can't
stand
relax
slow my heart
beats
beating borscht
beating up
beaten down
beat the clock
with its own
slanted hands.

Thank you, thank you, thanks for humouring me.

Like I said, I need to get out more. Unfortunately, the universe doesn't want me out.

And in case you're wondering why I was down, it shouldn't be hard to guess. I was just beating up on myself more intensely than usual.

I re-wrote this story I wrote for Writer-S craft. And when I say re-wrote, I don't mean I minorly tweaked it. I changed the narrator. Not the narrative - it's still first person... but where it was originally from a student's point of view, it is now in the point of view of a teacher watching the events unfold, so it has a strange sort of detachment. I actually like it better now, and it should work better if I've done it properly. Which I may not have at all.

Okay I'm through for tonight. Still upset about Emma's thing though - kinda wish I could be there, would like to be among friends now. Oh well, I'll find some way to make it up to her.

Meanwhile, you keep on rockin'
-Scotto

#5: Here in darkness?

It's been a tiring few days. I actually passed out around 10:45 last night, rather than properly going to bed. Yesterday morning I woke up early, because we are now doing the occasional morning rehearsal for the Breakfast Ckub. and, to make it a real "Breakfast Club," we all bring an item for breakfast while we rehearse. I know, right? What a concept!

I still occasionally feel like New York. This week has whizzed by whereas time seemed to stand still on the trip, possibly because of how much we were constantly doing and seeing and learning about. In case I haven't properly impressed this upon people, that was an awesome trip: photos can be found here.

Life has gotten unsettled, as can be expected this close to the end of the year. I'm getting behind, I've got 3 summatives to worry about (next week in English is 5 days of super-fun in-class essay time a-go-go.)

Yesterday, I was in Guthrie's room after school, getting some precis work I missed while on the trip. So, he busts out some friendly questions like "what's in line for next year?" and I tell him the simple anser, that it's Sheridan for Journalism. And he seems happy that I'll be continuing to do something in a literary vein, but all the same he seems unimpressed with my choice of institution; I think he is of the belief that University is vastly superior to college, which is surely a difficult stigma for one to shakke in his mind, but one of which I am free: I simply don't agree.

He also suggested I look into Creative Writing at Humber, which I found funny, because I told him I'd applied for that and never heard back one way or the other. I also went into my diatribe about how I'd rather be a creative writer but need no education for that; how a Journalism education is more valuable than a creative writing one. I'm happy, knowing that Guthrie thinks so highly of my writing ability. Hopefully he recognizes that my interest in his class is not merely a passing one, but that I have a legitimate attachment to the material, and that one way or another I will find myself working as a writer. I don't know how many students he has had, or generally gets, whose devotion to the concept of writing is so pure and intense as mine, but here I am, and hopefully he recognizes that.

Watching Alfred Hitchcock's "Rope" right now, which is a fascinating piece of thriller about a seemingly perfect murder, which is short brilliantly using camera techniques that feel like all one continuous shot.

Life is not interesting these days. Far from it and nearly the opposite. I mean I just feel so very nearly dead inside. If you see me, you might notice that there is a lack of interest, of passion or vitality behind my eyes, and let me tell ya that's the truth. These old baby blues just aren't feeling alive. I'll tell you, there are points in the day when I just feel like giving in, and it's a struggle not to. I just can't see myself going back, no matter that I still think she's a fine girl, or my own feelings of loneliness.

I'm busy. I'm lonely. I'm tired. I'm me.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

#4: Is there anybody out there?

...and I don't mean in general, because I know people exist. I was asking if there was anybody out there for me. Specifically. In any case, I've no time to think about my own life lately.

I'm so close... soooo very close... to the end of high school, that's virtually all I can think about and beyond that, it's College. And the question keeps coming up... how am I paying for this?

Oh, God, I want a do-over, man. I wanna take a mulligan on life, because somewhere along the way it got way too tangled up in knots and it's not going quite right. Am I doing the right thing? Will I be able to pull off this bizarre plan of mine? Even if I don't, it's only 2 years. If I think about the beginning of Grade 11 to now, it hardly feels like anything, so I think I can manage.

God, I hate my life. Can I say that? I'm not satisfied. I'm working hard and getting nothing, and yet I'm just totally just running idle all the while. Whgat's wrong with me? Why can't I take control, take charge, and just go ahead? Why can't I live my life on my own terms?

I want to skip ahead, but I can't. I've got to endure, at the very minimum, 2 years of college education, as far as I can tell, before I can go ahead. I know my parents wouldn't be happy if I did the old "take a year off" bit, because Brandon took some time off... and it turned into a full time gig. And let's not get into Eric. I've always proven to be the exception, but how would they know? How would I know?

I'm stressing out. My life really sucks right now. In the middle of all this growing up and moving forward crap I realize I have a ton of homework to do.

I watched "What About Bob?" a week ago. Maybe the answer's in there... baby steps... y'know? It all makes sense.

Even disregarding all my professional/educational woes, I still can't get around my personal woes. I'm positive Randi still wants to get back together and it's really starting to irritate me. This is partially because I don't have any other options. I'm miserable, and there's nobody else (right?) so why shouldn't I have some company? The subject came up with Kyle and Scott Conorton while at lunch in NYC, and I said I didn't want to, and Conorton just didn't get it, and frankly I don't blame him. If I weren't the one in the position, I wouldn't either, but I am. I don't know what's out there but if there's something other than Randi I'm pretty sure I want that. No offense to her, she's a great girl, a loving girlfriend, but it's kinda like taking the sure thing... how can you be satisfied going for a sure thing? It's like saying "okay, there's nobody else, let's go ahead." How can I bring myself to do that? And yet, how can I not, since I've seen what's out there and it's clearly nothing? I don't even know any single girls, really, and even the attached ones I know wouldn't. I'm a fucked-up kid in a fucked-up situation and fucked if I know how to deal with it.

How much longer can I really hold out? That's what I wanna know.

There's nothing, man. There's nobody. When am I gonna learn?

Jesus.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

#3: Troubled Genius

Yes, kids, I'm back, fresh from New York City. Okay, not exactly true: I arrived back at 7:30 this morning, after a 10-hour bus ride during wich I slept less than 2 hours. And that's a generous estimate. This all means I've A) Gone to bed way past midnight for the past week, B) Woke up before 7 every day since Wednesday, and C) Had a hard time differentiating between yesterday (Saturday) and today (Sunday.)

I'm not going to give you all the details about New York in this post - there's no time and I wouldn't know where to begin. I'll just sort of let them out through the next week's worth of posts, whenever the mood strikes me. The gist of it is, however: Spamalot rocks, Chicago is lame, I spent a lot of time hangin' with random grade 10's and, before leaving, saw 3 guys getting arrested. That ought to hold you off until tomorrow.

Of course, if you're reading this, there is an excellent chance you were there anyway, so as always, I'm really just writing to hear myself type, so to speak.

It was so weird getting back, too: I took a walk down Kerr St. today, and wondered to myself "where is everybody? Why is nobody shoving me into traffic?"

Anywho, it was an incredibly awesome trip, more later probably.

For now, I've got about a week's worth of extra sleep to catch up on... and when that's over, homework and my own life to focus on. Goodnight and keep on rockin'
-Scotto

#2: Start spreading the news...

Other possible titles for this post, "Let Me Be your Nightlight," or "Why Shouldn't She?" Not that those mean anything in particular (although they do portray sliding scales of cleverness and teen angst,) but I probably won't remember I ever came up with those phrases when I get back from New York... on the trip for which I'm finished packing and just raring to go.

Twice today, I was walking down the crowded hallway, only wanting to get to class, when I was forced to tailgate someone walking far too slow behind me. The first time, it was a girl who stopped to hug her friend she met coming the other way. I was forced to awkwardly slide my way around them. The second, it was a couple who just stopped to start making out right in front of me.

A plea for sanity, people! Stop the madness! Practise better hallway ettiquette!

Breakfast Club is coming along very well. We're all doing very well with lines, and Becky is fitting like a glove.

Little else to report. I guess I'll talk to you on Sunday. Keep on Rockin'
-Scotto

#1: We Gotta Get Outta This Place

Welcome to May. You'll notice that this month will eventually mark the 1-year anniversary of the blog... but that's not until later.

You'll also notice this month's posts will have a lot to do with... well, the same old shit, mostly. Too much homework, too few girls, and two plays, as far as I can reckon.

So today and tomorrow it's basically all New York, New York, New York... I've still got to get my American funds and pick up some batteries and this and that and the other thing. I hardly slept at all last night just because, well, I'm anxious. We're merely 31 hours removed from the bus departure... if I did my math right, which I might just not have.

So I'll confess... I've got nothing to say. I'm just as troubled and uninteresting as ever, but thanks for showing up. Maybe I'll have something interesting to say tomorrow, but until then... keep on Rockin

-Scotto