Twenty-Three: A perfectly good awkward silence interrupted

Here I was poised to write yet another entry about how my life sucks and today was worse than others for this reason and that, and I've got too much work and I'm nostolgic and jsut basically I'm a sad little boy.

And then this happens.

See, one of the more pleasant side effects of my mom trying to have a life again is that she cares less about what happens with us. Seriously. She comes downstairs just as I'm leaving to take the dog out, with a strange but intriguing proposition: 'all your friends are probably coming home for thanksgiving, you should have them over.'

(dog noise) Aru? (/dog noise)

Yeah, apparently mom can "make herself scarce" on that night, and I just laughed. I mean, not because I think it's a stupid idea, but because it's amusing.

Well, I'm considering it. I mean, somebody's gotta do it, and if nobody else wants to, I'll gladly put on a shindig. Pass along some of my earnings to somebody who can legally buy the alcohol, we get sloppy drunk, throw a garbage can through my front window, and never be allowed to host a party again.

Well, who knows. It's out there. Maybe we will. Who's in?

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Twenty-Two: A Close Shave.

A lot to say tonight. Boy, y'know, for the first time all year I actually did a lot of homework tonight, and I think it brings me up to speed with the course. I had to write a bunch of leads (the opening bits of news stories,) and interview Ana Yavari "for an article about a school issue." She was such a great subject, there are like 3 or 4 different angles I could take just from that interview.

I had a test in print production today. I love that class. Maybe not because of its content, which is mostly just the technical aspects of publishing (I now know the whole process of lithography, among other things,) but because it's different. Instead of just the usual suspects, it loads all the Journalism students into one lecture hall for a lecture each week on a relatively simple subject taught in Microsoft Powerpoint. The lectures last just over an hour. The instructor, Nathan Mallett, is a good guy, keeps things light and informal, and the note-taking is a breeze. I aced the test, which was out of 25, and worth more than a quarter of my final mark in that class. Oh yeah, there's only two tests (the other is worth 40 I think,) and lest we forget, it only lasts 7 weeks. I'll miss it when it's gone.

We also did a presentation on Provincial rights in Canadian History today. And also there were 8 other presentations to which I paid absolutely no attention. Maybe I should've. Wonder if that'll come back and bite me in the ass.

I also had to talk to Jarrett about... stuff. He told me a bunch of stuff I already figured (but it's nice to hear from somebody else,) and basically reassured me about my place in the class. I gotta say, I didn't like him before (see my application of the f-word to his name,) but that was because of his teaching style. 1-on-1, he's a good guy. He actually reminded me a little of Guthrie, although I'd still rather have Hamish. It sounds weird now, but I actually had a few good teachers back at WOSS.

And then I saw someone I never thought I'd see again, Gabby Cortez. She was in Grade 12 (13?) when I was in Grade 10 (11?) and we spoke a lot in the halls. It turns out she wound up at Sheridan for performance art... or was it musical theatre? Well, she's somewhere. It continues my tradition of just always seeing somebody, so as to remind me that I'm not a total stranger.

Eric has complaints. He is clearly unhappy about where life has taken him - to this thing out in Burlington where he gets grief from this Nazi She-Wolf woman telling him not to try being a director, when even the computer says he should. He's gotten really hung up on the real world's recent reception of him, things clearly aren't working out. I at least managed to sway the topic by showing him how his misery could be transmuted into creativity. And we had a good long talk about that.

And that's really where my night faded into homework. I'm actually getting work done, which is good, since deadlines mean, well, death, I assume. I'm not looking forward to working on the newspaper. It scares me shitless, but I guess the point of this semester is to prepare me for that. I'm insecure, I guess.

I wrote last night and did not remember my dream. Coincidence? Eh? I doubt.

Well, I'm too work out from everything tonight to do any writing. i also should read some stuff for History of Journalism.

Oh college. How did I let you swallow me that much?

All in all, I'm feeling well. Seriously, things feel good for me right now. Just wait, however, as my mercurial nature kicks in and the inevitable shift of the pendulum takes me the other way. I'm dreading it. Can't I just enjoy this?

Hope all is well for you out there, wherever you may be.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Twenty-One: Melancholy, Bilious, Choleric and Sanguine

Good grief.

I'm not even going to make this a long entry, I don't have the energy or focus tonight, but suffice it to say, I've been getting crap flung at me from all sides today. F'n Jarrett gave me about 80 hours worth of homework and some pretty harsh comments on my work to date, didn't have time for lunch, had to walk Xena, had to forfiet what we actually wanted to eat because mom stuck some leftovers in our fridge and we didn't want it to go bad and stench up the place.

Speaking of Ma, she was freakin' out all morning for no good reason, convinced my brother Eric had skipped his thing he was supposed to do. As I had figured, he just missed his train and arrived safely, but that didn't stop mom from badgering them to be sure he'd arrived and for whatever reason was home as late as 10 this morning. Jeeez. I know he's had some troubles in the past but get off it.

I saw Ana at school today, and we made brief small talk in passing.

Had a weird dream last night... I know, again with the dreams, it's weird, but I'm always amazed when my dream is so intense that it makes an impression the next morning. This one was about reconnecting with an old friend I haven't spoken to in over 4 years, and haven't even been friends with in more than 6.

I still take this as a sign that I should be writing. I really should. I might be working on a new Metaworld later tonight, which would close off Book 1.

Well, I'm gonna move on to my regular real-life crap for tonight. Bon soir and keep on rockin'
-Mr. Scotto

Twenty: The Places I'm Never Invited

Ever been in a room with someone, who, despite not physically doing anything, projected a certain level of anxiety? Eric has to get up early tomorrow and go to this... thing... and he's just fidgeting and pacing and panting everything, the man is a nervous wreck. It's frankly making me uncomfortable.

It's been an awkward day full of awkward arguments and arrangements. We had a big family gathering today, for like the third or fourth time in as many weeks. Except this time, Bonnie was invited along since she lives here and we're not exclusionists. And somehow this guy, Mom's "friend" Wally, was there. I don't know if he really is just a friend or if they're doing something, but... whatever. A nice enough guy, I guess, but I don't think she needs to hide it if they're involved. That's childish and insulting. And I will be insulted if they are going out, but I'm okay for now.

I'm introspective tonight, which likely means I'm depressed, but who the hell even knows or cares by this point? (Gee, with language like that, I'm surely quite upbeat.) And I just wish I could unload all my shit on this blog, but even I don't want to bring everybody down. Plus, I'm not totally sure what my problem is. A mixture 1 part lovesick, 1 part regular lonely, one part classic stress and one part plain old boredom... except I don't exactly know the proportions.

I think there's also some room in there for feelings of inadequacy. Like I don't matter. Yeah, i had this talk, months ago, but it has a different meaning now. It's not enough for her to simply say "that's not true," and give me a hint. I would like for somebody to just tell me whether or not I actually do matter. No, not just tell -- show. Anybody can tell.

I would like to do something cathartic. Something that will exorcise my demons. I'd hoped that finishing this movie would be that, but so far it is not getting done. And my demons are accumulating and conspiring.

I did not go to Kyle's today, clearly. He was busy and like I said, I had my family affair which kept me busy.

What ever happened to the lighthearted Scotto of yesteryear? Is he still there, buried within this melancholy exterior? I'd like to think so. He makes a cameo now and again, but he hasn't got an audience these days.

I try, man. I try.

Keep on rockin' if you're out there for the love of all that is good
<--Scott

Nineteen: She's your mom too!

Nothing of note tonight, so I thought I'd amass all my littler observations into a hue paragraph. And awaaaayyy we goo...

Becky has visited my Mindsay (inferior blog) every day since the 19th. Why don't we talk more? Steve Carell is hosting Saturday Night Live's season opener, good God, the world is starting to do something right. Maybe that makes up for the hurricanes. Okay, that was tasteless. We have too many dishes. Still need to get back to Toronto for more movie night with Alyssa, but unlike me she has a life. i thought I saw Steph Guest last Monday, but I wasn't sure, but apparently she does indeed to to my school so I probably did. Still hate grocery shopping. I hate being platonic, but I deal with it since otherwise I'd have no friends. Bowled a 201 today, Holy crap that was good, but it'll sadly affect my average in a way I'm not prepared to deal with. I miss her - you know who you are. Even if you don't, somebody should be able to figure it out. I might be editing tomorrow, but I don't know. I actually have a hefty amount of homework, but it's intangible. I don't even know where to begin on it. I might as well confess it, I like to sing when nobody's around. I have a lot I'd like to be doing, but I'm not. There are mini pizzas in the oven, that excites me. I hope I didn't miss my chance. All that "we just had a moment once" stuff was bullshit. I think my dad is proud of me for working and going to college. I kinda wish I had somewhere to be tonight, but still, mini pizzas. I will definitely be doing a pop-in on Doug at some point. Except with all the planning it takes to get out to Toronto, it'll more be like a scheduled pop-in. I hope we can re-connect at Thanksgiving. You said we'd meet again then, and now that I know it's possible, I don't wanna blow it. Maybe I shouldn't think about it. I should just let it be. The smell of mini-pizzas is invading the basement, and winning the battle on hunger. What? I'm still in the habit of saying stupid things online and in real life. One of the girls in my class has a baby. Ever met somebody who was really, really, emphatically Christian? It's so weird trying to have a conversation. No, this person is not the girl with the baby, nor even somebody I met in real life. I still like to lie occasionally, it makes me feel clever. Whatever happens in the next 2 years, I'm still going to be me. Thank you all for reading this blog, I love it when people leave comments.

Hope to see you again.

Be advised to keep on rockin'
-The Williams

Eighteen: A Girl that I Knew Somewhere

Still having those vivid-yet-evanescent dreams. Also, hurray for using a vocab word.

Just another tedious day. Absolutely nothing noteworthy happened to me today. But thank goodness it is the weekend. At last. As I've said, I've only recently come to recall the feeling of relief once the weekend arrives. I missed that all summer. That relaxation of continuity and drudgery is a great feeling.

I think I saw Genevieve and her boyfriend at Sheridan today. I wouldn't be surprised since I did see her friend Amber on my first day there and she and Genevieve always seemed to share a single mind, more or less. I think they split it 3 ways with Lindsay Bekker.

Enough ragging on them. Josh and I used to play this game, I think, either in Grade 11 or 12 (they all run together for me these days,) where we'd slap on our best Genevieve impression and describe the most horrific acts taking place between her and her boyfriend. It was utterly tasteless, and completely hilarious.

I did end up watching Hitchhiker's Guide tonight. My thoughts will find their way into an Interneta review someday, but not tonight. I will say I had an initial reluctance toward the material if only because I didn't want to be influenced by Douglas Adam's outer space fare while I was still working on my own, namely Metaworld, but by now I have a clear enough vision of the ultimate conclusion of that piece that I need not fear stealing the man's material. Besides, it was only the movie, which obviously contains far less material than the books.

To be truthful, the work owes more to Bruce Coville's "My Teacher is an Alien" series. And even then, the connection is dubious. Those were just the books that got me interested in the whole idea of "hijacked into outer space" concept.

I will be finishing the first "book" of that story in the near future. I've been wanting to get back to writing for a while now. I think I'm only a few chapters away from finally putting Metaworld: Book 1 to rest, and then I get to sit back and brainstorm for Book 2. I've got the concept, I just need the beat sheets. That's a writing term for the sequence of events. Thank you Skip fucking Press.

Aside from that, there was this project I started back around April, a screenplay entitled, (how apropo,) "Work in Progress." There are many times, such as while I was working 2 nights ago, when my brain would be set in idle and out of nowhere I'd get a really good idea for that script, and I'd have to keep repeating it to myself and focussing on it so that I wouldn't forget it. I tell you, I've got so much material for that one it's ridiculous. But I haven't been able to go back and finish my initial action in Act 1, due to laziness. Maybe I'm just waiting to amass enough detail to really get thick into it. I think as it is, however, I've got the makings of a finished product in my head, since I should be able to take what I've already imagined, and scribbled in my little notepad booklet, and create ties between scenes on the spot. I just really need a better sense of the middle before I can trudge back out into those waters.

It's one of three or four really solid projects I've got half in my head/half on paper. It's about a writer (let me get into that in a minute,) who is desperately in need of inspiration (his manager insists he gives up screenwriting aspirations in favour of a more stable career in Greeting Cards.) He begins a tumultuous relationship with a girl he finds mysterious and fascinating, and, well, the story takes off. It's sorta my take on romantic comedy. More in the vein of Eternal Sunshine than Briget Jones.

I'm actually reluctant to be writing about a writer. It seems counter-productive, like that's the only thing I'm interested in, and like it's supposed to be about me. But his occupation is very important to the story, and I think it makes it a good character study. Well, I guess we'll see after I'm done writing it.

The other script I have in the queue is about a miserable accountant for a pharmaceutical firm who is, unbeknownst to him, made a test subject for a drug to make him smarter. This is done with motivations from the developmental team: they only have to produce one more successful human test before it can be approved, but it our hero doesn't balance the company's budget soon, their little department may be cut, sending them back to square one.

So you see, a pattern emerges. I write a lot about people whose lives are difficult, unsatisfactory, or lived in torment, and the difficult process of fixing that. I guess it's just my own desire to fix my own place in life. to take action, to make things go my way.

I have a lot of ideas backed up, actually. There are so many things I could be working on it'll be a wonder if I ever finish any of them. Outside the realm of screen, I started dabbling in prose. I've been writing an anthology of short stories, all connected by common themes and events, and (I'm considering,) characters. They all take place during the night, because I've been utterly fascinated by nighttime ever since I saw Jim Jarmusch's "Night on Earth." It's such a great time for setting a story.

Well I'm gonna get out of your hair now kids. All this talk of writing has made me really want to actually do some, and so I will. You all please feel free to keep on rockin'
-Scotto Williams

Seventeen: A Pendulum Between Light and Darkness

Ex-HAUSTED.

Where do I begin? Let's take it from the top. Yesterday, I left class early to catch the bus to work, since I figured this week it'd be easier just to do my job than get out of it. Not to mention more profitable. It didn't matter, since the big thing was a test that lasted 10 minutes (and totally cribbed from Guthrie's Writer's Craft! I laughed quietly to myself with delight.) So I left very early, and what luck, I got on the bus going in the wrong direction. So I basically ended up being a half hour late for work anyway. Yet nobody seemed to notice or care. So it's a half-hour less on my punchcard. Whatever.

Aside: As the latest in my neverending series of seeing people from WOSS whilst coming to or from school, I ran into Sonya LaFleur yesterday and joked with her about her part in Oklahoma.

So, work. Hate it. Hate my job, hate the people there, and am particularly wary of the girl who works the counter (Natasha?) who I'm sure has it out for me. Hate the hours. Hate that mom didn't wait for my call and showed up muy early to give me a lift home. She ended up hanging around for an hour, until Val just told me "well Scott you can go."

On the other hand... love my paycheck.

So indeed, got home circa midnight last night, and after assorted winding down, and doing my last-minute reading for History of Journalism, I went to bed at quarter to two.

And I was up at quarter to 7, since I had an 8 o'clock class (the aforementioned History o' Journalism.) 5 hours of sleep is not enough to rest up after 5 hours of work + any other walking around I'd done during the day. As is customary during History o' Journalism, I indulged in a cup of coffee at break. Also... I happened to particularly enjoy the act of sitting down.

Eventually, the day ended, mercifully.

After class, at about 1:30, I found myself bored and in need of a boredom-killer. So I stopped by everyone's favourite hall of nostalgia, Rosser's Period 5 Grade 11 Drama class. My presence set off, unexpectedly, a round of Psychiatrist (the rules of which I'd forgotten since Grade 10,) during which I did my best to entertain and inform.

Frankly, it's a wonder I don't show up more often, considering I go by there every friggin' day, sometimes twice. Count your blessings, Rosser.

Feeling pretty good, although that may just be because I'm full of ice cream. I mean, I got back in contact today with someone I didn't expect. And I was not excited about that, since it filled me with dread. Longtime readers may figure about whom I'm talking. And if she's reading (doubtful,) I just hope her intentions are innocent.

For the record, I actually did talk to Kyle today about when I could resume work. So we're on our way on that.

Is this weird? I'm excited to go to sleep tonight. I mean, I'll get a really good night's sleep if all goes as planned.

I know, people are actually reading this and the most thrilling topic I can broach is sleep. What kind of loser college student am I?

Keep on rockin'
~Willie

Sixteen: You don't know the shape I'm in

Am I getting lonelier, or is TV getting better?

Hard to say. Arrested Development premiered last night, and the Office and My Name is Earl all premiered tonight, all of which were side-splittingly hilarious. single-camera is the way of the future. Still, I may just be finding TV more comforting because I'm so godforsakenly isolated.

And I apologize in advance for all those out there reading this. Scott's in another one of those moods. Even I have to roll my eyes, and be like, "ah, dude, again?"

I've been having these dreams lately. Usually when I can remember my dreams, it means I haven't been writing enough. While that may be true, these dreams are of a different sort. The feel vivid while they're happening, but when I wake up in the morning, I'm left with only the faintest impression about what was happening in them.

So I'm a little isolated. So I feel like I've been left by all my friends to fend for myself in this town. So I feel some hostility toward most of the people at school, even though none of them (or at least, very few of them) deserve it. So I'm working late hours at a physically demanding job that takes me out of my usual realm and into a strange late-night bowling universe. So I'm dealing with some abandonment issues. Maybe I'm taking it harder than everyone else.

I'm an unhappy camper. Then again, I've never liked camping, so that's to be expected.

I don't really know where all this is coming from. It's just the accumulated musings after a rough couple of weeks. My joys in life are few and far between. My misfortunes seem endless. I mean, beyond the whole North Bay fiasco, I'm getting way too much grief. And it's not even like people are really doing anything to upset me, it's just the way things work out. If I could be less vague, maybe you'd understand, but I'm just too down to really go into the specifics. I'm on the mind that it's more therapeutic to make veiled references and not to get too far into them.

Of course, in the year + 4 months I've been blogging, that strategy hasn't yeilded much success, but the alternatives are equally successful, and more painful.

Maybe I'm just chemically unbalanced? I mean, I've never personally put much stock in the belief tht chemicals are (significantly) responsible for moods, but who am I to judge? Maybe when I'm having a good time, my body releases those endorphins and corrects the imbalance that's normally there... or some other sciency-sounding mumbo jumbo?

I don't wanna bare my wounds out here, which is sad, since this is supposed to be the place where I can just come at the end of the day and just let 'er rip. I can't bring myself to run down all those minor, individually-wrapped, seemingly-insignificant blights that make up the tapestry of my misery. I'd just feel too lame.

Plus you just never know who might be reading.

One of my classes was moved yesterday. Physically moved from one room to another. It was embarassing, since our class was all settled, with another class standing forlorn in the doorway, when I checked the schedule and found out that, two weeks in, the class was somewhat arbitrarily switched to another room, without notification. Like we were expected to check the schedule? Fark that! It was a mess, though, that prompted the rescheduling of an ill-anticipated test.

I went out and rented "Hitchhiker's Guide" today... have yet to watch it, due to some scheduling, but hey - it was a free rental.

Maybe going to Blockbuster and knowing I'll never see Doug in there ever again is what prompted this feeling. It really hurts the whole movie-renting experience.

I ran into Janessa and Amy(i?) today on my way home from school. Janessa gave me the low-down on various Oklahoma casting. I was amused but not surprised to hear this year's configuration of the usual suspects. At least there was nobody I'd never heard of.

It smells like freshly cut grass in here, since Eric mowed the lawn (following much speculation as to whether or not he eventually would get around to it,) and tracked it in on his cuffs. Not that I'm complaining, it's kinda refreshing. Kinda like having a giant invisible air freshener you can't see and smells like grass.

Yeah, it's weird.

That's the spiel for tonight; keep on rockin'
-Scott

Fifteen: Gun powder by candlelight

Still kinda depressed, although I've moved on a bit from the whole eating thing.

I don't know why. It's just this weird little isolated world I've built for myself. It's lonely out here.

I don't even have that much to say tonight, so this is going to be one of my leaner entries. Which'll be refreshing for you, the readers, after last night's rant. I was in a really odd mindset last night. My Grandad was a little depressed too, I could tell. It was his first birthday since my Grandma's death, so it hit him a little hard. We visited the gravesite this morning to see the headstone. It was very nice, certainly less garish than many of the others.

Now that the hard part of the movie is over with, and school isn't really enough to fill my concentration, I guess this is where I get all sappy and sentimental, since I've got nothing substantial to occupy my mind.

One piece of good news is that since I went to North Bay this weekend, it doesn't look like we'll return for Thanksgiving. This is good, because everybody's coming home for Thanksgiving, and I was worried I was going to miss everyone.

Still, not really into the whole scene at school. There is still a small group of girls who will make chit chat with me whenever they feel like it. But I refuse to willingly surrender and socialize. It's just my introverted nature asserting itself (which is an odd thing for an introverted nature to do: you'd think it would hide behind whatever self-confidence I actually have.) I just don't relate to these people. That's what I really need, someone to whom I can relate. and I think you all know where this is headed.

My mom just got in from what I assume is a date. I hope it didn't go well. Is that weird? It's for her own good. When is she going to realize that her capacity to commit to a relationship dissipated when she got married? Once you begin to look at marriage as a business partnership, the romance within you dies and you can never get it back, not with anybody. Look at what happened to her last relationship. If you don't know the whole story (chances are, you don't,) the bottom line is that she endured Frank off and on for almost 5 years because she needed him for a financial crutch. So I hope for everybody's sake they just avoid the drama and chequebook-balancing and call it quits. No offense to my mother, but she'll never have a fulfilling relationship ever again. Dad, on the other hand, has managed to reclaim happiness, indeed he's happier with Deb than I think he ever was with my mom, and I'm glad for them. They go well together. Hm; perhaps mom sees what dad has and wants her own version. I'm pretty sure she has this "anything you can do I can do better" attitude toward him. Except when it comes to physical labour or technological needs, in which case he is direly needed.

At this point all I can do is continue to live my life in quiet desperation.

Keep on rockin'
-Mr. Williams

Fourteen: Strangers on a Train

Boy, have I got a doozie for you tonight.

Let me tell you, after today, I am far more depressed than I have been in ages. And for once, it has nothing to do with friends, girls, girlfriends, friends moving, college, etc, etc, etc.

No, today's depression is a very unique kind that really only comes about once in a blue moon for yours truly. I suffered a very harsh bout of realization today and damn it all if facing this doesn't bring down what was supposed to be a lightweight, fun, almost disposable visit to North Bay.

It's not something that took me by surprise, but it certainly is something the depth of which I've never really noticed before. And here I go, explaining it, after this long build-up. Let me put this delicately.

I fucking hate restaurants.

It's insane, right? I mean, they're such an everyday institution. It should be such a normal activity, going out, getting food, with other people, who also need food. That's just human existance. Society, and the need to eat.

I can't eat in a fucking restaurant. I can't do it. I've been trying to just power through this but there is no God damn way I can muster up the... whatever is needed... just to sit in a restaurant, a nice restaurant, and eat with people. Family members. For my Grandad's 80th birthday, no less. I can't. FUCK. I felt all right, until the food was served, and then I was all like, "oh, I've gotta go to the washroom first." So I went, cleared my head, tried to settle my stomach, and came back, prepared to eat. And it wasn't bad, either, and I was being successful in the mere act of ingesting food. And then things started to go sour when somebody (my aunt Pat, who was sitting next to me,) asked, "how is it?" or whatever. And just the mere act of asking an innocent question just... set me off. By that point it could be stopped. And lucky me, I had situated myself in the middle of the fucking booth like an idiot, claustrophobic and inexplicably nauseous, just because my aunt wanted to know how my fish was.

By the time I got back, the food was gone. I was halfway through my meal when I had to "return it," and in the process of doing so, the waitress had cleared the plates.

I have always said there is no sadder sentence in the language than "dinner is ruined." When your dinner is ruined, it fuckin' hurts, man. A dinner - a birthday dinner, paid for by my dad and uncle, ruined, just because I can't stand the social atmosphere of eating.

What the fuck is wrong with me?! Why can't I function like a normal person?! Must I deny myself the very food I need to live just because I can't eat it in front of people in a restaurant?! I am seriously messed up. What does that mean for my social life? I'll never be able to go out on a serious dinner date. And that's the least of my worries. I'm sitting here, five hours later, starving because my dinner was taken away, because it made me physically ill.

If I were a girl (let's just play make believe here,) and it were a body-image thing, it would make sense. It would still be mentally sick, but at least it would make sense. I'm doing this for no reason other than I'm not secure enough to go out in public and finish a Goddamn meal in a restaurant.

That's not entirely true. It'll come as no great consolation that I can stomach anything at the food court, any fast food joint, any pizza. Just, you know, not any [b]real food.[/b] Heaven forbid I should get the stuffed sole. I couldn't finish a meal the whole time I was in New York, except for a Caesar salad at the Hard Rock cafe.

The catalogue of broken NYC meals reads like this:
-American wrap at a deli with Cary, Ryan and Becky, thrown out 3/4 of the way through.
-Roast Beef Sandwich, at a completely different deli, with Chris Ferguson, Lauren Wing and others, thrown out halfway through.
-McDonald's in Times Square, ate nothing, had to get some kettle chips later during intermission at Spamalot.
-Chicken salad at Rockefeller center, eaten while surrounded by numerous grade 12's including Conorton, Allsop, others. Thrown out most of the way through.
-Actually finished salad at Hard Rock Cafe, afraid to try anthing more substantial. But it was a freaking salad. Even then it didn't go down easy.
-Finally, finally managed to eat a hot dog at Yankee Stadium. Think about it - I wasn't comfortable until there was a baseball game to distract people.
-McDonald's on Canal St. Couldn't eat a burger because they used a different meat than I was used to. Fries tasted the same though.
-Breakfast, every single day, passed on Cinnamon Tosat Crunch.

What is my problem?? Ugh. I can't even believe I've gone on about this for so long. It was just such an Earth-shattering moment when I left that table. This has me depressed beyond belief. I can't even trust my body to accept the basic things it needs to survive. Not when other people are around. I'll have to become a recluse.

I'm one fucked-up kid.

There are other things I could talk about. The ride up where we tried watching DVD's on my laptop (sound = almost nada,) the misguided choice by my family to watch Army of Darkness on Uncle Alan and Aunt Pat's home entertainment system (of all the DVD's I brought, they chose that over Groundhog Day and A Fish Called Wanda. Aunt Pat, predictably, left after a half hour.) How dull I fell I become when I get here. I tell you, this northern atmosphere, it kills you a little, while you're here. I just feel so isolated from civilizaiton... so Canadian. So polite and well-mannered and soft spoken. Are you kidding me? I need to get back home where society is garish enough to use swearwords in everyday conversation.

I also recently found someone's Blog. Some of the entries made me wistfully sad. And if you know the definition of the word, you'll know it's not such a terrible thing, but I'm not in the mood for nostalgia. I wish that person were wherever I am, not where she is. Selfish as that sounds. Selfish as that is, I'm allowed to be selfish if I don't act on it; I don't have any magic wishing stone. What I want and what I get are always two completely different things. What I want and what's right are also usually seperate. All I mean is that reading her writings, I was reminded of what a high-spirited, gleaming person she is, and how much better I feel when I'm around her. Not to make myself seem pathetic, it's not her mere presence, but the way she's able to relate to me and make the hardships of the world go away, just by virtue of a good conversation.

But the time has long since passed into nothingness.

Sigh.

We're going home tomorrow, bright and early, but the trip is so obviously blighted for me I can't wait just to be back in my own basement. I like my relatives, and the weather here is nice (at this time of year,) but for once there really is no place like home.

I just wish I could feel at home in my own skin.

Whatever that means.

Fucker. Keep on rockin if you are in fact out there.
-Williams

Thirteen: Lips of Poison

I just had a few paragraphs of a post written, then I accidentally hit "refresh" and lost it. Oh well, nothing substantial. Just musing about how week 2 is done. That's 12 left to go. Bizarre.

(Here's where I pick back up.) Today was another day in which I did virtually nothing. It's insane what they're passing off as an education over here. Maybe it only seems slow because I only have each class once or twice a week, but still... and half of my classes are redundant anyway.

The bottom line is I only really have two classes: a print class and a writing class. It's jsut that the print class has 3 different names, and the writing class has 4 different names; and contains two different types of history.

It was so rainy today. I can't remember the last really rainy day I've seen. There have been days, like last Thursday, where it rained in the morning then cleared up in the afternoon, but today it just poured from sunrise until the evening. And I use the term "sunrise" loosely, since the sun was not seen all day.

On my way back, as I often expect, I ran into WOSS people. Kathryn Haynes was waiting for the bus after Oklahoma auditions, and Sam Li, was getting out of her audition too, which she told me she'd blown. We stood there in the rain for like 5 minutes just chatting about it. She told me she wanted to go to McMaster for Engineering. I told her "All the engineers I know of went to Waterloo." She tells me, "I don't want to go to Waterloo... too many Asians." (In case you had to ask, she's Chinese.)

Got back, ate dinner, sat here. Life's not exciting. Not looking forward to round two of "switching shifts," in which out hero has to explain to his boss that he can't be scheduled to work Wednesdays. Eccccchhhhhhh...

Well, life could be worse.

Keep on rockin'
~~Scott

Twelve: Crime of the Century

Another day, another drink.

Not that I do drink, I mean, not alcohol, not in private. But if my life grows as tedious as the example provided today, I might turn that way.

I managed, throughout the whole of the History of Journalism class, just to sit there, doing and saying nothing while Andrew (argh, first names,) chewed us out for no reason other than he'd chewed out his other class and needed to level the playing field, so to speak. Then when one girl mentioned she hadn't read the material, (an excruciating 14-page handout on journalism in pre-Civil War England,) he damn near lost it. At least, he came as close to losing it as a very restrained Australian immigrant can be.

Still haven't figured out the printers at school, although I did manage to print on my HP Deskjet, so that'll be getting a lot of play this year (and it should - dad bought it out of the goodness of his heart. Or resentment for our abuse of his own. Whatever.)

I'm becoming sort of absorbed by how solitary my life has been. I almost wrote the word "pathetic" instead of "solitary," but the pejoritive connotations were far too strong, and inaccurate. I don't feel pathetic, and from the outside view I don't think there's much about my life that is pathetic. I'm just a bit of a loner. I do socialize at school by this point, mostly with a squadron of girls who wind up sitting near me (or me near them) in most classes. In case you were curious, none of them are particularly attractive, although the quiet one with the glasses is kinda cute in her apparent shyness. I've always liked girls who didn't say much. Not to say I don't like girls with whom I can have a good conversation -- I think I've proven the opposite is true. It's just very alluring for a girl to maintain that mystique. It reminds me of Anne-Marie, a girl I knew at the trailer, who hardly said 2 words while I was around, but was always there, observing. If not part of the action, then at least close to it. She had that dark-haired Ally Sheedy-in-Breakfast-Club thing going on.

Anyway, as I was saying, it is by my own action that I've remained apart from Campus life, more or less. Oakville is my hometown, and I know it extends far beyond the Campus of Sheridan.

Living off-campus helps that. I was walking home today, about 1:45, and as always I was passing White Oaks when I noticed the back door to the Drama room was open. So naturally I poked my head in, and the first person I see is Lauren Wing, who lets out a great big British welcome. And Chris Ferguson and Ben Tran came over to uh, welcome me. Note to all ex-Drama Kid-Grads: if you haven't already been by and seen Rosser, don't be shy. The guy is very welcoming to his former students. I hung around for about 5 minutes before I decided to get going.

Have I mentioned lately that I want to go back to New York? Because I do; very badly. I mostly just want to go down and hang out in Washington Square Park or something. In the quieter moments, when you could look around and say "wow, I'm actually in New York City," it was more enjoyable. (Although Spamalot remains by far the highlight of the trip, for different, obvious reasons.)

I'm going to North Bay this weekend for my Grandad's birthday. Should be good, since there won't be all that awkward downtime like on Thanksgiving and Easter. Drive there, eat fancy dinner, sleep, drive back. It should be nice.

Well, that's the world tonight. Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Eleven: A lifetime ago, clear as yesterday.

They keep sending me these cheques. I don't really know what I'm supposed to do with them... if anyone out there knows about OSAP and Scholarships and Bursaries, and the Cheques pertaining thereto, an explanation would be helpful. Do I just put it in the bank, or what?

It was raining today as I was passing WOSS. That just randomly reminded me of a time late in Grade 12, when it was utterly pouring, and I had to wait for Alyssa to pick me up so's we could go bake fortune cookies. An odd and random memory, to be sure, but I've got a lot of mental capacity that's not being used.

Thus far, Sheridan is not challenging me. Compared to how stressful things could be by the end of high school, once I got here, things just suddenly got taken down a notch. And it's not even because it's all review, because it's not. In Writing for Newspapers, we got thrown in headlong and the biggest difficulty thus far has been getting the printer to work. Oh sure I've written 112-page screenplays (though it was improperly formatted, so more realistically 90 pages,) but a network printer for Mac:OSX? Woosh. I'm not the computer tech in the family, and even if I were, I still wouldn't be very well versed in Mac. Screw Macs.

On that note, hope all my friends at Mac, Waterloo, Ryerson, Queens, and elsewhere are all doing well. The saddest part is that you'll all be back for Thanksgiving, and meanwhile I'll be schlepped up to North Bay that weekend. Life has a cutting sense of irony. I hate it.

Work keeps scheduling me for Wednesdays. I can't do Wednesdays, because class goes to 5 on Wednesdays, and I'd have to start at 5. And it takes over a half hour to get there. I got out of my shift tonight but I called in and they told me I was scheduled for next Wednesday as well. Fuckin' ridiculous. So I need to go talk to Ed, the manager and explain to him why I can never work Wednesday or Friday. Ever. Not this week, not next week, not ever. Not unless he wants me to be late. I mean, then I'd be cool with it because I can give up an hour's worth of pay or whatever if I at least get to work that night, instead of calling every week and going "Yeah, I'm switching again, because it's Wednesday." Fuckin' Wednesday! I still can't believe it, and I found out hours ago. It's always something.

On my way back from Steven F'ing Jarrett's class, I also ran into Sam Li, the girl I used to hang out with in Law, who was at school at 5 because of (?). I tell you by the time the year's done I'll have wound up seeing everybody I know that's still there at one point or another.

Nothing's really going my way these days. Things could be worse, but I've got lots of material for complaints.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Ten: Dissertation on Matter, Energy, and Time

I've learned recently a funny thing about time: it's continually passing. Mind you, Steve Miller made that not-so-insightful observation many years ago, saying he wanted to "Fly Like an Eagle," but still: you never recognizes that time does not stand still, even when you're working at a bowling alley for 9 hours, and even when you're in a boring lecture about first nations. Time passes. That's what it does.

Matter and energy, there is a limited amount in the world. Matter is anything we can touch or in any way sense as being physical. Energy is what binds us. In the greatest sense, our life forces are the ultimate extension of energy - our bodies act as the conduit through which it is used up, and eventually when we expire, it is dispersed throughout the universe in a wonderful burst of consciousness and karma - universal energetic feedback. There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio...

Despite things being no better than they were yesterday, I've gotten over it. Still wouldn't be comfortable writing about it, but it'll make an amusing anecdote someday. Well, not amusing, but chalk another one up I say.

Having a blast at school. Not. But, it's a good way to keep from going insane, and you know at least it's protecting me from an everyday monotony of every day being the same. And some days I get to set my alarm up so I can sleep those extra two hours (like tomorrow.) All I need to do is establish a better homework strategy and I'll be set. I'm trying to decide if I should do something the night after it's assigned or the night before it's due. Right now it looks like the night before, but whatever.

I'd like to see some people soon. But as it is I still stand outside society.

So be it.

Keep on rockin'
-Willie

Nine: How little I know.

It's been a weird day, to say the least. What can I say? I've just sort of been saying the wrong things all day, often resulting in a unfortunate mishap.

I had some bad Chinese for dinner today, thus leading to a somewhat upset stomach.

I had another Stephen fucking Jarrett class today. There have only been a few people I've given the "f-word" to use as a middle name, but I think this guy fits the bill. This is a teacher who mumbles and grumbles when he talks, commanding no attention whatsoever, and dispenses inordinate amounts of homework, leaving me bewildered by his lack of explanation.

I've been spoiled. Spoiled rotten by the Guthries and Rossers of WOSS. In the real world, not everybody has charisma, charm, and enthusiasm for the material. In the real world, teachers are sometimes as bored by the lecture as students, and don't seem to care if you understand what's going on or not.

I need to make up a little loast time on that class, since it's apparently difficult for me to get my bearings in that environment.

I tried to buy books today, and was perplexed when my account was "overdrawn." I think it's part of the terms of my account that I can't spend more than $200 at once. Unfortunately, that means I have to go back again tomorrow to get more books, and likely, make a third trip later.

Life is starting to grind me down. I was very thankful just to sit at home tonight (first time in a long time I was thankful just to be at home, let me tell you!) I got to relax.

Although something rather unfortunate happened. In later days I may feel up to describing this unfortunate event, but I'm just not in the mood right now.

Ah... it's after midnight and homework calls.

I guess I'll leave it ambiguously at that. Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Eight: The Shadow of New Life

Last night... whooo. My job is an excellent place to work if you just like watching people interact. I do, because most people allow a certain side of themselves to show when bowling. An innocent, obliquely competitive side that makes them behave rather oddly. Especially when they've had a few drinks. And trust me, everyone was having more than "a few drinks." i'd know: it's my job to collect the bottles and glasses you people left behind.

I have a few stories. One innocent, one a little racy, one just about appalling people.

The first is that I saw Laura "LoloBeast" Gurnham, Cassie Cummings and friends (I think all from drama, or two,) buying a 2-hour period, so I passed a lot of time just chilling with them, since my job doesn't really require much involvement on my part. It was nice to see them on the one time I happened to be working.

The somewhat racy one is this: before I went on my dinnerbreak, I noticed these two girls just walking around the alley, not on a lane or anything. I didn't think much of it at the time, and went to eat dinner. What I noticed about these girls (as any guy would,) was that they were dressed both in obscenely short skirts. When I got back, they were still there, and were shortly joined by two guys and then commenced bowling.

I think rule #1 for bowling for girls is, bowling in incredibly short skirts is unadvisable, since the momentum of swing will generally create an updraft.

Rule #2 is, if you're GOING to dress that way anyway, and it's going to be during cosmic bowling, you probably shouldn't wear plain white panties, because they're oh-so-visible under the blacklights.

So that's my somewhat racy underwear-seeing story for the night. My story concerning a major asshole occurreced when I was working behind the counter sorting shoes. Apparently, this chump came in, asked Tahir (the guy working the counter last night, and most of the time,) whether he could "buy a whole hour, bowl a half hour, and get a refund." You can't. Everyone knows you buy an hour, you bowl an hour, it's non-negotiable, and he must've not understood, because he was under the impression that you could. Well, when he came to reclaim his supposed "refund," he found it was not coming. Gee, call consumer affairs. The guy bitches his ass off to no avail, eventually getting Tahir's name (and was incredulous at the fact that he doesn't have a last name,) and eventually dragged me into it. I try to play it off and I'm like "hey, I'm just a shoe guy;" I'm not even that! This guy was pissed, and a major tool from the way he went on; but needless to say he did not walk out of Classic Bowl with half an hour's worth of refund.

Anyway, work was interesting, but I was absolutely sore to the bone by the time I was done. And then there was a clusterfuck with regard to lack of organization on the way home. Apart from that, I think it went well. At any salary, 9 hours of work is good for some extra scratch.

Today was Grampa's 101st birthday. Fun was had, babies were seen... a nice relaxing way to spend an afternoon.

Well, that's all there is to report. Nothing really really interesting... keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Seven: One Hundred Feet of Cable

Well, the first week of school is done. And now I have a bunch of books to buy and other junk to take care of. But I'm happy. Y'know, I'd forgotten this "the weekend is here and I can relax" feeling. It's comforting.

I went back to WOSS today, to round up some teachers to give me references for the bowling alley gig. I couldn't find Guthrie and was wandering around in an aimless stupor when I happened on the first floor office of Loft & Co, and so she, Mrs. reither, and Mr. Hamel all signed on, even though none of them ever really taught me. Then I eventually found Rosser and he signed, and I stuck around and eavesdropped in on the (excruciatingly boring) Drama council meeting, before stepping out and seeing, much to my (lack of) surprise, Cary, Chris, Janessa, Robyn, Chris Ferguson, and another bloke whose name I didn't get. We talked a bit - or rather, they talked, I just chimed in occasionally - about University, or in some cases, high school, where Janessa and Robyn remain.

It was not weird at all being back at White Oaks. Maybe it hasn't been enough time, but it still seemed okay. Then again, I sort of held myself in a mental stasis over the summer so the feeling of being in those hallways still seems fresh.

People I've seen at White Oaks since starting Sheridan: today's gang, Saskia & Hilary, the exec drama council, Liam... heh. If I don't stop showing up there, they might not notice I've left.

Last night, though, was the most interesting one I've got in the recent record. It was the night I was due to go out and see Alyssa at her place in Toronto and "watch movies." Neither of us had actually mentioned anything we'd like to watch, or who would provide them, so I figured on plucking some of the gems from the collection and letting her choose.

So on my way out the door, I decided I'd give myself a shave, since I don't like to go out of the house unshaven (when it's not a school or work thing,) and yet in my hurry, I sliced myself up pretty good. And in my attempts to stop the bloodflow, missed the bus that would've gotten me on the GO for 5:30-ish. Eventually, I somehow got to her street by 8:00, even finding an abandoned crossword puzzle in my seat on the train. I finished it up, even correcting some of the errors the previous owner had made (some due to misspellings, such as "ressurection" instead of "resurrection," some due to misinformation.)

By the time I got off the subway, I followed my instincts and went one way, then realized Alyssa's directions had pointed my in another... but I soon realized my instincts were correct, (after a failed attempt to call for clarification,) and I eventually found the building, like I said, around 8:00. I buzzed, no response. A helpful young lass (probably older than me but whatever,) comes along and buzzes me in, little suspecting I could be a mugger, robber, rapist, or worse: Scientologist. Nevertheless, she lucked out and was not mugged, robbed, raped or converted.

I got to Alyssa's door and knocked, wondering how it would look that I didn't appear to buzz. Weirder still, because I didn't call (I'd gotten a busy signal and given up,) she didn't think I was coming and had agreed to other plans. But now that I was here, obviously we were going back to Plan "A."

I gave her a number of equally intriguing options from which to choose, including "After Hours" and "Mystery Train," plus "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind," for which she'd already expressed appreciation. The winner of the sweepstakes was "Being John Malkovich," which unbelievably, she hadn't seen.

So, as the evening slipped inevitably into night, we watched Charlie Kaufman's Oscar-nominated story of a portal into an obscure actor's mind unfold. After about 20 minutes, her roommate came in (she was going to watch from the start, but was on the phone,) and somehow managed to pick up on it.

It was a load of fun just to get outta town for a night, but we agreed that next time I did that, I'd come earlier, so we'd get to hang out a bit more.

Later that night, at Union, I missed the train back into Oakville and wound up waiting for about an hour, paranoid and bored. If I had brought my laptop bag instead of my old backpack, I'd have been able to watch a DVD (hey, I did after all have four with me,) but instead I settled for just chilling, anxiously watching for an update on my train, the 11:43 Westbound to Burlington.

I got home around 12:30, and to sleep about about 1.

I actually learned the names of more Journalism kids today. I'm starting to get the run of this crowd, although I have no intention of letting them envelop my life, like Cary apparently has (he dazzled us all at length with wild tales of new friends in his course or res with funny names.)

It's been a good couple of days. Fridays in the future will not be so good, however, since today my 4-6 class was cancelled. Sigh... who the fuck has class from 4-6?? And why is research for print 3 hours long?? Answers I ought to investigate.

Eric dislikes my typing, but I'm hestitate to hook my significantly-quieter iBook up to the net, given that it may just be illegal.

Sleep well my friends, and keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Six: A Scanner Darkly

Moan...

Y'know, I really don't like talking about college. That is, the classes themselves, just like I didn't like doing a lot of "so today in THIS class, we--" unless the subject was relevant. To summarize what I've done on any given day is pointless.

It's just funny how I've reverted back to being the natural introvert... and am loving it. It's perverted, but I'm completely comfortable with my lack of socializing. I don't have to eat at a table in a cafeteria anymore, I'm not forced into any social situations. As time goes by, I'll naturally be able to unfold and meet some of these journalism people, but I'm not backed into a corner, which is comforting. I'm at peace in my own world.

Today there was a bit of a clusterfuck, and one of my classes turned out to be comedically useless, not to mention frustrating in being so. One of the little annoyances that happen at the beginning of the year.

Any fears or doubts of mine with regards to my future career were assuaged today when my teacher, Steven Jarrett (full names... weird...) said "Studying journalism is a great way to get into writing fiction." I am so glad that is a recognized perspective on things, I thought I was crazy. Now I see my path more clearly than ever.

I've also been reading a comic called "Transmetropolitan" which is about a psychotic journalist called Spider Jerusalem, who has become my idol.

Tomorrow night I'm trekking out to Toronto to watch movies with Alyssa. If all goes well, maybe I'll make a habit out of getting down there.

I'm settling in comfortably. It won't be difficult for me to count off the weeks; especially considering I am no longer slave to the "5 periods a day, every day" drudgery of secondary school.

I spoke with my grandad today. He sent me some money for books and supplies, for which I was thankful. I tried to call him earlier, but I got the machine. My grandma's voice is still on the machine... she died back in January. That made me a bit sad.

Still, I press on, as we all do. to those of you who've already started school, you know what I'm talking about. To those who get a repreive until next week: you'll see.

Keep on rockin'
)))Scotto

Five: That thing is a terrible waste to mind.

Umm.......

How do I even begin?

I guess I oughtta start at the beginning. Better yet, I might as well start before the beginning. See, for the past week or so, I've been having these incredibly vivid, almost lucid, dreams. One combined the subject of finishing the movie with some angst over my (nonexistant) sex-life, and a feeling of nostalgia over how far my life has advanced in the last 4, 5, 6 years. Another was this bizarre search for a Christmas gift for my mom (?!) featuring a cast of people from White Oaks, many of whom I may never see again. I often find it rather unsettling when my dreams are so intense that I remember them, because it usually means I'm just not putting out enough creative output. I have happy, unmemorable dreams when I'm writing.

Last night, for obvious reasons, I hardly slept. And when I did manage to get a wink, it was a difficult-to-manage, tossing-and-turning type sleep. The type where you're not surprised when you awaken in a cold sweat.

And sweat I did at 6:55 when my alarm went off. God only knows why I set it so early. Class didn't begin until 9, and I was there in much good time.

So I guess that's what everybody will want to know. How was it? Well, I'll tell you, my first teacher, Nathan (so weird using first names,) was a good guy. He had a good humour about him that put us newbies at ease. He pulled out some self-deprecating humour about how unfortunate it was that Print Production was our first exposure to Journalism, since this is the least pertinent example (to paraphrase) of what this program was about. Then he said something that really put me at ease: he reminded us that that particular course was only a 7-week course, not the full 14, which meant I'd get to sleep in Tuesdays after reading week. Then he broke it down as to what each of the 7 classes would be about, and then it really dawned on me... there are only 7 classes in that entire course, and this was one. Compare that to being in Guthrie's class 5 days a week for a comparable amount of weeks. This seems a lot easier. Funny enough, today my learning of the difference between "Serif" and "Sans Serif" in that class was the most exhilirating thing I've learned since Guthrie taught us of "object"s versus "subjective completion."

Immediately following that was Canadian History and Politics. Believe it or not, I actually do like history. I think that if you know enough history, you can have unlimited conversations for the rest of your life. But thinking on that class, which lasts 3 hours, I can only say this: have you ever heard that expression "bored to tears?" I didn't think it was possible, but my eyes were literally watering at one point from how bored I was. I was so bored, I actually came up with the idea for that last sentance in this psot, during that class.

Even so, I made it through (although not without experiencing significant hunger... I went more or less from 9-1:30 without food.) After coming home and watching one of the most revolting mfilms ever seen (review to grace Interneta soon) I headed back out to take care of some bureaucracy. See, it had been the first day, and I still hadn't gotten my laptop. Uh-oh. Well, I dealt with that, sat through their retarded propaganda/"let's talk to everyone like kindergarteners" training slideshow. Of course it'll break if you drop it. Of course you can't get it wet. I was half-expecting them to tell me not to feed it after midnight. But that would've been clever.

So I still hate my Mac. The only difference is that I now have a Mac to hate, instead of just abstractly hating the Mac I don't have, from a distance. I'm not going to magically turn into a Mac lover. They won't brainwash me. I survived River Oaks, and I'll survive this.

Nothing terrifically exciting happened. Just the usual new-school-year musings... just on a larger scale. I really don't feel like I have anything exciting to say, and yet I must report on this because hey... you weren't there.

And that may be the saddest part.

Oh how I wish you were here.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Four: It was supposed to make sense by now.

12 hours.

It's hard to conceive, but only 12 hours separate me from Sheridan. 12 years of school... 12 hours away from the beginning of the culmination. I wish the number 12 had at least one more significance to this scenario, so that it would actually be interesting, but even still.

My mother is insane. This is something I've come to realize over recent weeks, just creeping up into her personality. She was obsessed with proving that my scholarship money was not awarded on a purely financial basis. I mean yeah, it's not, but she was determined to prove my dad wrong about that (he'd made an offhand comment about it, she made it into her mission.) I've always preferred my Dad to my Mom, mostly because he seems to have it together better. And because my mom is frequently making passive-aggressive comments about people that really irritate me. I don't know if she means to be extremely rude, but she is without tact.

Memory is a weird thing. At some points it takes a moment's thought for me to remember where I'm going. Sometimes I think I'm still in Guthrie's Writer's Craft... or Rosser's Drama... or working in the Caf... Ms. Wilson's Philosophy... Mrs. Jones' Ancient Civs... Mrs. Irvine's Entrepreneurial Studies... and so forth. Mr. McLeod's Careers class seems clear as yesterday. As pointless as yesterday, too.

I'm such a putz I have to make a run to the store tomorrow before class to pick up some supplies. Why I didn't already get them, I'll never know.

I have a thousand thoughts in my head right now, but I'm sure most of you can guess what they're like. It's nothing out of the ordinary, just your run-on-the-mill "Gee, I'm starting school tomorrow" thoughts.

I'm off for now.

Keep on rockin'
-The Collegiate Scotto

Three: What we need is not to say goodbye.

I just don't know what to do with myself.

Last night turned out far differently than planned, but that's what happens when... you're me. Nothing ever goes the way you plan, or anticipate, or would really prefer.

I'm not upset, because it was a pretty nice night. I'm just a little bewildered about how it all came to be, and how it turned out. See, the original plan was miniature golf. Then when Cary announced a get-together at his place, it became that. Then, when Cary was an apparent no-show, it became nothing. THEN after all that, Chris Brown calls me at like 10:30 or so and says "hey, we're all getting together at Kate's, wanna ride?" Sure. I was hoping for a night out, and damnit I was going to get one.

It was fun, and nice, but I must admit it wasn't my people. It was Chris, Cary, Kyle Chapman, Kate, Vanessa, Janessa, Amy and Anisah. All very nice people, most of whom I'm rather fond, particularly the last, but for the most part nobody who was in my "group." And that's the key right there: I've never acknowledged the "clique" system in WOSS, but it's still rather existant. It's just not set in stone, or observed in any way. There's a lot of bleedthrough, but it cannot be denied that groups form of which certain people are not part; and that is where I fit in last night. A square peg without anything funny or interesting to say. Bryan and Robyn were also there, but they got there late.

I almost wrote a comment about them both having "y's" in their name and that being unique, but I immediately thought of Ryan & Becky, so I nixed that sentance. Let it never be said I'm not lookin' out for you, Maggie.

It was nice, though. Although I've never liked large groups because I inevitably am left without anything to contribute, it was still kinda sweet to observe all these lifelong friends saying their goodbyes.

I don't have any lifelong friends. All the friends I have now, as I have explained time and again, became my friend within the course of the last two years. That's something that really bothers me: that I'm unable to make that connection with anyone. Is that my fault, or is it just how it happens? I've done this rant before, but I'm not upset right now, just observing the truth. Ryan, Doug and I are good friends, but I doubt if they'd ever call me up to do anything. That we all saw the 40-Year-Old Virgin a week ago is immaterial... that was my idea.

Back when I was friends with Luke Heaslip (that sounds like we had a falling out... we didn't, I just stopped hanging around with him,) he used to say "man, you gotta come out drinking with us sometime." I never did. I never wanted to, but that was because I never felt like I was friends with any of his friends, so I would've felt uncomfortable going out with them. Now here I am about two years later. I've found a group of people I'm comfortable drinking with (despite being without the object of "getting drunk,") and still I hardly go out. And now it's too late. Everybody's moving off, moving away, moving on.

I'm sorry, somewhere along the way I got a little... sidetracked, into all that sentimental junk. Anyway, like I was saying, last night did not nearly go as planned, and now as the old saying goes, "the best laid plans..." something, something "...waste." As another old saying (or rather, song) goes, "you can't always get what you want." Yet somehow, you CAN always NOT get what you want. Tee hee, wordplay is fun. I didn't get what I really wanted, but at least something... a goodbye. I'm thinking that we had a moment, one night, but that moment has passed and the opportunity is no longer valid. I guess I ought to move on.

All right, I'm feeling pretty sappy by now, so I guess I'd better wrap it up. All my friends will be moved in by now. That's a weird thought. I'd like to know how some of them are doing, but I fear the scramble to be settled in their domiciles may leave many without communication.

Well, that's life.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Two: Ghost Circles

Nothing too special to report today. Was overtired this morning after the Ex. Went out, got comics. Came back, did nothing but sit on the computer and talk to people. Now here we are.

I have gotten some work done on the latest Sewerman, and will resume later tonight. I'm looking for it to be done with by Monday. Huzzah.

The only noteworthy thing I have to say today is that I met the girl who'll be living here. She mdae a favourable first impression due to wearing a Batman logo shirt. Mom introduced the three of us to her, and we all had a nice awkward introductary moment. So that's that. In my head (and to Eric,) I refer to her as the "new castmember," although I doubt I'll have much to do with her.

And I wonder how all the old "castmembers" of my life will fare in all their spinoffs. Yes, I DO think of my life as a TV show, and all of you as the cast. Is that so strange? Oh, it is? Well... tough.

I kinda want to visit Alyssa at some point; both because I promised I'd bring her a plant as a housewarming gift, and because she still has my Clash CD somewhere. Don't know if she brought it with her to Toronto, but I'm sure I left it at her place after her party. Oh that party, where did the time go?

It's a slow night. Nobody's online. I just bet they're all out doing something, and I'm just sitting here. That kinda makes me feel like a tool, even if it's not true.

I'm a little sad tonight, because I'm faced with the end of it all, and I've got nobody to comfort me. [Interjection: Maybe what scares me isn't the end of it all, but the begninning. Beginnings are just as scary as ends. They're loaded with uncertainty.]

Well, for all that, I can still take solace in my knowledge that tomorrow's gonna be a new day.

A new day, indeed.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

One: Eyes in Darkness

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to yet another month of Scott Williams' bitching about shit. We've got a very special treat for you this month, since we premiere two very special new features at this blog!

First: you've been teased with it all year. If you thought "Scott bitches about needing a job" was exciting, you'll be floored by "Scott bitches about his job at Classic Bowl!" Thrill at my daring exploits walking back and forth between lanes until all hours of the night, with no reasonable transportation to speak of! Be there!

And second: Who could forget that unforgettable cliffhanger ending to "Scott bitches about high school?" Scott has his problems, both personal and professional... will he ever get an education?! Find out this fall in the thrilling sequel... "Scott bitches about college!" Be there!

(ahem) Yeah, I didn't really intend to write that bit, but after that first paragraph I just had to continue in that vein. It felt right.

So today was what I consider to be the last burst of freedom until reading week in October. I mean, I've still got tomorrow, the weekend and labour day, but today was the only one of those days that I was out during a time I'd otherwise likely be at school.

Eric, Brandon and I, after hectic attempts at scheduling, found ourselves down at the Ex. It started last week when I saw an ad for the Ex on the bus. Actually, it was in 24 Hours magazine, that free commuter paper they give out at the station. In said ad, it said that that day, Bob Newhart was performing at the Ex, and I lamented the fact that we'd miss that. This caught Eric's ear and somehow we decided we'd go.

So, after some juggling of things I had to do, we got there by train at about 3, and went on a few rides. After that, Brando was a little... sick, so he abnegated any further rides for himself, opting to just wait around while Eric and I took on rides, many of which were less than sickness-inducing.

After a number of these rides and attractions, we went for dinner to the prosaically-named "Food Building," where we were joined by some strangers seeking seats, since the place was packed. I had a gyros for the first time since... well, a week ago. I like gyros.

The gravitron, the giant slide... bumper cars... y'know, although I have my jokes (mostly about fatalities and carnies,) I really do love a good midway. It's a time-honoured tradition, and a darn good way to spend an afternoon. We bought the play-all-day passes and we definitely got our money's worth. We got a dozen of those Tiny Tom's doughnuts, theese little ones that come straight out of the oven and are bite-sized, they're delicious.

Then... the vex came. We noticed that they had a number of different varieties of gambling throughout the midway. You put a dollar on the square, they spin the wheel... and sometimes you get lucky. Man, we wasted a lot of money at those places, getting a cheap thrill and mostly losing. I did get a few bucks, but spent the winnings on Skee-ball and another bet from which nothing came. Ah well. I'm planning on bringing a lot of money just for gambling if I go back next year.

Anyway, that was the excitement of the night, finding out I had a gambling addiction. There were other things, like Eric winning a little stuffed Armadillo at the "every play's a winner" game, but that about sums it up. When we got back (after a long wait for the train, and some girls at the station giving me the eye, I think,) mom had just had the furniture delivered (at 10:30 at night? Odd,) and Dad was installing internet for the girl who's moving in this week. Dad also gave us lip about not reporting the bat faucet leaking to mom (we've never been good about that,) but we calmed him down with Iced Tea.

It's been a good day. I've got it good for the last few days of my vacation.

And it's about bloody time.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto