pg24: And what is it to you?

I'm feeling so beat lately. If I didn't have 502 things to do I'd go write some poems.

I'm writing an early post because I don't know if I'm going to have the time and energy to do it tonight after my sprint to the NaNoWriMo finish line.

What's weird is that the weather has been unusually nice for late November. Apart from the dreariness I mean, the temperature has been pretty mild. Don't know if that's going to continue today but Monday and Tuesday and even Sunday were quite tolreable, even occasionally nice.

I think I just crashed after this weekend. I had such a great time in Hamilton (usually, I think, that's a contradiction in terms, hoho,) I wasn't prepared to face the real world. I never actually do. That's why I'm going to write professionally, and have it not be news. So that I never have to deal with reality professionally. I'm thinking the news is the opposite of what I want based on that.

I hate that people have to have careers and that the only thing I ever opted to get good enough at is incredibly unstable. Don't worry though, if I can team with Ana Yavari she'll make one of my scripts into an award-winning film (trust me,) and then the cash will be rolling in. There will always be something to write... hopefully.

It's so weird that there are maybe 5 or fewer people in my class who have never voted before, because of age. Everyone else is in their 20's, except of course for Dave who I'd guess might be as old as 50. By the time I'm 20 I will already have graduated. And then what? University? Work? Or do I drop off the face of the Earth? The latter might be the most likely possibility, although hopefully I will at least have part-time employment. I don't know. Maybe I'd do the University thing. It's just my dislike of having to pay for school that is making that less likely, since there's always the worry of where I'm gonna get the money from. Kris still says he is killed by his student loans, and he was only at Sheridan for one year (so far.) I lucked out and got QEII for this year, but next year it looks doubtful based on my current performance. I could probably do so much better if my spirit weren't being crushed on a daily basis.

So now we're back to me being beat. Alyssa had the right idea, maybe. I have some light connections to the theatrical world, but that's not really much of a job. "Aunt" Sharman loves my work and supports me, but has never made an offer to help me. (Sharman, my great uncle's wife, ccasionally directs plays and has read at least one of my works, the original Half-Past, over which she gushed.)

I guess I've just gotta hold onto my hat. It's gonna be a bumpy future.

That Madonna video is on again.

I'm so beat.

Keep on rockin' peaches, you deserve it.
-Herr Williams

pg23: The name of this entry goes awry

I was writing a post earlier and the computer froze and I got upset. You didn't miss much, however, I was just bitching about work, the "office christmas party," finding a random umbrella after losing my own, and this rant about secret santa that would have culminated with my wanting to quit, and then not following through with it.

And I'm stressed about next semester and all the work leading to the end of this one, but I can't properly verbalize it. I almost went on a tirade in front of Joe and Haasim today about how bothered I was but I didn't express myself properly about it. I feel like when I try to organize my thoughts on the subject into a rant, it seems so minute, because everybody's got a next semester. Everybody's got a huge assignment. I'm just not dealing with it particularly well.

Eric just reminded me of the year that he and I were in charge of putting up the lights. Hopefully that won't be our business this year.

Wish I had more to say tonight. I've got so much on my mind lately, the computer's freeze took a lot out of me.

A shame. I had some momentum going.

Someday I'll be able to organize my thoughts, and then there'll be no stopping me.

Someday.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto Willie

pg22: You love doing what you're worst at

Don't have much material for this blog. I did, however, feel compelled to write it due to the fact that I really don't want to be finishing my homework, even though class is in anhour and 45 minutes and I have a 500 word review to write. 500 words is totally manageable and yet here I sit, procrasturbating and liking it. That's right, Cary, I used your word.

I just read a fascinating post by Doug on his life in Toronto. I felt for the first time since he moved that I had a good sense of where he was at, and now I feel like addressing where I'm at. I'm going to try and make this as little depressing as possible, but it won't be easy, so bear with me.

As you all know, or could guess, I made the bold (opposite word used for ironic effect) choice of staying at home and going to college in my hometown. I still live with my brothers, mother, dog, and random girl with her stupid cat who pays to rent the extra room. She's nice enough, and quiet, which means I'd feel really bad if I had to kill her cat. As with last year, Eric and I still go grocery shopping every week. We buy two or three dinners, plenty of snacks, juice, and coke.

As you all know, I work at the Classic Bowl, which is out in Mississauga, posing a massive transportation fuckup. That makes me want to quit. The sad thing is, I'm actually a pretty decent fit there, so I feel bad about that. I've had some rough times with the management, but I'm usually left to my own devices and have made friends with the bartender. The girl at the counter, I think, is starting to be cooler as well, which may or may not owe to the fact that I think she likes my dad. No, not in that way, but she's always glad to see him when he picks me up. See, I take the bus in, and since I work until after the buses stop running, a prent must pick me up. You say, "Scott, you have to get a driver's license" but guess what, I start work before mom even gets home, so I wouldn't have a car to drive. I've thought about it. A lot.

Anyway, about Classic Bowl... my job is basically to clean stuff up, make the place tidy, take away used bowling balls and essentially act as a courtesy lifeline to the bowlers. It's nothing any harder than when I worked in the caf at school. Easier, since I generally don't have to worry about burning stuff. I work every tuesday, from 5 until midnightish so if you're in the area, please come visit.

School is weird, man. I know that most of you are in University so it probably doesn't even compare, but dig this, I'm being trained specifically for a job that I don't particularly want to do. Sadly, I'm finding I'm actually quite good at it, no surprise. I'm happy at least 2-3 days of the school week, and then after wednesday I sorta feel like death. Thursday's my early class and coupled with that is the fact that it's run by overbearing, ranting, occasionally harsh Mitrovica. He gives us mounds of paper to study, and then hosts discussions that scarcely anybody participates in if they can help it. Two of my classes deal with designing an actual newspaper, which I don't much care for although again, I'm not bad at it. My teacher for Desktop Publishing, John Clark, is freaking me out because I fucked up handing in this one assignment so the preferred version of it got to him a week late. As much as I'd love to pass the blame, this one's all on me. Two classes are history - one Canadian, one Journalism. The other two are generally about writing, one being actually Writing for Newspapers, one being Research. The teachers are generally okay, but nobody really wows me the way some of the best high school teachers did.

I have a love-hate relationship with my iBook. I hate it, and it loves pissing me off. I'm glad to have a laptop, although I remain bitter about being forced to have it, the fact that I'd be less screwed if I just kept it, and oh yes, it almost never prints anymore. There was a little while when I thought I'd fixed that but nope, still doesn't print. Add that to the fact that Brandon decided to use all of our ink at home and still hasn't (to my knowledge) replaced it, and you've got me really pissed.

The class is like a sampling of all the kids you knew in hgh school. There's no real rhyme or reason to what sort of people sign up for it. Some I think are smart, others I do not. I've managed to make a few friends although to be quite honest, they made me. I didn't actively seek anyone's friendship here, but at least I have a few people to talk to. Since I generally go home every chance I get, I seem a bit introverted and isolated, but that's more by choice. There are a few guys; Haasim, who insisted I give him this URL, Joe, and Mansoor, whose name I inevitably end up misspelling. There are also the girls, Justine, Erin and Melissa, who pretty much forced me into being their friend, because I was totally into my whole "not talking to anyone," and they would consider it their mission to talk. It's a weird deal, but we get along.

Oakville, meanwhile, has become like a ghost town. I know there are plenty of people still around town, but I never seem to see them. I stop in at WOSS quite frequently, which has become a running gag with Rosser and Wilford. It's not hard for me to, since I walk by the school every day on my way to Sheridan. I see more WOSS kids outside of school than in the school (Hilary, Saskia, Robyn,) but of course how long could I really go without stopping by Chris F, Lauren and Ben Tran's drama class... they need some guidance, hah.

I'm thankful for every opportunity I have to leave the house for neither school nor work. Not that I get many, or take all of them, but there are a few. I love reasons to see the old WOSS Crew. I refuse to believe there's anything sad about keeping in touch with the high school friends, nor that it cannot be done. That's what the internet is for. This weekend showed me once again that the process really does work.

Speaking of the internet, I've managed to use it in the past year to make two very good friends. The first was Rachel, also known as Fisty, who shares my birthday, lives in Florida half the year, and is wonderful to talk to. The second is Steph, a friend of Cary's from Mac who met me by stalking me on this blog, and is far too obsessed with trying to do nice things for me. The sad thing is they're both so cool it gets hard to mentally separate them.

I do miss a lot of people. They know who they are.

I've spent the last month trying to write a 50,000 word novel. No, it's not for school, yes I'm jut insane that way. It's going well.

I have no regrets. i'm not lovesick, heartbroken, or otherwise emotionally injured. I'm not overstressed although maybe I should be. I'm not cursing the world. My positive outlook remains, strangely, intact. I'm happy where I am, excited about the future, and glad for the friends I've got.

Tomorrow, an entry that is less thoughful, a little funnier and hopefully generally lighthearted. I'm beat. Time to go review.

Signing off and keep on rockin'
The Scott Williams

pg21: Me and the character I play.

Scott, level out man.

Peter Sellers used to tell interviewers, colleagues and Muppets all the time that he didn't really have a personality behind his costumes and characters. That there used to be a "Peter Sellers" but he was surgically removed, leaving only a sort of blank slate for CLouseau, Strangelove, Chance the Gardener, etc. Sometimes that's how I feel.

Just so you know, after the events of last night, I'm in a very good mood. I wasn't particularly in a bad mood, but I was stressed. Now I'm relaxed.

Obviously last night was the much-anticipated road trip to Hamilton to see Cary in Henry V. I didn't see Henry I-IV, but I think I picked up the plot of this one pretty well. It was ambitious and I don't know if it achieved the effect it wanted or thought it would (to me, although I tend to take the perspective that theatre is for entertainment, not enlightenment.) Expect a review on Interneta shortly. I enjoyed it - it was well acted with some interesting fluorishes.

Afterward - and sadly, Kyle, Chris Ferguson and Lauren had to split - we all convened at Steph's room... what can I say? Any observer could tell that I was awkward for the first while. I felt like death. Utterly useless, to put it harshly. I had nothing to say. While I have gotten to know Steph well in the past few weeks, and I've known Bryan and Robyn for years (though let's be honest, while I like them a whole bunch they're not my bestest friends,) I was in the process of getting comfortable with Steph's roommate and Alex. And they were in the process of going through their regular "We're Mac students and this is what we do every night." Not that there's anything wrong with that, it just sorta... y'know... leaves me out. And it was just the way it worked out that I was an intruder into the group.

That's why I don't like to do larger groups than 4. Because then somebody has tohave a better connection or more in-jokes with everyone else than me. And I'm not one for the private jokes and games and nicknames and playful behaviour. It never works for me. Not usually, anyway. I just don't usually take the time to, y'know, build that kinda rapport with people.

At long last, Cary and Mr. Brown arrived. We all praised Cary's show, and then got more liquored up. A midnight run to Wendy's was made. I got a little more at ease with the dynamic as the night progressed.

Well, it wound down and, after a bout of sickness it was time to turn in at about 2. Or not. Though Barbara managed to conk out (after giving me a roughly 40-second drunkenish hug for paying her some kind but honest remarks about her figure... I'm a gentleman like that,) Steph vowed to keep me awake until 4:30 in order to break my previous record for staying up. She was successful, in part to Robyn finally returning after leaving with Bryan to talk and have insane experiences with Ice Cream... I'll leave them to explain because I was only semi-conscious. And thanks again to Steph for letting me not only crash in her room, but in her bed. Floors aren't kind to me ever since the back went wonky a few years back... probably due to years of, yep, sleeping on floors. I know I already said thanks like 6 times in person but really, thanks.

Woke up early this morning, around 8, and left Hamilton with Robyn, Chris Brown, and a cup of coffee that Mr. B had graciously treated me to to help me regain consciousness. I'm definitely looking forward to getting another chance to stay over in Hamilton, even if it is Hamilton. Maybe next time I'll be a little easier on the whole scenario. Thanks ever so much to Robyn for the ride. For goodness sake woman you're too cool. Hope things went all right when you got home.

So what's next? Well, I had to abnegate further partying for the sake of a long night of writing. November 30th is just around the corner.

Watched Sleeper (review to come,) today and made some chicken - this time, successfully, since it was pre-seasoned breasts, not drums... heh, breasts. Bosoms. Boobies. (Ahem) I'm sorry, I needed to take care of that.

Good night, good luck, keep on rockin'
-Williams of Scott

pg20: You are someone else, I am still right here

At last, the week is over.

Well, not quite, but it is close. After all, it's Friday, and that excites me more than anything in a long while. Maybe since halloween - that was exciting. But the less I think about that the better.

This post's title comes, naturally, from Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt," immortalized by Johnny Cash. It's kinda how I felt this afternoon after reading something about someone I know... maybe "knew." I should probably not focus too much on it tonight. I was thinking, though, while I was at work this week about someone I knew back in grade 5. Wondered where she is, what she'd be like. Truth be told, if her evolution was anything like the way most girls I knew then turned out, we probably wouldn't get along so well, because I grew up to be a little different than everyone I knew 7 or 8 years ago.

Last night we fucked up dinner. Yeah, we bought chicken but forgot to pick up shake n' bake, and the chicken was a disaster. Meanwhile, Brandon had this doctor's appointment and the whole thing was a clusterfuck. We ended up having Mom picking up McDonald's along with B on their way back... and I mean sure, not bad, but... felt bad about the chicken. And the rice I made to go along with it.

Well, gotta go wait for pizza... more tomorrow I think. Actually, I know.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

pg19: Serenade the weekend squire

This post is actually two posts.

Originally written yesterday afternoon:

I've gotta learn not to freak out. Or, to freak out less, but not at all would be really good.

I'm mentally stressed to the limit. I don't even have that much to worry about but at this very moment it's hitting me with a full force of gravity that is totally uncalled for. What happened was I sent in a project in the wrong format and the instructor told me in an e-mail "this is useless to me for marking," and I practically flipped out. It's not such a big deal, I knew that was a possibility and it's easily fixable, but all of a sudden I started thinking "Jeezus I'm in over my head, what am I doing with myself, I shouldn't be here, I don't belong, I'm never gonna survive," et cetera and so forth. Like I said, totally uncalled for and unnecessary since this moment isn't really that bad, I just happened to have this whole thing bubbling under the surface. I think I'm better now.

I just can't help but think I've got my whole life out of proportion. By the time I'm 20, I will have graduated frrom this course. And what happens then? Shift focus back to creative? Go to University? Seek my fortune in the world? No clue. And the weeks roll by and pick up steam and I'm very close... very, very close, to being one quarter of the way through Sheridan's Print Journalism course. And from there it won't be long until I'm halfway done. Then midway through my second year I'll think "shit, what am I gonna do?" And chances are I won't have a better answer.

(Ahem) Somewhat freaking out again. Pardon me.

The whole NaNoWriMo experience has reminded me how much I prefer creative writing. I mean, I already knew, but I appreciate it more.

I've got to get a handle on myself. I want to be in good shape for Friday. Okay, now that I've blogged it out, I don't feel so bad.

Today's nice, weather wise. I was fearing cold, arctic tundra environment. he sun was out, the wind was calm, the temperateure was... tolerable. The snow, which dusted the town last night, is fading away. It had a kind of "Pleasant Valley Sunday" feel to it, even though today is far from Sunday. That's a rather obscure song by the Monkees, by the way.

I hope the week gets better... hopefully the movie tonight will be cool.


I've since been quite back and forth on matters scholastic. There are moments when I think "yeah, I'm cool, everything's gonna be all right," and then I think "oh fuck I've got presentations coming out of my ass, I'm never gonna make it!" Everything's fine, but there are those really short, intense moments when my stomach knots up and I feel like I'm about to go onstage (WOSS drama kids know what I mean by that... but really it was any general presentation, not just performances.) I've gotta chill the fuck out.

Luckily, tomorrow is Friday. And I'm excited about that not only because it is Friday, but because at long last the much-anticipated road trip to Hamilton. And trust me, I'd never go to Hamilton unless I have something to get excited about.

I'm really appreciating the quiet moments when I don't have to be working on any particular project... I just wrapped up my part of a presentation that's due tomorrow and am gladly here with the two guys in my group. I just need to straighten out like 5 different things with Jarrett since he keeps losing everyone's marks. I should have as much as 15% more than he gives me, and he freely admits it. Oy.

The movie last night was really good. Clooney's got talent as a director, especially in terms of style. My task now is to write a 500-word review on it, which shouldn't be hard, since, well... that's what I do.

Considering taking Detectives in Fiction for my elective. I really have no idea what I want to do, but I'm thinking either that or Understanding Cults, since everything else is, well, too damn early for my taste.

Not feelin' so bad about life as yesterday -- which is odd since I was up at 7 today. And I really mean that, I hardly slept at night. Uneasy dreams plus excitement for friday. Then mom comes around with her loud wake-up routine which never bothers me except on thursdays. Curious.

Had to go bowling last night to tie up loose ends for friday. I've discovered that it is not a good idea to stay out late partying on a Friday and then get up at 8 and go bowling on Saturday. For whatever reason, the Hanleys (my Shocker teammates,) haven't picked up on that. the problem with doing a bowl-off is that... bowl-offs suck. By the end my arm gets so tired I can't keep the ball straight. I don't have the stamina for three straight games of solo bowling. Not anymore, anyway. Then I had to go home and write a few thousand words or so. My hand was killing me. Need to learn to take typing breaks. I'm thinking of institutung a system of 20-mins on/20-mins off. It'll be better than "an hour or more on/rest of night off."

Need to figure out how I'm gonna get my writing done on Friday. Could I leap ahead tonight? Will I have to make up for it on Saturday? Or will I have to jam on the keyboard early Friday morning? The last one is unlikely, since I can never bring myself to write in the morning, even though I've got the time. ("The time," incidentally, is usually devoted to checking daily webcomics, blogs, etc etc.)

Ironically, for all my excessive typing woes, I still write this blog. This is in addition to the comic reviews I still have to write, all the homework that needs to get done, and just general IM'ing of people.

Scott Williams is retarded.

But in the good way.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto A. Williams

pg18: A world that's so cold

You know, I don't really have anything to say today.

Then again, when do I ever really have anything to say? I think that's the idea behind this blog. I didn't consciously know about it at the time, but this blog basically conforms to Guthrie's classic "writing journal" theory - at least 20 minutes (or in my case, often 30 minutes to 45 minutes ot an hour,) of solid writing, pen-to-paper, (or in my case, finger-to-keyboard,) every day. And sometimes when you keep writing, interesting topics just fly out, even when you weren't thinking about them. That's often the philosophy behind this blog.

I have to choose an elective course for next semester soon. There's a complaint in the class that we haven't got enough options, and I certainly don't disagree, but all things considered I don't mind. I'd be equally apathetic about it if I had more choices. Or fewer choices, for that matter. I think I'm going to go with film analysis, since though it may end up boring me to tears, at least it will be on a subject in which I am interested. I filled myself up on poetry and philosophy and mythology and history and theatre in high school (with all due respect to the drama kids,) and the time is opportune to try something different. Commtech never really afforded this kind of glance at film, and really, why should it... far too lofty a goal for such a visceral class. Whatever that means. I'll let you figure it out.

There's this weird shortcut on my keyboard whenever I hold down ctrl+shift that sends the text into a preview mode. It's annoying because I keep trying to hit ctrl+shift+back to erase stuff... yet the shortcut doesn't work if it's shift+ctrl. I'll have to psychologically change my habit of hitting ctrl first.

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately on the stuff that goes into this blog, how people might feel if they read it, what they might think about me. This all comes after my buddy's unexpected outburst on his blog, which I'm still a little annoyed about. But we don't talk about that. I decided a long time ago that it didn't matter to me who read the blog. This isn't a commercial publication or even a website that I do for the attention of others. I wrote the same way when I thought nobody was reading it (although I made fewer references to the readership.) If I were to do something that I wanted people to pay attention to, I'd show you Redneck Comics or Interneta. Not this. This is jsut another unimportant blog that people happen to stumble upon and read. And thank you to those of you that do. I think I'm done yelling about this now.

Today's class is History & Politics. I'm a little concerned about that class, since it's gone downhill since it was revealed that almost nobody picked up the Politics textbook. I feel like my marks are going to take a nosedive because ofthe current format of the class.

Ah well. You win some, you lose some.

Off to work tonight. Kinda wish there was someone to visit me, but I'm guessing there's not.

I should really try to keep a few more Sundays open. Albert can never work Sundays and he always call me and I always tell him "no" now. I'd kinda like to make the extra cash. All the same, however... it's more work.

Conflicted, as usual.

Keep on rockin'
Scott "The Man with the Golden Blog" Williams

pg17: It's what I'm built to do

It's been one of those nice, relaxing weekends, where you not only get a great deal accomplished, but also manage to feel released. Ahhh, how nice it was indeed.

I woke up this morning and got out of bed shortly before noon - far later than usual - feeling so rested and refreshed. So I got a late start on the day. I earned it. Had a peculiar dream that I can hardly remember.

I feel, as I said, refreshed. I've gotten a lot done - updated Redneck Comics at last, updated Interneta, wrote well over a thousand words and leapfrogged ahead in NaNoWriMo, evaded homework... feeling groovy. We went grocery shopping as soon as I was out of the shower. I got lunch and hung out with Robyn at her workplace, then earned my keep by helping Brando promote his online casino guide (although I won't link it here, just because it amuses me not to.)

Now, did you ever have one of those days when you woke up and heard strange voices? Not in your head, mind you, but in the hall? As in Wally? The guy who was here last night when I went to bed at 1 AM? I don't want to think about it. I really don't. I'd rather kid myself and say he just showed up early this morning, but let's be honest. While I left a rather generous window for him to arrive before I awoke, nobody leaves a place and then shows up less than 12 hours later the next morning. Yeesh.

What's going on right now is a drunken party. It's friggin' annoying me, because I feel awkward if I were to go to bed before they disperse, which they don't look to be doing soon. Not that I want to go to bed soon, but still.

I should've shaved this morning. Oh well, I'll do it tomorrow. I'll also do my homework tomorrow morning.

Life is actually feeling quite grand now that everything has fallen into its proper place. I feel comfortable and secure and human. It's insane, all the complaints I used to have, I've left them now. You just wouldn't think that was possible, but this is a crazy thing, this growing up stuff. It's wild.

Still, timidly teetering on the edge of tomorrow. Wondering if I ought to step further.

I'll decide soon enough.

Keep on rockin', my babies
-Scotto

pg16: The man comes around

Hush.

I can't believe I don't hve "Hurt" by Johnny Cash on my playlist.

I've had my good humour almsot ruined a few times in the last 48 hours, but I remain resolute. I'm getting some good work done. I'm working toward being successful. I'm happy with myself. Do we really need any more?

Last night was a clusterfuck that I would've gotten depressed about had I sat down to write a blog, but there was a novel to write. And that cheered me up. It should have been a relatively simple matter, submitting my homework on WebCT, the group project, Adobe PDF, etc etc, but I wound up staying at school an hour later than I'd intended, hungry and frustrated, eager to leave. As I mentally transport myself back to that moment I can feel the anguish, but thankfully, it passed.

I think that's a biblical quote, "this too, shall pass." All things, as they say, will.

This morning, I was dropped off at Bowling by Dad. He was in a rush to get to North Bay. Mom couldn't pick me up, because she had a funeral to go to. So I tookthe bus home, schlepping my bowling ball all the way to the GO Station and then, deciding I wouldn't have a better opportunity, to the comic store, and home at last. Long morning.

I spent a long time waiting for the bus. Nearly an hour, in fact. Thankfully, it was not intolerably cold today (and as I predicted, the first snowfall did not take.) I used the time to ruminate on how far my life has advanced, where I've found myself, where I'm going, where everyone else is, who I miss... how proud Guthrie would be to hear I was doing NaNoWriMo. I got quite emotional, but not sad, just nostalgic. I now have something to call "the good old days." Funny.

I thought about how I do not identify myself as a Sheridan student. When I was at White Oaks, yes, that was my life, my identity, but now Sheridan is just where I happen to be. I study journalism at Sheridan, but do not choose to identify myself as a "Journalism Student." Which will really seem odd when I'm writing the fershlugginer newspaper, but that's me: a writer who happens to study journalism at Sheridan, and work as a porter at Classic Bowl.

Been giving more thought to finding a new job. I'm conflicted now. I feel like I'm a better fit now than a few weeks ago. I could still use a change of venue, but at least now I feel I am not hated.

I can deal now with my frustrations. It's no easier than WOSS, but I don't get so caught up in it because it's not where my identity is.

I have a life that is satisfactory. Could things be better? Always. But will the sun rise at dawn? Of course.

Healthy, sane, and clean.

Keep on rocking
Lord Williams

pg15: Flame-retarded

So, I'm sitting in the newsroom, which is not so terrifying a place as I'd imagined, although the only people here are first-year students, like me, working on their newspaper assignments, like me. We're on the brink of getting it done, but it jsut does not seem to want to get done, which pisses me off, since i have my section done. So, I decided what better time to write a blog entry?

The novel is coming along smashingly. I'm feeling inspired as i hit the 30,000 mark, and I'm set to take it on home. It's looking good, although for a breif passage just felt like I was treading water... I'm moving along and don't look to be making any stops soon.

Interestingly enough, the subject of today's Research class was "Blogs." And I felt uncomfortable because did you know people actually write these things as an attempt to inform people? Sheesh. I just write this as a companion to Interneta, so that people can read about where I'm at and what i'm thinking virtually every day... get to know the writer of Summer at Sixteen, Half-Past Eight PM, etc, etc.

This newspaper project, I think it's going well. I'm glad about what I've done for it, although as a group effort I feel it is lacking. there was one member of our group who hasn't even shown up, so who knows what'll happen there. none of us were able to contact him, and he never contacted us, so... nobody knows exactly where we stand.

I definitely wasn't prepared for snow. It's freaking me out, man. I need to find my touque.

Or however that's spelled.

gotta run... maybe I'll post again later. Keep on rocking'
-Scotto-

pg14: Admit it when you can't get enough

Blogs, specifically this blog, are a peculiar source of entertainment, both for readers and writers.

Do I get some kind of enjoyment out of pissing and moaning, as I had off and on for months, knowing that people will, almost invariably, read it? Sure. And, for the most part, the comments I get, whether online or in person, is that, "dude, you're so interesting." And I appreciate that, and I try to keep doing what I do, whatever it is. But the unifying thread, you see, if that this blog is merely a sounding board for the thoughts and impressions I have on my life. What happened on what day and how I feel... people I know, things I have read, things that piss me off or make me happy. That's all. Do I philosophize? Yeah, but not in an attempt to educate, just because thoughts occur to me. Do I report news? Not frequently. do I have any pretensions of this blog being anything beyond my comment-card to the world? Of course not. As long as we can all agree that we're not in this to be drawn into an emotionally complex world of deep, serious contemplation. It is, after all, just me.

As I said earlier, I'm set to be feeling good for the foreseeable future, for those of you finely tuned to my deeply emotional side. The reason is because I just flat-out got tired of being Captain Bringdown, and there was no need for it. And because I saw a window of opportunity yesterday while talking with a friend, just to go into a good place. Since then, I've become more productive, sharper, and more personable.

Oddly enough, just as I was really getting into it, a friend of mine, whom I am quite sure reads this, posted something on his blog (normally reserved for actually-quite-interesting updates on his writing,) that seemed to be an oblique reference to me and my former malaise. It was rather scathing, even hurtful. But hey man, if he feels the need to lash out, I say let him. Because it doesn't apply anymore, and it didn't apply at the time I read it, why should I revert? I'd be annoyed, if I wasn't morbidly amused. I will say this, however: unless you know the entire story, (which oh so precious few of you do, as I have somehow withheld it in this blog,) you don't really get to make oblique references to me. And if it wasn't about me, then I really ought to look into therapy for these paranoid delusions of grandeur.

That is, however, something that comes with having a blog with a nearly double-digit readership. (Yes, I kid about this blog's readership - devoted though you may be, I'm not exactly a world class site here.)

My point is, I turned to the blog with my problems to avoid burdening people. When I was younger, I would go on MSN, and bother whoever was online with even more morose rants than are written here. And I got some really bad karma for it. So I started doing this, and I've found it so much easier to get along - because I'm not obsessed with telling other people about myself. It just happens to go that they end up reading it anyway.

I had a good day at work yesterday, despite the occasional annoyance from the Polonia league. Again, this is not me stereotyping - I have a great amount of respect for the Polish people, and even more patience for them. It isn't even all of them, nor is it exclusively them. It just seems to be that crazy technical malfunctions seem to befall them more than anyone else. Well, then there were the "Tuesday Night Classic" leaguers down on 7 who couldn't comprehend that there was a mechanical malfunction preventing their pins from being properly reset - not the incompetence or malice of Val. I don't appreciate some of the comments that were made. And yes, as I walked away, I did the "asshole" cough. It was deserved.

Natasha-of-the-front-counter and I actually started to get along. Though her words are often misplaced so as to appear cruel, I find her heart is often in the right place, and that when the situation arises, she can be a nice, personable individual.

Last night/early this morning was an ordeal. It was 5 AM. A banging at my window. The wind. Couldn't sleep. Turned on TBS - Heavy Weights. Amusing movie about a fat camp. Favourite as a kid. 6:00 comes. Still no sleep, still window noise. Flee downstairs to watch the Movie Network. End up watching X-2: X-Men United. Not one of my favourite comic movies, so I found it easy to drift back to sleep during it. Weird, man.

I'm doing well at school. I'm in awe of that.

Happy day, man.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

pg13: Moments of Lucidity

Scott Williams is officially not depressed. Mark your f'ing calendars, kids. I'm happy with myself, and I don't plan on stopping soon.

How did this happen? what brought about this startling revelation?

Nothing. I just decided not to be upset anymore. I already said, on Sudnay, that one can, if one chooses, be in control of one's emotions. One needs merely to assess his situation properly and say, "am I cool with this?" And then, ladies and gentlemen, it happens. The whole emotion thing.

I was particularly upset this weekend about the death of professional wrestler Eddie Guerrero. As a result, I felt upset about any number of other things, including but not limited to the weather, certain other people, and the fact that my cousin elizabeth is set to give birth to her second child, on my birthday. Individually, no big deal, but it all clots together and makes a guy think he feels like shit.

Yesterday afternoon, I made a conscious decision not to be depressed anymore. As ludicrous as it sounds, it's working like gangbusters. I'm not the least bit intimidated about school (for now,) and I am not at all phased by any of the supposedly desperate situations I've found myself in.

I can be an overly melodramatic person, for my sang-froid resolve (take that writer's craft word!) Sometimes I give the impression that I'm utterly melancholy (as if, qwith the novel, I haven't typed that word enough this month.) I'm not. I just love to complain on this board.

Time to go work on the newspaper assignment... more to follow.

Keep on rockin'
-Mr. Williams

pg12: That tape just won't hold

I don't know, man. Life's not fun at the moment. It's a daily slog with no real hope to get better. I continue to resign myself to depression geared toward every aspect of my life.

We had this assignment to do in class today, and I didn't care for it. It was just to write an article, but he didn't outline it very well and I just fumed with frustration. I did it, but not particularly well, and if he gives me a good mark, the fool he. If not, whatever.

I'm pissed, man. Pissed at the world for allowing me to put myself into the situation I'm in. Pissed at myself for not being comfortable. Pissed at the sentient force of the universe for letting negative energy to flow back at me and influence my life (figure THAT one out.) I want to give up. I want to be done, but I'm just beginning. Next week I have to go figure out what elective I want to take next semester. Arrgh, man! I can't comprehend that the semester is nearing its end. You know this time last year, time was standing still.

Makes me contemplate the fact that at that point, what did I really have to worry about? I had CommTech, Food School and Drama to deal with. That's why I got so depressed - my mind went unchallenged, and so wandered to more personal things.

Well, now that I seem to be floating through most every classes, that may be the case again. I mope a lot. I bemoan my physical state, my lack of ability to focus on schoolwork, and in between, my unsatisfying personal life.

It's weird, man. At some point I'm going to have to deal with the fact that I am simply not as skilled at newswriting as I am with, say, creative. My newswriting is passable, but then I look at my creative work and I think "gee, I'm so much more comfortable with that." This whole NaNoWriMo thing has made me realize that, as if I didn't already know. It's really just brought it to the forefront.

I ran into a friend today, briefly, and she looked upset about something. I wish I could tell what, although there are some problems this person has that might be it.

The woman who cut my hair the other day was really talkative. I guess as a barber you must brush up on your small talk, learn how to draw them out, to make the experience less... well, excruciating. and I indulged her because, hey, it's just a few steps away from flirtation (*note: it is not,) so I talk when it's a female barber.

I need to get out of this rut, but I've been here for months. Who knows how long. There have been a few moments over the last few months when I've felt good... sometimes they've been allowed to linger around, sometimes they were dashed... rarely do they have to do with school.

I don't know what I want. The only things I know I want, I know I can't have, so why pine? Why pine, indeed? Because things could always be better. But in my case, they could be so much better. I don't mean to bring anybody down. I'm just so into the "blahh life sucks" right now.

Things will work out. Someday.

We'll see.

Keep on rockin
-Williams

pg11: Until Spring Replenished Us All

I think that, in order to feel anything, it requires a concerted effort on one's part. Maybe. That's what I think at the moment. I think I could feel pretty good right now if I really wanted to. The fact is, I'm doing well in school, I'm healthy and sane, I'm warm and dry, I have shelter and a bed and I'm glad for that. I saw the family today and, apart from some hiccoughs (a metaphorical sort,) I had a fun time at that. I got a haircut, and I feel like a new man. Shave and a haircut. I did the shave myself, I don't think they still do shaving at most barber shops, at least not the one at the mall. The haircut will surely inspire some comment from the people at school, because it's much shorter than it used to be, although it's customary for me to cut it short and grow it out over many months.

I just can't bring it on myself to feel very light at the moment. I could be, trust me, but there's this thing. I'm in mourning. I know the name Eddie Guerrero doesn't mean anything to most of you out there, but he was a very talented man who has left us far too soon and will be gravely missed.

That said, it's been a busy few days. I've been skirting both my homework and writing, just because I'm getting a little worn out. I had to go out yesterday and pick up my contribution to this "fake christmas" thing, after several other errands which include bowling, groceries and comics. I ended up buying these delightful truffles from Purdy's Chocolates at the mall. I wrote a fake article about them for a homework exercise in Writing for Newspapers, and was intrigued by the possibilities. Great Grandpa ended up with them, he seemed to enjoy them.

For newer readers, I'll attempt to explain. This event, dubbed alternately "fake christmas" or "farcemas" by my brothers, cousin Kris and I, is an annual gathering of my family on Mom's side, in the tradition of Christmas. It began in 2003 after the birth of my cousin Elizabeth's daughter Madison prevented her from travelling far in the winter. So before the snow fell, we all gathered at their house in Palmerston for this peculiar ritual. Last year it was held at my aunt Karen's building in Toronto, although I did not attend due to scheduling conflicts with the shooting of my CommTech video, "Maim in Vain." (detailed here.)

What it consists of is basically a general gathering, a turkey dinner, and a bizarre sort of potluck-lottery-"secret santa" gift-giving session. Everyone brings a gift. Through a process of rules and regulations too bloody complicated and circuitous to explain, everyone will eventually end up with a surprise gift. Sometimes the gift is cool, sometimes it's a calendar. As the process goes, Kris, Eric and I moan and strain under the unneccesarily cumbersome rules until at last it is over. So that's what I did today.

The ongoing saga of f'n Wally continued. Yeah, it's now a saga. At first it was a nuisance, now it's a saga. I know I paint my mother rather negatively on this blog, but that's just because a) I hardly seem to have anything to do with her 5-6 days a week, and b) when I do, it seems to concern this Wally guy. Still they haven't declared anything, but I'm guessing that by now they figure it's just understood that we're aware. Mom's constantly going out for "last call," which means she will be out later than I usually am when I go out. So things are, ah, going... on.

Anyway, this guy asks us if we want to go out fo Monaghan's and, like, shoot pool or something. Uh, right, whatever dude. I feel I should accept the fact that he wants to get to know us and be all right with it... but we're not the "getting to know you" type, as near as I can reckon. It's going to be a huge ball of awkwardness.

How I feel:

The cruel, hot summer
Led into the long,hard fall,
Becoming a dark, killing winter
Until spring replenished us all
- nursery rhyme

I think my life has gotten very crowded.

I think there's very little I can do about it.

And I think that despite the chaos, I stand at the eye, untouched and alone.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

pg10: Leaving only shadows and songs.

I want to be upset today. I want to be depressed. I want this to be one of my famous "blahh life sucks" posts. Maybe that's a weird thing to want, but it's easy, and it's something.

I can't muster that up right now. I'm not, like, glowing with happiness right now or anything, but the day turned out better than I had expected, which proves my theory: if you wake up one morning with low expectations, expect to be pleasantly surprised.

My classes were decent today. I even got out of Desktop Publishing an hour early (another unenlightening lecture of Adobe Acrobat.) Meanwhile, over in Research, it wasn't a painful druge, although it was no walk in the park.

It's weird, man. The way my weeks are structured, I'm usually pretty beaten down by the time Friday rolls around. It all comes out of Mitrovica and O'Shea's classes, since those are the ones that confront me most about the truth of being a journalist. I think it's that they're both very gung ho "you will all be journalists, you will be working on the [Sheridan] Sun, and you'll have to know this." That's not a direct quote. It's an impression.

I don't want to be shoehorned into a career. There are times when I think I'm making an utter mistake, and then I realize that the alternative to this is much worse. I've just never liked being pinned down. Even when I was working on hte movie (and please don't ask how that's going,) I would get all awkward and fidgety and evasive. You can tell when I don't want to be talking about something the faster I talk about it, and I used to rattle off about the "Half-Past" movie pretty quickly. Not that I didn't like working on it, I was just uncomfortable with the endless "so, how's the movie?"

The weeks are going much faster now. It's insane. My psychology is way different than it ever used to be. By Tuesday I'm like "well, the week's almost done." And where the hell does that come from? No, it's not! It seems like it, though, because I'm constantly racing from class to home and back and forth so much I seem so busy at so many different classes that I can just look right to the horizon of the weekend.

See, I've gone and made myself jsut a little more miserable, and I don't even know how. Earlier today, I was thinking back to the days when I was a wide-eyed, naive little Grade 9, seeing everything with fresh eyes. Even though I've gotten into the new college environment, nothing's new to me anymore. I just keep seeing the same old patterns. This wasn't a new beginning. It's a full circle. I have this theory that you only meet about twelve people throughout your entire life, and then you keep meeting them. As much as we all want to be though of as individuals, everyone corresponds to someone you've already met.

It's my own self-delivered misfortune that I consciously don't want my social life to be active at Sheridan. I don't see anything for me there. I don't see anything or me anywhere. And I don't see anything particularly wrong with that, since I at least know I have this blog and its readers, many of whom are my close friends, many others of whom at least get to know me throught it and sympathize with my plight.

I've met some people. Tey're nice and they mean well, but it's unappealing to me the way some of them are so actively trying to draw me out. The girlfriend question came again, from the same girl, and I completely dismissed it without answer. I no longer think she's into it, I've since learned she's into fixing people up. That might be the worst scenario for me, since I don't perform well under pressure. There's a girl out there named Jordan who might be able to confirm this.

They don't know the real me. Now, to say that, it sounds like everyone else does, but I'm still not certain they do. This is why people who've known me for years still kind of look at me in puzzlement, still don't have any wacky "that's so Scott" stories or in-jokes. Just when you think you've got me, maybe I'll throw you a curveball. To some, I look like a shy nerd. To some I'm a comic genius. Sometiems a romantic, a loveable loser, a classy gentleman, a hero, a whiner, whatever, man. Back to that R. Crumb comic from a while ago. Sometimes you do get a good impression of me, sometimes not so accurate.

"Don't you ever smile?" I was asked. At this, I smiled gleefully. I'm not such a smiley person, but it makes me happy to surprise.

Identity crisis? Perhaps. I want someone out there to really think about this: just who the hell am I? Now that I've gotten this far, I'd like to know.

Wow, this post ended up being much longer than I intended. As the weather gets colder and the northern hemisphere tilts further from the sun, I draw ever inward, focussed on my own crap. We're jsut getting started, folks. This is Act 1.

"Blahhh," he said, "life sucks."

The readers read on, expectantly. Eventually, he added, "Keep on rockin'"
-Mister Williams

pg9: I know you can make it to your feet

Finally snagged the elusive Melinda and Melinda from Blockbuster. It had been all out the last two times we'd been... I guess those "hidden gems" tags actually work for something. Gonna watch it tomorrow night.

I almost worked tonight. Craig called and was like "hey, do you want to cover my shift?" And it took me about a second's consideration to say no. I mean, I could use the cash, but I really prefer not working too much. Plus it was after four, and I couldn't catch the bus in time. Plus, screw that. There's been a lot of drama with shift-switching these days and I'm really trying not to get caught up into it and working much more, if any. I know I complain about too few shifts, but what I'm really complaining is the fact that I don't even want to take more shifts. It's too damn hard to jump up and get out there. The routine I've got, works.

Like I've said, I don't know how much longer I'll be there. I think it's bad for my karma to work there. I think I should be working close to home. And yet, if I were to leave now, that would obviously throw their whole schedule into disarray. Conflicted.

Well, not really. Just waiting for the right moment when I can find a new place of work.

Thanks everyone for your comments on the last post. I don't know what it is about that that inspired people to come out with the comments... I know this blog is the absolute most fascinating thing on the web (har har,) and it's a great way for me to vent about stuff like that. And if people dig it, that's cool, man. I don't think it's just that people are curious to hear what I'm up to, or that my life is particularly interesting. It's like a soap opera... once you catch one episode, you can't miss the next. I'm like crack, also.

I don't know what I'm gonna do, other than sit and do nothing. I don't know what I would do. Just kinda having idle thoughts.

Rough day today, as all Thursdays tend to be. Hate Mitrovica. Hate the way he runs his class. Hate the content of his class. Hate the reading for his class. Hate the project for that class. Hate, hate, hate.

Was supposed to collaborate on the newspaper today, but honestly didn't want to. Saw a group member leaving, decided to leave as well. I don't feel bad for that. I wrote an article for my section today.

I dunno man... kinda miserly today. Maybe I should've listened to Jeff's radio show, if I could've picked it up in this part of town. I think it was on today. The fuckin' cat Depp is tiddling around here. Hate that cat.

I need to get energetic tonight. I don't think I'm really upset, I'm just so unenergetic. I wish I could say more tonight. Writing's gonna be a bitch. At least tomorrow, class starts late because of Remembrance day. Wear your poppies everyone. Or hell, don't, if you don't like not being ruled by fascists. Jerks.

I don't know why I made that last remark. I really don't care. you can sense my apathy, I think, in all these words.

I'm done for tonight. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

pg8: Please don't let the light through my window

This post's title courtesy of The Coral - The Grey Harpoon (off "Nightfreak & The Sons of Becker.")

I so wanted this good mood of mine to last. I just don't know at this point. I don't think anybody could blame me after the blight that began my day. It's not really even the same old teenage melodrama. It's more an exclamation that puts me back in my place as punchline of a giant cosmic joke.

I mean, I'm still feeling fairly upbeat... I wasn't tired today after work last night... school was tolerable today... saw Kyle & Lauren when I got out of Desktop Publishing early (and the entire class turned out to be a worthless lecture of Adobe Acrobat.) And I'm listening to the Spamalot soundtrack, which really elevates me, makes me nostalgic, but at least it's entertaining in its own right, not just to remind me of a good time in my life.

But there's this, uh... thing. It seems so typical of my life that things would end up like this. Like I said, "cosmic joke." I'm trying not to be too maudlin about it, because I'm not too depressed, just kinda humbled.

Last week, as I mentioned, I met Rachel's friend Tash* (for so she is called as she uses that abbreviation, and "Natasha" is the girl at work, so the distinction is important,) at Screemers. And then for like two days Rachel and I had conversations about how "on" I was, and how Tasha and I really "hit it off." And I think I used the word "cool" in reference to her about six times in this blog.

So this morning, Rachel and I are talking, and she segués from an anecdote about her evening (which bore some analysis itself,) into "you and Tash." And I think, "wait, there's a 'me and Tash' to discuss?" And for about three minutes I was excited about the direction of the conversation. It shouldn't come as a surprise that I harboured a bit of a schoolboy crush on her after our meeting. And the fact that we were even discussing this a week on seemed to confirm to me that we hit it off as well as anybody ever did.

Which is when she says, "I won't get into it, but she is in a bad relationship."

Of course she's in a relationship.

Why wouldn't she be?

They all are.

Now there certain things I have done in the past... albeit begrudgingly. Things I wouldn't do again. Things I only ever did in the first place because she desperately pushed me into it.

But all in all this represents the fact that this sort of thing is a recurring pattern for me; that all the cool girls are taken... taken by jerks who don't appreciate them. That "nice guys" such as myself do indeed "finish last." That I can never seem to catch a break, and that indeed, I feel kicked-while-down. I know I've said I was no longer depressed, but it's a process - I was trying to climb out of my depression. I was still down, but looking up. Now the universe has kicked me in the face.

It's unfortunate too, since I had made a concerted effort not to get into it mentally, since I was all thinking "gee, I'm not gonna see her again for a long time, if ever," etc, etc. And then this... oy. It's the girl, and it's the universe.

I dunno, man. I just couldn't do my writing without getting that out. That was the day. It wasn't helped by the stormy mid-November weather.

Apparently, it's Christmas now, despite my argument to the contrary. Just ask the mall.

Well, that's life, y'know?

KOR
-SAW

pg7: Tapping the vein

I oughtta be writing, but I've been doing nearly 3,000 words of this novel every night since Wednesday, so Tuesday is my break... ironic, since going to work for 7 hours hardly constitutes a break. To each his own.

Good day today. Found out roughly where I stand in History, and was thoroughly bored by a lecture. Worked. Ate at some point. no heavy complaints at work, although the members of the Polish league aren't exactly beating back any stereotypes with the questions they ask. Oy... and some drunks got sloppy and spilled beer all over the place, and one asked if I'd taken his shoes. Dude, it's a Tuesday night. Who gets pissed at a bowling alley at 11 on a Tuesday? What kind life is that? Never mind.

I don't know man. I feel good today. Maybe because Rachel showed me some funny cat videos. Maybe becasue I slept well and woke up at a reasonable hour. Maybe because I was reading posts from a year ago and realized I was way more morose back then than I am now. I had to laugh. I was so intently focussed on that time and place. and now I'm so focussed on this time and place, it's quite funny. The more things change the more they stay the same and all that.

I'm happily breaking free these days of the downer image I may be projecting on this blog. The last thing I want to be is some cliche depressed teenager, hauling out what I know about esoteric literature and philosophy and trying to make sense of my life. no idea why I wrote "esoteric literature and philosophy," it's just something people say, or sometimes talk about. Or maybe it's just all in my head. There are those of you, out there, who may fit that bill, I don't know, but I have a bell-curve theory of intelligence and happiness. You're better off just knowing enough, particularly if you don't have the skill and experience to weild that intelligence. I shun higher learning because I know I'd be a miserable dick if I knew any more about deconstructive literature and critical analysis of the great philosophers... Nietzche and Schopenhauer and whatnot. It's a killer to have all that stuff up there in your head, but not really know how to apply it, which I wouldn't. This I know, and knowing is half the battle.

See, I'm more suited to referencing old G.I. Joe PSA's.

An odd news bit: The Simpsons is being adapted to the Muslim world for Al Jazeera. Not jsut translated, but adapted. It's not enough for the Muslims to get the same treatment as the Japanese and the Swedes and have the cartoon, the harmless American cartoon translated into their language. They need the entire concept overhauled for the sake of adhering to Muslim values. Any reference to pork or bacon will be removed. Duff Beer is now Duff Soda. Moe's Tavern is completely gone. No Flanders, Rev. Lovejoy, Apu, Jewish Krusty, etc, etc... the show, now known as "Al Shamshoon," about Omar Shamshoon (instead of Homer Simpson) will also not be funny, because apparently laughter is against the Koran as well. Or maybe that's just how it seems.

I don't know, man. This just seems like a really stupid idea. If they want the cartoon, they should have the cartoon, but if they want a Muslim cartoon, maybe they should hire an animation studio and produce one. This makes no sense and is a really terrible idea.

Isn't there something in the Koran about adapting to surroundings? I swear I heard that.

It's all about adaptation. Humans don't survive on Earth because we picked a planet with the right amount of oxygen. Our surroundings dictated how we would survive. And as the culture surrounding us changes, we must progress. Perhaps with a lifeline to the past, but always advancing toward the future, ever mindful of what must be done in order to evolve, and avoid destruction. you can't try to bend the world to your whim all the time.

That was a completely separate thought I had earlier, I think about Christian militants, but it fit in well. Or at least so it appears from my semi-conscious state right now. That was my big philosophical stand for the night. Won't have one probably for a long time.

Good night dear readers. Sleep well,
Keep on rockin'
-Scottor

pg6: A generation of awkward silences and sarcasm

Been feeling a little licentious today.

Beyond that I haven't got much to say. So bored, man. So unenergetic. I am without motivaiton for today. As a result I haven't done nearly as much writing as I've intended to. I won't be able to get much done tomorrow, either, thanks to work.

A year ago, man, I'd have been writing about... I dunno... Earnest, Maim in Vain, Improv maybe even... the point is, a lot more was going on.

The only class I find I am truly enjoying is Writing for Newspapers - ironic since it is not really my ambition to write for newspapers, but I digress. We're getting into assignments that concern actually writing articles from now on. This is kind of terrifying since... well, I'm fairly insecure that I'll be able to do this. This, despite the fact that I got 10/10% on the article I wrote from my Ana Yavari interview. See, when in doubt, I just interview someone I know (while looking for quotes on tuition, I was fortunate enough to run into Steph Guest.) This can't work forever, but I'll ride it as far as possible.

I need to get out.

I need to write.

I need some lovin'.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

pg5: What you're not but could be

Hnn.... (insert brooding a la Brando in Streetcar.) Urrr.

Y'know, the world out there, if you look at it one way, can be a very fake place. People lying left and right to get what they want or make themselves look good or to validate themselves. Sometimes they don't even know they're lying, that they're kidding themselves, that they're not being honest about who they are and what their motivations are. Not that this is directed at anybody in particular. In fact, I've been blessed to know a class of people who are genuine, kind, and honest. And for a cynic like me, it can be a hard pill to swallow... hah.

I do value openness and honesty. There are things I wish I could just talk about, but for whatever reason, man it won't make the leap from brain to keyboard. I can't really get a grip on who I am or what people want from me. Hardly a crisis, just a bit of a pondering on this lazy Sunday evening. I read this Robert Crumb comic strip yesterday, and it was about the "Many Faces of R. Crumb," depicting himself as the embodiment of different facets of his personality, and I gotta wonder about myself. It just makes you think about who you are; to yourself, to others... what you're capable of.

These are just the idle fantasy of a man whose therapy sessions from five years ago are just now settling at the bedrock of his consciousness.

Listening to The Coral's first album. Thinking of writing an article on them, because God knows I lack a proper idea budget. This is an album nobody would expect to sound as it does, in as many ways as it does, as good as it does, and for what reason it does.

The novel's coming along well, although I'm tending to second-guess... everything about it. Particularly the vocabulary, but also the story structure, the actions, the motivations... everything. I'm doing something that is very different, very unconventional... attempting to be unique. I don't know if I'm able to maintain a high level of quality through that. Well, sure I am. I'm Scott A. f'n Williams, and if half of what I've heard about me is true, then I must be a good writer. (The other half mainly concerns my dancing ability, which I've retired from.)

I was talking to this girl today - no names, to save on the embarrassment of being referenced in this blog, but you know who you are - and she revealed something I didn't know. Not like, a personal factoid from her history, or a like/dislike thing, just a minor personality-trait. She's as shy around guys as I am around girls. And this blew my mind because here you've got this intelligent, talented, funny, attractive girl, and she's got as many neuroses as I do, and I have none of those traits. I dunno if she's reading this (I never seem to know until I've referenced someone,) and hey, there's nothing wrong with that (if there is, I'm seriously fucked up,) but hey, man. I hear you.

I don't think anybody out there understands my situation right now. As vague and even menacing a thing as that is to say, I look around my peers and I don't see myself mirrored anywhere. I've often been alone, but right now, I really feel lonely, if you see the distinction. It's hard, not being understood.

But other than that ever-persistent albatross, I'm not too bad. I'm not in a mood to take account of all the things that could be wrong, which is a good state for me. Thanks for hearing me out all. Keep on rockin,
Mister Williams.

pg4: Voices in Darkness (or: the hard way)

I have a lot of things on my mind tonight, but almost all of it is completely pointless. Still, for the sake of getting it out, I will try to go over as much of it as possible.

First off, a nice day today. I mean, the weather was dreary and rainy all day, but I still liked it. Kinda mild still, which you treasure this late in the year, because as soon as this is gone, it's not back for a long time, and I get all depressed. And boy, if you think I'm depressed now, go back and read some of my stuff from December-March.

I've got so many damn quarters lately, it's ridiculous. What am I buying lately that leaves me with so many quarters, I couldn't say, but I can't seem to get rid of them. And for a while, I kept getting these collectible quarters I couldn't spend because, my secret shame: I collect those damn quarters. I down buy the whole frame-job things, though, because that would be cheating. I leave it to chance and get whichever I can. That way, I don't seem like such a loser (this, depsite the fact that I've got almost $10 upstairs I can't spend just because the coinage looks interesting. Tool.)

I did well at bowling today, all three above average and even a turkey. The thing is, while I was out mom left for the weekend, and locked the side door behind her. Eric and Brandon happened to be asleep and I couldn't wake them up with insistent banging. So what could I do? I left my ball by the door and went out to get comics (I was done early so I got no ride... how serendipitous it should all work out.) When I came back, still locked, but Eric was at least awake by now.

On the bus ride back, I saw some graffiti that said "Ryan + Becky," and I sighed a bit. Oh the world, you have left me behind... but that's cool... I guess.

You know what the tragedy is here? This is all printed word, so I'm thinking maybe sometimes the sardonic nature of the blog doesn't come out. Sometimes, yeah, I am sincerely down, but usually I'll throw in the proper adjectives to imply the level of seriousness. I'm all right for now. It's tough, though. I've got to maintain good grades and still be independent. I'm just so detached from school, it's a good thing I'm not at an expensive university. The majority of what I do is self-education (although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't benefiting from classes like Writing for Newspapers.) I was talking to Ana the other day, and while she mentioned that she might for for some grad stuff or something, I said I seriously doubted if I'd ever pursue a University education. Is that weird? I'm thinking that long before the two years at Sheridan is up, I'll be tired of playing the game. I just want to write that million-dollar script. I think I have it in me (or else my life has been wasted and I should go die. What an uplifting thought.)

Some interesting stuff from yesterday. We did this exercise in Research for Print that had us going out and interviewing students, and I just thought about this really pretty girl who was the first person I interviewed. It went well, but I thought about how much better it could've went if I were a little smoother, a little more charming. If, perhaps, I hadn't been so pressed by time constraints. If, if, if.

"Scott needs to get some."

There! It's out there. Ha.

Oddly enough, while I was standing in line for Mr. Sub during the 20-minute break, reading the Sheridan Sun (so as to make me look informed, intellectual, and aloof,) I was asked to be interview by two girls with a camera and a microphone about tuition. Not that I had anything particularly enlightening to say on the subject (I mumbled some vague crap about students needing all the money they could keep, that was not insightful at all,) I just thought it funny that the interviewer should become the interviewee within a mere hour.

I also ran into Amet, whom I met as part of the crew last Monday. Interesting, since I knew he went there, I just never expected to see him around. this was good, s I desperately needed to get a third interview, and was finding it difficult to break the ice (and the longer I stood there, clueless, the more reluctant I feel people would be to talk with me.)

Steph: Never mind what I said, you're a cool person (despite my only vaguely being able to recall exactly how our conversation went,) and I hope to see you again.

I need a life.

I'm sorry, I just got really deep into this thought about my direction and this project I'm supposed to be working on at school, and all the other things I need to be working on... but I can't even sort it out.

Lacking in energy. I need to relax for a bit I think before I plunge back into the novel-writing tonight (coming along well! Am considering different ways of posting it... Interneta? Likely. Serialized, or all togehter? Unknown. Hmp.) At least Dad was excited to hear about it. Nice to see he thinks this won't impact schoolwork.

Thanks everybody, this has made me feel pretty good. I know people are reading this (for at every gatgering henceforth, people insist, "Your blog! Your blog!" Weird, but nice.)

Keep on rockin'
++Williams

pg3: Is he alive? Can he still feel?

I don't know, man. I just don't know.

I guess I ought to begin by saying this: after some consideration, and only a small amount of prodding by my peers, I ended up signing up for the National Novel Writing Month. It's been a long time since I've written anything substantial, and this is a good way to let it out. I signed up late, however, so I'm gonna have to play a few days worth of catch-up. It's working, though: I slept last night more soundly than I have in months, after a few hours of writing. It feels really good.

As a result, however, this blog may suffer. I think I may have been writing in this so heavily because I didn't have anything better to write. I don't see that being such a huge deal, however, since nothing interesting looks to be happening soon. Except depression.

I don't know what it is, man. For autumn, the weather has been gorgeous. The definition of balmy. Still, I have been sort of in a foul mood since Thursday morning. Mitrovica was going on about some stuff and I just had one of those "I don't want to be here" moments. Those moments when it occurs to me that this course is supposed to be about becoming a journalist, and as he described it, I wanted nothing less at the moment. Maybe that's why I signed on for NaNoWriMo, it's all interwoven. Still, it may be important to go through the cycle of emotions, and find really important things to be frustrated about. If it's not this, then maybe it'd have to be the whole raging teen hormone thing.

Here's a weird story. It happened a few weeks ago, I think the thursday before thanksgiving: our computers have these Chat programs that are meant to keep us all connected. I would log in during class and what inevitably would end up happening is that I would start conversing with someone else online. There's this girl in my class who'll usually say "hello" when I come on. I've sort of orbited around her group of friends since the year began, making minute conversation, so to them, I appear approachable. Anyway, the small talk made its way toward the thanksgiving weekend, going back home, etc etc. I mentioned I was actually from Oakville and that I'd be seeing all my friends, who were coming home. (Come to think about it, this may have been just recently at the reading week - hard to tell.) And she says something along the lines of, "oh all your friends/gf moved away?"

Now, I'm not stupid. I know why that question was phrased that way; at least, I have a pretty valid-sounding theory. She wanted me to admit to not having a girlfriend. And to say it like that, it sounds exciting, right? Well, what did I do? I said, "oh they all moved off... some to Hamilton, some to Kingston, Toronto, etc..." see, I did not specifically state whether or not there was a special lady in my life. Am I trying to make her think I do? No. I'm just deliberately using very vague terms to get her off the topic; because I figure she's looking for me to say "no" so she can pursue that line of thought. And why do I perpetuate this misconception? Because I don't like her? No, that's a harsh assessment. Can I say we wouldn't go well together? I will. I can tell. No names, because this blog is notoriously easy to find and someone from school could be reading this, but she'd know it was her if she did.

As I said: I dunno, man. It's a weird theory that may amount to no more than a delusion of grandeur on my part. It's just a weird psychosis of mine that I can't get attracted to someone who was attracted to me first. Either that or those girls always just happen to be girls I'm not into - hey, it's not as though I'm into every girl I meet (although........... ahem. Never mind.)

I just suddenly remembered the conversation I had with Ana a week ago (GAWD this has been a swift week,) where she said something about not having been messed up until she met me. Sure, I'll believe that, with a nod and a wink.

It's nights like these I lament the fact that I'm fundamentally alone. I'm not toally depressed, but I sure am reflective. Rachel's halfway to Florida by now, Chris, Cary and others are in Hamilton, Ryan's in Waterloo, Anisah's in Kingston (the first time I've felt comfortable typing her name out in months, oddly enough. I think that shows something.) Alyssa and Doug are in Toronto. And all people left in Oakville have made no attempt at contacting me. Not that that bothers me particularly, but come on, I'm here. I've made better friends with Lauren Wing than I ever expected to.

Everyone's gone, and I am here, alone.

Oh, what a life.

Thanks for stopping by.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

pg2: What's so civil about war, anyway?

You sign one petition supporting gay marriage and all of a sudden you're a part of the Gay rights movement.

Let me set this straight: (edit: five minutes later, I realize what an outrageous, if subconscious, pun that was...) I don't align myself with any "movements," I just don't like seeing people being treated unfairly. All the same, the Egale people sent me an e-mail today letting me know that "even though we've won this battle, homosexuals everywhere are facing persecution" and yadda yadda. I feel less concerned about that. I mean, it's wrong, but it doesn't represent a major problem in the system, just that many people are jackasses. And guess what, that's not going to change.

All the same, I included this in my "idea budget" in class today, when I realized I was out of entertainment media to cover. An idea budget, for those out of the loop, is just a written statement of all the story ideas a reporter has. One of the things that makes me dislike the idea of actually becoming a journalist. Screw idea budgets. It also inspired a different story idea altogether: spam. Where does it come from, and what can be done to stop it? Hah. But seriously guys.

I spent this morning in a weird reflective funk. After dreams that have turned lesser men into cockroaches, I woke up afraid of some ominous sounds outside my door, which wound up being Bonnie and/or her cat. Slipping in and out of sleep for an hour before my alarm, my legs predictably sore from work last night, I reluctantly went through my morning routine.

Except today I decided to go to Tim Horton's for coffee. Why? Don't know. Wasn't too tired. Just bored. Nice morning. Nice day, weather-wise. Appreciating as many degress celsius as I can get at this point. On my way over I narrated to myself some self-loathing monologue about how diresctionless my life has become, and how I couldn't believe I was doing this journalism thing, and this bowling thing, and blah-blah-blah, dwelling on the parts of my life that suck. But you know, you're not supposed to be happy at work, and you're probably not going to derive much happiness out of school either. This, I accept. I can deal with it. And once you rule those out, you find happiness in other places.

Yes, fans, Scotto remains cheerful, defying all probability, and keeping it upbeat for a record-shattering 6 days straight. This is thanks in part to Rachel, who at this moment is packing for her heartbreaking return to the hurricane-tossed land of Naples, Florida. We have been having delightful conversations lately, mostly reflecting on Monday night and how "on" indeed I was. It seems like a minor thing, but trust me, it makes a world of difference to someone like me: a self-confessed attention-whore type of guy... desperate for laughs. Hah. Especially when I have a chance to show this side of me to a new audience. The fact that we could have a conversation on the subject was a reminder that I'm not really such a saturnine nebbish as I think. (Booyah, writer's craft words.)

I'm high on myself. It's a bit of a weird ego trip, but I so rarely get to feel pride in myself, let me have it. Maybe I'm making a conscious effort to be upbeat, since I was told that I came off really depressed in this thing. Nah: if I'm depressed, I can only be depressed. I couldn't fake this.

I am worried, however, about being something of a teacher's pet. I've always had this weird attitude about teachers. I don't respect them (with the notable exception of Guthrie,) but I try to relate to them on a human level. I feel it provides some context to go along with my work, which otherwise might seem too far to one end of the quality spectrum - and they don't know which end it is.

See, by now, most of them know me well enough. O'Shea (Research) knows me well enough, because she knows Mrs. Reither. And Jarrett, he knows me, but anybody would if they a) saw me three times a week and b) had to read as much of my output as he does.

Now, I'm doing well and getting good marks. This makes me happy because if I can keep it up, I maybe won't have to pay so much for next year either, which would make me oh-so-happy (I recently got a perplexing financial aid package from the school that had me scratching my head.) I got about 4 things back... I look them over "5... 5... 4.5... 4.5..." oh, and they were all out of five. So eat it. Eat it raw.

I'm curious about the J-History (I'm diggin' this trendy slang I concocted,) midterm. If I'm as good a bullshitter as I always say, I aced it. If I'm caught, I'm dead. Could this be the end of Scott's awesome week? I like to think not. Especially when I AM thinkin' of duckin out of Print Design early to catch some Grade 11 docudramas. That's right, I'm a whore for going back to WOSS. Because I can, bee-atch.

Did I mention? Andy Milne is now the world record holder for consecutive hours bowled, officially sitting at a seemingly impossible 120. I learned this on Saturday, and yesterday the bartender at work (Feria,) mentioned that he'd proposed to his girlfriend immediately after, in front of all the camera. (All together now...) "Awwwww."

Not a tough night at work, although I doubt how much longer I'll be there. It's not even specifically that I don't like the working conditions, it's just the geography. I thought I could make this transportation thing work, but I feel if I am to continue the process of improving my karma (I sound like a Jason Lee television character, whose show I haven't been able to watch in weeks,) I must bring an end to the reliance on parental transportation to work. (NB: Even if I had a license, I would not be able to drive myself to and from work, as the necessary hours overlap with Mom and Dad's work hours.)

My one anxiety about today, that is simply not going to go away, is this thing my friends have been doing: National Novel Writing Month, an online event where the goal is to write a 50,000-word novel within the month of November. I wish to God almighty that I had time for such an endeavour. "Why," I ask, "can't 'NaNoWriMo' be in June??" June, when I have infinite spans of time, nothing to do, and the energy to stay up late? Oh glorious June, where inspiration reaches a peak for me, and I have the energy to write every night?? Cursed November! Stolen by College and homework and studying is my ability to focus and write, to create and produce. Chains! Unholy bonds! Wicked chains which reap from me my position as king of the national novel writing moth.

(End of beat-esque rant.)

I think that's a good place to end. No, wait, oblique reference time:

When I say "don't be a stranger," I desperately mean for us to not be strangers.

Now I may end the post. You may go in peace my children. This hour-long (no kidding!) post episode in the life of Williams has drawn to its conclusion.

Keep on rockin'
-El Scotto

pg1: The light on the horizon

Well, what a night it was last night. I should probably make this quick since I've got to leave for school in about 20 minutes, and sometimes when I get into a good long post it takes over a half an hour.

Basically what happened was that I went out with my friend Rachel and her friends to this place, Screemers, which is Canada's largest indoor scare park. I didn't know what to think at first. Would it be worth the exorbitant $30 pricetag ($25 with a coupon that was available online,) for something I didn't even know would work on me? Plus train fare? I would find out.

We weren't off to a great start, since she said to be there at Exhibition stadium 7:30 and didn't arrive until 8. there was a ride snafu, althouh I found out later she had issued an official "no later or we will go without you" warning. I got off the train at 7, and realized she probably wasn't going to be there. So I was waiting. And there were these other two guys who seemed to be following the same pattern I was: just hanging around the station, occasionally checking for eastbound trains. After a while, one of them finally asked, "are you waiting for Rachel?" Yes. Wow. The thought had occurred to me that they were part of the posse, but I was unsure how to tell. What a relief.

Eventually, she did show up at 8 along with her friend Tasha. The whole group eventually banded together (an awkward seven,) and we headed for Screemers.

Like I said, the dynamic was weird. Apart from Rachel, I didn't know anyone, although I had buddied up a little with the two guys I was waiting with.

Don't know quite how to describe it. Basically you go into these places, these dark, enclosed rooms, and people kinda jump out at you and scare you. It's quite effective, though, because you never know what someone is going to say or do. The best one, I maintain, was the one where you put on 3D glasses and the walls are painted all trippy. Tasha was right, I should have kept the glasses. Another good one was the maze, where eventually you find yourself cornered by a (fake) chainsaw-weilding maniac. I knew the chainsaw was fake, but I won't lie, I screamed and ran. But come on - when you plunk down that much cash, you allow yourself to feel the moment.

There was also this show, Vlad the Impaler, featuring a particularly homoerotic depiction of the 15th-century count. It was, um... weird. But the fire-breather was cool.

Through the course of the evening, we all buddied up. Got all chummy. I often have trouble in groups, but lucky me I was feeling actually pretty "on" last night. Maybe it was the aftermath of commencement, or my desire to impress these new people, but who the hell knows. Maybe it was just a good night for me to be out there, doing something with people. Natasha, Rachel's friend, (whom I've already referred to as "Tasha" because it's shorter,) was particularly cool to meet, because while waiting in line for the Castle of Doom, we sang the theme to Student Bodies.

Me: I feel like I'm gonna get to the end and find Toad.
Her: Yeah! Or the Princess!
Me: No, thank you, but the Princess is in another Castle.
(Laughter is shared by all.)

Also, we rode the Gravitron about 3 times (even the guy who was afraid he'd throw up loved it by the end of the night.) The Gravitron is the coolest ride in the history of Midway. I defy you to disagree.

All in all, an excellent way to spend a Halloween (minus the waiting at the beginning.) I would probably do it again, if I managed to go with similarly cool people. And if I had $30 + Train fare.

Well, glad I got that out. I'm in a really great-if-slightly-worn-out mood at the moment, but my history homework somehow got done (I had to get up early to finish it and this blog,) and so I must go.

Keep on rockin'
--Scott

Addendum: It's 12:19. Do you know where your teacher is? I don't. We think he was late, then after a while decided we wouldn't be waiting anymore. That's just a theory though. The class has been trickling out, I've stayed because I know that if I go home I won;t have the computer and will get bored. So I've been talking with Rachel for well over an hour about last night. We agree: it was fun. I was thinking of adding a few notes to this post, things that were left out in haste:

*I carved the pumpkin. This is customary since it's Eric's birthday and Brandon can't be trusted with a knife. We had a lopsided pumpkin so I designed a sort of lopsided face which ended up being incredibly emotive. It was so sad. I wish I had taken a picture. Maybe I will, it's still out there.

*There was one ride that Natasha and one of the Jameses went on. The rest of us were in line, and Rachel and I even got into a car, but the damn thing broke down. As a result, we stole a fortune cookie that we spotted in the area.

*I must say I was taken aback by how cool Natasha was. I've already noted this probably, but I just feel it bears repeating. Not that I was expecting some uncool bitchy ho, because I know Rachel wouldn't associate herself with such a creature, but still shocking. I was loving our conversation about old shows like Breaker High, Are You Afraid of the Dark, Student Bodies, etc, etc. If only it was more than "friend-of-a-friend status," but somehow I don't know.

Such a terrific night. It's been a great 4 days. Couldn't be happier. My karma effort looks to be producing results.

Keep on rockin'-SAW