7B: I'm even places where I'm not

I don't even have the energy to write a post tonight, it's been so tiring. We compiled the e-zine today and it should be online by the end of the week.

I'm gonna go to bed early because of early class tomorrow.

The post's title comes from a conversation with Neabel where she didn't realize I wasn't one of the 12 Angry Men. She just somehow popped me into her memory of Bradford, which is weird.

But the big news is naturally end completion of the full cut of Half-Past Eight PM. All I have left to do is the credits, and I'm itching to put those away. I'd like toh ave the DVD for this weekend, but it might take until next. We'll see how itn works out.

I've been writing a little, getting ready to commit to a Homeless Ninja miniseries with Kris as well as various stories and scripts i'm usually worknig on (I'm funny like that.) I had an interesting conversation with aunt Lori on Sunday about the profession. There's something so unappealing to me about being a journalist, it may have to do with Roy's rather blunt Writing for Newspapers class (nothing against him, it stems from my own personal frustrations) or maybe Mitrovica's incoherent, unfocussed, garrulous diatribes. Feeling a lot of professional frustration right now, so naturally I've been trying to dive into my personal writing.

I'm so tired right now I keep hitting "Ctrl+S" which leads to this entry being published. As it is, I can't think of anything else of interest to say (though that doesn't usually stop me from saying something anyway,) so I'll mosey off to sleep.

Good night all, and keep on rockin'
-Scott

7A: Funnier than your boyfriend

It's been a weird weekend. Buckle up, 'cause I've got some blogging to do.

The events began on Friday, when mom announced, as usual, that she was going out, around 11. And as is customary it was met with a shrugging "have fun, don't wake me up when you get it" from me. Well, see, earlier in the night we'd had to order pizza since nobody was around to pick it up for us, and Eric was upstairs wiating for it. On his way down, he'd fidgeted with the lock on the basement door. Somehow during the course of the night, after mom had left, the door had gotten knocked shut, effectively locking us in the basement. I noticed this around 1 when I wanted to go to bed.

I began to panic. I checked the front door. As expected, locked. I checked for keys. There were none. We called mom. Her helpful solution (via Wally,) was to pry the trim off the doorway and jimmy the lock with a credit card. So gleefully, Eric set to finding a hammer and something to wedge in there (a trowl,) and began to bang away at it. I washed my hands of the whole thing, sitting, arms folded, on the couch, muttering "this won't work, this is never gonna work." Sure enough, just as it was in the process of not working, I went outside and happened upon Wally's ladder, which I didn't know we had. If i did, I would have put it to use after Brandon's suggestion that I open my window from the outside. Sure enough, it worked. Gotta give Brandon the credit for that one, since I didn't think that was such a great idea. Still though, amazingly enough Eric actutually got the trim off the door. He just never would have been able to unlock it, rendering the whole plan disasterous - which it was anyway.

The weekend continued. The next morning was bowling, which was uninteresting in and of itself (although I did hang out with Katherine Ingoldsby, who is a cool girl, and more-or-less the source of this post's title,) but also the Hanleys brought their girlfriends with them. Now, I generally don't think it's sucha great idea to drag your woman out of the house at 8:30 in the morning to watch you bowl, but who knows? Maybe they enjoyed it. Apparently, however, Scott's girlfriend broke up with him right there, so maybe not. I stayed out of it, for my part.

It was such a beautiful day yesterday that I walked over to the comic store, before coming back, doing some editing, getting my grocery shopping done, and going to dad's for dinner. It had been a busy day. It ended with Mom's 50th bash at "The Cop Shop Fine Dining," an upscale dive bar that is located on the seedy edge of town next to a pornographic video store. Draw your own conclusions. It's where mom and Wally hang out apparently when they go out late, leading me to question the type of people they're hanging around with. I shot some pool with Eric nd Aunt Lori, before some really sketchy character (apparently a friend of Wally's) put down a buck fifty to play the winner, condescendingly hailing me as "being good." If you were at Alyssa's birthday back in the summer, you know I suck and am quite up front about it. I was not enthusiastic about that, nor was Aunt Lori. I lost (after sinking the 8 ball with the cueball,) and Aunt Lori was forced to play the guy.

Oh yeah, and Wally's other friend picked the lock off the machine so that we could have unlimited play. What a nice criminal.

What ended up happening was that Brandon drank way too much and Eric tried to eat his weight in wings. I left with dad, they decided to stay and got a ride home with Aunt Lori and Gail. When they got home, Brandon had an unexplained gash on his thumb and was arguing with the dog. Um... yeah. And people wonder why I don't drink with my family.

On the plus side, the DJ played many of our favourite tunes by Supertramp and the Rolling Stones

I've done tonnes of editing lately. I was up until 3:30 last night on it. I'm getting some really good work done. There are a few scenes right in the middle, toward the end of act 2 that I really think are going to blow people away. I only have a few more days' worth of work left (which may amount to a week or two,) which I'm really excited about.

This effin' thing is actually happening.

Today Eric and I walked out to the mall to get Mom's gift. Oy, what a debacle... the weather, dreadful, m'dear! (To quote a delightful adlib from Alyssa that did not make the final cut.) We had to get a ride home from Wally (obviously we couldn't ask mom, luckily we feel comfortable with Wally.) Andddd that brings you up to speed.

Kris was supposed to stay over this week starting today, but he's just gonna go back home since he couldn't arrange a ride. Unfortunate.

Well that's that. Talk to you later. Or not, hopefully, if I don't like you (you know who you are... don't you? haha, I'm such a bastard.)

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

6F: Take me by the hand

So, everybody's out on this Friday Night, leaving me with virtually nobody to talk to.

Don't cry for me, however, I've gotten some bonny good writing done tonight. I'm actually in a really good mood today. It seems impossible based on my melancholy ramblings from yesterday, but it's true. It's been a beautiful day, I solved my crisis about Newspaper Writing (for the time being, and have resolved to worry aobut other problems only when they become problems,) and generally felt good all day.

Why shouldn't I have? The weather was wonderful, I felt good, I did what I had to, everything clicked well today.

Maybe I just enjoy manipulating other peoples' emotions. It's sick, but maybe you people enjoy having your emotions manipulated. On some level, tht's just what a writer does. Gets somebody to feel something for a character, and then twists the knife. I've always had a strange detachment from this blog in that way. It's just another piece of writing for people to read.

I've got a lott ajunk I gotta do this weekend. Some of it is the usual junk, but it's also mom's birthday and she delayed telling us what she wanted so I have to get her present and since it's her 50th I have to go to her big blowout that Wally's put together at some place he frequents. Whatever, man, we're not gonna be there long.

Other than that, things are good. Glad I got those (admittedly vague) things off my chest yesterday.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

6E: All things considered

I'm thinking of starting a blog where I look at obscure news items and punditize them. It would be my satirical attempt at creating a "meaningful" blog, whilst giving me something news-related to occupy my mind. Then again, it might detract from the popularity of this blog, the most popular website on the internet with its dozens and dozens of fans.

And also perhaps it is time better suited to actually doing my homework.

Take, for instance, the death of actor Chris Penn. A talented man, and probably a good guy. Doubtful that many people were aware that Sean Penn's brother was an actor. I, for one, liked him in "Footloose." There was a phase I went through in grade 6 or 7 where that was my favourite movie, inexplicably. I felt the need to get a copy on VHS, and somehow was given the soundtrack for no good reason. And i thought Penn's character of Willard was very sympathetic, because he grew up in a rpepressed household and was unable to dance. He was physically unable to dance.

I later learned what a terrible movie "Footloose" was, and Chris Penn ballooned up over the next few years and became relgated to cop and mafia roles in films like "Starsky and Hutch" and "Corky Romano" respectively.

Penn will not be revered as a loss of great talent. Anybody who tries to say "he truly was a wonderful, terrific actor," is probably full of shit. Not to desecrate a man's death, but he never had a major role. He was in a few big movies, a few crappy movies, mostly in insignificant roles where he was cast for his type. I miss those days when "Footloose" was my favourite movie. It seemed like a gentler, more innocent time.

Those days seem lost to me.

Keep on rockin'
Scott

6E: My fist through a locker.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

I just feel like I've stepped into a parallell unconscious reality where everything feels vaguely lucid but just not quite right. I can't put my finger on it. I feel like my brain is turning to mush. I just sit and think about how things just don't seem to be adding up. There's this very distant quality to reality today. I can't focus.

I have to write an opinion piece for Writing for Newspapers tomorrow. I have no idea what I'm going to have it be about (possibly Hamas... or Hummus.) All my classes hardly register these days. I'm dulled by how pointless and boring they all feel. and then there are discouraging stories from Haasim about how his stories aren't getting printed and what's more they'd already been assigned to other people. Fuckin' Sheridan Sun.

This from a post I partially wrote earlier. It also included a massive tirade that was overflowing with obscenities and was basically a cry for help, but that's not what I need. I need to straighten myself out, buckle down, and concentrate on what I'm doing and where I'm going. This all stems from my inability to write my opinion piece, coupled with my intense lethary about schoolwork in general, and my general frustration about life. My fears about my professional life, my angst about my personal life... stuff I should be getting out on this blog, but am not.

I'm the most self-centered person in the world, but only on this blog. In general, I don't prefer to talk about myself, but this is where I come to do that. Other people have problems. Other people have problems more severe than mine. There is a world at war and a universe outside my door and all I can think about is how badly I want to smash Mitrovica's face.

I hate feeling the need to censor myself. I hate feeling like I haven't matured since age 14. I hate feeling that everybody in the world is or could be happy right now except for me, stuck in a perpetual cycle of misery and not being able to reach out for help because the wrong person will inevitably read this and blow it right out of proportion. I'm insane with self-loathing. I'm turning back into my Grade 10 self. Not cool. I wanna be friendly, I wanna be funny, I wanna be me; the me that people like. But I'm stuck. I feel put-upon. I don't know how much more I can take before I just yell out "fuck you" and ruin whtever front of decency I'd established.

People have the wrong ideas about me. It's insane, I'm like a split personality, but I'm not usually like this, I don't think. But there are people who I'll let get to know me, and people I just won't. People I'll be warm and friendly to, and people I'll just be rude and curt with. Maybe you know which category you fit into. Maybe you don't.

Fuck.

I need my fucking life.

Let me go.

Keep on rockin'
Williams

6D: I know that you'll be here

I would like, someday, to get an award.

Not for this, probably, but it's not impossible. There are actually awards called "Bloggies" that are given out to "pages with dated entries," and hell, no site fits that description as well as this one, does it? Look at all those dates all over this site. And the entries, everywhere you look. Bottom line, this site is the most popular site on the internet (it has almost a dozen fans!) and I think it should be recognized.

Or not.

I mean, come on, there's a category called "Best Teen Weblog." Hands down, That's SWP. So where was my nomination? Am I doomed to toil, unrecognized, in the midst of obscurity? Feh. I don't need the pressure that comes with an award.

I'm feeling lately that my entire schooling is completely impotent. None of it feels essential. Like I could just... not go, and succeed. Almost pointless. Maybe my brain is just deteriorating. I just haven't got a compelling reason to get out of bed in the morning. Nothing to get excited about.

That seems troubling to me.

Some Iced Tea just splashed up my nose.

I feel so null and void right now. Like I'm without a direction, wandering aimlessly, without anything guiding me. Nothing to occupy my brain. I wonder how badly this is going to affect me when I actually have to start doing things.

I need to open myself to the world, and see what it wants me to do.

Or eat more tortilla chips.

Lost. Don't know what to make out of anything.

Lordy, lordy, lordy.

Keep on rockin'
::Scott

6C: Like you wouldn't believe

Since the beginning, I had been referring to this as "the shittiest election in Canadian history." I thought it was so unfortunate that I was able to vote, yes, but only in a scenario where there was no right answer.

Politics don't work the way everybody thinks they should. You can't trust your vote to elect the party you really want. The world isn't magical gumdrop land. You have to play the game, unfortunately. And this time around, the rules are this: in one corner, fascist fanatic Stephen Harper. In another corner, worn-out scandalmaker Paul Martin. Over there is third-party idealist Jack Layton, and rounding out the troupe is fourth-party special interest group and pointless distaction Bloc Quebecois.

People vote for Martin because they hate Harper. People vote for Harper or Layton because they think it's "time for a change." Or, people vote for Layton because they really want things to be better, but they don't realizing they're hurting the country. And people vote for Bloc because they seriously want to hurt the country.

Maybe it is time for a change. I think this country has gotten what it deserves. We deserve to suffer under a Harper minority so that we can realize that things really were much better (or at least tolerable,) under the Liberals, apart from the corruption. With a minority, Canadians now have to deal with the reality of the negative campaigning against the Liberals and what it has wrought. Apart from AdScam, what did anyone really have to say? I saw those debates and it was the same bullshit from all the parties. Except the Conservatives also happen to have the advantage of hating abortions and gays, and loving wars and profits. Or so they claim in order to kowtow to their religious constituents, and now that they're elected they couldn't give a shit, perhaps. It doesn't matter. Anyone who would stoop to such a common denominator doesn't deserve to be elected. But like I said, they did a damn good job of reminding everyone about the corruption of the Liberal party (and the Conservatives are going to be so much better?) And the Liberals went on the attack and fucked up big time by being crass and trying to play into the inherent anti-Americanism in all Canadians. Come on guys you know it's there. But we also have a general dislike of such underhanded tactics, which the Liberals have become known for.

When the election was called, Stephen Jarret said "the Liberals are going to run on a platform of economic success and win." Well guess what, Stephen: they didn't, and they didn't. They fucked it up big time, and paid the price. They could've taken the high road and pointed to the facts "hey, we balanced the books, look at that, only we could do that." But no, they got paranoid, they freaked out, and they lost control. Then again, with all the scandal, would anybody really believe the Liberals had a good economic record?

So fuck, man. I did my part. I played the game perfectly and I got the best result I could hope for. I won't make any secret of the fact that I voted Liberal, (they're centrists, and I'm a Buddhist, hence, "the middle way." Makes sense,) and helped Bonnie Brown retain the Oakville seat, helping to stem the tide of the Conservative juggernaut. So the Conservatives have a minority government. That only means they won't be able to get things done. They can only enact policy if everyone's with them, and they're not. They need to please the Bloc, which probably won't happen too much, especially when it comes to gay marriage, which the Bloc support. So everybody freaking out about the Conservatives, it's not really time to freak out yet.

So that's my little 18-year-old analysis piece.

Last remark about the election before I move along: don't be a dumbass. Don't be like the dumbass CBC and start complaining about the Tories and the PC party winning. The Conservatives are not the Tories and they're not PC. Those terms refer to the Progressive Conservative party of Canada which were just to the right of the Liberals. This new evil Conservative party is at the far right of things and is much more comparable to the American Republican Party......... time for a change indeed.

Other than that it was an enjoyable day. The weather was nice, I got to see some of the kids at WOSS whilst taking some lovely pictures of them, enjoyed the experience of voting, had a decent class, and of course saw the Grade 11 summatives which were so excellent. I sat next to Becky and Ryan and we reminisced about the times when we were about that age and how much worse we were. All four of those plays were impressive, they have a phenomenal class going. Can't praise them enough.

Good way to start the week, all things considered.

Well, we'll talk later. Hope my rant didn't offend anybody.

Oh wait, what do I care? It's your business if you're reading this. Nobody's got a gun to your head. Sure, it's the cool thing to do, but you don't have to read this blog (the most popular site on the internet, with nearly a dozen fans,) just to be like your friends. Think for yourselves. That's today's lesson.

Keep on rockin'
The Williams

6B: Tell me what not to do

I don't know where I stand.

I mean, life has gotten so strange lately, I'm not sure what to make of it. All I can do is stand on the outside of this incomprehensible hurricane of existence and think "what now?"

I missed a lot of school last week due to reasons previously discussed in this blog. Yet I don't get the sense that I missed anything of particular importance. It's hard to gauge whether or not it's because these classes don't get important until later, or because they just aren't, because I naturally wouldn't have missed anything this early last semester, because after all it was my second week of postsecondary and I was all "Man I gotta make this work." By now I'm a little jaded, a little more aware of what's going on and how to deal with it. Savvy, I suppose, is the word you'd use. Or just that I'd use.

So I'm just trying to take it as it comes, in bits and pieces.

It's remarkable how much longer my posts appear to have gotten, on average, compared to a year ago. What have I been rambling about all this time? How do I go on for so many paragraphs? What does it all mean?

I was talking to Chris Ferguson earlier today about the election. He's a sharp guy, he really seems to get things. He really seems to have a grip on politics, or at least, an understanding of why they are evil. He's good at expressing himself.

I really don't even have that much to say tonight. At least, nothing impotant. The funny thing about not posting for a little while is that you're not tempted to post every little thought that pops into the head every night. Instead, you sift through all of them and try to decide which ones you'd care to talk about, and then realize that a lot of them simply are not worthwhile.

My big point for tonight is trying to take things as they come. Not spending too much time worrying about things that are not important or not solid is definitely something I'm trying. this includes not making such a big deal about the little things, and the intangibles. Get a breath once in a while and take your problems apart. It seems to be working, even though it sounds like it doesn't mean anything. If my brother read that remark, he'd complain about how that doesn't sound like it means anything, but it only requires a little thought to see where the metaphor goes. And I feel better for it.

I'm not so sick anymore, thnaks to some magical pills, and have spent the bulk of the day watching the matches on the Bret Hart DVD and Election, the Matthew Broderick movie from some years back that always gets on TV in these occasions. It's a very interesting, pointed satire about ambition going beyond what is due to the individual, and how it destroys people. It's also funny and sharp.

So I'm going to go do some real writing. Pretty excited to go vote tomorrow, and take care of photojournalism.

Keep on rockin'
Mr. Scott

6A: Cat got your tongue?

Sick as a dog today.

I can trace it back to what I said about removing my hat at the funeral. It'd be a self-fulfilling prophecy if saying I would be sick had anything to do with my actually being sick. All the same, I think I'll mention it to dad when I see him tomorrow. "I'm sick, dad, are you happy?" I'd rather have been disrespectful and healthy. Disrepsect is a human concept I could've gotten around. Sickness is just an unpleasant state. I was never a particularly sickly child, although I'd been known to exaggrate illness (usually a headache,) when I needed to not be in class on any particular day. Today I simply could not be in class. I rolled out of bed in time for Digital Publishing, but was too disruptive with my abbrasive sneezing, snorting and general soundtrack of disease. So I skipped Roy's writing class. All well and good since the bookstore no longer carries the CP Style Guide I so desperately need for his class. Oh well.

for the record, so we're clear, and to reiterate, I am indeed blaming my current cold on the fact that I stood for the better part of a half an hour with no headwear whatsoever in howling wind and snow/rain on Wednesday, at a temperature I'd estimate to be in the -20's with wind chill (and it was all wind, though the rain/snow couldn't have helped.) I was not wearing a touque because my Dad had specifically asked me not to as a sign of respect. Reluctantly, I acquiesced, and am now paying the price. Some people might be tempted to point to, say, the flu shot, because isn't that convenient - the government made me sick - but that is fallacious because my shot was months ago, and I don't have the flu. The flu shot can't help you against a common cold, which will strike if you are improperly bundled.

A few months ago when I did the research assignment to ask people about the flu shot, the most frequent negatory response I heard was "because I got it last year and got sick anyway." I have to wonder under what circumstances these people actually became ill. I know the flu shot isn't magical, it isn't perfect, and it can even be harmful. All the same, it's the best option we've got, it's free, and it doesn't really hurt you to use. I think. I need to do some research on the thopic, so don't quote me in your next medical study.

So yeah, the day was mostly spent lying down, curled up under a blanket, and in vary rooms. When I felt better I was in front of the TV or even on the computer. At my worst, I went to my room, turned off the lights, and listened to some jazz. I actually did some, though not very much, work on Half-Past. Every little drip fills the bucket, as they say.

Do they say that? Maybe they should.

I've been thinking about some possible new features for Interneta. Nothing's materializing yet, but I have some thoughts.

Eventually, mom showed up with some cold pills, and they began to work their magic... slowly. Thankfully I eventually felt up to dinner and am now nearing standard health. My throat is still sore, but my headache is fading and my nose is less stuffy. Can't go in Brandon's room, though, that just exacerbates my condition.

I haven't been legitimately sick since New york City, when I foolishly turned up the A/C and slept with only the thinnest blanket. I was sick for a large portion of the trip, suffering from a sore throat on the third day that caused me to cry "I need some juice!" This was misheard, perhaps intentionally, as "I need some Jews!" to comical effect. It didn't help that the weather that day was a dreary mid-spring rain, although conditions were clear on the second and fourth day. God I miss that place.

After DigiPublishing, a class for whom my contempt runs deep (given that it's nature is to teach me things I already know,) I strolled down to Tim's and got a tea and a sandwich. The tea helped, but was not the panacea I'd hoped for (that's two Writer's Craft words so far, find the other one.)

I'm thinking about all the friends I have who will be moving from Res to a form of housing soon, and I wish them luck. I don't know if they've ever thought too hard about groceries (I mean, other than Chris Brown, whose life is groceries,) dishwashing, laundry, general cleanup and other chores, but if you haven't, let me tell you... establish the ground rules quick, and make them fierce. Otherwise, you might be the only one ever doing dishes. I speak from experience.

Oh yes, and President's Choice is invaluable.

I think that about covers it for tonight. I covered quite a range of topics and tangents. Oh blog, how you allow me to vent.

Keep on rockin', fans
-Scotto

5E: It's Just Easier [This Way]

I feel great.

I think it's interesting that the weather should resume being gorgeous as soon as the funeral is over with. It's like, man, time to go back and get on with life, you know? So either I am spiritually in tune with the ecosystem and have the mystical ability to manifest the weather as my emotions, or it's just a meteorological coincidence of moderate-to-small proportion.

Either way, it was a terrific day and I felt positive from the moment I stepped outside the door. That in and of itself was strange because it was 8:00 and I got up extra early so that I could hit the bookstore and buy my book for the class I had at 9. Fortune smiled upon me as I not only found it (I'm often lost beyond comprehension in that bookstore,) but as it was very early in the morning, I got out in good time (no lines, I sacrificed sleep for convenience,) get a Tim's coffee, go back and get my bag which I'd left at the bookstore, make it to the G-Wing, buy a croissant (no early class should be had without one,) and read the first chapter. Not that I really needed to read it, since all she did was read and anecdotalize. The nice thing about Mythology is that I was sitting next to this lovely artist girl and when I began to get bored by the lecture, I just watched her draw. She was working on this picture of two female figures, one some kinda mermaid, the other a lady with wings. She was quite talented.

Mike Walsh sounds like Alan Rickman doing a southern accent during that episode of King of the Hill he was in (Peggy joins a renaissance fair, stirs shit up.) His class I find it quite difficult to pay attention to, but I'm driven to succeed in it because there's thus far little homework and I can deal with it. P8. I just need to harness my own lack of attention-paying skills.

I think I may be developing some sort of post-pubescent Alzheimer's. I'm not catching things that are said to me, forgetting conversations, and just generally out of it. Or maybe I'm jut lazy. That seems much more likely.

I had one of those dreams recently, the kind where you are able to recognize the fact that you are dreaming and are helpless. Someone was there, I'm not going to say whom because you've never met her anyway. Let's just call her Cowgirl. Cowgirl showed up, after my not having seen her in a very long time. And my seeing her is what immediately caused me to realize that this was not actually happening, because in the dream I was happy to see Cowgirl, when in reality I would be quite miserable. It was quite jarring.

A few days ago I was in the E-Zine meeting and the editor, Amanda Judd, was taking photos of the "behind the scenes," and she remarked, "Scott looks like he's going to kill someone if they take his picture." Hah. you know, I never get tired of that one. What is it about me that invokes images of a serial killer? My introverted shyness? My eternally deadpan expression? May I point out that Dahmer was generally outgoing and well-liked by his neighbours, and that Berkowitz was a loonie? I may fall somewhere in the middle, but I don't think anybody's going to confuse me with Gary Ridgeway.

Ironically, Guns N' Roses' "I used to love her" just came on. That made me laugh (on the inside.)

"There's two things. No, wait, never mind. There's not. I don't know why I said there were two things. There's nothing."

As I said, I'm in a rare sunshiny mood today.

When I was a lad, about 6 or 7, I was upset because I had lost one of my favourite toys. I went home to where my dad was sitting and reading. I sat down next to him and began to cry. I'd tried to hold it as long as possible but it wouldn't be held back any longer. He picked me up and set me down on his knee, and asked, "what's the matter, son?" And I told him what had happened, adding "today's the worst day ever." And he said, "Son, I'm sorry that you've lost your toy. I know it's hard, but I want you to know that today is only one day. That tomorrow it will be gone, and that yesterday can't hurt you. And that's all today is, is just one single day." And I smiled, not fully realizing at the time waht that meant, but knowing that somehow, maybe, I could go to sleep, and move on, and leave today behind. And it never fails, that whenever one day hurts too much, the next is right after it.

Now, having told you that story, I feel obligated to let you know that it is a complete and utter work of fiction. I'm not entirely sure where it came from, but I think it's very nice. I just don't want to leave you all believing that it ever actually happened in that exact way, because I've gotten people to believe more outlandish things. I can't think of a great example right now, but suffice it to say always be suspect of the wild tales I'll tell at a party.

That said, I hope you all have a nice tomorrow. Keep on rockin'
Scotto

5D: Let the pressure drop

What a shitty day for a funeral.

Now, it's hard enough sitting in the church and listening to the service and being around all the mourning family members (plus about five dozen senior Scouts - my great-grandfather was the oldest living Scout in the world, I reckon,) and yourself coming to terms with the fact that you too are mourning; but when it comes time to commit the body, why must it be the worst weather imaginable? I hope when I die, it's autumn, to spare my family the trouble.

I just wanna get back to being me, or some version of me. It's been a turbulent week to say the least and I want to get back on the good site of the universe. See the bright side of life for once. I know I don't usually anyway, but I could use a little cheering up.

Kris is gone. I went with him early today to return a defective PS2 to EB Games, before he left. Then it was a scramble to get out to Toronto for the entire affair. It was fairly emotional, as when the rector used a flower metaphor to explain to the young kids in attendance where grampa had gone. Then again, it wasn't a particularly great service all together, given that it was probably the first in Anglican history to include an analysis of a Reese Witherspoon film ("Just Like Heaven," she plays a ghost, you figure it out.) Then the committal in the cold, windy snow. And I was pretty hungry, and I of course couldn't wear my hat because that would not be respectful. So as a sign of respect to Grampa, I risked getting a head cold.

I was hungry, and thus thankful for the sandwiches available at Dave and Sharman's wake. I do appreciate a good sandwich, and it lifted my spirits.

So it's back to school tomorrow. I've got to get up extra early and pick up my Mythology book. It's going to be... sucky. So I've got to get to bed early tonight.

So sleep well, and please, hope for me. My soul is weary. Keep on rockin'
***Scott

5C: Please take your seats.

Scott Williams is an ass.

I don't know, man, I've been going around for the past two or three days just being a prick. I don't know how to explain it. Everything I say and do makes me look like the biggest dickweed in the room, and I'm aware of it, but I can't seem to stop behaving in this way.

Consider the conversation I had with Ana Yavari vlast night during which I essentially killed "Drift." It was a philosophical difference of opinion that wasn't going to be resolved, and I acted like a dick. I think we both agreed it was for the better, but why did I have to express myself in the way I did? I'm earning a bad reputation as one of those writers who won't change any of his words (not true) and who aversed to any of his ideas being changed (if not totally false, then at least inaccurate.) I'm just tired of getting the "you need re-writes" speech. One of the things I hate most is people repeating things to me. It implies a lack of respect for whatever intelligence I may have. Guthrie used to always say that great stories aren't written, they're re-written. And before that I'd read it in countless articles and publications on the subject of writing; which is why I was so upset that Ana didn't think I'd ever heard it before, or that I didn't think it was true. Maybe I was a little bit contentious, (that = major understatement, I was a total asswipe,) but in the end we decided that Drift wasn't the project she wanted to be doing, and it never was going to be. Not her fault, nor mine. I think we made a good, clean break.

The general consensus about Drift was it was the best script that everybody didn't like. I'm going to put it away, and someday, come back and attempt to make it work. If I do indeed ever become a professional writer (which some people seem to believe some of the time. Me, I haven't got a choice but to believe it,) you can believe this is something you'll end up seeing, somehow. And you know it won't be the same, and it probably won't end the same. Maybe it won't end the way everybody said it should, but it probably won't end the same. I don't give up on (most of) my projects. At the very least I post themn up on Interneta and say "boy this could've been," but the option is never gone. Even for, say, Funeral for a Freak, the door's still open.

I dunno man, I'm obsessing. As a show of good will, I pitched Ana another idea that was closer to what she wanted (also to signify that I can do it if I start the project with that mindset.) I don't know when it's going to happen, if at all, but we seemed to agree for the moment (and I helpfully included all that wonderful conflict and character growth that Drift was lacking, right in the pitch.) I want a reputation for being easy to work with, a sort of reverse of what Drift was giving me. It's an auteur thing (which means that I should probably just direct it myself. And I would, if I weren't such a crappy director.) It also appears that Ana will be working with Conorton, which made me happy to hear.

In other news, I've been reading about the election a whole lot. The Star had a particularly interesting article where people give soundbytes on whether they wanted a Martin/Harper Majority/Minority. You get a good sense of what many "average Canadians" feel. There are plenty of interesting thoughts (and it was useful for me in attempting to penetrate the mindset of Conservative Canada,) and this is probably the most interesting quote I could find:

"I think everything Canada has ever stood for is gone if Harper is voted in, which he will be. The man thwarts work in Parliament for the past year, forces an election and wins on gossip. This is not a leader. "
Jen Donnelly, Toronto, Jan. 16

This one also struck me:

"Anything but a majority. I am a traditional NDP supporter but I am not going to vote for the NDP in my local riding as my favourite NDP candidate has no chance of winning and voting for him will be practically equal to voting for the Conservative candidate. In a situation like this there is an increasing frightening possibility of a Conservative majority government."
Ramin Farsangi, Barrie, Jan. 16

Fascinating. Don't vote for the NDP, it would be in the nation's greater interest. Anybody who studied the Nader controversy from the American election in 2000 (and you all know how that worked out,) will know how damaging third parties can be. The Canadian political system cannot sustain itself with the NDP sitting as the Liberals' little brother, dragging away their potential voters. Ditto Green Party. If you don't know who to vote for, and it's between the Libs and NDP, I strongly suggestthe Liberals, otherwise.............well, you know.

Whatever man, I'm trying. I feel like I've gotten it all off my chest, and maybe I'll start getting some positive energies back from the universe eventually.

Keep on rockin'
Scotto

Addendum: I just need to relax. Maybe the funeral thing is eating away at me.

I'm not going to go to class this afternoon or tomorrow. whether I actually go to the second visitation or not remains to be seen, but I need to be available for it. Otherwise I can at least hang out with Kris at home... he's staying with us and made the decision not to go to the second visitation, so maybe I'll keep him company.

I need to buy my classical mythology book in the meantime, as well as In Cold Blood and the CP StyleGuide. Shite. School is really starting to kick my ass, financially if nothing else.

Oh well, it could easily be worse.

I hope all is well with the universe, if not now then soon... my typing more may only be hurting it.

KOR-Williams

5B: Alone and palely loitering

It doesn't look like I'm going to get any dinner tonight. At least, not until late.

My Great Grandfather died yesterday. The one I've spoken about on this blog, who was 101 years old and couldn't have been a nicer guy during all of them. I portrayed him in my Grade 9 Heritage Monologue, when he was 97. He lived almost exactly 6 years as a widower, having lost my great grandmother in February of 2000. He'd been doing solidly, but something strange begins to happen around the time of your hundredth birthday, if it hasn't already. The process of biological entropy begins to accellerate and consume. That's life. I am thankful that he lived a good life on his own terms and died a dignified death, I assume, in the comfort of his own home. I have not before known a relative who has gone that way, and I'm sure few of you have, either.

So there's a visitation tonight, and Eric had to run out early and get a blazer for tomorrow when he is a pallbearer. So we're without a dinner until afterward. It's a huge debacle. As I said last year when my grandma (dad's mom, as opposed to mom's grandpa,) passed, funerals are the worst. they disrupt the entire order of things and make everything complicated. And people ask if you're okay and everything. I'm fine. I have a very healthy, very natural outlook on death in that I can accept it in cases such as these. If somebody dies young or in an accident, naturally I would be hurt as much as anybody, but when a one hundred and one year-old man passes, all you can really say is "I will really miss him."

And I will.

As I said, I don't care for the disharmony that follows a death. It's difficult to just switch everything around and make time for the funeral. I need to have some kind of control on things, but chaos erupts as it does.

So that's really it. Today was a monday, which meant, mercifully, very little in the way of class. I got some good work done on Half-Past, and realized that I (very reluctantly) have to cut one of the best scenes just because of the photography. I'll figure out a way to get it in there, as some kind of special feature. I want people to see it but no amount of photographic trickery can fix it.

Good night everybody. I wish you all the best, keep on rockin'
-Scott

5A: Is she really going out with him?

Catchy song.

I have a lot that I want to say today, but much of I don't want to say because it would somewhat tamper with the mood of this particular entry. I want this one to be as upbeat as possible, and so I will delay any negative commentary for a point when I have more time to comment on it.

The Beermouse show last night was good, and not just because the music was awesome, but because it marked the third saturday in a row where I actually got out of the house and hung around with the gang. It's nice to go out to a deli/bar and listen to some great rock n roll with friends. Was quite glad to see Steph, as is always the case (along with the other Mac people.) The show was in general better than the last one, except that Alex Korna's drum set kept breaking which caused numerous pauses, which were filled with adlibbed stories and jokes, which might as well become Beermouse's trademarked onstage personas. I liked that part of the show nearly as much as the music which was a blend of Weezer pop-emopunk and 80's hard rock. You can see the clash of styles between Cary and Jeff, with Ben and Alex fitting into the middle somewhere. Visually, the band has a no particular image, with Cary's blazer-wearing Rivers Cuomo look standing in stark contrast to Jeff's blooze bar white t-shirt and jeans (it was almost a punchline when he sang ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man.")

Musically, they're really talented. Their duelling guitars are reminiscent of Perry-Whitford. They just plain rock, that's all there is to it. Even, apparently, without a bass drum (Patrick Visintini made the save at one point by miraculously having a drum key on his keychain, but that only solved the one problem.) An eventful show, Jeff shows improvement as a singer (whereas he was competent before, this time he really seemed to enjoy it.) And everybody loves Ben Tran.

I hitched a ride back with Amy Beuitenhiuoues (yes, I made up the vowels there,) along with Chris F. and Patrick, as well as Janessa. Patrick is almost too charismatic and likeable for his own good, let me just say. A natural entertainer.

After getting a good night's sleep (for once,) I woke up this morning and decided to go get some lunch at the mall (okay, it was debatably morning... lunchtime.) And I "ran into" (I'd hestitate to use that expression since I was sure she'd be there,) Robyn, and gladly distracted her from her work for about an hour. It was a fun way to spend a morning.

Then I got home and felt the need to do something creative. I've done this instead, but will put in a solid evening's work on several projects, including the next Redneck Comics volume, and maybe a story or two.

So I'm gonna get to it. Keep on rockin'
(Scott)

4D: Seasons don't fear the reaper

There was nowhere I'd have liked to have been less than at bowling this morning. for whatever reason I was not really in a bowling mood this morning, which is something I've found tends to be the case more and more often. This probably has to do with me outgrowing my adolescent need to get up on Saturday mornings and go bowling. Don't get me wrong, I've met some nice people over the years, had fun, discovered something at which I was (reasonably) skilled, and solidified a sort of bond with my dad after the separation that my brothers just seem to lack. So it's been good, but in truth not a bowling season ends where I don't think "this is going to be my last one." Except the last one, I didn't think that. But now I'm quite sure this one will be. Saturday mornings I'm going to have to start getting to myself.

Yesterday was a boring do-nothing day at school. I'm not even gonna say anything about it. Gonna skip right ahead to later that night, when Conorton came on and said "hey budd, what's up?" or whatever. Now by this point, I'd gotten back from dad's and was going to watch Broken Flowers on DVD with Eric, so I said that. Well afterward, I did end up getting a lift over, and many of us sat around, played video games (or, in my case, watched others since I'm not so much nito XBox 360.) It was basically a guy's night, at least, after Kyle and Lauren took off (not that Kyle's a girl, but they did leave together, understandably,) and Janessa eventually after. Beyond that, it was a mess of fart jokes, "tap that" and "capitalize" references. Patrick Visintini is officially the greatest anecdote/hypothetical situation teller I know. And me, with pearls of wisdom:

"There's two things, Chris..." (holds out two fingers,) "no wait, forget that. I don't know why I said there was two things. There's nothing."

But I've been thinking lately, sparked by a random conversation I had with someone (or a few actually,) about those times when a guy falls for a girl he can't have. As you all might know, I'm the quintessential "that guy." I like to think I'm past that, but I wonder how long before another chick comes along nd I'm back in Grade 10 and she's gorgeous and wonderful and we have plenty in common and she's naturally unavailable. I may already know her. Yes, that's right, I'm putting pre-emptive teen angst into this entry. It was just a thought, though. I should probably brighten up, y'know?

And the best way to do that would be to get off this effin' topic all together.

I have cat hair all over me from lying down on my brother's bed.

Since mom has left us for this weekend, dad took us grocery shopping today. That was a weird one, gotta say, since Eric and I felt like our every move was being scrutinized. He didn't care for our lack of milk and vegetables. Well that's his business. Really our grocery shopping only accounts for half the food we have in our house, since portions are made for more than three people there's a lot of holdover, and he caught us on a light week (and we forgot the fershlugginer popcorn.)

Before I leave you, let me say, I want to renew my recommendation of Broken Flowers. It's new on DVD, and stars Bill Murray in a terrific performance of quiet desperation and curiosity. Watch it with a sweetheart and bond over the experience of watching it. It's one of those movies, like Garden State or Lost in Translation, where watching it can be a bonding experience.

And now let's all keep on rockin'
Scott Williams, master of unsaid words.

4C: Crawling across the floor, spiderlike

I've been having to wake up generally earlier this week, which has prompted me to re-think my sleeping strategy. Meaning I'm starting to go to sleep erlier, which I hate doing, but here I am.

I had a strange dream last night. I was at this party, not totally unlike the one on Saturday, but there was someone there I hadn't seen in months. Alyssa. It was such a joy to see her, even in my dream, which I was fairly aware was a dream. It was that somewhat lucidness when you think "this is messed up, I'm clearly dreaming." The plot points of the dream (if they can be so conveniently be called,) are unimportant, but the ambiance of it was more vivid than any dream I can recently recall. I don't know what, if anything, it means, but I awoke in a haze, as if I'd been to another dimension, not merely my own consciousness.

It's been, as I implied earlier, a long day. Thursdays feel like they'll be all right though. They begin at 9 with Classical Mythology, which is more or less as I expected, reading and lectures. The format is enjoyable and I think the teacher, "Doctor" Mary Economou (yes, she is a doctor, but I gather in the same sense as Dr. Merriweather,) can do an admirable job of talking about what is obviously her favourite subject.

Now as for "Globalization in the Post-Modern World," it was weird. We were put into this strange horizontal room, and we're all waiting, when in walks ths strange older gentleman with a beaded/fringed leather Native-style jacket and several papers under his arms. This is Mike Walsh, and while it seemed like he spent the entire class trying to decide whether his accent was English, Irish, Canadian or Southern, he is the Globalization teacher. He teaches in a style Mitrovica aspires to, where he talks with some back-and-forth with the students, and some of what he says is actually retained. Despite the early and lateness of it, Thursdays may become one of my favourite days, right up with Mondays (for the moment.)

I was looking around at people and I was really wishing I could read minds. I'm utterly curious about what some people are thinking when we're all sitting in silence as the teacher rants. I look around the room, see a person, that person sees me and I wonder what that person is thinking about from the expression on his or her face. Sometimes you can tell, and sometimes you just wonder "what's going on up there?" Some people are trickier than others. Some people, I also have to believe, would be more interesting than others.

Yes, that's how fundamentally uninteresting my day was, I'm hypothesizing about telepathy. Truth is it'd probably be horrifying.

Things are not always as they should be, nor as they seem.

Keep on rockin'
Scott

4B: I don't even know how I got off the track

It's been a nutso couple of days. Perhaps too much to really capture in one manageable-sized blog, yet I will attempt so anyway. I really should have written one yesterday.

Yesterday was the first e-zine meeting, and boy was it... interesting. We picked a theme for the issue and were given the task of coming up with a new title. Yeah, and since the mag isn't really all that consistent in topic, it's just gonna have to be one thrown outta thin air. I came up with "Echo" or "Reverb" but they didn't seem to take. But at least I contributed.

The theme we came up with was Fears & Phobias, which narrowly beat out my suggestion, Dinosaurs, by a 3 vote margin. Don't laugh, because Nathan picked up on the double-meaning of dinosaurs (things that are old and out of date) and really managed to sell it. But the more general topic won out. We were then charged with coming up with story ideas to relate to Fears & Phobias, and it was at that point that I realized I could not bring myself to contribute to this endeavour in a writing capacity. Everybody seemed to be thinking so linearly about it, I was almost afraid to branch out and pitch something which was only connected to fear in a sideways fashion (a review of Fear Factor, perhaps?) the closest thing to what I wanted to do was the article Melissa Helwig (many Melissas, must specify) ended up being assigned, about Hollywood and feat in movies, etc.

It should be all right. I still think Dinosaurs had more appeal, but Fear sounds like a decent enough topic to start out with. Whether or not it is an enjoyable read is another matter, but people shouldn't have too much trouble getting their stories.

So I mentioned that I didn't want to be writing it. I know, insane, right? To those who know me well, the name Scott Williams is synonymous with writing. Well like I said I wasn't all that copasetic with the story pitches and didn't really make one for myself, so what I ended up doing was grabbing a slot on the graphics team with Phil and Anthia (Phil is in our class, Anthia is in another, but we've met before.) We spent the remainder of the meeting (which lasted roughly 4 hours,) heavily criticizing the look of previous issues, and making resolutions to not let ours look like that. From all the talk it seems like it'll be a challenge to put our money where our mouths are.

Then I went home and relaxed, had some lunch, came back, and had Roy Wilson's Writing for Newspapers class. It's not bad, easily the best course-course thus far, but I'll miss Stephen Jarrett. As it is, Roy's a good teacher and it seems like his class is going to be well-run.

Today sucked. I'll just say it, I'm not happy about today. I'm not gonna put up any false front of optimism for Wednesdays, they balls-to-the-wall suck this semester. Have to get up at 7 for Mitrovica's 8:00 Long-Story Journalism course, which is a 3-hour class where... oh who cares. It's Mitrovica. All I know is to expect lots of Australian accent in my near future. At least the required reading is In Cold Blood, which is impossible to find at the library (probably due to the popularity of the film Capote.) So I'm gonna have to go out and buy a copy of In Cold Blood. Mitrovica spent the whom time talking about what the course would be like and catching up with the end of last semester. He handed out the J-History assignment marks, which all sucked, because let's face it, there are fundamental things about being a teacher he doesn't know. It's like being in Mendes' class all over again, except this is actually relevant.

Then, after a nice 3-hour break during which I edited several scenes, mostly concerning Kyle Sanderson's character, it was Digital Publishing with John Clark. You know what the purpose of that is? Web Design. Not even good web design, but plain old HTML. That's right, teaching college-level students stuff I've been practising since I was 12. I spent the entire period reading title histories on WWE.com, and the highlight of the day was when Joe and I talked about how glad I was that Edge was now the champion. Terrible.

But then there's something fantastic in the air that has me singing today even when school is kicking me in the groin. Maybe the fact that the weather's so nice. Maybe I'm confident about the e-zine. Or maybe I just have some really cool news.

Last night, Cary came on to tell me about the Beermouse show (11:00 Saturday at the Pic, like you didn't know,) and when I say "I'll be there" he adds, "oh there's one more thing. There's going to be an ArtSci drama night where we can put on one-act plays."

Now, this statement required no further explanation as we'd already sorta had this conversation. What he was referring to is the fact that he said that, given the chance, he would like to direct the stage version of "Half-Past Eight PM" at Mac. Naturally, I was floored.

For an 18-year-old, I've amassed what I consider to be a remarkable catalogue of written works in only a few years, but my personal favourite may always be the origianl Half-Past Eight PM. Okay, amybe I think the script to the movie is tigheter with sharper dialogue and a more expansive plot, but there's something really cool about the original one-act play version of the story. The fact that it begins after the beginning and ends before the ending (I've often referred to it as "the middle of the story.") I love it so much because I was so consciously trying to satirize the very elements that worked to its benefit, a two-layered attack. A one act play, I believed, was usually just an excuse to put on a show with tons of dialogue, one set, outrageous characters, and no full storyarc. Check, check, check, and check. Unlike the movie version, which will further explain the events of the day, later that night, and the next morning, (and perhaps affect how people see the play,) the stage play is about getting to that last moment at 8:30 (or a little afterward, Beth is a little late, after all,) and leaving the audience with the perfect last line and a little wonder as to what comes next.

It's been hailed as "the best Fringe play," and while I'm not certain as to whether or not that includes professionally written pieces (such as The Underpants or the best three from the 2005 Festival,) or just original pieces, the fact that it's the best of anything, according to someone, is very flattering. To think, it came within mere votes of just not happening ever.

Combining this with Drift, it's already a good-looking year for me, professionally. Knock wood, here's hoping things keep getting better. It's not finalized yet, but it was an honour just to be asked.

Well that's me for tonight, hope you're all super, and if you're not, let me know and I'll try to help.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

4A: It's a Process

A weird dichotomy about the world is taht at this very moment I'm talking two people through MSN through the process of writing. You'd think that, being me, this is something I'd talk about a lot, but not really. It wasn't until recently I felt I had all that much to say on the topic. But over the past two years my reputation as the guru of writing seems to have increased. Not that it has all that much to do with being a writer. Part of it is just being a pal.

One is writing the Sears play, and one is attempting a heartfelt letter to a friend. The friend in question just happens to have a bit of experience with the Sears festival, and the two writers in question know one another as well. It's funny how insular and thematic the world can be at times.

That's the kind of thing I love writing. Cause and effect, synchronicity, the deeper meanings of coincidences, seemingly unrelated events all adding together to form a larger picture. Really, that's what Half-Past is. I spent a few hours this morning editing it, and while I only got a scene or two together, much of the time was spend putting some finishing touches on scenes that were already cohesive. For instance, the much-needed elevator sound effect for the scene of Doug and Lauren. The intro music which I've been hearing in my head for over 6 months. A spur-of-the-moment soundtrack inclusion that amounts to a funny sfx moment, and an obligatory in-joke that I'm worried many people just won't pick up on, but I'll find it hilarious.

I also had to play around with the brightness and contrast. See, we shot a few scenes with Neabel and Ryan during complete daylight. Then when Doug came to the shoot, it was nearly dusk and the streetlights came on. Then the next night, when we shot the scenes with her and Kyle, we didn't begin until well after nightfall and it is very clearly night. And since the scenes are supposed to occur directly after one another, a la play, there's really no getting around it. I tried my best to monkey with the brightness and contrast to make it look like the sun is setting as Neabel and Ryan speak, but it's just going to look murky and corny, but at least people will see a cohesive effort.

For whatever reason Robert Palmer sounds good right about now. No idea why. I mean, I like the song, Addicted to Love, but I really feel it rockin me out right about now.

After the editing and general lounging, it was back to school, which meant going and actually finding my new classroom (which is easier now that I actually know the campus, even if it was in a part of Sheridan I'd never been / didn't know existed.)

Class was... boring as all hell. Basically just a garrulous* lecture on digital cameras. It was Photojournalism though, so I guess that was to be expected. nothing new, though, and if something doesn't challenge me soon, I'm going to sleepwalk through this semester and just get the regular A's and the C+ from Mitrovica. Of course, that challenge may arrive tomorrow morning in the form of the first e-zine meeting. Who knows how that's going to turn out. Apparently the e-zine is brand new, too, so I have no advance word on what to expect. Yet its lax production schedule comforts me - in the time it takes Roster A to publish 4 newspapers, we'll have done only one e-zine. Pretty swank. And then it's rotation.

*see writer's craft words, beeatch.

Well, it was a reunion of the new gang. The Sheridan crew. Yeah, I guess we sorta are a crew now. It happens when you have all the classes together. It could be worse, I've definitely found a group of people I can get along with, and thus making school less intolerable. The whole scene is starting to gel as I learn more aobut the people I'm dealing with.

On Sunday, I was talking to my aunt Lori about journalism and my writing, and she remarked offhand that I "should have a blog," to which I had no idea how to respond, because I'm going to be honest, I do my best to hide this thing from my family. Well, to be fair, I prefer to keep it hidden from anyone that might possibly be talked about, but I just don't like my family knowing all the intimate goings-on in my head. Anyone who's read this thing can get that. Anyway, I turned the conversation to a condemnation of Mitrovica's insistence that blogs are the future of journalism, and she really agreed with me, they're not. She's the one relative I really feel I can have serious, involved conversations with.

Blogs will not destroy, supplant, or shoulder newspapers or TV aside. To use her very apt analogy, if current events coverage is a meal, what blogs provide are an hors d'oeuvre - or however it's spelled.

Not that I don't enjoy this thing, I just understand its purpose. It's my life in words. not news, not reviews, not anything useful or that contributes to society in any way. And that's how I like it. I come home and write one of these bad boys pretty much every night just as a way of getting it all out there and trying to put it all together. I've caught flack once or twice but there ain't no flies on me. I've also gotten more praise than is probably necessary considering the nature of the beast. I'd give the praise over to Haasim, whose blog is actually interesting to read, because he's got a good sense of humour and what's relevant.

All right, that's the world tonight. If I still have the energy, maybe I'll go write some Metaworld.

Keep on rockin'
Mr. SAW

3C: I'd like to feel it once again

This post's title courtesy of an Alice Cooper song, Novocaine.

Lordy it's been quite a weekend. Yesterday was Conorton's big farewell party. Now, it wasn't the blowout New Year's was, and there's a reason for that. Whereas New Year's is a celebration of a new beginning, the Conorton farewell is therefore a somber ending. But we went out in style.

I pretty much begged Steph to come out last night. She was saying how she wanted to go, and yet was conflicted, and I helped assuage her fears and try to get her to do what she wanted. And I began to feel really bad when I let one little thing bother me and stop me from having a good time with her. As it was, I wound up spending most of the night waiting for someone who never arrived, and by the time I managed to salvage myself, she was gone. I felt like a shmuck.

And I got into an argument with Doug, because he tried to pull that "capitalize on your potential" crap on me. Now for those of you who are unaware, Steph and I met after Commencement, when it was revealed she had been reading this blog for weeks. I added her on MSN and we became fast friends. She praised my writing and I gave her a nickname, and we spent a lot of time talking about anything. This is what you call a friendship. Within a month of knowing each other, I had gone to Hamilton and slept in her bed. You can see the complicated nature of our friendship emerging here. There's a weird comfort level there that I haven't had in a long time. Well a month ago, after Oklahoma, my post was entitled "Nobody ever wants to ruin the friendship," which I thought was just a clever little turn of phrase. Well, upon seeing this, she interpreted it as "oh crap, is Scott thinking what I think he's thinking?" which would have been taking the friendship into, you know, that place. Immediately the subject was brought up and I explained the innocence of that comment, and while all was forgiven, that conversation had a resounding effect on the friendship.

She became concerned about the possibility of leading me on and other teen drama cliches I hate. The friendship had become polluted by this spectre of "is he thinking / does she want?" It had become known that neither of us really wanted anything but a friend, but the fact that one of us had to nearly bring the friendship to a halt so we could both say what we alreday knew nearly ended it. It's taken us this long to get back on track.

Doug is a good friend of mine, and he's looking out for me, but he grounded out on this one. I spent an unfortunate little span of time nearly yelling at him, trying to convince him that none of this was as it seemed.

Well as much as I care about Steph, what it is is completely innocent (even if some R-rated things occasionally get said in jest.) I was too busy thinking about my vulnerable intoxicated female to even humour the notion.

Well time passed and she did not materialize. I began to get lonely, and it showed. I can't tell what look must've been on my face for much of the night, but I got "is everything ok?" from about three or four different people throughout the night. Well, it was and wasn't. Eventually I accepted the fact that VIF (how harsh of me to refer to her in that way, yet convenient,) was not coming, and I got on with the evening.

I spent much of the rest of the time talking with Chris F., Patrick Visintini and Connor Sutherland. I don't know why, but I relate well with the Grade 11's. I spoke at length with Chris about the perils of writing the Sears play, and Patrick about, in addition to capitalization of potential (Drama kids will forever be saying these words, from now on,) his theatrical future, and whether or not I could have been Connor. We went out for a walk, which I had been needing for a lot of the night to clear my head. We didn't go far because we were concerned about missing people leaving, but we did slide all over the icy roads.

Anyway, the night was made golden by the "last circle time of Scott Conorton," where we all sat around for well over an hour relating stories and having stories related back. All I really had to say was this story about how Conorton thought we'd already met and hated each other, but we hadn't. Everybody else had already (or was about to) exhaust resources of stories about how talented he was, that was the only thing I had that was mine. And it was very moving when he returned the favour and went around the circle back at us.

Chris gave me a ride home along with the Fergusons, Patrick and Doug, at about 3:30. I crashed in my own bed at about 4, watching an old episode of SNL hosted by Vince Vaughn (circa "Psycho" remake.) got up this morning craving Tim Horton's and did not eat again until dinner (which was late...r than usual at least.)

Tomorrow I go back to the world of Journalism. I dunno man, there's clearly going to be a shift in my behaviour. I don't act the same around the WOSS gang as I do at college -- although I don't think anybody would be surprised to see how I am at Sheridan. I don't know what to tell you, man. It's gonna be rough.

We'll see how it goes. Keep in touch and keep on rockin'
Scott
PS: Updated Interneta today. Cheers.

Addendum: I was supposed to include a reference to Angela and Jess in this post somewhere. How dare I forget?

3B: It took us a while to get back where we belong

From an aborted post last night:

I'm a lazy ass. I'm lazy, and an ass. I wasted the whole night playing a video game that I ended up failing. I had ambition once. i have no idea where it's gone. I wanted to come home and write today and it just never happened. And my editing isn't getting done.

Why am I blogging? I have nothing to say. It was my last day of work, but I don't want to talk about it. I spent the whole day mentally accumulating the little things that made me want to quit in the first place, and then Mom showed up later than hoped so my last hour was basically just restrained rage and frustration. It was miserable and when I finally got a moment's peace afterward, I shed a tear. Yeah, okay? A single masculine tear of joy. I had to work my last hour with Arturo and Tahir, and I really, really don't like working with either of them. And now it's done. And that's the end of it.

So I feel so slothen today, if that's the word. I have a headache from all my remaining pent-up angst. I need a good night's sleep and whatever can be done tomorrow.

I can't even verbalize myself right now. I need to rest.

Rest I did and nearly sleep in past bowling. Sleep really was what I needed. I felt like a new man, kicked major ass this morning, came home and, after grocery shopping, defeated Eric in a vengeance round of SceneIt? (he had recently defeated me in a quick match for duty of tossing out 2-week-old Trifle,) and did the necessary rewrites on Drift.

It made me sad. Not, like, in a bad way: let me explain. As I read over the script I found myself quite affected emotionally by the plights of the charcters. It's a modern-day tragedy about four people who make very poor decisions and must suffer the consequences. It incorporates my recent theories on girls being unable to resist certain bad boy/outlaw types even when they know it is a bad idea, which I've discussed with Rachel and Steph at different points.

As for me, assuming I'm done with this (I possibly won't be,) it means I get to move back on to editing Half-Past, (which I was already doing for most of the week,) and writing Melancholy Catatonia, Metaworld, and Work in Progress (I so very much want to get back to that project as soon as humanly possible,) and this will be on top of my schoolwork. I feel good, rejuvenated, after my stressful week full of work.

Now I'm just awaiting chili.

Keep on rockin'
Scott

3A: We are a generation of randomness

Just a quick one tonight since by the time this entry is done I'm gonna head off to bed.

Life's funny sometimes. For instance, when Scott Williams is an idiot and puts off learning how to select his elective - learning, not just doing it, but I was actually sitting around going "fuck I don't know how to do this" all this time and meanwhile AccessSheridan has an instruction manual on it and when I discover it, I also discover that a) I'm an idiot and b) film analysis is gone, which leaves me to... Classical Mythology. Which is cool since that class appears to be on Thursday, not Monday, so my week doesn't start until 3:00. Which I'm psyched about.

But the life is funny in a completely different way, when you run into someone completely unexpectedly. Taylor Stevenson. That name means nothing to any of you who didn't go to River Oaks (and I'm thinking that's about 2 of you,) but Taylor was a guy I knew for years, particularly in Grade 6 when we all made fun of him a whole lot, and for my part it was mostly good-natured ribbing but a lot of the kids were dicks to him. I thought he was an all right guy, but an easy target. Like a less thick-skinned Chris Brown, if you will (except I will openly admit to having Mr. B as my friend, and the two aren't really all that similar.)

Anyway, I'm at work today, not really doing anything, trying to avoid Fred Harte maybe since he'd also been there that day, when I see this tall, broad-shouldered guy standing at the snack bar with this girl. And just as I'm thinking "look at this douche" (as I often do when I see a guy with a girl,) he stands up and I see his face, at that moment I think "is that..." and just as i'm thinking that, he points to me and says "is your name Scott?" which prompts me to just say "Taylor." We shake hands and quickly do the ole catch-up, "how you been / what you been up to / this is my girlfriend" game (obviously that last part applied only to him.) Then he went and bowled and I went about my business. And I just thought "gee, he got tall."

I dunno man, for a while I was just like "did I get along with him or not?" and I thought about this cub camp where he showed up and we hung out for a while since there was nobody else there. That was about the only time I acted like friends with him, and I distinctly remember being there to laugh along with the rest of the class when he cried his way to the office over some stupid little teasing. Well, it looks like he did all right. Trust me, if you saw his girlfriend, he did better than all right.

I guess that's all I've got today, since it was nothing special. More focussed thoughts tomorrow maybe. Sleep now.

Or soon at least. Keep on rockin'
Scotto

2B: Falling back down to Earth

I slept way in this morning. It was weird. I woke up at after 9, 10, 11, and 12 I think, ultimately waking up on that las ttime, and had several distinctly bizarre dreams. One, a guy was chasing me, probably to kill me, telling me I couldn't wake up. How freaky is that, that the guy in my dream was attacking me and telling me I wasn't going to wake up? So a weapon materialized in my hand... a bent stuck used at the bowling alley to put up bumpers. Then I woke up. Another dream concerned my cousin and I giving christmas gifts, and the third I remembered was about going to see a friend at univeristy (not saying who, but you probably don't know him,) and then getting called to go arrest a bunch of people for the oddest reasons... the only one I remember being that they were snowboarding over jumps with stuff attached to the bottoms of their snowboards, and the stuff (letters or some kind... as in "A" "S" "G" "T" etc.) were falling off and hitting people.

So I wasted half my day asleep, and now Kyle's on his way over to deliver the rest of the movie on his external harddrive.

I'm going to admit to this: I find most dance music to be creepy and ominous-sounding. It's something that I learned years ago dring a school dance. It was the first time I ever heard "In Da Club" and I thought "this music is terrifying." Or... not.

I've been so lazy today. Between sleeping away the afternoon, writing half a post and then coming back to it (it's about 11:57 at night now) and being addicted to WWE Smackdown vs. Raw '06 for PS2, it'd be a wonder if I edited more than one scene before I go to work tomorrow. I'm thinking of staying up late and taking care of that.

Last night at work was... well, as good as it gets. The thing was I had to deal with a lot of "oh you're quitting?" from co-workers, since the schedule for next week was put up. I was getting really tired of explaining myself. It was Feria the barmaid who said something that really made my night, by essentially telling me they'd miss me... but I was doing the right thing. That made me feel so much better.

And I said goodbye to the girls of the tuesday night classics league. It was always nice to see them even if we never talked.

Ecch... my brain feels like mud right about now, so I'm gonna halt this blog and write a better one tomorrow... or later than that.

Keep on rockin;
-Scotto

2A: You think you know something

Listen, I haven't got much to say tonight. I could bitch about work, but that would be pointless: I've got all my venting out and I don't need the aggrivation. I could talk about my day but the fact is I mostly just went grocery shopping and played the new WWE game. I could talk about just about anything but most of it just isn't interesting.

I'd like to talk about "what a year 2005" was, but it wasn't such a terrific year. It had good and bad points. The good were the many fine people I met over the year, the friends, the things we did (since I actually did things for once,) and the bad was just a bunch of trivial bullshit that accumulated (and I mean, most of it is well-documented on the blog, and it is quite trivial.)

I could talk about how I'm excited for 2006, but I'm actually scared of it... I don't know quite where I am going or what I am doing and that much I do know is a little scary. The past few weeks have been amazing, and I mean that at the very center of my being, it has been more satisfying to be near the people I care about over the last 2 weeks, and it's a shame that we are all going back (soon) to where we came from... or in some cases, away to school for good. It's humbling to think about, but at least we can keep in touch.

I sat down today and actually did some work on Half-Past. It's remarkable how much I actually already have done, and yet it feels liek I've got a lot left to do, even thought that is not really the case. It is my dream to have it done inside of a week and have everybody see it at Scott's. It might not happen with me working so much this week, but it's not unrealistic if I can get it together over the next few days. I can't vouch for the sound or picture quality, but the words are all mine and I will proudly share them with the world.

So, to repeat: it is actually on it's way, now stop asking.

Yesterday morning I was feeling kinda guilty when I thought about where I'd been all night and how I'd left them to have what I'd assumed to be a lame New Year's. This wasn't so. Actually it appears to have been made better by my not being there, since it allowed them to go out and wander around for three hours drunkenly yelling at people, almost winding up on a train to Toronto and eventually using Lake Ontario for a urinal... charming New Year's, no? Oh and Eric almost got in a drunken fight. I was in awe when he told me what they had done. It really was a great New Year's, for all of us.

With that, I'm off to bed. I'm gonna get up early tomorrow and work on the flick.

Keep on rockin my fans,
Scotto

1A: So, what's your story?

The year 2006 is here. In case you're a freakin' moron who was unaware, last night was the drunkenest, yellingest, partyingest night of the entire calendar year, where everyone around the world gets drunk, yells, and parties until at least -- at effing least -- until midnight.

I was talking with Cary about the repetitive nature of the blog, and what can I say? It's absolutely accurate and true to say that I'm just writing about the same old stuff day in and day out. School, work, et cetera. But hey man, that's life. Life is repetetive, y'know? Fortunately we just happened to be speaking on the very night of obviously one of the big occasions for blogging. I mean come on; by this point whenever I go to a function like New Year's Eve at Scott Conorton's, I basically rub my fingers and say "this is gonne make quite a blog." And quite a blog indeed to ring in the new year.

It started with work. It wasn't painful, actually the load was quite light, but all the different supervisors were pretty mcuh all there (Ed, Val, Tahir, and two others whose names I don't know, were there for varying times.) And working with Arturo wasn't as painful, I indulged him in a little idle chatter as we avoided doing our job. See that's why I feared too many supervisors, because every once in a while they'd actually remark to us that we weren't doing anything. And that bothers them even when there's nothing to do.

Mind you, it started off weirdly with Arturo immediately pulling me aside and getting me to climb a rickety old wooden ladder, and hauling down reserve bowling balls in case they needed it. One false move and I would've destroyed the box full of commemmorative glasses they have stored away. It was like a three stooges cartoon, in that the two of us were joined by James (who was working the counter all night, sucker,) and I felt like a major stooge. And it was by the grace of God that I was not forced to stay all night either. It's a sign of good karma.

It was a rush yesterday, getting from work to the party. At work, I accumulated perhaps a few decent anecdotes that would normally be blogworthy, but these are different circumstances obviously and I'll stow 'em and see if they're still relevant later.

I got home and negotiated with mom to try and make picking up Kyle and Lauren work. She and Wally were obviously busy getting ready, and Kyle's mom undercooked the ham and he was still eating, so things got moving a tad later than expected, but it was "all good." Like back in August for the Beermouse show, I liked showing up with people, it makes me seem like less of a loner. So Lauren and Kyle and I showed up, Ryan and Becky were already there with Conorton, and Neabel was there as well. As people trickled in, the party picked up momentum and Kyle put in money for me for the keg... what a nice guy. I didn't quite take advantage the way many others did, but I had my fill (especially since I'm not much of a beer-drinker.) I guess it was payback for he lift, but whatever.

Now, because of the alcohol, I'm straining to recall many of the highlights of the night, which is kind of funny. I remember the drinking game, Kings, which was fun until people stopped paying attention. And there was talking with Robyn about why New Year's is a better holiday than all others (no religious observance or cultural obligation to do anything but party.) And she drank for the first time, which was sweet... she was such a dear about it, although we may never know how she got that scratch. In general, it was just another great chance for the ole gang to get together and prove why we were an ole gang in the first place. I got Chris Brown talking about religion, which spurred much of the same old commentary and reminiscing about Heidi in Grade 12 English. And I had a debate with Nebel about whether or not Anglicanism is Catholic, (not Protestant.) (3-1 it is, with Anisah and Mr. Brown backing me up.)

And yes, Anisah. Though we only spoke briefly, it was the most we've spoken since she moved, and in fact before the move to University since unfortunately we did not speak much at the farewell, and have not truly maintained contact (a few e-mails have been exchanged, but nothing substantial.) We discussed the possibility of "drunk by osmosis" (since she does not imbibe, which I imagine is a combination of personal decision and religion... I never asked, and it doesn't really matter.) My theory is that she may have grown slightly intoxicated by conversing with those who have been drunk, and thus either emulated their behaviour, or perhaps somehow been affected by the fumes of remanant alcohol on the breath of others. We may never know, but she seemed to be having a jolly good time.

Between Chris Ferguson being dropped headfirst into the deep freeze during the keg-stand portion of the night, the grappling of Conorton and Kyle (and Doug and Chris Brown, rematch of the century,) people on the piano, impromptu performances of Cabaret, and the loss of $3 to poker, there were many things that made for a good party, mostly with the healthy dose of alcohol.

The night ended with an hour and a half long lecture to Chris F. and Patrick Visintini on "capitalization." He was drunk, but insisted he'd say the same thing if he weren't (he would, and did.) It was sad, though, to keep hearing him repeat himself heedlessly, and it lost the fun before long, chugging that bottle of champagne. Those of us that remained turned in about 5:30ish, shattering my old record.

I woke up at abour 9:00 the next morning, on Conorton's couch curled up under what I learned was a duvet cover, clad in street clothes, Doug at my feet. My head pounded from a combination of alcohol and lack of sleep (the sun was coming up by the time we turned in, for crying out loud.) Muscles a little sore from the harsh arrangements (could have been worse... Patrick and Doug were on the floor, and Chris had to put his feet up on the back of the couch so as to not kick Becky & Ryan.) And my mouth tasted like a drunk girl.

Oh, yeah... I, um, left that part of the story out. I really don't know how to put it in this blog, but I'll deal with it later... if at all. I'm just going back and forth on myself as to whether or not this makes me a bad guy... for the record, I know I'm not, but I'm a tad concerned that certain people see me as such -- as when Doug was requested to go make conversation with Melissa, presumably to stop what was assumed to be happening, but wasn't. Now, if I weren't bashful, I would've written the whole post around that part, but as such, I don't feel like really talking about it here.

This morning, after some cleanup and discussion of "boy last night was wild" (it really was,) and discussion of who was sick (Chris F.) who was sober (me,) and who was still drunk (certainly Ryan,) we went out for Tim Horton's/Wendy's and managed to really hang out. If the night were a movie, it'd have ended with that scene. As it were, it ended by going back to Conorton's, and sitting, waiting for people to trickle out while flipping betwen Zoolander and Independance Day.

Tht about covers it... actually there are a few footnotes I'd like to add, but I'll put them in an entry tomorrow, since I've got work soon and I've been here for an hour and would like to move ahead with the day. Last night I didn't eat anything after a cheeseburger at 3:00 pm, and today I didn't eat until I re-heated some pizza at about 2 (at Tim's, I refrained from real food, and just got a coffee to wake myself up.)

It was a great night and I'm more than glad I went out. I'm going to miss Conorton and his unique parties, a mix of film fantasy drunkenness and legit hangoutage. And the way the house always seems to be available. And the fact that everyone shows up.

Hope you all have a great year. 2006 is looking promising.

Keep on rockin' for auld lang syne--
Scott