22* Again, I said nothing.

Well, Scotto's in a better mood tonight. Just barely.

not that I have my life any more together tonight than I did last night. My plants to snag an interview with a random person in the OPSEU office (yes, thanks to the extraordinary lack of help I've gotten from editor-coordinator people, I've resolved to randomness tactics,) fell through and I'm going to try and scrape something together tomorrow... but it looks grim.

But that doesn't mean life sucks. Not today, anyhow. It just didn't live up to its potential. Not much to say about class: it was Classical Mythology and Globalization. Nothing to write home about; nor, indeed, on the internet.

I did, however, just get in from coffee/homework with Robyn. After I finished my frames assignment, I had nothing of note to do, and started to compose "beat" poetry. It was one of my most cathartic creative endeavours in weeks, and this is just coming off a time when I had an excess of time to write, and wasn't particularly upset with anything I had written.

The more I talk to Haasim, the more I think he shares my view of being a journalism student: that is, neither of us as far as I can reckon really plans on pursuing journalism as a career. This is if I'm not misunderstanding him. It's just an option he wants to give himself, like me. Except the longer I examine the option, the less appealing it appears.

He runs a blog, a real blog, like the ones we keep getting told about, called The Canadian Geek, which gives his particular take on any given item of news, media, opinion, etc etc, that happens to fall into his lap. It's not like this blog. It's actually worth reading if you don't know him. Now, I'm linked among his "friends," which makes perfect sense because by this point I consider him that. But it's funny because here I am, my little casual rantings that exist in a vacuum of purpose, linked to by a blog that actually provides a service to its readership.

Not that I'm down on this blog. I need only to remind myself what I'm doing to realize it's not so bad: it serves merely as a public record of my existance. It is not a journal of information or necessarily opinion. It exists merely because I do. As a wannabe-beat and accomplished egomaniac, I have no problem with that whatsoever. It's the world's problem if they care. And good for you for caring, because caring about others is nice.

Many is the day I wish I confined myself to writing about something, and have considered opening a separate blog or (heaven forbid!) converting SWP into some kind of media commentary on television, movies, comics, or whathaveyou. Well the net is positively clogged with those sites to the point where I could simply not bring myself to add to the clutter. Better to just be myself and let the chips fall where they may than to try and be *something* and wind up as nothing. This, along with Interneta is my humble little corner of the world wide web. If I were to (again, heaven forbid,) perish somehow, this would act as the proof I was ever here. My rambling, self-deprecating, overly-wordy, pseudo-philosophical ode to existence itself. Not that I've done anything of particular of note with my existence, but everyone should be able to document his life in whatever way he pleases. And judging by the explosion in popularity of personal blogs in recent years, everyone does.

So I continue to do things the way I do them, the way I'll always do them, the way they've always been done, and gladly. On any given day I might find something else to talk about, and I like it that way. I am proudly me, and this website shows it.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

21* Blood on my hands

Today was, in a word, soul-crushing. And screw you, because hyphens count as one word. Anyway, I'd have to make it two words: utterly soul-crushing.

I don't have the emotional strength to deal with Mitrovica early in the morning. I just can't stomach him any longer. I want to smash his face. First day back and I walked out of that class feeling like shit. I wonder if he has a vendetta against me. Like if he reads this blog and resents how much energy I spend ragging on him. Wouldn't that be embarassing! I don't know how I'd feel about that. If that's the case I'd much rather not know he's out there. It's always the worst for me to find out suddenly that someone has access to this blog. Then again, what's so important here: people just look for the references to themselves. Nobody honestly cares what I was doing on June 3rd 2005.

Anyway, my insane little head went and blew everything out of proportion after learning y marks on the midterm assignments. I can't escape this swamp of mediocrity he's got me in. His lessons, apparently, are doing nothing for me despite my constant attempts to be good and follow his ridiculous little "rules." I tried, with the metaphors and the short sentences and the setting the scene, but it wasn't good enough for him. He didn't even seem to pick any real problems out. It was just not noteworthy. He says, "make sure to read the notes," and I ask exactly what I am supposed to derive from the occasional "good phrase!" or "wrong word!" Ridiculous. Yet it amounts to a 70.

I feel like I can give him what he wants. In fact, I was pretty sure I had, and he did little to disprove that. It's just not enough for him, and it never will be. It goes beyond being a typical "hard marker." Guthrie was a hard marker. Mitrovica is a... well, I'd better stop there, in case he actually does read this. Like I need more grief from him.

The point is, I inevitably took this much too harshly. I started thinking about the futility of trying to please a man who is never going to give me a good mark, yet has never said a substantially negative thing about my work. That got me to thinking how hard it is to wrok as a writer. I inevitably reached the conclusion that I have no future. That's my line of thinking. It always reaches some ridiculous conclusion. There were a few hours today when I just couldn't understand what I was trying to do anymore. I still don't, but I'm better now. But it's going to be just as bad tomorrow. And probably every day until the end of the year.

I'm writing on the newspaper right now. Somehow, I foolishly volunteered to be news. And as such, I ended up with a story that isn't really a story, since both the potential angles for the story were stripmined and auctioned off to other writers, I got the basic concept but absolutely no leads. I have nothing. I'm expected to deliver by friday, and I don't even know where to begin and where I'm supposed to go with it. I'll just have to do my best.

By the way, the title of today's post is quite literal, as I got home after Mitrovica's class and found that I literally had blood all over my hands. It didn't make any sense, because I didn't feel anything and there weren't any wounds of any kinds. There was a slit on my right index muscle, indicating the source, but I have no idea what happened, if anything. My theory is that I blanked out, punched Mitrovica into unconsciousness in a blind rage, and then resumed sight while on my way home, not remembering the incident. It just doesn't hold much water. There was a smear of blood on my laptop as well.

Instead of work in Electronic Publishing, I played Family Feud on Uproar. Kinda fun, but occasionally frustrating when you don't get a good question.

So that's my sad song for today. I've rebounded from an immense fit of self-doubt today and the fact that I don't feel like the saddest little boy in the world as of this post should count for something. I actually feel all right for now, but the spectre looms large.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

20* Schtick it to them

Every time I go to a Beermouse show, I invariably end up humming "Rosie's on a Rampage" for days afterward. Their other originals are good as well, but that one always sticks out to me. I applaud them for having written such a catchy tune, it takes skill.

I've got kernels all in my teeth. It's pretty unpleasant. Of all the times I've eaten popcorn I can't remember catching as many kernels in the teeth as I have tonight.

So school's back. First day wasn't such a big deal, just an overview of what I have to look forward to. An extra week of classes, apparently, which I can probably deal with. I've jsut got so much anxiety about tomorrow, starting to write for the newspaper, etc, etc. For some reason, although I am liking the course and the work I am doing, the idea of actually acting as a journalist is anathema to me. It hurts to think about. It makes me feel uncomfortable to think I'm going to have to be interviewing people and writing articles and whatnot. I got an 86 on my profile, despite it being major BS. A real article probably shouldn't be BS, it should probably consist of quotes and facts derived from research and necessary interviews. This, I cannot see myself doing. I feel like that could be me someday, but not tomorrow.

One thing that's good is that I hung out with Haasim and Joe today. It was good to catch up with them, since it seemed like a lot happened over the break... especially to Haasim, who is considering a change of identity.

There's still not much to talk about (which could explain why no post yesterday.) Most of my news is yet to occur. I'm just wondering how things are gonna turn out.

They'll probably be ok.

Sorry for not being interesting tonight, but that's a gamble you take every night on this blog.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott Williams Central

19* How you feel about what you think.

Suddenly, when thinking about what I was going to say in this post, I felt quite overwhelmed.

I have no idea why. There's nothing important or interesting in this post. It's been a while since my last and yes, a few things have happened, but nothing earth-shattering. Yet I think aobut my life and suddenly I'm reaching beyond my abilities. It's suddenly too much to deal with.

So the strike is over, back to school Tuesday, and *apparently* there were some PhotoJournalism projects I probably should have dealt with (they're technically due tomorrow.) Um... yeah. Nope, didn't do 'em. Can I afford to lose 20 full marks? Not really. Do I figure there'll be a way out? Sure.

I was writing earlier today, and I just ran out of energy. I'm trying to capture a character who is at the center of a very deep and troubling moral dilemma, and yet I can't help but try to rationalize what he is doing and make him innocent, guilt-free, and likeable. In my head he's such a nice guy that I don't want him to make the ultimate decision that is at the center of the story. Unfortunately, I know he has to. That's the whole point of the effing story. I just don't want to water it down and make it weak. I need to go full-bore on this. I can't let him get off.

Yesterday was interesting. I saw Alyssa for the first time in a long while. We went to the library, because she's gotten this sudden fancy for personality tests, handwriting tests, any way she can use to measure or classify herself, I believe she said. Now, I'm interested in these things, but I've always been wary. Whenever I read one that sounds like me, I have to wonder, "what could they say that wouldn't make me think 'yeah, that's me?'" How do I really know what I'm like? All I know is how I see myself; how I'd like to be. The handwriting one was more fascinating for me. Of course I missed all of the ones pertaining to sense of humour, so I guess I was right after all, and my handwriting confirms it.

Later that night was the Beermouse show. Typically good of them, no heavy ordeals about the drumset, and not much flash, just good rock n' roll. What can I really say? They can put on a really good show, even when they haven't rehearsed. And afterward, I spoke to Kenzi more than I pretty much ever have in our entire lives.

I wish there was more to it tonight, but I'm so tired with myself, it's this whole thing. I thought it would be fun to write, but I'm driving myself crazy with ths one. It's tricky. I would like him to be likeable, even sympathetic, but it can't seem for a second that what he's doing is the slightest bit right.

Now I'm getting myself all riled up. Errg, I need to sleep it off. Unfortunately, it's not sleepytime yet.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

18* You've got your clutches on her

So finally, after all these weeks of my bitching, the strike is over.

Which is going to be weird, since I haven't really been in a classroom in what feels like a month (and it should, since it's been four weeks.) Okay, so I did go to class on March 6th, but that was just an "okay there's probably a strike tomorrow" class, and warning us about our photojournalism midterm. And I don't count the labwork as a class.

So, holyfuck, I'm going to be working on the newspaper next week. Jesus crap. Let's put that out of my mind.

I wonder if we'll be able to graduate on time, or if they actually intend on keeping us in class for the same amount of weeks. Neither option is particularly promising, but from a practical standpoint I prefer the former -- why should we have our schedules fucked up by your stupid (utterly hopeless as I pointed out at the outset,) bargaining tactics? Sure, crush our souls under make-up work if you must, but I was really looking forward to getting out of school in April and I'll be damned if I let you stop me.

Eric's started writing again. For years, the only writing he'd do is Sewerman, or something else we'd do together, but somehow something awoke within him. Eric and I both started to write around the same time, but I accellerated beyond him because he had an extended period of inactivity during his long battle with prescription drugs. Then apparently, last night, out of the blue he starts typing. I feel happy for him, because from what he's told me, I think he's onto something. Moreover, it's nice to see him enthusiastic about something. He gets this gleam in his eye when he's doing some real down-to-Earth writing, not just in his head. We plotted out a script together last year, and he really enjoyed that.

This morning, instead of the usual, we watched Arrested Development's "Afternoon Delight" episode. It's always nice when people who have never seen the show realie its insane brilliance. Oh, and Chris gave Adam some tips on coping with the ex-girlfriend... including, "don't be friends with her, don't go to the same parties as her, and don't get cast opposite her in a play where you have to kiss her." Okay so a lot of them didn't come from Chris' mouth, but they're lessons he should have learned.

I don't know what to make of my life right now. Maybe things will make more sense on monday, but I've been floating too long with no anchor... or something.

Despite that, I'm feeling pretty good. I did want to get deeper tonight, about life, the people I know, the things I'm doing, but after three weeks of nothing, I'm exhausted.

Keep on rockin'
-Williams

Addendum 12:02 AM: So I'm bored. There's this weird pent-up energy flowing throughout me. I want a coke, but I'm going to try and go to bed in an hour or less and that would be a horrible idea. I've been reading old blog entries. The side-effect of having this blog so long is that the old entries act as quite the source of entertainment. Every feeling I've captured in this blog seems to fleeting, like such a momentary snapshot of a moment in time when I felt one way, and as soon as I clicked "publish post," it was done. So strange. I'm the most nostolgic person I know, I think: whether things were better or not, I'll always be pining for anything that came before my present reality. Or something.

If I could harness this and put it to good use, I'd be in business. But that's not in the cards.

Keep on Rockin~Scotto

17* The more we talk, the less we understand

I should be incredibly frustrated.

I mean, I feel it down there. That resentment at the world, being tossed around by fate. An uncertain, but surely harsh destiny on the horizon. A general dislike of my situation. It's all there. I'm just way too apathetic right now.

I've gotten much better thanks. My routine of filling myself with every type of remedy until I don't know what's what seems to be working. I'm down to a stuffy nose, slight cough, and light headache. In a couple days' time, the illness will be but a memory. Thank you to everyone who sent their well-wishes. You know I appreciate it.

The college and the OPSEU and "the Council" have broken off again. It looks like they're even further from figuring this shit out than before. Or maybe they're closer, I don't know. CSA reports that I should be concerned. I saw a nesflash that said that an arbitration might be close. I don't know what to believe.

I've been putting the time to good use. I've watched a movie every day this week. Somedays it's one I've already seen (Manhattan, Lost in Translation,) and sometimes it's one I never did, that's been sitting in Eric's collection for a while (Crimes and Misdemeanors, Barton Fink.) Then I do some writing, take care of chores. Maybe I'm better off this way. But I'm stating to freak out in my head. I haven't lashed out at anybody yet, but a lot of the time it's like I've got nobody to talk to. Thank goodness I've been hanging out with Ferguson & Co in the mornings, otherwise I'd forget other people existed on this planet.

I wonder what it's like out there - to have a real life, with real problems. I find that that's my biggest problem as a writer. I've had too little experience in terms of actually living my life, to stretch into creative material. Sometimes it's hard to imagine the way things might be for people who are out there, living. I want to write a comedy about a politician who loses his memory. Or a satire about a newspaper. These are just ideas that occur to me. I've got too many damn ideas and I'm not going to be able to write them all. And to do them justice, I have to do more than mull about this basement thinking about what I could be doing.

Well there's my frustration. I'm glad I got that out there.

I wonder what the real people are doing these days.

Keep on rockin'
Scott

16* So they told me you have a secret.

So, there's no point in denying it: I'm sick as a dog.

I figured this out last night, and was kicked hard by it this morning, when I got up and could positively not stop sneezing. Of course, we stocked up on cold medicine last week, thanks to my brothers' adventures in illness, but our supplies were depleted for obvious reasons. So I had to go out to the pharmacy at 8:00 this morning - since I was already up, after a mostly sleepless night (because of the sickness, not because of what kept me up last week,) rolled out of bed, popped some pills, downed some generic DayQuill, went to the pharmacy, bought some ColdFX (which is mostly just Ginseng,) got a tea (which really helped,) and headed back out. In fact, feeling better, I went back over to Ferguson's, because I knew that if I didn't, I'd be missing my one good chance to actually do something today, even sick.

This is indicative of the difference between the three of us and how we handle sickness equally. Brandon does the rational, if inconvenient thing, and goes into sensory-deprivation mode in his room. Eric veges on the couch and regresses to near-infancy. I power through, not because I am invincible, but because I view sickness as an inconvenience to be ignored. I hate being sick. Who doesn't, right? But it bothers me, because I'm the type of guy who likes things his certain way. It's a nast character trait to have, but I do, and I'm not willing to change my ways for sickness. Thus, I've been on the computer for most of today.

So now they're in talks to end the strikes. They're dragging on and I can't get any information. I don't even know if I'll go tomorrow because of how ill I am, if school does come back. Screw Mitrovica. I'm friggin' sick. (and I had to think really hard to remember what teacher I'd have tomorrow morning.)

I'm thinking back to the last thing Anisah said to me before leaving on Saturday, and that was that we didn't get to talk enough. That was true, and I think it might have helped if I hadn't been the slightest bit inebriated when she arrived. After all, my desire for conversation, and my aptitude for it, significantly decreases when I get into the drink, even as little as I had. In the future, I should pace this accordingly. then again, I didn't even know she'd be there, so that's splitting hairs. That is, of course, assuming she really wanted to speak to me... (that's really just token paranoia - Anisah, I don't think, has had an insincere moment in her entire life.)

My mind's kind of wandering right now. I can't quite collect my thoughts. I was reading my old Writer's Craft Journal earlier. What a crap. What a book full of crap. Reading it, I felt like I were reading the fragmented, broken-english, half-baked thoughts of a delusional schizophrenic. Maybe that's a bit harsh, but I was never able to really gather my thoughts together properly there, either.

Anyway, my nose is sore from constant wiping, my muscles are sore, my head is sore, my throat is sore, I'm basically just walking soreness. Better cut it for the night.

Keep on rockin'
-Williams

15* Clang, clang, and clang.

The significance of that title to be explained later.

It's been such a good day, I feel positively electric. easily the best day of the entire strike; which is good that it happened, because it could be over any minute now.

It started with Ferguson's. They're back at school, naturally, so I tagged along as has been customary for the duration of the strike. Nothing too fascinating, just a lot of examination of the action figures. Then I went home for a spell and chilled, before returning to chill with Alex Korna and Robyn. This reminds me, I owe Robyn some K-Slice mp3s.

We went out to the mall and, as Alex ate a souvlaki, Robyn and I had coffee (it was bound to happen I suppose, heh,) and much nothingness was discussed. People who frequent the mall, jobs, Guthrie, College, anything and nothing.

But despite that being cool, that's not really why I'm so abuzz. It's probably partly due to Eric being back at school and me essentially having some sort of privacy/solitude at home, but that's just where it begins. This afternoon I sat down at the computer and started typing, and did not stop until will over 2,000 words was added to one of my ongoing projects, effectively bringing that portion to a close.

The project, without giving too much away, is a collection of related short stories. The first one, I started in September and finished only a couple of months ago. Then I hesitated before beginning the second one in mid-February. I was able to finish it off to a quite satisfactory effect, allowing me to press forward and potentially actually finish this. Completion isn't a feeling I've gotten in a while (although I got it through different means from Half-Past,) and my speed of work on this shows how committed I am.

I just feel like I've finally put the strike to good use. When Eric was around, God bless 'im, I felt so blah. He was there, sick, vegetating on the couch, and I really didn't want him in the environment to be able to write. Plus, I found the end of the story in the writing, which is wonderful. I didn't really have much of an ending planned when I started writing it, but managed to supply myself with the ingredients to find it in there once they were there. It's a lot like how Half-Past was originally written. That last line was not part of the original plan. I only found halfway through where I could go with that. Mid-creation inspiration is an incredible feeling.

So I will be updated Interneta soon. It mostly depends on how soon the strike ends, meaning if it drags on, the update will be sooner. I'm not ready to start revealing this project, but I have plenty of reserves that I can upload for your enjoyment.

That's where the title comes in. I was in the midst of writing, and I had this bit where the guy goes down a metal staircase. I wanted to emphasize it, so I described the sound "I stomped down the iron staircase; clang, clang, clang." Then I get the green squiggle. I check the grammar and Genius Microsoft Word suggests I change it to "Clang, clang, and clang." I loved that; foolish Microsoft Word. What a silly turn of phrase.

I feel so good. I no longer feel upset about the strike (since I know I can use the time,) and if it has to end, at least I did something of substance.

I've got my balance. "Winning at life," as they say at the Specialympics.

Keep on rockin'
The Scottwilliams

14* Rescue me mighty angelgirl

It's been an odd 24 hours.

Because mom had vacated for the weekend and thus left us without groceries, she offered us cash to order food. We ordered Swiss Chalet. Now the interesting thing about Swiss Chalet is that in eating it you should really be at a dinner table. In the past two years, we've gotten quite accustomed to the "plate on lap" format of eating. Not the most formal, but we're all pretty relaxed over here. So being that the upstairs was empty anyway, we went and sat at the dinner table, the three of us, and enjoyed our dinner.

At first we ate in silence. Then we got to talking about assorted memories and then it became full-blown reminiscence. Now despite the three of us living in fairly close quarters we don't sit down and talk very much. Not with Brando being in his room virtually all the time (though I regularly visit him because the PS2 is in there,) and my wanting to throttle Eric just about every time he opens his mouth (hah.) It was kinda nice getting along over a dinner table for a little while.

After that, I moseyed on down to Robyn's birthday courtesy of Mr. Brown. It was nice to get a rather warm greeting. It was, however, not so nice to have my bad toe stepped on by one overzealous greeter, the identity of whom I can't confirm. Point is, it hurt for a while.

It was a mostly good night. It's always good to see Steph, and I was looking forward to seeing Laura, but I only spoke to her briefly before she was whisked off, and ahem, that was the end of that. The evening rolled on. I pretty much hung around with Ferguson, Lauren, Chris Brown, Adam and (later) Sonya and Anisah. The party kind of split in two, with the rest basically relocating downstairs, and Robyn bounding between the two - ah hell, she was really just downstairs for most of it, occasionally coming back up and checking on things. Or she was somewhere; she was a little difficult to keep track of.

I'll admit, there were things that were bothering me that night that prevented me from enjoying the party to its fullest, which is unfortunate. My own personal issues. But I've worked something out, or at least got a working theory about it.

Earlier in the week, I heard something that I found deeply unsettling. This was what troubled me against sleeping on Friday night. It seemed logical, but went against several of my own observations. So I decided to keep my keen eye for detection on this case. I worked out a sort of conspiracy theory (though it's not much of a conspiracy, just a shadowy dealing) that explains the whole scenario. It involves two people, a secret rendezvous, and an uncertain aftermath blown out of proportion. I can't exactly present my evidence, which is why I'm not laying charges or naming names. There are just some things that I, as an impartial observer, found that make the possibility of the first explanation hard to believe; and worse, a little hurtful to certain others.

Someday, I'd like to know the whole story. But I may never.

I came up with the theory today. Last night it led to another ruefully difficult time sleeping. Even worse, since what glenaings I had had started to froth to the forefront. It was only today that I came to realize there may be a possible second explanation. Or I may be way off base, and a major tool.

Anyway, today's been low-key. We had to find our own supper, unusual for a Sunday (and displeasing,) did the shopping, cleaned up, and about the tackle some homework.

That's about all I can say for tonight. Again, Robyn, thank you for opening your home and throwing such a wonderful bash. You're terrific. Keep on rockin
Scott A.~~

13* I'm gonna have to leave my knife in your back

I couldn't get to sleep last night. It was one of those uncomfortable toss-and-turn sessions that eventually drains you and causes you to slip in and out for a few hours.

I wish I could explain, but that would be difficult. There's something on my mind and while usually I can just let it out onto the blog, sensitivity to readership suggests it would be a bad idea. Still though, it's gnawing away at me, and hopefully I'll be able to put it to rest by tomorrow. I could use the good night's sleep.

I'm getting so sick of getting up in the morning and not having anywhere to go. I'm sick of being barred indoors by a most unfriendly chill. I'm sick of waiting for the strike to be over with. Most of all, I am possibly literally sick of living in the germ factory over here. It can't be good for me that Eric has been sleeping on the couch and we've been in close proximity since he's been sick. Even Brandon caught it. I've been popping ColdFX as a preventative. This environment is driving me batty. It's like, the extreme cabin fever, which could involve into an actual sickness. Something's gotta give. At least monday, Eric will be back at school and I'll be left to my own devices. Hopefully the basement will be able to be stablized as a germ-free zone of some kind. I can't write in this place, knowing he's here all day. It's a comfort thing.

I've gotta get out of this place.

At least these days I can usually find something to do, even if it does see me out playing board games (guess which) over at Chris Ferguson's. At least it's somewhere, not sitting on the computer doing the wikipedia clickaround to find something interesting to read. They're a good quality of people, and the activity does lend itself to whatcha might call "prolonged social interaction."

The benches at which I filmed "Half-Past" are no more. I was downtown today and went by there, and they were gone. how sad, I thought. Then I laughed at how likely it might have been that that had happened during shooting... and I would've just destroyed something (the nearby bus shelter, perhaps?) It seemed like that would've been my luck on that shoot, to have that happen. Thankfully, it didn't, and you can look forward to work on that coming soon. Well, eventually, anyway.

Anyway, that's what's on my mind today. Hope you're all having a nice day.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

12 * In a town full of heroes and villains

So Eric seems to be getting better. He'd like to thank all those that sent him get well cards. Meanwhile, Brando doesn't seem so well, so there's balance, unfortunately. I hope I can keep in the middle. I was already sick this year, and it s-s-sucked. Plus, if I had to stay home from school once it comes back, that'd be pretty lame.

I was reading this review of a recent film, a documentary called "Unknown White Male," about a guy with amnesia. I was thinking how odd it'd be to actually have retrograde amnesia. It's always been a fascination of mine, to have the slate wiped clean. Sure it's wipes clean, but certain things stick. Like the guy in the movie was still, apparently, able to sign his signature, despite not knowing his own name. Go fig. I guess I sorta romanticise the idea of amnesia. I always feel like it'd be nice to get the fresh start that comes with having your identity erased. It's insane, it'd kinda be like being a child again. Forming a new identity. Learning things you used to know. Having new associations with old once-familiar items, places, tastes. Rediscovering jokes on TV shows you'd grown tired of. Maybe the next time around, I'd like pork more. Or birthday cake. I didn't have cake at Aunt Karen's part on Sunday, and I felt bad. some of the cake came home with us, so I had a piece on Tuesday. Unfortunately, it hadn't really kept. My bad.

I wonder how I'd react to the remnants of the old me... this blog being an obvious "Exhibit A," not to mention the pages upon pages of writing I've done. Just the things that are so indeliably me. But I wouldn't really want to be someone else. I'd want to be me, but without all the burden that comes with having been me for so long. There's no guarantee you'd like the same things. The same music, the same movies.

The man in the movie had just started taking photography classes, and when he lost his identity, his work gained an "enormous depth." How strange.

I've always been intrigued by these sorts of identity games. Who are we when we're not us? Not the soul, but the Buddhist concept of anatta. I often wonder about reincarnation. Not whether it exists - I have no doubt whatsoever that it does, much the same as Christians have no doubt in heaven - but in where it will take me. How will I find myself in my next life? I feel as though I've done too much with myself ni this life to have it all erased away to start anew. I'm hoping some of it sticks. Or maybe, just maybe, some of it has stuck, and that's the point. that I've cultivated my identity over so many lifetimes that no matter how I return, I'll still be, in some way, cosmically recognizable as what I've always been; only in a new context.

Apart from those musings, which I think are fairly substantial for this normally superficial blog, I've got precious little to say today. I solved the riddle of my Photojournalism midterm, so taking care of that is what's on the docket for tomorrow. I rediscovered my love of online poker, which is terrifying given how addictive it can be. Maybe I'll get some writing done later tonight. Maybe I'll write something based around those thoughts on identity.

Despite the burden of servitude, it's been an okay day. I hope things are going well for you out there.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

11* A world where no-one gets hurt

I don't feel like going on too much tonight, but my list of grievances is quite lengthy.

So, Eric's sick. He's taken the couch as his temporary base of operations, which irks me just a bit. It's just that I don't care for his inescapable presence. It makes me feel like he's always around... and since he's kinda invalid, I have to actually get him bevarages and whatnot, plus let's not forget there's no way he's touching dinner, so I'm doing all the cooking, on top of my usual level of dishwashing and et cetera. So basically, the strike has turned me into a maidservant for my brother. I'm more enraged about the situation than ever. If he gets me sick, I'll kill him. I'm sure of it.

Well, it's not so bad. I shouldn't complain so much. Even though the weather is mostly keeping me in, I did go out today for lunch to get away from it all. and later, I did some much-needed writing, which was better than I thought I'd get since I wasn't so "in the mood" - I just flet the need, sat down and it started to flow. I was definitely diggin' it, and it went well.

I think , though, that it's a testament to how well life is going that all my complaints are trivial at best. I can enjoy what I have, it's all in perspective. Things could be worse. Hell, they could get worse.

Um... knock in wood.

I think that the best couples have things in common, but also have their differences. They can't be too much alike, but they've got to have enough common ground. That way, they bond, but keep themselves separate. Just something I've observed. A theory.

I just don't know what to do with myself for now. Hopefully tomorrow will be more interesting.

Keep on rockin
"Scott"

10* She's alone and shivering at 3 AM

My problem, for the moment, is that I've got nothing going on in my life. It should be a token of the amount of inactivity that the bulk of several posts of the past week and a half have concerned the board game "Risk." At one point last night it looked as though that was going to be today's as well, but that was curbed.

So life is not developing, my resentment of school is only formenting. As a result, my blog entries for March 2006 will be distinctly repetitious until something really does happen, although I have certainly been able to get out of the house a little bit, despite the weather being unfriendly.

Case in point: Robyn randomly asks me at about 5:30 if I want to go with her to Mac, "nowish." I agree. After a hasty dog walk and some directions being printed, we were on our way. Things boded ill from the moment we missed the on-ramp to the 403 and had to swing back around to get it again (although not before I pointed her in the wrong diection that caused us to do an extra lap.) Around 7, as we were drawing nearer to Mac, scrambling to find the overly complicated directions (damn Hamilton!) Robyn skips a stopsign and gets nabbed, netting herself a ticket.

That put a damper on the night, as I asked to be back for 9, thus not leaving any time for the night to be about anything else. We went with Steph to get coffee, then watched the first period of the Leafs game with Sheara and some dude. Now, we all know how poorly I generally perform with strangers. There is the occasional good first impression (Natasha comes to mind, as does Laura,) and generally speaking if I do happen to get my mojo working around a stranger, I tend to brag about it for weeks afterward, because it's rare. I'll recall my unfortunate first trip to Mac where I couldn't even deal with Alex and Barb being there as an example of things not going too well. That's not the fault of the other party, it's just me, I'm an odd kinda guy who can't always deal with people he doesn't know. So I sat silently for a good chunk, which was a waste.

Throw in the fact that we were watching a hockey game, and that I've never been the biggest hockey fan: and that's putting it lightly. That dented the night even more with the addition of the previous two points.

After the first period though, we went to hang out with Alex, who is a cool guy now that I'm over the not-talking thing. Was a shame Cary wasn't there, but I think he's had enough of me randomly showing up to places he lives recently. (I've mysteriously been at his house with him there twice in the past month.)

On the plus side, on the way home, the guy in front of us skidded against the cement boundary (or whatever that thing is called) on the 403, so Robyn was given a pleasant reminder that she is by far not the worst driver out there on any given night.

As for some other vagueness: I don't want you to feel anything but what's on the surface for what I did. It was a gift, and I wanted to help, to give what I can, to show I care. It's my mission to prove to those in desparation that we are not meant to carry all burdens alone.

I guess that's it for tonight. As I said, life has grown motionless, stagnant, still. I was going to go into philosophics about the nature of blog and what I do, but the night proved more eventful than the need for that, so I'll stuff it for another time.

Hope the stars smile upon you tonight.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

9* There's no world quite like ours

It was a shame that BlogSpot chose last night to be such a jerk and not allow me to post, since yesterday was uber-eventful.

That said, I'm not sure how to begin. I slept in, after an overly-late night finishing the epic Risk battle. That's the kind of thing that takes it right out of you, trying to get in a few solid hours of dice-rolling, and we were at Chris' until after 2:00 until at last we reached an agreement: Pat and I won, Chris lost. I almost would have conceded defeat, but I had a set, and it would have taken more than one turn for Pat to wipe me off the board, so the night would have gone much later. Anyway, it's too tiring to keep describing these Risk games, so maybe I shouldn't.

First item of the day was grocery shopping, which we'd put off from Saturday. I've noticed that any time I'm in the car with mom - which pretty much is only every weekend for shopping, for those not keeping score - there's like a 50/50 chance she'll take the opportunity to discuss her life with us. So she's at "that time of life" (eww,) she broke it off with Wally, yadda yadda, stuff that I guess does affect me, but I don't like being told, you know?

So, we get to the grocery store, things go as usual, except they've rearranged most of the aisles, and my mom was quite disoriented. We did okay, finding most of what we needed.

It was such a beautiful day yesterday, even better than Saturday. I can't wait until the weather gets more consistent, if that's what we're in for. I went for a walk with Robyn. The ostensible reason was coffee, but the weather made that an unpleasant option, so we sat outside with pop and just chilled. I don't know what else to say. My modest semi-British upbringing suggests I ought to not gush about it, but it was quite nice. It's hard, sometimes, to phrase these things, but just the simple act of walking and then sitting was the perfect way to spend the afternoon. Thank you.

After that, I had to walk over to my Grandma's, to celebrate my Aunt Karen's birthday. I didn't feel so great about it because instead of getting her a gift, my name was placed on mom's, because it was larger than the "agreed price." Uh huh. And Eric forgot the card at home (which, if I'd known, I could have brought, since I walked over on my own.) It was your usual "chill with Kris/play with babies" dinner affair, wherein I griped quite heavily about the strike, something I don't feel like doing so much right now.

So that was the day. I got home, watched TV, and wrote a sizeable chunk of something that I'd been putting off, and am glad to now have well underway. Someday you'll start seeing it on Interneta, but it'll take a few different updates to be completed, I think.

I'm gonna go eat breakfast, and then figure out what to do with my day... the weather seems to prevent me from going out.

Keep on rockin'
S.A. Williams

8* Never going awry

Barring some unforeseen incident, Spring appears to have reared its head.

Today was the first of what will surely become numerous lovely days so far this year. Not that this year has thus far been dreary - far from it, in fact quite the opposite. It's been a terrific year, weatherwise, which is terrifying. People are freezing to death, apparently, in Inida, because they got more Winter than they were prepared for, and obviously those homes aren't built for heat.

But over here, the world is quite alive. I went down to the Lakeshore market today and the street was positively abustle. Abustle, I say! And I went around in a big loop in my quest for coffee, the bank, and comics in that order, and ran into the same few people, including a couple with a shaggy dog (not unlike the one in that awful-looking new Tim Allen flick,) and a woman in a business skirt and nylons. I don't know why I noticed the nylons, maybe because I'm into that particular item of ladies' garments. Maybe not. I haven't decided.

I walked all the way down there and bussed back, which is my usual summer routine, clad in a sweatshirt. I wasn't able to visit the pier, since it was crowded, and the breeze off the lake was too cold and stiff, I was inappropriately dressed. If I had given it more than a moment's thought, I'd have kept my jacket, but no, I left it at home.

But it's quite springy, so let's not jinx it now. Dad's barbecqueing. Mom's cleaning obsessively (not unlike every other time of the year, just with a renewed focus,) Romance appears to be in the air for some. People aren't being reclusive to their homes. The world is coming alive again. I had quite a heated debate with a friend (not an argument, let's make that clear,) defending why I loved spring, and she disagreed: however, she was of the impression that February was spring and May was not. How dare she slight my favourite season in that way, associating the worst month of the year with it. February is clearly winter. March is hardly spring.

And now I'm listening to The Sounds new MySpace-exclusive online album, which is terrific. If you're into Swedish synth-rock (which I so clearly am,) give it a listen. I'd heard their song, "Seven Days a Week" a long while back and even had it on my computer (though I appear to have lost it,) and for a while assumed I was the only person in the world who knew about them (as little as I did,) until Alyssa popped their CD in during a brief car ride.

I have my doubts about the future, and I sure as hell don't have a clue about the present, but I'm good right now. Which, I guess, is the present, but it's a multitextual thing: in a greater sense, I'm lost for the present, but at the moment, I'm serene. Zen. Relaxed and at peace. I wish it were something I could teach, but it's not easy to awaken the philosophical sides of others, or convince them of your ludicrous theories on the truth of existence in the universe. Absurd though they may be, my little theories and concepts have gotten me through many a rough day since I invented them.

I hope you all have something.

Keep on rockin'
Williams

7* We always seem to miss one another

The title of this post is dedicated to Ms. A. It's a shame, too. All too rarely do the stars align and we can actually chill out these days, and today it was just not in the cards.

Today was not such a groovy day, my faithful readers. I've been feeling the cabin fever pretty heavy, so I wasn't at home at all during the day. I spent most of it in the Ferguson basement trying to settle the Risk score with Chris and Pat, and getting my ass kicked for my efforts.

And then there was the story that led to the title of this post, which isn't all that interesting, even to those who are part of it. That was a huge chunk of my day which could have been avoided, had I not always had to be so verdammt punctual. Personally, I hate waiting, which seems to be the story of my life these days. Even when something is going on at the scheduled time, if I'm early and waiting, I get overanxious. That was a big problem I had going onstage a lot. Perhaps I should have gone home and chilled between school and Fringe that one day when I got really uncomfortable.

But I say that not to gripe about what ended up happening today, a moderate snafu at worst, but to think about the strike. And I quote CollegeStrike.com: "As the first week of the province-wide faculty strike comes to an end; NO indication from either side has been made as to when the parties plan on getting back to the bargaining table," with a big bold "no" like that. Although on the site, there is a comma after the "no," I suspect that is a typographical error: otherwise, it would rightly be, "yes, there has been an indication." The question, after all, wasn't "there hasn't been any indication, has there?" Or something. I'm not sure, Guthrie's so far in the past and I haven't had any educating in weeks.

Once again, the thing that bothers me worst is the sense that I have no idea what is going on with my school. The helpless feeling that I have no control oer my fate in this matter. That I am subject ot he whims of the (greedy, selfish) OPSEU. It's the same reason hy I don't like my mother putting random carpets under my desk chair, and why I always kvetch about not being listened to: I like to retain some sort of say in my destiny. I've always been of the believe that man makes his own destiny, in accordance with the hand fate deals him. Opportunity will play a huge part, but a man must take action, and my hands are tied. It's driving me insane.

On the plus side, I did some writing today. It was something I didn't even really think about before today, it sort of came up during my downtime. I always get inspiration when alone in public places, and this was one that had to be used. I'm always seeking inspiration. You can make a story out of just about anything. Which is how my next project has come about.

Well, my hands are sore from typing, so I'll leave it at that for tonight. Good night my fair readership, and keep on rockin'
Your One and Only Williams

6* More than you can hold

I've not been around much this week. This, I can't much explain other than nothing's been going on. Ever since the strike hit, I've been wondering what to do with myself. Every morning since Tuesday, I've gone to Ferguson's to hang with that crew while they do their thing. Then I come home and walk around and just wonder what I'm supposed to do with myself.

It's hard to comprehend what I'm to do with myself. I've got so much free time and no drive to do anything with it. It's dsheartening. I could be writing something, but it's such a glut of free time I can't organize myself. I write better at the hours nearer to the end of day, so spending the whole day at the computer ctually writing something seems unlikely. So I've been going back to the ole DVD collection.

There's no end in sight. CollegeStrike.com reports that neither party s yet prepared to go back to the bargaining table so... go more time off school.

Fucker.

Is it weird that I'm upset about this not because of the damage to people's valuable time and tuition funds... but because it's really making me a little stir crazy?

And it doesn't help that Eric gets next week off school, so we're just gonna be sitting around the house all week together, the three of us since Brandon is always home, unless something gives.

I complain, yet I'd be equally or even more frustrated if I were actually in school. But I'll be back in school eventually anyway, so I figure it'd be nice to get it over with.

TV shows on DVD are the perfect cure for boredom. I did a wonderufl thing by getting many of them (many being Eric's... particularly The Office, which has been my recent viewing fare.) The perfect way to kill off a day.

Tonight I went over to Chris Ferguson's and got sucked back into Risk... but we agreed to break until tomorrow morning, because they get Friday off. Now, when I was in high school, we didn't get no friday's off before March break. But then again, I've got a strike, so can I really complain?

Of course. I can always complain, it's one of the things I'm good at.

So voila. I've electrified your life for the night with my meagre thoughts on life yet again. I hope you've enjoyed, I'll see ya round.

Keep on rockin'
*Scott

5* Blood runs cold

I want, desperately, to care about the strike. i want to be outraged, I want to be furious.

On a deep level, I'm getting as screwed over as any other college student, despite having most of my college year comped - it's the principle of the thing.

I should be pissed, but I'm not. Instead, I just marvel at how, once again, the universe has delivered to me poetic serendipity. Now, from time to time, I refer to "the universe" as though it were a sentient being with thoughts and motivations. Sometimes I do that to be facetious, and sometimes I wonder if it's not just manipulating us in its own design, in the grand scheme of things.

Anyway, I just have to laugh, because in school, I've been burned out. My insecurities as a journalist have become my daily toast, and it's all I can do but nod and wink as I evade them once again, albeit temporarily.

That's not to say I'm happy with this altogether. I'm in purgatory - an uncertain state between heaven and hell inwhich I can in no way be comfortable - and it sucks. I'm perched precariously between an education and a vacation, not knowing how to act. I've mostly been kicking around the house all day, stretching out and watching TV. As I so often do when I'm up early enough, I visited the young ones (and Robyn,) at Chez Ferguson. Then I watched "The Big Lebowski," which I'd never watched the whole way through, and went to the bank. That was my day.

A little over a half-hour ago, Kyle Sanderson left my house with his external harddrive. On the harddrive was the official AVI version of "Half-Past Eight PM" and the deleted scene to accompany it. When he walked out the door, I felt this immense feeling of closeure that had been caught in my chest ever since I learned the DVD burner on the Acer wouldn't work. I'm not out of the woods yet, perhaps (knock wood,) but it's out of my hands. Perhaps it was never really in my hands. Perhaps this entire endeavour has been the work of forces far greater than myself.

Or maybe I just wrote it because I was pissed off, and people ended up enjoying it.

Oh yeah, that's it.

Well, ta for now, suckers, I'm gonna go do some real writing. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

4* Not with words but with a kiss

That lyric from an old Monkees tune, a beautiful turn of phrase.

So it's been a pretty distressing day. Here's the thing. I haven't even had much of a will to blog lately. My life has become such a disorganized mess that I don't think I can collect my thoughts long enough to type them into this thing.

But, here I am, because I need this blog. It's sad, but I've become so dependant upon unleashing every angsty little thought that pops into my head that I couldn't bear the thought of leaving it for more than a few days. Because then the shit piles up and I'm back to where I was back in grade 11.

But yeah, it wasn't such a great day. I had to finish the front page for Back-To-School 2006, which mostly involved me editing images that I didn't take, fitting them in, and staring at the screen, head in hands, thinking "look good, page! Why don't you look good!" Somehow, I came up with a design that I liked, and that Roy liked, and at quarter to the deadline, we had a frontpage.

Now if only one page of technology weren't missing that we had to figure out something to do with it. It looks like a photolayout, which we all have to contribute to, so, gleah, more work, just because one guy couldn't get a few more stories. I'm not sure how this happened, but it did, so make the most of it.

Amanda Judd, a girl... woman? She's so much older than me... that I often sit next to while working on the paper, got engaged over the break. How weird is that? Now, I have a few classmates who have kids, but this is unprecedented. I didn't even think people still got married.

It's so weird being the kid in the class. There are others my age, but pretty much just Justine and Melissa Helwig. Joe's a year older, Haasim's in his early 20's and Mansoor is in his late 20's. The people in the newsroom - who are most often not in my class proper - were talking about the teacher strike of late 97, and one guy was like "yeah, that was when I was in... OAC." What the hell! And Amanda says, "You were what, in Grade 2, Scott?" Okay, so I actually invited the question, but was hurt by the rather cutting response; although quite sharp and clever, for how off-the-cuff it was. It was Grade 5, thank you very much.

So thenm a rather pointless John Clark class... he made the midterm a take-home due to the uncertainty of the strike (more later,) and spent the duration explaining the assignment. I limped home, hobbled and frustrated.

I don't understand it, but somehow I severely injured myself during the day. I was okay when I got to school, and by the time I was on my way home, I couldn't do stairs. Even now I'm heavily favoring my right leg, and I don't understand it. I've never been crippled this badly, and I didn't even do anything, apart from standard walking and sitting. I've even been drinking more milk lately, thanks to my return to breakfast cereal (Kellogg's Frosted Mini-Wheats.)

Then it proceeded to be one of those evenings where things just started randomly not working or being more difficult. First, a website wouldn't load, and then the computer froze -- twice, actually: once while loading a website, then again while it rebooted. That's right, right after rebooting. Computers suck.

And then there was dinner, and dishes, and that whole ordeal. Maybe it's good that I'll have tomorrow to deal with it. Oh, did I not mention? That's right, I was building up to it. Though the deadline has not yet passed, it looks like it's a strike. Well, whoop-dee-doo, I hope everyone's happy. Me, I don't care. I'm so zen about this, it doesn't even matter to me. So my school year is fucked up. Whatever, man. I'm not the one who has to pay for rez or a room, like say, Bonnie. Mom was going on for a while when I first told her about how screwed over Bonnie would be if the strike happened. Well, looks like it's come to pass. Me, nothing in my life is changing. I'll just be learning nothing at home instead of school. Just an extended reading week. I'm not happy about it, but it's a mild inconvenience at worst.

The world can be a difficult place to live. It throw you, more often than not, tests your strength and patience, but I think I have learned that, truthfully, life goes on. In the quieter moments, you can take solace in the fact that time passes, and issues are given the opportunity to be resolved or at least looked at in the light of a new day. And we grow. Grow, and move on.

I miss the days of a pretty girl in the summer moonlight.

Keep on rockin'
Scotto

3* Let you decide which you want to be

The world seems like such a great place right now.

It really shouldn't; I have to get back to school on Monday, I didn't do so hot at Bowling this morning, I got about 4 hours sleep last night, and ultimately I'm still dealing with the same rut I was yesterday and every day.

But I'm in such a great mood right now. I just read four awesome comic books. It's a gorgeous day. I'm feeling a creative surge and am drinking an ice cold Coca-Cola, which is my favourite drink no matter the weather.

I was so bored yesterday. It was the last day of the break and I was really dreading wasting it with apathy and tedium. I did watch a really good movie, "Havoc," which I recommend to anybody curious as to what Anne "Princess Diaries" Hathaway's nipples look like (they're lovely, by the way,) but it also had an interesting story on its own merits. But still, I would tlak to somebody and my go-to remark would be how bored I was, and how bad my malaise was.

Eric came home from school, stumbling really, with quite a grin on his face. He explained, "At lunch today, we went over to the Roxbury and I had a half pitcher. Then during breka, which is about 20 minutes, I went back and had 2 beers." Um... yeah. I'm not gonna tell mom about this, but the guy actually went to class more than a little tipsy. Irresponsible? Yeah. Kinda funny that he got away with it? Sure. Should it become a habit, definitely not (especially since he hasn't got the money to do that.)

So he spends the next while attempting to sober up. It was slow going. My brother gets a little blustery when he's had a few. By that I mean, he tells weird stories, sounds off on other people, and basically gets belligerent - even moreso than usual. He argued with Brandon over when to order pizza, because he hadn't eaten all day, whereas Brandon had had a late lunch. Eventually, I decided it would be easier to appease my drunk brother than my sober one, and ordered the pizza. It arrived sooner than Eric expected, and that took some of the wind out of his sails. He also became paranoid that the pizzas they had given us were too small, and actually called Gino's to confirm. As it happened, we got the regular size we asked for (large,) and once again, he was humbled.

Eric and Brandon went back out, hoping to snag a few at Monaghan's, because this guy they knew from high school was having a party and asked Brando along. This left me alone and still bored, until they returned, a half hour later, grumbling about how unfair it was that health cards can't be used as ID. I don't get that one either. What if you don't have a license, because you drink too much and can't be trusted?

And why, then, wasn't Eric carded at Roxbury? Whatever. I was still bored.

Enter Chris Ferguson, who was organizing a latenight game of Risk over at his place. Now, I had never played Risk. I remember trying to pick up on the rules from that episode of "UnderGrads," but never really understanding what it was beyond putting little army men on a map. And, other than dice-rolling and a few cards, that's basically what it is.

I got over there, and was told that they were considering going to a movie because of how long Risk takes. The movie Chrisbrown and Cary were rooting for, Ultraviolet, however, had a 6% on Rotten Tomatoes (and didn't even rate a review on rogerebert.com,) and Risk + Pizza prevailed. Now, I was anti-pizza, for the simple reason that I'd already had pizza, but acquiesced since it was popular.

What happened next will be the subject of much teasing, I think, between me, Chris Ferguson, and Patrick, toward Chris Brown for years to come (Cary opted out of Risk because he was tired, and I couldn't fault him.) The game started with everybody basically making a move on a continent but me. I was chased out of South America by Chris F., Africa by Patrick, and Asia by Mr. B. So I fortified over in Europe and used Scandinavia as my base of operations. Chris Brown took the early lead with both Australia and Asia under his belt (although he was largely unable to maintain complete control of Asia,) and North America remained well-divided between the other three of us for much of the game. The focus was on a showdown between Chrisbrown and Patrick.

Chris B, somewhat wisely, is big on making alliances and treaties with other players. In order to concentrate on his domination of Asia, and fighting off Chris F, who kept taunting his eastern front from Alaska, Brown negotiated peace with me in the Ukraine, and most importantly, Patrick's Egyptian forces. That was the site of the massive Cold War-esque arms buildup. They agreed to a one-turn warning before an attack could be mae. Once I forced Patrick out of Europe, he was left with little choice but to call the treaty to end. And that's when the game entered endgame.

In the single bloodiest battle of the entire game, Patrick took Chris Brown right out of the Middle East, while sustaining heavy collateral damage. His next move was to cut a swath of destruction across southern Asia and right down to Australia. Brown thus weakened, I too cut a swath in the more northern areas around to China. It was by this point in the game that Chris Ferguson had gained control of all of North America, with little resistance. Chris Brown, clearly insane for vengeance (presumably against Ferguson for distracting him in Kamchatka/Eastern Russia, for so long,) launched a kamikazee attack that cornered Ferguson all the way down to Brazil. Unsurprisingly, Ferguson proceeded to rebuild his army by trading in a set and kicking Chris Brown all the way back out of South America, North America, and the game. Those two fought four about 20 minutes during Chris B' turn, and maybe 10 during Ferguson's. When the dust settled, Chris Brown was no longer in the game.

Seeing the great dispersal of forces acros the map, the clusterfuck that awaited us, and the fact that it was now 3:00 AM, Patrick took it on himself to do what we all knew needed doing: he knocked the board over and called it a night. The three of us agreed that while there may not have been a "winner," the result was that Chris Brown lost, and that's that.

It was very, very late. I had originally planned to stick around and skip bowling the next morning, (and even left messages to the appropriate parties,) but then decided against, since the game was now over. So I had to re-call dad and hope mom wouldn't get the message, that I was in fact going ahead as usual Saturday morning. I collapsed in bed around 3:15, got to sleep closer to 4. Woke up at 8.

It was a good night, and wihle it could have worked out the same way had I been to school that day, I was glad that I sent off my week off in that way. Made me feel like I did something worthwhile.

Tiring though it was, it seems obvious that a rematch is in order. Chris Brown will want blood. Now, it's not going to be tomorrow or next week or very soon, probably, but it will more than likely happen, I say. And when it does, it will probably not be started at 10:30 PM.

The bonus was, while all the chaos was going on between the Chrises, (a civil war, of sorts?) Patrick and i at least got to enjoy the Arrested Development DVD we'd put on (season two, disc one. "I didn't wanna bother you while you were talking to Egg.")

Anyway, that's today' stuff. I'm gonna go wrest my fingers and then I've got some more writing to do.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

2* When I see the sign that points one way

This post's title from "Walk Away Renee" by the Left Banke, one of the most heartbreaking ballads ever. Heartbreaking, I say, because of the story behind it as much as for the lyrics themselves. The song is about the end of a relationship between the lead singer and a woman named Renee. Renee just happened to be his bandmate's girlfriend, on whom he harboured an intense secret crush. I remember reading the story that when she was in the studio, the singer shook violently and could not muster the energy to sing. The rumour is that just as the band was hitting it big with that single, Renee moved away, and nobody saw her again.

I heard that story when I was in Grade 10, very much in a "Walk Away Renee" mood. Now that I look back on it, I get a little chuckle. not out of the misfortunes that led to the breakup of the Left Banke, but out of my own part. It never ceases to surprise me how far I've come.

Speaking, as I did yesterday, of people who are so much better than me, I'd be remiss to write another post without mentioning the recent exploits of Ana Yavari.

Ana recently released her latest video project, a brief, 5-minute scene of dinner between three conflicting personality types, played by Terrilynn Macmillan, Lauren Wing and Kyle Sanderson. Not only does it look great and have terrific sound cues, it's well-acted and punchy enough to make you really laugh out loud at the end. Having seen it, I have absolutely no desire to show anybody the shameful piece of work I've been puttering away with all these months.

I mean, don't worry, I'll show it anyway, but I'm just going to think, "this is ten times as long and one tenth as good to look at." Not that the performances are anything to sneeze at; I'm still proud of each and every one of the actors.

Today was a pretty good day. it began much like the day before, with cereal followed by Chris Ferguson's. I still don't feel like I've done much with my time off, but at least I've gotten out in the world. The usual watching of Family Feud was done (who throws a set of keys, seriously?) as well as a conversation about nipples that went much further in depth than it probably should have. Robyn gets it.

Beside that, a nothing day. Did nothing to contribute to society other than philosophizing about the virtues of male lactation. Didn't even get some of the things done today I wanted to. I'm determined to knock that off tomorrow. I'm going to keep myself quite busy tomorrow, I'm determined.

Nothing left of itnerest to say tonight ladies and gents.

Keep on rockin'
Williams

1* Don't fall in love with the girl behind the mask

I'm not entirely sure what that title means. However, I thought it up in the midst of the Sears/Commedia business, so it's clearly not unrelated.

It didn't even used to have the word "don't." I had to add that for two reasons: one, people would think I was in love with a girl - masked or otherwise - and thus ask questions (they had already begun.) The second was that I didn't want to appear to be giving advice to those who were considering falling in love with the girls behind the masks, specifically one individual who is to be kept away from certain masked females. No names - I'd hate to embarrass these individuals by referencing them in such a public forum (given that this blog is, after all, more heavily trafficked than any other, even if I don't have "statistics" to back that up. Statistics are biased, anyhow.)

Without the word "don't," it's a fantasy, a romantic ideal. It means, perhaps, that all women wear masks, and that you must peel away layers to find who the girl truly is, before falling in love. With the addition, it is a warning; that a girl may appear pretty, but could be twisted inside. Language is fun.

There are a few occasions when I discover new ways to be reminded how awesome others are and how badly I suck. Okay, not to be hard on myself, but it's a comparitive judgment. I popped in the Fringe 2005 DVD and the first thing I watched was the Breakfast Club. Now, okay, I did all right. It was a great cast, and I wasn't even the weakest one (yet they were all quite terrific.) It's just that, as the authority figure Vernon, I look so ineffective on camera. I plant my feet, let my arms hang, stick in my chin, and yell. The character is exhausted, but not impotent. He should be more active, with a stronger stance and better posture. And his fucking tie should be straight! And when he yells, his voice shouldn't crack.

Compare this to Don Juan in Hell, which was the other one I watched. Now, I understand being outdone by Ryan and Cary, for they are more skilled than I in the ways of performance. Between the two of them they digest and overflow with copious amounts of dialogue and verbiage. They keep the delivery lively and bright. They always seem to be having fun. And then there is Valerie Marshall, who probably, as a Grade 9 girl, would have played a better Vernon than I did.

Okay, that may be an exaggeration, but only by half.

I wish i'd been in two plays. Okay, I would have felt like hell during the rehearsal process, but Ana's play would have been so much fun. I know, because I wrote it, and gave myself the bestest lines. And then I'd go back and be like, "now how much fun is that guy playing the teacher having? His accent is hilarious."

Not that I blame Ana for what became of her play. I just wish she'd taken me up on my offer to write when I'd made it. And that Patrick Visintini and Doug didn't drop out for their respective reasons.

And speaking of Patrick Visintini, it's been a long time since I've seen him act. As I mentioned, we viewed a portion of "12 Angry Men" on Saturday Night, and the kid is a completely different person with his haircut and oh yeah, he grew about a foot.

Personally, I like hanging out with Patrick Mario Santo. At parties, it's not unusual to see me talking to him and Chris Ferguson rather than the people my own age. They have so much more perspective on life than I did at their age, and I envy that. Maybe it's because they hang out with the older crowd, and I hung out with... nobody, really, at the time. Not taht I shun my kind, since we are quite well-integrated. But it's nothing to do with age. He's just a really funny guy. The both of them are. Chris is the good kind of sarcastic, and Patrick just riffs these absurd hypothetical scenarios.

Today, I actually did something. I had a bowl of cereal, then went to Chris Ferguson's, where I found him, Adam and Jasdeep in the midst of a very heated discussion, which caused the volume to go up, and Chris to be admonished by his mother. Well, he says she was mostly just laughing, but it was an embarrassing reminder that, in some places, there are other people. I tend to forget, living as I do (although Brandon frequently claims he can hear us in his room.)

On the way back to school, I had a nice conversation with Robyn, concerning "how sad" my plans for the day were (the aforementioned Fringe DVD was already on my agenda,) we laughed. Now there is a girl who rocks profoundly. We should hang out.

Tonight's dinner was not technically at dad's. We went down to Toronto to see my granddad at his hotel before his 19-day trip to Portugal. We ate at the Mr. Greek restaurant at the hotel. Now, any longtime reader might groan with concern over the subject matter of this paragraph... my dislike of social dining has become legendary, but thanks to some Pepto Pills, which Eric already had and agreed to share, and the strategy of eating as little as possible, I managed. It was tough, since the meal took forever to get there (and I don't like to be kept waiting,) but I kept it down. I feel like celebrating. It was a rare victory, especially considering the meal actually consisted of a meat course.

The last "restaurant" meal that didn't make me sick was a caesar salad at the Hard Rock Cafe in NY. I didn't look like a douche for just having a salad, though, since Jeff was also having one. I was also aided by Alyssa' travelling pharmacy.

I guess I'll leave it off there. That remark has made me pine for a return trip, and that never goes well, the pining.

Oh, one last thing: I hate anonymous comments. They make me paranoid. Whenever possible, include a name, unless you have reason to believe I can decode your identity from your remarks. Please and thank you.

That's all. Keep on rockin'
-Scott "People love me, I'm a swell guy" Williams