Ch23: Something small (between us)

My subconscious is a weird place. Take for instance the dream last night where Mackenzie was hosting this New Year's party (I guess I owed her one for her dream where I was a harmonica-player,) attended by all these literary figures, and seemingly everybody else I've ever known. The literary figures, as it turned out, were kinda douchey. Go fig.

Of course, my regular conscious isn't so great, either. I went and woke myself up nice and early (look at the time, subtract maybe 20 minutes,) so that I could get a headstart on getting comics... and apparently it's supposed to rain. Say what? Bastards - it already rained a few weeks ago, enough rain. No, wait, I take that back - so long as I don't catch a cold, I welcome to rain, as it is doggedly hot without it.

As you're no doubt aware, it's been one of those weeks, late in Spring or early in Summer where you're taken off-guard by how hot it's gotten so soon. A couple weeks ago I was unexpectedly bundled up and now it's full summer mode.

Two nights ago (wow I haven't posted since Monday morning, go figure,) Brandon and I spotted a huge bee in the basement. We were freaked - I overplayed it but it really does bother me when stinging insects invade - but then the bee did something odd. It landed in the lighting fixture on the wall, I suppose what you'd call a sconce. It flew right into the glass shield around the lightbulb, and just... stayed there. Every now and again, it flew furiously around the bulb, but could not seemingly escape. This may or may not have had something to do with the recently-installed energy-saver bulb we put in there, which is shaped like a coil, not a bulb. Anyway, the sucker was trapped. Occasionally he'd stay still so long Brandon and I would think he was dead, so we'd flick the glass and he'd move. He stayed in there the rest of the night, so what I did is I took this X-Box game I was given by Aunt Lori and Gail (to get it off their hands despite not having an X-Box,) and putit on top of the fixture, sealing him in and... well, apparently suffocating him. The next morning he did not move at all when the glass was flicked. So... now there's a dead bee in there. We'll probably take him out eventually....

Last night, instead of actually writing, I took it upon myself to format the script I wrote Ana two years ago, Summer at Sixteen. I hadn't read it in a while. While going over it, I had a number of issues, the most prominent being that it was just... dead. Seemingly lifeless for so much of it. I feel like, as a movie about teenagers, it could be a little more sarcastic (and therefore funny,) or otherwise a little more dramatic (and therefore interesting.) It's not horrible, but I could probably write it better today if I were so inclined. At the moment, I'm not, I've got enough to occupy myself with.

The allergies are killing. It's the ole familiar symptoms, the dry eyes, scratchy thorat, and sneezing. Ecch. Need to get pills.

That's about it for now, I think I've covered everything. If not, then I'll addendum but I don't think that's necessary.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Ch22: Life's imperfect (ain't like a dream)

Ah, morning posts. Normally reserved for Sundays after nights when I've done something particularly interesting the night before, I felt the need to take one today. Whether or not I'll need one later tonight remains to be seen (I'm thinking not.)

Longtime readers - or anybody who might've gone back and pored through old posts - might recall that about two years ago, circa June of 2004, I was visited for many nights by strange and vivid dreams, which I described in this blog. This is not unusual, but here we are again with me thinking they're more interesting and wanting to get some of them off my chest.

I think people do like telling each other their dreams because they have such strange imagery and structure that we can't help but be fascinated by other peoples' (usually spotty) recollections.

Two nights ago my dream featured my cousin, brother Eric and me at a party. There was a subplot about a girl of maybe 14 or 15 trying to seduce Eric in ways unspeakable in decent society. As to why my subconscious conjured this peculiar circumstance, lord only knows. Anyway, it was an evil, foreboding act that was foiled.

Last night's was far more interesting.

It was ones of those tossing-and-turning, hot-stuffy-room, can't-get-comforable, I-almost-feel-sick types of night, where I drifted in and out of sleep to the point where I watched the clock go to 4:00. Somehow, I drifted off once more and this time unlike the previous brief snoozes, I dreamt.

The dream began, of all places, in an episode of Friends. There was a bit about an audition and a red tambourine prior to that, but I cannot say exactly what it was. It ended with me giving a performance of some song after tossing a guitar away for the tambourine. Anyway, it was an episode of Friends that doesn't exist. They were all bitching at Chandler for being mean and sarcastic. Switch channels and we're watching something about the mafia - the Sporanos? - at someone's house, waiting for somebody to arrive, but they won't come. Who are we? I suppose it's essentially the group from Saturday night. Everybody is set to disperse (I suppose like on Saturday,) when somebody notices she's got the wrong backpack. Chaos erupts as we try to find the true owner of the backpack. Music begins to play and a girl - not someone who really exists, but someone I've never met - begins to dance. I join. She leads me, seductively, up the stairs. I think I know what's going on. She leads me to a room, a bedroom in fact where we settle down, and........ she offers me a bite of cake. And the cake is melting.

Now, as sad as it is that I can't even win the girl in my dreams, there is significance to this. Last night was my family's gathering in recognition of my birthday. The day was not particularly going well. I maintain that I was not hung over from the previous night, but at least tired and awkward-feeling as I sometimes get. But, maybe I was hung over after all, as I felt dead for much of it. The big contradiction to this is that I'd spent much of the day - and continued after the party - listening to music on my headphones, which usually one couldn't if one had a headache due to hangover. Just saying.

Anyway, as badly as it was going, it can always get a little worse, as they brought out the cake. Now, my dislike of conventional birthday cake is a well-known fact. By this point in May I just plain get sick of it (although this year has been better than most,) so I opt usually for ice cream cakes. So they pull the cake out of the freezer and... har har, it's a wobbly, melting blob. Happy birthday Scott, here's a milkshake. I struggle to cut the damn thing (the cookie center is still keeping it loosely together) and serve it. Huge mess. I actually laughed, as I have a tendancy to do when things get cartoonishly bad for me. So that explains that dream.

Two years ago when I was writing about my dreams, I suspected that the cause was in fact that I was in a period of creative lull, that after Half-Past Eight PM, I was without a project to focus on. This was seemingly confirmed by the fact that the dreams started to disappear around the time I started writing a script for Ana Yavari. Funny that they should now appear again after Half-Past is done, yes, but also one difference: I haven't *not* had a project to work on for over a year now. In fact, jsut last night I finished off yet another short story for my collection and started on the next... which, suprise of surprises, involves dream imagery.

I just think it's funny, or at least appropriate. It could prove useful to note these dreams and the symbols provided therein, while I'm writing this next story.

Or maybe I'm just getting too much sun.

That's all for now, keep on rockin'
-The Scotto

Ch21: When it works all too well (a happy ending.)

Last night. Last night. Y'know... it's never like you expect, for better or worse.

This is going to be one of those long Sunday morning posts. Excited? I know I am.

Now, then, as I was saying: It never turns out the way you expect.

I'd been stressing about Saturday the 27th for quite a while. Even before I knew it was going to be Saturday the 27th, I was stressed about whatever date would end up being the inevitable premiere of my opus, "Half-Past Eight PM." This was exacerbated throughout late 2005 and early 2006 whenever I'd see the old gang I'd inevitably be harrassed (there's just no nicer way to put that,) with questions about the state of the movie. They hungrily awaited news on the state of this movie, and for a long time the answer was inevitably to the effect of "No news," or "nothing yet," or "still in editing" or "we still can't get the DVD" etc, etc.

So finally as we all know, Kyle came through like the champ he is and got me the DVDs. The date was set. The location was set. now all I had to worry about was... entertaining. Yes, I would literally be providing entertainment, but I needed to set up the house for entertaining. I discussed it at length with mom. I'm not sure I was able to impress upon her the true nature of most drama kid gathering, I think she thought it would be bigger or more elaborate than things usually are; and much moreso than this ended up being. But, being a kind and generous person, she opted to go visit Tim in Port Erie (or is it Fort Erie? I don't know.) for the evening and give me the house to myself. I was undecided until a few days earlier about where the screening would be held. The basement was my first thought; it had a larger TV and it is my domain. However, it is a much smaller space and I'd be remiss in underestimating exactly how many people would show up and thinking they could all fit in the basement. So a few days ago I changed the venue to the upstairs - this was a plus because it has a much larger couch and is already quite tidy and apt for hosting guests.

So the big problem became this: mom's questionable television. mom doesn't watcha whole lot of TV, so she's been subsisting for a while on one she inherited I think from her father. It's old and not very good. I think, "well this tv is, as the kids might say, sketch to the max" (and if you actually talk like that, what's wrong with you?) So midway thorugh the afternoon, as the time is approaching, I take it upon myself to test the TV's DVD screening capabilities.

And... shitty. The picture was warped all around the edges deep into the frame. The fact that it's about 15 inches or so doesn't help either. It is basically a crummy old TV. Oh, what to do? I considered replacing it with the TV from my room, but that is much smaller and totally inadequate. I was turning anywhere for TV satisfaction and I found it unexpectedly in an old relic.

A long while back, my brother and I noticed that our TV's screen had been growing dim. We'd had it about a decade, the company that made it (Mitsubishi) doesn't even make TV's anymore, so it was time to replace it. Thus, the Mitsubishi had been sitting in our basement acting as a sort of bookshelf, gathering dust and waiting for the next junk day. Thus approaching, mom instructed Eric and me to take it out to the curb. Instead, we decided to take a chance and see if maybe the old girl had a little magic left in her. We figured - well, we're hauling it out to the curb anyway, might as well see what she can do. So we schlep it up the stairs and whaddayaknow, she's still got it. Not perfect, the dimness is still there, but it's a much less severe detraction from the picture quality than total warpage. I mena, the picture quality of the DVD isn't all that great anyhow. This just makes the nighttime scenes more difficult to watch, but that's life.

Thus set up, I awaited arrivals. Around 8:30, as expected, the first people pulled up. Unexpectedly, it was a troupe of Grade 11's, several of whom hadn't been on the initial invite list. Now, this reminded me of something that had been broached when I first announced the date, which was that "Cassie Cummings' Birthday is that night," a fact to which I replied, "well then, T.S." So many of the reverlers for that event came along to the show, since there was considerable overlap, including Cassie herself. not that they were unwelcome. However, they just happened to show up early enough to snag all the seats on the cornercouch. People continued to trickle in, with the very last person being Doug -- at about 9:06, which forced me to go back on my "9:00 Sharp" pledge, thus exposing me to ridicule. In the meantime, Emily's pug Dolby came out and visited with the gang, and squeezed out a little business behind the couch. That dog is endless frustrations for me.

Anyway, the movie got underway. There was a little bit of side-conversation at the beginning, but they settled in. It didn't take long for laughter to get going, which I was pleased about - all the jokes that by now seemed stale to me after having written, re-written, rehearsed, shot, and edited them, were fresh to many of the viewers. And I did, after all, end up watching, from the back.

People said that instead of "motherfucking Ghost," I should've had Mark say "Stinky Bitch" when his conversation with Beth is over with, but I disagree. I think, instead, that when he tells Perry what happened, Perry should've said, "Man, what a stinky bitch." Maybe next time.

The screening went off well, everyone agreed it was a good show (to my knowledge.) I noted at the exact right moment that we cut out the scene that revealed the hooker's name is Carol (accessible as a deleted scene.)

Then things got weird, and here's where the "not as expected" business comes in. The grade 11's began to disperse for Cassie Cummings' birthday. As the party drains of people, there is an irresistable pull to go along, as we are not unwelcome. So we go, we see the illegal fireworks, we go over to Cassie's place, and... there's this woman there, sitting idly in the doorway, intent on ensuring nobody has a good time. The elders among us began to get disgruntled, feeling awkward and thinking, all of a sudden, "what are we doing?" Cary notes, "as a grade 11, it'd be cool to go to a grad party. As a grad, it's not the same to go to a Grade 11's." Truer words, Cary, are seldom spoke. Despire the eventual removal of the fun-killer, the fact remained that we simply didn't feel we belonged. After much (much, much, much) discussion and consideration, several of us agreed to come back to Casa Williams. Not everybody I would liked to have come... I would like to have stolen a few from the birthday, but that was not happening. And several of my amigos, such as Ana, Becky, Ryan and Doug, had gone off to Kelsey's apparently. So ultimately, Chrisbrown, Cary, Alyssa and Anisah all came over and we drank and talked for about an hour (well, those of us who were not driving,) until the fact of lateness comes upon us and they disperse and I feel like falling into bed.

So they left and I made a last sweep around the house, cleaning up chip bags and glasses when necessary, turning out lights, etc, etc., when I notice a small rectangular golden package on the counter. It was a birthday gift from Robyn, who had missed the movie and appeared only briefly afterward, before the diaspora took everyone away, because she felt ill. She left it there for me to find. It was a Coca-Cola bottle opener. I was, and remain, speechless at the gesture. I can think of no more appropriate gift to have given on my 19th Birthday; my love of Coca-Cola is legendary. Mythical, even. And given that I'm 19, I might just need a bottle opener here or there. Thank you. That's all I'm really capable of saying to that. Even being as verbose and grandiloquent a raconteur as I am, I can sum it up no better than that.

So that about sums up the night. Not eventful, but more chaotic than anything since Lauren's last month. It was an unfortunately clusterfucked evening, but my sincerest thanks to everyone who came, and sorry to those who missed it. I'm sure you'll see it someday.

And... I'm done. It's really, honestly over, until the inevitable day when I'm so strapped for a project that I begin tinkering with that old thing again. I think it'll end differently next time.

But it's amazing, for years that has basically been the extent of my existence, despite not nearly being the only thing I've done/been doing. I wrote the goddamn thing when I was 16, the summer before grade 11. When I was 17, and had just started this blog, it was a play. When I was 18, I started working on it, and now, I'm 19, and it's done with for now. It's been a long year, a long three years, but for the time being, Half-Pst Eight PM is out of my life.

It's a brand new day, full of bright possibilities and new ideas.

Hello world.

Keep on Rockin'
Now more than ever, Scott Williams.

Ch20: "Barkeep gimme a drink" (That's when she caught my eyes)

Happy birthday to me.

So has it been one? Yes. I call it my "Birthweek," because the festivities (as it were,) began two nights ago at my dad's, and won't be resolved until Sunday night. Essentially, that's 5 days of birthdayness... although Thursday nothing happened, and tomorrow... well, tomorrow's not really about the birthday, per se. No cards or gifts necessary. And thankfully I'll be able to put it all behind me.

Round midnight I started getting the "Happy Birthdays" from keenj friends who remembered. I also got the first of a few bot-sent Birthday Greetings from the various sites I'm signed up for.

Woke up this morning and got a lovely e-mail and have been making the rounds from varoius connections to the online world and generally finding birthday greetings (some I reached out for, some I did not.)

(I'm listening to Aerosmith's Classics Live II... I just realized that on it, they sing Happy Birthday to bassist Tom Hamilton. Must've been some subconscious reason for choosing this particular CD. Other than that it rocks.)

I don't like to make a big deal out of birthdays, but I certainly am the type to bask in the attention. Last's year's balloon adventure was odd... but will probably go untopped in terms of birthday coolness.

As for what I did today, as I said, nothing spectacular. Sure, at this point I could be out at a party in Toronto at the request of Fisty, or I could've gone to see X-Men 3, but I'm conserving my energy. Frankly, I'm exhausted right now from doing nothing.

It was a lovely day. A nice light rain fell in the morning and let rest a crystaline mist in the air. I went for a walk in it, it was delightful. And I got inspired to straighten out some of the less congruent aspects of my short story anthology.

Yep; big writing geek right here.

Annnyway, I'm gonna go rest easy. The fog in my life, for the time being, is lifting. I updated Interneta bigtime, so check that out. In case you haven't clued it, it's linked at the top of most posts, including this one.

Keep on rockin'
-Yer Scotto

Addendum 10:53: I haven't addendumated in a while, but I just read something I felt like remarking on.

As usual, I was reading over LJSecret, and I came across a rather provocative one that read, "I've had at least one sexual thought about every single person I know." It got me thinking... how do other people feel about that? I've never seriously considered the possibility that somewhere, someone is having a mere idle thought like that about me - I'm far too modest for that. but for someone to guarantee that if you know thme, they will definitely have a sexual thought about you - well, that certainly puts pressure on things, don't it? Bottom line: what am I doing inside your heads?! Knock it off you perverts!

Hah, like I'm one to talk. I won't say I've had a sexual thought about "every single person I know," but there are stray images that sometimes float around, even without serious consideration. Rest easy, there's nothing scandalous, I think it's common. But this person seems to be making a big deal out of it, so it just got me to wondering about the fact that inside somebody's mind, we're all likely playing out perverse fantasies we have no control over.

So that's a fun thought for tonight. Sleep well, and Keep on Rockin
-Yer Scotto

Ch19: Whisper (sing in the library)

I oughtn't be blogging tonight as there's not much going on - which, ironically, is my incentive for blogging, as if I didn't, I'd be more bored. So I may as well take a few minutes to catalogue the miseries of today.

For starters, I ran into Mr. Andrews. Blecch. For those of you who never took CommTech, Andrews is an incredibly difficult man, because he insists on these wisecracks when he in fact has no notable sense of humour of any sort. He also never liked me very much - at first because of the bad blood between he and my brother, and then later because of reasons mostly unique to me (short-tempered and generally difficult, though I like to think I grew out of that by Grade 12, he still had a negative imprint of me.) Is it my fault that I have plenty of places to go that mean I have to go across the WOSS property? It is not.

Then there was the dentist appointment. It's bad enough they have to treat my jaw as a prospector might a mineshaft, the TV had been set to CMT whilst doing so. Ecch. In a final moment of vindication, I was walking Xena along the path behind the plaza and I saw a discarded toothbrush and floss. I smiled at this open rejection of the dental gastapo.

I guess that's about it, although hours of jawsore misery ensued as feeling gradually returned. It didn't make me the happiest fella today, and thus followed numerous minor skirmishes with the brother. I'm a big "one thing leads to another" guy who always feels a problem can be traced back numerous steps until something that was unavoidable - like being at the dentist - can be blamed for any given problem.

Two mysterious figures messaged me on MSN - which is odd, it didn't ask if I wanted to allow them, it asked if I wanted to accept messages even from people not on my "allow" list. Suspicious, I said "no" and the messages disappeared. They were highly suspect as far as e-mails go, I didn't get to red the messages. So if thy were real people and it was important I should expect to see more requests for authorization in the near future. If not, then I avoided an appalling new breed of spam/virus.

It's funny, MSN. I only ever got it by accident. I originally signed up for Hotmail planning to play a (stupid, flawed) ruse on a guy in my class in Grade 8. When I found that a buddy of mine, Rohan, had MSN, I got another Hotmail address (the one that is now used,) and started adding people to MSN. Then the River Oaks yearbook included a directory of peoples' e-mail addresses and I included that one instead of the one I've had since 1997 (and still use for many things.) And now here we are, 5 years later, and not only do I not speak to very many people I knew in Grade 8, but it's become a bona fide e-mail address for me (though I still sign up for most things with my classic Yahoo address.)

I wonder how parents go about monitoring their kids on the Internet these days. You've gotta believe this is a major area of concern. I was 9 when we got the internet. That was, at the time, a decent age to let a kid go off and explore games and chat, but the rules have definitely changed as the perverts got more savvy and aggressive. Remember the series premiere of Degrassi: The Next Generation (incidentally, along with the Kevin Smith episodes and the one where she gets her first period, that's one of the few episodes I can remember seeing.) I remember that when I was a kid all I wanted to do was go to websites about Star Wars and the Simpsons (ultimately, very little has changed.) By the time I'm a parent, they're gonna want it so that kids that age aren't having their own e-mail addresses and websites and surfing by themselves, and I certainly can see why. Not that I have any immediate plans on becoming a parent.

I think I've sufficiently ranted for tonight. Hope this has inspired any sort of cognitive thought in you, my dear readers.

Keep on Rockin'
-Master Williams

Ch18: Yes, always (in July.)

Linked above (where normally is found a link to Interneta,) is an audioclip of Actor/Director Orson Welles during a voiceover recording for various commericals, particularly frozen peas, fish sticks and beef burgers. I recommend giving it a listen. It isn't laugh-out-loud stuff, I don't think, but I got a kick out of it. Here we the director and star of what is generally considered by most authoritative bodies to be the greatest film ever made (Citizen Kane,) blacklisted and being forced to subsist on corny adverts for dinner products... and they can't even get the lines "conversationally correct" for him.

I saw Josh Kershaw for the first time since Commencement tonight. He drove Kyle over to drop off a supply of DVD's for Saturday. He's looking well, and while he and I may never be the best of friends ever again, it's good to know we didn't have any real falling out. We did, after all, hang out in Mr. Dames' Law Class in Grade 12 after the big "fight" we had, with no incident. We made smalltalk for a bit before they got going.

Still trying to figure out what life is all about. I can't really relax until I know what I'm doing. Getting a job might help that, but nearly a week later, no calls. Sigh... back to the drawing board, perhaps? Give it time. I don't remember how long these things take. It was a while after applying at A&W that they called me (remember that? I have trouble remembering why I didn't end up working there.) and of course as for Classic Bowl... they called me one Sunday night and within a week I was employed. So my expertise on employer ettiquite is spotty.

Had the birthday dinner at dad's today. Only a couple of days left... and today I was seriously considering spending that evening grocery shopping. Go me. Of course, nothing wrong with that: I'll be plenty busy Saturday.

Time's flying by, and this happens when you live life week to week without any significant deviation from status quo. Go idle or go home.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Ch17: A bustle in your hedgerow (don't be alarmed)

If you listen to "Stariway to Heaven" enough times in a row, you begin to think you have magical powers. You don't.

It's funny, but I'm on kind of a kick. Many years ago, I first heard the song at the insistence of Luke Heaslip, who was the one who converted me to Classic Rock. I hated it. I thought it was the most overrated song ever. And for a long time I resented Led Zeppelin for getting all this praise. And then I listened to it a few more times and it grew on me. I still don't think it is the greatest song ever written, but it's deserving of most of the accolade. Not praising the song just makes it seem silly.

For the record, I'm pretty sure the greatest rock song ever written is "Baba O'Reily" by the Who, but the topic is open to discussion.

I'm fighting off a burgeoning addiction to coffee. I've spent far too much money at Tim Horton's in the last few weeks. It's not as tohugh I didn't drink any coffee before the break - as a matter of fact, I was drinking plenty for those early-morning newsroom sessions. However, it's becoming ever more difficult for me to get on with my day if I haven't gotten out, and coffee provides a good destination for that. Strangely enough, it's tempering my already-existing cola addiction. I guess the last step toward adulthood is alcoholism. Kidding, naturally; there's nothing funny about alcohol abuse.

So I have a new first-cousin-once-removed. Aaron Michael Speers was born this morning at 5:00-something A.M. No, I din't have to share my birthday but it's much, much closer tha n I would've liked, given that she had two false-labours (or as I called them, false hope.)

I spoke to CAry today. He seems to be enjoying Italy. I don't remember if I mentioned this, but I also spoke to Chris late last week and he said to say hello... so if you're reading this, you know the Fergusons and I've seen you since last week, and I didn't say Chris said hello... well, he did.

Bored senseless, Eric and moseyed on off to Blockbuster, and got "The Ice Harvest." Review to come. I also saw Ana working, we made chit chat about saturday, which is all most people want to talk about. I'm being kind of shy about it became... well, I'm fuckin shy, you should know that by now. Well, I discussed it with mom, and everything seems set. The only x-factor is Emily. Well, I'm not gonna let her existence stand in my way. I figure I owe her one for all the loudness early in morning. It's a quiet retribution (by which I mean, she doesn't know I can hear her in the mornings and this is my private way of getting back at that.)

So it's all set. Curtain up at 9, so be prepared to arrive around 8:30, Casa Williams. If you don't know where it is, just ask.

Been workin' to get my spark back. There's a bounce in my step.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotts

Ch16: No sense lighting candles (too much moonlight)

Happy belated birthday, blog. Two years and still obsessing.

The universe, I think, is a collection of energies trying to right themselves. The neverending search for balance. I say neverending because balance can only be attained through chaos, if that makes any sense. Chaos must exist for there to be balance, and nothing can truly be orderly in order for order to exist.

I've got a nasty hangnail on my right thumb, sore as hell. On the plus side, I finished Redneck Comics Volume 2, and it's now available to purchase. It's better than Volume 1, which I freely admit was the least of our potential. I know a lot of people don't come to this blog for Redneck stuff, but hey, that's life.

But the weather was awful today. What a weekend for a long weekend, with all the wind and cold.

It was a weird day. We had Wendy's: that's how I know it was weird, because my family never has Wendy's. Wendy's is good food, though. The burgers generally taste better and they seem sincere about their healthy menu (unlike every other fast food place.)

Tomorrow, I think, is going to be a big writing day for me. The long weekend's over, things are back to normal, I get the house more-or-less to myself, I can relax and focus my energies.

Slow day. Slow life, really.

Keep on rockin'
Scotto Will~~*

Ch15: There's probably somebody (who could have helped)

So... it's nearly 3 AM and I can't sleep. No, that's a lie... I'm just not sleeping. I'm very nearly 19-years-old and I still occasionally observe the tradition that Saturday nights are a good time to stay up later than usual.

I wrote a post last night that I absolutely refuse to post. I'm just going to delete it from existance. I've been in this inwardly-drawn psychosomatic paranoia, in-and-out all week and last night was then culmination of that.

I can't explain. There is an explanation, but not one I care to provide beyond my own psychosis. It's gone now, and while someday it might be back, I think last night was the worst of it. That's quite enough dweeling. Apart from my own brain, there was enough difficulty getting tonight together.

It was Ryan Wheeler's much-anticipated birthday, wherein I loaded up some (ill-gotten, some would say,) alcohol in the laptop bag and walked to his mother's new house, which is in a neighbourhood that freaked me out to see; one of those "look at these impossibly nice houses, they were built in a weekend" neighbourhoods in Oak Park.

Annyway, the night was your average reunion of the ole gang, minus those who are not in this country. Chris Brown took this opportunity to be the one time he doesn't drive (hence my walking for 40 minutes over there, and thanks to Barrett for a ride back.) There were Kings, sparklers, tears (from some,) fish, drunken Guess Who, and much repetition of the phrase "next week," but that's a matter for a later time.

It's so weird how wound up I've gotten in the past two days, all things considered. Just proof that it's all in my head, and all I jneed to get around it is to accept that I am a big shmuck and will never change, even if it benefits me. Shmuckiness is just in my nature.

Instead of merely saying "yes I will be applying for jobs soon," I actually started handing out resumes yesterday (or Friday, for those glancing at the time and wondering.) I've got some good leads, although Home Depot sounds less appealing since apparently June will see the temporary closeure of the path under the QEW, which was key. We'll see.

Mom's away this weekend, which affected the way I went about things but not likely the result.

We haven't spoken in a while, I hope you're all right. For now, I need rest.

See you soon *(some of you.)

Keep on rockin'
-Monsieur Williams

Ch14: Saboteur (a shoe in the works)

I should not be allowed to just sit and think about things. I should have someone at all times to remind me that half of what goes on in my head is ficticious paranoid fantasy. Unfortunately, having deliberately withdrawn from society for the week, I don't have many people to do that, so I have to deal with my own overthought.

I did something. It was small and innocuous,and several days ago, but it only just dawned on me how destructive that could have been. I'm suddenly very concerned, and I can't really get any re-assurance. I have to go it alone.

In stark contrast to yesterday, today was a bad day. It was the kind of day where getting caught waiting for the bus for over a half an hour in the rain - longer than it likely would have taken to walk - is not a change of pace. Shitty day.

I'm going to have to rest my arms. I can't type much tonight. So it hasn't been much of a post tonight, but I haven't got much to say tonight. I'm getting to work on applying for jobs tomorrow. And in good news, I actually got my first (and likely only) cheque from CafePress from our Redneck Comics merchandise. You'll notice (or probably not) that Volume 1 is off the market. We're preparing to launch Volume 2, and release volume 1 as a DataDisc.

That's all, I'm afraid. Hope you're all well. Keep on rockin'
-Ole Scotto

Ch13: Blind (What love will make you)

Today was, in terms of what criteria I have arranged for myself, perfect.

That's not to say I'd like to keep living this day indefinitely. That'd be boring. However, it was a good day right in the middle of the week. It was the right day. I spent it perfectly.

Though (like most good individuals,) generally a complicated person, I find myself pleased by simple, natural things. Little things that come for no reason. There's nothing natural about the two-directional tide of traffic bustling down the QEW as observed fromt he overpass at Trafalgar, but as I saw it, I smiled. Busy people in fast cars. I went for a long walk. God help me, I love an impossibly good walk to my favourite place. right at the edge of town where the lake and what feels like the whole blue universe stretches right on in front of you and everything seems clearer. Okay, so there are dozens of gulls and geese and swarms of bugs and birdpoo everywhere, but that's nature, you take the good with the bad. Good weather, though, a nice walk, some good reading (yes, I read books for fun now, but I won't be an ass and gush about what I'm reading. Only to Guthrie.) some writing (and more to come once I'm done this post,) a good movie, (Shopgirl, review eventually to be on Interneta,) and running into Doug on the bus. Everything fell into place today. I don't expect this feeling of peace to last, but I am savoring it, believe you me. I expect tomorrow that my sickness will have definitively left me, as I no longer feel the desire to hack up something gross, which had vexed me these past few days.

On my travels, I found came upon a couple sitting on a fence or some kind of retaining wall. They appeared to be in their thirties, but could have been late-20's. I didn't get such a good look. They were also making out like nobody's business. I passed them twice, once on the way to the pier and once on the way back, and they were still at it, worse than before. Busy hands, this guy had. I tried to see if he was wearing a wedding band and if she wasn't. It felt like they were having an affair, but maybe it was just my inner-mind that deduced such a scenario. My mind just harkened back tot hat line from Dogma, "No married man kisses his wife like that" (in broad daylight in a secluded lakeside street in public on a Wednesday morning, no less.) One of those "bite your lip to keep from laughing" situations.

A good show that I would like to see more of is Penn & Teller's "Bullshit!" The show absolutely fascinated me with its way of dissecting its target. I've only seen one episode, and that episode was about the Boy Scouts of America. They went to great lengths to uncover the truth about their shady dealings (and make no mistake there is some shady crap going down with those Scouts, makes me wonder about the Canadian equivalent.)

Well that's about where I call it a night.

Catch you later and keep on rockin'
Mr. Scott

Ch12: She broke her needle (now she can't sew)

Ah, Oakville in the drizzly days of midspring. Green like a salad, cloudy like a drunkard's memory.

This post's title comes from a song called "Walking the Dog," which many of you might recognize from a current Fido commercial. It's an old blues standard Aerosmith covered early on in their career, on their first album I believe. Catchy tune.

So, I'm getting over my sickness. I'm more spry todaythan I've been over the past few days. Although the cold has moved into chest-congestion territory. I don't mind telling you you could build a whole nother person* out of all the phlegm I've hacked up in the last few days; he wouldn't talk, however, he'd just spew gross lung butter. That's how he'd procreate. I say "I don't mind telling you," but I went out of my way to make sure you probably minded my description - I like to test my readership in this way.

*This is something I say a lot, but that's the first time I've ever written it up. "A whole nother." that's not a real word, or possibly expression, but it sounds right.

Getting quite a fair bit done this week. Fans of Redneck Comics (I'm sure at least one of you other there is,) can look forward to the much-anticipated Volume #2 on sale soon. We've got a snazzy-looknig cover from Kris Stemmer and everything.

I was in a pretty sour mood last night. Between sickness and soreness, the worst part was that I was watching the season finale one of my favourite sitcoms, "How I Met Your Mother," and I was in such a weird mood by the halfway point. I did not feel it was, as the expression goes, "bringing the funny," which was a shame because the series has some of the bounciest and most idiosyncratic dialogue on TV. Anyway, it was a little weak, and then something happened that caused me to fall out of my seat and double over on the floor with laughter, literally convusling for the entirety of a commercial break. During a fight, two characters, Marhsall and Lily (fiancees,) hit "pause" (a joke wherein they can simply pause a fight at any moment and continue later,) on a huge fight because they are hungry. They proceed to go to Red Lobster where they discuss how great the food is there in dialogue typical of the series ("Say something bad about butter sauce, I dare you.") There's nothing out of the ordinary about this and indeed the scene ends with the both of them in tears as they find they cannot simply "pause" a fight like that. But the scene leads into a commercial break, where a graphic - which has never been shown before during an episode to my recollection - informs us "'How I Met Your Mother' is brought to you by Red Lobster!" I start to chuckle softly, and then proceed to laugh uncontrollably (on the floor, as previously mentioned,) when the first commercial is indeed a Red Lobster commercial. No joke, I was on the floor for two or three minutes laughing at the horrible display of commercialism. It's all I can do to quote a few lines of Arrested Development -

(Carl Weathers is trying to get Burger King to sponsor an episode of "Scandalmakers" I exchange for setting a scene there)
Tobias: It is a wonderful restaurant!
Narrator: It suuure is!

Man, I just got a letter from the Revenue people telling me I need to give them my SIN number and birth certificate. why does everything have to be such a complicated little ordeal? Mwerf.

Eric has this theory, and I agree, that evolution of the human species has been curbed by our inventiveness. Think about it; we developed the necessary physical tools to become dominant. In fact, the tools we developed, chiefly the opposable thumb, is what enabled us to invent things to help us. From bows and arrows and the wheel and fire came guns and cars and fuel. We don't need to evolve any further. My take on this is that if we don't cultivate our minds, the process may eventually reverse itself, and we'll just be really well-equipped giant slugs. It was during this discussion that I quipped "If the present is any indication, it's gonna be a shitty future," although that may have been during a talk of war. Still, it's been in my MSN name or status for over a week and I wanted to put it somewhere else so I could get rid of it without forgetting it.

Anyway, I've been enjoying the somewhat overcast greyishness of the day. It's atmospheric. It's not horribly rainy, it's not frightfully sunny. Nice day.

Getting my act together, thanks for asking.

Keep on rockin'
Scott

Ch11: He carried his pa (to the top of the stairs)

Leave it to my family to make an already difficult scenario even more complicated.

For starters, I'll admit, my brothers and I did not get my mother a mother's day gift, at least not before today. It's been tough, trying to organize ourselves and get out and find something. There's no excuse, we're just bad. So last night, we were sitting around thinking about what the hell we were going to do. Mom had been away all weekend and would be home tomorrow morning. Eric and I figured we wouldn't exactly have time to run out and get her something, as we will be grocery shopping. Respectfully, we ask Brandon to take care of that whilst we are at groceries. His response?

"...No."

My response?

"That's not funny."

So apparently he was serious. To this moment I have no fucking clue what his problem was, but suddenly it became more than that. He was upset at my response (seriously, it wasn't funny,) and Eric and I were pissed at his refusal to participate in a group gift-giving. So we start going at him with claims like "what, you don't care about mom? You're ungrateful?" etc etc. And he's still upset that apparently, for once, we expect something of him, or at least request it, and he somehow reserves the right to act as though we're the ones putting him out. Right. Whatever, dude. Guy gets upset over the littlest things.

And I say this with confidence that he isn't reading. For all I know, he's found the URL by now although indications suggest otherwise. I sure hope he isn't reading, because he's not coming off very well. That's a combination of both my desire to make myself look good and the fact that saying "No" when you are asked to pick up a mother's day gift (not "pay for," mind you, it had been proposed we all chip in a equal amount,) does not make you look good. I got the impression from something he said that he thought he didn't need us and that any affront to his general apathy on the present-buying front would be an affront to his dignity. Or some such.

The result? He returns to his room in a huff after one of those nasty arguments I thought we didn't have anymore, where we fight more aobut how we're fighting than what we're fighting about. Once he's out of earshot, I tell Eric, "fuck him." Brandon and I aren't normally at odds because he's usually a reasonable person but there are times when he just takes an absurd position on something and, zealot that he is, won't recant.

So what do Eric and I do? Well, budget on the gift cut by 1/3, I start brainstorming ways to affordably and feasibly get mom a gift before she returns. I start writing out sappy self-written Mother's Day poems and letters, none of which even approached completion: I was in no mood to romanticise the idea of motherhood (we don't generally do that around here,) and she wouldn't have appreciated something with a humorous bent. Plus, there's a good chance I would've taken the opportunity to make Brandon look bad.

This morning upon waking, I had an epiphany. We had, in our pantry, half a package of mix for double-chocolate muffins. It seemed like it would just sit there, but this was the perfect opportunity. Mothers love things that get made rather than bought. So I set about mixing the necessary ingredients, when I realize we're out of muffin cups. Thankfully, the White Store did provide. Soon as they're out of the oven, I get a call from mom saying she'll be back in "an hour and 15 minutes." great; enough time to bake another batch. Not only that, but Eric and I pooled out resources and I went down to the mall, picked up a Mother's Day card and, after some indecision, a flower. A lovely red Spider Mum (I'm keen on puns.) Granted, the card was a bit religious ("slim pickings" was my defense to Eric,) but all in all Eric and I pulled together a lovely Mother's Day, all while Brandon slept.

We were even kind enough to let Brandon sign the card; however, I was sure to note that Brandon had nothing to do with either the baking or the flower.

So how did it turn out? Mom was impressed by the muffins and rather seemed taken with the flower. I thought it was a good combination; something we made and something nature made rather than something some corporation made. Just as mom made us, I suppose.

It was an interesting night. Funnily enough, it was a celebration of Brandon's birthday, which meant we all agreed unconsciously (I guess) to ignore the previous night's unpleasantness. The baby-cousins came over and Cameron seemed to be a little distressed by Max's presence. Not surprised, usually when company's over, Max is rudely shut away in the basement. Meanwhile, Emily's pug Dolby is scratching away at the inside of her door, and upon hearing this the kid laments, "a dog crying!" Granted, Max is a sight more intimidating for a 3-year-old than Dolb, but all the same I wish we could all learn to get along. I still have to ask Emily to be quieter in the mornings. We'll see...

I'm feeling better, although it wasn't without some difficulty. I had a bit of chest-congestion today and still a bit of a cough. I've started coming up with new ideas and adding to old ones.

Things are going fine, although the continued subversion of society into mindlessly obedient consumers and the general devaluing of human life in favour of means-to-and-end political pawns still troubles me. but, one step at a time I suppose. High spirits.

Keep on rockin'
-Yer Scott

Ch10: Innocent (Heart's Done Time)

This is going to be, I think, a depressing post.

That's not to directly state that I, myself, am depressed. As a matter of fact, if I so chose, I could probably be rather upbeat. I however elect to waive this right. Not depressed; distressed, perhaps, and most assuredly delirious.

I think I need to take a week just for myself, to write out some goals and to achieve them. There are certain things I've been putting off and would like at last to complete within a reasonable timeframe.

I'm not entirely certain what this entails, but it will, I think, amount to a controlled period of withdrawal from "society." I've still got to go about my business, but for 5 or 6 days it might behoove me to become reclusive. Now's the perfect time. My life is in general disarray and I can't trust that further exploiting it will help that end. I just need to relax and try to enjoy myself.

If this doesn't make any sense to you, there's probably a reasonable explanation for that: I had this idea (if it can as such be called,) during a brief moment of lucidity in my general malaise this weekend. I still feel shat-upon, healthwise. It's moved from sneezing and headaches to coughing and upset stomach, a lateral move I suppose. I hardly slept last night and in my dreams I had foreboding visions. I've not been well.

My room has become unfriendly to me, which is upsetting. I blame the lack of my clock, yet to be rectified. It's weird to be in a dark room and not know what time it is. I got up in the middle of the night last night and ate an apple. I'm not entirely sure why, but I think most health problems can be alleviated by the invocation of fresh fruit.

The world has just been unintentionally hostile to me. It means well but fails in its intentions. What once appeared providence became burden and I ask myself if it's worthwhile.

So I'm regrouping and I'll be able to redebut myself this time next week. It's a difficult position to explain, and I've done a lame job.

I'm going to look back at this post someday, perhaps not far in the future, and think how ridiculous I sound, but hey; I'm sick. There's not adequate bloodflow to my brain. This is what I've got.

See ya later, keep on rockin'
-Scott

Ch9: Fever dream (the guilt of love)

It's been a rough day.

Yesterday's rain made me sick. At first I denied it and thought it was allergies, but as the day went on I realized that there was a line between allergies and a cold - and this was right on the "cold" side. Not much in the way of itchy eyes, plenty of sore throat. Damn. I'm sick.

But it's my style to not let sickness get in my way. I've gone about business as usual today, despite my brain being delerious from lack of oxygen. I've got generic cold pills to help with that. It says 2 every 6 hours, but I'm gonna go ahead and have as many as I want as frequently as I see fit. If I'm dead by the end, the risk will have been worth it.

I slept on the couch last night. For what purpose I can't really see, except that Eric asked for my alarm clock, having wrecked his own, and I didn't feel like sleeping in my room without it. In my delirious sleep (hence the title of this post,) I had some bizarre dreams, where people I know, both well and only vaguely, passed in and out of it, saying things they surely would not and behaving in ways contradicary to their typical natures. It was chaotic. I can't quite explain what was so off-putting about it, that's just how it was.

So I'm trying to cope. It ain't easy, but I've never been the type to be intimidating by a cold, no matter how severely I've sneezed my nose out. I'll rest up tomorrow, maybe (although I've still got to get a mother's day gift.)

Ahh well. I'll be fine.

Keep on rockin'
*Scotts

Ch8: Faithful (Pretty girl with a broken arm)

Today's lesson: no good sentences end with "a sponge on a stick."

The origin of this is that I was out today and discovered a picture book about Hadrian's Wall in Roman times. So I picked it up. First noteworthy thing about it was that it was printed, evidently, in only red ink. The other was that it was written for particularly slow children, except for the occasional note that would catch you off guard, I guess to test whether or not you were paying attention. for instance the unsubtle mention that a possible punishment for theft would be being beaten to death. Very few kids book would admit to that. Also, the section on latrines which noted that Roman legionnaries would wipe their bottoms with, as I said, "a sponge on a stick."

I'll admit, I had no idea. And it's not like I've never wondered about bathroom hygeine before the advent of toilet paper. I've studied Ancient Civs both scholastically and in my free time, and never did I come across mention of a sponge on a stick, however, and thus it took me off guard.

I was a little frantic last night, but I took my own advice and spent nearly an hour afterward typing up dialogue to go into this script I've been working on for over a year now. I don't expect to ever get this thing made and only casually aspire to one day finish it, but it's always a lot of fun to work on because it's such a dialogue piece.

My cousin Elizabeth is giving birth right about now. I'm thankful, because her due date was originally my birthday and I was gravely afraid of that. As it is, it merely falls directly between my brother's and cousin's (Elizabeth's brother Kris.) We have many May birthdays, it's true.

I'm feeling good. I saw part of the gang tonight, returning to Fringe, but opted out of a Tim's run, because I felt the desire for going home and watching the Office. Lonely kid like me blowing off friends for TV? I know, sad, but it was a really good episode. I missed last week's for a similar reason that I nearly missed this one, so I evened myself out. At least we've got a few set gatherings coming up.

Not much else to report tonight I suppose.

Jim and Pam. Lovely.

Poiuyt.

Keep on rockin'
El Scotto

Ch7: Stolen (The cat who ate the canary)

I've never wanted a Coke so bad in my life.

Of course, it's nearly 11 PM and I've already had enough today. I'm not particularly thirsty, or at least I don't feel like I am (all we have are interpretations of the facts,) it's not a good idea to have a Coke, which is what makes me want one.

I'm a little frantic right now. It's not something I'm going to want to look back on in the blog's records months from now, but it's here. I can't explain, there's nothing to explain. I'm just... a little batty.

I got my marks back a few days ago. I did well, dad was proud. A good mix of A's and B's. The year is over. Even moreso than it was a week ago, I suppose. The average is down an insignificant amount from last semester.

I keep wanting to do this big year-end summary of all my teachers and all my classes and how I felt about the first year, but I keep finding myself unwilling to talk about it. Not that it was particularly bad, but right now all I want to do is find some time for myself, somehow. I've got all the time in the world and yet I'm not putting it to good use. I'm insane, or at least going insane. Whatever this is, I don't want it.

I keep blaming the damn dogwalks, but if it weren't them then it'd be something else. I didn't go today and I can hardly be said to have done anything of note.

It's the same problem I had during the strike, but worse. Now, I know exactly how much time I have, so I feel in some way that I'm entitled to wasting it. I still don't want to. (I just wrote that sentence and I'm not quite sure how I meant it. Nevertheless, it's there and I like it.)

I liked November, as painful as it was, when I knew I had to come home and write 1600 words each night or I'd be cooked. I should aim to do at least a half hour of continuous writing each night, blog not included. I think I'll start on that.

Sometimes it helps to get it all out there on the screen, like this.

There's more right now, this is not the full picture, but Ive got bigger fish to fry.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Ch6: Standing still (Marble statue woman)

The way I see it, these years of our lives are some kind of nighttime, and as soon as we wake up, the problems we have now will seem to have been a dream compared to the reality in which we'll find outselves.

What problems? I'm not sure. Whatever you've got. They're but nightmares, vexations in your head set to occupy you while you sleep.

I think this is comforting. Others see it as nihilistic or fatalistic. I don't know. The idea that problems seemingly so daunting are ultimately conquerable by the sheer force of time feels, to me, like the safest way to go. Then again, knowing the types of problems mom's seen recently, perhaps not.

All this is the thought of an idle mind, trying for once to say something bigger than "today was the usual blend of boredom and apathy."

I now understand why housewives find themselves so compulsively cleaning. It's good to feel like you've got something to do, otherwise you might just go insane. Short trip for me, I know, but let's pretend I'm not normally abnormal.

Although there are days when I wonder if maybe I'm the sanest person out there, and everyone else can only hope to attain the type of perspective I have. Then I remind myself that the amount of perspective one can get living in one's mother's basement, unemployed and drinking copious amounts of soda and Kool-Aid is rather limited, even under the best of circumstances. So clearly I'm the unusual one.

After months of half-heartedly searching, I at last went full bore and located my cache of Aerosmith CD's. Boy am I glad for that. My saving grace in this dull, throwaway day.

The ex contacted me a few weeks ago. The last thursday of the school semester. I say "the ex" because, regrettably, there's only the one, and I can't always bring myself to name her by name. I had randomly opened my MSN (Adium, really, on the Mac,) during a rather ponderous presentation in Globalization. Maybe Argentina, or one of the others. Anyway, I was only online briefly, checking to see who was there. And all she says is "Scotttt" with several "t's." I had to do a double take to see if that was really who was messaging me, and sure enough, it was her. I, being as willing to confront her as a mouse facing a viper, hit "Command+Q" instantly. Cowardly? Yeah, but I know her game. I think. The way things ended with us was an ambiguous "try again later" deal that I doubt I'll ever own up to. She gets keyed up every year or so, I guess about this time. It was in late April last year she told me she "missed me" after an extended period without conversation, and it was in that same month we first agreed to the arrangement that would technically be called a "relationship." It's just something I don't want to deal with, and thus will continue to avoid.

And that, my children, is a problem that exists merely as a nightmare in this slumber of youth.

And having gladly brought the blog full circle, I'll call it a night.

I hope you're well. I'd like for us to talk sometime soon. Not about anything in particular, but you know we'd enjoy it. You probably don't know who you are (or if, indeed, this is a plural "you," I won't say,) but I know you agree.

Keep on rockin'
Scott

Ch5: Torn (The knees of your jeans)

So I log on to my computer yesterday morning. My MSN is rigged to automatically log in, because, well, why the heck not. However, this day, it would simply not be. It took me several tries to merely get over myself and read the message insisting I log onto Administrator and download the new version of MSN.

Naturally, I'm miffed. It's a minor inconvenience at best (theoretically,) but I'm the type of guy who feels put out by the slightest alteration of his routine. Yes, upgrading MSN counts as that kind of alteration. So I log off SCOTT and onto ADMINISTRATOR. MSN asks if I want to upgrade (perplexingly, allowing me to log on anyhow, unlike previously.) I say yes, but it says "oh, you can't download this without upgrading Intrnet Explorer." So I think "okay, whatever dude, I use Opera anyway, let's upgrade Explorer." Funnily enough, I've got the IE update on my computer, but the installation never took. Supposedly I had to reboot, but hah, funny, I've rebooted about a dozen times in the past week. But I'm a good sport (uncharacteristically,) and reboot. And now the upgrade gets underway. And then at last I can download the precious MSN upgrade and resume my normal life, albeit with a few more bells and whistles on my MSN.

That was the simplified version of the story. It seemed more complicated when I was living through it.

But the point is my wondering why everything in my life must be such a complicated ordeal? Why must I hit every prospective stumbling block in the most minor of tasks?

Fleh.

I'm rocking out right now to "Shoebox" by the Barenaked Ladies. It'd been a while, but every now and again I dig their greatest hits album. Good tunes all.

Happy birthday.

One year ago, I'm on a bus headed back to Oakville with a bottle of Coke, next to Chris Brown, unable to sleep. One year hence, I've done some lovely writing today, finishing a rather hectic story that needs to be revised and cleaned up, but still is in a complete form. All things considered, a fair trade.

Keep on rockin'
~Scott

Addendum 12:10 AM: There was an alternate version of this post where I rant about someone mentioning this blog elsewhere, but I felt it unnecessary to post once it'd been written. Sorry you're missing out on more of my paranoia and self-derecation. It's no big. Maybe some other night.

Ch4: Symptoms (what you've got)

And holy fuck, has this weekend been proof positive of the essentially balanced nature of the universe.

If you can get your environment in line, things will fall into place. If you can get to the point where you can't affect your own life one way or the other - as I have - then I think you'll find that a roughly equal number of good things happen as bad.

Consider the fact that throughout this weekend, I've been struggling with the realization that life is not static; that even if I'm not doing anything (for the moment) other people are, and things therefore must change. People leave town. People can't hang out. Etc, etc. It's not hard to see how that can get a guy down. The whole "everything's moving so fast and I feel like I'm standing still" cliche.

It began with the continuing Fringe festival. Cary, Chrisbrown and I pretty much agree that the apex of the Fringe experience was the second night of Don Juan/Breakfast Club last year, but this year's Friday would have been stiff competition. It began with Wanted: One Groom, an hilarious middle-comedy about a mistaken response to an ad for a Groom, and an antique. Chris F. played the eponymous groom, and made a generally good straightman in the ridiculous scenario.

The weak link of the night was the bizarre hybrid script/improv version of "Death Knocks," the play Chris had directed. The problem was, neither Connor nor Stuart, the entire cast of the 2-man play, had really memorized their lines. It was quite bizarre to watch them fumble and pass through this strange concoction, the culmination of which was Connor's invocation of "Ned" instead of Moe Lefkowitz. It was still funny, but clearly not living up to its potential.

Lastly was Clue, which was perplexing, but had moments with hilarious zingers, and featured use of the word shtupp, my favourite euphamism for "have sex," which I tried to work into a script once.

So I was a little down last night, thinking about what was mentioned earlier, when mom comes down. I'm not in the best of spirits, so I don't feel overly excited even when she mentions that she won a non-Mac iPod as a door prize. I'd tried to convince her that she didn't want it, nor did my cousin as a birthday gift. What I was hinting at, naturally, was that it was I who wanted it. However, it had been left in her friend's car, so I decided to leave be until she had it. And somehow, in one of the classic blunders of our time, she gets a call from this so-called "friend," who says, "you know, my son said he wanted one of those, and you left it in my car, so I was wondering if you'd give it to me for $100." So she considers it. And she actually accepts. And the horrible, horrible punchline:

My mother thinks afterward, "gee, I hope I didn't rip her off!"

I'm frustrated just thinking about it! You should have seen the scene I caused today when I heard about it - at a birthday party for my little cousin Ali no less! I was bloody pissed, because she used my words, the lack of enthusiasm I showed on Kris' behalf, and the attempts to dissuade her from keeping it for herself, as justification. "Gee, I didn't think you'd want it."

Now I'm not gonna jerk you around. I said my cousin wouldn't be interested because he's not much of a music guy. but facing facts, nobody wouldn't want one, least of all for free. If I asked him, I know he'd have said yes, so not only did I cost him it, I didn't get to enjoy my manipulation. Usually things work out.

Now, this all didn't come to light until this afternoon. This morning, I was still a little depressed about life. Meanwhile, I was killing time for the bus outside of Tim Hortons when all of a sudden, who should appear but Mr. Guthrie. And we go inside and I meet his wife and we talk for a good 20 minutes about school, writing, and general catchup. It was so pleasant. The overall irony of the situation (and after much soul-searching, I decided this was, in fact, somewhat ironic,) was that at the time, and indeed immediatley afterward, I was at that particular Tim Hortons because I was on my way to the comic store, which Guthrie would doubtfully have appreciated.

Anyway, the party was nothing to write home about. Apart from the aforementioned blowup about the iPod, I was generally feeling ill and unenergetic. And I've spoken before about this Tim guy. He's the type who'll chime into every conversation and go off into some unrelated tangent. He's a conversational hijacker is what he is.

Afterward, I caught the last Fringe play of tonight, Bottled Spider, which was a historical comedy which saw Patrick Visintini looking (and more importantly, sounding) like he'd stepped right out of a Monty Python sketch. Sharp.

Then it was your basic hangout with my mooching of drinks off whomever I could. Pat once again proved why he's such a fun drunk. And once all the younguns had gone, we elders (plus a few youngers though mostly Chris, and Connor,) sat and did what we do best... amuse ourselves. In fact, we made up new rules for Pogs, which as I mentioned once before, are back. Due to the unusual circumstance of being able to flip the whole stack of 9 Pogs with one slam, that was deemed necessary to do in order to win... 6 times.

We're in the midst of the one-year anniversary of New York. I have absolutely no way of following that sentence. It has virtually no context or relevance, nor any real need for elaboration. It just is.

It's also the kind of Saturday night that makes me feel like staying up to roughly 3:30 AM just to finally get back to the blog. My lack of motivation really doesn't lend itself to blogging.

And you would leave this paradise?

Not sure where that came from, but I heard it once. It's my message for tonight.

So I've been back and forth so many times in the past 48 hours as to whether or not I was depressed, upset, pleased, content, satisfied, mortified, or apathetic about my current state of affairs, that the entire argument has lost all meaning. I simply am where I am. All things even out. I know that many of my friends are in turmoil right niw, and I've never been preapred to offer advice, except that all difficulties will pass.

And all ups to Chris Brown. Just because.

Keep on rockin'
Scotts

Ch3: Don't you forget (about me)

The brackets are hard... I did them for a whole month last year at some point and was hoping to be able to duplicate that dubious feat. Doesn't look likely. I'm not enjoying it.

Oscar Wilde once said, "The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about." I dunno, Mr. Wilde, I recently found out that it was I who was being talked about, in a mot peculiar manner. It was pretty bad. I think I preferred it when I assumed the details of my life were going largely ignored, except during those 15 minutes somebody would take each day to read this blog. They'd do that, I figured, and move on.

Aaannyway, there was a funny little rumour going around school, perpetuated, I am told, by someone I'd never met. I'm not clear on the story, but it made me laugh to hear it. Awkward, for sure, but since it's not really true, I can't feel bad.

Interesting day... night one of Fringe, saw some of the gang. Very crowded, very hot, very uncomfortable. However, the plays were worthwhile. Particularly Dr. Strangelove, expertly adapted and featuring a stellar cast. Patrick in particular, as the Sellers role (one of them anyhow,) as President Merkin Muffley. I'm not sure what to say about the other two. Not that they weren't good, in fact they seemed particularly well done for opening night (particularly "Amelia, Once More,") but Strangelove was what captivated me.

Afterward, a host of us arbitrarily trekked out to a park (after first hitting up the White Store.) It was... well, it was what it was. The Fergusons, both Laurens, younger Gurnham, Adam, his Sister I believe, Jordon Childs (whom I'd just met,) Patrick and Myself. I was tackled numerous times under numerous circumstances. Or at least, numerous attempts were made to tackle, but I stood my ground against an unexpectedly phyiscal assault. I also gave a demonstration on jumping from the swingset and tested for wetness at the bottom of the slide (it passed.)

I've been really low key. It's hard to gather my thoughts. I'm not having as much caffeine lately, which probably isn't helping. Not being in school has thrown off my whole rhythm. I need to find a really good time of day to write. The problem is this: I don't usually find it within myself to write first thing in the morning. Then i'll be doing something in the afternoon, have/make/help with supper, and want to relax in the evening. So it's tough. I need to shoehorn some writing in there. Unfortunately, my daily agenda seems to be jam packed with TMN OnDemand, dogwalking, and looking up obscure movies/articles on Wikipedia. That's a pretty full day right there.

So it's definitely been one of those spring days... when you have a massive chest congestion/sore throat from allergies (that you supposedly no longer have,) and it is way above the average heat. Global warming. Looks like it's a fact.

But it was a lovely evening.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Ch2: Get back (where you belong)

The nice thing about being on vacation is that it allows you time to unwind, and refocus your energies and find the focal point of your life.

The problem with this is, however, if you happen to be like me; you don't have anything to focus on. I'm growing a tad restless. I've been cursed with the responsibility of walking my Grandma's dog and so my days are all built around that. Well, 3 days a week, but why split hairs?

The point is... taking inventory of people I know, most seem to be out of town, at school, working a good portion of the time, etc, etc. I'm left with nothing to do but sit around, bored, and wonder what diseases I might have (I shit you not... in recent years I've found that boredom leads to hypochondriacism.)

On top of all that, I'm still bitter about the dentist yesterday.

I shouldn't even be blogging, y'know? It's hardly a distraction when your day is as inactive as mine. I dread the kinds of entries you people are going to have to read over the next several months. "Oh, today I did nothing again." Or more ideally, "today I did nothing... at work." I'm working on that, and should have it secured in the next few weeks. I move slow like that.

I should write. I should be turning out 10 pages a day with this much free time, but I can not seem to get motivated. I'm stewing in it, this murky pond of idleness. Mixed metaphors rule.

Today I returned my laptop. Good riddance, I suppose. I know, everybody else was all in love with their iBooks, but I disliked mine. I always prefer to be a lone dissenter than a conformist. Of course, there's less risk in disliking something others love than loving what they don't. Anyway, it was a particular ordeal: I had to go find the temporary HQ of ITSC (whatever that stands for... the "T" means technology, I'm sure,) which was in the basement. then I stood in line for maybe 15 minutes, then I had to wait because I was the only one who had to deal with the computer fucking up (theirs not mine.) And I didn't back most of my stuff up, so goodbye last year's notes, as though I was going to use you. I love blatantly disregarding the advice of others.

There are things I was thinking earlier that might have made a nice paragraph or two, but they're gone now.

I can't help but feel guilty every time I have a Coke since yesterday. It won't stop me, it just makes me feel bad. Jerks. Way to ruin my blissful addiction.

Every now and again, late at night (right about now, for instance,) I might get a cough. It's starting to bother me. All of a sudden I'll just get a phlegmy coughing fit and I won't be able to do anything about it. Then by the time I'm in bed, it'll be gone, and not come back for a few days.

And when that's my last point before I sign off, life must really be getting uninteresting. Sad.

Well, I'll try to carry this weight. There are those who have it worse than an excess of time and lack of energy.
Keep on rockin
--Scotto--

Ch1: Where Alph (the mighty river ran)

The title is a line from the Coloridge (I think) poem, Xanadu. While studying it in Writer's Craft, I mused that it was "the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard." Somewhat facetiously, but it is quite a lovely poem, even if it is merely, as Mr. Coloridge claims, "a fragment."

A few days into summer break, and I'm just sort of mulling about in a daze. There is a lot of nothingness to discuss, including my ongoing search for employment (which I'm kind of getting shouldered into,) walking of dog, and the general malaise of summer.

As is customary, however, I am finding myself taking it slow, easing into it. The problem is that there's a fair amount to do and no desire to do it.

Today was a trip to the dentist. What a miserable experience. Historically I've regarded the dentist as a sort of inconvenience, with a bit of tolerance. I'm really starting to hate them, though, after today. It's a fairly dispicable form of life. Under the noble guise of dental care, they put on plastic gloves, jab your teeth with sharp metal implements, and have the nerve to tell you the reason why there's "a little blood," is because you're not flossing. They shine a bright light in your eyes and put substances in your mouth that will kill you if swallowed. Then, existing outside of Canada's supposedly high-and-mighty healthcare system, they stick you with a giant bill for their work. Only a masochist would consider it money well-spent.

So basically what happened was all of the above, and the usual Spanish Inquisition from the hygenist (which I totally expected, wink wink nudge nudge,) about my "sugar intake" as though she were my physician (she should be so lucky!) and I were a hyperglycemic. She accuses me of drinking too much pop (probably true) and candy (a little more far-fetched but I had had some gum earlier that day... although it was Dentyne Ice.) As I was leaving, she had the nerve to suggest I switch to Diet Coke... which I refuse, on the grounds that my overall health is more important than my dental condition, which is stable anyway. Aspartame is not particularly healthy; look it up. (Acesulfame Potassium, found in Coke Zero is healthier, but it tastes such that it's always paired with Aspartame anyway.)

The dentist himself made only a brief cameo, narrating a laundry list of jibber-jabber I couldn't hope to understand and likely wasn't supposed to which basically amounted to a catalogue of what was wrong with my teeth. In his entire guilt trip about all the stuff he's going to have to do at my next visit (May 25th... ecch,) the word "cavity" did not once come up, but I was still expected to feel guilty for having suffered "minor decay" it tiny little areas.

And that's why I feel the dentists are so low. Because under the guise of looking out for you, they grab your money and push their pro-Dental care agenda on you. In regards to my less-than-stoic dental health, he says, "I guess when you're doing so well you can afford not to be a saint all the time." (?!) Funny, because most of the saints lived in a time before dental care (and processed sugar, for that matter.)

I can only really trust a medical professional who doesn't double as a salesman.

And one's teeth generally feel infinitely worse after a visit to the dentist; which I think should be the opposite of any medical visit.

Annyway, that was my big dental rant. Nothing much else happened today. The strange saga of Emily continues as today she was hanging out with us while waiting for her laundry. That was... weird. I stayed on the computer while she and Eric sat on the couch, making idle chit chat. I think Eric's better and handling idle chit chat than I am, or at least has a better stomach for it. I have little patience for the small conversational necessities that certain situations require.

Things are progressing. Last night I finally caught up with Robyn, which was good. Though I wasn't able to provide much resolution to her seemingly chaotic life, I was at least there to listen. And that's a function I like to fill, because I spent so much time early in high school abusing the ear of anyone to listen, so this is my penance for that. My payback. I'm always willing to help somebody get something off their chest, even if there's nothing I can do (and oftentimes there's not, but maybe once in a while I'm good for advice. Even a clock that's broken and doesn't run, as they say...)

And now, as of yesterday (I failed to get an update today,) I have another friend whose life is on the rocks. Life rarely settles down to allow people to enjoy it.

We must all find our paths in darkness, but the light will eventually shine.

Keep on rockin'
-Williams, Scott