017: Which lie did I tell?

This post's title from that of a book written by screenwriter William Goldman, who is responsible for, among other great films, The Princess Bride. I kind've like it, invokes the idea of a man who can't keep track of his many untruths. Sometimes I wonder if that's me. But then, sometimes I wonder if maybe I should drink less Coke. The answer is no.

Life's kinda funny how it can come full circle. Many years ago, I discovered I simply could not - or preferred not to - fall asleep in silence. It's less of a problem now, but back in the day I was always abuzz with paranoid thoughts that would spiral out of control. I just couldn't keep myself from worrying about shit or obsessing about stupid crap. And while I still lack that capacity, I've learned to distract myself by keeping the television on as I go to sleep, leaving the "Sleep" timer on. It's there for a reason. In recent years, I've set my bedtime as "the last moment something watchable's on TV."

I started this practise before I had cable in my room, just a TV/VCR set, which I still own and use to this day. So I'd pop a VHS tape in and set the timer off. The effect this had was that it would very abruptly cause the tape to stop and eject, eventually resulting in the self-destruction of the VCR, giving it the nasty habit of chewing tapes. So I had cable installed.

One of the first things I would use to distract myself from the wicked thoughts of my idle mind was King of the Hill, which once upon a time aired at 11 on CFMT - now Omni-1. I guess I was in Grade 9 or so but it feels like forever ago that I would've gone to bed at 11:00, even on a school night.

Time progressed and I pushed further against the night. The marker of bedtime became David Letterman, who was and still is on at 11:35. Then it became Conan, whose show airs an hour later. By my first semester of college, it was 1:00, when Global used to air reruns of Saturday Night Live.

For whatever reason, earlier this year, they ended this practise, and I was forced to find other entertainment. in the past year or so I transitioned away from watching traditional late-night talk shows like Letterman and over to The Daily Show and The Colbert Report (the former doesn't compete with any such show, but the latter does.) So I decided I'd leave it on the Comedy Network and just go with the flow, watching re-runs of South Park, the Simpsons, and King of the Hill. Funny, like I said, how life will take you in a big circle if it so desires.

I just hope that's the only sense in which I'm back where I was in Grade 9.

On nights like last night, when I get in after a late night Risk game, I'll merely pull some of my bedding downstairs and crash on the couch with the Movie Network on. Around the time I crashed, which I think was 3, there's nothing on worth falling asleep to (an odd distinction I suppose,) but usually some movie will be playing.

Last night was a sad story in and of itself. For exactly as long as we've been doing this Risk business, Chris Brown has been pressuring us to give Risk 2210 A.D. (or simply "Future Risk") a try. Last night was the night. Now I zoned out during much of the explanation of the rules, but that wouldn't have helped my enjoyment of the game very much. It was a dreary evening, painful indeed. Never agai, we vowed, shall we inflict upon ourselves the undeserved penance that is "Future Risk."

At least I got to spend much of yesterday with Robyn, basically being eight years old. Thanks for that.

Today I mailed off my OSAP papers, so I've got that done with. Now I've got to deal with this $300 deferral fee bullshit. Bureaucracy is lame.

Then Eric and I went down to Tim Horton's, where we ran into Guthrie and... some relative, I assume. Niece? Daughter? I don't know, and I can't really speculate.

And then, we went grocery shopping, because as usual, mom is jetting off this weekend and we had only this opportunity to get food for the coming week. Oh, and she also took the opportunity while she had us in the car, to kvetch about anything and everything. Regular readers of this blog will know firsthand that there's only so much kvetching a person can take before it physically starts to hurt. And it's a lot worse when you're stuck in their car than when you're idly browsing their page on the internet. Because for all my general complaining, you know you'd hit "Back" if you didn't love it. SWP 4-Life.

I think that's as good a place as any to end this post. Oh, and I forgot to take my allergy pill this morning. Big mistake, as that's about the only thing that gets me through the day. I'm gonna pay big tonight and tomorrow morning. Damn physiology.

We're all slaves to our genes.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

016: They're just looking for inspiration

Inspiration. Yes, that's the name of the game, lately. I got a spurt of it yesterday and wrote a little short story over on Interneta (link... you oughtta know where.) I like it, I think it's funny and kinda pointed. Still, I seem to be having difficulty with motivation. That's a different matter, I think, all together.

I mean, there are a number of things I'd like to be working on right about now, but I can't convince myself I ought to. Bad Scott.

But really, bad? No, no, just misunderstood. I finally did today something that was supposed to be done weeks ago, but wasn't, much to my shame. Dad's been nagging me to get down to this Job Connect place over at Sheridan-Iroquois, and I resisted because, hey, can't I find my own job? Well, anybody who's been reading this blog will know the answer's no. Finally, I figured, I reached the last straw and went down there this morning.

It was a relatively painless procedure which amounts to some low-level bureaucracy. I fill out some forms and attach a resume, they do the rest. It's like Match.com for the out-of-work. Still, it's very official and formal. I'm not comfortable with that, nor their advice on interviewing tactics etc etc. It felt like Careers class... and I nearly failed careers class (which may, I suppose, explain why I'm usually unemployed.)

Still, though, it had to be done. Eric finished his school year last week and I realized yesterday that we're not going to be able to co-exist in the basement for all our waking hours. It's just not gonna work. This was made apparent to me when we got into the first fight of the summer, over the stupidest thing ever. Well, really, most of our fights are over the stupidest things ever. We rarely fight over important things. Those things are basically understood and hammered out, but it's little things that get us hot under our respective collars. This had to do with whether or not I'd be taking Brandon's computer when he gets a new one. I said I wasn't sure I'd like to (for a number of reasons that are important only to me.) Apparently he took offense to this (though why it should be any of his business I've no idea,) and when I tried to fight my way out of the obvious confrontation I'd somehow gotten myself into, he insisted I was making a too big a deal out of it (which is a tiresome argument we keep having about everything.) I don't know whether or not I was, but the fact that it would even get to that seems a pretty clear indication that a modicum of distance between us is required at least 6 hours a day, not including sleep.

It's sad. We get along and generally like one another, but we'll fight at the drop of a hat.

I was over at Chris F.'s yesterday night. Whilst in the restroom, I started flipping through this Dictionary of Idioms they've got in there (I like bathroom readers like that, and Uncle John's books,) and found that the origins of sayings like "all thumbs" and "air your dirty laundry" are... very much what you'd expect. ("We humans need our thumbs to use tools... but imagine if all your fingers were thumbs!" Uh... I thought that was implied.)

Rather than play Risk (as Chrisbrown was absent,) we watched Dark City. Most of it, anyway. It's a terrific film and I still recommend it. I don't know what Chris thought of it, and Patrick fell asleep.

"It's tired in here." Buster Bluth.

Rather more-than-sufficient blogging for today, I say. Hope all's well over there.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto the Williams

015: He's not the star

Kind've a dull, lonely night. At first I was a little upset at that, but it's good to just have a night where I can lie on the couch and watch an episode of Saturday Night Live I've not seen.

Yeah, it's kind've a quiet night in. It's good, because I'm physically sore and tired from all the not-work I've been doing. I walk a shitload during the day and it's starting to take its toll. It's beginning to get like when I was doing the Bowling Alley thing. Which reminds me... I've really gotta work on not being unemployed. But that's something else.

There's something I keep thinking I should write about but I can't remember what it is. Lord, that's annoying. I've been meaning to get to this for a few weeks and now that I'm here I just can't remember what it was supposed to be. Not remotely. What a shame, man. Maybe one day soon I'll be flipping through an old MAD magazine or making dinner or some other unrelated random activity and it'll come to me. Until then, I'll just remain frustrated.

Eric bought this cell phone. Now, I'm scratching my head wondering what he needs with a cell phone... he doesn't seem to have anybody to call. Oh well, that's his business.

And my dog, the poor guy, has been suffering a torn tendon in his back leg. I guess he and I have that in common, as I mentioned earlier, sore legs. But for him, it's been more severe. We're hoping it'll heal.

I'd better not think too much about all the things I'm supposed to be taking care of. I'm too relaxed, I don't want to ruin that.

I'm gonna get going. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

014: Fuck n' Run room only

Conflicted. Exhausted. Unfortunate guy.

I mean, I don't know, man, how to feel about today, and the future. I'm farking exhausted, man. I been walking around too much. The house is a mess, I've got work to do, things to clean up, dishes to put away, etc, etc... it's ridiculous.

I don't know how things are going to go this summer. I'm finally starting to see how badly I need a job... to get out of the house and avoid spending all my time with my brothers. It's not meant to be this way, no sir. Even with us all in our places and split up and organized, it's still not going to work. Not all day, every day, all summer. No sir. Not gonna happen, it can't. But I've wasted so much damn time. Two months I've been out of school, two months I've done nothing but spend the occasional weekend drinking, or playing Risk, or watching horrible movies. And the money I've spend, very little of which I earn back from my miniscule chore-doing jobs. And next weekend I got roped into helping some odl lady move (why did I agree to that?!) for what, maybe $15 an hour for maybe two hours. So that's $30 for hard labour I ain't cut out for. Fuck!

See, life's not but anxiety lately, and this is supposed to be my vacation? I should work, it'd be less stressful. It's the end of the week meltdown, when I look back at the last 7 days and count all the ways I wasted my time. There are reviews to write and some things to draw, but I have no motivation because it's all too fucking much. I'm panicking, can't you tell?

Breathe, Scott. Keep control of yourself. Don't freak out too badly.

Last night the Jays beat the Braves. I was gld for this, since the Braves had lost 9 in a row (with the Jays win it was 10,) and you don't want to be the team that ends that losing streak. They won tonight against the Devil Rays. Meanwhile, the Jays lost to the Mets, keeping them firmly in third. There's no danger of them losing that spot, for better or worse.

Meanwhile, over at the FIFA, the Swedes are going up against Germany. Oh boy, it'll be a sight when Sweden upsets those Huns. Just you wait.

We got a deflated crappy plastic soccer ball from Gino's. Mom stuck this flier under my nose advertising soccer-themed deals on pizzas over there, so we were coaxed into ordering one such deal (essentually our usual order, but actually smaller... and it includes pop, which we don't need, and the soccer ball, which we don't want.) There was such hemming and hawing over whether we should order such a deal and which we should, and they didn't even realize it was Gino's, which is our usual pizza place anyhow.

I actually did end up on the couch last night. Not so great for the back, but kinda nifty.

This ain't a way to be.

Sleep tight, all.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott W.

013: Steady as she goes

Catchy song, don't you think? The Raconteurs. I heard it not long ago. Stuck in my head.

This isn't going to be long. It's three AM for crying out loud, I just got in from a very late-night edition of Risk. I don't even have much to report, but I needed to touch base.

Emily *(that's the boarder what's taken up in the extra room, in case you were unaware,) has said she's going camping. I thought she was gone already, but she said she'd take her dog, but the dog is still here, therefore I must assume she is till here and leaving tomorrow. Or something.

Something that's got me is that there is a noticible odor now in the upstairs, particularly in the bedroom area. At first it was like fresh pancake batter or something, but since the dog has gotten more and more aggressive with its... bathroom activities... it has mixed into a combination of that perfumeish scent and dog-type odor. It's rather pungent, through no fault of any party involved. Not even the dog.

Mom's gone to Palmerston to visit my cousin, Elizabeth, who's had her second child last month. They wanted her to stay for a week, but she gave them two days.

And me, I'm... sitting here, sentimental, nostalgic, frustrated, a little angry. Tired, for sure. Not one of my better posts, but a somewhat necessary one.

Bed now. Was going to sleep downstairs, but... I need my own bed. Which is a shame because my own bed can sometimes be a hostile one.

Good night, keep on rockin'
-The Scott.

012: Nocturnal Omissions

Cute pun, no?

I had this epiphany today. This won't change the way I feel about the universe but has at least expanded my understanding. It has to do with those old free will vs. predestination arguments we used to have in Grade 11 Philosophy class. It used to be approached that life was either one or the other. Most prefer to believe that we human beings have free will, and that chance exists. Still others feel the need to admit tht certain things feel... fated to happen, and let's not even mention those who believe God is running the show.

Well I was never sure which side to take. Free will, I guess, by default, but it didn't feel right. There are so many things that are beyond our control. At first I thought it was purely genetics, like perhaps we're wired to behave a certain way, but that's not quite it either. Still, that's part, but there are so many aspects to human existence... physical attributes, mental acumen, interests, past experiences... behaviour, both rational and subconscious. Past lives, repressed memories, traits physical and psychological all converge to make up who you are and all the things you might be, and combine together to make a definite path, or a number of definite paths, which were neither predetermined nor consciously embarked upon. Simply put (and I've here done a terrible job of trying to explain it,) predestination and free will are two sides of the same jewel, along with chance and this religion business (in my opinion, Buddhist principles such as karma have a little more substance than Judeo-Christian business, so I'm including it.)

All it is is threads, converging at points to make a well-interwoven tapestry. I was going to concoct a fictional scenario off the top of my head to demonstrate, but I can very well pick one from reality. Earlier tonight, I broke a glass. I swung my arm over the counter without noticing and swept it off, thus is smashed on the floor. The glass was there because I had not put it in the dishwasher. I was hoping somebody else would have, but because of minor little incidents in our upbringing, little tasks like that go undone generally around the house. I figure this is because Mom was fussy when we were younger, always picking things up and straightening the house (she still does this,) rather than asking us to. I could go back further to find out why she's so fussy, but it's not important. All that's important is that the various factors and the chain of events led to - crash - that shattered glass on the linoleum.

It's nothing new and in fact cribs somewhat from "Einstein's Dreams," but it's not something I considered so thoroughly until now, how great the span of reality is spread out before me. We have choices, we have our potential, and we have chance. You can't control the outcome of a roll of dice, but you can control how you toss it, no?

I went over to Grandma's today. Aunt Lori was there with Cameron, and he was all to excited to play cars with me. Now, the kid's got two moms, nobody's really telling him that, as a boy, he must play with cars, and yet that instinct's there. You tell me about nature vs. nurture.

My Swedes tied England. I'm pretty proud - because I'm insane like that.

I know this has been a bit of a heavy post, but... I'm unemployed and bored, so I've got a lot of free time to think about this nonsense. I'm trying to occupy my mind with creative stuff, but to no avail.

I was going to write a whole post about pet peeves, but then this predestination thing came up and I had to write it down before it was gone. While walking, I often get good ideas for topics - for posts or Interneta Rants and whatnot - but forget them by the time I get home.

I just finished re-reading Maus. It's a graphic novel (in two volumes) that recounts the author's father's time in Auschwitz during World War II (well yeah, like, when else would someone have been in Auschwitz?) The story itself is quite fascinating - the measures this man goes to to survive - and colourful, as it's narrated by the miserly, tempermental Jew many years later. Comics are rarely used for such fascinating stories, and this was just brilliant. It's not in the Library now (as I have it,) but it'll be back soon.

I had this kernel bothing me. I thought it was stuck in my gums, and I flossed and mouthwashed and brushed as far as I could until I bled but to no avail. It was stuck in somewhere undetedctable except by the maddening pain it caused to chew and swallow. Insane. I thought somehow it had gotten into my sinus cavity and was digging into the back of my nose or something, but no: just the back wall of my cheek. Finally, with the help of a flashlight and various scraping implements, I got it out earlier today. That's right... overnight it sat scraping against the soft fleshiness of my inner-mouth, digging in and taunting me with its agonizing grating edges, until the next evening all the way. Oy, such irritation.

That's it for tonight all. Hope you're well.

Sweet dreams and keep on rockin'
-Scott

011: The same three songs

I guess there's not much to say tonight. I mean, things are pretty much status quo. I have been taking care of some business, but we'll see see how it works out later.

I also got a haircut. Now, it's been, I think, since February or March since I last had one, so I'd attained a sort of shaggy unkempt look. Now the coif is rather sleek, aerodynamic, and weather-resistant for summer. It's always tricky, your first night asleep after a haircut. Takes a bit to get your rhythm. Or maybe I'm just batty.

I got this barber who was a talkative younger lady. I've had her before, she's nice and for her, I practise the otherwise unfathomable business of barber's chair talk. "You're going to look so different with short hair." "Yeah, I'm actually running from the police. Don't tell anyone." "Hahaha," and so forth. Yeah, I'm real charming.

Also whilst at the barber, I'm approached by this weird bloke, an older guy, who wanted to know what I'd been up to lately. "Excuse me?" He told me, it was Tom Holtby's father -- he was a Cub leader with my dad, Tom was in my pack. I told him I was at Sheridan, blah blah etcetera, he said he'd tell Tom he saw me (and I therefore thought to myself, "awkwardddd.")

Last night was Father's Day. Not much to report other than we went over to dad's, he liked the gift we got him (a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black,) and we moved furniture around. Typical, I suppose.

Ecch, got a kernel in my gums.

Been one of those days, y'know?

Ah well. TCB.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotts

010: Retrace the sounds

I guess we're at that point... that fargone stagnant point deep into the hazy thicke of summer when you know, boy, you know there ain't no goin' back.

I say this because, according to last night's forecast, and corroborated by my experience today, today we've finally reached 30-ish. It's that point where I must abandon pants (for shorts, pervs.) And you know you'll never get those breezy innocent carefree days of spring back. The calendar may say that the 21st is 4 days away, but it's summer. No denying.

With summer comes a change in mood, or at least a certain temporary grumpiness around here. Eric's brooding. He's the most blatant brooder I've ever met. Whenever he's in a bad mood, I'm afraid to say, it is (as the saying goes,) palpable. You can feel it deep within you. He makes you (by you, you see, I mean "me,") feel whatever misery he feels. Today, he feels lethargic, unenergetic, disgruntled even. He's a bitter ole miser on the couch, ungrateful for the small fortunes pitted his way - he didn't have to make dinner tonight, by the grace of mom, but he doesn't seem appreciateive. He's being paid to watch Emily's dog, but he's unhappy about having to walk the little guy. C'est la vie, n'est-ce pas?

And me? Well, I've been keeping to myself, avoiding major altercations (and there have been those times when he simply, without call, blurts out something about my behaviour, and I decide whether or not I want to make the mistake of responding.)

I bought myself a Coke in a glass bottle. As much as I am partial to the can format, the bottle provides a certain refreshment that somehow justifies its inflated price for measurably less cola. It also gives me an excuse to use my bottle opener, which is shaped like a Coke bottle... and therefore gives me the opportunity to look like a total addict... which I am.

It's that rare time when virtually nobody is online. I guess they're all watching hockey. Imagine... hockey in this weather.

Oh by the way... go Sweden.

And Blue Jays.

And keep on rockin'
=Scotto

009: Slow, agonizing relief

This post's title will be explained by the end.

Last night was an interesting night. And by interesting, I mean when you consider that my life has grown so dull that every act has been distilled to a routine so mundane it's become difficult for me to schlep myself out of bed in the morning.

What was interesting was that while we would normally have gone to Dad's place, he took us to the airport. This was not unexpected, as he'd discussed it with us in weeks prior. We'd just forgotten. So we pile into the car and trek to the airport to see off some distant relatives of Grandad's (his cousin, I think, and her husband?) Ron and Nancy, I think, although I only know his name is Ron and I may only be thinking Nancy because of the Reagans. So we had dinner with them in the airport food court (although they'd already eaten so it was just us eating. And it was Pizza Pizza which I'd already had that day, so hah. Feh.) And they talked about, you know, whatever distant relatives discuss. Grandad and Aunt Pat and Uncle Alan were there as well.

Anyway, such an interesting place is the airport. I always like massive places of public works. Transit places... airports, Union station, the ROM, busy places where people seem deeply engaged. By my count, there must've been ten thousand people at the airport, and all of them going verrrrrry slowlyyyy and in the same direction as me. I'm very concerned that in public places I suddenly become invisible because of how many times I was walked into, or almost walked into but for my last-minute dodging.

Anyway, I'd been complaining on this blog, as you'll all politely recall, about the severity of my allergies and the ineffectiveness of the pills I'd taken against my itchy eye symptoms. well, I'm pleased to announce that I happen to have found myself a savior in the form of Rexall 24 hour pills. It's amazing, actually... such a little pill and you only take one every 24 hours. And it works. It fucking works. Mind, I didn't take it until I started with the itchy eyes yesterday, so when I took the pill, my eyes were so swollen and filled with liquid I could barely see... and for a half hour still they stung like a bitch. But slowly... very slowly, and agonizingly, the pain lifted off me and at last, for the past day, I have been relieved. Hence the title of this blog. Relief. Slow and agonizing, yes, but relief nonetheless.

Of course, that's only one thing off my shoulders. But still, things are getting better. Despite what I believe to be a sort of mental deterioration from lack of activity and a growing addiction to certain computer games, I'm feeling better than I had recently. Now I've just got to tackle this unemployment business and I'll be home free.

C'est la vie, I suppose.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto el Williamos

008: Another window to break

My vision is a little blurry.

It's no secret (to anyone I've told,) that my allergies have been kicking me square in the 'nads for a week or two. Particularly late in the evening, when I guess all the allergens in the atmosphere settle in my basement here. While my nose and throat can be dealt with through various means, which include beverages of all sort, pills, etc, more tricky is the matter of itchy, watery, swollen, irritated eyes. In the good olden days, the shots I used to get every Tuesday would clear everything up for me for a week or two. But some asshole doctor told me I didn't need shots anymore... so long as I take these fuckin' pills. And the pills still don't help the eyes, so I went and fucked my own vision up because I couldn't stop rubbing my finger in my fucking eye. Sigh.

Still, though, all told I'm feeling better. I got outta the house this evening to help Robyn with her homework. We went to Chapters and I lorded over her while she finished up a journal for Guthrie.

I think it's funny... not in a ha-ha way, but in a "isn't that something" way, that I became a college student right as the concept of the Internet Meme hit its apex. I can't imagine, a year or two ago, being so enthralled by things like "The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny." Students, like myself, are more bored than ever and while this trend has been steadily growing, it really kicked into high gear once people got ahold of that Chuck Norris bullshit.

Yeah, I've never been a big fan of the Chuck Norris jokes. I mean I chuckled at the absurdity of them at first, but soon I got tired of them. It's like Family Guy. For me, at least, the humour doesn't last. Yes, "the water gets Chuck." I've heard that, what, a hundred and fifty times?

I think I'm going to make up a list of Scott Baio facts. Look for that on Interneta soon.

But it did lead me to one thought. Maybe, just maybe, Christianity started as a little joke among bored Judeans circa 30 CE. "Hey, they say anytime Jesus needs to hold a party, all he does is take water and turn it into wine." "Jesus never needs to take a boat - he just walks on the water." Yeah, that's lame; I bet they were a lot funnier in aramaic.

What is it with my family and holidays? Last month we exploded over Mother's Day, and yesterday we had a similar dispute over Father's Day. It resolved itself, but nonetheless exposed a darker side of both my brothers and myself that frankly I don't care for, particularly in the context of what it supposed to be a celebration of our parents.

I can't fucking believe they made a sequel to that Garfield movie. That was the worst movie I had ever paid to see... until I paid to see War of the Worlds. At least some of Garfield, I didn't catch because... (ahem) better not to go into that here.

That's all for tonight. Frankly, I'm surprised I had my wits about me enough to get this much out there tonight. And I'm down to my last pill... fucking pharmaceutical companies.

I'm in a swearing mood today because I've been watching Penn & Teller's Bullshit.

So keep on rockin'
Scotto fuckin' Williams

007: Float on by me

It ain't easy, man.

Life's little curiosities; an ad taped to numerous lampposts in the neighbourhood advertising "Quick, easy divorces." I'm not sure what's more peculiar: that such a sign exists, or that so many tabs were ripped off it. No respect for the age-old institution of divorce.

My mind's been getting lazy, crazy, pent-up. I owe two people e-mails. I'm spending my time on frivolities and anticipating against hope that one of my few contacts out there with my resume will eventually call me up and end this unemployed nothingness.

My dreams grow ever more frantic. I can't even recall the details when I wake, only minor notes of settings, characters and events. I see so many places and so many things being done I can't frame it all properly. In the film Coffee & Cigarettes, directed by Jim Jarmusch (recommended viewing, by the way, if you're up for something different,) comedian Steven Wright claims he likes to drink coffee before bed because it makes him dream fast, like they start whizzing by one after the other. It feels like that.

Oh brain... you wander.

It's World Cup season. Now, I'm as Anglo as one gets (without ever having actually set foot on English soil that is,) but I am taking this opportunity to defy my heritage and root for Sweden. It's a long and complicated story as to my motivations for this sudden Swedification, but the long-and-short of it is I wanted to go for a team that doesn't have a tonne of flags everywhere. Now, as soon as Sweden's out, I'll probably revert to my Anglophilic roots and paint the cross of St. George on my face. Or at least I would, if I really care about soccer (that's part of the reason why I'm suddenly so pro-Sweden... I'm bored and this is how I amuse myself.)

My tongue hurts. Why, why, why, why, why? Why tongue, why must you hurt? Ecch it irritates me so. And my allergies, ugh, and this, that and the other, boy I'm full of little discomforts. Nothingh major, just a many, many minor discomforts.

Oh well. Off to bed I suppose... nothing interesting except now my speaking in a broken English sort. At least today I ran into an estranged friend. This pleased me.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotts

006: What is and what's perceived

It's 2:00 AM. I've been out for hours and am tired and I come home to a locked door, the key to which I was too stupid to bring along with me. I'm resourceful, though. Just frustrated.

It's been one of those Saturdays. The kind where you have so little going on you go to dangerous lengths to make it happen (whatever it may be.)

Take for instance that I finally got around to crossing "fill bike tires" off my "to-do" list. This has basically been on there since last year, as I didn't use the bike for all of 2005. Technically, the rear tire is too bald to be safe, but I don't really seem to care. It was my intention not to refill the inner tubes until I could finally replace that tire. But I found a pretty dern good air pump among somebody's junk a little while back, and decided to put it to use.

So I went on a lonnng ride around town. A word of advice - if you're going to take an hourlong bike ride in the sun, make sure you have water in your system. I got dehydrated and by the time I got back I was utterly nauseous (and those who know me well know the frequent severity of my nausea. I'm just that way.) So I won't be biking it downtown anytime soon, only North - Oakville slopes up that way and it is important to get that downward slant on your way back.

Tonight, as well, was a return to the classic Risk gang. It was one of the less thrilling outings, as I caused a scene when I believed we'd been caught in a loop, which in turn made people want to attack me less (because said loop was caused by a 3-round cycle of Conner and me going back and forth in southern Europe and nobody doing anything to stop it.) Ultimately, Pat and I co-won when it came down to him and me, with him having the resources to nearly take me out, and me having the cards to make a massive comeback.

This was coupled with the watching of Anchorman, (followed by part of Serenity, which I regrettably have yet to see in full,) and watching Chris and Pat bounce a ball of their heads, back and forth a record of 11 times.

There are a few things idly buzzing around my head, but it's late and I'm quite drowsy, so I think I'm gonna call it a night.

Sleep tight, may the sandman be kind, and keep on rockin'
-Scotto

005: Well-known rumours

I love Wednesdays.

It's a kinda funny combination of facts that amounts to my appreciation of the so-called "Hump Day" (upon which I have never managed to actually do any humping,) not the least of which is: new comics comes out. Because new comics come out, and because I don't trek down to Grandma's to walk Xena, I trek instead to Comic Connection, which handles all of my comic-buying needs (at shockingly low prices,) and has the convenience of being located in the Kerr-Lakeshore neighbourhood. It's no coincidence that Half-Past was shot just across the road at the intersection of Kerr-Rebecca.

But I leave for the store at 10 or 10:15, and they don't open until 12, which gives me a moment to go grab an Iced Cap (both the greatest and most insidious product ever perpetrated upon the Tim Horton's clientel,) and go sit by the Lake. The pier itself is rarely deserted (as it was last week per the crummy weather, I went anyway,) and today it was populated by some Grade 3-ish kids on a field trip. I was unperturbed and nevertheless took to meditation at the base of the lighthouse, facing eastward to the misty blue Toronto skyline.

Speaking of Toronto, I was in Chapters today as well (unrelated,) and glanced at a book entitled "Why Everyone Hates Toronto." Though I think the city's reputation is a tad unfair, the book makes a convincing argument. Toronto, as a city, is a bit full of itself, and overall quite dry of humour. Besides, there's no point in publishing a book called "Why everybody hates Montreal," because "They're French" is only one sentence.

I passed by the Oakville Lawn Bowling Club as well... it's a funny sport, Lawn Bowling. People in clean while shorts and collared shirts rolling balls at one another from both ends of a trim lawn. In my opinion, Lawn Bowling is a dying sport... mostly because nobody who plays in is under 65, and thus, everybody who plays it will be dead soon.

"She knows me better probably than anyone ever has, and I knew her only as one knows a riddle before hearing the answer." That's an analogy I composed when thinking of a friend of mine today. I expect to use that sometime, which is why I recorded it here.

It's junk season. The garbage has been piling up on my street for about two months and any day now it'll be hauled away by zealous trashmen and scroungers. I remember the jukn days of my youths, from which we took many bike wheels, playsets, office chairs, mattresses, and at least one rope ladder. But people, beware, when you throw out electronics you may be endangering the environment, as microchips do not break down. Many years from now, all those pieces of silicon and wiring will dominate the landscape, until at last the superintelligent technology assimmilates the discarded technology into a mechanical overlord comprised of thousands of old TV's, millions of old keyboards, several computer harddrives, a couple of mattresses and one old hamburger that just wouldn't decompose, encased in styrofoam.

I had some thoughts on banks. Banks provide many of the little "isn't that somethings" that provide comedians with their material. Imagine somebody who sucks up to you and offers to hold your money for you (as if you couldn't keep track of it yourself,) but only on the condition that they could have some. But the more you have, the less they will take and if you have enough, they'll give you more. This is the extent of my understanding of the banks. Beyond taht it all becomes sort of a blivet (or poiuyt).

Oh, also at Chapters was "1,006 Great Things about Being Jewish," which made me laugh, because I met Vanessa's roommate recently, and it seemed as though she'd read that book.

I took Sandman: Endless Nights out from the Library. I was at Central (part of my whole "being on Lakeshore" thing,) and wandering around the Children's section in sort of a curious daze. A woman, noting that I was not the usual sort that made their way down there, asked if I needed help. "Just looking," I told her. "You know this is Children's...?" she asked in that tone that is not spoken as a question. "Yes. I was curious." Indeed, I like children's literature. It's inherently more imaginative than adult literature, and less bogged down by psychology, hamartia, pathos, etc, etc. There's nothing philosophical about "Sideways Stories from Wayside School" and there are few great life lessons to be learned from "Help! I'm Trapped in my Sister's Body" (apart from ones that ought to be obvious,) and this helps many of them just be jolly good reads.

Annyway, I stumbled upon Sandman: Endless Nights, which went missing at (or was checked out from) the White Oaks branch. I was actually shocked, because in the seven stories, I think there are maybe two that don't depict some form of nudity (they're very risque comics, but also very thought-provoking.) It's a shame it's hidden down among the mobiles and puppet shows of the Children's Section. White Oaks got it right for having an official Graphic Novels section. It's significant.

I like this entry. If there was a way for me to save my favourite entries (and there is, just not an ergonomic or relevant one,) this would go up there.

I'm in a good mood. My new medatative phase has really leveled me out.

Hope you find what you're looking for tonight, the stars seem lined up.

Keep on rockin'
-Our Scotto

004: Something for the kids?

What drives a man to the brink of insanity?

I'm not entirely sure. I'd like to think that I could make some grand dramatic statement about stress management and dealing with one's internal issues, but I haven't got one to make.

Yes, I had a bit of a meltdown last night. Today, I meditated. It helps, it does. If you can find yourself a few minutes each day to turn your mind to things both bigger and smaller than yourself as I am working on doing, perhaps you will gain some perspective. That's what I'm trying for.

Now last night I was a little unhappy. I allowed all the minor little ticks to really dig in and start getting at me. And while it wasn't exactly a case of "I woke up this morning and everything is fine," I was able to sort myself into a position I'm comfortable with. I still need work, but I'm not freaking out.

Eric showed me his friend's CD the other day. This guy he goes to school with is an underground recording artist in the emerging "noise" genre. And what exactly is "noise?" Well, go get one of those old TV's with the antennae, plug it in, turn it on, and turn it to a channel that doesn't exist. It's basically 40 minutes of static in 5 tracks at different pitches. I mocked it gleefully.

Last night was one of those sleepless nights. I couldn't possibly get comfortable, it felt, I'd have to wait to be rendered unconscious by my own body's fatigue, like falling asleep on a coach bus (seriously, last time I had to do that I succumbed to dimentia long before falling asleep.) On the plus side, I got to see the classic baseball flick from my youth, Rookie of the Year. Anyone who doesn't like that movie is a goddamn crack-smoking fascist dictator. No offense.

And as such, the strange dreams returned, and with a baseball flavour. Difficult to describe... I caught a flash of playing a baseball game, and then a visit to some obscure shopping plaza for drinks with a few people I know. no names (it's my experience that a number of people might say, "keep me out of your dreams, you freak," when you mention you had a dream with them in it.)

I mailed in this envelope yesterday to the revenue people. Apparently, they needed my birth certificate and SIN number. Bastards can't just give me my cheque like anyone else.

It ain't easy, man, but I'm gonna try to pull myself together. If you spend too much time falling to pieces over everything, life's gonna feel like a major drag.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

003: A flashlight shone upon clouds

Goddamnit.

This will have to be a short entry, because every time I allow myself to go beyond two or maybe three paragraphs, I get really.........melodramatic. And that's not what I want. Quiet despair, perhaps, but not so overblown.

As proof of this... this is the third draft of this post I've written.

I haven't been in a very good mood lately. There's something nagging at me, it has for a very long time (this is the part where I usually go off admonishing myself for my lack of action.) I'm not very happy, and there's really no path I can take.

As a sidenote, after Friday night, I think it'd be best if I shied away from alcohol for a little while. It was just... embarrassing. Although not the big deal of the night as far as I can recall. Admittedly, my recollection is spotty.

"Oftentimes, there are problems in life, and just as often there are solutions." This simple-seeming piece of advice... given by a minor character in an obscure episode of Seinfeld, may be all I've got.

I need help.

Because, man... I'm beat beyond belief.

Keep on rockin'
-Ole Scotto

002: Strange little angels

It's difficult to explain what kind of rut I'm in.

Not a "depressed" rut. Not inherently, althought it's a bit of a downer when I think about all the wonderful things the people I know are doing, wherever they may be doing it and when, for better or worse, they're out there experiencing places and things totally unrelated to this town, this culture, these people.

Now, I do not think that there is anything wrong with this town, this culture, these people. There are, numerically speaking, as many or fewer faults here than any other place I might hypothetically be. Not to speak to grandly of the issue, however, I was just thinking about the sort of stasis I've entered, particularly over the past year.

This was brought on during a conversation with Alyssa, who is evidently enjoying herself in fresh new surroundings in Alberta. It's a matter, I told her, of self-realization and perspective. As I put it, "you can't see yourself properly if you're only looking from one perspective." As you go new places and find yourself in new situations, you see different aspects of yourself that you may not have realized, even if they were always there.

Therein lies my issue, that I haven't found as many opportunities for new perspective. I haven't found many and I've taken fewer. Everyone I know surpasses me in this category to such a great degree. As longtime readers will note, I'm still living at home, going to a school not 20 minutes of walking away from my house. Everyone I can think of in my age bracket has found many opportunities for this. They dishearten some and enthrall others (including one friend who has been particularly obnoxious, but no names -- it's not really relevant.) I am, as she so perfectly elocuted, "a creature of habit and comfort." Not deniable.

Am I upset at this? No, merely frustrated. If I could feasibly find a way to change my surroundings, just for a little while, I'd (likely) be satisfied. It's an overanalytical examination of your typical desire for a vacation of some kind. Don't take these words as anything more than idle musings. I'm not crying out for help, I'm just understandably bored.

From this comes the inspiration for my next project to write, to get my stress out about this issue. I also just want to write something funny, with the simple goal of getting a few laughs and moving on, not having some grand romantic or melodramatic arc, like certain things I've done.

I was watching a documentary about Canadians in the world of comedy entitled "Comedy Gold," and it was interesting if a little glad-handed. I don't want to speak for the guy, but this seems like the kind of thing Haasim would like to dissect. It recounts many famous Canadians' monumental contributions to comedy, including the usual names like Mike Myers and Air Farce, but provides little real insight into why Canadians gravitate toward comedy. My thought is that we're such a plain, unassuming country, when everything's settled, we notice little amusing details more.

But the problem, as I see it, is that the country is manifestly obsessed with its history in comedy. Yes, we've had some great comedy shows, but most countries have. Plus, a lot of these greats aren't really that good when you boil it down. Air Farce and 22 Minutes are shows that I particularly denounce as ineffectual corny punchline gags that feel like dinosaurs in an age the Daily Show and even a good episode of Saturday Night Live. And SCTV is good only depending on what you feel like laughing at on that given day. If TV parodies and silly characters aren't up your alley, then the show is dead in the water.

Then again, Canada gave the world the Newsroom, Kids in the Hall, Corner Gas (which surprised me the first time I saw it with how good it is,) and of course, Myers and Jim Carrey. So we're definitely capable of good. We're just too obsessed with "We're Canadian and we're funny." It's not an absolute - go watch Comedy at Club 54 or the Holmes Show for proof. By the same token you could say Canadians have a great ear for rock and roll because we gave the world Rush, The Guess Who and Neil Young. True, but we also gave them Loverboy, Chilowak and Trooper.

I wonder about "The Apprentice." Does Donald Trump accept resumes for positions to be filled in his company, or must everyone now compete on the show? And do they have an unlimited supply of jobs for these people, or... do they just end up working as consultants on the next "Apprentice," and leave once that show's over? I wonder.

I had this dream (yep, don't think they'd go away by now,) that chilled me to the bone. There was this fake reality set up inside a garage and I observed someone being made to believe this was in fact a real situation they were living. Like a smaller, more paranoid Truman Show. And just as I had revealed to this person that he or she was not living the existence he or she thought, the wall beings to pull upward and an ominous voice informs me that the very same ruse has been perpetrated upon me. And suddenly I worry about where reality truly lies. In this dream state I am uncovering untruths about who I am and how I live... I can't shake the image, the feeling of shock as it suddenly dawns on me - I am but a pawn, not a player, in a Chess Game perceptible to all but me.

And that's all. I've ranted fairly extensively tonight. There's a lot of business to discuss, but events will always be there to be recalled (such is the magic of memory,) but I might never have given this rant... these rants... a formal existence if I'd gone through the usual "what I did today" spiel. Not much to tell, but there's still something.

Such is the magic of this blog. It's disorganized, yes, and any attempt to distill any one psot into any of category would dilute it to a mere paragraph here or there. Likewise, they are not to e categorized, such is the nature of the blog. It's all in my head, and I'm just here to pull up the door to the reality you didn't expect.

Or something. It's late, I'm tired. Thep point is, more some other night. Plenty more. tomorrow. I promise.

Keep on rockin'
-The Scott Williams you know

001: Enjoy yourself in misery

It's a beautiful night tonight. The air feels pure, you can hear for miles. The moon shines a pale crescent beacon, the stars dot the misty sky, a grey light underscores the distant horizon, and somewhere, I should think, some poor bloke is becoming heartbroken.

I'm finally back on a regular nighttime blog schedule after a few days of being on that weird jumpy morning schedule.

The dreams have remained fairly strange. I can't really describe them anymore it's all a big jumbled mess. But they remain as vivid as an unfinished canvas.

Yesterday I went for a long walk. It's not unusual for me to do so, particularly on Wednesdays, and particularly when it concerns going to the comic store. I had inexplicably woken myself up early and, on that grey, foggy morning where rain was forecast, toted an umbrella with me to the lakeshore area.

I stopped by my favourite spot in the world on the way, and was humbled somewhat by the endless grey infinity that stretched out before me. It cleared up later, but for a moment it was as though I had reached the very edge of the world. I should remember that feeling, I can use it.

The place is usually crowded, infested with varying degrees of elderly folks and stay-at-home moms out for walks, but it was this week of uncertain weather that allowed the spot to be vacated. I like that.

Now, I have, in my time, seen all sorts of low behaviour. I have been wowed time and again by what depths human compassion can plummet to. There is perhaps no better place to see the worst of humanity on display than at the supermarket - specifically, the parking lot.

I thought I had seen the lousiest thing I ever would in a parking lot several weeks ago, but was impressed by how much worse I saw today. This first instance happened when Eric and I were waiting for mom to return with her groceries after we'd already loaded ours into the trunk. Now, I advise everybody who drives to the supermarket here and now never to back your car in. Always be sure your trunk is facing outward, otherwise you are setting yourself up for an easy shot at being a major asshole. This yuppie couple had backed their SUV into their parking space, therefore cutting off easy access to their trunk. So they bring the cart around and start loading it. Now, Eric and I are watching them from the safety of our car. We discuss what they are doing and guess at the possible outcome. We've seen it before but never actually witness the act. They finish loading up their groceries and then just drive off, leaving the cart in the parking space.

This is quite possibly the quintessential of all inconsiderate and downright dickweedish acts, to leave the cart behind sitting in the parking space. A good, decent sitizen can't use that space without getting out of their car and doing what you were supposed to do - get out of their car and haul that motherfucking cart away. I wanted to spit on that fucking black SUV. It takes twenty effing seconds to take your cart back to the deposit, it's a trust that you are going to do that when you take one inside the store. Be responsible, you yuppie pricks.

Even worse than that was that when we went tonight, we saw an ugly extension of that, which was that people were merely depositing their carts in the handicapped and pregnancy spaces. There were six or eight of them just left there with nobody to take them where they belong - and only two or three actually sitting where they belong.

Anyway, that about wraps up what's on my mind tonight. Life is pretty dull, and I'll share a couple of bus stories tomorrow if I've got the energry, but this parking lot nonsense has got me too annoyed.

And that's a testament to how bored I am lately that I have time to sit around being annoyed at these things.

Keep on rockin'
--S.A. Williams