XXI: The last thing you need is an idea

A dog day afternoon.

It's gotten so hot that when you sweat, it evaporates just as soon, leaving you dry, hot, and mildly sticky. Maybe my (brother's) theory about heat vs. rain didn't pan out. It's scorching. But that's good. It's been a dog day afternoon indeed, but I'm enjoying the excessive heat. It's invigorating. Cherish it.

One might even consider taking to going shirtless outside. I know, with my pasty scrawny white guy physique that's the last thing anybody wants to see, but I'm perfectly fine with letting then world get a peek at my man-nipples. I figure f they've got a hang-up about it, that's their problem.

I looked at my post from a year ago to see a comparison between then and now. Now is better, I suppose. Last year, I was frustrated with Half-Past, miserable that it wasn't turning out perfectly and going according to schedule. While the end result may have been rewarding in a personal-gratification sense, I know the trouble I went to to make it happen was pretty intense. I'm glad people enjoyed it when I showed it over two months ago.

Today, I'm merely bored and disgruntled with my unofficially-failed job hunt. I've done all I can, I think. It's August. I failed.

But yeah, late July is the midlife crisis part of the Summer. Even though it began in May for me and won't end until well into September, I was conditioned for twelve years of my life to think Summer was half-over at the end of July.

I'm reflecting, though, and I think I've decided I love college. Maybe I don't love my courses or all of my classmates, but my first year was really good. Yes, there were miserable parts, but I'm a huge complainer. That's just what I do.

I'm working on some stuff. I wrote another short story that'll be out soon, after I do some revision. I don't think it's as good as the previous, but I kinda like it. More later.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotts

XX: Brains fly through space

This title courtesy of a fragment from a summary of an episode of Futurama ("The Day the Earth Stood Stupid.") Coming completely out of context, the scrap of a synopsis is strangely absurd and I like it. I oughtta infuse this blog with a bit more absurdist humour.

As noted in earlier posts, I haven't been around much lately because the tedium of my existence is hampering my interested in doing anything. It's a vicious cycle from which I'll be free someday I hope, but until then I have to slog along trapped in this terrible routine.

Mercifully I did at least one interesting thing lately, and that was that I went to Becky's last night for a minor bash (as compared to Cary's in Hamilton a few weeks ago, which qualifies as a more "major" bash, with all due respect to Becky and her bash.) There was not a whole lot to tell, although I did get intoxicated and get into what I can only assume was an enlightening conversation about religion with Anisah. I say assume, because apart from vague rememberances of discussing Buddhism (and being pleased to know I can easily recall the four noble truths even when inebriated,) and that it eventually turned to Kill Bill and Lord of the Rings (?!) I can't remember the details of the conversation clearly.

Beware puritans: much of the following concerns moderate discussion of alcoholic beverages.

The evening started with me walking over there, and suffering an unfortunately-timed attack of GI-failure. (Although all things considered, it could've been much worse,) carrying what I have deemed my "drinking kit," which inclues no fewer than three bottles of Stella Artois, a bottle opener (which I left there, dagnabbit,) and a bottle of chilled water, carried in my presently-unoccupied laptop bag.

The night ended with Pat, Chris F. and I escorting Lauren Wing home, despite it being far out of all our ways. Granted, the dark streets are no place for an unescorted young lady after 1, or even well before. After that, we continued to (very loudly,) discuss action figures and cartoons, in a way three drunken teenage boys might.

It was a good night. Not great, not perfect, but good. I've reached the point where I know my limits and can behave myself accordingly (as far as drinking goes.) The amount I drink is a good measure for getting loose, relaxing, and not being hung over the next morning.

Not everybody does. Eric, for example, greeted me upon my return. He was out on the porch with Brandon, obviously intoxicated. The problem with Eric is that he takes a number of pills that hamper his ability to hold his drink. The amount of liquor that gets me to the point where I was when I got home gets Eric way into being smashed. Despite his girth, his tolerance is quite low. I've always boasted that comparatively I am the best handler of booze of the three of us, but I have nothing to substantiate this -- I don't drink with family. Ever. It's a policy of mine that irks Eric with its seeming pointlessness (as do many other things that aren't really any of his business - see: the computer fight from a few weeks ago.) I suppose my best rationale is that I like to keep drinking for times when I can cut loose with friends and be away from the pressures of home and family life. Dragging alcohol into those family situations makes it somehow less special. It's not that I'm afraid i'll get drunk in front of my aunts or mom or brothers. I just prefer that not be my environment.

As a result, I've never gotten drunk with Brandon and Eric. I might someday, and make good on my pledge that I could drink Brandon under the table. My best defense is that I've never gotten so drunk that I couldn't clean up after my own vomit (Eric,) or started speaking in an inexplicable/terrible British accent (Brandon.)

There's more... not about last night, but just about life in general and my current situation in particular, but I can't get into it now because it's late and I'm tired. Hopefully tomorrow I'll be able to muster up some inspiration and get some real work done.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

XIX: Her tears are dust

Life is a claustrofuck.

I just made that word up. It's a portmanteau of sorts. It seems accurate. Nothing's simple. Nothing's right. I'm just a hair out of synch with reality and it's driving me batty.

I kinda dropped outta sight for a couple of days. I had meant to write a big post on Monday night, but something caught me and ripped my mood to tatters and I didn't want to. Then I didn't want to write for the next couple of nights until at last here we are. I don't even know where to begin.

Mom is going away for two weeks... sorta... starting this weekend. She'll still be around occasionally, but she'll also be away. I don't get it either. Anyway, this seeming reprieve from her daily grind is also kind of an anathema for her, as she is obsessively obsessive. She just needs to obsess, which is a trait, I fear, she has passed to me. But this is temporarily not about me. This is about her demanding (!!) that we relinquish our bedsheets and pillowcases because this week is the only opportunity she'd have to get them clean. Never mind that she hasn't even mentioned cleaning them in, like, forever... knowing she won't be able to for two weeks was enough to inspire her to put it to the top of her list. Mom can be difficult, but that's home.

Nothing's as it should be. I was at Grandma's today, and while I usually try to provide her with some degree of company for the duration of time I am there, I could not bring myself to hang around too much. She asked me to run an errand - pick up some bottles of water water - which I gladly did, but I couldn't sit there. My stomach tied itself in a knot, churning and twisting with some strange anxiety as far removed from Grandma's place as I could get. So I had to excuse myself perhaps earlier than I otherwise would have and get my bearings. It's nuts, or at least I am.

I checked my Sheridan e-mail account for the first time in month today. I was shocked to find a letter from the school with the word "Urgent" in the subject. I was immediately scared that I had missed something important, as this letter was numerous weeks old. So I opened it forthwith, and the content was merely a notice that my grades were good and thus, "congratulations." No official business, jsut a congrats. well, tha'ts very sweet of them, but a bit of a stretch as to the definition of "urgent." I was hardly in such need of a stroking of the ego.

The other letter I found amusing, if someone inflammitory was one fromt the "Summer Jobs Program" people just checking in, hoping my summer's going well, asking if I've gotten a job yet.

My response? "What do you think you wankers?! Have I got a job yet?! Isn't that supposed to be your job, you collossal dickweeds?" This, I yelled at my monitor whilst quietly typing a polite equivalent.

Eric came with me to Kerr St. yesterday, with the intention of combing the used bookstores for obscurities in general and Jim Thompson books in particular. He didn't find that one, but he did manage to find an old printing of a book by Camus, whose work he adores. Me, after being told by Alyssa of her encounter with the Dharma Bums, was set to find myself some Kerouac. And find Kerouac I did, in the form of his earlier novel, "On The Road," but the pricetag was prohibitive for my legendary cheapness. However, Eric noticed my procurement of "On The Road" and, fully intending to make a purchase, bought both books. Now, impressed as I was that we were able to walk out with the book without my having to pay for it, and pleased as I am that I'll eventually be able to read it, I have to cry foul at the obvious gimmick infringement here. Between the two of us, Eric may fancy himself the philosophial and psychoanalytical, but I'm the poetically-minded beat kid here. But that's a small wrinkle. He'll read it, probably be impressed, then move on to whatever else he's got in store (such as the Camus.)

Anyway, this post is getting quite long, as it is really a blend of two entries that I could've written since Monday... at least two, that is... and I'm starting to get tired.

See you tomorrow kids. Hope all is serene.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

XVIII: Eyes cast heavenward

Not a long post tonight, I'm off to bed soon. I just want to say I'm relaxed. I'm mellow. However, even a good night can be tainted.

It was a weird day, mostly due to being approached by a pusher on my way to my Grandma's. Usually those people are easy to walk away from with minimal effort or guilt. Just make a clean break and say "yeah, not interested in weed today, thanks." I did, however, come up with an excellent way-homer; that is, something I should've said, but didn't and probably wouldn't have, had I thought of it at the time. I thought, I should have told him, "listen man, I'm gonna be honest, I'm a narc, but I'm off the clock, so just forget we ever had this conversation." That is, however, a good way to get in a bit of trouble.

I had an adventure and helped conquer unscaled-heights today. Don't wanna get too far into it, but it was a nice night.

But things can go wrong when you get home, the place is swarming with flies and in the process of swatting at one, you punch the ceiling, and get blood and ceiling-plaster all over your hands. My fingers are sore, so I'm not typing much. Like I said: short post.

Oh yeah... and sword.

Keep on Rockin'
Williams

XVII: Enemies coexist

I don't think I'll be up much longer. The world has got me weary and it's time I turn in, despite it being earlier than usual.

I've just about had enough. I don't know exactly what I mean by that, but something's seriously got to give. Like, fuck, can it really be this hard? What the fuck is wrong with me, man? I'm trying. That's the most pathetic thing, that I'm trying and yielding no result. Like, I had more success in any given field when I put out minimal effort. Terrible. That can't be the truth, that doesn't make sense, and yet that's been my experience. It runs contradictary to everything they've tried to teach me, and yet, the story of my life is one of seeming dumb luck and accidental success. Fuck.

So I've been testing the waters of this publishing business. I've been doing my research (though I've got more to do before I finally take the plunge,) and it's funny, they way they've set it up so that it's impossible to breka into. Story of my life, really, but enough self-deprecation. This is serious. The publishing business is an infernal self-repeating cycle which is virtually impenetrable to new talent. Want to know how? Easy. A major publisher which does accept unsolicited manuscripts had this helpful advise for young writers: "Get published." It's just more likely they'll accept you if you've already been published.

Ahem. WHAT THE FARK?! How does that make sense? That's the miserable thing about attempting to be a writer. The industry - for so it must be referred as that is how it conducts itself - is so crowded with talentless wannabes that they must make themselves impervious to their nonstop assault of crappy manuscripts. Am I a creative genius? I don't know, although enough of my friends and the good people who read this blog certainly seem to think highly of what I've done. All I know is that I don't need some asshole editor dropping my letter in the recycling after discovering that I've never had a short story printed in a fucking magazine. Fuckers. Don't think this intimidates me, though, because I've got an ace up my sleeve. I'm self-published, bitch. Go ahead and check out The Redneck Comics Superstore for proof. That's what a little initiative will get you. Maybe I don't have the references to get a nice minimum-wage job stocking groceries, but damnit I've got a work that is available to be sold and held in the hands of awaiting consumers. So fuck off, publishing industry, you nonstop xenophobic Moebius Strip circle jerk. I'm busting in.

Righteous anger, man.

So yeah, I'm not in the highest spirits tonight. In fact, I'm lower right now than I've been in a while, although I've still got a ways yet to go to get to the bottom. It's just mounting frustration with... everything. Everything. Nothing's going right, seemingly for anyone around here.

Emily's moving out at the ned of next month (or really, the beginning of September.) It's kinda funny and quite unfortunate that it should come to this, when she was supposed to stay a full year until next summer. She and Eric really hit it off and Mom would always be saying how great it was to have a more outgoing and (in her own, somewhat inaccurate words,) "aggressive." She preferred her to Bonnie, who mostly kept to herself, in her room, with her cat. Beyond a feint smell of doobage, I remember the cat more than Bonnie herself. The feline, named Depp (as in Johnny,) was of the constantly mewing variety, and frequently poking its nose down here, where it didn't belong. It was much like Dolby (the dog owned by Emily,) in that way. I guess mom should learn/should have learned that pets are bad news. Especially since that was what she and Emily ultimately parted ways over. See, Dolby, being a rambunctious little pup, was quite a poop machine. Emily, as anyone could've guessed, didn't really have the time or energy to spend training him during these critical years, which is unfortunate for her, for Dolby, and for anyone she happened to share a house with. So mom issued an ultimatum -- "Train your dog or go." So she's going. Ma's naturally quite sore about it, especially given how enthusiastic she was about Emily in the first place.

For me, it's kind of funny. While I was ambivalent at first, I can't deny I've had some resentment toward Emily given how loud she can be in the mornings when I'm not officially awake yet. I've yearned for the opportunity to discuss with her the physics of inner-door acoustics, but never really had the testicular fortitude for it, especially given that my bitterness usually wears off by the time I get out of bed, and that I'd be needing to wake up earlier as soon as fall came anyway. I figured I'd just let that be my cross to bear, and have even gotten along with Emily lately, so long as her dog keeps his poop outta my basement. But as I mentioned, the really funny thing was how my mom did a 180 on her enthusiasm for Emily (and lordy I hope Emily's not reading this, as anyone would be upset to find her name on a blog like this, not to mention that I'm over-smiplifying and exagerating the animosity between them.) Live and learn, I suppose.

Meanwhile, today was a birthday party for Cameron. It was a busy afternoon, crowded in my aunt's house, and while there was a lot going on, there's very little to mention. I saw my cousin Kris for the first time in months, and especially since he moved to Windsor with his woman. It was awkward at first trying to converse with him with her spectre looming large over procedings (we are a self-conscious bunch,) but eventually drew him out into his old self. We just wouldn't talk to him much when she was next to him. No offense to her, but I wouldn't be surprised if the situation were the same if the shoe were on the other foot.

Meanwhile, the plan had been for an outdoor celebration, but it rained, so it went indoors, and then it cleared up, so we cris-crossed back out. Fun. Like I said, very little to elaborate on here. There were just a lot of... non-relatives, which is unusual for on of our parties, but I guess Cameron hasn't made enough school friends to have a both friend-party and a family-party, not being in "big school" yet. So we had to deal with all these other couples and kids in addition to the usual craziness.

Like I said, I'm tired. I had hoped to take a week off walking Xena, to get my bearings and relax and get some time to myself, but Grandma said she forgot the money (for taking care of Xe for two weeks,) today so I'd have to "get it tomorrow." This is either merely unfortunate for me, or uncharacteristically sneaky of my grandma. Either way I'm not happy, but what else is new?

It just can't rain all the time.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

XVI: Off the face of the Earth

It's been kind of a nutty couple of days. I'm practically pulling my hair out from boredom and frustration. I'm fearing the next month and absolutely dreading the semester that follows (and the less said about the one after that, the better.)

I've been trying to relax, but my stupid insane brain won't let me. I'm worried about every litlte thing, and brimming with anxiety. Oh yes, it is indeed not particularly fun to be inside this head right now. Then again, I'm sure there are dozens out there with worse problems than me - both real and imagined - so a tip of my hat to anyone better at coping than me.

A few days ago (and I don't know why I didn't mention this at the time,) I ran into an old acquaintence of the bus. I don't know how any of you out there deal with this inevitable scenario, but I at least try to make the best of it. Sometimes it'll be someone I'm good friends with - as when I found myself on the same bus as Doug a few months back - or someone I need to catch up with, like a few years ago when I ran into Gabrielle, a girl I was sorta-friends with back in high school (she's a few years older than me) who has intermittently popped in and out of my life since Grade 10-ish. She even goes to Sheridan.

This time, it was Raj Pattani, whom I've known since Grade 6 and have always been friendly with, if never really good friends. He's a nice guy and we made pleasant chit chat about University/College etc etc, but it was also quite awkward. He's a smart guy, but he's the cliche of being the smart guy who's not so smooth in social situations. It was with a heavy sigh of relief that I eventually got off the bus, and the last thing I said to him, "maybe I'll see you around," seemed more like a threat than a promise. Nah, I'm kidding.

Yesterday, Eric, Brandon and I went out to see Clerks II, a film I have been eagerly awaiting, as I hold the original Clerks very close to my heart and in very high esteem. This film did not disappoint in that it emulated the format of the original quite successfully, and was riotously funny (without being too in-jokey.) I wrote a review for it at ComiXtreme which you can read here, and I'll put an abbreviated version up on Interneta sometime soon.

The experience was an interesting one in and of itself. For months, Eric and I have had in our possession a "Free Admission" and a $20 Gift Certificate respectively for Famous Players Cinema which we've been unable to use because... only shitty movies go to Famous Players. That's not entirely true, but of all the movies I've gone and seen, very few of them were at Famous Players, and of those, recently, only one I really wanted to see prior to this (that was Broken Flowers.) After all, I saw War of the Worlds there. I was beginning to fear I'd never get to use my Certificate. So I was filled with glee when Tribute.ca informed us the movie we were determined to see was indeed where we could see it at no expense to ourselves.

There was a wrinkle in the plan when, on the day of the movie, I examined Eric's free pass and found that it expired earlier this month. Dismayed, we fretted and frowned and came up with numerous contingencies, but stuck to our guns - Eric would attempt to pass the pass off and get away with it.

Walking from the bus to the theatre, we went over what we would say in the event our ruse was uncovered. "Oh really?" he rehearsed, "gee, I'm sorry," he would turn to me (I'd be behind him in line,) "Scott, the pass expired." I too would feign surprise and then pay for him with my gift certificate. I am indeed prone to moments of unselfishness, particularly when I would not be spending any of my own actual money. Were I to pay for him, he would not owe me *(except that, he being broke, I offered to cover his pop if he paid me back, which I am sure he will.)

Fortunately, the matter was settled without incident, and the girl at the ticket counter graciously accepted his "Admit One" card and he walked away smiling. I could hardly contain myself, as well, practically laughing all through purchasing my ticket. Afterward, I rationalized why the plan was likely to work; "First," I said, "they have to be sharp enough to catch it. Then, they have to care." I figure tha tif she had noticed, she would probably see how relatviely recent the expiry was, and cut some slack.

The bus home was crowded, which is explained by the fallacious logic of putting one of the smaller (probably more fuel-efficient but ultimnately less spacious) buses on the 24 Route, which is roughly the second-longest and therefore second-most-travelled (especially since it goes by Sheridan.) Instead of going all the way to the station and taking the bus straight back to our house, we got off at a stop that was a 10-minute walk from home, thus likely cutting our return-trip time down significantly.

Eric said something a while back that I often think of. He said that, because of the mild winter we had (I vividly recall the Sheridan Sun's headline upon returning fro semester break - "January Heat!") people were expecting a swelteringly hot summer. But, he reasoned, we'd had an unusually hot summer before the winter. Furthermore, apart from a mini-heatwave last week, it had been relatively temperate (keeping in mind it is summer,) and in fact, noticeably rainy is all. So we've got a rainy summer. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose, although too much of anything can't be great. It has been quite rainy these past few weeks, but you know, it can't rain all the time. And that's a saying I often use to get myself through the day.

Indeed it can't.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotts

XV: Nothing you can't believe

Nothing too substantial today, I don't think. It was one of those days full of Gyro's-eating and poop up-picking.

The climate of the basement, at the end of the occupation of the dogs, was getting disgusting. Flies ran rampant all over our place. I decided to go Rambo-style with the insecticide and kill those bastards. I made my stand and it was quite successful.

Xena at last went home today. It was a sweet parting, although moments after leaving, Grandma phoned and asked if she'd been fed (she had, and walked,) because she was barking uncontrollably. Oh Xe, so predictably annoying.

I think my mind is going. I'll be walking down the street, typically absorbed in my own idle wonderings, when I'll just lose my train of thought and completely be unable to regain it. Ultimately, I'll spend more time wonderign what the hell I was thinking about just then than I actually would have. And I'll say the wrong name in a conversation and not notice. My brain is definitely going to mush. And the world is a cold, lonely abyss... despite being scorchingly hot and overpopulated, and most definitely full of matter.

See, my life lacks structure, and this is the price I'm paying. My latest posts have hardly been masterpieces - not only is life achingly dull, but my brain is like the innarts of a tomato.

I wonder if maybe the reason I haven't been hired someplace is that my potential employers stumble across this little corner of the web (it is, after all, the bmost popular site on the internet, as you all already know,) and think, "God this kid is full of himself/crap/both/other... why should I hire him?" Either that or it's a competitive job market and I have little qualifications and an ex-employer who may be bitter about my acromonious parting with them, and this blog has nothing to do with it.

Life ain't bad, but it can always be better.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

XIV: Lasagna hog

It's funny that today turned out to be a good day. I wasn't expecting it.

Today was the day when I woke up and realized how quickly summer was slipping by, especially given that I've had since the beginning of May. *Shudder* - just thinking of it gives me the willies.

But from the moment I stepped outside today I was in a good mood. The weather was refreshing, I got nice and relaxed, and I wandered onto a set of some kind (commercial or movie or music video or something,) and was quite amazed at all the busy, working people, the cameras, the lights, much like how I imagined, except... three-dimensional.

I also saw a raccoon, but that's like talking about the duck I saw when I caught a glimpse of that hot mom/nanny/aunt applying herself sunscreen in an 18-A sort of way. That sentence was just my way of reliving that memory. Yeah, I'm filthy.

My creativity is up. I've been pleasant. I didn't kvetch (angrily, but maybe a little playfully) about having to clean up after dogs, and even opted to vacuum when I got a spare moment. I was going to do reviews today, but it's getting late and I'm gonna have to put it off til tomorrow.

Yeah, I feel good.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

XIII: A sleepy world warrior

Bsssh, I'm tired. I've not had much caffeine today, abstaining from Coke until 8:00 this afternoon, which is an excellent time to crack open a pop. It's late enough to relax and unwind, but early enough so that you won't be overstimulated when it's time to go to bed. Which I guess might be soon.

Today I proved to myself that my explosion of writing last night wasn't a fluke, as I got started fairly early on expanding upon that burst. I did a solid 45 mins or hour and really delved into where I was going.

Things are finally going along well over on this end. I've managed to get ahold of whatever Xena's constantly bitching about. Eric and I have been relatively problem-free. I'm getting work done and feeling productive.

I do know, however, that I never plan on having a dog when I'm older. I've often thought about it, and as much as I like dogs, I don't think I'll ever find a suitable replacement for the one I've got. Having seen Emily with Dolby, I don't have the patience or the ability to train a puppy, either. And then you've gotta live with it forever. Max, I've had since I was in Grade 2. We've got his routine down pat, and I don't feel I could accomplish that with another dog once he's gone. Plus, whenever I think of what a pain in the ass it is to feed Xena every day and respond to her every complaint, I want to blow my brains out.

Oh, she's not so bad. When she's relaxed, she's quite adorable.

So apparently, it's "World War III." Or not. Or one guy said it was "World War IV," which I'm sure puzzled billions who slept through the third installment. But I don't think this is a "World War." This is a massive conflict, but the reason why there were two World Wars was that they were being fought from all corners of the globe, over matters of European imperialism and diplomacy. And of course, the outcome of the first World War begat the second, and the outcome of that begat the Cold War, having thwarted imperialism and neutered the one remaining "Empire" (The British one,) of note on the planet. Of course, it has been said that America is the modern-day Empire, but what the USA is far transcends the blueprints for an empire laid down all those thousands of years ago (roughly two.) An empire is about conquering and maintaining a great deal of power within a border. USA has extend its power beyond its border to places where politically it cannot possibly rule. And I say it cannot possibly rule because their government - unlike that of Romans - is hardly effective within their own borders. So it's not an Empire. It's an entity. A lifestyle. An omnipresent, intangible essence, the spectre of Americana which is shipped over all seas everywhere. Culture. What's going on now, in Israel and Lebanon and the general confusion in that area isn't the same as what we called the "World Wars." Right now, in that part of the world, there is a great deal of chaos and destruction. It needs no exaggeration. 255 people have been killed - mostly Lebanese civilians - in combat restricted between two nations. No need to blow it out of proportion with apocalyptic doomsaying. If it's a War, it's not World War. I'm pissed off at the American pundits who feel the need to milk this baby for their fear-based economy. Fuck.

And what the fuck, "World War IV." That's ridiculous. Some people don't even believe there was a World War II. (Okay, that's not true, they just don't believe in the Holocaust, but be reasonable -- no Holocaust, no World War II. Yes, Virginia, there was a Holocaust. They host tours of the death camps.)

The world's in bad shape, but I don't believe it's beyond repair. I think there is goodness in the future, if we must suffer for it first. Or maybe I'm just a brainwashed Western teenager who doesn't really have an idea how bad things are elsewhere. Either way.

Keep on rockin'
-Mr. Scotto

XII: And Lady Mondegreen

I had this idea that, as a job, I could sit in the streets of the city with a placard with a funny slogan on it asking for change. Example: in the midst of a heatwave, I could take of my shirt and sit with a sign that reads - "Shirt Stolen; Need Money for Sunscreen!"

This comes from last year, while in New York I encountered a beggar with a sign that read (I paraphrase;) "Family kidnapped by ninjas, need money for karate lessons." Clearly that's bullshit, but the story was so original that everyone willingly gave him money, for being unique.

This is in case the whole writing thing doesn't work out. I am, however, quite optimistic, as I recently broke a month-long (at least!) creative fast during which I wrote nothing of any of my big projects. Today, I managed to squeeze out a fulfilling and therapeutic chunk of a new story in my collection. This story I had put off because it touches on a few emotions that I have never personally felt, and involves doing things that I can only technically say I have done. There's a lot of perspective involved in writing a story like this one, which is why it appeared so daunting and thus got put off for so long. As soon as I had my first paragraph I was off and away. So I'm finally working on something, and I'm happy.

What this all amounts to is this weird mounting non-stress in my life, this abundance of nothing and all the hardships it's caused me over the summer. Listed individually, it seems like nothing, but cumulatively it's ridiculous. Between the pressure of looking for work, caring for Grandma's dog (and in the recent weeks entertaining her, which is a full-time occupation in and of itself,) helping to cook and clean, and somehow attempt a creative output, it's simply too much to deal with. After all, there is only so much I an do in the way of applying for work (and I believe I have done it to the best of my ability, if not with unbridled effort and enthusiasm,) and my creative output has suffered. Stress.

But in any case, there are other things. I'm feeling a little weary after all this, maybe it's heatstroke. Maybe it's cabin fever. A job'd help that (as dad'd not hesitate to inform me,) but I'm trying.

In any case, I'm sitting here at the computer screen, more than a little irritated at certain things. Gonna run off now. Keep on rockin'
-Scotts

XI: He dreamt a clumsy kiss

I was playing a game from my childhood, Little League Baseball for the NES, on an emulator. I started out doing really well, getting a 5-0 lead in the first inning, and then by the end I let in 7 runs when I really started to suck at fielding. My bad.

In the game, when you hit the home run, it goes to a little animation of a cheering crowd, including two amply-bosomed cheerleaders. As a kid, I could never hit a home run, but my brothers could, as could my brother Brandon's friend Andy who, in celebration, would run up to the TV and pretend to fondle the the poor lasses. Being less than kindergarten-aged, I didn't understand. I was at that age when the idea of the breast, though enticing, was still foreign and weird.

It's been a weird day. Eric was out with friends for most of the day, and got home around 8, but we had to order dinner. We tried calling him, but his phone (as we later found out,) was out of time. We decided to err on the side of hunger and ordered food without him, figuring he'd probably eat whilst there. Naturally, he didn't (because, you know, things never go the way I plan them,) and when he got home and found that there was no food, got in a bit of a huff.

As any longtime reader might recall, I've often said the greatest tragedy of modern life is when someone's dinner is ruined. I don't like having my dinner ruined, I don't like seeing anyone else's, and I don't like being partially responsible. Naturally, I apologized and did my best to make it up to him by calling the Wingery (a new wing place down the road by Hasty Market,) and ordering him some wings. What the heck, mom agreed to pay us back (since it is on Sundays that she typically hosrs a family dinner, but opted to stay wherever-the-heck-she-is.)

Ordering from the Wingery was a strange ordeal. They asked for my first name (which I gave as Eric for convenience,) and then couldn't find the place (the delivery guy got lost in the complex across the road.)

I think you really oughtta reconsider your occupation when you're a delivery boy who can't find the location. The guy was clueless and had to call.

That's all from tonight, I suppose. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

X: Wolves in the shadows

Ah, a summer's night. When the seemingly-merciless heat of midday relents at last and cools spirits and tempers.

It's a nice night. I'm just hanging around the house, which is fine, except it's marred by Xena's insistent barking and the odor of skunk which has seeped from the outside somewhere into our basement. Unpleasant. Paradoxically, it's nicer outside, which led me to taking a walk around the field in the darkness.

In the distance, someone was playing "Tiny Dancer," I think in the parking lot of White Oaks. That invoked some unexpected memories from a few years ago, helping Kyle with his mural-thingy and the soundtrack almost exclusively of Elton John songs... salad days, I suppose.

In any case, a gorgeous night, I'm in a terrific mood. Inexplicable but that today seems to have been that day that occurs every now and again when everything falls into place. Consider my recent complaints about my brothers. God bless 'em we may hve our difficulties, but we can get along through our shared love of watching old wrestling shows and mocking them. It's a bonding experience.

Dreams, as I've discussed almost endlessly on this site, are often strange things. Combining subconscious desires and fears with imagery pulled from the lower depths of our memories, a dream, upon waking, can have a profound effect on the dreamer, feeling he had somehow experienced something beyond what billions of people do every night.

In summary: a gathering of friends in a building. Chaotic, people running all over the place, excited and warm. Books. A storm. A boat, hurled by the wind, through a bay window. Flood. Panic.

What does it all mean? I don't know. I was at the pier earlier that day, and many people had decided it was a perfect day for boating. One boat, I say, had completely capsized. So that's where that comes from.

I'm sorry, I'm a little off-kilter these days, and I'm tired. If I could somehow make life more interesting, it'd help the blog, but it is only what it is.

On the plus side, I seem to be getting better at dealing with the Xena.

Oh well. Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

IX: In this dust that was a city

Ah, Nena, you sultry pit-hair-having German siren of the 1980's.

You know that Dane Cook routine about the "nothing fight?" I think it's on his second album, "Retaliation." I had a pretty nasty such fight last night, but with my brother. the truth of it is, it's not uncommon for trivial things to be exploded beyond proporion between us. Living couped up as we do there exists always a certain amount of tension. I'm not blameless, but he himself is frequently festering over such matters.

The matter in question was as to who should call the Cable company to get a new service added. I had been sitting on the computer, head plugged to earphones (as usual) whilst Eric and Brandon had the discussion, of which I was only mildly aware. Suddenly I'm asked to call, to which I (perhaps unintentionally brusquely,) replied "No," figuring that although I'd be the recipient of the new service as well, there was no need for them to drag me into the matter of procuring it. I was wrong. Eric asked again, and again I declined. Eric took exception of this. A fight was had. Things were had, and a bit of a cathartic speech was made on hos ridiculous our fights were becoming. Such a dicussion is had once or twice a year when it is becoming apparent that the things about which we are fighting have become altogether ridiculous. The phone was the straw what broke the camel's back. My blood's boiling just thinking about it, really.

I figure I might as well go on record with these tohughts now, instead of letting them float in my head, grow, and die, only to be later resurrected. He's got some hang-ups, and the phone snagged one or two of them. Me, I didn't care for how childish it was for him not to accept that I wouldn't do it at that moment. and he also dropped in the "anxiety" card which is bull shit. Two words for emphasis: bull. Shit. I don't like the phone either, but I don't personally believe you can allow what the shrinks say is wrong with you to rule your life. You can't grow that way. Not healthy. I don't like to eat in public with people, but I do when it's called for, because it's unhealthy not to. I don't care for people using these motly-intangible disabilities as crutches at their discretion, y'know? Our society has become overly reliant on dealing with these problems. Some people have real problems - OCDs, for example, or agoraphobes. My brothers are neither. It's an annoyance.

As a footnote -- and it's funny that this is a mere footnote to that entire diatribe -- I agreed at the end of our nothing fight that I'd call today, because I'm a decent enough guy and I don't mind helping. But a little respect, eh? I often get a feeling of unappreciation. That's one of my hangups.

But that was a lengthy and rather vitriolic rant. There's just not much else to talk about lately. Still out on the job hunt - put my resume in someplace today, more on that if anything happens. Last night was Risk, an incredibly long game running from 11 until about 3, with the outcome, as I called it, 2/3 Chris Ferguson and 1/3 Chrisbrown in the victory. I think the institution of fraction in deciding victories is a wise one, since the game is rarely left with only one player. At least, when we play.

I came in and crashed on the couch.

I feel good about today. I accomplished a few things, I've got stuff on the go. I oughtta take advantage and do a little creation. There's much to work on.

Think I've turned a corner, knock wood.

Hope you find your way.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

VIII: Broadway is dark tonight

Ah, the Goo Goo Dolls.

Y'know, it's funny. They produced so many memorable tunes (for me at least,) such as Broadway, Slide, and of course, Iris, during that teen angsty period, and yet I never downloaded their music, which means that, given my general shunning of Top 40 radio (*including the station that introduced me to them, Mix 99.9,) I haven't heard them in a very long time.

I went out on a jobscouting mission today. I'm looking to apply to yet another menial position in the local customer service sector. I'm not all that enthusiastic, because I know the outcome will likely not be positive. Still, it's these things I've got to do. It's like a shark; if I stop swimming, I'll die.

I just figure that it's much easier for a woman to get hired in these positions. Not to be sexist - although I don't understand how something can be sexist if it is altogether positive toward the group described. I just think it's more common to see women in positions of customer service and sales. They generally have a friendlier, more pleasant, outgoing vibe about them. Not to say they are friendlier, more pleasant or outgoing, but being female, they seem that way. You see a pretty girl at a counter, you wander over and see what she has to say. you see a guy at the same counter, you might be more inclined to stay away. It's upsetting. I need a job.

This depressing realization - which I had today on the way home from said mission - has led me to one fortunate conclusion, and that is a renewed focus on my writing. Not only creating output, but finding avenues through which to publish it. "Paper your walls with rejections," as Guthrie says, and it's about time I got a new wallpaper. "Oscar Lloyd" has been a positive enough enough experience that I ought to feel comfortable diving back into the creative pool.

So I've looked at a few possible avenues, both of which I intend of pusuing in the coming weeks. One is getting "Oscar Lloyd" submitted to places, the other is submitting my first book. Not that it's been completed, but it needn't yet be. I've looked up the appropriate sources for getting published and to whom I ought to submit. I'm not sure how close I am t getting there, but I've taken that step, and I've got an idea how to go further.

Unlikely as it may be that I'll succeed in these endeavours, I refer you to the wallpaper quote. I've got to do this.

I went to see Superman Returns last night. The review will be up on Interneta soon, but I'll just note the experience here, since a sentence won't do it. While I had fun and enjoyed the film (except for the part during which I was in the washroom; note for the future: to go before the movie starts,) and it was IMAX, which means it was not only on the huge effing IMAX screen, but free thanks to Deb, and also partially in 3-D. That last note is kind of a double-edged sword, however, because the movie wasn't directed or shot as 3-D, so the 3-D scenes, while being neat-looking, don't pop as much as you might expect, and anytime something moves to the edge of the frame, it's off-putting and wrong. Sad to say, converting regular movies into 3-D isn't worth it.

That's about it. Damn Xena is still kvetching to me about anything and everything. Sigh... only one more week after today. Or is it tomorrow? I don't know. Still, quite a while.

Ay caramba.

Keep on rockin'
-The Scott

VII: She'll be waiting in Istanbul

I figured I'd go ahead and explain the last post's title via this one - if you click the link, you'll see where it comes from.

So I'm watching the World Cup final. Ever since my Swedes got knocked out, I've kind've been bounding between countries. At first I thought "Ok I'll cave and root for the motherland - England," but no, they stiffed me. So I've been going for France.

It's a pretty rough game, with Italy basically playing like a bunch of jackasses taking as many hits as they can get. Yeah, I know it's a physical sport, a contact game, but every other minute in the first half saw an Italian sending a Frenchie to his ass. What a bunch of dickweeds. They're basically playing the physical game to make up for their lack of finesse, which sees the French outmatching them by and large. Still, it makes for an interesting competition, I suppose. I just wish the Italian team wasn't such a giant collection of assholes.

And all due respect to the Italiano fans of SWP -- I know that's not the entire country, just their soccer players.

So last night we finally went out to Hamilton for the big bash at "Casa Copafeela," the Hamilton home of Cary and Chris. I was supposed to bring a sleeping bag and made concerted efforts throughout the day to find one to no avail. So I packed a light blanket and pillow and beer. I'd been meaning to get out to the beer store, but was unable to due to my general lack of transportation. So I took my remaining bottle of Stella and a few Bohemians from mom. I figure she won't mind since that means there wasn't enough left for Eric to get drunk on (I think. In any case, he doesn't seem to have,) and off to Hamilton I went courtesy of Mr. Brown.

While for some the night was questionable, I heartily enjoyed it. There was a bit of drama, yes, and maybe excessive video gaming from certain parties, but I enjoyed the company and didn't drink myself sick, instead settling into a comfortable buzz throughout the night.

And then there was the unsubtly smoke-scented loft wherein many of the partyogers hat enclosed themselves. It's not my scene, but if that's what they're into, hah, go for it.

I was lucky enough to snag a couch rather than sleeping on the floor. It wasn't a full-sized couch, mind, but I curled up nicely into it and drifted in and out of sleep starting around 3 and going until... 6-ish. Yeah, I got out of bed at 6 because of how difficult it was becoming to ignore the sunlight and passing cars by the window. C'est la vie. I went on an overly long trip for coffee (and a croissant,) and then just bummed around the house for a while, sitting on the balcony, playing Chris Ferguson's DS, etc, etc. Finally, 9:00 rolled around and Chrisbrown rounded up the other two and we headed for home.

What I really enjoyed was the ambiance. It's a good house to sit around and drink in, then pass out, like Conorton's was. We haven't had that since he moved off to New York in February.

So yeah, got home around 10 and been bumming around the house all day, which takes me to where I am now.

It was a good night, it's been a good day.

Keep on rockin'
Scott

VI: Can't go back to Constantinople

I was thinking, earlier today, about those kids who grew up with pools.

Did they grow to hate swimming? Did they resent the obligation to throw pool parties? Were they constantly paranoid that kids were only their friends to get invited to said parties? I don't know. I always wonder.

Growing up, my best friend Drew had a pool, and I'm pretty sure he enjoyed it. He and I were quite different and I wonder now whether my parents thought he might've been a negative influence on me - and whether his parents might've hoped I had the opposite effect. He wasn't, and I didn't. Anyway, he used to take us night-swimming during sleepovers, and in the later years of our friendship had pool/dance parties on his birthday. But I always wonder if, on a casual afternoon, a kid with a pool might cast a glance out that window and mutter, "you're not worth it."

Idle thoughts of an unused mind.

I finally made myself a new pair of shorts from those pants that were frayed. However, they're a bit too long and baggy, but them's the breaks.

Yesterday I had the whole house to myself for hours on end and did absolutely nothing. Today I slept in until noon. Life is peachy.

Well, if you look at it from a glass-half-full kinda way.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

V: Omnia mutantur

("Everything changes.")

Today was a good day. I don't know why, exactly, I just feel good after that mini-breakdown yesterday. I got up, got a few things done such as depositing cheques, mailing OSAP junk etc, etc, got coffee, and so forth.

The coffee is becoming kind of a weird thing. There are just some days when the prospect of getting coffee is the only thing that gets me out of bed. I mean, it's not even so much for the coffee, it's just so I have something to do. Otherwise, I could lie around all day and have no motivation whatsoever for getting up. But I do.

Perhaps the reason why I'm so happy today is one little thing. For about four or five years now, I've been coming to Mr. Sub at the mall, which has maintained a consistent staff of big guy, foreign lady, and black woman. I don't know their names, no, but it's been the same three people all this time. And finally, at long last, after ordering the same sandwich all these years, foreign lady finally officially remembered my order. There have been hints leading up to it, such as anticipating as to whether or not I wanted mustard or heated, but this was the first time she looked at me and knew what I was going to order. I really feel like I've accomplished something.

Which, in a way, is quite sad. All the same, I'm proud of that. I've been looking forward to it for years.

Xena arrived today, and promptly made business on the floor, to my dismay; I thought the newspaper would work but it has not yet taken. Unfortunate. Still, she seems to be keeping quiet to herself, except when anyone is eating, at which point she decides she wants more food.

We also went grocery shopping tonight, which is customary now anytime mom goes away for the weekend. Eric shaved his head, so there's hair all over the washroom. He wanted to do it in the kitchen, but I argued that he'd probably be picking his own hair outta his steaks for weeks.

The other day I was passing by some wet cement, as they were replacing a bunch of sidewalk squares on 6th Line. I was ecstatic, because only a week before, I was talking to Robyn about how I never seem to find the wet cement, just recently-dried ones. So I took th eopportunity for a little light vandalism, but I'm prety sure someone came by and smoothed it out. I'll have to go check on that. They've gotta be aware that there are assholes out there (like me,) who want to put their initials in the sidewalk for all to see, and roll their eyes and go, "what a jackass."

I guess this is my only claim to fame in all eternity.

"Oscar Lloyd Took a Picture" seems to be a hit, I've gotten a lot of positive feedback on it. This is a positive step. Go me.

Keep on rockin'
-The Scotto

IV: Correct my flaws

Not having a terrific day. I'm being kinda fussy and fidgety and letting every minor discomfort get to me, bother me, irritate the hell out of me.

It's not often I'll admit to "getting up on the wrong side of the bed." I like to think that every day can be approacked freshly and full of potential. Unfortunately, today began with an insistent, annoying fucking scratching at my door from that effing dog, Dolby, before 7 AM. Suddenly everything's on my nerves when I schlep my way out of bed. I could go off on the list of little things that pissed me off, but most of it is trivial bullshit.

But my allergies are pretty bad today, and that's annoying since I've been taking these pills that ought to tackle that. If my system s starting to build up some kind of resistence I might as well end it all right there because that was my last line of defense. That's all I had.

I just wanted to check in and say that. I want to rest. What a miserable day. I'm too annoyed to even describe what's so annoying. Grrrrrr.

Originally, the post ended there. I feel you deserve better, even though I still can't bring myself to ontinue. I can't stress enough how all these little things - people being around the house, the smell of the basement, etc etc, is just ticking me off today. I'm just a miser. Maybe it's the mounting frustation over the stasis of my life.

Rock Star: Supernova provided some entertainment, though. In addition to some decent singing, they have a prerequisite amount of foxy lady-rockers, and, this being rock, they feel compelled to dress much more sexily. You know, it's fun for the whole family.

Ah, how life could be better. I've got to work through this. Somehow.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

III: Put some sinew into it

My head hurts.

See, as a reliever for boredom, I've turned to whatever meager forms of amusement I can get on the computer. Failing amusement, they at least provide entertainment. I became overly involved in a game calle TEW, and to remedy this I eased back into my addiction to Minesweeper. Bad idea. I'm now seeing little blue 1's everywhere. Best to stick with the text-based game of TEW.

Life ain't exactly picking up the pace. In fact, it's about to go from dull purgatory to miserable hell as within the next few days Grandma will be depositing her oft-written-about shih tzu Xena here, giving me literal three dog nights for two weeks. Not to mention dog day afternoons. Hah. Puns.

Today I rode the bus for cheap. See, on my way home, I counted out all my coins out for the usual $2.25, in the form of a loonie, four quarters two dimes and a nickel. Well, the buss arives and I deposit these eight coins in the slot, but there is no "beep" to indicate I have paid. I figure the sound got lost in the clinking of change and the humming of the recepticle. I took my seat and the driver paid more mind to the girl who searched fervently for her wallet in her backpack, only to realize a few stops into the ride that she had no money to pay, and poilitely asked just to be let off where they were. Funy that. In all the chaos, I soon realized that the price had been raised to $2.50 as of July 1 (bastards!!) and that I snuck in a quarter cheap. Sneaky.

Oh how agonizingly slow is life.

Keep on rockin'
-Scottor

II: As cunning as a big pot of cunning stew.

Well I successfully wasted today.

Not that I mind. It's the Sunday of a "Long Weekend" (one of several, I suppose, during my four-month weekend,) and I spent last night out with the gang drinking and setting off fireworks.

It wasn't a particularly eventful night, but it was a most enjoyable one. It was my first really good night of drinking in a long while. Certainly the cleanest since... Conorton's farewell, perhaps?

At one point, I was with Adam and Laura -- having been designated some sort of chaperone, I was there to accompany them to Laura's to deposit her car, then to walk back. While we crossed Munn's and River Oaks, some car pulled into the crosswalk with no lights on and nearly hit them. Being the mature one, I walked behind the car as it sped off and gave it the finger. A clean, quick, double-fisted job. The car then pulled into the driveway of the former 5-Star Variety, and I, sensing I may potentially be in a bit of trouble, hurried off ahead. It was nothing, though, and I felt proud of my modest retribution.

Meanwhile, back at home, Eric went on a bit of a bender (he sometimes does this when he's got nothing going on,) and nipped one of my Stella's. Only one, thankfully, and he's pledged to pay it back (which reminds me, I oughtta get that money from him.)

I came home around 2:30 and everyone was down for the count, more or less. Sensing that it'd be trouble if I attempted to sleep in my own room (the mornings, the noise, not such a good combo after drinking, even though I wasn't hung over,) I crashed on the couch. Before I went to sleep, though, Eric wandered out from his room to go to the washroom before he fell asleep. We discussed his taking of my beer, and I told him it was all right so long as he agreed to pay (again, I oughtta get on that,) and he asked if he could have the one remaining. Taking an appraisal of his state, I decided it wouldn't be a good idea and suggested he get some rest.

He wasn't seen again until about 7:00 this evening.

He did give signs of his existence. At 6:00 I thought I heard a rustling, and I thought it was him, but I just rolled over and went back to sleep and when I woke up, I assumed it'd been Emily doing the laundry. Well, it was Eric, and he went for a walk early that morning (something I used to love doing last year, but haven't gotten up early enough for lately,) only to come home and crash again before I got up. He'd had his laptop in his room and messaged me around 5 to say he wouldn't be making supper, and suggested I make burgers for myself and Brandon, while he had leftover KFC from last night. I did, and they were great. At last, he appeared at 7-ish, vowing never to do that again... to which I merely noted, "I've heard that before." Sure he feels like crap, but he'll probably wind up doing it again sometime, maybe just not for a while.

But there are so many summer nights and so few ways to pass the time.

I, meanwhile, woke up feeling sprightly and pleased with the world when I woke up this morning. It was an undeniable sense of well-being that comes with... well, not being sick after a night of drinking, I suppose, and having a whole day to yourself. Sure, I didn't write or draw anything like I might've, and yeah, the Jays got schooled by the Phillies, but still. It's July 2nd, 2006, a beautiful day, and I'm fine with the world.

Yes sir.

Now let's see how this week goes, when that farkakte dog shows up.

Keep on rockin' world
-Scotto

I: Let's go someplace nice and not have dinner

Not much to say tonight, other than Happy Canada Day.

This post's title from a little made-up quote (meaning, it came from my head,) reminding me of a conversation I had with Robyn many moons ago.

The World Cup is getting funny. I no longer care, since the elimination of the Swedes, but Eric tuned into the England game today and really got into it. Unfortunately for him, the Portugese beat them in shootout. moments before England's inglorious defeat, Brando came in and declared that "Brazil is going to win it all," (presumably because of his Brazilian non-romantic ladyfriend.) Moments later, I found that Brazil had suffered a similarly embarrassing defeat to France. Naturally, I'm now rooting for France.

My mother's maiden name is Fournier, so that gives me the right. Ahem.

Not much to report lately. I spoke this afternoon to an old friend from wayback, named Alison. We haven't spoken in a long time and it's really overwhelming how divergent our lives became. It was destined that we'd go down different paths, but when she tells me how busy she is working in Real Estate or something, it's really weird, man. Not that I feel I haven't accomplished anything, but still... our paces are different. Something to ponder about that.

I went to the Beer Store for the first time as an official customer yesterday. On Canada Day weekend, it's a pretty lame experience. Long lines. Feh.

and out of sheer boredom, I bought Scrubs, Season 3. The reason was that I had sat down to watch something, but realized I didn't have anything to watch that I hadn't already exhausted. So down to the mall I went to build my collection of temporary boredom-killers. Fingers-crossed for employment not long after those discs run out.

Eric and I got up this morning early and heded off to the retirement home to help some older lady move from one floor to another. We'd been offered the gig last week and though I regretted it, wondering what I'd gotten us into, it turned out to be pretty positive. It wasn't such a tough gig (although moving king-sized mattresses is hard,) but dealing with the relatives was a bit taxing. Still, it was a little extra pocket money, so who am I to complain.

Life still struggles to get out of arrested developement (the status, not the excellent TV show,) and I struggle to maintain some level of creative output. Sigh.

Well whatever. I'm fine.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto