3.2: A pagan birthday cake

Do you remember the year you went from trick or treating to handing out the candies? It's always a hard decision. You want to maximize your candy-getting, but you don't wanna be out there so long that it gets pathetic.

I can't say I remember exactly when I made the change. I think I didn't go one year and then went the next. I remember going at least once while I lived on River Oaks Blvd (which was 2000 and 2001,) and I remember at least seriously considering it in 2002 if I didn't outright go. I was completely done with it by age 16, that much is clear, but the transition I guess was an easy one for me.

By that time, I transitioned into the official pumpkin-carver. God knows why. I was just the only one of my brothers who could be convinced to do it. Or maybe I was the only one who was trusted with knives. I was hoping to get out of it this year but I didn't. Eric helped by doing the scooping, anyway.

It's Halloween obviously, and around here it means "Happy birthday Eric." And at school, Denny wondered when, in the decade-or-so since she'd been a college student, Halloween had become "Slutty Girl day."

I myself was getting over the worst headache in my own personal history. Back in Grade school, headachiness was my go-to illness when I wanted/needed a day off from school. That's not to say I never got headaches. In fact, most of the time I was just exaggerating a headache I had anyway. But I'd never felt anything as bad as I did last night. I ransacked the house for aspirin, tylenol, advil, whatever I could get, but could find nothing and suffered. Suffered all night, huddled under my blanket, sweating, tossing, turning, head pounding, body aching. Had barely any sleep.

This morning I was awake around 6:00 something and heard mom rustling around. She'd had some ibuprofin in her purse all along, so I've been popping those all day. I'm absolutely terrified this headache might come back and even though it says not to take more than 6 in a day, I'm definitely going to fall asleep clutching this bottle and will finish the whole damn thing if I have to. That would be well worth it if necessary.

Sometimes I worry that I think too little of people. I've always been maybe too quick to look at something someone has done and say "what an asshole." I balked privately at someone in my class (being that person's back no less) because while I was laying their CD review out on the website, I noticed they had the name of the lead singer wrong. And that was one of those "What an asshole" times, even though the name written and the real name sounded alike. But I'm a fan of the band in question and many others are too, and the mistake, however innocent, would have stuck out like a throbbing sore thumb that'd been caught in a door.

But maybe it's difficult to write A&E and not sound like an asshole. Haasim did it, because he's a hip guy who always knows when not to be overwhelmed by the glamorous-seeming side of showbiz. And some of the people working on that section today are doing it well also.

I also just realized that one of the stories in A&E this week was about the iPod's 5th birthday, even though that's really more technologythan entertainment. But it's a filler piece anyway that provided as little service to anyone s my KPI survey story I wish I didn't do, so glass houses et cetera.

My brothers bought a shower radio on the weekend. Now, that's fine, it won't hurt anybody. I won't use it, because it's loud and when I'm showering people are still sleeping for a few hours afterward. But the funny and odd thing is that the shower radio comes complete with an alarm, which begs the question: who in the hell is falling asleep in the shower??

Keep on rockin'
-Scotts

3.1: Dominoes of a tumblin' fate

Okay. Okay. Okay okay okay. Only one thing in the world seems important right about now. Okay.

It is a nice day today, my physical soreness notwithstanding. I can't explain it. I slept fine, but suddenly my legs are a little stiff and my head is tiredish. Still though, there s a warm springlike breeze that reminds pedestrians how similar that season is to autumn. I'm also hungry and tired.

It was a pretty routine day. I got up, came to school, typed up the article I descried last night, and hung around. The story ended up being like 120 words or less, which I would hesitate to even call an article. It's filler.

A few moments ago I was MSN'd by Eric saying I got something in the mail from Insomniac Press, the people I sent my pitch to barely over a week ago. I haven't read it yet (as I am currently barely conscious in Law and Ethics class,) but I expect it to be a rejection just because that's kind of what I wanted. I wanted to be able to say to myself that I can put paper in an envelope and send it off and deal with the rejection. I'll often point to Mr. Guthrie's "wallpaper" expression. He repeated it often enough that it became my mantra. And this became something I needed to try.

People have told me they like it. People I know. Who am I going to show that I don't know? And what are they really going to say? This is it, man.

The blood is coursing through my veins like a freight train. I can't let myself think it might or will be an acceptance because then I'd be disappointed if it weren't. When it's not. Whatever. I can dream though.

The only thing is that I honest to goodness didn't expect them to respond this early. Maybe even at all. Their website said to expect it to take up to 6 Months because of how much they have to wade through. Must not have been a busy week.

Anyway, I needed to get this out there. I'll post an addendum to this later when I get home and read it. Eric asked me what it was and I didn't tell him because I haven't told anyone in my family yet. I'm like, secretive and stuff. It must be suspicious though.

Keep on rockin' for now
-Scotto

Addendum 6:25: So I got home and found waiting for me a thin white envelope with my name written on it. It wasn't the SASE I sent along, which I thought was weird. Eric wasn't home, so I didn't get to do a big monologue explaining it to him.

I went up to my room and opened the envelope. In it, a very official-looking, very politely-worded letter awaited me telling me that what I had submitted did not fit into their catalogue, which they specified as being in part, "unconventional fiction." That's fine, I suppose. Maybe they would have liked Melancholy Catatonia better. Maybe not.

Well that's that. For now, that is. I don't know how much longer it'll be before my next submission, but you know this ain't over.

"To survive as a writer, you must be prepared to paper your walls with rejections." Hamish Guthrie. I'm not literally going to stick it up on the wall, but that's the saying.

Catch you later. Keep on rockin'
Scotts

3.0: A vacuum, a horse, two sponges. Go.

I think maybe Chris ferguson has the right idea.

Last night, Ferg philosophized to me about his future plans. He intends apparently to spend an extra semester at WOSS and spend the intermediate time in Europe. Europe sounds good right about now. I'm chained to the wall over here, man. Feeling claustrophobic.

I've got a story to write for 11-ish tomorrow. I haven't written it yet, because I'm lazy and unmotivated. It's hard to believe that I was like, all on top of the world and shit not long ago. Now I'm not low per se, but I'm floundering. Just sort of... yeah, whatever about everything, school especially.

Call it the fall blues, or blahs, or blows, or whatever. These blues give way to the winter blues, which transform into the spring blues, until the cycle is completed by the summertime blues, for which I am told there is no known cure.

(That was a song reference, which should show I still have at least some signs of life.)

Like I said, I really just need to get out and away. Of course, with a whole new slew of responsibilities, that don't look like it's a-happenin' anytime soon. If things weren't so fucked up, man, I'd be looking forward to my reading week for tomorrow, and wouldn't have to think about this shit. Midterms, done. Stories, nonexistent. Ability to do whatever I please, abundant. That's a world I don't get, but then again, it's a world most university students don't get so why should I really complain. I'm just bummed at how things can be at once too routine and yet too chaotic.

Scott's got a lot of things he has to take care of in the very near future. Scott has no interest in doing any of them. A project in each class (at least one each!) tests beside those and stories in each make for a full agenda that I am just not responding to. Usually when I'm overwhelmed I get uber-exhilerated and begin to be able to dismantle my projects one by one so that they're not problems at all. These are hardly problems to begin with, and I'm not excited/anxious about any of it.

My Newsroom Without Walls (that's dimestore broadcasting for those not in the know) teacher Brian was a little let down that we're not very vocal about what's wrong with his class. For my part, I'm content to sit back and let the teacher go -- we're the students, why should we know how the class should be run? Should the onus be on me to say if we're getting too many assignments? I don't even know why we do most of what we do, so how can I say?

The big part of it is that I don't think about it. I'm content to sit back, do what's asked of me, and accept my grade. In my experience, school works fine that way, has for years. So when someone asks what's wrong with it, I don't have an answer. Now that I'm sitting down and thinking about it, all I can say is that the teachers this year have done a less-than-stellar job (all across the board) of hyping their big projects and tests. Making me care whether I succeed or fail. Impressing upon me the importance of them. In short, motivating me and oh yes, most importantly, getting me to think something's important enough to remember. The exception, perhaps unexpectedly, is my elective teacher, Catherine, who constantly reminds us the importance of our final project and any upcoming assignments.

Maybe this makes sense to you. Maybe not at all. I could be right well insane, typing nonsense on a broken typewriter in the nuthouse. Seems unlikely though -- on my best day I couldn't write a scene as pointlessly detailed as the on I live.

Today I got Eric his birthday gift and gave it to him at the family function which featured the usual tossing around of babies. There was no drama between them today either, which is promising. Life goes on.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

2.9: Easy pinball machine repair

So I disappeared for a couple of days. Why shouldn't I? I think it's my right - if I haven't got anything to say, why should I bore you with the same old? Get off my back!

Okay, so there's nobody on my back. But the fact is, life has settled down, for better or worse. That didn't used to stop me from pouring myself into this blog, but it seems to have recently. I've just got so much nothing on my plate it's near unfathomable.

Like school, for instance. A bunch of nothing. Routine. I should be getting worked up over the number of assignments in my near future, but my mind seems to have shut them out and is doing a terrible job of letting them back in.

And my supposed writing. Because I'm bogged down with routine and same-oldness, I haven't the motivation nor time to really write. Now theoretically, this would spur me into taking the NaNoWriMo challenge again, but I can't do that this year because (I've already said,) I'm in the midst of a project that takes precedence, and I'm starting work in November.

Amidst all the stressful nothing, I went out tonight. I was eager to get out of the house, because, crap, dude. It was Pat's birthday, and while it wasn't exactly my scene, it was something I at least had to attempt to attend because I missed the last birthday and I wanted to be around. And it was a pretty good night, although Chrisbrown and I were the only two in our age bracket (not unexpectedly,) we made due as after all, we have that connection with the current WOSS Grade 12's. So that didn't factor in. All the same though I wasn't as much "good Scott" as I ought to have been. Maybe it's the weather. Wasn't bad, though.

The night consisted mostly of idle drinking, watching (sober) Chrisbrown slowly become addicted to We (heart) Katamari, three games of Air Hockey (final record: 2-1) and a very gradual phasing out of consciousness. Not a landmark night by any means, but one more noteworthy by my not having just sit around and watched TV all night.

It's officially the end of daylight saving time, which means it ought to be 2:00 but it's not. I want the clock to say 3:30 before I go to bed. Um... yeah. Maybe that's not going to happen, but I've got some stuff I'd like to do, including watch the previous episode of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip on NBC.com. It's unusual that I get involved with an hour-long drama, but that's happened.

I got a little mixed up with regard to my brother's birthday gift. See, idiot that I am (who let's not forget, is really busy with same-old nothing,) I put off buying his birthday gift until today. The problem is, Eric hs this really esoteric taste and nothing he wants is really readily available, let along for the tacitly-agreed-upon pricetag we guide our birthday gifts by. So I raced around town to no avail, and had a bathroom adventure in the midst. I know that when I consider recappying some kid of "bathroom adventure," then this blog is really reaching for material, so I'll not expand upon that theme. The story only ends one of two ways anyway: you make it, or you don't. I did, but not without a price. Tantalized? You oughtn't be. That'd be gross ad I'm not going to elaborate.

So even though I've got time, I'm lacking the energy right now to really get into some serious writing (the tiredness and lingering inebriation may not be helping either,) so I'm just going to do a little TCB and then head to bed.

As is the usual halloween tradition, Teletoon is airing the Real Ghostbusters and Beatlejuice. Two really good movies from the 80's that combined humour and horror and were adapted into animated series of varying quality. I was more familiar with the Beetlejuice cartoon than movie for a long while. Ghostbusters was about 50/50, with a couple percent allotted to Happy Meal toys. So 49/49/2 maybe.

I'll try to do my best, and all you gotta do is keep on rockin'
-Scott

2.8: You know what it is if it has a name

I'm in my own head lately. Not in a bad way, either, I'm doing a bit of cleaning up there, know what I mean?

I guess I've just been in a good mood since the whole HMV thing came down. There's been a lot of good lately, and while there is certainly still a little bad (nothing that involves me directly or that I care to mention at this time,) I'm really starting to feel it - and it's reflected out there in the world, I think.

My brother Eric recently graduated high school. I'm really happy for him, because there was a time when it didn't look like it was ever going to happen and it was a little awkward when people would ask about him. He counts four years where he got not a single high school credit, and for much of that he was lying idly aorund the house. In 2002, it was really at a low point because he used to argue with mom a lot about what he was going to do and what direction he was going in. In 2003 it may have been even worse actually because Kris was living with us and going to school, and they were constantly in conflict. It's not easy to verbalize exactly what Kris hated about Eric's situation but it's not hard to imagine. Kris was working his ass off at school, and Eric was abusing his mind and body with prescription drugs and excessive idleness.

In February of this year, Eric enrolled in adult learning centre and started to get his life back on track, after spending the previous year bounding back and forth from career planning groups and other useless BS. He started meeting new friends about his age, he got int a regular schedule, and basically turned himself around. Last week he got the last necessary credit to officially be an OSSD graduate. I'm proud of him, but silently so because if I said so, he's probably think I was just being polite in saying it. Or worse, somehow condescending because I (three years his junior) graduated over a year ahead of him. So, I just hope he assumes I am. He's now doing co-op work with a theatre group around town, doing a prodction of Dark Victory. So that's some of the other good that's been going on.

When I was a kid, my grandma used to babysit neighbourhood kids (and kids that didn't really live so close to us.) That was how I got and kept a lot of my friends before kindergarten. My best friend at the time, Tim, for instance. Then there were kids I played with but didn't really like being friends with, like Travis... no offense to Travis, but to me, he was like a poor man's Tim. But you play with them anyway, because hey, you're four years old. You'll be friends with anybody in your age bracket.

The only girl grandma ever babysat was named Jessie. I only have the vaguest recollections of her, but she was probably over a lot more than I remember. When I was young, my dad built a deck in the backyard and even before this, because my brothers and I asked for it, a clubhouse. it wasn't that big -- in fact, in my later years I came to enjoy jumping off it -- but when you're a preschooler you don't notice these things. Basically, it was a wooden shack in our backyard, and when Jessie would come over, we'd play house, and she'd make "dinner" of "spaghetti..." and blades of grass would stand in for noodles. I didn't have a dog back then, and that was probably a good thing, because as I recall I actually did eat the grass.

One day, she stopped coming over. Maybe she moved, maybe her parents put her into a school different from mine. Who the hell knows. That's not much of an ending to that story, but as Matt Caracappa said in a recent X-E article about halloween... "it wasn't much of a story." I was just reminded of those days because of a poem we went over in (poetry) class today.

That's another thing... I'm starting to get a little more inspiration, and I'm way out of my "blahh I suck at everything" attitude from earlier. I'll probably do some real writing when I get a chance.

So you can all just keep on rockin'
Scott Williams,
Prince of Funk

2.7: One for the scrapbooks

Dreams are powerful images. They come to us when we are vulnerable and not in complete control of our minds. They can combine any random image or thought from our mind into any narrative or expression. They can mean anything, reveal your fears, desires or hopes.

Or they can be a bunch of random shit.

Two nights ago, a chase through a tall apartment complex and a game of Risk aboard a sinking space-submarine, for instance. Um, yeah.

Last night I had a dream where got beaten up by Kyle Sanderson. Now, usually in one's dreams one could properly defend oneself, but apparently he was really mad about something. I was pretty upset, myself. I haven't even seen Kyle in a while, and even then it's mostly running into him randomly at Sheridan. Let alone had him kick my ass... which he it came to brute strength he probably could (although don't underestimate my submission abilities.)

Several weeks ago, the week after I was handed my crushing fate at the Halloween kiosk, I was passing a jobsearch kiosk in the B-Wing at school with Mansoor. My eye was caught and I asked promptly for an application. I even went so far as to walk home - in the rain - to retreive my resume and have a preliminary interview with them.

I haven't specified what position that is, although many people know by now. I wanted to avoid getting excited about it as a matter of superstition after what happened to the kiosk. When I was told the kiosk was shutting down, my first thought was "oh, cruel irony... I was so proud of this job," and had indeed spend the previous saturday night boasting of it to all my friends. Guilty and humble, I kept a tight seal on how much I would discuss this particular opportunity, and didn't even write the report on the eventual interview that netted. The secrecy doesn't quite seem necessary anymore.

Two fridays ago, I got a call from HMV Canada saying they wanted to have me in for an interview. The interview was for the following Monday at 3, between newspaper work and Law & Ethics class. I arrived promptly and was asked to wait and mull around the store. In my mulling, I ran into Andrew, a friend of mine from class. "You cutting as well?" I mumbled an answer. Eventually, the manager approached us, "Okay Scott, you're up. Andrew, you're next." He nodded. "Touche."

The interview, I felt, went well. I had taken the time to prepare myself and learn a few of the products that were on the "Top 10" shelves at HMV, including Fergie, Timberlake, Gnarls Barkley, Red Hot Chilli Peppers, X-Men 3, etc etc... they asked what my favourite movies were, I told them Adaptation and Back to the Future. They asked who directed BTTF and I told them Robert Zemeckis without missing a beat. They asked who wrote Adaptation and I told them "Charlie Kaufman." Then I paued and added, "with his fake brother Donald." Sometimes, my smart-assedness may border on the extreme. I gave them an overview of my availability, and just before leaving they asked me for "The Task" - find one ______ DVD and bring it to the manager. In this case, it was Tae-Bo, and I did. He told me they'd be in touch either way, so I could at least look forward to not being left in the lurch.

Coming out of the interview, I ran into Joe and Perrin and regaled them with the saga of my tumultuous employment history. We waited for Andrew and went back to school.

Then I sat and twiddled my thumbs for well over a week.

And then just a little after eight tonight, I got the call that said "HMV Canada."

I answered. "Hello?"

"Hi, Scott? This is Lindsay from HMV, I'm calling to offer you a holiday position?"

Bam!

So yes. Yes. Employed! Okay, so yeah, as I was made aware from the very beginning, it is only a Holiday position, but if they really like me, they'll keep me on. But right now, I'll at least be employed solidly through November and December.

It's been a weird few months for me. I got and left two jobs in two weeks. It was by the grace of serendipity (and Mansoor and my mutual desire for drinks,) that I got this job and then I spent a nerve-wracking three weeks waiting to hear. I don't mean to be cocky, but I can say this (as I told Perrin,) I've never interviewed for a job and not gotten it. This statistic is a bit misleading, but it's the truth:

-In 2004, I interviewed at A&W. They hired me, but for whatever reason I spaced out and didn't take the job.
-In 2005, I was asked to take a job as a porter at Classic Bowl. When they pick your name out of Major Youth bowlers at random, the interview process can't be too strenuous
-In September, I signed on with both Tim Hortons (hired me that day) and Boogie Wear (no interview.)
-And now this. I guess my biggest challenge now is to live up to whatever I said during the interview about my ability to interact with customers.

I know a lot of people who go to a great number of Universities and colleges all across Ontario, from Ottawa down to Niagara College (according to Facebook) and beyond. And whenever you are catching up with someone you knew in high school and asking them (as you are required to) how their experience is going, they always rave about how awesome the campus is, how much they are learning, how much they love their situation or a certain class or professor and how peachy everything is. Now just once I'd like to hear someone say, "You know what? It fucking sucks. This is not at all what I expected. I totally regret my decision to go here. I'd rather be at any other university in the world than this one. How dreadful!" But nobody would ever say that. Not because they don't mean it, but because who wants to say that? Who wants to be such a drag? Come on.

There's this show on the Comedy Network. It's the latest in their experiments with no longer being about Comedy and things that are funny. I saw it two years ago in CommTech. Mr. Andrews had some involvement in its development and they were shopping it around. It's not really my thing, but then again, I also don't think it's a good enough example of what kind of thing it is for whomever it's for. Two guys have to compete in picking up chicks at some sleazy nightclub and are awarded points while 5 dudes watch from a secluded location. Ah... yeah.

It could work, who knows? But I still don't get why it's on the Comedy Network.

There was a little more, I think, for tonight, but I'm tired and have a review to write, so let's leave it at this already-swollen post and keep on rockin'
-Scott

2.6: A little moonlight music

Now, now, when I said I was going to "update Interneta" last night, evidently I was... lying. but what I meant was, "boy, I'd sure like to!" I've got a few article ideas, some of which I may actually get around to using. I sometimes forget that if I have something that I want to write, I can actually put it there.

Today I got outta my lousy little funk. Yeah, I've been a drag lately, so getting out in society today and doing my work got me a little motivated, a little energized, a little levelled out.

One thing I've noticed is that women like swing dancing. I suppose it has something to do with spinning around. So my plan is to learn swing dancing and become a great seducer of women. Of course, if one has to make a concerted effort to "become" a great seducer of women, there's a good chance one will not.

This headache I have. It could be from lack of sleep. It could be from stress. Or it could be from excessive caffeine consumption, as I have found myself seeking comfort in the glorious red bosom of a can of Coke more frequently lately.

But life's too short! Oh, man, how I'd like to be someone who could take that as his motto. "Life's too short." I can't seem to convince myself of that, so I've done a lot of fiddling around in my time. I've had so many trivialities in my life that it's hard to believe it's too short for anyhing.

Sleep now, though. Yes.

Keep on Rockin'
-Scott

2.5: You don't believe we're on the eve of destruction

I am determined to update Interneta tonight. There are a number of better things to do, but I really feel the need to get that done.

The flippin' internet's been cutting out again. Just randomly I won't be able to access a webpage and I'll have to refresh. Cogeco officially = jerks. But that's not the reason I haven't been blogging this weekend (meaning I barely managed to get motivated tonight after skipping out last night.) The problem is Scotto has officially lost motivation.

Right about now would be the perfect time for a reading week. God I wish those fucking teachers didn't go on strike - it gave me three weeks of boredom when I didn't need 'em (four if you include the extra week of summer,) and robbed me of vital recouperation time. Not to mention robbed themselves of important midterm marking week. So they're suffering more than we are.

On top of that... augh. I'm fucking fed up with the world? And am I not allowed to vent a little? Of course I am. So I shall. Or I would, except I've got nothing to rant about. All my problems are fucking abstract. It's all in my head! I'm my own worst enemy, now aren't I!

I want to let it out. I just can't seem to open the barricades and let it flow. What is it! How can I express in words this lousy letharic frustrated self-loathing I've found myself in? What's the cause? Moreover, what's the cure?

Maybe it's fear over the future. Maybe it's anxiety about not knowing whether I'll be employed anytime soon. Maybe it's because on Thursday I mailed out an envelope with a story in it and, expectedly, I suddenly hate everything I've ever written. Maybe because, despite this fact -- which I haven't told anyone in my family least of all my brother -- Eric sarcasticly remarked to me "there's alllllways a reason for you not to do something, isn't there?"

This is particularly stinging coming from my brother who constantly marvels about the fact that for four years he didn't get a single high school credit.

As I said, I went temporarily insane on thursday just long enough to seal up two stories in an envelope and fire it off to a necessary party. In doing this, I'm actually breaking protocol because in theory I should have send them a letter of inquiry, but I'm of the school of fuck that. Despite what I occasionally think of it, I like tob let the work speak for itself. I'm not going to take the time to send someone a letter saying "I'd like to publish a book... it's about this." It's a waste of time and effort, compared to sending a few good pages and just saying "This is what it's like. Interested?" All I did was attach a 1-page letter describing myself and the project, in the flippant, humourously modest voice I've cultivated over the years.

Oh, and I've also broken protocol by not getting published first. Oh the hilarious contradiction of the publishing business. It's kind of like telling a racer, "go break a world record, then we'll see about getting you some shoes."

So I've managed to get that out of my system. I'm feeling a little better now, but things still aren't as they should be. I need to get away. The hassles of modern life. Stuck in my own friggin' head.

Not one of my better posts. Ecch, it pains even me to read it. Over the course of 630+ posts (two and a half years,) maybe 75% of it has just been me bitching. And while I'm entitled to use my little corner of the internet anyway I please, I'd rather I didn't feel the need to whine so much. I don't want to be "that guy."

But that's the nature of SWP. In clicking onto this badboy, you tacitly agree to read the good with the bad. It just happens that when writing, it's the bad that tends to come out.

I hope at least I can provide some amusement. To that end: my new second-favourite YouTube video (right after William Shatner's Rocket Man), The Ben Affleck Interview. It barely qualifies as an interview... hell, it barely qualifies as Ben Affleck, as by most accounts he appears to be sauced out of his mind. Oh Ben... you are beloved by millions for your off-screen antics.

See you some other night, keep on rockin'
-Scott

2.4: He said no; with his foot.

Fridays are a hell of a thing. Before you know it, y'know, the week's over, and you're struggling to get it behind you.

I've been stumbling around in a daze for most of the day, just trying to get my head outta the swamp. The funny thing about Leslie's class is, yeah, I dig history and politics, and in the right environment I would really be digging her class, but on a Friday morning? The mountain of focus is a tough one to climb.

It wasn't even a bad day, though. I got a little work done on one of the stories I'm working on. That's a new one - going to be putting two stories in the same week. It's almost as if I give a damn about my portfolio. I think nobody quite understands my lassaiz-faire approach to portfolio-building. I'm not nearly as driven as somebody like say, Mansoor or, well, anybody else. Knowing me as intimately as I do, I understand this perfectly. My deficit of enthusiasm for pursuing a career in journalism is quite deep. Not so deep that I'm having an existential crisis about what I'm doing here, but my mind is elsewhere.

That's sorta my way of alluding to the fact that I did something kind of insane yesterday. At least, part of me thinks it's insane. The other part of me thinks it's the most reasonable thing I've ever done. Two envelopes. Twenty pages. 6 months... wallpaper.

So I've added a stat counter to this site. It will reveal to me - and really, the world - how few or many people are visiting on a daily basis. I don't know why, I've never been driven to know, but to say I'm not curious is a lie.

Joe Chammas has shown me the hilarity that is Demitri Martin. I've seen him on the Daily Show a bunch of times, and he will be doing a bunch of ads for Microsoft. His stand-up material is some of the finest stuff I've heard. He comes from the Mitch Hedberg school where you don't have to linger on a topic too long, you can just allow the joke to exist unto itself, without being part of a complex bit or narrative. Not taking anything away from other schools of stand-up... when done well, each has their merits... but most of the time I prefer the punchier bits.

I'm toying with the idea of reformatting the blog. DFon't mold me to that, I'm not going to be rash about it, but sometimes I consider reconciling my desire to vent about any topic I like (to "shoot," to use the terminology,) with my fear of being a site comprised of repetitive, random junk (well, the fear is that that would be a bad thing. I'm not sure.) Nothing major, but I'm going to look into it over the next few days or weeks.

I suppose that'll be all for tonight.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

2.3: Forget what you wanted to know

So I'm sitting in the newsroom and I'm bored. It dawns on me that I'm in school. Not just that I'm inside a school, but I'm actually still a student, not just some guy who shows up and hangs around for a few hours a day. I know, it seems obvious, right? My mind has been in such disarray lately, I can't even tell you what's going on.

How did it get to be Thursday?

I just got out of Petry Analysis. And by just, I mean, like an hour ago, but that's where I was this morning. Thursdays are weird, because all I have going on is my elective, which starts at 9. Most days start at 8, but this one starts at 9. So I had forgotten to change my alarm and it went off at 7:15. So then i turned it off and slept for another hour. That's maybe not the most perfect strategy, but it ended up working, since I at least got to school on time. So in Poetry Analysis, Joe, Justine and I did this reading. The poem in question was "Chapter I" by Christian Bök. It went over well, I think, beause while the poem isn't the most evocative in its language (it's basically a straight narrative using only words with I as the only vowel,) we had Joe play guitar under the reading to add.... effect.

Then there was a test and we got out early.

Yesterday, I played with the idea of increasing my online presence. We were talking about how people can get "famous" (albeit not a good kind of famous) just by being on YouTube. Given that all the necessary materials are vailable on my computer, I considered becoming a YouTube personality. I'm not going to lie, I actually went pretty deep into it, creating three episodes of "Interneta YouTube," a brief monologue where I rant, from an "undisclosed location" somewhere on the Sheridan campus about whatever the hell is on my mind at the time.

So I know what you're thinking... it's like the blog, but with pictures and sound. And if you weren't thinking it, I sure was. After having the videos up for some of yesterday, I decided, oh, this is lame, and took 'em down. Now that I know I can, and it would be so easy to, I know that I don't want to. Besides, who has the time? And why would I want to take attention away from the most popular site on the internet - this one right here?

I was given a story to do for next week's paper, but it turns out it is also being done by the news section. So I have to talk to somebody from that section and make sure we have different angles (shouldn't be too hard to see the distinction between the News and Srudent Life approach to something.) Still though, part of me hears that and loses all enthusiasm for the story at once. But I'll soldier on.

I've decided I hate typing on this thing -- I need slantiness of keyboard. My arms hurt.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

2.2: We are only lines on a map

This post's title comes from a song by the Coral. Not sure if I've used it before. After 600 or so, you tend to lose track of the random titles you apply to each post.

I usually like to go to bed at 1. It's not too bright, because I'm a big fan of sleep and am reluctant to get up at 7 after 6 hours of sleep, but I like having that extra hour after the Daily Show and Colbert Report. Yesterday I was so tired I actually took a half-nap on an empty table in the Newsarium.

Setting down to think about it, I actually have a lot on my plate right now. Schoolwork is really starting to mount, and without my beloved reading week to settle things, I'm not going to get the refresher I'm entitled to. I have a Law & Ethics assignment, a new project for Newsroom without Walls every week, a poetry presentation (as well as the summative which I'm already supposed to be thinking about,) not to mention stuff I may be forgetting, as well as writing articles and doing layout on tuesdays, like today.

It was apocalyptically rainy today. Not thundery, just incredibly damp. From the windows of the Newsarium, I watched fog roll in over the nearby high rises and settle on the parking lot, before retreating, despite the rain not letting up all day. My shoe was squishy with water. "Splish sploosh splish sploosh," as I walked home under an umbrella.

Eric, possibly disappointed that I had taken the "good umbrella" (valid, since who doesn't want the good umbrella?) related a story of his using the other one. He opened it and, as it usually does, it folded outward. Apparently not feeling like lugging it around all day, he stashed it in a bush. On his way home, he retreived it. I was amused by that, because in the first place, I got the thing by finding it on the ground after potentially losing the good one. If I had not taken the good one, Eric probably wouldn't have found it - mom hid it.

My mind races. There is a lot to say these days, but I don't always want to say it. That's a dangerous line to walk, because I've built this blog up to where it is now by not holding back. Once I say "I'm not going to talk about that," there gets to be more I won't talk about. I've already done it, but I intend to go back on that in the near future.

I had to re-tell the story of what happened to Boogie Wear three or four times between Friday and today, which, I guess, is proof that fewer people are reading the blog these days. Not that I mind, or would mind if there were more. Maybe my days of being the most popular site on the internet are over.

Then again, there are always surprises out there.

I'm covered in mosquito bites. What the fuck? I wore shorts and was outside for 90% of the summer with hardly anything, but now that it's falla dn I'm indoors in long pants, suddenly I'm scatching at my legs and stomach because... goddamn mosquitos. Now I've got West Nile. By the way, if you Wikipedia West Nile, it doesn't sound so horrible.

I was thinking yesterday about NaNoWriMo. If I were to go back and do it again this year, (which, given my already-existing feeling of being overwhelmed, seems more doubtful every day,) I'd take a different approach. I have at least two full books in me, I know, plus the other halves of the ones I've already begun (not to mention various play, movie and comic ideas that crop up now and again, etc etc,) but the idea I'd want to do is one of non-fiction. Off the top of my head: "Booze, Broads and Bullshit: A Teenager Wanders Through High School, College and Minimum Wage," an autobiographical tome that takes a humorous look at 6 years of my life that were very interesting to me, but not so much to everyone else.

See, that's actually a terrible idea, and I can't imagine getting 50,000 words out of it, considering how badly I had to stretch to get that much from Melancholy Catatonia. Then again, about half the material would come from this site anyway.

I have to get up early tomorrow to work on a Newsroom Without Walls project before class. I guess that brings this blog full-circle. Scott Williams fears homework assignments. And I'm not all that keen on group work to begin with.

Just starin' another day in the face. Think I'll go to bed earlier tonight than usual. I liked this post. It wasn't about anything in particular, but it felt good.

Keep on rockin'
-Your Scotto

2.1: To the bottom of the hourglass

So, it's not winter.

Seriously, it's not.

Shut the fuck up, it's not! It hasn't even been halloween yet! So we've glimpsed a little bit of snow -- around these parts it melted before it hit the ground. Fuck, even Ft. Erie, which (as I had to hear repeatedly from Tim,) got 30 inches (or whatever) of snow, is now clear. It's not fucking winter, people. It's barely been fall.

But no, busybodies are getting all amped up because of the little cameo Jack Frost has paid this little burg. People are bundling up and roasting chestnuts on an open fire and making their Christmas lists and -- it's effing October, people! Get over yourselves. There's time for winter in December.

Yes, I'm slightly curmudgeonly on the subject. I'm a little warmer -- if you'll pardon the expression -- on the subject of winter when it actually gets here. That's life. Spring, summer, fall, winter, repeat ad infinitum. I just don't like people jumping the gun and getting psyched prematurely for winter. I'm not a fan of winter, it's true. I vividly recall a pointless go-nowhere discussion (some may say argument,) with Jordan Moore back in Grade 11 English about the subject. It had been the first frost that morning, and I was depressed because, seriously guy, that means it's getting cold, and I'm not up for that. He loved winter, being a hockey fan/player I presume. I'm not a hockey guy. It's one of my quirks.

Winter, to me, is only any damn good leading up to Christmas and in the aftermath of New Year's. It's a time of fellowship and camraderie, the occasionally harsh weather be damned. Then the weeks start to pass... slowly... and the skies get even more gray, and the snow gets wetter and slushier and the winds get more fierce, and you wake up and realize it's freaking February, and February succcks. So let's not get hasty, folks. There's time to enjoy the leaves falling and the crisp breezes, before our rotation takes the axis to that side of the sun, or however astronomy works.

I complain a lot on this blog. That shouldn't surprise anyone. Complaints, I find, are the readiest source of material I've got. Human beings, by nature, are pessimistic. In our world, what's good is normal and what's bad is tragic. Consequently, we tend to compliment less freely than we criticize. Think about it.

Or maybe I just saw "Five Christmas Classics" on DVD at HMV today, and think, "Jeezes, I've had it with this shit already." Probably more likely.

Today was haircut today. Is it the finest haircut I've ever had? Maybe not really. But I needed it short, and this objective has been accomplished. The first day of a haircut is shaky ground anyway, and hey, it grows back anyhow. Just a matter of time.

I got the nice younger hairstylist. I don't know her name, but she remembered me from my last visit. She's very friendly, and I prefer getting her because not only am I usually satisfied with her work, but I'm more able to converse with her. See, usually I'll be sitting in the chair and the barber will be forcing awkward chit chat and I'll oblige halfheartedly. I can relate to this girl. Hell, she even remembered me (as much as a barber can be expected to.) So there's that to be glad about.

Mom's fridge is full of food. Tim's place down in Erie lost power (along with the rest of the region,) so he unloaded the fridge and brought it to mom for safe keeping, and entreated us to help ourselves. I almost welcomed the idea, before Eric reminded me that whatever had been in there - including an inordinate amount of shrimp - had been sitting in a non-powered refrigerator for about 24 hours or more. So it is, as the kids might say, "kinda sketch."

I'm suddenly feeling pretty good. There are times when I feel overwhelmed, the lethal cocktail of schoolwork, my own hobbies, other responsibilities, and of course having a social life, can really start to choke me out. Not lnog ago I took a step back and started to deal with some of that overload and get things to a point where nothing's far out of my hands for now.

I hope you can all find it within you to do the same.

Oh, the anatomy of an SWP post that has me always trying to affirm my readers at the end. I mean, you know, so I don't come off too self-absorbed. All I want is to be regular self-absorbed. I think that's the best you can hope for when your name's in the title.

And finally, Xena's gone, and we can all rest easy. Smoke 'em if you've got 'em, as they said when smoking was socially acceptable (and not as well-known to be horrible unhealthy.)

And of course, keep on rockin'
Scott

2.0: Unaware he was invisible

Somehow, I'm treading those same old tracks.

It's one of those nights, like what I've been writing about in Collection of Curiosities. The world is alive but the night is dead. I can feel the actions of others out there, but have none myself.

That's been it so far. I know, it's only 8:00, and I've been mentally writing this post for a little while now. But it's weird. God knows where most of my friends are at. Some have school. Some are hanging around. Some hve parents' birthdays. Some are at home, writing up a photography exhibit for the paper. Some are having house parties. Some have nothing.

I, myself, was supposed to be playing Risk this evening. Unfortunately, that fell apart. For its sake, I disregarded a perfectly good invitation out to Toronto. Maybe another time I'll go. As it is, I've kept my plans limited to kicking around Oakville tonight and we'll see how that works out.

The above italicized portion, I wrote a few hours ago, just after 8. It's now 1:09 and I'm about to get to bed, but I may as well complete the thoughts and elaborate upon them now that the night has closed.

Like I said, at the time, I was waiting to find out exactly what I was going to do tonight. It was supposed to be Risk. But then Chrisbrown couldn't make it to Oakville and Pat went out to some party with a bunch of hooligans, and Chris F. and I just sorta watched our hopes for a return to the glory day of Risk showdowns go by the wayside. So we're trying to figure out what to do. And by this time, earlier anyway, I had gotten an invite to go to Alyssa's and potentially drink myself into a stupor well into the night in Toronto. It felt like a pretty good idea, but at that time the idea was still Risk. So I had tossed that invitation for something that wasn't going to happen. As much as I wanted to get out of the house - and the Toronto idea was philosophically good - the night didn't feel right for going and drinking with a houseload of strangers.

Then again, I can see myself in another dimension having greatly benefitted from that little leap of spontinaity. I was and am very doubtful that the right Scott (fun and outgoing) would have shown up to that party rather than the wrong Scott (withdrawn and irritated.) The latter had appeared at Conorton's last week and I was not interested in repeating that in a new venue.

What ended up happening is we went to Laura's house and hung out with a bunch of Grade 12's, including James Edgar. Usually I'm very mindful of the age gap, but good Scott actually came, and the night was relaxing. Plus, it got me away from th bark machine.

I can't really say what, if anything, came from all this. At one point I was bored, then I was not. People I know are out there, living their lives, walking their paths. And someday, I'll find myself on a train to Toronto with the mission of getting hammered and having no way home.

There's more to say (as usual) but I can't muster the energy. Me tired.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

1.9: Innocence by association

Tonight ha been the night I hoped I would eventually get after last night's near meltdown. Things have started to clear up.

As with so many other mornings lately, I was reluctant to get out of bed. I've found myself more and more dissatisfied with John Derringer's morning show on Q107. It's hard to put my finger on but I'm starting to get really frustrated with listening to that show in the morning. The easiest way to put it is that I'm not a fan of Derringer. One morning recently, I was barely conscious, but I caught some sarcastic remark about the liberals in this country. I know he hates the Libs for Adscam, but fucking get over it already! The Conservatives are giving hundreds of dollars to parents to use on whatever, but I haven't heard him sound off on that matter. It's not even his politics, though, that have whittled me down to this. I'm just finding it difficult to deal with the idea of a morning radio show. They're so much banter. It reminds me of the way you make awkward conversation over lunch with family friends, except because he's on the radio, he's making awkward conversation with the whole city, and they aren't speaking. I don't know. Could I do a better job? Doubtful. Print is my medium; my halfway-through-squeaky vocal styling isn't exactly the best for radio. Then again, that doesn't stop Ryan ("The Kid") from his over-the-top Miss Cleo impression. That's right. Miss Cleo. That woman who conned the nation with her "fortune telling" scam some years back -- when I was in Grade 10, hosting the "Scott Williams Show," we did a Cleo spoof as one of the commercials, with Gurak. And back then, in 2002, I thought, "Hm, isn't this a bit out of date?" Four years ago that was! And it was funny, because it was funny to watch Gurak be a fortune teller. And sing. I still break out into "Curry and Rice" when I'm alone. They're still doing Miss Cleo jokes. I think I called Miss Cleo when I was in Grade 5.

So there's that. I love Q107 - I'm a huge Classic Rock junkie - but morning shows are so grating. There is, however, some good in Maureen Holloway's segment. The banter with Derringer is sometimes forced but she keeps up her end. She's a super lady.

And I'd be remiss to not point out that Derringer does a lot of great charity work. I've done some charity work myself, but nothing that would set the world on fire. Anyway, maybe this rant will get discovered and get me a slot as John's "Tool of the Day." Haha, nah, I would hope they have something better to do than scan the internet for mentions of their show, and then arrive at this little corner. I know this is the most popular site on the internet, but it's no big. I'm just tired and cranky in the morning.

I ran into Rosser a while ago, before the long weekend. It seems insignificant to mention now, but I'd forgotten how sometimes he could just be a really good guy. The thing I liked about him, that I got from very few other teachers (I'm thinking, Mr. Zehr,) was that when it comes to the students who do their part in class, he has such a strong rapport with them. He was able to relate, somehow. Not as an equal, of course, but not as someone who was coming in with the idea that "it's my job to keep these kids in line." That's no way to run a drama class. He could get irritated, and I'm not saying I was the most pleasant, but it's good to know I can still have a good-natured conversation with him now and again.

I'm happy for Weird Al Yankovic. In case you weren't aware, he's hit success once again with he latest parody, "White and Nerdy" (a parody of a hip hop track I was admittedly only vaguely aware of, by an artist whose name I never knew,) garnering him his highest-charting single since "Eat It," and his first top-30 album ever. Or something. And it's a funny song. What I've heard off the album (that, and "Don't Download this Song,") are both really funny, too, which is the point. His best tracks don't go back to the old "Food and TV/movie" material that's gotten so lame and repetetive. "White and Nerdy" is a great example of a song being used as parody to match its style. "Don't Download This Song" is possibly his finest original ever.

All my woes from yesterday seem to be melting. We got the internet fixed, and Xena seems to have settled for the night. Do I still have a few hang-ups? Yeah, but who doesn't, especially in such a precarious point of their lives as this? There are worse plces to be though, both literally and figuratively.

I got an e-mail from the NaNoWriMo people. As you may recall, last year I accepted the challenge to write 50,000 words in 30 days of November. Despite having school work, a job at the bowling alley, and a life, I accepted (two days late,) and succeeded. That was because at the time I had a project I was itching to start on, and would've hated myself if I hadn't. These days, I'm about halfway through a project, and not interested in starting a new one (as NaNo stipulates you must begin the project on November 1, no sooner.) I've got a lot to work on, and I think that's a damn fine reason not to NaNo again this year, as great of an experience as it was last year. Even though it left me with throbbing knuckles for like a month.

Oh yeah, and Robyn, good news: I got the call. I can feel those "good luck" waves radiating. Interview monday.

Friday the 13th has no power over me. This is a place to keep on rockin'
-Scott

1.8: End one sentence earlier

I feel trapped. Trapped in rage. The internet's been flciking on and off all night. Brandon's been having a wandering phone conversation with his friend Steve. Xena will not stop barking. There's no escape. There's nothing. Fuck. And you know what? I wasn't having such a bad day, either. Now I'm miserable.

It hurts my heart. I could never be a parent. Not during the early years. I don't do well with trying to interpret barks and cries and so forth. I have a checklist of things I can do to help her. I can give her food, I can give her water, I can give her a treat, I can let her out, and if she's up for it, I can play with her. Usually, after all that -- and by that I mean, every single one of those things -- she finally mellows out somehow. But there are times, like tonight, when I just have no idea what she wants. Bitch!

Like I said, even though I wasn't having such a bad day today, to have to come home and put up with an internet connection that keeps crapping out for some reason (or no reason. I can't tell. This is the first this has happened since the new modem,) and a dog who just will not be pleased, it makes me want to smash an expensive car with a cricket bat or something. There's something about a shattered windshield that would be very re-assuring at this point.

I was gonna talk about shit, too, today. Now I can't organize my thoughts. I've got so much shit to take care of! And I haven't done any of it because -- I told you! My connection keeps blinking out, and I have a dog that, until moments ago, would not be silenced. I gave her a treat. Didn't want to, but it usually comes to that.

I don't deal with frustration well. It's something I've known for years. When faced with an unconquerable situation, I usually just freak out. Not the best attribute, I know, but at least I know I have a problem. A serious rage issue, okay?

I've carped on long enough. I'm sorry. I really did have things in mind for this post earlier. Some random thoughts of varying levels of interest. None of which are coming to me right now, even though the ordeal is mostly over with (internet keeps blipping out, though. Fucker.) Now I know how Berkowitz felt. (I think I've actually used that line before.)

While I'm in a bitchy mood, I might as well say something about my admitted recent boredom-killer, "Facebook." I think it's a fascinating site. At first I thought it was a lame version of MySpace, but now that everyone seems off that site and on the other, I might as well bandwagon it, as I am like to do. Even if it means putting up with a strange phenomenon that didn't come up on MySpace.

The worst thing that happened on MySpace was some lame band would ask to be your "friend." You take a listen to their music, and if it was good, you add, and if not, no sweat. Gone, don't even think about it. Sometimes you get a random or someone you know well. What is more rare for me - especially in comparison to Facebook - is the "pseudo-friend" phenomenon that is starting to get depressing.

Ever since I randomly got a Facebook (even before Sheridan had its own network, and thus I was less involved,) old friends have been seeking me out and adding me. I'll admit, I don't add people usually, myself. I don't go to the trouble of seeking them out. If time passes and I find someone who ought to be on my list, I go okay, "add." No big.

But admit it. You have people you don't like, or hardly know, in your Facebook (or even MySpace). And they're probably there because you didn't have the heart to say, "no, we're not friends."

"Friends" is the word of choice for these sites. So naturally, the only people I would seek out - if they haven't found me first, which they mostly have - are my friends. People I enjoy talking to and like to keep in contact with. But as soon as I signed up, I found myself getting requests from a lot of people. Many of them I'd been friends with once, but hadn't really spoken to in years. Some were friends of friends. And some are people I could barely have called acquaintences. Like the guy who just added me, who dated a since-estranged friend of mine in Grade 10. He was in my Grade 9 gym class. I don't think I ever spoke a sentence to him. Not that he's probably not a nice guy, how would I know? But I wonder what makes someone decide to look at someone they know only fleetingly, and say, "I need to have this guy in my friends list."

I dunno. Maybe I'm just being Andy Rooney. Maybe I'm so irritated that everything will irk me at this point. Man, there ain't no cure for this. Innoculate me against inconvenience.

Everybody wants something. From themselves, from the world, from me. It all comes at once. A dog wants a treat. A brother wants a letter printed for a "friend." School wants an article. A friend wants an explanation. I want peace. I just want to know that nobody will be crying at me tomorrow and that my internet will be stable and I can rest easy knowing I'm doing something right.

Y'know?

But I can't really have it.

No, I'm gonna go to sleep tonight, and I'm going to wake up tomorrow, and it will b esomething else. Or the same thing.

Whatever it is.

I really didn't want this entry to be this. But the dog's barking again (it's 11:58!) and I don't know what to do with myself.

Hopefully I'll get my head back into this dimension and write the entry I want, instead of the one I need, tomorrow.

Not at my best. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

1.7: A whiter shade of Procol Harum

It's been one of those days where it's hard to get going. It's definitely October. There's a warm haze hanging low in the air amidst the chaste raindrops, bringing with them a deep chill.

Yeah, though, I'd forgotten what a drag fall can be when you don't get any light whatsoever in your room in the morning. Just a hard brick wall. Anyhow, I schlepped my way out the door this morning and sat through Bileski's class. I was late, but he was even moreso, so it's no big. I showed him my video - 30 seconds of stills with some modest narration and SFX, nothing to get crazy over. I got a good mark on it, but the beginning ten seconds being filler didn't help. And for some reason, when I did the voiceover, I slapped on a British accent. It was funny at the time. It still is.

Then I went to a story meeting for the first time all year, because I figured, well, I might as well get something vaguely resembling a clipping. So I was assigned a story tangentally related to Facebook... which has become the latest in my arsenal of boredom killers. It's always something.

The most irritating thing these days is trying to interpret Xena. She stands and barks, and it could be any of a number of things she wants, from food to water to walking to mere attention. It's a headache, like screws twisting into the skull.

Not much to discuss tonight, at least little of urgency. I desire sleep, and so will be getting to bed soon. I'm really realizing the importance of... not being completely dead in the morning. I don't know if an extra half hour of sleep is going to help matters much, but what could it hurt?

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

1.6: Merely magic words

Pheh.

Have I mentioned lately that I don't have any focus lately? Only all the time? Yeah? Yeah.

Today was not such a bad day to start with. It wasn't "crazy everybody rush to get everything done Tuesday" like I thought. It was "mellow, stop by Tim Horton's at the mall on your way to school even though it's the exact opposite direction tuesday." As I've said, I'm not so into coffee after my brief stint working at a Tim's, and even passed on numerous opportunities during the trip to indolge. I was feeling in the mood for it this morning, though.

It was an up and down day. It's hard to really get into anything. I've been considering starting a new website, but that's not going to happen for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is... I have plenty of websites. Jeezes.

I thought I saw Denni on the weekend. We had pulled into a McDonald's in Gravenhurst, and I caught a glimpse of someone in passing as she left, and I thought it was Denni, one of those in charge of the print journalism program. So I ran into her today and figured, hey, couldn't hurt to ask. So I just randomly blurted, "Did I see you on the weekend? Did I run into you?" She seemed dumbfounded. "Where would you have seen me?" I told her flatly, "I think, uh, in a McDonald's in Gravenhurst." An eyebrow perked. "Oh! I was at the McDonald's in Gravenhurst! You didn't say hi?" Well, it was only in passing, she was practically out the door and it was crowded (with Asians. Not saying that's a bad thing because a crowded restaurant is a crowded restaurant, even if it's crowded with white people. It's just weird.) She had been in North Bay with her husband's family. I should've figured - there's only one reason to even go through Gravenhurst. Get someplace else.

I can't describe my angst. It's not stress, it's more on the anxiety side. We're taking care of Xena for a few days, so I've already been tearing my hair out a little bit at her insane barking sprees. That's a big contributor.

I'm going a little mental, and it's really all on me. My eating, sleeping, work habits, my spare time, my little private worries and concerns, I'm driving myself off the deep end. Be careful, all out there. Don't get caught up in yourself. Because these days I'm so turned around I may need a compass to know where I'm at.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

1.5: A world of chaos and ruin

It's been a pretty wild few days. Okay, not really, but I'm really looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight.

I've spent the last two nights on an inflatable mattress. It was surprisingly comfy the first night, but the second I don't think I put enough air in it. The irony of the thing is that although the box it came in depicted fantasy-inducing images of evergreens and moonlit wilderness. However, it says right in the manual that it is explicitly not for outdoor use. Ha-ha! "Imagine yourself communing with nature, asleep in this comfy mattress... but don't actually do it. Are you friggin' insane?!"

Yesterday was a kind of a big day. The whole thanksgiving deal. We opted to go for a walk in the wilderness. We got kind of lost (technically speaking, I was leading, but not really,) and thus wandered around the hills and creeks behind Canadore College for probably an hour or so before ultimately coming full circle.

The upside was that the weather was gorgeous, so aside from getting a little sweaty, there was nothing to unbearable. I can recall at least one year when the weather was so miserable. They all sort of blend together though. Given that we customarily come on Thanksgiving (Canadian version) and Easter, it's not expected that the weather should be good. But on this day, and after hours of hiking (without much warm-up or preparation, let alone water,) the heat was on. We also saw...... a big empty lot where they're apparently building a new hospital. Except right now it's just a big flat gravel mound.

Then was thanksgiving dinner, and the modern day slideshow, digital photos from Grandad's trip to Australia to visit his long-lost* brother Tom.

*Okay, so he's not long lost, or even estranged. They've been in contact, but not really seen each other in about 40-odd years.

Anyway, not a lot more. Long ride home. Came back, saw the rest of the family. Got to catch up with the aunts and the kids.

So it's back to reality tomorrow. The responsibilities of putting a newspaper together, and hanging with Joe, Haasim and Mansoor. I've still got some other important stuff to take care of, too. And on top of that, I'm expecting a call any day now...

is it the most fascinating stuff in the world? Not by half. Am I keeping busy? You bet.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotts

1.4: As you sleep you fall further from yourself

I’m sitting here in the back of a rented minivan (don’t ask me which kind,) listening, thankfully, to the Beatles’ “red” greatest hits compilation, which covers the earlier part of their career. I say thankfully because earlier in the ride, it was the Eagles’ greatest hits, and I passed out. No disrespect to the Eagles, but I’m not a fan. I like Hotel California, but that collection actually predates that song. And while I fondly recall the episode of Seinfeld where Elaine’s boyfriend is obsessed with Desperado, that’s not enough reason to like that song.

But since that album is pretty much the best-selling record in history for some reason, I don’t think they’ll be losing much sleep.

I was considering writing this earlier, when we were trapped interminably in traffic. Then time passed, the Eagles came on, and we got moving.

I’m also breaking my established convention of not writing in Word, as for obvious reasons, I can’t write directly into the website – being in a moving car somewhat hampers one’s internet access. Still though, I felt this was as good a time as any to crack open the laptop and get typing. We’re still a ways from our destination of North Bay.

Last night is the story. Upon stumbling home at two am yester-night, I observed that this was a rare occasion. Here I am, fresh off a night of drinking, and of the three of us, I’ll be the first in bed.

I have things to say about last night, but I can’t seem to gather my wits to express them. That seemed to be the trend from last night, which is what I’m trying to get at (ironically, I suppose, my inability to articulate this has given me a terrific segue/introduction point.)

It wasn’t my best night. Every so often, I think, my body flatly rejects alcohol and prevents me from loosening up and having fun with it. It happened many months ago, I believe it was at Lauren Wing’s.

All I can do is marvel at my inability to be the guy I’d become so effortlessly over the summer. As people began to pour in, I suddenly lost my bearings and couldn’t hold a conversation, even one on one. In the light of day I’d rather not dwell on my own shortcomings, but that was what I found myself doing last night.

Conorton and I actually began to have a talk. I couldn’t explain to him what was wrong – my inarticulacy hampering me even then. He began to raise a point but before I could see where he was going we were interrupted and that conversation never really got finished. So I sank back, and observed as my friends engaged in a conversation that I took no interest in. A lively debate, perhaps, but man, fuck that. I hate big panel discussions.

My dislike of Word causes me to break the monologue in a tangent: that sentence, the second last in that paragraph, has a squiggly green line under it. Apparently Word doesn’t recognize that sometimes “man” is just an interjection, man.

The night wore on, and I regained my bearings when the party was about over and I was sitting to talk with Lauren Wing. I wasn’t much if a help to her – and to be sure, I have never been good at helping people with their personal problems, and don’t intend to ever become so – but I think all she wanted was to unload, and I hope I was good for that. At the end of the night the eventual presence of good conversation finally helped me ease out.

So what I learned last night is that we’ve all of us got problems; with ourselves, with our places, with other people. We try to reconcile them, but it’s nothing that can be fixed but by time or by the efforts of others.

The night died a slowly and with much agony. As people began to flood out, we – Chris Brown, Cary, Kyle Chapman, Alyssa and I – were held up (and Lauren was staying the night. Vanessa, I’m not sure about.) I was glad to see Alyssa, but at functions (those rare ones over the years we’ve both been at,) we don’t talk enough. I’ll attribute that to somehow getting stuck in my own head with frustration and angst partway through the night, as already discussed.

So I staggered through the door around two. The basement was nearly vacant – by which I mean, Eric wasn’t home, and Brandon was sitting quietly in his room at his computer. Eric had ventured somewhere way out into Toronto to help a friend of a friend with some photography project. I took care of some business and advised Brandon to leave the door unlocked (although I later found out Eric had his key anyhow,) should Eric turn up while he was still awake.

So I went around, turned off all the lights, and gladly embraced the comfort of my bed. I had my alarm set for about 9:45. I figured that would simultaneously allow me a comfortable bonus hour or two of sleep, as well as time needed to prepare to leave for today’s trip.

I woke up before nine AM sometime to the sound of ringing phone. I hate that. Not only is it worse than an alarm, it means I have to leave my room and talk to someone about something.

Naturally, it was mom. Naturally, she wanted to know Eric’s status. Naturally, he wasn’t home.

I had no explanation. I wasn’t surprised, but put it to mom delicately, “he must have stayed the night.” Wherever he was. Privately, I feared he was lost or kidnapped, etc, etc. That’s paranoia carefully bred into me from my mother’s side.

But I didn’t let on. So I told her I’d have Eric call when he got in. Then I went back to my room.

The light, however, was bursting like an atomic blast through my window – rare, because my window faces another building at ground level, I don’t always get much sunlight. But after all that, sleep wasn’t happening again. So I at least rested up as much as I could until at last the alarm wet off and I got up anyhow.

I was tossing some clothes into my sports bag when I heard a clatter of door being closed and someone collapsing on the couch. I dropped my work and inspected. It was indeed Eric.

His words; “I didn’t sleep,” were no surprise.

He’d been out all night and was near delirium when he got in. I know the feeling. He declared his intention to sleep the whole way to North Bay. As I type, he’s declaring his intention. For that moment, though, he regaled me with the various anecdotes one accumulated after a night of participating in a goth photo shoot far from home.

There was a momentary break in my writing just as we stopped for soft serve ice cream and stretching of the legs. The Doors are on the stereo. “Love Her Madly.”

We’re not far from North Bay now. It’s 4:02, and considering how we got bitchslapped in traffic a few hours ago, we’re making decent time.

It was an inauspicious start to the weekend, not the joyful reunion I had envisioned. Everyone else gets a chance to make up for it tonight, except me, as I was constantly informing people. C’est la vie. In the end, I’m thankful for getting what I did. There will be other chances in the not too distant future.

I wish you all the best. All things, hard as they are, will pass. It’s hard to understand, but that has been my experience. Consider it a microcosm of the universal balance between order and chaos. Or don’t. Maybe it’s not.

Keep on rockin’
-Scott A. Willaims

1.3: Dark pines under water

"Why does there have to be a real world?" I mused to my dad, lamenting the responsibilities I'll be facing in the future.

"Because if there weren't," he told me, "there'd be no fantasy world to run away for. To. Whatever."

The thanksgiving dilemma is the fact that everybody, for good reason, is coming back to Oakville for this long weekend. The big problem was... it's one of two guaranteed weekends of the year, every year, that I will not be in town. On thanksgiving, (and easter,) my dad takes us up to North Bay to visit with his side of the family. I don't mind this, although North Bay isn't exactly my kind of town, I get over that because, hey, it's family, I rarely see them, and my aunt Pat is a helluva cook. Thankfully, as of tomorrow night, things should be at least a little reconciled. We'll see though.

I haven't even got much of a taste for writing an entry tonight.

As I was preparing to leave school today, Perrin turned to me and asked, "Hey, remember Mr. Zehr?"

Now, this caught me off guard. I hadn't spoken to Perrin much before this year. I didn't meet him because he was in another section, but when we started doing the Sun, Joe and I went to layout, and he became a photo editor. So suddenly he becomes like a buddy at school, but I still hadn't said much to him beyond a few jokes while we were all hanging out, the three of us and whomever else. So naturally, this Mr. Zehr remark came out of nowhere. As it turned out, not only did he go to WOSS, but actually knew me because we both were in the caf together. I was embarrassed, because I could not remember him at all. I tried to come up with reasons for that, but he swatted them away with damn reasoning. He caught me up on some of the latest on the teachers - Zehr's got a kid on the way, Crossman is still there, and Dinzee was apparently fired for putting weed in the food.

Halfway home, I realized where he was all that time. To the best of my recollection, he was in the caf the period after I was and we actually said a few words to each other in passing on many occasions. But it's one of those passing acquaintences you don't really know or recall. Apparently he remembered me because I actually looked like Mr. Zehr - which is sorta true, when my hair is short.

As I said yesterday, my mind is all over the place. So much to think about, so little to focus on.

More... tomorrow? I don't know for sure. But someday soon. I seem to be getting less frequent.

So keep on rockin'
-Scott

1.2: Before you realize I was ever gone

The pendulum swings back. Explained later.

The day began with thunder. A doombringing thunder and hail of lightning crashing upon the earth, and a veritable monsoon of... rain. (Redundant though that is.) Okay, so it wasn't quite apocalyptic. I mean, it wasn't exactly a hurricane, but when the radio came on a little later, the DJ's were joking about seeing the "Seven Horsemen." Which is funny, because I thought there was only four (Ric, Arn, Ole and Tully... yup, four. Haha, nobody gets that.)

I was actually worried that the barbecque was being left out in the rain. As far as I knew, Eric had neglected to put the cover back on it, and that bothered me. At 6:30 in the morning with the rain drenching the world, I'm thinking about the BBQ. I have no idea why. Probably because of the thunder I couldn't sleep (I like thunderstorms, but not when I need rest.) So my mind wandered and that's where it ended up. You wonder why I can't sleep in silence. (Or maybe you didn't.)

It turned out, mom had replaced it the night before. That eased my mind and I was glad with her. I didn't immediately fall back asleep, but I did drift. Mom asked me, though, to not take the forest path if it was still thundering when I left. It wasn't, and I did.

As you might have gleaned from reading this thing, both today and other times, my mind has been all over the place lately. Really scattershot. I realized today that I'm not thinking nearly as much about school as I should be. I don't know where I'm at a lot of the time, what I ought to be doing. I haven't gotten in trouble yet because of it, but I could see myself messing something up. I've never been the best at keeping schoolwork organized. That's really building to a head probably soon.

One major source of anxiety has been my work at the paper. Under the new system, Joe, Ed and I have to sift through all the stories - from the Sun Online and newspaper writers - and decide what's going in the paper. The decisions we make are fairly arbitrary, I'm not going to lie. I'm not happy about it, because I feel like a collosal fuckup when faced with these decisions. However, Roy has not once taken me aside and told me, "Listen, Scott, you've got to get a better handle on what stories go where." Nope. And I know he'd do it. On tuesday, he redesgned a whole page, and I didn't mind, because my design was shit and his was good. And he had no qualms about saying, "this is how it'll be." And so I have carried on.

But y'know, it ain't easy. Because the new system is complicated for the writers. They think they are supposed to be on the Sheridan Sun, but all their stories might go to Sun Online and vice versa. Because all the stories go into the same folder and it's up to me - me, and Ed, and Joe - to figure out what's going where. Complicating things are factors like, how many pages is the section, how many ads are in it, and what stories have pictures. This week, Joe had to send at least one, maybe two stories lanned for the Sun's A&E section because they wouldn't fit, and they were replaced with Haasim's "Play" article, which was intended for SOL. So shit gets re-arranged and sometimes we have no idea how it came to be. And then people get confused.

Mansoor happened to mention this, during our class, that a story of his happened to get moved, and he wondered why. I don't think he realized that it was more or less my call, and that I immediately felt both bad for having upset him (or made him feel however he'd felt,) and a little annoyed for having to hear this complaint from a second time in three days, regardless of it being one of my better friends.

So needless to say, we came to blows, and I bested him in three rounds of bareknuckle boxing.

No, that's only what happened in my head. In factuality (portmanteau!) we had a talk about it and discussed how chaotic the new system is, and how he isn't selfish, but did want a clipping. I explained my remorse over having to make these decisions and how sometimes there was not right answer at all. We grabbed a drink and got cool.

It was during this trip for beverages that the pendulum truly did swing back my way, if only for this little bit.

Because I was going to the cafeteria with Mansoor, I happened to be in the B-Wing, where I might not otherwise have been. And on this day, there happened to be a station of recruiters for jobs. And I happened to be stressing out for the past 5 days over my lack of employment. And this place - which, for purposes of avoiding jinxing, will remain nameless - was actually the whole reason I ever wrote myself a résumé two or three years ago in the first place, regardless of my at-the-time total lack of experience. I even went to the trouble of delivering them said résumé, along with the application, and fielding a few interview questions on the spot. I think I did well, but could have done better with a little more preparation. But them's the breaks.

Another way the pendulum has swung back my way is the Thanksgiving dilemma, but that's for tomorrow, since this entry has been cramped.

It was an atmospheric day today. Rainy, to be sure, but still a decent day to be out. The rain was, after the intense bursts of the morning, light in the afternoon. The sun didn't peek out between the clouds, but did illuminate the greyness to create an effect similar to the Silverdome. There distance was obscured by an ethereal haze, an incipient invasion from an alternate dimension. I was at Kerr & Rebecca (as I frequently am.) I felt that, for now, all was calm and finally climbing back to the right place.

The pendulum has swung...

The Thanksgiving dilemma and its resolution tomorrow.

Tonight, keep on rockin'
Right now, Scotto.

1.1: Hungry Hungry Hypocrisy

The world's a little quieter tonight. It's been a good day.

It's hard to put my finger on, but this was a nice day. The weather was nice, and it was easy to get things done. I was able to sleep in, too, because of it being Monday. Who would have thought Mondays would be my favourite day of the week at some point in my life?

I did wake up, however, a bi of a mess. Suddenly, my cold had recurred. It was insane, how I was quite immediately stuffed up without warning upon waking. I hated it. I thought I'd gotten over it. The plan became, go get some tea before school. I ended up at Oakville Place, but by the time I'd gotten there, I was completely in the clear. I had my first coffee in over a week. I'm pretty much off the bean. I'd been thinking of giving it up when school began, from lack of money and time to spend waiting in line forever at Sheridan. My week spent working there only hastened this. I didn't want to touch another Tim Horton's product for a long time after that.

But like I said, I found myself with a coffee this morning, because I was there. Then I went about my business - which, on Mondays, consists of like two dozen folders of various colours, Law & Ethics class, and YouTube. Mansoor found some really boss footage of news bloopers. And lord knows I love it when people bloop.

I'm feeling better about myself than I was yesterday. It's been... hard, since the kiosk went south, but I'm on the right track now. It's just the domino effect of the psyche. one thing goes wrong, and it all crashes down. Suddenly I wonder where I am and what I'm doing with my life, questioning everything about school and the whole idea of getting a job and how the universe seems to stick it to me. But everyone's got their story. And it's important to question things. It becomes reassuring when you learn.

So thank you, to those who wished me well.

As for the blog... well, it's not going anywhere. It's been two and a half years almost, and I've not had a major formatting change in this whole time. And you know what? At the end of the day, after all my identity crises, all the disorganization and cluttering of what I am and do, this is what works. My stomach turns every time I think of going to a place where I say, "this is me writing about music," "this is me writing about television," "this is where I talk about movies," et cetera, so on, so forth. That's insane to me. I'm not just comfortable, I'm happy.

Yeah, man. This is S-Double-You-Effing-P.

On the weekend, I made the call that I didn't want to go out. to be sure, I had some rationale for this that was beyond my control, but if I'd really wanted to, I could have gone out to Toronto anyway. I was just dead on the weekend. I am morbidly pleased - and of course, somewhat disappointed - to hear that the concert I would have attended with Haasim, "Play!" was apparently not terrific. Haasim himself wrote the article for the Sheridan Sun, which you can read on his site, here.

The world is staggering to find balance, and apparently succeeding.

Of course, before long, I'll have to shake it up again with yet another attempt at employment. But such is life.

That's a problem for another day. Now I've got to get to bed. Early day tomorrow.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotts

1.0: Days of Heads-up Seven-Up

I've got this frustrated feeling. A lethargic confined feeling I failed miserably to articulate last night. Trapped in my own world.

I'm angry at this blog. On the few occasions every now and again that I run into Mr. Guthrie, he might ask me if I'm keeping a journal. I tell him I am, referring to this thing. It feels lately like something I should be less proud about.

It gets hard. Living life, and then coming home and writing about it. When your life extends little beyond "school was all right today," the path gets a little worn. And then I think about doing something substantial with this little corner of the internet, and my stomach nearly turns. Because then, it becomes work. Then, I start putting it off. Then, it's not something I can do at the end of the night just to relax when I have some time. The work suffers, despite being a little more ambitious. Look at Interneta, which is the execution of the dream of this blog, in a way, except more well-organized and clasified. It's hardly ever updated. Usually twice a month but it's not unusual to go an entire month between a few one-sentence reviews.

What am I saying? I don't know, and that's the point. I started typing tonight with no agenda. I wish my words could have some meaning, but I'm afraid it's not there. And seemingly every night, I come on here, type until my wrists get inflamed, and bitch and kvetch about any little thing in my head. Sometimes people read it.

Earlier this evening, I got dragged into some bullshit argument about... stupid bullshit. One of the arguers may or may not be reading this. I want to say that their arguments are symptomatic of a larger psychological issue: you're both fucking nuts, by the way. Almost anybody who defers to me in an argument of opinion must be nuts, because what the do I know, man? Who cares? I can't bring myself to.

That's harsh. The world is harsh. I'm pretty harsh sometimes. I try to be tactful, but I'm not a liar. And I don't don't think I care one whit about this guy's stupid hang-ups.

What am I doing? Where am I headed? There's no way to tell. School is fast becoming a dead end. Work evaporated. I'm going insane. Insane I tell you!

As you might imagine, I'm not much less frustrated now than I was when I began this thing. That might be the point. I'm constantly frustrated. Idle and frustrated. Busy and frustrated. Asleep and frustrated. Eating and frustrated. It's just an essence which hangs about me, foggy in the air, while I attempt to resume my daily activities. Fucker!

Where's a good Jack Kerouac poem when you need it?

I'm out for tonight. I had a story about a shirt, which I may tell tomorrow if I'm any better. I opted out when I got hit with this wave of simmering rage. It wasn't a terrific story but it's the type of thing I generally present and for which SWP has become reknown.

There are crickets infesting this place. They chirp loudly at inappropriate times. Fromw hat I saw earlier this week, they may be overrunning the whole damn town. That can't be helping.

I'm sorry to lay this trip on you. There are a few people out there who are often genuinely concerned about my state. I'm thankful such people exist. We all need a little help, you know?

It's getting a little better all the time.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto