6:00 PM: A finale, spectacular destruction

So on my first day of "really true for reals" Summer Vacation, I've already stumbled into idleness. It began innocently, however, with a simple search for distraction. Of course, if you're looking for distraction, it's not hard to find at all. Mine came in the form of a little red bat by the side of the road.

It was at one point my ambition to organize a local Wiffleball league, having seen many admirable qualities in the backyard sport: it's like baseball, but involves no running.

I found the bat abandoned on a walk this morning. I don't usually pick up things I find on the ground. Only when they're interesting. In this case, they were. So Eric and I arranged a little game in the backyard, but call it (technically, I forfeited,) when the ball kept getting lost in other peoples' backyards. Once upon a time we had a backyard whose size could accommodate such a game, but no longer.

So right now I'm backed into a corner as far as life goes. All I know is that I can't spend my days like this. This level of boredom has become a measure of torture, which may be the impetus to make a few improvements. I have a few articles Amanda wants me to write. I put them off all day because I do my best work "after hours." I don't think I'm going to be able to move forward until I make a dent in those. And I've got an arseload else on my to-do list, including but not limited to the next batch of Redneck Comics (long, long, long in the works) and my ever-precious creative writing.

I don't think I noted it on Friday, but my marks for the semester were very good. Not the best I've ever done, in fact possibly the worst since I started at Sheridan. But still very good. I was particularly surprised by my mark in the gen ed, which I was very lax toward (like everybody else.)

I'm not saying I'm going to make any changes or that my life is going to turn around. Truthfully, the only bad thing going on is that I'm really bored (and, well, unemployed and not getting any, but that goes without saying.) I just want to be doing something I can be proud of. Today was just the first of many to come.

Let's go. Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

5:00 PM: It's just my shadow following me again

I don't know hwat I expected, and I don't know why I'm typing this.

I was supposed to go to a BBQ this evening. I'm sure in some alternate reality, I did and it was fine. But as things turn out, I had to look after my dog, and then it was late and I opted not to even try finding a ride.

Since that's the case, it was without much trepidation that I wandered out to the bar and had a few. Originally I just had one and set out home, but I turned back, unsatisfied with the light buzz I had, and decided to sink deeper into inebriation.

Don't get me wrong, I don't plan on making this a regular activity. I prefer to drink with people. And while I did run into Eric C. and Mark F. there, it was in no small part quite uncomfortable. I was, for the most part, drinking to absent friends. Or, more accurately, my absence from my friends.

As the school year ends, it appears as though the group normally considered to be my circle of friends - the ole gang, as it were - has undergone something of a diaspora, which for you non-history majors, means they're all off in different places, for now at least. "An inauspicious start," I repeatedly said out loud to nobody in particular, "To the so-called summer break."

I'm intoxicated, but not drunk. That means I'm in the mood for philosophy, self-deprication, and reminiscing about childhood board games. While I already did the last one with Fisty, I still need to be self-deprecating. And given that this is my blog, I may, if I please, do so. Because the truth of the matter is that it's a fairly lonesome existence I'm leading right about now. I need someone to reach out, because lord knows I'm having a hard enough time reahing back.

I stupidly reformatted my iPod for PC without fully complementing my iTunes on this computer. One of the various little hiccups that follows transitioning to a whole new computer, although this is more about Mac-to-PC rather than old-to-new, as I hadn't listened to mp3s on my old PC for months nad months for fear it would freeze - and rightly so, because it was shitty that way.

All over the world tonight, girls are going to bed sober and sexually unfulfilled... I should be doing something to alleviate that.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

4:00 PM: You can't force it

I'm still trying to grasp this "I'm done with Sheridan Journalism" thing. It ain't coming to me. Here's what's on the agenda...

1: Find a real job. 2: Write articles for Amanda's magazine (which for the time being will merely be online, *tear*) 3: Write my own stuff. I have been ne-glec-ting my personal creative writing all this time and with good reason. Until today I was all consumed by my duties as Editorial Intern at Scene n' heard dot c-a. And while my articles may someday be posted (the delay, I have no idea why) I have only one article left, and let's not even get into it, because God only knows if it's going to get done (which is totally not my fault, I'm doing the best I can with it.) So now I have a little time to myself and I'm loading up my plate, as usual, with as much as I can manage (and then some.)

Today was comprised mostly of my sitting in the Newsroom on one of the standing Macs (I'll admit, losing a laptop is, for a while, like losing an appendage, but I'm rehabbing) listening to the various CD's I've received and trying to bang out reviews that aren't totally condescending and dismissive, basically trying to justify the kickass mark my editor gave me. Meanwhile, Amanda is next to me, doing her mag stuff, and while we make token conversation, we're both sorta... zombified. Is this what maturity and responsibility does to people? Robs them of having anything interesting to say? I don't know, but being at least moderately interesting/amusing/clever is all I have, how I plan to make my livings and et cetera so forths.

So people want to know what the next step is for me. And the short answer is, I have no fugg-ckin' clue. The long answer is that I have all sorts of options and opportunities. The usual answer is a mixture of the two. As it stands, I have a college degree in journalism, but not nearly enough experience to try to get a job. I've got the magazine gig from which I likely won't see a cent this decade. I think the world wants me to stay in the oven a bit longer. I don't know if it's ready for a 20-year-old Scotto to take it by storm (this is an exaggeration of how I would take the world. It's doubtful it would be by storm, as I haven't taken anything by storm in my life, except three 500 mL cans of beer, which was a mistake.)

Sheridan Print Journalism has been good to me, despite more-than-occasional moments of despair and distress. The teachers have been terrific, although for the most part we were getting a) teachers in the process of retiring and b) industry pros teaching for the first time. John Clark and Stephen Jarrett both retired after my first year. That was Mitro~~*'s first year, a rocky one to be sure but from what I heard he improved by a great degree.

In second year, we were flooded with first-timers, ranging from the good (Stephen Douglas' magazine class, which was actually quite helpful,) the bad (I've heard some reviews of certain others) and in between (Jody's Arts class, Cheryl as e-zine editor.) Meanwhile, coffee-mongering Brantford Expositor editor Sal attempts to navigate teaching the first-years how to do the Convocation and Back to School issues, despite not totally being sure himself. That's where Amanda and I fit in. "Mentors," they called us.

While all this was going on, and Mary Lynn, Nathan and (to a lesser extent) Denni were trying to keep things stable, we said goodbye (repeatedly) to Roy, the heart and soul of the newsroom. My opinion of him changed many times over the course of the first year, but by year two I realized how much he truly had to offer. I look at him - as corny as this sounds (don't laugh) - sorta as a mentor. When I grow up, I wanna be Roy! (If I ever grow up, which seems doubtful.) Only a few first years really got the benefit of the Roy experience.

The first years were, on the whole, a good bunch. Jimmy obviously stands out as an oddball, and basically my only source of regular human contact in the weeks of solitude I called my internship. We made a friendly wager on the outcome of the Virginia Tech shootings that day, and both were way off. There were a few others I had contact with, but I'll admit, few I warmed up to or who warmed up to me that much, as to them I was an outsider. Still, I wanted to keep things less awkward than any contact between my year and the year preceding us.

And then there are my friends. I can't believe that at the beginning of Year 1, I boldly declared that I felt I could go the whole time without talking to anybody. What ridiculousness! Maybe I was reluctant at first, but I met a tonne of cool people (many of whom now fill out my Facebook list.) Haasim, despite his shy demeanour, is always the one to reach out to people, such a gregarious fella. Joe, the modern day hipster. Mansoor, the sleepless franchise player. Amanda, driven like a madwoman when she gets fixated. Despite Tammy's repeated claims of "I can see your balls!" I don't think she actually could. And Jess always helped my world make a little more sense by comparison.

Did I leave anybody out? Probably. Doesn't matter much. They know.

Onward and upward, I suppose. I've gotta get some stuff done tonight. There's a whole world t return to this summer.

Keep on rockin'
Scotts

3:00 PM: Find a feeling, pass it on.

I thought I wasn't going to come into school today.

The weather looked like shite, it was cool and windy. That said, after petering around on the computer for most of the morning, I was tired of that scene (summer's gonna succck if it's like that) so I decided, "Okay, I'll go out for a cup of coffee."

Now, I haven't had any coffee in over a week, I've been trying to cut down. But when you used to have a cup every single morning, and in fact felt useless and unmotivated priopr to that cup, it's an achievement to have taken care of everything you want to before even considering getting any, not to mention, that's your first cup of coffee in weeks. I don't necessarily believe in cold turkey, just phasing things out the best you can. I think that's the idea behind methodone, although they don't give you methodone for coffee (non-caffeinated tea works equally well.)

As a coincidence, the closest Tim Hortons (or ANYWHERE to get coffee if you disapprove of my brand-loyalty) is at Sheridan, and the weather is looking crap. So I think, "Okay, I'll pop in, grab a cup and drink it on my way home." That couldn't have been long after 2, and now at 4:30 I'm still here, because as soon as I stepped out the door it started spitting rain, and as soon as I got my coffee, it became a thunderstorm.

Naturally, this means I've holed myself up in the newsroom, waiting for the rain to die down. I don't think it's going to.

This, of course, abides by the law of the universe: It always rains when I forget my fucking umbrella. I toted that thing around all week after Monday's incident. I forgot it while I thought I was only going out for a moment, and now I'm cowering from the precipitation.

Actor-turned-weatherman Ross Hull muses, "What exactly is a 'mixed bag of precipitation?'" I was watching the Weather channel the other day, and he actually said that, noting that the station discourages its anchors from using the terms "mixed bag" and "precipitation."

Anyway, I'm not totally down, in fact I'm riding quite a high. Because sometimes - not always, as today proves, but sometimes - I'm a lucky guy. I managed to turn in my articles more-or-less on time yesterday thanks to some last minute interviews. It always seems like I live at that last minute. Doing my "Church of the Universe" article on the day it was due set a dangerous precedent, and if I were to continue working for Sceneandheard (looking doubtful,) I'd remember this lesson: don't leave shit to the last minute when you're depending on others! DOY!

BUT that's not important because I came through. Now all I have left in the queue is a trio of reviews (~200 words) and an article which may never happen because it requires a very specific interview which I may never end up getting. Sigh. I suppose that's life.

Anyway, I'm about to brave the rain and head out. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

2:00 PM: Nobody can see the vortex

So I'm sitting in the newsroom, putting off my work.

This is not unusual, although I do have a number of articles due today, one of which is only half done (the other is mostly done.) Eventually, I heard back from one of my interview subjects... it was a no, they were busy. But in the end, it wasn't all that important that I interview them.

I'm in the process of burning all my MacBook files to CD. It goes home today. It's been a strange, turbulent time, these past many months. We haven't always gotten along, but contrary to what Haasim believes, I do respect it. I think it's not as good as a PC in many respects, but it's still a computer and it still has been very useful to me. Last year, I neglected to back up all my various files, this year I will not do the same.

This marks the end of my Sheridan Journalism experience. And THAT's weird. I might jot down some more in-depth thoughts on the subject later (I know I've got many) but I haven't got the energy right now. I just really wanted to write this post.

I'm going to go back and read this entry someday, and not recall what was going through my head, probably. It's hard to believe I'm done here. I'm going to miss it. I'm all sentimental and crap. At the same time, I'm not out of the woods, I still have two articles to turn in by 5:00, and three reviews due Friday. So life ain't exactly peaches and cream.

I should probably get down to brass tacks eventually. There are some girls here in th Newsroom trying to print 11x17. I don't really know why they are printing at this point in the year, but hey, I'm still here so weird things happen sometimes.

This is far from my best post ever. In fact, I'd say it's pretty close to my worst, (but not quite there.)

I'll check in later, maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

1:00 PM: Another stupid thing we've done.

I'm going to admit right now that McDonald's has got me.

I don't usually go in for their new menu items. Although I've ingested more of their cheeseburgers than is probably healthy by now, any time they attempt to branch out into new ideas for menu items, I meet it with a yawn. I've had a few of the deli sandwiches, I've indulged in a wrap or two, but my complaints are usually the same...

"This tastes kinda bad, and it's too expensive. Stick to the burgers."

But I think they're on to something with the Chicken Snack Wrap. At first glance, I thought it was the stupidest thing ever. There's no meal between lunch and dinner! People don't need your food there! Stop making people so fat! And yet, one afternoon over the weekend, I thought, "Hm, I don't have much time but I'd better eat because I can't make it to supper." Serendipitously, one of those ads for the Snack Wrap aired. Okay, it wasn't serendipitous, those damn things are omnipresent, with their mysterious african amiercan office dude who quips relentlessly, "Looks like somebody missed snack time," all the while munching on the miniature breaded chicken wrap.

So I strolled down to the golden arches, plunked down my cash, and yelled out loud, "I DEMAND A CHICKEN SNACK WRAP!" Because that's how I order at McDonalds. At least, when I forget to remove my iPod headphones.

So a moment later, I'm holding the thing. It's small, which is good, because the compactness of portion is a selling point of McDonald's for me. You can keep your Big Xtras and Big Macs and other Big Things. The more you get, the more is there to fall the hell apart. Plus, the bigger it is, the longer you spend eating it, and thus, the longer you have to contemplate just how gross it is, which for me, is a huge problem.

So a few minutes later, I am no longer holding the Snack Wrap. It is in my stomach, being digested. I nearly started a golf clap of approval. "Well done, Mcdonalds!" They had officially given me a new food item that met every possible criterion I had, not the least of which was that I did not vomit anytime after eating in their restaurant, which is something I've had to deal with on one or two or several occasions. And that's important, because my New Year's Resolution was to not vomit, and in the nearly 4 months hence, I have not. Considering I vomitted an unfathomable number of times in the last quarter months of last year, this is an accomplishment of which I am proud (and very ,VERY dilligent in safeguarding. The snack wrap was a calculated risk to that end.)

The most significant part, however, is the price. Without a drink or any other sides, you can get a Snack Wrap for less than $2, which is boss for me because I am notorious for my cheapness. And even though it's marketed as something you eat between lunch (McNuggets?) and dinner (Big Xtra meal?) I have no problem making that my whole damn lunch because... well, just because. I get full just thinking about what a steal it is. And if they start jacking the price up... well, fuck 'em, I don't need a chicken snack wrap THAT badly.

So anyway, the story is this; I'm sitting in the newsroom, mostly abandoned by now, waiting for a few guys to get back to me so I can interview them for some articles. It gets to be about noon, nobody's contacting me, so I think, "I'd better grab a lunch." I haven't checked if the Cafeteria's open and I'm not in the mood for Tim Horton's, so I decide to stroll all the way down Trafalgar for a Snack Wrap. After all, it's a gorgeous day, I can leave my jacket and umbrella (contained in my laptop bag for weeks now,) behind.

So naturally, as soon as I get to the foot of Trafalgar, the wind starts picking up, and the sky turns a lazy dull grey. Blip. The first raindrop. I look at my damp shoulder in astonishment, and then start to laugh. This is exactly the type of thing that has repeatedly happened to me. Figures. Umbrella, jacket, school. Scott, rain.

Back in very early September, I was coming home from a party on a seemingly clear night and got caught in a thunderstorm the second I set out to go home. In February, I decided it would be fun to go into school despite the very real and very necessary snow day. I do stupid things sometimes, or things that at the time seemed logical but turn out to have lacked foresight.

So as soon as I reach McDonald's, the wind's up and the rain is coming down. I order my food and hope that the rain will subside in the time it takes to eat the Snack Wrap. Unfortunately, the very design of the snack wrap, the reason I fell in love with it, is because it definitely does not last as long as a rainshower. And McDonald's does not care for people just hanging around (apparently they design their restaurants so that people won't want to just sit there.) So what could I do? Laughing to myself and crying out "This is a very stupid thing I am doing!" I ran, ran through the howling spattering rain, up the massive Trafalgar inclination toward Sheridan.

Rather damp, I dodged into the Trafalgar Medical Center, a large brown building at the corner of Trafalgar and McCraney. Fans of Half-Past Eight PM (if any such people exist,) will recognize it as the place where Perry Robbin meets Elaine. In that building, I chilled out, had a coke, and waited for the rain to subside (which it eventually did.) And now here I am.

So yeah, this is another midday newsroom update. It gives me something to pass the time while I wait for people to get ack to me. I'm attempting to do my journalistic work, but it's tough. I'll admit, I got waaay behind schedule last week and am now paying for it, but I've made the right contacts, and hopefully I can hear back in a timely fashion. I've gotta stay optimistic about this; I often seem to get out of binds, but not witohut a deal of effort, which I am currently putting in.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

12 Noon: Nobody knows where your friends are

I'm a bit fatigued, man. I don't know if it's the switch from coffee to tea (or sometimes nothing.) I'm still drinking the same amount of Coke, too, so I guess that extra kick in the morning had some latent effect through the night. Interesting.

Or, maybe it was just too much activity during the day. I took advantage (maybe even abused the nice weather to the point of going all the way down town and sitting by the lake. My legs are still tired, but anyway.

I had to take this long-arse survey earlier. Maybe I didn't HAVE to, but I opted to, never having suspected exactly how long it would take. The topics sranged from my satisfaction with my college experience, to how I felt looknig at certain logos, to whether or not I felt same-sex couples deserved the same rights as straight married couples, and if I felt men had a natural superiority over women. Naturally, I put "Strongly disagree" to that last question.

The survey scatted all over a variety of topics, and seemed preoccupied with my opinion of the current state of the consumer marketplace and technology. I feel like, despite my young age, I'm already becoming some kind of miser who bitterly scorns society and stews in his crankiness day after day. It ain't healthy, but I blame society. It's already worn me out by this point in my life, I hate to think where I'll be in 20 years.

I made a remark to a friend earlier that I hate showy couples. Well, any single person would say that, and while she offered the perfunctory words of comfort, I felt lame for noting it to begin with. Still, when you go without for as long as I have... some snippiness ought to be expected. Let's leave it at that.

A joke explaining the name of the film "Waydowntown." Some businessmen work on a floor with floor-to-ceiling windows. One afternoon, one takes a jar of marbles and smashes the window open and jumps through it to his death. One of his co-workers turns to the other and says, "What's the difference between the 14 Bus and a jar of marbles?" He tells his co-worker the answer; "The bus takes you downtown, the jar of marbles takes you way downtown."

Keep on rockin
-Scott

11:00 AM: The trees always listen

So I'm contemplating my very small place in a very, very big world.

I've encountered some not unusual but very upsetting difficulties in arranging some of my upcoming stories. Setbacks are becoming more and more frequent on this internship and I feel like ass. Not AN ass, just, totally assed out. That's a slang expression I just invented. Firgure its meaning for yourself.

It's a shame I should feel so assy, too, because the weather has decided to become utterly gorgeous. For God's sake, I went out for ice cream today. I'm trying to enjoy it, but there is grief heavy on my head. My editor seems like an easy-going guy, but he could very well get annoying if I don't get my act together. Professional journalism ain't an easy racket.

But the big story is that I finally got my PC jazzed out. Not only will it no longer ever again forevermore freeze (knock on wood) but it also has Windows XP and all that that implies, not to mention about 150 Gigs more of space. Whee.

It's exciting, and believe me I'm glad, because this is long overdue, but, well, I've got that "end of an era" feeling. I mean, I've been frustrated with my computer for so long that I don't know what to do without that frustration. I just knew that after I return my Mac, I can't go on a computer that will always be freezing on me. Like I said, long overdue. It was a long process but not generally tumultuous. A few "Wait, is that bad?" moments that eventually cuminated in... hello, you've got a new computer.

Well, sort of. I've got a new computer and a huge new hard drive, but also my old hard drive, which has all my stuff on it, which has been accumulating for nearly a decade. That was the important thing, to maintain all my old junk, because I clutch all my old stuff like a monstrously-overfed packrat. You should see my closet, it's a mess.

Hopefully I can get my crap sorted out. There's always hope, I suppose.

Keep on rockin'
Scott

10:00 AM: I think so, and the voices agree

I'm kinda lost. Or I'm at a loss. Or I'm losing. Or I feel like a loser. Or something!

Today felt like a headache, I couldn't/didn't accomplish anything. It wasn't designed to be a day where I accomplish anything, but specifically today, the notion of accomplishing something seemed particularly unappealing. Every now and again I get to thinking about somthing and I flip out. Now, it's not as bad as the tie incident a few months ago (MAN that was a rough week!) but today was still pretty lame.

What helps is that it was a gorgeous day. Spring is in swing. Yeah, fuck "spring has sprung," that metaphor is played-out. I finally got to wear my jacket around without a hoodie underneath. That feels like an accomplishment (but don't get confused - it's not.) I also delivered the papers for the final time today. It was indeed the end of an era. Of course, marking the end of this era was the fact that the paper had 4 extra pages this week, which, in bundles of 100 papers, adds up.

With the proper school year ending and the internship drawing nearer and nearer its close, I've got a lotta crap to take care of. Y'know, I missed the opportunity for grad photos, which my dad will probably not be happy about, but ohh well. For the record, I was never given my high school graduation photos and that was annoying, so that's the explanation for that. I seem to have a problem of not getting things that are supposed to be delivered to me.

Speaking of which, I got some new CD's to review for Scene and Heard. I haven't opened the envelope yet. I guess they'll be my last assignment as they're due a few days after my other articles, which are ultimately the source of my anxiety. Them, and my need for getting my evaluation done despite not having ever met my editor in person, and being unsure if he has a fax machine or anything. But, well, I'll come through. I always seem to. That's kinda what makes me sorta a former child prodigy.

I'm far too easily amused. Ever since I found lut how to use Garage Band like Acid Pro, I've been, uh... playing around. The results are among the more asinine ventures I've ever spent time on. Seriously. I'm not proud of this, and yet I make myself laugh.

I need to get my computer - my REAL computer, my PC - fixed. I have to return the Mac on Wednesday, and I've been using it a lot since my real computer freezes so uncontrollably. I can't trust it anymore. This has been the way for like a year, with fluctuating intensity

Oh, and that Sanjaya kid finally got booted from American Idol. I hate myself for even paying attention, but in this increasingly-distractable society, how can you avoid it?

And well, anyway, I'm out for tonight. Not a great entry, but hey, when you write as many of these damn things, most of them are bound to suck.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

9:00 AM: The scream of nature

It's a great big world out there, full of violence. Allow me, if I may, to take you on a lengthy monologue.

33 young people are undeservingly dead at the campus of Virginia Tech this week and everyone wants to know why. Well I can't give a satisfactory answer, nobody can. There are three levels. The top level is that one nutty Asian weirdo finally snapped and pulled out a glock. The bottom level is that society, sometimes, breeds monsters beyond redemption. The middle is tricky, but I'd suggest that there is a dark side of existence that often manifests itself in this way. Not just in society, but in nature. This is the terrifying and awesome balance of the world.

For in the very same 48-hour span, halfway around the world, 183 people have been killed in a series of bombings in Iraq, the deadliest day in that country since the beginning of the ironically-named "Operation Law and Order" two months ago. Perhaps they ought to mount "Operation Special Victims Unit."

60 years ago today, the British Royal Army detonated 6800 tonnes of explosives in a (seemingly pointless) attempt to destroy the island of Heligoland off of Germany. (Note: At some places, Wikipedia erroneously says it was Cuba, but that doesn't make sense. Een so, I still love Wikipedia.) It was the single largest non-nuclear detonated explosion in human history.

The largest manmade (non-nuclear) explosion recorded was in fact the collision in Halifax Harbour 29.5 years prior to that, which strangely enough involved a mere 2,653 tonnes of explosives; proving once again that it's not what you have, but how you use it (an argument that may be made to those wondering how that psycho could kill so many people with mere handguns.)

I can't say for certain what the largest explosion of all time is, but for my money it would be Krakatoa. For those unaware, Krakatoa was an island in Indonesia that was a hyperactive volcano. Basically, one day in August 1883, it just went off; blam. The explosion could be heard as far away as Perth, Australia and the Mauritius islands (which were across 3000 miles of Indian Ocean.) The shockwaves circled the Earth 7 times (I have no idea what that means.) The eruption had global cataclysmic effects, and when I say global, I bloody well mean it; sea waves heaved from the force as far away as the English channel (across an entire effing continent.) For weeks, months, years afterward, the sky glowed a spectacular red at sunset. Edvard Munch's famous painting, The Scream, is believed to be inspired by the event. To quote the painter, "Suddenly the sky turned blood red ... I stood there shaking with fear and felt an endless scream passing through nature." And he lived in Norway at the time.

The explosion is calculated to be the equivalent of 200 Megatons of TNT, which is 13000 times the yield of Little Boy, the nuke that fell on Hiroshima. That ain't a typo, kids. Thirteen thousand times the force of an atomic bomb. And it was natural.

For some reason, learning all this has brought me to a very measured, very humble frame of mind. I no longer, for now, search for meaning in the depths of the soul of dark deeds, for I cannot even find it in nature. But even that most devastating event passed and left us to be on our way, to continue to live and breathe and thrive. All things, indeed, do pass.

We must find solace wherever we can, I suppose.

Besides, it was not a very interesting day. I handed in my one article, and asked for an extension on the other because my interviewee was detoxing. Go fig. (I've actually been relating that anecdote to everyone I can over the last week, to varying degrees of listener-amusement.)

Keep on rockin
-Always Scotto

8:00 AM: The sound of her wings

I should drink more tea.

It's fairly obvious that in recent weeks/months I've basically become a caffeine addict. Out of sheer compulsion every morning I fetch myself either a Tim's 2x2 or a Second Cup.... ("pour yer own damn sugar and cream?") Anyway, recently I've been feeling fairly crappy and I thought, hm, maybe the caffeine is to blame. I mean, I've been tossing and turning all night, not getting a full night's sleep most nights for weeks, and my stomach has been churning in and out on itself. Plus I've been getting these mysterious chest pains, and well, that ain't cool.

But nobody's ever said anything unhealthy about a nice cup of tea. Sure, my dentists have tried to warn me off the iced variety, saying it's just as bad as pop for sugar, but this is real honest-to-goodness hot tea. The trick, I think, will be in keeping to this regiment, as tea is naturally less addictive than coffee. But my determination to break free of the scalding-hot grip of the wicked bean is strong.

After all, now that I'm in bed until like 9, I don't need it to wake up in the mornings and endure Sal's gaurrulous lecutres on copyediting.

I mentioned dentists... I've got my 6-month appointment coming up early next month. I should start flossing. the truth of the matter is I have improbably good teeth for my dietary habits, owing to my fanatic brushing. But I know I've got to be vigilant - I can't slip up now and let the dentist tell me "Well Scott you've got a mouthful of cavities here." The last time, all he told me was I needed to floss. Of course, I abhor flossing, but I know it's necessary. So I subject myself to it for a few weeks a year just to get my dentist of my case, and go back to my regular excessive pop-drinking thereafter.

The world would be a terribly boring place if dentists had their way with everything.

For some reason, I think it's important that people who were my friends in grade school see Facebook photos of me with pretty girls (even if I did not in actuality seduce them.) Don't ask why, there's no real logical reason, other than I was a nebbish in the extreme between grades 6 and... let's say 11 1/2. By comparison I seem like a totally different entity, and I like the opportunity to make that known. As you might've guess by now, I'm mostly insane and quite shallow all things considered.

I say this because my old friend, Rohan, recently found me on facebook, and we were always very good buddies, so I don't truly feel the need to impress him. And yet... well, he's about a trillion times smarter than I am, from an affluent and altogether successful family, and attending a prestigious school. So need I say that my paltry accomplishments seem utterly dwarfish by comparison. the years, it seems, have been quite kind to him, since moving the the sunny coasts of Califor-nye-aye shortly after Grade 8. My solace is in the fact that I've improved my station in life far beyond what could ever have reasonably been expected of me (not that peoples' expectations of me are always altogether reasonable... for some reason I have this ill-deserved reputation for being capable and full of potential. What a load.)

I'm watching Half-Past Eight PM, YouTube style. and while I've learned a considerable amount since its creation (shot set-ups and editing, for a few,) I still think it stands up, based on the strengths of the performances. Aside from myself, there's not a bad performance in the whole damn affair and I'm proud of that. Neabel in particular, hits a home run on her worst lines, and a grand slam on her best. I can't praise that effing cast enough.

Yesterday was my big journalism day. I did a whole bunch of interviews and today now is article-writing day; maybe, if I get around to it and stop putting it off. I'm a little screwed for one of my articles, but that's nothing new I suppose. Maybe now I'm getting cocky, which is bad. I should chill out.

It was a weird day, too, because as everyone knows by this point it was the Virginia Tech massacre. And it's very sad, and the flags are at half-staff today, but I'm not going to lie, I'm horribly, horribly de-sensitized, both from being brought up in the 90's/00's, and from being numbed as part of my initiation into the media. I'm not so new that I'm wide-eyed and capable of feeling horror, and I'm not so experienced that it's ground me into nothing by this point. I'm right in that plucky middle part where it's just another atrocity. And yeah, that's bad, but men of the 21st century have a habit of seeing how much they can stomach. We're a sick bunch, truthfully.

Well I guess that's where I'm going to have to leave off for today. I've got some business to take care of.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotot

7:00 AM: I haven't had a dream in such a long time

So I was bummed out and bored last night. Eventually I wound up going out, playing Wii and watching Big Lebowski until like 2:30 in the morning.

It's good for the soul, y'know, to be able to get out of the house every now and again and chill out. You can't inhabit the same little nook for your entire life. And it's good to chill out with people you haven't seen in a while, and catch up. Most of my non-Sheridan friends I haven't seen since their February reading week or sometimes prior. Soon their exams will be done, it will be summer, and lord who knows where it goes from there.

As for those friends I have made since being at Sheridan, well, we're scattered. Obviously the placements don't help that, but to begin with most of them live outside of Oakville, so I'm not so likely to run into them soon. Amanda, Khadija and I had a meeting on Friday to talk about Amanda's magazine. I realized exactly how much pressure is on me with that project, since as editor/publisher/whatever, Amanda can't really focus on the content. That's where I come in. And, to be sure, many of our classmates will be pitching in, but who knows.

Not that we're all scattered to the four winds... this is the generation of MSN and Facebook, after all.

Today was one of those "lazy Sundays" you sometimes hear about. After last night, I slept until about noon and then went out for lunch. I've remained mostly stationary all day. I ran into Andrew at A&W, as I ordered not long before he happened to be taking his lunchbreak, so we chilled for a bit. Andrew and I have always gotten along but never really hung out that much. But anyway we're cool, we chatted a bit and caught up.

Anyway, I've got this assignment due for my memoir-class. It's ill-defined and I ain't given it much thought but it's due at midnight so I should probably get working on it.

So keep on rockin'
Scott

6:00 AM: It can happen anywhere

I haven't been around in a while. While I've been experiencing a creative explosion in seemingly every other medium in which I dabble, the blog appears to have suffered.

I'd say that's appropriate. My life has settled to a sedimentary bedrock of tedium. I haven't formed a valid opinion on anything or made any amusing observations in seemingly weeks. I have, quite simply, been going through a phase of blogging-block. It happens.

I mean, it's nothing to get too concerned about. Obviously I'd rather be able to keep everyone deeply abreast of my every move, but there's simply nothing to report. No strange dreams. No upsetting anecdotes. No romantic liasons. Just doing my job as a reporter, doing interviews, etc and whatnot. It's hard getting ahold of people sometimes. I had to get this one guy, an expert in light pollution at U of T's David Dunlop Observatory, but he was apparently, um, detoxing off some medication. That was amusing.

I mean, today was another boring day, more chilly weather, more nothing. At least I got to wear my jacket outside. Damn do I love wearing that thing.

As I said earlier, I've done a bit more writing, when possible. I mean, I was walking home the other day and I got some ideas, so I jotted 'em down. And I finished writing a story on which I got some really good feedback. And we've got the ball rolling on a few Redneck projects, including a long-dormant half-done comic I really oughtta get to finishing. So we've got the creative sphere around here and that's cool.

But anyhow... hmph. Despite all this I've got myself feeling like I'm in a rut. Then again, I've sorta been in one for like a year, year and a half maybe... or more. Shit, my life is dull. I wonder why anyone would even read this thing.

Pity the man whose life is boring such that he would seek the excitement of SWP.

Beh, man, I gotta get it together. There's a whole world out there, and I ain't livin' in it.

Well, hopefully you can keep on rockin'
Scott

5:00 AM: I almost bought those shoes in blue

This post's title courtesy of an obscure Grade 9 Drama memory.

I'd say "it's been a weird couple of days," but I suppose it has in fact been a weird life recently and I don't expect it to change.

Strange things happen to your mind when you go into isolation. Not that I'm meditating in a solitary temple somewhere in the Himalayas, but my general social interaction has obviously lessened these past few weeks.

No man is an island, we all need somebody to lean on, etc, etc. I find myself more often than not in my own head, y'know? Just kinda... spaced.

I have this friend, I guess you could call her. Well, I DO call her that, but it's an unusual relationship. We met a few years ago back when I had an MSN profile and would occasionally be sought out by fast-living girls looking to make polite platonic conversation with a decent-seeming guy. Nicole here has been the only one I keep in contact with, being as she periodically messages me to let me know what's going on with her life and see how I'm doing. Given that the circumstances of my life have only superficially changed in the past three years-or-so, we most often talk about her life, her boyfriend, and her seemingly never-ending supply of woes.

I don't know where the notion came from that I am a sympathetic cat. I do my best to say nice things but I'm overall not all that compassionate. I can be an ear to hang on, sure, but I won't be able to talk most people through their life troubles, because I tend to take a wider perspective on things. Now, you can't outright tell a teenage girl that all the problems she has, no matter how tragic-seeming, will someday seem utterly trivial. That's something she has to learn for herself. Unfortunately, there's not much I can do to remedy her problems either. She tells me, you know, what mean things people say about her/to her face, she gives me the impression of what she suspects of her boyfriend (that he's cheating with her other friend, or something,) she relates how people spread rumours. Nothing tragic, usual high school melodramatics (she's a year-or-two younger than me.) But she's very hung up in them in that high school way, in that same way I used to be many years ago and occasionally still am.

Me, I try to be supportive, because she's a nice girl and I value our friendship somewhat, but my ear is all I have to give. I mean, if she's looking for advice, I think she's got the wrong idea about me. The only thing I know is that I know nothing. And whatever advice I do offer will normally be met with indifference because, hey, I don't have a lot to give.

Thanks to the miracle of Facebook, I've started the process of catching up with my gradeschool best friend Drew. He was a cool guy, but our friendship was cut off because I was in the process of becoming a loner/computer geek and he was, y'know, party-guy jock. But I think we made a good team back in Grade 5.

I went back to River Oaks, actually, yesterday. I was picking up some comics and, taking the White Oaks bus back, decided to stop by the old neighbourhood. If I'd known I was going to take that detour, I probably would have taken the 19 River Oaks bus that goes directly by the school, but yeah, it was an impulse. Sort of, also, the desire to stay outside in my new jacket (with a hoodie underneath, it was actually quite chilly yesterday.) But mostly it was because of some dreadful news I'd heard that someone had littered the playground with razor blades. I actually didn't recognize the park when I saw it on the news and had to deduce from the repeated references to "Munn's Park" and "this public school" (River Oaks was shown) that it was, in fact, the park where I spent much of my youth. So I went by, observed how different/smaller everything seemed, and walked home.

I've done more reporter-work in the past few days than I did in my first year at the Sheridan Sun. Not that I've done a lot of writing per se, but I spent yesterday attempting to arrange interviews and get sources, etc. Working for the internship has kinda-sorta lit a fire under me as to what I can and am willing to do for stories, including be an actual journalist. In the meantime I've become a fixture in the back of the newsroom, chilling out, making conversation with the few first-years I know and also Alison, the woman who helps with the layout/e-mails a few days a week. I'd been meaning to break the ice with her for a while and it finally happened and we've made conversation.

It's not a bad life... just a weird one.

But whose isn't?

Keep on rockin'
-Yr Scotto

4:00 AM: Suddenly I am out of place

While in North Bay, I saw a jacket on sale.

We were in Sears, at the North Gate mall (among the few noteworthy locales in the town) trying on clothes for laughs. We'd come to the Sears entrance because it was the closest to our parking spot and Eric, Brandon and I were wandering around, gawking at amusing clothes (loud shirts, short shorts, etc) when I pulled it off the rack. "How about this?"

Apparently, it actully looked pretty good. I don't even usually buy clothes for myself. Most of my shirts are gifts. I couldn't even tell you how I got my current jacket. The only garments I wear that I actually chose are my shoes (which I have grown to dislike over the winter - they've run their course, pun not intended,) and my glasses, which also need replacing very soon. But I liked this jacket. But at that moment I suddenly got my usual "Bleh I don't want to buy this" sensation. It wasn't the cost, the price was more than reasonably marked down. It wasn't the fit, because it fit as well as any jacket could be expected. I just didn't think at that time that I wanted to buy it.

Flash forward two days and one very long car ride later. After last night's pleasant easter dinner where baby Ali (my apparently-Muslim cousin) proclaimed repeatedly her love for purple, this morning I decided to take the day to relax and take a soft approach to my work - that being to not do it. I mean, that's the luxury of not having an office to go to, that nobody seems to notice or care when you're not there. Instead, I met Amanda for coffee and hung out for the first time in like a week (since the big "Print Journalism let's get drunk + goodbye" two fridays ago.) That was when we wandered into Sears and I found the very same jacket at the very same low, low price.

So I made my first garment purchase in a very long time, and I look damn snazzy in it. Now, the problem is I won't be able to legitimately wear it out in public for a while yet. I need for it to be like 10 degrees at least, preferably somewhere in the teens for this jacket to work. Or I could, like, wear a sweater under it, but that hampers the coolness I think.

So I wrote the ending of my book. I'm not done writing it, not even really close, but a while back I got the hankering and decided I had to write the last bit. I mean, it's a collection of interlaced short stories, so I don't need to write them in order (although for the most part I have.) So I wrote the last one, and aside from a few tangled up sequences, I think it's among the best things I've yet written. Not that the book will ever see publication (if I know anything about the world of publishing - which I don't really, admittedly, - this book is the last thing they want,) but I think it'll do damn well on Lulu.com which will probably also someday become home to the Redneck Comics library. But anyway, it's looking good, strong, clocking in at something like 40,000 words and missing like a third or more (so let's say it'll be something like 60-75,000 words in the end.) I say "I'm gonna write this" a lot, but this I've actually been sticking to for a year and a half now, getting good results, and putting out good work. Screw you, I'm proud of my minor accomplishments.

Meanwhile, I've got assignments waiting for me, both from Scene and Heard and GeekGirls (obviously the former is my priority.) Tomorrow I get down to brass tacks and tap into some of that journalistic education I've been paying for.

The Colbert Report is like an awesome kids show for adults. You've got the host, playing an elaborate character for his fans, speaking to his viewers in a unifying voice, doing regular bits and using familiar symbols from our culture for comedy. That may explain the appeal... he's like Fred Penner for the over-18 set. And that's awesome.

Keep on rockin'
Scott

3:00 AM: Kiss him goodbye

So here I am, at nearly midnight, hammering away hunched over my laptop sitting in a chilly basement in North Bay, Ontario, where I have often mused to myself, the world begins to end.

Well, I don't know about that, per se, but it's not exactly home sweet home. This great white north is in a number of ways a shade or two different from my neck of the woods (I'm not even sure how the woods have necks.) Nowhere is that more clear than in the conversations of my dad and his brother. Uncle Alan is thoroughly modern; he owns a huge TV, listens to Michael Bublé, etc whatever else... Dad doesn't watch TV, listens primarily to classic rock... but these are only the superficial differences. They do not even appear to have been raised the same. Grandad sits literally and figuratively in the middle, taking my dad's method of thinking to some of uncle Alan's perspectives. The world is a weird place.

Me, I'm just trying to remain conscious. Something about this part of the world saps the energy out of me. It could be the 5 hour drive up, but that would hardly explain how the drowsiness lingers throughout the second day and until the third, nor how I'm able to be upbeat usually when returning home. It's probably just the traveling, the change of scenery.

Meanwhile, in what would be considered a subplot in this episode of my life, mom and Tim are no doubt at home renovating the basement bathroom and having stupendous misadventures at it... being that Tim's repeated attempts at fixing out leaky hot water tap have met with little yield, and they intend on re-tiling the floor too. Well, we'll see, I guess.

I'm starting up an idea log for potential column topics for Amanda's magazine. I keep getting these ideas when I'm walking around thinking about nothing in particular, and it's important to me that I don't lose them. The thing is it's important to keep it on the theme of "Geek Girls" (emphasis on the former rather than latter) and not stray to far in what my definition of "Geek" is.

Beyond the column, I've been trying to come up with feature article ideas. Neither of us is sure how payment is going to work on that (is it part of the contract? Do I get paid by the word? I should ask Nathan.) I've got a few, and, in keeping with the notion of Amanda adapting this from a school project, I'll probably be submitting her an adaptation of my long feature article for her first issue (but editing it so that it doesn't talk down to readers, as well as adding in Melissa W.'s editorial suggestions.)

But anyway I'll be taking care of that soon enough, in between my currently-higher-priority Scene and Heard articles. Also I've got a major overhaul for one of my short stories (yeah, I'm still trying that whole "creative writer" thing. Who knows?) It's going to be a busy week -- as opposed to, say, last week, when my summary submitted to Mary Lynn consisted primarily of what I did the week before.

THAT was a busy week.

For now, courage.

Keep on rockin'
Scotto

2:00 AM: You can't go backwards

...which is the primary way life is like Mario Bros.

I got in, an hour or so ago, from a bowl-off, my second in two weeks. Last week it was because I intended to go drinking on Friday night (which I did, and had more fun than could reasonably be expected) and needed Saturday morning to sleep in (which I did, and it was awesome.) This week is the more family-oriented reason of it being Easter and my, as per tradition, going on a road trip up North to the Bay-upon-North.

I did great, by the way, with a 148, 191 and 170; really great scores. But given the intensity of the bowl-off, my fingers are a bit tired... yet I'll be typing anyway. I'm weird like that.

I was in the car with dad on the way over, and we got to talking. We don't normally talk about very serious issues, normally because when we do talk, there's not much in the way of serious issues to discuss. I lead an exceedingly uncontroversial life (which is probably what's keeping this blog just that notch below interesting.) And when something tricky does come up, I have this deflective way about me.

Dad had, prior to picking me up, been at the hospital, where Deb's sister was in stable condition after downing a bunch of pills. She suffers depression, which I could tell from the handful of times I'd met her. She has a number of troubles, not the least of which is her home life, which Dad described in detail. To go into this subject was a little surreal. Myself, I was mildly annoyed the last time I encountered her, her being there was awkward to me and she was obviously depressed (and being just a little shallow, this compounded my annoyance.) Despite this, I obviously never wished harm on the woman, and the break she's got in life is a bad one.

I don't have any hard and fast beliefs about depression and suicide. I don't think that's the kind of thing you can write off without looking like a total and complete asshole, sticking your foot right down your own esophagus someday. Every time I think I have an opinion, circumstances change and I have to reconsider. "Maybe it's not so universal. Maybe there is a difference."

All I can do, for my part, is to listen and be sensitive and whatnot.

Today was probably the hardest day yet as far as being an internship guy goes. As the week goes on, it becomes more and more apparent that I have nothing to do, and to onlookers it looks like I haven't got an internship at all maybe. So I've had to explain, over and and over, that my internship doesn't have an office, so I'm using the newsroom. Nathan understood perfectly (most people do.) The woman who comes in and does edits on the paper asked if I was a first year. Maybe I should strike up a conversation with her sometime, seem a little less awkward. In any case I just want to be approachable, not isolated... without being to.... pushy? Desperate? Well, these are desperate times anyway.

I'll probably show up less and less as time goes on. I've already been showing up later and later. After a few weeks, who knows?

Well, I do know that it's damned near impossible for me to get any work done around here. Too many distractions. I need a reason to get out of bed in the morning (which explains why, during summertime, I become a total coffee addict... despite the fact that, damn, it gets hot out.) Leaving the house is that reason. Besides, it's only a few weeks.

Then who knows?

Life's uncertain like that.

And I dig it, man.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

1:00 AM: She's taking a walk with Carlos

Life is about to get a whole lot more boring for yours truly, which is the opposite of what, a few months ago, I'd have figured the case to be; to go on an internship, have new adventures and enter a new world.

Today's theme is loneliness, and I don't necessarily mean that in the typical "blahh life sucks" sense, because all things considered (and there is a lot I'm considering,) I'm in a good place. However, this being SWP, there will be a sufficient amount of that, so longtime fans need not fear.

If anyone should fear, it's me, for thinking I have people that could be considered "fans." That would be insane.

But loneliness is something that inevitably we cannot escape, jsut as we cannot escape society altogether. They are always in flux, they each balance the other. I'm sitting in the newsroom (where I imagine I'll be writing from in greater amounts than I had previously,) and I just got back from the cafe, and for the first time perhaps since the first semester of last year, I found myself, amongst the throng of dining college students, utterly alone. And that's scary.

Although I am unfortunately aware that I will probably never see any of my classmate friends, at least certainly not in the foreseeable future, I don't feel that way in my gut. The evidence I have suggests that we're all moving on now, and yet, as I ponder on it, I can't help but think I haven't heard the last of these people. The two perspectives are fighting in my brain, one trying to overcome the other. I thought I could explain it, but as my constant deletion and rephrasing of this paragraph seems to indicate, I cannot. I am left wanting for words to properly express myself. I doubt it'll get any easier. It's going to be a weird month.

There was no negative reaction to my debut internship articles, which is something I had feared. I mean, I don't know. I'm confident yet insecure, like maybe I write well for teachers and yet in the context of legitimate magazine-type publications, it seems like amateur stuff. Maybe. Apparently not; all my editor said was that he'd have more assignments soon, which I guess means thumbs up. They're not on the site yet and I have absolutely no idea when they'll be there, possibly because he told me and I didn't commit it to memory; possibly because he didn't. I'm not sure that I'm going to get enough assignments to legitimately pass 140 hours, but I'll make it anyhow. So far, so good.

My brother has told me recently of his exploits on dating sites like Plenty of Fish and others. It seems like a lot of women have been adding him on MSN and having, I guess, pleasant conversations with him. I don't know. Real lightweight grade 9 stuff it seems like, no serious hook-ups. One girl (whom he described as, among other things, fat and possibly dumb,) got really indignant with him, saying he was boring, that his friends were probably all clones of him, and he probably got all his clothes at American Eagle. That was a laugh; my brothers and I all share a trait that we're far from trendy, and yet don't go in for that revolution-by-numbers bullshit either. This girl, probably from the latter, was accusing him of being the former. He's never even stepped foot in American Eagle, his friends are eclectic weirdos, and he knows enough to know that this girl obviously doesn't have a lot going on. It's really telling about society that this is kinda rampant, and that this girl could conceivably start talking to him (based on his profile,) expect him to entertaintain her, and get offended when he doesn't.

I dont know about those sites. I went to Craig's List once, idly checking out the "hook-ups" section or whatever it was called. There are a lot o middle-aged women (often self-described as "BBW" or "Big Beautiful Woman" or in actuality "Fat Horny Lady") looking for young black men, I know that much. I didn't see too many ads for young petite women seeking "Shy yet charismatic scrawny geek-type with soulful blue eyes." When women imagine their ideal hook-up, they don't imagine me, is what I'm saying. Not that I could handle the pressure anyway. Who needs the aggrivation?

I don't know. Every now and again I think of that type of place, but if I may quote a very lovely song penned by Jack White, "I'm lonely, but I ain't that lonely yet."

It's supposed to snow later this week, which is depressing also, because I think Spring really had a premature ejaculation last week before just sputtering back into cold bullshit weather. I bought a new umbrella yesterday to replace the one I lost. It's nearly identical, but it's black and, not being a decade old, doesn't have so much rust keeping it from opening. It was cheap, too, the Bay was having a scratch and save deal, so I got 30% off, so it came to like $7. I don't know, I'm running out of money. Need to get a job, I suppose. A real one.

Maybe I'll write more soon. Not for money, necessarily (although if Amanda's magazine hits big I'll surely be rolling,) but as usual for love and entertainment and boredom. I mentioned sometime last week that I wanted to write a "Howl," and that night I started on it. A huge piece in three parts, or acts, with different lyrical themes and contents. It's ambitious in a way, but in another way, simple and therapeutic. I wrote the first act that night, and like Ginsberg with part one of Howl, just crafted an impossibly long sentence, with no regard whatsoever for grammar or syntax, to get it out. I wrote the second part on this past weekend. I had been reading Shelley and Coloridge and I wanted something that sounded like that. There's too much free verse out there. I have a great admiration for Coloridge's Kubla Khan. Not that what I've written is anything like as good, but that's just kinda what I was going for.

I should not be sitting around the newsroom typing up my every misery. But I needed to get out and feel like I was somewhere doing something.

Mhmmm... it's going to be a long, quiet month. I'm going to go insane.

That should be fun.

Keep on rockin'
Same ole Scott