Chapter 21: You can't have this forever

Erg, what an annoying fucking day.

I just spent an hour or so typing up a rant for Interneta, one I've been eager to do for a while. I wa about halfway through when, perhaps even just on instinct, I hit ctrl+s. I was typing it in Frontpage at the time, as I do most of my Interneta articles, and for some reason, it decided it was going to have an error. Fuck! Motherfucker! You know, when I get ranting, I don't like to get interrupted or else I may never start up again! Shit, I had all these thoughts all intangible in y head, and if I make them solid... ocne they're gone who knows if they can come back again?

Admittedly, it shouldn't be too hard to replicate. I was writing about a CD I was listening to at the time, so theoretically all I need do is listen to the CD again and get inspired to re-write what I had. But it's motivation, becuase hell, I put in the time, I sat and listened... I can't just go back and say, "well, let's start over." No, it's more like, "Well, let's move on... and if I feel like it, I'll go back to it." and since I do most certainly want this rant up there for the near future, then shit man, it'll probably happen. But I'm gonna go to bed tonight feeling like half-a-fuck. and Frontpage very rarely fgives me that, thus adding to my dissatisfaction. One of those freak fuckin' things.

Today was a kind of a shitty day in general, not to be too pessimistic. I set out for comics. It started raining, albeit not all that badly or for all that long. But by the time it was over, suddenly, fumes had carried up into the air to carry irritants aplenty into my fucking sinuses... allergies. Seemingly, the entire world's population decided today was the day to mow one's lawn, and thus, the atmosphere is now about 90% grass clippings. So yeah, for a few hours today, it sucked to be me. I felt backward. I was knocked loopy, sneezing my fuckin' brains out, snorting left and right, eyes sealed shut by their own itchy red irritation, head clogged by mucuous... finally, I relented and bought some Reactine to save my soul. That stuff is the messiah's tit-milk as far as I'm concerned. Yes, I had to invent a new down-home expression to describe how I felt after taking an allergy pill. In retrospect, maybe they shouldn't have taken me off the allergy shots all those years ago, but what's done, it's done.

Tomorrow, I'll do something. I think my psyche is telling me it's time to shake it out and get in gear, asshole. Yes, according to my very own psyche, I'm an asshole... quite harsh indeed.

Our worlds are rapidly shrinking, and us along with them.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 20: I won't run for my life

Hail Williams.

This post's title from a song by Third Eye Blind. I recently found my copy of Big Shiny Tunes 2, which I think is a fascinating record, and intend to write an article for Interneta shortly (tomorrow perhaps) commemorating.

The past couple days have been fairly blurry. There's still much that is unknown, not that I am no longer taking the hopelessness of my future for granted. Where will I live? What will I do? Who knows? But like any average person, I think I'm gonna be okay (although I'd hardly consider myself "average.")

Had a weird delrious dream last night. It involved going to this function, a party, with my brother... but it turned out to be a last-minute birthday for Steph G., whom I hadn't even seen or talked to in about a year. My brother and I had to go scramble to get a last-minute birthday gift for her. This fizzled into a new dream about having to go to a meeting in the city at the same time as a job interview, missing the interview to go to the meeting, and then finding that the meeting (the meaning of which had been top secret) had been cancelled. I'm always rushing in my dreams.

My watch ran out of batteries, which is fine since it's needed a new strap for a long time. So we went down to Times Square, the watch place, to replace them both, and wouldn't you know it... they've moved, and nobody knows where. Couldn't find them at 411.ca either. So it looks like I'm going without for now.

I'll admit, this is probably the lamest entry I've written in months. But I'm tired and they can't all be gems.

Better to quit while I'm behind

Keep on rockin'
Scott

Chapter 19: Keep no cakes

Been updating Redneck Comics all day. Been very busy. Still no work. Must keep from going insane.

But did you ever hav eone of those days that didn't turn out quite like you imagined when you got up? I'm not saying everyone has their day mapped out when they wake up every day, but, you know, you wake up and think, "Ugh, another day of... etc." I'm like that a lot, given my circumstances.

Yesterday morning, monday, the craziness of the weekend supposedly behind me, I awoke groggily from sleep at around 6. I tossed and turned and tried to reclaim my sleep, but I could not, for a few reasons. One was that the bug of inspiration had seized me and was growing in my mind. Another was that I had gotten somewhat sick and now had to go to the toilet. Thirdly, once I returned, I had crossed the threshhold of waking. So, many hours before I usually do, I got up and went for a walk, which is generally what I do in the mornings.

In my head I wove together a little story I'd been toying with, so that it was now virtually complete, or at least gone from intangible to "Okay this is how it goes." I had to write it down, and had indeed planned to spend the morning writing it. But priorities came in, and I decided to finish drawing the latest comic for Redneck after about a year of development (our longest hiatus, not coincidentally, since we said we would after Adventures of Sewerman #10.) So that will be appearing online before the end of June, I imagine (I'm working with different software now, since I changed my computer, but it shouldn't have mcu hof an effect.)

After that, Brando comes out to talk about stuff. He was set to go to RAW that night in Toronto with his friend Graeme, but Graeme's wife kinda... went into labour. So there was a free ticket up, and since there were three, Graeme's friend didn't want to go either. so there were two tickets available. And over the course of the day, it became known that the tickets would be all taken care of, no worries about pay, if Eric and I wanted them. So we changed our night from sitting on our asses to going to Toronto and seeing wrestling.

But the real, real big news came mid-afternoon after I got in from a bike ride. I've been riding my bike a lot, it gives me time to listen to my iPod, and also get away from the people I live with. I usually do it in the afternoons, after lunch and watching Degrassi: TNG. So sometimes I come back and there's mail for me. Not often, mind you, and mostly it'd be a bank statement or OSAP stuff, but in this case, it was a large white envelope clearly labelled, "University of Toronto."

For months now, people have been asking. "Heard anything? Any idea what you're doing next year? Tell us what the future is, Scotto!" And I didn't know. I had no clue. In reality the plan had been to fall out of society and bound, or something, until I basically decided, okay, let's apply for University, get myself a Bachelor's or something, and occupy my time for another few years. And basically, yesterday, the word came in... I'm fucked. Suddenly, I have a future to worry about, and it's going to take place at University.

I loved Sheridan, but I'm so much younger than most of my fellow Journalism people that I really had no choice but to continue my education. The benefit of this is that I can get transfer credits and maybe shortcut through a year or so. As far as living arrangements... well, we'll see about that. But...

Pressing matters for yesterday evening. After the round of "Hey guess what?" family phone calls, and the obligitory allusion on Facebook, we three had to head out to the GO station, where we very promptly missed the train into Union and had to sit around for 40 minutes.

On the train, all around us were fellow RAW-goers talking up the show and the history they knew. I find it hard to be in proximity when people talk wrestling, because I always want to jump in, but doing so would not make me feel cool. So I just bite my lip and shrug. On with the evening.

We arrived at Union with plenty of time, but I learned a little something... rush hour at Union Station is not fun, no sir. and I'd have to say that that very night would serve as my best example of why I should not live at home and commute.

The show itself was very little to write home about. We had excellent seats facing the entrance in the lower level, there was a pretty vocal crowd and some good wrestling. Of course, after the UWA show on Friday, there's a noticeable difference not only in the in-ring work, but the crowd psychology as far as pure wrestling and sports entertainment.

Very tiredly, we grabbed a little nosh at Union (we had also previously eaten there,) and then boarded the train home with about 4000 other wrestling fans.

Today, I finally wrote out that thing that was bugging me all morning yesterday, and more of the usual. There's a cliche about my generation, that we emerge only every so often to look for work, and if we don't see it coming down the road, we go back to hide. That's not true for most people, although it's a stereotype I rather comfortably inhabit. It's not that I lack enthusiasm, it's that there's nothing to get enthusiasm about. I will not, not, not do food service. My options aren't exactly unlimited by this, as well as factors like geography. But I won't blame it on the world, because hey, it's me, it truly is, and I accept that and am trying to help it. Sometimes, the world don't want us to succeed. Then again, I have at least a few years of future on me, so there we go.

Pass me the vial and cross your fingers that it don't take time...

In other words, keep on rockin
-Scott

Chapter 18: I've been taken for lost and gone and unknown for a long, long time

The fever has broken.

Maybe it's just me, but there are times whne I feel like I've got a weight on my shoulders, in terms of creativity. There'll just be something in my head I feel I've got to say but I can't rest until I do. I think I finally unlocked it today and suddenly I feel much more upbeat and eager to try creating new things. Eric and I have been working slowly on a new Sewerman series, so that will be started soon.

I feel funny again - not just like somebody trying to imitate depth, or insightfulness, but you know, jovial. That was the thing I finally broke through. I was trying to write something very deep and meaningful but also tight and creative. After numerous, numerous attempts, I hit it and can finally move on to lighter pursuits.

I'm going to be drawing tonight (it's already late but I'm kinda wired and need not go to bed at an hour reasonable anyhow,) because I have another comic - which has sat incomplete now for nearly a year, but is nearing its end. It's amazing and kinda sad that we went all of 2006 with no Redneck Comics at all.

Tonight's been good... there was a crisp damp humidity in the air, a waxing moon and a few stars out. We did the family birthday thing today. I entertained the kids a lot, (although Madison could use her uncle around to help her cultivate a sense of humour) and received many, many more shirts than I know what to do with... well, I'll probably, y'know, wear them.

Hope you're now down out there. It's a good night to be up.

Keep on rockin
-Scotto

Chapter 17: Dropping in from above

So it's been a very full couple of days. Every time I have a birthday in recent years (every year or so, it seems,) it never fails to surprise me that somehow, I muster up enough friendship that someone will step up.

This year, it was Amanda Judd, my very good friend from school, whom I haven't seen since the last week of internship. The way it stacks up is that I'm basically her only friend from Sheridan who lives in Oakville (and, unless you count a few tenuous connections, reverse is likewise.) And since we haven't seen one another in weeks, she figured it was time for something big, even though generally speaking, my enthusiasm for life had been down that week.

So after a brief discussion, it somehow was agreed that we'd go to the ROM. The last time I'd been - documented in a very early post in this blog - was essentially three years ago to the month, during a very messily-organized Grade 11 Ancient Civs field trip that featured only myself, Barrett, Jordan M. and Sean S., along with a couple dozen grade 9 or 10 art students with whom we had no association. so after briefly perusing the displays on Ancient Egypt, Greece, Cyprus, Rome, China and Japan, we began wandering the displays as we pleased and eventually just got lunch and left.

On Friday, I met Amanda at the GO station and, whilst waiting for the train, caught up not only on our own lives (which between us, took about 18 seconds,) but the lives of everyone we knew, trying to figure out exactly how our entire circle of friendship imploded once school let out. Well it's not hard to understand, such is life, etc etc.

We got to Toronto in good time, got coffee, and then, after a very brief subway ride, sat outside the museum drinking it because hey, no beverages allowed (I am fairly notorious as a slow coffee-drinker.) We went inside and proceeded to wander.

It was after a brief perusal of Ancient China that we were pulled aside and told that a free tour would be starting soon, would we like to join? Well yeah, if it has free in it, chances are I'm in. So we got the tour, which covered various different cultures, in varying degrees of depth (mostly very little but oh well,) and got some natural history in with that. All in all, you're better off wandering aimlessly when you visit the ROM, but with a free tour you at least get your money's worth.

For the most part thereafter, we took pictures that for the most part depicted me in some bizarre position with some display or another (Amanda for the most part prefers to be the photographer.) Then we had lunch and browsed the gift shop.

I was really hoping for a t-shirt with fossils on it that read, "I got boned at the Royal Ontario Museum." It seemed like a tasteful alternative to the outdated posters in the cafeteria (Druxy's, whomever that is,) that said "Life Before Nintendo Games" and have hung there since the days of Super Nintendo.

We wandered the gift shop and found no such shirt, although something did catch my eye... a little white stone with a blue circular iris, like an eye. I had had the fortune to come across $10 earlier, and was interested in spending it at the gift shop. The deal at the ROM was irresistable, if not in any way practical. Apparently you can buy a small bag of (polished) stones for only $2.99, just choose your own. So I did, and that's the story of why I paid three dollars for a bag of rocks.

We caught the train home. I was feeling pretty good and had had a good time. Definitely relaxed. I think I may have been too wound up recently, because earlier in the day we got into a course argument over the definition of "sandwich."

I did have much time to relax after the long day of travel. After a quick dinner, my brothers and I headed out to a UWA Hardcore Wrestling show out in Mississauga. UWA is a very prominent promotion as far as Indy wrestling goes, but we don't go often, and it's not hard to see why... the treatment you get, with regards to tickets, seating, etc, is pretty harsh. Next time, I don't think i'll bring my camera, and I'll enjoy it more. However, it was an extremely good show, with the UWA wrestlers (Canadian, American, European,) doing matches with the visiting Japanese wrestlers from Toryumon. It was an excellent show highlighted by a terrific triple threat match between Champion Josh Prohibition and challengers M-Dog 20 and Alex Shelley, as well as a wicked match from Claudio Castignoli and of course, the main event, a tag team match featuring Japanese legends Ultimo Dragon and Jushin "Thunder" Liger. Not to mention that, since at shows like this the talent work the merchandise stands, I got to shake Sonjay Dutt's hand (after he'd lost to Chris Sabin earlier) and disucss my t-shirt size with women's wrestler Sara Del Ray (I'm a medium, but they only had larges.)

Another reason we've never gone before - or at least, something we didn't know but will keep us from going back too soon - is transportation. St. John's Hall is waaaay out there, in the middle of nowhere as far as Mississauga goes, so when we called for a Taxi Cab, the dispatch lady (who had more attitude than Louie DePalma,) it took about 25-30 minutes to get to us. We took the train home from Port Credit station, and I was fortunate enough that I had my day pass already to re-use, although it was well after midnight by that point.

After a side-trip to Tim Hortons once we got to Oakville GO, my third time there, during which nobody bought anything since they'd mostly put their baked goods away by 1:00 AM, we took another cab home, heated up some pizza and eventually crashed. It was a very long day.

This morning I went out to the White Oaks Drama/Music garage/bake sale (a novel combination.) After perusing the wares and scarcely saeeing anything worth a look, I noticed a set of magnetic darts for $3. I haggled it down (actually, they very readily offered for it to be less, then someone said it was my birthday, so it got down to a buck.) I bought it partially out of a sense of obligation - I had bothered to come all the way out (you know, the 2 minute walk from my doorstep,) I should probably buy something. And even though I already have a real dart set and I rarely use it, the magnetic set seemed like a cool find.

Wilford also pulled me aside and had me make some pre-recorded comments for Rosser for some send-off video they're doing for him, since apparently he's gone at the end of the year. So I came up with a really funny and also kinda touching speech to make, had it taped, and then had it explained to me that Rosser was, in fact, only going to be leaving for a year. Well, nobody had explained that, so I had to do a totally different one so I don't sound like an ass.

So after all that, and relaxing around the house all day, tonight was Risk... a rare 3-man Risk featuring only myself, Chris Ferguson and Chrisbrown. Ferguson won, more or less because of the way CB and I had to fight it out over the course of the whole game in North America; he weakened me, then Ferguson swooped in for the kill and, using the materials he won off me, took CB out as well. While this whole thing was going on, they put on the first couple episodes of Lost. They were okay, although I'm not really a big fan of hourlong dramas as I frequently say when these shows are brought up (although they certainly are the trend nowadays.) It seemed like an okay couple of episodes, not abad way to spend a bored night on the couch, but even with the intrigue that develops from those nascent episodes, I doubt it's something I could become addicted to. It's not quite the same level as the early episodes of Twin Peaks it so eagerly yearned to be. But since it's outlasted that series by more or less 2x already, it's clearly found its place (Mind that given the current TV climate for mystery and suspense, Twin Pekas would have thrived nowadays much more than it did in its day, even though it was a huge hit initially.)

Tomorrow is the big family do - cake cards, presents, etc. I trust that Ali will like a look at my bag of rocks, although Eric's logic is that if I don't intend to give her one, why would I show her? I think that's a little closed-minded, and I'll be bringing the rocks just in case I do feel like showing her.

I may soon pick up a copy of Brian Wilson's "SMiLE" for my article on great albums... I have my doubts aobut its quality (since it's one of the most hyped albums in the history of pop music,) but it got generally good reviews when it finally came out a few years back, and I like the song "Heroes and Villains" enough to trust that it has plenty to offer.

Ah, life. Some tearful day we might have to say, "you missed out, big time."

I'm in a better mood these days. It might hold, and something good might come of it before I sink back into malaise. I think I'll chooe optimism on this front.

Keep on rockin'
-The Scotto

Chapter 16: If I get home before daylight, just might get some sleep

This is the story of my lost day. It began last night when I received word that, whilst attending a hockey game in Hamilton, mom and Tim had found that his car had been stolen.

Today I was meant to go get comics, because it was gorgeous, I didn't go yesterday and tomorrow I'll be otherwise engaged, so today was the ideal opportunity. I meant to set my alarm, get up at 9 or 9:30, head down there in the morning and take my time getting back (as I was notably horribly stressed last week when I went.)

Of course, last week at some point there was a blackout and I never re-set my alarm, so it gets to be about 10 or 10:30 and I'm suddenly aware of this. I didn't exactly bolt up, either it was more of a "Aw... crud." So I took a laze mid-morning lunch, re-charged my iPod, and eventually headed out. I had to re-charge my iPod because I've been letting it go on random this week; I wanted to see how many songs I would be getting out of it before the battery just conked out. I would estimate I could do 340-360 of the 415-song playlist (it's only a 2gig.)

So I headed down, and indeed ran into Tim at the unlikely corner of Trafalgar and Cross where he was having crosswalk troubles. He'd walked down to get a rental but the push-button at the crosswalk was busted. I wished him luck and got on my way. I did my usual stop by the lake and relaxed, meditated a while before getting on my way (although I did stop off to tip my hat to some lovely young lasses.)

I was crossing the bridge... and sorry, I must disrupt the narrative to complain that as I've been writing I've been beset upon by an unusual number of distractions. Augh! Nothing ever works when you feel you have something to say. Let me get centred again. Errrgh.

So I was crossing the bridge at Trafalgar, mostly oblivious to the world at large when I hear this whistle. You know, you can tell somehow when someone is calling for you. I looked around. Nobody I knew, but some crazy old guy across the road (which I had just crossed!) was waving me over. I was about to move on, because I don't normally like indulging strangers - especially when I have to jaywalk Trafalgar to do it - but this dude was insistent. Co I crossed, kept my front to him and kept a distance.

I never got his name, but he identified himself as a Newfoundlander, so I'll call him as such. The Newfoundlander had been on his bike, apparently, but stopped for a moment for a cigarette and a can of Labatt's blue. He told me he'd come to Oakville in 1964 and was working on a house up in Mississauga. I listened patiently. He must have gone on for a half hour, and I suspect he would have gone on even longer. He told me Canadians had forgotten how to share, to be good to each other. He sees immigrants in restaurants ordering one meal and sharing, and how people pass homeless folk on the street and yell crassly at them, "GET A JOB YOU LAZY BUM!" He repeated this point a number of times, always feigning to yell it.

I wish I could quote him directly, but so much time has passed since hearing his pearls of wisdom, in my getting home, my settling down, and my constant distraction, that I can't accurately quote him much. However, he did tell me at least three stories, and made any number of tangents. Being a writer, I listened eagerly.

He was a weird guy, I didn't see him stand but I imagine he was about my height. He had a day or two's stubble, a trucker cap and sunglasses resting on the rim, and old running shoes. The outline of his brow on one eye was slanted, the way aged people do, and his teeth were... occasional. He spoke in a wheezy, hissed, but otherwise throaty Newfoundland accent. A little bombastic, as you can imagine. He called me, repeatedly, "Young fella," and would occasionaly interject, "Shit, boy." (said, as newfies do, as "baye.")

In 1964, he came to Toronto from Newfoundland in search of his Uncle Willie, who had apparently disappeared or gotten otherwise disconnected from the family. So he came down and was wandering the park one day, about a year after he arrived, when he saw a man, disheavelled and roaming the streets, with a familiar look. The way you can see your mother in an aunt or cousin, you see, this man had that look. The man asks what the Newfoundlander was looking at, and he replies, "Uncle Willie? Is that you?" It was indeed, but he wasn't homeless (as the Newfoundlander had previously thought.) Uncle Willie had a place, but all it had was a few floors, a radio that didn't work, and a lot of cockroaches. The Newfoundlander offered to fix Uncle Willie's radio, and when he opened up the back, out came aobut a thousand cockroaches.

The Newfoundlander told me, what he told Uncle Willie, that he should try to get himself together and find work for himself, not to bed. "You should do something different tomorrow from what you did today." He complained of homeless people who wasked for hand-uts and testified that most homeless people - except those who are "touched in the head, retarded," - were good for working. He told me of a man he helped unload dryload off his truck, the man was unsuspecting that the Newfoundlander was, himself, a drywall man. He asked the man what he was going to do with what was obviously ceiling drywall, and the man said he was going to rent a jack and install it that way, but the Newfoundlander told him not to waste his time and helped him install it. He also explained that he hires homeless people to do yardwork.

He showed me his hands, well-knotted muscle, calloused fingers, grime laced into the very flesh. Gnarly and stiff. "You don't get hands like these from working at Tim Hortons."

The second story was of sometime in winter around the area I'm very familiar with, the corner of Kerr and Rebecca Sts, where there is an IODE shop. Inside, he found a wallet with about $30, and $10 in Tim Hortons gift certificates, as well as IDs and cards. He brought it into the IODE and asked where the address on the ID was. He explained that he couldn't just leave it with the lady at the IODE, because "I don't know you from Adam," and wanted to be sure the wallet found its owner. so they arranged the police to pick it up. Sometime later, he returned to the IODE shop, and found an envelope for him, with all the money from the wallet and a card from the owner, a "very lovely card" saying that if he ever needed a reference for a job, to call him.

"I'm not a Christian man, but I am a believer," he told me, "that Jesus comes first, then mother and father, then yourself." His last story was that he was in a McDonald's somewhere out there when a young girl came in asking people for change. "When people come asking for something," he told me, "Don't tell them 'no,' just tell them you haven't got it or you can't do it right now. That word, 'No,' it turns people off." He explained, it puts a bad mood out there, or something. So when the girl was rejected by one couple of people, she came to him, and she told him her story. "I was kicked out of my home and I'm hungry." So he gave her a toonie, and told her, "I know why you're out of your house. It's because you told your mom, she never listens to you, isn't that right?" I don't recall how that exchange was supposed to have gone, but ultimately, she was unable to get anything (McD's is damn expensive) so he took the toonie back, and gave her a $5. And I suspect what he told her was similar to what he told me. "Never cut down people who are older than you. They've been around longer and they can see more." That sort of thing.

Eventually, I shook his stiff, calloused, grimy hand and told him I must be going, but thank you very much for the conversation. I mostly nodded along and listened, but not only did it provide food for thought it provided me with my most extraordinarily noteworthy experience in months if not years (owing to how tedious my life usually is.) To have such a random encounter really alters how you tohught your day was going to be. That's the fun of life, I say.

Eventually, I caught a bus home... I was delayed in the extreme, but the beauty of buses, I suppose, is that they always come back around eventually. I was out far longer than I'd imagined I would be, but at least I got something out of it.

I don't know how much I'll take his words to heart, although there are some things in there that, every so often, must be said aloud, whether you know them or not.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 15: Don't put your heart in careless hands

Oh yeah, and happy belated birthday to this blog.

I can't escape myself lately. I'm everywhere I go, haunting my every turn. All I want is to get out. But I'm chained by the ankle to my consciousness. Stuck. I was going somewhere tonight but my legs wouldn't take me.

All I'm hearing is maybes. I think I wrote, thought, said, or otherwise expressed once that a maybe was worse than a no, because uncertainty is a killer. I'm distressed, only I could have nothing going on and be more stressed out than when I'm hard at work. No wonder I always had to leave the house to get things done on my internship, I've been going crazy all month. Fuck, fuckers, fuck. There ain't no comfort in this head, no ma'am.

I've been telling people for weeks that I didn't know if I was accepted to university yet, although dad was goading me to check the website, despite my reminders "They'll send me the letter." So I checked today, still nothing, and now I know it's nothing. I wasn't thinking about it before, now it's swallowed me up. not helping this is the occasionally-mentioned fact that I'm not sure if I sincerely want to go or if I'm doing it out of some perceived societal obligation. It would be such a relief to be rejected! Doesn't that sound insane?! But no, they tell me, my family, you're so good, you'll be accepted. Sometimes I feel like my entire life has been me waiting for someone to tap me on the shoulder and tell me they've found me out, it's over. Shit, now I'm getting candid. And that's why I started the blog, iddnit?

Why can't I just settle the fuck down?

Today began the countdown to birthday-ness with dinner at dad's, and birthday pie. It's long since become a running gag amongst the family that I'm not always up for birthday cake. By the time my birthday rolls around it's already been like three other peoples in that month (and that's a conservative estimate,) so that's a whole lotta cake. So I suggested to dad last week that maybe it might be worth considering to arrange a kind of... birthday pie. Specifically, lemon merangue. The idea took off, and here we are. Brilliant.

I want to see the future. I want to get to a time when all my headcase shit just melts off and I suddenly realize "Ohh... THIS is life." I should not be left to my own devices, but alone seems to be the only flavour I've known.

I need a kind of help I can never get.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Addendum 1:40 that night: You know, I was out earlier, and I was reading, and enjoying the crisp cool air and a can of coke. I'm not so worried, I'm not so stressed, as I was when I thought what I just earlier wrote. I've still got problems, got my stresses, and many will stick for a while, but there is good in the world, calm, coolness, and I'm still interested in the future; I feel fine.

KOR-SAW

Chapter 14: A picture of your brain

So, what day is it?

Life has gotten a little murky out here in the black hole. Things aren't bad - in retrospect I overreacted to the whole Xena situation and she was gone midday Sunday. And I was sad about spending Saturday on the couch, but hey, Zach Braff was hosting Saturday Night Live's season finale, and it was really funny.

I've been thinking a lot about the Beatles lately. There's a movie scheduled to come out this summer, a movie-musical (as opposed to an adaptation a la Phantom of the Opera, Chicago, etc,) called "Across the Universe" that follows a number of characters all named after Beatles songs (Lucy, Jude... Mr. Mustard?) as radicals in the 60's. It looks bad, but ths music should be good and it can't possibly be as bad as the similarly-themed diaster Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band movie starring the Bee Gees and Peter Frampton, none of whom could act and thus all the narration was handled by George Burns. This led to the entire movie making no sense and it being, in effect, a couple hours of poorly-done similarly-themed music videos featuring the Bee Gees and Frampton as well as guest acts like Steve Martin, Alice Cooper, Earth Wind and Fire and most notably Aerosmith, as their contribution of Come Tohether is unanimously regarded the most listenable. EW&F's Got to Get You Into My Life is also quite good.

Anyway, what I'm really thinking about is a rant, which may be written and appear someday on Interneta, about the quest for the perfect album throughout the years, and how oftentimes the quest for it will destroy those who would create it.

Anyway, the chief reason I've not posted in a few days is that quite frankly nothing is happening. I'm trying, Godalmighty I think I am, but nothing will do. But I owe my readers - both of you - the courtesy of a check-in, because without my regular dose of unreality, nobody else knows how real their lives are. Me, I exist less and less by the day, it feels like.

But anyway. I submitted my story to the Danforth Review the other day. This will be the second time I have done so, and hopefully they like what I have written. Knock on wood, fingers crossed et cetera. Personally I think the story I submitted is among my best, but I am likely to say that about just about anything I do because when it comes to writing (real writing, not this thing,) I'm a cocky sonofabitch. I'll share the story later when it is rejected/accepted.

Anyway, it's time for me to fade back into the vortex. Keep me in mind and keep on rockin'

-Scott

Chapter 13: It can only sound that way once

It seems that lately, I've been headed down a one-way street. And I've got no way out, no two ways about it.

But yeah. Puns aside, tonight feels like I'm going in circles (on a one-way street, to mix the metaphor.) Trapped in nowheresville, and no, that's not a cute name for Oakville, it's just my state of mind.

Yeah, I'm a drag. I hate it, but tonight that's how it's going to be. And things were really going quite well for me, until... I'll tell you.

I think I'm finally over my long-lingering throat-cold. I blasted the remnants away with what appears to be an atomic-powered sucret. Felt like a mushroom cloud in my throat. So that appears to have taken care of that.

The house was going to be quiet this weekend. Mom, as per usual, has left us to our own devices. Dad, who would previously have been handling dinner, is at the trailer. Eric, inspired by renewed contact with the old gang, was to go up today. All my ducks were in a row. Mom even took friday off so she could get a headstart on the long weekend, which apparently meant doing our dishes and mopping our floor. Not that I'm complaining, really.

Anyway, I went out and spent a good part of the afternoon catching up with a friend. When I got home, I was about to say bye to Eric when the door opens. "Is anybody home?" a voice calls out; my grandma's. Uh-oh I know what's coming.

So I'm now stuck looking after Xena for the weekend. And while I don't mind the petty cash, I do mind that it wasn't discussed beforehand (not like we had no opportunities the past week.) As I'm sure I've catalogued elsewhere on this blog, she can be supremely... bitchy, in the fullest sense of the word. She's calmed down now, but I'm sure she'll be stirring up plenty of shit tomorrow.

So I sat around and basically did nothing but try to appease the bitch all day thereafter. I feel trapped, and life's getting no better in general. My attempt at job-finding has been half-hearted at best, because I just haven't got the effort in me these days. And my brain is just kinda flattened so I can't eloquate exactly what I'm feeling, but the jist of it is that I'm lonely, I'm bored, I'm frustrated... the usual Williams Cocktail of depression. All the futility of existence is creepin' up on me. And all because I couldn't get the dog to stop barking for a few hours this evening, and because I was stuck at home listening to it rather than out somewhere getting awkwardly drunk.

I'm not particularly good at advice, and I'm not really looking for it in this case. Just the sympathetic eat I imagine I get from the blog, despite knowing that fewer that four people out there ever read the damn thing anymores. You knw I'm just about finished my third year of blogging? And my personal development in that entire time has been totally negligible! Stuck on an existential treadmill, man!

I always thought this thing was helping me. And in a sense it has been, because I'm not such an impatient, rage-filled, headcase as I was before I had the blog to unload my shit on. And yet now, it all seems for naught because although I'm not that thing, I'm not much else, either. What kind of a life do I intend to be living?

And what kind of thought is that to leave out on?

I considered using a sleeping pill for the first time ever last night. I've heard they can be addictive, or at least, you develop a mild dependancy. The last thing I need is another chemical to lean on. No thanks.

Did I blow my chances with some great girl somewhere along the way and not realize it? Don't answer that - I have enough time dealing with all the girls I know I blew it with (not including the ones I never had a chance with in the first place.)

I'm trying, I assure you I am. But Christ, you know it ain't easy.

I told you I was going to be a drag.

Keep on rockin'
Scott

Chapter 12: A crooked dream looms on the horizon

My current plan is to dope myself on non-drowsy decongestants and write until I crash.

I just realized that May is a submission month for the Danforth Review, an irregularly-published fiction e-zine that pays decent scratch for short stories. I've got one cooking so as soon as I finish typing this entry I plan to crash through it and try to get it most-of-the-way done. I have until the end of the month.

I'm still a little ill but it's fallen down to a mere sore/scratchy throat rather than every-orifice-malfunctioning as it had been on the night previous. The drugs, as I've said, have helped. Eric convinced me to go and get medication to only treat the symptoms, in his words because I would probably get over it soon enough and the weather was so nice. This was yesterday afternoon when we were between thunderstorms. Today, it's mildew-city. But anyway.

It's not been a terribly exciting day, but that fits into the theme of having a generally unexciting life. In one sphere my friends are all off having adventures. In another, they're all off plotting careers. I'm doing neither. I'm just being me, floating in purgatory and trying to make it to shore. I'm not upset or frustrated or depressed. Lonely, sure, but the sickness is the main-main source of my isolation anyhow. Right now I'm just taking a sort of sojourn inside myself. Waiting to see if my tendrils out there in the jobsearch world have found anything.

I'm not terribly pro-active in finding a job, although the fact that knowing I was sick as a dawg and still handing out my resume the other day shows I'm at least a little committed. That sentence, from a structual perspective, is quite bad, but I'm in no mood to look back.

I updated Interneta a few nights back... last night, that is. Around May I get to adding new stuff, because I started the site in May (2004, Jesus it's been a long while) and I use the anniversaries as a way of getting into a higher gear. I use New Year's for that as well, most especially for Reviews. Anyway, these have been a long time coming, including the first lyrics I've posted in years. I don't know what it is about Lyrics. Prior to doing reviews, it was the most usual update, because I had so many and could trickle them in. But the problem is, I'm no rock star, just a kid wannabe, especially when I wrote the lyrics. No instruments, no tunes, no real music, just a kind of awkward poetry that occasionally you could clap your hands to. So I stopped posting them and actually stopped writing them. Then, not so long ago, I started getting ideas again and jotting them down, so I'm writing them again, so I'm posting them again. Not that the site features everything I've ever written or even in all cases my best - I've still got some that I consider to be among my best not yet posted. They're in a file on my old harddrive that I still intend on getting installed to my new computer. Most of them.

I meant to help you when I had the chance.

I've not had coffee since Monday, seeing as coffee isn't great for sick people. Replaced it with tea. Not generally acting like a sick person, but using it as a cue to chill out on the bean. There'll be time for that later.

Getting weirdly addicted to Tumbling Dice by the Rolling Stones. Great song.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Chapter 11: The sound of self-destruction

I woke last night to the sound of thunder... how far off, I sat and wondered...?

Ah, Bob Seger.

In seriousness, it was hard enough trying to get to sleep last night without the world-ending thunderstorm shaking the foundation of the house. I've been sick since yesterday, although I believe I contracted the cold from walking around on chilly Saturday morning. My throat is sore, got the jaggedness in the back of my sinuses, which leads to the headaches and general delirium. I was drifting in and out of sanity last night. I was sicccckkk. I'm a little better now but I don't expect to be back at tops until Thursday at the earliest. You know how colds go. But you also know me... I don't ever seem to rest, especially when sick.

Yesterday morning I was out at the mall when I got stopped by this lady at a beauty kiosk, trying to hawk facial cleansers for men. She was really good, to, doing the hard sell on the stuff. It took my greatest charm to walk away without just outright stepping off, which is how any normal person probably would have handled it. I was just so caught up in her thrall. I mean, when you've got a good product, marked down to half price, hey, how can you say no? But I'm me: I'm cheap, I don't have cash for frivolities, and I don't take kindly to the hard sell. If I want to buy something, I'm going to buy it. If I don't intend on buying it, I most likely won't no matter how magnetic the sales girl is.

I was at the mall, it sohuld be noted, to try to get a job. All my college friends are off being successful, finding real gigs in the industry, and I just don't know if I'm prepared for that, especially not with the likelihood of my continuing post-secondary education. So I'm going to grab a minimum-wage job, see how the summer goes, continue to write, and try to go along.

The job I had put my resume in for, they wanted me to complete a phone survey. I'm not a fan of those things, they are highly manipulative. They make things so cut and dried - you either are something or you're not, according to their criteria. I don't like to think I have a personality that can be summed up in a lengthy serious of (generally repetitive) true-or-false statements. Do I make the most of my work time? Sometimes. Do I push my limitations? If need be. Do I put in my best effort? Sure, I suppose. Are these questions redundant? Absolutely. Was I annoyed by the end of them? Most definitely. Do I hope I get the job? Yes, because it's sales in a casual environment where I can be trusted and not get stressed out over anything on a daily basis.

The buzz from my schoolmates is that newspapers are not where it's at, and that if possible you should try to get a staff writer gig at a magazine, which would be nice if they were, you know, widely available. It's a competitive industry. Me, I'm just going to stick to my plan and keep writing until something hits the mark and gets me "in." I'm pretty determined, because it's basically all I've got.

The world is a tough place to try to fit into. With 6.5 Billion and counting, there might not be room for everybody, you know? You've gotta make your time worthwhile.

On the plus side, I did indeed begin a new project Sunday night and I am very pleased with the way it is turning out.

Things are happening. But you've gotta make your move, boyo.

I hope I feel better soon. I've been taking DayQuil to get through the day and other drowsy meds to do the night. Hopefully I level out.

Not bad. Could be better, but not bad. Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Chapter 10: Whichever world I'm working for.

The world is in the midst of multiple social crises and I'm sitting here earnestly trying to discern how I can make a living trying to get laid... without technically being a gigolo.

My point is, My head is focussed on small things while bigger and bigger things loom on the periphery. But that's the story of the world, and especially this blog.

I have indeed been getting a bit more delirious as this so-called vacation wears on. Much of the time I'm babbling incoherently and/or wandering aimlessly, or babbling aimlessly and wandering incoherently. And it seems like there's a pretty good chance I've got scurvy, but I'm not worrying about that right now.

There was a time when I had a great deal of confidence in my writing. I could sit down and write prose or poetry or scripts that would pretty much blow your mind. Perhaps due to being caught up in this whole journalism thing, I've dulled my once-razorsharp ability somewhat, although I'm at least confident in my recent journalistic works. I've taken to my Scene and Heard assignments (which will be posted, I've learned, this week!) with a great deal of alacrity; and you can savour that Writer's Craft word. We used to pwn those words.

Motivation, down. Creativity, down. Coherence, waaay thefuckdown.

I want to write a mystery/crime/thriller/noir book from the ending, just start with the last chapter and work backwards and pretend like it all makes sense. I think I've already found that novels aren't my strong suit. They're a lot of money and there's virtually no money in them. Well, LuLu.com might love me.

The family gathering went surprisingly well, considering the drama going in. Aunt Lori in particular was quite cordial. Of course, we still had to get up reeeeal early and gun it all the way to Palmerston for a 10:30 church service for which we were a little under-dressed. Personally, I've never felt so out of place in my entire life as when I'm surrounded by old people singing about Jesus and pretending to connect with their faith. Not that I don't like Jesus, but the beliefs espoused by the United Church of Palmerston or any denomination for that matter hardly resonate with my own personal beliefs. However, I restrained myself from openly mocking the service, and instead paid great attention to the Minister's sermon on the anxiety felt by Joseph and Mary when they lost Jesus for 3 days and he turned up in a church and was like, "Duh, this is my dad's house." Okay I don't believe Jesus ever actually said "Duh," but he probably should have.

Anyway, the afternoon was very sunny and pleasant lunch affair with some family interaction mostly in the form of Muskoka chairs and someone making sure to keep an eye on the kids while they played on the swingset.

I'm gonna go try to break my creative slump.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 9: Lob myself a grenade

It's a beautiful night. It's springtime for the head-case.

I guess tonight I'm on the receiving end of a quiet night in. Considering the level of boredom I've had during the last few weeks, I think I'm about to hit critical mass.

The caffeine addiction - in particular Tim Hortons - has me in a stronger grip than it ever did before and right now that doesn't seem so wrong. A lot of the time it's seemingly the main reason I have for getting out of the house. It takes approximately an hour to walk down to the Tim Hortons on Iroquois and back, so that gives me that much of an escape. I guess, in practicality, it's not such a bad thing. I just wish I didn't feel like such an addict. A victim. A patsy.

It's been a weird day. I slept late, probably later than I wanted to, but there's nothing wrong with that in and of itself. I went for a long walk (big surprise although it did not end with coffee) before coming back and going with Eric to get a Mother's Day gift. I made sure to check with Brandon to see if he was on board for going in on a gift. He objected last year (for some reason) and it became a much bigger thing than it should have been. This year he agreed. Mother's Day is a weird one for us. It's not that we don't appreciate everything mom does for us, which at this point in our lives is probably more than it should be, but we have a hard time finding cards and gifts that express our feelings appropriately. Well this year we managed to figure out something we liked, and hopefully she will too.

It's not going to be a particularly happy Mother's Day for our mom, either, she's got a lotta grief on her mind. Our boarder, the largely-invisible Vladimir, hasn't moved out despite not paying rent for May. That's a big deal for her. Not to mention the whole Elizabeth thing tomorrow which i'm sure will be a mess. I don't know why Elizabeth insists one everyone being present... it's a very difficult chore to entertain a room full of people who are all mad at you. But mom has various theories for Elizabeth's obsession with getting her way on this one, most of which ring true (although don't make Elizabeth look all too good.)

Me, I'm thinking it won't be long before that branch of the family tree is left alone, as I've mentioned before. Our connection these days feels more tenuous and strained.

That said, I wonder if Mom's gotten the kid a gift, as I'm sure that's partly what Elizabeth intends.

I don't reckon I'll be in much of a headspace for a family gathering, myself. Not after tonight and the little sleep I'll be getting after this exhausting exile I'm living. I've never felt like such a nothing as I do now. A non-factor in the human race. I hate nights like these. I could use a gin.

I had this dream last night. Very vivid. I was going on a school trip, but promised to my family that would be the last time they'd see me, as I intended to commit suicide whilst on the trip. Eventually the bus arrived and I admitted, no, I wasn't going to commit suicide at all, because I wanted to see Cameron and Ali grow up. The family comforted me and told me they didn't really expect me to go through with it.

Now that's fucked up I tell you. Most of the imagery of the dream I can place... the trip was from the videos I watched the other night of the WOSS London trip, the kids being there was from last week and tomorrow. The suicide was from the recent Facebook Suicide Pact story floating around.

I was in Toronto this past week as readers will know (they would, if they existed.) At first I was annoyed at the city. I hated it becasue it was full of people. But before long, I began to enjoy the atmosphere. It afforded a certain anonymity that was strangely comforting. I was nothing there, but for the right reasons.

Nobody's listening, nobody's listening, nobody's listening. Can you tell I'm down?

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Chapter 8: Changing the Neighbourhood

When I was in high school, most mornings I had to tread lightly on the way there. To get to the building, then as now, I had to walk by the house in the corner next to the walkway that leads to White Oaks football field. Living in that house was a man fondly referred to as "Lawnmower Guy." We called him that because he fixed lawnmowers for a living. He kept in his backyard a mean ole dog named Rambo, who used to bark fiercely at anything that would pass.

I used to try to sneak by her, although one time, Lawnmower Guy caught me. He scolded me for attempting t osneak up and scare his dog, but I explained I was merely trying to pass without troubling her. He let me go but only after reminding me that he'd lived in the neighbourhood a long time. "I've been here since before streetlights were here."

Then when I was in Grade 12, Rambo died and he seemed disheartened. He got a new dog and had someone (I assume his son) move in with him, but you know he was never the same. He moved out of the neighbourhood a while back. As hard as it is to deal with some of the people in the neighbourhood - the creepy voyeuristic Croation guy, the boistrous bat-weilding kids, the drug dealers, the drunken dudes in their backyard singing along to Creedence Clearwater Revival at 2 in the afternoon - Lawnmower guy brought a sense of order to the place.

An early night for me, all things considered. Went out and played Risk, and thought it was a competitive game, Chris Brown was deathly sick and Ferguson had to work tomorrow so it was cut short. Now, most of our games are cut short but this one really could've used an hour or so. But, que sera sera. On the plus side, we saw some very amusing videos of the WOSS trip to London, rather than them watching an old episode of Lost on DVD and me pretending to be able to penetrate it. I'm not an hour-long serial drama kind of guy. I like the good sitcoms, or at least quality dramedy like Huff or Studio 60.

I'm starting to go insane. And if I don't make my shit happen soon I'm only going to get worse. Terminal cabin fever. I've sort of done this to myself. But the good news is that I had my review of 28 Weeks Later posted on Scene and Heard, and I have a gauge on when my other articles will be posted, and that's exciting because in some cases it's been well over a month since they were written. I still owe the Observatory story. I have no-one to blame but me in this case. See how my brain's gone bluey.

I oughtta do some writing... some serious legit writing... but I can't get motivated. I mean, I could be writing right now, but to tell you the honest truth, I'm really looking forward to going to sleep. sleep is abut the most fulfilling thing I can think of doing these days.

No, this is not a great state of affairs. No, I haven't got anything to blame but me. Yes, I've thought about it.

I want to make it better. I don't know where to begin.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Chapter 7: Swallowing the week whole

...and then, things started... happening. Not that they are happening or by any means have already happened. But I think it's starting. And I don't know what it is. But it feels big.

Every now and again I feel like I get a little nudge from the universe. It comes from a coincidence, or from seeing someone I've not seen in a long time, or some other interruption of my daily monotony. It's hard to say how I'll interpret it and lord knows I have made a habit of misinterpreting shit before, but you know, sometimes it's good to feel like something's going on. The theme of this post will be, for the most part, music, interspersed with my explanation, or shall I say attempt at explanation, of these paragraphs. And of course, the usual.

Music. For instance, my High Fidelity-esque list of 5 Best Gambling-related songs. Viva Las Vegas by Elvis, SOS (Too Bad) by Aerosmith, The Gambler by Kenny Rogers, The Card Cheat by the Clash, and at #1, Tumbling Dice by the Rolling Stones. Great song. I was thinking about my time at HMV recently, as I've very slowly dipped a toe in the employment pool. There were some extremely difficult occasions where I did something stupid or made an ass of myself, but I generally got along well. My best moments were working alongside Megan, a scene-girl from Nova Scotia who was at least outgoing. Made the atmosphere a little lighter. I was trying to recall the good times and critique the bad times as I continued my prospects for future employment.

I was out today getting comics. It was my usual routine of headin' down Trafalgar to Lakeshore and taking the scenic route, including a lunch stop. Sadly, the Tim Hortons on Trafalgar was improbably crowded, so I had to take a long detour to grab some food and arrived late for the bus, having to sit around for an extra half hour waiting for the bus. I was getting really irritated. "No luck!" I groaned, before smirking at something I'd even said earlier today... "Luck is for losers."

So I finally got on the bus and transfered to the 27 White Oaks. As we were pulling out of the station, this girl waves her arms, arriving late (from the train I imagined,) and hops on, taking a seat toward the front. I myself have been the victim of the occasionally-incongruous transit schedule and shrugged, but you know this girl had this look. Dark hair, pulled back, big dark shades and these very familiar-looking earlobe holes. I didn't have a good enough view to see if it was, but she reminded me of Megan - except I knew Megan in winter, and it was summer, so this girl was showing flesh. I decided to mind my own business.

We pull onto Sixth, time to get off. I walk to the front to wait for the stop when I hear this voice over the clamour of my earphones. "Hey Scott." Well, duh, of course it was her. And I knew she lived in my neighbourhood, too, since we walked home once or twice.

We caught up a bit and I thought about what a weird chance it was, since I'd been thinking about HMV all day - for essentially the first time in weeks, all things considered - and there she is, all by chance. Maybe luck is for losers, but chance don't fuck around. Not to make too mcuh of it, but these are the kinds of stupid anecdotes this site begs for. And maybe I've got all I need, but I needed to pull the rip cord.

The Coral's CD, Nightfreak & The Sons of Becker, which came out a few years ago, is an underrated little album. It's the worst thing they've ever recorded, and it's great. Most importantly, it's pretty much my #1 pick for what to listen to while on a late night car ride or walk. As the name implies, it's a very night-sounding album. Very nocturnal.

The earth is heating up for us, you and me. That's all right, mama.

This week has gone far too fast. And as the situation would have it, I'm finally growing weary of having nothing to do. Nothing like boredom as an impetus for getting serious about employment.

Expect an Interneta update impending. Three serious-ass reviews, plus a few new creations - because no-one demanded it!

Time is the fire in which we burn.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 6: Change the way you talk to the world

What's the story, sister moonshine?

It was a long weekend, in some ways. It began with Eric's overwhelming frustration at the lack of appreciation he was getting at the show. He was very choked up about it, very aggrivated. He swore he'd do the least he could the next day, and vowed not to help take down the set, but that day he was getting ready to go and sighed, "Well, gotta go put on my steel-toed shoes, gotta take down the set today." He seemed to be behaving as though the entire frustration episode hadn't happened. And while I was positive he remembered it, I wasn't going to be the one to remind him.

It was junk day recently. And thank God, too, because not only were the massive piles of crap on the side of the road an eyesore, the prowling pickups and assorted vehicles sorting through that crap for useable junk was a miserable nuisence. Not to mention the menacing 12-year-olds thrashing the TV screens and monitors to shit with baseball bats. I remember I used to love it back in the day, as a time to pick up lots of unnecessary crud. I still pick up some crud today, including a bsaeball bat that is mostly very good, except for a flat side.

Eric and I ran into Mrs. D a few weeks back while grocery shopping. She runs the WOSS cafeteria and both Eric and I were familiar to her; moreso me than him. She was very excited to see us, and we thought it was nice to run into her as well. She's a really nice woman who is great at what she does, if you're a good student. If you're a dickhole, like a lot of the kids who enter that course, well she can make it a nightmare.

The birthday madness I speculated about a few posts ago was even worse than I'd imagined. We all headed out to Aunt Karen's place (near the neighbourhood we lived in when I was born,) where Aunt Lori and Gail were assembling a playhouse for the kids while aunt Karen played hostess. The kids ran arund, scraped knees, threw fits, got their usual kiddy energy out. It's hard to stand sometimes, but kids will be kids. Elizabeth eventually showed up with Madison, who the other kids were glad to see. She was supposed to be at the big kiddie party the day before, and Aunt Lori was annoyed with how this fits in with the various controversy with how she's timing her other stuff. She really laid into her, which is unusual to see her do as she's normally quite easy-going. Perhaps being a mother has opened up previously unused reserves.

I've been looking over approximately 1,000 old photographs. Those of you who have me on Facebook (which is probably everyone) will be seeing them soon. They're fairly ridiculous, but you know, funny kid photos.

Still procrastinating. Ech I suck. I watched 28 Days Later, so now I'm prepared to write my review. But I'm tired. So that's tomorrow. Sigh.

Keep on rockin'
Scotto

Chapter 5: The resounding echo of a broken soul

Many, many years ago by now, back when I was in Grade 9, I visited my Aunt Karen's work for "Take Your Kid to Work Day." The reasoning was that my dad was out of work at the time, and my mom didn't have the most interesting place of business. My aunt, on the other hand, was and I believe still is employed as a counsellor by the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health, who have very extensive and fascinating facilities. I saw a brain in a jar!

There were a few of us on the tour, and it was a long day of going from office to office getting lectures on various facets of the Centre, not just counselling, but also research, development, and activities such as roleplays. And a lot of walking.

I wasn't terribly interested in my aunt's work at the time, but it was fun to do something different, as well as be in the city and out of school. I'm sure I thanked my aunt at the time, but I'm going to have to thank her all over again because this morning I briefly glimpsed my mom's place of work, a little insurance agency on the edge of town. Dullest place I may have ever been in my life. If I hadn't alreday made it my mission to avoid doing 9-5 work, then I would certainly re-evaluate so that that was priority #1.

The reason I was in the city with my mom was that Scene and Heard asked me to attend a preview screening of 28 Weeks Later (review to come to Interneta soon,) which meant I had to get into, and out of, the city. So I got up reaaally early and hitched a ride with mom to her office, then took the bus to Kipling station, the Subway to Bloor, and headed down to the Varsity Theatre.

It was a pretty surreal experience. For one thing, I was hungry as hell, having forgotten to have breakfast. For another, I was surrounded by professional film critics, some of whom I had seen on television. They chattered with one another, I guess they're all part of the club anyway, while I waited for the film to start.

After it was through, I decided to take the opportunity to wander aimlessly for a few hours. It was a gorgeous day and I was loosed in a city with no set agenda whatsoever. I didn't do anything life-chaning... a little browsing, a little writing (I usually carry a small notepad and pen on my person,) some lunch, and of course, the general wandering of the area from Young/Bloor to Avenue/Queen's Parkish. Sometime in the mid-afternoon, I decided I'd hung around plenty long and headed for home. On the subway, a class of elementary school kids boarded the car and one of the teachers sat next to me. The kids were quite hyper (I remember exactly how I was at that age, and occasionally still today,) and I think I may have ended up in the background of some of their digital photos, trying to look lie I'm not noticing anything, and just reading the commuter paper.

It's kind of a small world. I was reading this article about this suicide pact that is theorized to have been organized via Facebook, from these two girls at St. Joan of arc Catholic school in Barrie. I am cooking up a brief editorial column on Facebook (more accurately, its public perception) for Amanda's magazine. I was wandering outside the ROM today when who should wander by, loading or unloading from a school bus? Field-tripping kids from St. Joan of Arc is who! I should have started harrassing them, asking them if they tohught Facebook was evil for killing these kids, badgering them and swearing to the adults, "It's okay, I'm the press!" But no. I'm not ruthless enough for that yet.

A lot of stuff has been going on lately. Nothing interesting, but I started dot-jotting notes for a post this morning before leaving mom's work, and have touched on almost none of them. I'll have to come back early tomorrow and get it out of the way, one of my occasional cleaning-house of topics that have accumulated. That happens sometimes. I need to set priorities, because I've been putting so much shit off I don't even find it funny. And I hate that I have shit to do even during summer, but hey, that's the life of a grown-up, which I suppose I am. Doing a post tomorrow morning will help me cross one more thing off that list. Then I have to write my review, take care of my other articles for Amanda, do some of my own things (*those are low on the priority list) and take care of some other paperwork.

I was explaining to Amanda a few weeks ago, however, that I always seem to need a certain amount of doing nothing in my day, no matter what I have to accomplish. It's jsut how I budget time. Nothing gets between me and my nothing.

I'm sore tonight. I'm probably gonna be stiff tomorrow.

Life goes on, darling. But if she's only with you for the car, then she's not rally with you at all.

And swans are beautiful birds that make ugly noises.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Chapter 4: Make it excellent

I couldn't sleep last night. Or more appropriately, this morning.

I fell asleep at the usual time, sometime after 1:00. I descended into sleep at the usual rate but was met with turbulence. It didn't really take and after drifting in and out for a few hours I finally accepted that, at 6:00 AM, I wasn't really going to get back to sleep. Not in any meaningful way, anyhow.

In a way, it was kind of exciting. I hadn't seen 6:00 in any serious way in almost a year. Probably since that party in Hamilton last July, when I fell asleep on Cary and Chris' couch and was awaked by the wonderful roaring of cars speeding down nearby main street. Part of me really wanted to get up and go. Part of me wanted to die so I could rest. The most important part of me, however, was seriously hungry. So what's a guy to do? For once in my life, I had a legitimate reason for going to Tim Hortons. It was 6 in the morning and I was out on the sidewalk for God's sake.

So I hit the road and did my thing, to get good and caffeinated, and my first Breakfast Sandwich in a while to boot. I took a few snaps of the vacant Trafalgar Road under the orange glow of sunrise at 6:30 from high on a hill, because lord knows when I'll catch that again.

So I came back and mulled around for a while, did a small amount of writing, cleaned up (though I still need to shave,) and almost went for a bike ride, but the fucking tire's deflated. We need a new pump, and/or a new inner tube (the good news is, it's the front wheel, so if I need to replace it I can, unlike the handicap that keeps me from using my other bike.)

There's a certain relaxing freshness to being up early, but let's face facts, I'm tired now and going to feel exhausted later when I'm at Aunt Karen's place for Ali's birthday, which officially ushers in the May Birthday Madness. Sigh...

Our relatives in Palmerston, specifically cousin Elizabeth, seem to be making an effort to alienate us, but that's probably not so deliberate. She's holding her baby son's Christening next weekend, aka Mother's Day/Brandon's Birthday. Everyone's agreed that they're either going to that or to his birthday but not both. His birthday happens to fall on the same weekend as mine. I don't personally mind and would in fact rather we go on the birthday even if it means ignoring my birthday altogether, since that would save us the trip to Church, the dressing nice, the moring segment and other crap, and allow me to at least let my mom relax on Mother's Day. I'm thinking I might like to see my birthday delayed until June so we can all clear our heads. I hate May sometimes. I was having this conversation with the dental hygenist as she scraped the shit from between my teeth. Apparently, the bulk of her family, like mine, has May birthdays. We shared a sympathetic laugh.

I was mad at Elizabeth in November 2005 when she told me she was expecting a kid on my very birthday. As annoying as that is, it was more because that was the same day Eddie Guerrero died and I was really upset anyway, this just gave me one more thing to get upset about. Now I'm just annoyed at the extra stress it's putting on the family situation. As weird as it seems, looking back it feels like the tie that held our two families together was Kris, as I was always had him to look forward to seeing, and thus the impetus was there to keep up regular visits. Now that's out of the question, with him generally exiled to his domestic bliss in Windsor and the Williamses and the Stemmers seem to largely be drifting apart.

Life goes on, I suppose, if not always in the direction you want, tried, thought you wanted, or predicted.

Well, it'll never be all that easy, I know. But you can be good, man I know you've got it in you.

I've recently, and not surprisingly, upped my creative output. I'm in the midst of a moderte rant (actually a new category, more like "Love Fest") for Interneta, and researching a second. I've also broken a year and a half or so of creative lyrical drought (mired in stuff I think of as poetry but are really just disjoined thoughts in snappy paragraphs) and started writing songs, inasmuch as one who is in no way musical can write songs (there are a whole bunch hidden somewhere on Interneta, you can find 'em if you look. They're not much to see, though, because you can't devine the tunes.)

Just because you're not blind, you don't necessarily always understand what you can see.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 3: Anything less than nothing

I am firmly of the belief that ranting every now and again is healthy. Shit, I rant on here all the time, basically every night. Or more recently, every other night. But you've got to know your audience.

For example, I don't particularly believe anybody is reading this thing, so I write as though nobody is. And my brother, bless his soul, has been laying out the type of rant you usually pace back and forth in your room to deliver.

He's been doing volunteer work on some show at the Oakville Centre for the Performing Arts. Every night after every show, the cast and crew go out for drinks. He's got a chip on his shoulder that basically amounts to him feeling underappreciated. And it appears to have been such a minor slight that has him headed in this tailspin and unable to extract himself; not only because he's so pissed off, also because, as I mentioned earlier, he's pissed in the UK sense as well.

Now, I feel for the guy. He's doing real work for no money and not getting his due. But he's going over and over it again, helplessly trapped in his own pathos. At the same time, it's late, it's been a long day, I don't much feel like getting a tripl laid so heavily upon me. I don't speak up, however, because I'll admit that'd be a douchey thing to do. The guy's feeling vulnerable and I can sympathize with the feeling of being under-appreciate it, I'm no stranger to it myself.

The other evening, mom was reminiscing with us about our days of ADAPT counselling, which she confesses may have screwed her up more than help her (ah, simpler times.) She started going to ADAPT (and sending me there as well) because some comment I made, probably in imitation of TV, caused her to wonder if maybe she'd inherited a bent toward problem drinking from her father, a notorious lout. I've never seriously seen much trouble, other than she tends to get boistrous and weird when she drinks. But maybe Eric got a bit of the ole Grampa Ross gene. Ever since he developed a taste forn the drink early last year, I've been keeping an eye on him. He probably wouldn't want me talking about this shit, so I guess it's a good thing he doesn't read this bad boy.

I'm not worried, but I do note, mentally, his mood anytime he comes home after a few brews, which as I mentioned earlier, has been often lately. Some days he's quite boistrous, but tonight he is absolutely stuck in this funk and I suspect he won't be able to sleep it off. No, I expect it to carry well over into the morning. Myself, I try to dispose of emotions when I drink. Yes, sometimes I feel bad, but I let it go and acknowledge that your body chemistry gets looser and affects you when you drink. You get moody. It happens. The key, I suppose, would be to not let it own you.

A friend of mine (if I can call Jeff that - we haven't spoken in many many months,) once said, you have to "Drink it, before it drinks you." I'm not sure that applies, but I like the saying myself.

Add to that, hey, my brother's always been just a little touchy when sober, so the drink will naturally magnify that. If I exhale or roll my eyes when he says something, he will easily get irate. So when he's drunk, and he doesn't feel like he's gotten the appreciation he deserves from the people he's working for, it's not something he can brush off. I just doubt he'll see that the incident he's upset about - which involves a bar tab and a little brush off - is quite insignificant, despite being part of the bigger problem of underappreciation.

Time, I hope, would care for this wound.

My night, by comparison, was a cake-walk. I met up with some friends/classmates; Haasim, Mansoor, Andrew S. and his girlfriend Melissa, as well as Haasim's brother and the brother's friend. We all went to see Spider-Man 3, the tickets to which Haasim had wisely pre-ordered. Sadly, a few of the people he'd ordered tickets for no-showed, so he was left with a couple unclaimed tickets that were pre-paid. And we had to hang around outside waiting for people to show (and as much as Mansoor is my friend, it was he who arrived last,) so we ended up getting shitty seats in the second row.

As much as I could enjoy a movie from that angle, I did. The cinematography was at times quite pain-inducing, and of course that atmosphereis going to affect your perception of the movie, not only visually but mentally. You're going to be less predisposed toward enjoyment. You feel like shit, so nothing can please you. Haasim in particular disliked the movie, and a few of the others agreed. I didn't, I thought it was really good, but I hope to see it properly someday so that I can be sure I am right. My memories of it, regrettably, are quite, erm, slanty.

We talked it out for a while, and after Haasim realized he wasn't going to convince me (and I already knew I wasn't going to convince him,) we said goodnight and Mansoor was nice enough to give me a ride back to Oakville along with the young lovers. As much as I was annoyed that he showed up at the near-last minute, he's such a great guy. It was a nice night apart from the strained neck.

I guess the lesson of the night is to try to enjoy things in spite of their flaws, and to, as a stupid book once put glibly as its title, don't sweat the small stuff.

Me, I just hope I can get to bed at a decent time, the way my brother stomps around when he's intoxicated. I'll probably wait until after he goes to bed, which might be a while.

He's a good guy, I can't deny. And he's getting shafted. But maybe he need not pout.

The world is full of assholes, of nthat I'm certain. When you're not, you should take pride in that and carry yourself well.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 2: Under an ancient sea

Hm. Now where do I begin? More importantly, where am I trying to end? What have I even got to say? Try to avoid reading this entry. You'd be better off. You've been warned.

I hate spring. I hate aw honeys, I hate pity, I hate lacking opportunity, I hate a lotta things. Or at least I have some strong feelings. I don't hate spring. But spring brings with it a great deal of rejuvenation, of energy, of freshness. But this brings with it, you know, the usual sense of loneliness because, shit, it's been a long time since I've met a nice single girl let alone had a decent conversation with one. It's been a long winter, and I've come out of it tired and directionless, but optimistic because it's a brand new season.

The self-loathing part of me says, hey you're not trying hard enough. I don't listen to that side nearly as much as I did back in grade 10, and I've generally been better off for it.

So when one of the thousand or so girls I occasionally do talk with happens to ask, and I straightforwardly tell her the situation is the same as always, it invokes something along the lines of "Aw honey it's okay" or something. Well, not really, it'd be okay if I were getting laid, or had a plan to get laid, or had an opportunity to devise a plan. I'm a man without resources.

I appreciate the sympathy, I suppose, and to some degree I may be fishing for it, but hey when I get asked I gotta answer and be truthful, even if it's a bummer. I spend a great deal of my time being a bummer anyhow, don't think I am unaware of that. I just had this really weird but nice conversation last night with a girl who I'm pretty has a boyfriend or at least plenty of issues (same thing sometimes.) The conversation basically consisted of us complimented one anothers' looks (which I assure you is rare for me to hear,) followed by a lengthy discussion on the merits of breasts (as the young lady identifies herself as bisexual.)

But that whole thing, all those little hang ups aren't even what's got me down tonight. No, that's my usual trip but tonight it's something on top of that. I've got this "think I'll go eat worms" thing going on, feelings of abandonment or whatnot. I'm an unhappy stranger grooking in the streets of Mexico, my friends have died on me, my lovers disappeared, my whores banned. I hate to take it so hard, but I am really quite lonely these days. I haven't seen most of my Sheridan friends since internships began (though I've seen Amanda most weeks and Joe once or twice,) most of my amigos who've been at other Universities seem to have taken the first flight to anywhere after exams, or are otherwise indisposed. Christ, even the kids at White Oaks are out in England for the rest of the week. And me? I'm the fucking Gargoyle of our lady, dreaming in space gray mist dreams. I've never wanted to take flight more in my whole goddamn life.

A few months ago, I was thinking maybe I'd take a trip, blow some of my cash on something utterly frivolous that I'd end up regretting. A week or so in some foreign land, just to get the experience under my belt. Then I made the mistake of letting my brothers get wind of my plans and they killed my enthusiasm by making it about them. I don't think I'm going to do it, but good fucking God would I love to get outta here. It would be a brilliant escape from my life, my rut, and the world that's got me down - particularly, you know, society, technology and the media. I just want to hole up in some exotic location with a pen and paper and write my experience. Just live in a moment instead of feeling bound by all these goddamn wires. You know?

On the plus side, I was up until 2 or so last night writing. I did some very good work, and while I don't plan on making that the routine, it certainly was exhilarating. I need a bit more of that.

Being stuck in a comfortable place is still being stuck, mama.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 1: The moon hangs over us all

You know the weather's getting better when the brastraps start to appear. I love the culture we live in.

It's a nice spring evening. The took like an hour and a half to set. I don't know why I noticed that. There was nothing on TV for most of the night, so I was outside, walking, listening to music, getting a Snickers, watching the sun set I suppose.

My past few days haven't had much of an agenda, which is why I am putting forth a more concerted effort than usual to gain employment. For the most part, I wander around, sometimes inside sometimes out. This is how I became addicted to coffee last year and how I seem to be falling back into old habits. The last few weeks of the internship, I swore off coffee, because it was having an ill effect and becoming a crutch. Get up, shower, schlep out the door, stop by Tim's before you can sit down and do work.

And now every morning, I get up and think, "Gee, what now?" Coffee is the immediate answer to that, and until it starts making me sick again it's going to continue to be, I suspect. Of course at any time, I could do what I did last time and switch to tea.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is a new low point in terms of boringness for this website. I'd apologize, but I doubt there is anybody left after the coffee/tea soliloquy.

It's dentist season. I have a number of friends recently of removed wisdom teeth. It's a little scary because one of my brothers had his removed years ago (probably his last interaction with the dentist,) and he was 18. I'm a few years older than that now and no mention has been made yet of wisdom teeth. I know not everybody gets them removed, but it seems like most people do. And it's apparently quite painful, so I'd like to done as soon as it needs be done. But for now, it's not happening.

No, for now, not much of anything is happening. I went down there, got the pearly whites scraped at, buffed and waxed and was told, "See ya in 6 months." Wow, man. That means that I am officially a year cavity free. I had prepared my teeth a bit, you know, flossed a few times these past weeks, et cetera, but you can't fake that. At the end of the day, if there are holes in your teeth, there are holes in your teeth. And if you drink about three cans of coke every day, that should likely be the case. But I'm weirdly fanatical about brushing, since I'm not prepared to give up Coke.

Beyond that, I've been getting a very small amount of work done on my certain assignments for Amanda's magazine and even took on some extra work for my now-former internship (I still owe them a fershlugginer observatory article!) Because my editor offered me a chance to go see a press screening of 28 Weeks Later. I didn't see the original, but I'd be glad to go rent it and handle this. Of course, there's some expense in getting down there. Dad was a little wary of that when I told him. I don't personally mind, though. I'm just glad for the compliment in being asked to take this assignment.

Then again, a friend of mine recently had an article of his re-written for the Toronto Star... so, they're reading him even if not respecting his work. I don't even know where to find my own stuff on the site, if it's out there.

I like watching the news on City TV, because after a long hard day, the last thing I really want to think about is current events or important issues or anything.

I've got breasts on my mind about 90% of the time. Unfortunately, they're on my hands considerably less.

Surrender, kids, but don't give yourselves awayyyyyy.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott