8-0: One man's electricity

Moderately intoxicated blogging alert. I took tonight as a cue to slip into the gin a little. And it took, I can tell, because that sentence originally read "slip into gin the..." which naturally makes no sense.

I love gin, I do. I find myself frequently having to defend that, but I honest and truly enjoy the buzz I get from it more than anything other than beer, which is a different matter altogether.

Of course, I didn't have to defend anything at all tonight. No, no. Tonight I hit the bottle after deciding I was left to my own devices, spurned by a universe full of fireworks and drunken revery. I wanted to get out but the hour rolled around when it's just not happening, and you know you're stuck in watching a rerun of SNL. It stems partially, though not for lack of trying, from the fact that I was given an unexpected visitor for the weekend...

This supposed long weekend (and when you're out of school and work, really, every weekend is a long weekend bleeding into the next,) mirrors the previous, Victoria Day, when Grandma dropped Xena in my lap. Meanwhile, Eric, then as now, has gone to the trailer and I'm stuck here, bored and exhausted... at wits end with this maladroit shih tzu.

So I had me a couple glasses of gin & 7up because we're out of tonic.

I hope readers of the blog are not bummed. Perhaps it's just my nature, like the Scorpion who stung the toad. That sentence made a lot more sense when I thought it up... nearly an hour ago when I was more inebriated.

I've fallen back into my summer tendancy to watch shitty movies on the Movie network. Today was Yours, Mine and Ours. There'll be a review on Interneta before too long, but it'll basically consist of the four words, "Man, that was shitty!"

I was having this dream last night where I was in a subway, going from car to car determined to get to the front the thwart the villain there. I didn't make it, I was awakened (by the delivery of the previously-mentioned shih-tzu,) but I felt very detemrined, despite the terror of moving subway cars and an inevitable villain eager to vaporize me. It was probably a metaphor for my own fearful detemrination to find a job. Or fuck, maybe it was just a quick dream about a subway. Who the hell knows.

Time is possibility, baby.

I've been writing, but that's nothing new. You can say a lot of things about me, and some of it would be true; but ever since grade 8 you can't say I haven't been writing. Always something on the go, something or other, and someday I'm sure you'll be reading some of it, somewhere, somehow. And some of it might even be good, but right now that's almost elementary because I'm still doing it.

But mayber my writing suffers because I'm not a melodramatic person. I have trouble wrenching down and seeing things in the extreme, and sometimes struggle to take it beyond my natural mental moderation. I'm planning a story right now (part of Collection of Curiosities) that would attempt to crack this nut wide open. No rationale, no moderation, just pure fury and emotion and stuff. But I'm young yet. There's time to learn the extremes.

It's harder to make comedy than tragedy. Because tragedy is easy; everyone gets killed in the end, or otherwise catharsis; according to the classical formular anyhow. And modern "drama" is far less nuanced, let me tell ya. But comedy is the trickiest of all, to appeal to humour and to execute it properly, my God... well, you've seen all the shitty sitcoms out there, you can tell, and yet few people say "that's a shitty drama." For God's sake, people love CSI. Compare Aaron Sorkin's success with the West Wing with his failures on Sports Night and Studio 60 (although to be fair, those were both good shows so I maybe shouldn't have invoked them at all.) And yet in order to do comedy... you just have to be natural at it. So for those who do comedy well, it's much easier. It's just not learned; it's bred. I like to consider the Sewerman comics as varying degrees but at least generally funny. And anytime Eric and I sit down to write one (as we have done so recently,) it just comes right out, in the best cases all in one night, whereas I might obsess over one story for weeks if I need a dramatic element. Life's funny like that sometimes.

But I still have faith, honey, that someday it will all fall into place.

As for Interneta, I have a whoopass-long article on tap for later this summer. It's been in my idea bank for months (and I've mentioned it once or twice in this very blog.)

So won't you please, just for me, keep on rockin'
Scott