V: Very much not according to design

Writing is a difficult profession; and of course in this I speak of fiction. If you push yourself too hard, you'll likely write shit. If you don't push hard enough, you might not write anything at all. It's a difficult line to tread.

I feel like writing tonight, but I also do not physically feel well. Everybody in the house, seemingly, feels miserable lately. Maybe just me and Eric, but Eric is vocal enough to account for an entire faction of people. For my part, I tend to suffer in silence. I suspect my recent neck-related woes (why won't it just go away??) appears to have re-awakened my long-dormant back problem. Hurm.

Actually, it could be any number of things, let alone combinations thereof, including but not limited to my excessive caffeine consumption, recent exploits in Guitar Hero, developing patterns of self-abuse, regular ole discomfort, heat, personal anxiety... the list goes on.

I never finished Melancholy Catatonia. I actually have come very close, having closed in on 60,000 words and a near ending (which I could very well have dragged on as long as I pleased,) but I did not finish it because a huge chunk of it I was dissatisfied with and already yearned to do-over. But going back to the point I made to open this entry, while I pushed myself and got substandard work, I can't seem to get a good motivation going.

Collection of Curiosities has been put off a lot lately, too. I'm pleased with the amount of work I've done on it so far, and yet I have so much yet to do and have hardly glanced at it all summer. I think that will be my project for later tonight. I have two other short stories in mind, which may or may not figure into that project. The first is about a pregnancy test, and the second is about a blind date.

As I mentioned, Eric has been complaining of an "injured knee" in addition to feeling, I don't know, fluish.

Two nights ago, I was deep asleep, but jostled awake shortly after 5 AM by a very real crash and bang. In my unconscious state, I judged it to be a gunshot. I've never heard a gunshot for certain, only seen them in movies or more realistically on TV documentaries. I don't think anything could prepare you for hearing a gunshot in your house while you're asleep. This sound, I had never heard before and was certainly not prepared for. Stupidly (in the event that it was a gunshot,) I poked my head out the door. Tim and mom had gotten home at a weirdly early hour (once agian, it was 5 AM) and mom had somehow managed to drop a bottle of wine on the floor, blasting it open and spilling wine everywhere. And I mean everywhere as it seeped through the floor and pooled on the floor in the basement.

So don't worry kids... those aren't gunshots, they're just dropping wine bottles.

Too tired to continue. More leftover stuff tomorrow.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

U: Under this brain there ain't nothin' but pain

A quick one tonight. Odd perhaps, because it's been a very active weekend.

Take saturday night for instance. Restless, I phoned up CB to see if we were still on the for movies. We were, but nobody else seemed to be down for it. So in tandem we booked it out to the Encore cinema -- perhaps my new favourite place -- to see, yep, the Simpsons movie.

Well, it was inevitable. Despite fear, both from myself and my peers that it would suck a huge long hard one, I had to bite the bullet because I'd pledged my skills to review it at ComiXtreme, and being a lifelong Simpsons fan, I knew it was my duty. And I'm glad... because it was awesome. Review to come to Interneta later, but seriously... wow, man. What a shocker, apart from a few hiccups, not nearly as many as you might think, that was gold.

I went home but remained restless, so I decided to see what was up at the Ferguson house. So I went over and chilld with Chris F., Pat and Lauren for a while; Kyle Chapman was also there, sporting a nifty hobo beard and preaching the virtues of Spanish hostels to the other three, who were planning a trip to Europa.

Sunday was a bit of a blur. I have something to discuss about that, it's a little embarrassing but ultimately harmless. But I'm too exhausted for that tonight, so I'll make a note to reveal it tomorrow.

Sunday night, after groovy episodes of John from Cincinnati, Entourage and Flight of the Conchords, Chris F. called me over again. These days, I'm not one to hermitify, so I sauntered on over around 11 and we (him, Pat and myself,) popped in Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou and played a slapdash game of Risk. It wasn't the bestest game; I later regretted not calling CB over for it since that makes 2 in a row he's missed, but what's done is done I suppose.

Today, once again at Casa Ferguson, for what appears to have been the fourth evening in a row. Actually I was over all day, as those same two dudes asked me to come over and participate in the writing session for their forthcoming Fringe play. I sat around, helped them brainstorm, pitched a few jokes, but generally let them drive.

I don't work well with others, generally speaking. Most writing activities in high school had me taking the thing home and saying "Here, we'll have it tomorrow, you don't worry." Eric and I have our understanding and similar temperaments, but even we have a row now and again. And let's not get started on my misbehaviour when I'm doing work for hire and, God forbid, someone should insinuate my intended ending be changed to something more dramatic. I still feel kinda guilty about that because hey, I was an asshole. I should have compromised, but when I write, that peacemaking part of my brain often doesn't show up.

But knowing that it's their deal, I let them take it where they wanted, and helped guide them, with some advice on what was funny and what probably didn't work. It's just a first draft anyhow.

We wrote for a few hours and grabbed lunch. I had to iron some stuff out at home for bout 20 minutes, and after I came back we just chilled with some gourmet jelly beans. Lauren came by, then left... we tossed the frisbee around, had some dinner... knowing me, I actually did pretty well, although I limited myself to the salad (it had meat in it anyhow) and side dishes, rather than a grilled sausage, since that's not my favourite meat really. But like I said, something I don't usually like doing (eating outside of my usual space with other people) worked out pretty well. Eventually, CB came over and the rest of the evening was filled with Guitar Hero, including a misguided attempt to go to Blockbuster and rent Guitar Hero I (as we had been playing II) because of the earlier one's songs had all been played out. The night ended when Chris F. and I failed at Freebird, which ultimately caused my eyes to liquefy from their sockets. Maybe I'm not ready.

I actually got up this morning to address the business of my course enrolment. It helps now that I have a tangible vision of what my school year will be like... my hoped-for courses were a bit compromised by factors like scheduling conflicts, and class sizes, but all in all I'm sated. It's looking fine. Sadly, no seminars for Scotto.

But keep on rockin'
-Scotto

T: This is all the world we've got

I had a bit of an epiphany about my neck. I think a bee may have stung it, or some other brand of flying, stinging insect. A while back, I distinctly remember swatting at some kind of creepy crawly on the back of my neck and it took me this long to put 2 and 2 together. I'm really wondering how much longer before it goes the fuck away, because today was day 7.

Today I got into a bit of an argument with my brother over... well, something I was right about and he was wrong. I went out yesterday evening to play a game of Risk at Chris F's place. Pat arrived at the same time I did, and we were later joined by Ryan L. Chrisbrown was supposed to be there too - he was actually quite insistent that there be Risk and we were already ahead of him... but sadly, the "plan," according to CF, was to start the Risk game early, and poor CB only got off work at 9. normally this wouldn't even matter but Chris was downright insistent. I kept asking, "Well, what are we gonna do?" and they just shrugged and said, you know, "Next time."

Of course, we could just have easily played Guitar Hero until CB would have arrived. We stalled a while, after Pat and Chris had sushi; I'd already eaten but had a bit anyway. I've had rice and fish and everything before, but not together as a unit, so now that's one less thing I have to do. It was aright. Anyway, after that came the Guitar Heroics. It was my first time playing the game, as evidenced by my immediate frustration at my own lack of co-ordination. But eventually I got a hang of it, particularly when we put on Last Child by Aerosmith. I guess it's jsut a matter of being familiar with the song and being able to anticipate the groove. Again, I'm not sure why we didn't just do that for hours and hours until CB could come.

Eventually, Ryan showed up and the game started. It was a long one - stretching from 8 PM until the only elimination, Chris', shortly after 3 AM. That's roughly the Risk red zone, where you know it's time to call it. Pat had most of the board, with me, as usual, being the dominating force in Europe. I don't care who you are, if I get the Ukraine -- which I always seem to -- the game is written for me from there. We found the time also to watch three Mel Brooks flicks: Blazing Saddles, Robin Hood Men in Tights and Spaceballs, as well as the Big Lebowski, all in their entirety, with a 40 minute-or-so break around 11:30 for Pat to go pick up his sister, while the guys played Guitar Hero some more.

I e-mailed my brother Brandon around 1:00, realizing I had forgotten my keys. I told him to make sure the side door was open and he replied, "No Worries." I now realize that that expression does in actuality mean "You should probably worry, because I'm incompetant." Pat gave me a lift home and I asked him to stay there a while until he saw the light in the backyard go on so he'd know I got in. So I go to open the door, lo and behold, locked. so I had to pound a while before Eric came to see me. Brando gives this weak explanation the next day about having to lock the door after letting the cat in -- more or less the exact reason I knew I had to e-mail him in the first place, because he does always lock the door and this time I wanted to do my best to make sure he did not. As I said, he had not a leg to stand on.

Today's been a lazy day. Instead of making dinner, we ordered from the Wingery.

I'm actually just writing this out of necessity. My heart's not in it. Maybe it's because I'm continuing to write in the notepad window rather than the blog window and my enthusiasm is just... down.

Mystery pain also contributes.

Keep on rockin
-Scotto

S: Suddenly she stops to defy gravity

There are many memories from this summer that will inevitably be forgotten; often for the better. I probably won't remember, a year from now, how I felt when I got home from my U of T orientation, exhausted and confused about the future. The Live-Earth concert was on. Don't ask why I drummed that memory up. There's just a lot that's going to fall through the cracks.

If I'm lucky, I won't remember the misery that's sitting on my neck right now. I'm hoping I don't have to see a doctor over it.

Then there are things I'll read -- many entries from the past three months -- and wonder what was going thorugh my head when I wrote them. I often don't even know while I'm writing them. I just let what comes out come. A lot of this pseudo-depressed nonsense came from that.

But the truth is, this summer can be officially be ruled to have sucked. It just has. The highlight thus far has basically been meeting a person from Scotland.

This is also the first thursday in about a month not to involve drinking. The circumstances that led to each of the previous 4 were unique and unrelated, and I guess the streak just wasn't gonna stay alive.

I'm sort of testing myself. I haven't had a coke yet today. I want one, and after I'm done writing this, I'll probably go get it. I just didn't bother, which is a unique notion for an acknowledged junkie.

I don't want to be (depressed/unmotivated/lonely.) It seems shitty for me to bemoan my situation when seemingly, I've got it pretty good. Once I got zen about not having a job (during the trip to Niagara Falls,) the ducks sorta started to fall into a row. Everything started to make a little more sense. Then it got cloudy a bit - over the weekend and earlier this week - and now here we are. Back, more or less, to zen. As good as it can be, I suppose, all things considered.

There are things, I (suppose/concede/understand) that need to be changed. Some of them will change naturally, some of them I'll figure out in due time. There's also bureaucracy that needs taking care of, including course registration on monday.

We were supposed to go grocery shopping tonight but aren't. The story behind that is, like every word written here, basically inconsequential except to say, hey, it's effed up man. Mom had to take Brando to the vet (erm... with his cat,) and so "was tired." She offered to take us tomorrow morning. I'd rather not, and Eric intends to be sleeping, but she's the one with the car. This is the first time I've ever thought, "Wow, a driver's license would solve this problem." I should probably get on that.

I'm so freaking unmotivated. CAn't even muster up the rest of this post.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

R: Remember the impression you got

I'm typing this entry, like my previous, in a .txt file, because I find that my computer tends to lag when I type in my browser. I don't prefer this, I feel suddenly like my thoughts won't come. I have no idea why the blogger client is so much more condusive to me writing these meandering little thoughts.

I've been a mess the last little while, but still better off than I had been prior to the Niagara Falls trip. That was a high, but highs beget lows and you need to seek more highs. Or something. This makes no sense, and I still blame notepad.

I can't get it off my chest, what's been bothering me. I can't express it and I'm kind of uncomfortable attempting to. I kinda feel like Grade 10 again, and if you knew me back then you'll know that's not the best look for me. I didn't know who I was back then; I didn't know much about anything. All I knew was about freaking out over stupid little shit.

I just need to breathe. You should've seen me last night, kinda miserable. I wisely (I think) opted not to "blog it out," instead opting to wait a while and attempting to chill. I was walking around around sunset. It was so golden, unreal, and there was a goddamn rainbow arching through the sky. I didn't think scenes like that happened in real life, but it did.

Then, in a sequence of events reverse to the norm, after I saw the rainbow, it started to rain. Hrm. It amused me, though, it was a nice refreshing rain. Something we needed. And now it's due to rain again tomorrow, which it always seems on Wednesdays, which makes me very uncomfortable since Wednesdays I like to go down to Comic Connection and get my books. I haven't done that in a while, largely due to having been taking care of the dog.

I thought it was dog that was killing my morale, but it seems as though things are the exact same without her around. Still I can't tell you exactly how much of a relief it is to just chill out.

Part of my stress ahs been my OSAP application. The necessarily(?) roundabout way to do applications, I made a mistake and have had to take the extremely roundabout steps to get my OSAP application cancelled so that I can re-do it. This involved calling them Tuesday morning, finding that their hours are different on Tuesdays, calling them again, getting a busy signal, getting hung up on, repeating several times... then finally tracking down their e-mail address and being told I had to submit a written request by paper-mail (doubtless this is what I'd have been told had I gotten them on the phone.) So that played out between last tuesday and yesterday. Now I just need confirmation of the cancellation and to, uhm, try applying again. What a bummer, dude.

I stayed up until 2 last night uploading the new Sensational 7 comic, so I hope everybody reads and enjoys that. Interneta has also been updated (although oddly enough I neglected to mention Redneck there,) so I've got to go back and do that sometime (not that anyone extra would see it.)

I've got this weird little irritation on my neck, at the base of it. It's so goddamn weird. Eric's amateur diagnosis is that a mosquito bit me on the spine, and thus it's swollen not only blood but spinal fluid (uh, ew?) doubling the irritation. All I know is its really sore and nasty and it's making it difficult for me to sleep. Caffeine probably plays a part in that also, but it would be nice not to have a mystery-abcess on my spine. Eric claims it'll go away in a few days. I hope he's not wrong.

Once upon a time, it was early May. The air was chilly in the mornings, and then it would warm up. The trees were barely blooming. I was beginning my summer vacation. Suddenly it's late July and I'm a mental case. It's not overly hot, I'd say, which is a sad blow for the environmentalists; who, despite the seeming dearth of compelling physical evidence for the public beyond statistics and images, are entirely right that we're pretty fucked. Forget the tipping point - we're already fucked, I say. We can't go back, we crossed the threshhold decades ago. We're cooked, man, but do what feels right. That's why I still recycle despite my view of futility. It does my soul good to try.

I got a warm feeling from typing that. The best I've felt in days.

I'm an idiot; did you know that? Yep, just like grade 10 Scotto; idiot. I shouldn't even care about it, but it bothers me, this little thing. No, I will not say. It's embarrassing for a 20-year-old man to get hung up on this shit.

I thought about banging a prostitute not long ago. Not considered, mind you, just tried to imagine the scenario. It doesn't seem very appealing, since I'd rather make an emotional connection than a physical one. After that, I'd be all too eager to make the physical connection, but I wouldn't want to pay for sex, it would really demean the notion of it for me.

If I re-read this entry in 6 months or a year and remember what the hell I'm even talking about, I'd be surprised. But for now, I just feel like a dope.

Try to keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Q: Quickly I'm standing still

"This is a story about a time when someone was sick."

So begins Pekar and Brabner's excellent graphic novel "Our Cancer Year" (art by Frank Stack.) It's actually quite an inspiring piece of work. But I'm not here to talk about it, so I'll paraphrase.

This is a story about a time when someone was bored. Not just the "oh I have nothing to do tonight" type of boredom, more of the restless, "Where am I going with my life, how can I spend my energy?" type boredom.

It started last night. Well actually it goes much deeper than that, but the story centers on last night. The entire day had been centred on the insanity, the pandemonium, the mania surrounding the release of the only important book apparently ever published, Harry Potter and the Naughty Sausage. Or whatever it was called.

I'm the only person I know who seems not to care about the Hogwarts universe. The books began publication sometime around when I was in grade 7 and have continued onward ever since. At the time I wasn't much into reading for pleasure, and little has changed since. I do read, there's a lot of good that can be done in the written word, but I'm still not one for pop fiction. As I explained to a friend, I also just hate anything that gets millions of people utterly obsessed.

Rowling has apparently been working on this series for 17 years. She referenced some remark Charles Dickens made in the preface to David Copperfield, referring to it as a "two-years imaginative task," saying, "Try seventeen years, Charles." Uh yeah, but you know David Copperfield is only one of Dickens' many novels, and that back in Dickens' era, you didn't write 7 books about one character and market the shit out of him. But whatever! A lot of people happen to enjoy those stories, and I for one have nothing against that; it's jsut not what I'm into.

So the entire world was reading all day yesterday. I believe they had the need to finish as soon as possible to avoid the rapidly impeding spoilers that would surely be flooding all ears as soon as everybody else finished the book. So it was a race against time, and one that Chris F. was determined to win... sorta. He would have finished in good time, but had made a deal with his aunt that they would read the last 100 pages together. So he wanted to kill some time and get his mind off the book. We were going to go see Live Free or Die Hard , but nobody else was aorund... they were all reading, or in the case of Chrisbrown, working at 5 AM the next day.

So nothing happened last night. I sat around, bored, as I'm sure did he. I watched on the news where they tracked down a man named Harry Potter and discussed how amusing his life must be to gawk at. Clearly this was pressing news, the kind of shit you get educated about when you work on the Sheridan Sun, but hope you never have to do.

And Xena went home. Finally. I got paid. I had said earlier how much I would consider to be "enough" but didn't get it. I understand it but can't hlep being disappointed. Grandma had after all just gotten back from a trip and had to also buy birthday gifts for her 4-year-old grandson. She can't fork over a fat wad of cash to me just because I fed and walked her dog for a few weeks. So I accept it, graciously, but I still have to sigh and say "Not worth the trouble." But at least things are back to normal.

Today was a family gathering, Cameron's birthday. He's at that age when all the cool toys start to be geared toward you ("Three and up" and that sort of thing.) I spent a great deal of time catching up with my own aunt. Given that I will be going to school in her city she seemed eager to let me freeload off her, offering me a place to stay whenever I feel the need. It'll be hard, at least at first, to guage exactly when that will be, but I'm sure she'll be seeing plenty of me. My other aunt wants to get in on it to, and why not? I should spread the freeloading around, so everyone gets sponged off of. The decision not to go to res is looking better all the time.

There's still some issue with my OSAP application. I'm annoyed about it and will have to address before next monday when the course enrolment starts. I've been working on it for a while and am nearing a solution but it's still not quite straightened out. It's annoying.

Still, I've been pretty zen about the future since Niagara Falls, minus one night of belligerent drunkeness. I do have a bit still to get off my chest, but this (for once) isn't the appropriate forum. But time heals, or at least gives you bigger injuries to worry about.

It's been a dull weekend. This will be the last week of July. Uhm.... er.... yipe.

Well keep on rockin'
-Scotto

P: Priorities in disarrangement

So, trying to make sense of myself.

Last night, as you might imagine, left a bitter taste in my mouth. I mean that literally as much as figuratively, as my tongue felt as though I'd been munching urinal cakes when I woke up this morning; and my stomach felt like I'd been drinking paper mache paste.

I mean hey, it wasn't such a bad night, and had circumstances been different it could have been a great deal better. But I woke up, stretched out, and tried to figure on moving on.

I thought I might've been hung over, but it turned out I was just tired. This is good as it keeps my yearlong streak alive. I may vomit like nuts (although not last night) but I don't get hung over. My only recorded one, about which I frequently boast, was my 19th birthday. I mean literally, I was hung over at my 19th birthday, the celebration held by my family. It somewhat hampered my enthusiasm at the time.

But today I turned out to be fine. I dug the prize out of my Mini-Wheats, a Shrek-themed night light (knight light) you can "wear" on your ear. It's actually kinda nifty albeit a far cry from what we used to get back in the glory days of cereal prizes. And they don't put them in the cereal anymore, but under the bag, so you don't have to wait until the cereal is done (which makes me wonder why I waited so long.) I vividly recall my dad scolding me not to dig through my Shreddies.

Shreddies, by the way, are not Chex. Chex are made with wheat and corn, or just corn, or rice, but Shreddies are whole wheat. Having had both, I can tell you they're unique.

So I went down to the mall this morning and met up with Amanda. I think we're making it a regular thing, which is good as it gives me something to do with my time. We talk about, well, life and school and work and junk. I mentioned my grandiose funeral plans (not that I anticipate having to use them anytime soon) and she scoffed. Given my paste-feeling stomach I actually did not have coffee for once in my damn life, but had tea.

The Xe-dog will be going home tomorrow evening. I can assure you I've been counting the minutes. It's sort of a running gag that I keep finding things to do in the evening to get away from her. This has been going on since the very first night she came over and I went out for a drink with Bryan (and if my current trend reverses it's good to know I could probably still grab a brew with him sometime.)

Tuesday night, I got a new pair of shoes. They aren't exactly what I would have chosen (as is often the case, mom bought them on a whim knowing I was in need,) but more or less like my old ones. They have the same flaw as my old Duffs (which these are also) being that prolonged wearing results in sore heel and calf among other muscles. I guess I'll be hanging onto my Brooks for a while longer... stretching their usefulness years longer than they were intended. But they're damn comfy.

While at the mall, Amanda bought a pair of Crocs. I mused about the first person I ever knew to have a pair (you know who you are) and how years from now, retrospective films and shows (think Dazed and Confused, That 70's Show, or even a show like Back In) will emphasize the trend by including a character who's just bought a pair, proclaiming "In 6 months, you'll all have a pair" and he won't be totally wrong but not really right either. We also went to HMV and I saw my old manager, Cooper, for the first time since my last shift. He's such a good guy, I like being able to go back and talk to the employees like I was one of them (once upon a time.) He lamented how business was slow. I would have bought something, but I have an HMV gift card that wasn't with me, and it would be ridiculous to waste it.

So I spent this evening testing the new shoes out. Last night, Chris F. had mentioned midnight madness and some vague plan, but wouldn't really elaborate (it was a generally chaotic night at the time.) So I got bored with television around 9 and decided to head out. Eric tagged along. So we walked down to Lakeshore, as I have many times before, and threw ourselves into the throng of people. Just a mass of humanity. Eric mused that we were swimming in a sea of bodies, and I advised it was probably best to just let the current go. We went, at one point, down by the lighthouse, to get away from the madness, and then did a few more laps, not buying anything but rather enjoying the free music and atmosphere of sweat and tobacco.

In case you don't know, midnight madness is an event where all of the stores on Oakville's Lakeshore road stay open 'til midnight, the road is closed, a bunch of bands play (simultaneously at stages littered throughout the crowd,) sales are offered, bounce castles are inflated, and a good time is somehow had despiute the rage inherent to following a slow-moving family of 4 pushing a stroller around despite my belief that this is not the ideal environment for a toddler.

Anyway, I'd set out with the notion that several of my friends would be around, but it would have been ridiculously naive of me to think I could actually count on meeting up with them. Now, if they were there, anything could've happened, but I didn't see them. I did see a few people from the high school years, Kenwood, Spencer, Nicki and even Doug's sister (whom I ran into a few weeks ago at the comic store) being among them. Lauren had advised me not to go to Starbucks; she'd be working and it was guaranteed to be busy. That alone made me want to go, the idea that I was being told not to. When I got there, I saw that it was more helpful advice than an outright command, as the line was indeed cartoonishly long. I wonder how she survived.

I'm working on a rudimentary stand-up comedy act. For years people have told me I should get into it, and I always brushed it off as, well, a bad idea. It's hard work making people laugh, especially when you stand up in front of them and basically say "This is going to make you laugh." The subconscious reaction is to resist, to only be won over by force. and I'm not a very forceful person.

I use expressions like, "That's the saddest thing I've ever heard" and "That was the worst thing ever" a whole lot. And maybe I don't mean, most ever, of all time, or what have you. Maybe I just have trouble expressing myself, qualifying my opinions, so I rely on exaggeration. I mean, I'll be honest with you. I love hyperbole more than life itself, and I think I would wither, suffocate and die if I couldn't overstate everything. It's the most important thing in the world to me.

I wrote a song recently, in the surf-rock genre. It's called "I'm Stalking the Weather Girl." It's 8 minutes 10 seconds long and consists solely of that expression sung repeatedly. It was inspired by the pretty ethnic weekend weathergirl on City TV. I'm not really stalking her, but I could imagine somebody (myself?) doing so, hypothetically.

She whispered gently and would not repeat herself, "Cross-continental relationships don't work," much to my perplexity as I had said no such thing and that was not the conversation we'd been having. It was not much later that, drunk on beer and wine and beer respectively, she took me close by the hand and expressed her worry that I'd be leaving. And it was not long after that she shoved me out the door. Those fragments, I remember from last night. I can't cobble them together into any sort of sense, but that's drunk behavior for you. I'm not sure how much of it actually involves me and how much of it I was merely around for.

Back to tonight and Eric and I wander aimlessly, with my having to cover his ass for bus fare home. In fact, we caught a charter to the GO station, and some poor girl had lost her purse and tried to get off, not perceiving that, it being a charter bus, they were not keen on making stops. I told Eric, reason #434 I'm glad I'm not a girl is the whole purse thing. The way they must clutch those things for dear life; it's sort of a "sucks to be you" thing.

We left just as all the places were closing up and got home around 12:45, not having missed much although given that we hadn't told Brando where we'd be going he was somewhat confused. As I mentioned, my legs are sore (I feel like I just worked a shift at Classic Bowl or something,) and it'd be therapeutic but unlikely to take a soak.

I was on my way home from Joe's the other night, sitting around at South Common Mall (great place to be after 11, yeah yeah,) humming the Coral's Liezah while I waited for the 24 bus. That's when they came by: a quartet, two guys and two girls, presumably a pair of couples on their way back to Oakville. They smoked like chimneys and swore like Lenny Bruce without punchlines. Leading the pack were two weird huge dogs sniffing around and being curious and kind of unruly but obedient. I told the story with the dogs as Rotweilers but I don't think they were. They might've been black labs or mutts or something. The points is, they had come on a Mississauga bus and mused, "I hope the driver lets us on" (with the dogs.) They rationalized, "Why wouldn't he? It'll just be us and this gentleman," (in reference to me. I dig it when strangers use weird hipster ironic proper-speak.) They openly discussed their plans for the night (said one girl to her man, "We're not having sex more than once.") Well the bus arrived and after I got on, it was made clear they they would not be joining. "Mississauga's different," said the driver. they didn't put up too much of a fight but were quite disappointed. Hey, I would be too, I hate when shit goes awry. I wonder how they got home or what they did. Too many for a taxi. Maybe they had a friend with a car who owed a favour. Maybe they were just fucked.

This was a good post I think. I emptied out my cache of unrelated-to-anything anecdotes and had a good time writing it.

I hope you're doing well. We're all good here.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

O: Only obligated to be halfway hard

To preface, I'm pretty drunk. Naturally, not so drunk that I couldn't have logged onto this site, but drunk enough that I might say some shit that I would likely not have had I been sober. But some asshole wrote, and I agree, that a man would never say something drunk he didn't mean sober. So of course I am absolutely prepared to be held accountable for the shit I sling in this entry.

To continue, I'd rather not write in this thing while intoxicated, but I didn't write last night anyhow and hey, when am I gonna write this? It needs to be now.

To further preface, I'm pretty insane to begin with and nothing I say need be taken all that seriously. But nonetheless, this is my story, and how I have chosen to tell it (whatever I end up typing.)

I guess what I'm getting at is maybe I overdosed on good feeling. After all, it's not usual that I feel okay at all, so the last two days have been pretty wicked. So naturally right now I feel kinda shitty. Not that I expect it to last through the night, and I'm hoping tomorrow I'll wake up and be peachy keen. Or some expression less dated.

To get last night out of the way, it consisted primarily of me going opver to Joe's again, hanging with him, Haasim, Amanda K. and Anthia, until Anthia left. The mood was somewhat less revelry (or some conjugation of that description) that last week. As low-key as he can be, I think it may be Mansoor who keeps us from getting too maudlin. I don't know.

Last night was just a little too mournful by comparison to last week's joyous reunion. It was as though suddenly we weren't all that happy to see each other, even though that's not the case.

Today I went out and got some beer. Naturally, I did not accompliush this feat by my lonesome. I asked Lauren if she'd give me a lift, in exchange for my picking up an item or two for her, as well as her friend Anna, the very nice young Scottish lass I met on our trip to Niagara Falls. So off we went and took care of that and as we make conversation she asks "You're coming tonight, right?"

Naturally, my response was "Uh, what?"

So she explains that she was having a thing tonight and I should come, Chris and Pat will be there, etc etc. The secret is that you don't really have to twist my arm all that much to get me to be somewhere. All you have to do is ask me, make it appear as though I'm wanted someplace, and there's a good chance I will go.

Feeling as though I was wanted, I eventually made my way over on foot. This took about 50 minutes so I got there around 10. The place was full o' the people I might have expected... Lauren, Anna, Chris and Pat whom I mostly hung out with as long as they were there, and a few other guys I frankly don't know all that well. But we all had a few beers and Pat, Chris and I discussed their ideas for a new play, it sounds good. Eventually they left, and logically I should have gone too, but I kinda wanted to stick around and drink more.

I don't really know what happened. The crowd dwindled. It got kinda near 1:00 AM, a little after, and I eventually had to go. The gang had generally dispersed, with Lauren going off to do (god knows what) with (god knows what his name was.) Soon enough I had to leave... but not necessarily of my own accord. Let's just say it was politely "suggested" that I leave by the other gentleman who was left, saying he'd rather I go, thinking he was "onto something." I hung around only long enough to say goodbye to Anna, as she was the closesy thing to a hostess left, and I felt it necessary to bring the night to a close by telling someone, "goodbye." Had I had my wits about me it might've ended less easily, as weird as that is (think about it, alcohol made things easier for once.) I might've put up a fight, but I was being a good guy for this dude, despite the secret moral outrage. I wished him luck and gve him my estimate of his chances (low) but I had to re-evaluate that after the way she ushered me out. So I figure right now, either they're getting busy to some degree, or he's very disappointed and she's smart.

I have a longstanding bitterness toward anyone - friend or foe - getting anywhere with anyone. I'm petty like that.

So I walked home and thought about what a tool I'd become and hoped she'd be okay. I guess I'll learn tomorrow or some other day.

I have thoughts on this that would be better articulated while not drunk. I felt, when asked to come, that I'd be wanted, and yet ultimately upon arrival I still felt like the odd piece out (not unexpected) as the only people who seemed to give a shit that I was around (Pat and Chris,) didn't even know I'd be coming.

Tomorrow morning I'm going to have some serious issues to think over, and that ain't good. I wanted to be cool and carefree for a while. But tonight has left me with a foul taste in my mouth, and that ain't the Keith's.

Lots of pointless unrelated anecdotes tomorrow, I swears (unless something absolutely fascinating happens.)

So keep on rockin' for me
-Scotto

N: Nix that and never turn your back!

Where oh where do I start? The beginning seems like a good place, so let's go there.

As should have been plainly obvious from yesterday's entry, I was a little bummed recently. I was kinda down. In a sort of existential funk. I fell asleep still feeling pretty low, and woke up, well, just kinda sore. I was thinking, you know, maybe it's this town. Maybe I've just got to get out of this town for a little while. Visiting Joe last week was a start, but now I needed some missing ingredient. I needed something, to quote one of the characters on one of the best shows on TV... "Legendary." The story had its roots in one very dull evening last summer.

Chrisbrown, Cary and I were sitting around some Saturday night trying to figure out what to do. See a movie? There was nothing playing. Get a drink? We had no booze. Then I suddenly set aside the magazine I'd been thumbing through and had a very rare moment of spontaneity. I blurted out, "We could go to Niagara Falls." Snap. Suddenly, the guys were with me.

I was a ludicrous plan. It was already after 10 I believe. The entire plan consisted of loading up CB's van with people, and hauling ass to the Falls. Once there, we'd get a look at the illuminated night-falls, then book it back to Oakville for sleep. Eventually the plan was scuttled for whatever reason these plans ever are and occasionally afterward somebody'd say, "Remember the time we almost went to Niagara Falls?" It was a pretty lame anecdote, you can tell because of the way I just told it. But it always stood out.

So this morning as I sipped coffee, I finally decided that something was missing, and that the cure would probably be a sudden trip to Niagara. I decided that once I got home I'd shop it around top whomever was around; namely, Lauren, given that she was probably as sick of this town as I was, and also has a car. So I log on to the ole 'puter and MSN and what do I see but Lauren's name with the subhead "Niagara Falls?" As you might imagine, I was in shock, and my opening line was "You read my freaking mind." I don't necessarily believe in Carl Jung's theory of the collective unconscious, but I gotta believe in something now, because it seems the very night before her friend Anna, who has been visiting from Scotland, had suggested, "How about we see the Niagara Falls tomorrow?" Lauren said I was welcome to join. It would be those two, and some other guy if they could get ahold of him. I was down with it, and arrangements were made, meaning I took care of everything I would need for the little dog I've been letting ruin my life for two weeks. So I walked and fed her and awaited my ride after shaving off my beard of boredom. I shit you not, my primary reason for not shaving for over a week (despite disliking the bristle of facial hair) was that I had nothing to do.

Sometime after 1, we headed off. They were unable to locate the other bloke, so it was just three. Not bad, I like a smaller dynamic, it gives me more room to be. We agreed later that three was a good number, and that larger travel groups can be unruly. So we headed off, using mapquest as a guide. Now here is a problem, when the directions say to get off the QEW at Victoria Avenue, you do so... even though there are two Victoria Avenue exits very very far from each other and we ended up getting a bit of a runaround. But eventually we figured out what was going on and got back on the road. Geography lesson learned: Niagara Falls is the end of the QEW. 'Nuff said.

We arrived sometime after 2:30. After partaking of Niagara Falls' burgeoning $5 Flat rate parking industry, we found our way to the falls. More accurately, we found our way to a souvenir stand with a restroom near the falls. I marvelled at all the wonderful expensive crap they were peddling, and also the inappropriate placing of a Moose mannequin in the Men's room (?) stationed at a urinal (??). Okay, it's novel I suppose, and a moose's gotta go too... but what if they get a rush of customers in there and there aren't enough urinals available? I'm thinking someone is just going to piss on the moose rather than wait in line. (Question: Why not remove the moose? Answer: It was chained to the wall. Yeah, because a moose leaning up against a urinal is something a lotta guys wanna get their hands on.)

I hadn't been to Niagara Falls since about Grade 8, but it was more or less as I remember it: a natural wonder surrounded by tacky souvenir shops, tourist traps, and hotels. I made some inappropriate remark about how at this very moment 1000 newlywed couples were doing it for the first time as husband and wife in this very city. For some reason that one didn't get a laugh. We eventually found out that Niagara Falls has been totally sufficient on tourist dollars since the late 1880's. So buy all the crap you can -- "Your money makes Greathings happen!" (The sign was literally rendered like that... we speculated on the pronunciation of "Greathings.")

We took a few snaps by the falls before going down to the Maid of the Mist. In all the various times I'd visited Niagara Falls as a kid, I had never been on the Maid, with the very obvious reason being that we usually went on March Break when the weather was miserable. (At some point it became repetitive that I kept saying I hadn't done things "in years/more than once/ever." It made it seem like I don't do much of anything, which at certain points is true.)

We got on the boat and were issued our plastic ponchos. It was the fashion statement of the decade, and I predicted someday they would dominate the scene. (The fasion scene.) After putting it on, I wondered why my mom had always been so scared of me putting a plastic bag over my head - this seemed pretty safe. More pictures were taken. The boat started going. The first part of the tour was Rock World. The one set of falls that has water crashing down on a massive pile of jagged rocks. I'm thinking that's not the falls people go over in barrels. The second part of the tour was Seagull World. If you've ever wanted to see 300 000 seagulls gathered on a rock face, the Maid of the Mist Tour is for you. But that's hardly the main attraction. Level three is Mist World. I mused to Lauren that the giant wall of mist was quite impressive and that if this were a horror movie, the mist might come alive and kill tourists. I told her, I wouldn't see that movie but maybe rent it if there was nothing else. Anyway, it's not really threatening. It's sort of a friendlier gateway to the final level of the tour: Get-Your-Arse-Wet World. In that level, you get really really close to the falls, and thus wet, hence the necessity of ponchos.

After we disembarked (that's boat speak for "got off" as in, "during long stays at sea, the crewmates disembark on each other in secret.") I kept my poncho, using the deft logic that it will probably rain eventually, then re-thinking it, I corrected myself, "Actually, it's guaranteed to rain eventually." We got a look at the green screen photo we'd taken before boarding, but decided we'd had enough good free pics. Digital cameras must be killing the scammers in the tourist industry. All the Maid of the Mist employees looked like they wanted to kill themsleves and everyone around. Maybe not all; but at least most.

After that, it was a brief stop for coffee and chat, as well as a look around the Hershey store (Sign: "FUDGE FUDGE FUDGE FUDGE FUDGE" Scott: "Do you think they have fudge there?") Everything inside was ungodly expensive. I like the sweets, but I'm not going to pay cocaine rates for them.

The ride back was uneventful, you know how things go. Despite traffic, I was in a great mood, primarily from being out in the world and doing something. It's also nice when you meet a friend's friend and get along with them; as opposed to being awkward, a flavour to which I've been accustomed.

As I said goodbye, they said thanks for coming, although the truth is I ought to have (and did) thank them for getting em outta my rut. I came home sometime just around 6, and wondered where everyone was. Eric and Brandon had went to pick up some random package B had been sent. Eric apologized in advance for dinner, as he'd experimented with the steaks and gotten a negative result. They were salty to the extreme thanks to the unfortunate marinade he'd concocted. I spent most of the evening attempting to appease the little dog.

Today was a brilliant day. I mentioned to the girls that I was coming to terms with the fact that summer employment didn't seem to be in the cards for me, but then again had never been. I always seem to find employment in September, so we'll try again this year. It isn't as though I'll be getting out of this town anyhow. I also got to re-tell the Tim Hortons/Boogie Wear story to Anna's fresh ears, which never seems to get old (with good reason: it's an amazing anecdote.)

I know my life is not great. For now, at times, whatever. I also know that it's not a dead end, which is overwhelmingly good news for me at this point. I'll be hanging out at Joe's again soon, and there are other things on the horizon. There's a world out there and I know it can't rain all the time. But when it does, I've got a poncho.

If you're lonely: reach out. Someone will catch you.

Currently enamoured with Beck. I've been a fan of his for a while, to the point where I insistently include "Where It's At" in every incarnation of Half-Past. His creative output has been pretty consistent in both quality and ongoing quantity, in fact I believe he's stepped it up in the last 5 years, ever since Sea Change. I respect a good ethic as much as good material. But his material is also basically always good.

Have a good night, brothers and sisters; and keep on rockin'
-Scott

M: Make it last, mirror in darkness

"I hated you, but now I love you, because it was you who saved me from those birds."

When I was in grade 5, my best friend was Drew. We used to talk on the phone for several hours most nights, or at least when we weren't hanging out. But after a while, we'd be talking for a few hours and then realized we'd said everything, and then, everybody's done this at some point in life, we'd talk about how there was nothing left to talk about. Usually, this saccharinely obvious display of need is reserved for couples, but Drew and I were tight at the time.

I say this because, as you might've guessed by my not having posted since Friday, and not really wanting to write this, I've observed... for the first time in years, it seems I have nothing to say. I don't know. It certainly seems like I'm grasping at straws. What should I talk about?

On the weekend, I did nothing.

I'm still kinda miserable. I'm still jobless and stuck in this town. I'm still lonely as fuck (as Amanda K. observed Thursday night, "You just need to get laid." Well... duh.) I'm still addicted to caffeine. I still have all my same anxieties about the fall, but because of my Sheridan experience I know it'll be fine and by November I'll be saying, "What was I worried about?" at least as far as the actual education part goes. I'm still taunted by that misanthropic anhedonic shih tzu (God I'd better be getting a massive payday for this.) Even my Grandma doesn't want to be in this town. I still watch as all my friends (?) from around here do their best to get out of here, and I'm left, because really, what am I? Why in the name of the fucking holy realm of Mephisto would anybody need to show regard for my existence? I mean, apart from the good folks I've been friends with since Journalism, who actually, you know, miss me and want to know what I've been up to. Thursday felt good but, as is I suspect most of reality, is fleeting. Other than them. Scott will always be around. Always. He's trapped and we don't need to worry about it.

Should I cry for help? Maybe it's just a cry of boredom, but it's getting dangerous. I'm turning into one of those assholes who can't cope with the tedious bores of everyday existence. It's not in my nature to call much attention to myself, and this is admittedly probably part of the problem. Because when I want to see people, I don't know where to begin. I don't know what I need. If I did, I don't think I would be able to get it. I'm not sure I'm making myself clear, because I'm fairly certain nobody's listening (nobody in a position to help anyhow) because maybe, maybe, maybe my melodramatic ramblings have alienated people. Because fuck, I know I wouldn't want to hang around with the mopey son of a bitch who's writing this shit!

Catch-22: I wouldn't be a mopey son of a bitch if I had someone to hang around with. If a frog had pockets, he'd carry a hand gun. Thank you Dan Rather; Kenneth, what is the frequency?

Kenneth, what is the frequency?

Kenneth, what is the frequency?

(Kick, kick, kick.)

Catch me on a good day sometime (if they really exist!) A paranoid manic depressive is not someone you want to ignore. Maybe I'm not that. I'm just trying to cope. I can't even crack this walnut with words.

I'm with you in Rockland where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses. I'm with you in Toronto where you type paranoid telegrams from a lonely attic. I'm with you in Windsor where you are madly in love with an older man. I'm with you in Calgary, where you try to hide from everything you brought with you. I'm with you in Windsor, where I don't know what you're thinking. I'm with you in England where you seek elusive higher consciousness. I'm with you in Ottawa where you are reunited with your lover. I'm with you in Massachusetts where you grow, and grow others. I'm with you in Oakville where I am going to be the last living human being. I'm with you in Roma where you pine for home. I'm with you, but you're nowhere.

Keep on rockin?
(is it Scott?)

L: Lighten the air around me

I remember when I was about 9 years old. I didn't know much about anything really. My brothers and I had a family friend, one of those friends who is really just your parents' friends' son and you have to hang out with and you think "okay he's my friend." He was over for the night and around midnight we were watching MuchMusic. That was when the Smashing Pumpkins' music video for "Tonight, Tonight."

At the time, what I had known of the group was that they seemed to be a hard rock group like Nirvana. Their previous singles, which I might or might not have heard at the time, "Zero" and "Bullet with Butterfly Wings" bore this out. But it seemed as though they were somehow softening their sound, changing who they were. I liked hard rock, but I was a little in awe.

Now, time has gone by and I know a great deal more than I did then, but it's still a beautiful song. I haven't listened to a lot of recent music but it seems as though many modern bands owe their sound to the work of the Pumpkins, particularly on the "Mellon Collie" album. There's something so simple and sublime about the longing in the composition of that song, and the nostolgia in "1979" and the ominous fire in "Bullet with Butterfly Wings." And yet now, with our modern, or post-modern attitudes toward things, the insistence of being smarter, or at least trying to be smarter, prevails and suggests that it may never reach that place again. Or maybe I'm reaching.

Not that I have a particular attachment to the Pumpkins. They have those good songs but for some reason I'm not compelled to go back and learn more. Then again, Billy Corgan and some of the original members have reunited under that name, so maybe they remain relevant. I know my cousin was a huge fan.

I woke up this morning around 10:20. I had at one point intended to sleep in, but later decided to set my alarm (as is usual) because I arranged to meet Amanda J. at the mall on her day off today. So I went to bed and then woke up to the sound of no alarm. There must've been a power-outage early that morning since the clock was blinking. I had just enough time to shower and get to the mall for the agreed-upon time.

We went along like we always do, having coffee and talking about nothing of grave importance. She kvetched about her work, and I indulged her. I talked about the previous night, how great it was to see people and to be back grounded in soem form of reality, if even as briefly as this. We get along. She went shopping around and I followed along, making my usual wisecracks.

Eventually of course I had to get home because I knew Xena would be waiting for me to tend to her every whim. The ole girl is used to having a sweet old lady around all the time to care for her, and I am not that. I'm just the dude that lady pays to make sure the dog stays healthy.

I've been revisiting some ideas, revising some things I've already done, re-arranging... been thinking about Melancholy Catatonia a lot lately. The thing about that is, there is so much of it already written but the root of the problem I'm having with it is so deep that the volume of what needs to be re-written is severe, whether for plot's sake or style, or both. But beyond that, I'm doubling back on the concept of the prologue of Curiosities. Not that I honestly think anyone will want to publish it one way or the other, but I've got to get this written for my own sake. And if I'm lucky, someone will be interested in publishing it.

Kind of a big "if," I figure.

I haven't really got a thought to go out on. I wish I did. Okay, here's one.

My current MSN status is "Instead of dying, they go to Australia // She took off her gas mask and kissed me goodbye." The first half of this comment concerns an old X-Men storyline, where the world thought they were dead, but they were really just in the Australian outback hanging out for some reaosn. I joked that that's more or less the same thing. The second half is about something I saw last month while I was biking (back when my bike had tires - mwerf!) I rode past a woman who was wearing one of those surgical/SARS masks and I thought about a tragic goodbye kiss with such a woman.

I owe the world something. Let's get some good vibrations out there. I'm feelin' okay tonight.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

K: Keep me company like an old memory

So I'll be up for a while... both in the sense of awakeness and mood.

This is the story of the taco party. Now, when I say taco party, it sounds dirty, with taco being some weird euphemism for vagina, but I assure you this is not the case. This is a calm, innocent party, with tacos: the kind with meat, cheese and lettuce, with hard corn shells that crumble. That does not describe a vagina to me, except maybe the lettuce.

(That's a dumb joke that made me laugh so hard I had to include it even knowing its dumbness.)

Yesterday I got a message from Joe indicating some light informal get-together at his place in Mississauga for the next day (today.) He indicated that Haasim and Mansoor were already in. I mulled it over and decided, what have I got to lose if I join my good friends, whom I haven't seen in over a month now (or longer in some cases,) for tacos? So I called Joe up, got the directions I needed, took care of Xena as best I could, and headed out the door around 4:30 for the bus leaving Sheridan for South Common Mall.

I got to Sheridan at the exact wrong time. Unfortunately, I was in the wrong place; due to construction, the bus stop had been moved, and I was unaware. Realizing there was something fishy about a lack of anyone else whatsoever waiting for the bus, I checked a notice and sure enough, the bus stop had been moved down the way to outside the SCAET. One exhausting jog later and I'm just barely making the departing bus. Whoo, go me.

I transferred at South Common and began my fearful descent into Missisauga. I watched carefully for the street signs Joe had indicated. He told me to get off at the stop after a specific Catholic school. I did, and then immediately thought, "Which direction??" So I followed my heart up Burnhamthorpe and as luck would have it my sense of direction was correct for once (that seems to be happening more and more lately.) Around 5:30 I arrived at the street known to be Joe's. About a half hour late; not bad, considering I'd told him I would probably be late due to the commute. I arrived, pleased with my penchant for fashionable lateness, when he told me I was the first one there. Well, except for Amanda K.

We hung around a while before he got a call. It was Mansoor, and Joe asked him where he was. A sort of "What do you mean?" / "What do you mean what do I mean?" conversation ensued wherein neither of them knew what the other meant, as Joe had sworn he'd asked Mansoor over, but Mansoor had not in fact gotten word. But thankfully, Mansoor came along anyway. He was on his way. As for Haasim, it seemed he was somewhat missing in action, as he'd clearly left home yet we had no contact with him. So we assumed he'd be along anytime.

Well eventually the three of us got to eating tacos (wtf Scott actually ate real food? Yes, I'm sorta growing up) in the sunny openness of Joe's backyard, over glasses of C2 (an unconvincing but passable substitute for the Classic Coca-Cola.) Eventually, Mansoor came along and, despite having already eaten, indulged in a taco (they weren't terribly filling, as I had about four or five.) What a sport. At such and such an eventual time, the dark clouds appeared to be rolling in, so we moved it back down to the basement.

Finally finally, Haasim showed, sometime after a while (that's a hell of a syntax.) We got to joking around like the old days, about school, about each other, about girls and life and Dave Chappelle and jobs and other shit. This lasted several hours. Joe and Amanda cracked open some brews, and I eventually joined, after a fashion when I was sure I was settled. Haasim declined to bow to peer pressure, despite my logic that the best reason to do anything is because your friends are (that's what brought me to university.) As it is apt to do when there is a female present, the conversation was turned to thoughts of romance and feelings and emotions and other business guys don't naturally bring up. She asked whether I'd been attracted to anyone at Sheridan.

I said not really. I kinda dodge that question, because what can I say for my thought process? Yeah, there are/were pretty girls, but my thought process forces me to eliminate thoughts about girls who are unavailable (yeah, how ridiculous) and when I actually do think I'm onto something with a girl, my tongue turns to wax and I can't be... real. Thus, the only females I ended up talking to, I had no intentions or chances with. I gave them that half-answer and the matter was more or less dropped.

Sometimes, women are into hypotheticals. Would-be fix-ups, what-if's, first impressions... by now, most guys know this to be bait for some ludicrous argument/debate/freakout and don't take the bait, or at least play it cool. The game ended up being, "Here's who I think you would've been good with."

She said, "You know Scott, once I found out you weren't..." let me see... it was originally thought Amanda J. and I had a thing, which is funny, but I guess we spent plenty of time together (there's the tipoff that we didn't have a thing,) "...with Amanda, I thought you'd be great for (this girl.) You know, if she wasn't madly in love with her boyfriend." And she says this like it's no big thing. What a thing to say!

I should call my autobiography that. "You'd Be Great For Her If She Wasn't In Love With Her Boyfriend: The Scott Williams Story." Sounds about right. I'm not bothered or anything, I just think it's funny, since that was exactly the point of what I was saying. I didn't have time to get into any of those girls, they all were already hooked up and in solid relationships. One of my best friends in that course, I had only started talking to mostly with the intent of hitting on her, before I realized her situation. And that's been the pattern. I try not to let it bother me.

Because if I did, it would consume me.

The conversation rolled off me and onto Mansoor, who is at heart a softy of some kind. Then it turned to Haasim, and then to Amanda herself. I joked "You know who you'd be good with? Who was that tall Palestinian guy?" We had a chuckle. Mandy (as the song named after her is called) confessed to being "high maintenance" before Mansoor suggested she'd have been good with this one stoner dude, and Haasim did not miss a single beat by asking if he was just attempting to "maintain his high," or some other such awesome pun. If I remembered it properly I'd have reported it better but my memory is hazy; that's the work of a single bottle of Corona, recently imbibed when the conversation took place.

Eventually, when the scene started to get really mellow, we realized it was about quarter to 11 and time to get going. It was a usual "This was fun, we should do it again." It sounds insincere but I meant it and besides when havE I ever sunded sincere anyway? Mansoor very kindly gave me a lift to South Common, where I managed to catch the 24 back to Oakville. It was a good call earlier in the day that I'd accumulated an extreme level of change. We arrived at Sheridan about a quarter after 11. I stopped off at Rabba for some liquid carbonated refreshment and walk home in the dim foggy chill of night air. Great atmosphere after an apparently brief yet harsh rainfall.

I got in shortly before midnight. After a spell I sat down to write this. Here we are nearly an hour past that. 1:15 and counting.

I had kind of hoped to do something creative, something tangible this evening, because after getting home I felt kind of energetic, but the environment of the basement just isn't having it. Allergies are acting up, so I'm suddenly weary. Lights are kind of harsh. Dogs are unpleasant of odor. Brother is due to pass out on couch any moment. May as well just call it a night now.

I feel good. All my pissing and moaning about loneliness, I ended up leaving town for a night to kill it. Not that this can be the norm, but it was good. Very, very good.

I have many friends, and not all centered around the same group. The world is an expansive place and right now, not a miserable one. Less-than-ideal perhaps, but far from miserable indeed. Kind and warm.

Well why shouldn't it be warm? It's July.

Like a Rolling Stone by Bob Dylan may be the finest recording ever laid down. There are other contenders, but really, how well do they stand up when Bob wails, "How does it feee-eee-eel?"

Don't make me say I need you.

All I want is for us to keep on rockin'
Scott

J: Just stay a little longer

I think a lot of my life would suddenly make a lot more sense if it turned out I was a paranoid schizophrenic.

I believe the condition causes the sufferer to fail to distinguish between one's imagination and one's reality; thus exacerbating the paranoia. Brian Wilson had it, he thought Phil Spector was out to kill him.

I'm not sure what led me to the conclusion that I should be a paranoid schizofrenic if I'm not (and I don't think I am) but I think it would be an easy to understand and convenient explanation of a lot of the things in my head. Also I could pin my inability to eat in public on that, I'm sure. A mental illness would take all the blame for everything I've ever done wrong. Is it weird that I think that would be great? I mean don't get me wrong, it would suck to live with, but it would be a load off my shoulders.

A few weeks ago I applied for a job that I was sure I would get, but thus far I have not even gotten a call. I say I was sure I'd get it, because I know the manager and she was close to hiring somebody else I know before he went to work elsewhere. So not only was I sure I'd have an in, but also that there was an element of timeliness... that I would be needed ASAP. But however long since, there remains a help wanted sign on the counter. That, combined with my feeling of being couped up in this house with the dog all day, is causing a great deal of frustration to build up... not to mention the tedium of doing the same thing every day, wasting my summer, my life, being useless, and feeling trapped, isolated after being abandoned by virtually everyone I know in this town.

So yeah, in other words, the usual. And some allergies to top it off.

The upsetting thing? I'm not really even that down. I'm just kinda bummed and kinda feeling like I've got nothing going on. I'm not freaking out, I'm not in crisis, I'm just annoyed with life/lack thereof.

I'm not schizophrenic. Maybe just anhedonic. I can't enjoy my shitty freedom.

I mean, I don't really want to complain tonight. I really just wanted to muse, but my musings went sour and my eyes are itchy/watery. I just need something to look forward to, but it's a dead end for now.

I have shit that needs taking care of; no energy tonight. Groggy as hell.

A gay dude who lived in Khartoum
Had a prostitute up to his room
They argued all night
Over who had the right
To do what and with which and to whom.

I've got something to do tomorrow at least, that looks promising.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

I: In the occasional fit of sanity

So, is this seriously how it's going?

I want to thank those who have been reading for a while, for whatever reason they may have (find my life interesting, think I'm occasionally funny, feel sympathetic? I'm not sure,) to wade throug hmy excessive... shall we say, self-doubt?

But yes, I'm wondering if this is how it's really going down, because life is the dregs right now. I'm doing fine, on a personal level, but life itself is a bummer and I've got little comfort.

But, you know, chin up and so forth.

I think I'm settling into a groove on this dogsitting thing; or rather, that the dog is. She's very particular (read: bitchy) and is prone to extended periods of barking, during which she wants... food/attention/treats/outside... she's a bloody mystery, so I'm very appreciative for those times (such as this) when she is content to merely lie there. I should be so content!

Oddly, I've transitioned from a Beatles thing to a 90's alt-rock thing... Nirvana, Pumpkins... also, Chili Peppers, REM, a mix. Maybe it came from the Pixies revelation. Mostly it was that I got P2P working and wanted to recapture all those tunes I had before (and will have again someday anyway, as far as I intend.) I'm not a huge, huge, huge fan of anyof those groups, but they all have several songs I enjoy heartily. For the Pumpkins, it's mostly from their Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness album. The Nirvana tracks are a good mix of oh, crap, here goes the dog. Back in a moment.

So I just took Xena for a walk. As is usually my strategy, we went through the WOSS soccer field. Instead of wandering around it and turning back, as is the usual, we went all the way through to the white store. Somewhat against my judgment, I tied Xena up briefly outside to grab a drink, intending to take the blink of an eye. Sadly, I was one beat off (aherm) and at the same moment I went in, so did some dude pull up just behind me. Whereas I had to dash to the fridge-case, he just went to the counter looking for smokes. And he had to joke around with the cashier "No I said lights, you gotta listen to me, har har" and make me impatient. It was a reasonable length of time, but I felt a great deal of anxiety knowing I had a dog tied up outside. Dogs with short noses could suffocate in extreme heat (which it very nearly is.) Finally, I plunked down my dollar and ran out.

Anyway, that's all taken care of. Where was I? Oh yeah, Nirvana. Way back in Grade 11, I read a book called "Who Killed Kurt Cobain?" It told his life story in general, working its way to his death with the pretense that it was not suicide. Some of the reasons given seem highly speculative, but when a known Seattle-area hitman comes forward and says he was offered a hit on Cobain in early 1994, that's something you note. I don't think we'll ever know for sure, unless Courtney Love (a prime suspect) or someone else comes forward and admits, "I had Kurt Cobain killed." Not likely.

I also wanted to talk a bit about the Monkees while I was in my Beatles thing (not that I'm out of it, only that I am now in another thing also.) I think that their recordings are underrated by history, even though they are not really a really real band. Their early stuff is way to glossy and poppy, to be sure; with "More of the Monkees" having been called by Michael Nesmith himself the worst album ever made, given that he had almost nothing to do with its creation. But their third album, Headquarters, was created mostly by the Monkees themselves using songs by the host of talented pro pop songwriters they employed, as well as themselves, with songs that are occasionally mature ("Shades of Grey" and "You Just May Be the One," by Nesmith) forward-thinking ("For Pete's Sake," written by bandmember Peter Tork) and fun ("Randy Scouse Git," by Monkee Mickey Dolenz and "No Time," a wild group collaboration) not only that, but the music was played by the 4 Monkees augmented by the occasional session-hand. Their next album was also a wild affair, and the songs from their soudtrack for "Head" have to be heard to be believed ("The Porpoise Song," "Circle Sky," "Can You Dig It," "Long Title: Do I Have To Do This All Over Again?") But you know, as I'll eventually examine in a rant that may someday get finished, the decline of the Monkees was not only due to the band's troubles, but also a generally changing trend in popular music at the end of the 60's, the death of the hit factory (of which the Monkees were ultimately part, despite their mid-career creative liberation.)

But hey man, life goes on (or as they say in the islands, ob-la-di, ob-la-da.)

I and I got to get back to Zion.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

H: Hell is a woman

Last night was a palpably example of my seemingly-ongoing mental erosion and volitility. Also an example of how even a single drink should prohibit me from getting on the computer and going at it. Still, I felt I had something to say, and it's said.

Still frustrated at this sandy summer; that is to say, it slips through my fingers. And my point, basically, was that I'm sort of left to my own devices, my presence not really valued, apparently, by anyone. And this is a dangerous thought these days because, due to my ongoing dog-related stress, there is a lot of reason why I want to get out of the house. But there ain't a lot of reason for that.

I said "undervalued." You know, I try, right? Let's not use this blog, particularly my recent writings, as the best examples of what I'm like outside of this house, because all my hang-ups, I try to leave them here. But the trick with that is in order for it to happen, I have to leave. Hence, my angst.

As I've said, I have very little contact with people who I'd typically think of as being friends lately. The post-Sheridan disapora is understandable, even downright expected. But it seems like everyone I know is taking the first train outta this town, and I'm stuck. But I don't have anything to occupy my time or anyone to talk to, so I just sit and stew in it. That sucks, dude!

Because after a long, hard, confusing day, all I wanted was to sit around with a small group of friends, chill out and have a brew. But I'm starting to realize that I maybe just don't swing with enough force to hit that ball, so I'm left lonely in the dugout.

I don't remember the last time someone contacted me on MSN just to make conversation and see what was up. I think it was Haasim. A few weeks ago we enjoyed a lengthy phone coversation stemming from my inability to head out and see Knocked up. I still haven't seen it but really want to. Amanda and I used to talk regularly, before her job consumed her. I'm trying not to be resentful of that because after all, it's a good enough gig for her.

Every so often I get into this mood where I don't start any conversations on MSN at all just to see how long it takes. During those times, I don't talk on MSN a whole lot.

Depression ain't a good look for me, cats. Something's got to give. I don't want to spoil the party.

So this man is riding through the desert on a camel. He rides for three lonely days in the hot sun when he can't take it anymore. He needs to have sex. Since there are no women around and he's desperate, he begins to eye his camel. He gets off and starts to unzip his pants when the camel runs away. He catches it, but just as he's about to get down to business, a car pulls over, fuming black smoke. Inside are three gorgeous trim young women, a blonde, a redhead and a brunette, all with huge titties. They ask if he can help them fix their car. He knows a thing or two about engines, so he fixes their car and they offer to do anything for him in return. "Anything at all." Immediately, he responds, "Can you hold my camel down for me?"

If you can dig it, I actually have been having a nice day. Something aobut the heavily overcast weather, the clouds and the light rain and the sun just barely creeping through... and light breeze in humidity, the light and heavy all together now. All together now...

And though they did hurt me so bad in the fear and alarm... You did not desert me, my brothers in arms...

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

G: Get on your goings-on

Where is my mind?

Perhaps I'd underestimated the Pixies. I don't know. I'd been hearing indie-rock nuts sing their praises for years even long ago when I first looked into that song, and for whatever reason at the time I was unimpressed. But over time my mind has expanded a bit, my tastes have refined, and I gave it a listen with renewed interest recently... that's a good track.

But anyway I'm wondering where my mind is tonight because of how down I am. Down and out, suddenly aware the world is a very big place with very little time or room for ole Scotto. It's been a long day.

And to start with, it's Saturday night and once again I am sitting in my own basement, at my computer, with a bottle of Stella, having freshly wasted yet another weekend full of potential.

I went to U of T/Innis orientation today... you know, to get oriented and stuff. What an ordeal. I've deserved this drink, and the one I'm going to have after it. Which reminds me I've got like a ton of empties to bring back but anyway.

I woke up early today; 6:55 to be precise. That's when I set my alarm, and eight minutes later I was out of bed, composing the first of many metaphors that will be thrown willy-nilly around this entry, and that's that going to this orientation, going to U of T, is much like the very act of getting out of bed... leaving something comfortable and familiar for something new and tough. Yeah, yeah, Wordsworth I ain't.

So I went out to the bus stop, to the GO station, to the train; stopping between to get a cup of coffee (because, you know, I'm addicted,) taking the 8:20 eastbound to TO. On the train, I was seated next to a young family with a very rambunction 3-year-old (that's an estimated age) who was enthralled with his Hot Wheels, but when time came to get off the train and see the grand prix, would rather have stayed put. Children. Sometimes they seem like a whole different species.

So I show up the thing, somewhat early, and observe all the new students, the vast majority of whom are a year or two younger than me. Feeling out of place already. Add into that the distinct mood of teenage optimism I frankly never had, and you've got me feeling like a dang leper. So I sat quietly and clutched my bag and tried to listen.

The majority of the talking was done by a guy who looked like the very nervous offspring of David Byrne and George McFly. He stood squarely and panted excitedly about all the opportunities the university had to offer, how immense and threatening it may seem but how beneficial it is ultimately. Eventually the day goes on, and the bulk of the first hour and 45 minutes runs over, you know, course selection and the particulars of course coding and so forth. Very informative stuff. This was buoyed by a BBQ lunch. Except I wasn't hungry (that's half-true... you know my story) so I grabbed a water and laid back and tried to forget that I've got a life ahead of me. After resting a while, it was back inside for a lecture on the particulars of budgeting. Then I skiffed out and made it home for 3:30.

During that time, I came to a conclusion that led me to my second metaphor of the day. Somewhere I once read about the story of three blind men and an elephant. That sounds terrible but it's very innocent. One blind man felt the trunk and decided an elephant must be like a snake. the second felt the eats and thought the elephant must be like a bird. The last one felt its leg and thought the elephant was like a tree. So at this point - stay with me here - I'm a blind man, and university is an elephant I can't quite comprehend. Everyime I think I understand it, someone leads me to a new part.

Ultimately, I came to an important decision today, albeit begrudgingly. I guess somewhere I never expected it to happen and yet I didn't consider the alternative even a choice. But now I guess I know. I'm not moving out. I hate myself for that, I think it's lame that I'm even going along with it, but this is just how it's going to be. I mean, I wish it could be different but at the same time, I'm going to have to go this way because I'm a lousy guy who needs something comfortable and familiar to come home to at the end of a long day. Maybe I'll be super-frustrated and depressed, but you know that was probably going to be the case anyhow.

Yeah, it feels like I'm surrendering, but I fought as long as I could before I just finally saw the light. At some point today, whether it was during the financial lecture or on scheduling, I just thought, "This is gonna be how it is."

And so it is.

All the same, a whole different ball of woes has me sitting here in the sauce on a saturday night. I've always lamented the fact that I don't have a "best" friend, and haven't for years... I have plenty of friends, but... and here's where I get really down on myself so watch out... nobody who would go out of their way to help me out or to hang out on a saturday night. For God's sake, Bryan, a guy I hadn't actually seen in about a year (beyond random bump-intos) has seen more of me recently than many of those I would call my good friends. Is this my life? Is it really? What can I do? How can I fix this? It shouldn't be.

I don't want anybody to feel bad for me. I just want everybody to realize that there's somebody out there, whomever you are, who could use your company. Somebody who hasn't seen you in a long time, somebody with a lot on his mind and needs maybe not an answer but at least a sympathetic ear to pretend to listen, to just be there. It's been a very long time, it feels like.

I've got to rest.

Maybe blame the booze? (What asshole wrote, "A man would never say something drunk if he didn't mean it sober?") What a clod.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

F: Forget Hesitation

Stay up with my tonight darlin'. I got dem ole "looks like I'm starin' down de future" blooze, mama.

I'm signed up to go to this orientation session at U of T (or as Flaming Carrot would say, "Ut!") tomorrow... this is necessary and I admitted a few days ago to my dad that I've never felt like I needed help more in my life. It was, in my usual way, a sarcastically straightforward delcaration of vulnerability. So it's good I'm going. Naturally, the downside is that this is a saturday morning. And though, in my unoccupied, isolated haze of a life, one day is much the same as the last regardless of its name, but it really isn't. It's almost sickening how compartmentalized my weeks have become, causing them to slip by almost imperceptibly.

I mean, the most major part is sadly the highlight of my week, the thing that proves how obviously time is passing and I am even anticipating it (these past few sentences have made no sense but that's how I roll; cathartic nonsense still does the trick.) That's waiting for comics on Wednesday. And sadly, strangely, I've been having to go on Thursdays lately because of ill-times rain or threats of rain. Two weeks ago it was supposed to rain on Wednesday so I stayed in; I felt like I'd been assed around when it didn't. This week it legit did rain on Wednesday. 7-day forecast says rain for this wednesday, not that I believe it a whit at this point.

My main point, lost in that circular rant, is that I'd rather not have to do this on a Saturday. I'd rather have Saturdays to myself. And getting up and going to Toronto on a Saturday morning? Not my favourite idea in the world, especially since the purpose is for, you know, whatever they do at orientations, I anticipate it will be boring (though hopefully informative; fingers crossed,) thus making me feel horrible in my tiredness, much like commencement.

But whatever man. I had, a while back, tried to arrange a get-together for the 7th, to re-unite with the Newsroom crew, but that appears to have fallen apart, given that we went ahead and tried to do a recruiting via facebook without a set idea of what we'd be doing. That was jumping the gun somewhat. Just as well, I'm a little tapped out for the moment. Oh well, it's not cancelled, just... indefinitely postponed. I'll probably figure out something else to do... but like I said, I ain't squanderin' no mo' Saturdays.

I hven't gotten to that non-essential business I mentioned yesterday, but I'm getting a little tired of my computer's near-comical level of lagginess (given that I'm using iTunes) so I'll work it in sometime in the future. I've been downloading like a madman trying to simulate the collection I'd accumulated over the years. I've got a satisfactory approximation by now. It was the first real downloading I'd done in years.

Believe you can escape. It may not be too late.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

E: Everything is something even when it's not

Nice night tonight. Not sure if there's anyone out there, or even any world outside my own head; nothing unusual about that.

Forgive me a tad if the typing in this entry yields a few more typos than usual. I'm a tad buzzed, a state in which I rarely but not never write.

Today was a nice day. It was grim and overcast when I set out to get comics. As grey as that seemed, there was a cool lightness in the air and by the time I got to the lake, the clouds were about to pulls back to reveal a bright yellow sun and a warm day.

Earlier today, in fact before I had even woken up, Xena, my grandma's dog, had been dropped off. She is now in my care for the next 15 days, which is... well, a bit miserable. The way it works is that for the first week or so, I'll have to work doubletime trying to interpret her every fickle little demand. Then after that, she might chill out a bit and get used to my regiment (or at least the compromise we can't help but strike) and that comfort zone will last a few days before I become so overcome with exhaustion at her overly bitchy ways anyhow that I just go insane (all over again.) I can't even concentrate properly on this entry because of her barking in the background. One of her biggest hang-ups is her apparent inability to do stairs (??) but I'd be lying I didn't mention that what really gets me is her tendancy to snack out of the litterbox. Nevertheless, I've coaxed her down by now and for the moment she seems content just to lie on the couch (yep she can get on the couch, but stairs elude her.)

I learned this evening that my mom might be the world's first passive-aggressive driver. After feeling frustrated that a woman was idling (to let her husband out,) as she tried to pull out at the bank, she took a slow, deliberate time reversing as the woman tried to make a U-turn, effectively blocking her for a brief moment. This came moments after some rather vengeful parking (don't ask.)

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't wanted to get out of the house because of Xena, but a reason had already been tailor-made prior to her arrival. Bryan M. had wanted to get a drink with me and, sensing I was in a rough spot, saw to it tonight was that night. We both arrived at the same time, or else he was sitting in his car waiting to spot me, which I doubt, and went in at 8:30ish. We sat at the bar and each ordered a Keith's. I had never had it before, being largely infatuated with gin for the last 6 months, but for whatever reason emulated his order and enjoyed it. Good beer.

We sat and shot the shit a while. We each got the other's thoughts on respective postsecondary experiences, what was next, what we ultimately wanted, how we rolled about it. Similar yet different, I think. Certainly not as dissimilar as I had pegged him as recently as Grade 11 Philosophy, but there are numerous distinctions anyone could tell, which always makes for a better conversation: when you think about the same things but differently a little.

The conversation ultimately turned to Guthrie; we were in the same class in the final acts of high school for Guthrie's Writer's Craft, and it had a deep effect on us both. We both discussed him reverently, noting how well he guided his students and how he got the ill-deserved label of being "unfair" with marks, and how in the years since no teacher has stacked up to him.

Around this time, the barmaid chimed in, "Guthrie? From White Oaks? The Drama teacher?" we nodded the affirmative, except now he just teaches English; she rolled her eyes and scoffed.

Bryan and I then noted how long he'd been around (no secret.) It reminds me of a dentist's appointment I'd had late in Grade 9. I must've just come out of my science exam or something, because I mentioned that to my hygienist as she made polite conversation. I mentioned I was at White Oaks and she asked if I had "Mr. Pear-Shaped Muhlstock?" I laughed and told her I did. In both cases, it seemed odd and a little sad to me that they had gone through however many years at WOSS, did whatever else, but by their mid-30's (I'm guessing) found their way only a few roads down from that very school. But if it works, you go with it. I don't know what I want, but I'd rather avoid a similar scenario.

Anyway, after we'd both killed off the pint (going the same pace) and watching or pretending to watch the J-World Cup Soccer games, we shook hands and parted. He offered to give me a lift home, but I told him that the "Don't drink and drive" campaign had been far too effective to allow me to go along (and yet years ago I very willingly sat as a passenger in the car of a very high-on-weed Emma.) He understood and didn't force it. Though I'm sure it's no big, I do hope he got home okay.

He mentioned at one point an admiration for the fact that I always seem to be working on something. I attributed that to my ability to put off things I should be doing in favour of whatever I want to be doing. And in some ways, that could be admirable, although it has the potential for as much harm as good because you get off track a lot easier if something desperately needs doing.

I think I'm going to leave the blog with that thought for tonight. I could go deeper if I had the wherewithall, but I'm mellowly buzzed-out and I'd rather not stress it by conjuring up any further thoughts on virtually anything. There's a lot I hope to cover tomorrow, but not all of it (or even that much) is timely or relevant, so don't get upset if it doesn't appear in tomorrow's entry... not like it'll make much difference to my wonderful readers anyway.

We must all cultivate our finest attributes and prune our worst.

I just made that up.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

D: Drowning in the mist

Okay, so I've had a cup of inspiration-juice (aka caffeine) and I'm ready to rock and roll.

I'd like to start by apologizing - to the faithful readers and more importantly to myself - for becoming so melodramatic in recent days. I don't take back a damn word of what I said, mind you, but I know I'm better than that frustrated reactionary bullshit. At least I hope so.

What's got me lifted today is a topic that's been on my mind a lot recently; mortality, specifically my own death. I don't know how I got onto it... imagining myself getting hit by a car or something... but I was trying to imagine my funeral; a mild fascination of mine recently, as I've mentioned before. Naturally the cause of death affects the mood of the thing, so I was assuming it was an accident what got me. I tried to imagine who would say what, how I'd be remembered; more by my friends than family. I say this because despite the candid nature of this blog, I'm a pretty private and guarded person (am I?) but hopefully I'd be remembered as someone who was shy but gregarious... that I could make people laugh and show 'em a good time despite my occasionally awkward persona. Okay, more than occasionally.

I think everyone would have a similar outlook on me in that way (at least I'd like to be optimistic and think that.) At school, (Sheridan or White Oaks,) how I always seemed to have some remark, how I was good for a conversation, hopefully that I was good at cheering people up... but then again we can't forget my dark side, because boy howdy did that one ever leave an impression on people. Let's face it, I have a damn temper on me; easily frustrated, insecure as all hell, paranoid much of the time... part of my quirky charm. I reckon this would be recalled by Amanda J. (who I hope would be among the most distraught) who would recall an instance midway through this year when I went on a panicked, frustrated rant about how terrified I was that I wouldn't get an internship (in retrospect, a very silly thing to worry about, but at the time very important) and my general ineptitude, exposing all my fears and hang-ups wide open in public. That's the contradiction I embody, I imagine. And that, weirdly enough, is what I hope would be celebrated. "That Scott... he could be such a frustrated person, but God was he charming, and Lord almighty was he cool." Morbid though that is...

My main point is one I've also broached before... and it's one I'm a bit conflicted about. If I should die, heaven forbid, before my time, given my propensity as a writer, would my PC then be ransacked for material? Would it see print, even the stuff I thought sucked? The stuff I've got on my computer could probably fill several volumes already, between the poetry, short stories, plays, scripts, proposals/concepts, assorted fiction, song lyrics, essays, rants, news articles... not to mention this blog, which, at post #799, is a novel itself, after excessive pruning. But for now, most of the not-so-embarrassing stuff is on Interneta.

But I think everyone I've known since Grade 3 has had some expectation in the back of their mind that I would eventually accomplish something big. And I hope I do; lord knows I've been working on it. Not to put so much pressure on myself, or to sound like I'm full of shit, but I seem to have that mark of someone who had something big in him... that's how teachers always seemed to treat me, anyway.

But enough death and gloom. The evening has got me abuzz. I went out for a walk in the hazy, misty overcast evening air... it was beautiful, it was. Decidedly springlike. and though my mind was on death, my soul was feeling like rebirth. Soddenly my lungs are filled with crisp, clean air, and my blood is running pure and electirc. I don't know. Maybe this feeling won't last, but it's a natural high (so it isn't meant to, only to be enjoyed.) And I oughtta pursue a little creation of my own while I have the mood. Eric and I have been plotting out the next Sewerman series, and this is no idle clowning either. We started brainstorming back in April and have concocted what looks to be our finest work yet, we're both very excited (although the creation process is far from done yet.)

I've been doing a lot of cleaning. If I were the type to look into psychology I might say that "because I cannot clean the clutter from my life and mind, I clean it from my room and basement." but that's bullshit I say, I'm just bored and with an excess of energy.

I have also been scavenging any source I can for Mp3's, including jacking a bunch of random ones off Eric's computer earlier today (mostly obscurities I have little interest in, but there is at least some good stuff there) and any old CD I can get my hands on. This is in compensation for not having my old harddrive in full and thus my massive old MP3 collection. I miss them very much and this can't really make up for it... but then again I had more Mp3s than space on this unfortunate (yet lovable) little 2G iPod anyhow... it'd be a conundrum when I do end up re-instating that harddrive.

The secret is in the dominoes. Watch 'em tumble, baby.

Watch HBO's Flight of the Conchords if you get a chance.

One thing I can tell you is you've got to be free (still on a Beatles kick.)

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

C: Can't you see there's an answer?

I guess I just wasn't made for these times.

I'll be brief. My computer isn't moving fast enough for me, and I'm not moving fast enough for the world. Indeed, I seem to be in some kind of mental stasis, or like, paralyzed with fear. No development. No saving grace neither.

Not that they're outright barring me, but I've never heard of parents who were so unenthusiastic of their kids leaving. I've always just assumed they knew the deal: eventually, your kids leave, accumulate massive debt, but strike out on their own and become adults. My dad scoffed a few days ago when he admitted, "Yeah, I know, it's for a life experience" or whatever. When it comes to passive manipulation, I could learn a thing or two from him. Not subtle one bit. and perhaps it's because deep down somewhere, he knows it, Eric knows it, I know it... I'm sort of the rock of the family (a terrifying thought,) that my connection to dad is stronger than Brando's or Eric's, and that with me gone the whole arrangement might fall apart. Those two have a considerable chip on their respective shoulders and I don't blame them but they need to get straight.

I don't know if it's a bad idea to go to Toronto and live there. All I know is that if I have to live in Oakville and go to school in Toronto, I will go insane. I'll snap, I know I will. Dread as I do the notion of personal development and growth, I know the alternative is worse. For God's sake, why do I need to keep reassuring myself? Thousands of people my age - no, shit, younger than me by now - do this every year and more or less make it work. They make it work fine.

These are the thoughts that creep into my head on a day where nothing happen and I do nothing to better myself. Paranoid. Can't really be bothered to be funny or interesting or at least self-deprecating. Just... a paranoid weirdo. And I've got 2 months left on the docket. Tick... tock. Groan. Yawn.

Not to wine, not to whimper, not to cry, but I must must about this. As anxious as I already am about the future, the present isn't looking so great. I feel so abandoned. I'll fucking admit it right now and I'll guilt everyone out there who is reading this and thinks they might be guilty. Fuck. You know, suddenly the summer hit (really this goes back to mid-spring) and all my friends... the people I consider friends anyway, have all embarked upon this diaspora, this outward expansion where we don't see each other or talk. All in different cities, or countries, or continents. And I'm stuck here in this fucking town, with the remains of some good friendships, and a lot of shitty let-down memories. So there. That's out there. That's fuckin'... out there.

I'm done tonight. Let's just call it a write off and keep on rockin'
-Scott