XI: Everything came from pieces of what came before.

I'm kind of a weird contradiction sometimes.

There's always going to be part of me that wants to just be fun and weird. And there's probably going to be that part of me that wants to critique society and be philosophical and make social commentary. It's possible to do both, and even more rewarding, but not easy.

I've mused on this before, and I can't seem to stop thinking about it (which it itself is quite unfunny.) If pressed, I could probably come up with some decent comedy writing but that never seems to be my natural style. I wanna be hip or romantic or philosophical or other bullshit. I never try to just go ahead and be funny. I've gotta be ironic and shit.

People tend to agree that my comics are funny, so good, I've got that. I don't always find them funny enough but that may just be a criticism of my own work, since I know how I think I know how I could've done better. I love the new Sensational 7 comic, but a lot of it is overly dry, if still quite funny.

But there's something rewarding about being able to manage the comedy in balance with other elements like action and adventure. Princess Bride comes to mind, a movie I'd rather watch than, say, Spinal Tap (same director, some crossover casting.) As far as comics go... and I'm not even sure I want to do comics very much in the future... Scott Pilgrim is the gold standard.

If I ever need to feel responsible for getting someone into something, I can easily just hand them a copy of Scott Pilgrim's Precious Little Life (first volume of the series.) I allowed it to sit by my computer once while I went off to do something and Mansoor began to thumb through it. Every couple of pages, an audible chuckle, or an empathetic "This is me."

Brian Lee O'Malley's Scott Pilgrim stories are at once an escapist adventure, a romance, and a hilarious work of comedy, in a world where a rock band can put an audience into a brief coma by playing "Last Song Kills the Audience," a delivery girl travels through subspace, veganism grants supernatural powers, and everything seems to have been named after some video game or another.

Pilgrim, a 20-something Toronto dude plays in a band and longs to date Ramona... he does, but will be permitted to continue after he defeats her league of Evil Ex-Boyfriends (should he lose, is he destined to become one?) Anytime he does, the boyfriend disappears and, plink, coins magically appear. "Aw man," he whines after his first battle, "This isn't even enough for the subway."

I'd like to do something as honest as that, as funny or as interesting - if I'm lucky, all three. I'm not sure I have it in me; it would take a lot of focus not to just sarcasm it all up.

And it's worth noting that, with an exponential amount of sitcom convention replacing the pop-adventure aspect, you've got "How I Met Your Mother," that excellent show every monday evening. Sweet, romantic, sharply funny and great story to boot.

To remedy my occasional comedic deficiency, I bought the season 1 DVD of Stella, a hilarious ad still-somehow-unknown Comedy Central property described on the back as "Marx Bros on acid." So it is.

I was at the mall today with Amanda, per usual for a friday. Today was a weird one for me. Mysterious forces awoke me around 6 AM and took me to that rolling-over-can't-get-back place of tiredness. Aw shit, I groaned around 6:30. "It's not happening." Up I got for the first time since my last trip to Toronto, over a month ago. I'd been wondering when I would "have" to get up early again. It used to happen a lot more, back around grade 12. I'm not sure how I feel about it, because I love the mornings, I do - the fresh air can be really invigorating - but I hate getting up in the morning.

So anyway, we hung out, she did some shopping, I cracked wise. I had a gift card for the Bay and attempted to buy a new wallet. It became an amazing ordeal, really, because first the barcode wouldn't scan. Then she - the cashier - fouled up the gift card process and had to get a manager to void it. Oh man, I've been there. Then, HMV and Stella, followed by the return to the food court.

At the beginning of the day, Amanda had told me of a wedding she'd been to (with her fiance and a friend of theirs,) where the Reverend, apparently a soundalike of Bobcat Goldthwaite, went off into a surrealistic monologue about a play he wishes he had written, about a man and a woman, their baggage (metaphorically represented by actual baggage) which is lightened by - you guessed it, Jesus. I used this to make my point for why I intend on a Justice of Peace or Elvis/Vegas-style wedding. She went on to recount the mortifying details of one of her previous trysts, a fella who has been left in a dry spell ever since they brief affair several years ago before falling into the friend zone (this happened apparently mere moments before she met her eventual fiance.) I tugged my collar and said I hadn't exactly been on a winning streak these past few years and she told me not to worry. They always do, don't they... and while I appreciate reassuring platitudes, what does it really do to get me some? There are plenty of girls out there for you, they just happen to be in the Witness Protection Program.

Eventually this led to a bizarre discussion on the legal age of consent. It's important to know what that age is... believe me, from watching recent episodes of Inside Edition and Nancy Grace (why the fuck would I do that? Well I don't control the remote,) I can't stress enough how important it is to know the age of consent and to, for God's sake, abide by it.

How much outrage is there, in the world, for God's sake? When do you just get tired of being appalled and broadcasting it? Is that what people like to see? I think Ms. Grace and by and large the cable news ilk has oversaturated the market with that commodity.

See? Can't not be socially conscious these days.

The last few milestones of summer are winding down. I'm still going to live my life loosely on my own terms come fall. But as we already know, Summer 2007 will already have gone down as consummately lame... abandonment, uncertainty, fear, nausea, frustration, and a cyst, now in remission. Those are the souvenirs I keep with me from this summer.

Oh, and my delightful bag of rocks. I can't believe how long ago that was. That was a good weekend or so. I can't believe, however, even moreso, that my brothers were actually considering attempting to take me to a titty bar after the UWA show all those months back, especially given that we were all tired and broke and it was nearly the last train back to Oakville. Trains. I'm going to become quite familiar with 'em.

This post has taken some odd turns, but the good ones always do. The bad ones drill on uselessly, impotently. Or maybe they all suck for their own reasons? I can't say for sure I only write 'em. Whomever reads 'em, now...

The world is so big and I am only me.

Keep on rockin'
-Williams, Scotto