pg21: Superstition must fight superstition

Fucking hell, man. I got a cold already, thanks to Eric. God only knows how he got it, but he passed it on to me. I need to nip this shit in the cud with some ColdFX before I settle into an endless cycle of sickness between now and March. This, I do not need.

There is a meaning behind this entry's title. I won't go into it, but last night at some point I got the sudden revelation that there are some occasions when logic simply will not do; when we need to retreat to the comfort of mysticism and the unknowable.

When I left off last night, I was talking about the end of Film Study. When that class was over, I headed down to the Innis registrar's office and stood in line for a frustratingly long amount of time to get a form for a GO student ID card. I expected to be told to go someplace else and get the runaround, but the Innis registrar office has lived up to its reputation for quick, reliable service, and I got the paperwork forthwith. Of course, the amount of time spent in line at Innis meant I had to rush to my train at Union. So I got back to the Oakville station and was told I had to file it at Union. Hrm. (This all made sense to me once I got it done, but seemed inconvenient at the time.)

So I sulked back home. At some point in the evening, I was called upon to help Lauren with a (questionably legal) errand. I was glad to do it, because I'm a nice guy and just because I am a little older there's no reason I should be a have and she (and her friends) have-nots.

So yesterday morning I got up bright and early (around the crack of 9:30) and headed back out to Union. I needed this done in a hurry since Monday is October 1 and I wasn't paying a damn cent more than I had to for GO transit. So paperwork in hand I headed to the ticket place, and they pointed me around the corner to the office. That was when I saw why they were so particular - the office at Union had a laminator. There we go.

Laminated card in hand, it was time to get back on a train westbound and get my monthly pass. I kicked around the house all day, ignored any potential responsibility I might have to fill, and eventually went to help Lauren in the very same way for the second night in a row.

Last night was a very long-awaited Journalism reunion/meet-up. There's sort of a negative history with those things. It was a great night, the last Friday in March when many of us met up and had a jolly old time. Amanda and I tried to arrange one a while back, but given than Amanda sorta jumped the gun and we were all left wondering "what the hell are we actually doing?" it didn't get off the ground. And Joe's hosted a couple successful small gatherings, but hey, that's not exactly all-encompassing. So once again, a classmate called everyone she knew to come to Monaghan's, to see how many people would show. In the last 6 months, we've gotten really dispersed, so there was no telling exactly who would come. I was trying to wrangle the crew - Haasim, Mansoor and Joe - even though I knew it would be a longshot, I swore I would live up to my word and be there no matter who else was coming.

I showed up a bit early, but I didn't want to, so I killed time by wandering. when I finally got back around to the bar, a few people were congregated outside; Kristin, whose idea it was, Jacklyn, who is a cool girl, her boyfriend and Kristin's friend. As the night went on, people continued to trickle in, but as expected, none of those three who I really wanted to see. But I made due anyway and had a good time with the people who were there, especially Deanna's boyfriend Andrew who is a cool guy. The gin helped me get through the two or three hours. We joked about Jacklyn's bitchy Dutch instructor in her new course, and speculated whether or not the waitress hated me (despite some early evidence I ultimately decided she didn't.) The night faded around 1 AM, with people trickling out and me having paid my tab. As I left, I ran into my old buddy James from River Oaks/WOSS, as well as a large group of people including an actor from Degrassi: The Next Generation. Go figure.

I stumbled home and wrote a clumsy inebriated update e-mail to an ole friend I've recently re-connected with. I also got a very kind letter from Mansoor apologizing for his lack of appearance. That was not necessary, but very kind and a reminder of what a good guy he is. He certainly didn't need to account for himself, although I can't lie - how can I help but be a little disappointment that so many of the people I made a point to ask simply didn't show?

And that leads me to a dilemma that I'm too headachey to discuss right about now. I have to get some sleep (can't believe I'm figuring on going to school in the morning, but that's me,) but for now I'm... tired.

So much to do. Leave it to tomorrow. Always my motto. Dream tonight.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

pg20: I'm not just going to be some guy

I haven't posted in nearly 3 days, which for this blog is "like, forever!"

The tendency of course is to be so wiped at the end of the day, from all the commute and attention-paying in class, I can't focus enough to do homework or take care of any of my variously pointless hobbies, including this site. The advantage is that I get rest that I so richly require. The disadvantage is that sometimes I just don't seem to remember things I might otherwise have mentioned.

I have a bunch of reviews I want to do for Interneta. Tomorrow for that, I suppose.

That said, it's been a busy few days. Not Thursday so much, but certainly Friday. As I pledged, I bit the bullet and took the 7:45 express instead of waiting for the precarious 7:58. It was crowded, for sure, and I spent the entire ride on the stairs. I usually use the train ride to try to read Pride & Prejudice, but you can't really read when you're perched on some steps on a train.

In my philosophy tutorial, I had been pretty quiet and observant today. Given that marks are based on participation, that's not necessarily a good thing - I might just appear to be totally oblivious. So I sat up front this time and weighed in on my understanding of logical reasoning and gave what appeared to be some comprehensible insight into the various argumentative forms presented. Finally, I appeared to be getting into the groove.

Prior to the class, a tall African fella asked if anybody knew where VC was. I told him yeah, I had a class in there. Afterward, because I had an hour before my next class, I showed him there and we made chit chat. It turned out his class was the very same as mine - Narrative. This appears to be a running theme, that everybody (or at least a good percentage of 'em) is taking Cobb's Narrative class. It's a good way, I guess, to meet people or make connections, to know that they're getting a similar experience to you.

I headed over to my own Narrative tutorial, which was finally beginning that day. It was at the ominously Gothic Emmanuel College. I wandered the labyrinthine hlals for a while before coming to a small gathering of people outside a doorway.

"Narrative?" I asked. A girl nodded. Pleased with my directional ability, I grinned, and sat down. She asked me if I'd finished Pride and Prejudice and I told her, no, I was barely partway through it. Apparently she'd stayed up until 3 that night before to finish it.

Eventually we went in and met the TA, Stewart. He was a cool enough guy, in a kind of Grad Student/Demetri Martin kind of way. He had us go around the room and introduce ourselves, to give our names, majors, and expectations for the course. I didn't really know what to say. Why does one take a particular course? Because they have to? Because they think it sounds interesting? I fell back on what I might call "natural charm" and admitted that I "wanted to understand what this whole 'reading and writing' thing was about." That got a laugh.

The class proceeded and we talked about the nature of the characters and why the book was originally called "First Impressions." I didn't say much and nobody really raised their hand when he asked who had finished the book (except of course for the girl I'd just met, whose name turned out to be the Spanish word for "soul.")

After the class, we were walking around. As it turned out - and this ties back into what I was saying earlier - she's also in my Cinema Studies class. More and more I'm realizing that I'm not just constantly surrounded by a random group of 200 other anonymous students. She was looking for a Metropass and I brought her to Wymilwood where I'd gotten mine. Sadly, this being the last day they'd be available, they were sold out "at all locations." I expressed my sympathies and we parted ways, noting we might run into each other again (given that we're in the same class about 5 times a week and one of those is a tutorial.)

I grabbed some lunch, for the first time, at the Innis Cafe. Not bad, certainly won't be opposed to eating there again. Then it was up to my Cinema tutorial, where we attempted to reconstruct the storyline of Memento. The (quite vocal) dude behind me gave some trouble to the TA by obsessing over (inaccurate) details like when did the black & white footage take place (not realizing that it takes place before the colour footage - nuff said.) For any observant student, it was a good illustration of how to differentiate "story" from "plot." Consider the summary offered in the Wikipedia entry and how it differs wildly from how things occur in the movie. No matter how the TA tried to convince him "It's not really significant to what we're tlaking about" he went on, even whisper-arguing with the girl beside me, prompting the girl in front of me to rasp, "Will you be quiet?"

In a moment of Shavian wit, the dude behind me hisses, "Will you be nice?" Or something. I dunno. Guy didn't make a good impression on me, but a day later, it doesn't seem so important.

There was another dude, too, and this is where we come full circle I guess sorta. I saw him in Narrative and he leans over and says, "Hey man, aren't you in my Cinema Studies tutorial?" and damn if I didn't recognize him too. We made a little small talk and he figured since we have all these classes together, we might benefit from getting contact info, facebook, etc. So I guess I'm under a bit of obligation to be this guy's friend. This is fine by me, and for all I know he's a cool guy. But what's to say we won't become total enemies? Or totally indifferent? Can't force these things, you know. Not everyone wants to be friends with a creep who writes on the net about everyone he meets.

There's more to the last few days - much more - but I'm actually just on my way out to Monaghan's for a long-anticipated Journalism-themed get-together. If I can remember to do so, I'll add "follow-up post" to my list of things I've seriously gotta take care of tomorrow.

Until then, it's a good life and I'm gonna live it as long as I can. So you keep on rockin'
-Scotto

pg19: There's no such thing as weightless

That's something I learned in Astronomy the other day. Or last week, rather. That gravity exists everywhere in the galaxy, and we always feel its pull, but that it's one of the weakest things in the universe, even here on Earth. It's hard to explain, scientifically, but I like it as a metaphor.

Because, you see, the people in your life are anchors. They keep you from being weightless, aimless, directionless. They keep you from being isolated and feeling insane. And some days - days like today, where I'm bounding around campus all day long from class to class, building to building, station to station, I can feel so non-existent, so alone... but no man is an island, I don't reckon; and there's no such thing as weightless.

Still though, it's been a rough day. Tuesday and Wednesday act as a sort of one-two punch for me. Monday is very relaxed and I can skate through Thursday into my tutorials on Friday. But it's Tuesday and especially Wednesday that kick up the shit. Erk.

Schoolwork notwithstanding, I got my first kick in the 'nards on Tuesday when I sat down in the Cinema Studies lecture next to two unassuming girls chatting on about whatever. As I generally tend to, I'd left a seat between us, but it's hardly a cone of silence. So eventually one girl gets to talking about some professor she'd had, real funny guy... until eventually she quoted something he'd said and I realized that he was my Narrative professor, and I must burst into the conversation. "Not to sound like a creeper," I tell her, "But I'm in that class."

"Isn't he the funniest guy?" I chuckled and said yeah, he was (and I'll get on this later when I start talking about today.) Then, like a clumsy twerp, I fell back out of the conversation, not even leaving my name. That's when the stinger came.

Some other girl sits between me and the others, and they all get to talking and it's not long before I hear another keyword. Steven Tyler. There was an Aerosmith concert in TO last week, and because of my generally cash-strapped (*as well as time-strapped) nature, I didn't go. but they're gushing about how great their seats were and how much they love Aerosmith, as if to punish me for fumbling out earlier in the conversation. What could I do, burst back in and say, "Not so sound like a creeper again, but Aerosmith's been my favourite band since I was about 6 and damn do I wish I'd been at that concert." And really, why didn't I? So I just sucked it up and kept quiet, suffering in silence.

The class went on and I got some good notes on the difference between story and plot and other storytelling conventions (in particular, causality, something this blog and my writing in general often lacks.) The walk out was particularly lame because I had to follow these girls for about 10 minutes down St. George on my way to Convocation Hall, for the Astronomy lecture I have no choice but to be late for. Then suddenly I was stopped.

In my 2 1/2 weeks at U of T, I've been stopped on the street plenty. sometimes it's by people asking for things. Sometimes it's by people who want to give me something. I won't lie, it's usually the former. I've actually made good with the panhandler who hangs around outside McDonald's, just so I can feel okay about not giving anything to anyone ever again. But this time, it was the latter; and it wasn't a Bible or even a condom. There was a scattering of young women holding bristol board signs reading "Free Hugs."

I didn't ask who they were or why they were giving out free hugs. They didn't give me any literature to read or any lasting thought. It was just some group of girls standing around the sidewalk dispensing warm embraces.

So naturally, I took one from a shapely young gal, and went on my way. As expected, I walked into the middle of the beginning of the Astronomy lecture. They were showing an old Animaniacs cartoon, a song about the Universe ("It's a great big universe / and we're all really puny / we're just tiny little specs / about the size of Mickey Rooney...") It was a favourite of my Grade 8 science teacher, Mr Marks, who was way too good at his job to be at an elementary school. Although to tell the truth, I think Monty Python's Galaxy Song is both more informative and clever. Maybe the lyric "Pray that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space 'cause there's bugger all down here on Earth" is a bit much but this is a University class iddnit?

Perhaps as a way of consoling myself after my social failure earlier in the day, I did a lot of conversing, playing around, with the people I was seated near in this course. Partially because the opportunity presented itself more. But y'know, my heart wasn't in it, like a drunk trying to pick up whoever's left at closing time.

So at the end of the class, socially exhausted, I slunk back to St. George station, getting another free hug (this time from a thin black chick) in the process. Tuesday is $1 pizza slice day in the Subway, which is how I got my lunch that day. It's a fundraising thing by United Way.

Today was something different, to say the least. I'm thinking I've gotta stop taking the 7:58 express. In theory it's terrific and yet it seems to give me nothing but grief. Last Friday it was 10 minutes late. Today was a whole 'nother story. Everything was going fine until just outside Union around a quarter after 8 , when the train suddenly stalled to a stop. There must've been some kind of disturbance on the tracks because we idled there for a while until speeding right through Union and settling somewhere on the other side. The driver chimed in with periodic updates to remind us he had no clue what the hell was up, either - which surely instilled confidence. We rocketed back into Union right around 9 and I slogged down to the Subway. It was about 9:25 when the train rolled through Museum station, at which point I decided, "Fuck it" and kept going to St. George.

It would've taken, I don't know, 10 minutes to walk from Museum station to Alumni Hall. From there, I'd have to find a seat, try to catch up, not sleep, and make the best of the remaining 15 minutes altogether. If it were a tutorial, I'd have been all over it, but... and this is something that has actually saddened me... I've now lost "the fear," at least as it pertains to philosophy lectures. I've officially missed one, and I doubt it'll be my last, although I'll always try to make it.

What I did instead was go to St. George and take the Bedford Rd. exit instead of the St. G. I swung by a Tim Hortons for much-needed caffeine (I'd been barely conscious on the train, thumbing zombielike through Pride and Prejudice,) and set off early to my Narrative lecture - you know, with the funny Prof and the anonymous girl I couldn't bring myself to talk to.

I usually sit in the balcony. No idea why, I just do. Since the theatre was empty, I decided to go down to the front row, both because I needed the legroom after the cramped train captivity, and because despite having a good idea, I've never gotten a clear look at the prof.

What makes him so funny? I guess I haven't mentioned that. Eventually, some dude sat down next to me and we started making chat. We talked about the book. I said I was barely into it, as far as pagecount, and he said he was less emasculated than expected. He also mentioned his wife liked the movie so much she stole it from Blockbuster, which is a weird thing to hear (the married part.) I told him I hadn't seen it, and he concluded I must be single. True enough. Then he asked me, somewhat bluntly, if I thought the Prof was gay. I told him I was pretty sure he was, not that it mattered all that much as far as my opinion of him goes. He's always dropping in references to the Hills, Gossip Girl, America's Next Top Model, and his shoes. Hasn't mentioned much about his personal life, appears to wear a ring (band) on his middle finger. Has a clean-shaven head (looks kinda like Moby or Michael Stipe, not to insinuate anything about either individual, although you can read about Stipe if you need to) and talks a bit like Matt Hilder. Robyn and I had a conversation about this weeks ago, that there seems like some code of stereotypes when a man embraces a same-sex lifestyle. Suddenly he has to behave in some extremely feminized way, with lisping delicate voice and an interest in prime time teen soap operas and fashion-reality shows. I don't know. I'm not bothered by a specific lifestyle, but gay or straight I am often bothered by cliches and sterotypes made flesh. On the off chance somebody's reading this who is in a position to care, I'd like to reiterate that I don't care if the Prof is gay or straight. Nobody should, except those he spends his life with. And he's a pretty funny guy, like I said, kinda self-effacing, clever, although a little miserly as far as procedure and technology (and wouldn't you be, if you taught a class of 200 first-years among others?)

The class ended and I went to get some lunch. I wound up waiting for my next class at Innis with basically the rest of the people in it outside the town hall. It was Memento, which I was glad for. Of course, it's also probably the last movie I know for the next several months, so too bad that it had to come so soon after Kane.

I slunk in my unanchored way over to class #3 or 4 (if you include the one I missed) which was Poetry. Glum as I was, I was kinda sitting on my own at a corner of the arranged tables. The class proceeded, we did some workshopping of other peoples' poetry. I didn't really have any thoughts that weren't already being expressed, so I kinda kept quiet (I was kinda beat anyway.) The general consensus was that one poem wasn't concrete enough in its subject, one was a bit needlessly wordy, and the last was endlessly fascinating in its form. Nobody could really figure anything negative to say about it (not to say people didn't compliment the others, mind you.) The English girl who wrote it seemed flattered as people hammered her with compliments. All the while, as I listened to the workshopping and examination of other works, I couldn't help scrawling down some ideas for my next poem, due next week.

As I tiredly stumbled out at the end of class, all too eager to rest my bones on the train, I was met on the stairs by said English girl, who told me, "I liked your poem. I really laughed at the end of it." This brightened my day immensely, especially given how I labored over the last few lines. I don't know how long it's going to be before I get to sit through a total deconstruction and examination of the piece - and I kinda look forward to it - but it's nice to know at least one person had the intended reaction. Maybe the rest of the people think I'm a psycho (not unusual, but certainly not a step forward and most definitely not favorable.) What might not be readily apparent is that, like about a third or less of the poems submitted, it has a fixed rhyme scheme, and like even fewer than those, it's about a relationship (mind you, not any relationship I've ever been) and last, totally uniquely, it was written intended to get laughs, or at least an amused chuckle.

Glad to know I'd at least struck the right chord once, I headed on down to the subway and then to Union. It was there that I not-so-unexpectedly bumped into Ryan L. On the express to Oakville (and boy was it a relief to hear "express") we sat and chilled. I got home and was glad just to sit, have a warm meal, and relax.

Best of all, Max came home from the Vet today. They didn't figure out what's wrong with him, but it looks like he's acting totally normally. He was very exciteable in the early evening and then later just started lying around. That's very status quo, and I'm glad to have it, at least for now.

As humans, we need continuity in our day to day lives. We need these things to keep us sane, knowing we can always count on certain things. The dog sleeping on the floor. The train that's always full. The friend you can call anytime. These day-to-day consistencies keep us sane.

This has been one giant-arse post. It's been a giant couple days. I need to rest, and to finish reading Pride & Prejudice.

Keep on rockin'
-El Scotto

pg18: We all want to know who's pulling the strings!

What can I tell you? It's been a troubling day.

I woke up to a disturbing odor. The dog, who had been beset upon by enough problems recently, had made some serious and uncharacteristic messes around the house. Mom, understandably freaked out, set about cleaning the place up and arranging to take him into the vet. With this on my mind, I set off for school.

Mondays are interesting days. My classes are early, sure, like three our of five days a week. But I only have two on mondays and I'm out by 11. So after a dry philosophy lecture on argumental formats (Modus Ponens and so forth,) and a Narrative introduction to Pride and Prejudice (which I've made some headway with but am seriously tripped up by,) I was out of class. I headed across the street from the Isabel Bader theatre to the Wymilwood building (some of these names I love saying.) If I had my facts straight, they were selling October Metropasses for student rates, which would be instrumental in keeping me from getting screwed around with, as soon would be.

Since it's still September, I'm still suffering the facts of the TTC Token system. I had intended to buy $20 worth of tickets this morning before leaving Union, but the friggin' machine wouldn't take the bill, so I had to just get one token and buy more later. So when I got to Museum station to go back home, I found there was no token machine. I presented the guy with my $20 and said I wanted 9 tokens, but he said I could either get 5 tokens for about $10, or 10 tokens for $21. Nothing in between. Begrudingly, I dug out an extra loonie and paid for a token I just flat don't need.

I got home in good time and watched Snakes on a Plane. Eventually, mom came home because we had more business. She took me out to Streetsville to a medical centre where I was due for an ultrasound. Booking this thing was a hell of a hassle, as the Oakville ultrasound place ws booked for many weeks in advance, and this was a very convenient time.

Anyway, we got there and found a really sweet setup, a good looking place. After a brief wait, I was ushered into the little room and told to remove my shirt and sit facing the wall (Blair Witch?) She spread some goo on the back of my neck and began imagine the thing under my skin. I didn't look since, as I mentioned, I was facing the wall. After about 5 minutes of this, she wiped me off and said "That's it, we will send the results to your doctor in three days." The whole process took about an hour, with a 20-something-minute drive each way.

Mom eventually went to check up on Max, who had been on the floor shivering when I last saw him. Apparently he was really perky and excited to see her, but she couldn't take him home yet. There are some theories as to what's wrong with him, but the leading one is that it's a bunch of little things, and not some single giant problem, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's not serious. In fact, this is the most serious the stakes have ever been with the poor dog, and don't think we don't know it.

I was re-watching Monty Python's the Meaning of Life recently. Aside from being hilarious all these decades later, it makes some strangely wonderful philosophical points, particularly in the section on Live Organ Transplants. I was going to sum it up, or re-type it, or at least analyze it, but I haven't got the energy. You can re-read the scene in question here. I'm thinking of the scene in the board room, just after the Galaxy Song, where the Pythons are all talking in exaggerated American accents, ruminating on the nature of the soul and whether people are wearing enough hats. It's a nice spiritual tidbit buried between a scene of a man's guts being ripped out, and another's stomach exploding. Very subtle.

I once made the mistake of screening that movie for a girl I was seeing. I have no idea what I was thinking. I was really in a mood to watch it, and it was at that point where we had to be watching movies together. If I was going to try showing her Monty Python, it should have been Holy Grail or And Now For Something Completely Different. You can't just show somebody The Meaning of Life and assume they'll find it funny. Especially that girl. but enough of past romances.

Whatever you do, be careful not to betray the purity of rock n' roll.

I'm off to bed now. Good night and keep on rockin
-Scotto

pg17: What do they know?

Nothing really happened over the weekend.

On the day after my last post, I mulled arund the house in North Bay most of the day. It was gorgeous weather our and I considered taking a walk around the neighbourhood. When I was a kid, one of the nicest ways to spend time up there was going on a hike up this giant hill not far from their house. Of course, I'm not a kid anymore - just a lazy guy. So we watched TV until Grandad arrived and it was time for supper.

He was surprised and glad to see us. Dad had neglected to call and wish him a happy birthday, knowing we were surprising him. So he'd called and been troubled by the no answer. We sat down to eat. I attempted to counteract the always-persistent feeling of colourlessness here and there, making jokes and one-liners when I could. I wanted to feel like myself, not just some catatonically well-behaved doppelganger. I never seem to know how to behave like myself when I'm around that part of the family. Part is it that, in North Bay, I'm just always tired. It's a long ride up and sleep takes a good percentage of my time if I can help it while there. Maybe I divorce myself from caffeine there, too, or am just too far north from the pulsating buzz of the magnetic fields. Who knows?

When we presented him with a cake, Grandad grew very solemn. Since becoming a widower, he's far more prone to reflection and in blowing out his candles, wished to "Have a few more good years with you all." I suppose it's the right of all elders to think in this way. Dad pragmatically noted later that he was now older than his own dad was when he died some 20-something years ago. We don't like to think about death, but it seems to be his occasional companion.

He was indeed solemn, like I said, but not just sad. Sure, he has this weight on his shoulders, but I think he grew misty in the eyes also because he knows he has a family that loves and supports him and loves to have him around. And I do miss grandma Williams.

I basically collapsed into bed last night, the inflatable mattresses we each used that, on night 1, Brandon had neglected to inflate his until 3 AM much to Eric's and my sleeping chagrin. They had an automatic air intake so it's no hassle, but so very loud. Anyway, I totally conked out, which is consistent with my constant tiredness every time we go.

I had a dream where I could fly, but was not very good at it. It was more like hovering, like willing myself off the ground, or a long Mario jump. One of those dream sensations that doesn't exist in real life.

I woke up at the very instant dad came down to try to wake us all up. He wanted to get going in good time, and breakfast was imminent anyway. Aunt Pat is a terrific hostess/cook and always provides a delightful spread before we leave. Eggs, toast, fruit salad, etc.

We stopped off at the cemetary and then at Grandad's before leaving town. I never know how long we are supposed to stay at the cemetary. If I'd been alone, I would have talked and stayed until I had nothing left to say (which is, oddly enough, the philosophy of this blog.) As it was, we all just stood around her gravesite and pondered it. Then eventually we turned around and got on with our lives, having gained nothing, spiritually. I don't know. As we drive away I imagined her, sitting comfortably in her chair years ago, telling stories of the old days in her voice, which I'll never forget. I say I'll never forget, because she sounded so much like Eric Idle might've when playing an older woman. That's not to say my grandma sounded like a man, because hey, it was a man doing an impression of a woman. That just speaks to their understanding of the peculiarities of speech of older British ladies.

We spent some time with Grandad. He'd compiled a photo album to show our relatives in Australia, his brother's family, whom we've never met. It was mostly snaps from around North Bay, and a few of the family. I appear, with my brothers, a few years apart. Brando has no facial hair in the earlier one, and by the later one, Eric had put on weight (which he has since dropped considerably.) It also captures Brando, like all flash photography, mid-blink. It's become a recurring gag that Brando just can't be pictured with his eyes open.

We hit the road sometime shortly after 1 and arrived in Oakville around quarter to 6. And all we did after that was hang around. Like I said, nothing really happened all weekend.

Been getting the creative bug recently. I remember once I told an acquaintence that the reason I seemed to write so much was that I always put writing ahead of schoolwork. They seem to exist in two separate worlds and the school one has always felt less important to me. Do well in school, or don't, but don't let it get in the way of telling a story or creating something you enjoyed doing and can work with. That's always been my philosophy, why I co-wrote and drew 12 comics between the end of Grade 8 and the beginning of college, why I have more than half of two novels sitting on my computer, a number of plays and screenplays in arious stages of completion, and a notebook I carry with me to school every day just in case I get a good idea.

As is often the case, I've been pondering Melancholy Catatonia. It never feels like the right time to go back to it, but I know it needs improving, and I have a good sense of how to do that. I just never have the time or will, especially now that I'm in transit and at U of T so much.

Sigh. Such are the days of our lives, eh?

I've got a freaky-deaky ultrasound appointment tomorrow which will tell me exactly what's going on in my neck. Hurmp.

I should go to bed soon. Early morning tomorrow. Philosophy and rhetoric and logic and all that. No coincidence maybe that I've been on a Supertramp kick just now. The Logical Song.

Goodbye Stranger. I'm taking the long way home. Give a little bit of your love to me. You're bloody well right to keep on rockin'
~~Scotto

pg16: Thoughts you haven't had yet

The orange moon had rolled behind the grey clouds as we rolled into town. I was lying in the back seat of the van with my shoes off, feet up on the bench, angled like in bed. Sensing we were close, I bolted upright and put on my glasses. "Don Cherry's," read a bright red neon sign in the night. This is a restaurant (apparently owned by the Hockey Night broadcaster) that is often used as a landmark to remind me we are now in North Bay.

I'm writing this entry, therefore, from the basement of my aunt and uncle's house. I'm also kind of trying to ape a Kerouac "On The Road" style, but, knowing I'll never truly be Kerouac (a fact I've lamented time and again) I'm back to being Scotto.

"Monday I had Friday on my mind," to paraphrase the Easybeats. Actually, this friday had been on my mind for a few weeks, maybe even months. I was initially very excited when dad told us we'd be going to North Bay early this year. For one thing, we can enjoy it while the weather is nice, and for another more selfish reason it doesn't take me away from potential Thanksgiving weekend reunions around Oakville. Then a while later dad dropped the bomb on us. He had this nutty idea that we could eat dinner on Friday night and go up to North Bay immediately after. Madness! Okay, it had a kind of demented logic to it, but it still seemed perfectly mad.

I woke up this morning to the sound of the Clash, Clampdown. The day began to proceedwith that theme of transportation in mind. I got to the station and awaited the train. I thought I saw my old friend Gabby but she barely glanced in my direction so I didn't get a clear look at her face. The 7:45 arrived and she got on. I took a pass on it because it was uber-crowded and I really felt the need to sit down. A 7:58 express would be along soon anyway.

Or so I thought. Around 7:55 an omniscient voice came through the loudspeaker, "Ladies and gentlemen, your 7:58 express to Union station has been cancelled. There will be an 8:10 express instead." Derp! So about 10 minutes late we pulled into Union and I hauled ass to my philosophy class (hey, that rhymed!) I walked in just a tad late in the middle of what appeared to be a detailed discussion on something I missed. DerpX2! Well I sat and observed and participated when possible. The good thing is these classes are only an hour, so if you walk in a bit late, you don't have to wait too long until the whole damn thing is scrapped. Cathal (I believe that's the TA's name, pronounced "Ka-hal" - a Google search tells me it's a Gaelic name meaning battle) eventually got onto using Socrates' point in Crito, a notion that was off-book. He paid dearly for it, too, as he realized that Socrates' stated argument was actually a fallacy. As time ran out he asked us to consider how to patch up his argument for next week. Yay.

I wandered around campus a while. I'd dropped Alyssa a line saying I'd be back at Wymilwood around lunch, and I had her money. But I wanted to be cheap and not eat there, plus I'm not sure they take debit and all the cash I had was hers. This led to a peculiar series of circumstances where I walked past a panhandler outside of McDonald's. He asked for change and I passed by and innocently told him I had none. He called after me, thanking me for at least saying something. I was on my way to find a bank, or something, when I realized I had no idea where I'd find one, so I might as well go back to McDonald's. It was still breakfast there, and I'm not sure if they serve real food during breakfast but I figured let's get an Egg McMuffin. Hurm. It was my second breakfast, as I'd eaten Golden Grahams that morning. But whatever.

On my way back into the McDonald's, I passed the same panhandler and again I told him, "Sorry, I had no change" and again he thanked me for acknowledging me, saying he remembered me (from "years ago," which was odd) and that I was always kind to him. I found this odd and pondered it as I went into the McDonald's and got my gooey eggy cheesey McMuffin.

As I walked out, I did so deliberately toward the panhandler, with a loonie in my hand. I'd been lying both times when I said I had no change. The reason I ended up giving this man money was that some words echoed in my ears. That of the strange Newfoundland gentleman who stopped me many months ago to tell me stories of drywalling and found wallets, good deeds and drifters. He reminded me time and again - and here it was months later and it stuck - not to just dismiss the homeless/unemployed by yerlling at them, "Get a job you lazy bum!" And now that I think about it, I think this man might have been him, hence he remembered me and I'd been kind. I'm not sure because I don't think I recognized his voice as the Newfie's, but it wouldn't surprise me now for that to have been the case. This gentleman engaged me - far more briefly than the Newfie had - in the story of his predicament. He'd had a job, but lost it, and was attempting to get back to another simple job he'd already had but left. It seemed fair, and once again, fits the Newfie's MO. I might never be sure, but hey, I'm just as likely to see this fella on Monday outside the McDonald's.

I wished him luck and went on my way. At the corner of Bloor and Avenue I asked a cop if eh knew where a TD bank was. He pointed me in the direction I was more-or-less going and so I went. It was a ways down the road, but worthwhile not to pay ATM fees for a cheaparse like me.

Eventually, I made it to Wymilwood, the lovely little below-street-level cafe around Victoria. Alyssa was not far behind, either, right on time just after 11. I forked over the cash and we got to talking. Truth be told, it was far more like old times than last week. Last week was the first time we had seen each other in about 9 months (shit, one of us could've conceived and given birth in that time, most likely her) and we were both freshly back at school - me, at U of T for the first time. This week, the lustre of new school clothes had dulled and the truth about who we are began to shine through. We made jokes about God and literature and the reading-heaviness of her classes. We talked about coffee and jaywalking, and she told me how she once witnessed a man get hit by a car when she was 9. We found out I have an impeccible internal clock when I correctly guessed the time to within one minute, twice, once at 11:36 and again at 11:51. I attributed this to my recent bond with the public transportation system. She told me to be careful... the TTC can break your heart real fierce.

I used to play this game when I worked at the bowling alley. My job was really boring and hardly stimulating. I had toi walk back and forth all night and do little things. The game was - and this was not a fun game, but more like a challenge to myself - to look at my watch and see how long I could go without looking at the time again. I'm not sure I ever made it longer than 2 hours (a shift would generally be 5 hours.)

Eventually, we split. She had to go to class and I had to go nowhere in particular. So I headed to Innis and tooled around on a public computer until it was time to go to class. The class itself was mostly uneventful. We talked about the use of repetition and other principles of form in "Calendar." One dude in particular was a chatty cathy, asking how Egoyan went from there to "Where the Truth Lies." The TA got a bit irked, you could tell, because she was actually a student of Egoyan's last year. Most of us left during this conversation, as it was right at the end of class. We snickered about it in the elevator on the way down. "There's one in every class," sighed the girl I'd been sitting next to as she rolled her eyes.

As I was heading to the St. George subway station, I got another blast from the past. The well-dressed African-American dude was handing out flyers again. As I tromped past him, he called out, "Sir, sir!" very insistently. I exhaled tiredly as I turned. "You got me already," I told him. Skeptical, he asked, "When?" I told him a few days ago. He asked if I'd read the literature, and I told him I had. He shook my hand and wished me well on my way.

Hungry again at Union, I got a Chicken Snackwrap at McD's before the train pulled in. I got home, chilled a while, shaved, packed, and eventually went.

We had a pizza at dad's, it was ready sometime after 6. I chuckled, "So when are we expected to get there? Around 1?" They reasoned that we wouldn't be that late, although at one point I'd feel basically vindicated for making such a prediction. Short-lived feeling, though.

After a few delays, we got going around 7. The sun was setting. It was dim by the time we got on the road. It was dark by the time we were stalled in an endless sea of tail-lights. There had been some massive fire or wreck earlier, and the highway was choked with rubberneckers. As we passed, we scoped the dozen-or-so firetrucks flashing in the night, and then roared into gear, ripping down the road. It was around this time that I lay back and began to get comfy, as the radio was turned down real low an it was soothingly dark. Strange things happen when you only have one sense - hearing - and it's not being engaged.

We rolled into a Tim Hortons eventually. I was dismayed to find they had very suddenly and very senselessly converted their soft drink selection to Pepsi products (and worse, while doing so they were not carrying Dr. Pepper.) I had had to decide between a Coke and a Coffee when I decided Coke was a better decision. When it became a Pepsi, I doubted this and regretted it, but I guess it's one of those things where, no matter the call, I'll always wonder if I made the right choice. I might spend years agonizing. Pepsi... coffee... urgg... haha.

In my haste to pack, I'm realizing now that I forgot my pyjamas. Aw shucks, man.

I've been typing for like an hour now. I think you've got the whole story. Eventually I popped im own music into my ears when I got tired of not being able to really hear the radio.

We'll see how things go. Naturally, things have been quiet since we got here and it's about time to turn in. Maybe I'll write an entry tomorrow, maybe not, depending on how things go. It'll probably be a pretty subdued weekend.

If my fist clenches, crack it open before I use it and lose my cool.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

pg15: They're all drinkin' thinkin' that they've got it made

I didn't post last night. Part of that is that, hey, there's no rhyme or reason to why I do or don't post. Part of it is that I wasn't terribly excited about anything that happened yesterday. Part of is is that I came down with a peculiar case of carpal tunnel syndrome.

I broke my no coffee rule. I had successfully gotten myself off the bean for practical purposes, but then I had to ruin myself by going to coffee with Robyn that night. Dumbly, I loaded up on caffeine and got all jittery. Couldn't sleep. Tuesday night was a miserable one for yours truly. I'm far from immune to insomnia, let me tell you. And that was probably the dumbest thing I could do when I had to get up at 7 to catch the train.

Well I did, despite feeling like shit and a sum total of 4 1/2 non-consecutive hours of sleep. Being early, even, for the train, I thought "Fuck it man," and fell off the wagon by going to Tim Hortons for a double-double before the 8:53 express got in.

So I did, and went to Philosophy class, and sat in the balcony for the first time there. I made chit chat with a nice girl who asked me some question about blackboard, the online service of U of T, which everyone has problems with. She told me she was taking "all sorts" of classes, although the only ones I remember her mentioning (apart from philosophy) were bio and chem (or maybe it was physics) so she was clearly geared more toward science. Exactly the type of girl I don't have anything in common with, but I never have much in common with anyone. I just float along on a continuity of idiosynchrasies. Or something.

It was a lecture on argument and logic. If p, then q; not p, not q. That sort of thing. Afterward, I was walking out and behind her. As she pushed through the front door of Alumni Hall, she spun and saw me. Smiling, she asked, "Do you have far to go?" I told her not far, the Isabel Bader theatre. She was off to Convocation Hall. I like talking about Convocation Hall and have done so with no fewer than 3 people, all of whom were polite enough to smirk or laugh when I talk about how cool it is that there's a pipe organ behind the projection screen. She was also optimistic about the walk.

"I'm Scott, by the way." "Britney." We shook hands and she took off. That was it. I doubt we'll see each other again. It's a big class, although I do intend on sitting in the same spot next week. But I think I'm gonna make it a goal this year to get as many pretty girls to smile at me as possible. I know that's not very ambitious, but it's much better than being shrugged off.

I got to Narrative. As is often the case, Prof. Cobb started with a Youtube video. It was the trailer for Citizen Kane, which oddly enough I'd seen just a week earlier. The trailer is a weird old-fashioned one, back when creativity was applied to those things. It shows not a frame of the movie, but uses Orson Welles' voice (he appears off-camera, speaking into a boom mic, which is shown) to introduce the actors and the character of Kane.

I bummed around for a while, as I tend to between classes, before going to the screening of Calendar, a 1993 Atom Egoyan film, which he also wrote and starred in. Atom Egoyan's sideburns will save us all. I'm wondering whether or not I should include Film Study movies in my reviews. It sure would bulk them up. I'm thinking yes (so long as I'm seeing them for the first time.)

On my way to my next class, which was actually several hours later, I was virtually accosted by an older lady, with jagged teeth and a ratty bandana. She spoke raspy, whistly, broken English and held a poorly-handwritten sign explaining that she had no money to feed her kids.

The city is weirdly karmic, I find. There are buskers who I don't typically give money to. Occasionally, there are people who I simply can't avoid giving a couple bucks to, like the woman or the militant black dude the day before. But all the same, just as often, there are people giving things away. I got a fortune cookie promoting Survivor: China today, and yesterday, while waiting at Union, I was given a Lipton Sidekicks.

Having gone straight to that, I guess it makes sense for me to double back and mention nothing of note happened in that class, which was Reading & Writing Poetry, except for some nice discussions and otherwise smalltalk. We all passed aruond our poems, but no workshopping was done. I think I was probably the only person to go for a punchline. I'm going to take that as a good thing. All the same, I don't want to be known as someone who's around purely for jokes. I'll probably reveal my deeper inner-self (under my irresponsible playful shell) soon enough.

Of course, under than deeply passionate, sensitive and caring inner-self is yet another layer of slacker goofball.

I got to Union station in time to be pretty early for the 6:30 to Oakville. Once we pulled into town, I waited for the bus and ran into Phil M., one of my few Sheridan sightings. I told him I was at U of T now and he mentioned he was working on the Green Party's website. I said it was good work. He said sure, until the election. I mentioned, hey, people will always need websites. He snickered to himself. "Yeah... dumbasses." Maybe he didn't say that. Maybe he wsn't even thinking it. But that's how I imagine the conversation went.

Simultaneously with that, I oveheard a distant hail - "Scott Williams!" It's always nice and weirdly respectful to get the full name. It was Ryan L., who was waiting for the same bus as me. We talked University life (Ryerson's technically a University now, right?) and commuting, etc. He mentioned he and another dude I may have met once were looking for places in the city, and "Gee whiz, it would sure be cheaper if we had a third guy, wink wink."*

*This is not a direct quote, but the idea is that he was trying to lure me into considering going in on this with him. Anyway, I politely declined, but it was surely something to think about. Moving to Toronto is not an unappealing idea, but not really a prctical one either (says the guy who gets up at 7 to make his 9:00 class.)

I got home around 7:30 and attempted to relax. The guys had ordered from the Wingery, an act for which I was most grateful.

Today was not much of a day. The only class I had was Astronomy. I attempted to go buy the Philosophy logic notes at the book store, but couldn't find 'em. Got back to Union to find that a fire was delaying some trains - although thankfully not mine. Nothing's more terrifying than a flaming train, althought it reminded me a of a funny idea I had for a show - "Derailed." It's like Lost, but with a train. Haha, sounds lame, and it sure would be.

I had started "London Calling" as I got on the subway for Union, and as we rolled into Oakville, "Train in Vain" was just ending, which I thought was nice timing. I didn't go straight home, though. Since starting at U of T ("Ut!!") I've had the dilemma of when to get comics. I used to go by with dad every Saturday after bowling, but I have officially given that up. Comics come in on Wednesdays, so it would have to be after that. I don't get home until after the store closes on Wednesday, and this weekend I have stuff going on so today was really the only choice. I gave thought to going before school, but the shop opens at 12, and my train left at 12:30, so that left very little time to dawdle. So after I got to the station, I biked the hell out tehre and then home, sweaty and tired by the time I got in (earlier than I'd expected by about a half hour. Go me.)

I don't know if you'll hear from me for the weekend. We're going up to North Bay for my Grandad's birthday, because he'll be in Australia over Thanksgiving when we normally go. (I prefer sticking around Oakville for Thanksgiving anyway.) He hatched this insane plan of driving up after dinner, which means we might be there as late as 11 or 12. I don't know. It sounds likea bit of a drag, but in the end it makes not so much difference.

Diamonds are a girl's best friend. Dogs are man's best friends. Diamond Dogs is an album by David Bowie during his gender-crossing glam phase, featuring the anthemic "Rebel, Rebel."

"I Wanna Hold Your Hand" is not a very happy song at all, if the person doesn't want to hold your hand.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

pg14: Don't lose the fear

The fear in question is the fear of missing something vital in a class. This fear is what prevents people from skipping and I've had it since high school.

In grade 9, I skipped music quite a bit, because it was a half-period combined with my lunch, and I wanted to hang out with people. Mr. Gassi hated the fact that people regarded his class as being less than a real class, and how they often treated it as such in that way. I don't think it's very good for morale to have people give up a portion of their lunch, but then again, it was a choice we made. And it certainly paid off, as my lst several semesters of high school all had a vital spare period at the beginning or end of the day. Admittedly, not having a 5th period could be problematic as at the time I was somewhat involved in a few after-school activities, like the Importance of Being Earnest and therefore couldn't go too far (although I didn't exactly live far from the school.) On wedesdays, I used the time to go get comics, but always had to come back because we had rehearsals that day, and it was my big scene (I had to pour tea for Vanessa and Janessa. That was a fun play.)

The fear was discussed during a conversation with Robyn. We went out for coffee for the second time in however many weeks. It was part of my quest to grab something enjoyable and familiar some evening while I spend my days anonymous, and bored in the unknown elements of Toronto. I'll get on this in a minute.

I'd called Robyn a few times and gotten a busy or unavailable over the weekend continuing onto Monday. After an extended length of time waiting for my brother to return a video game at Best Buy, I got home this evening and decided to try once again. It was a weird scene because, for one thing, when I asked if she was there, her parent (I think it was her mom) called for her and told her it was somebody else. She got on the line and I immediately had to say, "Um, it isn't that person, it's Scott." I guessed we sounded alike. Anyway, I asked if she wanted to hang out tonight and she asked for a rain check, and I awkwardly conceded that. I say awkward in that I find it hard to ever make plans and guarantee I'll be somewhere. A lot of the time I just like to live in the moment. Of course, this is difficult because I am a staunch cell phone non-user and so my arrangements have to be made from home or some other base. But being a basically good guy, I figured what's the harm, agreed, and hung up.

I was about to settle in for the night, resigning myself to watching that Drew Carey game show and not doing anything interesting, when the phone rings again. It was her. "Sorry about that, do you still want to do something?"

"Sure, absolutely."

"Great" So we went for coffee and talked school, life, and Oreos.

I felt a bit selfish, and exposed, when I admitted to her that I was calling because I needed the familiarity of a friend. I don't know why I thought that way, that's what friends do for each other and near as I can figure she's happy to play.

It should come as no surprise that it's been a weird transitional period over in Scotto's brain. I'm spending my days in a new place with a throng of people I might never exchange more than a pleasantry with. Things would have potential to be different if I, say, lived in the city, but that's not taking my psyche into account. Let's face it - I ain't naturally outgoing, I don't tend to do well on meeting people. My greatest fear, probably not far from the reality, ius that if I lived in Toronto, I'd still not say much to people, still not do much, and to top it all off, I'd be in the city while this was happening, rather than outside of it where I can remind myself, "Oh, it's okay, you don't live there anyway." This sounds terribly pessimistic - and it is - and sometimes I'ma real worst-case scenario guy. I always imagine myself at my most socially inept, even when I know how good I can be. Note that even to this day, I have to note and celebrate when I've managed to be outging and charismatic and normal.

This wasn't anything we discussed over coffee, it's all stuff that's coming to me now. At its best, this blog goes off in long tangents that I didn't really expect to be writing.

We got to the coffee place (a certain Battlestar Galactica-named international coffee bar) and Robyn gestures to her bag and says "Don't let me forget this, I almost let it in a Tim Hortons." Classy guy I am, I tell her I'll watch it like a hawk. As we're entering, I pause and say, "What do you think about this jacket?" She thought it was cool, and I admit I have a great deal of fondness for it (but who's going to insult the very jacket their friend is wearing?) We get our coffee and as we're being served, the guy at the counter looks at us and says, "I hope you're not thinking of sitting on the patio again, I already put the tables away" (or some such.) We nod, and then get all flattered that the guy remembered we'd been there like 2 weeks ago.

The hour goes by, we talk, it's all very therapeutic and often quite funny, and then it's time to leave. We're out the door, when she turns and looks at our seat. "Is that your jacket?" Derp! There it was, draped over my seat. And what do you think was in the seat across from it? Why, her bag of course. Hah. Some watchdog I turned out to be.

On the way home, I lamented some of my experiences with buskers and panhandlers (some of which I'll go into soon.) The key of this story was the time in grade 8, in uebec City, when I had to use a busker to make change, robbing him of a portion of what I'd already given. "It's my last toonie!" She lamented that middle school was not fun times. I console her that she wouldn't rather have had my experience. As many friends as I had, it was generally agreed that I was a psycho killer (qu'est-ce que c'est?) and a stalker and bound to freak out on everyone. Admittedly, this was due to certain negative incidences with members of the opposite sex in those years, and admittedly they got worse before they got better (around Grade 11) and admittedly, I'm still not very good with women.

Today was, apart from that nice detour, an uninteresting day. I woke up around 9 and hung around the house until 11 when it was time to head off and catch my 11:30 train to Union. It was late, but I don't worry about it because the train gets to the city way, way early for class so I'm fine. I even stopped at Union for a Mr. Sub. Hot damn the bread their is so much fresher than any other franchsie I ever seen. You wouldn't think ,it being in a train station and all, but it certainly is busy.

Also, in the Union station food court, I noted the strategic placement of Cinnabon - right outside the washroom. You'd think this would be bad for Cinnabon, but the truth is, it just makes the washrooms weirdly appealing (even though once you get inside, they smell exactly how you'd expect the most major train station in the GTA.) It's all cinnamony and such.

So I got to class for a lengthy and dry but informative lecture on the nature of film "form," and the emphasis on this over, say, trying to pick out the meaning of it. One long jog after that and I was at Convo hall for Astronomy, which was really more concerned with physics - things like atoms and energy and temperature, stuff that is tangentially connected with astronomy in that everything in the universe is atoms and energy anyway.

On my way to the subway afterward, mere steps from the St. George station, I passed by a well-dressed black dude waving some papers around. His papers being in or near my face and my being plugged into my audio resulted in my paying a passing notice without realizing what I was getting myself in. He momentarily expounded on the black history group he represented (a glance at the literature revealed the dot jot, "Jesus was a black man," something I hope they looked further than Kevin Smith for research.) He asked for a donation. Being a cheap sort (it's my right as a student,) I winced, saying I had no money. It's never good enough to say that and be on your way, especially when you are lying. So he asked in disbelief, "You don't even have $2?" Not wanting to look like a white asshole (Goddamn race guilt!) I pulled out my wallet and begrudgingly handed him a couple loonies, walking off, grumbling. There are times when it feels good to give, but for whatever reason, this wasn't one of them. Slowly, I am working on becoming jaded enough to shrug these people off - a must for city living.

I got on the train across from this young lady - a couple years older, she had grad student books - whom I could tell just by the look was also headed for Oakville. I hardly glanced at her, although that's certainly because of train ettiquite and shyness rather than anything else. I stared off into space for a few stops before remembering I had a book I could be reading. I feel more like Kerouac these days. I also observed that I had started listening to the White Stripes' Icky Thump album as soon as I boarded the train. It didn't get moving until the end of track 2, "You Don't Know What Love Is (You Just Do What You're Told)" and we pulled into Oakville right at the end of the last track, "Effect and Cause." That synchronicity was amusing to me, no idea why.

The discussion at dinner with dad was fairly lively today. Some days we all sit and eat in silence with a few muttered bits of dialogue, but today we all had a real conversation, starting with weddings and drifting along to religion, literature, and evolution. A decent chunk of this had to do with the Bible I was randomly given last tuesday outside of Astronomy. I don't usually go in for religious texts, but I'm also in favour of free swag on the street.

For the record, if I didn't mention it last week (I was more concerned with my temporary nervous breakdown) the package included a New Testament (with a cover that made it look like Fight Club) a pillowcase, a highlighter, and a book, "The Case for a Creator."

Then we wound up at Best Buy, where I bought printer ink and Brandon had trouble exchanging a broken video game because he mistakenly asked to "return" it. this misunderstanding caused the process to take longer, And that's where my story began.

Last week, I saw someone jump across the railroad tracks. It was at Union station. Everyone was disembarking from the train and crowding into the stairwell. Impatient, this guy lept from one platform to the other. I could imagine him saying "See ya suckers!" as he did. Obviously it's not safe for people to practise this en mass, but I tell ya, the envy really struck me when I saw that. I hated having to waddle in the crowd. But I certainly don't have the balls to pull such a stunt.

I think that covers it. I have to print out 30 copies of a poem for tomorrow. I'm not terribly fond of it and will be kinda glad to workshop it. All the same, I don't think I've "workshopped" anything since Grade 5, so it's hard to say how I'll take it.

I have far too much caffeine in my system for a man who has to catch an 8:00 train. There will be no Jeff and Suzy on that train - they don't exist.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

pg13: Only love can make it rain

I came to the conclusion very recently - as in, just a moment ago - that I don't write enough things down.

Okay, granted: I write down seemingly every thought I ever have in these posts., but let's face the figures here fellas and ladies: I'm awake from, say, 7 AM until maybe 1 AM. At any given time I could be planning my day, trying to remember homework, pondering the nature of existence (which these days counts as homework) fondly remembering days of the past, or not so fondly (more likely,) planning my lunch, trying to remember who directed a movie I saw, figuring out how to get from one class to another and then the subway... the number of thoughts one must have during any given day is staggering, and I didn't even mention the amount of time spent idly thinking about girls. And also not taking into account the fact that if the braincells are really firing, then I seem to dart back and forth between one thought and two or three others.

Now this is certainly not to say I'm some kind of multitasking genius. Mostly the opposite. I'm easily distracted and many of my thoughts aren't worth noting. You can prove this by going through all ~830 posts on SWP and boiling them down to the real useful/insightful/thoughtful ones. I figure you'd be left with three and a half posts. But I write them all out anyway to, as I often say (but given the nature of the blog time goes on and I forget when I last said so,) try to get a handle on life and make a note of my own existence.

Anyway, I realized I don't write enough things down when I stumbled across an old notepad with dotjot notes for a project I was working on back in 2005. It was a script, and some of the points I used, or altered to suit my mood, but some I plain forgot. And if I hadn't written them down, they'd be gone forever (for better or worse.) I find it's often the case, I'll have an idea and I'll say it out loud or think about it for a while, and then I won't write it down and before long it's gone back into the ether, with no proof it ever existed. Thoughts can be so fleeting, so intangible.

What a hell of a thing the human mind is.

Today was not a terrifically remarkable day. I got up around 7, showered and ate as necessary, then headed out on my bike in the chilly early morning air to catch the 7:53 express eastbound to TO. I nodded off quite a bit during philosophy class, but could still tell you the lesson concerned the definition of an argument, and its existence as a means of proving a statement, a statement being the observation of a premise observed to be true. And in Narrative, we continued our discussion (as much as a discussion can include 200 people) of the US Constitution and Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms as narratives outlining the concept of living in such nations. So it was a pretty dry day.

It took me a half hour to walk from that class to the bookstore, which is basically at the opposite corner from most of my classes. I was suddenly somewhat awed by the stacks of pulp, commercially ground and bleached and dyed into paper for books by the thousands, en masse, required reading for these students. I don't know. I've been in book stores before, I'm not retarded, but it struck me this different way this time. I wonder if someday the profs will abandon textbooks for the more eco-friendly (both ecological and economical) concept of computer-learning. Of course, that would downright cripple many large textbook companies. Poor them.

Maybe you should only fear losing your job if there's nothing else you can do, and nowhere else you can do it.

In addition to the philosophy book I had to buy there, I also had to buy a clicker for astronomy. It's this kinda neato futuristic dealie, about the length of a remote control, with a few letter-buttons and some lights. Real simple, which I dig.

I was supposed then to meet Alyssa to finish our business; I owe her a wad of cash and I'm happy to give it to her. I waited at the same little joint we met last week, and even had lunch there - a roast beef sandwich, not bad at all - but nearly an hour went by (a half hour of which was after the time I thought we were meeting,) and there was no sign of her. A disadvantage to the commute is that when it comes to things like this, my hands are kinda tied. I had already stayed a few hours after my last class for the sake of the bookstore as well as this meeting, but it was getting near time to catch the train. I didn't feel good about it, but I had waited quite a while. It was one of those rare occasions when I imagined having a cell phone would be very helpful.

When I got to the Oakville GO, I was on my way out when I passed someone who looked like the doppelganger of someone I knew. As it often happens as I passed him he called out my name. "Scott Williams!" In certain social circles, I'm known by my whole name a lot of the time but by no means all the time. Hell, I was at Chris F.'s once and he got a call, you know like, "Hey what's up, you doing anything?" and he told the person "Oh I'm just chillin' here with Scott and Pat," and the guy on the other end - who ended up coming over - was someone I barely knew and couldn't pick out of a lineup if you told me his name. Nice guy though.

So, at the GO station, this guy - more friend of a friend than anything, but a lot of those people can be very cool and amicable. We made chit chat before he realized he was "supposed" to ask me something - how exactly does one get a temp job at HMV? Well, I told him, it's really the same as any other job. They'll be taking applications soon, so if you go in there and ask to hand in your resume, they ought to be receptive. I did leave out the interview process, because I was in a bit of a hurry (no particular reason, just tired) wherein they ask you to discuss the current top-selling DVDs and CD's and your own favourites, you know, to make sure you're familiar and capable with the merchandise.

I wished him luck, and as I rode off I considered the possibility of my own rejoining the ranks. Assuming they'd want me (which, lacking in self-assurance as I do, I have doubts,) I would have to make time in my heavily commuting-based schedule to make it worthwhile for both me and HMV. I liked working there a whole lot, but I'm not sure I could justify the trouble it takes to make it work. My own sense of self-slighting propriety. Or something.

It's late. I should get to bed, I suppose. It's nearly quarter to 1.

So please just keep on rockin'
-Scotto

pg12: Every step of the way

It's been my first weekend since going back to school. I didn't exactly put it to good use, but I certainly did get relaxed.

I've sort of made myself amused by the fact that my future is suddenly very malleable. So long as I don't have to actually arrange it, I feel that I am open to a great number of possibilities. I think I started going to U of T because I saw those possibilities and panicked. Knowing that I was in a "now or never" situation, I decided to apply, and once I was let in, I went. And I'm enjoying it, so long as I look at it as something I don't really have to be doing. It would be a waste if I didn't burn off the last two years of my QEII Scholarship, after all, and whenever I get a little down, I just remember, I'm playing by my own rules. I'm not trapped. I just happen to have put my fate into the hands of a (very capable) postsecondary institution.

No, it ain't the norm to go to college for two years, then turn around and do four years of University. Even less expected would be to drop from the University scene after 2 years of that and try to live my life. But I've never considered myself terribly predictable in that way, at least not conventional. I have to believe that the life I live will at least resemble the one I see in my head.

It's sort of an exit strategy, and as of now it's really just a thought. It's far to early to think of it as necessary, but a pleasant reminder that I can control my own destiny (if I really want to) and that's very comforting, at least in my bizarre psychological way.

But thus far I have been enjoying the U of T experience, as much as I ever seem to enjoy anything at the beginning. I do tend to be cold toward things, but judging by the way I was digging Sheridan by year 2, I can definitely warm to U of T. It has a charm, y'know.

If the recent weather's any indication, Fall is on the way. It's the least sexy time of the year, if I'm to take the lingo of my old buddy Jimmer. It's more a time for reflection and affirmation than actualization and gettin' busy. But possibly for the first time, I no longer think of myself as being owned by my school and forced back to it in fall. This may be because of the new school, or because of the commuter nature of it, or because I've somehow become spiritually advanced beyond such a perspective in the last couple years. I don't know, it's hard to explain. Fall seems different to me now than it did two years ago. It's not an end, just an ongoing thing.

I sometimes put an inordinate amount of humanity into objects. Last week, during an ill-fated back-to-school shopping trip at Wal-Mart, my mom went off on her own and wound up buying me a comforter, because I'd mentioned the one I was using was old and frayed at the bottom. Of course, I was using a very old but lighter comforter for the summer and was planning to switch back t my massive thick one when it got cooler. Still, she bought me this new one without my asking - a nice gesture but unnecessary. So it's just been sitting there in the plastic zippercase it came in, waiting for me to decide what to do with it. I was very comfortable with the old one, and the new one will probably be too light to use too far into winter. It has a different texture and makes a bit of a swishing sound. But I liked the idea of having another comforter (because the old light one is indeed getting past its prime and I don't think it's washer-safe with its exposed foam) and thought it was a nice gesture. Meanwhile, she says, if I don't want it, she'll take it back. And I feel a little guilty about that because I should appreciate this thing. It ain't such a bad comforter, is it? So I'll use it tonight.

You know you just can't take the effect and make it the cause.

Keep on rockin'
Scotto

pg11: No last name for Phoebe

"My name is Scott... and today I'll say my favourite movie is Back to the Future."

As I am apt to do, I'm going to start in the middle and work my way back to the beginning. and if there's time, we'll go before the beginning, too, because chronology ain't what it used to be for ole Scotto.

I had a couple of startling dreams last night. I suppose it's a good thing I did, too, because I set my alarm faultily and it never went off. Of course, I was awake and waiting for it to go off, so this wasn't a huge problem.

These are dreams that jolt you into awakening, but are such a blur that you can only remember the bits that caused you to wake up. So here, I found myself at night outside a Shopper's Drug Mart, crossing the parking lot (this actually happened the second time I went to Joe's and was waiting for the 24 Bus to Oakville.) I pass this woman on her knees, arms bound behind her back. Standing behind her was a mugger (odd that a mugger would force a woman into the execution position but that was one of those weird little determined distinctions a dream makes - my consciousness told me he was a mugger.) He was Jamaican, if you must get a description... odd again, as I usually dream about white people, especially when criminals are concerned. But here was this Jamaican guy forcing this woman to the pavement brandishing his weapon...

It was a rectangular block of wood, about 5x5x10 inches. I have absolutely no idea how somebody is going to be threatened by a block of wood, but that's what makes it a dream. I took steps to intervene, but I - and another passerby - found myself running from the log-wielding Jamaican mugger.

I jolted awake. Not 4:00 yet, I don't think, I settled back to sleep to a dream about a very familiar-looking girl. As if rewarding me for the stress of the previous dream, I was chatting up a young lady who looked not unlike a dark-haired girl from Reach who once or twice caught my fancy. But here, she said her name was Phoebe, and to keep me from following after her (as I invariably would,) told me nothing more, that there was "No last name for Phoebe." And with that, she vanished, and I awoke, and it was almost 7.

I set my alarm later to try... well, getting more sleep, it's no rocket science. I am a bit more aware of train schedules now and certainly won't be getting the early train ever again. So I was aiming for the 7:50-something express and was right on schedule, when mom started to leave at the same time I did. So I caught a ride with her (and this will pay off later,) rather than ride my bike, which I had decided I would be doing while I still could. I ended up making the 7:35 express, which is fine but, as any train inevitably will, got me to school altogether too early. So I went down to the depths of Alumni Hall, took a seat, and napped for about a half hour before the beginning of my first-ever tutorial.

It's something, I'll tell ya. The TA, a young Irish gentleman, did his best to lead us young inexperienced kids through Plato's Crito as an example of the easily-answered* question, "What is Philosophy?" (*It's not really easily-answered, but you could say so if you're satisfied knowing that philosophy is some kind of dialogue about ideas. Or something.)

TAs are funny creatures. I've had novice teachers many times before, in high school and at Sheridan, but these people - seemingly closer in age to me than to any real teacher - are unconfused by years of teacher-college dogma and take a streamlined approach to leading the class... just discuss. After all, half the work is done by the Profs, all you have to do is give the students face time.

After an hour of this, naturally, it was time to go. I had hardly said anything, except stumbling over my unprepared response to the question in question, and felt more like an observer than a participator.

(Intermission: I actually just took a lengthy span of time to do an online survey about beer. I've been getting these e-mails for weeks and this was the first one that wanted my demographic. $10 Chapters Gift Card here I come.)

I had some time to kill so I went to pull the thorn out of the lion's paw. With a a hastily-printed OSAP confirmation (directly from their website,) I marched over to the Registrar of Innis and said, "Register me, beeyatch!" Okay, maybe the word "beeyatch" didn't come up, and I was a bit more polite, but the point remains that I demanded service, and service I got. I have to say, my experiences with the Innis registrar have been very pleasant, mostly quickly-arranged paperwork and getting the skinny on things.

That taken care of, I still had about a half-hour, so on my way I stopped off at the Bob Miller Bookroom (a bizarre underground book depository on Bloor) to buy Film Art, the text for my Cinema Studies class. If I'd had a bit more foresight, I might have put that off, but I had the time and I wasn't going to use that money on myself (heaven forbid.)

At 11:00, I headed to the Wymilwood Cafe, a nice little eatery by Victoria College. It was there that I was set to meet Alyssa for the first time in person since January 1 if memory serves. I sat and waited until about a half-hour past the hour when she finally comes through the door. She apologized for the lateness, explaining that she had gotten halfway here when she realized she'd forgotten something very important... the whole reason we set up this meeting to begin with. She produced three books.

By a not-really-astounding coincidence, I've found myself in a few of the courses she took last year, when she was the 20-year-old Frosh. As textbook costs are basically agreed to be astronomical (especially for the Astronomy text, har har,) and in need of cash herself, she agreed to sell me a few of her old ones, including the aforementioned space-book, and two poetry anthologies. We spent a brief moment negotiating the fees, and eventually decided that $60 per book was a good enough price that I wasn't ripping her off. She had plenty of time before her next class, so we spent a half hour or so catching up.

Mostly, we talked about school. We related experiences - mostly her to me, and I stuck to my role of wide-eyed newbie. "Gee golly this campus sure is big and my commute is oh so long, yuk yuk, why I surely am foolish for havin' done that." I bring this point up a lot to try to alleviate my unsureness about the matter. Having not moved out seems wrong, but living at U of T wouldn't feel right neither. I'm not somebody who can live at/near/for school. Maybe I need to believe my life is about something other than that. And if that means taking the train for a few hours each day, so be it. I don't think anybody truly begrudges me that. I also don't expect them to have sympathy (though I playfully ask for it by always adding, "Man, what a stupid guy I am for that.")

She may be reading, she may not, I know she's busy.

I've never viewed myself as part of a system. If I'm to survive, I have to at least imagine I have freedom to come and go as I please, to drift. I don't need U of T, truth be told, if all I wanted to do was find a job at a magazine or other publication. What I do need is to be out in society and live life and gather experiences and be a person, and U of T is a place for that. Plus, at least for 2 years, the Queen has very kindly agreed to comp me, so long as I keep my marks up.

I wonder if I'll ever discuss this with the parents.

Eventually, we parted ways. We made arrangements for me to get her the cash, and I took off with a bag 70 Lbs heavier than it had been when I left the house. I stopped off for a quick lunch (I had been at Wymilwood so long, I figured, it would have been weird if I suddenly had something to eat) and headed to Innis for my 1:00 tutorial. Of course, it was about 12:20 when I got there. Hurm.

Well I waited, and as it invariably does, time passed and I schlepped my load up to the 3rd floor for a modest gathering. Another TA, same deal, plenty of amicable chatter. Her name's Kira, she's an MA student and probably not much older than many of the people I hung out with at Sheridan, if at all. Probably closer to the age of my brothers in fact. She had us go around the room and say our names, whether we had any film background, and our favourite films.

I always squirm at that question, I never know what to say, I like a lot of very different movies. I could say Clerks, or Being John Malkovich, or Adaptation, or Lost in Translation, or Star Wars, or the Breakfast Club, or Footloose...

I announced my name and explained I'd taken "some production courses in high school" (not specifying the nature of the rather intensive WOSS Commtech program, how much I rocked it, or my insane quest to get Half-Past made.) As I said at the dawn of this post (which feels by now like I wrote it eight days ago,) I decided to go for a joke and claim that "Today, I'll say my favourite movie is Back to the Future." And that's as true and honest an answer as I could get if I wanted to limit myself.

The answers from around the room varied from Memento to the Graduate to Cinema Paradiso to A Cinderella Story. Kira, the TA, explained that she was a fan of Bergman and Fellini, and Italian Neo-realism and modern Latin-American cinema. She also liked Tootsie and What About Bob.

Then followed a brief discussion of Citizen Kane, with people discussing its merits with varying degrees of technical jargon. One guy went on about the low and high angles to depict Kane. Other people noted the soundtrack. Having had enough of silence all week, I decided the time was right to pipe up. Being the conventional sort I am, I noted its archetypal story of a rise and fall from power (with much clumsier words than those) and others still praised its unconventional non-linear structure. She noted other technical achievements like time-cuts and deep-focus shots, rare-to-nonexistent in those days. Word. She stressed the technical and practical (as opposed to thematic) nature of the course. Apparently we are going to learn a lot about editing, which is fine by me.

Eventually the bell struck 2 and off we went, me hauling my 8-year-old child-sized backpack down to St. George station. From St. George to Union, with a snack between arrival and departure from 3A, and finally I got to Oakville GO.

I mentioned earlier (and I find it hard to believe I actually remember saying this, after the lengthy of this badboy,) that I was suddenly very glad that I hadn't ridden my bike that morning. The fact is, the backpack was back-breakingly laborious to lug around and I was suddenly having doubts about its ability to remain intact under the stress of its contents. Plus, full of books, I couldn't stash my jacket in it, and it was hot as dog-bollocks out. So I managed to hop on the bus. And who did I see?

Piotr B. He's someone I've known since, I dunno, Grade 3. I've never really been friends with him, except in that once I got to high school I had suddenly been friends with everyone who came from River Oaks, as we'd all be around each other so much we felt more comfortable than the new people I'd be meeting. We had a few classes together in high school, from Grade 9 Gym to Grade 11 English. I'm not sure he was in my Writer's Craft class, but Guthrie seemed to mention his brother quite a bit.

We chatted a bit and he expressed surprise that I was "Frosh" (what a lousy derogatory-seeming term.) I glossed over the circumstances. He asked, incongruously, if I'd joined any clubs, and I said no. I'm not a club kind of guy. I don't have many interests I feel strongly enough about to share with others, at least in public. The anonymity of the Internet is one thing, but to go to a meeting place every week and say "I like this thing so much I want to portion out my time accordingly and devote so much of it to that thing." I don't live with such zeal, sadly. Maybe I find it uncouth. Maybe I should look up "uncouth" before I keep banding it about.

I got home and it was relaxation time. It's been an easy-breezy evening to end a week that feel like a month but was merely 5 regular days. If I'm to not go crazy, I can't really see them as anything other than that.

Back to before the beginning, I was walking down the street yesterday, on my way to Astronomy, when I was stopped at a street corner by a girl with a basket. "They're free," she says, holding out the basket. Unflinching, I say, "Cool" and reach in. I paused a moment before realizing that I'd just grabbed a condom.

I'd been getting a few freebies, particularly on Tuesday when I ran into some Bible-maniacs who gave me a free package with a pillowcase, a New Testament, a highlighter and a book attempting to dispel the existence of evolution. I find it odd that they see Evolution as an affront to the existence of God. As far as I'm concerned the ever-expanding and changing diversity of life on Earth is one of the most majestic of all His (potential) crations. Wondrous as it is, why spoil it by just saying "God put it here, it was always like this." Pfah.

I like buskers, I like to support them. But for my own amusement, I tend to give meager, almost insultingly low funds to them. I could stand and watch that Japanese lady at the Union Subway stop for an hour and a half and only toss a quarter and a nickel in. I'm a bit of a jerk, I suppose, but I think it's better to them than nothing.

After all, their job is that they play music nobody asked them for in a place nobody wants to hear them for peoplew who have other places to be. 30 cents seems reasonable, when I put it that way. If I must be so practical, that is - I still enjoy their music and feel they deserve more, but am far to cheap to provide.

I'm halfway into a poem for Wednesday that looks kinda promising, as far as things I can show other people and workshop. With poetry, I always think of the three layer idea I've kept for many years, that the bottom is the same as the top but in a different context. Specifically: Bottom - trite, greeting-card verse that rhymes but doesn't say anything. Middle - deeper-probing free verse that actually touches emotions. Top - Clever and/or deep poetry that maintains strict rhyme and meter, all the more well-emphasized for it. I try to keep on top of this, myself.

Maybe I'm weird. Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe the way I see the world ain't right. Maybe it's all too right to me. Maybe I'm the only thing that really exists, or maybe I'm just tired.

Keep on rockin'
Scotto

pg10: You can get it if you really want

I'm tired, I have the taste of coke on my lips and the first couple lines of a poem in my head.

Oddly, I've found it's most difficult for me to go to school on days such as Thursday and Tuesday, when I don't begin until after noon, rather than at 9 as every other day. After all, transit takes a nice chunk of my time and maybe I feel more worthwhile if I get started earlier. I don't live 15 minutes from my school anymore, a fact I miss immensely. So leaving the house at 11 was like getting out of a jacuzzi.

I did indeed leave earlier than I had to for schooling purposes, for more of that awesome bureaucracy I've been enjoying all this time. All this and I still got an insistent e-mail from my school registrar prodding me in the ribs saying, well, gee whiz, Scott you're not registered yet and we're gonna kick you out if you don't TCB by Wednesday. And I, being a real gone zen daddio, say "Cool it, baby. I know where I'm at." Okay, so I have a disdain for paperwork and formalities of this kind, and that poses a problem for matters of everyday administration. Hopefully I get the wherewithal to get this all sorted out real quick-like. It would suck if I went through all this stress and got kicked out anyway.

So I got on the train and headed east for TO. Convocation Hall, where I have Astronomy, is the most frustrating building for me to get to, because it's nowhere near any subway stop, at least neither of the ones I'm familiar with. It's a medieval-looking circular auditorium with a big pipe organ behind the projection screen. I think that you can see the growth of the U of T campus by starting around that point, where the earliest, castle-looking buildings are, and going outward to the very (appropriately) victorian Victoria College and then circling around on the circumference to the decidedly more modern Innis College.

So in astronomy class, we learned that the Universe is an impossibly large and old place that would not miss us. It was a lot of very humbling stuff for a man who is prone to existential crises.

I came home and kicked around a while before dinner. Mom was having a guy look at the room, but he was late, because something backed up traffic and he was coming from Niagara Falls. So he didn't show up until 2 hours 15 minutes after he was supposed to (but he was good enough to call, naturally.)

I've written about my poor arthritic dog. Well, he's doing much better now, looking cheerful and doing stairs. Good guy. He still seems to be struggling a bit, but the meds seem to be taking effect.

Life is going on and changing and evolving and trying to be good.

Keep on rockin'
Scotto

pg9: Someday they will all know my story

It's been a long day.

Nope.

It's been a lonnnnng day.

Admittedly, it was not as long as it might have been, but long nevertheless. I got up bright and early. No, just early, as the lack of sun prevented it being bright, shortly after 6. I caught a lift from mom to the GO station and caught the express train to Union. It was packed, not unexpectedly, and I had to spend the duration sitting on the steps between the lower and middle levels of the train. I got to Union around 8:00 and, as per usual so far, arrived early for Philosophy. I decided, for whatever reason, it would be a good morning to try kicking coffee, and as a result was only partly conscious through the half-lecture about Plato and Socrates. This might not go well. My philosophy teacher has a very relaxing voice. I don't know what to tell you. I feel kinda guilty, even though I did get the gist of the lecture, but all the same... it was sooo effin relaxing.

Then it was off to Narrative for a lecture on the US Constitution as a Narrative. Not terribly fascinating, but at least he showed a schoolhouse rock.

Then came an hour break during which I made some OSAP arrangements and grabbed a light midday snack. Then it was over to Innis for the Citizen Kane screening. I had been annoyed at the prospect of having to spend 7+2 hours at school, but ultimately, how can you complain when 3 of those hours in the middle are dedicated to watching a movie? sure, the seats are a tad scrunched in and I'm prone to fidgeting, but that's incidental, because I was still watching a movie. And a damn good one.

I spent the bulk of the hour between Film Study and my next class literally sitting in place on a bench pondering the nature of the world and my place in it. No, kidding, I was finishing my croissant from before the movie. Then I headed up, up, up Victoria College, to the rustic wood-paneled room in the third floor where sat a square arrangement of tables and chairs for the last class of the day, the 2-hour sprint of Reading and Writing Poetry. If you're wondering what brought me (back) to the poetry classroom, well, who knows. Maybe it was the most interesting seminar left. Maybe I had so much fun in Catherine Graham's class I had to go do it all over. Maybe I wanted to meet girls. Yeah, probably.

As people began to arrive, I noticed a trend. Girl, girl, girl, girl, guy, girl, girl... not surprisingly, there were 24 people in the class and only 5 dudes. Now, I don't mean to fixate on some kind of massive orgy scenario, but I'll say this. One of the most vexing parts of the university experience has been the amount of anonymity I've gained. Most of the day, I'm just the dude sitting there who might say something at some point (but probably not.) In a class of 24 people, you've got to interact and meet people. And it just happens to serve me that all those people were females.

I did end up chatting up the girls next to me quite a bit, mustering up what may not be called my "A"-game, but something at least resembling any game whatsoever. Managing to break out of the cage of passive nothingness was really refreshing for me and helped me end the day on a positive note. Finally by 6 I was on my way back to Union, where I somehow managed to defy logic and catch an immediate train home. I was afraid I was going to have to spent another 40 minutes waiting around munching on McDonald's, but no, I jogged up to 3A just in time to find... yep! Another jam-packed commuter train where I could sit on the steps to the middle level. Hurm.

This actually did not last long and by the Mimico station enough seats had opened up that I managed to take one and sit quietly reading On the Road. I got home in time to enjoy what passes for family dinner (some sort of pasta - linguine?) in this house and relax all evening.

Over the course of the summer, naturally, I had forgotten the feeling of getting home and wanting to relax. It's extremely gratifying to be able to do.

Despite an obvious lengthiness, Wednesday might turn out to be my favourite day, provided I continue to enjoy the movie screenings and relaxed atmosphere of the seminar. I've actually got a pretty good schedule all things considered. Aside from Wednesdays, there are two days when I get home plenty early, and two days when I don't have to leave until fairly late. So long as I enjoy the middle part, I've basically got it made. Sorta.

I mean, you know me. Let's take my personality into account and realize that... I'm gonna freak out. Here and there, I'll totally lose my cool, and often as not for no real reason. That's just how I go, and hopefully, those four readers I've gathered up through various means will bear with that. I don't recant my panic from last night, even if it was partly premature and/or unjustified, those are still thoughts that lurk in back of my head. They'll always be there and no euphoria or alcohol or romance can assuage them. But it ain't important because just as often I figure I'll be all abuzz.

I've still got some administrative matters pressing on me, but nothing I need to get too hung up about. Formalities at this point.

I say that now, but if I get kicked out of school in two weeks I'll go back and say "Oh God here's how it all went horribly wrong!"

Happy Rosh Hashana and Ramadan.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

pg8: You could drive yourself mad laughing

I'm exactly the type of person to start having a nervous breakdown after the second day.

What can I say? I'm an easily freaked out person. This has been well documented throughout this blog. I have an overactive imagination and am very easily aggitated. Amanda practically had to talk me down off a ledge when my search for an internship wasn't going so well back in February. Now here I am, traipsing all over the U of T campus like a miserable loner, without any significant acquaintences, wondering what the fuck did I get myself into?

I know that this is natural, and I know most people do their four years at university. I'm just so freaking restless, and I don't like the idea of being locked in for four more years. All I want is to curl up into the fetal position every day. I knew summer wasn't something that lasts forever, but why did I have to wander off and do this?

Not that I'm miserable at school. I'm just attempting to get my bearings and once I do, who knows. Who the hell knows. It took a little while to get into the groove at Sheridan. I was expecting this, but I didn't expect to feel so helpless.

I'm made of paper, man. Exhale too hard and I blow right away over the stupidest little things. I had this doctor's appointment - again - and Dr. Z was very firm in warning me about the potential for explosive diarrhea if I keep on these antibiotics too long. Well, thankfully that's not the case right now, but that's one more thing on my mind. She'd been taking a "one week at a time" approach when something a bit more drastic may be needed. I've now got 2 weeks of antiobiotics, an ultrasound scheduled (for way off in October sometime) so they can look inside and make sure that nothing more drastic lurks underneath. Just what I needed to hear first thing in the morning.

I just had enough time to catch the GO train to Toronto and not be able to find my class because, like a yutz, I didn't write down the room number and memorized it incorrectly. Hurm. Eventually I got there - it was a room I had already seen, where I did orientation. Watching the prof, I figured there must be some quota for universities hiring charismatic 30-40-somethings to run the bulk of their classes.

That thought did not occur to me when I finally landed in my next class. Again I couldn't find it because my crap-ass printout map did a poor job of identifying the route. So I wound up being late for the first time, whereas I've been terribly early for all my classes prior to that. That class was AST101, aka "Earth and Her Neighbours," aka, "Easy-ass science class for dumbass english students." I kid, but the prof did make a point about how you would be kicked out of this class if you were a science major. So basically the entire point of the course is for people like me. Makes you wonder why they even have the rule. I guess to give the impression of a well-rounded education.

So I've bared all my insecurities. Over the course of this entry I've started to feel better but it's only tuesday and I've got a whole week and a baker's dozen more besides to get stressed. Then follows 14 more weeks and three more years.

I'm finding my way.

It's good, I think, to sometimes get these things out there into the universe and let them play around in other peoples' ears. I'm damn lonely and trying to find anything that's familiar. Not to get too melodramatic or morose or lugubrious or anything.

Not that this is on the table right now, but I wonder how my parents would react if I dropped out someday? I mean, I've already got my Journalism to fall back on. I don't think I'd drop out without something serious to go to. I wouldn't want to become aimless. Is it weird that I find that an extremely comforting thought? someday I think I must have some kind of heart-to-heart with my dad about that.

Demetri Martin dropped out of his final year of law school to become a comedian. And he had a scholarship. That's a kind of devotion to one's dreams that I admire and aspire to.

I've got a shitload of books to buy. On the upside, every Wednesday at noon I'll be watching a movie in Cinema Studies class (the aforementioned class whose room I forgot to note.) Tomorrow is Citizen Kane. The Prof, Charlie, previewed the list of films slated to be shown, and while there wasn't a whole lot to get excited about, it's still a movie every week.

Tomorrow is going to be a very long day. I'll be glad to get home and sleep when it's over.

We've all just got to find our ways in a world that sometimes seems like an enemy. not that I want to get all metaphysical and whatnot. It's just, you know, the world is very big and we are small. I saw a picture of the universe (or something purporting to be the universe: how can we really know the size of all existence?) and it was kinda humbling.

The IT Crowd is a funny British show that will soon be remade for Ameircan TV. Time will tell if it will be the next Office or the next Coupling.

So keep on rockin'
-Scotto