118: It's only a model

By the end of the night, a big Interneta Halloween update will be online. I did one last year and while this year's is in a different vein and not necessarily for Interneta, it's nice to do seasonal updates.

It's been, in its way, a couple of pretty busy days. I've really been running around today. Sunday night, given my oversleeping that day (something which, my God, hadn't happened in years,) it's not hard to see how my sleep went haywire. I skimmed across the waters of sleep for a few hours before finally settling in for about 4 1/2 hours of sleep. I toyed with the idea, as I was wandering the house not asleep, of staying home the next day, but that seemed to invite disaster. So I got up at 6:45, as per usual, and went to class. The lectures don't necessarily educate, but they do enlighten and are useful.

You've gotta wonder if the people responsible for "The Dark Side of Oz" (or as it is sometimes less interestingly called, "Dark Side of the Rainbow") went around synching all their albums up to movies. I wonder if Steely Dan's Pretzel Logic syncs up with Casablanca? Or maybe Talking Heads '77 goes with Taxi Driver. The possibilities, my God!

I was prepared to get a good night's sleep last night, and was in the midst of it, when all of a sudden at 6:00 -- FWOOM!! I had no idea what it was. Sounded like a sonic resonation bomb, which doesn't exist, so that should tell you how indescribable the sound was that I had to go invent something to associate it with. It sounded destructive. The actual source of the sound was nothing of the sort, upon investigation - Tim had knocked over a broom, and that sound was the handle thwacking against the kitchen floor, resonating against my common wall. Go figure. That seems to sum up my life lately, fear of nothing terribly threatening.

I went back to bed, but was disrupted enough that I slept past my alarm to about 10:00. It was only that obnoxious Colin James song, "Chicks and Cars and the Third World War" that got me out of bed. Don't kid yourself, James has had a few good songs ("Hide," for one,) but that's such an annoying tune. So I was up, and didn't really have time for much as I had, once again, to go make change for the bus, which means coffee. From there, to the bus, to the station, as usual, in my own world, reading Freud's Dora. It was as we pulled into Union that I thought I spotted a familiar face on the train. This is normally a good thing, but I made sure not to make eye contact. I wasn't really in the mood for this dude. Maybe he's reading (probably not, as he once noted to me he did not know how to use Google.)

I sat through a lecture on use of sound in movies and then booked it on down to Convo hall so I could sit in the midst of a half-dozen conversing fratboys while I attempted to listen to a lesson on terrestrial atmospheres. You know how it is. I was really seething by the end, these guys wouldn't shut up. I would've turned around and said something, but as I indicated, there were about 6 of them and while I may be able to defend myself conventionally, I'm not an idiot - they could'a turned me inside out if I started shit. So I just had to sit there and be annoyed. But I wasn't the only one who felt this way.

As I'm hastily making my way out of that class with quiet indignation, the girl sitting two seats down from me turns around and I can barely make her out saying "Excuse me..." so I wait outside the room for this girl to exit and I asked, "Did you just tell that guy he was talking too much?" And she says yeah, and I tell her good going because Goddamn was I pissed. I was considering moving seats all throughout the lecture (as Convo Hall is huge and the class is maybe 70-80% attended,) but I didn't, which is good because otherwise I wouldn't have witnessed this. We commiserated over our mutual dislike of these dudes and I introduced myself before heading off. By now I've got it in my head that if you spend even 30 seconds conversing with someone, especially in a big class, you get the name, because you never know if it's going to come in handy to have an ally. I think I've seen this girl a few times, too. I don't know her take on the situation, but as far as I'm concerned, we're acquainted.

It was an uneventful ride home. I decided to walk as it was a gorgeous day and in late October, mid-Autumn, you've gotta cherish that. (The guilty environmentalist in me says that soon we'll have all the heat we can handle. Hrm.) So I was walking down Trafalgar and decided to stop in at Esso because I was positive Amanda would be working and I figured I could use a coffee. We chit-chatted a moment while she poured and, as I was handing her the coins, she just said, "Go!" Thicky I am, it acatually took a moment to realize she was comping me. Must take care not to abuse this newfound ability in the future. I'm not down by Esso very often anyhow.

So I walked home and took care of some light business for not-very-long before we went over to dad's for dinner, and more of Eric's birthday. Got home and had to carve the pumpkin. I've been busy trying to schedule all the stuff I will imminently need to take care of. I'm not swamped right now - thank God because I'm running around trying to get my ass to Hamilton tomorrow night - but I will be imminently.

Hah. This is the life, ain't it?

Keep on rockin'
-El Scotto

117: For my next trick...

They say that excessive television watching can disassociate a person from reality. If I had to look at my life, I'd say that's an apt hypothesis. Then again this comes from other sources, too. For instance, for various hours on end every day I'm plugged into my iPod and suddenly the world is just a slideshow rushing in front of my eyes. Maybe this is a problem. Maybe I need to start behaving like an active participant in the world around me, not just an observer. Maybe it's time to realize what it means to inhabit the 3-D realm.

Mmmmnah.

It's been a lame weekend. Saturday morning I had been woken up several times that night so I was too iritable to answer the phone when it rang "Unknown name" around 9:30 AM. I went back to bed for about an hour until the phone rang again and was handed to me. I had forgotten I was supposed to hang out with Amanda at Oakville Place, and she was there wondering where I was.

So I went down there and we hung out for a while. Deanna eventually came by and regaled us with horror stories of her new job. After a bit of shopping around, I split, not sure I wanted to be the third guy in their browsing.

The day slipped away and I spent the night trying to stay awake while watching Smoking Aces. I was literally bored to sleep all night long, so much so that when I eventually did go to bed around 1:30, I slept for over 12 hours straight.

So I've only really had half a day today, comprised mostly of a family gathering for my brother's birthday. I've been a little bummed from lack of energy and motivation. I kinda brushed the kids off when they wanted to play. I don't know. Just not feeling that fun, y'know?

But in any case, I didn't have anything pressing to take care of today, although I could probably have managed to get some reading done. I oughtta get my shit in order sometime soon, however.

I was asked to be someplace on Halloween. It might be a bit of a hassle (or a major one) but the word "need" came up, and y'know, how can I say no? It's nice to be needed, and it's also nice to have your drinks comped. I think I can make it work.

I need to reacquaint myself with the reality outside my head. I've been far away so long.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

116: The Genie's in the Gin

I don't think of my family as dysfunctional, but every now and again I get a frame of reference of how functional some families are. It's a sliding scale. We function, in that we have a system and everything operates well within that system. We get along okay, but there's sometimes unique hostilities. This isn't a big deal. Some people I know have families that hardly communicate, or are plagued by alcoholism and warring parents. Unfond as my parents may be of each other, they make their arrangement work, and only secretly seem to resent the hoops each has to go through to serve the needs of their still-dependant children. (That said, I wouldn't be so dependant if dad hadn't talked me out of moving, so bollocks on it all. I'm still here on his advice.)

I just got in from the lamest Risk game ever. I say this, because we did not actually play Risk. Pat ended up not showing because his sister was in town and it's his birthday, so they did a whole happy family thing. If my brothers moved away and came to visit, I don't know if I'd make a big fuss, birthday or no. What we ended up doing was CB, Chris and James Edgar played Halo 3 while two other dudes sat around talking about pot and I made wisecracks at everyone else's expense. I got home around 12:30, too early to have had a good Risk game, too late to have watched a new episode of South Park. Not happy about that outcome. Maybe we'll play tomorrow. Maybe we'll drink. I could go for that. You might've guessed from the title.

I've been checking the webstat counter. As usual we seem to be getting visitors from all corners, which sometimes unnerves me. Sometimes, I can place who I might know out there. And I know I have a large following in Asia because of what appears to be a glitch on what appears to be a popular blog search engine that keeps leading back here. Also, because of the reference to My Cousin Vinny, somehow we're turning up in the results for that. I don't know who I know in Ancaster, altohugh I hear it's close to Hamilton and I definitely have contacts there, so it might just be an ISP thing. At least one hit from Boulder, Colorado. This sends up a red flag because I have a Prof originally from Colorado and for whatever reason my mind went right there. It's not easy to search oneself and wind up here, I don't think, but not impossible either (especially given that I also know what people are searching to get here, as exemplified by Ms. Tomei.) So that's probably only a coincidence. I also noticed one, a few days ago, from Nashua, which is either in New Hampshire or Iowa. If it's the latter, I have a slight idea where that one came from.

Not that I mind. If you can stand reading this blog, you're welcome to it (providing you understand that by reading you've waived the right to call me out on the blog being bullshit, since hey, what did you expect?) Just know that I'm watching the lurkers. I have a vague idea what's moving in the shadows.

That said, today was a thoroughly uneventful but altogether satisfying Friday. It began by jolting awake from a rocksolid sleep to the strains of Slash's anthemic riff from Sweet Child o' Mine. I've heard tell he doesn't like it because it's such a basic lick, but really, the simplest ones are the ones you hum. Aerosmith knew that, and Guns n' Roses really wanted to be them, as far as I've heard. I went through the motions groggily, showering and packing a lunch, observing the wreck that more or less constitutes our kitchen.

I may have been mistaken when I told Robyn several weeks ago that there was no Jeff or Suzie. A small group of recurring characters is starting to emerge on the GO train, partly comprised of Kyle Sanderson's twin sister, a chef, his friend the CPA (but she doesn't do taxes, and she's like 15-20 years younger) and a woman who may or may not be my Grade 5 teacher, Ms. Jacobs, now married and known as Mrs. Golightly. I decided she wasn't, but imagined in my mind what I would say if I ran into her. I'm under the impression that, at least at that age, I was the type of kid who made an impression on teachers, and Ms. J and I interacted a lot as I was supposedly gifted. Also she was one of my favourite teachers throughout all of grade school. I've come a long way since then

Of course, I've also still got a ways to go. Go figure.

So I got to my sparsely-attended tutorial. We talked reality, being a brain in a vat, and knowing whether the sky is blue. I got my midterm back, bad stuff, I probably should have studied harder. I'm not usually one to stress on marks, and I didn't fail, but this was low even for my expectations. It was multiple choice what got me... my short answers (long answers?) ruled.

An hour later and I'm in Narrative. I'm not sure how into the discussion I was and I'm really lost on this paper, dude in about 2 weeks. I oughtta seek help. Well, I've been saying that for years (hot-cha!)

An hour, a sandwich, and some mulling about later and I'm in Film Study. This guy keeps picking fights with the poor TA and she does her best to find him off... he's a fuckin' smartass and not in the good way (like me.) I'm not sure what gave him the idea poeople want to hear his opinions or that he should voice them freely.

I got to Union station too early for the train, so I stopped by the arcade. Someone was on the Austin Powers Pinball machine so I had to amuse myself someway else.

When I got back to Oakville I wandered down Kerr to Comic Connection and picked up some books for the week. It's a good thing not many good comics are published anymore or else I'd just be burning through my cash so much faster. As they continue to get repeatedly cancelled, my pull list should be virtually nonexistent by this time next year.

I got home to discover the standing lamp, which lights much of the basement, had gone blammo, and now I'm sitting here in dim shadowyness. It's not that bad, but it's not feng shui.

His luck, it gave in as the dawn light crept in...

I remember the first time I listened to London Calling the whole way through. It was a freaking revelation. The songs seemed to have come from deep within my own psyche, where the rhythms that move my soul reside, I had such a deep reaction. Oftentimes, but not as much as I should, I just lie back and listen and try to call on those feelings again. It's not people or places we pine for, but our senses. We keep returning to sounds and sights and smells that made us happy once in hopes that we can be that way again.

It's really late, man.

I've decided that I'm going to at least enter the NaNoWriMo this year. It's a dumb idea and I don't intend to win (although that doesn't mean I won't try.) I should probably take a more serious approach to my studies, so I won't let it get in the way of that. That being said, I'm going to need to blow off some steam and if I don't at least toss my hat in, I'll obsess over this all month long. Better to try and fail than to sit back and say "I won once, good enough for a lifetime." Besides, my idea, less a novel than a memoir, should flow easily given that it's about the subject I know most about (myself.) Now the question is: can I get 50,000 words out of my meagre experiences?

Hrm.

Keep on rockin
-Scotto

115: The world is round

I put forth this theory not long after I started postsecondary education. It's hard to explain, and also to convince people of, but I keep coming back to it.

The gist of it is that throughout our lives, we only meet a certain number of people, and thus repeatedly re-encounter new iterations of the same person. When you get to a certain point in your life, around college-age, you start meeting new people and they continually remind you of people you already know. To some extent, you treat the new acquaintance in the context of the previous, projecting that person onto the new one. It's weird.

I don't know. Like I said, it's not easy to convince, I'm not even sure I buy into it myself. But I have seen a few examples in the people I've met since coming to U of T (and to a lesser extent, even back at Sheridan.) One girl looks damn near identical to someone I knew back in high school. Forget her personality, I just can't help seeing her and thinking the other girl. Go figure.

Unrelated aside: no matter how good of a dancer you are, the cabbage patch will always make you look like a fool. You do it too slow, or too fast, or you don't get enough extension or your rhythm is just off. Nobody does that one well. It's a lousy dance move anyway.

Yesterday passed relatively uneventfully as far as Wednesdays go. In Narrative, as we're talking Freud, Cobb opened the lecture with a disconcerting clip from a Shirley Temple flick where she sings about wanting to marry her dad. Hurm. Maybe it's just my generation, but I find Shirley Temple movies to be inherently disturbing to begin with. That America was once obsessed with this little girl is a little odd to me.

Between classes, I had t otrek down Harbord street past Spadina to a little hop called the Women's Bookstore. Just reading the sign on the door made me feel out of place. It was a nice little place, not unexpectedly I suppose. Quaint. All the books for Narrative are sold there, and I had to get a copy of Freud's Dora.

After crafting my lunch, I settled in to watch Run Lola Run, which was preceded by a short film I found impossible to stay awake during. Lola, however, was a very interesting movie.

I waited in the lobby of Old Vic doing my reading when I was joined up by a few Poetry classmates. Given it's a seminar, I guess we're all getting pretty chummy to various degrees. It probably doesn't hurt that every few weeks we distribute compositions, often of personal natures. We hung around and did a crossword before going up. Afterward, I walked to the subway with another classmate, although we ended up going different directions.

I staggered home late around 7:30. It always kills me to have to wait so long for the bus. I feel like a shmuck. I rested the rest of the night, although wasn't overly bummed because the day had gone pretty well.

Today being thursday, it was busy without being overly busy, if that makes any sense (it doesn't.) I slept good and late, took care of business on the computer, and attempted to make my lunch before school. In the time since buying the buns, they'd gone moldy, however, so I groaned and went on my way.

At Union, I stopped by a pizza place, Pizza 2 Go. They sell a slice and pop for $2.50, which is a good deal, and it's very good pizza. Unfortunately, you can't get a slice without a pop, as the guy informed me, so even though I already had a Coke with me from home, I got another one. Still though, $2.50 and it's very good pizza.

I had to stop off by Wymilwood to get a new Metropass. They were also giving out popcorn, which was, uh, cool, if somewhat inexplicable. It caused me to be late for my train, so I didn't have time to get comics after, so I just came home.

The grocery store was, strangely, populated by attractive women tonight. Maybe I'm just crazy with longing. You know how it is after it's been a while. In my case, you could stack several whiles on top of each other, but you didn't come here to read me rephrasing that same old thought (or did you? Who the hell knows?)

I keep getting collectable quarters. The mint just released 15 (!!) for the 2010 Olympics. I don't go actively seeking these things, but when I get them in change, I can't spend them unles I've already got one. So I'm a coellctor, but not a very enthusiastic one. All I could tell you is that there's more than $10 in coinage in my room I'll never spend. I just got two more today, an Olympics one, and a Georgia State quarter.

I really gotta get to bed. If I don't get a good night's sleep, I won't be able to read on the train tomorrow morning.

Eric bought some beer, and very oddly, it came with a coffee warmer that you plug into your USB. What a weird few words to string together.

Be honest today, it'll pay you back tomorrow.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

114: These words seem more important, but aren't

Oww, mama, have mercy. This cat is wiped.

As previously mentioned, I took yesterday off. I slept until midway through the class I was missing and downloaded the pertinent overheads afterward. I mulled around a while doing my usual thing. It wasn't a very interesting day until late in the afternoon when Eric mused that he wanted to go down by Neyagawa and see some of the paths.

Ever since he bought his camera, a $600 Pentax I believe, he's been really into, well duh, photography. He's always into going out and finding things to photograph, and the most readily available source is nature. So, not having anything to do myself, we walked all the way up to Neyagawa and started along a path. The path continued for some time before we took a long, steep dip downward toward Sixteen Mile Creek. We rested by the banks for a while before continuing, further and further into the woods, before the scene began to feel more and more like the Blair Witch Project, or some foliage-heavy version of Gerry. We walked over a few bridges and came to the end of a path. Eventually we found our way back up near Dorval. From there we walked home and exhaustedly called it a day.

Today was very cold and rainy. Nothing terrifically interesting happened in either of my classes, although I got some good notes on editing. Every week in Astronomy there's an online quiz of 10 multiple-choice questions. I usually do two tries - one on my own that nets about 6/10, and one with the book that gets about 9/10. This week's, on planets (part 1,) got me 9/10 on the first go, which made me pretty glad... I know planets. Whoooooooo.

I came home on the dreary train contemplating my anonymity. Every day that isn't wednesday or friday, it seems, reminds me that I'm still very much alone after nearly 2 months at this school. I might blame that on the commute. I might not. It's be easier if I weren't, but even then... hm. Somedays, (maybe most,) I think I suck. It ain't easy. But what can we do? As directionless, as unsure as we can feel, we can't do anything but move on. We just have to keep on keeping on. What choice to we have?

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

113: We live in a world of science

It's been a nice, quiet weekend. It's involved a lot of sleeping, all though not all of it unbroken or untroubled. The truth is I've scarcely slept a whole night through in months. And while I don't typically toss and turn more than, say, 20 minutes, that interval can still damage the quality of depth of sleep.

Case in point, the last two nights I've gone to bed after 3. Not really all that smart given that mom was away this weekend and so I had to feed the dog and let him out at some point before 10 AM. Hence, on Saturday and Sunday morning, I was up at 6:30 and 9:00 respectively to take care of these chores. I then returned to bed for 5 and 2 1/2 hours, respectively, to get up around 11:30 each day.

Yesterday, I finally took care of something I've been needing for a while... a haircut. I hadn't had one since mid-June (not July as I originally counted.) After some back and forth I went down to the mall, had some lunch, and swung by the ole barber shop. The girl at the counter asked me who I wanted to see, and I asked if Andrea was in. I didn't used to care who did my hair, but I usually try to get this girl, because she's youngish and easier to converse with. Of course, my dad knows her as the girl with the ample bosom (okay he did not say it like that, which is always weird to hear,) but hey, she is usually very friendly and remembers me, so we chat like friends while she's doing the snipping.

She mentioned, sadly enough, that her boyfriend had just been killed. It was weird for her to refer to that, a few times throughout the conversation, somewhat matter-of-factly. It was hard to gauge exactly to what degree she may have been grieving. If at all. If she was even telling the truth. Part of me suspects she just makes these stories up to get sympathy tips. Well, I don't tip any better but it definitely keeps me coming back to her every 3 or 4 months. We made small-talk about movies and life and how one client of hers was so moves she offered use of her vacation house in Maine (I'd hope that, if she were lying, she wouldn't have accepted but it'd be a terrible thing to lie about anyway.)

So now the hair's short, I'm lookin' like a whole new dude. It always revitalizes me somewhat to get a trim, because I do tend to leave it long and maybe there's something to the theory that people keep all their issues in their hair. It was the right time, too, since it's about to get pretty cold but the weather today, for instance, was gorgeous. By the end of the week, it oughtta descend into, you know, chilly, windy, rainy stuff but today was warm and sunny, totally ideal, maybe to the point of freakish.

Much of the rest of the day was idle, in front of the TV, dinner at dad's, and then I went out and rented Knocked Up. There's a review on it on Interneta, quite positive. Then, I went out and played Risk with Pat and Chris for a few hours until nearly 3. It wasn't a terrific game, and with 3 people it never is (with the time we give it.) It certainly didn't pan out well for me but nobody was eliminated. We watched My Cousin Vinny, good movie. It's always been a sort of controversy as to whether Marisa Tomei deserved the Oscar for that role, and it's certainly not the type of film that usually engenders awards buzz. It's not particularly emotional (or even at all) but it's very memorable, unconventional and took quite a bit of talent to pull off, so you've gotta appreciate it.

I came home and basically fell into bed. At some point between various random waking, dog-feeding and answering a call from mom, I had this dream where I ended up in a knife fight with Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. I couldn't get the dude to bleed. Weird.

Haven't really done much all day. Been bumming around all day. Contemplating, against my better judgment, whether or not I should enter this year's NaNoWriMo. There's no way I have the time, but it's awfully tempting.

We ordered some Chinese food and sat around all evening. Nothing on TV. No school tomorrow. I should try to be productive.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

112: Say it like you don't mean it

Tonight's revelation is not a spectacular one. It's that I don't lead a terrifically interesting life. Pick anyone you know currently away at university, their stories will be way more interesting in mine. I've never had an easy time living an interesting life. My talent's generally rested in making the mundane more palatable. Taking the blandness of my life and trying to make it appeal to people looking for stories. That said, the last couple of days have been interesting, all things being relative.

It can be said to have begun on Thursday after an otherwise typical and uninteresting (to describe, not to have been in) when I set out to pick up my assignment. I had done it on relatively short notice, kind of slap-dash, I didn't have high hopes and they were more or less fulfilled as I got 31.5 out of 40. I tanked one question and could've picked up a few more marks elsewhere. I was fairly pleased. all told.

I came home to nothing. B. went out for the evening. Eric and I mulled around for a while waiting for mom to come help us out with supper (thus is the deal,) but she didn't show. Hours passed, not a word. An investigation from a secondary source (Tim) brought the startling revelation that mom simply wasn't coming home, at least not in any reasonable amount of time. She had some work function we simply hadn't been made aware of. I did my usual huffing and puffing of frustration. I'm perfectly (or at least a little) aware I look silly when I do this, but it helps me get aggression out. Eventually we did the logical thing and gave dad a call and he took us on good short notice. We picked up a quick supper at the meals-to-go kiosk at RCSS and headed home for a late meal and TV. I was stull annoyed, however, as I'd been in the car with mom the day before, and she said nothing about that but took the time to vent about the boarding situation she'd already shared with us.

Eventually, late in the evening, an e-mail arrived, a forward from B., as mom had e-mailed him to let him know that she wouldn't be home. The letter had been sent in the course of the day but didn't arrive until far too late to be relevant. But it did make me feel a bit embarrassed for having been so frustrated, since no real wrong was done.

And so this morning, I slept in, as Boyle had cancelled Tutorials for this week to give his TA's time to mark the recent midterm. For the most part, it was the usual tutorial business with the usual cast of characters. Nothing too fantastic happened although it wasn't a bad day. It just brings me back to the point that opened this entry. I walked home rather than wait for the bus. This is going to suck in winter.

After dinner, and some TV, I was supposed to go to coffee with a friend, but couldn't get ahold of her (hoping, in my paranoid mind, she's allright; I got my mom's sense of assurance.) I'll hopefully get ahold of her tomorrow. So instead, I went with Chris and Pat to see Darjeeling Limited. Pat offered up some discount passes for which I've yet to pay him back, but I'm good for it. Wes Anderson fans will be pleased. I liked it, but it was maybe not as good as, say, Royal Tenenbaums. We'd intended to catch the 9:50 show, but delayed to the 10:35. In the meantime, something happened that will never be discussed openly ever again.

Unless I really need to break the ice. (I never will, not that bad.)

I've got a nice long weekend ahead of me. Taking monday off. I was going to head down to Sheridan but Eric informed me, quite gleefully for his part, that it's reading week, so I doubt that would make much sense for me to do.

It's late. I should chill out and go to bed. I pine for the days when I would get an idea to write, and then write it. If it's not poetry these days, haha, it just sits in my head.

Clock's tickin', time's a-wasting. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

111: He never gets no rest 'cause she's playing all night

I'm pretty sure I need a haircut.

I've not had one since early or mid-July. I've gotten fairly shaggy and it's about time to put an end to it.

Mom's quietly freaking out. The dude who had been renting our spare room skipped out on her. Go figure. On top of that, the whole neighbourhood's been re-zoned so we need an inspection before we can take on a new boarder, and mom's positive our house would fail. I don't know, but it wouldn't surprise me. In the car on the way to the GO station, she listed a few of the thing's she'd figure on doin.g Fix the smoke detectors. Move Brandon's bed so they wouldn't know it's a bedroom, just a computer room. Pick up the loose papers around the basement. She's obsessed with those papers. She's convinced that having them near electrical wires is a recipe for disaster, like they're gonna combust. I'm not ruling it out because electrical fires happen and paper is flammable, but all the same, the risk seems minimal to me. Mom's kinda always been pretty insane as far as fear of fire, pretty irrational. She fixates on things like the papers on the ground (they're not budging.) I think it's something in her troubled childhood. Her dad was kinda a weird guy, and not in a fun way. More in a compulsive gambler and associating with odd shady characters way.

I got to the station and waited on the platform. As it fills up, the older woman stands in front of me, to the side. I see her take out an iPhone. I watch, curious, since I've never seen one of these miracle-devices up close. I watch her scroll through her musical selections and was stunned when she landed on her pick. This woman, who was at least 40 and maybe 50 (it gets hard to judge sometimes, I say that to compliment her as a potential 50-year-old who looks in her 40's.) ended up listening to Nicotina (She's All That) by Big Sugar, a song I had just recently added to my own iPod, and not a band I imagined as having much of a middle-aged professional woman fanbase.

I'm a bit of a spy, an eavesdropper. After I took my seat on the train, I was joined by a man and a woman. He was in his 40's, she in her 20's. They were talking already like they were good friends but he actually introduced himself by name right in front of me. I wondered how they had started talking. He appeared to maybe be hitting on her, but was wearing a wedding ring. I turned off my iPod so that I could hear their conversation, but made sure not to look. I still found it odd, anyhow, as they had an involved conversation about their work and their lives in Oakville.

I sat catatonic through the bulk of the morning, paying vague attention to the notion of non-deductive argument in philosophy seated next to that one girl who looks way too much like someone else I know. In narrative, I drifted in and out of sleep as well, but Prof. Cobb said something that stuck to me, although it had nothing to do with slavery. He mentioned that you never remember what you learn in University, only how you learned; basically, the whole thing, is learning about learning. It seems obvious, but I don't know. It's something to think about.

After lunch was Film study; a Russian/Cuban communist propaganda epic called I Am Cuba. It was pretty heavy-handed and melodramatic but pretty impressive as far as film analysis goes for its editing techniques and long takes.

Lastly was poetry. We did a little workshopping. The piece I came up with didn't really hit hard nor inspire much revision advice. I don't know. I liked it at the time but have grown less fond of it. Reading it out loud, it felt pretty minor. I have a bit of a tendancy to under-write, which comes off less stunning as a good over-written poem, it's also easier to hide if the piece is of lower quality. Anyway, it didn't inspire much talk one way or the other. This, by the way, is a different poem from the one I mentioned in an earlier post.

After making my way to the subway, walking with a girl from class I kinda know (as much as one can be known after only a few weeks of one class,) I met up with Ryan at Union. I showed him the arcade, he was fairly impressed. When we got our seats, he had his feet up on the seat across, but before we pulled out, some ladies came by to take the seat. Now naturally you put your feet down, anybody would do that. But this lady made a thing out of it. She walked up and said something along the lines of, "Okay, uh-uh, footsies down." Like she was his kindergarten teacher or something. It's pretty rude to talk to a stranger who is a grown person as though they were a retarded child. I gave 'em the stink-eye for a while before losing interest and turning to a crossword puzzle.

After a lengthy wait on the bus, I got home and had an amazing steak. The kind of meat that made me wish I said grace before meals. I've sorta been bummin' around the house all evening since then.

That's all for tonight. We can all be good.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

110: I told you I'd come back and here I am

I don't know what it is about yesterday that left me feeling like I should've posted. At some point something happened that made me think "This is something I should write about, even though it's not all that interesting," yet I can't put my finger on what exactly that was. I remember the day pretty clearly and yet am not really all that sure what I was thinking about. So now I'll be going through the last two days.

Another Monday morning. Another early day. Another train on the ever-colder Oakville GO platform with my many fellow commuters. I walked in the dreary early morning mist to my Philosophy class where we all geared up for the midterm. It was a relatively breezy if somewhat challenging process. A few multiple choice questions and some short answer stuff. Nothing terribly taxing, but hey, you've gotta know it.

I met up with my TA afterward and he apologized for skipping out on friday. I told him it was okay (although very nice of him to note,) since we got some face time with the professor.

From there, I walked, exhaustedly in the dreary day, to the lectuere on narrative during which I napped somewhat. Given that Prof. Cobb has decided to take next monday off, I don't think I'll be going to school at all next monday. I don't see it being too worthwhile to schlep my way all the way to Toronto for one 9:00 class. I'd be miserable.

I've spent much of the last two days stop-and-starting to write the next poem for my Wednesday seminar. I felt like the damn thing was bubbling under my brain but when I tried to pour it out, it was utter crap. Writing is seldom such a laborious act for me. Usually I just go ahead and do it. And if it doesn't feel natural, in poetry, it shows. I don't want any of that half-high-minded stilted-sounding shit, but I can't deny having written some of it in my day. So I kept scrawling the same few lines, or versions thereof, in my little notebook, and then scribbling them out.

Today was an odd day. I wanted to take the bus to the GO Station, but didn't have change. So I had to go out early, buy something, get change then walk over to the bus stop. It was a schlep.

It was a dull day. We talked Editing, long takes mostly, in Film. We watched a scene from Children of Men; great movie. I had to go find the HA building for my Astronomy midterm. It followed largely the same format as the Philosophy one. I think I did okay, not terrific but good enough for me. Maybe. I seem to have an okay handle on this stuff, y'know... even if I don't study.

I got done with it early enough to be really early for the train. I killed some time at the arcade playing Austin Powers pinball.

Took forever to get home thanks to a train delay and the generally lame bus schedule around here, particularly for the 27. Had dinner, mulled around, and was about to give in to writer's block, when the poem finally hit me. I like it, but it could use some workshopping -- which, of course, is the point.

If you don't know when your birthday is, just pick the horoscope you like best.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

109: Blood on the tracks

I had a thought earlier that it was not easy to reconcile a fundamental religious belief with an interest in scientific understanding. So much of what we know as science (empirical evidence and whatnot) is so broadly contradictary to the idea of faith that it's easy to forget that the earliest scientists were all devout. Your Newtons, Keplers, et cetera, all raised in the church. After all, what was religion but drawing conclusions based on previous theories and observations? Yet the more we learn, the more we wonder how God figures into it, to the point where more and more people decide to scrap the idea of God altogether.

I don't know. I don't mean to preach, lord knows I've had my own conflicts of beliefs over the years. If I believe in God, I feel like it would only be to get into Heaven, not because I derive much satisfaction from the idea of a supreme being. If anything, that idea scares the shit outta me. But the God that I like to think about doesn't care if you believe in Him or not. He works, like nature, in ways we can see but not always understand, like a bumblebee's flight. It doesn't cease to be when you turn away from it. I don't know. I didn't even intend to write about this when I set down to write this: I had the first sentence and I kept going. I'm not even sure it makes sense or if I even agree.

I was reading some old entries earlier, as I occasionally do. There are two layers to this, a contradiction if you will. I have changed and I haven't. My outlook is so different and yet so much the same. Where I look from can change, yet how I see somehow does not. I may not have the same perspective as I did at one point, yet the interpretations keep going through the same filters. This redundant point makes very little sense.

But my point is that I wrote in a way back then that I am not now, and yet I am still in many ways that same guy, I still have the same situation, the same feelings. But now I say, "Oh, I would never write aobut that like that." Well, I'm pretty fuckin' capricious. Who we are can change like the wind.

I don't even really want to be writing this tonight. It's been a lazy day and I'm going to bed soon. I have a philosophy/logic test tomorrow and it would be to my advantage to have my braincells functioning. I've been going over the materials and I guess we'll see how much of it I can truly call upon. You know my theory... if you truly know it, you don't need to study, it will be there when you call on it to write.

Well it's always worked plenty for me.

Tomorrow never knows. Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

108: Your typical city involved in a typical daydream

Yes, that's a Dead quote in the title there. I like the imagery of the lyric.

It's the kind of night that makes me wish I had a Wii or a copy of Guitar Hero. It's not to say I'm bored or I feel like I have nothing to do. I just wish I had one of those things to use to unwind. As it is I'm sitting here in front of the computer, wondering if this is it. But I haven't been sitting here all night; and I marvel at the fact that I've been out at least 3 Saturdays in a row, but back in the summer, there was at least that amount of time when I did nothing.

I woke up this morning only shortly after 8. This was miserable for me as I'd only gotten to sleep sometime after 2 and was craving some serious slumber. It was one of my rare unbroken nights of sleep, too, so the fact that I was awake at that time was very irksome. But yeah, I awoke to the sound of a dog pacing back and forth. Intuitively I knew he was looking for breakfast and a little trip to the backyard. So sensing it wasn't going to happen otherwise I got up and gave him some dish and let him out, and when he barked to ask to get in, my mom comes from around the corner, surprised I let him out. Me, I was surprised tht she was home, because if I'd known, I would have let her take care of it and gone back to sleep. She'd mentioned she was home this weekend, but since she wasn't doing anything immediate about the dog situation, I figured she was elsewhere. Disgruntled, I went back to bed and thought, "Oh geez, I've been up too long. I'm gonna lie here for 20 minutes and never get back to sleep. I feel awful."

So I woke up at 11:30 and realized I was wrong. That felt great. I'm never one to turn down an extra 3 hours of sleep if I can help it. After watching most or all of Final Destination 3, I headed down to the bank to TCB and then just kind of relaxed all day. Around 5, things started to get going.

Joe was doing a show down at a Starbucks in Mississauga, not far from Oakville's borders. Having missed out on most opportunities to catch Joe and anyone else recently, I was determined to catch this gig. It was to begin at 6:30. An hour before the thing rolled around and I began to wonder; "How the heck am I supposed to get there?" The bus was simply not doing it for me. I was not feeling it. I had to negotiate a ride and, long story short, I did end up getting there. It looked like I wasn't going to, and I was kinda upset about that, but the story has a happy if bland ending in that it all worked out and I got dropped off. We left just after 7, arriving at about 7:30, halfway through the set.

It was a small gathering. Starbucks being what it is, I ordered a coffee one size larger than I'd intended. We sat around and listened to Joe play the guitar and sing his songs, some very good stuff. He didn't stick around too long afterward but we took some pictures. Mansoor and I hung around for about an hour talking, catching up, talking business. He regaled me with stories of his exploits at the Mississauga News and as a PR guy for his local MP. We ended up talking music and movies and school, bebopping and scatting all over various topics until he took me on home and here I am, loaded on caffeine with nothing to rally expend my energy on -- actually, with the energy internalized, I'm a little wiped anyhow.

What a life. Not much of an entry tonight. Not much to say for myself. Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

107: These Are Your Endless Nights

There's a light at the top of my basement stairs. We've never replaced it in all the time we've lived here. It's hardly ever on, but it went out the other day. I wonder if we'll leave it, or reach all the way up (high ceiling over the landing) and change it.

It was one of those real down days. Not a lot to think about, but a lot of thinking anyhow. Following some advice I got from Ryan L. weeks ago, I went down to the far end of the platform to board the 9:45 Eastbound express. I still didn't get a seat, but it wasn't very crowded either. So I sat on the stair and contemplated. Not a lot to think about, but a lot of thinking anyhow. I repeat myself for poetic effect.

My philosophy TA was sick today so we actually had face time with the Prof. It was largely a pep talk for the upcoming exam. We went over a feud principals we weren't all clear on, including Reductio ad Absurdum, which is deceptively easy despite the appearance of being difficult. Let me conjure up an example with some lewd visuals..

1) If Rob has a penis, then Rob is a boy. ("If p, then q.")
2) Therefore, either Rob is a boy or Rob has no penis. ("either q or not-p.")
3) Take the contradictory: Not "Rob is a boy or Rob has no penis." ("Not [q or not-p.]") We know this makes no sense, but we prove it by following through...
4) Here's where it looks like math, expanding out the brackets. Rob is not a boy and Rob does not have no penis. ("Not-q and not-not-p.")
5) Rob has a penis. ("Not-not-p.")
6) Rob's a guy. ("q.")

Or something. Yeah, I'm sure I'll do fine. A lot of this logic stuff has its roots in the same "if p then q, all A's are B's" exercises I did way back in Grade 5, Mr. Witzel's peer group. I still find it baffling to believe that Matty Oh and I were the ones who went there when our grade included Rohan, Farah, Amer and Raj, along with maybe several others. People who were much more conventionally smart than I was; people who can probably grasp Reductio ad Absurdum without invoking human body genitalia.

From there, well actually an hour after, it was the Narrative tutorial. We talked about the Frederick Douglass book, which I've not yet really gotten into (the preface.) I know a couple of the people in that class by now; both of them are in my Cinema Studies class, although only one is in my tutorial for it, and the other I've never seen there (and only once or twice in the Narrative lecture anyhow.) The former is a dude I make smalltalk with occasionally, the latter I spoke to at length once and have not had too much contact with since, mostly just to and from class. "Maybe I'll see you Monday," she says as we walk the same direction, me to Bloor, her to the subway. "I'll find you." Well, I kinda like the sound of that, but you know me. I'm very excitable. Every now and again I revert to myself at 15 and am just glad that someone, a female no less, is paying attention to me. Then I remember that I'm actually 20 now, and that I've changed and can get back into character.

I'm not saying anything, but it was a weird and nice thing to hear.

I made a somewhat selfish promise to myself at the dawn of this University career. No new platonic female friends. I love the ones I have, trust me, you've all been very good to me; but I think that my ever-expanding collection of non-touching lady-friends has been counterproductive as far as getting some. Admittedly, it's hard enough meeting and staying in contact with anybody in my position. I only get continuity on Wednesdays in Poetry and on Fridays in Tutorials. The rest of the time I'm left to float in the sea of anonymity surrounded by familiar-but-not-known faces. But these connections are being made at a generally acceptable rate. God knows it was months before I made any real friends at Sheridan and I was there a lot more with the same people. This is a weird paragraph. I should delete it, but I won't because I'll keep going back to it and going "Oh God that's embarrassing, but that's so completely me. Bang-on. Can't believe I wrote that; so true."

So this girl, I know her a bit, sure, but I don't really know her story. She could be engaged or something for all I know, although to my knowledge they don't typically get rings on fingers at 18. Until I know her better, I'm better off not knowing.

Ladies, how long would you converse with a guy you've just met before mentioning you're in a relationship? Let's face facts; if two members of the opposite sex meet and spend any length of time talking, a few things can be assumed.
1) The other person is single.
2) The other person is straight.
3) One of you is into the other, at least for now.

It can be embarrassing when the opposite turns out to be true in any case, but you can't assume the opposites until stated or otherwise indicated. I have this running joke in my head where I'm chatting up some girl and I ask her about her boyfriend. She asks how I knew she had a boyfriend, and I say, "Because all the girls I ever meet have boyfriends." And for a while, between 2005 and recent days, that's really proven to be the case, but I've never gone in assuming such. I'm not such a defeatist.

Back to my initial point. I'm reminded of a time, a while back but not too long, when I spent about the length of a subway ride (that is, 15, 20 minutes or so) talking and getting on with a girl. We joked around, I made her laugh. I won't mention what we joked about. For karma's sake, she might be reading and take offense that I'm writing about her. (Then again, it shouldn't surprise her that this was my line of thought: see #3 in my list of valid assumptions.) Suffice it to say, it was a good conversation and it never once came up whether she was attached, even when I asked what she was up to that weekend. I later got strong indication from a third party source that she was likely attached. We still haven't spoken about it, even tohugh we've seen each other at least once since (without really talking.) Again, this is a different girl from the one in Narrative, and I've got to be thankful that at least I've got this to be lamenting. Attached or not, not long ago my romantic interests were limited to whatever was on TV that day. Some days it's a relief to just be given a chance to fail.

I mean, I know, it's private business. Nobody is expected to turn to the person next to them and say, "My boyfriend is a 6'2 football player" unprompted. But if you talk to someone long enough, if you don't put these details out there, people will suspect you're deliberately hiding them. And if that's the case, well... I've known that girl, and I'm pretty sure she felt bad for it. Or hell, maybe not, she sure did seem to be enjoying herself at the time.

Ahem. Off track. This is me: the romantic.

Big concluding point in this sermon. Sometime after walking away from school today, I came to a realization or at least a very clever but misguided soundbite. I've spent so much of my life trying to understand girls, but it's only recently occurred to me that they might also be trying to understand me.

It's often we don't realize that we don't appear to others as we are in our heads.

Class was uneventful, without even a fun pointless debate between some dude and the TA. We did a little quiz. There was some confusion as to the meaning of "Crane" and "Boom" as far as camera movement. It's not hard to grasp, yet to express it, seems to really confuse the issue.

I got a Mr. Sub at Union, not really being able to put off eating any later that day. I meant to buy some lunch stuff this week at grocery shopping but gee whiz it slipped my mind. There's a microwave at the Innis Cafe, too, if I wanted to return to my warm Corned Beef sandwiches. That's a fine slice of meat right there. It got me through many a story meeting in PJour Year 2. I miss those days.

Mostly zoned out on the way home, except there were some kids in nearby seats utterly fascinated by the train. I don't blame 'em. My first ride, I was 18 years old. If I'd been 12, I'd be bouncing off the walls.

I got back to Oakville just in time to see the buses pulling out. I briefly rushed toward 'em but suddenly was aware that I didn't have the correct change. Go fig. Couldn't muster up 2 quarters. I considered getting coffee to make change and waiting, but thought better and walked home in the cool fall air. OH, and I also did get coffee. Once upon a time I considered using University as an opportunity to quit the habit, but that's foolhardy. I composed a poem early this moment in consideration for my next entry due Wednesday.

"I never used to see
What mom and dad saw in coffee;
But now it's all that's keeping me
In touch with my sanity."

Uh yeah. Keep trying.

My best leads right now are a sound poem ("This light glints in my eyes, hits irises, strikes; blinds. It shines high in the sky..." and it goes on like that) and a poem in the rhyme and meter of Coloridge's Xanadu/Kubla Khan/Vision in a Dream about my daily commute. I like his work. I'm trying to reconcile my desire to be both Coloridge and Kerouac. It's not easy. I should probably just be me. If that's possible.

You know, I knew that I'd start writing more per entry once fall rolled around. It's no coincidence. My brain has really kicked back into overdrive, not surprisingly.

I do find it surprising, however, and somewhat unnerving, that we're starting to get readers from all over the world again. Got our first hits from Italy and South aFrica ever recently. It's nice to see, but I still find it odd. I wonder what they're reading, what they've come for, and how they got here. I wonder if they'll stay, or decide (like I did long ago,) that this kid ain't got much worthwhile to say. But hey, if I didn't want people reading, I guess I'd take it off the net. And if people didn't want to read, they wouldn't.

So keep on rockin' for tonight. I've earned this weekend
-Scotto

106: A bargain at twice the price

I hadn't had so satisfying a sleep in weeks as I found myself waking from this morning. This was my first thought. "Good sleep."

It may be a sign that my brain is starting to function properly. For weeks, I've felt as though I've been observing my own existence, not really acting on it. That lingering sense of not-self hasn't shed, and maybe it won't, but I'm starting to settle back into my skin, I think. That's good.

I rolled out of bed and over to the library. I'd been afraid that the next book I was assigned to read was far too long, but the fact is that book was only a small part of a larger tome that I don't have to deal with. Hurray. I'd actually dreamt that aspect, although I think I overheard chatter about it in class previously, so it's one of those things that settles into the subconscious but doesn't stick. I only have about 100 pages to deal with. Midterms are starting to crop up... a few tests and a paper are due soon. Hurm.

I also had a dream where some of my classmates and I got sick from drinking. Go figure.

Ah, Colbert's getting interviewed on Larry King. A damn shame, since I have to go to bed kinda early so I can get up kinda early. Frig.

So I headed from the library to the mall, to hang out with Amanda J. and catch up. She told me some wedding horror stories and we philosophized on the notion of arrested development. A little after 12 I headed by bus to the GO station. A sub, a coke, a subway and a metro later and I'm sitting in an Astronomy lecture learning what people used to think but we now know is wrong. Hm. Makes you wonder.

It was around this time that I thought, "we can't truly know the universe and more tha twe can know our house from looking at the inside of our room." Not long after that, I thought, "That sub wasn't really filling enough, but what are ya gonna do?"

I got back to Oakville in good time but took myself on a nice long detour for comics. There oughtta be a more convenient time, but there's not. Well, if I wanted to wait until tomorrow I could have... but I saw the opportunity and I rode it. So I walked down to Kerr, Lakeshore, Rebecca, got my books and a coffee and some change. My idiosyncrasy is that I collect quarters and they have an Olympic one depicting the most outstanding Winter Olympic sport of all... well, there's a guy holding a rifle, so I'm guessing, "The Most Dangerous Game?"

The other night, on my interminable bus ride home there was a mother with her children. The younger one, a boy, about 2, was so loud, screeching for a cookie or his daddy. I felt both annoyed as a fellow passenger and hurt because hey, I hate the existential anguish of a toddler as much as anyone. So I'm waiting at the station for the always-delayed 27 when this woman walks up with her two kids, and it takes only a glance before I realize it's the same woman from the night before. So as soon as I realized this, I quietly slipped over to the 19, which goes by WOSS, not far from my house. I wonder if she recognized me, if she could sense why I did that, and if she was offended. I'll never know. But if pressed, I'll do it again.

A quick dinner, some grocery shopping, the Office, and now here we are.

Time to go sleep. It's good to have you back. And whomever else is out there... I'm surprised, but glad. Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

105: A matter of procedure

I got home at 7:30 tonight and, after dropping off my backpack, went straight over to White Oaks to cast my vote in the provincial election. Anyone who knows me well enough to be reading this probably knows my political affiliation and doesn't need me to explain why I vote the way that I do.

It had been a long, miserable day. They gray of the sky matched my mind and spirit. I was sort of wrapped up in my head when I walked into the school. I tromped past a woman who had held the door open for me. "You're welcome" she muttered as I went past. I spun around, dizzily interrupted from my internal monologue, and sighed probably too low to be heard, "Hm? Beh-oh, uh, thank you..." and as I headed toward the polls I muttered to myself, "Great, like I needed something else to feel lame about." Or some such.

It had been one of those nights. Maybe my cycle hasn't adjusted well over the last month. Maybe I'm nisane. I haven't slept a solid night through in a while. I keep having to get up, turn the TV back on, restart a DVD, do whatever's necessary to take me out of my own thoughts. So this morning it was very begrudgingly when I did get out of bed.

Not yet really awake I got to Union in good time, then to philosophy class in better time, and settled in the front row of the balcony to do the Metro crossword from the day before. A fairly anonymous voice said "hey" as it sat next to me. I nodded in acknowledgement, although it was off-putting as I never expect to be recognized at a lecture. She asked me how my Thanksgiving was, and I told her it was pretty busy. about this point into the conversation I remembered I'd met this girl a few weeks before, basically in those very seats, although I didn't remember thinking she looks exactly like someone else I know. Maybe not exact, but to a surprising degree.

The day proceeded at a big of a slog pace. Nothing really bad happened although it was one of those days that seemed to get more and more inconvenient as it went through; and one that I didn't know was bad until it was over. I fell asleep briefly in both Narrative and Cinema Studies, the latter during a documentary film about Cinematographers. Coffee afterwards, trekking solitarily an hour early for Poetry.

We handed around peer critiques for poems, each having had to do one other student's. We've each written two by this point; I didn't know which of this girl's two to do, so I did both. That seemed a weird thing to explain and I wasn't particularly fond of my suggestions for either. I only wanted to give one, but when I mentioned I did two, she asked for both. The girl who did mine was flattering, but felt very differently from me on the overall effect of my piece, I guess not appreciating what I considered to be the entire point of the piece. And that's fair, I feel better about getting criticism than if I just got hollow compliments (wondering if the person was too big a coward to say their real feelings on the subject.) And she makes a very valid point, but I don't want to change it in the exact way she suggested (she gave other helpful tips) so what's a guy to do when he needs to write a revision but can't bring himself to listen to the one major piece of advice he's been given? Hm, that rhymed...

What's a guy to do when
he needs to make a revision,
but can't bring himself to listen
to the one major piece of advice he's been given?

That's the other thing. Poem #3 due soon. I've been scrawling verses left and right for weeks but since the last one I handed in, not produced anything I'd feel cool handing in. Some of these dudes and dudettes (okay being honest, mostly dudettes,) have a real knack and suddenly I'm not the poetic rockstar I fancy myself. I know, this is insane: Scotto Williams himself is backing down from the prospect of a challenge of creativity.

Go figure. That's how lame of a day it's been.

6:00 and the end of class rolled around and I headed down the stairs. At the door, I caught up with the girl who'd written the critique. It bothered me a little, not personally but more as a perplexing state of creative affairs. Some people had gotten it and enjoyed it, she didn't seem to (one, the other, or both.) We didn't say anything, but the silence may have made her think I thought "You bitch you don't get me. Gonna go home and burn your critique." Not so. Just wondering how I can reconcile my idea with her suggestions, if at all. Thus perturbed, I said nothing and walked in the rain to the subway.

I got to Union and met up with Ryan L. The train rolled like a lullabye back to Oakville. I got there and placed a call home to let Eric know he could start dinner. I then waited about 20 minutes (conservative estimate) for the White Oaks bus, alongside some girl, fit but probably too young (I never thought I'd get to a point in my life where I'd even say that.) Bus finally showed up and I got home; all I wanted was to relax with dinner and unwind. Eric told me he had just put the dinner on 5 minutes ago. Oy vey. So I went and voted to kill time (and hey, I had to take care of it anyway.) Erk. I've spent the bulk of the remainder typing this up.

Monday night was hectic but nothing severe. We went out with the wee ones and played a bastardized version of freeze tag in the football field. Lots of loud conversation and polite inquiry as to how my school year was going. Tuesday was... completely forgettable. Shit, I've gotta get back to writing these things more regularly or else I'm gonna flat-out forget every boring or annoying thing that happens to me. And if that happens, what will I write about when I do?

I'm so very tired. In my head, there's this door. My next piece is behind it, but where is the friggin' key?

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

104: We's as leaves a-fallin' from de trees

Since enrolling in Reibetanz's Reading and Writing Poetry class, I seem to be thinking in verse a lot more. I keep a spare notebook in my bag in case I ever get an idea I need to jot down, and there seems to be a lot more poetry written in there than I might expect. It's the sort of creative kick in the ribs I can really use. Since I need to write a steady stream of poems (one ever few weeks) it's good to keep the inspiration levels high. Take for example, this title, which came from a short piece I tossed off recently.

Also, my WritersCafe account has gotten a few notices recently and it's easy to keep providing poetry rather than writing new stories or posting old ones.

Of course, there was that one guy who sent me a PM thanking me for the compliments on his poetry rather than returning the favour and reviewing mine. That makes me wanna take back my remark about how touching his piece was (presumably about a miscarriage or some other such, not very light material indeed.)

It's been a big long weekend, but there's not much to the story. I have a few complaints to muse on but they're totally unrelated to the weekend's activities. If I can remember, I'll get to 'em at the end of our feature.

Then again, something must have happened. there was a bit of a hit spike yesterday, probably from people around here who read this thing and, I guess, were expecting to be written about, or hear what I had to say about others? After all, shucks, I've gone since Friday without posting and here we are on Monday.

Saturday was a hell of a day. I got up to feed the dog and let him out, but I was still very tired and it was raining like a muthafacka, so he didn't go out. I went back to bed and had a dream about a train and some villains. As the villains got the upper hand, I panicked and literally pried my way out of my sleep, like you would a window. In the dream it was an escape hatch, in reality my eyelids. I got to pass through that unreal feeling of being asleep but aware, half-dreaming, for the second time in about a week. Hrm.

When I got up and out, the rain had stopped, replaced with grave humidity. The day itself was uneventful. We kicked around the house a while, had steaks for dinner, and I went on a run with Lauren. Eventually, 8:30 rolled around and, shaved and brushed into place, I waltzed on over to Chez Ferg for the "Dude it's thanksgiving and everyone's in Oakville, let's rock" type party. Early on it was mostly Chris' friends, those younger than me but in many cases I'm pretty good friends with. Before long, Doug came and I was real glad to see him, as the last time I had, it was that party I had at my place in June where I was very much inebriated by the time he showed up, and didn't really notice. We caught up and compared notes on our similar situations - being 20, starting over at University (in his case, McMaster) and commuting. We noted, of course, that no matter what, we were going to keep having the same conversations with people all night long. "So where are you, what are you taking, how do you like it?" Hrm. I wouldn't mind it so much if I had anything honestly interesting to say on the matter, but the truth is, there's not much to tell. If even one other person there went to U of T I could relate, but when you try to describe your own school, in terms of other peoples' that you don't go to, it's less interesting.

Eventually the party began to branch off, as could be expected, into one downstairs, typically younger, and upstairs, typically older with growing exceptions as it became the place to be. I caught up some with Pat, Cary, CB, the people I usually seem to see anyway. More youngers arrived (not to deride their age, but they are.) More than occasionally did I stand around and merely observe conversations as people talked about their common Universities. Hrm. As I said. It's all about how you can relate. Where do I belong in a conversation that involves three people who go to Mac and two who are at Queens? Erk. The one honest-to-goodness high school friend I have at U of T was elsewhere that evening, to my chagrin; apparently on a Tropical Island. Her loss.

People continued to stream in, many of whom were arriving with new haircuts. Girls with hair cropped to their jawlines, I suppose in an affectedly mature University Girl appearance. Not to dis it, because looks like that stay in style. They're classy. But when however-many girls, some of whom sisters, are standing around with the same 'do, you might ask, "Did you guys co-ordinate your haircuts?" I mean hey, I hated having the same haircut as my brothers, and these days it's not an issue since while I'm loyal to my haircut (read: afraid to change and somewhat concerned it's not possible,) E has been shaving his recently, and B hasn't had once since about Grade 9 (which was grade 5 for me.)

There are definitely people I wish I had talked to more. I don't get to see these people very often, as they will inevitably return soon to London/Kingston/Guelph/Ottawa, even Hamilton. But it was hot, crowded and loud in that room. Lightning flickered out the window but the rain eventually tapered off. Bryan M. and I began a conversation about beat writers inside, but ended it as a conversation about his relationship troubles outside on the porch as he was more or less going (having finished a bottle of wine on his own, he seemed to feel a bit of shame/embarrassment/bemusement about being the drunkest in the house.) I listened and gave my thoughts; for obvious reasons I've not had any relationship problems of my own to worry about. I make snarky comments about that fact like it's no big deal, but I can't stress enough that 's been now a very long time and I'm getting really down about it. More on this later, if I can remember.

A car pulled up in the driveway. It was Anisah's, despite her actually already having been there. A silhouette stepped out of the front seat, flipping its hair in a very distinct way. Ryan W. Reportedly there had been some scheduling clusterfuck and Ryan and Becky given she was doing a show this weekend and he, for some reason, felt the need to go see it. So I was kind of annoyed that they weren't going to be there, as I hadn't seen either since February's reading week. BUT they had caught the GO back to Oakville and Anisah was good enough to go pick 'em up.

The night went on. More crowdedness, with a slightly increasing level of departures. More half-conversations, "Where are you, what are you taking, how do you like it?" The last big arrival was Emma and her new guy, whom I'm thinking was named Ian but the night was understandishably blurry by this point. He was wearing a Sherdain "I Choose" t-shirt. I asked him what he was taking and he told me, "Journalism." Double-take. "Print journalism?" "Yep," Why shucks, that's exactly what I just finished doing! We talked, I gave my always glowing review to the program, we shared Mitro~~* and Walsh impressions. Eventually they went off for a smoke and didn't stay long after that. This was about 1:30 maybe. Things were starting to settle and an exodus was imminent. As Ryan left he said I should keep writing so he can have something good to be in someday. Perhaps harshly I noted he gave that up when he went to Waterloo. Not-so-carefully worded. Becky left telling me she still liked that I call her Maggie, even though I remember virtually nothing about the play we did where she was Maggie. "That's not my name, but I love it."

With Mrs. Ferguson doing a mitzvah and taking many people home, the group got whittled down to a few. Mostly it was Cary's closer friends, Chris and Pat, two girls who were hanging off him, and a couple others. And me, naturally. When the girls left, we talked about them for a while, all of us chipping in his two cents' worth about them. For the most part I only had a few observations - the brunette was positively hanging off Pat, and the blonde had her goods on complete display and was a bit dizzy as far as trying to throw the Wii remote.

We played WarioWare until about 3:00, by which point a pre-dawn hangover was already settlign in among the group. I sauntered home through the back football field in the frightful fog and sub-horizon light, moon totally obscured in a vaporous haze.

A few tabs of acetaminophen and a load of water later and I'm in my bed hearing the cat cry to get out. No sale, because I don't wanna hear about it in the morning from Brandon, "Who let Rocky out? He's totally injured." Bollocks to that.

Sunday was a gray day indeed, during which I did not eat very much in anticipation of Thanksgiving dinner at Dad's. They provided a good spread, with moist turkey and great stuffing and the other various usual sides. I broke from habit and had a glass of wine, knowing that hey, it's Thanksgiving and even if I don't really like wine that much, nor drinking with family, it might be nice. And it kinda was, although in drinking the wine (a white, to match the bird,) I kept thinking, "Okay, just sip it and then put more food in your mouth." What can I say? I'm no oenophile.

After some relaxing and some pumpkin pie, we headed for home. We lazed around the house all evening watching TV and in my case resisting Eric's attempts to make me help him with his homework. Around 11, Chris F. came on and asked, "Riiiiisk?" It had been discussed the night before as something that must happen. By this time we were all long done our Thanksgiving dinners and ready to go. CB even ditched a party loaded with non-English-speakers.

He brought his Xbox360, which posed a bit of an obstacle in the gameplay but it was mostly Cary playing while us 4 (me, the Chrises, Pat) played the board game. For once I did not start off with Ukraine or indeed any of Europe save Scandinavia. I gladly abandoned my usual strategy and managed to snag North America. The game proceeded until about 3:30, during which time some of the most impossibly offensive filth came from our mouths, which is always the joy of Risk. We parted after that, with Chris F and I coming out on top, Pat being "not the winner" and CB having been eliminated sometime not too long before. Again I came home and drifted right off into sleep.

It's now just about time for the next Thanksgiving dinner, which is also a birthday dinner for my aunt. It's going to be a busy night. I've been here typing away for over an hour and a half and I'm not going to go onto what I was annoyed bout at the outset, but I can guarantee it will continue to bother me for a while so you'll hear about it (if you care enough to read, I mean, just to let you know what I'll be writing about in my next entry, probably tomorrow.)

Yeah, mama this surely is a dream.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

103: Every now and then I kick the living shit outta me

This title from a lyric to a song called "My Own Worst Enemy," by Lit. Apparently, that song was a #1 Mainstream Rock hit for like three months in 1999, and then everyone forgot it existed. It was a catchy tune, too.

The last couple days have been a little rough but not in a terrible way, if such a notion makes sense. (It doesn't.) Last night we went over to Dad's to celebrate his birthday. We got him a Beatles compilation and the Dark Side of the Moon. His CD collection always grows around his birthday, and (less so) at Christmas. He doesn't listen to CD's too often, mostly during long car trips. At this point, it's as much for my benefit as his, but hey, these were certainly what he asked for.

We then went grocery shopping and they palmed a bunch of cake off on us. Not sure if it's gonna get eaten or maybe already has. I know I tend away from old cake. Hrm. Came home and watched the Office, finished reading Pride and Prejudice, and called it a night.

And there my troubles began.

Sleep oughtta just be a matter of resting one's body, going into a state of, I don't know, stasis, to rejuvenate the body and rest the mind. Though I went to bed around 12:30 last night, I certainly didn't fall asleep then. No, it was a while before I finally drifted off. And then sometime after 2, something in my dream, something ethereal and deeply troubling in my psyche jostled me awake. I tossed and turned, ill at ease for the rest of the night. My stomach was upset, my brain was worse. The universe, the night, my room and my body were against me falling back asleep. In silence I wriggled and twitched trying to settle into a comfortable nook. I popped in a DVD to soothe my nerves and still was disturbed. I bobbed on the surface of sleep for a few hours until at last... 6:45 AM. Time to get up. And the day got worse from there.

Half-alive I went thorugh the morning motions, dressing and feeding the dog, showering and setting on my way, biking a path through the early morning fog. I rested my eyes the whole way to Union. I tried to come to grips with the Philosophy tutorial, and was mostly following, but still felt like I was in chains. So I go between classes to Tim Hortons for that sweet liquid I have been trying to escape... a double-double. By the time I finished, and with an ill-chosen peanut butter/granola breakfast bar thing along with it, I was donefor. My stomach turned. Not good.

At least, feeling totally sick and queasy, I was shocked into wakingness, even if my stomach felt like bubbling tar. I was more attentive and active during the English tutorial. Various tests and papers are coming up in these classes, it's time I smarten up a bit, I guess.

The last tutorial of the day, an hour after that, was Film Study, were we talked mise-en-scene, which is basically anything put in front of the camera. First we talked the elements used in the Kid Brother, and then the TA showed us a clip from an old Judy Garland film called Meet Me In St. Louis and asked us to determine the most important element of mise-en-scene in it. Given that the scene concerned Judy and a male character going around turning off lights, I noted that the most important element was clearly costume. "I mean, did you see what they were wearing?" no, it was lighting. I used that joke when I made my way to the subway with a girl from class I'd been sitting next to. We talked until she got to her stop.

I got to Union, wary of potential panhandlers, finally having regained a bit of hunger. By now it was about 2 and I didn't want a meal, just something to tide me over til dinner. So I picked up a couple bags of Combos and a can of Coke. The plan didn't really work, as I was still a bit off-kilter, meal-wise, by dinner. We went back to dad's, tonight for pizza, and after a spirited conversation, went out to the LCBO and Michael's for Brandon to get a gray Sharpie. B didn't believe me that the Oakville Town Centres are being renamed Dorval Crossing. It's a gentrification thing, I don't much care for it myself.

The evening has proceded low-key. It wasn't a terribly fascinating couple of days, to be sure, but then again, this isn't a terribly fascinating site.

There's an election/referendum coming up. Just remember, MMP is for MMPussies.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

102: Don't admit you're going back

Life can be a hell of a thing.

Wednesdays, on paper, should be hell. But you know, more often than not, I come home on days like this happy and relaxed. I might have some weird psychomasochistic tendancies that cause me to gravitate toward situations where I might suffer. I'm cool with misery, so long as I'm not inconvenienced, discomforted, or physically harmed. After all, that's Truth #1, dukkha, life is suffering.

It's been a helluvaday, anyhow. Got up early from a beautiful sleep. Fed the dog, showered, then caught the bus for the first time for school. Knowing I was spending the entire day there, I decided, now way in hell am I riding my bike there and back. I'll be exhausted enough getting off the train, and it'll be late.

So we pulled into the station at the expected time of 7:40 and I headed to the platform. There seems an inordinate number of people waiting, but then again, it's always fuggin' crowded. I paid it no mind. But when the 7:45 express pulled in, it was loaded up like those cattle cars depicted in the second book of Maus (a graphic novel about the holocaust.) "I don't need this shyte," I told myself, turning to track 3 to expect the 7:58, which has broken my heart more than once.

The guy on the PA reminds us a westbound train will be pulling into track 1 any minute now, and that an eastbound express is on it's way, too. So the 7:58, or something like it, shows up on Track 3 and we all get set to board. As the previous passengers disembark, the conductor of that train announces, "This train is westbound for Burlington." What? Okay, whatever. He's the conductor, he oughtta know which way his train is going. Apparently, there had been an "early fatality" (what I heard, some dude fell asleep on the tracks and got ground up by the VIA train.) Maybe they were making up for lost time. So we're all congregated idly around this train, when the Westbound peeps start to emerge from the pathway and board that train. As they sit waiting, another train roars through onto track 1, which is boarded by about 20 people, and then set off for the west. It's around this time that the PA guy announces basically, "I don't know what you guys heard, but the train on track 3 will be Eastbound to Toronto Union, stopping at Clarkson and express from there." Mwerf! Man, those poor sullen passengers getting off and going back to track 1. I felt sympathetic. A girl next to me remarked, "no wonder people commit suicide on these trains." Hrm.

The day proceeded according to whatevers. I kinda zoned in and out in Philosophy and Narrative. My feeling is, those classes aren't there to teach so much as guide, so as long as I'm there my actual consciousness isn't required. It's the tutorials that's money. After a quick lunch (during which I may have gotten noticed shovelling lettuce into my mouth like a savage for lack of utensils,) it was Film Study, where we watched a 1904 silent french film and a Harold Lloyd silent comedy, The Kid Brother, which seemed to drag somewhat. As for the former, it kinda looked like everyone on screen was having a seizure the entire time. I'm not sure what either was supposed to teach us about mise-en-scene but once again, I suppose that's what the tutorial is for.

Last up was Poetry. We discussed revisions and then did some group feedback of our own. We broke off into small sections and went around complimenting and critiquing each other. By the time we got to mine, the punchline I'd agonized over some weeks ago, there wasn't much time left. The opinion I gleaned, in brief, was expected but relieving. The joke went off really well. I told them I didn't think anyone else would be "bringing the funny," so I might as well. My second poem certainly wasn't along the same lines, but that's for later. Someone asked how I got the idea. I explained it wasn't autobiographical, that I got the first line and then had to decide where I wanted to go with it (it'll be posted eventually.) Given the ending, I chalked that up as summing up my kinda warped view of romance. I also joked that it was about me, not narrated by me. Ha. (For the record, the poem's title is "For a Stalker.") One girl actually reacted to it on a kinda personal level, having apparently had a stalker once. The ending really struck her, and I was a bit sorry and a bit glad, because it's meant to strike you as much as make you laugh. I like causing people to re-examine who they love and why (although hopefully not if it brings up painful memories. Hrm.)

Class ended along those lines, with more feedback for other poems. One girl dared to use abstractions in her last stanza and Reibetanz called her on it a bit. I'm all for concrete language - my recent work has mostly been objects and actions and much the better for it - but I thought it worked for her in that particular poem. It was about growing old, how physically we deteriorate, but those intangibles remain. I'd say the context justifies the use of that language, but then again, I'm not the one teaching the course. Also, sure, I would have said it, but we were pressed for time. Maybe I'll remember that thought a week from now. Hardly looks likely.

I headed down to the subway station. Along the way, I met up with a few classmates, who I guess knew each other from high school and still live in their neighbourhood. We rode along together to Union, mostly in palpable silence with some polite chatter here and there. No insult to them, but I was tired and at a loss for conversation. I waved them goodbye as I headed to stand and wait for my train.

Expectedly, I met up with Ryan Lai. We went to the end of the platform and managed to get 4 seats for outselves. Shoes off, feet up on the Express westbound, I told him the anecdote that began this entry. He told me he'd heard the guy fell asleep on the tracks and got "turned into Zoodles." This caused me to laugh for about 10 minutes. Maybe less. Talk about great concrete imagery. We talked school, New York, weekend plans (no great coincidence, he and I have the same basic plan for Saturday) and Risk.

I came home and had dinner, relaxed and watched bad TV for the evening. I didn't work on the story I want to do, but I did get one other item off the agenda.

A good song is "Possum Kingdom" by Toadies. Kershaw recommended I download it years ago and it's been sitting unlistened on my harddrive ever since. Part of my 90's kick, although a little earlier than my recent timeline. It's hard to get nostolgic for the 90's. As far as eras go, it's ill-defined compared to the prior four decades. It's like western culture was in a coccoon for the whole decade and ultimately emerged in the disgusting state we currently have. I can't believe, given the last 8 years, anyone would have any resentment toward the Clinton administration. I long for the days when America's biggest problem was a BJ.

It's getting easier every day.

Bad credit? No credit? No problem. Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

101: Don't take it too far

I'm not sure it's such a good idea to loose me on the GO, the TTC, or the city in general, being someone who is constantly aggrivated by everyone around him. Hrm.

I was waiting for Film Study to begin and had an open can of Coke sitting next to my seat on the aisle on the stair. Some careless dude came by and punted it by mistake. I'll admit, I was annoyed but he offered to get me another one. I told him it was alright, but thought back on this later, when I was in a hurry and some guy accidentally gave me a flat tire that, because of the looseness of my shoe and the speed of my own step, cause my shoe to come right off. Both of these events were mistakes and I tried not to take 'em personal, but it's a none-too-pleasant reminder of how irksome I can find the general public at large.

Still fighting that cold. Stopped in at Shoppers to get some ColdFX before school. I saw someone I knew from Sheridan, but not very well, thus producing a somewhat awkward moment. I vascillated on whether or not to get the pills. I'm not feeling too bad, but I might get worse, and I've got major shit to do this weekend and I ain't talking schoolwork.

I had to recently make a choice. Joe and Amanda were trying to put together a gathering and as much as I wanted to go, it is too far for me to reasonably get to, and overlaps with basically everyone I know coming back to Oakville for Thanksgiving. So as much as I want to see all of them, it doesn't look like I can make it work. Fortunately, not long after, I learned that next week Joe is having a show at a Starbucks not far from his house/the 24 line. I will eagerly be there to finally catch him playing in public and am very excited for that.

I met up with Amanda for coffee after getting home from school yesterday. I was actually sitting in the Food Court for about 15-20 minutes reading and waiting for her before realizing that she had been there literally the entire time (I noticed her when she sat down) with her back to me. Shmuck. We caught up, commisserated about life after Sheridan and the difficulty of organizing visits with people. She's got a few leads on jobs and I wish her luck because she's not one of those people I would see getting stuck with some crappy job. That's how I feel about most of my friends from Sheridan. By and large they were a passionate, interested group of people with plenty of potential and a damn lot to offer the world.

I split from there after a while for a doctor's appointment that would hopefully be the end of the Cyst Saga. I was sitting in the waiting room reading a fascinating article in Maclean's about a man from Alberta who experienced not one, but two fugues over the past several years. I've been fascinated by this medical condition for years and think it would make a good premise for an hourlong suspense drama a la Lost.

Dr. Z told me things were looking good, and speculated as to what caused it to get so outta control. I don't know, she's the doctor. She said I was good for now, but maybe in the future I might have to get it drained. I'm hoping not.

With that delightful reassurance, I headed home. The evening was a blur of TV, sniffling, and rapidly typing BS for my Astronomy assignment.

I had to last-minute an assignment for my Astronomy class. It involved a light amount of calculations (about which I'm pretty damn nervous,) and some pretty abstract questions. We talked about "Beautiful Theories" in class, and they asked me to cite other examples of beauty in art, or music, or architecture, etc. I talked about Edvard Munch's The Scream, Coloridge's Kubla Khan, and the Beatles' A Day in the Life. I have absolutely no idea how this will wash, but it was the best I could cook up.

Despite not beginning until 1, I napped a bit in my Film Study class. We were talking about Mise-En-Scene and I just conked out. These ideas aren't new to me, but the terminology and thought process are, so it would behoove me to pay attention, but my brain wasn't getting enough oxygen. I'm also way behind in Pride and Prejudice, but I just read chapter notes to the end of Volume 2, so, fingers crossed.

Given that the Astronomy class has about 700 students (give or take,) the process of handing it in was an exhausting one. I had to go stand in line in this building tucked away in a corner of the Campus for about 20 minutes and then run back to the subway. Of course, I didn't run, and of course I didn't make the GO train I'd hoped, but caught an express 25 minutes later anyhow. No big, but at the time it seemed a major inconvenience.

I'm the type of guy who, now returning to piracy after a many-year absence, is prone to musical kicks. I recently set about trying to rebuild Mix 99.9's playlist circa 1998-2000. That was a time when there were still some good songs on the radio, though by no means all (after all, Creed's major hits fall into that category.) It's a very sudden occurrence that I should now be nostolgic for that time period. Hrm. It's some kind of retroactive expansion from back in May when I rediscovered Big Shiny Tunes 2. One of these days I'll get around to writing that article about it for Itnerneta (or anything ne for Interneta, at any rate. Maybe tonight.)

I've rediscovered some pretty forgotten tunes (Marcy Playground,) songs I may have thought were crappy at the time (Verve's Bittersweet Symphony, Sixpence None The Richer, New Radicals' You Get What You Give,) and songs that were so ubiquitous that I couldn't imagine ever wanting to hear again, but for some reason now like again (Semisonic's Closing Time, Goo Goo Dolls' Iris, and especially Chumbawumba.) Of course, there are also some just-plain good tunes in there, like Sugar Ray's Every Morning (which was a Modern Rock chart #1 hit for like a month and a half) and Eve 6's "Inside Out" as well as, surprisingly, given my eminent masculinity, some chick music.

I have something I want to write, and actually feel compelled to. I belong to this website, Writers Cafe. You can read my stuff there, but most of it's already been posted elsewhere anyhow. I stumbled across a random contest for stories about zombies, and I immediately heard the voice of inspiration. I like having my material suggested, because coming up with ideas is often the hardest part for me. Left to my own devices, I often just come up with the same stuff over and over again. I'm going to get to that, probably rather than do homework in the near future. Not tonight - I'm tired, need to sleep. Long day tomorrow.

All is good.

Keep on rockin'
-Scot