2.4: Math is impossible without calculators

Sigh.

Life has its ups and downs. The way I've always seen it is that things are generally kept in balance. For example, my schedule. My early monday is offset by my late-starting tuesday. My all-day wednesday is balanced by my day off thureday, and friday is pretty naturally balanced. Hills and valleys, boys and girls.

This was a thought I kept having during a conversation with my dad on tuesday evening, but didn't get around to verbalizing. Later that evening I devoted myself to Guitar Hero. I was feeling somewhat distraught that I could make no headway with Metallica, Iron Maiden or Slayer. I kept feeling like Iron Maiden was within my grasp but I sat at 4 stars. After finally learning the rhythm and pinpointing the right moment to deploy star power, I made my big push of it and finally 5-starred it though. Feeling jubilant, I thought I'd investigate the Metallica song because it's not terribly complicated but requires a great deal of stamina. But the stars were aligned, and I managed to square it away on that first go.

Then Slayer. Whereas I had 5-starred 41 of the 42 songs available (on medium, mind you,) Slayer was stubbornly stuck at3 stars, which is a barely-pass. I was far too exhausted from the previous efforts to make a successful go. I got at it earlier tonight and started to really familiarize myself with it, but not without stumbling repeatedly in certain areas. I did manage to upgrade that 3 to a four star, anyway. This all came not without consequences.

On tuesday night I attempted to write a poem for the next day's class. It wasn't due, per se, but it was welcome. Anyway, by that time all my thoughts were coming out as little red-green-yellow-blue circles, so I couldn't express the thoughts that seemed so clear a few days ago. I do love video games - this love has been awaked after a few years of dormancy - but they kill creativity.

Wednesday morning was hell. Around 3 or 4 AM, the wind started to roar, smashing against the side of my house and causing the windows to thunder and shudder. "Like rifles at the door," Reiby noted, quoting poetry as he is often to do. I didn't sleep, the invisible invaders at the window were relentless all night through. When I did sleep, I was in anxious, discordant dreams.

So I somehow managed to stumble like a zombie through my morning routine. Even though I had conversations - in particular with my old friend Gabby, whom I ran into on the train - I wouldn't say I was actually awake until I got to philosophy. This is unusual because usually I'm not even awake in philosophy, but something unlikely happened.

Tuesday after school, as always, I headed down to Union and got on my GO train. I sat where I most always sit, in the middle section on the left-hand side, which I call the Scotto Zone. Eventually this girl comes and sits down a few seats up. Because on the train, if you're not reading, you can only look out the window, at your shoes, or at other passengers, I got a good look at her. She was pretty, with a good figure and blonde hair. Pretty indeed, but in the way you encounter on an everyday basis. Still though.

So I got off at Oakville and she's standing right behind me at the door. I pretend to notice without noticing her as we both walk toward the buses. I was contemplating walking home - Tuesday was gorgeous weather - but wanted to see where this was going; she was heading for #27. My bus. Mind-blowing. This girl and I had traced the same path all the way from Union station to practically my front door. When I got off the bus she kept riding, and I just laughed and thought "Wild."

Well the next morning I enter Philosophy, and the seat I usually take - the highly-prized front balcony - was taken. so I sauntered up the steps toward the middle of the upper level when I notice a girl - as I often notice girls. But this one was blonde, and had that kind of everyday prettiness I mentioned. I couldn't be sure, but I was somewhat convinced this was the same girl; solidified when, on the way out, she shot me this look, seemingly of recognition, as if she was trying to figure out the same thing as I was. This thought startled me into awakenness.

The day proceeded as usual. We watched Shane in Film, we workshopped poetry and went over our take-home tests. I got back on the train. At the very last minute, Ryan Lai appeared. I used his phone to place a call to my mom.

It was her birthday last night, so she wanted to go out to dinner. With the guys in tow, she picked me up from the station (or adjacent to it.) We went to a place called Tony Roma's, which I didn't even know existed in Canada, in Mississauga. We got to the place and the hostess was weirdly eager to greet us, opening the door before we came to it. We took our seats and ordered our food. The service took so long we had enough time to discuss the faults of every single member of our family before the food arrived. Okay that was an exaggeration but not by much. Anyway.

Years ago - from 2004 to 2006 or so - I had a major complex about eating in public. I discussed it somewhat at the table. Mom was trying to think about something traumatic that may have happened to me at a restaurant, but I don't think that's it. I just think I get nervous and awkward waiting for food - for whatever reason - or feeling like I'm under pressure while eating, which ties my stomach in knots. Anyway, I've worked through it over the years. I still get fidgety and such but I'm better. But by the time the food arrived, my stomach had grown weirdly accustomed to being empty and I couldn't eat much. Weird.

Anyway, I didn't finish my meal. In fact I barely got halfway through. This meant that, for my day off the next day, I had most of a chicken dinner for lunch. When the bill arrived, there was some more awkward fidgeting. Mom's meal was comped because it was her birthday, but the meal still came to about $80. It was her idea, and I was trying to decide how guilty I felt for making her pay on her own birthday. As I usually do, I attempted to defray the situation with a joke - "Well, we can either pay for this, or give you a birthday gift for the next three years." She laughed and said it was fine. I then offered to handle the tip, but she waved me off again. So I was in the clear.

I stayed up late that night playing video games, then got up the next morning to hang out with Amanda. She helped me shop for my mom's birthday gift, and we caught up. She's thinking of starting her magazine up again.

It was generally an uneventful day, for a day off. I'm thinking of not going in tomorrow, if what they say about potential snowstorms is to be believed. I still laugh embarassedly about my trip in to school during last year's Valentine's Day blizzard. Brilliant stuff.

Tomorrow night I have a few options... Joe has a show in Mississauga, and Cary is in a play in Hamilton... but most likely I'll spend the evening sitting on my ass.

Whatever though. There's more to discuss but I ought to go to bed. I have to pretend to get up for tomorrow morning.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

2.3: Machines to design other machines

There's a feeling men know. There's no real way to impart it onto a woman; it's the feeling of being kicked in the groin. I've known women to complain that being boob-punched hurts, but I've not heard of people going to the hospital for it, and I don't think it's a pain I can't imagine. Then there's childbirth; admittedly, on the surface this trumps a kick to the crotch, but consider the beauty of the act of giving life, that the female body was built to accommodate it and that in order to get to that point you had to have sexual intercourse. And who doesn't like adult, consensual, loving, passionate, hardcore dirty rough sex?

But testicles. They're a couple of grapes - or if it's cold, raisings - flimsily attached by tendons the consistency of dental floss to every part of the body, and not meant to absorb shock. So when they get somehow stricken, you feel it everywhere, from your toes to your stomach, from your lungs to your duodenum. God forbid they should get tangled, as happened to my brother one miserable night in the mid-90's

Anyway, the deep, wind-sucking feeling that reminded me of that thought was not an actual kick in the groin but an emotional one. After getting home from an uneventful day at school I felt like unwinding on some video gaems. I have a few simple objectives to complete but technical difficulties prevented me from accomplishing this. Frustrated, I persevered and ultimatel completed the task, but was so disheartened I turned the game off and replaced in with Guitar Hero 3. I have three songs left before I've 5-starred every song on Medium and can finally venture into Hard with confidence. But every time I think I've finally nabbed Iron Maiden's Number of the Beast (or the other two, Slayer's Raining Blood and Metallica's One) I just fall short. My repeated inability to climb over that hill threw me into a deep despair of frustration and I suddenly felt physically unwell. It was around this time a thought or two came to me.

One is that, no matter how I was feeling, life's too short to lose your head over stupid bullshit like that. It's not substantial. And I can justify getting pissed off at a lot of trivial shit, but video games? They're meant for entertainment, an escape, and a challenge. That was the whole point. There's hardly any satisfaction in something easy. And I'm not saying I'm going to be all zenlike everytime I play a video game from now on, because the aggressive side that reveals itself is part of the fun, but to let it take its toll on my physical wellbeing? That's nuts. It's good to get fired up every now and again, but you can't be a martyr for this shit.

As I said, it was an uneventful day that led to this. I have a lot of woes on my mind and video games ought to be the relief, not the source. It reminds me of when I used to get really emotional when I didn't do well at bowling. I was there for fun, why the fuck did I take it so seriously?

New concept: friend crush. It's when you have a non-sexual attachment to a friend that makes you want to be around them maybe more than is reasonable, and maybe to the point of idealizing them or bending your schedule around them. I've had one or two, and in at least one case it ended up being a major fall-out. We patched it up eventually but the friend crush was obviously gone. I'm not saying they're unhealthy, but they can cause you to miss vital flaws in your friend's character, depending on the degree.

Eric bought New Super Mario Bros. for his recently-purchased Nintendo DS. As a result, I will be using it much more than previously anticipated. He had to see that one coming. Video games are en vogue these days at the Williams place.

Anyway, that's life as I saw it today. I've got a poem to write for wednesday, and mucho reading and the usual stuff besides. Also potentially a dentist appointment on this thursday or next.

Much ado about nothing these days. Keep on rockin'
-Your ole Scotto

2.2: Nobody can make you do it

Every saturday, when I find myself sitting around the house, I tell myself I might go out. Then I sit here thinking about, what a hassle and for so little payoff. And I just sit and think about those two things until it's too late and I go to bed.

Then I observe that it's been a few days since my last entry (my modus operandi lately) and maybe I can kill an hour or so by taking care of that.

I left off on Wednesday, prior to North by Northwest. Well that was of course very enjoyable, and then it was Poetry. That was the usual stuff. I read my latest one out for workshopping. I noted beforehand that, over the course of the last 20 minutes, I had re-written the ending, to much approval. In feedback, everyone seemingly unanimously agreed that the original ending was awful. They all gushed over the rest of it, but the original ending was mind-blowingly bad, and the new one fit well. I acknowledged the original ending was lame, which is why I re-wrote it. Reiby asked when I had come to that conclusion, and I told him "About 4 seconds before I wrote it." I had the ending, ephemerally, in my head from the start, but the words for once wouldn't come out, so I included a knowingly lame ending.

So I caught the subway back to Union. I originally rendered that sentence "I caught the subway home," which would be strangely inaccurate given that Union station is not my home. As per usual, I met up with Ryan Lai and we sat and talked through the ride. The nearby eavesdroppers might have been bemused by our somewhat spirited conversation about a recent article I'd read on the top 100 video games of all time.

Thursday I'd earned. It was my day off and I had some very important business to attend. This of course would be after meeting Amanda for coffee since we hadn't hung out in a few weeks. We caught up on the usual matters and did some browsing and whatevers. But eventually it became very important for me to go. I had an essay due the next day I hadn't started.

So when I got home I tried to settle in to do work. but of course there was a kitchen full of dishes. I mean it in the most severe way; both of the kitchen sinks were stacked high with plates and baking sheets caked with thick rubbery grease. The counter was littered with glasses. It was havoc. So I put on some lunch and took care of that. And then mom e-mails me (pet peeve: I wish my mother didn't use the computer but oh well) and says how she wants the driveway cleared. Well it had warmed up that day so all that was left weas a spattering of slush and a trickle of ice, so I let it be and spread some salt. Finally free of distractions, I got down to work on my essay.

At least I would have, but I had to go to the Library first and get the book I should already have started for English (it's rather short.) Then I set down and re-read the assignment sheet. Not following directions had cost me substantial marks on the last essay so I wanted to get it spot-on this time. It was in reading this that I'd discovered that my thesis was now invalid since I included one of the books I'd already written about.

My brain had a miniature explosion.

I had dipped a toe into the essay only to be tossed back onto dry land. I had formulated a half-assed thesis that, if borne out proerply, may have garnered me a B. Now I had nothing. I had to act fast; time was wasting.

Immediately on impulse, I checked the Oakville Library to see if White Oaks had a copy of the Faulkner book available. They did. I had one of those "Let's roll" moments; back to the Library I went. On the way, I thought "What is my thesis? What is the link between these two books??" But I didn't have to agonize too long before it revealed itself to me; practically an entire essay all at once.

Of course, by the time I got home we had to run out and do grocery shopping and get dinner (we picked up ribs from the grocery store's meals-2-go counter.) But after that it was hardcore essay time. So between 8:00 and 11:00 I was hardcore hammering away at my essay with zero distraction. I pored through my books for references to cite (I should mention that I picked Faulkner because it was the one I had the best claim to understanding) and scoured the web for online resources. I'll not get into it here, but the point of the essay was to compare those two books to some form of new media, ie the internet.

I told Amanda later - we hung out this morning also - that I had a number in my head I had to be satisfied with. I have high hopes for this essay and I'm very fond of it, but I have to constantly remind myself of a low number I have to consider successful; 74 seems to be the magic number.

Anyway, shortly before 11 I was just coming down the stretch at the concluding paragraph when my brain stalled. People I've told this to expressed disbelief; the concluding paragraph is the easiest part of an essay, you just sum up your arguments. Well when I went to do this all that came out was circular gibberish. It may be a simple task but it wasn't coming out right. Frustrated at myserlf, and tired from typing consecutively for 3 hours (during which I excitedly typed about 6 pages, double spaced, researched on-the-spot,) I decided to take a break for the Daily Show. The half-hour became an hour (can't miss Colbert) which became bedtime. And me with an unfnished essay.

Luckily, I had an opening. My first class on friday was at 9, and my English tutorial was at 11, leaving me an hour during which to complete a single paragraph, organize a works cited page, clear up any spelling errors, and make sure I keep the same stance throughout the paper. And that's exactly what I did. This story does indeed have a happy ending; at least until I get my mark back.

I'm not a very good student. I do okay most of the timne, but as far as study habits go I'm the pits. I've made a resolution to remedy this but I doubt it will take. I'm trying, but maybe it's just not me.

I'm considering attempting to take some time to work overseas. I saw a post in the men's room at Innis advertising this. It was a government website, but I didn't note the URL because I don't prefer to hang around the men's room staring at posters. But I think it would be nice to go someplace and earn money.

On that note, earlier this evening, (after a day wasting away in front of the PS2, and a delicious roast dinner,) I finally set forth on my goal to reclaim my birth certificate. Somewhere along the wayt I lsot it, and having it would be useful in case I ever needed to prove my existence to anyone. I mentioned I had lost it, and dad as always, reacted as though it were a) the first time he had ever heard it and b) the worst news you could possibly deliver. It seriously bothers/frustrates him. So I threw down the gauntlet and said "Okay, let's do this right now."

Naturally, we couldn't, because you need a guarantor, but we filled out much of the application anyway and dad put in a call to his brother, a policeman (and a very high ranking one at that) with the North Bay police. So I'm on my way.

I don't know if I'll actualyle nd up going; like my fabled hypothetical trip to Australia, it might just turn out to be one of those things where I'm all talk. But it's things like that, that motivate me.

I put things like that (the birth certificate thing) off way too long.

Keep on rockin for a vote of confidence,
-Scott

2.1: Some degree of accuracy

Despite my fondest desire to constantly update this bad boy, the energy-drain of commuting and being in school does a number of my willingness to update consistently.

I suppose that's ironic, because I'm at school right now (at least in the Pratt library) and I want to talk about my commute. I've got time and a bit of a bone to pick, so let's get this going.

I've never bothered to describe my morning commute I don't think, beyond vague allusions. There are a few reasons for this: one that it's a terribly uninteresting subject, and two, by the time I get to a computer it's the furthest thing from my mind.

After getting coffee from Amanda, and a doughnut because I skipped cereal this morning, I was at Oakville GO. Earlier in the winter I hit upon a plan few people seemed to know. it was cold on the train platform, and crowded, so I thought it was smart to hang out in the station while everyone else waited on the platform, and then rush out to the train at the last minute. Well by January, everyone else seems to have hit upon this plan, because the place is damn crowded. There were a lot of people and many passed me to go punch their tickets. Many "excuse mes" and several elbows. Somewhat annoyed, I decided to brave the cold and go wait by the platform somewhat early. That's when I discovered exactly how sheeplike most commuters are, since right after I left, they all poured out behind me despite the fact that the train was still several minutes away. And everyone - myself included - has this blank expression on their faces like we're all zombies on autopilot.

The other day I ran into a friend I've seen once or twice on the platform (or as the case may be, in the station.) This was monday morning. She had forgotten that I go to Toronto every morning (or at least most.) Earlier, she'd been taking the 7:45 which is always far more crowded, but I guess somewhere along the way she converted to the 7:58. We talked a bit but then fell silent as we took seats and stared in our zombified daze out the window at the passing landscape, respective iPods droning out life.

I'm the least likely person who should be commuting in this way. I'm notoriously short-tempered for crowds and constantly on the brink of throwing fists wildly in similar situations, except when disembarking a train. Like all commuters, I simply turn off my brain and wait until I'm off the subway to let it go back on again. There's just one thing. Union in the morning.

I don't know what it is - the bagel place, the coffee place, Cinnabon or what - but something in the Union concourse smells terrible in the morning. It's usually gone by noontime if I have a late start or am going home on my early days, but every morning at 7:30 something smells positively rotten and I'm not able to inhale until I get to the TTC, which is not pleasant but smells like daisies by comparison.

But nonetheless, that's my life as a commuter. It didn't need to be said, but I did so anyway. I was supposed to do a poetry response last night but couldn't get into that headspace; so I skipped English (I haven't started the book yet anyway) to write it, and now here I am.

The last two days, as usual, have been tedious. I was very sad to hear yesterday of the passing of a famous young actor (you know the one I mean; the story was on the front page of Metro.) He was very talented and his passing will add a chill to his portrayal of the Joker, much as Brandon Lee's cast a pall over the Crow. There was a full moon last night. I've had this impresison since I was a kid that full moons were bad omens, but I was thinking last night about how that's inaccurate. Full moons occur every 30 days or so, and bad things happen more frequently than that. Also, a full moon shines brightly in a dark night, so what's the sense in fearing light? The whole idea was rooted in my mom always saying "Oh it was a full moon today, all the crazies were out" whenever she got home from work when I was a kid. But that was probably just a lady-problem thing (eww!)

Like the moon, we wax and wane. Or something.

I'm gonna go to class now and watch North by Northwest (after a probably-lengthy lecture continuation.)

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

2.0: Crackers and beer

I'm feeling pressured to do my usual recap of my entire weekend. It's one of those cases where I put off writing an entry so long that what I would have written about is no longer interesting or relevant.

I mean, what did I do Friday? I got up and went to school. We discussed philosophy, we discussed english, we discussed movies. Stuff happened in between, but it was primarily reading, eating and being on the computer.

On my way home, I got to the Oakville bus, and ran into someone I used to bowl with. He was down for the weekend from Waterloo where he'd been going to school. We caught up a little, but didn't generally have too much to say to each other. We always got along but never had much in common. Everyone has these acquaintances.

I got home and lulled around the house all evening until 10:30 or so when Risk became afoot. It's been a very long time since me, Chris, Pat and CB all managed to get together for a game, and I haven't even seen CB in weeks. So neither Pat nor CB were there, but Ryan Lai was. Edgar was going to come, but ran late so we dealt the cards and started a 3-man game. Just as we were rolling for first, Edgar pops up on MSN and pledges to be over soon, to deal the cards and wait for him. He promised KD to sweeten the deal. We accepted.

Despite the KD, the game flamed out early, with Edgar basically obliterating me, letting Chris steamroll all over the place and ultimately knock both Edgar and me out in a single crushing blow after turning in a set (then the set he got from Edgar went toward destroying me.) The game only lasted a couple hours and a lot of that saw us halting play to either make more KD or watch How I Met Your Mother for extended periods. Ryan still tood at the end but was far from capable of containing Chris' empire. Bitterness flew from me quite freely. We watched Superbad after that and it calmed my jangled nerves somewhat.

It was 4:00 by the time I got into bed and I gladly slept late the next day. Saturday was basically nothing. Eric went off to hang out with an ole friend of his in Burlington around dinner so it was mostly just me all night. I didn't really have anything going on so I went catatonic in front of the TV for a while. Then I started randomly chatting up people I know, mostly Lauren, catching up on her school situation and discussing the virtues of crackers that taste like bell peppers, among other things.

Today was more of the basically nothing. I don't know. Not a great weekend I suppose but a good relaxation. Apart from the fact that I drew a Regular Guy comic for the first time in months - it'll be up shortly - I've got nothing today. I did watch both Bill & Ted movies on MPix today, which brought back some positive memories (of watching Bill & Ted, which used to be on every weekend in the summer of 2000 or 2001.)

Anyway I'm just ranting pointlessly by now, so I'm gonna sign off. See ya later and keep on rockin'
-Scott

1.9: This does not stop

I'm wanting to do a quick one tonight, but as usual I've left myself off on a post to describe the lastr two days which will, for whatever reason, take a while, probably. I've got too much to do. Gotta take out the garbage, gotta read an essay for philosophy because I was arbitrarily assigned a presentation for this week. Gotta empty the dishwasher.

I wrote a short passage describing myself last night. "I reach out in a hundred directions and move in none. I am a blob that expands and contracts, idly." I think that about sums it up.

I've already expressed my resignment that I'm probably gonna fail philosophy. This is fine, provided U of T ever actually gets my transcript. If not, well, then I guess it just sucks to be me. Which would not surprise me, that it sucks to be me. This thought has occrred to me not infrequently over the years.

I thought about this yesterday morning. I had gotten on the train with a Tim Hortons breakfast bagel. It had been many months since I'd had one, and had to rush out of the house quickly, so I decided to just go ahead and indulge. I'm kinda nihilistic about cash these days. Maybe I'll get that job, maybe not. What unfortunate malaise. I juggled this meal with Devil in the White City - though I'm enjoying it and have recommended it to anyone who asks, I'm still not done, although I'm less than 100 pages left. I was supposed to have it done for tomorrow, but I'll probably just finish it on the weekend. I know the gist of the ending anyway. One more thing I've gotta do.

Between English and Film, I had to grab a lunch, because more of my now-carefree spending dictated so. I wound up at the campus general store, which is a nice little convenience store where you can buy stuff. I didn't have a good feeling about any of their sandwiches, but ended up buying a Chicken Salad on whole wheat anyway (since they didn't have white.) I opened it in the midst of the screening of the 39 Steps and enjoyed it enough, both the sandwich and the film. It didn't run too long, so I killed the remaining 90 minutes before class at Pratt. I ought to have been reading, but I instead squared my affairs away on the computer. You know how it is.

In poetry there was a flurry of papers around the room as we distributed our 6th poems. I always kinda look forward to new poem days, because it gives you something different, and some kind of insight into the character of each of the classmates, as we don't talk to each othe renough in person... we talk through our poems (and conversely, our opinions of others' poems.) As I sat down later to read through them, I noticed an oddly dark trend. There was a lot of a downer, and then there was my friend Jasmin, who told me last week a story about how her roof collapsed over the break, and how she was going to write about that. It was quite funny, although it used the life/strife rhyming couplet that doesn't even work in the best cases (like the moon in June.) My own piece could be construed as dark, but wouldn't be if I've got the right ending on it. I mentioned last time I'm actually fond of it, and it had been accumulating in my mind all through the break.

The second half of class was concerned with a reading from a poet named Steve McOrmand. He was a young guy, and he seemed nice. his poetrywas interesting too, often with a wry sense of humour. His reading voice was odd, though, I likened it to a computer voice delivering a preacher's sermon. Take that how you will, although I've probably failed to capture it for you. We got over that, though, by the end of the hour, and did our best to fill the silence with questions.

I walked with Jasmin afterward to St. George station, joking about tap dancing and the Michael Chin crystal. I said, many months ago, how you only really meet a few people throughout your life, and do so over and over again. You meet someone who reminds you of someone else, and treat them like that person. That's kinda what's going on there, although it's a composite of people (the theory allows for that.)

Oddly, or perhaps not, the large bulk of the people I've met and interacted with at school are female. If I were to be a bit harsh on myself, I'd point out that I clearly have a psychological need to gain acceptance from females after all my early adolescent experiences of scorn. but more likely, it's just me looking to get busy. Hence I walk into each class to be greeted by whichever female I happen to have met there (and likely, already crossed off the list in my mind for whatever reason: attached, not my type, etc etc.)

In any case, I got to Union and browsed the crowd thinking "I wonder if Ryan's here." No sooner had those words been spoken in the weird mental language of thoughts, did I turn and see Ryan himself. When we got to Oakville, his dad was good enough to give me a life home, and I chilled out the rest of the evening.

Today I had off. I bummed around a while, and avoided doing the stuff I was supposed to, at all costs. B. is sick, convalescing in his room and being a bit of a downer. When he does emerge he's seemed a bit short of fuse. I called "Dinner!" and heard no response. Wanting to cover myself I called again "Brando, dinner!" and he snapped "I KNOW!" I cut him some slack though, because hey, nobody likes to be sick.

Well I should get started on my reading and preparation... groan... such is life, eh?

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

1.8: Dreadful things done by girls

Handsome though I am, these are not the eyes of a man who sleeps properly.

I got some shocking news on Monday, news that I have withheld from my family members because I'm not totally certain what they'd make of it. The news was that I did exceedingly poorly on my philosophy midterm. I failed it, let's not get into it. Now, I didn't take this as harshly as I did when I got my mark on my shot-by-shot analysis several weeks (months?) ago, even though it was a less important project where I did better. The weird thing is I just didn't take this philosophy thing badly at all. I mean yeah, it sucks and I don't feel good about it at all, and it certainly doesn't get me off to a good start on my New Year's resolution of being a better student. I didn't expect to do very well, but I encountered more difficulty than I anticipated. It wasn't even the dreaded see of red pen and criticism... just the stark words "no" (once) and "not good" under my final mark, which is an understatement. I mean, I really effin' blew it. Anyway, here's where I'm going with this.

Several months (weeks?) ago, I received a notice saying that given my two transfer credits I am supposed to receive from Sheridan, I was enrolled in too many first-year classes and would not receive credit for one of them. This concerned me, because all you'd have to do is chop of 1/2 credit - the one I earned for Astronomy - and I'd be under the wire. The problem of course is that I'd then be out a half a science credit and that would suck unimaginably. Not passing one class and thus not earning a credit would really solve this dilemma. Is it shameful to fail? Yes. But I look at it as taking a dive. Worst comes to worst, I'll try to pass and make sure I negotiate which course does not count toward my diploma.

That was the first of two realizations. It is contingent upon the fact that I need to get my transcript to an office on U of T's campus, and I recently received an e-mail to the effect that it had not yet arrived. So I tug at my collar. This led to my second little epiphany.

This was the unkind if relieving reminder that I do not need to be at U of T. On some level, I do not need to put myself through the bullshit, the bureaucracy, the debt, the guilt, the stress, the insomnia, the burden. I'm glad I went there, at least to say I'd stepped foot inside a University classroom and found out what it was like. But it's not like I don't have a future and that I couldn't seek it elsewhere. I've got a good credential, some good experience, and talent (right?) If nothing else, I could ditch University (this idea has been inside me since approximately the second day, but has faded out amidst the ruckus of life and routine.) If I'm miserable, I could launch myself into the world of careers and prosperity and forget the other nonsense. Sure, it would be a whole new world of nonsense, but one in which I am earning, not paying, to exist.

Never be without an exit strategy.

I considered all of this while sitting in English. I'm enjoying Devil in the White City extremely much, but am finding it hard as ever to concentrate in the lectures. This inability to focus is hurting me more, obviously, in Philosophy.

This led, last night, to my finally following through on Mansoor's advice and searching Craigslist, idly, for opportunities, to maybe earn some cash on the side while I attempt to learn. What I found is that there are a ton of opportunities. Nothing that jumps out as a career, but plenty of potential for cash-earning and experience. The only thing I had time for was a contest looking for readers to evaluate submissions of short stories and screenplays. Now I'd much rather be entering such a contest than judging it, but it's a payday and I really gave the hard sell on my application. ("I was a journalism student, I love films of all genres, I've taken courses in filmmaking and creative writing nearly obsessively and oh yeah, I'm the reviews editor at ComiXtreme... la la la." Yeah, I'm so perfect.) Who knows. If I can make some money in 2008, it'd have an advantage over 2007.

My dog's been on a really weird schedule lately. This ties partly into what I said at the beginning about not sleeping. I had one of those naps on the couch you get when you're too comfortable watching TV and just nod off around 11:30. Well after that I decided, time for bed. Except now I was refreshed, so I just tossed and turned. Meanwhile Max sleeps all afternoon and then by 10 or 11 gets really pumped and by the time everyone (on the main floor) is in bed, he's restlessly pacing, his little feet beating a circle around the hardwood floor.

I was having a hard time sleeping because of the stress of my potential life-alternating realization, and also it seemed I ate something that disagreed with me. I woke up a few times out of a dreamless half-sleep and had to go to the toilet. And I'm sitting there and he's outside the bathroom door, pawing back and forth like he's on crank or something.

Today was an ordinary day. I was utterly absorbed in my own thoughts all morning until I got off the subway. Then I dilligently took notes on the studio system and then went home, to be further engrossed in my own dreamy thoughts. At Union, I was plenty early. I decided to shell out a buck to play a "police training" game, which is basically just target shooting. I did well too, acing all but two of the exercises (although some after two tries) before losing my credit. Kinda rewarding to know I'm not a bad shooter of a fake lightray gun.

The evening passed in typical fashion... dinner at dad's as he and Deb regled us with stories of their Las Vegas trip, including showing us the hundreds of card-sized ads for prostitutes they collected along the way (??!) I've been writing and tinkering and my usual distractions, avoiding doing reading.

A guy stopped me at Union the other day. He had an ice pack to his shoulder. He said "Hey man, I was just riding my bike out there and I wiped out. I busted my collarbone," he revealed his shoulder, which looked bony and flesh-coloured (not bruised or displaced to my eye.) He said he wanted a couple bucks for a ticket to the hospital. I hesitated, given this is a classic con, to big cash of hayseeds at Union who don't know there's always someone asking for a ticket to the hospital, or Barrie, or Guelph. And he usually looks sketchy. This guy, with his ice pack, looked convincing though. I was trying to worm out of it when a dude comes up, obviously someone already contacted by this guy, saying "Are you sure you don't want me to call the security guards or something and get you a ride to the hospital?" He insisted, "No! It's okay...!" I shrugged, "I got nothin' man," and walked off. Points for creativity, though, with the ice pack.

I've got a future unfolding in front of me, but nobody knows how long it'll be.

I really like the piece I composed the other night for poetry. I might publish a book someday. Self-publish I mean... there's no money in poetry.

Your little club seems more like a cult.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

1.7: Wherever I lay my head

It's been a few days and while nothing has really happened, that rarely stops me from putting on my blog face. Whatever that means.

I slept in on Friday morning. I had so enjoyed my odyssey on Thursday, I supposed, that my legs had required an extra 40 minutes of sleep past my alarm. Or it's just possible I'd set it at too low a volume to work properly. Er, whoops. I woke up at 7:20, right on the cusp of too late and bolted through my morning routine, skipping my shower (feeling nasty) and ultimately grabbing coffee, as per addiction.

There were about 4 other people in my philosophy tutorial. I talked, as did the other guy I kinda know in that class Jake, as best I could about the mind-body connection and we specifically focussed the discussion on robots and whether they had the same consciousness as humans did. As with any philosophical conversation, we were inconclusive.

I then spent an hour going through whatever computer-flavoured routine I had in the hour between classes, and reading more of Devil in the White City, which I'm actually enjoying, and not in a reluctant way like previous books. In the tutorial, we talked about the unusually high number of comparisons and contrasts between two parties found within the book.

I ate my lunch after that, and then did something I haven't done since September... I did the reading for Cinema. I've made a vow to myself to refocus on my studies this semester and it starts with Film. We were set to get our midterms back at the end of the tutorial and I was extremely nervous. The class had proven itself a tough mark to win after the shot-by-shot and while I still have a healthy amount of confidence, a bad mark would surely shatter that which remains. As we discussed the need of technology to refresh itself, leading to two remakes of King Kong and Bazin's hypothetical approval of widescreen and colour, the class ended and we got our tests back. I told myself that something in the 60's would be good enough to prove a step up. I looked down at my sheet. 74.

All right, it's not an excellent mark, but the remarks she left were fair and it's not like I tanked any specific part. All I did wrong was fail to elaborate on some of my essay points, which she conceded were good starts. I was glad. A weight had been lifted, for sure. I walked to St. George with one of the girls I know in that class and we compared notes. She got something in the 80's, and I told her I was glad for her. In reality, it was a mixture of that and jealousy, but I've got a new determination here. 2008, I suspect, will be a big year, but it's only what you make it. Heed that.

It was a pretty relaxed evening until I got the call. Chris and Pat and I were finally going to settle the Risk game that began 6 days earlier on Saturday afternoon. It sat in Pat's basement that entire time. Around 9:30 they picked me up and we headed over, greeted by Pat's superhumanly affable parents. When I first arrived a week earlier, Pat's dad answered, smiled, and said "Hello Scott," despite the fact that I'd not met him before. "Everyone's already downstairs."

So on this day, we sat down for what seemed that it would be a short run. I was seriously backed into a corner in Europe and the guys had compiled massive empires. But then, funnily enough, I managed to hang on, or they turned their attentions away from me, and the game lasted until 3:00 AM while we finished watching How I Met Your Mother Season 1 and some of Season 2. Thinking the game might not be on much longer I suggested that, after we finished we could call CB up and get another one going. They were receptive but by 12:30 or so, it became apparent that was not happening and we were in for the long haul.

I got home before 3:30 and took care of some business before going to bed, but before I could fall asleep, I heard the door opening. It was Eric. He had gone out to some club with some friends and had just gotten in. He stumbled around, water poured all over the front of his shirt, vaguely alluding to the explanation. Curious as I was to hear how his night had gone, it was late and I was tired from a night of war.

I dreamt a strange dream. I can't recall the storyline, but involved a pinball machine, a fictional character I'd created, space invaders, a kidnapping plot, and my late Great-Grandfather. Eric speculated later that whenever a dead person appears in your dream they are trying to contact you... but he seemed pretty lost, which is a lot of how I remember him, so that's probably just a compilation of my own mind.

I got home and, somewhat delayed, met up with Amanda for coffee for the first time in many weeks. We caught up; she described her holidays and recent work experience to me, and I told her about my New Year and Joe's show. She has the same long-winded, easily-sidetracked way of telling stories I use, which may be because I've had an influence on her. Probably not though.

We did the usual shopping. We stopped in at HMV and I was glad to see Cooper back at work. We made small talk and he tried to convince me to take some CD's off his hands of hands of one of the Canadian Idol winners. I told him "You couldn't pay me to," and then grinned, knowing that at one point, he was indeed paying me. Sigh, those bygone days of winter 2006...

After a trip to Coles, we split because Amanda had some kind of hair appointment so I headed home. I did nothing the rest of the day, except that Eric and I watched Superbad, which I'd bought earlier that day (using an HMV gift card Amanda got me... she's a better friend than I am, but not that much more, she got it for free from work.)

Today was similarly inactive, mostly spent reading and playing GH3, the usual boredom-killers.

I'm indecisive. That's a fact (or is it? I haven't decided.) Women. In running down my life story, I think I've got that part pinned down. It's like, in the last 5 years, I haven't really seen a girl and said "Her." I usually just see a girl and say "Maybe her, or her, or..." there are any number of pretty, affable, interesting girls at school, for certain, maybe too many but with a limited supply my eye would still roam, until someone set me down and pointed to someone and said "her." It's a fear of rejection I think, always considering one's options. I can't go out on a limb at age 20 (and a half!) in 2008 because from 2001 until 2004 I went on the most extreme, melodramatic losing streak known to man. The flaw is you just want some magical moment where it becomes patently obvious to all involved that this is for real. The distressing thing is that I had one of those, too, and the deal got blown off. I'm very, very bad at that.

And that's the story. Maybe that should have been my New Year's resolution, but one step at a time. Truth, it's hard enough leaving the house in the morning.

Things are getting backed up again. No drive. Must keep self on track. Sink is full of dishes. Waugh.

Keep on rockin
Your remaining Scott

1.6: It won't bring you back

I stumbled quickly through the morning routine yesterday. Another early Wednesday; life is a-callin'.

After getting dropped off near the GO station I took a swerve and, as is becoming usual, got a coffee from the Esso where Amanda works. I hadn't eaten and was not sure about time. I considered ordering a Breakfast sandwich for the first time in ages. My stomach turned somewhat, but it often did when I thought about them, before I started eating and remembering how good they are. But I was pressed for time and didn't want to wait while she made it, so I ordered a doughnut instead. Breakfast of champions? Hmp. And if you're reading this, Amanda, I said Old Fashioned Glazed, not Old Fashioned Plain... sigh, the dangers of ordering a doughnut nobody else eats. If you say the long name, people mishear it as "Plain." If you just say "Glazed" they interpret as chocolate.

I tossed and turned through the philosophy lecture. If I do horribly in that class, I'll not have to wonder why. In English, we talked about serial killers, since our current book is a true crime piece, which is actually quite interesting. I always find it easier to read (creative) nonfiction and have been devouring it in those moments I have taken to read, much quicker than I ever did Mrs. Dalloway or Pride & Prejudice. Between that class and Cinema, I bobbed back and forth across campus looking for a computer to check my e-mail and stuff. Pratt has been very crowded lately, much to my annoyance, because it's a nice place.

In Cinema, we watched Singin' in the Rain. I'm curious to find how I did on the midterm. I have this gnawing feeling in my stomach. I feel like I did well but I have to brace myself. Keil warned that some did very well and others not so much. In cases like that I have a tendancy to put myself in the former group but you never know.

In poetry, we talked allegory. Reiby read a Yeats poem, which remined me of a drunken conversation I'd had with Linda Ferguson a month earlier. That is, I was drunk and she sat me down with a book of his works. It was pretty unreal from my perspective.

We ended with small group workshopping. I ended up in the office with a small group of people, most of whom weren't the ones I've gotten to know so far but anyway. After we finished early, we sat around and shot the shit a while. Someone asked how my break was and I shrugged. The standard answer had been "Relaxing" but I spruced it up by explaining how I'd robbed a bank, escaped to Mexico, then lost it all in a Mexican casino.

I got to Union and felt a pang of hunger. I didn't feel like I could make it all the way home without eating, so I decided to stop by McD's for something light, a Jr. Chicken Sandwich (which is basically the same as a WOSS chickenburger) off their dollar menu. After a moment, the cashier returned and say, "You want double cheeseburg? It same price, you not wait." I shrugged. Whatever. Then I realized that double cheeseburgers are gross and I was gonna be full. But whatever.

I walked home from Union; the pathway under the QEW has re-opened, which is great, right on time. The rest of the night, I chilled out. I didn't eat dinner, which is fine because it was a half-hearted attempt anyway.

This morning my alarm went off at 9, and I woke up at 11. It was amazing. I have Thursdays off so, after some Guitar Hero, I went out for comics. Not equipped to face the sun, I wore some old Blue Jays souvenir shades and did not wear my glasses. I stopped by Hakim optical to see if they could replace my clip-ons, but they claimed not to be able to. I didn't care much, since I need to get new glasses anyway.

At the corner of Kerr and Spears, there is a tlaking Walk sign. You push the button and it lights up, "You have pressed the button, please wait for the walk sign." I exclaimed out loud in response, "The future is now!" to anyone within earshot. Luckily there was nobody around.

I didn't make the most of my day off, partially since it's not been that long since I was on break.

I shuold get to bed. Nothing thrilling tonight kids. As my old editor used to say, "enjoy the day."

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

1.5: I kick your face

I slept an hour past my alarm this morning, which was not surprising or all that damaging. It was about 10 when I got out of bed. I jumped in the shower and headed out for some breakfast (Tim Horton style, duh) and the bus.

At th GO station, I ran into Erfan, somewone I hadn't really talked to since about Grade 8, even though we went to high school for four years. We may have talked somewhat in Grade 9, but without Rohan and Daron around we weren't really going to be friends. He seemed really upbeat, which he's always been like. I told him what I'd been up to, which was not much, although he thought I'd gone to Mac rather than Sheridan/UT.

I got to the campus typically early and read a while before class. I ran into my friend Brittany (I don't know, is she my friend after a few months? We hang out a little...) and we took seats in the Town Hall. Charlie was absent, which seems to be the trent these days, so he sent a substitute. The sub delivered Charlie's lecture basically verbatim, referring to himself as a "ventriliquist dummy." There was a girl next to me who feel asleep. I thought she was just resting but there was a sudden sound - like someone tapping the mic too hard - and she jolted right out of it, sending her notebook flying. It was funny.

What was weird was that this morning I had randomly pulled out of my closet a blue-and-white striped polo-style shirt. Brittany had a long-sleeve shirt with the same design, as did the girl to my right. It was like we belonged to some weird inter-gender rubgy club. I made a joke aobut going through one's wardrobe and figuring out "What is everyone else going to be wearing today?" Blue-and-white seems to be a very common shirt motif these days.

I got a sub for lunch at Union and had an uneventful ride home. I walked home in the still-Springlike air. I got home around four and found that, much to my dismay, I'd lost my clip-on sunglasses. I live for those things, but somehow was not surprised I'd misplaced them on this particular day. I'm pretty sure I know where they are - either in the lobby at Innis or the Town Hall. It seems somewhat unlikely I left them at Union or on the GO train, but if I did, so be it. I can get new ones.

I said I was not surprised, but tht hardly means I wasn't disappointed. I've felt kinda glum all day. I'm pretty sure if you searched the word "glum" on this blog, this is the first time it would come up. Whatever the reason, I'm feeling a little blue, a little lonely. Not surprising.

We ate at dad's tonight. He's headed to Las Vegas tomorrow night on one of his rare vacations. We actually sat around having good conversations, good vibes.

I don't know how to end this post, but then again I didn't really know how to start it, either. The fact that I'm writing two or three days in a row again says something, however.

I got an electric razor over the holidays. It's very convenient, but I find that at certain points it just snags me or tugs too hard ot something, and leaves me a bit uneven. I'll try it a little longer and if need be, I can go back to the Mach 3. I'll say this though, not having to lather up does motivate me to actually shave more frequently. The days of the Friday whiskers may be gone.

Gone like me for tonight. Oh, THAT'S how I'm gonna end this post.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

1.4: This spoon is too sharp

As schooldays go, it was your average one.

I woke up at 6:30 then rolled over and pretended I hadn't, for about a half an hour.

I stopped off before getting the train at Tim Hortons, where Amanda was working. I was half-alive and she was all in perky professional mode. It was a creepy contrast. The morning was uneventful. Boyle had a last-minute jury duty, so philosophy was cancelled so I hung around campus for an extra hour, chilling at the Pratt library. Eventually, English got going. It was your usual tangent-filled Cobb lecture, amusing but questionably valuable. It did, actually, manage to drum up some interest in me for the upcoming book, Devil in the White City, which sadly has fled library shelves so I actually have to buy a copy.

I grabbed some lunchishness and headed home. I stopped off, again, to see Amanda. It was a strangely mild day so I walked. I got home around 1, to a house that was still mostly asleep, because hey, that's what we do around here. We value sleep. I spent the bulk of the afternoon playing video games. I finally managed to beat Killer Instinct, Eyedol and all, although not without some frustrations. It took a grand total of 31 continues, but I'm not ashamed. I also found Super Mario 64, which had been in hiding under various clutter around my room. I was concerned I'd lost a second one of 'em.

I had a conversation with a friend today. She wanted my advice about Sheridan. I get asked about it a lot and I always give it a strong recommendation. She was contemplating abandoning her University path for a more direct college-based one. I'm one of the few people around who's seen the inside of both a University and College classroom, so I helped her sort out those options a little. I helped her weigh the pros and cons, but ultimately told her I'd leave the decision to her. I wasn't going to tell her to change direction, and I sure as hell wasn't going to tell her not to. Even though she was not inquiring about Print Journalism, I enjoyed my experience from 2005-2007 so immensely that good karma spills over to other programs. It took me a while to warm up, and even by the end there were some hectic moments, but all in all it was an experience I'm glad I got. Wouldn't trade it. I have a number of friends who are apparently bound for PJour next year, which would be cool for them.

This friend was somewhat hesitant, though, not because she was totally unsure about Sheridan, but because an ex of hers goes there. I chuckled a little, just because that seems to be the season. Synchronicity and whatnots.

Last night, my own ex got in touch with me for the first time in a long while. I added her on Facebook many months ago and we caught up then, but hadn't since. This was very much out of the blue but much more like the conversations we used to have, if slightly compressed. She told me she's probably going to move to Michigan soon to be with her boyfriend of the last 3 years, which made me think... didn't we break up 3 years ago? And then I realized, it's closer to four, and my eyes bugged out at the math because yeah, it's been that long, and I been flopping like a bass on the deck for most of it. If that makes any sense. Yarr.

The miniscule DVD player I picked up the other night turned out to be a dud, so I went out to replace it with a slightly more expensive model. Standing in line at Wal-Mart's Customer Service was a particular purgatory I hope never to return to.

The definition of tomorrow is another chance.

I'm dry of non-sequitors and unamusing musings for tonight so I'm gonna head off. I have, however, made inroads into that dastardly to-do list.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

1.3: I am your main supplier

Between a glimmer of hope and a shadow of a doubt, there I am.

Ever get the feeling humanity should be infinitely proud and equally ashamed of everything it has done? Me neither.

Late last week, it was very cold down here and Max had become kinda stationary and starting acting kinda aloof and shivering. Now, he's an old pooch, so anything out of the ordinary with him is met with concern (and apparently he'd upchucked earlier in the day.) Hoping it was just the cold, we tossed a blanket over him as he lay in the middle of the floor, hoping for the best. The next morning he was back to his old self, even moreso, bounding all over the place like nuts. We worry, but y'know, he's got quite some life left in him yet it seems.

Friday was a blur. After running an errand, Eric and I sat down and watched the Simpsons Movie. He seemed to enjoy it. Then I got a lift down to the Executive Snooker Club for Joe's show. We pulled into this weird Chinese strip mall thinking "This can't be the place..." but the address matched up and sure enough it was the only unit without any Chinese characters written on it, crammed into a little corner. Joe wasn't aware of the mall's status in the heart of Mississauga's China town either, and we had a laugh about when he arrived. I was a little early so I scoped the place out a while until Joe came with a few of his friends. We joked around, sitting on the world's lowest couch (me: "My knees are parallel to my face!") while people filed in, including Mansoor, who's been getting in shape for a marathon.

Eventually, the show started. We filed in past the people who were running the thing, and as we paid they noted down which act everyone had come for, because the acts were being paid based on that. Joe was on second. During the first act, Mansoor and I grabbedf some brews. The guy was an acoustic-electric act who sat and picked and strummed. Mansoor felt he was leaning on Nirvana a bit much, but I thought, he's just a guy playing his guitar in front of a small audience in Mississauga, he's not going to be the next Bowie. I thought it was pretty nice.

Joe came on around 9:30. He opened with a song I hadn't heard before, and followed it with Stargazing. The third song was a song I had half-jokingly asked him to play and dedicate to me, Hourglass, which is my favourite song he's written given it's far more upbeat than anything else. He worked in an excerpt from "No Woman No Cry" much to the crowd's delight. He then gave Mansoor a shout-out while introducing his "runaway hit" Broken Heart Complex. Mansoor deserves certain appreciation because he's done all he can to help Joe make it this far, and will probably continue to help him throughout his career. The last song was Mandi, which was prefaced by a note that the girl in question is no no longer around. The performance was spirited nonetheless, despite a notable foul-up of the lyrics midway through. He covered it decently though, Joe's got quite a burgeoning stage presence.

The third act came on, a 5-piece band with the two guitarists and bassist crammed in the middle of a very cozy stage, with the frontman elbowing his way to the front. The drummer was hidden behind the shirtless bassist. They joked about how they were going to "soften it up" a bit after following such a hardcore act.

So they started playing death metal. I just kinda sat there, unmoved. The weird thing about metal guitarists is that, objectively, they seem like some of the most talented players to use the instrument. They 're able to get some fast/furious licks that probably take a lot of skill. But the thing, I think, about metal is that it's a waste. The way they played was really generic and bland, with your typical crunchy riffs separating your standard blazing solos. Midway through the second song I'd seen the whole damn thing. The vocalist impressed the room with his pteradactyl impression, that incoherent screaming style I bemoaned when I reviewed that Callisto CD back in April. Full of metal, I got up and took a walk. Joe and many of his other friends were congregated in the lounge, having similar feelings as I did. I wondered aloud who was booking the gigs, and if they were just having a laugh by booking such a juxtaposition.

I went back in to grab my jacket, for good measure asking the chubby-but-cuteish hardcore-looking girl minding the cashbox what the next act was. She put plainly that it was metal (she was probably more excited about it than I was) and I grabbed my jacket and went. Mansoor gave me a lift home and we caught up some more.

Saturday I got up and took care of some business before getting a call. Pat and Chris wanted to know if I'd be down for Risk. I didn't even ponder how unusual that they were having a Risk game mid-afternoon. Eventually I arrived and found a stranger. It seemed they were trying to arrange a Staples employees game, but it kinda fell apart so they called me. It was flattering, really. So we set down and played through with this girl (Kat) while watching Life Aquatic and then How I Met Your Mother Season 1 Disc 2, which Pat hadn't even seen (yet how odd Chris and I had gotten all the way through season 2 disc 2.) We left the game unfinished around 5. After I got home, Eric came in with a new computer.

I went for a walk in the oddly mild winter evening. Sometime after, by the time I was ready to go to bed, Eric pulled out Killer Instinct for SNES. I decided to show him how it's done by tearing through the 1P mode with Cinder, as I am a master of the massive cheap awesome combo. Every now and a gail a character like Thunder (a Native American) or Glacius (a snowman?) would get the better of me, but by and large I managed to handle myself all the way to the last guy, whom I didn't remember. He was a 2-headed cyclops called Eyedol and he was a bitch. After several attempts, I had him on the ropes but lost. Despite my pumping adrenaline, I knew it was time to call it a night. I cooled down by playing a smooth round of Kirby's Avalanche.

When I got up to my room I found that my DVD player had stalled, overheated. I was troubled. The disc was no longer reading and the player wouldn't open. I decided on a temporary solution by nicking my mom's and decided to sleep on it.

In the morning it opened properly, allowing me to retake my trapped DVD (phew) but the fact was, it looked to be toast. After breakfast, I headed down to the mall to check various stores to price check a new player. Nothing met my fancy, but I decided to go later. I ended up going to Wal-Mart with dad and picked up a cheapo one and a dock for my iPod (also modestly-priced) for about $110 total. Hopefully this stuff holds out, but I think Wal-Mart's good about returns (I ain't shopped there in years and have a bit of an ethical problem doing so.)

Eric, B and I pulled out GoldenEye for the first time in many years and I proceeded to show 'em how it's done. Also, Zombies Ate My Neighbours, a game that begs to be remade.

Things have been pretty relaxed lately. The break was nice, y'know, not overly busy, but not too-too lazy. I'm ready to go back tomorrow. This is helped by the fact that my Philosophy prof got a last-minute jury duty call so class is cancelled tomorrow. I think I'm actually going to start doing the readings in that class. My New Year's Resolution is to be a better student and maybe actually put some effort into it. This may or may not be more difficult to follow than my previous year's resolution to vomit less in social situations (success, BTW.)

But yeah. There were three major things I meant to do over the last three weeks but didn't. Somehow I seem to get more done when I've got a lot going on. When I've got nothing, I just veg.

Something just happened that I'll probably have more energy to discuss tomorrow. For now I'm about to hit the bricks.

These longer/less frequent posts just ain't doing it for me, I think. It's hard to remember shit I wanted to talk about!

I hope you're enjoying yourself, under the moonlight (the serious moonlight.)

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

1.2: Everybody wants to be in on the joke.

Do shirts get jealous when you don't wear them?

I'm wearing a sweater, which is unusual enough for me, but it's cold down here in the basement (my dog was shivering, he may be sick, we're all kinda worried.) I've got the whole collared-shirt underneath thing going on so I look really preppy.

So two mornings ago it was New Year's Day. Given that nothing was open I spent the day inside playing Guitar Hero. I had my second glitch experience with it. The first occurred over the weekend, while Brandon was in Kingston. Max, in his blind way, was stumbling around the basement as usual, but he happened to knock into the PS2 while I was playing. At first I thought nothing of it, but was wary. Eventually I started playing the Career mode and when I got to Barracuda, the song started messing up and playing over itself. I actually managed to finish it in this way, but it wouldn't save, os I had to take the disc out and go over it with a DVD Medic liquid that heals scratches (there was a pretty significant one.) After two tries of that, Barracuda worked like a charm.

The second incident happened sometime after when I was facing off against Tom Morello. I'd been frustrated by it, but eventually got the wherewithal to beat him and played the Rage Against the Machine encore. Then the fucker didn't go to a save screen and I had to reset the machine. Somehow, I couldn't muster up the magic to defeat him again and had to settle for wussing out.

We've been playing a lot of video games lately, partially because we've been home all day and there's nothing good on TV either during the day or in primetime. I beat three completely different Mario games, including the notorious Lost Levels, which isn't really as hard as its reputation suggests.

The family came over Tuesday night. The kids are getting kinda rough and a little bratty. We ate and drank and reminisced about family members who weren't around. Mom doesn't really know what I did on New Years so I made up obvious lies just to have fun with her, like that I fought a bear using only my pocket knife.

Later that night I was chilling on the computer when I was summoned for Risk. Armed with snackfood and How I Met Your Mother, I showed up and found the long lost CB present. I asked him what was up and he explained he'd gotten a message on his phone saying there was Risk tonight. It was from a few days earlier - I told him to expect a message before too long seeing if he was doing anything for New Year's (I'm not sure if I actually did leave a message.) Apparently he just say around playing Call of Duty, so he surely would have come along on my adventure, although that certainly would have made it different.

The four of us played (me, CB, and the F. Bros.) Eventually, in a rare Risk occurrence, Cary and I got knocked out and left the Chrises to battle it out, because it had the potential to be epic. I made sure, out of curiosity, to see how everyone else's Dec 31 had been. The question was mostly shrugged off with vague details. While all this was happening, and we were enjoying Linda's biscotti and other baked goods, we watched How I Met Your Mother.

It's a good show, although it takes an episode or so to really get into, it's well worth it once you get to know the characters. A few nights earlier, as I mentioned, Cary, Chris, Edgar and I were playing Risk and, as per usual, I popped in How I Met Your Mother. Throughout the first episode, Cary was somewhat belligerent, openly complaining that it was lacking in funny. Chris and I said nothing but urged patience as he attempted to stifle his own snickers. By the "Swarley" episode it became obvious the show had hit the right chord and he started laughing his head off. There are a few things I just have to be trusted about for my impeccible taste. TV is one. I like to think music is another, but anyway.

The next day was your usual vacation day of video games, coffee, staying in from the cold, et cetera. We went to dad's for a quiet dinner. Eric actually shot straight about his concern that dad was upset about the possibility we chose mom's thing over his; dad denied it. It was actually surprising for our family that Eric would just put it out there. We spent the evening talking about video games, and whether one could get to dad's trailer on a moped.

I came home and wrote, then, after watching all the late night talk show hosts return with their beards, fell asleep and dreamed a deep sleep.

I'm not going to lie, today was the nadir of the break, given it was too cold to do anything but sit around the house and shiver with boredom (and cold.) We didn't even want to cook dinner; we picked up some Southern Fried Chicken with the groceries.

Just because we use cheats doesn't mean we're not smart.

I'm going to chalk it all up to the winter blahs. I have not used my breaktime wisely. It's just been nice to get away from all of it. I'm somewhat annoyed that my marks are nowhere to be found, even though I didn't really want them yet. It's entirely possible I've not been taking it seriously enough. Maybe that will be my New Year's Resolution. I'm usually strangely good about keeping to those.

Someone asked me what I was going to wind up with. I told them, "My Colleg eDegree from Sheridan... and my walking papers from U of T." And then I laughed while everyone in my family looked at me strangely.

Well you know how it is. The future will reveal itself as the present. Someday. Or something.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Addendum: Tomorrow night, my good friend Joe Chammas is making his paying gig debut at the Executive Snooker Club in Mississauga. I can't wait to go cheer him on, have a brew and maybe sink a few balls. Maybe I'll play some pool too (har har? Terrible double entendre.) In actuality, it's very exciting and I could not be more happy for the guy. He's very talented and if anyone's interested in tagging along, I invite 'em.

1.1: That's your cue

And here we are, 2008. Haha.

I was on a quest to make New Year's not suck. I'm not sure I succeeded, but I'm not sure I failed. It was a weird and interesting night, if not a legendary happening.

As late as the day of, I had no plans. Whatsoever. I'd been talking with Cary ever since his Christmas thing. We'd had a good time adventuring out to Toronto the year before, and he mused we could make it an annual thing, and I thought "Okay cool, not bad." I was kinda buzzed pretty heavy that night so the details of the conversation really do elude me. I put it away and decided to ask him again later. He still had nothing but mused that his friend Julie was maybe-kinda-uncertainly-edging toward maybe trying to do some kind of thing or not. So I shrugged it off. I don't know Julie but we've met. I think (maybe it was a different person?) Wasn't sure this was the kind of thing where I'd be welcome/want to be, so I started thinking but not very seriously about what else I could do.

Nothing had happened by the day before NYE, so I started clicking around trying to get in contact with people, including Cary. I pitched him an extremely-far-fetched idea about CB and a road trip. He gave me a "the thing is" speech about his friends from Mac (or other sourcs for all I know.) It was one of those things where, if we'd been in person, he probably would have done the teeth-clenched mouth inhale. Ultimately I had to bite the bullet/cut the BS and say "Well if you don't need/want me around, probably say so." Then he said so without saying so. Sometimes it's hard to be straightforward.

It hurt. Not the part about being ditched, that I understood. Just being left to twist in the wind on one of the mandatory party nights of the year. There are few dates on the calendar you can point to and say what you did on a given year. Usually, it's Halloween, New Year's, and your birthday; St. Patrick's Day too, for many people, and Valentine's Day if you're in a couple. You can party on any weekend you like but you're not going to remember many August Civic Holidays or June 22nd's as being legendary. My last two New Years had been fairly epic, or at least memorable (despite being covered in a fog of booze.) I didn't want to break the streak.

On the New Year's episode of "How I Met Your Mother," Barney states that the night is, in fact, the biggest letdown of the year. I had intentions of making that not so.

I was in touch with whoever was online and was finding people pretty scattered, or going to house parties of people I didn't know/want to go to. Things were looking grim. I dropped CB a line but he was MIA, which also handicapped me. Even as the day passed, and hope was fading, I still kept picturing my ideal evening. I had a few options. I could bum around Oakville and hit the bars. I could hang around the house. Or I could go to Toronto.

As exciting as the last option was, it wasn't feasible. Despite GO being free on New Years, once there, the only good lead I had was a U of T bar, the Brunswick, (Brunny) with a $20 cover. The last train back to Oakville left at only 1:15ish, and I didn't want to spend the time, effort and cash if I was going solo. And I wasn't going to hang around the house all night either, because the entire time I'd be miserable, wondering what else I could be doing, as well as putting up with my brothers drinking.

So I got all my equipment together; my jacket/sweater combo (crucial) and touque, a digital camera, my brother's cel phone, the Swiss Army knife I just got (just in case,) my iPod, and of course, my wallet. I ws going to drag my ass around town, far and wide, until I found the right bar to ring in the New Year.

I offered my brother a chance to come along, and he said he would, if he weren't feeling sick. I understood. At 9:40, after a warm-up beer (Patagonia, a decent cerveza de Argentina,) I hit the road, declaring myself in search of adventure. I didn't know if I'd succeed, but I had to try. Eric expressed admiration. "I don't know what," my MSN status read, "But I'm out doing that."

My first stop was Monaghan's, which I've come to think of as my friendly neighbourhood pub, even though it's like a half-hour walk almost. To my dismay, the joint was locked up. What self-respecting liquor-dispensing establishment closes up on New Year's? Shameful. I called home to update that I would not be within walking distance for the evening, but was not discouraged. With some pluck and determination, I'd make it... somewhere.

It was just after 10. It's a long walk from Monaghan's to the downtown Lakeshore area, where I was going to try my luck. I made it to the GO station by just after 10:30 right in time to see an eastbound train departing. "I wonder," I mused to myself, "Would I have gotten on that train if I'd been here earlier?" Impractical as it was, I hadn't ruled out Toronto until I officially saw that train depart. Running out of time.

I continued down Trafalgar to the downtown area, where I proceeded to check every bar I could find. The Queen's Head didn't feel right, and the entrance was surrounded by dejected-looking younger girls, so I passed. O'Finn's was the opposite; ostentatious to the point of having a velvet rope and doorman. Had I not been on my own, I would've been there, but something about the place gave me an unsteady vibe. I kept walking, noting it was the best so far.

I heard guitars. And drums. Somewhere on Lakeshore, there was a live band. A good sign. I found it at a place called PrimeTime, but slunk away, noting it to be a baby boomer sports bar. Not my scene. Close, though.

Lakeshore was dotted with decent-looking restaurant-bars that looked to be full of people on dates. Nothing was looking good. I cut around the Library/Centennial Square to Rebecca/Kerr St. It started wet-snowing. It was only about 11. Still time.

I came to the Moonhine Cafe, a bar that had opened only a few years ago, on the same streetcorner where the middle section of "Half-Past" was filmed. It had gotten a good write-up in a Sheridan PJour Ezine the year before, so it had good buzz.

So naturally it was closed for a private function. Bummer.

Kerr was a ghost-village of dead bars that had been closed for years and not replaced. I thought I'd take one last swing around Lakeshore and maybe stop in at PrimeTime for midnight. I passed the Moonshine again. An older dude was outside smoking. He wished me a happy New Year. I checked my clock - only 11:40. A bit premature, but I returned the sentiment. "Where are you headed... just cruisin?" I smirked. "Yep... just cruisin'." I was fairly despondent and totally directionless. All I wanted was a drink at a nice place. It didn't matter if there were any girls, or if it was full of old people. A warm barstool with a glass of gin was all I needed. A glass of champaigne would have been nice, too. I reached Lakeshore and began to walk bitterly against the falling snow. It was 11:45. A moment of destiny.

The street looked different in darkness. I was noticing different things. For instane, there was a sign saying "Come In, We're Open!" I'd never noticed, across from the Tim Hortons on Lakeshore. I double-checked. It was a bar. Brandie's. It hd a large window in front where I could see inside. Attendance was sparse. There were maybe 7 customers, and three bartenders, all looking to be at least 30, but all warm and happy. I went in and took a seat.

"What can I get ya?" asked the jovial barman.

"How about a Gin and Tonic?" He gladly did so, and invited me to check out the spread. It was a modest collection of Hors D'oevres, some veggies, garlic bread, steak skewers and so forth. I took my G&T and sat in the back (not that it was a big place at all,) and grabbed some munchies. At about 5 to midnight I returned to the bar and sat with the regulars as they made small-talk. Then it hit midnight. Champaigne was poured, glasses clinked, et cetera. It was nice to get out of the cold, get a few drinks and a warm reception with a bunch of strangers old enough to be my much-older second cousins.

I called Eric at home to wish him a Happy New Year. He noted that mom had called and asked what I was up to.

I finished my beverages and asked what I owed. He said $4.50 (the usual cost of a G&T as far as I'm aware.) I handed him a fiver and told him, "Keep the change." He slid me back two quarters and said "Nah, we don't take tips here." It was nice and a little weird. It was one of the few times I actually wanted to tip, because my night had been salvaged.

Contented and only moderately tipsy, I stumbled down Lakeshore, up Trafalgar, and back to the GO station where I knew Taxis would most likely be waiting. Instead I caught the Zone buses. I walked up to the Zone one. The driver said something incomprehensible and I finally stammered and said "Sixth and Sewell." He nodded but advised "We won't be leaving for a while." I said I didn't care, paid the full fare, then went to the back of the bus where I briefly played iPod Solitaire before slipping into a nap. By the time I snapped back awake, a GO train had arrived to unload loaded partygoers from Toronto.

I got home a little after 2, then fell asleep.

This has been a very long entry. I'm going to write a companion piece about January 1-2 later tonight or tomorrow, to conclude the story. It's been 4 hours since I started writing.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto