Part XVI: He believes in nothing, Lebowski!

The only movie quotes I tend to use are totally random. I was huffing around U of T yesterday and all I could think of was the Peter Stormare character from Big Lebowski. The title should actually read "He believes in nussing" but for whatever reason I spelled it properly.

Whatever reason... like there's a reason or rhyme to anything in my life especially on SWP.

It's actually Saturday March 1st at about 6:30 in the evening, but I've jumped back in time for a rare occasion because this blog has never existed on February 29th before and I didn't want to miss the opportunity since hopefully I won't be lame enough to keep this site going for another four years. In the very likely event that I am, thanks for sticking around.

So the time on the blog is 11:55 PM, at which time I would have been in the midst of a heated Risk feud and watching High Fidelity. But let's jump back to the beginning of Friday.

Mom wanted to go earlier. That's what she told me the night before, that she was concerned about snowfall. I told her not to worry, that the snow would come in the afternoon, we should just go as normal. I was right.

I don't know whether the soul and the body are the same thing, and absorbed very little of that disccusion from Philosophy. I was in fact silent throughout that class, deeply infatuated with my own thoughts. Do we have free will? I think so. In fact, one of my recent anecdotes doesn't even make sense if you don't take free will into account.

It was a couple Sundays ago when I hurt my ankle on the ice. I had fallen twice, it wasn't nice (yes ladies I'm a poet.) The third time was what broke my ankle. It was cold and I had already fallen and I could've just stayed in. I turned back and started to walk home, then turned again and walked back toward the coffee place. My TA Cathal brought up the suggestion that because we make these decisions without knowing why, we can't really call that free will, but I disagree. I know why I made that decision. I wanted the coffee, even though I knew it was not to my benefit. I made the decision, weighing, at that time, my love of cofee against my dislike of cold/falling down. It was my choice, borne from the material that consists of me, and I lived with the consequence for the rest of the day. We can't always make decisions, and we are often too subject to the whims of others' free wills, but free will cannot help but exist.

That's my take, anyway. Of course, my take doesn't really matter because I'm not in the textbook. What's important is that I can memorize other peoples' opinions on these very pressing philosophical matters. Sigh.

This entry is actually now on a time-loop because I had to do something and have left it undone. I'll explain toward the end, or possibly in my next one, which will come immediately following this.

Between classes I dove into the Foucault text. It's basically the definition of "dense" as far as language goes, damn near impenetrable... and there's an awesome pun in there, considering the book is "The History of Sexuality." My skills are just too dull to think of it. According to Nintendo DS, my brain age is somewhere in the mid-to-late 30's which is not good.

As I was reading, I actually got depressed, because although the book doesn't really deal with this aspect of its subject*, it reminded me that I'm not having sex/am single/am alone/am unaccompanied/unloved/other depressing adjectives. It doesn't take much to get me depressed and I'll get morose at the drop of a hat, provided that hat reminds me of a girl. For all the progress I've made of the years (which, let's not kid ourselves, is plenty,) I'm still stuck. My life story has gotten very dull.

*It's kind of a deconstruction of societal perceptions of sex and the perceptions of those perceptions.

Anyway, I was distracted by my own self-pity when I got to the tutorial and thus continued my pattern of quiet. Now, I had to talk a little. Every time I've ever spoken to Stewart 1-on-1, he's mentioned how glad he is that I participate in discussions and told me that my class participation mark is "about 100 right now." So I can't break that pattern even if I'm having a bad day, which Friday was turning out to be. While there are those in Philosophy who are more adept at the class discussion than I am, in English most of the people just get that blank look on their faces.

Another hour passed after class. Lunch, reading, blah blah bluh. Tutorial on Art films, discussion, girl sitting next to me, muttering of "hey how's it going," polite response, Scott feelin' sorry for himself, etc etc.

I was unconscious for a great deal of the train ride. I read some more Foucault (whose very name sounds dirty actually) and just conked out between Port Credit (or was it Long Branch?) and Clarkson. So when I found that the White Oaks bus was MIA, I got a coffee and walked home.

After an uninteresting afternoon, into a tedious evening, I was already about to zonk out, again, on the couch when Chris said the words I always long to hear; "How woudl you feel about Risk or taboozing?" Well naturally I'd be up for either but I lacked booze. We came to the conclusion that Risk was probably going to happen. round up the usual suspects.

After stopping by White Store Inc to grab a 2L of Dr. Pepper (which was well-received,) I got to Casa Ferguson where Chris was watching an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer with Linda. He served me a fresh-baked cookie (warm and soft) and bid me join 'em. Nobody writes sentences the way I do and I don't know that's a good thing.

So we watched the episode and Ryan showed up, then we went downstairs and Edgar arrived. As we set up Chris popped in High fidelity, which I'd brought over, along with various other DVDs.

The game was fun if a little by-numbers. Ryan had the Australia strategy, Chris played the Americas and I of course finally got back to Europe after being gone oh so long. Edgar was a man without a country and thus made himself a target early on to get steamrolled. So I knocked him out. He complained as usual about our rules and style of play, although I sense his heart wasn't in it this time. He was gone from the game by the time High Fidelity ended, so Chris had him select whatever he wanted to watch. From Chris' DVD collection, he chose a bizarre obscure old Hong Kong action flick starring Jackie Chan. When Edgar pulled it out, Chris said "Can we please watch that? I bought it forever ago and never got a chance to see it, nobody else wanted to watch it." So we put it in and after watching a nutty Jackie Chan interview, got to the movie.

During the course of the movie, it was revealed that Ryan Lai's British accent is in fact better than his Chinese one. He also snagged a good Arrested Development reference that was already on the tip of my head, earning him a high five.

The 2:05 alarm was upgraded to the 2:06 alarm. The game started to wind down after the movie ended, when I lost my foothold and got caught between the two of them and didn't have a strategy to properly react in the situation. We put on How I Met Your Mother S2D2 and Ryan had to leave in the midst of destroying me. He left it to Edgar, who couldn't get the job done, and so Chris finally eliminated me. I'd say that, when we called it a day (around after 4,) Chris was the ultimate winner of the showdown.

So I went home and passed out.

Saturday was a quiet day. Eric went out to Toronto and I just hung around the house mainly watching Degrassi etcetera. Mom was kind enough to make some dinner and I wrote this entry...

And then... well, check the next entry. I'll get to it momentarily.

Keep on rockin'
-Ole Scotto

Part XV: Ennui you can use

I've been absent for a few days, which has been the trend for much of the last year but it's not for lack of trying.

The fact is, the past couple of days haven't been terribly interesting. I get up and go to school and you know, try to get through my days with some level of dignity and composure.

Tuesday's a total blank, for instance.

Yesterday, however, had a few interesting notes. It was Wednesday, so it was going to be a long day. I had my early-morning lectures. It was cold. In philosophy, we talked about Chisholm's defence of incompatibilism between determinism and moral responsibility. In english, Cobb lectured on sex a while (we are, after all, reading Foucault's History of Sexuality.) The place was notably more full than usual, possibly because people a) heard he was going to talk about sex, or b) realized it was a good way to get out of the cold.

Before Cinema studies, I ran into somebody I kinda know - we have a mutual acquaintence and the three of us often sit together but we don't usually talk. She was on crutches so I decided, well if there was ever an ice breaker, here it was. So we got to talking and she's about as nice as I figured.

Of all the people I've met/talked to since coming to U of T, I'd say 95% are women. Maybe it's partly that I take very female-oriented courses, like english and film study (plenty of guys in both though.) It could just be that I have such an overwhelmingly hetero instinct that I think somewhere deep down, if I keep introducing myself to women, one of them will be into me. I'm really quite bad at that aspect of things. No really. Terrible.

I can't even verbalize, actually, what a fuck-up I am sometimes. Which is a shame, since verbalizing is basically all I do. That was something of an unrelated tangent.

The film we watched was Persona, which is a terrific example of an art film and will be debated - on many levels of varying relevance - by all who saw it.

I went down to the bookstore to get the Foucault book before hustling down to Pratt to tinker on the computer before my next class. Ah, poetry. Apparently I had a piece due. It's written, too, but not knowing it was due I didn't print it out. That's life; I'm not alone in that, and Reiby is quite forgiving. The bulk of the class was concerned with a reading from a poet named Hines, first name Maureen (always wary what people are searching on google I am.) She read some, and we asked questions. My friend Jasmin asked a question that I was considering asking but Ms. Hines smiled and self-effacingly admitted she'd been dreading to hear it. When I later asked a question I admitted that I was relieved Jasmin stole my first one.

This was not the first time we've been on the same wavelength. Wasn't even the first time that day. We had a "jinx" moment. Don't think I haven't been overanalyzing that one. My usual fault.

After class, I found RyLai at the GO station. He pitched me an idea for next year, as it pertains to living. I was intrigued, but brought up some natural objections and possibilities. My counter-pitch was that he get a place, and I pitch in a certain amount for the privilage of crashing on his couch a few times a week, depending on what I need. The problem with that plan is that a) it makes me into a total vagrant and b) there exists an enormous possibility that I might leave him in the lurch which I seriously don't want to do.

We got to the station, I went over and had dinner and chilled out for the evening.

Today was my ideal day off. Ah, coffee, comics, Guitar Hero and a little bit of writing. I've come to terms with the fact that the last 6 months or so I have been mentally elsewhere, since saying it out loud on Monday, and am starting to come out of it.

I'm working at it.

Which reminds me I do have some things to take care of. Reading, reviewing... the usual stuff. I set about overhauling Interneta recently. It could be a while but I'm started on it.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Part XIV: Take me in and dry the rain

I wasn't expecting the e-mail.

I had no idea how to start this entry, except, naturally, at the start, and with an honest sentiment. I was not expecting the e-mail.

It was from an old friend - she knows who she is and I'll not sully her dignity by naming her directly - explaining that things had gotten awkward recently. It had risen well above normal acceptable background levels of awkwardness during a recent encounter gone awry. She wanted to apologize but in order to do so, admitted it had to do with her current boyfriend and her former feelings for me, and one very rough night.

Some of this was news to me. It was 2:30 at night when I opened the e-mail, expecting nothing out-of-the-ordinary and getting ready for bed after writing the entry below, wondering if it would read too melodramatically. Perhaps I had melodrama on my mind. I thought I was hallucinating. All I did for a moment was stare blankly at the computer screen. I actually had no idea about any of this. Then I went to the kitchen, sat down on the floor, and tried to figure it out. Tried to suss out a reaction. For some reason, I laughed quietly, derangedly, to myself for a short while, then I had to stop.

I finally did get to bed after 3 AM. The next morning I dragged my tired self down to the mall to have coffee with Amanda. After some cursory conversation about her job, she asked what was up with me. I smiled wearily, sighed and said, "You know how I sometimes tell long stories? Well, this is gonna be a longer one."

So I told her what was on my mind. I advertised it as being "weird high school-type drama" but she consoled me by telling me it was really more like first-year University drama, a sort of a mature issue, really. And she helped me grab hold of the issue and figure out exactly what my next step was. It was a fragile situation and an entire friendship was at risk. And I don't mean as in playing Risk, I mean really, at risk.

So, that all off my chest, and a very lengthy therapeutic conversation about other things, people from our pasts and people from our old class, we did our usual browsing. Actually once we got to HMV I noticed the 2 for 20 racks High Fidelity and, not unexpectedly I suppose all things considered, wanted to buy it. I paired it with Shaun of the Dead; two good movies. I said hey to my old manager, Coop, cashed out and left. I also managed to snag Amanda a less-expensive copy of Buffy Season 1 because I happen to have an eye for HMV's weird tricky pricing game.

I went home and watched High Fidelity with Eric, then frittered away the day a bit. I still wasn't exactly sure what was going to happen but I did know what to do.

I woke up this morning and already felt off by half a step. I'd slept in and had to skip my shower, also no coffee. I just felt off all day long, like I was mentally missing. This is a feeling I'm getting familiar with. I functioned all right but was just blank, running ragged, uncertain.

I got home before 1, after buying a Metropass (a stream of people asked, "Are they selling Metropasses here?") at Wymilwood, and then regarding sadly how they raised the price at the pizza place at Union (so I might not go very often from now on.) So I got home and showered and knew I had to call her.

I did, and quickly asked if she was free. She was, for the time being, but had to work later. We decided to meet at the midway point between our houses and figure out what to do from there.

I headed there, garbed like a perfect hobo in my hoodie and overcoat, with my shades and toque, unshaven for several days. Walking down the street I felt like Ted Mosby in the cab in "Nothing Good Happens After 2 AM." We met at the appropriate midpoint and made small talk, trying to figure out exactly what we could do with ~2 hours. We decided to just walk, but had to swing by her place to pick stuff up.

So after a while we got going, it was about 2:30. We started to walk in the direction of her job. After charting a route to set out on, we decided we had to chart a route through our conversation. "So can we just talk about it?" she finally urged. I agreed. It was, in the words of countless AA therapists throughout history, the elephant in the room (despite the fact that we were outside.) So we started talking about... whatever it was.

It wasn't really much of anything, to tell the truth; the do-or-die part of the conversation lasted only a short while and by the time we reached the first major intersection, we had already gone back to regular scheduled conversation. I mean, whatever there was just needed to get out in the open.

"Awkward," I said, playing the reassuring friend, "Just happens to be what I do best." I cracked a few self-deprecating jokes and talked a bit about how the lines of communication seem to fall from time to time; it can happen to anyone indeed. I know I myself have been in my own head for so much of the last three or five months that it's not healthy, and oftentimes even when I'm out there, I'm still in here. It was a truth I hadn't even known to myself for long. The basic point was that, this having been out there, hanging over our heads, unsure how to behave, the friendship was indeed in dire risk. Working thorugh it so quickly allowed, I guess, a little catharsis, that allows probably everyone involved to get on with his or her life.

We got to her job right before 4 when she was due to start. As we neared it, I made sure that whatever issues were left lingering could be cleared up. They were. We said goodbye, with a note to try to maintain contact. Maybe we will or maybe we'll fall into familiar patterns where we go a long while without talking, but at least when we do make contcat again, we know we still stand as good friends.

And, I warned her, this will probably make its way into my book.

After we parted, I walked to a nearby Tim Hortons and waited for a bus.

There are other, tangentially-related thoughts that I thought I would get to tonight while I'm in this High Fidelity type mood. But I don't really have the energy, and it's of questionable appropriateness. There is one last thing troubling me, just an echo from a long time ago that happened to crop up. I think it's best left out or else it would drive me, and maybe a few other people, utterly up the wall with madness.

I need to get a life. I need to become a better student or maybe just a better citizen. I need to get ahold of my brain and just straighten all my shit out.

I should feel pretty good, and in a sense I do. But in another, less tangible way, I suck.

And that one, there's just no explaining.

Keep on rockin
-Scott

Part XIII: The moon is full until it isn't

I don't even post everyday lately, yet tonight I'm doing two posts... not in the same day, (it's after midnight) but within 24 hours... between sleeps. I had some inspiration on a moonlight solitary walk. Some inspiration, and some caffeine.

The nature of the walk I am going to reveal in due time. It was motivated, put simply, by boredom - a solitary Saturday night wherein plans fell through - and caused me to go deep into thought. Not a depressed thought, but a bit of wonderment.

Like I said, plans fell through, as they sometimes do. After a tedious day, during which I actually started drawing a bit again, I went to dinner at dad's. The plan was to go from there to Joe's, for the first time in many months with hanging out. While there, I was on MSN and he came on and told me the plan had been scuttled as a result of general lack of participation. I was disappointed, but if it was going to be then it was going to be. (We'll revisit this theme later in the post.) So on short notice but not for anything close to the first time in my life, I was without anything set for a Saturday night.

After a while of waiting around, I got on the computer and decided to troll for random conversations. The target in this case became an old flame. I call her an old flame, although the correct terminology would be old friend and, I suppose, there just happens to be that element to our history. I wouldn't even broach this topic if I thought she'd be reading this. But the city of her school does not seem to appear among those listed on my WebStat. All the same; you probably know who she is but I'm going to come up with a clever pseudonym for her. Miss F., for er, friend. Or flame.

(Bizarre sidenote: somewhere back on my family tree, by a few generations, my late Grandma Williams once told me I had an ancestor named "Friend," a name the nature of which I should someday reveal but not here.)

She was back in town during reading week. Last night I'd dropped her a line to see if she wanted to see the play, but it was a last-minute invite and she didn't get back to me until after I'd left and the show, presumably, had begun. But this was how the lines of communication, pretty cold for the last several months, warmed back up. So I decided, let's try conversation.

So I asked her, "Hey, you there?" Not long after, she confirmed she was. We got to talking, and I admitted upfront that I was in search of a brief respite from terminal boredom. She indulged me and we caught up a bit with some cursory "How's school" talk before I just kinda started riffing on whatever I was doing. Maybe it wasn't my A-game but she was polite enough to type "haha" so I must've at least amused her. After a while, I confessed, sitting at the computer all night seemed oppressive. I decided I was going to leave, even though it was cold and I was relaxed; I invited her along. "Tempting," she said, but she was waiting for another friend, also back for Reading week, whom she also hadn't seen in ages. I goaded her a little bit.

"What if I say 'Come On' repeatedly, dragging the 'n' out for effect?

"As in, 'Come onnnnnn?'"

No sale, as she was determined to see the other friends for a drink more potent than coffee (if you catch my drift,) but she at least agreed to a raincheck. And it'd be nice to believe I'll be able to cash that one in someday but I'm not holding my breath. I went out and got coffee anyway. And I started to think about the story.

It's going to make a hell of a chapter in my book when I get around to it, but the idea is this. Either it was supposed to happen but didn't, or it wasn't supposed to happen but almost did. We became friends in the most innocuous way; through mutual friends. She was always around and a lot more fun to talk to a lot of the time. As I learned more about her - and, then as now, I usually approach every situation with the possibility in mind - I learned she was a bit tough, that one young man, perennially smitten with her, was in constant pain because while she plainly yet politely turned him down, her personable nature would not coldly turn him out, thus causing him to continually gravitate toward a woman who had made plain her disinterest in him. (Questionable use of disinterest, but we're going for effect.) He wasn't even the only one. According to her (not one to toot her own horn,) another young man was also a bit too infatuated with her. Frankly I saw the evidence then and I still see it now, though I doubt he'd admit it.

So I knew to cool off, and we became good friends. And maybe other people saw it coming before I did (Maggie was quite vocal at the time,) and maybe I just didn't want to even look because I knew there was trouble down that way. And maybe it was keeping her at arms length during those crucial late-spring days that laid the groundwork. By the coming of summer, we had been on between one and three non-dates, depending on what criteria you use. They were not dates and we were not going out, but they were something, maybe.

I was supposed to ask her out. That's how a normal guy would have done it, and a normal girl would have accepted, and that would've been that. Neither of us would admit to being normal (that's probably where the appeal was.) We were both smart, capable people (well, she was smart and capable anyway,) but when it came to matters like these we both kicked around like a couple of sixth-graders at their first dance. I would have to psyche myself into asking her out, and then she'd have to explain why she'd be too busy (but would love to) or she'd accept and then something would come up. Then I'd have to psyche myself into dialing her number all over agian. This process took a very long time, and repeated itself over the summer until the point where it was clearly not happening.

The last time I asked her out had been after a very tough day. Whener I feel like the world has just totally shit on me, what I often do is something, anything, I've been putting off or neglecting. That was why I submitted my manuscript to a publisher once (the effort was somewhat half-assed) and that was why I asked her out. And she said yes. And it was all according to plan. Except it was basically the last day before she had to go off to school, and she really wanted to do something else. I went along, and it was awkward, and I felt out of place, and we hardly spoke. The night ended, we all said goodbye.

We spoke sporadically over the next few years, saw each other at the ever-less-frequent gatherings hosted by said mutual friends, until the entire damn system seemed to rupture. We always got along well at these functions, like old times. We always find a lot to talk about and are by and large the same people we were when we first started randomly talking way back when. But I wonder, and more importantly, I wonder if she wonders.

We've never spoken about it. Never, ever, ever. I don't just mean since. We barely even spoke about it when I was in the process of asking her out. We didn't speak about it when we fell asleep on a corner-couch. Hell back in the day, I had to hear from a friend that she was even thinking it. And maybe I'm just looking for some kind of closure on an issue that was never opened very wide to begin with. I don't try to talk to her, to hang out with her and keep contact, because I'm holding out hope. It would be some kind of wicked double-standard for me to think such a thing. (She's a great girl and it'd be nice but at this point, horribly inconvenient - which was already a factor when we both lived in the same town. So I just want her happiness, and also mine.) Maybe, damnit, I just want my friend back, because we do get along great (possibly because we've never talked about it) even after all these years, after all the miles and silence and all the things we never discussed. But after all these years, it still sticks in me and goddamn if I don't know why.

I thought about all of this - and more that is either too much to write or by-now forgotten - while I was getting a cup of coffee. And I realized it took a very long time for me to start absorbing the message of this little story.

Sometimes, you can do everything right. And let me tell you, back in those days, that was never the case for me, but going over the play-by-play, I did my best. You can do everything right and still it comes out wrong, through no fault of your own. I have a big fragile ego, sure, but I take it as a matter of personal responsibility usually when these things go awry. But I don't think it was my fault and I don't think there was anything she particularly did wrong either, it just wasn't coming together. There are many things I wish I could do over, but in particular, I wonder sometimes what if we had an extra 6 months; if it started in September rather than March. But that's a kid's game, and frankly, being too much like a kid is what got me into that scenario to begin with.

I've dwelled on it a bit much and I don't mean to other than to use it as a bit of storytelling from a creative mind whose muscles have not been ovelry exercised lately; I mean seriously, University hardly affords me time to write, and that's rather disgruntling, so I have to reminisce about half-lived non-romance stories at 1:30 in the morning on a Saturday night.

That was all sort of a downer, which is weird because I'm not really that down about it. Because you can't do anything about the past, just try not to let it bother your present I suppose. My romantic past (if it can be called that) is littered with a number of girls whom I liked but couldn't ever tell - my greatest fear is that somewhere along the way a girl felt the same about me (most dreadfully if it was one of those same girls.) It's nice to know I was on the same page as one once. If I can still randomly contact her (and I don't very often) and she can still laugh at my antics, then we're still good. I'm reminded of the words of Sol Bloom, who later became a U.S. Senator. If we're left with nothing, we can only break even, because we started with nothing; in fact, we'll still be up, because we will have had a good time.

This post has gone all weird, but I think I needed to write it. It isn't like anybody reads this anyway, right Mags?

I did end up finishing that Regular Guy strip and it'll be up soon (nobody reads it.) Tomorrow is the last stop for all the crap I said I'd do but didn't (a lot of it.) I've got a lot on my mind and on my plate and as always I've got someone to meet for coffee tomorrow. Ah, the joy of social addictions. Sometimes I loathe my routine, but only when I'm not loving it.

I should get to keep on rockin' already
-Scott

Part XII: Asleep on my feet

A long while back I was watching TV and I heard this joke. It may have one of those uncommon Family Guy bits that actually hits the mark (they do happen but the ratio is like 18:1 misses to hits,) where two characters are discussing the age-old question of Heaven's rock band; a supergroup of deceased musicians. So it's like, Jimi Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughan on guitar, Keith Moon on drums, and all this other stuff, and on vocals... Shannon Hoon from Blind Melon. And the other character says like "Well, what about Elvis? Or Roy Orbison?" or whatever, and the second guy is just like "Nope. Shannon Hoon. Blind Melon." I still laugh about that, because while "No Rain" is a pretty good song, Hoon is about the most obscure rock n' roll death I can ever think of.

I had hoped to get a lot done yesterday, but as is often the case when I hope to do a lot, I end up doing none of it. I procrastinated a while, did Guitar Hero and read, then played some phone tag with Robyn. As is all too often the case, we couldn't meet up and said "Okay, after the show tonight." We were both going to go back to WOSS and see the second performance of the shows; because I love seeing "No Way My Life" and because the show was to have a different cast that night so it would be interesting to see the differences.

So after my largely uneventful day, and some dinner with dad, I went over in time to catch Adam and Ryan wandering the halls trying to scheme their way into the show. If only they had paid attention to the master, they too could have cheaped out their old high school. But I kinda feel glad they didn't.

So tonight, the show opened with "Noiw Way My Life." Cary had helped Pat and Chris warm up earlier and as he later boasted gleefully, "It showed." The performances were indeed more polished and there was roughly equal the laughs - probably louder because the room was far more full (although sadly not as packed as the heyday of Rosser's Drama Era.) I am always glad when terrible lines that I wrote (things like "F n' A, what the fuck?" that I know I wrote, and lines like "Justice Prevails," which if I didn't write, bears my influence,) get huge laughs, but it's all in the delivery. Pat and Chris really sold that show, did the right thing for sticking to their guns on acting in it, and hit home runs all over it. I'm just glad to be able to take a small amount of credit, and will do so whenever possible.

There was discussion of a phenomenon that was true on both nights, but more noticeable tonight. Toward the end of the play (spoiler alert?) they kill the receptionist, in a somewhat broadly comical way, and the only peoplem who laugh are me, Ryan, Adam and Cary (we are all quite audible from the back of the room.) Everyone else is just chilled, unnerved. Now what I find fascinating, and somewhat educational, is learning jsut waht people will laugh at. Before the deed is done, Pat says, "Now we have to shoot her in the brain," which gets a huge laugh. Then the shot is fired and the crowd is just stunned, shocked. Then after a beat, Chris turns to Pat and asks very casually, "I'm sorry, did you want that?" Huge roar of laughter. So the audience laughs and approves of the idea of killing the receptionist beforehand, and is ready to relax not long after the deed is done, but is unsettled by actually seeing it.

There was a great deal of discussion, as I recall, on how the deed should be presented, once we decided the receptionist was going to die (this wasn't always the ending but it was the first one we really figured on.) The guys devised a brilliant bit of blocking that has the receptionist ducking behind a desk so that nobody actually sees her take the bullet. I just found it hilarious how intricate yet subtle the blocking leading up to it was:

1) Chris stands up, moves the chair back
2) The receptionist returns
3) Pat tosses the crumpled-up note behind the desk
4) The receptionist leans down to clean it up
5) "Boom!"

As an exclaimation point - eliciting huge laughs from a now-relieved and desensitized audience - the receptionist, played deftly by the talented Sam H., struggles to get up, raising her arm to the desk, before being shot again. The rest of the play is laughs.

The second play, the Sears play, went well, but if I were to give an honest criticism, I liked it better the first time with one notable yet slight exception. The first part I liked better because, Shawn C. being a different body type than Graham D., you got a better sense of their characters' differences. The middle part, I liked better just because I did, even if Thursday night they skipped a crowd-pleasing monologue that Friday's actress did not miss. (I also decided that the guy in the scene reminded me a lot of Doug, which prompted Cary to do a teeth-inhale "ffffffsssss...!" and say Doug would've been so much better - true, but that's because Doug was great, and I miss seeing him act.) The third scene was the nonsense-language scene which presented a few unique challenges to its actors. The first was to have one character speak only in a made-up nonsense language as though it was totally natural. Both Pat and Liam did this incredibly well on their respective days. The second is that the actress has to speak with a stutter ("Dawn D-d-d-d-d-d-DiMarco") which both actresses pulled off remarkably well. The key difference was in the actors' types. Liam, looking like a dead ringer for young Woody Allen (circa "Sleeper,") looked exactly like the type of person who would invent his own language, but if I had to defend my decision as to why I liked Pat better (apart from, while I like Liam and have always been friendly with him, Pat is one of my best pals,) it was that at the end of the scene (spoiler alert?) when the character is revealed as a con man. Almost entirely because of type, Pat is more believable at this point. But I will still praise Liam's interpretation of the character as much, and either could perform at Sears and steal the show in that not-very-easy but extremely rewarding role. I know I couldn't do that one.

Cary kvetched that nobody else laughed at the Kafka jokes. "K K K K K K K K K K" is possibly only funny if you've read The Trial or the Castle. If there's one thing being a writer has taught me, it's nobody laughs at literary jokes except for Cary. (I'll admit, I did chuckle the previous night.) Also, that satire is what closes on Saturday night.

Cary was looking for some distraction after the show. I told him Robyn and I had plans to hang out and he was, of course, welcome to join. He accepted. But when we caught up with Robyn, she gave the all-too-familiar story that she had to bail. Sad, but thats life, one supposes.

We quickly made back-up plans. After hanging around a while with castmembers etc, we loaded up in Adam's van; Cary, Chris, Ryan and I, and went to Wendy's. Pat had prior plans. Everyone else got meals (Chris even had his first solid food in a while after a suddent intense bout of sickness,) I just had a Frostee. We sat around and shot the shit, as we are likely to do, joked about people we know, told stories, ragged on Adam's Queens jacket. Cary had a particularly good pun about a young actor who had improved his abilities since we first saw him; he then proceeded to milk it beyond the point of ridiculousness. We got to talking about bodily fluids (of various types) and I made my usual boast that no matter whose house I had ever vomitted at, there had never been evidence afterward. Cary asked if I'd ever vomitted at one of his houses (I've been to each of his Hamilton places once) and I said only in Oakville. He asked when. I thought back, and answered, "Miscellaneous." Small laugh.

After nearly an hour at Wendy's, during which several of the castmembers appeared, we went back to Ferguson house for some Risk. The five of us played, but Cary was also very consumed with the game he was playing on Wii, ("No More Heroes") before finishing it and putting on Battlestar Galactica. It was actually a pretty interesting pilot-type miniseries, although we were cracking a lot of "Sexy Alien Robot" and "Lesbian Starbuck" jokes. Cary and I debated whether the coffee joint was named after the character of vice versa. It would seem tob e an open and shut case, and yet...

The game progressed. I spent a lot of time coveting South America and slowly creeping into North America. Chris got Europe and Ryan got Africa pretty quickly, while Cary had the CB strategy of the Australian/Asian frontier. Adam, as the man without a country, was the first one out. Nate, Cary's friend who I know pretty well, came over and chilled. Cary, with a massive cluster of people in Asia, complained that everyone was after him, even though that is the accepted price of doing business in Asia, which is why nobody does it. Eventually, as I was successfully but slowly and inconsistently taking North America, there was a pincer attack that saw Cary weaken Chris in Europe. Ryan, who was actually outgunned from the start, made the ballsiest Risk decision I'd ever seen and took Chris out of the game. It was then time for me, in the words of the prophet, to "Capitalize on my potential." I made my campaign to break up various continents, sliding from Brazil through Africa up to Europe. Eventually I knocked Ryan out, leaving me and a very-unwilling-to-quit Cary, at roughly after 3:30 AM.

We played a few rounds and basically came to a stalemate. Once we agreed it was a tie, we decided to check the cards to see who would've gotten a set first, etc etc. It was too late and our brains were fried and there were too many variables to really take into account, so it remained a spiritual draw that we could both be proud of. My strategy of remaining inconspicuous, and Cary's of being a huge whiner, seemed to both work. Congrats to both of us.

I got home at about 4:15 to find, surprisingly, my brother was still up. In his words, he had played Chrono Trigger for several hours and was "Just wired, I guess."

I stayed up a little longer, taking care of web-business. Before departing for the show I had MSN'd an old friend to see if she was going to the show. She had gotten me a late reply (at any rate, after I had left) and I had to leave her a Facebook message saying "Sorry I missed you, would've been nice to hang out this week etc etc." Not exactly that.

And really, it would've been nice to hang out with someone I don't see often this week. Had there been some kind of get-together it would have been sweet but we take what we can get. But time does go by and we all see each other less and less. Lamentable.

So after all that business, which included two facebook messages and two other brands of contact, I went to bed.

I woke up moments before my alarm, set for 10:30. I was tired but did not want to sleep the day away. I had indeed squandered much of the week and was intent to leave that attitude. Also Robyn told me she'd call and while she's never been known as an early riser, it'd be nice to get some stuff (like this) in before this supposed all, if it happens.

Some things, I suppose, never do change. And that's not such a bad thing.

Well that's as odd a note as any to leave off on, but it is what it is. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Part XI: Your ex-girlfriend's friend is dumb

For once I am not using my title-link to link to Interneta (and if you didn't realize I had been doing that all along, for shame. No, but it's okay.) I'm linking to a webcomic I have been reading for many months by now that I find utterly wonderful. It's basically this blog taken to comic strip form, where you just listen to this young guy's everyday life, with crude figures. I left this title as a response to one of his strips, and it amused me so much it has carried over not only here but to my MSN status.

I'm going to start at the end and work backward tonight.

Nothing makes you feel so old as a trip back to your old high school. Well, maybe a trip to your old grade school, which I did several years ago. I've been inside WOSS several times since graduating from it, for plays and even the occasional visitation. But by now, all of the people who were grade 9 when I left are now in grade 12. And the people in grade 9 now, when I left, were in grade 6; which means, when I was in grade 6, they were in grade 1.

I was there to see No Way My Life, the play I helped Chris and Pat write over the summer, and rehearse earlier this week. To a lesser extent I was also there to see their Sears offering, but that was of secondary, maybe tertiary importance. I was hoping to see a familiar face or two, and was not disappointed. In addition to numerous younger people who I know and who graduated (ie Cassie and Ryan,) I also saw Robyn, whom I'd been thinking about contacting (good thing I didn't, her computer's been busted) and of course Cary, there to see the same show I was. I didn't exactly pay properly, but that's an established pattern of behaviour for me since before most people can remember.

The Sears show was actually three short unrelated plays without much of a linking thread except for some choreographed interstitials, all by a playwright by the name of Ives, first name David. The first was about monkeys on typewriters and had Shawn Crawford and Robyn's brother, Graham. The second was about a first meeting, with a bell occasionally ringing to cause the scene to go back and change a little like that old game on Whose Line Is It Anyway, featuring Sam, the girl playing the receptionist in No Way My Life. The last scene had Liam teaching a girl some nonsense language, it was kinda poetic.

After an intermission - during which Cary arrived - Mrs. Wilford, on crutches and with a hoarse voice, related the story of how Pat and Chris came to pitch "No Way My Life." It actually didn't make her look great, but anyway. When she was explaining Pat and Chris wrote it, Cary also shouted my name, and I got a little pride moment. I've been explaining all along that what I basically did was sit around with them, help iron out the plot and throw in a terrible line every now and again. I can't always tell which line was mine, but my general sense of humour - how I find really terrible things funny sometimes - creeps in all over it.

Then the lights went down, the jazz cued up, and Jeff Lyon strolled out there and did his mop dance. And once he was done, out strut Pat and Chris in their Hawaiian shirts and their Joisey Boy accents. And they did a good, solid performance and raked in tonnes of laughs. I still think they went too broad on the "Backdoor slice/jump n dump" sequence but they did it anyway and got some laughs. There was a sort of "mature" warning beforehand but I think it needed to be emphasized because half the audience seemed mortified by what happens to the secretary, while all of us were rolling in the aisle. This includes me, and I'd seen it three times earlier this week and helped write it!

I hung around a while afterward, maybe longer than I needed to or should reasonably have, after congratulating everyone and saying goodbye. I was hanging out with Robyn, who was waiting for her brother. Liam was also there, as well as Random Leo, who had shown up after the play was done. We discussed, among other things, the possibility that the night cleaning staff is ghosts (I maintain they probably are.)

It was around this time I was ruminating about how old I felt, surrounded by the youthful high schoolers with all the potential that I, quite frankly, squandered for nearly three years of high school. And you can feel fine hanging out with your old friends at a party, at their house, at a bar, wherever... but if you all get together at your old school, goddamn, you suddenly feel middle-aged.

But regardless. During the course of our shenanigans, Sam the secretary walks by, basically in tears. We ask her what's wrong but she plays it off. She leaves, but returns sometime later, still in tears, delivering a very powerful monologue that, it was later explained, had been omitted from her scene in the Sears play, then leaving. I heard from Liam that though she was relegated to the secondary cast, it was widely acknowledged she was the better choice for the part, and from the way she recited that monologue I believe it. Because that particular important bit had been omitted, it was thought she might not get to finally show she was better.

In the discussion of this, I had it, and got up to go find her; she was around the corner at the front of the building. I gave her my version of a pep talk, telling her basically, "Fuck 'em, you're good and you can rest easy with that knowledge," but perhaps more poetically. She seemed to appreciate it. It was kind of a sweet moment, albeit between a grade 10 and someone 3 years out of high school. Hrm.

Then I went home and, very slowly, typed this, as well as continuing my ongoing fascination with old posts.

It had not been much of a day. I went out and read over a coffee, then came back and chilled before going to a dentist appointment to fill a "small cavity." I actually did some writing on my autobiography which I still think about but rarely sit down with as school does come first (supposedly.) I have not accomplished everything I had hoped to over this reading week, but my to-do list is that much shorter for having gotten a bit done on that.

Tomorrow is reviews and drawing a comic strip, hopefully updating Interneta, and definitely hanging out with Robyn.

I spoke with Lauren briefly this afternoon, before making dinner (it was a simple meal of burgers and fried, which I cooked up on my own just as a domestic show of good will.) It was a rare case of her starting the conversation - honestly I rarely have people start conversations with me, and these days I try not to contact people unless I know what I want to say or at least am armed with considerable conversational material. From the way she started the conversation, I thought she wanted me to go on a beer run for her, but no, she seemed just to want to catch up before going on her trip (a week in Australia & Singapore. I'm not jealous or anything.) We talked a while before she had to go. And I thought that was nice. A nice random midday conversation with someone I don't see very often.

It was a pleasant, slice of life memory that, having written down, might be nice to recall sometime.

In the course of catching up with people before the show, Cassie asked me how I was doing, and I said "Oh, things are good, you know, doing homework, cracking skulls..." The comment meant nothing, but caused laughter around and RyLai noted, "Until that bit, it was the exact same as every conversation ever." I nodded in agreement "It's true, everyone has the same boring-ass life."

And it's true, we all do having the same boring ass life. My talent, I suppose, lies in my ability to word it better.

Hence, cracking skulls.

I think I've regained some of the passion for blogging I'd been lacking a while (long while.) If only for a moment.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Part X: I'm thinkin' about your doorbell

It's some kind of sign about how things change that today is wednesday and I fully intend to write about Sunday. Time was, on the sunday in question, I'd have come home and written at length about it. No need for lengthy recap sessions, never long breaks between posts. And by a lot of standards, a few days isn't a long break and since I did one yesterday, draw your own conclusions. But the point stands that my rate of entries has decreased markedly since say, the summer.

Gee, wonder why.

I feel kinda all over the place lately, very out of sorts, very disorganized; dissatisfied. I'm having mental growing pains, the pressures of finding oneself and trying to keep up in this whole big world. Also trying to keep at bay some melodramatic philosophical/psychological issues that I don't need to be worried about. It's all a matter of perspective I suppose.

Sunday morning I woke up not early but actually not as late as my brothers, which is not unusual. (Interesting use of nots.) It was a milder but still chilly morning and I was pulling my usual coffee escape routine. My road had not been plowed in any useful way, merely laid in with a thick layer of solid snow that, in this temperature, became ice. I fell the moment I stepped off the driveway. I sat there a moment, taken by surprise, but decided I was okay and got up.

Halfway down the street I fell again. It was getting embarrassing.

The third time I fell - still not having left my very street - my foot snagged in the divit of icyness, wrenching my ankle. It stung. A sensible person would have fallen fewer than three times before going back, or at the very least turned back when their ankle felt sore. But when did sensible ever feature into my description of myself?

So I walked all the way down to the coffee place of choice and the moment I got there I started to feel it. The ankle was indeed sore. In retrospect, it was surprising because I had jogged on it a bit and the soreness was still delayed. It's one of those physiological things I wouldn't know about.

And so, given that I was all the way there, I toughed it out. It was a rare display of pain endurance from yours truly. But I knew the extent of the damage when I got home and started hobbling around - starting and stopping posed the greatest concern, as did stairs.

"Oh fuck," I groaned to my brother, always less than sympathetic, "I fucked up my ankle." I swear a lot, even around the house.

This was not good. There was a family function that afternoon, and the kids, the younger cousins, can be quite demanding; both in the literal sense and in the sense that they often make demands and cry when they cannot be fulfilled. I hate to judge a 4-year-old, but they can be pretty effin' needy; bossy, even. It was not going to be fun.

I e-mailed an advance warning to my aunts; it would be best to bring some amusements as I was temporarily on the injured list.

We arrived, with my ankle hastily wrapped in a medical cloth that had been lying around. I hobbled around while my aunts all asked about the nature of the injury. Eric, whom I'd already told, also asked a few times, I suppose becausehe didn't believe me. Because yeah, I get pleasure out of totally putting on my family with this insane injury gimmick.

Okay I'll admit, that does sound incredibly amusing. But the pain was not amusing.

So I limped through the afternoon, well actually just sat there on the couch (in the common room of my grandma's building; the kids love it there) watching the Adventures of Shark Boy and Lava Girl in blurryvision (3-D without glasses.) Things were going well, although my mom did remind me why I'd neglected to inform her of my injuury - she reacted like it was a bigger deal than it was. So I couldn't quite walk or be active, I was coping and in a day or so I was sure it'd subside.

The problem came after dinner and cake, when the kids were hyped on sugar. They wanted to play "That game where you're the monster" or "That game where you pick us up." I was agitated and literally said to young Cameron, "Are you effin' kidding me?" His mom had explained that Scott couldn't play because his foot hurt, but the message didn't sink in.

I'm worried that he's going to grow up lazy, with a sense of entitlement or something, because he's getting everything he wants [i]now[/i]. I don't know much about child-rearing or what affects them how, but the last thing I want is for my cousin to grow up to be a jerk. But at the same time I have a hard time letting him whine.

So I picked him up.

Stupid, yes, really. But I decided that the pain in my ankle was going to be less than the pain in my head due to his potential protracted bellowing. So I slung him over my shoulder and walked around. If my physique holds out, I'll probably be able to lift him up until he's too old to want to be lifted, like my dad did me. Even on a bad ankle I was able to manage, I was just not happy about it.

But anyway. The night eventually ended after much ongoing attempts to please the kid. While we were saying "We have to go soon," he cried that he wanted to play "Hide Go Seek" for an unspecified length of time. I can't deny that when I was a kid, I didn't know when time to go was time to go either, but he really turned up the pressure here. We did something the parenting guide probably says not to do: negotiate. We said one game, he wanted something like an infinite number of games, and we argued him down to three. Of course, after the third one, he still wanted to play. So we shoved him out the door. Or at least, put his coat on him and made him leave.

But I can't rag on the kid too much. After all, this is the way most kids are, myself included. Plus, he's recently developed a fascination with the word "weiner." I hate to corrupt him, as the years before one is consumed by matters of bodily functions and sex are precious; and I hate to encourage him, but it was hilarious. As little Ali, with her sheepish voice, was singing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," he was singing along to the tune of "Weiner, Weiner, Weiner, Weiner..." and I could not stop myself from laughing.

I just don't want to be one of these people who go "Oh kids are so precious and everything they do is adorable." Clearly, it isn't. They have flaws, man!

I slept with my ankle elevated slightly, and woke up with it better but not perfect. It was family day, and I wanted to avoid my family as much as possible. So I walked - on a still-sore ankle - trudging through the snow to get one of those icy-hot sleeves athletic-types sometimes wear when they're injured. After figuring out which way it was supposed to go, it worked like a charm... although after I fell asleep with it on, my ankle got overheated. Over icy-heated, I suppose.

I went over to Pat's that day to see him and Chris, as well as a small couple of supporting actors, run through the play the three of us had written last summer. I was worried about it, but thankfully that was nothing, as even I was laughing and I knew the script; I even tossed in some of the weirder lines. They ran through twice or three times, and I gave my notes. They were minimal but I did discuss certain inflections and subtleties of accents, stuff I really don't know about to go shooting my mouth off, but did want to give feedback on.

Reading week has been progressing somewhat briskly yet also kinda dully. I might have something going on this weekend (actually, if I don't have one thing, I have something else, so score) so the entire week has really just been my mission to prevent the week from becoming a wait for that day.

My glasses drama ended tonight. I finally got my new pair... they're different, that's for sure, and may take some people by surprise. Or maybe nobody will notice.

There was a lunar eclipse tonight. That was an interesting thing, I find it hard to believe I never bothered to look at one before, but then again, it took like an hour so I just dashed in and out to check in stages. I mean, I wish I'd seen the one in August instead of standing out in the cold.

But anyway, that seems to be all I've got for now. Goodnight Ontario, Alberta and Mongolia.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Part IX: Can't Buy a Thrill

I have put off writing all weekend. It's Tuesday now. And the more I resisted blogging, the more interesting the weekend got and the more I had to write so the less I felt like doing it. I have a compulsion about this thing; a complex. I'm a weird guy. But you knew that. That's the deal. I'm weird, and it amuses you.

I spent the bulk of Saturday morning hanging out with Amanda, our standard meet up for coffee and watching her shop. I didn't have anything terribly interesting to say so I listened as she regaled me with stories of her recent temporary job at some trade magazine. Apparently, even though or perhaps because it was handed to her basically on a platter, it's also the worst thing in the world, except for working at Tim Hortons. So it's the devil and the deep blue sea. This is possibly the first negative thing I've ever said about Amanda, and it's not even that negative, but it reminds me of something Mansoor once told me. It was that no matter how bad things have ever gotten for him, whether in his early life or in coming to a new country and trying to assimilate, he always tried to keep a positive attitude, and that you don't get anywhere with negativity. And he is indeed one of the most positive people I know and he's damn well made something of himself. Some people will never truly be content - myself included - but it's all a matter of perspective. I do my fair share of complaining, I suppose. Hell, this website has a pretty hefty diet of it, but ever since Mansoor told me those words I've taken them to heart.

But I'm no inspirational leader. Nobody's going to take advice on how to ameliorate their lives from yours truly. All I can say is that it's seemed to work for me so far.

Eric and I killed the day in front of the TV. It was just one of those barely-conscious afternoons. We made for dinner these chicken/ham/cheese things that are a bit of effort (actually you just pop them in the oven but we make sides too,) and then chilled a while before I had to go. Go where? Glad you asked. I had a party to crash, to which I would be welcome anyway.

Around 8 I began gathering up some items - keys, beer, iPod, bus fare - for a trek way uptown. I went at about 8:20 and was not qaiting 10 minutes before the bus came, good timing. I rode it all the way to Wal-Mart before getting off. It was not yet 9:00 and I thought maybe it's a bit early yet. I stalled by perusing Wal-Mart and then the liquor store. In the LCBO I became weirdly self-conscious because I already had a laptop bag full of beer and did not want them to accuse me of stealing. Weird how the mind works sometimes. Paranoid.

I completed my stalling at a nearby Tim Hortons. I mean I was really stalling hardcore. I just kept thinking "Too early to show up alone, you weren't even technically invited." I might never totally shed my high school mentality that people don't really want me around even though that's never even really been the case. I don't even believe it, but my mind has a fascinating way of weaving convincing untruths. That's maybe why I'm a writer.

The party in question was Conorton's 22nd birthday. He had neglected to send me an invite via Facebook but I found out in one of those usualgrapevine scenarios. If it weren't the newsfeed then it was that he had it in his MSN name. In any case it wouldn't have been surprising that I had found out about it and I had to know it wasn't any reason we hadn't talked. Last time we spoke was several months ago and he excitedly wanted to tell me about this idea he'd had for a TV series, and I encouraged him and took the compliment. Remembering all this, I finished my coffee and headed for Conorton's.

I had asked CB about a ride earlier, and he said he wasn't driving, and I said that was fine, he had more than earned it all his life that anytime he wanted to just chill and drink for a night, he should. The man has built up practically a lifetime supply of goodwill, and tonight later became an example of it.

After getting the address wrong once, I burst through the door of Conorton's place with some trepidation lingering, but washed away with the "Hey man, how's it goings." Scott and CB and some others were playing Rock Band while Scott's longtime poker buddy Jon sat on the couch reading the various single issues of the recent X-Men crossover, Messiah Complex.

The first person I really talked to was Kyle Sanderson, to whom I hadn't spoken in months for no particular reason but not without cause. I opened myself a beer and we talked. We caught up on how his course was going and what I'd been doing. Apparently he had interviewed Mitro~~* which made me smirk.

After a while, we started playing Rock Band. I started by filling in on the drums, and then doing some guitar and bass, before finally finding my true calling... the microphone. When CB had told me Rock Band includes a vocal function, I was apprehensive that the potential for embarrassment was high, so you'd better knock it outta the fuckin' park.

And I did indeed shred my tonsils to insane degrees on tunes like Weezer's Say it Ain't So, OK Go's Here it Goes, a random Boston Tune I faked my way through, Aerosmith's Train Kept a-Rollin' and perhaps the most masterfully over-the-top performance of the night on Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead or Alive.

The alcohol helped.

Eventually, Cary and Lauren showed up. We all hung around a while and Cary bemoaned the subdued nature of the party compared to University-level parties. Well it's all in your perspective, dude. There was a poker game... I opted not to buy in given I haven't played in several years and had rather hung out with my friends than the strangers who were also Scott's friends, (Scott himself was playing poker for a lengthy while.) The remainder of us returned to Rock Band. One of Scott's random friends, Tim, and some girl (Alicia?) were around. She and I sorta sang a duet on Foo Fighters' Learn to Fly, if you could call it singing. Cary, cocky fool, tried everything on expert (and except for guitars, died, died, died.)

People started to go around 2, which makes sense. "Nothing good ever happens after 2 AM," or so the man said. So Chris and Cary left to walk to Chris' place to get his car (and some McD's.) Chris had had one beer several hours earlier didn't sit well with him so he was OK to drive. Or so he believed. The real question was: was driving going to be OK to him?

In the meantime, with Lauren off doing I-didn't-ask-what, I chilled on the couch with random Alicia and Scott's brother Derek. I couldn't tell if I was cockblocking him, or for that matter if he was cockblocking me, or if neither of us even had anything going on. She just sat in the middle and, I dunno, humoured us and our half-assed conversations, until Scott, Tim, and Scott's mother came in and Scott and Tim played on their acoustic guitars. Eventually, Chris and Cary returned with the van. I gathered my things and said goodbye. I got in the van, and was followed by Lauren and Kyle. And then Random Tim and Alicia got in and said "Uh, could you give us a ride home?" So this is the abridged version of the story of how it took us an hour to get home.

Random Tim lived out near Third Line, where Kyle had moved. CB grumbled, "I forgot you'd moved..." but with everybody in the car, off we went. First we dropped off the girl, who lived near Sheridan and thus on the way. We then booked it out to the Third Line area, with Lauren realizing that, horror of horrors, she forgot her bag. We had to search for Tim's place (he just hopped out at some random plaza despite CB's offer) and then Kyle's - he barely seemed to know his own house. Then as we were trying to get out of the suburban labyrinth, we rushed back to Conorton's to rescue Lauren's bag, only to find, surprisingly (not) the lights were off and the party was over.

There was another major part of the story that I cannot, in good conscience, repeat.

I sometimes feel guilty about writing about other people here, but with all the interacting one does, I cannot simply write about myself. I get self-conscious when I check how many people read, particularly what google searches they performed to find it.

Cary and I were actually going to have some after-hours chillage over substances, but we were both kinda tired after all the running around.

We left Conorton's around 3, and I didn't get to sleep until about 4.

Sunday was a weirdly busy day. But the pace of this entry has been so slow (about two hours to get this much) that I'll leave it to tomorrow to recount the whole tale.

I'm just an exhausted person. This is my reading week, baby. Now I just need something to do with it.

So keep on rockin'
Scott

Part VIII: Arguing with machines

For two weeks in a row, I had something to do on a friday night. I don't tonight, but I may tomorrow... I hope. For now, it's relaxing, attempting to not be bored by my own life.

Today was not so unusual a day. A friday I long deserved and anticipated. The last day before reading week. My 10-ride ticket exhausted, I bought a day pass, figuring, oh, what difference does it make?

I did manage to get that essay done last night. It didn't take terribly long although how I actually did on it is anybody's guess. All I can say is that it did in fact get done, which surprised even me. I guess if I were serious about my "better student" resolution I wouldn't keep pushing things to the last minute like that, but all I can do is pick myself up by my bootstraps. Whatever that is supposed to mean...

I was comparing notes with this guy before the philosophy tutorial. He was an overachiever from computer science who wrote 1300 words of a 500-750 word piece, single-spaced and size 10 verdana font, the smallest face. I just laughed and shook my head; "are you kiddin' me? He'll probably dock you marks." In class we talked robots.

My motivation was renewed for that class the other night when I realized that the midterm - which unless I'm mistaken, I totally failed - was worth only 10%,the same as this essay and several other assignments on which I did acceptably. Maybe things will be fine. Maybe not but I see myself as having a chance... as Eric said, "A fail is better than an incomplete." Amen bro.

In what must've seemed like wisdom but was really just a minor inconvenience, my English tutorial was cancelled for this week. So I had to go by the cafeteria at Trinity college, where my TA holds his "office" to pick up an essay I had written in a single day several weeks ago. I was nervous and didn't know what to expect, although I had a good feeling I had to remind myself that U of T is a tough place and that I should be happy with a 74 or so. I got there and he called over to me. I sat down and he handed me my essay. I flipped to the back against his reminders that there were plenty of good comments in the margins. There was a lengthy typed message about close-reading and grammar followed by my mark.

80.

Word.

Neither of us having anything pressing to attend, we talked a while, about my essay, (for whatever reason I blurted the abridged version of its rushed origin,) about the course; how well I was doing as a student and he was doing as a TA. I told him about my background in Sheridan and how I still lived in Oakville, and then got on my way. There was nothing good to eat there and I wanted to pick up some lunch before my next tutorial.

On a hunch I went to Wymilwood. They used to have good sandwiches there but I hadn't seen anything to get excited about in a while. But on this day they did. And just as I was purchasing this sandwich, and stowing it in my bag for later, I noticed someone waving at me; an acquaintence or maybe friend, from philosophy lecture (as opposed to tutorial.) Brittany (the second I'd met since coming to U of T.) She was eating some kind of soup. I went over and took a seat.

We sat and talked a while, since I hadn't seen her for most of the semester and honestly most of the times I've ever seen her we sat silently and then chatted briefly before parting ways. This time I was sitting across from her and we had to make conversation. We did, and it was only minimally awkward, and only at certain points, gaps in the thread of conversation. Eventually she had to go to class and it was wise for me to go too, so I headed to Innis. I ate my sandwich there rather than at Wymilwood, since old habits seem to die hard, and read my course reader as I did so. It was mostly a collection of generic overviews of film noir - generic both in the sense as an examination of noir as a genre (or not a genre) and in that they weren't anything spectacular.

Eventually it was my last tutorial of the day. Neither of the people I know where there (three if you include Ronnie who has gone MIA for weeks) so this random girl sits down next to me and distracts me for the bulk of the session. Over the last while, it's like my drive has gotten a second wind after kinda cooling off at Sheridan. And I just don't know where to put all this damn energy. She wasn't spectacular-looking, but not bad, and had a killer set of curves if I may allude to vulgarity. (I love breasts.)

I just don't know what to do with myself.

I arrived at Oakville GO in time to not catch the White Oaks bus even though all the other ones were there. That pissed me off. I had been walking home for weeks because oftentimes I'd stop in and get a coffee from Amanda. But Amanda has just started a gig at a magazine; probably temporary but maybe not. So no real reason to walk home, and now, no bus in the cold. So I got left like a chump and had to walk home anyway. So I stopped by the other Tim Hortons and walked under the QEW to get home; cold but a tolerable distance to walk, comparatively speaking. Life just sometimes randomly bitches you out.

I got home and positively deflated on the couch.

I guess I don't really have any more thoughts tonight. People have been asking if I had any plans for reading week and there's no real answer, just that I actually do want to catch up on reading (doubtful) and my ole personal projects (who knows) and of course, sleep (likely.)

Maybe someday I will get my life together, and crawl my ass out of the mess into which I've been sinking for the last 3 years or so, if you want to look at it this way. I don't even effin' know, man. Don't even know.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Part VII: Runnin' for de shadows

I've felt like I'm in a bit of a dark haze these days. It's probably just my tendancy of compiling my every minor misery and pretending like it's some bigger issue. Maybe it is, maybe not...

Yesterday was particular for this. After philosophy, I schlepped down to Pratt to snag a computer and try to figure myself out. I had a poem due later. I didn't really have one written but had some stuff written down in a notebook. I did my best with it but found myself unsure. It was a weird thing, I wasn't sure I wanted people reading it. I tried to configure some good alternatives, but nothing was making itself appealing. I grumbled, I guess this was it. It was kind of a joke, and I wasn't sure I wanted to show it to people, and I certainly wasn't sure people would get/appreciate it. I wasn't sure I appreciated it. I printed it anyhow, and I grumbled. I skipped my English lecture for this.

After eating lunch (random sandwich from General Store,) and just kinda floating around, and talking to one of those fairly random people you meet but don't really know too well, we watched Double Indenity. Good movie, but then, you don't sign up for Film Studies to watch shitty movies. I went for coffee and a photocopier afterward. As always, was early for poetry. It wasn't much of a turn-out anyway, about half the class, with several even leaving before it was done (and then again, some arriving late.) It wasn't too heavyweight, a discussion of stanzaic forms and some roundtable workshopping of four poems or so. I did get a little feedback, basically positive, on the one I'd handed in. The idea was, I entitled it "A Valentine Poem" and then proceeded to write the most honest, sincere poem I could, of love and devotion... to a cup of coffee. That's me. Obviously you get to know people from their opetry and Reiby laughed a bit, saying he might've figured I'd go such an ironic/skewed route with my take on Valentine's Day. I smiled and said, "Well, that's how I feel." He noted it sounded more like dependance, and I gave a laughing grin and shrugged, saying "Isn't that the same as love?"

Anyway. I walked through the slush with my friend Jasmin to the station and got to Union basically on time, punching my ticket. I got on the train to find Ryan Lai waiting, which was nice since it's usually me waiting for him. It's just sort of taken for granted that we commute together on Wednesdays. So we sat and talked as usual, as the train keeps a'rollin', progressively less aware that there are plenty of people around us who can hear us. He calls his dad and secures himself a ride. Just as he's about to ask if he'd mind giving me a ride too I wave him off, even though it's been the trend for him to give me a ride home, which has been very nice. I ask to borrow his phone and call my dad to tell him I'll be in at 7:05. I got the call the other night that my glasses were ready to be picked up, so we were going to do that.

Sometime after Clarkson, just before 7:00, the train comes to an abrupt stop. Apparently there's a freight train stuck in front of us and a frozen switch. Sunuvabitch. So we get to talking, as we do, and over the course of the train's stasis, basically end up analyzing - or overanalyzing - all of our mutual friends' romantic lives for our own amusement. The train was stopped in place for about forty minutes. It was a pretty long conversation.

Eventually the train gets moving again. About 90 seconds later we pulled into Oakville station. We probably could have just pried the doors open and walked there in the time it took for the train tog et moving, but whatever. Dad was thankfully waiting patiently.

So we went to SuperStore, and as it happens I couldn't get my glasses, because the Optician had left by this point and I needed to get my eyes measured etc. So no glasses. Bleh, inconvenient.

I fell asleep on the couch in front of the TV. It has been pointed out I may bee suffering exhaustion. Possible, but it may just mostly be having to drag my ass out of bed every day.

I mean, I didn't really do anything much today, and maybe to my detriment. I have an essay due that I'm not really concerned enough about. I've read the pieces and now I need to write 500-750 words about them. It's hard to get motivated.

I blame it on February. If it weren't for reading week February would have zero redeeming qualities. I have had to hear about how it's Valentine's Day far too much. I wished a happy Valentine's Day to a random girl over a website.

We went to get my glasses again when I went grocery shopping. I was hungry - we had not yet picked up dinner - and a little iritable when they presented my glasses and said sadly "Did you specifically want the clip-ons?" Uh, yeah. The optician then lays on me this spurious, convoluted reason things have gotten problematic. Rather than spend a half hour trying on every damn pair of glasses they had, again, and asking "Will these do?" I told her to do whatever she needed to make the frames work. They'll be ready in like a week, but I suspect I'll get a call in a few days saying "Sorry we can't do it." Because that's the luck I've been having. No wonder I put this shit off for two or more years.

It doesn't need to be so hard. Does it?

I wanted to throw a fucking tantrum in there, but I let it out in little bitchy ways throughout the evening. It wasn't the best, but I'm just... you know, run-over these days. Fuck it all, man.

Well try to keep on rockin'
-Scott.

Part VI: Destiny can't resist you

Been talking about pre-determination in Philosophy this week. Like most philosophical concepts it seems to be just within my grasp and yet I seem unable to properly master it at the level the University expects of me. I'm not doing particularly well in that class, but somewhere along the way the notion in the title occurred to me.

Procrastination...

It's been a tedious, although active, couple of days.

We've been in the deep freeze for a few days. I found this on Sunday when I went to pick out some new frames. I had a pretty tough time of it, because I wanted the magnetic clip-on sunglasses, which limits my options. Also I'm incredibly picky anyway. After about 16 minutes of trying on every single pair in the Loblaws glasses center, dad had stepped off to do some grocery shopping, leaving me to continue to amuse myself with the variety of glasses I couldn't see myself in. I tried every pair back on. and narrowed it down to two pairs - one that was not unlike my current pair, and one that was very much unlike them. My instinct is to usually go as close to my current pair as possible, but they didn't feel quite right somehow.

So I'm left alone there, waiting for my dad to come back, ostensibly to get his input. I'm there with the cute eyewear technichian/front desk girl. So I just follow my instinct in this situation and start to chat her up, defraying the prolonged silence with a funny comment or something. We get to talking.

It's a weird thing. On some level, it's dumb. By talking up random hot girls, I'm kidding myself, I'm torturing myself in a way, and I made a slight promise to quit that for a while but clearly I haven't. At the same time, though, I enjoy now an ability that wasn't there a few years ago. Five years ago, I could barely talk to women I knew let alone strange girls. Even two years ago I would've been helpless. The kid's growing up.

I ask her how long she's been working there, she says since May and she enjoys it. More random talk about glasses and life, she asks about school. I say U of T now, Sheridan already, no idea what I wanna do. She chuckles a bit and returns the sentiment. She asks what high school I went to, I say WOSS. She says she's still at Holy Trinity. I'm taken aback - I clearly have no sense of temporal perception because for whatever reason I believed she was about my age. I see it now that she says it, she's very much younger than me, but still. Between this and the tobogganing adventure from the weekend before, it's like I have no idea how old anyone is.

None of this is important. Dad returns. I choose the ones unlike my current ones. As I type this, Tuesday night, they've just been declared ready, but I probably won't get them until tomorrow night.

Sunday proceeds from there without much event.

Monday morning I found myself at the GO station waiting again with CB. Cold - colder than it's been all week or year, the switches are frozen and both our trains are delayed. He'd already been waiting a while. We talked bullshit and school and train aggrivation and Rock Band. My train arrived at something like 8:20 - it wasn't my proper train but an acceptable substitute - he was still there when I left. Guy's been burdened all semester. It's one more unfortunate thing he's got on his plate.

I ended up waltzing into class just as the Prof was getting started. I tried to pay rapt attention and mostly succeeded. It was a short day - as mondays mercifully are. On the way home I got a burst of inspiration and scrawled something good down in my notebook.

Very occasionally - and lately quite frequently in deference to my promise to myself - I've dipped into the world of meeting people online. I'm wary though, because I know one or two horror stories. All I've really got is amusing anecdotes.

And I'd like to preface this by noting that I've by now met at least one really cool girl I'll probably never meet in person because of distance. But one never knows. In any case, there's been a really weird trend lately, and it's not surprising but it does catch me off guard.

Apparently, to chubby 20-something single moms, I'm hot stuff.

I don't know. You can't put "Must not have kids" because there might be a really hot mama out there. And you also can't put "Must be in shape" because that makes you look shallow (I kinda am) so it reflects badly even to those who are in shape. But anyway. These women message me and I'm trying to turn off my charm, which is hard to do deliberately (though there have been similar situtions where my charm just naturally fails me.) I just try to avoid saying anything interesting or funny and let them lose interest, because I'm not what they want (assuming they want someone who can put up with kids for more than 45 minutes, or is responsible or has any idea what to do with his life. Then again Kris was somewhat aimless before he found himself in Windsor and look at him now.) For the record, there have been two unrelated incidents of this in the past few days.

Anyway.

Today was not much of a day. I skated down St. George letting my soles glide over slush. I passed a dude in a power-wheelchair who seemed to be having troulbe getting moving. I stooped down and removed the giant chunk of snow from under his chair. He said thanks and we parted ways. That was essentially my good deed for the month. Then I went about my day, had lunch, read, wrote some... jut tried to relax, and to get through Cherub Rock on Hard.

I've gotta rest, and I have stuff I need to take care of before bed. At least this is all off my mind. Life's a damn mess.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Part V: Sexual monstrosity

The title of this post was stolen from my Film TA, used to describe the "monster figure" in the film Cat People. I loved it so much when I heard it on Friday that I wrote the letters "SM" on my hand so I would remember to use it somewhere.

I'll probably not make this a long one. It's 2:30 nearly and I'm tired and I just want to relieve whatever's on my mind before I go shut myself in my room and write poetry. And I say that only because I have a poem due on Wednesday and I'm in a mood where if I don't capitalize it might not happen.

It suddenly struck me how cool it is that part of my life is having to write a poem every now and again. I'm obligated to be creative. That's pretty good, I'm glad I've gotten to that place.

The last few days have been fairly standard. Blah. A little hectic, a little sore, a little frustrated, a little triumphant but not much.

I ran into CB at the GO station on Friday. His train was late and my train was early for being late later. I managed to just barely make it to my Philosophy tutorial as it was starting. The course of the period was spent in the midst of a fascinating conversation of which I scarcely took part. There was a surprising turnout, actually, more people than I've seen in that room all semester.

An hour after that ended was English. As I had barely read any of Maud Martha (I flipping suck) I was a little lost yet it still fell on my shoulders to help the discussion along. Not solely, but largely. It was not really turning out to be a terriffic day, actually. And film more or less continued the gray-coloured trend.

I had set up a whole bunch of mnemonic devices to remind myself to cancel my ticket. All day long I repeated silently my mantra, "See the busker, cancel the ticket." Meaning right as I am leaving Union's subway area I look to see if there is a performer there, and looking in that area will remind me "Oh yeah, the ticket." I didn't necessarily need to look to be reminded, but it helped me think about it all day.

I got home to find that Eric and Brando were on the couch playing co-op on their DS's. Eric told me how Sheridan was in lockdown that day - in fact, as we were speaking they were. He was just leaving, his clas had been let out early, when the call was made. As he had his foot out the door, a mysterious voice on the PA announced, "This is not a drill."

We later found out that, after the school was locked down for two hours and all the police and jazz were called in, it was just a guy carrying a tripod. This was somewhat retarded given how many photography students the school has. I was really worried for a while until I heard that. Then I just chuckled and shrugged. What are ya gonna do?

Well we went tobogganning again, me Chris, Edgar and Ryan, as well as Jordon, a friend of theirs we ran into. It was a good night, and we all actually drank (this time I had the least alcohol and was the least drunk when we got back to Chris' for an ill-advised Risk game.) We had some fierce GT wars and nothing overly absurd happened except for Chris getting, in his words, "crunched."

In any case I've been feeling edgy lately. And this may have expressed itself earlier tonight during the re-started Risk game when I started to get a little bitchy when I was getting wiped out of the game. I just really miss the old days of CB and Pat. Where the hell have those guys been? I'm getting a little misty-eyed. We watched Futurama: Bender's Big Score, and the Big Lebowski.

I went to the optometrist today. It was my first visit to this particular one, he was a nice enough guy and saw me without an appointment (at his earliest convenience.) the night before I'd been talking with dad and we both agreed it was time, so it was no surprise when the receptionist told me my dad was coming in later.

He told me nothing new, except for some pleasant news. Your eyes are mostly staying stable; not much change just a long period of time. You should get them checked more often than every four years, etc etc. New frames tomorrow.

I was in HMV with Eric. This story's all out of order, owing to the disorganization of my mind. We were in there, he was cashing out, Lindsay my old Asst. Manager, asked me what was up. She was decidedly perky and upbeat, which was a side of her I did see but rarely directed toward me. I don't think there was anything wrong with the way she was, she was just the average stressed managerial type and I was the n00b temp employee whose crap she didn't have time for. Not really a big deal although I like her better when I'm the customer.

Anyway, like I said, not much to it all... I can't put my finger, or my words, in this frustration. I'm hoping it comes out on the page. I'm off.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Part IV: Sounds of the city poundin' in my brain

Another several days have gone by and indeed an interesting series of days it was. At least as interesting as this thing gets without a random girl entering the narrative (although in a minor way, one does, so scratch that.)

The city, and its general area, are in the grips of a snow dilemma. Apparently we forgot where we live and didn't realize it would be coming eventually, possibly intent on destroying us. It began tuesday night, but's begin our story, shall we, on Tuesday afternoon.

It was, in truth, an average day. I stepped out of Innis into the cold, wet day with slush abounding. Rather than go back to the subway, however, I had to go the opposite way. I had to go to the Women's Bookstore, where all my text for English can be found, because they did not have it at the Oakville Public Library. I grumbled about this but the book itself was not all that expensive. If, by some stretch, I wound up enjoying this book, it'd be a treat. But anyway. I went into the always-unwelcoming Women's Bookstore, got my book and trod back through the puddles up St. George and back to the subway station. With all the extra time this took I was wondering if I'd make my train or if I'd be an hour late.

Well the subway pulled into Union. I and about four other people rushed in and saw "Lakeshore W. Proceed to Train Track 7-A." And as I ran, I thought nothing but "Where the fuck is Track 7-A?" Well I followed the other people and got on, out of breath and with a minute to spare. I settled in to my seat and the train got moving. It must've been right after Exhibition that the Go-stapo came by and asked for tickets. And it was in the instant that I reached for my wallet that I realized. In my hurry to find Track 7-A, I had clearly forgotten to cancel the ticket.

I wanted to smash my face through the window and tuck & roll to comparative safety. Instead, I got the fine. I felt miserable all the way back to Oakville. I stopped off to tell Amanda this story and then walked straight up Trafalgar to the post office to get this shit off my hands asap. I I went, got myself a money order (living like the drifter I do, I don't carry cheques or a credit card) and signed all the shit I needed to and dropped it in the mailbox.

When I told dad the story he seemed sympathetic - it happens - and a little impressed I had taken care of it immediately. I'm somewhat known, I suppose, as a procrastinator. I can't deny this. I just didn't want to bum about it all week until I got around to paying.

I told this story to Ryan the next day. We ran into one another at Oakville GO shortly before our 7:58 train was delayed. When we got the notice - that it was 20 or 25 minutes delayed - we went and stood in the lobby. It was there that I ran into my old friend Gabby, whom I sometimes run into on the train, as she works as a receptionist in the city. Her boyfriend was with her. I wonder he still has a problem with me (my only problem with him is that he may have a problem with me.) We stood around cracking jokes until the train arrived.

I emerged from the subway stop into a weirdly lovely winter scene. The dusting of snow the night before had left the bare trees quite picturesque and unusually enough, I wished I had my camera. I was more or less on time for class anyhow despite the late start. I'm sitting there trying to pay attention (and not doing a terribly good job but trying anyway!) Eventually my TA walks in and sits down next to me, which kinda cramps my style. I had to really focus on looking intent and noting the words of the lecture. This only made me drowsy. In fact, I slept very comfortably through my next class. Certain Profs have weirdly soothing voices.

After a lunch of Western sandwich (which you should never but but make yourself - bad Scotto!) it was film study. This is where the random girl comes in, and I'll explain using one of my elaborate tangent monologues.

Many years ago, in the midst of my first semester out of high school, I was talking to Doug, who, in his pre-sellout days, was studying stage acting at Ryerson. He told me of this activity he did in one class where he and another student just had to set onstage in silence. In the course of this you build your impressions of the other student and just sort of, I suppose, bond without really knowing each other. I've noticed this phenomenon in real life.

So there's this girl. In reality, there are hundreds of girls every day, but there are four that I see all the time in this class, they usually sit in a nearby section, always in their little group of four. The first time I ever spoke to one of them was a couple weeks ago when I asked the time (I had just noticed her checking her watch.) But in any case yesterday we both found ourselves outside the Town Hall and within an instant we got to talking - first about the screening we were waiting for, then about the weather, and then the usual "nice to meet you" stuff. It was a very nice, presumably innocent (but one never knows?) conversation. What I'm getting at here is that because we had seemingly seen each other so much - or at least I her and I'm sure she's noticed me - we actually got on like it was not our first conversation. But...

Because the fact is, earlier that day, I had made a command decision to take a step back from the female population, at least for the time being. I've been exhausting myself and getting nowhere, and I just need to sit back and not concern myself with it too much. So hardly an hour or two after this decision here's this girl and we're carrying on like we go back a ways. And you know I wouldn't be bringing it up if she didn't have a look. But what's a guy to do?

We went in and took seats; knowing she would momently have a cluster of friends around her, I took a seat in a row behind her and waited for my usual friends that sit with me. The movies were Dracula and Cat People, on the subject of Horror. You couldn't, by today's standards, call either of them "scary" but Cat People was damn effective and creepy.

After this I had to stop off at Pratt to do homework - a poetry critique for a girl who showed up but ditched before the Prof arrived - and then the actual class. The lion's share of the class featured a reading and Q&A with Sue Sinclair and Nick Thran, two poets who are, erm, together. There was a funny moment when, before they arrived, we were reading a poem by Thran about Barry Bonds. Reiby asked the room if everyone knew who Bonds was. A few people said no (one person who has become my friend over the year, and a girl who was raised in Britain.) I explained, "Bonds is a baseball player who has recently gotten the home run record... sort of." I phrased it this way somewhat reflexively, but everyone who is aware of Bonds' controversies laughed.

Anyway, the readings went well. they were insightful and well-spoken, and had enough to say to fill the hour as many of us scrounged up questions so as to not allow any awkward silences to drop (none did.)

Toward the end of the hour, a crackle of lightning was seen and followed by a roar of thunder. We decided that was a good place to leave off, and left the building to find a hellstorm of snow.

Again I met up with Ryan on the train. It wasn't long after the train got moving that I realized that, like some fool, I had gotten on once again without punching my ticket. Ryan tried to assuage my fears by saying the express hardly ever got checked, but that didn't help me since I knew it sometimes was. He got my mind off the matter, after I nervously discussed some strategries, by describing a particularly elaborate dream he'd had involving, in part, fighting zombies; I was in it. We also had further wildly inappropriate conversations to be having on a train within earshot of innocent people, not the least of which was this:

Ryan: What would you do if (The Go-Stapo) came no right now?
Me: ...I'd crap myself. Then I'd spend the remainder of the ride in the washroom.

At long last we arrived in Oakville. I had made it.

I celebrated by taking it easy that night. I was effin' tired. I was in a dead sleep that morning around 7:30 when I heard someone calling my name. not in a soothing, warm way... in that disaffected automatically-frustrated way my mom uses.

She needed me to dig her car out. The thundersnow had continued all night. It didn't look so bad and she was ready to go when the plow came by and threw up a thick ridge of snow at the foot of the driveway. She was so annoyed that she decided to back right through it, thus getting herself wedged right in.

So I tried to dig her out, but it wasn't going so well. I in my pajamas and coat and hat, trying to chovel all that snow out from under the car half-awake... not fun. And every time I'd made some progress and she'd try to get her car going, it would just flail about like an infant in a bathtub. I even tried pushing but I'm only one semi-conscious man. So I go off to get kitty litter and ice-melt and when I return, bluhh, the car has materialized on the other side of the ridge. She drives off and I shed my winter coat and collapse back into bed for an ohur or so.

After meeting with Amanda over coffee and describing many of these stories to her, I headed off to the dentist. It was your average visit I suppose, although the entire office staff apparently forgot that they told me I did not have to take antibiotics before going anymore. Also, there was talk of wisdom teeth for the first time ever (sadly, that's happening, albeit sometime in the far-flung future.) And for the first time in a few years, I have a cavity. I guess it's only fair that it finally caught up with me. I'm annoyed though because I have something of an antagonistic relationship with my dentist (whether he knows or not.)

While waiting in the lobby, I idly read the Entertainment section of the Star. I was amused to find one of my profs, Charlie Kiel, was quoted in an article about the Oscars.

Anyway, when I got home, it was shovel-time. This was followed by grocery-time whch was followed by a brief period of Guitar Hero and now this. It's been kind of a nothing day off. There are things I could have done... should have done... or read, or thought about... but basically have not.

I don't worry. Maybe I should, but there's a lot of zen here these days.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott