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