M: I won't apologize

I'm back at Pratt. I knew I wasn't going to get an entry in over the weekend, as you might've guessed from the last one. I should actually be on my way home right now in normal circumstances but I decided to monkey around with my schedule today and not go to class.

The weekend was a strange one for sure, and it all boils down to a question of perception. I enjoyed myself but would up showing a side I'd hoped I'd buried and left behind years ago. One cannot outrun oneself.

Knowing I wasn't going to be able to get to TO on the weekend I stopped by Media Commons after class on Friday to pick up the movies I was due to watch and maybe somehow I'd find time for them. I got to Union and was walking up the steps to platform 3B when suddenly the back of the person I'm behind looks strangely familiar. We get up to the train level and I just decide to call out for it: "Becky?" She turned.

I hadn't seen Becky (or as I know her, Maggie) since Christmas and it was highly surprising to run into her on this day and at that place. She explained she's not usually at school on Fridays. We caught up, mostly me asking about the people she hangs out with that I haven't seen in forever (Ryan of course, Ana, Doug, others) and what she's been doing at school (staging a play with Conorton, apparently.) It was a very nice little trainride and probably the most we've spoken directly to one another since high school.

I got home and bummed around a while. The rollerskate thing was a write-off, so Chris and I set to thinking about what to do for the evening. Risk was out since Pat was MIA as always and Ryan was at an illScarlett concert. Ultimately we did something Chris had probably been itching for for weeks: I packed up my PS2 (bulky thing it is) and brought over Guitar Hero 1 and 2. Prior to this, though, Eric and I had a very detailed conversation (we have one every couple of weeks-months or so) about writing, about how most main characters have to be in part based on the authors and how works don't have to inherently have a message. This may indicate that we're actually going to do some writing before too much longer.

So I went over to Chris' and we played GH2 mostly, and then a little bit of 1. Then Edgar came over to play Smash Bros - bringing with him Adam, a guy whose older brother I'd met (and apparently I'd met Adam too.) He was drinking and probably had other things in mind than a random night of video games, but here he was. Over the course of the night he tried to, among other things, convince Chris that a forklift license was the most valuable education one could get, and to get me to sell him my PS2* for $50.

*Not that I would have, but it's not even mine.

He also speculated on the hygiene of certain females' body parts, the less said the better.

The night ended around 2:30, I put my iPod in and walked home, video games in backpack, self absorbed in thought. That becomes somewhat important later.

I woke up at 9:00 the next morning in order to be adequately prepared for the trip. We were indeed going to Palmerston for the birthdays, although still nobody seemed too happy about it, even the people we were going to see. Everyone just seemed a bit exhausted from all the last-minute preparations and suddenness of the gathering, not to mention the unfulfilling factor of not being there too long.

We got there shortly after 1. Immediately, E, B and I got to Kris and we spent the entire time talking about what we generally always talk about - wrestling, comics, and old times. Kris' Windsor family was buzzing around and I did my best to humour the entire situation... the older daughter was spritzing people with perfume, so I smelled like a girl for the rest of the day.

Kris, B and I spent a while hanging out in his old room, playing Playstation WWE games and trying to reconcile old tastes with modern atrocities. Then around 3:30 or so, we left.

Got back on the road and stopped off for dinner in Oakville at Turtle Jack's, a restaurant mom favours because... she knows it, I suppose. It's actually a nice place but my general discomfort with restaurants (still not quite over that, yes,) made it my typical dining experience. I fidgeted and ate slowly, ultimately only finishing half a fajita and some fries, but I always get the to-go package anyway.

The entire time, I was very concscious of the time and the plans for the evening, since we didn't have anything lined up as an official plan. I didn't get back in the door until 6:30 and we had to be in Hamilton by 8. Luckily, when I got back on an MSN message was waiting for me (I'd left it on explicitly for this purpose,) from Chris saying Pat was driving, we'd be leaving sometime just after 7. Sweet.

I'd tried to see if Robyn could come... I knew I was staying over the night but she had to work and apparently opted out (or else went to the play and didn't see me.) Of course, in the end, Pat was going back to Oakville right after the play anyway, so that's how that would've worked out, but I couldn't have known this...

So, more or less on time, Pat pulled up with Chris and J. Edgar in tow. When I got in the car, Edgar was in the midst of telling the story of what happened to he and Adam after leaving Chris's (mere footsteps behind me.) It turns out, they were accosted and got into a little confrontation with a car full of guys right outside the house; Chris called the police and everything. And me, I was just merrily walking away with my earbuds in. Everything apparently worked out anyway.

We got to Hamilton in good time, just after 7:30, and got our tickets, which Chris had had the foresight to pre-order. We picked them up from an elite squad of ticket takers who warned us they were running low on change, so please don't pay with a $20 bill for these $12 tickets. I offered a compromise - a twenty and a toonie.

"You, I like," said the girl who took my money and gave me my change. This comes back up later.

And so, sometime not long before 8:00 we got into our seats, ready to see this production of Macbeth, behind a girl who was actively texting throughout the show, and in front of what appeared to be a giant.

Unfortunately, the gap between writing sessions and my tiredness (it is now very late monday evening) suggests I should finish this post on a "to be continued...!" So I'm going to leave you in suspense, as I sometimes do when I get backlogged on posting.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

L: Go

I haven't written in here in several days; I'm even using my rare free time to sit here at Pratt and write this. That's the thing about university life, coupled with a commute and a general lack of interest in life... the weeks seem to pass in an instant. On Monday I already had to be thinking about Friday because I knew it would be here quickly. It's Friday and I'm back to thinking about next Monday because, well, when else am I going to?

I have approximately a million and a half things to be concerned about. Let's take it from the top SHALL WE?

On Tuesday I was floating around campus before class. It was about 12:30 and rather inexplicably I was at Old Vic when I had to be at Innis for 1:00 (not that they're terribly far apart but not close either.) I ran into this guy from Film Study; we've worked together on a project before. He asks me where I'm going and I just give him this look like, "Are... are you kidding me? I'm going to film study." He's kinda all over the place and tells me he's skipping class (always does) but wants to work with me on this project we have due (for Tuesday April 1.) I don't really want to go to the trouble of working on it with him but I can't extricate myself from the conversation. So after some neogitation we end up agreeing to meet at Robarts for noon on Saturday. So there goes my Saturday afternoon.

The week began to pick up momentum on wednesday, which despite being incredibly long is also my bestest day because while I may not pay close enough attention in Philosophy (J.S. Mill was a utilitarianism machine) or Narrative ("farang" is Thai for "tourist") I at least get to watch a movie (Thelma and Louise, coupled with a lecture on audience perception... I couldn't make the connection either) and talk poetry. On this day it was a quick lecture and class was cut short so I actually got home at a decent time (or at least a half hour-40 minutes earlier) although we put off dinner because B. was at the doctor.

So I decided to finally do something I've been putting off; my birth certificate. On Wednesday I was talking to Lauren about the likelihood of getting my G1 at some point in the foreseeable future, and it occurred to me I still haven't gotten my replacement birth certificate, which I need because somehow (we all seem to disagree on the exact reason) I lost mine. So I went about doing that and it'll be here in 13 business days or my money back (which would be win-win.)

Feeling good about wednesday also let me feel good about yesterday. I had my day off and I wound up hanging out with Robyn because we're both in town with nothing to do. We played Mario World a while and she managed to beat Tubular, which for my money is one of the hardest levels in the game, after something like 30 tries. Okay it was less, and we only managed to play for a few hours. And while I happened to go to the washroom Eric snuck upstairs and was surprised to see this random girl on the couch (I choose to entertain on the main floor because I want people to come back, and seeing the basement might prevent that.) Anyway that leads me to the other various things I've had to worry about.

Cary has a play Saturday night. If I'm in Toronto all day on Saturday it might be tough for me to get to Hamilton, but it's do-able. (Robyn fits into this because I mentioned it and she suggested she might be able to drive.) Then last night I found out on very short notice that the cousins in Palmerston are eager for a gathering (one of theirs has a birthday this weekend) up there. And that caused me grief because that means darting home from Hamilton if I am to stay the night (as Chris has suggested.) Or so I thought. Apparently:

-The gathering is set for Saturday, not Sunday.
-Mom doesn't know if she wants to go, because of family politics (Hope nobody is reading this that that might bother!)
-If we go I can't/don't have to go to Toronto
-If we hurry home (which mom would want to) I can make it to Hamilton okay
-If we don't go, I do go to Toronto, take care of business, and put it out of my mind.
-Since it's on Saturday I can just chill out on Sunday.
-Since it's not on Sunday B. doesn't have to worry about missing WrestleMania.

See what an unnecessarily complicated life I'm living? And yet somehow, the Tetris blocks ("Tetrominoes") are falling into place.

I thought I was in a "damned if you do, damned if you don't" situation but the actual fact is that I'm not damned at all. All I need is to get to Hamilton on Saturday night, one way or the other, for 8:00.

There's also the matter of a random rollerskating thing Robyn's doing tonight but I'm quite sure I can't get a lift to (sorry!)

This is a hell of a house of cards I've got on my mind. add to it the continued stress of school bureaucracy, more homework, exams upcoming, and the idea of having a life, and you've got explosively-overstressed Scotto. And yet...... I can't help but think everything's going to turn out okay.

The weirder things get, the more optimistic I become.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

K: The light under the door

More stimulating and refreshing than the last several days would have been the feeling of getting one's face smashed into a brick wall. Repeatedly.

It's just been rough. I wake up each morning and immediately drown in the realization that shit is piling up into a massive clusterfuck of a mess. Between schoolwork, bureaucracy, social life and other shit I do supposedly for my own benefit, my brain is a fuckin' pudding. I just walk around all day being totally pissed off for no good reason. Frustration, aggrivation, exhaustion... it's a nice cocktail.

Easter weekend was nothing spectacular. It was a family gathering - what am I, gonna run down my family? (Shit man, you never know who's reading!) Trips to North Bay do have a tendency to bring out my insecurities. I can't help but draw the comparisons and contrasts between my brothers and I, and our cousins. And that brings to mind my other cousins and I feel just totally stuck. One the one side, (dad's) we have cousins who are fairly well off... both University graduates, both in stable relationships, both very well-adjusted and having their lives. Other the other side (mom's,) we have two cousins who may not be in the best states financially, (one just lost his job) but both living independently and with their significant others, homes and kids (although in one case... er, forget it.) Then in the middle, here's us three... two disgruntled students and one working an enigmatic job over the internet, all living at home, all in a state of arrested development being schlepped around in a rented van and sitting still and being awkward and quiet. I don't know if any of our family members think about this, but at some points it was all I was able to think about.

We get all bitter and pissy, it's true, but hey, it's the only time we get to see these particular family members, especially Grandad (apart from just before his increasingly-frequent trips.) If they notice anything, they're far too nice to point it out. But for some reason I can't be myself. Just a really bland character I play.

So we got home and bummed around and ate Chinese. I finished off a short paper I had put off but was due the next day. It wasn't terribly important or long (750 words tops,) but I had a hard time getting started. Once I got rolling though it wasn't all that difficult to finish it off. I don't know how good it is, but a lot of the time my only real concern is that it's done. I know that's terrible, especially considering my resolution was to become a better student, but at this point I'm so fucking exasperated all I can hope for is to cross the finish line.

Great attitude.

So I got up early the next morning and went to school so I could hand it in. On my way home I actually ran into RyLai at Union. I was hiding out on the stairwell, playing solitaire and listening to Van Halen* and he came up and sat down. Apparently he decided to skip out on the rest of the day, by chance arriving at the station while I was there. So we spent the train-ride (and ensuing bus ride) having one of our classic inappropriate public conversations.

(*Over the weekend I was so bored on the way home that I noted down songs I'd like to see in the next Guitar Hero game, then when I got home, downloaded the ones I didn't already have... there was some Van Halen on there.)

Then I got home, back to my shitty house and life. And if you think that's just me being hard on myself, let me assure you I'm being quite literal... Grandma had been kind enough to leave Xena with us, and she and Max took turns making a mess of the place. So yes, Monday was a shitty day indeed.

That's not to say today hasn't also been rough. The various frustrations and annoyances have been adding up, particularly in regards to a couple things: my film study project (due next tuesday) and this scholarships thing. I finally went down to the awards/admissions office (a big scary looking old building) and was tyold they had no fucking clue what to do, the problem is with Sheridan. I suspect this is not going to be taken care of favorably. I have to go down to Sheridan sometime and the news will probably be bad, but at least this godforsaken ordeal will be put to rest.

Like, I can't properly express how fucking frustrated all this makes me. My entire life is going about as smoothly as an axe to the head right now.

I wish there were something good to report. I wish I could say I were on top of things or that I'd done something lately that I was proud of or satisfied with. The fact of the matter is that it's probably even going to get worse before it gets better. I haven't done much writing lately, only thinking about writing. Just been a friggin' miser.

I don't want to go to school tomorrow. Don't really want to face the world. But there are things in this life, dear, we must inevitably face. And how we take these things is what defines us, I suppose.

Life sucks (blahhhh). I wish I had some inspirational words to comfort myself. I think I'll just sit in misery for a couple more days and then see what's what.

Sorry for the downer post. Someday we'll look back and laugh (I often do.) Right now all I've got on my side is rock n' roll.

But please, out there, for my sake, keep on rockin'
-Scott

J: This suit is made of green

I wonder if everybody has these moments. I was just standing in a basement in North Bay at 10:00 on a Friday night inflating a mattress, contemplating when I was going to bed and thinking "how did I get here and why?"

I've recorded my ongoing inner conflicts about the bi-annual North Bay trips for years on SWP and I'll get back to it later. Let's back the narrative up to Thursday morning, when I said... "Fuck today."

Tht was the first thing out of my mouth that day. Hadn't even gotten off the mattress. I felt like lead and I had this feeling, even though I had plans to enjoy my day off, I felt this deep and presiding sense of anxiety over the day. It was not going to work out, somehow. So I said, man, "Fuck today."

Well I did get out of bed, and lounged around, hemming and hawing about taking care of something, school-related. I didn't and didn't really want to. I did have plans to hang out with Robyn; I called her. No reply. I actually dialled her number more times than I reasonably should have, each time getting no answer. Weird old insecurities crept back up. I got better with the telephone over the years but I hate dialling and not getting a response. Hate having to leave messages (so I don't when I can get away with it.) Have having to wonder where the person is. It caused me perhaps irrational angst. "C'mon!"

I tried to go on with my day, slowing down the rate of calling. I played GH, watched TV, made lunch, as my vague plans slipped away. I went and got myself some coffee and visited the bank and grumbled about the weather - chilly but exacerbated by far by the harsh icy wind. I decided that by the time I got back, with my luck, Robyn probably would have called and I would check the "last number" to see this and say, "Well that figures." So I was out for about an hour and came back and checked the phone.

Upon seeing the last caller all I could say was, "Well, that figures." So I called her back.

I could tell from the moment she answered that she was ill, which explained very clearly and innocently why she hadn't answered my various calls. We talked a short while then I let her get back to resting. The rest of the day passed very dull-ly.

Around 10:00 after several more hours of Guitar Hero (not to mention grocery shopping and mounting personal angst for no good reason) and a random MSN from Jasmin, Chris came online and aske me if I'd be down for Risk. It took me a moment to realize that it was in fact a weekend and though I had something to be up for the next day, it was nothing the level of school or something so taxing I couldn't stay up a little late. So I decided to come.

It was a decent three-man match between me, Chris and Ryan. What really happened is that we all started by getting a continent then the board changed very loittle over the course of four hours. We watched Scorpion King and Pitch Black, then soem Arrested Development. Then as Ryan was starting to mount a campaign to finish me off, he had to go and it was after three so the game was done. After he left, Chris and I finished watching the episode of Arrested that was on, and shot the shit a while before I finally left around 3:45. I'd stayed a little later than intended. I got home, put the trash out, and fell into bed at about 4:10.

At 6:30, in addition to my alarm going off (crap, I forgot to turn it off) I had to deal with my mom morosely jumping to conclusions about the state of my dog's health. I can't say for certian, only from observing him day after day, but he seems pretty fine. Maybe not a morning person and maybe with a bit of indigestion, but I don't think it's as melodramatic as mom would have us believe. He's still quite energetic at times, and I don't fault him for being laid basck most of the time (I think the sound of Guitar Hero gets him riled up though.) He does unfortunately leave messes around the house, of varying natures. In Spring he'll probably be better about going outside.

But my point is, she was practically freaking out this morning at 6:30 outside my door and not directly to me. She just wouldn't settled down about it and I'd barely gotten two hours of sleep (through my own decision, predicated on the assumption nobody would wake me up.) I drifted in and out of sleep, sadly, mostly being conscious when mom brought Grandma over and gave her a pep talk of what to do in case something goes wrong (with the dog.) Grandma is staying at our place because mom and Tim went to Lake Placid and someone's gotta take care of the dog while we're in North Bay. What a convergence of circumstances. It is, after all, the long weekend.

So I finally crawled my ass outta bed at 9:30, showered then got a call from dad. "You guys ready?" No. "Okay. When will you be?" Uh... 10:30? "Okay, see you then." The other guys weren't even up.

Eventually they did get up. And around 10:30 dad showed up. We got all our junk into the rented van and headed up here on the usual North Bay road trip. I was still really tired from not having slept a decent length of time, but have never really been one to sleep in a car, so I've been dragging all day. This rented yuppiemobile was equipped with XM Sattellite Radio, my first close experience with one. Having a manual of XM stations, Deb eventually selected what was listed as some kind of rock station. The problem was, it seemed to deal exclusively in crap rock. There was Journey, Styx, and what appeared to be a lot of Bryan Adams, among other things. I actually ended up putting in my iPod even though the experience of having earbuds in and sitting next to a speaker is jarring. The highlights of their playlist were Steve Miller, Joan Jett and Sweet Emotion. Other than that, pretty rough.

We got here and it's been the usual sitting talking, questions, followed by dinner, more conversation... I can't say it's been the most fantastic evening so far but (dinner was nice and) I try to play down whatever bothers me for the duration of the trip to North Bay and just let it be. It'd be nice to be at home (wouldn't have to miss Joe's latest show, or any friends who came home for the weekend,) but I don't have to do this very often so it's just best to let it happen.

I have some serious issues, some of which I will get into on my next post... tomorrow night or sunday.

Mark your calendars?

I'm pretty bummed. I think I need something good to go on very soon.

Have a happy easter everyone. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

I: If your life had a face I would punch it.

It was one of those days. Let me re-phrase that. It was one of those days. I had a word for those days back in the day. Blog-worthy. Perhaps ironically (perhaps not, depending on how strictly you apply the word,) when I used to use the word "blog-worthy," I blogged more often anyway. Now I'm down to what, three a week? Less? And I haven't used that word in Goodness-knows how long.

I was watching a movie today in class - I'll get back to it later but it's pertinent to the subject. Two women, sisters, were talking about their childhoods, and one delivered this monologue about how their mother used to read through her diary and get disappointed by the contents. Irked by the invasion of privacy, the woman started hiding the diary in different places, and yet the mother continued to read it. This compounded the frustration: the mother was not merely finding and opening the diary but actively searching and examining it. What gets me, amuses me at least, is that the response was to move the diary, not to stop writing in it altogether. And I understand that. Once you get to this level of being a diarist, you can't put this pattern of behaviour away. You become dependant on your writing, at least I have. For some of the grief SWP has caused me over the yers I've considered stopping with it altogether, or maybe at least starting afresh. I doubt I ever will, even after my not-too-distant 1000th post.

SWP has provided me with an astonishing level of release over the years and has allowed me to become a balanced, thoughtful individual, or at least that's what I tell myself. I can understand myself and my problems in lieu of paid therapy and not internalize and drive myself insane. More than that, I've actually made a friend or two because of this thing, or become closer to others than I otherwise would have.

And thinking back, that's a damn good feeling.

Last night I wrote a couple pages of prose, or something resembling prose; it was the most I've written in several months if you discount my autobiographical writing. Not having to get up particularly early tomorrow I intend to do so again after this. I didn't remember my dream this morning. I have a vague impression of one, but it was more of a montage and upon waking it was gone, a change from recent days where each morning I wake up feeling like I downloaded a 3-hour epic feature film from my subconscious. Ever since the summer of 2004, I've equated vivid dreams with a lack of creative output, and rarely have I been proven wrong.

It was a below average day, especially from the outset. I slogged through my early classes with some palpable mental resistance. In film, we watched some films to round up the idea of feminist criticism; the one I earlier mentioned (Daughter Rite I believe) and Orlando, in which I saw Academy Award Winner Tilda Swinton's naked body. It was rather sophisticated.

On the subway between classes I saw the second-oddest thing I've seen on the subway (after a guy hitting on a random girl and ahead of a guy telling the story of how he swiped an iPhone from a counter at some store.) After the doors had been open a while a woman got in at Museum and asked "This goes to St. George right?" We were headed to Queen's Park so someone turned the woman around and as she hurried to catch the northbound train the poofball at the end of her scarf got caught in the closing doors. She tapped on the doors and walked alongside a while when an older woman (fifties? Sixties??) managed to pry the door open a crack and release the woman from certain doom. It was quite impressive, and congratulatory nods were handed out.

Last was poetry. It was pretty dedicated to workshopping, so the class went by quick. There's this one girl, she's from Iran originally, and I think (and my friend Jasmin agrees,) she's probably infatuated with me. Not in a sexual way or anything; she has a boyfriend. I kind of think of her as being very sweet and innocent because she doesn't have a terrific grasp of the English language (although her English is far superior to my Farsi.) Although I've seen her modelling portfolio... not innocent. It's just that she happens to leave her group for whatever group I'm in and is frequently asking my help, my opinion, etc. So I have a reputation as somebody who helps others. I'm really not sure how I got that but it's most surely ill-deserved.

No, I do try, and I was trying to give out some good comments during the small and large workshopping. Maybe I actually succeeded but a lot of the time I felt like I was just rambling for the sake of making sure I said something to fill the awkwardness (that is largely the philosophy behind this blog.) I had Claire in my group, who is always genuinely interested in improving her own work and in discussing those of others. She's also British. I don't know why that is important or amusing but for some reason it is. I read a revised version of "To Quebec City," a poem I started writing in October but didn't feel comfortable with until March. It's the wordiest piece of writing I've submitted in that class. It has at least two interesting features: one, I shot it full of rhyming bullets like a 1930's Chicago tommygun fight. The other is that it dares to be in turns and sometimes at once: nostolgic, self-deprecating, innocent, sexual, clever and somewhat brutal. I didn't explain the story of the poem, because it's not much of a story, more an interpretation of something that may have happened. I let the listeners each have their interpretations and never explicitly said anything all that overt, and rarely even made much attempt to imply anything. It managed, somewhat unintentionally, to really play with their minds, which I'm proud of.

There were a few good suggestions, and some praise for the sense of humour that permeates my work. I'm glad it come out; if I didn't have a sense of humour I think I'd wind up writing some of the darkest most depressing pieces. The only one this year that didn't at least seem to have a humourous slant was my second one, Eclipse, which was referred to as "creepy." Maybe not in a bad way, but I wasn't sure how I felt about it. Anyway, by the end I managed to absorb all the compliments I could, as I tend to do whenever I sense people are willingly giving praise. It's not much of a character flaw that I'm a glutton for praise (I just consider it my charm.)

We moved into a larger group workshop session, started in on pieces by Tara (the aforementioned Persian girl,) Dion, and Claire. Jasmin actually snuck one in on the end, running through a revision of a neat 3-line piece she wrote around Valentine's.

I got to Union. No Ryan, expectedly but disappointingly. Rode the train home in silence. Walked home singing along obnoxiously to my iPod. When I got home, Eric delivered the sad news: there was no supper yet. I was hungry and I took some anger out on him but he already had reason to feel bad (just didn't know it yet.) He'd fallen victim to a well-known scam, I won't say which or for how much, but once he realized he'd been conned he got understandably bitter about it. I didn't push the issue and dinner was thence done in good time. Yeah, thence.

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

It's late and that's all for tonight. I hope you're having a wonderful evening. Maybe I'll do some writing but not much. Hands tired.

Please do keep on rockin
-Scotto

H: This is what the moon looks like

So it's not been a great day.

I mean, the weather has been gray, dull and disheartening. It looks like it's gonna keep raining through tomorrow. On Monday, Ryan delivered the news he wouldn't be commuting on Wednesdays anymore, which saddens me, like a breakup of sorts.

Didn't really wanna go to school but had no reason not to. I got to Union, hungry, and stopped at McDonald's. Against my better judgment I got a double cheeseburger meal because some genius made it less expensive than a proper cheeseburger. I actually don't care for double cheeseburgers, maybe it's the super thin guy in me but the extra meat just makes me feel gross, man. It took what-felt-like 18 minutes to make. When I unwrapped it - far from the McDonald's down on the Subway platform - it was slathered with burger grease to the point I actually had to wipe it off with the napkin.

So I'm off McDonald's for now. Or at least until I feel like paying the extra 50 cents for a regular cheeseburger. I'm weirdly particular.

So I got there and felt nasty full of grease. Class was a relatively bland garrulous lecture on feminist criticism of filmmaking. Coincidentally or perhaps not (since I knew the topic beforehand but wasn't thinking of it) it related back to an idea that hit me on the train, the one really good part of the day. I was reading the Carson book, a novel in verse (a nice light read when you stack it up against Foucault) and a wave of inspiration fell over me. I re-opened Melancholy Catatonia not long ago and disliked the beginning of it. I love the heart of the story but it could use a makeover and I started whipping myself into a frenzy on how that could be done. I've got a few ideas for chapters/vignettes to work from and cobble into a proper narrative, smoothing over the edges. I'm really excited about the book for the first time since like December 2005.

I was getting tired of writing my autobiography anyway; it wouldn't have an ending. I had figured on ending it with my first day at U of T, but that leaves the entire story hanging lamely.

I got home, had dinner, played Guitar Hero, et cetera so forth. Clearly I am living to the extreme.

On friday night, before I headed out to meet Ryan, the brothers and I ordered pizza from Pizza Pizza. When the delivery guy got here, I gave him the money and a decent tip. I'm about to close the door when he turns to me "Wait sir..." I wait. "This your newspaper?"

I look down, an Oakville Beaver sits idly by the doorstep. I nod. He pauses a beat and asks, "Can I have it?"

I gave it a moment's thought; I'm normally charitable* but this wasn't my paper to give, so I told him no and bid him goodbye. I had to laugh. Pizza boys want your newspaper. (Maybe not.)

There's an ad. If you watch CTV you've likely seen it. It takes place on a bus, a massive singalong, basically for Canadian Idol. If you don't recognize the song they're singing, don't worry. And if nobody sings it on Canadian Idol, don't be surprised. That song happens to be "Dreaming of You," the 2002 single from the Coral, a well-known group in the UK whose North American fans can probably be numbered in the dozens. I've been rambling about them since the early days of this blog and even before when my Liverpudlian acquaintence Adam Eddie Hunch Edwards recommended them to me. I've got three of their five albums (more than one every year and a half) and it's tricky to really recommend them because their music is really out there, so the first song a person hears may leave an inaccurate perception (Alyssa, upon hearing one song, consoled me that "it's okay to like country." I think she later revised this opinion somewhat.)

What I'm getting at is that it's a perplexing choice for an advert for Canadian Idol on the grounds that:
-It's terribly obscure
-It's from six years ago more or less
-The vocals aren't terrifically good, and the show is about singing
-The song is a little depressing

Sure, it's insanely catchy but still questionable. Maybe the rights were just cheap. I don't even think you can buy that CD at most retailers.

Anyway, I've basically cleared out my stock of random conversational material. Tomorrow, a long fairly pointless day. Think I'll quell my heart with some casual writing. If I write more, perhaps my dreams will become less lucid and filmlike. In last night's, I got into a fistfight with an uncle of mine for no good reason.

Keep on rockin
-Scotto

G: Take my hand and let me do the rest

I'm relaxing on this St. Patrick's day with a tall cool beer, a Kilkenny I bummed off my brother in exchange for two of the inferior Holstens. The weekend was pretty thick in beer and the fact that I've not written about it (I really did mean to do a Sunday morning post) is unfortunate. This weekend will live on for a while but not for all the right reasons (such as the first weekends of November and February, to name a few of my better weekends. Sad that some of my better weekends are other peoples' less memorable.)

At the time of my last entry I was on my way out, anticipating a night of unknown proportions. Indeed I was partway out the door, with my wallet, iPod, game face and sense of adventure. I went out to the bus stop around 8 to catch the 27. I figured on meeting up with Ryan on the bus.

It was his birthday. Specifically, Saturday was his 19th birthday but on Friday he hatched a plan for a little early celebration. He wanted to be drunk headed into midnight and had come across a good opportunity; some random pub night at Ryerson. With everyone else working or otherwise engaged it seemed we were a two-man crew, as I was down for anything. Besides, with both of our commuter credentials, it cost us nothing to get to Toronto anyway. The only hitch is that the last Westbound GO train is at 12:43, cutting short the night of partying inherently. We would just have to get twice as drunk.

So I was at the bus stop waiting. After a moment I figured I must've missed the bus going the one way, so I crossed the road. Moments passed and I stared intently. Nothing, nothing, nothing but cars and SUVs. I began to cry out in frustration; "Fuck! Fucking hell! What the fuck!"

Sometime after 8:20, a vaguely-familiar SUV pulled up and a familiar voice called my name "Scott! Get it!" It was Ryan, riding shotgun in his mom's car. As we sped off into the night, Ryan explained what I already suspected. The bus, nonsensically, was a voice between the hours of 8 and 9. It was not a reduced service; it was no service. So we rushed off, Ryan's mother driving faster than any Asian woman ever has, (to coin a stereotype), as the two of them discussed the qualifications of George Harrison's "My Sweet Lord" as an "old song."

As we were pulling into the station's parking lot (I was thinking Mrs. Lai should just do what my mom does and kiss-and-ride at the corner across from the bus lane) Ryan even opened his door and did a premature escape and we ran up the platform just in time to see the train leave the station. Groan. The night was not off to a good start.

After some hemming and hawing about how we were going to fill in the extra hour delay before the next train, Ryan recalled there was a hotel nearby, and hotels typically have bars. So we rolled out.

There was some speculation as to what would happen when Ryan asked for a drink, given he was still 18 for a few hours. We walked in and hailed the bartender. I asked for a G&T and Ryan ordered a draught. The barkeep asked for our IDs. I handed over my health card, Ryan handed over his G1. The guy shrugged and poured the beer. We shrugged and took a seat in the very comfortable yet very empty lounge. The highlight (other than a Futurama episode on the TV) was a couple random hotel patrons walking by in bikinis on their way to the pool; fine young lasses.

We caught the 9:30 Eastbound train to Toronto and, after one of those lengthy sprawling train conversations that was basically the foundation for our interaction, we got to Union shortly after 10. We were both hungry; Ryan got some McD's, and I opted not to get anything because I couldn't figure on what would go with the copious drinking I intended to do. So I went hungry.

Ryan led me through a shopping complex he navigates on a daily basis on our way to the Ryerson campus. Except after about 10 minutes of walking we got to a set of locked doors. So we had to find our way outside. That put us on a detour that was inconvenient but ultimately irrelevant.

We got to this place. There was a crack squad of University dudes at the door checking ID's. He looked at Ryan's ID and noted, "We have the same birthday." Ryan replied, "Yep." The guy says, "...tomorrow." Ryan corrects him, "In an hour and a half." Then there was this weird moment of seeming approval and the guy gave Ryan his wristband. I was up next. I give him my health card and the guy looks all mock-concerned for a moment and just tells me, "Oh uh, I can't accept this." They can take drivers licenses, passports, immigrant cards, army cards... but not health cards. I've heard of this rule but it has heretofore been a myth to me. Occasionally one of us will get a hard time at the LCBO but I have never once in my life been denied a drink. I wanted to punch the guy out. I took Ryan, who had already paid his cover charge, aside and told him things were going badly. We formulated a plan; Ryan would buy the beers and we would drink until someone kicked me out. I let the guy slap the green "non-drinkin'" wristband on me, totally neutered of my actual age.

I'd like to reiterate the arbitrary nature of this ID regulation; in that it's bullshit. It takes a certain level of proof of identity to obtain a photo health card. It can't be counterfieted any more easily than a driver's license. It has my picture, date of birth and address on it. There's not a single goddamn reason I shouldn't be able to use it as ID. But on this night I swallowed my pride. Ultimately, I learned that the reason I have the pride I do is so that I don't have to swallow it.

We went with the plan, wristband in place, and began to browse the place. It was actually looking kinda lame, but it was still relatively early. The vast majority of patrons had green "non-drinking" wristbands on. And then suddenly it dawned on us; Ryan did, too. I scoffed and we stormed out. Those fuckers got our $3 cover charge, but I didn't schlep my ass all the way to Toronto to sip Cokes all night.

So we stormed out. "My balls hurt from how badly they've been kicked tonight," I exclaimed as soon as we were out.

We ended up going down the block a bit to a nice-but-kinda-sketchy sports pub/lounge populated at first mostly by older people with a few Ryerson kids wandering in after we did. We went up to the bar and the amply curvacious barmaid asked us what we'd be hanging. I ordered a Stella, Ryan a Heinekin. There was no question of ID. We drank a cheers to the way things ought to be, drinking without hassles.

Kinda down from the way things had gone, we decided to call it a night early and catch the 11:43. If I'd been in the proper headspace I might've exercised my perogative to hit on random girls and try to liven up Ryan's birthday a bit, but there are some things you just can't do in a bad mood.

So after admiring the various tattoos of both the rotund barmaid and her skinny co-worker (who was sporting a Biohazard symbol on her upper back) we cooled out and went to the subway.

Once we got to Unino I decided now was the time for comfort food and got in line at McDonald's. Of course, there's a reason certain people work at McDonald's at Unino Station at 11:30 on a friday night; they're fucking slow. So the line was dead and by the time I got my order straightened out and processed, we had exactly one minute to catch our train.

We sprinted, breathless and, as we landed on the inside of the doorway, laughing our asses off at what a close call. "We are not missing our second train in one night!" I laughed. What a mess.

As Ryan celebrated midnight while we rolled past Long Branch station, we invented a counting system to determine how good or bad the night was; for every good thing that happened we add, for every bad, we subtract. Particularly good or bad things are +/- 2 or even 3. I forget the exact figures, but it came out as a minus eight, which is a total write-off. We decided to reconvene the next night to shoot for a plus three, but it would take something like a plus six to salvage the weekend. The truth is, in telling the story, it doesn't seem so bad, but if you were there you'd have been bitching along with us.

In the meantime the next morning I paid off my tuition (and fired off an e-mail about my scholarship) and purchased the Guitar Hero 1+2 dualpack. So that's where the bulk of Saturday went. Saturday night we got to arranging things; matters like transportation, who was available, what the activity was, were paid close attention.

We ended up going bowling with some friends of Ryan's and Chris', all of whom I've met and drank with, some of whom I've even bought for. They're nice people, but facing facts they aren't my friends, just decent folk to spend a night drinking with. The driver (Jer) pulled up in his Chrysler Neon with Ryan riding shotgun, and Chris, BK and Karlyn in the back. Being the last one picked up, I was left with the uncomfortable inevitability of occupying the real estate between Chris and the door. I prayed we didn't get pulled over or in an accident.

No, we did arrive at Classic Bowl in one piece, and got our number, reservation #144. They were up to something like 135 so it wasn't going to be a terribly long wait. I explained how I used to work there approximately five times to less and less interest. I take pride in the fact that basically every job I've had was either a) cool (if overly laborious) or b) I got a good story out of it. Or both.

They got a pitcher, I was feeling like G&T again. Chris and I grabbed the shoes when our number was called. Chris, like a trooper (or a guy who works 48 hours a week) paid for the evening. I'd slip him a couple bucks reimbursement, but I'm thinking I need it more than he does. Call me selfish but I just think of myself as an unemployed student.

We began to bowl. Chris proved himself impressive early, and I bowled the way I normally do when I'm out with friends - inconsistent and below average. I haven't actually rolled a ball in nearly a year and was without my own ball but it's not like I was a wreck out there. Slowly I build myself back up until I was neck and neck with Chris, eventually overtaking him by one pin in the 9th. Everyone else was far behind. I think we (107 and 108 by then) were the only onese to break 100.

"This next frame," I told Chris, "is for honour... and our place in the car." The loser would be the guy cramped in on the end. Chris agreed and we shook. He bowled; he missed a spare. I bowled, and I too missed a spare... but got the nine pins necessary to bit him by one single point. I celebrated by drinking more beer and bowling the remaining 15 minutes (like three frames) granny-style and picking up at least one spare in that way.

It seemed like a threat but with me in the middle the back of the Neon was far more comfortable. Well, aside from being sandwiched between Chris and Karlyn and BK's arm.

We went back to Ryan's place where he had a Kershaw-style basement, complete with ping pong table, bar, and entertainment center. Ryan put on some CCR and served Ice Cream Cake. After a squeaker between he and Chris on the ping pong table (I think Chris won) the three of us drank and played Smash Bros. while the othe three... well who knows.

Chris and I walked home sometime shortly before 2, leaving Jer to stay the night. On the way home we talked haircuts and school and other junk.

Sunday I hung out with Amanda and just relaxed. Today was similarly lightweight.

I thought I had something else to say, but I don't really, unless you count my dream. One character on that great show "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" sums it up thusly: Other peoples' dreams are like photos. If I'm not in them and nobody's having sex, they're boring. I had this dream that I was reuniting with all these Sheridan people. When this one guy (you can imagine who) showed up (uninvited) he shook Jess' hand and she threw up. That was not surprising; this individual nauseated many people, particularly the females.

My fingers are tired and it's late. I've given you plenty and I intend to take my due. Something's been on my mind for days; I'll look after it shortly.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

F: Beautiful monsters and bad people

It's been a very difficult week to get through, riveted in the middle with one of the better days I've had in a while.

On Monday (a day on which I actually posted) the hours were dragging. I felt like I was in trouble. I decided to take the next day off for the sake of my very long, very important essay due Friday. It was time well spent as I formulated myself a thesis and cracked into the all-important legwork in the afternoon while I would've otherwise been on the train. I then chilled out and procrastinated for several hours while Eric brought home It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia seasons 1 & 2, which required my attentions. Good show. I ended up actually writing about 4 pages (~50%) that night, for which I felt proud.

On Wednesday, the hours returned to their dragging ways. The flaw, foreseen by me, was that I had missed the cinema studies lecture, and thus had no real idea what I was in for with this movie. My friend Alison (I know this world is killing you) had also skipped on Tuesday and was equally lost. It was the complicated matter of indiginous (African) filmmaking, and the film, Cuddo, was not exactly the most accessible piece of cinema.

After that was, of course, poetry. As always happens when we have a guest reader, the class was dedicated to reading his work, then having him come in and read it, and us asking questions. His name was Dempster, with the first name of Barry (phrasing it weirdly may prevent random google-searches.) He was a funny guy with some interesting poetry that was clever and not always totally upbeat but usually quite probing. He seemed to go over well, and his anecdotes and self-effacing added some good dressing.

On the subway with an acquaintence, I saw a penny and picked it up. He noted it was heads-up, which was bad luck. So I dropped it again. Tails this time, I picked it up but then, fearing bad mojo, chucked it. "If I hold onto this thing," I told him, "I might get hit by a train."

I got to Union roughly on time. Ryan, sadly, was absent, so I just sat on the train listening to my iPod random playlist. My bad penny mojo seemed to be catching up with me; The train started to rock back and forth and then lean precariously. I began to feel like I was in danger. My first thought was "Holy crap, I can't believe I might die... and Ryan's not here." Then I listened to my iPod some more and thought "Holy crap I can't believe I might die... while I'm listening to New Sensation by INXS." That just seemed inappropriate. (Oddly enough it just came on.)

I had considered working on the essay more on Wednesday night but was understandably tired.

Thursday was the big day. That is, it was my day off, and in most cases I would've dedicate dthe day to finishing my essay. Well actually I would have dedicated the day to procrastinating and feeling guilty, but I had something going on. Last week when Robyn and I were hanging out she expressed a fondness for Super Mario World and I suggest we hang out sometime and play it. I don't remember the last time I hung out with a girl and played video games (actually I do) let alone at my house (actually I do.) We met up around noon and played until around 4, getting through five castles and Star World. Pretty good for a day's work. After that we got some coffee and chilled out.

We talked about life, relationships, boobs (I'll talk about boobs to anyone who will listen)... my preteen awkwardness, which I like to talk about to prove (to myself if nobody else) I'm over it. We had one of those long topic-sprawling conversations but it did center on those matters. I kinda took it on myself to burrow into something I figured (apparently rightly) was troubling her the week before. It's good to talk, and be listened to. And these days, I like to listen.

Not, like, cup to the bedroom door listen, but actually listen. Don't be gross.

I got home around 5:30 which was a problem because it's always a problem when I can't be found. We'd been through this when I showed up late for my aunt's birthday and now here I was nearly missing grocery shopping. I'll admit I had lost track of time, but Eric laid a trip on me about not having a cell phone, pushing hard that the time was coming to get one.

After hemming and hawing about the various reasons I resist, I just told him I didn't want it to be "another one of those things" to worry about having with em, about paying for nd chargind and all this other crap. I know there are times when it would've been far easier for others if I had one. At the same time I don't feel like there's a vital problem with my life without a cell phone. I will get one eventually... society is making it increasingly difficult to live without one. But for now, I don't really want it. I'm a fucking luddite and proud.

After we got back I set down at the computer and hammered out the remainder of my essay, modifying my thesis somewhat. I don't know that it's my best work... it's one of those "hope for a 74" pieces... but I think I'm in tight with my TA. I sent him a question and not only did he answer, he said he thought well of me that I asked that question. So that may colour his perception of my essay positively. Or it may just reveal me as a dumbass. Que sera sera. The point is, it's done.

I finished the piece by 10 and indulged in watching Eric's and my new favourite show, the L-Word. I know that may come as a shock because I'm not a lesbian or a housewife or a woman of any description, but hear me out. I'm surprised more men haven't caught on, because not only is it pretty sharply-written with good characters and interesting stories, it's got some of the hottest sex scenes I've ever seen. Now that I've let the secret out, think of me when you're watching the L-Word, guys.

Well, that actually might ruin the whole thing, so maybe don't.

After a long dream that felt like a lengthy film, I woke up this morning very reluctantly. I was kinda in a miserable mood going through three rought tutorials... hammered in philosophy with questions I can't always grasp, settled in Narrative with a book I've not yet read... puzzled in cinema study by a movie whose lesson I didn't absorb. Hurm. This week has been very up and down, but mostly down.

I've got what looks to be a decent night lined up from here on, though, so I'll let you know how it works out.

Keep on rockin'
Scott
(El Cowlick)

E: We have the words but not the meanings

You can tell it's springlike out there because I decided to listen to London Calling all the way through. There's no reason I shouldn't have before, it's all on my iPod, but I hadn't opted to do so for a while. But for whatever reason I'll always mentally associate London Calling with cruising around Oakville on my bike in high school with my discman in the pocket of my giant jeans. I still remember the first time I ever listened to "The Right Profile," it was a fucking revelation.

Not that it was tremendous out there today. It was still fairly jacket weather, occasionally you get that chill that makes you want to cinch up tigher. But it was warm enough that ever-expanding puddles were left between the still-giant snowbanks. It was a lot nicer today than it was on the weekend. With that awesome segue under my belt, let's get back to my epic story I began yesterday.

So I headed over to Chris' around 10. We couldn't get ahold of anyone for a fourth so it was a three man game between me, Chris and Ryan. Three men is not the ideal Risk scenario but it's worth it once in a while to play anyway. The game was pretty brutal on me and I'll admit I was indeed overly vocal about it. I was stuck in a hard place in Africa, made a bad decision and paid for it for the rest of the game. I ended up losing and I believe Chris was ultimately the winner largely due to the fact that Ryan didn't attack him until I was out of the game, nor did Chris attack him, so they were just basically hammering at me for the duration of Tremors, a few episodes of Arrested Development, and Blues Brothers 2000, which I underestimated.... it was really just an updated version of the original and that was pretty good. Not amazing, certainly not the original, but good enough. Tremors is still a good movie though.

On my way over, I had stopped as I often do nowadays, for refreshments, since I like the caffeine and I think the other guys appreciate it; a 2-Litre of Dr Pepper is always welcome at a Risk game. In the store, I heard a little voice calling from behind me. I turned to see not a person, but a little bag. It was a Surprise Bag and for whatever reason it caught my eye. I hadn't bought one in a long while... months, maybe years. I decided to pick it up - it was the $2 variant Surprise Bag, so I bundled it up with the bottle of pop and headed over. The contents were as follows:

- One roll of peppermint lifesavers
- One box of gummy bears, apparently from 1996
- One random Hershey bar wrapped in plain foil
- One small baggie of green Skittles.

Who makes these things? I passed around the gummy bears and the consensus was they were stale and gross. I still ate the whole thing, however, despite having a notable mustiness to them.

Because of the Daylight Saving Timewarp the game ended a little after 4 and we played Guitar Hero until 5:30 or so. by that time Ryan and I had agreed to stay the night, because Chris had wanted to get up first thing and go down to the mall to pick up Smash Bros. Brawl, which he had on order.

So Ryan and I fell asleep each taking a couch, only to be awakened promptly after 8:30 the next morning, inhumanly tired out, certainly not properly rested. This was not the greatest plan ever. After shaking out the cobwebs, we headed out and got the game in short order, walking through nasty cold weather on freshly-plowed roads to get it. After getting the game we fulfilled my request for "coffee... lots of coffee..." and each got a different size coffee (respective to our relative heights) and a doughnut (respective to our relative love of icing and/or sprinkles.) We got home and set up the game.

It's a good game. It took me a while to get my groove back because I never played it for GameCube except for a few brief encounters I wasn't really into, and I was the only one playing with the Wii controller. It was still a blast although I got approximately 1/10th the number of KO's the others did and won a very small fraction of the brawls, in most matches I wasn't too pathetic I don't think. Clumsy maybe but if this were the N64 version I would've had a much better showing (quite a hypothetical there.)

We played until about 4:30 when I got the serious feeling I should be headed home. When I got there, that hunch proved accurate if somewhat late (I had been making overtures about leaving for like an hour before I bothered to do so.) I found an empty house. I had a theory immediately, which was confirmed when I got the note that everyone was over at Grandma's building, please come by when you get home. (I had e-mailed Eric that I would be hanging out with my friends all day but nobody saw fit to confirm that I was due home at any particular time.) I had thought Aunt Karen's birthday was later in the month. Feeling somewhat embarrassed and guilty for myself, I showered and began to walk over. In the midst of the walk, Tim, who works weekends and is thus always late for these, passed by and gave me a lift. A good thing too, because walking over was a bad idea.

It was actually the second time in three years I've been late in getting to Aunt Karen's birthday. In 2006, I was hanging out with a friend (Robyn, if memory serves) and was teased both times when I finally did show up.

It was a standard family gathering. I caught up with the aunts and was largely, after dinner, called on to help amuse the kids. I do this out of a sense of duty and because the alternative is that they get restless and frankly kinda bitchy. I think I was probably the same when I was a kid but I had older brothers and the three of us were pretty good at amusing ourselves. Also, after-dinner on Sunday family dinners when I was a kid was for TV and baths. But anyway I stepped up, and Eric followed my lead (he always does; when my ankle was hurt and I didn't want to play with the kids too much, he didn't either.)

We improvised a little game where the kids would climb on our backs and we would pretend we couldn't find them. Eric and I would rant and rave about how we couldn't see them "behind us," in a sort of mentally handicapped "Who's On First." The kids also hit a bit of drama when they couldn't come to terms on how a particular game was to be played. They can be such drama queens.

Today was a nice day, as I alluded to earlier. I've been preparing myself for an 8-page (minimum) essay in narrative; I'm somewhat concerned about that. It's going to require a lot of focus and attention to detail and hopefully I can muster up enough random rhetoric to pull myself through it. I'm thinking I'm gonna take tomorrow off and work on it. I don't generally like to skip Film study but the notes are online and this is the greater good.

I saw something today that I've never seen before and it surprised me. After getting out of Narrative, I headed down to the Museum subway station and waited for the train. Standing near me was this Asian girl with a pink streak in her hair. I don't know her story, but I later found out she'd been in my class. I don't think I would have had the balls to approach her unless circumstances greatly favoured me so I just kind of inhabited the space a short distance away from her, and got on the train and sat within earshot, but with my iPod plugged in. To amuse myself in public places during my boring commute, I do tend to gravitate toward random girls because I'm confident enough in my social skills to be comfortable with being creepy, because if I get called on it, I can talk my way out of being creepy, rather than just stammer nervously like I might've when I was a creepy 15-year-old.

But I didn't directly address this girl, no, and the strange thing I saw was this: after the train leaves, this dude swoops in next to her, takes the seat between me and her. The Beatles are on my iPod (Hey Jude) so I didn't notice his opening line but I did listen intently when he said he liked her hair and asked where she was coming from/going. She explained she was heading home to St. Patrick station (presumably she lives in the Chestnut residence) after being in class. The dude was all smiles and handshakes and eager listening, but St. Patrick is two stops down from museum and unless he was really, really on his game he was not going to get a number or anything more than a name. After she got off the train, he just sat there and I tried to hide my smirk in a poker face (I am not known for having a great poker face, at least not when I'm playing poker.) I wanted to say to the guy, "Bold move, guy. Nice try," but decided against it, because it would've come off as mocking. It would've come off as mocking, because it would have been mocking. Like I said, hitting on random girls on the subway is an absurd idea just because you just don't have time to get the job done, as the girls are naturally going to be wary of any guy who will randomly approach them on the subway. You know why? Because you're on the subway. This was all so strange to me, and amusing, because in all the months I've ridden the subway, I've never heard anyone converse who wasn't already acquainted. You just don't talk to strangers on the subway. Believe me, I've wanted to. But imagine being so hard up for a date that you're chatting up random girls during the space between Museum and St. Patrick. I dunno, I found it amusing.

I got to Union and decided to have a little snack - a chicken snack wrap and a drink. They gave me two, and maybe I paid for two, I didn't really check, but I only ordered one. In situations like these though, I don't quibble. I took the second one. It's not like it's a $24 steak. I can afford an extra $2 for a small little chicken wrap since one alone is hardly a meal. I didn't want a meal, I have food at home and this was just supposed to tide me over until I got there, but it worked out that it became my lunch. That's life. You can't be unhappy with crap like that. You just smile and nod and walk away.

The rest of the day was spent in preparation for my essay. Oy. Also, Eric bought Seasons 1 & 2 of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which I will probably attempt to introduce my friends to. It's not for everyone, but he and I love it because it's fuckin' outrageous.

It's tired in here. I thought I had other things to say but clearly I don't. We'll reconvene at a later date.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

D: The milk goes sour

It's been a long, tiring and somewhat eventful weekend, to thje degree that I've got plenty of material for this blog. In fact, I've got so much material that I may up pulling one of my recent tricks and splitting it into two entries to carry the load, although that may short-change oe of them (not a problem since actual interesting material here is hard to come by.) The weird trade-off for having such a busy weekend is that I end up a bit too tired to really write about it.

Friday afternoon it started snowing. Just like the meteorologists figured. We can back up a bit, but the day wasn't all that noteworthy. I got through my tutorials with varying degrees of awareness and participation. I had a moment in the Innis Cafe - eating a sandwich I had brought from home - which I thought at the time would be the big soul-searching topic of my next entry - this entry. The moment has passed and I don't think it anymore, and so this entry is going to be light on soul-searching, but here it is.

I was observing everyone around me and avoiding doing my readings. At the table across from me were these four people, two guys, too girls. One really preppy guy, one toussle-haired hipster. One girl was seemingly shy and inwardly drawn, the other free-spirited but down-to-Earth, with expressive clothes and sensible wire-frame glasses. I was thinking about how these people at that table were the archtypes of your typical University cross-sectioned student body. I eavesdropped intentionally or not although I can't remember the exact matter of their subject, I began to wonder where I really was and where I belonged. I haven't met people like these; they were probably grad students and I've largely just encountered Frosh. They still seemed to have drifted in from another dimension although they were more or less the people I somehow expected to have met since arriving at the school. It left a weird, bitter taste in my mouth. But besides that, any deep revelation I may have kept in my back pocket for just such a blog as this not long after disappeared and thus felt so much less important.

What does seem more important was that I ran into Chris & Cary's mom, Linda, on the subway. It was a very particular and deliberate coincidence that brought us to the same TTC car. Never mind the details of how she came to be in Toronto for the afternoon. I wasn't supposed to be on that subway train. I had gotten off the subway at Queen's Park after getting on at St. George. There's only one reason for this when one is headed from St. George to Union and it's not a very good reason. I wanted coffee. I was very much falling asleep in class so I decided to get a little pick-me-up because caffeine is apparently my only link to functionality these days.

I bypassed a very reasonably-located Tim Hortons at the St. George station for no particular reason. It wasn't any further out of my way than the Queen's Park Tim Hortons, in fact it may have been more convenient. The coffee sure as hell wasn't any better or worse. And although the coffee was a whim, it was a whim prior to boarding the subway; I decided right after class a coffee was in order. So why on Earth would I, rather than get a cup of coffee and ride to Union, opt to ride two stops to Queen's Park, dash off the train, get a cup of coffee and then re-board the train for four stops? My only answer is, because I could. Because for the month of March I have my metropass, which I lacked in January and February due to the abbreviated nature of the months, I've been using it. I've been taking the subwy from Museum to St. George (one stop) between classes when need be just to save walking effort and coldness (since it sure as hell doesn't save time.) Somewhewre along the lines I decided I liked the feel of the Queen's Park Tim Hortons. I don't mind the St. George one either but I feel like, with one line and five cashiers, the service is less friendly than (if equally efficient to) Queen's Park's three cashiers and each with a line.

It was after getting back on the TTC at Queens Park, actually as I was getting off at Union, that I noticed among the anonymous crowd a hint of recognition. I nodded, she said, "I thought that was you. Headed back to Oakville?" We got to talking and got on the train.

I don't know how many of my friends' mothers I would actually bother to converse with. Pat's mom is a nice person but I've only met her about twice. Conorton's mother is also quite visible to his friends but Mrs. Ferguson relates differently from other peoples' mothers. One afternoon in summer, after a lengthy writing session for "No Way My Life," I stayed for dinner and Chris' parents variously struck up conversations with me about Sheridan and my future at U of T. Around this time I understood suddenly that these people know me. That's the same sort of vantage point that causes Linda to serve plates of baked goods, brie and bread and other hors d'oevres when Cary or Chris host gatherings. That's why, instead of, when seeing her on the subway, saying, "There's my friend's mom" and shrugging and turning the other way, I engaged her in conversation.

I mentioned my philosophy class and she talked about recent readings she'd seen on neuroscience. The typical pattern of the conversation was that she'd ask me a question, I'd answer, and then she'd use something I said to swerve the subject completely. The bulk of the conversation seemed to regard poetry, of which she at one point in her life was a prolific student. She told me the story of her dissertation on W.B. Yates and how she seemed to learn academics isn't really much of a career. Mind you I don't think we were always conversing on the same level. It's not rare that someone will mistake me for someone more intellectual than I actually am, but it's been increasingly rare that that person should be demonstrably smarter than I am.

The conversation went on, much to the tedium of the person sitting across from us. He tucked his head under his cap and attempted to sleep and I don't blame him. The most preferable setup on the GO train is that everyone is quietly in their own worlds with iPods and/or Metro or whatever. If someone does happen to be conversing, hopefully they won't be right across from you, and hopefully it'll be about something interesting to eavesdrop on.

She asked, not in an accusatory way but just curiously I suppose, why we always seem to wind up in her basement weekend after weekend for Risk. I reasoned that Ryan, Chris and I probably know far fewer people left in Oakville each than out of it. We kind of need to stick together. When I went on my way, she said she figured she'd see me later that night.

The snow had started falling by now, sometime before we got to Oakville. It came down in small bits very rapidly. More snow did not feel like what we needed.

The evening wore on and Risk did not actually look likely. I decided to take a turn back at writing and return to my hokey little autobiography project (if you like ths site you might love that book.) I stayed up until about 2 AM writing over 3000 words on the summer of 2004. As you might imagine I've got plenty of material since that's when this blog was started so I've got a clearer mental image of how things went down. SWP gives me the unintentional but obvious and useful benefit of remembering thigs I would have forgotten and being able to keep them in order (the first 65,000 or so words of the book are largely my best guess at the chronology of my own life.) I also spoke a bit with Lauren, who was being held captive by Pirates in Hong Kong but is probably home safe by now. Meanwhile the snow kept falling.

After dinner, we went out to the LCBO and I bought something that was not Stella, but some other import beer for like three or four dollars cheaper.

Much of saturday was null, vegging out on the couch in front of Degrassi with a microwaveable Philly Cheeseteak. Early in the day I had made the foolish decision that it was indeed worth leaving the house to get a Tim Hortons breakfast sandwich. I enjoyed the sandwich, but not the effort and coldness, wind and snow, in getting there. I actually spent 50 cents to catc ths bus back home. The marvels of a GO pass. Why would I drive?

And so nothing much happened that day. And then, as I'm relaxing in front of the TV after dinner, I get an MSN message.

I'll leave it at that (oh the suspense!) until tomorrow, when I have time and energy to write out the entire story, such as it is.

So until then, please keep on rockin'
-Scotto

C: Skirting the issue

It's nice to be somewhat free-floating, able to ignore whatever responsibilities I actually do have. I'm in one of those headspaces right now tht I'm okay with every fucked-up thing in my life, even the shit that sucks.

Yesterday morning, for instance, sucked. It was wednesday, and there was the latest in what's been a long line of snowstorms. But apart from wet shoes, my curse this winter (seriously why am I a yutz who doesn't buy boots?) I didn't have much trouble getting around. Philosophy, moral responsibility. English, sex narrative.

I met up with an acquaintence in English. Of course it happens to be a girl (aren't they all?) She was the one who had injured her leg and I asked how she was doing. She has a cane, and she had to go to the hospital afterward.

After a nice quick but uncheap lunch, I had film. I was nodding off during the lecture but the film, a Godardien dissertation on Marxism in France in the early 70's, was kind of an attention-grabber. Afterward I ran into a classsmate in line at Tim Hortons. She asked how I'd been doing at Roll-Up-The-Rim and I said I'd won nothing yet. I wished her a good weekend and got on my way.

I had intended to go to Vic and drop off some stuff before class, then spend the rest of the interim on a computer at Pratt, but I ran into a friend and we hung out. I showed her (that pronoun sure does come up a lot in this entry) for the first time that there is a clock in her iPod.

In poetry, after a rather revealing lecture on the nature of analysis, we did some small-group workshopping and I unveiled, for the first time, my final poem, a nostolgic ode to pre-teen romance and sexual frustation that rhymes like a shotgun blast. The reaction was pretty nice... the meaning was as clear as I could've hoped and only a few of the rhymes were pointed out as being weird/forced.

I mentioned yesterday that I had one thing I really wanted to do. I didn't get it done but I would not say it was because I backed out. I settled for less, which is not the same as settling for nothing. I just re-evaluated whether or not I really needed this but all the same I got something out of the bargain. It's a weird time to be me. I don't know that it ever hasn't.

I rode the train home with RyLai. It was International Hug an Asian day and I meant to give him one, but I saved it for the end of the ride, but by the time we disembarked we were so engrossed in our conversation about "the greatest rock band of all time" that it slipped my mind and for that I'd apologize to him. I'll owe him one.

I got home and basically passed out after an overlong wait for Chinese food.

Today was basically as good of a day off as I could have managed. I did have some productivity albeit not as much as I could have hoped for. I met up with Robyn and we had some good old fashioned hang-outage. By that I mean, we had conversations ranging in topics from school, electrified octopi, vegetarians and hairy nipples (certainly not mine.) We also discussed recent embarrassing drunken stories. It was unfortunate that for whatever reason* we weren't in contact much between September and now.

*I'm going to pin that one on my recent realization that I was just completely out of it for those months. What I'm going to do now that I know I was out of it, well that's the question.

But all of this made for a pretty good day. I was relaxed, I felt good, the world is all right but at the same time I've got to work at it a little bit and make sure it stays okay or maybe gets better.

We'll see. Another snowstorm is due. Have mercy.

Tout va bien.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

B: A thing against itself

I don't think this will be a particularly long entry, but I had the urge to write one. Yesterday wasn't much of a day - after all, it was the average on the train and home again trip, spiced up by the presence of leftover fajita material and weather that was getting peculiarly warm.

Indeed it was the warmth that inspired me to take a little walk down Sixth line. It might've been a nice day to get comics but there hasn't been a delivery of new comics since the last time I bought some. But I went under the QEW anyway in search of adventure.

I didn't find any but like I said it was warm, until it wasn't, and I'd been out long enough that the chill of the wind tempered the warmth of the sun. I went out wearing my hoodie (the now-legendary red thumb) and my spring jacket, which I always have to point out I look damn good in. Eric insisted I didn't need the hoodie, and I didn't at first but by the end I was wondering why I hadn't brought my hat. I don't have nearly as much hair as I did a week ago, and my head temperature has decreased. Lack of insulation.

But it was at least the first taste of the coming spring. I love spring. I feel good during it. The melting snow evaborating in the air, the warm breezes, the wet grass... not dry and depressing like summer nor gray and dull like autumn. The less said about winter the better.

After the turn of weather yesterday people had their hopes up for today but I didn't, I learned long ago from Aesop's Fables that one swallow does not make spring. It took me a while to really figure out what that meant and maybe it's not meant to be taken literally but even so.

I'm about to take action on something, at least I'm contemplating it. I am usually far too comfortable and this has dug me a nice cozy little rut to sit in, time to climb out. I write that once in a while on this blog. Sometimes I mean it, sometimes I have an idea how. Hopefully this will be one of those times I go through with it rather than allow myself to be an idiot. A chump.

Now that I've written that out, I've got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach that I'm going to get off track with this. But I know it's the right damn thing to do, and if I was ever in the right headspace to get it done, now is probably that time.

I've also got a buttload of bureaucracy to knife through. It's nauseating.

I told you this wouldn't be a very long one.

Keep on rockin
-The Scotto

A: Good times, good limes

I've recently been into a band called the Beta Band. I discovered them when I re-watched High Fidelity the first time; their song "Dry the Rain" is used in a very notable scene in the movie and I decided I wanted to find out exactly how interesting this band was. It took me a few listens to decide whether I liked them or found them bland, but I decided it was just calm enough without being tedious. Like the Coral, it'd be a hard sell for me to recommend them, but if you want to check out that song, "Dogs Got a Bone," "Inner Meet Me" and "Needles In My Eyes," you might enjoy them. And if you're a media-arts type, it would make good soundtrack music. (Good enough for Stephen Frears, right?)

Part of what got me down yesterday was reading old comments. I don't wanna sound like a little whiny bitch, and if you don't have anything to say, I'm not going to beg, because what is there to say? Those who used to comment more fervently (good word) have gone. I don't comment on everything I read, I know that. But it's nice, sometimes. (Of course, now that I've brought it up, I don't want one.)

I was writing last night's entry, the time-warped Feb 29 edition, but I got stalled. I got distracted by re-reading old entries and then after a few paragraphs I actually had to go. so I didn't even finish it until earlier tonight, but for the sake of my own amusement, I kept the original date intact.

Around 7:45, I got a lift out to the Executive Snooker Club to catch Joe's Fourth Show there. I caught his first show back in early January but was unable to make any of the following onesuntil I made myself determined to see this one. Thankfully Dad was able to give me a ride, I had put off asking him just out of sheer procrastination.

He had given me a lift to the first show. When I told him I was going back, he said "You're very supportive of your friends. I like that." I guess this was in combination with my recent going to the shows at WOSS. I humbly said well yeah, I'd just hope anyone would do that for me, so of course I support my friends. And I thought it was a weird and nice thing to say, that he "liked that." My dad's not necessarily a reserved guy, on the contrary quite open and honest, but only when he really thinks something. Anyway, we also ended up getting into an unfortunate conversation about University fees and paperwork. Sa-igh.

So I got there, and there was Joe surrounded by various friends from various spheres of his life. Mansoor got there a moment after I did, and we got to catching up. I think it's important, when meeting up with old friends, that you have something to talk about other than "What's new with you?" To remind yourselves that you're still friends and can relate on the level of interests and senses of humour. The conversation on this day related primarily to boobs and tits. Permit me to explain.

Well, do I really need to? Boobs and tits. Self-explanitory, right? Well not exactly. Mansoor, the best-case scenario as far as employment post-Sheridan goes, was telling me some of the stories of his time working at Queen's Park. His boss, an MPP whose name I continually forget, was riding with him in a car and just randomly struck up a conversation with him, "So Mansoor, what do you like in a girl?"

Mansoor, the modest, quiet type, (who may even be embarrassed by my including this anecdote,) answered about how he likes girls who are a bit like him, introverted, a little nerdy, and so forth. The MPP nodded and replied with his own answer:

"I like big boobs and tits."

So at this point I'm laughing my ass off and Mansoor is explaining that his boss elaborated upon the distinction between boobs and tits; "Boobs are, like, rounder and softer, whereas tits are pointy." I'm not sure if I agree with that particular classification, but hey man, big is big, right?

Mansoor used this anecdote as an example that politicians are really just normal guys with high-stress jobs who need to blow off steam every now and again. The guy admitted that his wife did not, in fact, have "big boobs or tits."

So we had a laugh at that and caught up a bit more while waiting for the gig to start. We discussed some of our mutual friends who could not make it and what they were up to. We also talked about one former classmate. She may be reading this but I strongly doubt it. The words "crazy bitch" came up, half-jokingly, as well as some of the scandalous bits about her.

Then Joe and I swapped some stories - I told at least one of my more interesting anecdotes as seen on this blog, and Joe gave up one of embarrassment during a recent social drinking escapade.

Our waitress came by; nobody wanted a drink, but her eyes lit up when she saw Joe. "You're the music guy - I like you!" Everyone smirked at one another, whilst Joe blushed and introduced himself. "Hi Joe, I'm Natalie. If anyone needs anything, just grab me." After she went on her way, we all had kind of a warm moment with Joe and one of his friends, JB by name I believe, tried to convince him to dedicate a song to her.

Finally it was time to go in, and after a sound check for a later band, Joe took the stage. I ordered a Stella (not sure why, pretty pricey) and hung out across a table from Mansoor and next to a friend of Joe's, Tina by name. Over the course of two drinks for me and one drink (not even an alcoholic one) for her, we joked around a bit; she ordered a Coke with lime (hence the title of this post.) I actually got buzzed a bit easier than I usually do because I was in a hurry to down my drinks and as a result may have been uncouth to some degree, or just plan weird. She made a reference to something on the Food Network at one point and my response was "Here's what I know about Food Network... Good Eats... and Nigella. All I know is there happens to be a chef named Nigella, and she happens to have fabulous breasts." Har har. Maybe a bit drunk. I don't know what may have been going through her mind at the time, but me, I should probably be kept away from other people when drunk sometimes.

Joe played a really good set. He played a couple songs I'd not heard him play before, including a cover of Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely" during which he broke out the harmonica, complete with its own holder. He also played my personal fave Chammas song, "Hourglass," which he dedicated to Miss Natalie, causing her to squeal a bit with delight. This seemingly genuine reaction did not abate the fact that Tina and I were convinced that, like all service people, she was just out for tips. Sweet girl though.

After the next act - an electro-acoustic performer, kind of an Asian Jewel (a somewhat embarrassing moment occurred during Risk where I had to explain to Chris that Jewel was a singer-songwriter from the 90's, known for her snaggletooth) Joe and Mansoor were about ready to go. I convinced them to stay for the following two reasons: 1) I had seen the next band doing a soundcheck and wanted to hear them, and 2) I was likely not in a healthy state to walk out of there. So I convinced them to hang around.

The band, whose name I unfortunately forget, did a good set indeed, playing a bunch of originals and really rocking out. Mansoor was glad he stayed, comparing the group to U2 and remarking how polished they were. I wouldn't have said U2 but couldn't exactly describe what they sounded like to me.

So we said our goodbyes and left on our way, I with Mansoor and Joe with his other friends. Joe shared a chaste word with Natalie to cap off the running story of the night, at the behest of his friends (seriously though who talks like I do?) On the way home, Mansoor and I had a lengthy conversation about 1) taking chances in life and 2) the Beatles. That's your typical Mansoor conversation, haha, what a guy.

In my stupor I attempted to watch Saturday Night Live but really just passed out for the most part. I downed some juice and headed for bed.

Today was totally un-noteworthy except that we went out to dinner with Granddad, who is headed to Palm Springs. We went to this Tex-Mex place by the airport (Lone Star's) and dad privately scoffed at the waiter (Ace.) Dad had a "po' boy" bsandwich, three others had steak sandwiches, Granddad had the very Tex-Mex Fish & chips. I had Fajitas, and as always, walked out with a bit of a doggy bag. But eating in public is getting easier.

I have to admit it's getting better, getting better all the time.

I didn't mention this last post because I was rushing a bit, but I actually went out and got my hair cut, which is an experience that has changed considerably over the years. Time was I'd jsut walk into the hair place and wait for somebody to be open. In the last few years, I've gotten very comfortable with the same barber, (and even sent a friend to her, although I dunno if he actually went.) So I go in and ask if she's in; yeah, but there's a bit of a wait. See, everybody now asks for their preferred barber, which leads to my girl and this toher guy being more busy than their co-workers, who at one point were sitting around unable to cut anyone's hair. I felt a little guilty; I didn't used to be this guy.

But the truth is, I like my barber. It isn't that I think she does a uniquely wonderful job on my hair. She does it very well but I've never come away from any haircut thinking "this sucks." But it's the very personal matter of barber chair conversation. I used to dread haircuts because I never knew what the fuck to say while I was sitting there, letting these people fiddle with my hair. I'll stop at nothing to avoid awkwardness (I know I said in an earlier post that "awkward was what I do best" but the two matters are not contradictary I suppose.)

So we taked about your usual small talk. Her stepson, my plans for the future (I have none) her desire to win at Roll Up The Rim, so on, so forth. I got it done shorter than usual. It looks a bit off for now, I think, but may pay off later when it starts to get really long. After all, I won't step foot back in there until at least June, maybe July. The fact that my barber always remembers me after such a long time is part of the reason I always ask for her.

During the wait, I stopped in at HMV, then went to Source and picked up some new earphones. There's nothing wrong with my iPod earphones but during a browsing trip with Amanda several weeks ago, I decided it was about time. My iPod earbuds are getting worn to an unreasonable degree - the rubber bits are worn off, they're looking ratty etc. (I write "etc/etcetera" a lot. I say it a lot too.) They still work fine, although I thought that was not the case when I bought a new pair over the summer (which broke in the fall.) I have an unfortunate history with head/earphones. I am continually finding myself replacing them, which is why I shelled out $7 for free replacements over two years. Because I know I'll need them, so it's an investment rather than a bet. If these suckers last two years I'll gladly shell out the money. As it is, the sound quality is pretty good, very different from te iPod ones. They're also soft and comfortable, and the bass is really sharp.

And they're blue.

So I've posted twice tonight and could probably stand to chill out a while and go to bed at a reasonable hour.

Of course, I'm not a reasonable person so we'll see what happens.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott