Chapter 20: You've got to hold onto me

I've got your letter, you've got my song...

Being it was Friday night and I wasn't inquired about Risk, I took it on myself to leave the house for a little while. It was a calm, rain-chilled night and I needed to soothe myself with a gin & tonic. I have booze at home, but I didn't want to a) use any of it before tomorrow (more on that later) or b) stay in and feel like the biggest loser in the world. So I went to a bar by myself for no reason, which also seems suspiciously like a "biggest loser in the world" move. Or maybe, just maybe, a "biggest cool guy in the world" move. Maybe. But probably not.

I needed to unwind because it's been a tough week and in particular a tough way to end it. As these jobs always seem to, the job we'd been doing went awry sometime after the first day. Brandon (the competent guy I work with, not my brother,) was out sick on Thursday with allergies and we got way behind, and even if we hadn't things would still have been fucked since Jump Street.

"Do it once, do it right," is the company's slogan, and it's one I happen to find it hard to live up to. Although it sounds great on a t-shirt or a lawn sign, it's a promise that, with our meagrest abilities, we sometimes fall short on. But nobody would be impressed if the slogan read "We try our best most of the time." When I observed our customer's reaction to the work we've been doing - specifically relating to some admittedly shoddy spackling we had to do - a different slogan popped into my head, the serenity prayer. "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to distinguish between them." Like I said, it was a rough day.

It wasn't going too badly. We had taken it on ourselves to show up early because of how behind we were. We started at 7 and were due to go until one hour late at 6. So that would be an 11 hour day. As it was, at 6, as we were trying to hurry up and go, the man of the house comes home and starts kvetching about the lousy spackle and how unsmooth and unsightly it was. I kinda wanted to explode, because his house was loaded with rotten wood and the best we could do was disguise that on a small scale, not repair the whole damn garage door. Notice the word "Painters" on our t-shirts and lawn sign, as opposed to "Carpenters." Shit, dude. I was just simmering. This caused a delay that left me hot under the collar and kept me from getting home until after 7, so for those keeping score I was on the job for 12 hours and for hardly any value. The job still ain't done. Still not sure whether I have to go do the job on Sunday but I'm hoping the rain gets super-harsh this weekend.

So I got a ride home with Kerissa and she advised me not to stress about it. I joked that I could only be polite and professional for about 11 hours straight and after that I just become bitchy and sarcastic and swear a lot. Hey, at least I'm honest.

But anyway, I oughtn't be stressed, all I've been doing is my job - painting whatever needs to be painted. Everyone seems to be okay with the job I've done on that, except for one window which I did a shitty job prepping yesterday because, well, fuck, I can't win 'em all. The lady of the house said she appreciated our work ethic and was very nice to us in spite of their dissatisfaction with our inability to completely repait their garage door. I'm not sure what annoys me more - that they expected is of us, or that they were misled into believing we could handle it. Certain aspects of the managerial style - although I like her very much as a person - are specious at best. Underestimating times and overestimating capabilities. But me, I'll just keep fuckin' painting.

I felt a little better after getting to dad's and then immediately going home with a little take-out pizza. When you're hungry, everything sucks worse, I've been saying this for a long while.

All week long, my "stay positive" thought has been anticipation of the weekend. I try to ignore the possibility that it might only last one day and just think of Saturday night. I've been trying to put together my one annual semi-kinda-near-birthday drinking-gathering thing with whomever I can round up. This is when Facebook comes in handy, although it does hurt when someone you haven't seen in a long while gives you the "Not attending." I'm trying not to take it personally, but it's upsetting because in a lot of these cases, I'm not going to get very many chances to see the people over the summer or anything, much as we'd like to think otherwise. So I end up taking it personally, because somehow along the way I got this complex about shit like that, people leavin' me. Maybe it's because so many friendships have ended abruptly I'm always paranoid what to people really think. I think I went over this several weeks ago after some particular Risk drama. I'm a pretty fucked up damaged individual.

What I need is to stop injecting all the drama into stuff. Sometimes plans conflict. I've been there. I can deal. (Can't I?)

I don't even know quite how many people will be there, but I'd estimate maybe a dozen people or so will float through at some point. There's a large chance it'll just be a bunch of dudes sitting around drinking and playing Street Fighter (I told a few people we'd play when I got the game several months ago, and tomorrow's as good an opportunity as any.)

I keep having these increasingly hyperactive dreams and then waking up every few hours. I'm in kinda rough shape a lot of the time. Paint splotches everywhere.

I'll just need a little while to relax and unwind. I don't think I'm in much shape to work five days in a row, let alone six.

But give me a bit to regenerate and I'll be back at it.

This is gonna be some fuckin' summer. Most of the time, I'd prefer soulcrushing boredom to this. But here I am, anyway. I guess it's all I can do to make the best of it and go along.

I'm stalling on ending this entry. I just want to end on a positive note and let everything be okay. It seems a little forced, which hurts that a little, but I'm trying. I'm trying, and ain't that all anyone asks?

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Chapter 19: Only love can make it rain

I used this quote once before as a title of an entry, a random one near the beginning of the school year. It's from a Who song that will not likely be used as a CSI theme song (right there with Squeeze Box and Magic Bus,) and at that time I was really digging them. I still do; it just seems weirdly more appropriate now. But let's jump back a few days for a long story that doesn't go anywhere before I get to that.

Because the thing is that while I'm working, the lifeblood of this blog (that is, uninteresting anecdotes about my life) flows much more freely, it's hard to keep up with production. When I'm not doing anything, or in school, I can lag for days without feeling like I missed anything. Last night I kinda wanted to write an entry but instead conked out on the couch watching National Lampoon's Senior Trip, a party flick from the mid-90's without even any boobs.

Yesterday was a day that went longer than intended. It was not a bad day by any means, although to hear the details you might find that a surprising assessment. It began, as all work weeks do for me, with tremendous self-doubt and fear. I had hardly slept the night before for some unknown reason (okay it was probably the usual extreme caffeine intake combined with the surprising heat causing me to drift in and out of sleep.) I had to get up even earlier than usual and crawl down to the bus stop to catch the 27 (as per usual) and get the 11 in time for it to become the 21 Clearview and find my way to the jobsite. I was like 15 minutes late and thus had ample time to stand in the cold morning wind (dude it was friggin' freezin' out!) and moan about the moroseness of the situation. Poor me, set for another long day of work out on the edge down town (fuckin' Clearview!) After having such an amazing Monday it seemed bloody tragic.

The morning progressed somewhat slowly, slathering weird light green paint on some window trims best described as "picnic table red." It wasn't going particularly well, with the red occasionally showing through the weird light green and the efforts progressing slowly. Kerissa had left me and Catherine to our own devices for a lot of the morning and though we tried to stay on task it wasn't so hot. By 1 I had finished two windows and a doorframe - admittedly far less than I should have - when the customer came home from an errand and realized, much to her shock and our dismay, her garage and windows were the wrong colour. It seems her paint seller had gypped her somewhat and given her the wrong shade. Whoops. So there went a whole morning of slow but thorough work. A day that was supposed to end by 2 (and was looking to end at 3:30, realistically,) took until about 5:00 with cleanup. But it was decent work and it turned into kind of a nice day once it warmed up. I did some decent ladder work and got a good tip. Whee.

After work, I got home and kinda curled up into a ball.

Today was not a bad day, and any minor screw-ups I may have made were overshadowed by some pretty significant ones I wasn't responsible for. We started using tape, the lack of which was a significant source of controversy, but it doesn't always work the way it should, apparently. But it's good to worry less about slathering oil paint on the carpet.

We started a three day job of baseboards and garage doors. It's out in Glen Abbey, not far from where we worked last week (albeit way around the bend from it.)

Anyway it was a pretty relaxed and uncontroversial day. But my whole anxiety about working the weekend is cooled off, which explains the title of the entry... it's due to rain pretty fiercely on the weekend which may putsch the whole deal. Although I could use the money, I could also use the weekend to relax and get over what could likely be a rocky aftermath of Saturday night. I don't know if love is what did it, but if I'm lucky, I can be like Ted Mosby in the last episode of How I Met Your Mother Season 1.

We'll see how the future turns out. Hope everyone is warm and dry tonight.

At the end of the day we did our first ever cold-calling session. It was a lot of rejection but you've gotta get out there. Some of the people were friendly about it, anyway. This caused me to be a little late for dinner but it worked out anyway. We all sat around talking about nothing in particular, (topic ranged from the ROM to jobs at bowling alleys) and then ate a cake based on Lemon Merangue pie.

I re-watched Juno this evening. Eric seemed to enjoy it, which is good. The perception of that movie is so peculiar, so fixated on the oddball dialogue, that you've got to make up your own mind about it.

Be excellent to each other and keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 18: Probably enough for now

It was a hectic day off and birthday. Hectic, that is, in a good way. I certainly had no shortage of things to do, and yet I wasn't exhausted or overwhelmed.

The weather was quite gorgeous. It sounded like rain early in the day and by the time I stepped out, the ground was wet but the sky was clear. It was warming up and getting humid but a cool breeze refreshed.

This time last year I used to spend a lot of time wandering the streets pondering turning 20. I had invested a lot of time and energy into a teenage persona that wouldn't really wear well on a grown man. I had no job and was insecure about my future after Sheridan, knowing only that I was less interested in being a journalist than I had since starting at Sheridan. This year, I am firmly locked into the U of T chain gang (as Alyssa described it before I started,) and have my gig for the summer. I'm 21 now and I'm not worried or upset.

I spent a lot of the morning keeping track of all the Facebook messages coming in. It's interesting to keep track of who sees your birthday notice and thinks "I should drop him a line." A lot of them were certain but some come as pleasant surprises. Not that I thought I was on bad terms with anyone but some people you get estranged from and they might not consider you birthday notice-worthy. I intend on replying directly to each of them proportionately to the message each left, but probably not until tomorrow.

In the afternoon roybn and I hung out for the first time in several weeks without her wearing a bright orange vest. She had a gift for me, which I told her made her the winner of our friendship, if we were keeping track of points. I don't generally ask for gifts from friends because I am not great about giving people gifts and so I wouldn't expect or request such a thing. So she got me something anyway. It was a mug with a leather sleeve, with organic jelly beans inside. She's remarkable at getting personalized gifts, because everything about that gift pertained to either a piece of conversation we'd had or a personality trait of mine. A few years ago, after the Half-Past Eight PM premiere was over and everyone was gone, I was cleaning up, and discovered a small wrapped box in the kitchen labeled "From Robyn." I suddenly felt very touched but the feeling intensified when I found out what was inside; a Coca-Cola bottle opener. Of course, I was on the tail end of a major buzz at the time so emotions were heightened, but it was such a wonderful feeling.

The house was pretty empty - Eric was off in Toronto meeting someone at the Museum, and Brando... well, he doesn't exert his presence too much anyway.

We played Super Mario World, finishing off a quest we had started months earlier and left incomplete when our hangouts became less regular. The only levels we had left to complete were a few special exits in the Valley of Bowser and the second half of Special world. This took us a couple of hours to complete, with Robyn and I each being stuck on our respective levels for inordinate lengths of time - she later decided it was because I was yelling and getting too excited while she was playing, and it's hard to argue. I didn't realize what I was doing, but she didn't end up beating the level until I took a bathroom break, so there's your proof. Hm.

Once each of these levels were done, and I finished off Bowser (as is my wont,) I fulfilled a request of hers and showed her my room. It's not much... I have a nicely-sized bed, but beyond that it's kind of a storage locker for comics and old papers. Then we got going. Sorta.

I guess the idea was for a quick detour and then for her to go home, but we ended up on a sort of adventure. I had wanted to show her this cool little secret path down to Sixteen Mile Creek and we ended up journeying down into the water for a fair bit before eventually we got back to the main road and we went our separate ways.

I got home and found, per mom's birthday tradition, dinner was mine to figure out at her expense. I decided to go simple and get some wings with a ton of sides, which actually in the end made it a bit more expensive than mom was maybe eager to pay, but that's life. The evening dissolved in front of the TV with a Charleston Chew (and earlier in the day, I had had Whoppers. Big birthday sugar rush.)

So I had a wonderful day today, it was exactly what I need. Thank you very much to everyone who has dropped me a line and everyone who continues to do so... and now I have to face something I don't really want. for the rest of the week I'm going to be stuck in commuter hell. It isn't that I'm back on the bus tomorrow and the rest of the week. Wed-Fri is a three-day job and those are fine. This is what I signed up for and it's my cross to bear. But the prospect of working Sunday is unbearable to me given my intentions for Saturday night. I'd rather work Saturday and just chill out on Sunday, and break up my shifts a little bit, but I'm still a little mad that I got roped into this because it's a training day for the B-crew, or at least one member. Brandon (my co-worker, not brother) is gonna be there too, but I guess I got chosen for Sunday instead of Catherine because she goes to Church. I have to suffer because I'm not (conventionally) religious. Being hung over isn't a good enough excuse. I'm not theoretically supposed to be working Sundays and I'm pissed off about it.

I don't want to make it a thing. I feel like every time something like this comes up I'm immediately spinning some excuse to get out of it. I don't want it to be that way but shit keeps coming up and I've told her that, beyond doing cold-calling on weekends, I am not cool with working weekends. I don't want this job to become my life 6 or 7 days a week. I want to do it Monday to Friday, maybe the cold-calling on weekends, but for two days a week I just want my life to be my own. I feel like a bitch - both in the sense of "whiny bitch" and "prison bitch." Sort of a combo of those.

I guess I'll just have to level with her, raise my concerns, and straighten this all out. The reality is, I'll probably end up working Sunday. I don't want to be seen as the guy who shirks work as often as possible. I think I'm going to have to let this one go and make a stand if it comes up again (it'd better not.)

I just wanna rest. I have to get up early tomorrow... particularly long commute. Hurm.

Suddenly I've gone from really upbeat to very downtrodden in the midst of this post, just because I started thinking about work. Well the painting itself is never that bad, although my work ethic could improve. It's just the transport and schedule.

Sigh, the unseen caveats of the working world. We'll figure it out, sweetie.

Thanks again, for making the day a good one. You're special, all of you.

Keep on rockin'
--Scott

Chapter 17: (I just like to use brackets)

It's true, that's the way I write a lot of the time, particularly on SWP and in Forums (ie Comixtreme.) I take a lot of side-trips (like the one I just did, or this one,) just to continually annotate myself. I just always have a lot on my mind, I suppose.

It's been a pretty busy couple of days, and yet nothing terribly substantial happened lately. Really, it's mostly about how much insubstantial stuff has happened. Mom was at Tim's for the weekend, so I suppose I had a hand in reviving that relationship. I dunno. Mom seemed pretty hardline about it before we talked and then I kinda eased her over. I don't believe what I did in that sense was totally selfish, but it wasn't exactly altruistic either. There are worse guys out there for her than Tim and I don't want to have to deal with any of them, and I don't want her to have to do so, either.

I had this weirdly powerful dream the other night, or rather early morning. I had woken up at 6:30 and decided that was too early and so rolled over and went back to sleep. In this sleep I found myself in the midst of one of those really intense, real-seeming dreams. I was sitting with Robyn outside the 5-Star Variety, a local convenience store from my youth right next to River Oaks School. She was telling me about this guy she knew as a kid who had contacted her and wanted her to go to a Bruce Springsteen concert. People kept showing up (for the gathering that is actually at a later date) and she and I wound up having to go to a train station to talk. There were other details I have either lost or omitted from lack of relevance. My point is, it was one of those dreams that, upon waking, makes you wonder where everything from it is.

I spent the day out getting comics. What I miss about my old route was that it allowed me to stop by the lake and relax a while, which was a nice detour on better days. With the QEW underpass open I can shave off so much time and yet that leaves me no natural opportunity to do that. Anyway, I ended up buying a few recent issues of Amazing Spider-Man (it comes out three times a month these days, sort of a marketing gimmick) and the first Astonishing X-Men trade, which I had pledged long ago to Kris that I would get. I mentioned this to Rich (the owner of Comic Connection) and he noted Kris hadn't been around in a while, which I noted was because he'd moved to Windsor a while back. Anyway, both of these projects had a reinvigorating classicism about them that I really enjoyed. The new Spider-Man direction (which exists mostly as a way of aping the old direction) is particularly enjoyable to me.

On my way home I stopped by Whole Foods to see Robyn and buy organic Jelly Beans which are a weird addiction of mine. We've been trying to hang out for weeks but shit keeps coming up and getting in the way. It's frustrating, I suppose, and that annoying little paranoid part of my brain wants to believe she's ducking me, even though there's plenty to indicate otherwise. Anyway, this framed the narrative of the later part of the day, after lounging around and not doing anything of any particular importance and having dinner. I was to call and hang out.

Well she remembered she had prior plans, which is fine. For whatever reason it seemed viable at the time to hang out after she was done whatever it was (I didn't know at the time, but it turned out to be a movie.) But as the evening wore on and I ended up hanging around the house it seemed less and less likely. I didn't do much. I beat Street Fighter II with Ryu (time to try a new character I suppose.) I watched TV. Didn't really leave the house. I just sat and got deep into my head, which wasn't good. My Saturday night kinda drained away from there wondering if I was seriously going to call her up at midnight and what exactly I intended to do.

We ended up having an MSN conversation sometime after that, she explaining how the evening got away from her and being apologetic and me trying not to make it seem like there was all that much to be sorry for. As has consistently been the way, we ended on a note to try again as soon as possible, the next night.

My birthday kinda snuck up on me this year. Last year, I had a lot of time to just wander around town and think "Holy shit I'm turning 20, holy shit I'm turning 20." It was this whole "I'm no longer a teenager" thing I had to put a lot of weight into. This year, it came to be May 25th, the day before my birthday, and I thought, "Hm, I guess tomorrow I'll be 21." And I say it snuck up on me because I didn't even realize we were celebrating until yesterday. I was under the impression we were going to Palmerston to do little Aaron's birthday, but apparently that one got delayed, so we hung around out backyard, had the aunts over, and did barbecue burgers/hot dogs/pizza/Thai Shrimp. Aunt Lori was constantly praising mom for the impressive spread. "You do so much!" She was in awe.

Prior to that today I didn't do much of anything except bum around town and play Guitar Hero. So it got to be about 3:30 and they came over and I started behaving like a birthday guy. We did our best to keep the kids amused by playing their favourite game to abuse us with, Octopus, as well as hide and seek. After dinner and cake, it was presents. Decent but modest spread, I'd say. My calamity Thursday night somehow led me to the conclusion I needed a cell phone, so I had mom get me one as a gift. Maybe it was too practical for a birthday gift but I didn't want to go to the hassle of picking one out myself.

I considered it a point of pride that I didn't have a cell phone. My own little neo-luddite statement. "Fuck you world, I don't need to communicate if I don't want to." I still believe in that, so my pledge is not to be one of those frivolous cell users who has entire lengthy conversations whilst riding the train. It will just allow me to phone for rides when I need them.

I also got some DVDs (Juno, Conchords,) and some Stella, which amusingly enough was marked as being from Cam and Ali.

The later part of the evening was a bit of a tragedy... Cam finally discovered B's gigantic cache of Transformers and demanded he let him play with them. B hasn't been into the toys for years by now, but they're all lined up on the shelf and kinda dusty so taking too many down is a hassle. The kid can be demanding but we were pretty hardline by only letting him play with a few at a time. I wonder if he'll ever accept the notion that you can't always get what you want.

I wonder if I'll ever stop talking in Rolling Stones lyrics. Well, I guess that's just tumbling dice. So far it gives me satisfaction to speak that way, so I think it's gonna not fade away.

Reluctantly, Cam let his moms take him home. After a bit of unwinding I gave roybn another call. After the events of the day, neither of us was really up for anything (she just happened to be the one to say it,) but we ended up having a lengthy conversation about nothing in particular and all sorts of things in general.

The general idea is, with Chris and Lauren and Pat all being overseas this summer, and various others being in various other places, this could potentially be a long, lonely summer if I don't keep constant contact with her, and as many other people as possible too.

I got my work schedule for this week and was delighted to find out that I actually have a day off. Granted, I haven't worked a full week sine getting this job, but the fact is I'm theoretically supposed to work five days a week, and so to have tomorrow (my birthday of all days) off, is particularly pleasant. However, I'm also kinda set to work Sunday, which is good for the extra hours, but not so good for my Saturday night plans since I definitely plan on staying up late and being a mess the next morning. I called my boss about it and tried to wriggle around it - not get out of it per se but leave myself a window of negotiation. I dunno though. It seems like I'm always coming up with excuses to get out of things, and I don't mean to but most of the time *(not always but most) it's a weekend thing that I'm dealing with.

Ah well. I'll figure this all out later. I just want to relax and enjoy my present circumstances and not worry too much about whatever's going on beyond that. All things considered things are pretty decent.

We's only tryin to find our ways.

So keep on rockin'
-Yer Scott

Chapter 16: It's midnight and my baby's walkin' thorugh the door

Feels like, tonight, I'm blogging out of obligation. Blogbligation? There's a portmanteau not likely to inspire repetition. Despite working all day I am full of energy this evening and resolved to create something for the evening. I'm hoping that something doesn't turn out to be this entry; I intend on being up for several more hours anyhow. Plenty of time.

I was walking around this evening and all I could think about was the blog. They were idle thoughts but it was the primary subject of my internal monologue, which is funny since SWP basically is my internal monologue in transcribed form. I realized that SWP's premise is a crazy person talking to himself, and people gathering around to listen. I thought about how earnestly I started this blog four years ago almost to the day (I forgot to commemorate the date three days ago.) Oh how much has changed and yet how little has been altered.

At the time I was still involved with Randi, which thinking back, is sad since I haven't been in a real relationship since and that wasn't a very good example of one since there were three people in it. I had never had a job and was looking forward to an idle summer of boredom. Since then, I've moved, gone to several different schools, held a wide variety of jobs albeit on a very widely spaced timespan and never for more than a few months... I've gone on trips, I've chased girls, sometimes successfully (at least for an evening) but often not so much. I've written a lot and read even more. I've learned and I've grown and yet if I sat down and talked with the younger Scotto who had just helped direct Half-Past Eight PM - the stage version - I would probably find him quite recognizable, although he might be in awe of the comparative ease with which I handle myself in social situations. I have more refined taste in music than he did, too. But you learn, and you grow.

Last weekend, my aunt told me about a friend of hers from high school whom she had been avoiding for a long time. The attachment you see was somewhat one-sided. She explained that this friend had dated a boy in high school who died, and, in my aunt's words, "She lives in that moment." I found that wholly depressing and I suddenly became wary of letting that happen to me. The truth is though, I have yet to find a moment that I can snag on and look back and say "That was it." I keep growing and developing new friendships and moving forward. The last semester of Grade 12 was pretty substantial but a lot of it has faded over time as I've lost contact with people or moved on with others.

SWP is a recap of a day's events, with hints of opinions and philosophy. More than that, it's also what I don't say (surprisingly, there is stuff I leave out) and how I present my narrative. Stories about stories.

I woke up later than usual this morning. Paradoxically, this was because we were set to begin early at work; I was set to get a ride over there by Brandon. So we got on the road around 7:15. After stopping off for Tim Hortons, we got there on time and started with some ladder work by washing some high up window frames. We took turns going up while the other went to the top.

The bulk of the day was actually taken up by ladder work. After it was windows, it became threshholds and roof trim and the like. Having only one ladder, the work progressed slowly in this way and while there wasn't much to do it took the entire day to get done because we couldn't go much faster. Brandon earned himself a decent tip (which he promised to cut me in for for a little bit, which I barely even earned) by tightening some aluminum siding that was loose and made a rattling noise in the wind at night.

I actually didn't do much over the course of the day, if I'm to be honest. I feel a little guilty about that (there's that word again.) I did some priming and some painting and all that stuff but not as much as most everyone else, there just wasn't enough work and ladders to go around. Of course at one point we had three out - ours, the customer's (who noted I was in a better mood than when she'd last saw me, when I was waiting for a lift outside Sobey's,) and her neighbour's rickety wooden one which we used for lower destintions. Oh, and a stepladder, so lots of ladders.

After we got done taking forever to finish, we took another forever to clean up and leave, partially because they had to re-secure the ladder to the SUV. Kerissa took us to McDonald's for a bite, even though to some degree we were weary (Catherine and I anyway) and I won't speak for anyone else, but I kinda just wanted to go home and shower, since we were working with oil paints and I made myself a pair of gloves out of them.

But it was a nice gesture and we went to McD's. I had an Oreo McFlurry. Two of the others got meals and one other person got a McFlurry. I was kinda hungry, but kew there'd be plenty for dinner so why spoil my appetite? Plus, I have this thing about being kept somewhere I don't really want to be, even if it's a perfectly nice group of people. Eventually I got a lift home, although by then it was rush hour traffic (should've advised Brandon not to take the QEW but whatever.)

Apart from a huge timing issue (we thought we were gonna be done early afternoon, but didn't finish until 3:30 and I wasn't home until quarter after 5, after the cleaning and hanging out,) I thought it was a decent day. There was a fuck-up, but it had nothing to do with me and who knows how badly it will be come back.

So I got in the door and just kinda chill out the rest of the evening. I had an offer from Kerissa to work on her Uncle's yard for some decent pay, but working 5 days a week makes me cherish weekends, even if I usually do anything for a buck.

My brother Eric has been having trouble sleeping. He regales me on a near-daily basis with tales of his insomnia.

I suppose that's all for tonight, and I hope I've satisfied your need for random ramblings. Not one of my best goes, I'll admit, but after 975 they can't all be winners.

Keep on rockin'
Mangonel Scott Williams

Chapter 15: Concrete & Chainsaws

The title of this entry comes from a sign I noticed at Home Depot recently, while looking around during the "Ladder Anecdote" which will be seen later in this entry.

Sometimes I surprise even myself as to how I can go from happy-go-lucky to extreme panic mode to existential frustration and self-loathing and back again so many times in the span of a day or two. Maybe work brings out the manic-depressive in me, but you have to admit, these are extenuating circumstances. Let's jump back a bit, shall we?

I had to convince myself, Tuesday night, that the next day was going to be a good day at work. I was tired after a fairly long day that I felt okay about but not great. I was uncertain about the location and became relieved when it seemed, if not close, at least not a foreign neighbourhood. The job site was close to Heritage Glen, where Eric spent a few years going to grade school. To get there I took the Glen Abbey North bus, which took a while but was not irreconcilable.

I was hoping for a decent day at work, what I got was shaping up to be a great one. The work flowed with greater ease than the previous few jobs. The woman whose house it was was in good spirits. Kerissa bought us some Tim Hortons. The customer actually bought us lunch (which was brilliant since I'd neglected to pack my own!) and not only that, it was pizza... Litte Caesar's Pizza, which I hadn't had since I was a kid. It was great.

What we did was re-paint some baseboards around the house and re-paint the kitchen from a half-and-half blue/green combo to a solid light blue. Meanwhile in the washroom, they got busy tearing up wallpaper and found out the job was bigger than expected, as the drywall was shit (not surprising, in retrospect, people often just lay some wallpaper when their walls are shit.) It was a job too big for a student painting company and the frustration was visible on her face. But all, it seemed, was well in the kitchen, and at 4:45, we packed up, cleaned up, and went home.

On the bus, I relaxed and reflected on the day. It's funny how, when I'm not working, all I can think about is the job, but when I'm actually working, I space out and think about last week's season finale of the Office, or the next Scott Pilgim graphic novel, or think back fondly to the days when I used to go to Spring Valley with dad and Eric and as we'd pull up that long, dusty road, aftera 90 minutes in the car we'd realize we were almost there (after stopping for some Menonite pepperoni) and Everlast's "What It's Like" would be playing on the radio, almost every time by some strange coincidence.

I took the bus to the station and had a 20-minute layover, which disgruntled me somewhat. Still in my painting clothes, I arrived at dad's. The guys were doing their passports, which involved endless paperwork. The evening proceeded slowly toward dinner. There was some lively conversation over dinner and cake (James' birthday falls squarely between mine and B's) but the evening was distilled afterward while the guys finished up their forms. I felt a little guilty for wanting to go so badly, but I'd been out of the house for about 14 hours by the time we got home. I just wanted to relax in a comfortable setting. I got home and basically conked out immediately.

I got up this morning emboldened by the positive experience yesterday. I got to the job site and that immediately changed when Kerissa, as is a boss' job, asked us "How do you think you did yesterday?" Of course, whenever that question is asked, the actual answer is "Not as well as you think." It turned out, the client had a laundry list of complaints, primarily concerning frustration with the bathroom, which I'd had nothing to do with, but the complaints extended beyond that to the "blotchiness" of the first coat in the kitchen and our apparent carelessness and lack of use of dropcloths. I felt hurt, because of course a first coat is not going to be smooth, we all agreed a second one was (probably) in order. As for the dropcloths, I say poppycock. Catherine and I had been very diligent in placing dropcloths and I felt a little insulted that we were chastised about it. We had a lot of problems with dripping on Tuesday, and we learned from them. You can say a lot of things about me - I suck at cutting, I have little initiative, I often don't know what I am doing - but when you seek out complaints that are untrue? Well, bollocks!

What bugged me though was that the woman was such a nice lady. She was real personable and had good humour. At lunch today she showed us her favourite parody song on YouTube, a tune about the stages of sticking a gerbil up one's ass. It was pretty funny, but I didn't laugh out loud like the others did. when this was pointed out, I just kinda shrugged it off (I'm pretty tough to please when it coems to comedy, even when I like something.) I wanted to say It's not funny guys... my uncle died from a gerbil up the ass," just to prove I was funny and spontaneous, but the proper set-up never came about and I dropped it.

So the incongruence between her supposed complaints, and her actual personality was what bugged me, because she remained warm and personable and she seemed to be fine with the work we were doing. I mean, she did point out verbally that the first coat looked blotchy but that's a nitpick because it clearly wasn't staying that way. (Also she made it seem like it was more her husband's problem.) If I were then I'd have been more upset with the shitty cutting job courtesy of me. I mean, I try, but I had the wrong brush for it and ended up fucking up the sides a fair bit, and that shit's not easily undone.

Anyway, it got me to thinking. As a company policy, we are not to use tape, which is a common-sensical way of controlling the flow of paint. Certain parties have actually been shocked when I noted we don't use tape, and frankly I don't understand it either, I'm just forced to deal with it. Professionals, Kerissa says, are supposed to be able to cut without the aid of tape and make it solid using sheer technique. All well and good for professionals, but I'm just a dopey kid with a week's worth of experience and hands like a lie detector needle. I know it's all dignified and stuff to not use tape, but really, I think the customer 9 times out of 10 would rather we take the effort to take the shortcut (weird oxymoron as that seems,) and get the job done well than pay to have me practice my cutting.

But it's a dead issue. I intended to bring it up, but opted not to, while I was in the car with her. She finally bit the bullet and had to get a 28' Ladder from Home Depot. There was some ladder drama when we couldn't figure out how to obtain the ladder, or transport it, and in the end I had to go back and get swapped out with Brandon (the guy I work with, not my brother) who was a safer bet to tie a ladder to a roof rack. Thank goodness he's around.

Anyway, we spent the rest of the afternoon prepping the garage, which is tomorrow's project. We were supposed to go cold-calling for an hour afterward, and I had wondered upon hearing that how I was going to reconcile this extra hour with both transportation and grocery shopping, which I wanted to do. Without much prodding, Kerissa let me go when I mentioned it, which I felt kinda guilty about (seems to have been a running theme) and I scampered off. I didn't want to avoid cold-calling. On the contrary, I've warmed up to the idea and I'd like to try. But it was a bad afternoon for it and I wanted to go home. Go home I did... eventually.

I missed the bus by a minute or five, and had an existential "The world is against me, no I am against myself" breakdown when it dawned on me - what the fuck am I doing? Even disregarding my lack of qualification for this job, what am I doing relying on public transit to and from various jobsites all over town and remain a semblance of punctuality? Suddenly I felt like the world's biggest fuck-up. In that moment I exploded and could not fathom how I am supposed to last all summer like this. This, I decided, was no way to live, and for a few moments I wondered how feasible it was to quit.

I ultimately decided not to quit, that I can stick it out and go day by day, at least for the foreseeable future. This was the first serious transit-related freakout I've had yet; there are likely to be others. But until things become so impossible that I can't be bothered to even try, I oughtn't consider quitting. I should remain employed there until my employment because totally untenable. In fact, I should hold out until they fire me, which seems unlikely (but hey, ya never know.)

So there I am, way up by Third Line and Upper Middle, wondering why my life sucks so bad, basically having myself a pity-party like I used to when I was a kid and still have been known to. I did the most reasonable thing and called mom, and she said she'd pick me up and we'd go grocery shopping... but not right away, she'd just gotten in. I relented and begged of her "Whenever you want to, a half hour, more, whatever, it would be less time than if I tried the next bus." Shit, it would probably be less time than if I had caught my original bus, all told.

So I set down and waited, and mulled my situation and simmered with every conceivable form of rage, frustration, self-hatred, paranoia and disappointment I could muster in a 40-minute period. Mad at myself for being in this situation. Mad at mom for not coming right away. I guess deep down, I still have that attachment to her, even if it doesn't express itself very often, my need for her to help me out now and again is still existant (just less obvious than similar needs from my dad.) But we all need something.

Mom and Eric arrived at about 10 to 6 and we sped to the grocery store. Wearing my red hoodie and paint-splattered jeans I trod the aisles and picked up the usual items and let my negativity fade, especially as Eric and I ran into Mrs. D by the butcher. She was as always in positive spirits, which inspired similar feelings in me, so I was able to chill out for the rest of the evening and write this entry.

Anyway, things are set up for tomorrow... they want to start early so we can get a lot done before too late, so I'm getting a lift down there. One wonders why I don't get a lift every day, but such is the folly of man. Or something?

Eric told me in the meantime an anecdote for his daily walks, when he came across a girl on rollerblades who seemed spacey. It sounded familiar. He ran into her a few times in a row on different days at Extreme Pita and he was amused by that, but had warned me before starting the story that "This doesn't go anywhere." Not necessarily I thought and asked for a description of the girl. Upon hearing it, I nodded and said, "Eric... I think that was my friend Robyn." (They had met briefly.) He paused and gave it a moment's thought before deciding, "Yeah, it definitely was." Small world, we laughed.

I think I'm out of anecdotes for the night, so this entry is done. I've been typing a lot of things improperly lately, a sure sign of mental deterioration. I rule.

Stay beautiful and keep on rockin darlin',
-Scott

Chapter 14: I can promise you, you'll stay as beautiful

Every night I write you my sad little letter. I'm down... I'm not mad or upset or angry or frustrated or even all that bummed... just low energy, a heavy sigh breathed for the remainder of the week.

I was showering off after work today, mulling over yet another angry, frustrated blog entry, but the more I thought about it the less I wanted to complain. The things I had to complain about disappeared before my eyes and the things that were left just didn't seem all that important. It wasn't a bad day, I guess it's just the same feeling you get at in the early stage of a job, or anything. It was like this when I started at U of T, and Sheridan for that matter... where I wonder, man, is this it? And I ponder the next several months of work and wonder how I am to survive it.

I don't hate my job when I'm doing it, I don't hate it when I have to fix something I've screwed up, I don't hate it when I think back on the day. What I do hate is thinking about the next day, having to find my transit to a whole new job site, thinking about getting out of bed in the morning and going on another adventure. Day after day, on and on, May, June, July, August. Several times a day I wonder how I actually came to be employed when this is clearly not practical. But most of the time, it's prep, cutting and rolling, and I'm in the moment and it's good.

It was a good day. This morning, I got a lift to the job because it was way out in Mississauga, which it shouldn't have been but what'cha gonna do. So co-worker Catherine was good enough to swing by my place around 7:30. We got there right on time. I actually brought my iPod speakers (hesitant, though, because they're also my alarm and should remain in my room...) and we spent the bulk of the day listening to my iPod, which made me happy (and I've often said that's all I really care about.) As one might expect, it was a lot of Aerosmith, some Beatles and Clash and White Stripes and lots of other random stuff.

We were doing a ceiling and a living room. I don't prefer indoor work but it's been more of that since we started than exteriors. I've been learning to pay attention to the finer points, like the way things drip and how it ends up, and how to properly clean brushes and rollers. I did a terrible job cleaning last week and this week made sure to correct my mistakes. Look at me, seeming capable of mild personal growth! Be proud.

Kerissa had wanted to be done by one, my inability to stick to a schedule led to being done by 3 including all clean-up, which is still decent when you consider the idea is to stay until 5, and she admitted from the start she may have underestimated the size of the job. Catherine naturally gave me a lift home.

As of right now, I'm not sure where I am actually working tomorrow, which is annoying. I have a vague idea, it'll probably use the Bridge bus, but no concrete address. I did, however, check my marks for this semester. It was basically how I expected although I'd have like to do better in Film Analysis, I think my mark is fair given my performance... good but not stellar like I'd like it to have been. It was actually lower than my Philosophy Mark (B- versus a B) and I'd been telling people all semester I thought I was in danger of failing that. And then I started telling people I was actually studying hard, which is true, and amazingly, contributed directly to my half-decent performance in that class. In Narrative, I got an A-, largely because Stewart really seemed to dig my essays despite the notable weakness of my close-reading. Also, I rocked the exam. Poetry, I got an A, because I'm awesome, and Reiby is also awesome.

Yesterday was largely comprised of a birthday gathering for Brando. It was a pretty decent evening mostly spent as usual entertaining the kids, who were for the most part well-behaved. Some good talks, some good memories. After helping B. open his gifts, Cameron lecture for a several minutes on how girls have vaginas and boys have wieners. Don't think we won't bring that up when he's 15 years old. He's an odd kid, fun but a bit demanding, as an only child may be. Ali mostly goes along and tries her best.

Sunday night we had a good talk. I liked it, and I miss ya. Being stuck huffing paint fumes all day means I can't get away and see you, and I wish that weren't so. My main fear with the job, I suppose, is that it's going to absorb me to the point where I don't do anything else. The last time I saw you, you were sniffling. The time before that, I was doubled over behind a tree, sick to my stomach. Oh the memories. Hah.

My mom has been having problems with Tim lately. Against my usual protocol I took it on myself to get involved and offer my thoughts. She seemed pretty intent on calling it quits but I'm actually trying to get her to reconsider that. I'm not telling her "You should get back with him" but I did tell her not to react too extremely, and to make sure she does what's best for her. The reason I seem so involved is because to some degree, it does affect me. Tim could be a pain sometimes, giving lame anecdotes nobody needed to hear at length, always chiming in, walking around without a shirt etc. But for all the occasional bickering, I thought he and mom went okay together and he was a good enough guy that I didn't mind. I just shudder at the thought of meeting some new dude who turns out to be a jerk or a douche. She had done okay with Tim and the reason for the split was...... not irreconcilable, a matter of personal pride. Anyway, after the brief chat, she thanked me for giving my input. We don't talk to each other like that very often in our family. Occasions where we open up and share our feelings with one another are kinda momentous, since we're usually at an emotional distance.

When I was a kid, I remember being super-emotional about stuff, really sensitive, and then I grew out of it. It still shows sometimes but I used to be really easily upset. The funny thing about it is that by now, I don't even remember the actual reasons or occasions I threw fits, just that I did from time to time with pretty good intensity. I just liked any reason to pout. I guess some things never change, but now I just express it differently, and to a willing audience.

We'll see how things go tomorrow. And the day after, and on and on. Such is the working life.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott
King of Kung Fu

Chapter 13: Stay here for a minute whilst I go and get some ice creams

A lot has happened in the last few days. Nothing of terrible importance, but terrible importance isn't what SWP is about. At least, not importance - terrible, I seem to have down. Har har. Plfth.

I'd say I hadn't had time to update all weekend, but that would be a falsehood, I was just doing other things. I don't need to justify myself for that.

Friday at work went well. It was back at the same couple's house, finishing up the bedroom and cleaning up whatever fuckups I (or anyone else) had made along the way (including an unsightly blotch of paint on their patio by an errant dropcloth, eep.) It went by pretty quickly. I got a ton of oilpaint on my hands from washing rollers, something I probably could have found a better way of doing, but it's going to happen, I try not to worry about it too much. We finished around 1 and Kerissa was good enough to give me a lift home. Except she made a wrong turn and we took a little detour. My general preference not to explain directions to people led me to just taking a lift to the bus station, which ended up as a lift to Trafalgar Village so I could grab a BLT for lunch. Word.

So I got home early for me, which was nice. I just kinda bummed around until dinner at Dad's, which was not a long ordeal because he and Deb were heading to the trailer. Sadly because of this I ended up not going to Joe's Snooker Club show, which was a shame because I try to catch them when I can. I don't feel too bad because I know there will always be another one, but I like to support my friends when humanly possible.

This led to a resetting of what was going on for the night. Adam, whom I had not heard from in months, took it upon himself to start a Risk game (at Chris',) so after waking up from a nap on the couch at 10, I rushed over there to find Chris, RyLai, Adam and Connor gathered. We got the game going.

It was a pretty intense game, actually, rarely getting stagnant. Chris and Ryan got Europe and Africa respectively in a hurry, and Connor got South America. This left me to attempt for North America (something I am loathe to do) fighting Adam's inconveniently-placed armies. Connor actually took care of Adam and became the problem for me in North America, preventing me from ever getting it by having a strong presence in Central America (quite a decent tactic.) Eventually I was blown out of that continent (save for some scattered territories I abandoned) and had to build my way out of a lone Asian territory, India. In this way I managed to survive, mostly by not being a good target. I worked my way back up through Kamchatka (which has the nickname of "Kam-chate-ka," because we're all about Oakville slang,) for the backdoor slice in Connor's weakened North America. In the meantime, Adam, a man without a home base, withered and faded from the game.

During all this, we watched Kung Fu movies Chris had bought, 4 for $10, two Bruce Lee, a Jacky Chan (*early, with a Y not IE) and a no-name.

So I mounted a decent return and Ryan ended the suspense and took both me and Connor out to win a controlling interest in the game and therefore win. We went home around 2:15 and I stayed up a while before going to bed.

Saturday, I bummed around and drew while Eric mowed the lawn and we got some replacement tubes for the fluorescent light in the basement that had been out for a week. After dinner, I went over to Chris'. We went with his parents* to Hamilton to see Cary in Alice: The Tea Party, an adaptation of Alice in Wonderland with the interesting twist that the author (Rev. Charles Dodgson before he became Lewis Caroll) appeared and had not written his stories down for young Alice.

(*Chris and I agreed that by now, I know his parents well enough that it wasn't weird.)

Along with us was Chris' Great Aunt, which in theory had the potential to easily be weird but wasn't because she was a super lady. That's a weird sentence (wouldn't stand in prose but SWP bitches out literary conventions on a regular basis.) Anyway, on the car ride over, Linda asked how I was, noting that the last time she'd read my blog I'd seemed down about my first day at work. I modestly and somewhat unconvincingly discussed why that was and whether I still felt that way (I'd been bummed but really just blowing off steam and making observations.) Chris, sitting between us in the back, noted fairly accurately that SWP wasn't my favourite thing to discuss in public. This is because well... everything I have to say about it can be found here, where it seems like an alternate dimension. I don't hate talking about it, I just don't think I have anything interesting to say about what I've already said here. When someone says "I read your blog" I just kinda nod and smile and take it as a compliment. It's nice, but I'd rather people were reading, say, RN Comics or Regular Guy. But if SWP keeps 'em coming back, you'll always be able to get more. I take it as a compliment, anyway, unless they say "I read your blog... you say a lot of stupid things on there." And then I would say, "Well then why do you read it?" NUFF SAID! HOO HAH! Ahem.

Anyway, I'm almost done with the meta-blogging (blogging about blogging) but I'll just note how incongruous it is to hear that an intelligent, reasonable person like Linda manages to sift through the rambling nonsense I produce here. Linda, I wonder what you get out of it. Maybe it reminds you of being 20 and frustrated with everything in life and so has nostalgic value? Maybe I'm just awesome. I'll go with that. SWP has outlasted a lot of readers anyway... since nothing of note ever happens to me, people come and go a lot, although I'll always be big in Korea and the Philippines, I think. Which is weird, but funny.

(As I often reiterate, I know where hits are coming from. It just so happens that so many are from Oakville and Toronto that it's pointless to speculate who's on the other end.)

SO YEAH. The play. We got there in time to miss the first one of the evening. The play was amusing and clever as an adaptation of stories everyone's heard 100 000 times before with some very energetic performances. Cary did a good job doing double duty (all the performers except Alice and the Cheshire Cat did) as the somewhat melodramatic Dodgson and the manic Mad Hatter. He handles the distinction well, a testament to his abilities (THERE CARY I KNOW YOU CTRL+F'd THIS FOR THAT SENTENCE.) There was a point where the poor Dormouse got her head slammed into the table by Cary, which sadly got the biggest laugh of the night. They also poured some tea on her, poor girl. Anyway, if I had to fault the play it would be the script being a bit inconsistent, especially when it started to get a bit low-key and quiet near the end, where it had previously been quite manic and exciting. So it's not on the actors or director at all. All things begin and end with a script, after all. But it was a good show, very glad to have seen it. Great costumes (borrowed from a recent nearby production of Alice.)

Chris and I came up with an idea that we agreed would've been funny, but long past relevance. We both would've liked, in hindsight, to have written me a cameo in No Way My Life, wherein I began the play onstage reading a newspaper, then after not long, set it down and walked into the crowd to take my seat. Would've been fun, if utterly pointless (the most fun things tend to be.)

Arnyway, we greeted Cary after the show, then went back to Oakville. Aunt Syl gave Chris a kiss goodnight and then gave me one, which was funny. I guess I make a good first impression. Chris and I began trying to figure out another Risk game. I had spoken to CB the night before and he was presumed to be down for it, but we soon found out, he was INCOMMUNICATO. Dios mio no!

Ryan and Connor came back and we got an ill-fated game going. It should've been a lot simpler than it was, with Conner being the first one out and then Ryan and I teaming up on Chris, but the attack that was to be my big strike proved utterly useless as I lost about 20 rolls killing about 5 guys. It was embarrassing and funny, only I was tired so I started to get really cranky and exaggeratedly upset as I often do. Not long after, we decided the game we just too fucked up to continue, speculated on what would've happened next, and went home.

It was actually a defender's night, at least against me... every big attack I made ended up being unusally costly to me. It was a shame, too, because the previous night's game had been so much more exciting and fun.

This ended around 3:30, before the end of the last kung fu movie. I fell asleep around 4 and woke up by 10, tired and sore.

That was kinda poetic.

Today I was to work in the Trafalgar-Glenashton area cold-calling. I was actually kinda excited for it since I can get there easily and would love to do jobs in that area, but the rain prevented it from happening. Kerissa called (after I'd started this entry) to tell me this, and we discussed whether I'd be able to make it to work on Tuesday (since it's deep in the heart of Mississauga, I'm trying to negotiate a ride with my co-worker Catherine, whose own travel is in doubt.)

Yesterday my project was to clean my jacket. In the course of duty on Thursday I got a few small spots of oil-based ceiling paint on it. I wish it had been latex, but no. So I had to devise a way to remove it. I eventually discovered a powerful all-purpose cleaner from when mom was involved in a non-Amway pyramid scheme. I smeared it on the spots and managed to scrub them off, or at least convert them into faded blots. I'll revisit the project in the future. It was arookie mistake, leaving my jacket out in the open. I'll not repeat it, for shore.

My mouse suddenly stopped working yesterday, so I found a little laptop mouse, which actually seems to be easing some of my computer's speed problems. Weirdly cool.

Anyway, when I start bringing up things like that, you know it's time to end the entry. Hope you've enjoyed it, Linda.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 12: It's already yesterday

I often don't know quite what I'm going to write about when I open one of these posts. A lot of the time, I just kinda set down, open the web browser, start typing and think "What's up my arse tonight?" Sometimes, in the course of typing, a thought will occur to me and I'll just go on a tangent. This was, of course, more frequent when I wasn't working or even going to school, because when I have something to do every day, I can bitch about it, theoretically, every day.

I realized today, looking at the sign for the company, that I'm working for SWP. Neat. I never thought I'd make any money off SWP. What a break.

But y'know, in the course of painting, I just have to turn off the part of my brain that analyzes shit. I just have to focus on how I'm supposed to move the brush, or roller. That said, it was the type of day you blog about (or rather, I blog about. Well, I blog about just about everything, because I'm insane. But it's days like these I prefer to wring for all their bloggy goodness.)

I dunno what it is about me and bathrooms. That seems like it came right out of nowhere, but I woke up this morning, left the house, got on the bus, walked from the GO station down Cornwall to the jobsite, and just... had to go. Well naturally I was way early because it's the early period, before I've decided exactly how late I can be (probably not much.) I'm standing outside this house, alone, and I need a bathroom. I wasn't relieved either when my co-worker Catherine showed up, because unless she was driving a commode she was of no use to me. So I decided to bite the bullet and tap on the glass of social decorum a little and bug the woman whose house it was, before we were to start, if I could use her facilities. I began by knocking on the door, knock knock, nobody home. I thought it was weird, until I realized I was next door. Whoops. So I found the right house, knocked and explained myself. Graciously - the woman was very personable and warm, I'd work for her if it were possible - she welcomed me in.

I had a lengthy conversation several weeks ago about bathrooms, toilets, and toilet habits. It was a weirdly enjoyable conversation considering the subject matter (and company!) I haven't felt that comfortable in a little while. A lot of the time these days, I just feel kinda schmucky.

So once I got out, my co-workers had finished arriving and we got to work setting things up. Before we got to working, though, Kerissa took me aside and asked me how I thought I did yesterday. My stomach fell a little at that, because it didn't seem like it was going to end well. Still, I said okay, because I didn't feel I'd totally fucked up at any point. I can't remember exactly what she said, but the gist of it was that I was dead-on in what I said yesterday about my performance and how it was being perceived. What I'm getting at is that Zack didn't seem to care for my work. In fact, he was rather critical apparently, but Kerissa told me she was going to keep me around because she liked me very much, which is nice to hear. Hopefully I can parlay this goodwill into not getting fired, because finding another job would be a bitch especially at this point.

I can see his point. From the perspective of a guy who's been in the painting biz for 5 years or whatever, a guy on his first day is going to be terrible. I went slow, I smudged, dripped, spilled a bit... I had no fucking clue with caulking. I tried to pay close attention to everything he said and did and somehow, gee whiz, I wasn't a bloody expert by the end of my first day! Go figure. I know it ain't rocket science, but give me a learning curve, wouldja? Give me some time to practice and get used to shit. I never lied and said I was an expert or even remotely experience. I think I should get a pass for working like a trainee, at least for one day. Maybe three. Admittedly, the other girl who started seemed to be a bit better. Not everyone's the same. Give it time and we'll see. If I still suck in July, fire the shit out of me, it'll be best for us all.

I gave a less venomous version of this rant to the guy I was working with for the majority of the day. Basically, it had the same premise but with less "Fuck that!" attitude and more "What can ya do?" He understood. He's been doing painting for a few years but told me he had a brutal first day wherein he went up on a 30-foot ladder, got clumsy, and spilled a can of paint. It happens.

The two of us were outside, sanding/prepping and staining or polishing (depending on the piece) several pieces of garden furniture. I was more the staining guy, spreading off-white oilpaint on various Muskoka chairs, benches and tables. We didn't talk much other than the usual getting to know you, and that was after a lengthy period of silent working. We talked about school (like I said, standard: that's the go-to icebreaker) and jobs and the future and whatever else. At the end of the day, he was a little more understanding than another might have been when at the end of the day we had to do some quick touch-ups on several of the pieces I had worked on. Well, I suppose it wasn't his place to say (he wasn't even getting paid that day,) but he didn't, and that's fine by me. I got the picture.

The moral of this long, pointless story: Learn by doing.

The other thing that occurred to me during the day was that I need to get my bike in riding shape asap. I can foresee some roughness on the horizon if this doesn't happen.

I walked back to the Go station, then took the (long-delayed) bus home. The driver was a real grumpy-old-man type. I got home and unwound and enjoyed the fact that, working during the day, you are actually left with some energy at night as opposed to when working in the evening.

For B's birthday, (and man do triplicate birthdays get old, at lest thinking ahead to my own,) we had some Chinese, which was a nice, understated evening. And some TV. I convinced the birthday boy to go grocery shopping in my stead, because I was a little tired, but I don't intend to keep using that as an excuse.

Back to the same jobsite tomorrow to finish up the other part, a mostly-finished bedroom that shouldn't take more than a few hours. Sounds good.

Maybe this whole thing will work. Maybe I'll get fired sometime. What an adventure.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 11: I already know the conversation

Suddenly, all that shit I meant to find time for prior to starting work... I wish I did.

"I'm Amazed" is a really cool song by the band My Morning Jacket. They performed it on SNL this past weekend and I found it startling to hear such a great classicist rock tune. I'd never heard of the band before, but they've definitely got my attention now. That said, the song's really great, anthemic and uplifting (and I'd love to see it in Guitar Hero IV) but I'm not in the mood for anthemic and uplifting.

Maybe I have every right to be bummed; maybe I shouldn't be at all. I've enjoyed a certain level of freedom in the past (re: joblessness) but with that freedom came an elevated sense of self-loathing. Like, I wasn't doing anything, wasn't worth anything, was wasting time. I regretted not getting a job last summer; I don't regret getting this job, but I still reserve the right to express misery. This is, after all, SWP, fuckers.

(I'm kidding when I call you fuckers. I mean it lovingly, I do.)

There's nothing like your first day on the job to make you feel like a n00b. With the exception of the famed kiosk job in October 2006, I've never had a first day I enjoyed and I don't think others would contradict this assessment. It sucks being new. You want to approach training with enthusiasm but for some reason, the whole day becomes about how badly you suck.

Classic Bowl was a less-than-pleasant first day. Nothing out of the ordinary for what that job ended up as, but the seeds of my discontent were sown then. At Tim Hortons, where I worked for two days, my first day was a miserable affair, existentially bad, and left me questioning my place in the universe. My first day at HMV, a job I loved, may actually have involved tears; at least, the question of whether I regularly freaked out over little things (I do not....... admit to it, anyway. and I managed to hide it okay for the rest of my time there.)

So by contrast, there was nothing so wrong with my first day as a Student Works painter, it was your typical daylong reminder that a: I have to acquire and develop certain skills, (mostly regarding painting) and b: I'm basically stuck in something. But that's okay. This can work, I tell myself. Anyway it's what I told myself this morning...

It was a short night of sleep. I had been up until 1 completing the safety test - I'll admit, I mainly skimmed the Shockwave Flash style manual and used common sense to answer the questions. I had made the characteristic yet fundamentally flawed decision to ingest a crapload of caffeine late last night. I never really felt the effects of caffeine at bedtime the way I did lsat night when I was awakened after maybe an hour of drifting toward sleep by the sound of my own heart beating rapidly. It was intense. Part of it was the caffeine, part was nerves. It felt like the night before the first day of school, which is always a hard one to sleep because your mind is just abuzz with all the possibilities and anxieties. So this was no different. Sure, if I'd been starting at 3 in the afternoon or even 10 in the morning things might be different, but this was bright and early. My alarm was set for 6:25. Why? I guess because deep down I hate myself and want to suffer.

It reminded me, actually, of a quote from the Jim Jarmusch film Coffee and Cigarettes, about Steven Wright saying he likes to drink a lot of coffee before bed so his dreams go faster, like the camera on a Nascar track, just whizzing by. My dream last night jetted through about three months of plot twists and characters in about four hours of sleep.

But I awoke still weirdly buzzed. I stretched, sat up, punched myself in the head, made a sandwich, and got on with the day.

I set out for the bus. The jobsite was not out of the realm of my travel, so I got there in good time... in theory. In theory, I remembered to bring the jobsite address. In practice, I got to the street and thought "Oh, shit, where am I supposed to go?" and kept walking in a daze until I ran into my employer, who very chipperly asked where exactly I was going. I had indeed walked way past the jobsite, at which she hadn't arrived yet (I was looking for a yardsign.) So eventually we got there and my nervousness started to fade... after I vomitted a little in my mouth.

We got there and I was introduced to Zack, my boss' boss, who was just going to be around today to give us the fundamentals on what we would be doing. He seemed to mean well, but was a bit brief. If I had to say something unflattering, it would be that for all his abilities as a painter he seemed to dislike having to instruct others, or that he would rather just work with people who already knew. Whoops.

And well, therein is where that "n00bish" feeling lay. I had every right to not know what I was doing, but I was very self-conscious about it. I had an easier time painting when Zack (or for that matter, Kerissa,) wasn't over my shoulder. Once I get scraping and caulking and priming and brushing and rolling into my head, I think it will be easier for me to deal. But it's my first day, right?

Between the four of us (me, Kerissa, Zack, and Catherine who was also training) we managed to get the job done way early. I don't anticipate that being the case all summer, although it's what I'm going to shoot for. I took off around 1 and caught the bus home at the Upper Oakville plaza (which by now is the Middle Oakville plaza), humming "Sweet Jane" by the Velvet Underground to myself because, gosh darnit, you can't listen to your iPod all the damn time.

I got home and promptly... bathed. Not to sound, y'know, off or anything, but when I'm working, I like to indulge in a little soak for whatever muscles may have been tired at the end of the day. Afterward, I watched a little of Eric's favourite cinematic endeavours (a weird, cheezy retro softcore porn,) and then waited around a while to get to dinner.

We had dinner at dad's. It was a long time in the making (and he was late in getting here to begin with) so the whole thing was delayed, but we had some nice pleasant conversations. But as the evening wore on - and it did, and it was B's birthday and we did all that - I got uncomfortable with the ticking clock, because I'd had something I wanted to do, and had figured on doing it sooner.

And even though, when I got home, I gave it a go, I knew it wasn't happening. I have a sense about these things, and that sense had a negative outlook for the evening. I would've liked to get out, even though I was understandably wworn out from the day. So I chilled out for the evening. And it wasn't so bad. But it was not to my preference.

I'm all over the place. Gotta get a handle of myself. Gotta replace a fluorescent light. Gotta think about my computer and it's intermittent slowness... usually after long periods of inactivity (as in, screen savers, or startups.) It irritates me more and more.

Sigh... full day of work tomorrow. And every weekday, it seems.

Well, that's life. We all need to get shit together sometimes. I oughtn't bitch.

Sometimes it's confusing. Ordinary life can be pretty complex stuff, as Pekar said.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 10: I think I'd be good for you and you'd be good for me

Tonight's title courtesy of a well-known Weezer song.

I'm anticipating going to bed early tonight, which incidentally might mean this isn't a very long post, but don't count on it. Of course, early for me really just means before 1. I found out today I'm working near Upper Middle & 8th Line tomorrow and have to report for duty at 7:50, which works well since that's about the time the bus goes by there. But anyway it means getting up rather early which means I'm not going to get my favourite amount of sleep (a lot.)

To be honest though, that's been the trend lately; with three people all up before 7 AM it's inevitable that the walking, talking and clanging will all amount to waking poor Scott up far before he's ready. Today I still wasn't ready when the alarm went off (I like to at least be conscious after 9) and the radio was playing "Come Sail Away" by Styx, basically the worst song ever.

Today I found a website dedicated to vitriolic webcomic reviews (not that anyone would click, but they asked nobody link them and I'll respect that.) It was ridiculously scathing, but fairly on-point and observant. It was mostly dedicated to comics that commanded some kind of unwarranted following. It's caused me to reflect a bit on my own work. I'm not a terrific artist (by all conventional standards I'm quite bad,) but I try to let the writing stand up with a sense of irony and sarcasm. Besides, nothing I've done has ever been demonstrably popular, so really, what's to hate? Also, I've always been critical of my older material... usually after a while I can pick out all the jokes I should've changed, or the way I might've drawn something better. It's important to be critical of oneself, and to be open to the opinions of others, as long as all those are taken with a grain of salt.

That'll be all for tonight. I'll try to muster up some awesome stories about painting for tomorrow. Funny enough, it's supposed to rain in the afternoon, so I may not even be working a full day.

Go me!

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 9: This is not something I deserve

I had a delirious fitful sleep last night. It's hard to inhabit a populous house where three people are gonna be up outside your door at 6 AM. I guess I'll be part of that again in a couple days. I'm going to miss sleep. I'm really going to.

I lay there politely indignant wondering if I should go to the trouble and effort of complaining, or just wait until their repeated troping around and banging of drawers and cupboards in the kitchen ended. I chose the latter and, eventually, somehow fell back asleep. I can't remember if it was during this sleep or the earlier one that I had the dream. I didn't even remember or think about it when I woke up but later in the day it came back to me and I found it weird. It was about me riding on the train (subway) and trying to get a sandwich at Mr. Sub. The girl making the sub was very insistent on how she was going to make it, even though she ignored my requests. The train sped faster and farther away from the Mr. Sub and she just sat there making my sandwich improperly, and then she stalled and I got mad and the train went off the rails and continued speeding. And I got more and more pissed off and people started hassling me a little, not the least of which this stuck-up Sandwich chick. I don't remember the last time I actually felt angry in a dream. I usually just feel awkward or anxious or fearful. It probably means nothing. I was just amused at the imagery and feeling that lingered on. Ah, dreams: fodder for meaningless paragraphs.

Part of my re-discovery of Aerosmith involves a slightly-overdue re-listen to their most controversial album, 2001's Just Push Play. You would be hard pressed to find a longtime Aerosmith fan that legitimately liked it. Some would concede that Jaded was a worthy hit, but the concensus seemed to be that it was too poppy or something, which I think is unfair. It's not a great album, but not a total washout like Night in the Ruts, Rock in a Hard Place, or Nine Lives. All those albums had varying degrees of good songs weighed down by too many more heavy-handed/sloppy/forgettable/awful tracks. The thing with JPP was that it had that one really good song going for it, and while the rest didn't live up, it was of consistent quality except for the unfortunate outbreak of power ballads. The material doesn't particularly demand repeated listenings - it's not Pump or Rocks by any stretch, a notch below Get a Grip and Draw the Line as far as their middling albums. But the material never makes me (a hardcore fan who is critical when appropriate) want to skip a track, even "Fly Away From Here," a slightly embarrassing attempt to capitalize on "I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing" and their then-newfound popularity on Adult Contemporary Radio. The problem was, philosophically, it was a stylistic departure from a band who could coast on simply playing a mellowed-out version of their classic sound, and it almost paid off but didn't quite gel. It was a lot over over-produced semi-dance tracks that sounded kinda like a Beck experiment gone awry or something. Poor Joey Kramer doesn't get to let his drums stand against the processed beats and the percussive guitars. Their next release, the blues album Honkin' on Bobo, rectified this and was ultimately a more satisfying listen, but that doesn't solve the riddle of Just Push Play. What are its merits? Who is it for?

I'd argue that its merits are that it was a consistently good, if rarely great, collection of material that, hell, might've sounded revolutionary as another band's debut, but seems to show Aerosmith underachieving and kowtowing to popular sensibilities more than they ever had. It's a lot more refined than their worst stuff and considerably less focussed than their best. Most of the people who bought the album were either longtime fans who hated it, or new fans hooked by "Jaded" who might've been surprised or caught off guard that the rest of the songs didn't sound like "Jaded."

It was definitely a teenage album. I bought it when I was 14, during a hot and hormonal summer of 2001 trip to Quebec City. Listening to it repeatedly (which I strongly caution against without tempering with some better stuff) probably caused or at least encouraged a lot of my frustration at the time. While Aerosmith generally is for teenagers, this one seemed just a hair less mature in its songwriting. To wit, some brief summaries of material found on better albums:

Get Your Wings: Crime, prostitution, gambling, outer space, nudism, regret, and of course, sex (on a train, with women of expensive tastes, etc.)
Toys in the Attic: Insanity, drug use, child abuse/molestation, religion, the trappings of fame and fortune, sex (losing one's virginity in particular, seducing women in general.)
Rocks: City life, country life, drugs, betrayal, fame, loneliness, the crumbling of society, sex (in the old west, with groupies, etc.)
Permanent Vacation: Murder, transvestitism, frustration with society, girl-trouble, sex
Pump: Child abuse/molestation, drugs (getting clean,) social issues, break-ups, sex (in an elevator, with the wrong girl, with the right girl, etc.)

By comparison, tracks on JPP tend to deal with fantasy imagery, lovelorn longing, and regret. There's less coitus on this album than probably any previous Aerosmith recording. In any case, it's just an observation.

And if you actually read all that, thanks for indulging me. I sometimes get so bored with my own life that I might wander into such unexpected, curious tangents. I don't expect everyone - or anyone - to care as much about Aerosmith as I do. The last couple days haven't exactly been the most fascinating.

Mother's Day was kinda delayed, as mom and Tim decided not to rush home, leaving us happily to our own devices. I didn't really do anything Sunday (quiet rainy day) or today (quiet sunny day.) I tried to call Robyn to hang out (as I'd told her and she'd agreed) but she was nowhere to be found. I'll probably end up calling her tomorrow (assuming she does not work. Well I'd call her anyway) since I start word Wednesday and thus won't exactly be around much during the days.

Sigh... I've still got my complexes.

Things should've gone more smoothly and I should've dealt with them better. I shouldn't feel too sorry for myself. I've got it pretty good, I just wish I was more in touch with some of my friends, even the ones who are around town.

I noticed a friend had a quote from SWP in his Facebook profile recently, which I took as a high compliment. I was kinda proud of the remark too, because it emphasizes my love-hate relationship with puns. Indeed, I truly live a charmed life.

Lesson learned from internet forum discussions: It doesn't take much effort to walk away from an argument, and nobody will think worse of you for it.

That's all the wisdom for tonight kids. Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Chapter 8: I need to get back in your arms

So I've recently re-discovered my appreciation for Aerosmith's live catalogue.

I mean, don't get me wrong; I haven't gone very long without listening to Aerosmith since I was in Grade 7. It's a lifetime official favourite band thing. When I was younger, I tended to listen to the live recordings, (Live Bootleg and Classics Live 1 & 2) because they mixed in the hits and more obscure songs that rocked and the packages generally sounded more interesting than the studio affairs. The pinnacle of their live collections (which has long since expanded to include A Little South of Sanity and Rockin' the Joint, the former I have the latter I don't really need) was Classics Live 2, which had great performances throughout, impeccable song choices and a decent but not exhausting running length. I used to listen to it while I made toasted lunchmeat sandwiches.

Anyway, by the time I got an iPod and it was time to pick and choose which records I wanted to hear endlessly, I opted for the studio recordings, because it's just more efficient that way, and that was that. But I popped in CL2 earlier tonight and it rocks just as hard as I remember.

Anyway, there's a song on there, "Movin' Out," that features some really poignant lines, which along with the philosophical musings in "Dream On," hinted that as a lyricist Steven Tyler was (slightly) interested in things other than sex and drugs. I think it deserves to be embroidered on a wall-hanging somewhere: "Level with God and you're in tune with the universe / Talk with yourself and you'll hear what you want to know. / Gotta rise above 'cause below is only gettin' worse / Life in time will take you where you wanna go." It's rather uplifting if slightly vague.

As predicted, it was a long day. To some degree it was fulfilling and surprising, and to another it was, y'know, a bit of a letdown. I was figuring on going two places this evening. I ended up neither. Go figure.

I got up early to head for the bus. I got myself a bit ahead of schedule in an effort to get down to Bronte for an important meeting concerning my new gig as a painter/botherer of people. It was a long, long ride down Rebecca, ending with me getting off at the Bronte mall. I was early, as I implied, so I just kinda kicked around before finding the place. Walking through that mall was like going through Trafalgar Village circa 1998, but smaller and with a hint of burning rubber in the air. My mind reeled meanwhile with nervousness.

After about a half hour of pointless stalling, I went to the place. The boss' cousin welcomed me in and ushered me to the basement where others were already waiting. She'd be along in a minute, make yourself at home. So I got there and found three girls sitting around, of varying levels of looks, (Oh come on, you know how shallow I am.) Each from a different school (Queens, Sheridan, and even a youngun from OT.) We chitchatted a while and joked around cordially to break the tension. I won't lie, it was a bit awkward and I said out loud with a smile "I just wanna get this over with," which was dead-honest... I have no heart for clerical matters, and I was spending an undefined chunk of my Saturday in a completely foreign part of town. Let's just get it over with. One girl laughed, "Don't sound so enthusiastic!" So I smiled even wider and pumped my fist in the air "I just wanna get this over with!!"

Eventually, the bosslady showed up with some dude in tow. He seemed to have a better idea what was up than we did. We got some papers passed around, outlines of expectations - what we could expect and what was expected of us - and we talked about the part I had been tugging my collar about all week, cold-calling and marketing. I mean look. I signed on to be a painter - at least, I applied for that. If I could've spent my entire damn summer just on a ladder applying acrylics to window shutters, I'd feel awesome. But the fact is, there has to be people with shutters to paint, and so a certain amount of my time will be spent leaving flyers around and ringing doorbells. C'est la vie. Maybe I'll be awesome at it, or maybe I'll totally half-ass it. I haven't decided. I guess we'll see when I start doing it. (The truth is, I intend to start with at least some enthusiasm, at we'll see how it progresses as the months go on.)

In summary, as jobs go, it seems do-able and likely to keep me out of trouble for the summer. Looking at things, I can see how Eric didn't manage to get the job. She hired 6 people - me, the other guy, the three girls and one girl who didn't show up today. He came late in the interview process, so unless he came off as utterly essential he wasn't going to fit into the hiring scheme.

So the whole meeting ended up lasting about an hour with some cold-calling roleplaying being the chief high point, and ending with being informed that I was to start on Wednesday, or possibly Tuesday. It'd be better if the uncertainty was the other way around - probably Tuesday but maybe Wednesday - so I could count on Tuesday, but that's how things go, n'est-ce pas?

I got on the bus, after something of a wait, around 1:20. Not long after I did, a woman and some kids around 4-5 got on. I didn't pay 'em much mind (it's late spring after all, there are random chicks with exposed shoulders) to begin with, being plugged into my earbuds, but suddenly I heard something I could not drown out with Aerosmith. A weirdly familiar tune, but strangely out of context as a kids' singalong...

The kids were singing and clapping together to the Backstreet Boys' "I Want It That Way."

I weep for our young generation. I do.

After a protracted bus ride, I got to the station and took the long way home... walking. I considered stopping in at certain locations to see people I knew at work, but I figured I'd do that some other time and not feel lame about it. But the reason for the walking ws far from my health or enjoying the weather... I was listening to a podcast and didn't want to get home before the end (ultimately unsuccessful in that area.) I got home around 3. Xena was dropped off and promptly we went out to get mom a Mother's Day gift. It's the type of thing you don't figure she would ask for or necessarily enjoy, but it was thoughtful to some degree, and... it's mother's day. As long as it's flowery and shows appreciation, can anyone really complain? I like to show my mother my appreciation, but I'm not the type to knock himself out.

We had the kebabs for dinner. They were okay, ameliorated by some fancy rice we had with 'em that I don't remember buying and may, in fact, have gotten as a free sample at Union.

Tonight was going to be hanging out and/or Risk. The house being mostly empty weekends, it'd be nice to take advantage of that sometime but my social life stalled for tonight. I had to reschedule one very changeable thing, and Risk got called right off because of general fatigue. I don't blame 'em but to be honest, I was eager to provide myself with some retribution for my recent... disgraces. But there will always be another Risk game. I at least managed to clear the air with Chris, admit I overreacted a tad. Well anyway we agreed on one view of it, and that's that Chris found himself a strategy to win and it played out beautifully. I was the unfortunate sucker to get blasted immediately, and the others, not nearly as strong as Chris from fighting me, had no choice but to lie down and take it. Strange how I got the reputation as one who doesn't think ahead enough? Heh. (I'll admit, it's not entirely unwarranted and it's always easier to see other peoples' mistakes.)

But anyway, the lack of Risk and everything is what led to me wandering around town for coffee, listening to Classics Live 2 and generally being sketchyawesome, and then watching Saturday Night Live while Xena is passed out on the couch. It's the kind of evening where I find myself carefully examining what kind of girl would actually be on POF* (a popular free low-grade dating site) at 2 AM and simulatenously mwondering why I am doing the same thing. And take my sweet time writing an entry.

Maybe I should've spent this time doing actual writing. Just think: if I weren't so fascinated with my own tedious life, I might've accomplished something. Ah well, later for that.

I don't have much time these days, to sit and simmer in my own misery, which I guess is good... everyone could use a break now and again from my bitching and complaining. I could use a little levity, a little breathing, a little bit of things going right. Strangely, that seems exactly to be what's going on right now.

Other than that, it'd be nice to seize onto a creative impulse, but we can't have it all. It's nearly 3:00 in the morning, despite what the entry time says, so I don't think I'll be starting any new projects tonight.

Darlin', if you're out there, be safe and warm and come find me when you can... and keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 7: Your Mother Should Know

It's been a long day, but smart money says tomorrow's longer.

I got up this morning with a purpose; get to Toronto. This is not that unusual, as I've been there innumerable times since September and indeed, twice earlier this week. but this time was different. This time I was going to see a part of the city I didn't get exposed to from commuting to U of T. This time I was gonna see a picture show!

My aunt and I had agreed over the weekend that it was time to go see a movie, and that Iron Man was the most likely candidate, harking back to the days earlier this decade when there was a plethora of moderate-to-low quality superhero movies being released (Daredevil, Hulk,) and she took me to see them. It had been a long-running thing between us until she had a kid of her own, and even a little while after that. But as I got older and she became more of a mom, we got out of the habit. But she hadn't seen a real movie (ie one that did not feature sanctimonious talking vegetables) in a long time so she asked and I obliged. This was slightly different from our previous movie tradition in that instead of her driving all the way out to Oakville, I would use my adeptness at commuting to meet her at AMC Yonge-Dundas. It was weirdly windy when I set out, but the weather was otherwise nice.

So I got there a bit before she did and decided to look around. It was really just a whole lot of construction as they had yet to install many of the food court locales. That sucked, since I hadn't actually eaten any lunch and there was nothing but pretzels and sushi, which I sampled but didn't feel like.

So eventually we got into the movie and popcorn and coke became my lunch. Ah, just like childhood. The movie itself was quite cool, basically living up to the hype, although my expectations were a bit high from all the raving I'd heard.

After the movie, my aunt and I got coffee and chatted, something that, if we've ever done, it hasn't been for a long while (outside of family gatherings.) We talked about life, family, the past, the future, all sorts of things. I've always sort of taken after her. She has always had an effect on my sense of humour and my sensibility as a writer, since she's really the only other person outside my generation to be on the creative side (although for the most part she works as an ad copywriter, when she was younger she wrote sorta like I do.) She gave me a good pep talk about pursuing the life I want and doing what I love, all that inspirational stuff I don't hear enough or at any rate normally take to heart. We also talked about various family members and my desire to be creative with the names of my potential offspring.

Anyway, it was a good afternoon. I got back to Oakville in time for dinner and bummed around a while. It got to be 10:00 and I got a bit restless. 10:00 is that hour when, if you're going to get out, you'd better make up your mind about it. I offered Eric a rare opportunity to head out, have some drinks and shoot some pool at Monaghan's. He politely declined, citing his own lack of money and the fact that he'd already just bought some beer earlier in the day. Not eager to spend the night anxiously second-guessing myself, I went anyhow. I headed to Mon's, and was almost immediately accosted by a drunk dude waiting for a taxi, swearing he wasn't going to drink and drive ("again.") After ducking him and ordering myself a G&T (my desire for which was the inspiration for leaving the house, rather than just sit around and drink Stella.) So I sat and drank and made chitchat with the barmaid and answered trivia questions and pondered the meaning of my life for a little while before heading out. Oh sure, there were some cute random girls floating around the bar, but a man can't go in unarmed and without back-up. I think, for now at least, I've lost my enthusiasm for the random girl game. So I headed out to make a late-night stop at the bank.

In the course of my random sketchiness, I stopped by the Artisano Bakery. It was closed, but a few people were still in there working and I tried to see if one of them was Lauren or something. I decided it probably wasn't (I later confirmed this by asking,) and I think they saw me and thought I was casing the joint. Ah, to be young, slightly liquored up and sketchy.

So I headed home, to relax, have a beer, watch South Park and write this... and also watch goofy old skin flicks on Drive-In.

Truly, this is a charmed life I lead.

Tomorrow I have a meeting with my new employer. It's usually around such time when all my hopes for an awesome work experience are dashed by the reality of work and responsibility.

I'm a bit annoyed at things not working... my favourite internet browser just imploded on me and I can't re-install it somehow, and now a fluorescent bulb's gone out in the kitchen and we've got no spares.

C'est la vie.

I hope you're enjoying this cool, crescent moon evening, darlin'. If you're out there, think of me, and I'll keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Chapter 6: Shell game of emotions

I've been edgy lately. Kinda cagey about making plans and getting my shit together. It's weird. I should be relaxed. Instead, anytime anyone tells me I need to do something I just get all snarky and angry. I have to meet with my new boss on the weekend, at a house out in Bronte. And suddenly all I can think about is "What if every single job is out in Bronte? I told her I'd be good on transportation but there's no way I can keep that up all summer!" I don't know. So I flew myself into a mini-panic.

I've just been trying to relax over my last few days of guaranteed weekday freedom. It's not easy. Yesterday was a bit chilly and kinda drizzly, but I defied (conventional wisdom) and went out for comics, because all of a sudden I care about my position as Review Editor at ComiXtreme very much and want to be seen as someone who can get at least one review out on time per month. The truth is, I've been working in reviews for over 5 years and it's ground me down some over that time, and some days I just think if that one guy wants to do everything himself, I'd let him. But then I take a step back and realize that I want to stand for quality, not just quantity. Oh, veiled passive aggressive attacks.

So I've spent the last couple days "enjoying" my freedom by kinda bumming around town not really doing much. It's actually a little depressing and yet liberating to realize that if I hadn't gotten this job, that's exactly what I'd be doing every single day of the summer. Last summer was incredibly depressing.

Anyway today was likewise not much of a day. I accomplished one main thing, and that was to beat Freebird on Hard on Guitar Hero which so far is the greatest extent of my modest ability in that game. Fun. (I'm still on the GH, everyone else has moved on to GTA4 - the thing is, I'm not really a GTA fan so I don't bat an eye.)

We were grocery shopping earlier. It was kind of a drag, but a necessary one as always. One of the more interesting things was that we found these kebabs and that seemed like it would make for an interesting meal. So we went about our business and were checking out and as usual lately things started to get a little messed up. RCSS changed their policy and the cashiers no longer do the bagging for you. This causes a huge backup at the checkout line as patrons like me attempt in vain to unstick the plastic bags and eventually, once all the items are all scanned the cashier ends up helping with the bagging anyway. Anyway, we realized once we got home that in all the confusion, we'd forgotten the kebabs. It was after 9:00 before we got back to the store and it felt like it was going to be a big hassle, but it was really a quick matter. The only real drawback was that I missed the Office. But in any case, the quest for Kebabs ultimately ended well.

I had this dream last night that we were having a garage sale - or working at a Flea Market - and I met this random girl and spent a lot of time and energy in a fruitless attempt to win her over. It stems, in part, from a recent episode of a certain daytime talk show I saw spotlighting dudes who considered themselves major players. Suffice it to say, I'm not one of those guys.

Tomorrow I'm gonna head out and see Iron Man. Should be good times. Every time I mention that to someone they automatically respond with how much they loved it, so that's exciting.

I had this terrible idea a while back to start up a new blog. I was considering something in more of a journalistic/editorial vein than this straight-up confessional highschoolesque deal I've always kept, but I thought better of it for now... It would just feel like one extra thing I would come to resent making myself do time and again and cause me to lose motivation and gain guilt. I'd like to get my head together to mount such a project, but I want to be able to be enthusiastic about it.

I need to clear my head some. Too many loose ends in there.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott