3:00 PM: Count the jellybeans in the jar

Three... two... one...

hometime.

So I'm working toward contentment. Sort of sitting in this in-between time where I don't know what to do with myself (not that the whole summer hasn't been like that) before school starts. I've been doing a little writing in my oft-neglected Melancholy Catatonia story. It's really unpleasant trying to rebuild something you've already written from the ground up, and I'm tempted to just take the whole lot of it from the forum where I left half of it and go from there. But I like my new version and I'm not sure I should try to paste the old stuff on top of it. Maybe if I get really bored of writing I'll do that, but it'll still feel cheap. Anyway, it's little things. Nuances, wordings, that I like.

I was hanging out with Amanda earlier, our usual weekend gig. I was embarrassed to be late because my alarm didn't go off - some strange subtlety of iPod alarmification I didn't catch - and I had to be awaked an hour late and 15 minute after we were supposed to meet by the sound of a text message. Ah, life. anyway, we did the usual chat and talked a bit about the book we are attempting to write. It's looking decent.

So yeah, this week is for getting back to the stuff I care about, that I want to do but keep myself from for no good reason. Even if it only comes out in dribs and drabs. My main problem for tonight is that we're looking after Xena and she's being her typical nuisance self. Oh well. There are people out there with problems a lot worse than a noisy little dog for one night. The poor folks on the gulf coast nervously await Gustav. Life keeps turning in circles, like a hurricane's winds, don't you know.

That said, I haven't got a whole hell of a lot to say tonight anyway.

Life will present plenty of material soon enough.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Addendum 12:57: In addition to being a very boring entry, I've never wanted, like, a whole thing of Oreos so bad in my life, man. I could go for some sweets. Yeesh.

2:00 PM: This is where you always leave me

Well here I am. It's Saturday night, August 30 2008, and I've come to the end of the rounds on the goodbyes. And I'm not saying goodbye, but so long, see you later and all that stuff.

I should probably be more broken up about it.

I was hanging out with Robyn earlier today. Weird how six months have evaporated since we jumpstarted our friendship. She was somewhat concerned because she was to move to Guelph today and was not yet packed or in some ways prepared, and I guess she just felt the whole weight of the future on her. I know the feeling to some degree. She asked me what I wanted to do in life and it boiled down to wanting to be a writer. I was being unusually profound and reflective all morning and I told her that it was best to follow your heart, because even when it steers you wrong it makes the trip worthwhile. How true that is, I'll leave us all to discover for ourselves.

More than anything, I want my friends to be happy. Like I said, I should be bummed that all - or most - of them are gone for now, but it's been three years since I was in high school and this has more or less been the state of affairs since then and I can accept, embrace and thrive in it. And man, I think that's the best we can hope for in life.

These are the sorts of things I was telling Chris Ferg the other day. I went by to pick up the Lost DVDs and we had a bit of a chill sesh, talking junk and playing BoomBlox. I didn't play that game much when I was borrowing it but it was pretty fun in Co-Op.

We ordered pizza last night, from this new place, Martino's. except it wasn't a new place, after examining the address I realized it was the old Twice the Deal pizza from near River Oaks Public School, under new management. Still we hadn't ordered from it so we gave it a try. Eric, back for the weekend, requested the "party package" which was two pizzas, wings, bread, pop, whatever. I went along with it, not seeing the harm. So I called the guy up.

I immediately ran into difficulty when the guy repeatedly asked me for clarification what I was trying to order. He asked what the price was listed as on the flier and I told him, "It says, 2 medium, $27.99" and he asked me to proceed, asking me to repeat myself or clarify every other thing. Bluh. That I was not impressed with the phone operator should go without saying. Ultimately, we ended up waiting about 50 minutes for the guy to show, and when he did, he had his kid with him (adorable, right? Whatever.) He pulls out these MASSIVE pizza boxes and Eric and I immediately looked at one another thinking "This ain't right." he reads out the bill for these EXTRA LARGES and it's nearly $40, a decent amount more than we were budgeted for with tip. We're both like "This isn't what we ordered, you took down the order wrong" and the delivery guy played it off like "I just de delivery guy" and I begrudgingly went to get more money even though we should've protested the fuckin' thing. I was just exhausted and hungry. He's there, trying to extol us the virtues of these giant fuckin' pizzas for three people "It's only six bucks more... [motions to kid] he can eat half of this himself!" Well shit, dude, then why don't you buy one off me? Fuck. Three people, two extra larges, and Brando doesn't like to reheat pizza.

It was the attitude as much as the incompetence that will keep us from ordering from there again. They were really fuckin' snotty about their fuck-up and I don't care for that. I like my pizza guys to be conciliatory and humble. Also, not totally incompetent, passing off their giant expensive pizzas off on their unsuspecting customers. They're either really dumb or really brazen con-men. Fuck 'em either way. Pizza wasn't exactly that much better than Gino's.

We had this jug of homemade beer - long pointless story - in our fridge forever (or eight months.) Eric, for whatever reason, decided to shake it up and unleash it in our washroom. Way to go, Eric. You're a real mensch. now our bathroom smells like yeast and stale hops.

Beyond those few complaints, really, there's not much wrong. Everything is cycling back around and here we are. Like the rhythm of the Earth, I'm amazed.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

1:00 PM: I need someone to share my Golden Grahams

Sad how it goes. The longer I go between entries, the more nothing happens, the less I want to write an entry. I've had some stuff on my mind lately, but nothing important, and mostly just been going through the motions.

I mean, what can I say? This week has been a lot of time-killing, running errands, dealing with boredom and trying to reconcile my schedule. I'm not happy with my schedule for this semester but I don't see myself as having much in the way of options. It's gonna be a bit of a drag. I won't be surprised to see myself dropping a course at some point. But I'm pretty effin' clueless.

So I've been putterin' around town this week watching the pages blow off the calendar. I ran into some girls I know but not very well down by the lake. It was the usual "Oh hey how are you, how's your summer been ready for school," type of chat. They're nice people and I wish 'em the best, but I really didn't have much to say. They weren't my closest friends, is what I'm getting at. Most of the time I have no idea where my closest friends are.

(At least, unlike many years ago, I know I have some very close friends, and this is comforting to me.)

So out of this boredom, I went down to the pub with Lauren Wing where we discussed the geopolitical landscape. Actually, we talked about life, old times, and people we know. I did a half-decent job, I think, of being my charming ole self as we gabbed for a few hours. It'll likely be the last I see her, face-to-face, until probably December. Year after year it remains difficult to face the prospect of "I won't see that person for many, many months," especially in a year like this one, where so many names are being added to that list.

So long, and thanks for all the Risk.

But then you know, at some random point, Cary will probably come on MSN and ask me to come bartend at his party or fill out seats at his next play or whatever, and I'll be happy to, and the cycle goes on. And if I'm lucky, I'll have something resembling a life in the Oakville-Toronto region. I know some people.

We were discussing this, Wings and I. A lot of the chatter seemed to concern how to meet people, how many more people to meet. For a guy who had to take a train home every night I managed to make the acquaintanceship of a fairly decent number of people. Some of them I would even go so far as to say we became good friends (Not many, but at least one.) Couple that with the occasional Friday night show at the ESC, and I think I'll be able to find stuff to do with my time this year. Maybe.

Despite everything... everything, everything, everything... I'm not getting that "End of summer stressful" vibe. As in recent years, I'm mostly taking it in stride. Going back to school isn't such a gargantuan task and after 4 months of, quire frankly bullshit, you're almost ready for a change of pace.

The stress of studying (which I never do) and the exhaustion of commuting (more time to read) notwithstanding.

So I asked Chris Ferg a fateful question, which I knew he'd be all too happy to answer.

"While you're at University... can I borrow your Lost DVDs?"

That's right, kids. The gang's been trying to turn me onto it for years and I've earnestly resisted because of a passing aversion to hourlong sci-fi dramas and general lack of TV control. With Eric gone, however, I see this as a golden opportunity to formally introduce myself into the apparently-so-engrossing world.

Should be fun.

It shouldn't be surprising, given my life or what I've been writing but I had a half-thought awaken me from a not-so-deep sleep the other night. It was partway between dream and thought, putting me - myself in 2008 - back in my life in, say, grade 8. What a difference 7 years makes (hell, it only took four to make that difference but anyway.) I wondered about how useful the (basic social skills) I've honed would be, but then the contradiction hit me: the paradox of awesome. Whatever awesomeness I've obtained came as a result of all my total awkwardness of my earlier years. I mean, really, did it suck to be considered a potential serial killer in Grade 9? Yes, but I got a damn good story out of it.

It's an unusual thing for me to say, but goddamn do I dig my life, even if it isn't always totally awesome. After all, who's to say suffering doesn't lead to more coolness? That's my experience anyway.

So I thought I'd share that. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Noon: Got an asterisk next to your name

Guys. Do you ever pass a pretty girl on the street, and once she's behind you, give a glance back? If so, have you ever caught the girl looking back? That's a hell of a feeling. Maybe there's no way of telling if she was thinking "Cool-looking guy" or "Creepy-looking guy" but in my mind it's the former. (Odd, considering how often my mind tends toward the latter.)

Anyway, yesterday. The Con. Well, fan expo. Same dif.

I was kinda dreading it. While it hadn't taken much effort on her part, Amanda had managed to convince me to go, basically against my will. I'm not much of a con guy. Large groups of fanboys aren't my scene. I don't like being bugged to buy a sketch off an artist whose work I'm not familiar with, or bothering to look through acres of back issues to not find some obscure Joe Kelly Deadpool I've not read. But it didn't take Amanda much effort to get me to go, I guess because I'd been in a rut and thought maybe it'd be a nice way to spend a day.

I expressed my trepidation early and often. On a scant 6 hours of sleep, I rolled out of bed, showered, biked down to Cross, and stopped in Tim Hortons for coffee, of course. Whilst in line, she texted me asking where I was. It was like 10 after10 and our train was due to leave in about 20 minutes and there was a much longer line than 20 minutes for a ticket. Fortunately, I still had 2 rides left on my 10-ride, so I was golden. Not that I necessarily took this into account when planning my timing, but it sure did work out. We made the train in good time.

Along the way she passed me the list of guests and I picked out how few I actually recognized by name. It was not all that many, percentagewise.

So we got to the convention center and found ourselves in a long, long line. We were handed "Registration Forms" for some reason. Not seeing the point, I listed my name as Shazam Q. Awesome. It was after about 45 minutes of joking around (mostly about Henry Winkler,) that it dawned on us that there was a strong possibility that we weren't actually supposed to be in that line. After all, we had ordered advance tickets online, what were we lined up for?

So we bailed. We felt kind of embarrassed for ourselves, but all things considered we could've been waiting a lot longer and raked in a shitload more embarrassment if we'd waited the entire time and found out we didn't need to. What were those 45 minutes but a mere fraction of time we'd have spent standing around anyway? A kinda funny beginning of the story, anyway. Like I said, we realized, bailed, and got in forthwith.

So we went into the convention proper and began to take in the sights. It was crowded but not deadly so, really. There was a lot of horror and anime stuff I wasn't particularly interested in, so we found ourselves down by the comics for a large portion. I dragged Amanda around all the dollar-bins looking for those old Joe Kelly Deadpools and found nothin'.

The first interesting thing that happened was that we found the booth for a WoW-inspired webcomic she enjoys. I don't know if she knew the creators or if she just got along with them, but they seemed friendly as they signed the hardcover edition she bought (even though ironically we'd just had a conversation 90 minutes earlier about how lame it is for webcomic creators to shill print editions.) They seemed like nice enough guys but I wasn't familiar with their strip (Looking for Group, incidentally.) One of them lamented how he'd asked for a hot dog for lunch but they'd gotten him a chicken wrap. "And what is this? This isn't bread!" I chimed in, being my usual skary self, "Yeah, it's not even leavened!"

I have no idea why I said it or why I thought anybody would ever laugh at it (this is true of most of the things I say or write) but it got a chuckle and a disbelieving "Did you just say 'leavened?' Man, you must be a Jew!" (This fellow was most likely of the Hebrew persuasion) I told him "Nah, I'm just a big fan of Yiddish," explaining how Guthrie had said years ago how it was the mot expressive language of all.

There was that remark I made yesterday, seemingly from nowhere, about the cashier at SuperStore. I'm saying, it's nice to have the ability to connect with people. I think I learned it from my dad, who will converse with anyone within moments of meeting them. It's so weird since I'm normally such a nebbish (there's that Yiddish again) but sometimes I can just flick it off and become a regular person, and a pretty sociable one at that. Charming even. It helps at parties, and at cons where you sense that the creators are a little bleary-eyed at having sat there all day while masses pass by. This came up again a few times.

We made a few circles around Artist Alley, eyeballing all the people I'd never heard of and suspiciously counting all the empty chairs with recognizable names, most notably CB Cebulski, whom I'd wanted to ask about going from being an editor to being a writer, and Peter David. I passed up a chance to meet J. Scott Campbell since his area was pretty crowded. Tim Sale was out to lunch too.

After a while Amanda took me to meet her friend Jon, who runs an RPG board game company. They were tucked into "the dark corner of a dark corner," really far out of the way. I felt kinda bad, and let them catch up while I returned to my idle wanderings. I secretly wondered whether it was possible to pick up a girl at a convention, but decided that it was unlikely I'd get such a chance. Besides, most of the girls there - not all but surely the majority - were kinda... no.

I made several more laps around Artist Alley, bummed that so many people I was familiar with were away. I found myself back at Tim Sale's area, which was being guarded by two women who were not Tim Sale, and another guy who was, for all I knew (comic creators and their faces, I can rarely match,) except he was just standing there. For whatever reason we started taking and they asked if I was enjoying myself. I admitted, "Y'know, it's not really my scene." One of the women asked whether it was all the costume people and I admitted that wasn't it, just the high pressure atmosphere, all the clamour and nothing that truly grabbed my interest. She sympathized, admitting she was only here because her husband was friends with Mr. Sale. I kinda wanted to ask Tim Sale how Jeph Loeb was, but still he was nowhere around.

I met back up with Amanda, and she and her friend came back around Artist Alley for yet another lap. I decided to be kind and buy something from an artist I'd never heard of, and seemed like someone who could use some exposure. His name was Matt Stewart and if you click that link you might get the idea of why I bought his book. Even without the subject matter he draws, I think his style is really sharp, and if I could afford him I'd get him to draw Sewerman or Regular Guy on a regular basis for me. It'd sure take the heat off my artwork.

Well anyway, time passed and Jon left us again. We wandered some more without an agenda when we walked past the signing area and it dawned on me that that was where Peter David was. Hastily, I got in line. Then I realized I had nothing for him to sign. So I had a brainstorm and went to the dollar-bins and looked for something really obscure and embarrassing he did. Failing that, I actually ended up with a notable issue of Incredible Hulk from his run, the 30th Anniversary double-sized #393. So I bought it (for a mere $2) and went back to the line, pondering what I'd say to him, because damnit, I wasn't just going to be some fanboy. I'm a journalist, damnit! And a real charming guy to boot!

So I got to the front of the line and actually worked up the balls to say "Ooh, this is awkward... I was actually looking for the Henry Winkler autograph line?" before presenting the comic to him. This got a laugh. Whether it was a "I've been sitting here for three hours and this is the first person who seemed cool" laugh, or a "I can't believe how stupid that joke was" laugh, I have no idea, nor do I really care since Goddamn, I made one of the most prolific comic writers of the past two decades guffaw. As he signed the cover, I explained that whole he probably didn't know or care, I was a reviewer for a website. He said he didn't know of that particular site (and I don't doubt he'd forget if he had, say, appeared once or twice to have a heated argument with my Editor in Chief, since he's a pretty busy guy) but he asked if I reviewed anything of his. I told him Sh-eHulk, and he asked what I thought. I didn't necessarily give a full review, but I told him in a casual, non-gushing way, I thought the current direction of the book was working. He asked what I thought of the art and I told him I thought the team that had just debuted in the most recent issue was doing some really good work. He then gushed with praise for them, saying they were really about to hit their stride in some forthcoming issues, which I found interesting. I had Amanda take a picture of me with him, because seriously. Amanda probably overestimated the number of photos she'd take over the course of the day, but she did get about a half-dozen of me with people like PAD, Rorschach and Samus Aran. At least I think it was Samus. It was a chick in heavy body armour and a bare middrift. Who could resist?

We left around 3, both of us feeling the pain in our shoes. It wasn't all that interesting of a weekend beyond that, contemplating the sudden shroud of quietness without Eric around, watching movies, and writing and drawing.

Before Eric left, we were going to write the next Sewerman, but time really got away from us. You always think there's gonna be more time.

I took the time, yeah, to watch some old favourites: High Fidelity, Almost Famous, Dazed and Confused, Lost in Translation and Spinal Tap over the last 2 days. Oddly enough each of those movies has at least one thing in common - each features a character singing for others at some point (*blink and you'll miss it, but Milla Jovovich has a small musical number in Dazed and Confused.)

Been wondering what things will be like from now on. Like this, I suppose. I don't mind it, but I miss being able to get mad and just blame it on Eric being around (even when it had nothing to do with that.)

Well I think I'll move along for the night. I've got some stuff I could be doing. Only so much time left...

Hey beautiful.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

11:00 AM: This is a bad lie; I'm just gonna bail.

Moods change. Perceptions change. Opinions change. Times change. People change. But you know, some things don't. Little things that stay staid amidst the continuous fluctuations of life.

I'm in tonight, everyone else in the world is probably out but me I'm actually happy to relax in my quiet basement, watching movies (on my third one tonight coming up on 1 AM) and writing.

As you might imagine, it's been an odd few days for yours truly; not the most interesting or active necessarily, but it's definitely been one of those weekends. That's life and this is SWP and that's what we do.

Let's double back a bit. My last post was written in the haze of intoxication (which I oh so rarely do) so some of the details were given a bit mosaicked. Blurry, I'm saying. Take for instance the cashier at SuperStore. Not [i]my[/i] cashier, mind you, not this week. When we were getting our groceries we checked out at the aisle next to the one we had last week and chatted her up a bit. I had no reason to; I mean, she's okay but nothing to pursue, but I felt glad I was able to make a random girl smile at my dopey comments. I introduce this point to reflect on it later. Just wait.

So there was that, and there were words on Thursday I didn't even [i]mention[/i] (in so many words) that haunted me after. Stuff CB told me, stuff I can't possibly repeat here (goodness, Linda's probably reading, after all.) Anyway, some of our conversations Thursday night caused me to reflect on my life, what I've accomplished and what I hope yet to do. Time I refocused my energies, I suppose.

Friday was mostly a nothing day, until dinner. I ran out from my dad's house early after some pizza to meet up with Robyn. The way I see it, with the Summer of Wasted Potential drawing to a close, it's time to make the rounds and see everyone off. Terrifying a prospect as this is, I'm gonna be the last goddamn sonovabitch in Oakville come September. Not that I'll be here that much of my time, but I'll be here when I'll be here, as my base of operations, and there won't be anything much I can do. Who knows how Eric not being here will figure in. Freedom can be a cage, fucked up as that sounds.

So I ran off to meet with Robyn for coffee. We were on our way to having one of our most ordinary hangoutages ever, when my stomach sank and I got sucked into a flashback of 2006. I don't know what came over me, but I couldn't get ahold of myself.

Well, okay, I'd be lying if I said I didn't have [i]any[/i] idea as to what it was about (there are at least a few theories, and not mutually exclusive,) but it goes to show that sometimes your body and your mind - my body and mind - do things beyond my control and comprehension. It must've been quite a spectacle.

For what it's worth, she was intensely comforting about it, my little flip-out. She and I had an exchange (on two separate subjects no less) that stressed the importance of perspective. Things are often only good or bad depending on how you look at them. I think she said it made me "more human." That was worth a grin. I could stand to be more human. I don't know what I am.

Eric and I chilled for the last time for a long, long while I imagine. I can't say I won't miss him. No more Food network, no more Jon & Kate Plus 8, none of that nonsense. I'm now in command of this basement, and it feels freakin' weird. It's not a temporary thing, is how life is now. He moved out today. We spent a large portion of last night agreeing loudly back and forth on things we hated. Our relationship is like that. We discuss everything in minutely detailed passionate exchanges even when we agree. "Nobody on the planet interacts like we do," I told him. He agreed.

I don't regret it, but felt slight remorse that I skipped out on the rest of the evening to go play Risk. It's more of that "See everyone you can by the end of summer" mission. It had to be Risk. It might be again at some point maybe even before the end, but it always comes back to Risk. Pat Visintini even came out, and I haven't played with that guy since January, and I have no idea why. He was just so hard to get ahold of. But what a champ.

It was an interesting game, quite frankly, filled with the types of conflicts that are so rare in our often by-numbers games. This, I suppose, is why it's important to change the players every now and again. I think this was the first game to have me, Chris Ferg, Pat and RyLai. What happened was that I took Europe (natch) Pat got North America, Chris took Africa and Ryan was turtling in South America while the rest of us pointlessly took and re-took Australia. It was pretty brutal in the end when Ryan exploded out of South America toward Pat, who then pushed into my territory. I missed a chance to eliminate him right as the game was ending at 3 and was in the midst of getting shellacked as we agreed to call it a night.

After getting home at 3, I had to get up at 9 the next morning. I had agreed, for whatever reason, to go with Amanda to the Fan Expo in Toronto...

But that story will have to wait for tomorrow. It's a pretty good one, and it picks up on the point I made about the cashier chick. Maybe not in the most interesting way, but I'm getting there.

Until then, keep on rockin'
-Scotto

10:00 AM: Unaccounted for

Once you get it, man, make sure you keep gettin' it.

These are words, paraphrased by Chrisbrown. How we arrived at them I will vaguely allude to in a minute. I'm decently buzzd and trying to hold myself together in order to hit the proper keys. I'm kind of famous as a lightweight, this I cannot deny, (hell, catch me on the right night and I'll downright brag,) but right now I'm plugged into my tunes and ready to focus.

The upshot is, I'm at that point where I become verbose and ready to pull out the ten-dollar vocab words. Like grandiloquent. I'm ready to be grandiloquent.

At the foot of a very interesting week has come a most interesting day indeed. It started out the way any day might. I got up, I went for coffee, I returned some DVDs to Blockbuster for Eric, I played video games. It was a ridiculous, ordinary day.

Then after Eric got home we went grocery shopping. And when I say we went grocery shopping I mean it differently from ever before. Now that Eric's moving out, it's shopping for just me and Brandon and I have to come up ideas I can do quickly and easily without exerting the same kind of effort Eric would have to spare. Life is going to be different. It reminds me of that summer of 2004, when we first moved into this place and became responsible for our own meals for the first time. I'm already exhausted thinking about it, thinking back to that first night when we first started up the oven... that night doesn't even hold any significance, nothing interesting happened but damn if it doesn't seem relevant now.

So B. and I were navigating the currently re-organizing SuperStore while Eric was off on his own getting his own groceries. It was doubly weird in the half-reconfigured supermarket. Everything changing. Not in a "oh my God life is changing" 2004-2005 way, just in a "Fucking constant of life" 2008 way. If I were writing a screenplay and included that scene, it would be criticized for the overt and obvious parallels between me finding my way in life and the supermarket.

I'm all lost in the supermarket / I can no longer shop happily... a little Clash taking us up to 12:30...

The big story, though, happened afterward. I was due to hang out with Lauren Wing and Chrisbrown. Somehow, it got to be July and I hadn't seen Lauren since February, and she went to Europe so it got to be August and I hadn't seen her in six months. And CB is just a good guy to drink with. So the three of us ended up at CB's home pub, the Stout Monk, in the same complex as Dominion.

I left the house at 8:15 and walked for about 45 minutes. I think I had originally planned on taking my bike because apparently I figured getting soused well after dusk wasn't sufficient negation of motor skills. At any rate I ended up walking. CB met me at the foot of the parking lot on Neyagawa and we went over to the bar and got our drinks. The Jays game was on, they were up 13-0 (13-3 by game's end,) and we jawed a bit on baseball although frankly I haven't been following as closely as I'd like to.

Eventually Lauren showed up, looking like a more sophisticated, worldly young lady than I remember her being. Maybe it was the way she was doing her hair, who the fuck knows. We all had our pints and started talking.

We started by catching up a bit, of course, asking rudimentary Europe and getting a few decent anecdotes out of her. Fromt here we went into a conversation about school life until resting comfortably in full-blown nostalgia. CB and I reminisced about turning 20 (and I contrasted with what it felt like to turn 21) and we talked about how so many of the good times were in the past. A few of the dates that came up in specifics were the summer of 2005, New Year's 2006, and a few of the not-so-stellar times in between and thereafter. It's alwats awesome to hear how people remember things in comparison to my own (admittedly not-so-great) memory. Lauren remembered Thanksgiving 2006, for instance, as that night I spent a lot of time on Conorton's steps consoling her. CB remembered it as the night Conorton and Vanessa had a massive fight. I remembered it through my own lens. There were other reminiscences. Cary's 20th birthday came up, which is always a fun one to relive.

I'll say this, in recalling that night, and many others not unlike it: I never seduced anyone who wasn't looking to be seduced.

I'm still drunk enough to think that sentence made sense.

Well I don't know, it was a fun evening. We talked about all sorts of nonsense without ever getting too serious, over the course of two pints apiece. I had Keith's Red for once. We talked about how much better beer from a tap is compared to a bottle (CB says he's been spoiled; I could never see that happening to me, especially not with the price point.) Lauren took a cab home and CB and I walked to his house whereupon he sobered up and gave me a lift home. Along the way we talked about the difficulty of graffiti-style defecating (er, yep) and Half-Past Eight PM (not sure how smooth of a segue between the two.) The good old days indeed.

We shall have to recreate the evening in the near future before all parties concerned return to their places of schooling.

It's important to have friends you can talk with. Not just catch up, but have real conversations about things you really care about. I strive to do this with everyone I care about.

I'm sufficiently sobered up by the end of this entry, but I need a good lie-down so I'll end it here. Maybe there's more to say, but maybe it'll disappear.

Oh Scotto. What a poet you are.

Keep on rockin'
-SAW

9:00 AM: Give it to me straight Doc, I can take it!

I think I could handle, and would enjoy, being a radio DJ. I could slip into a Dr. Johnny Fever-type character fairly easily and play whatever music I damn well pleased (it would be pretty awesome, rest assured.) If the readership of SWP is any indication, there's at least a market for more Scotto, although admittedly a sizeable portion of that market is in Korea.

In fact, it would basically be an audio version of this blog but with a kickass soundtrack. So if any radio programming directors stressing over their dying medium are looking for something to refresh their fortunes, drop me a line, ne?

At some point, and I think this was an important phase to enter in my life, I made a realization. Don't know when it happened, maybe during or after my second year of Sheridan, maybe over the past year or so, but it did. I stopped looking at school as something I had to do (like in high school) and more as a... lifestyle. A place I don't have to be but can be rewarding as a way to spend time. I'm not sure what this means, or if it means anything other than I think about it differently when I'm on the train each morning. It's a sign of maturity. Maybe.

Mom and Tim just stopped me in the hall to chat me up about a rear covering thing they found for Tim's truck (you know, that thing you put over the bed, whatever it's called.) They found it around the corner and dragged it - yep - to our house, and set it on the lawn because Tim's truck isn't actually here. They wanted to let me know there was nothing sketchy about it (okay) just that they're pretty expensive and this was free. It was one of those "...can I go now?" moments.

It was a nice day for gadding about on my bike.

Although Eric has some complaints - naturally similar to the complaints I usually had when I was working - he seems to be enjoying his job. Me, I seem to be enjoying still sleeping until 11. Life is good.

Getting pretty comfortable in the waning weeks of this maladroit summer. Not sure what I'm gonna do about my schedule - it's gotta be shuffled - but for now I'm content to stay up late writing like a maniac.

What a way to be.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

8:00 AM: She could hear the cars roll by that ole 441 like the waves crashin' on the beach

And for one desperate moment then, he crept back in her memory. God it's so painful for somethin' to be so close, but still so far out of reeeee-ee-eeeach....

I'd like to think my computer and I have an understanding tonight. She's co-operating pretty well, running swift, which is becoming rare and I hope I didn't just jinx it. We've been having kind of a tempestuous relationship lately. hell, it's an abusive relationship. She has all the power.

I say my computer's a "she." I once told someone my computer was female because of how difficult and treacherous it was. The girl I told that to didn't seem to appreciate the joke, but as I recall this was not long after she turned me down, so she must've at least seen where I was coming from.

I've also been known refer to Stella Artois as "the only woman who's never betrayed me." Wow man, I've got issues. But we all know that if I didn't have issues, I wouldn't write here and you four would be deprived of an evening's worth of entertainment/distraction. I mean seriously - what did you do when I wasn't updating recently? I can't imagine. I can't even imagine what I was doing - leading a boring life, mostly.

Despite that, I'm full of life these days, plenty of zeal. I'm gonna get loaded on caffeine and stay up 'til 2 writing tonight, because fuck, that's what we used to do.

The zeal is a little hard to account for, but there it is. I'm not usually so enthusiastic about life, but with my remaining few weeks of freedom, what choice have I got? I like the things I am doing with my time, I have space to myself with Eric working, my dog has been gracious enough not to crap on the floor in recent days (he compensates by asking to go out seemingly every hour between about 3 and 11, whether he does anything or not.) Without school to worry about, I do feel quite good.

Of course, the fact that I need to say that out loud (or at any rate, advertise it in text here) makes it seem like maybe I'm hiding something, trying to convince myself, or some such. Maybe. I mean, I've never lied here before, have I? Well, you probably wouldn't know if I did. The reality I create here is a pretty tightly-woven one and it usually sticks together pretty well. Whatever facts I care to obscure usually remain hidden.

And yeah, it still ain't perfect, but I'm dealin' with it. Whatever it is.

I've been reading LJSecret tonight. Postsecret too, but it's LJSecret I specifically want to address. It's something I used to read a lot when I was really good friends with Steph (sigh, Peaches, where you been lately?) Whereas the original PS is somewhat dignified and poetic, LJS is very down-and-dirty, a free-for-all of confessions. Anything that pops into peoples' heads, some of which are ridiculous and overly melodramatic. Sometimes there's some serious shocking stuff there, and then there's stuff that makes you think "You spend time making THAT secret?"

I guess it's just comforting to know what other peoples' problems are. Helps you get perspective. When someone has a big problem you think "I could be worse off." When someone has a minor problem you think "Hey, I've got that too and it's not so bad." It's just nice to be able to get into other peoples' minds.

Which, of course, is what brings all my readers back here night after night. Right?

We were having one of our typically insane conversations, about some topic generally not discussed in polite society. We were laughing our fool heads off and I told you, "You're going to miss this when you go back to school." Or maybe I said I would miss it, but the point was the same. In one of your typical, amazing displays of optimism you declared your intentions to come back frequently. I sense your sincerity but wonder whether in the end, if it'll have anything to do with me. (After all, everything's got to have to do with me. Right?) Much as it pains me, much as I'll fight it (and shit, I don't usually fight for things but I will) I won't be in your life much soon. And whether that bothers you (it does me) will be something I suppose you must face. But don't worry. That's what SWP is for.

A few weeks or months ago *(very difficult to gauge time) Manda said I needed to get out of this town. I couldn't agree more, sometimes. I wonder what would've happened if I'd applied to the Western or Queen's, somewhere I couldn't get to via train. Well, then I'd have the dilemma of being at Western or Queen's. I am sometimes at odds with my situation, but y'know... I like my life.

Oh yeah, all right, take it easy baby, make it last all night...

She was an American Girl.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

7:00 AM: When it's over you know we'll both be so alone...

Hrm.

There's something funny that happens when I go this long without an entry. Oddly enough, that something is nothing. While nothing usually happens around here, I usually have my bearings to describe what nothing happened most recently. With such a plethora of nothing before me, how do I describe it? Moreover, what am I describing? What's a boy to do?

Nothing, I suppose. Hah.

It was surprisingly nice weather over the weekend. Not that I did anything with it, but for once it started to feel summery. I had a dentist appointment on Thursday. I'd been sweating it for weeks because in the past the dental staff have frowned upon my obvious dependency on Coca-Cola. That said, I've had a half a cavity over many years and I try to do my best to take care of my teeth. One can never truly tell, however. So when I know I have a dental appointment I try to do everything right and then some. Fuck, I even floss. And it pays off too, because after a harrowing 20 minutes or so with the hygienist, the doc walks in and the hygienist says she doesn't need him to look at me, everything's swell. Awesome.

I live to drink another Coke.

It was Thursday night that I wanted to do something, but scheduling got all twisted around and by the time I tried it was too late. The weekend was a blur without any Risk or authentic human interaction for yours truly. Not that I was moping around much, just that I didn't accumulate any interesting stories. Hrm. I did go to coffee with Amanda (per usual) and we got some pen-to-paper work done on our story idea. It's starting to take shape although the hazards of collaboration (my tendency not to work well with others) looms constantly.

In the "Things that are not surprising" department, it rained today. Since I was out on my bike - yet again - when it hit, I kinda flipped a bit when I got home, in an "Oh, God, why, why again?" kind of way. It's getting exhausting, this weather, and I'm very tired of it. Week after week it's rain and more rain, you know? I can't stand it, I can't let it dictate my life as much as it seems to be doing.

In the "Things that are actually quite surprising" department, Eric is working these days. I feel like I mentioned it earlier since it's been in the works for a little while, but he had his first day today. I'm enjoying the type of freedom that will be available on my off-days once he moves out. It's quiet, I have the TV to myself, I try not to feel too alone so I talk to myself (actually B is mostly in the next room except when he's not.) It's interesting. I sometimes feel tense when he's around, like I can't focus. Having quiet - as when he's at work or goes to bed at a reasonable time - changes the room very much. When he got home, he reminded me of my moods after I'd get home from painting, or the bowling alley, or wherever - tired and sore and wanting shit to be done for me. I conceded him that, in a "do unto others" mood. I made dinner.

So I finally did register for my courses, thank goodness. I'm not totally satisfied with it and will probably change a few things up, but at least I have classes to go to once the semester begins. I'm not flappin' in the breeze, although I do wonder about my chosen subject post. English major is a natural. The double major in English and Cinema seemed like a good combo but now I'm mulling over my options for changing cinema to a minor and pairing it with something else. Dad has always been really keen on my studying political science. I'm not into it, but I could go that way if I so desired. The time to decide would be soon.

A friend recently advised me, based on her own life, that it's important to know when to "give up" on someone. I told her it was a lesson I could stand to learn. I do tend to hold onto things, even as they slip out of my grasp. I wonder whether I have any ability whatsoever to sense these things and if I can take the proper action. Learn to give up. Strange how I'm not much of a fighter and yet too stubborn to quit things.

Well regardless of that, I've got myself some big plans for the near future. No more summer of wasted potential for ole Scotto, no-no, no more excuses and delays. This last stretch, I daresay, is for me.

So keep on rockin'
-Scotto

6:00 AM: I do not need what I don't want

I used to have a mantra; "It can't rain all the time." It was a sort of metaphor for, you know, thing will get better eventually.

Well, apparently I was mistaken. Obviously it can rain all the time, and has done so this summer. It's clear this ridiculous, neverending weather pattern has had some lasting effect on my mood, even though I've improved a great deal over the last week or so. A friend asked how my life was, and I told her the rain was a "dumb, obvious metaphor for my life."

It's not all bad, really; in fact, I have to admit it's getting better (getting better all the time.) I got some good news on the school registration front, where I was advised on how to rectify my latest problems (pertaining to my delayed registration for Subject POSt.) So that's looking up and there looks to be a good chance I'll actually be registered for classes tomorrow. Finally, right? Hasn't this storyarc been thrilling? And now I can move on to denouement. Sheesh, my life is dull.

So yeah; rain. Yesterday morning, a typical Wednesday. It looked okay out (which I should've taken to mean rain was imminent,) so I went out, as usual, for comics. Call me a re-re if you must, because I knew it was going to rain... I heard in on the radio "We'll be seeing some showers around noon." The comic store doesn't even open until noon. Brazenly, I brushed the warnings off because: fuck. For weeks now I've been putting off going to the comic store on Wednesdays because of rain. I was fucking sick of it. Too repetitive. I was rebelling.

So I set out on my bike. As always, I got there way early and went for coffee and sat by the lake, admiring the amazing dark fucking storm clouds. I laughed; oh, life. Rain. Always. Whatever.

By the time it was noon and I got to the shop, the sky was a darker shade of gray. I quickly grabbed my comics and noted to Rich the owner, "Man, I'm gonna get caught in that." He shrugged and gave me some very important advice. "It's just water." True enough.

Who knows what the difference is between water in your shower, water in a pool, and water from the sky. It's a bit colder, and you're wearing clothes, but it's not going to burn your skin (probably.) So As the first few droplets hit, here's what I did. I took my socks off and put them in my backpack. Why? Because goddamn if all the times I've been caught in the rain, the worst part wasn't wet socks. The other thing I did was put on my jacket; I'm not sure that was important but I love that jacket and I so rarely get to wear it.

Except you know, when it rains. Which is basically every day.

Thus prepared, I hopped in my bike and sped the hell down Kerr Street getting fuckin' drenched all the way along. Funny thing about glasses for those of you who don't wear 'em (or wear contacts, charlatans,) is that when you race down a street on a bike in the pouring rain, they tend to, um, fog up and collect droplets, as well as trapping some spray in your eyes. So yeah, I was squinty and half-blind, barreling down the sidewalk of Kerr Street, and down the steep slope of Speers. By the time I got to the QEW (yeah, I actually biked up Cross) I was drenched. I hid out under the path for a while until the rain tapered off to nothing. I could feel the water sloshing around my feet as I pedalled.

I must really like comics.

Not much going on these days beyond that. I had to go get a propane refill tonight, only a few days after a massive propane-related explosion in Toronto, the most sensational explosion story since Halifax Harbour.

I have other thoughts, but I've gotten so ungodly distracted in the course of this entry it's 3:00 AM and I oughtta go to bed.

Night lal. Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

5:00 AM: Wherever he laid his hat was his home

I haven't posted in a few days, but I have this one in mind and I want to get it out before anything serious happens that demands blog attention. I'm tired and I've got a headache and there's no aspirin in the house. Also, a friend of mine just called Barack Obama a moron, which I found offensive. I corrected her by saying John McCain (eh eh eh eh) is a moron, Barack Obama (doo doo doo) is a n00b.

And that will be the last you hear about American politics in this entry. I'd like to be the one goddamn place you can go without having to think about that stuff. That, and the Olympics. Man, screw the Olympics. I'm Canadian, why do I care about the Summer Olympics? The Canadian Olympians sure don't; after a whole weekend they still have no medals. Of any kind. In anything. And I don't think they really have any hopefuls either. Just trying to conserve funds, I guess, for the snowboarding and hockey we've actually got pressure to win at.

I'd been a pretty mopey guy all last week, but over the weekend I decided to take off my sadpants and locate my balls. Maybe circumstances haven't changed but I could at least change my attitude about them.

It's been the wettest summer basically ever, which may have contributed to my stress/depression. I just keep reading the weather report: "Fuck, rain again??" It's like some pathetic joke, you know? Rain and rain... and hail. Last Thursday there was a flash hailstorm, which at least was entertaining as the massive chunks clattered off the roof of mom's car, we watched from the porch; they produced splashes in the puddles as they mingled with raindrops and collided on the asphalt. And then in the august sun they melted soon after they stopped falling.

But hey, that was Thursday; the weekend was different. During the deluge on Saturday night I learned a few things.

One: My umbrella is done.
Two: I will do anything to get myself out of the house on a Saturday Night to avoid watching Hannah Montana's Concert Film on the Movie Network. The Last Waltz it ain't.

So I went out for a walk in the rain with my crooked umbrella. Luckily, it stopped raining about halfway through. When I got home, there was mercifully an MSN message from Chris Ferg asking about Risk. Quickly, it was put together. Cary was in town, which is good because RyLai was at a bar to watch the George St. Pierre fight (or maybe he cared more about Lesnar but maybe not.) So the four of us got the game underway and put in Always Sunny in Philadelphia for good measure (Cary hadn't seen it.)

As far as games go, it was pretty inauspicious, especially since it was the first in almost two months. I was dealt almost exclusively in Asia (only one on each continent other than that) so I had to cluster and try to gain traction, which never happened. Cary got Europe, Chris Ferg got North America, CB got Australia and caused nothing but problems for me in Asia. Man, CB! Why you got to be like that!

We called the game before the 2:06 alarm, all citing exhaustion with the lack of progress and sensing it wasn't going to change. Also we kept getting a bit sidetracked watching the show.

I watched Clerks for the first time in a long while last night. I caught a few points I actually seemed to miss amongst all my hundred previous viewings. I'd forgotten what a massive influence that movie was on my writing, especially my early writing and Half-Past. At the same time, my attention was drawn to some of the awkward phrasings and stuff in the dialogue; lots of subclauses and asides in single monologues, you know. It was obviously a hallmark of the movie and it stands up, but there's a reason he doesn't write like that anymore.

I thought I had more but I can't focus on it by now. It's been a decent night though, a decent few days. I'm just taking care of stuff, you know?

Maybe you do. I feel a little spaced. I should go to bed.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

4:00 AM: There's no road that ain't a hard road to travel alone

I could use an ear to hear me tonight. Fortunately, I have a little slice of the internet called SWP where a small group of people (some I know, some in Korea and the Philippines,) are somehow eager to hear my ramblings.

I know it's hard to believe from recent entries, but as it turns out I am not always a gigantic morose melancholy melodramatic motherfucker (the quadruple M for misery... perhaps that makes it quintuplet.) Circumstances seem to have gotten me down, however, and put me in that role these days. Rather, I put myself there, perhaps out of boredom.

Well... no more? Not tonight anyway. Can't guarantee I'll wake up tomorrow and feel the same way, but for the remainder of this evening I believe I will be upbeat. As in, holy shit Scott isn't whining about everything in life tonight.

I started out bitter as usual. Yet another Friday night. No social interaction, nobody to hang with., Yet suddenly I sit here, content with all that, completely of my own accord.

So why this sea-change? What happened to change my temperament so? Perhaps it's the beer I'm drinking, a Stella cooling in the back of my fridge since early June. Maybe it's because last night I actually did some writing for a change. Maybe it's because I've been looking at old photos. This sounds incorrect, because usually when I look at old photos I get nostalgic for the times when I didn't realize how good I had it (and how far it was from being just about perfect.) When we had large groups of people to be around in good cheer. When the sky was bluer and roses smelled prettier. 2005-2006. And this was the case - it really at first only made me mad at the kind of life I'm living now. Here I was, ready to spend another night crying in my beer (not literally, as far as I'm willing to admit,) when I come across a photo I never knew existed.

I won't post it - because I don't do that - but I'll describe it and try to explain why it affected me. It was taken on prom night at Conorton's. While everyone else had come from the prom, I had come from home because I was and am cheap like that. I can't remember drinking too much that night, but I appear visibly inebriated. And I say visibly inebriated - fuck, drunk - because in the picture I am upside-down, ass-over-ankles on the couch totally mugging for the camera, while blood rushes to my head making it look like I am going to explode. In the background sits Robyn - whom I barely knew and wasn't really friends with at the time (shocking I know) - totally ignoring what's going on behind her, oblivious to and unaffected by my jackassery. So there presents a classic tableau of anything-for-attention Scotto and a girl who clearly couldn't care less. And it made me laugh, because I didn't realize such a picture existed or that I'd ever exhibited my flexibility in such a way in public. I clearly had never been drunk before (I didn't even realize I was, on that night.) and to drive the point home, this was during my mercifully brief necklace-wearing phase, so you've got this little pendant dangling from my scrawny throat.

And you know what? I was delighted when I decided I still was that guy. He's not made-up, he's still me, as much as I try to bury him in angst. It still seems much more natural for me to be that guy. I can't fight it and I don't wanna. I feel like this tremendous weight has vanished from my shoulders. Sorta.

I mean, okay; my life still sucks. I'm still trapped in a maze of bureaucratic nonsense that is preventing me from registering for school. I'm still unemployed and lonely and bored. I still can't get ahold of many of my best friends. But there's no reason for me to be a little bitch about it, I don't think. It seemed so justified when I was down and out and yet now all I can think is, "Buddy, be a man." and that's the kind of stuff I need to be telling myself. First order of business: stand up straight, be proud of yourself, man!

I feel like I've gotten a second wind. Yes, my situation is lame, I've been depressed for most of the summer and things aren't set to change until school starts (if it starts.) But life is not without it's joys. A cold beer and a funny memory, for instance. The Clash still sound good on my iPod. I actually feel like writing again. I might get those wheels turning yet.

Eric may or may not get a temp job doing shipping at IMAX. We both sent in resumes, and he was the only one they called; mind you, they called at 5:00 on a Friday, so they maybe are saving me for Monday. He doesn't seem to want to do it, but I would jump at the chance to earn a little more dough and have something to do all day.

I think it's going to be another night where I'm up until 3:30 AM writing (fuck YEAH I'm gonna be writing~! Go enthusiasm!)

I can make the world work for me, if I try hard enough. I fuckin' know it.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott (the one I like being.)

3:00 AM: Who let you in here?

God help me I do like my random titles. I often dream up a title before I ever start writing the entry and rarely do I ever make an effort to connect the two, except perhaps in an abstract way, or in a "this is what the title means" way. This one, for instance, comes from a Mr. Show sketch (go find it if you want to earn my appreciation.) It doesn't mean anything, isn't directed at anyone and I have nothing to say about it. It just is. And the affixing of "3:00 AM" is of course my needless sorting method that I like to create a sense of continuity in a single month, and have since the beginning.

Best of all, they create a good net to catch weird, curious Googlers searching the most random things. For instance, a reader recently visited my site searching "Stay here for a minute whilst I go and get us some ice creams," a quote (and an awkwardly-worded one at that,) from a webcomic I didn't really read. Another searched "fake diploma." I wonder not only what compelled these individuals to search these phrases, but more curious: what about my site's title or preview led them to think they'd get what they were after? And this leads to the question: how long did they stay and what did they read? These questions I cannot answer, and now they haunt me.

Perhaps most curiously of all? One person got this link in their e-mail. I can only imagine the message: "Check out this asshole, hurrrrlol!" Maybe my imagination's just a-runnin' wild.

I used to talk to myself. Well, I still do, it's true, but I can't help but see that as a precursor to writing in this thing. I used to walk home from grade school muttering my opinions on the day's events quietly into my chest. An older kid who used to go home the same way (an asshole to be sure) always used to taunt me (not wrongly I don't think,) and ask me why I talked to myself. Quoting a Beast Wars cartoon (which was quoting something else I can't remember) I told him "It's the only way I can get any intelligent conversation." Zing!

So I used to talk to myself a lot when I was younger. I absolutely still do. I often find myself planning out my entries in this manner; I'll be out, quietly talking to myself, and think "I should make this my next entry." Hell, I just did it with this thought. This whole damn thing was already on my mind earlier.

I mean, it was not much of a day, nothing happened that would keep anybody's interest. I got up, did nothing, it hailed, I went grocery shopping, end of day. I'm all caffeinated now, wired as always; I think I'll stay up late, do nothing, and sleep in. Low expectations? Perhaps, but at least if I follow through, then I've properly abided by my own plans for once. If not, it means I got something done. Last night I stayed up until 3 lettering my next couple webcomics. tonight I'm already a bit jazzed because I finally took the initiative to plot out my next series, which I'd been putting off since over a year ago. Wurrrr.

The summer TV season has wound down. Last Comic Standing ended today. Iliza Shlesinger, a very talented woman, took the top prize. It made for a good story because people kept trying to eliminate her. She has a real crowd-pleasing ability about herself to be sort of vulgar but appropriately feminine. Her last rival was Marcus, an impressionist/Dane Cook style hyper-case whose act was weak and who really shouldn't have sensibly made it to the top 12 (there were plenty better candidates.) His final set kinda died for the audience, actually. While I was not surprised when Jim Tavare, a talented yet understated comedy-cellist was gone, even though I enjoyed his stuff, I was just aghast when Jeff Dye and Louis Ramey, probably the top male performers of the season, both got booted. Can't say Iliza didn't deserve it though, possibly for her mesmerizingly enhanced bosoms.

Two other shows I'd been enjoying all summer (you know, rather than socializing or being creative or interested in life,) were Wipeout and I Survived a Japanese Gameshow, two shows paired for the convenience of people who like to watch one thing and then watch the same over again for an hour. People such as myself, I suppose. Wipeout I initially wrote off as a pale Americanization of the ever-popular MXC, but the straightforward context of it, as a sarcastic pseudo-sport instead of a re-dubbed pointless exposition, buoyed my interest. I'd rather watch Wipeout than American Gladiators, because there is less homoeroticism and more fat people falling down. I think in fact more fat people fall down in the first 15 minutes of Wipeout than in any other sampling of programming anywhere. The Japanese Gameshow was actually depressing me for a while, because one team was getting hammered week after week and destroying itself from within, while the other team yukked it up. Incidentally, Firefox identifies "yukked" as a word, but not "Gameshow." Go fig.

I think I need to shave soon. The beard is starting to bug me a little bit. I feel kinda sleazy.

As always, I was recently contemplating my prospects of loneliness. I've been calling this summer now the Summer of Wasted Potential. Last summer was the Summer of Utter Despair, of course, so I'm still ahead of the game, but it's not so good. Wasted potential. Potential creativity, potential earning, potential future, potential energy, potential romance... it's all a blur by now, one big, angsty, bored, lonely blur that I now have, as always, a wealth of text to recall when I so desire. In that great Jarmusch film "Mystery Train," which I was supposed to show Alyssa years ago before she dropped out of my life, a character is touring Memphis, TN, but takes pictures only of the airport and hotel. This is because, he states, he'll always remember the tour destinations, but the places he passes through, those memories will fade. When I was in New York (basically, the last time I went anywhere, over 3 years ago by now,) I took pictures of random New York scenery and my hotel based on the same premise. I don't regret it. This blog, with its fantastic treasure trove of descriptions of scenes wherein nothing happens, and feelings about nothing in particular, provide me some basis to say "This is what it was like." I might not otherwise remember that, week after week, we keep going back to Wendy's after grocery shopping, and my body doesn't seem to like it very much; nor that I keep going for these night-walks just to leave the house and be free for a while. It's boring now, but someday, maybe I'll look back and think "Those were the days."

And if that's the case, I'd hate to see what my life has become by that point. Mwerf.

Reading "Overheard at Western" has given me a lot of laughs, but has also led me to a conclusion that, given my self-doubt and self-loathing, was inevitable: all these drunk, retarded UWO students lead much more interesting lives than I do when at school. Imagine if one of them put the kind of effort I do into one of these. But I think that, when your life has enough time and opportunity to go get plastered and have anonymous sex on a whim, you don't really leave yourself much time or energy for something so trivial as this.

That of course doesn't mean I don't still find them funny.

I think I shall go entertain myself by writing for a half hour or so. It's 2:15 by now, far too early for sleep. What a mess is I.

The trick is, finding time to enjoy it. My life sucks, but it has its moments.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

2:00 AM: Keep yer secrets between the shadows

So, the whole upstairs smells like burned bok choy. I mean, I didn't know what the smell was or even what bok choy was; I had to ask. Whatever it is (something related to a brussel sprout, apparently,) it's nasty.

Don't mistake this somewhat off-beat random intro for an upbeat mood on my part. I just never like to miss a chance to point out when the guy upstairs overcooks his food and stinks the joint up (which is often) and rag on him for it. Of course, since the place generally smells like dogshit and febreze lately (exaggeration) maybe it's moot.

So let's get down to it; not my best side tonight. I invite consideration of the back button. No, you'd never click back even if I suggest it. You're here for the long-haul, and that's admirable if slightly misguided. So here we go. (*Oh, and there will be profanity.)

I kinda hate myself lately. I mean, it ain't all my fault; I'm in a shitty situation but I think a more normal person would be dealing with it better, not taking it so hard. Despite Manda's assurances, I really don't think I'm such a normal person. I lead a normal life and have normal problems, but what goes on in my head is pretty far-removed from the standard in-head goings-on of your average johnny-on-the-street.

The fact that I typed that sentence and didn't think twice about it should indicate that. Me and my fucking hyphens.

So where to begin? It's hard to even slice into even though it's a pretty cut-and-dried issue. I feel like an asshole for not much of a good reason, like a whiny little bitch who can't make shit go his way. I have to get out of this fucking town that's for damn sure. I keep thinking about this one person I'm mad at. I won't tell this person to their face that I'm mad at them. I don't even think I'd feel mad if I were talking to the person. I just keep thinking about shit and getting hot under the collar. And that's what I hate. I'm irrational, I know it, I won't stop it, and it kicks the shit out of me. My only real problem is myself, I suppose. I can't peacefully co-exist with others, need attention, need things my way, can't get out of my own head. I shouldn't be left to my own thoughts (which I think is the reason I continue to write in this bad boy several times a week despite it long since having become passe.) But it's all just sound and fury signifying nothing. I get hot under the collar during the day but thinking back on it I shake my head "What a petty kid am I." Maybe it's lack of sleep.

I think I jinxed myself in sleep. For no good goddamn reason I thought I had to go to sleep at midnight last night. I haven't been to bed at midnight since I was getting up at 6:30 to work. However, I hadn't had any caffeine in several hours and thought maybe I could try being reasonable about sleep for once, on chemical basis anyway. I mean, I was hardly wired, kinda drowsy, had nothing to do. Early to bed and all that shit. I mean, I've been getting sick to shit of this same ole routine. Stay up til after midnight while Eric watches the Food Network and I write here or sit and think about how I used to do creative things under the same circumstances.

So I decided to turn in early last night. Meanwhile, earlier I had seen a brief news report on how having lights (ie night lights, electronic displays etc) in the bedroom can affect sleep. I've never had much of a problem, and have for years used TV/DVDs as a way to focus my ever-chattering brain and let it settle (TV shows on DVD are generally best for this.) But for whatever reason I just wasn't falling asleep, and spent about 3 hours tossing and turning anxiously for no good reason, mind flying all over paranoid angsty thoughts like the crazy person I pretend not to be. I fell asleep probably sometime after 3 but it wasn't a deep sleep and was interrupted several times throughout the night until I finally got up after 9 and resolved to get a Tim Hortons breakfast sandwich.

It's been a pretty brutal few days; I found out that while my efforts last week for school were necessary I'm still unable to register until my request for a Subject POST goes through. I submitted it weeks ago, still pending. Goddamnit. I have no idea who I'm supposed to contact this time but I'm making a list.

It comes down to a problem that has bitten me in the ass more times this year than I care to admit: hesitation. I'm just not on top of shit, period, and it fucks me over. I don't learn. School, jobs, women, all of these are areas that have suffered due to my lack of motivation.

Therefore, I might not even have a school to go to in September because of this.

I lamented this to CB earlier today. In frustration with the dismal state of my affairs I took to biking. These days it seems like the only thing I can take control of is which way my bike steers, so it's my haven. I wound up in his neck of the woods and when I admitted, not even putting up the pretense of sanity, I was breaking down, he suggested we get a drink right that moment. It was the first sensible suggestion I'd heard in weeks.

CB is a dependable guy. We sat in his favourite tavern and shot the shit a while. When we got our drinks, he mused, "You can't just get a beer like a normal guy? Gotta get the G&T?" I could think of about a half dozen or so reasons why I ordered the Gin & Tonic, among them, it's lighter and good for summer, I was in the mood for liquor, cheaper than my brand of beer, I don't have any at home, probably a few more (including, let's not forget, my questionable status of "normal.") We shrugged, said a cheers, and began talking about nothing in particular, and how the man was screwing us over in general. He pointed me in the direction of "Overheard at Western (.blogspot.com)" and I steered him toward Cracked.Com. It was a necessary visit. We resolved for Risk this weekend, and hopefully every weekend for the remainder of the month. Oh how time escapes.

It's been a ridiculous summer. Limited potential, even then it was squandered. What a fuckup I am. May as well acknowledge it and try - I'm fuckin' trying - to fix myself. Ain't easy, though.

Cary meanwhile, messaged me out of the blue to respond to a recent remark I made about Weezer. He theorized that their earlier stuff had teeth, and their later stuff just couldn't live up to that. I would say that's a fair assessment. It did lead me to wonder what happened to de-tooth Rivers Cuomo's music. It must've been the negative reaction to Pinkerton. He put himself out there, exposed these raw nerves, and got burned for it. So even though, in the years since, public opinion (and more importantly, mine,) regards Pinkerton as a pinnacle of rock albums in the 90's (possibly even better than the much-vaunted Nevermind and 10, but that's up for debate) in recalling that initial backlash, Cumo has to work to distance, or barricade himself from accessing the part of him that wrote those songs. So we have similarly-themed, clever and whimsical but more disposable and less emotionally resonant tunes like "Beverly Hills," "Perfect Situation" and "Keep Fishin" and various others. Enjoyable for their pop qualities but less likely to strike the listener as being particularly expressive.

Maybe. I certainly know what a few rough experiences can do for your enthusiasm about something, even when that something could help you.

On that, I think I'll leave. I hope I've given myself peace of mind for now, I won't know until I wake up tomorrow morning having slept well the night through. Of course, it's 1:28 now so I can't go to bed for another hour, maybe 90 minutes.

I hope you're thinking about me, thinking about the ones you love, thinking about their feelings and their needs. There are really important things out there and I can't always be among them for everyone out there. It's nice to be read, to be considered, to be contacted, made known that I'm not alone and not discarded. I let those kinds of thoughts creep up on me far too easy. A lot of the time, I'm a wreck. I'm just too good at hiding it, since I'm only a wreck in private. Unfortunately, I've got a lot of private time lately.

Hurm.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

1:00 AM: Stop what you weren't doing

On my last trip to the liquor store, I forewent my usual Stella in favour of Beck's. I figure if it's good enough for the guy who wrote "Sexx Laws" it's good enough for me.

Not I'm not going to lie. Nothing much has been going on for me lately. I've just been trying (ineffectively thus far) to get my head on correctly. Over the weekend I was looking after dad's cat while they're out. Total non-sequiter there, but just an example of stuff I've been up to. When I say I have a shitty life, I'm not being hard on myself, I'm being quite literal. I have to check for dogshite every morning (since I can't be arsed to wake up early to let him out, I reckon.) and then clean out my dad's (really, Deb's,) cat's litterbox. So I've been seeing a lot of shit lately.

I was listening to the radio earlier and I got an experience you sometimes but not nearly often enough get when listening to a classic rock station - I heard a song for what appeared to be the first time. Two songs, actually, both by the Stones - 2000 Light Years from Home and Heartbreaker. I admit I'd heard Heartbreaker before, but never thought about it much. Catchy song, though.

I was supposed to hang out with Robyn earlier. My life seems to be based a lot recently around what was supposed to happen, although I mean no bitterness in addressing this one, just using it to introducing a thought. Not the first time, far from the last. Anyway, what I'm getting at is that we were talking and she mentioned the previous post. It figures she'd like it, since so much of it concerns her. I'll admit that I was miserable for a lot of that day but it helped me get one of my more interesting entries of recent times. That's why I like doing this fershlugginer thing. Helps me turn my shitty days into amusing anecdotes for the benefit of others. And then, if they like me enough, they can comment, which has happened far less often lately than it once did. I guess I can take solace that, even when I feel like I'm in a creative drought ("creatively dead" I called myself when the subject came up with Amanda,) I can at least turn to this and present something that, best (worst?) case scenario, is at least mildly amusing to one other person out there, somewhere. That reminds me, I thought of a new nickname for Robyn which I am going to debut next time we hang out.

Weird how I've done virtually nothing since June, and yet I feel like I just need to rest.

Hell, I guess we all could.

I've been listening to Weezer a lot since April. There's an interesting, and impassable rift between their earlier albums - particularly Pinkerton but to a lesser degree their first one as well - and their later ones. I like them all, but whatever the difference is between "Across the Sea," "Pink Triangle" and "Falling for You" versus "Perfect Situation," "Keep Fishin" and "Pork and Beans," it's very hard to articulate.

On the eve of finally being able to choose my courses: I've got to do my best to make this year better than the last one.

I just have no idea how I aim to make that happen. But we'll see. I don't have a problem with the school side of things, but the way I was living my life could use a refreshing.

I think we all could.

That's all for tonight. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Midnight: Waiting for the nothing to start

It'd been an abnormally troubling week and I'm glad it's over. It's weird, at this stage of the summer, that I'd even be able to categorize the passage of time by the occurrence of events - since nothing seems to happen and every day seems meaningless. Hrm.

As you can tell I'm a real peppy guy right now.

I can't really divulge, from sensitivity issues, exactly the nature of my unhappiness. I can, however, make vague coded reference to it so as to remind myself, upon future readings, what I was thinking of when I wrote this latest edition of "blahhhh: life sucks."

I suppose it all comes down to two truths that we all must acknowledge: Sometimes things don't work out like you plan, and some days just start on the wrong note and can't be saved. Just that one thing at the beginning of the day that fucks your mood up for the rest of it.

So let's start at the beginning.

As I mentioned in my previous entry, I was to get up that morning and go to Toronto to deliver my transcript. It seemed like a simple enough task, I had still two rides left on my ticket so it was already paid for, and it would actually give me something to do with my day for once. I could make a day of it, more or less, get away from my familiar surroundings and all the nothingness that had been oppressing me.

Well I woke up to the sound of mom's voice, priming me on some basic instructions. She's gone away for the weekend, and left us the usual money, stuff she owed us, and other notices. Nothing that couldn't have been put in a note or been called about later but whatever.

I crawled out of bed sometime after that, just after 10. It was going to be a decent day, although my peaceful slumber had been interrupted. I showered and ate a quick breakfast and was ready to go around 10:30. I got to the GO Station around 11, plenty of time to make the 11:30 train, leaving the afternoon to me for whatever I wanted, and to return in time for dinner. With a half hour to kill, I decided to do what I always do whenever I don't need to do anything in particular: I went for coffee. The service at the Tim Hortons on Cross was unusually good (they paid attention to me rather than the drive thru) and when I went to grab a napkin from the holder, the girl just handed me a bunch and wished me well. I don't know why that sticks out, but it was a nice little thing to happen.

As I was leaving Tim Hortons, I ran into some familiar faces: roybn and Liam were just on there way to the very same Tim Hortons. I decided to go ahead and make small talk for a moment. Robyn pointed out that it seemed absurd that I was wearing two shirts (my usual attire.) I pointed out that in addition, I was drinking a nice hot coffee. I guess I'm just too cool to sweat it. I noted that the yellow-orange overshirt I was wearing deflected the sunlight and the black undershirt I wore absorbed perspiration. It's all about keeping up appearances, you know.

That was more or less the extent of it. I told them I had a train to catch and wished them well. I turned toward the GO station and sipped my piping hot beverage. I got to the station and punched my ticket, ready to get on with what was sure to be an amazing day - sunny, warm, and in a different locale than usual. I was getting to experience a small dose of freedom.

As I grabbed a copy of Metro and headed toward the track, the PA blared at me an ominous message: "Attention all Eastbound passengers, your 11:30 train to Union has been canceled." I froze. Huh? It wasn't 7:30 in the morning in the midst of a February snowstorm. This was the middle of a gorgeous summer day. The train would not be coming? What, did the driver have a heart attack? Canceled? Bullshit!

I would have to wait until 12:30 to catch the next train.

Sullenly, I began to walk the streets randomly, trying to figure out how to kill an hour without going too far from this part of town. Surprisingly (or not,) I ran into Liam and Robyn again. "What are you doing? Did you miss your train?" "...Cancelled." I said, pouting bemusedly. "Cancelled?" "Yeah. Now I've gotta wait until the next one at 12:30. So what are you guys up to?" "Well, we're waiting with you." "???" "We're going to Toronto, so we're going to get on the same train." They had decided to take today to go to the museum. "Well okay," I said, "So what do you want to do for the next hour?"

We went over the to bike shop at Trafalgar Village. While Liam, basically a true cyclist, chatted up the sales staff, I did prop comedy for Robyn's (and any other nearby listener's) benefit. Oh, and she tried on a cycling shoe, and scuffed up the floor tile. Way to go, Robyn. Hah.

After we had exhausted just about every item in there for the purposes of comedy, it was about 12:00 so we decided it might be a decent time to head over to the station. They got their tickets in good time and we began to wait.

We took seats on the platform ground. The sun beat down. Time began to drag. The hands on the clock moved spun wildly. Pages blew off the calendar. The train still wouldn't come. People began to amass on the platform, including obnoxious teenagers, a kid who kept spinning in circles while playing a DS, and a blind lady who conspicuously kept checking her fingernails.

Liam and Robyn chatted and I sat, kinda sulking, wondering where my wonderfully free day had gone; slipped through my fingers like Sam Roberts' fist full of sand. As they gabbed, I tuned intermittently in and out of their conversation. No train. 12:15 became 12:30. 12:30 became 12:45. Somehow, 12:45 became 12:28 and then 12:50. And then 12:50 gave 1:00 a miss and went straight to being 3 in the morning. Okay, I made that last one up. My head was pounding. Why betray me, GO? Say it ain't so!

At some point, Liam went to go take pictures elsewhere, leaving Robyn and I to snicker about how un-blind the blind lady was, and how anytime either of us mentioned the word "blind" she looked in our direction. We began referring to her as "blonde." Aherm. We also thought we recognized Todd, a guy we knew in high school (though we knew him separately.) It wasn't him, but I did later see Josh W., who is in a band with him I think.

I was relieved when, at 1:10 in the afternoon, the 11:30 train finally arrived. We boarded and, feeling relief at finally being in motion, started to become myself a bit, taking a bit more stock in the conversation, at least when the conversation was on the subject of gelato. When it turned to helium as an alternative means of cool, I mentally said "Fuck it" and passed out with my eyes open. I felt rather tense, and even though Robyn's one of my best friends, and Liam's a nice guy, the entire dynamic started to break by the time we got to Union.

Which was unfortunate timing, since we still had to ride a subway together. I remained quiet and withdrawn, not my best side.

It was about 2 by the time I got to the U of T campus. We got off at Museum station and I gestured in the direction of the ROM. I smiled and again wished them well and we parted ways. I hadn't been on the computer all day and decided to stop in at my old hideout E.J. Pratt just to take care of quick business.

I had never been to the Sidney Smith building. It wasn't hard to find, just a bit of a walk from where I was, kind of in between Bloor and College on St. George. (I've walked past it plenty.) I went in and found the office I had been told to find by my Registrar's e-mail. The people at that office kindly sent me down the hall. I sighed - getting the runaround was something I was used to by now. I went t that office and found a familiar name, if not face: i recognized the name of the woman who had e-mailed me months ago asking for my Sheridan transcript (I had applied to have it sent via the Sheridan site, but I suppose, like everything about bureaucracy, it didn't work.)

I handed her my student card and transcript. It was about 40 seconds of chit chat and typing and I was free to go. All that hassle and the matter was settled in the length of time it takes to microwave a bag of popcorn. Amazing. I think back to those opening scenes of The Gods Must Be Crazy.

After one last stop for a renewed GO student pass - denied until September, my current one's still good - I decided I didn't feel like vomiting as much as I had earlier and got some lunch. Unfortunately, with my ideas for a daylong adventure scuttled, I jsut grabbed some McDonalds, headed back to Museum Station and called it a day. (Eating McDonald's on the subway? You know your life is dirty when...)

I got to Union just in time to see an awesome mob of commuters. Yet another train was late, this time the 3:30, delayed about 10 or 20 minutes. Felt like an hour, ubt only because by now I was already insane with frustration to the point where time didn't mean much (perhaps a good thing since I spent so much of it waiting for trains that day.)

I got to my doorstep at 4:40, suddenly realizing what I was returning to now that I'm gearing up to become a commuter again. I had waited an hour and forty minutes for a train to go to the city and spend 20 minutes there (18 minutes walking from place to place, 2 minutes doing other stuff, not counting time spent waiting for the next train.) Sigh, such is life.

Later that night - after ordering from Domino's - I welcomed Chris Ferg back to Canada. I had been trying to pull strings together for a "welcome back" Risk game (I can't believe I haven't played in over 6 weeks!) but things fell through (naturally) and Chris Ferg and I wound up just going over to RyLai's for ping pong and a brief round of Rock Band. Better than a night in, anyway.

As usual, I went for coffee this morning with Amanda and filled her in on my every minor frustration (more or less what you've just read) and she did her best to offer advice, consolation, or mockery when necessary. It's amazing to me even still how well we relate given our different places in life. But such is the world.

I was hoping to catch a drink with Doug tonight. I ran into him at Whole Foods during one of my agendaless visits (well, for jelly beans) and I suggested it and we tried tog et it going. the only problem was when I asked him for a time and place, he never got back to me (Damn you Facebook!) so when I got him on MSN and asked "Hey man are you there? Let me know when you get this." There was never a reply.

The logical explanation is that Doug was busy, perhaps with a family issue or maybe his girlfriend. The explanation cooked up inside my overactive imagination is that Doug just really doesn't want to be my friend anymore and is ditching me as a true "Fuck you!"

Well, what did you expect? You already knew I was crazy. Truthfully, I really don't think it was that. I just can't rule it out.

I ended up mostly sitting around reading, typing this up, and in between, playing F-Zero on the Wii. That's right, I bought a $300 video game system so I could play games I enjoyed when I was 7. What's it to ya? I've also got Fantasy Zone and Bubble Bobble (and Eric has a few Zelda games and World Heroes, our favourite Street Fighter knock-off.)

I guess that's all for tonight. I just feel like I've got this weight of insecure bullshit and bored nothingness on my shoulders. I'm so tense and trapped by my own thoughts, my fears and self-loathing (always been my defining characteristics, more or less.) There's one month left in this summer. It's not impossible it might turn around. There just aren't that many opportunities.

Such is life, my friends. Well, tell me you'll keep on rockin'
-Scott