Chapter 17: How can you be sure we are who we say?

Last night I was talking to Linda about, among other things, poetry. I'll explain how I came to be over at Casa Ferguson in a moment, but this is where I'm starting. Linda was in the position of looking over some poetry written by a family member, whom she noted had just self-published her first chapbook. That's the broad outline of the situation anyway.

Getting anything published in any form is a major feat, and should be commended. That said, self-publishing is a curiously different animal from regular publishing, I've found. When Amanda and I went to the Fan Expo, we met up with a friend of hers who runs a tabletop RPG company. He lamented the lack of respect that seemed to follow his self-publishing endeavours (as in, guidebooks and such, I suppose.) Self-publishing requires a certain drive and ambition and belief in the self. Getting published by outside means someone sees something in you - either talent or marketability or whatever. Both are difficult for different reasons.

I mention this not only because the conversation was noteworthy but because the thoughts came back to me later on, the next day... today... when I found out Half-Past Eight PM had not been selected as Vic Drama's Festival show. At first I was understandably bitter - compounded by the fact that I am belatedly trying to read Margaret Laurence's The Diviners (a fool's errand - that book's fuckin' huge) - but I understand. The play is very odd and not to the sensibilities of some audience members or readers, and also I'm not even really a Vic student, if that matters (the selected play was by Vic students.) All in all, it's just another rejection for the wall. I'm kinda taking it in stride. Not in a "Who wants to be in their crummy festival anyhow" kinda way, just a "Well let's see what other opportunities we can find" sort of way. And to that end...

The other day, in Shakespeare, class was preceded by a spiel from a representative from the Hart House Review talking up the next issue (one per year) and how submissions will be closed at the end of December. I took that as a sign that this is the next opportunity in question. So once I have some time when school's out, I'm gonna shine up some pieces real good - I'm thinking, four poems and one short story - and try my luck. If I'm as awesome as everyone seems to make me think I am, at least something should make an impact. And I refuse to believe I'm not.

Anyway, last night. As good a night as I've had in a long while, with or without drinking. It started pensively as I procrastinated, watching Star Wars and Empire on Spike and watching the clock. Because it gets dark so early now I had this feeling of it getting to be very late as it crossed the threshold to 8:00 and Empire came on. I had had advanced word of people being in town, along with all he hang-outage that entailed. But time was slipping away and I had no idea what was what. I fretted and browsed Cracked.com for newer articles or at least ones I had missed.

Finally, around 9:30 or something, Christobel Fergusman came on and let me know. I'd go over there, meet up with RyLai, and we'd head over to Lauren's, who could not leave her place. "What has she, got one of those ankle bracelets?" I asked. Would you be totally surprised?" joked Chris.

Anyway, this led to me pacing around and watching Empire and doing all my assorted stuff before finally heading over. I finally returned Chris' Lost Season 3 DVD and lent him my first two Y: The Last Man trades, which I hope he enjoys. Anyway, this was when Linda and I got into our discussion of poetry.

Eventually, RyLai arrived, and Linda was kind enough to offer us a drive (thanks Linda!) rather than having us march out in the bitter cold. So around 10:30 we showed up at Lauren's, greeted by Odie and Moose, and Lauren and her boyfriend Tyler. Nice guy. We got into a routine of chilling as two people at a time faced off in Guitar Hero while Chris, RyLai and I enjoyed Dr Peppers form Lauren's basement. Eventually, Pat showed up and we all just ditched the guitars and shot the shit until Pat and his girlfriend offered to give the three of us a ride back to Chris' place.

This was around 12:30 as we got back. It was a stroke of good fortune that we didn't have to spend the time or survive the cold of walking either way to Lauren's. With How I Met Your Mother Season 3 on the DVD player, we started up a rare and usually ill-advised bout of 3-man Risk. It actually went well, even considering I had to play the unusual strategy of building out of Australia, AKA the Chris Brown strat. With Chris establishing himself in Europe and Africa and RyLai using the Americas as his base, I never got out of Asia and ended up bottled in a weak defensive position for the whole game. I'd have been well advised to go straight for Kamchatka but RyLai had it pretty well stocked and that didn't come into play until late in the game when I was ousted from Australia. It was a Rock Paper Scissors game where I defended well against Chris, he did well against Ryan, and Ryan did well against me. In the end, Chris came out the victor by knocking me out and getting a set. It all lasted until about 3:45. Quite a night. It was especially good seeing everyone.

I had to get up early the next morning - 10:00. All things being equal, anytime before noon is early when you go to bed after 4:00 AM. I kinda felt like Griffin Dunne in After Hours. Man it's been a while since I've referenced that great movie. Anyway, I rolled out of bed and let the dog out, then fell back asleep, awakened sometime later by his barking... and finally very very reluctantly, very much against my body's own wishes, forced myself out of bed, and to head down to the mall for coffee with Amanda. We went over the recent news, which in my case involved the most interesting week of recent memory. We did our usual browsing and other stuff.... the day wasn't all that interesting beyond that.

Erk. I like life right now, but I'm being the 8-Ball in one or two ways. Maybe I used that analogy already yesterday (or someplace else) but it still feels apt. There are some problems that are just a bit too much.

Oh well. I'll deal with them - or time will.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 16: Sleep is the only thing that is pure

That title was the much-debated final line of one of the poems I'd submitted for class last year. Whenever I'd get feedback someone would explain some way I could re-arrange the syntax that would totally gut the poem's rhythm and rhyme. I never understood what they were getting at. I always thought it was one of the two most immaculate pieces I wrote during that time (with Fragile Thing, which everyone loved except one questionable word that is always reworked.)

Anyway, sleep. It's something I've been doing plenty of lately, especially yesterday. Yes, I took Friday off from school. I weighed the pros and cons and decided there was no way anything could possess me to get up at 8:00 after working 'til midnight.

I showed up for work at 3:30, got on cash, and kind of vegged out. The only drama was a couple times when I had to deal with needing a gift receipt after totaling up someone's purchase - there's an easy way to do it, but I had forgotten it in the two years since I last had to do it. Beyond that it was a pretty breezy day, with the authority figures leaving Mandy in charge of us temps and Josh F. Most of my time was spent talking nonsense, watching Mandy demonstrate the Carlton (a lot of time was spent dancing, with me philosophizing that nobody looks good doing the cabbage patch) and other assorted shenanigans. Oh I could detail the shenanigans, I suppose, but frankly it would be too much shenanigans for this blog. I'm going to miss all those times when we had nothing to do, come December when we find ourselves constantly overloaded with business. C'est la winter, as I told someone earlier today.

But in any case, it was a good crew to work an 8-hour shift with. Josh was kind enough to recite, from memory, what I wrote in his grade 9 yearbook, which was trippy (and a charming reminder that I was always secretly very awesome.) Mandy dubbed me a milf-magnet because apparently all the moms that come into the store love me. I don't know how to feel about that one.

We cranked some tunes - my choice of Aerosmith (somewhat-revised greatest hits package expanding on their 1980 compilation to include things like Big Ten Inch Record, Lightning Strikes and Chip Away at the Stone) was well-received. This was good after my original choice - Flight of the Conchords - was nixed for being too risque. (I'll give you Mutha Uckas, but Boom? Come on.) The last three hours were comprised mostly of re-stocking, stickering, and slacking.

I loped home and bummed around a while before going to bed and sleeping way past a reasonable time to get to class. I used Friday to do all the stuff I normally do on Thursdays like getting comics. I fell asleep on the couch around 2 after doing some heavy-duty reading. I'm kinda behind the 8-Ball when it comes to my CanLit class. I'm probably looking at a bleak outcome on my end-of-term test, which is worth about 15% (not such a big deal in the long run but I'd rather recoup as much as I can.)

Today was not dissimilar... I went down to HMV to double-check my hours and ran into Cooper. I'd known he was back but hadn't seen him. I spent some time browsing and being random until leaving without actually buying anything. The way I do things.

After doing a comic, I was going to read but said fuck it and did this instead. tomorrow for reading. Tonight for Risk - people are actually in town.

Life is peachy.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Chapter 15: She makes the demands

Yesterday was one of those days that I like to come home and blog about. Except I didn't because I was flippin' tired. Remember back in high school when I'd get home at a reasonable time, hop on the computer and type away? Man, those were the days.

Actually, they weren't - a lot of high school sucked and the proof is in this blog, because I did a lot of complaining in grade 12 and that was by and large my best year. Amongst the bad there was some good, but I took the bad pretty hard in those days. Nowadays, if something sucks I can usually feel zen about it - yesterday was a good example.

I had a lot to feel anxious about on that cold gray day. I had an essay due at 4:00 I had only written about half of, to say nothing of citing resources. I've been seeing my enthusiasm for life dwindle some and my creative satisfaction shrivel to nearly none. Long story short, I've been low on zeal and verve. Two words I don't use often enough.

So yeah I was bummed and I took it hard when there were no computers available at the Innis Lab so I had to pore through all these books that I could not remove from the library and manually transcribe the quotes I wanted the old-timey way (with a pen.) Then I had to truck all the way to Pratt, muttering bitterly to myself the entire time because there's almost never a computer at Pratt when you need one. Well I was in luck because there it was, and it was one of the ones with Word, too, so go me. Now all I had to do was accomplish the gargantuan task of fleshing out my arguments with quotes from other peoples' ramblings and I'd be set. So I procrastinated a while and was dismayed to find that thanks to an error on my part, my side lost one of the Mafia games I was in. So... boo. Anyway I typed furiously away and wound up with a relatively coherent, somewhat respectable 2100 words on Dark City and the Matrix (specifically the heroes thereof.) With a whole half hour to spare. I printed it out (for the low, low price of $1.50) and headed back to Innis, where I sleepwaked my way through a tutorial on Stalker, the Russian film we'd watched. For my mental state, I found it impenetrable, and although I generally like him, my TA Adam was not particularly helpful with his questions ("What about trust, and whether they went into the room?" Well, what about trust?) But anyway.

I was back to festering with bitterness by the time I got to Tim Hortons. Wednesday nights I stop off for a BLT, because it's somewhat healthy compared to some of my other meal options these days. Besides I like sandwiches and could eat one for every meal. But I was waiting in line and feeling miserable and there was this... couple? ...that caught my eye, sitting off and chatting happily. The girl was Asian and gorgeous, the guy, I found out when I passed them in line and look back, was... well he was better-looking than me, which made me feel a little bad since I like seeing hot girls with guys who are like me. And before you ask, yes, I stare at and examine virtually every random stranger I encounter in the city and on the train. I have to amuse myself somehow.

So after forever, I got my sandwich and strolled down to Alumni Hall. Actually, I took the subway, because Metropass enables you to be a dick and take the subway for one stop.

I was mentlaly debating, whilst in line, whether I actually wanted to go to AmLit. Like I said, I was down and felt that maybe skipping a class would let me relax some. I opted not to, because the lecture was to be on William Carlos Williams, and that felt like it would be of some value. So I went and enjoyed myself.

"I don't want to stay too late," Rayter said, so we looked at a few of the W.C.W. (that's amusing only to me) poems in the Norton, including The Young Houswife, The Portrait of a Lady, Spring and All and, most valuably, The Red Wheelbarrow. It was fun and enlightening, just the pick-me-up I needed before heading home. We finished at about 7:25 and I trekked to Museum station, where the subway took forever to pull in. Remember these details. As I stepped off the train I suddenly felt the universe wash over me, all calm and at peace with everything. It's a good thing to because given the events of the night I may have flipped my lid otherwise.

I got to Union just in time to be late, at 7:44. Prior to catching the subway I'd mentally debated whether I had time to get coffee, concluded I didn't, and missed the train anyway. With an hour to kill, I brandished my Metropass (damn I'll miss that guy in my last week) and hopped back on the TTC.

Maybe there are closer Tim Hortons than the one at Queens Park - and maybe they'd have made the coffee better - but I wanted to kill time, not get coffee immediately. So I got my double double and went back to Union and wandered aimlessly. I considered going to the arcade, but I didn't have the change to waste quite frankly. So I did some light reading and did a crossword puzzle (I feel somewhat sharper since getting back into them.)

So anyway. It gets to be 7:33 and we're all holding our breath waiting for the train, whose status is "PLEASE WAIT." So we wait please. Then a minute or two before the train was scheduled to arrive it switched to a big red bold "CANCELED." Say what! "My lucky day," I had been grumbling all day at every inconvenience, until I'd become one with the universe. Because although I had been put out here and there, I had still nabbed that computer when I needed it/didn't think I would, class had still been good, as had my BLT. So I just sat and awaited instructions while all around me a mob of commuters called their loved ones on their cells. I considered phoning home, but didn't really think anyone would care, unless I knew I was going to be really late.

Eventually, in fact before very long at all, we were directed to the bus platform. As it turned out, there had been a fatality somewhere between Exhibition and Port Credit (depending on whom you believe.) Let this be a lesson - if you want to kill yourself, jump off a bridge or slice open your wrists or gulp down a shitload of pills. Jumping in front of a GO train is just such an inconvenience.

So we all went out and stood in a long line as I marveled at the architecture of Toronto I never get to see, between the Royal York and this very nice wedge-shaped building that looks like something Daniel Burnham may have done, all lit up in the velvet November evening. Meanwhile, businessmen inquired whether anyone would share a cab. I considered it, but had no cash on me, nor the desire to spend it, nor any real rush. So I waited, laughing privately to myself. Two minutes earlier on the subway and I'd have been home already. Life.

At just about 9:00 the bus, direct to Oakville showed up and we all loaded up. I sat comfortably next to the window (several people were standing. I'd have offered my seat, but I'm not all that generous by nature.) About a half hour later I was home, not all that much later than I would've been anyway. Yay.

So I've been running errands this morning before having to work at 3:30, possibly until midnight but maybe not so late. Dropping off books and Blockbuster movies, picking up others. I was taking a shortcut through Sheridan when I passed, in the forest, a group of high schoolers, some guys and girls. I was talking about high school earlier in this entry, and seeing those kids made me think of something I missed out on. I spent a lot of my teen years being awkward, and while I wouldn't go back and change it, even the shitty parts, if I could, I would've liked to have a group of friends like that. Hang out on the weekends and do stupid stuff, have a shitload of in-jokes, and there be that one girl in the group I have sexual tension with, like maybe, just maybe she likes me... and then we'd date and it wouldn't go so well and there'd be some awkwardness amongst the group until eventually we got over it and went back to being friends. I never had that, and by the time I had the kinds of friends I could actually comfortably hang out with a lot, the time had long since passed.

But incidentally, in writing that, I just realized that's the scenario of my 2004 screenplay Summer at Sixteen. Hah. I re-read it recently - it's not all that bad, except for the parts that are. I'd consider re-writing it if I had time and a reason. I wonder if Ana would ever actually use it, or if it was just a frivolous activity. I got no complaints either way - she paid me like she said she would, and gave good notes, generally.

This has been a good entry. I don't say that often.

I had this dream last night. RyLai was there, telling me how tired he was of life and society and everything. So he and I went down to Antarctica - the coast, the part that's kind of in danger, but not in my dream - and met this pretty research scientist. Ryan kind dug her, so I played wingman for him. It was....... an odd thing to dream about.

On that note, keep on rockin'
~Scott W.

Chapter 14: That pretty face of yours means nothin' but trouble

It's been a kinda stressful couple of days for a procrastinator like myself. Long story short, it's been a busy paper-writing time for yours truly. Short story long, I put off my English paper Sunday night because I was dog-tired from work and couldn't muster up the enthusiasm for the subject matter (Biblical intertext in Green Grass Running Water) or fear of losing marks for lateness to counterbalance my laziness. Moral of the short and long stories: I'm getting some bad habits when it comes to due dates.

Due dates were nothing to sneeze at at Sheridan. You either had your story done on time, or you didn't have a story that week. 'Nuff said. That was of course amidst all the other papers and assignments to go with out courseloads. Frankly it wasn't hard writing 2000 words about that book. It was just hard wanting to. Call it self-sabotage if you will, I call it just being practical. In my best interests? Maybe not, but I slept like a baby that night.

My last paper is one into which I have already tunneled about 1,000 words deep of a 2,000-2,500 word limit. It's comparing the Matrix and Dark City. I could write a book about that, given the resources I'm forced to include. As it is, my own rambling thoughts are plenty to fill that quota. But I'm not allowed to just ramble, I have to include other peoples' thoughts - professional bullshitters to go along with my amateur hobbyist bullshit. Interesting factoid: "Intertext" gets a red line from Firefox, but "Bullshitting" does not. I need to cite 6 books and 6 other analyses. I can't just write about the films, I have to write about people who have written about the films. Tedious.

So I've got 1,000 words and I've hardly cited anyone, except H.G. Wells in a review of Metropolis, which isn't even the movie I'm technically writing about. Go figure. Oh, I also cited Roger Ebert, as I always do, because he's a terrific source and nobody's told me I couldn't. The paper's due tomorrow. I'm going to polish off the bulk of it in the three hours before class, in the Innis Computer Lab, using the books that are for in-Library use only. This bad boy's gonna be a monster. (In case you're wondering, I finished my Canadian Lit essay under similar circumstances.)

Anyway. After having coffee with Amanda on Saturday - and meticulously deconstructing my love life and the complications thereof - I got my haircut. It'd been many months, I seem to be dragging it out longer between cuts, even though I like my barber and want to give her more business. She's always so pleasant, remembers my name and certain things about me, and the chitchat between us isn't awkward because of that familiarity. I've never been displeased with the job she's done... all seem to agree it's a good cut.

I'm also remembering why I grew a beard over the summer... because I'm just too damn lazy to shave regularly. It's coming back in and I really don't want it. Sigh.

And that's my life right now. Paper, work, and haircuts. Soon all that school work is done with and I can focus on the rest of my world. I'll probably sleep good and late Friday, rather than actually going to school.

There is a Can Lit test next week I am super-unprepared for. given I've only read one and a half books in the course thus far, it's a bit, uh... awful. Again, yes, my scholastic initiative is waning. Wasn't my new year's resolution once to be a better student? I guess that wore off after May. I guess I'll set the same one this year too.

No wonder I lost that scholarship.

Enough self-pondering tonight. I have to make tomorrow's lunch and get my well-deserved rest.

Keep on rockin'
-Yer Scotto

Chapter 13: I never meant to do you any harm

I don't consider it a point of pride, no sir, that I am here writing this at 10:00 on a Friday night. Time was, I'd probably be out at Ferg's playing Risk or some such, but the gang's all scattered and I'm all that remains. This is the root of my anxiety about leaving - how I want to leave but can't seem to gain any support for the notion. It's just assumed that I'm to stay, and that that's best. I don't feel it is.

But that's not really the issue here. I had something I could've been doing tonight. Joe and Viki had a show at the Lost Lounge I could've headed off to if I so desired. It's cold and dark out there and I just didn't feel like leaving the comfort of my house. I did this, even though sitting on the couch, eating popcorn, and watching a movie on TMN that I've got on DVD makes me feel somewhat empty inside. There will be other Friday nights, Joe and Viki will play other shows, and I can watch Superbad any time. I feel like I'm punishing myself for something.

I've got more papers due this coming week, including, quite frankly, a Canadian Lit paper I have very little clue about, due Monday, that should be holding the bulk of my attention. And a sci-fi paper whose point I have only vaguely sketched in my head and is bound to be a disaster.

Dropping out is looking more and more appetizing. But I've racked up all this debt anyway, I suppose it would be nice to get a return on my investment.

Man, me and my attachment to the status quo.

I'm kinda scattered tonight. It'd be beneficial to buckle down and do my homework, but goddamn, it's Friday... that's just not in the cards no matter where I am or what I happen to be drinking. I'm such an idiot asshole jerkoff when it comes to school I almost feel guilty.

I woke up this morning to immense back pain on my left side. This was gravely distressing to me because usually I get back pain - when I do - on my right side, and it hadn't been that serious in recent years when I started sleeping on my left side. And now this. And then I remembered one piece of advice I often forget that was quite likely key in my elimination of back pain all those years ago. This is sagelike wisdom I ought to keep in mind... "One time with self like 10 times with girl." (Said in voice of old Chinese Man. The guy from Gremlins perhaps.) And no matter my habits, it's worth keeping in mind - less is more, so to speak.

But yeah, this is more or less what I feared would happen being alone in Oakville. I've lost my anchors, I'm adrift but stuck in this place. That is a lousy metaphor from somebody who fancies himself a writer. I'm amazed and disappointed in myself.

I know I'm not your best friend - whomever you are - but I've always done my best to be a good friend. I hope I've fulfilled that end of it. Obviously, since you're reading this, you feel similarly, like there's some reason you might care about what random things I have to say. And I think that's good. There are many people I haven't spoken to in a while, I ought to. But at least, through the power of SWP, we're still connected. I'll keep doing my part if you do yours. It's an arrangement that seems to work.

I watched a movie called Eagle vs. Shark today. I'd already seen the ending and while all together it wasn't extremely funny, it was at least better than Napoleon Dynamite, which I never really liked and of which it reminded me. It has Jemaine from Flight of the Conchords.

More rambling. Still all over the place. Time to bring this entry in for a landing.

I'll never understand why I say it, apart from the obvious - that I mean it - but I have ended every one of these 1170-odd entries with a plea that we all keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 12: Hot Soup and Pie!!

Oftentimes, when I begin an entry, I do so with a stray thought in mind - something that I've noticed or that has occurred to me, or something I heard, just off the top of my head... and then I unfold it until I can't stand to talk about it anymore, and move on to other subject matters. These topics tend to manifest themselves in different ways... memories, recent experiences, pressing opinions or nonsensical statements. Setting down to write this entry, I had a few in mind and am - well, was - hard-pressed to decide which I should lead off with. I was concerned I was going to have an entry built entirely out of these thoughts. And then I realized this in and of itself was my lead-off. So let's move on to those thoughts.

I think I may finally be in the Holiday spirit. Oh it's not because the grocery store's had decorations up since before Halloween, or because I bought my annual fake-Christmas box of chocolates, or because we had a delightful first snow last night. Nope, it's because of red and green gummi bears. I can't get enough.

I was looking at old photos last night. Specifically, my old student cards. I was trying to see if I could tell from those little headshots how bad my skin was. See, all through high school - really, starting in grade 7 or 8 - I had the usual problems. Except it always seemed like I had it worse because my family was, well, pretty insensitive about it. Not that they made jokes or comments or anything, just that, well... it seemed to be all they noticed. I never thought of myself as having especially worse skin than anyone else around - I wasn't great by any means but I wasn't covered in zits - but for whatever reason, every so often I'd get dragged to this doctor or the other, get given some wacky new cream or astringent - one time, even pills. I wouldn't see results immediately and thus gave up quickly. I was impatient and didn't want to be inconvenienced with these skincare measures if they didn't work right that damn instant. I probably did myself no favours because of this, but even locked alone in the washroom I felt more self-conscious applying that junk than I did walking around the school with my face the way it was.

In time, that stuff clears up. I ain't perfect now but I sure don't seem to have any problem. I don't even remember when it happened although I remember using stridex pads (or whatever they were) as late as the Grade 12 new york trip. I think what I really hated was people caring about it, and being made to do so myself. I was content to get on with my life until someone - usually my family - pointed it out. I never wanted to admit that bowling was the reason, but I've definitely been better off since I stopped.

Anyway, that's just one of those things about teenage life you don't think about as much when you're 21. I suggested to my dad earlier tonight that I might move out someday for school. Same as when I first brought it up before going to U of T he seemed weirdly opposed to it. There's a logical reason for staying behind - the cost - but I got really huffy about it because of how vehemently people seem to argue when I bring up the idea of leaving home. Nobody batted an eyebrow when Eric left, although Humber's a lot harder to get to than U of T. We're all wondering when Brando's gonna leave, since he can pretty much afford to make his own destiny by now. But me? Fuckin' hell, I'm expected to be the homebody. I don't regret staying home for the first year of U of T. I'm not sure how I feel about this year. I really don't know if I can make it next year. There are good reasons to stay - what would Amanda do without me? And what would I do without the convenience of Comic Connection? - but I'm 21 years old and have never made any significant attempt to leave this place, when everyone I know is doing so, in many cases has done so long ago.

I'm not saying I need to go right now. I'm just saying it's something I need to get my eye on.

It just bothers me that for whatever reason I can never get support. I don't like the idea that I have to stay here when so much of my life is there.

But whatever. That's an emotional breakdown for another day.

So much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens...

That was William Carlos Williams. We watched a video on him after the test in AmLit yesterday. It was a big test, the first 70 minutes. Four passages were presented and we had to write on two of them. I felt confident going in that I'd read enough of the pieces - not all mind you, but enough - to have something to say about at least two that would be presented. I was sure the Waste Land would be one. I was hoping Fitzgerald's Babylon Revisited was also listed, or at least Hemingway's Hills Like White Elephants. I ended up writing on the Waste Land but the only other passage I could speak on was Booker T. Washington's Up From Slavery (which I accidentally referred to as "The Life of a Former Slave" no doubt confusing him with Frederick Douglas.) That might cost me but I think my points on his writing were cogent at least. My thoughts on the Waste Land were less valuable but possibly well done anyhow. I feel confident. Just two more papers and I'm free 'til exams.

When I went out into the world after my Sci-Fi tutorial the sky was deep purple and the snow had blanketed the city already. It was lovely. At the station, the GO train was delayed 10 minutes and as I killed time by going for coffee I saw the security guards take down a mofo. Nice.

Today was nice, although I went into HMV to check the schedule and found that next Thursday I'm set to work from 3:30 until midnight. Guess I'll be skipping school the next day. The good news is I'm not booked until then, so I have more time for those papers.

Furthermore, fake Christmas has been delayed because of some unfortunate happenings on that side of the family. It's very unfortunate, but again it gives me a chance to work on a very important essay or two...

Oh life.

It's getting a little harder every day to leave my bed. Is it my imagination or has it gotten warmer and more inviting?

The other night I woke up at 4:00 AM and, half-asleep, wandered into the bathroom to swab out my ears.

I forgot my lunch at home yesterday so I had to go out and get pizza... it was fresh out of the oven, so I burned the roof of my mouth with hot cheese. I didn't realize how bad it was until I got home and spat some blood. Yeah!

Go life.

Line up in a circle, kids. And be sure to keep on rockin'
-Your Scotto

Chapter 11: Is there a man in this relationship?

Who do I think I am? I am such an idiot. What am I doing? I'm not so good.

For once, the source of my emotional strife isn't anything personal - it's school. I have procrasturbated this essay away. I haven't got much idea how I want to approach it. After using the weekend to write my previous paper I've got no time left for this one. Due tomorrow. No idea what to say.

Lousy Buster Keaton. Sublime though his approach to comedy was there's not much to say about him. I regret ever having started film study because I've come to realize how little I like to write essays about movies, at least in the traditional sense - the kind with theses. Books I can handle, but movies I watch purely to enjoy. What do you say about an 80-year-old film about a guy chasing soldiers on a train? There's something - that's what's killing me - I know there IS an essay in there somewhere and I can't bring it out. Hmph. My mind is not there. I've got the assignment sheet in front of me and it means well but I am not able to zero in on what I need to write about. How I need to spend those 5 pages. I need to meditate. I need to clear my head and it will maybe come.

I guess that means I really shouldn't be writing here. I was in a bit of a funk today but the weird thing is it wasn't like my previous serious funks, it was just... am I in a funk? And then I decided I wasn't. I have to admit I'm getting better. If only I could write this godforsaken essay.

Uncertainty R Us.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 10: Fun that is fun

Self-consciously avoiding starting work on my next paper.

Maybe it will surprise you to hear this, or maybe nothing surprises you anymore anyway (in which case you're kinda like me.) There are times when I just don't want to listen to any of my music. I consider my musical tastes pretty well-cultivated... it's not that I'm into a bunch of obscure bands that I think represent my personality with their imagery and brutal instrumentation. I just like good music. Don't have the time or space for indy cred. Beatles, Stones, Who, Aerosmith, Clash... these are bands I can listen to on and on and on theoretically without tiring. And yet sometimes I tire. My iPod, while encompassing virtually all of the music I could see myself wanting to hear, only has space for 450-500 songs, and you know, it wears. I go through my playlists and think "...do I really wanna hear that again?" It doesn't stir anything within me, after a while, and needs to rest.

So to that end, I have found a new kick. I am a man of kicks. I'll get into a few songs by a certain artist for like two weeks and that will get preferable treatment and I'll wear it out until I lose interest and go back to the general pool of my listening material. My kick right now? Weird Al Yankovic. I once overheard Mark, my former colleague at HMV, describe Yankovic as "the most consistent artist of the last 20 years." While I wouldn't go that far, he does some good stuff, especially those polka medleys I love so much. Upon closer examination, the only Yankovic songs I have on my iPod are his medleys, and a select few of his originals. No parodies. That's pretty damn strange. He's done some damn good ones - "Smells Like Nirvana," "White & Nerdy," various others... I had many Yankovic compilation albums as a kid and they were loaded with parodies, collections like "The Food Album" and "The TV Album." But I find his originals - style parodies - more compelling because I think he has to reach further for the subject matter, which allows him more creativity. Granted they have a less high success rate, but the good ones tend to be better.

Anyway, this has supplanted some of my more traditional listening, because it is inherently upbeat and offers a broad range of sonic qualities besides. I think every 7-year-old should hear about pop music from Weird Al. Not only will he learn about the big stuff like Nirvana and Madonna and Michael Jackson, he'll hear about less enduring targets like Men Without Hats and El Debarge and Presidents of the United States of America. Actually, I love Presidents of the United States of America, but their time was brief.

So yeah. Today I started back at HMV. It was a decent day, although I probably ought to have eaten before I started. I basically just did re-stocking and occasionally filled in on register and acted all separate from the regulars. There were only a few people in - two people I'd gone to River Oaks with, one I worked with in 2006, and a girl I hadn't met before I came back. When she noticed how sure I seemed about the cashing-out process (although I needed a refresher,) she asked if I'd worked here before. "I'm just awesome," I told her. Or something. Like most times when I meet someone, I went into "so lame I'm cool" mode. It seems to work.

I dunno, the day was an uninteresting blur. In a few weeks I'm sure I'll be accumulating daily anecdotes about how rough the life of an HMV salesguy is. Well it was a lot more interesting when it was new and there was the sneaking suspicion Lindsay hated my guts (in the final analysis I don't think she did.) She's not around anymore. I ain't got anyone to be a-feared of. This will probably end up being very casual for me.

Yet another fairly aimless entry. It could be saved with a really awesome joke or story or pondering.

But I've got nothin'.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 9: Where you think you'll find me...

Would you believe I was in all night doing homework?

Erk. University. Go figure. It's November, and of course I'm swamped, well why the hell wouldn't I be. Many of you are in school, those of you who aren't have at least been. I used to fret over a few articles and projects. 4 papers of 2000 words apiece in two weeks is nothing to sneeze at neither.

But I ain't complaining, I'm just setting the scene. It's a rainy November evening. I'd been out earlier for coffee and then later to have dinner with dad. I have the house to myself. Mom's in Erie and B's in Kingston to watch the fight (Lesnar-Couture) at his friend's place. If it'd been a nicer evening, maybe I'd have gone to Monaghan's and seen the fight myself. I don't hate going out by myself, it's just weird. I'm sure I would've run into a few people I knew, but would they have been people I wanted to see? Who knows. All I know is that with weather like this, it was the kind of day that made you wanna stay in and write an essay about Measure for Measure.

I'd been pacing around the house all day trying to stimulate my braincells and get cracking on it. I'd gotten the germ of the idea on Thursday but hadn't managed to make it work for me on paper. I was distracted, with movies and Guitar Hero. I'd gone out, in a fit of temptation, and rented GH: World Tour, for the Wii. I was out anyway, and thought, 'Hey, I'll stop by Blockbuster and if they have it they have it, but I bet they won't.' And they did. And it was kinda expensive, but I've got it for a week so it evens out. And so I worked myself into a distraction. You know you're procrastinating when you find yourself working on the NEXT paper when you haven't started this one - I got onto researching my paper about Buster Keaton for Film History. One thing at a time, kid. I've not got a lot of time tomorrow, better use Saturday.

So I got home from Dad's around seven and got determined. So I was pacing around, talking to myself, when my thesis suddenly emerged from the tip of my tongue. Way to go, lack of internal monologue! By 8, I was sitting down writing. I had most of four paragraphs (I still abide by the classic high school 5-paragraph format, nobody's told me not to) by 11:30, when I took a 90-minute break for Saturday Night Live. So sue me, I think Paul Rudd's funny. I got back to work shortly afterward and settled on being 100 words short. I'm not a stickler, as everyone knows.

The outcome of the fight, incidentally, was that Lesnar got an accidental cheapshot at Couture that enabled him a TKO victory in the 2nd round. It's controversial, and RyLai is really really pissed. Frankly I'm not pleased either, and I was pulling for Lesnar.

I was thinking about something I said to RyLai when I was hanging out with him yesterday. After talking the usual hypotheticals and meeting his roommates, we walked to the Scotiabank and as he taunted my "little legs," we got to talking. I reached a conclusion that I had been struggling to word properly for a while, and I will share it with you now: Every man, in his life, should try at least one woman who is noticeably younger than him, one that is noticeably older, and one of a noticeably different race. I think that's sound advice, and something to shoot for. If nothing else, it's one of those neat little sayings that occasionally crop up on here. Like "everything sucks worse when you're hungry." Here's another one:

We are all stuck in our bodies, but we need not be stuck in our minds.

Deep, man.

So that was the story of me, spending a day on the computer writing my essay. For what it's worth, I think it's a cogent, well-structured piece that integrates quotes well and makes a convincing case. But I guess we'll find out when I get my mark back. It's certainly a better effort than my previous submission in that class.

That said, it's getting late, and I do after all have work tomorrow. I just hope I remember how to work a fuckin' till (if that's what I end up doing.) I think it should be fine, and if not, well, it's not permanent.

Good night all, and keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 8: Who is no-one?

I think I may be the only person anywhere that hyphenates "no-one." I've been doing it for years and no-one has ever corrected me. "No one" looks kinda odd, and "Noone" isn't even close to being right. I think the hyphen satisfies most people.

A while back, at a family gathering, my cousins Cameron and Ali (at those precocious 4-5 ages) asked about my dad, since they'd never met him. I wasn't there at the tie, but Grandma showed some old family photos he was in.

This month, it's been about ten years since my parents' split. Just a bit under half my life - the important half, anyway. At the time it bothered me, as it would and should any kid, but over the years I've kinda wondered how my parents made it through 20 years of marriage anyway. Frankly I think they're better off not having to deal with each other, although they remain on good terms.

Anyway. Today was not much of anything. I went to the library to watch an old Buster Keaton flick for a paper I have to write (yikes, those papers are piling up) and then went to hang out with RyLai. We caught up a bit and he introduced me to a couple of his roommates before we went to see Quantum of Solace. Decent, I'd say, much more of an action flick than previous Bonds (and that could be good or bad depending on your point of view.) I'm going to be running myself ragged this weekend. Oh loidy.

But anyway. The other day I got to the train about 40 minutes early. As I sometimes do, I decided to kill time in the arcade. There was a Johnny Mnemonic pinball machine, but it ate my quarters after one ball. Frankly I was just surprised there was a Johnny Mnemonic pinball machine. But anyway. I then decided to try out Sopranos pinball, and did pretty good on it.

This is not my most inspiring entry. I must be pretty fried at the end of this week. I could use a rest, and I really do need to work. Maybe not tonight. Ugh, it's Friday. Can't bring myself to do homework on a Friday night even if I know it'd be for my own good. I can't bring myself to do a lot of things for my own good.

More hints the new boarder is better than previous ones: I ran into him in the kitchen and he was reading a hardcover edition of Spider-Man: Brand New Day volume 1. Keen.

I need to time manage better. And also collect my thoughts better.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Chapter 7: A $352 water polo joke

There's a buzz around me. Things are pretty good. Not, like, fireworks - I'm not having some kind of karmic bonanza - but this are running smoothly, so long as I keep the fire on.

I'm starting to straighten my shit out. For instance, I'm actually writing notes during some classes now. It's crazy.

I'm starting to climb out of this cold. Something weird happened yesterday morning. I sneezed - and threw out my back. Maybe because I was carrying more books than usual in my backpack, maybe because I was walking all hunched over like I do. Maybe because I'm getting old. I suggested this third alternative to Claire before Shakespeare and she laughed it off, "You're what, 19? 20?" I told her, "I'm 21." Her reaction was one of exaggerated surprise. I guess this kinda thing doesn't come out all by itself. I remember when I was surprised to learn how much older than me Jasmin was. In the seminar, I guess we're all just left to assume everyone's 18. "I wasn't the only one," I told her. There was a girl named Sarah who was substantially older. "And David," a dude with a pretty hefty handlebar mustache, "Was about 55." Ha ha. Funny me. Anyway I was sore for a while.

It was a decent day. I took notes in CanLit and contributed to group discussion in Film History. Good times. In Sci-Fi, we talked about Metropolis. I'm of two minds on that film. One half completely understands on an intuitive and sensory level, both the narrative and thematic structure of the movie. The other, analytically, can't make any damn sense of it.

For AmLit, I read some stories by Fitzgerald and Hemingway. I felt very in tune with their styles of writing. Moreso than a lot of what I've read to this point in any class, it made me think about my own writing and what I want to do. In fact, I ought to be doing real writing right now. But that notwithstanding, I really absorbed them better than most of what I'd been studying up to this point, and all but a few of the stories from first-year narrative.

Anyway, for the most part, my life is revolving around all these upcoming papers. I actually went in today - on my day off no less - to talk to a TA about my Shakespeare paper, to get some direction. I think that's gonna be my weekend. No fun for me. Two papers due, Monday and Tuesday. At least I'm mentally prepared for now. All I need now is to actually write them. I'm thinking Friday night and Saturday night for that. Oh youth. How tortuous. I'm still not really one for time management.

But like I said, I had to go in. I didn't say much to her, but she had some good thoughts on where I might begin and now I have a better idea than before I started. Good direction. On the train on the way in, I ran into Becky. I'm always looking around to see if I notice anyone I know, and I saw her getting on so while she wasn't looking I sat across from her and read the paper until she noticed. I'm a sly dog. We did the usual catching up, hashing old times. Talked a lot about River Oaks, which we don't always (since we didn't know each other THAT well in grade school.)

But anyway. I was going to watch a movie for film history, and even went all the way to the Media Commons entrance at Robarts, but then decided I'd be better off getting food and going home. So I did. Tomorrow for that.

I got home and swung by HMV to see when I was working. Sunday. Nice. Kinda nervous but also looking forward to it. I remember when I started last time I was kinda overwhelmed, kinda getting emotional and Lindsay - who at the time was the assistant manager - asked me if this happened often, and I had to swear it didn't. It got easier as time went by and I think this time I'll feel more at home, hopefully able to reconnect with my previous experience.

I'm not perfect, I've still got stuff to work out, but there's a buzz. And there's a really cool girl who wants to hold my hand. Life don't suck.

No sir. Now I'm gonna go rest. I don't really want to go to school tomorrow, but my effort is up. I'm in a groove.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 6: A city of britle stars beneath the sea

This title from a strange but fluffy news item on undersea discovery.

I'm a buncha different directions right now. Last night I had this meeting for HMV. It was kinda unnecessary since I was being reminded of stuff I mostly already knew from 2 years ago. It was also a chance to meet, more or less, all the people who were not working there when I was - which is just about everybody. Oh how time flies. The strange thing is, nowadays there is more than one person working there whom I knew from grade school.

Anyway, what's annoying to me is that apparently some of my references - probably the ones not pertaining to HMV - haven't gone through. I don't know what this means in the long term - do I now not get the job? Judy - who won't even be working there, replaced by yet another temp manager - told me I have to track them down myself. I am not up for that. It seems trivial, given I've worked there before. I don't wanna go rifling through all my ex-employers and trying to figure out which ones I can get a good word from. For all I know this minor thing could put the kerplunk (old Milton Bradley game reference) on this new job. And then what? I go back to my old attitude toward unemployment: BFD. So I miss out on two months at minimum wage. Not gonna cry.

I just hate that I have to deal with it. All things considered I'd rather just walk away and go "I'll go work someplace else." This probably explains why I don't work often. In fact, inability to contact my references probably has something to do with it to.

Meanwhile, school is... crunchy. I'm still not prioritizing. Still assin' around when I oughta be preparing essays and shit. I suck, suck, suck. At school, anyway. Things do tend to work out for me. I wish I'd done like my aunt and only taken 4 classes. Fuck - mathematically, I could probably manage 3, 3.5 for the next three years. (One of those credits is not going to count.) I think five years in university is completely reasonable. And if you disagree, I'll smite you.

Not having a handle on myself in this area is irritating... I feel like it's within my capabilities and yet I'm so scattered right now. It's all on me, man. Call it a sophomore slump.

I've been yawning a lot recently. It isn't tiredness, necessarily, it's just... I have this giant yawn in my chest aching to get out. Sometimes it's more satisfying than others.

A few weeks ago, at the end of October, Lili (sp?) finally left us. Mom was kinda sick of his antics, he was no longer what she was looking for in a boarder. This new guy's come down from Petawawa. She seems to like him, and he does appear to be a cool guy. I guess we'll see. Every single time mom gets a new boarder, she says out loud, for the benefit of whomever's around, "I like this one, I think it's going to work out." And then sure enough it goes horribly wrong, usually moreso than the last. This guy, I've got a good feeling about. Having him around is far less creepy than Lili.

A buncha different directions. It doesn't suck to have a girl wanting to talk to you when you get online. It does kinda suck not being able to see her or be anywhere near her.

Since the election, my MSN status has been "Only villains want to change the world. Heroes want to change minds." Take it how you will. It's from an issue of Runaways, though, so don't read it too deep (although that is an awesome series, at least it was when BKV was writing. Now it's good but not great.)

Yawn. Maybe I just bore myself. It's down in my diaphragm. Men have those, right?

There's that commercial with all the athletes doing Guitar Hero World Tour. I have to admit... when Tom Cruise did it in Risky Business, it was cool to see a kid going all carefree and shit. When Zack, Screech and Slater did it, it was funny to see them dressed all stupid (and to the wrong song - Barbara Ann wtf?) When Heidi Klum did it, it was kinda hot. When four professional athletes do it, it's.......... kinda homoerotic, to be quite frank. Nothing wrong with Kobe Bryant, Tony Hawk, Alex Rodriguez and Michael Phelps in and of themselves... no, I misspoke. I've always thought Michael Phelps was odd-lookin', and gritted my teeth the whole way through his SNL performance, but the other three are fine... but band them all together, make them act like they're enjoying themselves (only Hawk and Bryant seem legit) and there's something queer (in both sense of the term.) Also... whose brilliant idea to make Hawk wear his helmet? He's appeared in more commercials over the years than any of the others (although Phelps will probably change that) but they don't think people will recognize him without safety gear? On a skateboard, it sense a positive message. IN a living room, it makes him look like a special kid. No wonder X-Men 3 sucked - it was directed by the same guy as that commercial.

But anyway. You know I'm running out of material when I start rambling about random stuff I see on tv. Then again, did I ever have any material to begin with? The answer is no.

Take it easy, Chicago. But take it. ("Studs" Terkel.)

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 5: I have brought you here my dear for reasons that are not so clear

I've been sitting still for an hour.

I had some stuff to do today - reviews I'd put off writing for CX forever. I did them, got done an hour ago, and now I've just been sitting here, waiting for something to happen, waiting to come across something interesting on the internet. What a world in which to be bored. I should be reading for school, or mulling over my next paper. I could be playing a video game or watching a DVD, even channel-surfing. Yet I'd rather sit here and contemplate my boredom. It's getting colder out.

I'm really just waiting around - at 5 I have a meeting for HMV. I figure I'll go over a little after 4 and read in the food court until 5. But until then... Sunday afternoon syndrome.

I first diagnosed it years ago. I fondly recall the Sunday afternoons in grade seven when I'd always have some project to work on. The routine became distilled - bristol board, Coca-Cola, licorice, TV on while working, go. I also remember those Sundays when I was in grade 8... lying flat on the couch with a rerun of Charles in Charge on WGN, or City Guys or something. Man, time has passed. The dullness has transmuted but remained fundamentally the same.

I had this weird moment last night when I thought maybe I wasn't interested in anything anymore. Same old music, same TV shows, same movies... nothing felt good. I dunno how much weight there is to that but suddenly I felt totally helpless, directionless, uninspired, unmotivated. A mini-existential crisis on a Saturday night. November is the dreariest month.

I was talking, as it always goes, with Amanda yesterday morning. She observed that I seemed to be attracted to crazy. I disagreed - crazy is attracted to me, and I'm attracted to whatever is attracted to me. I also have a habit of overstating the craziness. Most women are crazy, to some degree. Most guys, too. We're all nuts. And I just happen to think a girl would have to be especially nutty to be into me. I've normal people, yet they never seem to be so normal when in relationships.

I had this weird-ass dream last night. I hadn't remembered any dreams for a while but the past two. Two nights ago I was being haunted, hiding in one of my old houses. Last night I was with this girl - I think it may have been Katie from Regular Guy.

I remember when my immediate reaction to boredom was to write here. Then it became a chore, an obligation to myself, and thus I became less likely to do so. Now I think things may be coming around again. Ah, the luxury of boredom. You can embrace it.

Anyway, the source of my mini-existential crisis was that I had been working on an article I'd had in my head for months, the kind of thing I used to put on Interneta from time to time (that site's a little dead now.) I got several paragraphs into it and even I was bored. I started to hate myself, doubt myself, doubt I had anything interesting to say and whether I was really interested in saying anything at all, or worse, being interested in anything at all. Nasty thought for a guy who just talked his way into a job at HMV. I think it's all passed. I'm just not the rambler I used to be. I'm a different rambler now, whose grown beyond the need to re-state things he's read from others. Maybe someday I should form an opinion of my own.

I joke. It sounds heavy, but I'm just kidding around. Would I tell you if I wasn't?

What an interesting entry this has been, at least to write if not to read. We shuld catch up more often. I like this. I also like this quote from a friend's MSN display pic:

"Make awkward sexual advances, not war."

I think the main thing is, I'm less interested in analyzing other peoples' work than I am in creating my own. Which bodes well for me as a writer if not as a student. Oh well, we all make compromises. Especially in academia.

I like academia nuts.

Ba-dum-bum.

I feel like myself again now. For the time being at least. Who knows who I'll find myself being tomorrow. Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Chapter 4: Volume Up!!

Scotto, it's 9:00 on a Friday night. You're 21 years old and could, if you so desired, be within Toronto in the length of a trainride. Go out. Have a drink. Enjoy yourself.

Well, I just can't. Or won't. All I've really wanted all week is time to sit back and relax and finally I have that tonight. Maybe I'll do something tomorrow (as likely not) but tonight I kinda just want to write. Of course that begins with this ole girl and hopefully I can keep the mojo after.

I think I've deduced that the reason I've fallen into a creative slump is that I don't have the stamina for typing that I used to. Maybe my wrists are getting tired (a terrifying thought at 21) or maybe I'm just lazy. In fact that's pretty likely.

I'm coming out the other side of a quickie bastard cold. I woke up the past few mornings feeling rough but by the end of the day it's all okay. I'd chalk it up to ColdFX. The weather's been nice, although the change from chilly to mild probably contributed to my illness. Whatever. Apart from feeling kinda brutal the other night, I've done what I always do when sick... ignoring it and trying to get on with my life.

I've been doing a lot of writing, though.... in my head. Constructing a fairly elaborate yet ultimately simple story, reconsidering old tales like Melancholy... a long time ago I had an idea for a sequel (which obviously I can't get to until I'm finished with it) and today (and yesterday a bit) I paid it some serious thought and now I really know what I want it to be. All the same, tonight out to be a busy night, because I want to get all of this out of my system (as much as I can get) because the next few weeks are going to be end-of-semester hell.

Gosh darnit.

Cutting this entry short more or less on that note. Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Chapter 3: I'm glad you were born

What a lovely week it's been. Maybe it's that the U.S. election craziness is over (and regardless of whether "my guy" won, I'm just glad to see the end of campaigning.) Maybe it's because the weather is a brisk yet warm, gentle Injun summer. Maybe because finally, after several misfires, I actually got a good mark on a paper this year. Maybe it's because of chalk.

When I was walking around the McMaster campus looking for Christobel's res the morning after Halloween, I walked by a whole bunch of chalk writing on the sidewalks near the entrance to the campus. At first it seemed like a 2-part slogan, but then I realized it was more likely two people having a (repetitive) argument, back and forth. The first read, "I'M GLAD YOUR MOTHER HAD A CHOICE." inevitably followed by the second, "I'M GLAD YOU WERE BORN." Aside from the obvious political nature of the sentiment - which I will get into later - I thought, what a nice thing to say. "I'm glad you were born." If I'm ever down (and this happens often, as you probably know,) I think that it what I would most like to hear. Everyone should have someone say that to them at some point. Make them feel special, like their existence is appreciated. "I'm glad you were born." How nice.

Now then. I said I thought at first these were two parts of the same sentiment. There's no doubt, from my saying that, I am indeed pro-choice. I never understand the hardline stance pro-lifers (or for the purposes of this conversation, anti-choicers,) take. I'll admit - I can't see myself as ever being in a situation where I would want a girl to get an abortion. Perhaps giving the child up for adoption or some similar option would be better. But that doesn't mean I don't think a girl should not be able to obtain one - a safe, legal one - if she so desires. After all, it's her motherfuckin' body, not my own. Whether it's an ethical procedure is the decision of the person who must undergo it. I happened to peruse an acquaintance's Facebook note, a survey where she was asked the hard-hitting question, "Are you pro-life or pro-choice?" She answered, "Pro-life, but it's your choice" not realizing that this in fact made her pro-choice. Being pro-choice, after all, does not mean you think everyone should always be getting abortions. That doesn't even make sense... and would probably be called "Pro-Death" (Which I have occasionally termed myself as a reaction to my fears of overpopulation.) What I'm saying is, like many issues, this is a complex issue that deals with many hypotheticals - the nature of the pregnancy - that cannot be simplified to yes or no. Just because you don't want something doesn't mean it's never useful to have.

But I guess I'm here talkin' politics again because my life remains uninteresting. I bought a day planner a couple days ago. I figure it's the least I can do to be responsible and tkae charge of my academic career. That first round of papers really caught me unprepared and now I'm taking note of when everything is needed by. Of course, this is just a reminder now that I have two papers due in a single week but we'll deal with that when the time comes.

I got back the last paper of the previous cycle. It was a history paper the subject of which I didn't even bother to check on until I started writing it the day before it was due. It was really stupid on my part (and contributed directly to the buying of this dayplanner.) At first, when writing it, I felt like I was totally in over my head but as I began to go through the preparations I got a better sense of what I needed to be writing and what to do, and by the time I was done with it I had a paper I felt I could be reasonable proud of. Looking back I probably could've reformatted it especially in the early parts but ultimately it was a very strong product. I got a 78%, or B+, which is the best mark on any assignment I've gotten thus far (although I'm getting my Sci-Fi midterm test back in a few hours and I think that might be even better.) So at least I'm on the right track. I'm going to devote a lot of attention to the next Shakespeare paper... really, that should be a trend for all of them, but baby steps, y'know?

On the weekend I was talking to my aunt about school. I mentioned the anecdote about the TA who took over for the class one lecture and how she'd been in University since starting in 1993, which freaked me out. I decided I'm just not an academic by nature... I'm the guy academics write about. I've gotta be. This can't be my world, you know? So I've got to get through these next few years and really start accomplishing things. She also advised I not take 5 courses per year... she said she tended to take only 4 and that she could manage her work better that way, and frankly I think that's a smart move.

I was also wondering what life would be like if I decided to become a substitute teacher someday. Probably not a full-time one, but like, if I was the guy who came in when the English or Math teacher was sick and made sure the kids behaved and didn't fuck around TOO much and told pointless anecdotes about my personal life nobody wanted to hear...

wait a minute... I think I AM a substitute teacher! Hey you back there, face front! You don't go until the bell rings!

I just got a call from HMV letting me know when the staff meeting is, so... good. I'm a bit worried about how this job is going to impact my school life but most likely I'll just work weekends, maybe thursdays, until the end of the semester, and it'll be just like regular times.

Who the hell knows.

Brrringgg. Class dismissed. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 2: Dangling from a helicopter, expectantly...

I'm not sure if, four years ago, I would've expected this blog to see a second American election. I remember how badly I wanted Kerry to win at the time for the sake of getting rid of G.W. Bush. I have absolutely no idea whether Kerry would have made a good president. In fact, in the years since, I've made my peace with the fact that Kerry did not win, although one can hardly say Bush's last four years have been more exemplary than his first.

I think the fact is - and this speaks well for Obama - you just can't get a Vietnam vet elected in that country. Consider the generation of politicians the era gave us. Clinton was a war protester and Dubya was a deserter. Meanwhile, you have legitimate war hero Kerry getting spanked by a bogus smear campaign in 2004, and John McCain who was completely de-pantsed by Bush in the 2000 primaries, which lingers with him still. Obama was like 11 years old when Nam ended. That bodes well for him. Maybe McCain would've been a good president in 2000... he would've been far better than Bush and probably could've beaten Gore (something Bush never did) but times have changed and I will be gobsmacked should that man win the election. Let's not even get into Sarah Palin.

Ideologically speaking, of course, I'm very much into Obama. And from observing this absurdly overlong endless debacle of a campaign, I think Obama performed better by sheerly not running as terrible of a campaign as McCain did. McCain fought very old-school, used all the old smear tricks, the pandering, the double-speak that worked so well against him... to no effect. The American people are unmoved. Obama has been coolly removed from the old school campaign style, keeping in tone with his message of Hope and Change. He's very forward-thinking, and that's why I like him to be the next President. He's what America ought to be in this next decade.

But whatever. Here I am, being Canadian, of course I have my Liberal tendencies. But my deal is, I'm committed to re-evaluating what I think works and the way I think things ought to be. I've made my moments of consideration, of doubt. The truth is... who the fuck knows how Obama is going to perform as President? It's a mystery. There exists the potential for it to be a disaster. The world is a volatile place. But I've decided that a McCain presidency would inevitably be a disaster, so I could not in good conscience support that..... if I had a voice in the American election.

But like the rest of the world, I'll have to remain a spectator.

Of course I write about this because, well, my life isn't all that interesting these days. It was gorgeous out today, I suppose it's what you might call an Indian Summer. I bought a day planner because someday I may want to plan when I get my work done (and then do that work.)

I finally shaved today. After three and a half months, I'm all clean shaven. Once I wiped the excess shaving cream from my face I just laughed at how unfamiliar the sight was. It had been all scraggly and uneven due to my half-assed grooming, so I decided to shave it all off and let it grow back in. I estimate I took a good 20 years off my appearance by losing it... I went from 32 to 12.

Anyway man, that's life for tonight. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Chapter 1: It's not enough to watch where you are going

...you must watch what else is coming your way.

That's good, vague advice you can apply to virtually any situation. It occurred to me while being walked into by people who weren't holding up their end of the "walking the opposite direction" bargain in the streets of Toronto. Words to live by. And of course, if you weren't looking for wise words to direct you on how to live your life, you wouldn't have come to SWP. I'm your guru, as always.

Well, the guru's had a busy few days. I had intended to write one on Thursday, but I spent all day running around doing errands. Then Friday rushed by and suddenly it was Saturday and I was kinda beat, and now it's Sunday and here I am. Man, back in high school - even at Sheridan - I used to come home from school and be like "Wow, time to write bout my day! Awesome!" Now I'm just like "I'm too tired to write about my day... not so awesome." I hardly think it's because I'm getting more mature and realizing that this blog is a silly exercise. I've gone through those phases of supposed maturity before and what I've learned by now is that it's bullshit. I'm a writer and if I can get that out by writing about my measly little life than fuck man that's better than not writing about anything at all. Words, brother, words. And you read them so don't even think about making fun of me for writing them. I love my readers and you love me.

So now that that's out of the way, let's get to the story.

Thursday would've been interesting to talk about at the time but after a few days all I remember was I went out for comics, filled out a bunch of paperwork for HMV. I'm feeling a tad awkward about this arrangement. Without Lindsay around they don't seem to be as fastidious about such matters, so I haven't heard back in a few days, wondering if this nonsense about my reference check is biting me in the ass. I don't know. Never much cared for uncertainty.

The real story - as far as this plotless narrative always goes - would be Friday. After my daily routine resolved itself for yet another week, I came home and turned my attention to the unwanted responsibility of pumpkin-carving. It's one of those things, like Christmas Tree decorating that nobody feels like doing, but somehow falls to me. I don't mind doing it as much as I mind being expected to do it. I just tell myself that I'm the only brother anyone trusts with a knife. While I was in the midst of this, I was besieged with the similarly unwanted task of having to discuss my grandma's interminable TV technical difficulties.

But anyway.

After dinner, I gathered my things and headed out to Hamilton. After all the changing of plans I knew it was going to be a somewhat different night than I had envisioned a week earlier, but I figured I'd enjoy myself somehow nonetheless. So after a lengthy train and bus trip, I met Christobel Fergusman at the Mac bus depot and he took me over to his res, where I could drop my crap. Eric had asked me earlier why I didn't just go over there in costume, and my answer was that I'd be cold. He reasoned it was an okay response, but it was actually quite warm on that October night. Fair enough, but it was all just in case.

So I went up to his place and got into costume. I then met a few of his friends, Alexa and Malcolm, as we waited for this other dude. Mackenzie. I had arrived at just after 9, and we didn't get going until after 10. Alexa and Malcolm were pretty cool, especially since Alexa took one look at my getup and yelled out, "You're the Dude!" Apparently, Chris had been having his friends watch the Big Lebowski, and needless to say, I approve.

After all this, and some confusion about how to get there, we headed out to meet up with Cary, who would show us the way. We walked a while until we reached a Subway restaurant. Some of the gang got sandwiches, while Chris and I picked up some cups (although the event was all-you-can-drink, it necessitated you bring your own cup.) We met Cary and his friends there - some of whom I'd met previously, and some of whom not. One of the latter was the oft-mentioned Paisley. They were all dressed as zombies, and I took it on myself to judge which zombie seemed the most authentic. (For the record, I felt Cary's was the top scorer there, but it was tough.) We headed over.

It was very different from last year in some respects and not different at all in some. The same girl was DJ'ing, the same drinks were being served, some of the same costumes were worn (although on different people.) Like last year, I spent most of the night chasing dead ends. The club atmosphere was not going to be my ideal environment but I made the best of whichever leads I could scrounge up. I drank but didn't get too drunk. I ran into Alex Kweicen early and often until he left. There was a lot of "What are you supposed to be?" to which I would simply respond "I'm the Dude," matter-of-factly, and either they got it or they didn't. My theory is that for a costume to work, you just have to have an answer when someone asks.

Strangely enough a number of people (five, by my count) actually asked whether my hair was real. I got tired of answering and left it ambiguous, either by saying "I dunno, is it?" or inviting them to feel for themselves.

Chris mentioned I seemed to be talking like the Dude a fair bit more. More logical: I always talk like the dude, and the costume just made it more apparent.

As I mentioned, I pursued a number of dead ends. It was hardly the best night of my life but I did give it a good try. Maybe I wasn't feeling it because I was too bummed that in another universe, I actually had someone to bring. Maybe it was just too loud and crowded. Maybe I just didn't apply myself enough. Maybe it just wasn't gonna work. I'm not really here to beat myself up about this, just to make observations and posit theories. I like to workshop my technique, after all: I've found it to be of some value.

Maybe in the end it's all about the right girl, right place, right time. Probably at least one or two of those girls, in more favourable circumstances (and had I not been dressed like a derelict slacker - awesome though it was) had potential. Mostly I chatted up girls in the lighter, cooler, quieter corners away from the dance floor, to get a better sense or just relax.

To that end, the night ended, like last year's, with a big powerful rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody, as people began to roll out afterward. I hung around, basically to just shadow Cary. I had left all my stuff at Chris' - and he gauchely left without notifying me, - but I was planning to crash at Cary's, so best to stay close. During the course of this, talking to some of his friends, he got into a convoluted description of the origins of our friendship. We've know each other since grade 10, but had nothing to say to one another until Earnest and didn't really become friends until the end of high school. Some of this may have to do with the fact that I'm also such good friends (indeed, likely better,) with his brother.

We stopped off, on the way home, at the Pita Pit. I wasn't hungry and was a little dismayed when the cashier called me "Little Guy." Sure she was a bit tall but I haven't been called that in........... ever.

Anyway, whilst we obtained Cary some pitas, he described to me his own romantic events, which I will not describe here for the reasons that a: I am not a gossip and b: I'm not even entirely sure what the deal was, from his description. But anyway. I like hearing other peoples' problems. People are always around to hear mine (here) so I like to indulge and reverse that. I feel like it gives me vicarious experience, to understand the woes that other people have and to provide outside analysis. Anyway, whatever be the problem, I wish him luck with it.

We wound up back at Cary's and enjoyed some substances with a small group of his friends whilst watching Ghostbusters 2. Naturally I fell asleep on his couch around 4 and woke up a sufficient time later to feel up to the task of leaving.

Of course, Cary had a rehearsal, so this left me on my own to walk over to the Mac campus, find Chris Ferg's Res, call him up, and get my stuff. Somehow, I did this in short order (and found a Tim Hortons along the way to boot.) As I changed, we recapped the night's events, thoughts and impressions - he apologized for leaving without notification - and we found me a bus to get on my way.

As I waited for the bus, we talked of a recent fire at a Mac dorm that had exiled many students to a local hotel (and on the bus I overheard one such student describing her situation.) I slunk home quietly, and slowly, creeping via GO back to Oakville. My hotel on rails.

I like to hit on girls - that's a well-publicized fact, but don't misunderstand me. I'm no chauvinist, no player. I'm not out for action. Not purely, anyhow. I spent basically the entirety of high school at the top of the ranks of awkwardness. Around the same time I discovered alcohol, strangely enough, I unlocked my ability to actually converse with women, to approach and get their attention. Nowadays, I revel in that as a reaction against my former self, being the man he wanted to be but couldn't bring himself to. And if I can do some mackin' that's all good too. "I can talk a girl into anything," I drunkenly boasted to Cary, over-exaggerating for comedic effect. I don't even remember why I said it but it stuck. What a ridiculous thing to say, but it'd be nice to be true. My point is, I talk of these things more as a gentleman than as a cad. Although it's possible to be both.

Flash forward to the next night. After Eric's birthday part one, we're ready to just relax, and Eric's demonstrating his longboard. After I had my turn I decided it was late and dark and cold, time to go in. He didn't follow until later, when he revealed he had fallen off and hurt his ankle. It kinda reminded me of February, when I slipped on ice and hurt mine, and he didn't believe me. So I just kept razzing him about it, because I felt like he'd been enough of an asshole back then that he deserved such treatment. We just hung around, watched Superbad and SNL... like, I'd had enough excitement the night before I didn't even feel like staying up late, despite the time change meaning I was going to bed at a comparatively tame (for a Saturday) 1:00 AM. The second one.

I have more thoughts, mostly pertaining to today and the family gathering we had. Hopefully I can get back to SWPland in time for none of it to feel irrelevant. That seems to be a recurring symptom. But I will leave off by reiterating the first thought of this entry. It's not enough to watch where you are going, you have to watch what is coming your way. Too often are we too concerned with our own lives and problems and goals that we are not mindful of others, even those whose lives affect ours, and whose lives we too affect. I feel I need to unwind and clear my head before the coming week. Not that this week is of any great consequence - in fact it is probably one of the least consequential weeks in recent time - but too often lately am I far too frustrated by my own shit that I forget I have the power to take a time out if I so desire. I am, above all else, my own man.

It feels good.

Just remember that you too can keep on rockin'
-Scott