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