11:00 AM: Not permitted on the premises

My heart can hardly beat from lack of motivation.

I have no idea what exactly I mean by that, but lordy it can't be good. I'm on edge, not for any particular good reason. The walls of the future seeming to close in. I noted down in my little booklet the other week when all my assignments are due, and I was forced to confront the fact that it's basically all at the same goddamn time.

Once upon a week ago, I had a vision where I valiantly agreed to do my presentation in Shakespeare on Romeo and Juliet (specifically, Mercutio) and I wouldn't have to think about it ever again. But I hemmed and hawed and vacillated too long and ran out of time. Now I've gotta do Lear. Nothing against Lear, I suppose, although I've not yet read it, but it puts my presentation near the end of class, when all my other papers are due. What an ass I feel like.

So I've been mapping out my future. Assuming I pass all my classes (it's looking that way but let's not get ahead of ourselves,) I intend to take two courses in the summer, one an extra credit and one a breadth requirement, so that by year 3 I can comfortably take only 4 classes per semester. Such is my scheme to ease my academic burden. But for now, like I say, things aren't great.

Today was a family gathering, which meant being drafted into entertaining the kids. Both were full of energy all evening, meaning Cam had us all wrestling the basement, and the kid is intense. Of course he made Ali play along, despite the fact that her contribution is usually to run away laughing and the creep back. Well it was all going as usual when I happened to lift Ali up, and she, as is her wont, begged to be let down. So I'm preparing to set her down, and Cam has decided he's going to join in and tug at me and in all the confusion, I... well, sorta... dropped my 4-year-old cousin on her face.

It was awkward.

I'll tell you this much, it settled her down a lot. Cam remained rambunctious, but optimistically, I managed to tire her out on an evening where Aunt Karen was quite vocal about how hyperactive she was being. That's not to say I feel good about it, the opposite in fact, I felt awful. But she was okay, and eventually somewhat forgave me as we were leaving.

The gathering was the first time in a while I'd seen Eric. It'd been a while, and we got along better than we were at the end of his visit. There's always an initial goodwill in seeing him, even if he was hung over.

Came home and watched the GSP-PJ Penn fight. I'm not really very into UFC but I catch a big fight every now and again, especially when B orders it.

I really want to hear the new Paul McCartney album. I didn't hear his last two, which were both supposed to be quite good, but this is different, supposedly a raucous affair. Hell, he was even on Stephen Colbert talking about it.

Some of that turbulence to which I alluded at the beginning of this post: I set out a "to-do" list for this weekend, still untouched. Me and my to-do lists. Oh, well, still plenty of time tomorrow. Actually, this blog entry was on that list, so I did touch it a little bit. Still, not much time tonight. This entry is a lie - I started well after midnight, and it's now about 2:30.

Well, I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.

And miles to go before I keep on rockin'
-Scotto

10:00 AM: The threat of the future

So I've not been around in a few days, and if you've been following my recent postin patterns that should not come as a shock. Of course, it must be stated up front and matter-of-factly that at least I had a better weekend this week than last - given that at no point during this past weekend did I think I was moments away from death.

No, it was your standard homebody affair. I went out for coffee with Amanda and we talked the usual, and I bought shoes. I've needed some good weather-resistant shoes (basically, hiking shoes) for a while and after about three minutes of actually looking I found 'em. Then I got home and wore them around and was like "Yeesh these feel tight." They were labeled 8.5, which is far from my size anyway, so I went back the next day and tried on the 9's and 9.5's when I ultimately found out that the supposed 8.5's were actually 10's. Go figure. So I went for the 10.5's (comfy, maybe even too big though) and got $15 back because of some re-pricing chicanery. Go me!

Saturday night I came home from dad's, watched a bunch of Blackadder (had myself a weekend marathon) and passed out on the couch to a lame SNL re-run (I expected better things from John Malkovich.) It was not a very productive weekend.

Then I started thinking about school, how the assignments are starting to roll out. Actually, this was apparent on Friday, amidst the happy mixup of tutorial dates, but it's just a larger and larger looming spectre every day. More and more. Sometimes I wonder how much they can honestly expect from us. I know it's basically the same for everyone, and everyone seems to deal with it differently. I had an assballs 2 weeks last semester when four essays were due (and around the same time I was writing my 20th Century AmLit midterm, which was two short essays, on the spot, hand-written.) Things are looking even more precarious this time around.

There's not a goddamn chance I'm taking five courses in a semester ever again, no sir. Summer school if I have to.

Anyway, all this got me to thinking about my future, and career opportunities, and general hopelessness. Which, of course, brought me into the subject of romance. Unrelated on the surface, but you know how my mind goes.

It started with a string of dead ends on that wasteland POF. I got into this whole existential "Why me?" quandry, wondering what a guy has to do to get a woman interested these days. Feeling inadequate, frustrated and helpless. But I got over that.

Around the same time, a friend mentioned her relationship is on the rocks - in fact, the second such friend in only a short while. I got to thinking about the contrasts between the stresses of being in a relationship and not being in one (especially for such a length of time.) She really seemed to be going through the emotional wringer, noting, sympathetically to what I'd said, she feared being single, because she'd gone on a break with her guy a while back and it was not so appealing to her. And I don't blame her either. Meeting people is not fun. Rewarding, when it happens and goes well, but not fulfilling recreation.

I try not to torture myself. I mean, I do anyway, but I try not to too much. Both states of affairs are tough ones to be in. I'll say this much: I've long since outgrown the years when I'd sit around moping about my life (like there was nothing I could do about it) and thinking that there's nothing worth getting up for if you don't have that special someone. Yes, eventually I acquired balls. I look at the world as full of possibility (on my more optimistic days.) Feeling sorry for yourself, I learned years ago, is counter-productive. And considering I'm not generally a positive guy, that's words to live by.

Anyway, there's plenty of stuff on my mind (that'd been kicking around in there for a few days) but I'm tired by now, and still overwhelmed with the prospect of preparing a new load of essays and other assorted nonsense. I'm starting to feel like my life isn't mine anymore.

Wow, that's a hell of a thought.

Better quit while I'm not behind. Watched a Bollywood flick in class today. It's not been a thrilling week. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

9:00 AM: The number three smells like oranges

The origin of this entry's title, I will discuss in time. It's been a few noteworthy days and I'm trying to decide what seems most natural to begin with.

I guess it makes most sense to start with Thursday. Why bury the lead? There was, after all, a shooting at Osgoode station.

Of course, I did not know this. It's hard enough to get me to go to school on Thursdays (this was my first one all semester, as it's well known I had no class on Thursdays all year) and when I got to Union station I was told to board the train going in the other direction, as the TTC was shut down between Union and St. George. So I rode the subway all the way up to Bloor, then crossed back to St. G. No big deal. I had to go buy my History Textbook and as a result of my dilly-dallying (or whatever) I missed out on my first tutorial for that class. My loss, I suppose.

I didn't know, by the way, that there had necessarily been a shooting at Osgoode. All I heard was that something had happened somewhere along the line. When you are in the thick of a crisis, it is not easy to get information. Also, I did not think to ask the cops, because they were busy directing traffic.

Anyway, I got to class and got on with my life. Thursday was all told a relatively boring day apart from that running-around. Today was not terribly interesting beyond an odd incident at the beginning of it. I had spent the prior evening fretting the beginning of tutorials, which are due to be big presentations I'm not yet prepared for (depending on what play I present on, it'll either be very soon or not - I haven't decided and the clock is ticking.) Well, I went to the place I thought the tutorial was, and waited, and when the prior class let out, Claire walked out the door and smiled and said "What are you doing here?" I felt puzzled for a moment but the pieces started to fit together. Tutorials begin next week, and I slightly embarrassed myself. But for whatever reason, I was upbeat for the rest of the day, Claire even acknowledged it.

It was likely the weather. Until the late afternoon it was quite a nice day, bright and mild, with a sweet sense of early spring in the air. It happens sometimes, that fake spring smell in the dead of January. And when it does, it's quite a pick-me-up. The rest of the day was quite nice, if you like slush.

Really, the money day was Wednesday. A week earlier, I had seen my old friend (from last year) Jasmin walking down the street, or at least glimpsed someone I thought was her. Quickly I texted her to alert her I'd seen her (we're usually on the same campus and yet we never see one another) and we tried to make an arrangement, but by the time we were rolling she was on her way home. Plans were made to meet up after her class at 2 and just kind of hang around for a few hours.

We first went to a Second Cup at Spadina and Bloor, then wandered around a while in the residential backroads, avoiding the perilous pedestrian public. We talked on and on at length about numerous topics, some personal, some societal, some nonsensical. It was good, I was bright and funny and all those other traits it sometimes seems hard to coax out of myself. Some days I've got it.

Anyway, one of the things she was tlaking about were her classes, such as behavioural psych where she learned about synesthesia, a condition that causes the brain to confuses senses, giving sounds taste and words colour, "Oh, like the number three always tastes like oranges?" I said. Exactly. I'd actually heard of this before, and mused that it would be a more interesting way of living... for a little while, but it would get old.

Later that night I went to American Lit and watched a Streetcar Named Desire. Lamentably, having class at this time means constantly missing Lost. I have it on B's DVR and have yet to watch it. I think I'll go the remainder of the semester watching on CTV.ca.

My friend Haasim has revamped his blog, formerly the Canadian Geek, to The Angriest Boy in the World. Haasim always had a surly side, though I would hardly call him the "angriest." And while he always had a more refined sense of righteous outrage than I or anyone else I know, his output on that blog is far more thoughtful than the title indicates. Still, he noted, and I'd agree to a point, that he'd outgrown the old name. He's very hard to pin down, and I just hope he keeps writing. He once invited me to contribute, but I lacked focus and motivation, weighed by my other commitments (most of which I still have and still neglect due to a lack of focus and commitment, including this very blog.)

I need to trim my fingernails. And also, to draw something.

Those dreaded "other thoughts" I never seem to get to are still around... obviously they have to do with it being a Friday night and me in front of my computer with my earbuds and a plate of saltines. I should move already.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

8:00 AM: I'm using your old tricks

So, um, who wants to hear what I got up to this weekend?

Well, first thing's first. As of today we are all semantically permitted, hell encouraged, to say "President Obama." That's crazy. There hasn't been a new U.S. President since I was in grade school. As a liberal I'm obliged to be ecstatic and yet as a pessimist I'm required to be cautiously skeptical. I think there are a lot of us out there who are just like "Okay... make it work." I just hope it goes well. I mean, standards couldn't be lower at this point anyway, so what's the chance?

Oh well. Time will tell. Obviously I'm eager for the naysayers to be disproven but that's not the kind of thing that happens overnight. I'm also wary of being one of those Obama fanboys. Every world leader deserves the right to be mocked and chided every now and again. The weird thing is, hack comedians no longer get a free ride.

Now, onto my weekend.

It started out normal, coffee with Amanda, dishing on the personal lives of her friends I've never met, browsing stores without much intention to buy anything. As we were parting ways, I began to feel a tightness in my back. This isn't all that uncommon per se, I had a bad back in high school and it still occasionally twinges. But something told me this was different. My back remained tight so I schlepped out to the pharmacy - in the bitching cold - to find something that might ease my pain. I wound up with what could at best be considered an extreme measure, Rexall over-the-counter muscle relaxant generic robaxacet.

Well, they didn't really have much effect, so throughout the course of the day I was popping these bad boys like gummi bears. Which turned out to be a dumb goddamn idea because the next day my back was still killing me and I was queasy. At least I knew I was awake. I had written a note, having taken greater than the recommended dosage, saying "If I wake up tomorrow I will be pleasantly surprised." I stumbled out to the pharmacy again to get some slightly less damaging medication (Ibuprofen and an Activ-On stick) and spent the entirety of Sunday going between half-conscious on the couch and half-conscious on the bathroom floor vomitting up water, pills and citrus.

Uh, it was... not a great day.

Actually, it was pretty much the worst I have ever felt in my entire life.

And that was Sunday.

I rebounded on Monday, having gotten my appetite back late on Sunday, and went about my business on Monday with only a great deal of strain rather than outright total physical anguish. Later that night I realized I should try sleeping on the other side of the bed. Today, I'm at about 80-90%, and I think with a good night's rest I could be back to normal tomorrow.

I think that about covers it. There's other stuff that seems slightly less significant than my ridiculous health problems. I'll get to that later. Or, whenever.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

7:00 AM: For Pete's Sake

Okay, let's do this.

Urk. A Friday night at home with TV and Guitar Hero. Sounds about right for me. Admittedly my last few weekends have been decent ones, so it's no surprise things should get back to this speed. I'm not all that down at it neither, although I'd admit it's always nice to have a night out. After all, I've had plenty of nights in in my time, I'm just not obsessive about getting out. If I go 6 months without another night out, well shucks, then I'd be concerned.

Mind you, I should be going at a faster pace than this by all rights. I don't know what RyLai, or Cary, or Conorton is doing tonight but the smart money is that it's more noteworthy than what I've been doing over here. But I could spend pages and pages of this blog (and sometimes it feels like I have) pondering the hypotheticals of what if my life were different and I'd taken the oh-so-obvious step of actually moving out of my house? I'll tell you this much - I'd feel plenty worse about not having anything to do on a Friday night.

Well, now that I've gone and justified that, let's move on.

I've been personally frustrated lately. It's the usual suspects at the root of this all, with whatever doubts I have about my personal life and creative output compounded by annoyance at my academic responsibilites. Basically, all the bullshit of life has got me down. This leads to me feeling sulky and all these problems getting worse. I'm not upset about anything, I'm not depressed or angry or even all that desperate and lonely. I'm just tired and want to relax. For a very long time. I'd like to isolate myself, not go on trains or sit in class, not talk to people in person or MSN (with all due respect to them) and just... try to re-align my shit. I know, following the Christmas break that sounds like an odd request, I should've done that already, but... well, it being the holidays and Eric being here and me working sometimes kinda made it tough. Admittedly, doing nothing would get old before long, but the aim is that I would straighten out those minor items on my to-do list. Do some writing, polish off my undone reviews. Meditate a bit. TCB.

It was with that in mind that I did not go to class Thursday. I know, cliche. I mean, when you don't live a brief walk from school, skipping class takes on a new meaning, not something you do on a whim. Going to class, and therefore not going to class, is a commitment, a decision. My rationale was that with one class (which is low on my priorities list anyhow) it wasn't worth the risk of repeating the previous day's 90-minute train ride. So I went to the bank and cashed some cheques, which somehow led to me opening a new savings account, and then filed my OSAP. Hurray, yeah. Then I rented and watched Pineapple Express. Not bad, but not as great as Superbad and the other highlights of the Apatow canon.

For several days my MSN status was set as "Basically trying to write." While for the most part nobody notices, cares, or is intended to care about my MSN status (which often consists of pointless non-poetry, random song lyrics/tv or movie quotes I like, or genuine updates about my life) this was my way of reminding the public and therefore myself that there was still writing to be done. Specifically, I'm trying to get back to getting back to my incomplete (on paper) novel about Melancholy Catatonia, which I wrote 55,000 words off, then lost about half or more, and decided to re-do from scratch last year while reading a random book for Narrative. One of the recent books in Canadian Lit, The Diviners, which is about a young woman who must search for her identity, put me in mind of my similarly-themed concept. I've no idea if I could ever sell it, but if I intend to, it must be finished first.

Anyway. This was my MSN status when I was suddenly and unexpectedly messaged by Alyssa, whom I hadn't seen nor heard from since fall when we met up for coffee. I figure, you know how these things go... you get caught up with school and life and you lose track of people temporarily. So she asks me what I am "basically trying to write." I told her I was trying to revisit these old projects, but sadly the process seemed to chiefly involve opening Word documents, glancing at what I'd written, and sighing. From there we caught up a little bit, she still busy with school, work and dance (what I'd termed the "Alyssa Special.") Anyway, it was an encouraging conversation and the next night I ended up writing 1500 words, which is slightly less than a minimal NaNoWriMo nightly effort, sure, but far more than anything I'd written in recent months. I also have a bunch of spare lines rattling around for poetry, but one thing at a time.

Alyssa had mentioned that she'd missed the deadline, but intended to submit something for Idiom, which is basically a collection of literary papers (essays) by English majors. The guy had come to my classes advertising this, but I've never thought highly enough of my essays to believe they were worth submitting (neither do the people who mark my essays.) Alyssa, apparently, had had it suggested to her by a prof, who'd remembered her from a previous class they had. Remarkable. I've hardly spoken directly to any of the profs I've had over the past three semesters. Reiby, sure - we get along well even, I visited his class last week and implied I may drop off some material for him to enjoy (or at least read.) My first-year philosophy prof subbed in for an absent TA once. Beyond that, my most direct contact with an actual honest-to-goodness prof came this past Wednesday when I went onto the elevator to my AmLit class and there was the prof, we made chit chat about the weather, and surprisingly enough he remembered my name later (he takes attendance, which is part of the reason I make it a habit to not skip his class. So when he got to me, he just noted, "Scott - I saw you already.")

Whereas at Sheridan I was constantly in the ear of my profs. Kyle, when we ran into each other on Wednesday, asked me which I preferred. I told him they were plenty different, and I was glad to do both, but for the honest-to-goodness experience, I liked Sheridan better.

If I were getting laid currently, the response may be different. Just saying.

So it's cold down here.

I'm studying to get my driver's license. This kinda came about in gradual, and of course, since I'm 21, how much more gradual does it get? But it's like the lead-up to getting my cell phone. More and more I'm seeing times when I could use it, and things I could be missing out on, and how much later I am than everyone else in getting it. And what it takes is three instances in a short period of time to hammer this point home. Part one: Cassie's party two weeks ago, where, hypothetically, if I could've driven, certain levels of stress would be averted. Mind you, there was no car in the driveway, but maybe if I'd been able to drive, mom would've left her car and just gone with Tim in his pickup. The one-car thing is a pretty big deterrent to getting a license.

Part two was the next week, when I was getting a ride to Clarkson with that girl, who mused about how enthusiastic she'd been about driving when she was 16, and how unusual my attitude toward it had been. After all, if I had my license I wouldn't even be in her car.

Part three was the big one. Last Saturday, Amanda showed me that she'd gotten her license. She, the one who grew up with a blind mother and no car, living too far from anywhere anyway, but went all that time with no license. After Cary, then her, that leaves me as the last person standing (apart from my brothers) with no G1. Coupled with that, she offered to send me along to this website where she had already paid to take practice tests and no longer needed her account, which was paid for through the end of the month. So there. I guess it's just time.

Other examples include not getting a bank account until I had a large sum of money, and not having a photo health card until I had to leave the country (it was sufficient at the time.)

Which reminds me, I should get my passport too.

I think that covers it for tonight. I think I can muster up some material to write, provided my fingers aren't too tired. I revisited Guitar Hero III earlier and was frustrated that I am still unable to overcome the Lou battle on Hard. It left me with a deeply unsatisfied feeling that GH World Tour has yet to give me, which is a good and bad thing. More playable, less challenging. Unless you count the music studio: that's just nonsense.

I had this dream last night, more of a fragment. I was riding a bus with Cary and we were getting into this really involved conversation about music. I dunno where that came from, except I was basically repeating a rambling session I'd deposited here on SWP, in a detached and nonsensical way. I cherish my dreams nowadays. They're pleasant diversions. And I don't spend as much time as I used to in them running around in a panic.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

6:00 AM: This one's not for sale

So I don't recall mentioning this, and I am far too lazy to go back and check to make sure I did or did not, but I ended up buying that Locksley album, the very same one being bought by the chap who told me about them in the first place. I did this about a week ago, on thursday anyhow, then went home and uploaded all the tracks I hadn't already heard to my computer.

I think this is fair. I downloaded less than half the album illegally, by and large loved what I'd heard, and then sought out the album for buying. I did the very same thing with the first Coral album, and White Blood Cells by the White Stripes. I then bought two subsequent Coral albums without having heard any songs from them, and loved them. The White Stripes are a more gray area, since everybody everywhere heard Seven Nation Army, albeit not many of the other individual tracks off Elephant were singles. I bought Get Behind Me Satan with minimal knowledge of the songs on it, and Icky Thump the day it came out without having heard any singles. By now I'm so far beyond the topic it's hard to see what I was even getting at. Oh yeah I remember now.

What I did was rip all the remaining songs and listen to them once or maybe twice. Then I put them away for a few days, since none of them had grabbed me. I was mentally lumping them together as "the songs I had not downloaded." I began to wonder if I'd made a mistake - paying white sticker price for an album by an obscure band that might never make it big, of whose songs the only good ones I'd already downloaded. So I put them away for a few days then came back to them with fresh ears, listened to them in isolation from the songs I'd already heard. They're great. A couple songs I still haven't re-added because I remember disliking or else not being impressed by them, but still, I'll give them their chance yet. I have yet to listen to the album the whole way through now that I'm familiar with the rest of the songs but will do so shortly and form an opinion about the album as a whole.

You don't have to love every track on an album to like the album. There is a lengthy stretch of Magic & Medicine (the Coral's second album) I don't care for, ditto Icky Thump. I generally believe London Calling by the Clash takes about a side to warm up (after firing up immediately with the title track, it takes a few to get really moving, depending on how you feel about Rudie Can't Fail) and then tapers off by the last side, leaving the middle two sides as the essential London Calling experience, and yet... it feels incomplete without those other songs. I might be the last person of my generation who truly appreciates the art of albumcraft, being beyond merely a bundle of unrelated songs. But there may be others out there. An album doesn't need a concept to sound great, and in fact concept albums rarely sound all that good anyhow. Yes, we all love Dark Side of the Moon, but I'm not sure I'd even want to listen to Tommy the whole way through, or The Wall for that matter.

I'm probably just talking music here because in the midst of my 5 hour break, I haven't got much else going on. It's been a weird day. I got to the train station and found Kyle Sanderson talking with a couple guys from his course. He was on his way to his internship and his train was running late. Well, his train arrived at the time I usually catch my train, so we four got some seats together. I mostly stayed quiet while they talked about course-related stuff, wondering why I always feel compelled to attach myself to people I run into at the train station (it's just good manners I suppose.) Anyway, the train was continually delayed, moving slowly, having trains further up taking its signal (whatever that means.) At one point it was bypassed by the train I inevitably would've taken if I'd waited, which appeared to be damn near empty. At one point, we were going to skip Mimico, then after passing Mimico we stopped and the customer service guy announced we were gonna back up (slowly of course) and hit Mimico anyway. And then at another point, passengers in a particular car were advised that other cars were generally warmer. Being in one of the supposedly warmer cars I wondered how this could be, because I was fuckin' cold. The ride lasted a solid 90 minutes, we pulled into Union no sooner that 10:30. By the end I'd warmed considerably (no pun intended) to Kyle's friends and we caught up some on people we knew, including one girl, now married (wtf!) who went to high school both with us, and with the other guy, who went to Iroquois. The third guy got off the station at Exhibition. Not relevant but anyway.

So I missed my first class. It was a choice between the last 15 minutes of a lecture I would not have paid much attention to in the first place, and coffee. If you're not sure what I picked, you haven't ever read SWP and I have to wonder how you got here.

After my two remaining classes - in CanLit I read rather than listening to the engrossing lecture on themes of female archetypes (the virgin and the whore) and in Film History I was surprisingly cogent and yet all the same verbally clumsy talking about the Italian Spring and how it influenced neo-realist filmmaking. Shazbot.

So after class, I've got this sandwich - a microwaveable panini I usually make at home. Suffice it to say, it was a dumb idea to haul it around in my backpack and try to make it in the microwave at school. Not awful, but I'll not be attempting that again. Anyhow, I was rushing out across the street to the general store to grab a drink. I waited until the cars stopped moving and as I'm stepping off the curb I hear this sound. I told myself I'd never forget it, but at the same time I can no longer recall it. It was distinct and unreal, like cry of some frustrated Wookie. It was a guy on a bike who had to veer to avoid hitting me. I think in this case, a bell would have sufficed. It was kind of an "Eeeuuuurrrghhhhh!"

The nature of the sound he made... some kind of frustrated, annoyed, panicked grunt. I get it, I've been there... when you're speeding down the street on a bike not everything is within your control. At the same time, it's important for cyclists to stop when a car beside them has stopped, because that's the goddamn flow of traffic, douche. And besides, it's goddamn January. I know wheels are faster than feet, but come on, dude. Anyway, the sound has left my memory now, and all that's left is the haunting feeling that the guy was a douche.

There's other stuff to think about, but none of it is all that important, for midday at the Innis Library especially.

Keep on rockin
-Scott

5:00 AM: I'll take my toll

What is it about me and my inability to pull my crap together and take care of business? When it comes to time management, I am shit. Even on simple things. I meant to write today; instead, Guitar Hero and Say Anything. This was, of course, after a lengthy meeting with Amanda. We realized we couldn't even remember the last time we hung out. I definitely recall Christmas Eve, but I can't seem to recollect one since and I know we haven't since New Year's.

After she filled me in on her recent haps, including some ridiculousness with her boss, and some shopping, we started talking about something that's been on my mind a fair bit lately, independent of a few different things that have come up, which is, yeah, relationsihps. It kinda goes back to the post I made a few days ago where I rambled for no good goddamn reason on something that has nothing much to do with my personal status but was floating around my head anyhow, pardon the digression (I am, after all, made of tangents.) This brings me to what I wanted to get around to yesterday, but had no real reason or desire to at the time. My private fascination with other peoples' relationships.

So there's this girl I've known since basically forever. She's been dating this guy, who also happens to be a good friend of mine (though we've not been in touch for a long time) since grade 10. That's what, seven years. I ran into her on the train a few months back and she was talking about how stressful it was getting to keep up the relationship, and other minute reasons why she was thinking of calling it quits. They did seem to be piling up, but with these as her stated causes it seemed like the dissolution of a business arrangement phased over a period of time rather than a breakup stemming from conflict of an incident or incidents as one would expect. She confirmed all these feelings by a posting on her rarely-used blog that recently popped up reiterating all the stuff she told me months ago, pretty much verbatim. Now of course, she's my friend (though I don't know whether she'd be reading this - if so, hey!) and I do want to support her if she feels she's doing the right thing. Lord knows I can't draw from anything resembling experience to offer advice. My main question is that after one has been in a relationship for seven years, how does one come to the decision it's time to walk away, without the aforementioned conflict? How does one leave the safety and comfort (for all its failings) of a committed, stable relationship (to the extent that it is that) to decide to whether the uncertainty, and frankly often depressing landscape of the singles scene (whether one is an active participant or only a nominal member such as myself.) When she first told me of her intentions, I scoffed, "There is nothing out there." I exaggerate, at least a little. There's something out there, but I have yet to find it. But I'm sure it is out there.

But again, far be it from me to ever give anyone relationship advice. I wouldn't dream of anybody taking my word on anything, because in 21.5 years of living, I have amassed a lousy track record, especially where longevity is concerned. But let's not dwell on the past.

I'm just saying seven years is a long time, one way or the other. Plenty of time to get comfortable, but also plenty of time to get sick of someone. Time to get attached and time to fall away - with time to spare. I have known them apart but not for a very long time. They were for a long time the only couple I never felt nauseated around. I feel like I've walked into the first season finale of How I Met Your Mother. I'm Ted Mosby.

Oddly enough, this brought to mind Joe and Viki, who just the other night I saw onstage together singing those words, "I'm lucky I'm in love with my best friend, lucky to have been where we have been..." And it's good they sing that to, to know how fortunate they are to have found each other. Relationships. Well, I sure as hell ain't here to figure them out.

Like I said, threads like this fascinate me because it's really the only chance I have to observe a seven-year relationship on the brink. It's like an eclipse, it's rare. I hope I haven't made the person (people) in question feel exposed by discussing her situation this way. To be fair, it's nothing more than what I usually do for myself anyway.

There's more to life than this, but it's what decent blog entries are made of. More interesting was when Amanda discussed some of the romantic peculiarities of her friends back home, but really, that's not my place to write about at all.

Done for tonight. Engineering alarm playlists is an artform. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

4:00 AM: A cat's soft footprints in the snow

I think I have a theory as to how my posting rate has dropped over the past year... Guitar Hero. Here I am, ready to do a nice little entry, when I think "You know what? I'll go play Santeria by Sublime on Guitar Hero World Tour." Well, that turns into six songs and by the time I'm done, my fingers and wrists are fairly sore and not looking forward to recapping the past few days... which is a shame since they were a kinda interesting couple days. Interesting, in the sense that SWP ever is interesting. I mean hey, you're reading.

Something else I have a theory about is that my new pajamas are superhumanly comfortable. I got these new pajama pants at Christmas - didn't need 'em, was comfortable in my heavy sweats, but I'm not here to turn away free sleepwear. Anyway, my bedroom has recently shown the ability to bottle heat like nobody's business (whereas the basement tends to lose it like it's going out of style - oh crazy similes.) So I switched to the new guys and have found them so ridiculous not just because I am capable of getting very comfortable, but because I find myself having more vivid warm dreams in them. Maybe it's the old symptom of not doing enough writing (there is that) but I dunno. I'm thinking it's all pants. And oh yes, it only gets better from here, kids.

After a rather uninteresting day at school I came home and loafted a while. Eric was getting his stuff together. We'd had this really tense/weird/somewhat cathartic moment the previous day where we just admitted we couldn't live together anymore ever again. It was so weird. I guess all those things that annoy us about each other, the stuff we'd gotten used to over the decades, we got to used to being without over the past couple months. I can't say what's at the root of it all, it's just a clash of personality I guess. He can be a very tricky person to get along with in close quarters, and I ain't perfect myself.

So we went to dad's for dinner. In the meantime I bought a Super 7 ticket (Eric put in for half) which ultimately didn't win. Them's the breaks. After, we watched The Fifth Element on my dad's new TV. It's one of the three movies my dad bought on his initial Blu-Ray jag, the others being Iron Man and the 1960's classic Steve McQueen flick Bullitt. Fifth Element is actually quite a good movie, with some sequences far beyond the scifi-action-adventure flicks of today. I noted that if it'd been made ten years later it would've had way better effects and a way crappier script. I think the world is better off the way it is.

So after the movie we left. I was irked not a noticeable degree - I wasn't making a deal out of it but I was certainly huffy. This is because I was intending to go see Joe, who was set to go on at 8:30, and it was rapidly approaching 8, and we had to load up Eric's stuff in the car. After all the commotion, we pulled up to the ESC at about 8:25, which was good enough. As is often the case when I manage to come out to the ESC, there wasn't really anybody there... no JB, not even Mansoor. There was a group of people, however, huddled on the couch off to the side. Viki's friends, I suppose, as well as the guy who introduced them (which is an epic tale of romance and music in and of itself.)

So Joe played, opening with an Incubus cover, going through some more recent originals, Stargazing, and lastly, calling Viki onstage for Lucky. It's hard to continue concocting praise, I suppose, because he's always very good and I don't wanna make it routine... I told him the new ones were effective and sounded good, especially the cover and Every Message Sent. It's been a year of performing at ESC and he's polished himself up so well since then. I guess the next step is to start performing longer sets more regularly, but of course he needs a place to do that. I told him - and he already knew from SWP - about the co-worker I introduced to his music, and he accurately recalled some of the commentary on that. He joined me on the couch where I'd previously been solo feeling like a leper (although why I should've is no reason - I didn't know most of those other people, and Viki knew them better than she knows me. But there were six people on one couch with a couple others gathered around, and me alone on mine. So such is life.)

Viki went on, also did a great set. She's also come a ways since the first time I saw her, and that was only back in... July? Not that she was all that rough then, but she's smoothed the edges. I think the only thing her repertoire lacks is something unexpected. That first show, one of the first things I heard her play was a cover of Paint It Black, which was delightfully incongruous for her voice, and yet it was an effective song choice. I'd like to see... if not that exact song, at least one song in her set devoted to changing the pace in that way. Her originals are quite strong, and there's nothing wrong with any of her cover choices, but this is my meager suggestion on how it could be improved. Mind you, I've only seen her so many times, and one of those was the Beatles show, where she had some very interesting choices (more on this later.)

So she wraps up and everyone's all "hey how's it going, great set" to them, and I smile and nod as a flurry of unfamiliar faces encroaches. You know me and strangers - as soon as I bypass the awkward phase I'm fine. And as the next band is setting up Joe intones to me, "Hey, we're going somewhere, wanna tag along?" And I go, "If I can catch a ride with someone, absolutely." Because hell, it was maybe 9:30 by this point, no sense in going home if I needn't. So I go along and there are enough drivers that people can be like "Who needs a ride?" at which point my hand goes up. "I'm Scott by the way." Next step, of course, was deciding where to go.

We wound up at this place called Symposium, a nice all-purpose restaurant in the midst of Meadowvale. Joe, Viki and I jammed into this girl's car, along with this other girl, who was her friend. In three other cars, only the drivers. No idea what that was about.

So, eight of us at this restaurant, the waiter coming onto all of us for tips. I ordered a Stella, and Joe changed his order to match this. A bonding moment, remarked upon by the eager-to-converse waiter. I'm always suspicious of service people when they get overly friendly. It's nice, but I sense the deeper meaning. It's part of the reason why I'm not into strip clubs (not that I wouldn't enjoy myself, just that I avoid for the sake of cheapness.) Anyway, Joe and I did get on like usual, talking primarily about music, which is a great way to light a conversational fire when you get the right people around. We discussed and debated such matters as Coldplay, U2, the Killers, Radiohead, Sublime, No Doubt, my theory of favourite bands, singer-songwriters with the first initial J, smooth jazz, and the Beatles. As I told RyLai a few months back, I'm not even sure "I hate the Beatles" registers as a legitimate sentence in the English language. It's like saying "Pie cabinet spinach." Those are all words, but that doesn't make it a sentence. Anyway. As it turned out, Viki isn't too keen on the Beatles, which is a shame as I mentioned she did quite well on Beatles night, and I would personally love to hear her do a rendition of Hey Jude.

And if you can listen to that song and feel nothing, you're a goddamned zombie as far as I'm concerned.

I was a conversational house of fire, although the night tended to slow down a bit when I had to actually explain about myself. Inevitably when meeting people, or when catching up with friends at parties, you end up talking about what you study and why you're into it... and then I have to explain how I'm a commuter and the other bullshit minutiae of my life that don't seem to add up.

Eventually, the night ended. One of the guys I hadn't spoken much to shook my hand and apologized for something I wasn't sure he was talking about (having to do with conversations, perhaps interrupting, which I hadn't noticed much of.) I was left with a to-go plate of Bruschetta because I was feeling hungry, ordered some, and then realized that after all these years I still don't dig eating in restaurants. Me and my quirks.

One of the girls - not the one into whose car we all jammed - gave me a lift to Clarkson station, near her house. More school talk. I'd have indulged her further on that, but I was kinda tired, and it was a surprisingly lengthy trip, so a lot of it was quiet. We got to the station, I thanked her and got on my way. A guy was waiting on the platform. For conversation's sake, I asked, "Do you know when the train is coming?" He answered, "Soon, I hope!" It was about midnight. I knew it wasn't that soon - the train would only have left Union at 11:43. I went and found a posting that listed it as arriving at 12:12. All righty.

So the train pulled in, and it is far more packed than a midnight train to Oakville ought to be, even for Friday night. People of all ages - 20somethings, teens, parents with kids... then I noticed the light-up devil horns and realized this was the audience from the AC/DC concert. Groovy.

I haven't got much to say about today. The weather was lousy and I was inside watching tv for most of it, or playing video games. Clearly I am living up to my cosmic potential. I've got some Word documents open and had intended to make some headway into them, but I think I'll just go dream them up and hope that tomorrow brings motivation.

Well, that's no way to go about it.

Tomorrow, I know what I'm going to write about, but I'm too tired to bring it up now. It's taken many hours to finish this entry. I'm easily distracted. Goodnight and keep on rockin'
-Scott

3:00 AM: There's potential in your mistakes

What the hell, life.

I should probably be in a better mood than I am right now. I'm not mad or pissed off at anything, but in kind of a disgruntled, annoyed place. The particulars of moods are well-documented in this blog over the years... I shouldn't feel bad, and yet I'm kinda... sulky maybe. No real reason to be. Let's take a look at the scoreboard.

It's 2:30 in the afternoon and I'm in the Innis Computer Lab. My last class ended at 1 and I'm full of McDonald's because, for the second day in a row, I forgot my sandwich (to be fair, it was the same one I made two nights ago, probably no good by now, if it ever was.) I don't have class until 6. I should do some reading, but am not. I want to be doing some writing, but cannot bring myself to. The weather outside has gone from pleasantly magical winter wonderland to slushy bullshit day. My shoes are wet - these sneakers ain't so good for winter, I've long since been made aware. I've got some girls on my mind, but nothing too nerve-wracking. Wondering if it's even possible for me to be emotionally attached to anyone by now. I think my development in that area was stunted in high school and now I'm fine with what I am - since I don't get hung up on things like 15-year-old me did, and also get more done.

Just thinking. There are people I know who are in long-term relationships, or have been in short-term ones constantly since they were 16. My parents barely know any of my friends (strictly speaking, they know none of them.) James, whom I saw a week or so ago at Dad's, has been with his girlfriend for years now, despite there being a distance issue. She's part of the family, or whatever kind of unit is going on there (the conglomerate of Deb and her kids and their girlfriends, plus my Dad and my brothers. I don't consider Deb's family to be my family, but it's certainly more than "the lady my dad lives with.") Anyway. I've never had anyone to introduce to my parents (sidenote: there was that one, but she already knew my dad, and I introduced her to my mom with great reluctance) or bring over for family gatherings and such. I have no idea how my family would react to someone new of a female-romantic nature, since my brothers are frankly as clueless as I am - one of them moreso. And again, no idea if that's something I'd want or could deal with, but, you know. I'm rambling.

I guess it boils down to the interconnection of two unrelated points: my family isn't all that close-knit, and I haven't got anyone to introduce them to. Corollary: I have no idea what it would be like to be introduced to a girl's parents. Generally speaking I get along well with my friends' parents.

My point - if I had to pretend I had one - is that when I was younger I felt this burning desire for a relationship. My hilarious failures in that respect (most of which were my own faults) eventually took that desire out of me. I'm good at being what I am, and happy to do so, and only occasionally think (or perhaps realize, or notice) that I've missed out on something. It's kinda like how I've never learned to drive a car. Except you shouldn't have sex with your car.

That said, I'm happy being what I am these days, talking to random girls and Julie (hi Julie!) What I've got going on may not be serious, but it's enjoyable, and I don't have to worry about what my parents might think. Also, I don't really care. I guess I don't deal with them enough for it to matter.

Well, that was a nice little rant, kind of out of nowhere. It actually cheered me up some, even if it doesn't seem to have anything to do with the things I was initially glum about. Well, that's SWP for you.

I found out this morning that if U of T's TA's go on strike, classes would likely continue, so... yay? I had a talk with my dad last night about the strike and he gave me a pep talk that I should behave as though there won't be one, and he's right. What should that matter, until it happens? Cross that bridge when it comes and so forth.

Keep on rockin'
-Yr Scotto

2:00 AM: You lost me amidst the cityscape

So, I've been back at school a couple guys and do have plenty to report... nothing urgent I suppose... but I felt like I'd get through a bunch of tangents first. I am, of course, made of tangents. I get up in the morning thinking one thing and just keep constantly diverting my attention this way and that until I find myself at the end of the day unsure what it was that got me out of bed to begin with. But I digress.

I had one of my famous running dreams last night. Two nights ago I had a dream where I was not running, which is rare to remember - I was in bed with a girl (a specific one) and she wanted me to wake up and play a board game, except while we were playing, she changed what board we were using. Weird. Very obvious metaphor, thanks subconscious. Last night slightly more obscure: I was imprisoned with a girl (fictional one) and had to escape. So I kissed her goodbye, we squeezed through the bars, and went our separate ways. I ran frantically around the underground complex until I found myself topside outside the Museum Subway station, and then ran into Queen's Park (the park, not the building,) where I attempted to recruit homeless people into distracting my pursuers. They instead pontificated about how Blue Man Group got their start the same way. Eventually, I was found by Amanda, her fiance and his parents. Which is odd, since I've never met or seen his parents. Then I woke up, but it was before my alarm, so I rolled back to sleep and when I found myself back in a dream I was in the front seat of a pick-up truck, and the girl driving (different made-up on, Asian,) was pulling up to the GO station. I marveled at the moon, which was full, and invited her along. She said, "Well let me put it this way - it's bad enough I'm here with you." I agreed (?) so I removed my pants (??) and kissed her goodbye before hopping out. Then I woke up.

I was on the GO train today riding home, feeling good about the day's work, when I was approached by a lady. We'd stopped at Long Branch and I was alone enjoying my book - a book I should've finished weeks ago if not months - when I notice this woman standing awkwardly over me, like she had something to say. I was plugged into my headphones and anyway she handed me a sign saying she was a single mother and had no money and so forth. I didn't remove my earbuds nor even my sunglasses to tell her, "I haven't got anything." And she went on pestering other people.

Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm not some hard-hearted Scrooge. She knows what she's getting into with all this begging. I've seen her before, even given her money. Hadn't seen her in a while though, and how'd she get a ticket anyway? There's a hundred and ten bucks she could use to feed her kids if she ain't got one. Anyway, you can't count on human kindness. you can believe in it, you can seek it out, but you can't count on it, because it'll just let you down. It's just nice when you win one. And me, I'm a student - I've got nothing, I'm allowed to be uncharitable. Also, I'm not uncharitable, I give more than $10 per month (which is more than $10 in excess of my typical income,) to Sick Kids hospital. I'm a goddamn philanthropist for what I make. Anyway, when that happened, it got me thinking about something completely opposite: the feeling of being extremely pissed off.

I'm not known for being cool under pressure (except in those times when I fake it well enough) but there are just those times that get tenser than others. Like that time I had to wait an hour for pizza to arrive, and when the guy showed up, he had two giant party pizzas (we'd ordered medium) and tried to argue with us that a) this is what we'd ordered, and then b) we could eat these no problem. Doesn't really matter if we could eat them, since point A wasn't true, it wasn't what we were going to pay for. But I was so hungry and disoriented from this ridiculous and fundamental fuck-up that I just paid what was owed, took the pizzas, and sent the asshole back to his dickweed pizza place never to be ordered from again.

There was one incident that came to mind, and I wasn't even around for this and it doesn't affect me directly, but it pisses me off by proxy. Before the end of the semester my brother's house was host to this party. So he spends a great deal of time chatting up this girl, which this housemate stops by. And there's been some animosity between the two because apparently the other guy is a dick. But my brother thinks "Okay, since this guy's got a girlfriend, he must be here to give me some backup." But what ends up happening - and I'm actually shaking with rage as I type this - the guy takes the girl into his room and they don't come out. I can't think of a single scummier move one can make. Not only stealing a girl away from somebody, but to do so for the sake of cheating on your girlfriend? What a fucking lowlife. Of course, it is at that point that I would resort to violence, I think, at least if there'd been prior offenses. I've only been put in that position once before, and it was by a gay dude who was just clingy a friend with the girl in question. It ruined my night and pissed me off, but I couldn't hit the dude. In that case, I might actually have. I assume my brother is the same way as I am - once you spend enough time working on something, you need to see it through as far as possible.

The simple solution, to keep in mind for next time, would be to say to the offender, "By the way, how's your girlfriend?" If he doesn't bark back "We broke up" (which would've been a lie) you've successfully put him off his game and given the girl a good reason to walk back to you. The other measure of revenge is to wait until the girlfriend is over again, and when you see her in the hall, go, "Oh, are you guys still together? I didn't realize." Dick moves both, when taken on their own, but this asswipe has it coming.

So I had this old harddrive. It was from the computer I had between grades 7 and...12, I suppose. By the time I got to Sheridan it wasn't functioning well at all but the harddrive remained intact. That is to say, there were two in there, the larger was put into my new computer and the smaller was discarded. Well, the larger ended up biting the dust about 6 months ago in an incident I now refer to melancholically as "the fire," destroying a veritable wealth of old documents. Well, thanks to ane xternal harddrive I've recovered gigs upon gigs of even more ancient documents. I've not gone through them all, but in addition to old grade school and high school projects, stories and scripts (nothing good) there's a bunch of old MP3s (most of the worthwhile of which I've already recovered in some form or another,) and games I downloaded illegally off my brother Brando's old illegal abandonware site, most particularly Lemmings. I haven't gone through it all yet - and there's bound to be very little of actual use - but it forms a sort of patchwork narrative of my computer activities, some of which comprise my gravest embarrassments. Yay me!

So getting back into the spirit of school hasn't been hard in and of itself. I saw Claire in Shakespeare and we caught up on the break - she got into the Writer in Residence course (I didn't apply, and it's real elite) and I told her I'd submitted to the Hart House review. for my 70-word bio, I wrote the following: "Scott Williams is an English major who has also studied journalism and devoted the bulk of his life to learning the secrets of women and awesomeness. He spends more time than he ought to in the suburbs and enjoys exploring the ideas of contradiction and irony. He tends to write fiction and poetry in notebooks between or during his classes, which has always made him popular with his professors." I submitted three of my Reiby-era poems, (For A Stalker, Where We Live and Fragile Thing, my three most lauded,) one from around then that wasn't in-class material (but holds a special place in my heart - Coolness Part 1) and a very short story. The prose I had a problem with because even my short fiction tends to be lengthy, and they had a limit of 300 words for short stories. The Insomniac, the best example of what I can do in short fiction (in my opinion) is like 5000-6000 words. However, "The Train Rider," a cute little one-pager, was floating around, so I sent it in, thinking what the hell, give 'em some variety to pick from. Hopefully they like any of it.

After that was Canadian Lit, where I got my essay and midterm back, which were ridiculously consistent. They were B's, in the low-mid 70 range, which seems to be my style that semester. I guess I can't be disappointed, but I wish I were slightly more capable of growth. Also, some of the remarks were a little harsh considering the mark. But that's me, always been a little sensitive guy.

Today, after napping in the screening of Maria Candelaria, I went to Wymilwood for lunch because I forgot the sandwich I'd fixed myself last night. There was no tables free at Wymilwood, so I took it across the street to wait for my fancy schmancy new History class. So I'm sitting on the steps to the balcony eating my roast beef sandwich and generally looking like the creepiest dude around, when this guy comes up to me and asks whether I was in the horror film class. I say no, and he says "Oh, I must be thinking of someone else then." So I check and see whether he was actually thinking of me - "Were you in the sci-fi film class?" I ask. He says yeah. So we shake hands. He's Mike - I think. talk about blah blah, what'd you think of that class, what else are you taking, what major... for once, someone didn't ask me what college I was in. Seemed like a cool enough guy. Guess I made a new friend. Cool?

Anyway, that's life. I meant to have more tangents but I forgot some. But I can end on a tangent. In first year, I always noticed these two guys on my subway car, Mondays and Wednesday mornings. It wasn't long before I noticed they were in the same Philosophy lecture as I was - I sat in the balcony and they in the lower section. They looked grungy, wearing leather jackets and torn jeans, one had long hair and the other was bald, both had beards. They looked basically like thugs, but you know what? I saw them in every lecture, and that was a 9:00 class. I never spoke to them, but I always wondered how they ended up doing in that class. I dunno if they'd be any smarter than me - 50/50 likelihood I'd say in Philosophy - but they sure attended as many or more classes than I did. Maybe they were good students, maybe not... but they sure as hell were punctual.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

1:00 AM: Half your age plus seven

That's an important rule, article 113 of the Bro code, the formula for determining how young a guy can go when it comes to hitting on chicks. For instance, at this point, any girl I'm likely to meet is fair game. This will come back later, but first, housekeeping.

Funny how things go. I had a couple paragraphs written up about going through phases of annoyance with my brother while he's back from Humber - fluctuating levels of tolerance - and how he appeared to get huffy around dinner. We didn't really have a plan and he was leaning toward ordering something and it looked like mom was gonna whip something up... anyway as it turned out, we ordered and everyone was happy. We got wings, and watched a movies called Delirious, which is an amusing if slight indie picture with Steve Buscemi, Michael Pitt, Alison Lohman and Gina Gershon. That's how you know it's an indie flick - all those people.

Friday was my last day alone. I ran some errands, mostly centered around going to the mall and seeing if I would ever be needed at HMV in the foreseeable future. As it happened, I was not, not surprisingly - the shifts were dwindling for weeks and I was lucky to make as much money as I did. If it weren't for the fact that minimum wage has shot up since 2005, it would've been less lucrative than working one shift per week at Classic Bowl back in those days. But only financially - for my spirit's sake it was still far greater an endeavor. Better people, better work, better environment in general. Pay don't enter into it. If it were a choice between $11/hour at Classic Bowl or minimum wage at HMV, it'd be the latter without question. But it's over now. For now, anyway. I didn't see Cooper, but when Mandy asked what I planned to do - if I intended to get another job or something - I said not right away, I was gonna focus on school this semester, (if applicable - see below) and I'd love to come back to HMV at the first available opportunity. She said it might be in the cards, I was one of the better-liked temps. I should hope so. I came in knowing most of what I needed to do, and knowing many of the people who worked there. And most of those I didn't know, I made my best impression on. I can be a yutz sometimes, but when I want someone to like me, I think I've got some moves.

I say I'm going to focus on school if applicable. My New Year's Resolution is to be a better student (and also to find some stability with women, but let's not go nuts.) I might even start taking notes in more classes. But all this could be undone if the TA's go on strike in February. Balls to that I say. Strikes are a pretty worthless endeavour and just create hard feelings in the victims (students.) The OPSEU strike in 2006 didn't accomplish dick, the WGA strike only helped the TV season suck, and the York strike is just pissing people off whilst ripping them off for education. Balls. I don't know what I'm going to do if the U of T TA's go on strike but I'm going to guess it involves drinking and sleeping in places that are not mine. Just a theory.

I say strikes are worthless. They were invented at a time, I believe, when individual employers had more care as well as oversight to their staff. These days, every employer - even and especially a university - is more a faceless conglomerate that won't take the point being made by the strike, and the union will just have to go back to work embarrassed, having made a ton of concessions and having wasted thousands of peoples' time and money. This is a dumb shit move.

I was eating a microwaveable faux-Chinese dinner (Cashew Chicken, or so it claimed... there was chicken and cashews involved at any rate,) and randomly looking stuff up on Wikipedia about how long the Aborigines have been in Australia (since 40,000 BC as it turns out,) when my dad came over. He had acquired a random motherboard from his boss, far outpacing what I already have. However, the transplant didn't take, so basically he spent a half hour uninstalling my motherboard and then another one re-installing it, while I watched Monty Python nearby. Then he left, and I was alone.

Cassie was having a thing. After she left Cary's on New Year's, we discussed the probability that we should go. The problem is, Cassie lives way the hell out there. Used to be she lived pretty far out there, but it was walkable. But now she lives way the hell out there, by the end of Upper Middle. There was chattering between me, Chris, Cary and RyLai about what to do.

I put in a call to CB, only to find him well incapacitated by a nasty cold and its associated medications. Despite this, we talked at length about sickness, school, life, work, parents (his just split up, after a lengthy period of animosity) and Lost. It was a good chat considering he was zonked out. When I told Cary he was sick, Cary seemed pleased - "Oh, so he won't be drinking." "No," I laughed, "He won't be driving. Dude took a bunch of Tylenol Cold PM so he's unconscious by now." Meanwhile, the Visintinis and the Fergusons were apparently having a dinner party, and us various parties were scrambling to get rides.

So eventually RyLai texts me. I was still stinging from the abandonment I felt on New Year's, but he managed to make good on it all - he managed to snag a ride and offered me a slot. Hurray, all was well. While I waited, Brando and Eric came back from Montreal and I pressed them about how it went. Apparently, Eric fell in love with a stripper named Maria. It happens. He wants to go back to rescue her.

Eventually, my ride arrived - in the form of Cassie's sister, whom I'd never met. All righty then. So we jumped on the highway and headed out to way the hell out there, while RyLai and I bantered about music in a car full of people considerably younger than him and far far younger than me.

So we arrived to find several friends of Ryan's who were acquaintances of mine. Pat and Chris were in the basement playing Pong, and Cary and Edgar were there playing Air Hockey. I don't know about Edgar but the rest had gotten a ride with Valerie. Anyhow. The night commenced with drinks and Guitar Hero, which took its toll on my voice. Also I spilled a drink of RyLai's. Anyway.

I went back downstairs to find Chris, Pat, Cary and some girls sitting in a circle indulging in human conversation so I joined in, mostly as a listener. They were telling tales of hang-overedness and overbearing parents. I don't know much about neither. I don't typically get hangovers (what can I say, I don't drink enough I guess,) and my parents are far from over-bearing. Difficult to deal with sometimes sure, sometimes too distant, but far from overbearing. The distance is partly our own doing. It's just how we live. At some point after they split, or by the time I got to high school, it just sorta got that way that I was accustomed to a certain level of independence (and yet I never drove or anything.) It might have messed me up in ways I have yet to perceive, but I think I'm okay.

Anyway, the night progressed and the circle dispersed gradually back upstairs to focus on Guitar Hero. Having gotten my early fill on vocals I was in no hurry and was gradually left alone downstairs with this one girl who chatted me up about school and my past in WOSS drama. And I drank and indulged her, because, hey, that's what I do.

I told Cary it was an exhibition game. I didn't really care about winning, but wanted to get some practice in, since I so rarely get on the field. The way it always seems to happen is that I'll arrive at a party, and somehow wind up talking to one chick the most after narrowing the field down from everyone there, minus girls I have a longstanding friendship with, or who are in a relationship (that I'm aware of.) And then I just try to enjoy myself. As to how much I enjoyed myself, it will not be a subject detailed in this blog. Like I said: exhibition game.

So the night goes on, and it's full of people who vaguely remember me from when they were in Grade 9, and are way too comfortable standing far too close to me. And they took too long to leave. It made drunk-me anxious. And then Cary, Chris and Pat left. And I made the best of the rest of the night with Ryan, the girl, Cassie, her sister, Edgar, and some other people. One guy, Chuck, recalled me doing Vanilla Ice in front of the Caf back when I was in Grade 12 (or maybe 11? Is it in this blog? fuck I'm old) and insisted I do it. To my surprise, I found that beyond the first verse I couldn't quite recall all the lyrics, and stumbled and omitted my way through the second and third, nearly slipping into the Ninja Rap in the third. Nobody seemed to notice or care. Then we discussed Bro Code article 113.

After more guitar antics, we left at about 3:30, in a van driven by Cassie's sister, which was wonderfully generous. I crashed around 4 and spent the bulk of the next day watching Hulk Hogan's Celebrity Championship Wrestling. It was supposed to be Risk, but RyLai (who was very enthusiastic the previous night, even requesting to watch a particular ep of Always Sunny in Philadelphia) went to a bar instead. So what ended up happening was Chris Ferg and Edgar played Halo until 2 AM while I lay on the couch on Chris' laptop looking up random Wikipedia articles about English history (no reason why) and reading out Cracked.com articles aloud. Yes, we are enjoying our youth. Fuck.

Today, Eric and I watched Goonies, and Iron Man. Tomorrow I go back to the real world.

Sigh... it's been quite a month. I wish I had some pithy way of ending this entry, but I'm all out of pith tonight.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

Midnight: Desperate desires lead to desperate pleasures

I asked the magic 8-Ball and didn't like what it had to say;
but every one of its words came true yesterday.

So it's 2009. A nice odd number I suppose. I have a feeling it'll be better than 2008 based purely on speculation and potential. I've been saying that a lot. I don't have much other than that to go on. 2008 ended on a bummer note. I'm going to talk vaguely because certain people who ought not know what did, didn't, or was supposed to happen, will read this thing. This is for their own protection.

I was supposed to do something. At least, I'd made some vague inquiries about it. It was hardly a binding contract, but I'd asked Chris about tagging along and it was agreed. Well, while I was waiting for him to come online, I struck up a conversation with his brother. It seemed Cary potentially needed some help with a project. It wasn't definite and he seemed unable to get ahold of CB so I offered my services. So I waited around while he figured out whether he'd need my help or not. By the time he told me he didn't, Chris had already taken off without contacting me. I tried to call RyLai to head him off at the pass, but... well, it wasn't the most engrossing conversation he and I ever had, let me tell you that. Denied.

So I wound up at Cary's anyhow, watching the end of the hockey game and Dance of the Dead, a zombie prom flick Cary insisted was better than Shaun of the Dead. I thought it was funny, but I really like Shaun of the Dead. Anyway, the night continued in the theme of zombie movies - Army of Darkness and Dawn of the Dead - until about 10 to midnight at which point we put on the CityTV New Year's Special and marveled at Kreesha Turner's bubble. Yipe. Popped the champagne and drank our yearly toast to capitalizing on potential. His project hadn't worked out, which is a shame since I was rooting for him.

Cassie stopped by sometime after midnight. She'd had an odd night too, from what I drunkenly remember hearing, so I guess we had ourselves a little lonely hearts club band going. We hung out a while, Cary's parents came home, I drunkenly slurred my way through some cursory conversation.

I fell asleep as Cary and I watched Being John Malkovich and I muttered whatever drunken soliloquy I had on the tip of my brain. I went home at about noon, ate some breakfast to get the taste of champagne morning breath out of my mouth, cleaned up, and began a rather hectic day.

The family came over and I spent most of the night playing with the kids since B and E aren't back yet. I introduced them to the Wii, but they couldn't agree which sport they wanted to play, so it didn't work out well. It was worth a shot.

I'm kinda worn out. I'll tell ya this much... I could really use a fresh start. There's some real shit I could stand to pull together, let me tell ya. But that's nothing new. So the saying goes, nothin' ever changes but the date.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott