112: I thought I'd be taller

Oh, how to describe this weekend. Where to begin. Well, I suppose that, as with most of my stories, I'll begin at the end and work my way back to the start.

I woke up this morning, tired and groggy, and set out (it was cool and windy, not so great but at least sunny,) and headed out to the GO station where I had to pick up my bike, which had been locked up there since the afternoon before.

Normally I would of course have ridden the bike home after having ridden it there, but, well, it was such a busy evening that things just sorta fell by the wayside. but we'll get back to that.

Saturday was the second of two unusually busy weekend days. Both days were unusually busy in and of themselves, and particularly unusual in that I had two busy days in a row. It started with me not really having any idea what to do with my Friday, until I remembered that I had to get my health card replaced. So I gathered up my ID support and biked down to the Health department, which took longer than expected because although I took the "short" way, there was heavy construction and I ended up having a number of obstacles to overcome.

So I got there and filled out some paperwork and.... waited. I figured to myself, I should'a brought my DS, although the wait wasn't intolerable. The entire process barely took a couple minutes anyway, just the place was surprisingly busy. (I've used that word a lot about this weekend. Hm. Run fetch me a thesaurus.) Then I had lunch and just wandered around the Dorval crossing for two hours until I was satisfied that I'd spent/wasted my day, then biked home the "long" way, which probably saved me about 20-30 minutes.

Friday was a promising disaster in the makings. After dinner with Dad, I headed out to the WOSS Fringe. This is a move I struggled even to explain to myself. Strictly speaking, I am done with White Oaks. There's no reason I should ever be there. I went to the Sears show back in February because it was convenient to meet up with Pat and Chris there. I went to this Fringe show with the same attitude in mind, but showed up late, missing the first show. When it let out, I ran into Adam, and then Becky, Ryan, Ana and Deniz Ergun. It was really nice to see them, although by this point it meant I pretty much was locked in to staying rather than simply walking away proudly. So I caught up a little with them, but it seemed like I was disrupting their usual dynamic, which I understand. It doesn't make me feel like a million bucks, but I understand.

so I went in for the second play, which was kinda funny, and the third, which was kind of a bummer (although a lot of people reacted very strongly to it - and it was written by Sam Hogan, with whom I am vaguely acquainted.) Afterwards, I charmed Cassie Cummings into giving me a lift to the GO Station (by applying the time-honored tactic of putting her on the spot.) With the shows having ended at about 9, I had a brainstorm. Joe was having a show at the ESC, where he was due to start at about 9:40, the GO train would be heading east at 9:30... this could work.

So I headed down there and caught the train, then hopped in a cab (not the smartest idea, but the most efficient) to arrive at the ESC just in time to hear Joe doing Energy, his second-last song of the night.

I found it important to get to this show because it was due to be Joe's and Viki's last for a while, and I figured attendance would be low (for them anyway - the room was actually quite well-filled,) and we've had some good memories of that place over the past year or so. Also, after feeling incredibly awkward throughout the night at Fringe, I felt I needed to get back to the future. I just headed out there, as usual, without much plan to get back, hoping things would pan out.

Well things did pan out, as despite his misgivings about the fact that he was working the next day, he and Viki stuck around for the next few acts, after Viki's set. There was an acoustic duo (Me: "They look like Tenacious D in 10 or 15 years!") that did some 90's covers (an underpowered Lenny Kravitz "Fly Away," "Wonderwall,") and some classic rock/oldies ("Sympathy for the Devil" "Brown-Eyed Girl.") Their closing few songs included some botched lyrics (notably on a Jason Mraz tune, which stuck out like a sore thumb to Joe,) and in a closing medley incorporating a number of songs into bookends of Sublime's "What I Got."

The act after that was an acoustic trio that attempted to strip down some Pearl Jam, Pantera and Slipknot tracks to an acoustic guitar, a conga drum, and a girl's smokey voice. It.... didn't work so much. Particularly, their version of "Alive" was like a harrowing war chant. But they seemed to have fun and didn't sound bad, it's just their attempts were misguided.

The last group of the night was an incendiary funk-jazz fusion combo with a tough, soulful black female lead vocalist, wriggly Filipina backup singer, a blazing afro-headed guitarist and a groovy white rhythm section. After a couple of numbers where the uncertain audience was just hanging bak trying to appreciate the beat, some of the people (not me) got on the dance floor, even eventually Joe and Viki, much to his chagrin. The way I see it, if you've got somebody, it's cool to dance. If I'd gotten out there, I'd be a dork.

When I sensed I was at the brink of "Too late" I called a cab, but before it arrived, Viki's family offered to give me a lift to Clarkson station, thus saving me a few bucks (the cab dispatch didn't seem to heartbroken that I canceled my fare.) I hung around for ten minutes until the last train arrived, then walked home, glad I'd escaped boredom, idleness, and nostalgia-flavoured anxiety about my place in life.

Yesterday, after hanging out with Amanda at the mall (and finally buying Lost Season 4,) I went out to Hamilton. It's the plan I'd intended to put in motion a few weeks ago, where I skipped out on dad's, had McD's for dinner, got to Hamilton for the 5:30 rehearsal, then come home in time to do... something. Whereas the previous night, I'd had to choose between Fringe and Joe's, and ended up doing both, this night I could only do one or the other. So I was watching the rehearsal from 5:30 until 7:30, more or less... which by the way is a transcendent experience for me, I can't praise those guys and gals enough for what they're doing with my words. Even the parts I wasn't sure about seem to work well. This play fucking works.

So by the time everything was wrapped up and I was ready to head back to Oakville, it was pissing rain. Wandering around by myself, drenched in search of the Mac bus shelter, muttering "Fuck my life, fuck my life!" and holding a bus ticket graciously donated by Cary's assistant director. Finally I saw the flashing yellow lights of a bus and I ran to catch it, making it in decent time and making sure the bus went by the GO station.

Of course, by the time I got to the station, the bus to Aldershot - by which I'd go to Oakville - had already left. so there's me killing time at Hamilton Go eating Skittles and reaching zen of damp, slightly exhilarated boredom. Luckily, I'd thought to pack my DS, after Friday's health card outing.

On the ride back to Oakville, I negotiated pick-ups for later that night. We'd been trying to work out bowling for some time and Saturday seemed to be the day when it would all fall into place. Before the rehearsal, Cary was telling me he'd gotten an offer to come back to Oakville to do a favour for his (rich) friend, but he really didn't want to go back to Oakville, and also mentioned he'd feel weird going back and not going along with me to bowling. I told him that, based on what he told me, I wouldn't mind - althoug hit was nice of him to consider me.

So after 9:30, CB pulls up to the station with Chris Ferg and Adam in tow, and we head off to pick up Pat and RyLai, while, to my surprise, Ryan Wheeler and Doug were due to meet us at the bowling alley, which was nice - apparently they were at Fringe, and hey, why not bowl? It was great to see the both of them, as we haven't hung out seriously since maybe the first year or so after graduation. We've all kinda... drifted apart, as is natural.

So the eight of us got two lanes, which worked out to about $12.50 apiece (with six it'd been $10, and RyLai cashed in a promise to recoup a free half hour from an earlier bowling trip.) I did my usual "below average but comparatively great" way, although Adam actually beat me the first game, then collapsed like a house of cards. We then retired to Stout Monk for White Russians and nachos. During this time, stories were told, including Pat's assault, and the stuff I missed by leaving Ryan's birthday way early. Both stories fascinating, shocking and troubling in their own ways.

At the end of the night, we decided we weren't done, and, with limited "spur of the moment options," we drove out to Hamilton to hang out with Cary. The first option was casino, but as you'll recall, I don't have any photo ID right now.

Satisfied with the zeitgeist of the moment, we headed home and I headed to bed. I've been kicking around all day since retrieving my bike. The last choice of the weekend was not really a choice - my mom has been having drama with my Palmerston cousins again and we didn't go up there for Elizabeth's son's birthday (yeah, real big-hearted) but I'd missed a call yesterday where apparently I'd been offered a chance to get a ride up there, which I would've had to accept if I'd gotten it, which would've ruined my "morning-after" decompression.

All in all, it was a great weekend. If I could build on that for the future I'd be glad.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

111: These dots don't connect

Charting my last five birthdays - the actual date, not, like celebrations. Last year I got the day off work to play Super Mario World with Robyn. The year before, I went to the ROM with Manda, followed by a UWA show. 2006 was a dud, but it was building up to the premiere of the Half-Past movie (about which I have mixed feelings, but it stands as an accomplishment.) The day I turned 18 I was surprised at school with a balloon from a girl (who, in retrospect, kinda liked me.) All the ones before that were unmemorable.

Basically, what I'm saying is, I was due for another dud.

It's not surprising or disappointing (well maybe a little) it's just the way it is. For crying out loud, it was a Tuesday, and kind of a dreary one at that. The skies were gray, the wind was blowing. I was in class all day. I had a paper to hand in for Short Story, which was the easiest yet most nebulous assignment I've yet gotten in a University classroom - read two stories three times each and record your thoughts in a journal for each reading. I looked at it as a more analytical review, which plays to my strengths. Lots of personal pronouns. Difficult to do badly, I wonder how this will be graded - level of insight?

Oh, and I nearly choked on an Aero chunky during Poli Sci. How obnoxious is that, dying on your birthday. I didn't even want the stupid Aero, the numbers were shifted over for the vending machine and I pushed the wrong code of Coffee Crisp.

Today wasn't a great day, no. Discovered a new form of creeping - the inadvertent. I got on the subway at St. George, per usual, after my dubious stop for coffee (I always wonder which is better - before or after GO? I have decided I don't care, I just like caffeine.) So I stand on the platform next to this girl. Kinda plain-looking but whatever, I'm not really here to do anything about it. We get on and I kinda space out, but I think she was aware of my presence because in the city I tend to creep just a little bit, when there is someone I think I can get away with. IU didn't get away with it.

So she gets off at Union, just like me, and rockets in the other direction, probably trying to get away, and I'm like "Whatever, I'm going to my train, same as always." So we end up standing next to each other on the GO platform, which probably made her nervous but I was trying to dial-down the creeping because it must've really struck her by now. Awkward. So we get on the train, and she sits in the Scottozone, which is a shame which means I have to sit with my back to her... and every so often I'd crane my neck around and she'd have my in her eyeline, all the way to Oakville where thank the maker she did not also get off. One time she smiled. I couldn't tell if she was amused by my antic, or her book, and just happened to be annoyed by me.

Whatever. It's done.

Birthday awkwardness.

The weekend was good though. Sunday morning I had a good hangout with Amanda, and the evening was the family gathering. I was, as always, on kid-entertaining duty, which involved a lot of wrestling, and then they demanded to play on the Wii, since to my surprise it was here rather than someplace else. It was my own fault for showing them the Wii last year. The problem is, they love it, but they can't agree what game to play, and in the end they don't seem to enjoy themselves very much, and then Cam demands to play with Brandon's transformers (which I maintain is his own fault for being a 26-year-old man with hundreds of dusty action figures lining his shelves.) Before long, I distracted him and Ali with Lego, which seemed to go over well, once I told them what sorts of things to build. ("You build a house, you build a car.") I think we have a winner.

Then later that night, when I was concentrating on Pokemon and decompressing, Cary rang me up on the MSNogram to say he was still in town, let's hang out. He'd called me up earlier to see if I wanted to go to the mall with him and Chris, but I'd literally just come back and was expecting the family (about an hour later, but still.) So nice to get a second chance at that since I hadn't really seen anyone all weekend (I lead a boring life - which you know because you're reading this.)

So I went over and we hung out a while. Linda handed me a glass of wine, which was a nice and uncalled-for gesture (we had just discussed how easily I get drunk off the stuff.) It's nice to walk into a place and be handed an adult beverage. I always feel very welcomed in that house. Of course I like going anywhere where grown people are willing to indulge me in writer-talk and seem to think I have any worthwhile thoughts on the subject. Cary and I headed downstairs with Chris and talked life, Half-Past, video games, TextsFromLastNight, other stuff.

After Chris left, I remained while Cary played on Goo, a puzzle game of sorts. We shot the shit some about girls and life and how strangely accurate Half-Past actually is (I say strangely because I wrote it at 16 having had no authentic life experience, which shows in the somewhat glossy fantasy fiction world it inhabits. My later writing has taken a slightly grittier edge - or even glossier if I'm being self-conscious.)

I've been dragging my feet on this entry. It's just about 3 AM, I've been catching up with my friend/nemesis Schatz, I've opened an adult beverage. It was a good night for walking home in the aftermath of rain.

Stuff is going on lately but this post has reached its end and the situation has not reached a point where I ought to talk about it so let's just leave it at stuff.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

110: Don't Give Me An Option

Last time around I was very focused on the Beatles. Tonight I still am. I think that, as a lover of popular music, one must have at least an understanding of the techniques the Beatles used that differentiated them from their contemporaries, and even if you don't actually like the music, it has certainly endured and there's a reason for that. Something that has attained such status must at least be acknowledged, you know?

Part of my recent investigation into my previously unknown Beatles tracks was filling in the gaps of the White Album. I'm one of those who sort of looks down on the White Album, because to me, it's sort of a car crash of material. there is some brilliant stuff on there, like "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," "Back in the USSR" and "Dear Prudence," and some noteworthy stuff that maybe isn't as impressive, like "Helter Skelter," "Happiness is a Warm Gun," and "Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except Me and My Monkey." And then there's a ton of songs that either don't distinguish themselves or provide as much bang for the buck of your attention. "Why Don't We Do It In the Road?" Har har, Paul. "Glass Onion." That sort of thing. I keep going back and forth on "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da." I remember Joe enjoying playing it, and it's kinda fun. I guess it fits in that "Helter Skelter" category.

But really, that was the point of the White Album now wasn't it. Now that pop songwriting had been utterly exploded by their previous few forays, how could things ever be the same? So here are about 30 songs self-consciously spinning out of control of genre and classification. John Lennon writes a blues dirge in which he curses explorer Sir Walter Raleigh ("I'm So Tired.") Paul writes a love song to his dog ("Martha My Dear.") And the weird thing is, they're good songs. They're not necessarily good Beatles songs, that's the mind-bending thing, they're still really good tunes. "I Will" is featherweight compared to the later "Oh! Darling" or the earlier "Here There and Everywhere" but any Brill Building songwriter would have given their left nut to have composed it, slathered it in production and had some sweet soulful voice croon it. (Including Carole King.) With "Martha," Paul writes more sincerely to his pooch than most people can to their spouses. And it's a bouncy, inviting song. Then there's your "Blackbird" and your "Julia" and "Good Night." And these were the days that produced "Hey Jude."

Well listen. I still don't think the White Album is better than Abbey Road. I listen to that side-two medley and I'm just taken right away, and those two George songs on Abbey Road are two of my all time favourites. Even the bad songs on side 1 are really great. But I'm starting to appreciate what it is, which is an explosion, a hurricane of styles and experiments, some pleasing to the ear, some not, but all worth a try. Four men running in opposite directions from the north pole and meeting again at the south.

It was a nice day today. I should've devoted more time to reading short stories, but I was distracted. See, it is after all garage sale season, so I stopped by a big ole yardsale at the apartment building down the street. Multi-family, which is always a good sign. There are only a few things you can really hope to find at these sales, if you're not looking to clutter your place with ugly old furniture. Old CD's, or if you're lucky, vinyl. My dad recently got a turntable/CD recorder to play with. Along those lines, there are also usually old VHS tapes but I don't have a VCR. Old video games are sweet, if you have something to play them on (a vintage system is basically the jackpot - Eric and I still reminisce about the time he found an Atari and we played it for a while before selling it at our own garage sale.) But for me, I am always determined to find action figures.

Mostly, people who hold garage sales are older couples whose kids have probably grown out of the action figure phase years ago, which in theory means that the kids are my age or older, which means they have the kinds of action figures I liked as a kid. Maybe some classic X-Men or Spider-Man figures. Almost definitely some Ninja Turtles and He-Man. I hit the jackpot today, taking home a bunch of cartoon Ghostbusters, a Beetlejuice, some Ninja Turtles, (including the obscure Fugitoid and the always badass Casey Jones,) and, of all things, a Gremlins 2 figurine. At 10 cents apiece I spent about a buck fifty on 15 figures in all. Yes, I'm about 8 years old.

Anyway, something's brewing, but in keeping with tradition of things I actually feel are important, I'm keeping a lid on it for now to see how it works out. I'm trying to motivate myself to do my Short Story assignment, as my procrastination has been a killer and it's starting to really come to the wire. I blame the fact that so much of the course is on Portal, which I don't really like going on, and thus I ignore the material by and large.

Which is a cop-out way of saying I suck without admitting I suck.

Well if you feel you like it, go get your lover and reel and rock it, roll it over and move on up just a trifle further.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

109: Run For Your Life

A fair warning, this entry is mostly going to be a nonsensical rambling about music. and when I say nonsensical, I mean that I am going to touch upon a number of unrelated musical topics before getting to the main event, which is usually a description of what happened to me today. Some interesting stuff did happen today, but right now music is on my mind.

I get on these kicks where I am really into music, and then very abruptly get sick of the music I listen to and never want to hear it. Considering I rarely am not listening to music, it's hard to discern when one phase ends and the other begins, but it's generally just a mood. I pout and go "I wish I didn't have to be listening to music all the time." Then you'd go "But Scott, you DON'T have to be listening to music all the time, you can just enjoy the silence and the natural ambient sound of the world." And I would say "Fuck! You try enjoying the ambient sound of a GO train and see how long you go without choking a bitch." That's a real conversation. We just had it. In my mind.

So for a while I was on a negative kick where I was sick of thinking about music and tired of hearing the same songs over and over. And of course the cure for this is to download something new. Of course it's hard to actively find new music to listen to, mostly I just have to find unheard songs from previously known artists. One of the best tricks is to seek out obscure Beatles songs. This entry derives its title from such a song.

"Run For Your Life" was the last track on the watershed Rubber Soul album. Now, to a certain degree, every Beatles album was a watershed of some kind (Except maybe the second, which is just a better version of the first, and Magical Mystery Tour, which doesn't qualify as an actual album.) Rubber Soul marked a great expansion of lyrical topicality, song structure, and sonic texture. Consider "The Word," which broached love as a universal topic years before "All You Need Is Love," and "Nowhere Man" which eschewed love for the first time on a Beatles record. The sitar on "Norwegian Wood" and piano-as-harpsichord on "In My Life" contributed to the bold experiments of their next record, "Revolver," and everything in the canon thereafter.

Anyway, permeating the outer text of the album is a restlessness with the boy-girl narrative. Paul McCartney had only exhibited an emotion approximating sadness or despair for the first time on the previous album's "Yesterday," but here gives great complex emotional tunes like "I'm Looking Through You" and "You Won't See Me" (I'm not saying he was great with coming up with a variety of metaphors, but both are excellent tunes) chronicling his growing frustration with his relationship with Jane Asher. "Run For Your Life," however, is a John song, and John's romantic narratives had grown darker and darker over the course of the last three albums, with Beatles For Sale (two records or approximately a year earlier) presenting "No Reply," "Baby's in Black" "I'm a Loser" (30 years before Beck!) and "I Don't Want to Spoil the Party." The next album he cried out for "Help!" and lamented that "You've Got To Hide Your Love Away" when your girl's got a "Ticket to Ride." (See what I did there? I have a degree in Journalism you know.)

So by the time of Rubber Soul, Lennon was understandably weary about relationship songs (his marriage to Cynthia was by now a disaster.) So one of the only boy-girl songs he wrote on the record was "Run For Your Life," which contains the telling lyric - "You better run for your life if you can, little girl / Hide your head in the sand little girl / Catch you with another man / That's the end / little girl." Wherein he basically declares himself to be so jealous that he will murder his girlfriend if he catches her with another man.

Now, I'm not saying that cheating isn't wrong (it is. Usually.) I'm also not saying that this is Lennon talking about his own life. Obviously he had jealous feelings, insecurities, but he wasn't a homicidal maniac. He was allowing his creative mind to wander, as writing "She Loves You Yeah Yeah Yeah" gets tedious after 3 years or so of Beatlemania. So he was indulging those creative impulses and putting a very extreme lyric (for the time - or ever, really) on a record, because by that point, it must've been like a game of "We're the number one group in the world. Let's see what we can get away with" (the end result - everything.)

Of course, Lennon isn't totally responsible for this. The first line of the song, which was the genesis of the lyric, "Well I'd rather see ya dead little girl / than to be with another man" came directly lifted from an Elvis song, so there's that. Lennon just stole it (George Harrison later did the same to a James Taylor lyric for his brilliant "Something.") Of course, Lennon was of a mental state that of course such a lyric would resonate with him but anyway.

Also notable is the fact that he considered it basically the worst song he ever wrote. So there's that. It's really not that great of a song. In fact, most of the songs I downloaded weren't all that impressive, leading me to the conclusion that perhaps I've already heard every good Beatles song by now. I downloaded 32 songs (yes, I'm a scurvy-ridden pirate of the net, yarr,) ranging from early album filler, well-known covers, and random tracks of the White Album (of which I haven't got a really high opinion anyway.) And while most of it has merit (Except for "Wild Honey Pie" which they were wrong to release, it should've been chucked in the trash,) there's nothing I really wanted to keep on my iPod. And so I have written 8 or 9 paragraphs detailing how much closer I have come to checking off every single song in the Beatles catalogue. There's a Sporcle quiz there. Nearly as many Beatles album songs as countries of the world, and I can name all the countries.

Then again, "Don't Pass Me By" (the first one penned by Ringo) is fun.

It was a nice, warm-yet-cool, crisp night for walking home from the GO station and listening to Classic Rock, specifically old Aerosmith. Back around the time of their second album, Get Your Wings, they had a really spare, funky, bluesy arrangement, hardly anything in common with their later, lush, extreme production. Toys in the Attic and Rocks lean toward the later development, but there's something so distinct and dark about the tracks on Get Your Wings. That's why I love Aerosmith. I can't imagine another band recording "Lord of the Thighs" or "Pandora's Box."

Possibly my favourite album for walking around at night is the aptly-named Nightfreak and the Sons of Becker by the Coral. I don't have it, basically any of its tracks, on the iPod anymore, because it's basically a lightweight throwaway album, but it's also very moody and atmospheric, and if you hear the songs in the right place and time it's almost a knockout. Evocative is possibly the word I'm looking for. If not, it's the one I'm sticking with.

So I was awakened by the ominous buzzing of my cell phone at 9 AM today. I'm starting to consider moving my charger to the basement so that I can't even check my messages until I've agreed to get out of bed. Not out of disrespect to the people who try to reach me at 9 AM (or, in the case of Eric, 2 AM,) but it's part of an overall pattern of behaviour. I have a policy of not getting out of bed to answer the home phone. Of course anyone calling the cell would actually be looking for me (with the exception of those occasional godforsaken insurance sales calls) but when I'm deep in sleep it freaks me way the fuck out. I don't think anyone needs to contact me that badly. We'll see.

Anyway, in this case it was a text from Ryan saying he'd be at Yonge and College, the latest installment in our attempts for me to help him at his job begging for donations to Sick Kids. Every so often he tells me where he is if he thinks it's close to where I'm at (circa the University campus) and I don't go because I haven't got the time or it's too far out or whatever. Well in this case, I decided it was good. I even got on an early train so I could go to the College TTC stop, find him, talk a while, then walk down College to U of T.

Actually, scratch that. First, I had to call up Sick Kids, with a scratchy morning voice, cancel my donation, and then get on my way. Yes, I canceled my donation so I could get a new one with my friend.

So I found him, after avoiding two other teams of his co-workers in various nearby areas. He took down my information and we talked a while, he described how much he loved the job and what some of his tactics were for getting peoples' attention. He seems really good at it. Eventually I went on my way. It was a pretty average day beyond that, although my sandwich was smooshed, which made me sad.

Sitting in Short Story class makes me want to write, which is distracting when I try to learn. PoliSci at this point is basically stuff I gleaned from the Daily Show over the past year.

Last night I stayed up good and late taking care of something (totally irrelevant what) I had been putting off forever. Now my conscience can rest easy and, at long last, I can feel secure moving forward. Oh the possibilities! I can write freely now! I feel good. Hello summer.

I had an Iced Coffee today at Tim Hortons. I wouldn't have, except it was free and it was warm out, and while I'm no stranger to drinking hot coffee on a hot day, I refer you to my first point about it being free. It wasn't an unenjoyable beverage, although I prefer Iced Caps still and won't buy another one. It wasn't as much a coffee as it was an unblended watery Iced Cap, which is coffee-like but milder. Or maybe I'm fucking crazy.

Well, I'll leave you to ponder that while I smash little birds with a hammer.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

108: We and they

It's been a long, tiring day. I've got a lot on my mind tonight, but how much of it I'll be able to push out into verbiage I'm not sure. I'm a little scattered.

I've been a little sick lately. Mostly in the mornings I wake up and I have a ton of phlegm or chest congestion and I feel pretty stuffy and headachey. Then I finally convince myself to get up, lumber down to the shower, and once I get active and stuff it pretty much goes away. Popping a ColdFx or two seems to contribute as well. And then in the evening I get ill again, but that part I chalk up to allergies because the symptoms are more consistent with that by this point (scratchy mouth, most notably.)

The annoying thing about spring is that suddenly all the couples are out of hibernation. Suddenly I'm seeing all these lovey-dovey boys and girls walking along, holding hands or leaning on each other. I was on the GO train earlier tonight with a girl all snuggled up to her guy. I've never felt motion sickness in a train before, but here I was getting queasy. Okay, I'm overdoing the bitterness shtick. The fact is I don't have much problem with this in and of itself, it's just that, well, when it's everywhere, it's kind of a pissoff. Like, suddenly people are happy being together and everything? What a phenomenon.

My brother called me at about 1:50 AM this morning, while I was lying in bed. It was freaky because I was awake, trying to get to sleep, (kinda sick) but not really asleep, and suddenly my phone starts to vibrate. I'm a little sick of the sound my phone makes on vibrate. It's really ominous and foreboding. It's a must for when I'm in class (I had a whole text conversation with RyLai during my Short Story lecture - my behaviour during that class is frankly appalling) but during times when my phone is just sitting there, it's a little terrifying.

So this conversation. Eric was in the back of a car going from downtown back to his place. He was obviously quite drunk. He had a similar conversation with B on his birthday. He poured his heart out and confessed the reason why he hadn't been on MSN in a while. Then he said something that I really didn't need to hear while trying to settle my mind and get to sleep. He said, slurred, "I feel like you're missing out on such a big part of the experience by living at home... this is what you're missing out on." And while I'm really not the party monger Eric is, part of me always does feel bad about the social aspect I've sacrificed by not immersing myself in the downtown scene. It weighs on my mind fairly often, and I really didn't need him underscoring that for me at 2 AM when I was sick and tired anyway.

Yeah. The truth? Of course it sucks, living in Oakville, going to school in Toronto, trying to account for my situation every time I meet someone, barely making connections with people. How could it not suck? It's not like the first moment I learned I got into U of T, my first thought wasn't "I'm moving to Toronto!" And then that attitude was beaten out of me. And I feel like, pretty much everyone I know who is no longer in Oakville (which is basically everyone) looks down on me for staying behind in this dead-end town.

Every so often, I think back to the possibility of moving there. It wouldn't be that hard, there's a whole organization devoted to finding housing for people. It's somewhat more than I pay for transit, but, as I said to Ryan when I was considering it last year, the cost on my soul being reduced seems like a profit. I felt so good that one night I spent there. Could it be that way always? Do I hate myself so much that I'd deny myself that?

Very few people get exactly what I've got going on down here. Living at home isn't quite "living at home" and hasn't been for a while. I go for days without talking to or even seeing my mom, she doesn't typically make more than one meal for us each week (dad does more per month.) We eat better than most university students.

All these reasons, these excuses. I don't deal with changes of routine too well, especially when it's something so drastic as my entire lifestyle. Maybe it's what I need, and not just because I'd be closer to school and able to go out drinking late.

I mean hell, nobody lives at home forever, right?* This is usually when people leave.

(Nobody normal anyhow.)

The majority of people I've met at U of T still live with family, but their family lives in Toronto. Just felt like mentioning that.

The trick tomorrow, I think, will be to not let myself get distracted.

See, after all this, I kinda hate myself now. I was feeling kinda good today too, with girls glancing at me on the subway and stuff. Little things like that cheer me up. And then I go and wrench up the awkward and self-loathing. Go me. Winner.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

107: Draw me a map!!

I'm not sure where to begin with my nothing tonight.

For a brief moment I thought I had more going on. I thought I had a reason to be writing here. A while back I was reminiscing about the days when I didn't really need a reason. It was the routine. It was the thing to do. It was the love of writing. Of course I still love writing. As blogs have become the passing fad, amidst the rise of Twitter and other similar distractions. No doubt the ghost of McLuhan is shitting himself.

Every so often the idea of getting on Twitter floats around my way. I'm not in favour of it. I faithfully update my Facebook status. I air all my shit on here. I don't need another outlet, I'm leaking nonsense enough as it is. A bunch of people I know have their Twitters linked to their Facebooks, and their phones linked to their Twitter. Man, what happened to bottling it all up?

Of course, a couple of you are all up on Twitter, and that's fine.

I had a bit of a train mishap last night. I felt like it was bound to happen yet was powerless to stop it. I set out to Hamilton to visit the Half-Past rehearsal. Except once I was on the train, Cary called to let me know the rehearsal was canceled. I had a weird feeling such a thing might happen, but tried to dismiss it as general paranoia. Guess my intuition is better than I thought.

So I got off at Appleby then waited around for 40 minutes for the train going the other way. What a waste.

Wow. This is actually the most boring entry I've pretty much ever done. I'm disappointed in myself.

I'm... I'm just gonna end it here.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

106: Don't ask me; I'll lie

Here I am putting things off again. I find it hard to structure certain days. Yesterday Ryan messaged me saying he'd be at Yonge and Wellesley if I wanted to come down and see him - we'd had a sort of business arrangement - but I was in Oakville yesterday and while going to Toronto is a relatively simple matter, I also wanted to do stuff in Oakville. And for whatever reason I think, either I'm going to be in Oakville today or be in Toronto but I'm not rushing back and forth. Incidentally, later today I'll be in Hamilton to see a rehearsal. Should be fun. The script has grown considerably since I last saw the cast, and they've got more practice, and Cary is glowing. Glowing!

It has been a busy few days though. Wednesday I got a mysterious notice saying I got a letter from Xpresspost, but I missed it and couldn't get it until the next day after 1. But basically at that time I would have to be on my way to the train station, and here we get into the ole Oakville-or-Toronto issue I just rambled about in the previous paragraph. Wednesday was also a day of new routines. We went to Dad's, then went grocery shopping, which is the new routine. Groceries are different after you've eaten. If you're hungry you want everything. If you've eaten you don't want anything, but have to imagine you will. If it's Saturday morning (*when I'll never go grocery shopping,) you're more sensible to some degree but also very oriented on snacks.

That night was the season finale of Lost. My God. I could talk about it for hours, in one sense, and in another I barely want to think about it because it's exhausting. What a season, it had ups and downs but things are in place. Impressive. Hard to believe I only just got into it last fall, after years of Chris and CB and others hectoring me to do so. Now I think it's pretty much the best thing ever done with Network Television. I mean, can I really compare it to Arrested Development or the Simpsons or How I Met Your Mother or Seinfeld? Perhaps not, but only from difference of tone rather than quality.

What I really notice wasn't what happened or who died or how which characters have changed. What I loved best about it was that from this point, it really does seem like there's only one season left to tell. I was skeptical, I was afraid, now I think, 17 episodes, or whatever's left, that sounds about right, to resolve the action and solve whatever questions need to get solved along the way. (No more nor less.) It seems an impressive storytelling feat.

After this, I was made aware Cary was back in town and he had me come over. We had drinks and watched the west coast feed of Lost. Apparently I get drunk on wine rather easily and it was somewhat amusing to him. I started telling the McDonald's story and he just went "Yeah, I read your blog." Well good.

Thursday, school. It was the first time I thought to myself this whole summer school might work, perhaps purely because I brought food this time. I've learned my lesson. The short story class is problematic because I tend to come late (travel time) and leave early (I get bored and antsy.) This may be resolved later in the summer, or it'll just keep happening over the next 5 weeks.

The main assignment for that class is interesting. The prof keeps going on about how the misconception is that you are supposed to write papers very formally and never use "I" and have five paragraphs, but this isn't so. Well, if it weren't so, I probably would've performed better in a lot of my classes, so there's my evidence.

I got all my marks back. Nothing too shocking, mostly low B's (as in, B's and B-. One C+.) I guess it could've been worse and I'm still not pleased with myself. My AmLit exam was clearly a huge comeback, although it seems like I didn't make as many gains from Shakespeare as I thought I would. Anyway, nothing shocking, and nothing that makes me feel awful, given how much time I've had to sit and think about it.

On my way home from school I wrote a poem in my head, and was pleased when it turned out well on paper.

Yesterday was my brother's 26th birthday. Hmn. I went and got my mysterious letter-- turned out to be a survey from the government. For this they needed Xpresspost? I was all excited over nothin'.

Anyway, we went to dad's for dinner, after which we met James' girlfriend's mother, who had come to pick them up. The girlfriend (with whom I went to high school) is originally from the states, and the mom has a strong but difficult to place accent. Not Southern, just sort of mid-Atlantic soccer mom. Like when she was talking about the vacuums from "Wole-Mort." It was hard to keep from imitating it. No disrespect, I just get a kick out of accents (very difficult for me not to call Claire "Clah.")

After that, we went on a long-awaited trip to the beer store to return the few hundred empties we'd accumulated, and of course get more beer.

I then proceeded to pretty much waste the night.

The good news is there are only a few more things on my to-do list. I just really need to clear them off before the summer courses start taking up real estate.

That's all for today I suppose. Keep on rockin'
-Scott

105: Sharks and dolphins

So it begins.

I started my summer courses today. It's a little overwhelming at this point. Right now it's 5 consecutive hours in class. By the end of the first class I'm squirming. By the halfway point of the second I'm both anxious to leave and hungry. I ducked out at 8:30. This may become the routine, although it's not necessarily the most beneficial to my learning experience.

There is going to be a lot expected of me in a very brief timespan. The 6-9 class lasts only until mid-June. This is both good and bad in that by the end of that month I'll be able to relax a bit more as my other class gets more busy, but it also means I've got a lot to cover in only a short time for the shorter class. A lot of readings being thrown my way. As I am likely to do, I already missed the first set because I didn't bother to check what was up on Blackboard.

Short-term pain for long-term gain, that'll be the motto this summer. To think, a year ago I was painting houses.

The nice thing about never having anything important to do before 4 PM (consequently, I have to at least make the 2:30 train) I can feel comfortable staying up to all hours of the night. The problem with this being of course a lack of motivation to really do anything much. I've got one of my stories open and I'm profoundly uncomfortable with the state I last left it in. I wrote some stuff I really intended to heavily revise, and left it. Now I'm not sure where to go. Oh me. Only I could have this problem (amongst people I know, anyway.)

What I'll probably do is devote myself to more tangible concerns. Drawing seems like a good idea. People actually read my comic. Not a lot of people, and nobody I don't personally know, but they are there reading it, so that's the same.

I really want to get this book done though. I was very close several years ago, but eventually I said "I hate this" and hit reset. How far can I get without hitting reset this time? And will it be any good. My problem seems to be I'm too easily influenced. No attention span. I can't go a week without reading something new and thinking "I wanna write like this!" For about two days I wanted to transform Half-Past into "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf" until I realized the two plays are complete opposites.

I'm too tired to keep going like this though. I just re-read some stuff I wrote a few years ago and while I'm feeling a bit tired to be getting at the typing tonight, it's put me in a good frame of mind, hopefully for tomorrow.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

104: Stay in prison till a crime is committed

It was a pretty interesting weekend.

Friday night was Risk. It was me, Chris Ferg, Pat and RyLai, and beforehand, Pat told a story about an encounter with some goons that was quite shocking. Chilling, really. Made me wonder what I could do to preserve my own safety (like, where do they sell mace?) We watched Pulp Fiction, which was actually my first time watching it, which is shocking in a way, but there's a good reason.

Back when Eric was getting into filmmaking, he was really into Tarantino, and Pulp Fiction was one of his favourite movies. Back in those days he was kinda withdrawn and would generally watch movies by himself in his room. So by the time we got to the place where most of our movie watching was done together, he was kinda over Pulp Fiction, and I never got around to watching it on my own. Besides which, by that point I'd seen so many parodies and various forms of deconstruction I felt I was already plenty familiar with it. And to some degree, that was true.

But the fact is, when we watched it, I was extremely impressed. It wasn't one of those cases where I was like "Oh yeah, this would've been really impressive 15 years ago," it really seemed quite fresh to me, even after all this time and all its influence. Maybe it was just Samuel L. Jackson.

The game itself was unusual in that shit got started basically immediately and I ended up taking the fall in a fairly dramatic showdown with Ryan that could've ended only with him destroying me, or leaving me to be destroyed by someone else. It was exciting.

Saturday, after hanging out with Amanda, I stopped by the garden center to pick up a gift for mother's day, some hanging flowers for outside. It seemed like a good idea since it's reasonably-priced, practical, and basically what she outright asked for. So there I was looking over the flowers at the garden center, and finding it was a bad idea at that time and place for two reasons:

One, there'd been a pretty nasty thunderstorm earlier that morning, and so the selection was kinda bruised. And two, I had to carry that bitch home. Surely, if I'd given a bit more thought I'd realize they had the same products at the White Store and that's much closer to my house, but... nope! Luckily, she ended up liking the ones I picked out, so, yay.

Eric came home, having been suddenly offered a lift from his housemate. After solving the mystery of what to do for Mother's Day Dinner (mom had her heart set on the Mandarin but they weren't taking orders) we got Swiss Chalet, then Eric and I spent the night hanging out watching Lost season 3, which I'd borrowed from Chris Ferg. Then we did some walking and had some good talks about writing and school and life and shit. Oftentimes when we are only around each other for a short period we get along famously, but we both know by now we can't be around each other longer than maybe a week or two.

Also he stayed longer than he'd intended, with his ride not arriving until after 11 PM this evening.

I guess no real deep thoughts tonight. Tomorrow I start back at school. I don't even exactly know what one of my courses is, but I know it's English-themed. I got one of my final marks, a B in Canadian Lit. Pretty solid, pretty expected and frankly probably on the higher end of the integer for this year. Sigh. Well, thus begins the great "mellowing out" scheme, where by letting my schedule chill at only 3-4 courses, I can focus a little better and have less shit going on at once.

I feel like I'm ready to change my attitudes about certain things. Nothing major, nothing shocking, nothing life-changing... I can't even really say what I'm getting at here. It has to do with writing, and how unsatisfied I'd been with how I've used, say, poetry as a medium. If I get back to writing it (and I think a few people want to see me do so,) it'll be enhancing certain tendencies I'd already had, but maybe suppressed in the name of being a "serious" writer. I don't want to write seriously right now, and it was never really my style.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

103: Solve a mystery or re-write history

It has been the a fairly high ranking on the level of strange days. This after I allowed the entire Wednesday to decompress from the semester.

I was awakened this morning by what sounded like a frantic commotion on the main floor. I've grown oddly accustomed to tuning such things out, so I paid little notice and rolled over and went back to sleep. I'd be pretty useless in a housefire.

A little while later I got a knock on my door. Brandon. He explains, pretty bluntly, that his cat Rocky died earlier that morning. It was really shocking. There had been some signs, some stomach troubles over the years, but I guess we didn't see them as urgent warning signs, and even trips to the vet never yielded anything seeming severe. Last night before I went to bed, he seemed to be coughing something up, and this apparently continued all through the night. Sometime around 8, he was gone.

It's hard to take care of pets, to know how serious something is or what to do about it. Would a trip to the veterinary emergency room have saved the cat? (Are they open in the middle of the night? You'd think.) That's the type of thing that's gonna linger a while, although the general consensus is that there wasn't anything we could do. Maybe that's a too-casual viewpoint, but it's at least a lot more comforting than "If you'd taken the cat to Mississauga at 3 AM he'd still be alive." I was having this very discussion with Manda a few weeks ago about pet health.

Anyway, that's sort of set the grim tone of the day. Brandon has gone through a range of emotions. Not outwardly, but he's described them to me. At first he felt that guilt but he seems to have gotten to a place where he can start to move on a little bit. Obviously it hurts. He was as attached to that cat as any person has ever been to an animal without it being too creepy. I often wonder whether animals feel love and affection or they just respond to our conditioning, but in either case you could see the bond between Brandon and Rocky not only in the way Rocky would always concern himself with Brandon's whereabouts, but the way he acted when Brandon was not around... very despondent, listless.

I believe in being honest about death, and part of what bothers me about this one was that I used to kid around a lot with Brandon about how Rocky was my enemy, how I hated him and all that stuff. The truth is, I'm a guy who loves his shtick and that was some of the classic stuff. And while it was partially grounded in reality - Rocky could be irritating, he could be inconvenient and annoying - I appreciated his presence. He was a nice, well-mannered cat. He wasn't quiet, and that was part of my problem with him, and whenever I would taunt Brandon about him I tended to lay it on thick. I regret that those jokes are now gone, and I'm sad that the poor cat, who really was a sweetheart (don't tell my brother I said that) is gone after only 11 years with us.

My plan for today was to go to Toronto and meet up with Jasmin, whom I hadn't seen since the thick of winter. I was nearly an hour late, due mostly to poor planning on my part, as well as the craziness of the morning.

We met up at a Second Cup, and then went on a lengthy walk around the neighbourhood that took us from Spadina to Yonge and back. We talked school, life, poetry, and the reason why I'd come - to Fake ID's. She had a bizarre request. She's going to the opera with a friend, and got discount tickets because she was a student, but her friend is over 30, so... apparently, since he vaguely resembles me, and I'm a student, my ID is a "just in case" contingency.

But yeah, we spent a lot of time talking poetry. Recently I've kinda been getting down on the entire form, just because I was beginning to doubt whether I had anything interesting to say within it anymore, and whether I ever had to begin with. Maybe University, which initially infused me with appreciation for it, has sucked the love right out of me. (That sounds graphic.)

Well last night, Robyn gave me an offer I wish I'd been able to accept, to come to Guelph and do her poetry-appreciation radio program. Like, and read some stuff I'd written. Plus, I'd get to hang out with her for a long while, which is always nice.

Thursdays being as busy for me as they are, even without Fake ID's, cat deaths and job fairs, I was unable to accept, but leaving the door open for a later appearance after the summer smester has begun and I feel comfortable ditching class to read poetry over the airwaves to potentially hundreds of stoned Guelph students. Because I think that idea is far too cool to pass up, and also it's always important for me to be there for my friends, because I may need some of them to be there for me someday.

The last thing of the day was the job fair, which I was dismissive about beforehand, because I have a relaly, exceptionally low opinion of the Sheridan Job Centre. But it's not like I've got anything else going on, so I went and handed out a couple resumes and got some information, so hopefully something comes from that. I just haven't got any delusions about it.

I need to relax tomorrow, and perhaps burn off some of that pesky to-do list. It's gotten a little lengthy, but manageable. This should be a productive weekend. Maybe.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

102: Another circle

It feels later than it is.

Now, it's nearly 1 AM so let's not misunderstand. It's pretty late. And it's Tuesday night, for what it's worth. I say this because I've found myself having trouble keeping track of the date lately, particularly today. But dates later, time now.

The AmLit exam yesterday went awesomely, by the way. It was every question I could've wanted (minus the one on female sexuality) and I feel I made far better points than I even expected to (using Thomas King's Coyote Columbus Story and Moore's Canonical Babbling to demonstrate the use of humour to estrange the reader from difficult reality,) and I even kicked ass on the sight passage (for which I chose the Lady from Lucknow. I guess by coincidence everything I wrote about was done in the last few weeks of class. Funny, that.)

Today was my history exam. I knew it wasn't going to go well, and it went along the upper lines of my expectations. Not great, but not a total disaster. I didn't really care. Unfortunate, but at this point, all I really wanted was to punctuate the last sentence of that exam and get the hell out.

I showed up really early and chatted with this dude I kinda know from film, and some girls who were around, one of whom as it turns out was in my CanLit course (another girl, from both CanLit and Shakespeare, was also around, and I'd had no idea she was in this class too.) The CanLit girl, Zoe, I'd remembered because she always sat in front and talked with the prof. We got to talking as thought we went way back, which is always fun when you've really just met the person.

The exam format was three essay questions. In preparation, we were given eight essay questions, of which three would be the exam. It was, of course, an insane preparation tactic. You can't learn eight full essays worth of material. Five maybe. I'd say there were maybe four questions I could've done really well on, and one of them actually was on the exam - discussing the effects of 1968 protests on European societies. The second question was on the Yalta conference, not such a terrible topic, just not one If'm going to be able to mine for everything.

The last question was the one I'd dreaded, knew was going to be on the exam (purely through intuition) and was powerless to escape, regarded the roles of Secret Police. I got maybe a half an answer before repeating myself, then thinking "Fuck it! I'm done" and walking out at the two hour mark, just as I said I would. I'm not terrifically proud of myself, but at least I know my limits.

I picked up my exam on the way out. I'd already gotten my mark, and the comments weren't terribly surprising. It boils down to the same problem I've had all year - I make some good points but structure my arguments badly. I accept the complete blame for this. I am working to improve myself. It's done. I'm over it.

So I walked out into the sun, into a warm spring breeze, but sadly I never got that feeling of freedom you get when you know you're done school for an extended period, due largely to the whole summer course thing. So walking out of that exam the best I could say is "I have nothing pressing in the immediate future!" I feel like I've robbed myself of some sense of relief.

So I got home and just kinda... vegged. It's been a long year and I've left it behind. I'm going to miss some of it. Some of the faces I never met. People I always saw but never spoke to and thus formed opinions of that are now permanent. People I did speak to but didn't know well. The girls in film history (I'll probably see them next year) Claire (I'm sure to run into her again sooner or later.) The profs. The routines. The routes I'd walk, the particular seats I'd staked out in each lecture hall. There were some good memories, but in the end it was so much stress.

Onward to the next thing.

It is now legitimately late, nearing 2. I distracted myself for a while with Cracked.com and other things. I've got a new idea for a play. I might actually have some time to do some writing in the near future. We'll see...

Keep on rockin'
-Scott

101: My secrets would bore you

Tick tock, the sound of everlasting procrastination.

I can't believe I'm still here, at the wonderful Innis computer lab, at 4 PM. I got up at 9 this morning to catch the 10:30 train to Toronto because I figured - rightly - that if I was hanging around the house all day I wouldn't get any studying done of any kind. What I didn't count on was how difficult it would be to concentrate even here. I've said repeatedly and without contradiction that I'm really my own worst enemy.

I've browsed my history text book. That's the one that worires me the most. Interested as I am in the subject, I haven't been as engaged by it as I would be by English or Film. It's tomorrow and it consists of three essay questions, no options, answer 'em all. For prep we were given a sheet with eight potential questions. as it stands I have enough for maybe most of an essay on 5-6 of them, a vague idea of certain other ones, and not much clue how to begin on others. If I'd done worse on my paper in that class, I'd feel more intimidated. If I'd done better I'd feel more secure. Right now I just want it to be over. Sick of people going "You still have exams??"

Kinda tired of explaining myself in general, but it happens. Yesterday was a family gathering, cousin Ali's birthday. We actually saw Elizabeth and her kids, which is rare, but less rare this time of year. Apparently Elizabeth didn't know I was at U of T. There are a few factors that would contribute to this. One is that I have a habit of effacing my personal business with family members. One is that we don't see that side of the family all that often, and when we do I don't speak to her much. The other is that I probably assumed that it had gotten around to her anyway through the family grapevine. The other possibility, which I wouldn't discount, is that I may have mentioned it at some point and she forgot. Who knows? Doesn't matter. She pointed out that I was the only one of our generation to go to university, and only a couple of our aunts had been. Maybe just one, but I think two. It doesn't seem like much of an accomplishment.

It was one of the better gatherings, it always is when there are enough kids to play with each other and we don't need to constantly entertain them. It can also get kinda raucous because there's a bit of a personality clash between Cam/Ali and Madison/Aaron, because they're not always around each other. So that situation is ripe for kiddy-drama, especially when Madison tries to force her little brother to tie his balloon to his chair, and accidentally undoes it. Whoops.

Eventually, Elizabeth needed to take Madison and Aaron (and her mom was also there) home, but after that it was a cinch playing with Cam and Ali. They like going on dogwalks, which is considerably preferable to wrestling, which they also love.

Anyway. I'm here at Innis, my AmLit exam is at 7, I'm wondering what I'm gonna do about food. It's hard to think about at this point, I guess it'll be more relevant at 6:00 when I'd normally be eating anyway. I definitely don't want to starve during the exam - which thankfully is only a 2-hour affair - but it's not that unusual a thing for me to do. Working at HMV I used to mess around with my food schedule all the time, often not eating until I got home at the end of the night, because I'd get the 5-9:30 no-break shift. There was a time, the first time I worked there, that I began to really detest the basic human ritual of ingesting food. This was obviously a veryt crazy time for me when I was questioning things we ought to take for granted, like, you know, food.

It wasn't the act of eating, per se, but the act of selecting and enjoying meals. The whole process of finding something you like to eat that will give you what you need and not eating the same thing every day. I later learned to expand my horizons to the point where I no longer worry about such things. It's kinda pointless. you've just gotta accept, sometimes you must eat.

While the whole summer employment thing doesn't look likely, I do take solace in the fact that I'll be in school and thus busy all summer anyway. This will be very different from the last two where depression really set in. Besides, between the play, and the presence of friends who last year were in Europe, and tons of other stuff going on, I'm pretty well set this year. It looks good.

That said, I haven't given up on the job hunt. I never take it seriously over the summer because right now I know there's a job for me in the fall/winter, at least temporarily. Still, I will be going to the godforsaken job center this wednesday for the lousy job fair that always fails to impress. My opinion of them was set in stone the first time I handed in my resume and filled out their forms, and waited several months only to receive an e-mail asking whether I'd found a job yet.

But maybe things will be different.

So my AmLit exam. It's in a couple hours, and I feel like I know this stuff pretty well. Similarly to the history exam we were given preparation questions but of a different nature. We are to answer one question of four provided, and were given a sheet with six potential questions, so "prepare three," each drawing on two sources. I've got my three. Use of humour, female sexuality, and poetry as a subject of poetry. Those, ranked in order of preference.

Humour would be a good one to tackle, because of Lorrie Moore's "Canonical Babbling in Peed-Onk" (a story whose charm belies its seemingly-nonsensical title.) I'd like to write this up with Pat Parker's poetry, because of ridiculously similar themes, although it's hard to classify Parker's work as "laugh-out-loud" funny, it's very intense and provocative, and that makes for funny. Alternatively, I could ease in some Thomas King. Dang that guy gets ink in the University lecture halls. I wanna be that, but unfortunately I ain't no native.

Female sexuality would be an easy fallback, as one could easily draw parallels between Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf and A Streetcar Named Desire. I mean come on, it's practically a pre-packaged deal. I could even work Parker in there if I wanted.

I'm hoping it doesn't come down to poetry as a subject of poetry because I know I'd end up writing about Ginsberg and as much as I love Ginsberg's work, I am still haunted by my epic fail of an essay. Anyway, I'd pair him up with some W.C. Williams, which sounds fair considering their association. The Red Wheelbarrow is an excellent meditation on modernist poetry. That, and it's just fun to say.

I guess I'll be going into this one as prepared as I am for anything. I know the material. I know what to say. If I'd done better on the paper I'd be more confident, but test-taking is different. I tried something different then, and it failed miserably, and I've learned my lesson.

I wish I could have a do-over, honestly, because this was a such a good course I did not do it justice with my mark. That's where the whole "summer school" thing becomes handy, because I've recognized the problem and am taking steps to fix it for once in my life. It shows actualy real personal growth. Awesome.

Well I've been typing this off and on for nearly an hour. Yeesh. I just want this exam to get underway. I don't even really know where it is. Somewhere on Spadina, at the edge of the realm.

I just wanna be done, so I can move on.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto