E: What makes you think it's over?

So I've made it through yet another installment in this 13-part series we call first semester.

As is likely to become habit, I left class early today. It was a rather enlightening lecture on the Tell-Tale Heart, which I read back in grade 7 and have only the faintest memory of. In fact I'm not entirely sure whether I read that, the Black Cat, or both. I left at the half (~7:30) before she could dig into Fall of the House of Usher, because as helpful as that would have been, my will to get home before 11 was far stronger.

I actually rather like this prof's lecturing, despite some initial uncertainty. No maybe not my favourite ever, but I'm not leaving early because I am bored with hearing her talk. Nothing especially exciting, mind you, but good enough to take. I liked Rayter's 6-9 class because not only did I find him an exceptionally good lecturer, that even when I wasn't that into the material I liked hearing him talk about it, but he also had an endearing tendency to end his classes early, making it pointless to sneak out early because except in rare cases I was able to catch the 8:43 train home. I liked Kuhn, but it didn't stop me from stepping out of his class early most of the time.

In no particular order my favourite profs at U of T have been Reibetanz, Rayter, Kuhn, Kiel, King, Cobb. Ackerman, my Drama prof this semester, and leading candidate for that list, is a lot like Cobb, who I wasn't sure if I ought to include. And Mackenzie isn't as much of a horror as people claimed he'd be. Not so far anyhow.

I skipped my 6-9 class last night so I could get to the supermarket in Oakville before it closed. Is that weird? Yeah it's weird, but such things happen. I'm weird and I do weird things.

Today wasn't much of a day anyhow. I got up, I hung around the house a while and left at such-a-time that I'd get to Toronto an earlier than I needed just so I could hang around a while in a different location. In film we watched MASH or M*A*S*H although it's an acronym so I guess the asterisks are supposed to be periods which would make it M*A*S*H* which doesn't look right at all. It stands for Mobile Army Surgical Hospital in case you're culturally impaired. It was made into a sitcom starring Alan Alda, that guy who turns up in things and you sometimes wonder "What's the guy from?" It's M*A*S*H. He was the guy from M*A*S*H.

The original movie was directed by Robert Altman, who directed a number of great films you and I haven't either of us seen. Well, you maybe saw Short Cuts, but I haven't. But I doubt you saw Prairie Home Companion. nobody saw Prairie Home Companion, except the people who were in Prairie Home Companion, which was everybody. Paradox.

I was talking to my friend Victoria, a girl I met outside that very classroom (Innis Town Hall, home base for all film majors) a year and a half ago, sometime toward the end of our first year. After reading week, I guess. It's become disturbingly clear over the years how bad my habit of picking up casual female platonic acquaintances has gotten. In most classes I have one, sometimes two, although some are holdovers. Consider Daron (a girl with a boy's name) whom I met in Shakespeare and now have Drama with (the class, not the concept.) In Shakespeare, I hung out with Claire, whom I met in Poetry, where I was really mainly friends with Jasmin. In short, what the fuck is wrong with me? I take this to be the status quo and my dick decided long ago that actually getting laid is not a really high priority, so I meet women and forget to ask them out ever. Usually because I get to know them and lose interest in anything more than polite acquaintanceship. Don't ask why, it's not because they're unappealing. It's because I'm both too lazy to take the risk and because I know I'll meet another girl sooner or later anyway. It's a process that keeps repeating. What the fuck, Scott. You're the source of your own problem. You know how to break the ice, but you don't actually know what to do after that.

Unless you are drinking.

Solution: I should come to class drunk more.

Anyway, the entire purpose of me mentioning Victoria was to give myself a reason to get onto that tangent because it hit me when I was on the train and it sat in my brain waiting to be released in SWP form, so you're welcome. Or rather, my condolences, if you're reading this.

I don't intend on trying to cure this problem here. I'm not even entirely sure it is a problem. There was a time when I was utterly and totally intimidated by women, even the girls who were my friends. At some point I got over it, possibly out of pure necessity. i have no idea when or how, but by the end of grade 12 I left that particular quirk behind.

I dunno. I've been thinking about it after yesterday, I ran into one of these girls in the library and there was one of those innocuous little moments I tend to over-analyze in my head. I'm more prone to those things the prettier I find the girl. Just because I don't get paralyzed with awkwardness doesn't mean I deal with it any better. Not that I obsess like I did back in the day, but you know. Or maybe you don't.

Well you should know by now, if you've been reading since the beginning of this entry, that I'm pretty insane. Let alone previous entries. Let alone!

I don't wanna know what the future holds. I'd rather just allow the present to wash over me and make sure I learn from the past (hint: I haven't yet.)

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto