9:00 AM: It's broken and it will break you

A day full of predictable surprises.

Yesterday in film we watched Tightrope, a rather obscure Eastwood film. Not a film he directed, but one that clearly bore his mark as star and driving force; a vehicle. The "actor as auteur," the lecture was called. In a way, it leaned toward deconstructing the ultra-masculine archetype he played in Dirty Harry and other roles. It had some interesting ideas, but execution that had us shaking our heads and laughing out loud. Still, some of the best films to watch are the ones that engage you in that way. During Heaven's Gate last week all I could do was sit and in stunned silence at this appalling thing happening onscreen. I tried to explain that one to Eric, and I had to do so in terms of Manos. Tightrope was written and directed by Richard "Rub And" Tuggle. McKenzie's joke about him was to refer to him as "The Great" Richard Tuggle, because he one movie before this one, and none after, and this was his first film as director, and did one afterward. With the exception of Cleopatra Jones, I think, every film we have watched up until now has been by somebody. The important thing about this movie is that it was by nobody - Eastwood essentially calling the shots.

After that, we tackled Alice Munro in Short Story. She won't be on the final, but we talked about her anyway. I already read the book last year in Canadian Lit, and then read the first story (Royal Beatings) over the summer in that short story class. There's some really good stuff in there about what it means to build up a narrative of oneself. After all, the book is called "Who Do You Think You Are?" a title that English profs jizz over year after year. I can't think of a single more meaningfully-titled piece amongst all the texts I've studied in University English, although to be fair I'm not thinking about it very hard. In The Skin of a Lion and Elle have a certain degree of cache, and there are your Drama entries like Ghosts and Earnest (particular attention paid to the subtitle "A serious play for trivial people.")

The plan for today, at one point, was to go see Joe at Starbucks, hang around doing a study group with my film pals, go home and eat dinner, then maybe, if I felt up to it, go out and see some noir films for free in Toronto with Eric.

Well the study group was canceled, which I was fine with since I don't really need to study this one, not urgently anyway. I did go see Joe - in fact getting up early to do so. I was the only friend there, and it was a subdued, un-microphoned performance of most of his notable songs and some interesting covers. Integrated I'll Melt With You into Hourglass, and Ain't No Sunshine into Every Message Sent. Both worked very well.

We talked a little bit afterward, but not much. I had a book to return to the library, and while I was on the subway, I missed a call from who else but Karen. That's where the predictable surprise comes in. I hadn't gotten a call in a while, wondered if maybe they were over with due to the influx of new blood, but apparently one of my compatriots Jamie had called in sick with flu (not sure if it's H1N1 or classic) so I was on deck. I like to think of myself as the first call, but the reality is probably just her being fair since I tend to get fewer hours due to my limited availability. Such is life.

So I called from the train around 2 and said I could come in at 3. And that was that. No Noir films but lots of stocking. Cait was there for a few hours, Chantelle for the whole time, others. Slow night. A fair bit of slacking. But fun.

Another predictable surprise is me coming home and not writing the play, much as I like to. As I draw nearer to te completion I keep fidgeting and fussing with it in my head, trying to draw the line between too subtle and too obvious. I tend to lean toward the obvious, as much as I like to give the audience credit, sometimes I don't know how to say what I mean to without coming right out with it, the way you sometimes wish a character would, or wish they wouldn't when they do.

Tone. I'm struggling a bit with tone. At least, in my head I am. I'm confident in the humour at this point, which had been a source of angst, and now I just want to make sure that it is thematically sound. Revise, revise, revise that bitch. But I guess I ought to get it done first. It's on its way, just not tonight. There was one scene I knew was wholesale wrong, and the better version I daydreamed up the other day, but I have yet to put it on paper. Well that's my affair.

Might as well sneak out. Yawn. Time to go wake myself up by brushing my teeth and then struggle to get back to sleep. Tomorrow another work day.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto