G: Intentionally unplugged

I'm going to be around for a while tonight. I'm not going to school tomorrow, ostensibly to work on my English essay. It's not going to kill me: it's only 1200 words, which is about 4 pages double spaced. I know this because the draft I have saved on my harddrive of my Cinema Studies paper is 1200 words before I re-tooled the last paragraph and added the intro and conclusion; it reaches to the bottom of the 4th page.

The Cinema Studies paper was not very good. It was pretty much a high schooler's summary of the two theorists I was examining, with hardly a decent original or critical thought to be found. But I often find my own appraisal of situations like these to be a lot harder than the people whose opinions matter. I've been coasting -- utterly fucking coasting -- in my US studies class, because I have a basic understanding of the concept of historiography despite my utter lack of desire to keep up with readings. I am the worst student and the only reason I get away with it is because I get away with it. It's shaped like itself, I just am.

My last entry, I wrote before work on Friday in one of my apocalyptic panics, which lingered throughout the weekend and is temporarily subsiding. I get like this from time to time, where everything in the world is the end of all life on Earth, and it doesn't help that I often feel it in a literal sense. Everyone who can go through life in the 21st century without constantly freaking the fuck out about everything, I salute, because being at least partially aware of the looming dread hasn't helped me cope or to contribute to bettering society or fixing our problems one bit. It just makes me worry about things that are far far beyond my grasp. For a brief moment, some years ago, I thought the world was going to end in 2012, but I realized a little later that that would be too convenient, too easy, almost like cheating. Plus, there's no real problem with this theory: if you have to go, it's best to go with the rest of mankind in one giant death sentence handed down by an ancient Mesoamerican serpent bird god. But we know his isn't going to happen, because the future is not in some 5000-year-old New Year tradition. Shit, the people using the damn calendar felt comfortable enough to calculate dates beyond it. But enough about the apocalypse. I'm just getting riled up here.

I just can't shake this gloom even though life in general isn't that bad. The prospects aren't what I'd like, but as far as the present, it is what it is. That's the weird thing about life. Even if you happen to have an idea of where you'd like to end up, it's hard enough to draw up a route of how to get there.

I've been writing lately, between schoolwork, work and procrastination. I'm maybe too satisfied with myself for that, but I know many people who want to write but can't manage to work it into their lives. I've never had that problem because whatever else I've got going on often has to take a secondary place if I feel I need to write. This includes, hell, practically embodies schoolwork. I spent more energy and focus trying to connect characters in my play than I did trying to connect film theorists. That's what's real to me, not reality.

I once heard that the one true answer to "Why do you write?" is "Because I'd die if I didn't." That's silly. Don't be so quixotic. You'd be fine, just with a lot of pent-up shit that wasn't getting on the page. I could "not write" I just don't want to.

I recently got a Tumblr just to post things. A lot of old writing before I started generating new stuff. The occasional bigger-than-Twitter, smaller-than-SWP thought. I've posted a few old poems, and two new stories. Mainly, the people that follow me, (who found me through an Internet acquaintance, Phil Roland,) "like" in varying turns, the stuff I post. This girl like this, that guy likes that, some people like stuff more than others. One of my poems was reblogged, which in a nice feature. Very occasionally, there's a comment beyond "likes this." The point is, like Twitter, Tumblr is a networked blog site where I see entries by the same people and they see mine. I see the value and I enjoy it.

Blogger has tried similar options. I reject them. I don't follow anyone on here although it's fair game for someone to follow me. I realized earlier tonight that the benefit of SWP, and why I might be coming back around to it after forsaking it for Twitter and other services for a while, is that here I'm unplugged. I'm disconnected. I'm not part of the community, I just am, and people can visit and click away in isolation without a bunch of other sites being dragged into it. I don't just post links ever, I'm always writing these entries about my life and they rarely if ever have a point and I like it that way. Do you get it? I'm remembering what felt so instinctual in 2004.

My point is that it feels good knowing that this place, amidst the increasingly crowded, network-obsessed nature of the new Internets, I still have my little undiscovered country where a few people browse, realize the stupid crap I say, and leave, only occasionally commenting (not that I mind the comments.) It feels nice to have this. It's rare in this day and age that you really feel like you engage on that level.

If that makes any sense.

Take it home and keep on rockin
-Scotto

H: For no one

I'm frustrated by my life and by the internet. I was staring blankly at a webpage a few minutes ago wondering what the hell I was doing. It was a rare moment of recognition, the likes were often written about by Kracauer and the other Frankfurt writers. If that reference doesn't make sense to you, don't worry, I only used it to prove to myself I understood anything about what I've learned.

Maybe when I get out of University, I'll start living. I won't settle for a meaningless job that pays the bills and I won't forget this ambition I've had since I was a teenager to get paid to write. The shitty thing about my having this ambition is that every time I read or see something I like it gets me fucking depressed I couldn't think of it, and then I think of the things I have been able to think of and I kinda hate them because I know how I thought of them.

I never learned to prepare for the future, only to delay it. I don't regret going to University, although I wonder if I would've done anything more productive with my time if I hadn't, or if I'd just end up still working at the mall 4 years later.

I'm frustrated with this new play. I'm frustrated by the fact that writing doesn't come as naturally to me at 23 as it did at 16, although what I do write is at least better. But being able to think harder and more critically also places more roadblocks. I was more satisfied with myself then, although I'm definitely just romanticizing the period.

The application for the Fringe Festival was due on the 15th and we didn't submit. The play, as is, isn't ready, but I knew that and still wanted to submit it. But I wasn't going to submit it if Cary didn't want to, and he's getting major-ass cold feet, possibly because, draft after draft, it's still just "getting there." And $700 is a hefty pricetag for a play you're not sure you're pleased with.

But I regret not hitting submit. Cary wants to go back to the Hamilton BBF Emerging Artist series. I don't love that idea. I liked the idea of doing it in Toronto where it could be seen and where, yes, money was involved. This feels like going backwards, which I guess is an odd thing to complain about when you just admitted to romanticizing your crappy high school writing. But if I could combine my self-assurance in my writing from back then (and if nothing else it does feel like I was self-assured in my writing) with a more practical avenue for theatre today, I'd be happy. Happier, anyway.

I'm being a bit unfair to Hamilton. I have many great memories of that show, but I know you can never go back and I wish, oh God do I wish we had pulled the trigger on this Fringe thing.

But all that's assuming I ever finish this play to a point where it's both funny and emotionally satisfying. I suck.

There you go, kids. Classic SWP.
Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

I: It's everything and nothing more

It's after 1 AM on a Tuesday night and I'd probably be better served by going to bed, but it's been a weird week and I've earned my blogging.

Unfortunately, going a week without writing in here always means that so much noise has piled up in my life that nothing seems so significant anymore. so I rant about nothing in particular until I feel the need to stop because I'm not getting anywhere. So here it is.

Last Wednesday I gave my group presentation on the Restoration Theatre and the actress. We didn't really co-ordinate our efforts that well. I rambled a bit, mostly recounting my information off the top of my head. I'm not an accomplished speech-giver and I feel more comfortable when I'm attempting to gather my thoughts at once. It may not be any more effective, but it's certainly more satisfying.

After my brief talk situating the Restoration in the historical context -- with a brief rundown on the English Civil War, Oliver Cromwell and Charles I & II, I showed a clip from the movie Stage Beauty. When I signed up for this presentation I had that movie in mind (I must've still been in high school when I saw it.) It was nice that the week before, when the Prof called us together to discuss the presentation, she mentioned the movie. As a historical document, it hasn't got much value, but it made for a nice interruption of the usually dry tone of these presentations. I showed a clip of Billy Crudup teaching Claire Danes how to act as Desdemona. The girl who talked after me went way too long and in far too much detail. I felt super-awkward standing next to her the rest of the presentation.

Afterward I went back to the two girls I've made friends with (dude you should totally hit that) and was complimented for including the clip. Between the three of us, only one had read the play we were supposed to discuss, so she led us through a primer in our mini group discussion and we managed to come up with some pretty convincing material. I'm convinced I've accidentally become one of the Prof's favourite students. She calls other people by my name, and gave me a rather good mark on what I would consider a rather sloppy in-class essay about Henry IV. Well, maybe it being in-class she cut me some slack.

Thursday, I closed with Ryann and Dana. Work is getting weird. I'm pretty sure Karen is bitter at me for some issues regarding the previous week where I was in charge of New Release night and we had to stay an hour late. It was a mess and she's not letting me forget it. (Of course, it's not entirely my fault, we were supposed to have an extra person -- guess who -- but am I going to tell her that? Fuck no. Life's hard enough.)

The weekend was a drag. I put off working on my Film Theory essay until late, per my usual MO. Maybe I'm getting too old to be such a slacker. Maybe there's just too much nonsense in my life to really care. I don't know. If I had more time I'd go on and on but the later it gets the more desperate I am to wrap this up.

Saturday, dad and I finally got rid of the TV. During the week some hooligans (HOOLIGANS!!) had moved it over to a neighbour's lawn, so I had to move it back to the backyard. Then dad had to borrow Alex's truck and we hauled the TV down to the dump. Actually, that was all rather easy, much easier than dad's earlier attempt to transport the big-ass CRT TV in his Toyota (although that was a nice thought since it was spur of the moment.)

Sunday night is when I finally got around to that paper, after combing my articles the previous night for relevant quotes. It wasn't that hard to put together, although with the work I put in I doubt if the mark will be stellar. Don't care. not really engaged with the material. Bummed out. Just wanna be done. Can't believe I signed up for this shit. what is this I don't even.

Taylor, my Omegle friend, is back on the internet after a several-months banishment. It's nice to have her back on a semi-consistent basis.

I finished the film paper on Monday morning. Monday night I was in charge of new releases again. We got out at ten. As we were walking out, the phone started ringing and I suspect it was Karen calling in case we were still working on it. I'm hoping that the knowledge that I'm capable of doing this right (albeit with one more person than we used to need back when it was me, Adam/Jeff and Alan/Gus) will get her to cut me a bit more slack because I can really see her opinion of me slipping. It's hard to keep things sane, too, because while she rarely remembers the good she never forgets the bad. I can be great at my job 99% of the time but the one night I screw up becomes her entire perception of me.

And I take my shit seriously.

It rained tonight on my way home.

I started a Tumblr. I mainly uses it to repost links and old writing, although it was the primary medium for a new story I just wrote, the first new thing I've done in a while. It came to me while I was not paying attention in US Studies.

I'm not a very good student. The last assignment I handed in came back pretty much saying "It's good, but you did it wrong. 77%." I can live with that.

More and more I drift away.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

J: Get excited for the darkness

Oh, brother, what a life.

I'm taking up space at Pratt library right now between classes. I should be eating and reading the Country Wife for my Brit Lit class. I should be preparing my presentation or doing anything but Goddamn I haven't blogged in over a week, been meaning to get this one out for days.

I got sidetracked. I had a little venture for this year's NaNoWriMo despite or perhaps because I knew I wouldn't be able to complete it. It ate up a lot of my free time before I finally recognized the foolishness and tapped out at 11,000 words. NaNo is for people with nothing else to be writing and I'm still working on this play. Cary and I have had a bit of discussion over where to present it, Cary proposed doing the U of T drama fest but I haven't heard anything about that and even so the applications for Fringe are coming due so we'd better get out shit together.

Either way. I don't mind, so long as it gets out there. But I do need to perform some serious rewrites because there are parts that work well and parts that don't. Then again, Half-Past didn't entirely work but people (except my brother and one of my aunts) don't tend to focus on what doesn't work, I guess because unlike those two they don't know what else I'm capable of. Shit, I don't even know what I'm capable of.

The weekend went well. It began with a bit of relief as Penny called me on Wednesday to tell me I wouldn't be needed at Dorval. That had been a source of angst just earlier that morning when I looked at my schedule, with all the shit I had coming up, and thought how my life isn't my own anymore and I don't have time for anything, even important things, if I'm working 16 hours on two days I'd otherwise have free.

So she left a message to tell me it was fine, and I called back not doing a very good job hiding my relief and joy. the rest of the weekend went well although I did, as predicted, get called on to fill in for Jess on Saturday. Oh Jess. When DO you work.

Thursday I opened and met the new temp, Shannon, who is like Dana a transplant from Superstore. I like having new coworkers with experience, it gets through that awkward phase of having to explain everything to them and basically the only problem is making sure they know where everything is in the store. Oh, and the always-present "YOUR store does this, OUR store did that." Well, this is your store now. C'mon.

So she and I opened and the morning went well and really the weekend was a breeze although there was a lot of busy shit with Eric coming back for his birthday and all the everything involved got me real tired for that so Sunday night wasn't as productive as it could've been.

Monday wasn't, either. I had Monday and Tuesday off, and Monday half of it was spent with a guy mom had called to look for dead animals. There's been a phantom odor emanating from the furnace but he said it wasn't a dead animal, although we do probably have mice. Maybe we shouldn't have dragged out feet on replacing Rocky.

I worked that night, new releases, which was a lot less stressful with four people instead of three, being able to pre-strike and get out at 10. Karen made a snide remark about how long it took the previous week, although I don't think she meant it maliciously I still found it a little galling, since we were shorthanded. (Gus was supposed to close with us, but Karen asked Gus to take her shift earlier in the day, but didn't take his... so yeah.)

Tuesday was a bit better since I eventually buckled down and did my work for the presentation I have today. Still though, I could've done a lot more and am still considerably behind on shit. I have reviews, I have readings, I have play revisions. I don't know, man.

I've gotta get off the twitter. I've gotta get off the blogs. I've gotta find some time to get my shit together or it's never done get done.

Well, that ain't happening. Guess I'll continue trying to do everything at once.

Keep on rockin
-Scotto