devon

I'm gone for a few days. Leave me e-mails at seasoncycle at gmail.com.

Sometimes I wonder if I made the conscious decision to go mad, would it lighten my stress level? I'm eating a pack of Rolaids a day on top of my prescription. I'm one step away from chugging Maalox from the bottle.

All I want to do is hit the hooch, but there's no time for that. No time at all.

I currently hold in my sweaty, moderate-sized hands a Golden Ticket for the two-day musicfest of Lollapalooza. I've waited a long time to say those words. I would have liked to have seen it in its heyday, but I'm still very pleased to be attending an overcrowded festival in Chicago to see the Pixies, Dinosaur Jr, the Arcade Fire, Ambulance Ltd, whatever project Perry Farrell is now involved with, and scads of others rock my limbs off.

For a poor li'l dingus working in an ice-cream shoppe in St. John's, Nfld – where the biggest attraction of the year has been a local Irish music festival (ok, Pearl Jam are finally coming here after a million years this September; The Constantines did play a fun show at Junctions this March; still...) – this is pretty cool.

I haven't updated in a while, but I got tagged by </a></b></a>lalaloveyou, so I figured I'd actually fill the shaz out.

My six favourite songs right now are:

"Girlfriend Is Better" – Talking Heads
I've had Stop Making Sense for a while, but I usually just listen to whatever studio albums are on my iPod. But I'm starting to feel like the live stuff trumps the studio work – it feels more alive, at times zanier, at times more plotted, but always more true to life than even a stellar album like Remain In Light. "Girlfriend Is Better" wasn't a song I knew before (since I don't have Speaking In Tongues) but the vocal melodies on it blew me away as I burned down Cornwall Ave. while late for work.

"Dummy Discards A Heart" – Deerhoof
When I first heard Deerhoof I wanted to barf. When I second heard Deefhoof I wanted to barf. When I third heard Deerhoof, I started listening a little more carefully and got turned on to the weirdo '50s girl-group vocals over grinding, dynamic rockin'. Now I wander aroudn my house shrieking in ultra-high falsetto, and my dogs bark at me.

"But I'm Different Now" – The Jam
Everyone says older stuff is better to gain cred, but I really love The Jam infinitely more than any of contemporary guys who've trolled the record bins of the 1970s as of late. They're more lively, less steeped in new-wave gunk, and have Paul Weller's charming British accent shining through. I dig The Futureheads too, but there's something that feels more exciting and genuine and badass about The Jam – this sweet little love song especially: "but I'm diff-er-ent now, and I'm glad you're my girl."

"To Hell With Good Intentions" – McLusky
I came in pretty late on the McLusky train, it seems. Everyone's been going ga-ga over them forever now (even though they've ... broken up, maybe?) This song hooked me with its raunchy opening bassline and some funny, clever, endlessly chantable lyrics: "My love is bigger than your love, we take more drugs than a touring funk (punk?) band – SING IT!" It gets me odd looks from old men slurping on orange-pineapple cones.

"State Violence, State Control" – Discharge
The most incongruous thing on this list, by far. I'm not the biggest fan of hardcore, even early hardcore – at all. I tend to find it pretty irritating and as filled with empty posturing as the latest G-Unit tune (nothing against Thug Life). But after watching The Hold cover it at Roxxy's, and then hearing Oi Polloi cover it through my friend's car stereo, the chugging guitar got to me and I started chanting the chorus like a crustpunk shithead.

"The Engine Driver" – The Decemberists
For someone who loves these guys as much as I do, I should probably guy legitimate copies of their albums. I've learned to play "The Engine Driver" recently because the vocals are (moderately) in my range and the guitar isn't too hard, and it has pretty 7th chords in it. It's also packed with a sweet li'l chorus with a wonderfully epigrammatic lyric: "If you don't love me, let me go."

That's about it. Now everyone else do it, particularly: </a></b></a>myrobotarmy, </a></b></a>dear_hearts, </a></b></a>tfwb, </a></b></a>endlessfrenzy, </a></b></a>finalbellyache, </a></b></a>aphrodite313

Come to Nautical Nellie's on Wednesday around 7:00 pm for a silly time. Bring paper hats.

This is especially relevant to those I never see, since this is the only forum I have for contacting you. Even if I scarcely know you. Come out. What else are you gonna do on Wednesday?

Devon out.

It's not even noon and I've already turned down a job and an interview. This ice cream thing had better work out.

So, it would seem I'm the newest addition to the Moo-Moo's ice cream squadron. This has greatly improved things, as it means I'm going to actually have money this summer instead of leeching off my folks for another year or working for a deranged little Englishman who gives me no hours.

And the list of things I need to buy are rocketing: DVDs for my honours paper (which I don't really need, but damn they'd be nice), a non-broken cellphone, my way into high society, etc.

It's not much; I mean, it's slinging ice cream for six bucks an hour. Still, it should be pretty fun, and I know some of my co-workers in passing already.

These purchases actually seem within reach now, too, with my new attitude of moderation, which is working really well (not being completely fall-down drunk for two Fridays in a row hasn't happened in quite a while). Maybe this way I won't die, and taking it easy has really helped my pocketbook while also making me not entirely loathsome and depressive.

Now, I just need to get my fiction published.

Alright, so I've managed some headway on my final Creative Writing story.

I ultimately scrapped the segment I read in my last class and started a new one. Probably not a smart thing to do the night before it's due, but necessary.

This one is much, much better though. As opposed to some romantic wank set against reversing seasons (an idea that was a) inconsequential b) boring c) not jelling at all d) sentimental pap), this one is broken into two sections, involves a Rimbaud/Verlaine style lovefest, a guy who tears off his skin, and the first poem I've ever written that hasn't made me retch (even though it's not good, it's better than my usual attempts, and is mitigated by being written by a character anyway).

So, I'm in a better mood now. If only this pesky sore throat would disappear.

I am shit.

All semester I've managed to pull stories out of my ass for Creative Writing. Now, it's the night before the final project is due, and I hate my current story and my other ideas are not fleshing out. And I'd rather puke than write them.

C'mon inspiration.

Like everything else, this one is gonna be late. Le sigh.

Paper due at noon today. I now have about 280 words done, 10 hours after the fact. I can't write at night; I can't focus.

Paper due on Friday. That should get done on time.

Short story due on Monday. We'll see.

And now I'm getting another cold, which I can only figure is brought on by stress. I'm so tense and unpleasant and guilt-ridden lately, and I can't even explain why.

Change (even something as simple as not constantly having classes and newspaper work) is not good. I don't know what to do with myself. So, I get sick.

I need to get back into the swing of things post-haste.

There's a strange inversion of roles happening in my house:

I'm in my room working, while dad is downstairs playing video games.

What the fuck?

As if I needed yet another reminder to write my story on Birth of Theatre (a new play starring Jody Richardson), my alarm clock pops on playing Thomas Trio and the Red Albino.

I'm working on it.

Mid-term break has been decidedly low-key this year (well, except for Friday, but that's most Fridays). Very little random debauchery. Hell, I spent last night watching Gentlemen Prefer Blondes in my pajamas. Tonight I was at a mystery party at a friend's house and will likely be in bed before sun-up.

"There's holes punched in the wall/
But it's not like mid-term at all."

Still, all has been well. Not doing complete shit of a course program is working out well – for now. This summer semester will likely send me into giggling fits of madness, as will all of next year, but I'll worry about all that later. Nothing like distraction to help you avoid everything you're working towards.

I wore my dad's old fedora tonight. It worked. Most hats don't – at all. They take the shape of my bulbous, misshapen head, and bunch at the top like a too-large condom. The fedora worked better because it holds its shape regardless; still, I refuse to wear them based on my repulsion at being the "kid in the fedora" that every high school had.

Hats just ain't my style, baby.

My, with such little excitement lately, there seems to be little reason to post. I think that's why I went to Blogspot in the first place, since that lends toward random political/social bitching, rather than the usual personal bitching. But then, no one read it, so there seemed no point.

I should spend a night throwing myself against a building until one of us collapses; then I'd have something to document.

Creative writing is badass, and I'm doing rather well in it. Apparently if I'm landing 80%s, my work is worthy of publication (or so says the professor). That made my month. And I'm not running out of ideas yet, which bodes well for me not failing the fuck out.

I think I might become a private detective. But first, I should watch Laura in preparation for my review tomorrow.

I actually find cleaning my room incredibly relaxing. I can straighten stuff up and finally see my floor again, and (relatively) unwind from the pressures of the day.

Even though there haven't been that many, I can feel my shoulders are tense and undelicious. And my back. In short, it blows.

I think it's because I've been thinking about everything I need to do and should be doing and would like to do, instead of concentrating on being content with my current lot. Even coming to this conclusion releases the stress a tad.

So, no more stressing about stories for The Muse, missing class, unfinished schoolwork, crappy short stories, my drinking and smoking habits, or the cute girl in my class who I didn't talk to.

In short, it'll all take care of itself in good time, so there's no sense fretting. Word.

Remarkably busy lately, but it's a busy I can handle. It's strange to have something to do all the time, but not feel completely overwhelmed.

I must give props to iCal. Having that To Do list a click away full of reminders really helps a lot. I remember to do things I would habitually forget otherwise. Who would have thought that things as simple as getting organized and taking (slightly) better care of myself would greatly improve my mood? I genuinely feel like less of a cock lately; granted, I'm still as crude and distant as ever – but much less bitter and annoyed at life.

Not doing shit courses and having a better work schedule might have something to do with it as well.

Enough indulgence: Now I need some advice. A rather bothersome (read: psychotic) lady seems to have latched onto me. She has no romantic interest (nor do I), yet perpetually tries to get me to spend time with her.

Nothing wrong with that, except she's nuttier than a bowl of filberts. And, as I said, bothersome. Think somewhere between Lara Flynn Boyle in Wayne's World and Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, and you're coming close.

The question is, how do I politely tell her to fuck the hell off without waking up to find her boiling a gunrack?

Her gender really makes no difference, but I've never been good at getting rid of the crazies I seem to perpetually attract, male or female.

Help a brother out.

For as long as I can remember, production nights at The Muse were utter hell. Working until 6:00 am to fix people's writing that few read anyway.

That's the way it was until tonight, when we finished our (albeit shorter, but not that much shorter) thirteenth issue of the year at 12:29 am.

I was actually finished my editing two hours earlier, but waited around to eat pizza and make fun of people with the other production crew. We then went and had a beer. I'm home and it's 2:00 am, and the newspaper is finished.

It's all thanks to the genius idea of splitting production up over two nights, instead of one massive night. I edited stuff last night too, until about 12:30 am.

But, I'd much rather stay until 1:00 am two nights a week than until 6:00 - 7:00 am one night. This way it's less pressure, the work is better, and it doesn't jeopardize my health nearly as much.

* * *

On a related note, I've been hating things less for the past week or so. Everything's different – kinda like when I first got to MUN and I gave a shit, and I wanted to do well, and I actually went to class and wrote stuff for the paper. My life was pretty good then, and I'm feeling that old zeal back in my blood again.

Let's hope writing this hasn't jinxed it.

After getting fed up with my dive-crawling, beer-swilling existence, my plan has been to cut out things that make me unhealthy/generally contributing to my distress.

Caffeine. Really, this isn't a big deal: I don't drink that much coffee or tea, and I don't really feel the need to fire it. But, my logic involves giving up lighter addictions to reach the harder ones. This one has already been beaten.

Refined sugar. Harder, since this means I'll be drinking water with my Bacon Mushroom Melts, but less sugar – especially less bleached poop sugar – leads to a less bloated, more user-friendly Devon.

Excessive alcohol. Big one. But, I'm a little tired of being wasted a few days a week. My mom's even more tired. My bank account tireder (tireder?) still. A pint here, a wild drunk there – just not, say, daily or even weekly anymore. This might will be hard.

Cigarettes. All roads lead to quitting smoking. People ask: "You're putting cigarettes after booze? Why?" The answer: If I'm really drunk, I'm gonna smoke one way or another.

There are other things, like being a lazy, reclusive Internet fiend, and eating red meat, but they'll come in time. So far it's been going well – I haven't really had caffeine since Christmas (except for a cup of Irish coffee that I realized wasn't decaf only after I ordered it). The sugar is hard, especially when mom seems to be baking cheesecakes all over the place, but I'm forgiving myself. I have yet to be drunk this year, but that's hardly an accomplishment; still, it's all a work in progress.

Most importantly, I actually feel motivated to do stuff and stop being a wanker sitting in front of the TV with potato chip crumbs on my underpants. I've even been accepted into the creative writing class I applied for.

To quote my favourite hotel heiress cum homemade porn star cum network TV showgirl: "That's hot."

You start the day by weighing yourself in front of your parents, noting that you're presently about 10 pounds heavier than you've ever been and 20-30 heavier than they thought you were.

And then, noticing a half-burnt pack of matches you took from the bar the other night, only to have dad find them while cleaning. Explaining that should be fun.

Eat me, holiday.

Tonight there was no FF SimDate – I've already beaten that rented mule. No, instead I decided I wasn't thug enough and have been listening to Biggie Smalls for over an hour.

"I made the change from a common thief
To up close and personal with Robin Leach
And I'm far from cheap, I smoke skunk with my peeps all day."

It's fantastic, really. Brooklyn represent.

I just spent at least an hour playing a Final Fantasy SimDate on Newgrounds. I really need to find something better to do with my time.