Sunday, January 24, 2010

Damned Philosophy!

Every now and then I catch myself in an ethical dilemma. Normally, it’s nothing much bigger than a simple, “Do I point out the fact that guy has food on his face, or let it go because I don’t want to embarrass him—although it’s embarrassing enough just because it’s freaking sloppy joe day in the café and he looks like a savage beast.”

That, for the record, has never happened, and I’m actually not sure it even constitutes the title of “ethical dilemma.” But the point is that every now and then you find yourself in a position where you have to make a choice that has harsh consequences either way. Just like the situation I’m in now.

I have the blessing of knowing a guy who knows a guy who can save me quite a bit of money on this project I’m working on. I have a truck that needs a new muffler, along with some other work. Money is tight (where isn’t it, right?) and so it’s great to think I have an alternative to the sleazy, over-priced mechanics at the local shop. (Not saying they are all sleazy, or even that ours are, but if you had one conversation with my father, you’d be convinced the sky is falling, ya follow?) Anyway, I have a great alternative to auto-mechanics because, as mentioned, I know a guy who knows a guy, and then some. The only problem is: if I pay the guy who is known by the guy, there is a good chance my money will be will be used for something I don’t approve of. I’m not talking football tickets, or a rap concert either. I’m talking about some bad stuff which I really don’t want associated with my blog. So, the ethical dilemma ensues: do I turn my head and save a pretty penny, or do I stand on a very expensive principal and go with the mark-up mechanics? I just don’t know.

About a year ago, I could have cared less about what people did with their own money, and sometimes I still could care less. I also tend to believe you should take the high road no matter how treacherous, just because it is the right thing to do. But, here, I am stumped. I am afraid that if I stand on principal it will break the trust this person has with my family—quite possibly the only connection said individual has with the real world. Potentially driving him/her to do something stupid. Then the “hammer” in me says, “Screw that, (s)he makes his/her own choices, and if that’s what they do, so be it. It wouldn’t be your fault.” If this is the case, I should just hire this individual. But, a year was a long time ago, and a lot has changed since then.

This person has been through a lot, which isn’t an excuse, but it is still a consideration. So would an all-out confrontation of her/his problems be wise? The Hammer says it don’t matter, but the moral conscience says, “Tread gently on thin ice.” I’m pretty sure science says, “Smash the damn ice until there is no place else to go but back to land.” If those metaphors don’t make sense, I apologize. They fit in my head with everything I know about the matter.

After all, this person is here now because no one had the <3 to stand up and straighten them up beforehand. (Inside joke on the <3, but I think you can figure it out.) I can do nothing, and nothing can happen. I can do nothing and something can happen. I can do something and something can happen, AND I can do something and nothing can happen. I just don’t know what I should do… except stop watching lifetime. Those feel good, stand up for change movies do NOT help.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

It is weird to read.

This post serves as my quarterly report (sounded good in my head) to Tumbleweed, as I was given a very strict ultimatum. If I had not read, in completion, the book "Moon Called" by author Patricia Briggs, by February, she (my cousin) would not come visit me (in February) thus intentionally depriving me of my rights as an Auntie to her children. With that said, I am proud to report I am nearly halfway through the book, very much into the story, and will have it read by said date. (And knocking on wood that I don't jinx myself for saying that much)

I refuse to admit that I "like" the book, on principal. Even though I've already began pricing the second book of the series, I still maintain that I don't like to read because I'm a stubborn jerk (Hey! Give me a break! It runs in my family.)

I am interested in the story, as far fetched as it seems sometimes, it seems realistic to--in regards to the whole fantasy/werewolf theme. What I like the most is the sensibility behind Briggs werewolf-mentality, such as the references to wolves, packs, and Alpha's (My cousin, Mr. Jerk, is a dog trainer, so when I read about dominance, submission, eye contact and territorial disputes, I laugh and say, "That sounds plausible." {but I don't actually use the word plausible in my head; my brain isn't really as sophisticated as I sound on paper }) Anyway!

I like the main character because the cover says she's pretty, and I'm vain like that. Had a huge debate with my high school friends about "pretty people" but I can get into that later. Moving on, I found a few grammatical errors (not that I should talk) and I think the dialogue is pretty weird. I don't know what it is about book-people but they never talk like normal people do. They're always so formal and precise. It annoys me. This is why when Mercy doubts herself I feel like she is more human.

Well, like I said, it's weird reading. It is very different from reading a book for school--my brain doesn't know what to do with it. A part of me says, "Get the notebook, that might be on the test." and the next part says, "You idiot, there is no test, there is no book report, read faster! Think babies!) And then I read on, but worry I might forget who is who, and then debate on whether or not I should draw some sort of venn diagram.

I've noticed two things in reading, this book, though. Three, actually. The first is that I'm not as bad a reader as I thought. The second being it is very lonely to read, because I have no one to talk about the story with. (watching TV is easier that way because we're all on the same page *chuckle*) And the third would be I miss my cousins because I always feel so much more "intellectual" when they are around. Even if I can't win a game of taboo with either of them.


Words Unspoken

So, I started a new blog post, but it will never see the light of day. It makes me sad, because it had such potential, then I went off on a tangent about work. I suppose I could have edited it a bit, but when good words just come to you, I feel it is important to maintain their integrity. Hmm, that sounded better in my head. Like one time when I talked about a hotdog's integrity. Also sounded better in my head.

Random. Well, I have been gone for a while, and now I am back. I hope to stay back. I have several posts written out (Yes, that's right, in actual hand writing) but at the current moment I am too lazy to get up and retrieve them from my bag. I explained the reasons they were handwritten in my last post--the one you will never see-- sorry. Ha ha. Maybe one day I'll post it, and maybe one day I'll get those papers and type up what was written. Until then, I'm sitting on the couch and thinking about what I want for lunch.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

My Haywire Muse

My muse is like a lightbulb, flickering in a storm. It's almost on, but not quite. It's usually somewhere between working, being useful, and dead. Which is better than dead, I guess, but still as annoying.

I really wish there was an easier way to write. I need complete focus to get anything done now-a-days, and that's annoying too. Even when I have the time to sit down and get some writing done, I can't focus or get comfortable. Then I'll waste hours of time trying to channel my creativity into a single sentence, or idea, until I just give up.

I have been writing this one story for over a year. Over two years, really. I started, probably, around March of 2007, months after my house burned down. Since I lost virtually everything I'd ever owned or created, I was forced to start from scratch--which is had to do when you're broke, homeless, and a basketcase. (Though I think I held myself together well).

TV became a necessity to escape the stress. We had a show a night, and my favorite was Supernatural. I've always been a sci-fi buff, from X-Files, to Buffy, to Charmed, and then some, but it took me quite a while to get into Supernatural. I figured it was another knock-off, and refused to watch it--even as my younger sister drooled over Jensen Ackles. All her friends obsessed about this show, and I was convinced they were brainwashed.

Regardless, once the house was gone, I had nothing to watch on Thursday nights, so I started to watch Supernatural. It didn't take long for me to become addicted to the plot, the genre, or the characters. (More specifically, a single character played by the adorable Jared Padalecki)

Since my sister and I were still in school, one of the first things we replaced were our computers. (Homework comes first, you know!) Around that time, my sister's friend, who I shall refer to as Kidney, got us hooked on a virtual chat game. (Instead of the regular, old, text chat, you could create a character for your conversations and live in a 3-d world. Pretty nifty). Jokingly, I created a "Dean Winchester" character for my sister, and she created a "Sam Winchester" character. The game quickly morphed into a RPG game, and we would spend hours goofing off.

We had a reoccurring theme that "Dean was an evil SOB and he'd beat up Mariah for no apparent reason" I'm not sure why this was fun, but it was. We'd earn credits and give Dean this "Evil look" with glowing red eyes and fanged teeth. Mariah's articles included bruised skin and bloodied bandages. (Wow this actually sounds depressing on paper).

Regardless, we had fun, until school started picking up. One night, no one was online to chat with, and I had nothing to do, so I started writing it all down in story-format. The plot sucked, so I had to add to it, then twist it, then change it all together. It eventually made a few good pages (in my humble opinion) so I added more and more until I got to where I am today. 52,005 Words on 177 typed (12font) pages.

In my head, I have an additional 8 stories mapped out, not to mention countless spin-off plots. 2 Years, 1 Obsession, and it all boils down to me sitting here with writers block.

I need a life.

Saturday, January 2, 2010

I blew it.

It's 2010, and I actually thought I would be able to escape 2009 without being sick again.

I was wrong.

It happened just after 6PM, December 31st 2009. Yes, that is right. Just hours away from the new year, and my throat begins to itch. Only one side, of course, as I have a very unique tonsil problem. (Here is one of my infamous, 2-page side notes: I usually have tonsillitis on my right tonsil. It's unheard of, I know, and I only know this because the first time it happened my doctor rushed me to an Ear Nose & Throat Specialist because he thought I had an abscess on said tonsil. Granted, it wasn't actually my doctor, it was an intern or something, but it's needless to say I was freaked out. I thought I was going to die.

It had been a Friday, and I was supposed to have gone down to see my cousins that weekend. Needless to say, after that 911 visit, I don't think we made it. It's generally a bad idea to go visiting small children when you are getting sick. But, I can't remember more than that--oh wait.

When we realized that I wasn't dying, because the nice Dr. Man who STILL refuses to take out my tonsils bluntly, head-shakingly, said, "It's just an infection. Why did you come here? Who sent you here? And what was his name again?" we went for Chinese food feeling pretty stupid. The only reason I remember this is because the nice, deceitful, and totally unbiased Asian man told us it was "the best Chinese food in Maine," and that his food was "way better than our favorite Chinese food restaurant."

Well, he was biased, and he was lying, and he was nice. So nice we said we'd come back, although we never did. And never will. The lesson, though a hard one, was learned: never trust a restaurant who has double-pained glass windows with bullet holes in them. It's pretty creepy, even if it was only a few holes and they were potentially BB gun holes.

Regardless, I learned that night that his food sucks, there IS only ONE good Chinese food restaurant in Maine, and that I will forever be stuck with my one, stupid, defective tonsil. Seriously, I've been back to that "best ENT specialist" and he won't take my tonsils. He won't even take one! I can't even bribe him to take them. It's depressing.

Sidenote officially over. Where was I again? Oh right. My boogers. I've debated all day on posting about boogers, because honestly the thought of reading a blog about boogers makes me sick. But this isn't about me, now, is it? No, really, the only thing that changed my mind was a recent encounter with my niece and nephew, and there is just something about wiping up baby boogers that makes boogers less intimidating. So, I say to myself, I can do this. I can write about boogers.


Oh yeah, and if you are grossed out, like me, by this particular issue, skip to my next post NOW.

Boogers. They are nasty, and disgusting. I think mucus should be banned from the nose all together. Even when you're not sick you get that crusty, dry-nose shit in your nose, and it hurts. And what do you do? You can't pick your nose, because THAT is gross. But you have to breathe in pain? It doesn't seem fair.

Here I am, though. Two days in to 2010, and I'm already on my 3rd box of tissues. I can't stop blowing my nose, because I like breathing, and I strongly dislike the thought of not being able to do it. Even though I blow, and blow, and can't get anything out, I try because I just want to breathe again.

Have you ever seen a little kid with a runny nose? I see them all the time, and do you know what little kids do with those runny noses? Despite the fact they can't breathe from them? They take a nice, big, snuff in and swallow all that crap. Then they can breathe for a while, until it comes back, then they do it all again until their parents tell them, repeatedly, to blow their noses.

I, personally, remember doing this. I remember this vividly every single time I see a kid do it. It makes me shudder, because I can remember the salty taste, and I actually remember doing it. I'm sure you did too, even if you won't admit it. But that is why kids do it (1) because it vaguely reminds them of potato chips, and (2) because they don't know better.

I've learned better. In fact, I actually consider myself an expert nose-blower. (Not that you'd guess that by my current box-count). For instance, when you blow your nose, lifting up a nostril will allow more air-access, and it is far easier to blow a stuffy nose in a steamy shower than it is to blow on a tissue. I also know of this potentially-little-known thing I call (in my head) the raisin booger; the raisin booger is the best kind of booger, because if you get one of these, you can usually breathe for about an hour.

I actually discovered the raisin booger in the shower a long time ago. I was blowing my nose, in pure frustration, probably for hours, and it popped out. It was huge, lumpy, greenish-tinged-purple booger. It was so gross, and so huge, that I remember freaking out because I thought I broke my nose.

My mom always told me that if I blew both nostrils at once, I'd break my nose. (Yes, I used to try blowing both nostrils at once--how else does one become a professional nose-blower if one doesn't try absolutely everything possible?) So, yeah, I'm not sure if anyone else has these raisin-boogers, but they are the only good thing about being sick--like I said, if you get a hunk of raisin booger, you can usually breathe for about an hour. The only thing I'm not sure about is whether or not it's good to completely remove a raisin booger from it's habitat. Seriously, if you get all the mucus out of your nose, is that good or bad? Lately, as in this cold, I've been feeling like there has been a hole drilled into my nose. Raw nerve. Headache/eye ache sort of stuff. Maybe that's just sinus pressure. Maybe I've had too much cough syrup. Maybe I should just go to bed.

I just hope I haven't blown it and screwed up my nose. Ha. Pun, totally, intended.