Nothing to see here folks

I really, reaaallly don't like Jimmy Buffett. He reminds me of wicker chairs and watery fruity drinks from poolside bars in shifty hotels.

The Meaning of Life

OH HEY LOOK!!!

I feel that I have neglected the pact I made with myself to post pointless things every now and then. It has been longer than now and then, but I have returned. Not much has changed in the past couple of months. Andy says "Hi".

But I have written a story. It's very short and bland. It had a purpose at one point, but that got lost somewhere in a tangle of twisty straws. So I am going to regurgitate it and bring new life to it by posting in on this blog here which I'm pretty sure no one is going to read.

I wrote it because someone said something about explaining the meaning of life in less than three hundred words. I think I did a pretty terrible job at it, but it is less than three hundred words, so this is a success story.
I don't have a title for it because I don't like titles. If it did have a title it would be something like "The Meaning of Life from the Perspective of a Mosquito". But that's just a summary of my entire story, and wouldn't make for a catchy title.

Well that's what it's about. I'm pretty sure it's the greatest literary work since Shakespeare.
Maybe not.
Here it is.




Really? That’s what you think it is? Social justification? Well, if that’s all I have to live for, I don’t see the purpose.

See? That’s just it! It’s all about finding a purpose. Heck, maybe you don’t see one, but that’s what everyone else is looking for anyway; a reason to rationalize their existence.

I think my rationalization for existence is that it’s a lot better than being dead.

What, existing?

Yes.

Well that’s only your perspective. You never got any contribution of thought from the other side.

You mean from the dead?

Yes. You never know. Maybe they’re having a hell of a time.

Let’s not go there Ed, you know how I feel about the afterlife.

You’re just bitter with denial that it’s coming sooner than you can prepare for it.

I hate it when you talk like that.

I’m sorry about your insecurities Harold, but you’re going to have to face the truth sooner or later. I mean, how long do you think you have? A few more days at most.

I just don’t like thinking about it.

Well you’ve gotten so hyped up about life, and it has only been a couple of weeks since it started. I can see why you’re not ready to accept death.

It really isn’t fair at all. There’s not a whole lot of time to get used to things.

I guess it’s all about accepting the inevitable.

I thought you said it was about social justification? Justification of existence?

Well yeah, that too. Once you’ve got all of that figured out though, then it’s all about acceptance.

So you have to justify your purpose in life, and immediately after that, accept death?

There’s not much time for dilly dallying.




The end.


This story had much more of an aesthetic quality when it was scribbled on the back of a paper children's menu from Denny's along with the drawing of two mosquitoes I did in red crayon.


I think I should write philosophy. Either that or design menus.

Flotsam, Jetsam and Sodium

I should be sleeping right now. But I always feel the need to blurt out something insignificant when I should be doing something else.

I used to have these two goldfish named Flotsam and Jetsam. They were the kind of goldfish with the puffy cheeks and bug eyes. A couple weeks after I bought them, my friend bought for me two more goldfish to join my lonely tenants. She and I racked our brains to come up with dignified names for my new friends. The best she could think of was Salt and Pepper. Naturally, I objected to naming my fish after seasoning (or an 80's rap duo). But she insisted that she must take part in naming them because she bought them. So to make them sound more dignified, I named them Sodium and Piperidine. Kind of like Salt and Pepper, but fancier. Piperidine is actually an extract of pepper, but whatever, I got close enough.

A week or so later, Piperidine passed away after being shanked by Flotsam over some hoe. Not really, I think I just fed him too much. But anyway, I was left with Flotsam, Jetsam, and Sodium. Now that I look back at it, that must be the most ridiculous combination of names for goldfish.

The names always seemed to broach a discussion when introducing my fish to guests. Everyone wants to know what happened to Piperidine.

Scanning of the cats and other mishaps

Okay, so. Due to my frequent migraines, my doctor has scheduled an appointment for me for a CAT scan. That means Computed Tomography scan. It's actually called a CT, but I think CAT scan sounds funnier. Anyway, they want to check for any abnormalities, parasites, or bad chemicals in my brain. This means sticking me in an evil whirring contraption to take pictures. I think I've had something like this done once before, but I was drugged so I don't remember any of it. I presume it is going to scare the bejesus out of me however, since I am mildly claustrophobic and have a disdain for evil whirring contraptions.

and now for something completely different.... (sorry)


My aunt just bought an iphone, so she texted me yesterday about all the fancy application she has on it. I'm not a huge fan of the trend, but I texted her back saying, "Ooh, fancy pants", or that's what I meant to say. However, absent-mindedly while eating a sandwich, I forgot a word and instead sent "Ooh, pants". About an hour later a received a few question marks in my inbox. She probably thinks I'm insane again.

Oh, aaaanndd, I just recently found out that my camera, which I have been crying about being broken for almost a year, is not actually broken and I am just an idiot. I feel dumb but still happy that I can take useless pictures once again. Now I can upload pictures of my cat, drawings, feet, whatever I like.

Anyway, I hope the CAT scan goes well and I don't die. I have to go scrape Andy out of my closet before he makes friends with one of my sweaters again.

To flee or not to flee

I come from a good family and had a fairly stable environment to grow up in. In the midst of all this normality, it was expected from me to maintain a straight path. For me, it's hard to explain why I simply cannot deal with all of it. I remember telling my friends for the past couple of years that I needed to get out of Florida. I needed to go somewhere else, I don't really think it matters where. But I just cannot justify any reason for the erratic need to flee other than it being too damn humid here. The weather is not suited for me. My Polish descent doesn't allow for sun. My skin just rejects any hope of a tan in exchange for looking like a lobster for the next week or so. Aside from weather, I truly think that I am going to go insane if I don't have a change in lifestyle, very soon.
My first choice would be either Chicago or New York, however cliched it might be to have the ambition to move to a big city. At least it's colder there, more apt for my blood, and I know a few places where I could get jobs, and I've even had an offering. I don't want to disclose what exactly it is that I do, not that it's something cool like working for the FBI or the mob or something. It's just that I don't quite have a grasp on things yet. "I have yet to gouge my path in life, yet to find my calling", whatever sugar-coated sentiment you want to call it. I'm just getting the sickening feeling that I'm going in circles, and it is impossible to get a foothold to move ahead. Once you've lived in a city for so long, you've just sucked all you can out of it and then it becomes dry soil with nothing left but for you to starve yourself on. This isn't the case for everybody; I know people who have lived in the same town their whole life, and are perfectly content. I just can't do it. I was born in Miami and lived here for more or less my entire life, and I cannot deal with this place anymore. I don't have anything to hang on to down here. I'm fairly young, not married, don't have children, and I don't have a job that I particularly care for.
But on the note of staying on a straight path, I know that my parents or family would never approve of this sort of behavior. Not having a plan or any idea what to do next, but just packing up and heading over to another corner of the country, I know it's unreasonable.
I don't think I'm the only person with this desire, I'm sure there's lots of people who think that they can be better off as long as they just go someplace else. But it's easy to get stuck in a place, even if you don't want to be. As soon as you develop a routine, you start to get sucked in, and by then, it's hard to escape. I'll probably keep saying that I'm quitting my job becauce I'm miserable, and I'm packing up and leaving. I probably also wont do it. I still have a small suitcase packed from a couple months ago when I *almost* bought a plane ticket to Newark because it was cheap and I was feeling especially impulsive. I still regret not doing it. I bet the airfare has gone up for bringing a cat.

DMV: Seizing your sanity since 1917

Want to know what's frustrating? The DMV. Most frustrating place on the face of this god forsaken planet. That's the Department of Motor Vehicles, not the Delicious Milkshake Venue.

Incompetent reptilian women are put into employment there simply to spite the overwhelming mass of angry screaming customers flooding the 10 x 12 office. Possibly even more frustrating is trying to get a hold of these minions over the phone. Because it is impossible to reach an actual human before you spend half an hour shouting "customer service" into the phone. By that point, you've ruptured a couple organs, causing your throat to bleed and you to spew blood everywhere, all while trying to argue with a machine.

Because in Miami, no one really has to know how to drive. You just pretend to know, then crash, then die. It's part of the natural selection process here. The whole theory of "right of way"and red light, green light is just some crazy fascist ideal to keep the crazies under control. And well, we just cannot conform to that madness. It's every man for himself here, so put on those cargo shorts, and go run some shit over.


*end rant*

To Catch a Predator

I just got back from the bookstore where I enjoyed my regular bout of people-watching (and some reading as well).

Bookstores are glorious places, they really are. Being a reading nut, it is one of my frequent dwelling grounds. I, however, am easily distracted by the massive amount of obscurity that is circulating around me and may easily go unnoticed.
Just as a settled into a chair by the in-store coffee shop, an elderly woman with a bagel and cream cheese found a seat close by. After a couple minutes of flipping through a book, she set it open down on the table and began smothering her bagel with cream cheese. During this process, she dropped a quite nicely sized glob of cream cheese onto the open book. She froze, then quickly wiped it away, and looked up to see if anyone saw this act of deviancy. She thought she was in the clear, but I saw. She didn't know it, but I saw. Innocent old lady? I think not!
Of course she didn't want to pay for the $30 dollar book on behavioral traits of land bats, so she just pretended the whole incident didn't happen. I don't really know what the book was about, but it looked like something fancy and expensive.

Yes, it may be mundane and insignificant, and it is. But think, the next time you see a perfectly innocent, sweet old lady, you'll know the truth. She might have once dropped cream cheese into a book she didn't pay for, or something equally as horrendous.