It's Just a Policy

So, something happened today and broke up a rather tedious couple of weeks. It really kinda drove home that whoa, I think I'm growing up. Becoming some kinda adult-type figure. That there may be some light at the end of the tunnel, and that things can and will improve. Where did this startling moment of epiphany? Was it the realization that I've changed residences almost half a dozen times? That I'm more than half-way through my schooling? That I've logged more than five years at my current job, or that I'm generally independent? Or perhaps that, just maybe, I should expand my cookware to include more than a single medium pot and a large frying pan? None of these things, actually. Instead, I got my auto insurance in the mail.

Which, when you think about it, is just one more mundane set of paperwork that you need to file somewhere (in the glove compartment). In this case, though, I renewed my plan for the year. And it is now costing me approximately half of what it was last year. You see, for some reason or another, the insurance company has decided that, when behind a wheel, I am no longer a menace to society who is seeking to run over everyone/thing with my four wheels. It must be some combination of my age, driving record, when I got my license, how long I've been insured, this year's average rainfall of the Amazon rainforest and the general alignment of the planets that has determined the change to my policy.

You see, it seems as though I've somehow tricked someone into thinking I'm responsible. Whether on purpose or not, I really don't know. When I called to have my address changed, they mentioned off-hand that my policy renewal was coming up and I'd see a discount on my rate. I figured, in true banking/insurance fashion, it'd be a whopping 5% a year, saving me an incredible $20. Instead, I got more (or much much less, depending on how you think about it) than I bargained for. I could've shrugged off 5%, and I could've kept doing so for the next ten years. But to have such a big discount, all at once, really means something has happened. I've crossed some sort of threshold into the world of established adults who don't pay exorbitant rates to keep a crappy old rust bucket on the road.

Sure, I always believed this type of fabled person existed. You hear about it all the time, like some kind of myth, how your parents and grandparents that pay $80 each month to insure EVERYTHING under the sun. Something like that feels an entire generation away, so when it sneaks up and unexpectedly smacks you upside the head, you're way more surprised than you should be. I don't have a mortgage or a family or twenty years of seniority or an interest in politics, and so it seems that I'm not qualified for anything like this. How peculiar.

Of course, the sheer fact of the new rate sent me over the moon. I was this close to considering selling off my car this summer. And I had already made up my mind that I'd keep it, but it was a very guilt-heavy decision to make. It really sucked a lot of joy out of being a car owner to think "I don't need this. I could be saving so much without it..." And yeah, I could still be saving a big chunk if I got rid of it. But the new rates, in my mind, provides a level of justification and comfort for avoiding the life of consuming public transit. It feels like I can and I should drive my car EVERYWHERE. Mind you, for that I'd need it to be reliable enough to do so. But still, all that money I'm saving? It'll help pay for repairs. Emphasis on help. The funny bit is that I'm sure my car will still need a lot of premium TLC.

But that's alright, because the new rates give me hope for the future. Hope that, some day, if I buy a decent car I'll be able to afford to put it on the road. I mean, if $130 will only put my junk bucket on the road for 30 days, how much would it cost for something that wasn't made before the release of Windows 98? Oh, the possibilities...

Either way, whenever I peek out of my bedroom window and see the side profile of the goofy, green lil' Acura... It excites me. Every single time I find myself asking, "Why aren't I driving that right now? I should be." Even with those unflattering rust patches in the quarter panels, and the creaks and the fading break discs. It's pathetic, really, but I can't help myself. And the next time I get in it, and the time after that, I'll be able to start the ignition with a decreased load of guilt on my shoulder. Assuming it starts at all, of course.

The thing that really made an impact was the fact that this premium change happened at all. It means something. I'm becoming more responsible and mature, a proper member of adult society. And so what am I going to do with myself? I'm going to call up my insurance agents and make sure that the statement is correct. And if it is, I'll be beefing up my plan and adding some other coverage. It's probably the responsible thing to do, you know.
-Cril

Throwing stones at the sky
When they fall back to earth
As minor chords of major works
Separate rooms of single life
We are one
We are alive

Death Cab for Cutie - Codes and Keys

Fritterin' Away

What a week. I spent a fair portion of it outside my comfort zone. Well, much more than usual at least. There were mainly two things, the second being having to speak in church today.

It was... Interesting. It's really neat to sit there and watch your system get all worked up. Before I spoke, I was amused at the constant increase of anxiety. I knew it would be fine. Even if I messed up, no one would probably really even care, right? I don't know a lot of people there particularly well in the first place, so there was no risk of tarnishing my non-existent image. Regardless, I sat there and noticed my heart rate increasing, the faint dew of sweat forming on my brow, and my mouth becoming progressively drier. I did some breathing exercises to slow things down, which temporarily helped, but not quite to the extent I was hoping for. It was kind of like watching a freight train come in your direction at 2km/h. You can push back all you want, it'll probably make you feel like you're at least doing something, but the train won't care and still plow you over. It's a case of your body being completely disconnected from your concious mind - I could rationalize all I wanted about how nothing was really on the line and it'd be fine, but it didn't do the least bit of good. It's frusterating when you don't have command of your body like that. Anyways, I finally got up to give my talk, and it was alright, I think. Apparently I sped up quickly at the beginning before I relaxed for the rest. Got a couple compliments at the end, so that probably counts for something.

The other thing I did this week out of my comfort zone was more of a psychological battle, I think. Leading up to and during it... I don't know how to describe it. I can't compare it to being physically nervous like I was for the talk, because... None of those symptoms were there. It was the exact opposite. It felt like my brain was turning to mush, but my body just smiiiiiled and kept on goin'. The whole thing was something I kinda told myself a long time ago that I'd never do again. And I'd held that part up remarkably well. Until Wednesday, of course. And with it came the inevitable stream of thought patterns and ideas that I had successfully stashed out of sight for some time. It was like... The framework for my wind was being rattled. I felt a bit more... Not shaken up or unbalanced, just... Unsturdy. I wasn't sure of my footing, I guess. But I plowed through it. Didn't go as poorly as I expected, but the aftermath has left me sorting through some baggage. Trying to figure out what to leave out and what to put back away.

So I kinda needed to get out for a bit this evening. I had to walk it all off. It's nice to pound the world under your feet, instead of the other way around. It didn't really come with any closure or startling revelations... It was just something that had to be done.

I went home a few weeks ago to celebrate my parent's anniversary. I forgot my backpack there, and so it was shipped out to me, and some of my old shirts were included as packing material. I wasn't thinking about it, and threw one on to bum around the house in. It smells like home wherever I go. Hm.

And that's all I got, really. I feel like I'm in the middle of tidying something up, and feeling a bit far away and uninvolved. Not a heavy or oppressive notion... Just one of curious detachment.
-Cril

Well either you're closing your eyes to a situation you do now wish to acknowledge
Or you are not aware of the caliber of disaster
Indicated by the presence of a pool table in your community
Well you got trouble, my friend,
Right here, I say, trouble right here in River City.
Why sure I'm a billiard player, certainly mighty proud I say I'm always mighty proud to say it
I consider that the hours I spend with a cue in my hand are golden.
Help you cultivate horse sense
And a cool head
And a keen eye
Did you ever take and try to give an iron clad leave to yourself from a three-rail billiard shot?
But just as I say,
It takes judgement, brains, and maturity to score in a balk-line game,
I say that any boob
Can take and shove a ball in a pocket

Robert Preston - Ya Got Trouble

One of these things just doesn't belong

So, I had an... Interesting social experience last night. I was invited to a friend's place for a bit of a housewarming BBQ. I arrived, set up a bit, people arrived, left to repark my car so it wasn't in front of a hydrant, helped with frying some burgers, etc. Pretty good start to the evening. A few people started drinking with dinner. I don't do da booze, myself, but whatever. Then we finished eating... and people kept drinking. And drinking. A few joints got passed around. People did shots. More drinking. I knew there would be some BBQ dinner... What I didn't know was that it was an excuse to gather and get hammered. The red flags should've been that girl that arrived with a bottle of gin that she continually drank from all evening.

It was quite interesting, actually. I'll admit that I've never been around people in the process of getting thoroughly smashed. Some people got bold and annoying, some got silly, and others spouted that wonderful brand of uninformed personal philosophy. Some people got pretty touchey-feely, and there were many man hugs to be seen. Quite amusing, really.

Everyone had the same reaction when they came in and saw me - "Hey, it's CHRIS!" And, really, it's probably the first time I've seen any of them outside of campus. And they were all happy and friendly, but the message was immediately apparent: I don't usually attend this kind of shindig. And really, I wasn't even expecting to. I thought it would be a nice, relaxed barbeque, rather than a furious race to liver damage. And you know what... If I would've known, I can't say that I would've gone.

You see, it certainly is not my shindig. I mean, hey, being a pretty introverted dude means that I'm typically more of an observer at parties anyways. The fact that I didn't drink/smoke just amplified that 100 times over. It's more than just being a certain personality type - I wasn't even operating on the same mental plane as the rest of them. Heck, I don't even quite know how to socially interact with thoroughly inebriated people. Nobody said it, but everyone saw it: I'm a stick-in-the-mud extraordinaire. I sat and people-watched, and made a bit of polite chatter here and there. I mostly sat around, listened to other people, watched the sunset, and generally felt rather uncomfortable. Heck, I didn't even have much to say that wasn't work or school related. I don't understand the cultural references or recognize the music that was playing. I, simply, did not belong.

Which is kind of scary. I spend a lot of time with these people in class, and think I know them reasonably well. For the most part, they're a good bunch of people. But I don't have anything in common with them, aside from the lowest common denominator - school. I don't know if it's sad, pathetic, or a bunch of other similar metonyms. It is what it is. And what it is, is that I'm a socially boring dude.

Which isn't necessarily a bad thing. People are wired differently, with totally separate priorities. And mine don't really align with any of those found at that unexpected party. Heck, it was probably understood (by everyone except myself) that by "barbeque at Mike's new place" it meant "chance to raise blood alcohol levels to a positive integer". At one point it was declared that there would be no further discussion regarding school. And immediately, I realized that I had nothing further to contribute to anything. How does this work, anyways? I can be close with and enjoy the company of these people while inside the studio, but as soon as we step off the premises I have nothing to make a connection on. We'll chalk this up to having to do with something about fish being out of water.

So, when it was decided to spend the rest of the evening (when it was already 11PM) at a local club, I concocted some sort of ruse to head home. Something having to do with commissioned pieces I had to work on, I think. The host immediately gave me a private lecture, saying with concern how he was worried for me, that I was wasting away and how college years are for having fun and making experiences, and just think about that time we'll be able to talk about when Chris got as high as a kite and went to the pub and made out with that chick. Riiiight. Let's just say that he seemed to have a different drink in his hand every time I saw him over the course of the evening. I see his point, to a degree, and his boozed musings aside, there might be something there to ponder further.

Alas, I stuck to my guns. And when they all started strolling down the block towards the club, I went in the other direction towards my parked car. A girl with whom I've only had the odd conversation at school with gave me a big hug and said it was nice to see me. There were many hand shakes all around, and overall I got the kind of attention that I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have received had they not been so thoroughly plastered.

And so I walked out of there, rolled the car windows down and truly enjoyed the drive home. A little bit of Abbey Road and that mixture of simultaneously cool and warm summer night air goes a long way. And I couldn't help but feel like, from their point of view, that I had just stepped back into the fog. So beige and so plain, so quickly forgotten. I probably won't see them for the rest of the summer, as I work and not party away the remainder of the season so rapidly drying up and withering away. I don't hold it against them, they're nice people. Not an ill thing was said or done towards me all evening. It was just... Not my thing. To quote a certain song and change the contextual adverbs, I didn't know what hell I was doing there, I didn't belong there.

It's a bit disparaging to discover one more group that I don't quite fit in with. Especially one that I've spent a huge amount of time with, and will continue to do so for the next two years. It's like there are five different puzzles with the pieces mixed together. They're all in the middle of being assembled, and I'm constantly jamming my piece in here and there, trying to be a part of some, any bigger picture. So far I've mainly found the wholes that I can't seem to match up with. But that's okay. I'm sure that there are more loose pieces like me floating around. It's just a matter time before we're spun and flipped and locked into place to create something wonderful. Or so I like to tell myself.
-Cril

PS- Achievement Unlocked - Write about a drinking party without using the word 'drunk', or using one of its synonyms more than once.

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here

Brandi Carlile - Creep

FIXED.

Ok, so like, I'm not mechanically minded. I have issues thinking three-dimensionally, especially when there are multiple parts that need to come together. The inner workings of an automobile may as well be black magic. Sure, if you were to give me a picture of the problem, I could probably Photoshoperize it to make it look fixed. Generally speaking, though, it takes a very small amount of time for me to feel overwhelmed when faced with a mechanical endeavor.

Lo and behold, this Saturday morning my car would not start. Turn the key, there's a single click, and then nothin'. This issue had been haunting me a bit over the last two months. Without any rhyme or reason, hot or cold, I'd get in to start the car and this would happen. Trying it 3-4 more times would usually get it to turn over. This Saturday, though, it was dead. I did some research and came to the conclusion that it was the starter. With my uncle's assistance, we confirmed it. As it turned out, it could be coaxed into working if the car was moved a small amount while in gear, so that the starter would rotate a bit. Basically, as my uncle tried to explain, there was a bad portion of the starter that wouldn't catch. So I knew the problem and knew how to get it going again in a pinch. I got a loaner car, went out, bought a new starter, and returned.

Where I promptly sat on the sidewalk for 15 minutes debating whether I should
a) Return the part, and take the car to the mechanic
b) Wait until I could scam someone into helping me with the repair
c) Do it myself

The mechanic would be pretty expensive, and I'd be out a car for a few days. I also didn't want to waste someone's time helping me out, where my incredibly ineptitude would be painfully obvious. I'd feel like a charity case. I'd do it myself, but I'm much better at breaking things than repairing them. Still, I had the entire afternoon in front of me, the parts/tools on hand, and the appropriate Hayne's manual opened to the 'Removing/Replacing the Starter Motor' section. Heck, it was even sunny and warm out. The conditions could not be ideal. So I decided to suck it up, and go for it. What's the worst that could happen? I b0rk my car and write it all off as one of them 'life experience' things I keep hearing about. Besides, it could be taken to the mechanic to undo my failed attempt at repair, right?

Well, it worked out for the best. The hardest part was finding where the thing was located, followed by screwing/unscrewing it to the engine. The cables were all plug and play. Sure, I had to look at things a few times to make sure I had put it in the same way it came out, but... It worked. There was one, really long bolt beneath the starter that I couldn't directly see that I had to put in. Truth be told, I spent a good 10 minutes trying to get it in before I realized that I had my ratchet set to loosen. Aside from that one display of blatant incompetance on my behalf, it went rather well.

I was pretty darn nervous when I first tried the ignition, though. I double checked to make sure everything was in place and plugged back in, and then I turned the key to the glorious sound of my 1.6L 4-pot chugging to life. I believe the emotion could be somewhat summarized as "elation". One part was at the fact that I went out on a limb to do something way out of my comfort zone and it worked out as planned. Another part that it was, to me, a semi-significant achievement as I try to become a decent individual who's capable of solving his own problems. The last is that, finally, a personal victory over the machine that seems oh-so-determined to make me miserable. It's the faintest glimmer of a light at the end of a tunnel. In reality, it's probably just an illusion of hope. My car will break down again, it's only a matter of time. But still.

Last summer, me and my sister went and bought a flat of 'Stewart's Soda', full of a bunch of assorted flavours. There was an orange creamsicle one, something that was cloudy green and weird and a root beer. The best of the flat, we decided, was the Vanilla Cream Soda. It tasted like you'd expect, and was pretty darn good. We were down to the last bottle of the stuff, and my sister said I could take it. And boy, did I hang onto it. As I tend to do with such things, I decided that I should save it for something special. Did well on a project? Boring. Finished the semester? Lame. Got a raise? Meh. Reached the half-way point in my schooling? Nobody cares. Made what most would consider to be a simple automotive repair? THAT YEAR-OLD SODA IS MINE. And so I drank it, and it was delicious.

It's rather pathetic how much accomplishment I get out of something so simple, but I'll take what I can get. Such an elation doesn't come along that often, so I may as well embrace it while it lasts.
-Cril

And I
I hate you for
For letting me fall for you
Just like a fool

And now I'm all psyching out, yeah
Hmm 'cause all were about
Is this ugly phone and its all I have
To look forward to, yeah

So hey, yeah
I guess its alright
Yeah, no
Now I guess it's alright
Whatever
Yeah no
Now I guess its alright
So hey, yeah
I guess its alright

Imogen Heap - Whatever