Wednesday, July 21, 2004

Life Lesson #3X (I'll figure out what number I'm on later):
Just because you [i]think[/i] it needs saving, doesn't mean it [i]does[/i].
Two days ago, I saw a pseudoscorpion or like-creature, a creature that I long ago decided to find info online about, and found it to be a rather useful bug to have around the house, since its main diet consists of bugs much smaller than itself that are rather annoying to humans.  Usually, I'm in the habit of taking every insect-sized creature outside, when found inside, but these bugs I usually leave alone. I should've done so in this case as well. 
This particular bug is, unfortunately, also a very scary-looking being which doesn't help its lifespan at all when humans come into contact with it.  Thus, two nights ago, when I saw it running towards a floorboard as my sister walked down the hall, I felt it was up to me to capture it and take it outside, when I should've just left it alone (since it was already almost to the floorboard.) 
I took out a plastic bottle (the top had been cut off and lined with tape, so that it more resembled a cylindrical vase) and attempted to capture the creature.  Alas it was too swift-moving, and I ended up killing it by mistake. 
Those of you who do not care about bugs may think me a bit obsessive in this matter.  Unfortunately, I care about most forms of life, and although I despise mosquitos and flies, I do my best to avoid killing living creatures.

Thus my mistake brought out the realization that you can't always predict what's going to happen, nor what the best course of action is.


[Well, looking back on the story post below, it turned out better than I thought, so in the post that follows this, I may be eating my words just slightly, since its topic will be about the difference between professional fiction (researched, plotted, characters fleshed, events described, etc) and everything else (story is thought up as it goes along.)]

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

A boring, yet amusing story, made on the fly.

Quite subconsciously, I came up with an idea for a rudimentary game involving four-square balls vaguely similar to dodgeball and tag. In the moment that immediately followed this bizarre idea, (and just as fleeting) a void in my mind was filled with the realization that both dry ice cream and fried ice cream were impossibilities. I woke up shortly thereafter, into the reign of fabric-softened bedsheets and a window shade blocking the morning sun's "temperamental" glare, bad pun intended.

Indeed, the pun was a sign that it was time for outside help.

For the task, I went to a reknowned specialist in the field. Her credentials are quite impressive really: an elementary school diploma, high school diploma, AAS, BS, and an MD printed out in crayon. The last is a Masters in Drivelry. It said so on the certificate; all of them hung upon the side wall of the reception area, above a beautifully exotic plant that appeared to be gnawing on the receptionist's desk.

My first impression of the receptionist is still a mystery to myself. I caught her with her headphones on, listening to the latest Beastie Boys CD. She was singing, "Doctor, doctor! What's my condition? I'm a man, that's on a mission! Doc said: Son, you'd better listen! Stuck in your ass is an electrician ! ... "

At this point I made my presence known. "The name's Marquet. Stephen Marquet. Got an appointment in like 20 minutes." 
You know, for about 0.6 seconds I actually saw her glance in angered surprise (perhaps before recalling that she's a receptionist ?) before turning to glaze her eyes upon the large computer monitor that had claimed the other half of the desk years earlier. It seems the plant had been battling with the computer's cables over the middle ground for the better part of a year with no clear victor. "Yeah, 'S' dot Market, right ?"
"Go right in. Doc's been waitin'."

This boring story will be continued ! Muwa ha ha ha ha !!! Aha ! Aha ... oh, wow, whew, aha ...