Space Invaders.

We've started renovations on the house today, and I am immediately aware of the fact that strangers are in the process of ripping out chucks of my home to replace them with newer, shiner chunks.

It's a bit uncomfortable having to lift up and move all our stuff, clutter up our home for a little over a week just so we can make it prettier to sell at some point. It seems like that's always the case. You have to make yourself uncomfortable if you want things to get better.

I am immediately reminded of my recent trips to the dentist. Without insurance, these have been expensive and rather uncomfortable affairs of cavity filling and poking and prodding. All so that my teeth are good and don't fall out of my head. Don't get me wrong, I understand the purpose and reason for the adage, "No pain, no gain", but that doesn't make me resent it any less. When it's self-inflicted or self-induced discomfort in the name of progress, I can handle that. I can say, 'stop' when I need to because I'm in control. When it's other people, I can't. I don't think I'd be very good at bondage, I don't like relinquishing power at all. As people who know me will attest, I am a controller. I like doing the driving, the organizing, the talking, all in the name of keeping things on track in a manner that I choose.

For the two years I was without a car, it was hellish to say the least. Relying on others to do the driving meant I had to rely on others to do the planning, so they knew when they could pick me up or drop me off. It was a total loss of power, and it was very much a feeling of helplessness and uselessness.

I don't think it's a bad thing to want to be in control, some people are better at it than others. I know that when I plan and organize events (provided people adhere to them) that things get done and everyone's happy. It's when people start deviating from my plans, or do the planning themselves that I notice the seams in the system. Lack of communication is usually the biggest culprit, assuming that other people should just know what to do. I prefer to work with the assumption that people are generally helpless and need to be guided through things. Of course, when proven otherwise I remember that fact and treat that person differently and in fact expect more from them in the planning process. Otherwise it's just better to think everyone's dumb.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not pessimistic in that regard, but a rule of thumb that keeps you from being disappointed constantly is a good rule. I think as people get older, they don't so much become bitter, but rather more reserved in what they expect from people until they get to a point where they've stopped expecting things, and become surprised (pleasantly so) when things go the way they had hoped.

I'd rather be continuously surprised than continuously disappointed.

Justifcations.

Stereotypes are a good thing. They help us to categorize and identify people based purely on a limited amount of information. Quite a marvel, really, to be so concise and judgemental using less information than is on a driver's license. Stereotypes like pretty people can't be smart, smart people can't be pretty, funny people are dead inside are all fantastic.

It's when people start screwing with this framework that I become irked. Smart, attractive people who are social and well adjusted drive me nuts. Hell, even two out of any number of traits jumbles my world like an earthquake on a water bed. 

I think high school's to blame.

In high school, I felt (as I'm sure many did) that in order to survive the chaotic hormones, and awkward sense of self we had to "become" something. It didn't matter what, but we had to be jocks, or drama kids, members of the student council or one of the hippies. Finding yourself drifting amongst different clicks was tantamount to social suicide.

Unless you were one of "those".

Those types who could do it all. The ones who were good at sports, who were artistic, mathematic, etc. Essentially people who were insufferable to be around. Perhaps I'm a bit close-minded, but I like when people get stuck with labels. It makes it easier to know what I'm dealing with. What's most upsetting, however is that given enough time with any one individual you'll find that few people actually DO fit into stereotypes. We're all these horrendously multifaceted creatures, with varied tastes and opinions. Like some sort of grotesque layer cake composed of opinions and personality quirks . We're all unable to fit into those stereotypes so many of us attached ourselves to in high school.

When did that happen?

I think about my friends. Of the limited few I have, I am nagged by their uniqueness. Flawed in so many ways, but fantastic in their distinctiveness. They range from what I can politely call the socially retarded, to regular hummingbirds feeding on the nectar of familiars. Some are math-y, others are poets, gamers, athletes, romantics, pessimists, narcissists, humanitarians and even misanthropes. And not one of them looks like they should, and by "should" I mean if you were to just glance at them, you'd be hard pressed to wrap a stereotype around them.

So is it good? Is it good that they're capable of being successful at a multitude of subjects and disciplines? Is it good that when I'm amongst them I'm inspired to be better than what I would be without their involvement?

Is a layer cake better with frosting?

(In)finite.

During my time at home these past two years I've watched a lot of television.

Actually, let me clarify that.

I've watched a lot of television that I'd either seen before, downloaded online, or watch in DVD format. That is to say, I watched a lot of TV, and used my cable service very little.

With that clarified, there was fruit to be had in this media smörgåsbord and that was that I came up with an idea for a comic book I hope to one day write and complete. The concept of the plot was enviable to me, who was somewhat housebound and who has a perverse craving of knowledge.

The idea was this; a boy is born already having the knowledge of all things a man can know, as well as a clear understanding of the mechanics of the Universe that far surpass what any one has ever known, or will ever know. He is initially unaware that this knowledge is somehow exceptional, and goes through his early life excelling academically, socially, financially, effectively being perfect at everything he sets his mind to. It isn't until he's presented with some previously unanswerable questions about aspect of our own planet, and our Universe (which he's able to explain) that he realizes his uniqueness.

Given a sort of diplomatic omnipotence he brings peace to man kind, as cultures from all over the world begin to revere him as a god. He appreciates the recognition, but in his mind he is sure there's no such thing as a god. He's unable to explain how such a "thing" would work that he dismisses the accolade and attempts in vain to continue his life.

Well into his thirties at this point, he's decided that with the whole world gathered together in unity (at his feet, it would seem) he can convince the heads of state to pool their resources and begin construction on a spacecraft. His aim is to propel man into the deepest reaches of space so that they can expand their empire and finally begin the galactic pilgrimage that has remained a subject of science fiction up to this point.

But there's a catch.

He demands that he is the first sole pilot of the ship, and he will withhold portions of the equations necessary for his "faster than light" travel until he is ready to launch. With mixed feelings, the "world" agrees to his terms and construction begins. The craft is actually a large ring around the asteroid belt that separates Mars from Jupiter, with a small ship that will disembark from there. What society isn't aware of is that there's no plan to go faster than light, our main character has figured out away to create a wormhole by causing the asteroids in the belt to be crushed together gravitationally by the large ring, and accelerated so that at the mid point between the asteroid belt and the large ring the fabric of space-time will begin to buckle in on itself like a string twisted too tight. Finally space will give way to the colossal gravitational forces and briefly a wormhole will appear that our "hero" will fly through.

Just as he does this though he enters a code into his console which the citizens of Earth have been told will unlock the missing parts of the formula so they can follow after him. What it does instead is erase all data of the construction and formulas from any computer and leaves in it's place a digital epitaph for his life on Earth.

His goal is to search the area the wormhole has opened up to, armed only with the knowledge that based on everything he knows this is one of many areas that should logically support life. After months in space searching, he discovers what he's been looking for, a planet with a pre-industrial civilization where he can land and choose to live in peace on a planet that's been capable of supporting life. Ultimately this is not to be the case. During his landing he is spotted by a group of "farmers" on the planet who rush to his ship and begin to hail him as a god-creature, descended from the heavens. The irony should be obvious.

Someday I hope to turn this loose story idea into something concrete.

Commercial Success.

The problem with ideas is the following through of them. I'm nothing if not a thinker and imaginer, but I have trouble "doing".

Among what I'd like to think are a series of brilliant ideas is one for a sort of commercial-based sketch comedy. The premise would be to take current commercials and either re-dub them with dialogue that I feel suits the scene being presented on the screen before us, or reconstruct the commercial altogether, from the ground up.

This is hardly a new idea, as the dubbing over of commercials for comedic purposes has been done on nearly every website with both a sense of humour and a means to display video. I guess I've just got the fuel to transform nearly every commercial I witness into some form of joke, but little means to do so.

It's a bit of a running theme in my life, the conception of a thought, but aborting it before bearing it. I've got a stack of old books sitting in my hallway I had the intention of turning into a lamp with a little garage-style electronics work. I have art supplies, video editing programs, recipes, all of them remain in potentia, so close to the edge of actualization that they might as well self-manifest.

So what's the cause of this inability to create? Back in high school when I left many a homework unfinished and even un-started, I claimed it was a form of perfectionism. I was unwilling to start something for fear it would not be perfect. A completely reasonable conclusion. So often in my art have I been able to clearly visualize what I wish to draw or paint, but a lack of formal training and inability to command my fingers to function like the ink-jet printer I wish they were leaves my work stranded somewhere between abstract and grade 1 macaroni art.

Secondly is an attachment I get to ideas that makes them impossible to be lived up to. Almost compulsively I turn simple potentialities into gussied up romantic versions of their real selves that when they fail to measure up (and they always do) I am crestfallen. From the act of cooking to relationships and everything in between, I feel as though my brain and heart are run by a Hollywood producer, so slick and fast talking that I am convinced that I can do anything!

Add these two dilemmas together and you can see why I so rarely act upon my ideas. Rejection and frustration are powerful venoms in the heart of a dreamer. I think, perhaps it is best to dream and let others act upon those ideas. I should serve as thinker and planner and delegate to others with skills better suited to turn my dreams into realities.

There's nothing wrong with that, is there?