"c" is not for "universal constant"

As far as I can recall, I have never gotten into trouble for breaking the rules. Not once. This doesn't mean that I haven't broken them -- and sometimes pretty blatantly; nor does it mean that I haven't been caught once or twice. It's just never been a problem, or even an inconvenience.

However, I do get into trouble.

What is the logical conclusion?

All of the times that I've gotten into trouble, I have not actually been doing anything wrong.

The most standout incidence of this occurred in the 4th grade, when I had to pay to reuholster a schoolbus, and nearly faced expulsion. The seat in front of mine had been completely shredded, the fabric ripped into long swaths. I was the one who reported it. The bus driver said it had probably happened over the weekend, when the bus had been loaned to a rugby team. The bus driver also said that it was impossible for me to have done it, not only because I wouldn't have had the time, or the ability to do it silently, but because there was no way I had the upper body strength to pull it off.

This did not matter to the school, or to my father. I had to pay 200 pounds (at that time, around $400) to get the bus repaired. I had to pay, and not my family, because it was my problem. This wiped out my entire savings account, which contained all of my allowance for the past three years, plus the periodic holiday cheques from my grandparents. Three years of allowance and presents, and I never got to see a dime of it other than in my imagination. Arielle, at this time, used her savings to buy something grand, although I cannot remember what.

If anybody has wondered why I distrust anything that is promised to me, don't place a high value on telling the truth, and tend to spend money as soon as it comes into my hands, that bit of past history would be one of the most obvious reasons.

This type of scenario has repeated over and over again. The current iteration involves Circuit City and their belief that I cut open the cable of my laptop's AC Converter and maliciously severed the majority of the wires. Why I would do this, they cannot say. In fact, they didn't bother to tell me that they weren't going to fix it until it had been in the shop for two weeks and I'd talked to seven different people to make sure the warranty applied, (which it does, actually).

So basically, what I'm looking at is the need to just buy a new one, at a cost of between one and two hundred dollars.

How much money is in my personal savings account?

$167.

And the thing is, I can't even go to get one, because I have no faith that I will not be killed if I get into my car. Yes, I got it back from the shop, and it did fine yesterday. Yes, they supposedly found the problem this time. They also supposedly found the problem last time, and I still wound up with a flat tire and a bent wheel rim. Throwing a tire at 70 mph . . . not a reassuring possibility. Add to this that people in other cars really are trying to kill me right now, (I mean even more than usual,) and the proliferation of ravens that have been following me, and I'd really prefer to stay indoors. This means skipping class as well, which is not something I want to do.

And of course, indoors, I'm breaking everything I touch -- the phone isn't working right, Val's computer isn't working right. . . Even basic kitchen appliances aren't working right.

Shit. I know this entry sounds all doom and gloom, mostly because it is. I had a good weekend -- really, I did. I spent time with all of my friends, (except Chad, which is solely because I have neither his telephone nor his apartment number,) I ate well, I was beautiful and fascinating, I got my hair cut, and I garnered some piratey loot.

I'm so burned out that I don't even have the strength to hypnotize myself anymore. Every morning, I wake up and say, "today, I will be positive. I will make strides against the chaos and the entropy that seek to undermine me, and I will laugh in a way that reminds people of Errol Flynn." It fails because I never have the energy to believe it. I can't even vamp out, because nobody else has any excess energy to loan me.

What sucks is not actually that I can't fix things, but that none of my friends can either. It's not that I expect them to, it's just that it seems to hurt them that they can't. When they notice, that is. I can't decide which reaction I think is worse. It makes me frustrated with all of them; and yet, I would prefer to be in their company.

I'm trying really hard to end this on a happy note, so. . . Look! Behind you! It's Adam West, star of Batman: The Movie!

Family Movies

Back when I was a kid, Uncle Rex was always making home videos. So was my dad, but his were always centered on holidays -- Uncle Rex's were mostly of me, Arielle, and my cousin Scarlett playing on the front porch. While some of these shots were purely documentary, most of them involved hastily improvised interviews.

Uncle Rex: So what do you want to be when you grow up?

Arielle: Dangermouse.

Arielle, as the youngest, was the cute one. That was her persona -- adorable, and a bit clueless. Her fringe was always in her eyes, her answers were largely non-sequitor, and she spent most of her camera time grinning like an idiot. She was the one who made everyone say "awwww," who never got in trouble for anything, and who mostly got pats on the head.

Uncle Rex: What happened to the toy you were just playing with?

Scarlett: I sold it to a man on a skateboard who said he needed it to join the enchanted circus.

Uncle Rex: Really?

Scarlett: Yes. He had a pet pink poodle, and I thought it was best to take him seriously.

Scarlett was the scene stealer, no question. Best actress, best storyteller, and the funniest. Her segments tend to be the longest, because she can keep going forever, spinning a story bigger and bigger until you just have to sit back and whistle in admiration.

Uncle Rex: What movie did you watch last night?

Romie: (distracted) I don't know. Joe Faces the Mountain, or something.

Uncle Rex: Joe Versus the Volcano?

Romie: (distracted) Sure.

Uncle Rex: Was it good?

Romie: Yeah; I mean, a guy jumped into a volcano. Excuse me. (Runs off).

I always seem vaguely irritated to be on camera. Not uncomfortable -- I've never been camera shy -- but annoyed to be away from my game. My only lengthy appearances are actually in shots of Scarlett -- I'm generally sitting beside her, taking in the performance and quietly laughing at all the jokes.

I'm always the straight man to my family, largely because I can recognize that they're better entertainers than I am. I'm more of a director type -- I guide the conversation so that they can best show themselves off. I'm quite happy to fade into the background -- to facilitate the action, but to let them be memorable.

I miss being offstage, behind the camera.

I need a black and white super 16mm.