Chapter Six: The Expected Anticlimax Cliché

My inspiration has left me entirely I'm afraid. My disposition is partially to blame for this. The lust for life has already long parted with my body, but it recently has less vigor than ever. I've seen carnivorous plants with more swagger than your truly. Also, the times I've been doing nothing, have been shared with playing Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door. Let this be a lesson to you all: If you want a game and it looks interesting and reviews concur with that, buy it! Don't wait.
This game is one of the most magical experiences I have ever had the chance to immerse myself in. To be completely fair, it has been the fine line between me engaging in random, drunken fisticuffs and vague sanity. Yes, that also has been fleeting of late. In fact, my original idea, while at rock bottom, was to write down this experience of delusion. I withdrew at the last minute, however, as it would come off sordidly morbid and even borderline psychopathic. Perhaps one day, ey guv'ner?

No, to end my tales, I leave you with an even greater anticlimax. In fact, this won't be a blog post at all. Instead, I leave you with a shameless copy paste, to emphasize my legacy of pure futility. Of course, I have a reason for that, though it might be one only I can understand.

Today, something rather unexpected happened. Normally, I put a lot, even too much, effort in writing these long and droning blogs about nothing. But on March 11, I did not have that time and had to fill my schedule with something. Being too worn down by existence to play aforementioned game, I set out to do something else. It will be the experience you will be reading about and added to this, the writing of the blog itself.
Quickly flash forwarding to today, comes the logic for my choice to end this way: I've been mentioned by Gamespot for my outstanding blog. Therefore, I will share it with you, as I concluded that if it's good enough for a vast community of equal minded gamers, it should be good enough to end on, for all to read. Many thanks to Gamespot for their mention of me, you can find the link to it HERE! 
Enoy this shameless plagiary of my own works and I hope you've enjoyed reading this. 

My 15 minutes of internet fame. Time to bask in my self-satisfaction.

DIY Gaming repair; a lost art?

In an effort to repair my broken games, I fixed my Gameboy Color cartridge of Pokémon Silver today.

The idea came from having to look up two things about broken Nintendo DS parts in 2 days. Being rather upset I had 2 malfunctioning units, I decided to see if I could fix them myself. sending them over to Nintendo costs a lot and for that money, I might as well buy a new console.
The first problem was a broken L-button and got fixed, easier than I thought, with this effort. On a sidenote, I'm glad the topicstarter got helped in the end and people came together in joy of repaired console glory!
The second problem however, was 2 broken hinges and can only be fixed by replacing the shell. A process to complicated for me to pull off and thus I still have one broken DS, for which I mourn.

It made me feel a bit bad, I couldn't repair it, so I tried to redeem myself with something else. I have a cartridge here, from which I suspected the battery to be dead. As most games I own are extremely old, that was my guess as a tech-noob. After only very short research, I proved those suspicions and noticed how 'easy' it was to repair. A quick, complete fix could be done with a screwdriver and some tape. And although I have no tech skills and therefore also no screwdriver, I made due. Armed solely with a nailclipper, no less! It made me flashback the days of old, when I applied more ghetto knowledge to save a few bucks.

Your ghetto fix in practice

You see, back in the day, I used to game even more and so did my mother and my brother, all on the same console. Add that all up and you'll get some serious abuse towards your system. We must have gone through, at least, a dozen SNES controllers and 6 to 10 Atari joysticks that way. Press the buttons in frustration enough times and then BAM! Another controller bites the dust.
In those days, technology wasn't as complicated and you could weld most controllers back into a working shape, for a good while. Our mom taught us how to weld (imagine that!) and that way we saved hundreds of euros. Since we had only our allowance to go by, that really helped. Don't forget, your budget was as limited as it got and you had to stretch that game as far as you could.

Just put the buttons on the allocated spots; easy as pie!

Today, we are spoiled of sorts and all the technology is available to us on a wide array and at a lot of different prices. It makes us take some things for granted and when things breaks, we usually just throw them away. It's easier to go find a second hand SNES than to open one up and repairing it. We are blessed to have all we need at our fingertips and we need only reach out to grab it.
Also, machines have become more and more complex, so fixing a Red Ring Of Death might not be as easy as welding back a piece. It increases our consumerism, to go out and buy a new Xbox 360, instead of going through an arduous task of repairing one.

Game Over or To Be Continued?

With the power of internet, the world has now become our flea market and replacing goods has never been easier. Just think of the things you can buy from Ebay, Amazon or other, local, auction sites. A quick browse will make you discover the games you need and, if you don't beware, send you right into game addiction, like yours truly. With a site like Amazon that refers you to other bought items, it's easy to lose track and start shopping away frantically. It also decreases the value we put into owning certain items.

We used to be able to buy one or 2 games every few months and with some luck attend one or two flea markets a year. Now, whenever we want, we can surf and buy whatever our little heart desires. If we grow tired of a game, it's easier to give into temptation and buy a new one, instead of biting down and finishing our previous endeavor.
And finishing a game more than twice has become utter madness. I finished Super Mario World so many, many times, I'm amazed my launch cartridge still works to this day. I can't say I've finished God Of War three times or more.

The basic point of all this is: You don't have to throw away something that breaks. You don't have to become an engineer quite yet, but reflect for a second. Would it be worth trying to repair that DS, instead of buying a new one? Could I teach myself to fix a Red Ring Of Death and perhaps even fix it for others? If Microsoft can, why couldn't you?
Just don't take the blessing of technology for granted and dig into the magic. Who knows, you might be able to accomplish something you couldn't perceive possible. And that alone is a good thing for your self-esteem, but also your own wallet!

Chapter Five A - The Mundane Autopsy Part II

One straight line home; you'd think we'd be done with this soon, but we won't. Oh, cruel faith it is, having the most revelations in a street where I wouldn't expect any sentient behavior to happen. No offense to the nice streets we have here, but apart from muggings and random vandalism, I've rarely seen anything happen there. Someone got run over recently, but is that food for thought? Perhaps later.
All this, to say our adventure now draws a near end and I am a mere 250 yards from making it safely back into my cave with my groceries.


It is about 50 yards in that the now second revelation hit me. Quite literally, actually, as I almost broke my neck tripping over my 'revelation'. Now behind me, stood word's crummiest covered city works. I kid you not when I say, this was filled up at random and leveling the floor was a thing of mere fiction. In all the times I've passed there since then, I forgot to take pictures. I hope I'll remember shortly (I did, look!), but I usually hurry through there. Although, I am now forever reminded of this atrocity, whenever I pass.
Again, worsening this fact, I encountered their second covered ditch mere yards away yesterday. You've guessed it; it was another calamity.


It had hit me, that I had seen this abomination's creation only the day before passing with my groceries. Right there and then, I put these 3 road workers in a very nasty box of judgmental prejudice. I saw them and immediately assumed they would do a horrible job and that I should avoid eye contact, lest I'd find myself in that hole. Since these 3 poor, young men hadn't done me any harm to prove me of such nasty ideas, I shrugged it off and continued walking.
Well, the next day, after my epiphany, I retract this shrugging. I even resent it a bit. I was right on the money on these lads and my gut instinct usually is. No idea why I suddenly give people the benefit of the doubt on this, but I'll try not to let it happen again.


Look, before you categorize me equally as swift, let me paint you the picture I saw.
The entire roadside was blocked off with construction tape and inside this tape, work was being done. When I say work, I mean of course that there was one dude working and the other 2 just looking about. Poor sap, doing everything by himself; but wait! Sap person was operating a small automated crane that did all the work. To look more bad-ass, he was arched over it and was smoking with no hands. you know how it looks; like a disgruntled cowboy riding a mechanical dragon. I bet he had a back tattoo, with a copulative remark towards my mother to top it off. While operating this at complete random, as it looked, the two others spent their time spitting to their sides. Followed by a hollow grunt or a despicable glare. It is amazing that these fellows get paid, but there you go. It is only out of respect for the hard, manual labor they should (!) be doing, that I couldn't bring myself to insult their demeanor further. Rest assured, it looked a lot worse.


So, here is where my thoughts intertwined with one another. How come people can judge a foreign any foreign person without a second thought, when these fine, white, young men don't get that downside?
I, for one, hold much more resentment towards these folks, than I could a random immigrant. The immigrant only appeals to our fear of the unknown, but otherwise, he has done nothing. These bastards though, they get away with this behavior and that pisses me off.


I noticed this at first when I worked in a social workplace. A place where lowlifes, like myself, with little to no career opportunity, can come together and be exploited. It's there I decided to further my studies, for that place was pure hell.
We all know the bullpoo expression that you have to do some work that sucks sometimes. Well, I wouldn't advise on it, because that experience has scarred me for life for numerous reasons. I'll try not to discuss it.
Getting back to the point, this place was filled with drug addicts, (ex)convicts and immigrants. But not adaptive immigrant type. The type that comes over here and expects you to learn some Arabic to communicate with him. I was the only person on the workforce who had never been to jail or hadn't serious warrants pending over him. These guys were as hardcore as they get. Getting to work high and keeping that high throughout the day, while as verbally abusive as they could get away with. It was like being thrown into a biker gang as a sweet, big breasted, 18-year old virgin. You were their bitch, whether you wanted to or not and things will, without a doubt, get rough.
Now, most of these elements were upstanding and not-so-upstanding white folk. Take away the fully tattooed folks and you couldn't tell the difference between them and more accepted members of society. And these junkies meant business on every aspect of life, beside work. Well, they only had one aspect beside that, so it wasn't hard, but still. You have to see dedication where it lies. And it lies in their drug addiction.


Let's dissect the mind of a drug addict for a second: He wants drugs.
Yes, that's the dissection, nothing more simple. This will result in the person in question to talk about drugs, every chance he gets. I have rarely had any conversation there, because there was only one topic: Weed. If they weren't talking about how nice weed was, they were talking about smoking it, when to smoke it, when to acquire it, etc. It was torture to endure, because as a sane person, talking about 1 (ONE) thing the entire day for 365 will cause head trauma.


Anyways, since their job didn't consist of smoking weed, they would go about it as half-assed as possible. Cutting corners so badly, it would be a disgrace to the term or just plain not working. That was fine by me though, I hate work too, but at the end of the day, I had to get something done. Not for the bosses; screw them. But to keep my sanity in that place, I had to have some sort of accomplishment, something to tell me my wasted days had some meaning. That meaning would quickly wither away in fall time, when raking leaves and picking them up would become a Sisyphean task.
But the most bothersome thing about the other workers attitude was, that they'd believe they were doing the best job ever. Sheer arrogance, but that's how most workers feel. They alone know the secret to fast and efficient work, when in fact it's due to their lack of work that they're done so fast. Also, they would berate others for their lack of work ethic. Their work was awful and filled with holes everywhere. No, really? You mean, just like yours?
Ok, I'm a bit of a perfectionist and my work progress has tendency to slow down because of it, but at least my job is done. I remember numerous times where I was asked to secretly go over spots other workers had 'done'. Secretly, because let's not forget, these people were (ex)convicts. Noticed the brackets? Yes, some were technically still serving a sentence in the penitentiary and the only reason they were left out, was due to this job. Still feel safe on the streets? There's murderers loose, because they can feint a work attitude. Just something to make you think.


Leaving that experience and coming back to the present, this is what upset me so much about the crappy hole. Not for my sake, but theirs.
I know what they thought when they were working and when they were done. They were convinced of another job well done and probably high-fived themselves on the matter. Fast and efficient; it's their motto and they put it to the test.
And here's what really pickled me. If they themselves would pass a similar hole along their way, they would scream bloody murder! They would rant viciously about what an outrage it is, that such work is tolerated and performed. To put the cherry on top, they would claim that they would've performed said task flawlessly!! Can you imagine that insult? They would do a perfect job and leave that hole in the exact same state! To this day, the irony fries my braincells. I cannot comprehend how people cannot see their own idiocy on this part and their blatant arrogance.
So it isn't for me or you that I had this thought, but for them! I was instantly brought back to those days where I would hear such drivel and irritate myself so much, I had a nervous breakdown. One which I never recovered from, mind you.
It's kind of like when people are driving. Éveryone thinks they're the master of the road skills and everyone else is an oaf, an absolute oaf! why are you cutting in like that? You can't pass me, I'll pas you! We've all seen it and you probably fashion it in your own vehicle. Don't say you don't, because you do. There are no exceptions to this, so don't insult yourself.
Anyways, these people to me, are the scum of the earth. I don't mind you being a failure, but if you boast about how great you are, I'm sorry, but you disgust me. I just can't comprehend where you would get the impression that your way is the correct way. When you get thwarted by any upright standard of society telling you otherwise, how can that not affect your judgment? I guess that, as always, ignorance is bliss.
As RATM put it best on this one: "If ignorance is bliss, then wipe the smile from my face".
My apologies if this sounded discriminating or even borderline racist. Once you have dealt with firsthand experience on the matter, I'll appreciate your input on this.


I have to move on; no sense in dwelling on the past. And so, I moved on, only to find out that a few yards further I would have another thought pop in my head. This last thought, however, is one I've had for the majority of my life. Starting a lot younger as you may think. The concept states: "people 'just in case' me on a regular basis". It is only until recently, I had noticed that all the wrong demographics do this. And so a mother and child on the street caught me in their sights and quickly proceeded into the act.
For those unfamiliar with it, let me draw an example and illustration. This is the idea that when you pass someone you deem to be untrustworthy, you cross the street or perform a similar action. I've seen extremely insulting things happen to me this way. From clutching your purse, to holding your children at your side, to crossing the street, to subtly trying to grab the mace from your pocket. Can you imagine a person that is so scared of your first expression, she's ready to drop everything she knows and resort to macing you if anything seems wrong? And I couldn't even go up to that person and tell her the mace is really unnecessary. I wouldn't be able to finish a sentence and I'd be on the floor with eyes filled with pepper-spray.
These things used to really upset me. I'd get really angry that people would discriminate you like that and you couldn't do anything about it. To this day, you can't file a complaint for this, you only get a message from the Board Of Equal Rights that people shouldn't act that way. Thanks, tattoo it on your foreheads, perhaps it will have more effect.


I'll give you an example I frequently mention to illustrate my point on this:
One day, a friend of mine and myself were just walking around town, completely sober. Worth the mention that we were sober, because that was not always the case. In a straight line forward, we were walking behind a mother and her young child at normal pace. At some point, the little girl turns around and notices me and her eyes flare up! Right after that she notices I am in the company of someone else and then all turns to hell! She runs towards her mother, clutches her leg and holds on for dear life. The mother, being totally surprised to see her child in fear of death, turns around to see what the matter is, to see us in her sights. She can not, for the life of her, get her child to release her leg and so she has to drag it along at which point we obviously pass her. Her gaze quickly turns to a sneer, as if we are to blame for her child's misfortune.
It's times like these, you don't know whether to stoop down to their level and give them a solid trashing or just sob away at the grave prejudice of it all. Luckily, in those times, we would forget after a few minutes and beers.


A while ago, I decided to have some fun with that concept. A friend of mine and myself were going home after an evening of discussing things. His car was parked in a more shady area of town, both literally and figuratively, so I decided to tag along. On the way to his car, I spotted a young woman in a dress and heels walking in front of us. I already knew what was going to happen when she'd notice me as I always walk around in a black jacket and hoodie. We're casually walking and talking towards his car when she does spot us and, yes sir, she picks up the slack. A woman fast-walking in heels makes a load of noise. Perhaps not the kind of attention you want to draw to yourself in that neighborhood, but it's your call, lady.
Of course, it's insulting to see, but this time I went with a different approach.
As she was so quick to label me, I decided to concur with her prejudice and fuck with this person's mind as much I could!
I took leave of my friend in the most loud, obnoxious manner I could and proceeded to 'follow' the wench. she takes notice of this fast and picks up the pace once more. But for all the treads she precipitates herself, I can take a few additional ones. I am a man with giant feet after all and it also helps I'm not wearing heels, but combat boots. Just following her isn't enough now, I'm forced to also act like a menacing presence, or at least what she believes to be menacing. Otherwise, I have no idea how to look menacing, so I just crouch a bit into my hoodie and puff myself up as much I can. this poor lady is terrified, you can tell, even from this distance. I'm still 100 yards away, but I'm closing in anyway!

The charade of picking up the pace goes on for a bit until she snaps. She now crosses a busy and very dangerous street without even blinking to any side. I'm a bit stumped as how one would think that's a good idea, but I'm still enjoying this too much. To make things completely obvious she also starts making small runs every time she looks back. Again, if I wasn't cracking up inside, I'd be gravely insulted.
She crosses another street in a similar fashion and still I'm gaining on her. Damn her heels, she must think! Why today, why did she have to wear them today, with a small dress? I'm also pondered by the idea, lady, it's not really summer at this point, more like November!


And here is where this story really gets sad: She's now completely desperate. So, as I'm approaching, she goes up a street with little to no lights in, what is basically, the end of civilization. I don't think I've ever seen anyone go there, except the actual residents of the street. And knowing the demographics of my neighborhood, I can rule out you're not one of them, lass. you're just making a fool of yourself. As I'm crossing the second street she previously did, she comes to her wits end. This woman has done everything she can think of to shake me off and I'm still drawing near. Her death must be near, just look at me! I will certainly have bad things in store for you; I'm in all black and out at 1AM in the outskirts of town.
She suddenly halts her jog and turns to a random house and randomly rings a bell. Now, if I were to believe you lived there, you could have at least fake taking out a key. But what she doesn't seem to realize is, that she's in a more obscure part of the neighborhood and this is where all those ambulances and police cars go to. Chances are now she has tried to get away from me, harmless gentleman, and rang the door of a potentially very bad person. One person who might think Christmas is early this year, as his present of a young maiden at his door has arrived. Oh boy, this is a turn of events I can revel in. Have lots of fun with your potential, serial rapist/drug-dealer!
And just when that happens, I turn the corner to proceed to take my trip home. At first, I walked slowly. So if she'd realized what she had done, she'd head my way and still see me there. Imagine being stuck in a deathtrap like that. But that thought changes promptly, as it is late, I'm cold and I'm hungry. I resume my usual pace and leave the poor, young lady to her fate and a few hundred yards later I'm home for a well deserved pizza. Pizza thoughts go in and lady dying thoughts go out, what a pleasant night.


To the lady that night: If you have pressed the correct button and valiant, young men have answered the door to rescue you and sweep you off your heels and dress, good for you. You have overcome all odds and upheld discrimination at it's best! You may be proud to run away from a completely harmless person. I'm sorry to have made you feel that way. I wish you will rethink about similar situations later in life, so others do not need to suffer your judgmental attitude.
If you have, by accident, rung the wrong bell and did end up in the clutches of a villain, you are now probably murdered, horribly raped or at least scarred for life. I'd also like to apologize for that, as I did mean no harm. Perhaps next time you'll think twice and take your chances with the guy who's at least a full foot smaller than you. A man who bears no physical or other threat, other than his more gloomy appearance. And a person who, even in the worst case scenario, you could've easily crushed like a bug, as he's a complete sissy-girl. If you're still alive of course, otherwise, my bad you're dead.


Anyways, I think it's a shame that only all the wrong people feel and act this way. Like the heels and dress or the mother and child or, more recently still, a young lady who crossed the street and then had to recross it, because she didn't have to be there.
I do not mind frail women and children crossing my path. Who I'd really like to stay clear of me, are the less savory types. The types these other people take me for.
Sadly, these thugs can see right through you in a split second or even less. As if they see you are wearing a disguise, it also seems to set them off. You're pretending to be a hard-ass like them, yet you walk the sissy-girl walk. Perhaps I should stop referring to myself as a sissy-girl first.
No matter; even in the most boastful of attitudes, these guys can cut through your bull like butter.
You might not think of a ruffian to be intelligent, but to each his own. What such a man lacks in common knowledge, he makes up for in sheer people skills. And by that, I mean he can coerce nuns to perform heinous acts on themselves. It might not be positive skills he possesses, but you should see intelligence where it manifests itself. Believe me, if you could do what they do, you would too. Algebra won't get you far in life. Possessing the ability to blackmail, violate, oppress and command dozens of terror-struck individuals might. Specially if you've also mastered getting away with that.
It's these kind of people I usually encounter. Hence, my life sucks, for I am not on the good end of that rope.


And with that thought, I head on home with my bag of groceries that seemed to be a distant memory.
But no more, for I am at my gates and my mind is once again completely devoted to pizza. Pizza is god and I shall absorb its vessel into me. Sweet, sweet vessel.


Good day.

Chapter Five A - The Mundane Autopsy Part I

Back once again for the renegade master, D4 damager, with the ill behavior!
Sorry, my intros need some work, but still, 10 points for reference.

Anyway, I've finally found some more things to fatigue you with. I'd really like to be able to get 2 posts per week or some other, random, more productive number, but that's not going to happen. You see, I live a very dull and insignificant existence; shocking, I know. So, no stories about wild lady-boy prostitutes or base jumping Christ The Redeemer with your mother, naked. The only things that come close to any excitement are my past misadventures whilst intoxicated. And I either forgot most of them or I am too embarrassed to regale you with that, for now. My point is: It's hard to write pseudo-interesting anecdotes when naught is happening and you're basically a parasite doing nothing. Making matters worse, I tend to slack off and game for the largest portion of my existence, as we've covered plenty already.
Must resist writing about games! It's harder than it looks, for me.

In my quest to write about other things than gaming, I do what I think most writers do. I go out and observe things that I could use for inspiration. And when you're a shut-in, that's a seldom occurrence. When you're void of social skills, looks or other positive trait to enable such gallant behavior as showing your face outside, inspiration tends to flicker on the low end. However, this Friday was one of those rare exceptions where I venture out into the world. I would stay in, but fate would have it that I need nutrients and those are only found in stores and such. Scientists need to get started on the never-ending refrigerator posthaste for agoraphobics. It's hell for us to go out in the loud, scary world and dwell amongst others. I believe it's the loss of control over our environment that panics us the most. But for now, let's pick up all our courage and head out the door.

I'll warn you right now, my trip will not be more enterprising than your journeys out. So stop reading now if you don't feel like perusing through the mundane. Because, this is what this will be: A large dissection of mundane events.
At first, I was a bit reluctant to bore others with this, but somehow on this trip to the store and back, something opened in my mind. I suddenly had quite extensive and comprehensive articles forming in my mind about affairs I saw. It didn't start that way, mind you. Everything started halfway back home on one special circumstance I witnessed. In a few moments, a large portion of texts had formed and connected with each other on several situations. Some of those situations had already passed me and flashed back into my memory, like a good soul would store it and retrieve it from his episodic memory. A rare event for a person with virtually non memory, like me.My walk towards the store however, was routine as routine gets. Walk, cross the street, cross another street, cut through the square, mind traffic, yet more walking and then finally, store. Nothing happened that my brain would take the effort on remembering; not that it's such a workaholic on that part.
In the store, basically, the same thing happened. Except if you count the fact that this shop is too lazy to ever refresh their supply of vegetarian pizzas. Again, shocking; I eat a load of pizzas. My efforts on this healthy characteristic get constantly thwarted by this policy of only replenishing the stock when depleted. Also, there are only 4 pizza's, one in each container box. Four pizzas, amongst hundreds others! Who invented this monstrosity? I must remind myself to write a very angry letter to the government
pizza company. Let's try not to dwell on this. I solved my problem by taking some nasty fungus pizza with me; a sad compromise that makes my stomach cry.

At the checkout, I was waiting for my turn with my cart, as malodorous simpletons in front of the row left their carts to get more groceries. Nothing out of the ordinary here. People always get half their groceries, go to the checkout and then go get the rest, so they don't have to wait their turn in line. It's a very discourteous and aggravating habit.
I had some time to kill, so I looked around for that time or people in substitute of it. Behind me stood a man with a pack of chocolates and some crackers, which would undoubtedly serve him for a royal meal. As he only had two items, I decided to let the good sir pass me in the line. And I didn't do it to put him in the danger zone of the malodorous oafs in front of me, as he also reeked quite bad. Also surprising, I had snickered at him earlier for wearing a tacky leather cowboy jacket, with fringes so large, it was a disgrace to God himself. But in the nature of common courtesy, I believe I was doing the right thing.

I'm a large partisan of the idea of common courtesy. In the late eighties, early nineties the notion of letting people pass you was still installed. But later on, it got replaced and somehow the exact opposite started to happen, as people let others wait in line for their own selfishness. It used to bother me quite a lot, as I used to be one of those customers who'd only buy 2 things maximum. I'd count the endless times I wouldn't be let through, while I waited for an elderly lady to check her brimming cart she'd never be able to store. Later on, I decided that if I wanted things to change, I'd have to show some initiative, instead of sulking quietly at the injustices of this world. And so started my concept of common courtesy. Selflessly I'd let people pass me, without once being returned the favor.Until some time last year, when I was out shopping with my girlfriend, someone let us pass. I was a bit awestruck and told the misses, who concurred with that occurrence. Since then, this has happened 3 more times, I think, which is a lot by my count.

This has triggered me to let people pass more and more, which leads us back to the checkout on Friday. I waved the cowboy forward and told him he could cut in line. To my surprise, the man even declined as he stated he needed more items from the checkout itself. I insisted one or two more items wouldn't waste my time anymore than now and urged him forward, which he was thankful for. It feels kind of good to try and instate some politeness back in a world so jaded, we all look out for number one. Even if only the gesture for now counts and doesn't start an upward trend; we take what we can get. Also, it made me notice the lady at the checkout reacting more friendly towards me than she would usually do.

At some points, these employees are so fed up, they unconsciously insult basically every customer. My girlfriend once noticed this, when the lady in question talked to her in broken English, because she believed my girlfriend was an immigrant that couldn't speak any Dutch. That's fairly harsh when you're not even remotely foreign.

So, if I can slowly start snowballing this tendency of more amicable behavior with simple actions, I'm all for it. It would make our environment less stressful to go through and would ultimately benefit us all. I urge anyone to do the same as good deeds set forth other good deeds. Who knows, perhaps we can swing the handle all the way back to the gentleman ages of the early twentieth century.

I have been taught to believe any insight fluctuates in a pendulum motion. Hence, in times with extreme boorish behavior, we are on the end of one swing. This will revert with growing momentum to a time where manners and decency will overtake the rude. And ultimately, we will go to the well known expression that history repeats itself. While I wait anxiously for everyone to get on the courtesy cart, let us press on.

Leaving the store with a good deed in hand, it is now time to go home and put all those nice ingredients in my tummy! And so, I walk on what should be the return trip of the routine, with the walking and crossing and all that. A few yards outside the store I see a young man leaving the house and marching in my direction. As he advances, I notice about 5 feet away that he's a foreign lad. From the moment my brain captures this, my heart rate heightens and sends a panic reaction to my paranoiac body. This continues until I am at least 20 yards away from him and am certain he is far away from me.This is something that happens quite frequently as I am, for one, a huge paranoiac and secondly, live in a social housing neighborhood that consists mainly of these kind of people. Don't read more into that statement than there is. All I'm saying is that these unfortunate souls are all as poor as I am and can't afford other housing. It is not my fault foreigners can't make as much money as others, it's not theirs either. Their chances get limited due to prejudice and that's a crying shame.Knowing all this, it really made me wonder: Why does my mind react this way? Why do I, and many others like me, immediately panic when faced with foreign lads?I felt quite guilty for that reflex and I state here and now I have never been assaulted or otherwise bothered in this neighborhood, the entire time I have been here. The only times I've felt discomfort, the people involved were as native as they could be. It makes me wonder where we get this preconception that all foreign boys are out to get you. I started to contemplate and, together with my knowledge from my social studies, I thought up a theory that I find just.

It's, again, unfortunate, but most encounters we get with foreigners, are bad seeds। The reason for this is multi-layered. We already stated that foreign people or people from that origin have a harder time creating a larger income. It's not their fault, I'm not saying they're lazy. In fact, I got proof of that yesterday, when I realized the clerk from the store across my house was the same person standing in the night shop next to me. That man had been working a double shift and that was the second time I noticed that to happen here. I couldn't spend my entire waking day serving people behind a counter, just to get some money, how easy that job may sound. This smaller income also means that they will have less to work with. Result: Smaller, cruddier houses and less luxuries, with probably more people to support.

For everyone to have their space, children often go play in the streets, instead of at home, so to not disturb the hardworking adults and possible elderly living in the house. At a young age, these children are put out into the street with little to no control, nor supervision. Another factor of being poor is that these kids get bored. You can only do so many things on the streets with no money or supplies to entertain oneself. It makes them easier prey to look for alternatives that might not be legal for them to get their kicks. This also means that they must face their frustration of being poor at a constant rate, as people with more means than them pass them and possibly look down upon them. Believe me, this is a horrible feeling to go through every single day.
Being more vulnerable to crime, they're also easily approached by older peers to do their evil bidding, be it under pressure or not.

Most kids on the street also suffer from setbacks in their education. Again, it's not completely their own faults, most of the harm is done by others. When going to school, they might have problems grasping a language or a concept that seems foreign to them. Most schools do not bother with aiding them to overcome the obstacle and place that responsibility in themselves or their parents. It's one of the most ignorant things you can do, because they will not be able to cross that bridge themselves and neither will their parents. Otherwise it would not be a foreign concept, if they were taught so at home. Unfortunately, this means at age 12 they will already have built up a setback so vast, they will not be able to recover from it. Can you imagine what it must feel like to know you will not excel at age 12? It must be a crushing thought, if you are able to grasp it.

Another problem with their education is that, even if they get stimulated at school, they will not be aided at home. Most parents do not care for a (higher) education and offer no support or backing for the child to go on. They have not had those chances in their lives and those who aren't bittered about that fact, just can't offer any help to problems they, themselves, do not understand. As family is an important factor in most cultures, they will willingly cast aside the education to follow the path their parents would want. It's a shame, but without that early backing from backing and a minimum of support, it will not change.

So, now they have no chance of succeeding at life, probably suffer from self-esteem issues from being let down constantly and are bored. It doesn't take a scientist to see that this mix largely enhances the chances of violence or other crime. They're angry, young kids and weren't taught to control this into something more productive, so what do you expect will happen? I don't mean to condone it, but it some cases, we forget to look at both sides of the pictures.
I would like to indicate at this point that I severely hope not to come off as judgmental in any way in this past comment or the following.

This leads me to another big factor for our nested fears: The media. Yes, I know, what you're thinking, not another media bash. I fear it will involve a slight whooping, sorry. Every time we see a crime acted by a foreign looking person, the media tends to make the sap look as bad as they can. I'm not saying they're not bad men, hell, in some cases they are the monsters depicted. Let's just say not every hoodlum is a terrorist; some people are just pissed. In the spirit of sensationalism, we also like to drag out the pictures as long as we can, to really smear that fear in your unconscious. If some upstanding white boy commits a crime, it's a shame, but after a few days, it's history. If however, you are not so upstanding, we'll do all we can to smear your photo's, name, house and any other undisclosed information so long and profusely, you will not be able to forget. It will be everywhere; in every magazine, web page, newspaper, TV show and other media you can think of, usually in the most pejorative manner one can think of.
It reminds me of some video's that the papers and news channels brought out of Ronald Janssen of an attendance he made to a barbecue. Justified by mentioning he wasn't as distraught as he had mentioned in his confessions, this was completely inappropriate and left me feeling appalled at the standard level of journalism in my country. I don't care what monster a man is, you don't dig through his personal, private affairs and show them in the public light. Specially not if it isn't relevant to any aspect of the case. It made me feel worse for the murderer than for the media portraying it.

Another media trend I do not like, is the glorification of fad and superficial entertainment. This is more a personal note, I believe, as there will be plenty of you already sucked in and loving this filth. It does however not aid a youngsters cause to see how rap and r&b music can venerate stupidity, violence, misogyny and wastefulness, amongst others. Don't get me wrong, plenty of other genres that have that as well and also, there is plenty of good rap out there, be it meaningful or not. But none of these genres get the widespread attention than a, let's say, Kayne-douchebag-royalty-West or Katy Perry. You might think Cannibal Corpse is pure filth on tape, but they don't have an airplay of 5 hours a day on every major network. Poor Marilyn has to take all the blame by himself for going commercial enough for TV. Hey, what do you know? Another reference towards Manson; soon enough people might link me to a school shooting or such.
Anyway, the glorification doesn't stop only at the songs, but spreads itself to a large portion of the overall culture. Resulting in your ten year old daughter walking around in hoochie mama clothes and stiletto heels. Although, the parents are really to blame on this one; educate your damn kid! Pardon my French.



Remember how this post was just me going to the store and back? Those were some nice memories, let's get back to that for a line or two. I let the guilt of my panic reaction wash over me and proceeded home. All went well as nothing occurred for a while, but then it happened. The one thing that set forth this slew of worthless anecdotes I now annoy you with. As I was on my way back from the store, I proceeded to cut through the square in the opposite direction. In front of me was a young woman with child, pushing a pram about on the side of the street, where it's flatter for the infant to have a smooth ride. So far all seemed normal to me and I proceeded my way home. In her right hand a cell phone went off and so she looked at it, pushing the pram blindly forward. Again, I didn't think much of it; I myself walk bits blind when I receive a message. Looking sporadically at the road will warn you well in advance of any problem ahead. But then as she had read the message, she nudged the stroller forward, releasing it with both hands, to have those hands free to send a text. My mind was blown!Now, of course, you and I both know the child was never in any real danger, but that was not what had me stunned for a second.
What stupefied me was the gesture itself. What would drive one to push away, what should be your most sacred creation ever made and blindly ignore it, while it rolls onto an intersection? Yes, we were at an intersection and on top of that a parking lot exit. Where did I miss the moment a text might, even for a second, be more important than your offspring? I didn't even write it off as an exception, because years back, this would not even have entered the mind of any mother. It was inexcusable.

To make matters worse, I witnessed the same thing two days ago, only even worse.In the previous case the child was not ever in any realistic harm. Though it was a bad mother move, at least there was no big probability of anyone getting hurt. Perhaps a slight one and that's more than you can afford. But in the case of two days ago, it was just blatant bad parenting.
Right of the bat, you could see this land-cow was a bad mother. Am I saying fat people are bad parents? Heck no, they're usually great parents. In this case however, the person in question had noticeably let go of any dignity and had stopped caring at all. It's amazing she was even taking care of children, be it poorly. Therefore it was of little surprise she had about 5 brats following her and her friend was an equally horrid apparition. I'll try not to bash the lady on appearances anymore, it's not nice. Let's trash her on her skills instead.
We were on opposite sides of a crossing when we met. I was slowing down and looking on both sides to see for traffic. She and her troop would have none of it and she lunged forward with one pram and some kids. Other children and her other stroller had not received the hasty message and were left behind. My mind was blown once more as I saw said person leave her one pram behind to retrieve her other lost pram together with some kids. All this on a very busy street with oncoming traffic. And here's where the apparent danger sets in. The streets here are really crooked and apart from leaving her own kin to their fates, the one stroller now was rolling back onto the street. She had to scramble back to recover the infant, so it would not get hit by any traffic. A sight to behold, knowing she probably rolls faster than she walks. I did it again, didn't I?

You could say I hold my part of the blame for not going after the carriage myself and the thought crossed my mind. However, I'm not the one responsible for her little monsters to survive. I wouldn't care a lot if they all got hit by her misbehavior. Out of common courtesy I would hold my "I told you so" and helped them if they had been injured.
Anyway, this flagrant disregard for her own family's safety together with the previous incident made me realize to which extent humanity truly is jaded। Somehow along the way, we have put more importance in our own interest, over all other odds. Now, the concept of selfishness isn't new; we all take care of ourselves before others. But it has taken such pervasive proportions that we now fail to care for anything else, even if it holds the key to our genetic legacy. As long as we're immediately satisfied in every aspect possible, all is fine and damn everyone else. Freud would be proud to see our Id growing rampant; I however like some restraint. I am still baffled how you can be deemed fit to educate children and then do something remotely that bad; even once! It is utterly inexcusable and that's coming from me! I'm fairly sure I would make a horrible parent. My logic factor is too strong for it and my aversion towards ignorance too big to be able to bring forth a normal, rational and mentally healthy child.

I didn't contemplate this on my way back home from the store, because I had pizzas to eat, pronto! It was time to move on from the intersection and head onto the last straight line home।In this straight line, I encountered more things to speculate about as my mind had just been opened। That and there were some outright strange or, at least, unusual things going to come across my path। These things will be told some other time. But rest assured, they will; for I want my pizzas in my belly, not in writing limbo!
Good day.