It's Gonna Be a Bumpy Ride

CORRECTION: "What Kind of Day Has it Been?" is temporarily down. It was taken off the Recommended Reading list earlier today due to miscommunication; I have since reposted it to the list—it just doesn't link anywhere right now. When the site is back up, the link will be restored. Updated 1/31/07 16:05

Warning: Eclectic post today. Random thoughts. Random emotions. Just chaos really. You know, in a structured and pre-thought-out kinda way.

TOPIC A: Renting a Car

Since the accident last month, I've been in a couple of different rentals. And over the past couple of years, I've gone ahead and rented a car when it suited me because Tuck was getting old and I didn't think it wise to drive my car to places like Indiana or Kentucky. Not exactly rugged terrain, no, but Tuck was like 114 in car years. Actually, taken literally that would place construction on that auto back in 1893 and well, we all know that's impossible.

Tangent alert! In the show I'm directing, there's a line when one character is giving some other characters the run-around because he doesn't want to answer their question (it's bad news), and then one guy goes: "Cut the shit, Houston!". So I'm talking to the first actor, the guy playing Houston, about that moment and how he reacts and I say something to the effect of: "...and so in that moment, your friend has struck you at your core and you need to literally cut the shit... no wait... FIGURATIVELY cut the shit. Otherwise that's just gross." Told you, literal translations are fun.

Back to the rentals... so in renting this new car, I'm picking it up at one of those tiny airports where only people with private planes and helicopters fly. It seems to be the kind of place that would exist near a resort or something. If you ever saw the TV show "Wings", it feels like that little airport. Only smaller. And with the distinct feel of a prison. Not even kidding. Very much with the cinder-blocks and neutral paint.... What?! Like I don't know what the inside of a prison looks like? For the record: I've painted prisons. And I've visited folks in them. But no, sorry to disappoint anyone looking for a glimpse of my "sordid" past, I haven't been in jail.

So I rent this car. Now, they have lots of cars. Lots of roomy cars. Big cars. Solid, tall people cars. And this is what they give me. A Chevy Aveo. Now, I will say this: for that I was sure would end up being akin to shoving a clown into one of those tiny circus cars, it was surprisingly roomy. I don't even have to tilt my neck at some unnatural angle to get into it. I'll even admit that it's fun to drive. It looks bigger in the picture—but I'm pretty tall and when I stand anywhere near this thing, I'm convinced people start hearing circus music in their heads.

On the opposite end of the renting spectrum, I was once handed the key to a Dodge Magnum. A Dodge Magnum, which was silver and had uber-tinted windows. Ever seem a Magnum? Think station wagon for the hip, 21st century crowd. They're big automobiles. And man, did I look like a nerd valet parking the wrong car in that one. Again, I'll say something nice about these cars too: smooth as silk. Seriously, like gliding. Very nice.

As for me, I'm still narrowing down the my choices in the car search. Lots to pick from and tons of things to work out in my head before I buy one, which hopefully will happen very soon.

TOPIC B (and then we'll break for lunch because this post is getting way too long): My Life's NOT a TV Show... is it?

Is everyone's life this melodramatic? I mean, some people have drama in their lives, real drama. Friends and family serving overseas. People dying of illnesses. Single-parenthood. And I've known a couple of those and known people going through that last one—but then there's that day to day petty drama in our lives... the kind they put on The O.C. or in your garden variety daily Soap Opera. Seriously. Arguing, fighting, he said, she said, backstage drama that makes my head spin. Is it really this hard for people to be friends? To be civil? To be—not dramatic?

Vagueness. Sorry—it's just that 95% of the time, things are awesome. This year, thus far, is shaping up to be good (find requisite piece of wood... and we have knocking) and I aim to keep that heading on course.

I think what drives me to vent about these things is not that I have dramtic friends—but that I'm nearly as bad and I let it happen... I masochistically let myself get pulled into it; I let it get to me; I worry too much; I think that I can fix everything and everyone. And I can't. Gotta realize that. Lucidity once told me that people don't change until they want to—try as we might, try as I might, I can't change someone to how I think they should be. This isn't the stage. These aren't characters in some play or weepy drama. They're my friends. And I wish I could make them be friends.. or at least exist in some kind of peace-through-mutally-assured-destruction kind of way. Get everyone to just chill and not let petty things eat at them and drive wedges between them.

Then I feel a bit guilty, not because I couldn't fix the problems or make things easier on the group—but because my brain is thinking what a great melodramatic nightly Soap this would make. Not gonna bring home Emmy's with this—but the ratings would soar. This stuff practically writes itself.

Plus—it's February. And in my life, things happen in February. And in November. And in May. Notice a pattern? Those are the months we have sweeps-week in America, where the best episodes air, with the most action and drama and heartache. And like life imitating art... those are the periods of my life when big stuff goes down.

And damn, if this February isn't shaping up to be one hell of a show.