Well, I took my driver’s test today…and flunked it. By ten measly points. All because I couldn’t parallel park. Not that I hit the curb or a car or a telephone pole or anything important like that. I was too far away from the curb. Is that really a major deal? So I didn’t hit it the first time, I’ll just pull in a little more. I blame it on the dickhead inspector I had. Not that he did anything mean, but the whole time he talked down to me like I was sixteen, getting me all worked up and nervous almost immediately after I pulled out. After that I was all jumpy. Jerk. My major thing was not making my parallel park. I had been practicing on some boards and a bush though, can you blame me for not knowing where the fuck my car was? I made a few more little mistakes, nothing big. Although it says on the slip that he gave me that I “Fail to anticipate potential hazards.” Wait, what? He never said anything to me about that. How does he know what I’m anticipating anyway? It’s not like I had to swerve out of the way for anything. What, can they read minds now? Damn it all to hell. And now, because I didn’t get close enough to the curb, I have to put my life on hold for a whole other month while I wait until the next chance I get to be a nervous wreck. Thanks jerk DMV guy. It’s not like I wanted to get on with my life or anything like that.

What the hell? Now I’m all depressed. I never fail anything. I might not do well, but I never fail.

As an added bonus for you loyal readers I’ll actually give you something else that isn’t a movie review for you to read. I wrote this a while back as a kind of first draft to my profile on Friendster. Then I realized Friendster sucked and never actually put it up. I put up the first draft here for everyone’s amusement.

(September 6, 2003)

I was born just after noon on one late August day, 1981. Because of that fact my father wanted to name me Gary (after Gary Cooper in one of my dad’s favorite movies, High Noon), but luckily my mother had a little more common sense than to name me after a Hollywood Cowboy. I’d like to think of myself as a combination of Gentle Ben (the giant grizzly bear) and Ben (the giant rat with an inferiority complex that killed people, as heard in the song Rats by Pearl Jam and the weird love ballad Ben by Michael Jackson, and most recently seen in the movie Willard), although I would like to avoid comparisons with Benji (the cute shaggy dog) and Benny (whose Jets I never really got. Are they the airplanes? The football team? Temptations-like backup singers?) It’s funny, I’ve never really gone by the name Benjamin with anyone, that is unless I’m getting yelled at. (If ever you forget your full name, just do something really wrong and your parents will gladly remind you.) We moved around a lot (which I think explains a lot) before settling down in Hoosick Falls when I was in the fourth grade. We’ve been out in the middle of nowhere ever since.

We live right down the road from a cult (who’s constantly growing compound and 40 foot tall Cross I can see from my bed room window) which always provides us with some fun. One day a crazy woman they knew from Israel (whom I think was over here illegally) stopped her car outside of our house in order yell at her daughter, only to drive away with her wallet still on the roof. The police constantly try to get them for not following zoning regulations, but they must have an inside source because ever time the cops go up, they clear out. We also think they are smuggling drugs, which would explain for the fact that the same three cars drive up and down the road fifty times a day. Need further proof? One day we heard on the news that there was a big pot bust at another one of the houses they inhabit a couple miles down the road. Next thing we know the largest cloud of pot smoke is blowing down to our house. I guess they were trying to get rid of the evidence before the cops got there too.

I’ve always had an overactive imagination. When I was little I used to tell long, complex, drawn out stories (and this was before I even knew English. Imagine having to listen to mini-Me babble on for hours without ever using an actual word). I’ve always been a tad bit stubborn too. I never had a first step; I had a first walk. I never had a first word; I had a first sentence. I tend to be a tad bit of a perfectionist, never doing anything unless I know I can do it right. I once brought in a dictionary to prove to my typing teacher that a word he marked wrong on my final exam was indeed hyphenated. I think I already had a ninety-nine on the test, so my teacher (selfishly) didn’t want to change the grade (I don’t think he thought the dictionary proved anything. You don’t prove that man wrong!) But in the interest of fairness, and my raging ego, I made him change the grade. You don’t fuck me over, dammit!

I think my extreme sense of humor compensates for all of that though. I’ve never found a good joke I never laughed at, and I prefer to live on the funny side of life (for my own sanity). I’m amazed at how many people don’t laugh. In my freshman year film class when we got to the section on silent film comedies (Keaton, Chaplin, etc.) I was quick to notice I was the only one laughing (they are silent, so you can hear EVERYTHING). I couldn’t believe that. Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin are some of the funniest comedians I’ve ever seen, and no one was laughing. Why? I understand that it was a class, but that doesn’t mean you have to leave you sense of humor at the door. My friend Mike once asked me to come to a screening of his, because he knew that if I started laughing I might get others to join in (the laugh track principle). I prefer to think of humor as an all encompassing thing, and I’ll laugh at any joke no matter how un-PC (as long as it is actually funny and clever).

You need to have a good sense of humor when you live in the middle of nowhere. There isn’t a whole lot to do around here so most times you have to make your own entertainment. I can honestly say that I can stare at a wall for hours and keep myself entertained, without seeming in the least bit crazy! (Well, maybe a little bit crazy.) Of course this over active imagination of mine allows for some wacked out dreams, things I couldn’t even begin to start explaining to people without making out a road map first.

I’m an artist who doesn’t draw, a writer who doesn’t write, and a reviewer who only does his own publishing. Where I go from here is unknown. I love to learn new things, and I love to create, but there aren’t many jobs for crazy wild men like me. And still I can’t help feeling like everything is going to work out in the end for me, like it always does with my crazy life luck. The future just seems to unravel itself to me at the right moment, leaving me in a constant state of anxiety the rest of the time, but ultimately working everything out in the end. At least here’s hoping.