Moving is a Pain

This past week my family had to move from our house in Kirkland to Clearview, where the mice roam freely through houses at night. And though we’ve had many blessings, such as finding an affordable house, having plenty of help moving, or even having a friend cook dinner for us, you cannot escape the morons that rear their heads in stressful situations. The following is a series of stories focused on our move:

Friday: Feeling bored I walked down to the Shell station near my house and got a pop and sunflower seeds. After work my dad, mom and I left to pick up the moving truck. The big moving day would be tomorrow, but we had decided to take a load over tonight, to help lighten the load. Also, as we were moving into a smaller house we had to sell our large couch and get rid of my parent’s king sized bed. Because of this we had to pick up a mattress and couch we had found on Craigslist. The people we had purchased the furniture from were both friendly and helpful.  The night was long and hard (moving my dad’s desk was a pain) but we finally finished and went to bed in our house one last time.

Saturday: I woke up at 8:30 and started helping my parents pack. Then some people showed up, then we moved. Nothing interesting happened until later when my friend who had helped us backed his truck into an area to the side of our house in order to make room for the moving truck. Ten minutes after he had done this he found that his truck was totally stuck in mud, which caused a whole fiasco which resulted in his parents signing him up for AAA. Nothing else happened we went to sleep.

Sunday: I woke up at 11 and wandered into the living room, where my family was deciding where to go for breakfast. Eventually we decided on Shari’s. Once we were done I found out my parents had a gig singing with some old friends and everyone would be going. I was tired but it was an entertaining performance during which I spaced out and laughed at my own jokes. When we got home we sat in the living room, except Emily (my sister) who sat directly behind the couch in the dining room. Now Emily is 21, and in her whole life she has never handled emergency situations well, and anytime she freaks out I assume something is on fire. So as the silence was filled by her screaming I started looking for a flame. Meanwhile everyone else was jumping up and down asking her what was wrong. “There’s a mouse in Mom’s purse!” We set out some poison that night.

Monday: It was time to finish packing up the house, or so we thought. We had a large pile of junk that was to go to Goodwill, a pile for the dump, and a pile for storage. On top of that we had to clean the carpets of the house, because my dad owns a carpet cleaner. It was a lot to get done, and because we had so much stuff left we hired a friend who had a trailer, Richard. Goodwill was first, so we loaded up and headed out around 1pm. Once there we had an employee help us unload, which made the process much quicker (before it had just been me, Richard and my mom, as everyone else was at work). At the back of the trailer we had a little movie hutch which Emily and I had bought about a year ago from Goodwill, but now had no space for it. We had barely used it in the time we had it, and it stayed stationary most of the time. When the worker looked at it he said “That’s no good. The top is kind of loose when you pull on it.” I thought, we got this from you. But I didn’t want to start a fight, so I kept my mouth shut and we left, hutch in the trailer.

By the time we got back we noticed it was close to 3, so we decided to do a dump run next. The nearest dump was not near, and around four we started to worry that it may close before we could get there. So Richard pulled out his phone, called his wife and told her our situation. She quickly looked up the hours of the dump online, which said “7am – 7pm.” Ok. We had time. So we strapped down the load and drove to the dump in rush hour traffic, arriving at the dump at 5:15. Gate closed. A small entrance off to the side, so we drove in and got up to the booth.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed.”

“We can see that, but your website said you closed at seven. Can be please just drop this off. It’ll only take a minute.”

“No. We were just about to leave. The closing time has been five for about two years now.”

“Your website said seven.”

“I know. Our website is wrong.”

At this point it took all my will power to avoid peeing on her. IF YOUR WEBSITE IS WRONG WHY DIDN’T YOU FIX IT YOUR RETARD! Because of you Richard and I have to come back and do this TOMORROW, but no. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, oh mighty queen of stars. I’m sure you’re totally married and have anyone who loves you. In the end, Richard dropped his trailer full of trash off at our house and went home.

Tuesday: I had my first final for Shoreline Community College this day. Or rather, the first part of my first final. My piano teacher decided we needed to come in two days for her final, Tuesday we would meet in her office one on one and she’d test us on our scales and chord progressions. Wednesday we would have to play a solo in front of the class. Keep in mind I now live in Clearview, which is not near Shoreline in any way. Because of this I could no longer take the bus to school (as it would take too long) so my mom drove me to class for my five minute final, which worked out as we still had work to do at our Kirkland house.

                My teacher was a disorganized person. She was always telling us we had done stuff we hadn’t, and she would teach us the same thing over and over (the first day she taught us the Cmajor scale 3 times. Not even kidding.) Because of this I had no clue where her office was. She had posted a room number under her name last day of class “2509.” I realized the night before that the music building was the 800 building, and therefore he room number didn’t make sense, and after looking at the campus map I was even more confused. According to the map the 2500 building was the “Mechanics and dentistry” building. Not music at all. It occurred to me her office number may be posted in her syllabus, so I check it out and sure enough “806” IS written under office. I felt relieved.

                I arrived at SCC 20 minutes early, which gave me plenty of time to search for her room. After five minutes I found 806, and to my surprise it was a room in which I had taken another music class and it looked nothing like an office. This couldn’t be right. I freaked out and started trekking across campus to the 2500 building, hoping to find my piano teacher, but life hates me and I soon found that the 2500 building’s room’s stopped at 2508… I ran back to the 800 building, five minutes before my test started. At two till, I found her room, 809. Apparently she mistook a 6 for a 9. Not to my surprise, she was behind schedule. Of course, when she got to me I took less than two minutes to test and leave.

                With that out of the way I went to my house, where Richard had already left for the dump. When he got back we loaded up our things for donation and took it to St. Vincent De Paul, as it was closer and we were on a timeline. Once there we found that St. V’s wouldn’t take a quarter of what we had packed, including four glass tables and a box of books. The glass tables they said were “Hard to sell” I rolled my eyes, but left them on the trailer. As for the box of books, they said “We can’t take any toys.” I looked in the box and found one toy stuffed in the corner, which I took out. “No. We can’t take any of the books, because of the plastic covers.”

“…What?” I asked.

“The paint used on the toys has lead in it.”

“…Ok… So why can’t you take the books?”

“Because children’s books have plastic covers and there’s lead in the paint.”

There were two books with plastic covers in the box, but they wouldn’t let me remove them, saying “It’s too much work. We don’t want it.”

                I gave them a glare and put the box back on. A lot of the books were ones I had read as a child. Clearly I had died of lead poisoning, so they couldn’t take the books.

Wednesday: The second half of my final was this day, and I totally rocked it. Afterwards my mother and I headed back to our Kirkland house for our last two loads of moving. This time we had borrowed someone else’s truck, as we didn’t have much. We made a quick run to our storage, and then to our house and we were done. Now, because our new house didn’t have internet yet, and I had an online final due in the next two days, I called went to a friend’s house and took my test. I ended up staying the night at his house and left early the next morning.

Thursday: While over at his house my family was up getting ready for work. Emily was dressed and just about to put her shoes on when she noticed something odd. She turned her shoe upside down and a small pile of mouse poison spilled onto the floor. Apparently the mice had decided her fuzzy boots were a good place to rest at night, and store up for winter. Fortunately we now knew they had been eating the poison... Later that night I had to get the trash from the curb. I grabbed my worn out shoes and tried to put them on when something hit my hand. Sunflower seeds. The same seeds that I had been eating all day. The mice had been in them and I had been eating them…  I dumped the bag into the trash and brushed my teeth.

Friday: I woke up at noon, feeling rested from the week. As I sat up in bed I looked at my laptop sitting on my nightstand. Mouse poop. On my laptop. Which was right by my head at night. I shuddered.

This brings me to now. Now I share my experiences with you, the people of the interwebs. I have nothing to say in closing but this: Moving is a pain.

- Taylor

A common misconception

-Nick
Let me start with a little bit of a long preface.  First, let's assume for the sake of argument that everything I am about to say is true.  There are many things that I will say that you may not agree with, which is partially the point of the article, so sit tight and put on your listening pants...  Or reading glasses, or whatever you people do...   Second, for the sake of the article I am going to misuse some terms, such as religion, to mean what's commonly referred to.  Please do not think that I don't comprehend the meaning behind the terms.  The reasoning behind this is simple, I don't want to type out every exception.

Now we can get started.  I was pondering as I usually do, when a question came to me, "How come people are so scared of being wrong about what they believe?"  The obvious answer came to me as: if you were to change what you believe as your core values, you would have to change almost everything you view about the world.  That is a very uncomfortable position to be in, and we like comfort.  Upon further examination an interesting idea was formed.  What we "believe in" is theoretically defined by the following inverted pyramid.  Facts are the top layer.  They make up arguments, adding justification to assumptions.  Assumptions, the second layer, are what are necessary to proceed with any argument.  The only way to logically convince someone of something is to boil the issue down to the most basic assumption, and then build from that assumption.  Where do those assumptions come from?  Our Beliefs.  Formulated usually at a young age, these are the basis of our assumptions.  This is where things get messy.  If two people's core beliefs differ, it would be very difficult to come to a logical conclusion.  Let me for a second back up and explain some things.  No one knows all the facts about an issue.  In the end you must make a choice, based on the evidence provided.  This means that accuracy will never be 100%.  Our interpretation of these facts are based on our assumptions.  Our assumptions are based on our beliefs, which comes from anecdotal evidence.  My conclusion of this pyramid?  It doesn't work.  Everything I believe is concluded from logically invalid methods.  This does not mean however I think truth is malleable.  Just because no one can prove something, doesn't mean it's not there.  This is where my main topic comes in, faith.  People has this odd notion that faith is somehow only intertwined in religion.  In truth faith is merely believing something without knowing.  This is the glue that holds the pyramid together.  Without faith we wouldn't believe in anything.  Regardless of point of view we all have faith in things, so it is ridiculous to think that somehow faith is arguable.  The existence and necessity of faith are neither debatable.  So if everyone believes what they believe through faith, how can we therefore instantly negate the possibility that we could be wrong?  A philosophy that does not question itself, is inherently fallible.

The Love of Hating Love (or the hate of loving hate)

- Taylor
I, like Nick, have had a hard time deciding what to write for my first blog post. I had thought about writing a small explanation of who I was, so you could see where I come from and such, but then I decided that was dumb. Everybody writes intros about themselves and usually they only describe the best aspects of themselves while leaving out the bad. Instead I decided I would post a bio a friend wrote for me. It goes as follows:
TAYLOR S
Taylor is a cheerful, fun guy. He writes upbeat, sarcastic songs about Zombie Apocalypses and Polygamy. You'd think he was the happiest guy in the world. But Taylor has a dark side. Taylor hates everyone in the world.

This is probably the most accurate description anyone has ever given of me, and I found it hilarious when I first read it. But before you go getting the wrong idea about me let me explain my hatred of everybody. I am actually a happy person who enjoys the company of those around me. I’ve found that I get along with most people, and I always give them a chance to show me who they are. However, I also find myself disliking many people, due to their pure stupidity. Let me show you what I mean in the form of a story. 
I was sitting in the café at college, minding my own business when a group of people sat behind me and began discussing their views on just about everything from discrimination to traveling experiences. During their conversation one of them began talking about Europe and how beautiful it was, and me being the creep I am, I listened intently to them while pretending to read a book. 
“Europe is just so beautiful. I would love to live there someday,” said one of them.
“I agree,” said another. “I mean the landscape is just so gorgeous. And it’s also got a great history.”
“Yeah. Its history is way better than America’s, because, ya know, America had slaves.”
All of them had completely serious tones, and no one spoke up to correct him. Meanwhile I died a little inside as I screamed into my mind “EUROPE HAD SLAVES YOU RETARD.” Not only did Europe have slaves BEFORE America, some countries had slaves AFTER America. And as if that weren’t bad enough they went on to say that those who didn’t like gay people were racists. Apparently no one had ever told them that homosexuality isn’t a race.
Nothing about their conversation was right. Nothing about them was smart or even vaguely intellectual. Now, I am not totally opposed to dumb people, because there are those who are dumb and know it and therefore do not spurt out their incorrect thoughts. The people I dislike tend to be those who don’t know but think they do, and for some reason I find myself constantly surrounded by those people. Yes, that is way I am considered to hate everyone in the world, as everyone around me is dumb and incapable. It is a bad trait to have, and I realized that because of this many people will dislike me; however I hope that this does not damage my relationship with you, the reader. 
Anyway, this concludes my first post for Blogger Triad. I hope you keep reading.

Laziness, My Greatest Motivator

-Nick
I do not like hard work. It is much easier for me to sit around and watch the days go by, doing my own thing, than to get out there and make a difference.  I would say this is a pretty common trait, and most people would tend to agree this is not a good trait to have.  I disagree.  What is the most powerful form of instinctual drive? Fear.  What gives us that extra boost of adrenaline?  What makes us be able to run faster than we ever thought we could?  what drives us to stay up night after night working on a project?   Fear of losing.  Whether it be your own life, or another’s life, or respect, fear of losing is an instinct engrained deeply into our minds.  My greatest fear?  going through the daily motions of life until I die.  I see myself walking to school, figuring out my major, going home and chatting with my friends.  These are all good things.  In reality, however, they are just more preparation.  More getting ready to "start my life". Often times I feel as if I could spend my entire lifetime preparing to start my life.  That fear is what drives me today.  It drives me to make decisions, take risks, and be willing to fail.  It sounds strange, but the only way I persist through fear is fear of greater loss.  My fear of rejection is trumped by the fear of losing an opportunity.  Every bold move I make is based off of fear.  My laziness is my greatest fear.  I am so frightened by the thought of never being able to make a difference, everything else pails in comparison.  I will not be deterred, I will not be stopped, because I am afraid.  Fear is not a curse, it's a gift.  Use it.

I am very interested to know your own thoughts on this.  I made a lot of assumptions in this post and am curious if anyone agrees, or if I am just crazy.

And so it begins...

-Nick

So there I was sitting at my computer, wondering how to break the new blog in.  After several compositions about the nature of blogging and it's complete lack of use, I decided to just write what I was thinking.  It's currently 12:10, so this will probably be pretty short, and probably won't make any sense at all.  To be perfectly honest I am excited to write this blog, not so I can share my inner most thoughts with the world, but for my own growth.  I think too much.  It is in my nature to be ultra-safe.  Even as I type these words I slowly convince myself to not go on.  That the blog has no purpose or meaning.  I only cling on to this one strand of inspiration, that if I dissuade myself, I will miss a rare opportunity.  I am done missing opportunities because of my hesitant nature.  to leap without looking is a strange concept to me.  I have an odd perfectionist nature about me.  Instead of weighing the potential benefits vs. consequences, I give much greater weight to the consequences.  My "gut" feeling is very pessimistic, therefore I usually decide not to take a chance.  coming to the realization that chances are opportunities is an eye opening experience.  taking chances is what must be done in order to be "doers" and not "theorizers".  So that is the purpose of this blog, to do it.