What’s the difference between being smart and being stupid?

I would have to state that acting on impulse; acting on one’s emotions, is probably not the best approach to problem solving. And what happens when one continues to act on impulse despite the best known consequences? They’re probably entering into the ignorance zone. I think the famous saying goes: “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result each time.”

In closely examining the matter, it may be fitting to ask: why does one continue to do stupid things; what makes them ignore the price that comes with acting on the impulse that drives them so? Maybe I’m going out on a limb here, but I suspect the ego is playing a big part of this stupidity business. The sooner one learns to adapt, rather than having the world meld to their plan, the less and less stupid they become.

So for those who, to all appearances, appear to have things going for themselves, who appear truly happy, these are the ones who have lost the desire to satisfy their ego. Life isn’t about them anymore, thus they are making decisions that satisfy others as well as themselves. They have reached the state of mind where having their own way isn’t that important, and are able to cope with the results of whatever outcome should arise.

Where do the innate differences in disposition arise from? Why are some people selfish and arrogant, and others sensible and mature? Chance and even genetics may play a role in many cases, but don’t be misguided; parenting technique is of vital importance in the outcome of a person’s personality.

Authoritarian parenting is where the children are reared with an iron fist. They are often scared and suspicious: for girls, they internalize the emotional dilemma, while boys will externalize their emotions; for the boys, often this externalization will lead to a selfish disposition.

Permissive parenting is when the parent allows the child to run the show. These types are susceptible to the deepest, most utter form of selfishness possible, and unfortunately, the insatiable appetite for the child to have their own way is impossible to satisfy, thus not only creating unhappiness, but laying down the path to inner disquietude and an inability to function in the world.

Sometimes a mixture of these types of parenting will unite; a passive, co-dependent woman may fall for a man who is dominant and over-bearing. The resulting children of these types of parents is utter disaster. On the one hand, they are being overly spoiled and spoon fed by a mother who is afraid set the bar straight, and when the father comes home, fear ensues causing a warping of cognitive and emotional formation that is indescribable. This clash of identities carries long into later life.

Authoriative parenting, if one can manage, and is lucky enough to have knowledge of, is the best plan providing unlucky chance does not obscure the process. An authoritative parent will set guidelines for the child, but often will express a willingness to compromise in many situations, thus allowing the child a chance think for themselves by providing an understanding that the parent is not always out to get them. This isn’t exactly a democracy, but rather, a way of introducing the child into a world whose key component to success is the ability to learn how to work with others.

Houseboats and Smoky Mountains

While I can think of better things to be doing with my time, earning my way on a houseboat presents, at least, conditions I can consider less than objectionable. The wind blows cool and the environment is peaceful, providing a meditation factor that is hard to come by in this day and age.

I arrive, and the boats all sit like entities, waiting to traverse the waterways:

Here’s what I came to do: finish a job I started five years ago; haha–I’ll go down in the record books as longest time ever for job completion. The mission here is to build and install cabinet doors for these kitchen cabinets I built:

I don’t mind doing this for these people as for one: I need the money!; and secondly, the man I’m working for, whom had close associations with guys like M. Scott Peck, will be a great source of recommendation when I finally graduate. The only problem I may encounter is that this guy works me for every spare moment I get, which means, you guessed it: less writing time. I’m figuring I’ll have to start doing what I’ve read about so many times, where people scramble to write in between slots of time just to get anything written; this depresses me as I want to develop a system, but my persistent need of cash just dampens the spirit of everything I’ve ever wanted to do in my entire life. What can ya do.

At least these people have finally reached that plateau of repose, with a little jet-skiing to boot! Boats are always passing; this place is like a haven tucked away in the middle of it all, and had not my woodworking skills been developed, I would never have known it was even here.

While the Central Valley is not under threat of a direct blaze of fire, we, on the other hand, are sitting in the dustbowl of collective smoke and ash particles that rain down on us daily. My throat had been hurting the other day, and I finally realized I’d been suffering the effects of breathing the atomized, ashen matter currently inundating the valley. Here, Mt. Diablo is usually seen poking up above the crest of the rocky bank; but not this time, and that’s not fog surrounding the summit either:

Recycling Pays in Dog-eat-Dog World

After ten days of scavenging cans off of the street, and tempting myself to buy a shirt that says “Unemployed College Student” so the world didn’t look at me like I was some lunatic freak every time I stumped over to pick up a stray can (personally, I never had the guts to proximate an actual dumpster!), I finally reaped the rewards of my labor:

The recycling yard was dirty and dingy and noisy, and since my plastic bottles were all crushed into minute gobs of matter, the weighmaster had to do a double take at my basket to determine whether or not his eyes had been fooling him. But no, the weight was, indeed, the real deal, yet when I walked away from the redemption booth, I noted the girl had given me three bills. Not till I reached my car had I realized that one of them was a fifty! Yeehaw!

So that era is over, and since I have a summer job, I hope I never have to relive the life of a part-time, roving can-collector. What is worth noting, was the day when my keen can-spotting eyes discerned a can in my driveway by the street one day; I happened to be on the telephone, so I kept my eye on that baby awaiting the moment to pounce, when to my astonishment, an actual city worker, of whom many park at that spot to eat at the McDs behind my house, snatched the can before my very eyes! My jaw dropped, and I realized at that point that the price of gas has turned some of the population into animals in a dog-eat-dog world, where people you would never expect prey on stray cans during their lunch-time hours; my thoughts immediately fell upon the words of Lord Humungus from the Road Warrior: “This is about the gasoline.”

When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough Luck Out

Just down and to the right, behind the shed, is where my friend at Decurion Corporation’s houseboat is situated, and also, luckily enough, the spot where I will be earning my missing month’s finances. A chance phone call placed me in contact with the man where I find he will be finishing the boat remodeling; I built the entire kitchen for him way back when, before I was to leave town to Sacramento.

How lucky I am. I’ve been riding my bike daily, and for some reason, as summer unemployment is wreaking its havoc in my life, all the homeless people really began to glaringly stand out in my visual perceptions. Very disconcerting. I saw myself standing right next to those guys without a job, chewing my chud and extending my bent tin can for the tiniest bit of spare change from any who would so care. I saw long gray hairs pervading my unshaven chin and my little backpack with a single, solitary notebook for my ever so profound poems.

Ah well, thanks be to goodness, I won’t be going that route after all. In fact, quite to the contrary, this parking lot is directly in front of the water where I’ll be working; the black Mercedes indicative of the type of money crawling around the place:

Through the delta waterways, yachts and boats cruise back and forth all day long while I work, making me feel quite miniscule in my social standing, but this small detail is bearable; the people as they pass are mostly quite friendly, except for the ones in their super honkin’, 100ft long, 25ft high yachts blaring through the channel with their private dancers and loud, fancy-hot disco music. Some people just got it all. Can’t really see those types in this pic, but this is the water they roam, and I’ll be there, slaving away while they live it up…as usual:

POV

I’m finding the omniscient POV when writing to actually be rather strange. I think I like 1st person narrative the best now. The omniscient POV poses some difficulties at times, where the same types of difficulties are solved with the 1st person narrative.

I think this is about keeping the reader interested. All of the sudden, as a reader, I’m finding myself drawn to 1st person narratives because they make me feel more engaged. So when I’m writing a novel, I’m all of the sudden worried about keeping the reader interested.

Another thing I’ve discovered is the plot type. While I’ve always known these various types, I’m wondering about reader interest, and now I’m seeing that really, this will always fall into audience preference. Some will need a mystery, while others appreciate a yarn.

So I’ve got one novel I can completely finish since I am making a statement: I clearly see the ending. The next one following becomes a little difficult since I have to decide: Is there something to discover? Or do we just follow along with great visual descriptions? Or both? I’m trying both, and I’ll finish this, but I think this second novel will be more of a learning experience than a success. The main point is to keep the reader interested, and like musical art, each production leads to more experience and maturity; I’ll have to keep trudging along.